#we take two steps forward and five steps back

[demonio-fleurs]

it kills me how many triple a games this year are only doing digital releases

especially when you consider that 2023 has been an absolutely horrible year for video game preservation, with digital marketplaces going down and the announcement of the 3DS/WiiU multiplayer servers going down

[reasonsforhope]

When self-described “ocean custodian” Boyan Slat took the stage at TED 2025 in Vancouver this week, he showed viewers a reality many of us are already heartbreakingly familiar with: There is a lot of trash in the ocean.

“If we allow current trends to continue, the amount of plastic that’s entering the ocean is actually set to double by 2060,” Slat said in his TED Talk, which will be published online at a later date. 

Plus, once plastic is in the ocean, it accumulates in “giant circular currents” called gyres, which Slat said operate a lot like the drain of the bathtub, meaning that plastic can enter these currents but cannot leave.

That’s how we get enormous build-ups like the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, a giant collection of plastic pollution in the ocean that is roughly twice the size of Texas.

As the founder and CEO of The Ocean Cleanup, Slat’s goal is to return our oceans to their original, clean state before 2040. To accomplish this, two things must be done.

First: Stop more plastic from entering the ocean. Second: Clean up the “legacy” pollution that is already out there and doesn’t go away by itself.

And Slat is well on his way.

Pictured: Kingston Harbour in Jamaica. Photo courtesy of The Ocean Cleanup Project

When Slat’s first TEDx Talk went viral in 2012, he was able to organize research teams to create the first-ever map of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. From there, they created a technology to collect plastic from the most garbage-heavy areas in the ocean.

“We imagined a very long, u-shaped barrier … that would be pushed by wind and waves,” Slat explained in his Talk. 

This barrier would act as a funnel to collect garbage and be emptied out for recycling. 

But there was a problem.

“We took it out in the ocean, and deployed it, and it didn’t collect plastic,” Slat said, “which is a pretty important requirement for an ocean cleanup system.”

Soon after, this first system broke into two. But a few days later, his team was already back to the drawing board. 

From here, they added vessels that would tow the system forward, allowing it to sweep a larger area and move more methodically through the water. Mesh attached to the barrier would gather plastic and guide it to a retention area, where it would be extracted and loaded onto a ship for sorting, processing, and recycling. 

It worked. 

“For 60 years, humanity had been putting plastic into the ocean, but from that day onwards, we were also taking it back out again,” Slat said, with a video of the technology in action playing on screen behind him.

To applause, he said: “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, honestly.”

Over the years, Ocean Cleanup has scaled up this cleanup barrier, now measuring almost 2.5 kilometers — or about 1.5 miles — in length. And it cleans up an area of the ocean the size of a football field every five seconds.

Pictured: The Ocean Cleanup's System 002 deployed in the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. Photo courtesy of The Ocean Cleanup

The system is designed to be safe for marine life, and once plastic is brought to land, it is recycled into new products, like sunglasses, accessories for electric vehicles, and even Coldplay’s latest vinyl record, according to Slat. 

These products fund the continuation of the cleanup. The next step of the project is to use drones to target areas of the ocean that have the highest plastic concentration. 

In September 2024, Ocean Cleanup predicted the Patch would be cleaned up within 10 years. 

However, on April 8, Slat estimated “that this fleet of systems can clean up the Great Pacific Garbage Patch in as little as five years’ time.”

With ongoing support from MCS, a Netherlands-based Nokia company, Ocean Cleanup can quickly scale its reliable, real-time data and video communication to best target the problem. 

It’s the largest ocean cleanup in history.

But what about the plastic pollution coming into the ocean through rivers across the world? Ocean Cleanup is working on that, too. 

To study plastic pollution in other waterways, Ocean Cleanup attached AI cameras to bridges, measuring the flow of trash in dozens of rivers around the world, creating the first global model to predict where plastic is entering oceans.

“We discovered: Just 1% of the world’s rivers are responsible for about 80% of the plastic entering our oceans,” Slat said.

His team found that coastal cities in middle-income countries were primarily responsible, as people living in these areas have enough wealth to buy things packaged in plastic, but governments can’t afford robust waste management infrastructure. 

Ocean Cleanup now tackles those 1% of rivers to capture the plastic before it reaches oceans.

Pictured: Interceptor 007 in Los Angeles. Photo courtesy of The Ocean Cleanup

“It’s not a replacement for the slow but important work that’s being done to fix a broken system upstream,” Slat said. “But we believe that tackling this 1% of rivers provides us with the only way to rapidly close the gap.”

To clean up plastic waste in rivers, Ocean Cleanup has implemented technology called “interceptors,” which include solar-powered trash collectors and mobile systems in eight countries worldwide.

In Guatemala, an interceptor captured 1.4 million kilograms (or over 3 million pounds) of trash in under two hours. Now, this kind of collection happens up to three times a week.

“All of that would have ended up in the sea,” Slat said.

Now, interceptors are being brought to 30 cities around the world, targeting waterways that bring the most trash into our oceans. GPS trackers also mimic the flow of the plastic to help strategically deploy the systems for the most impact.

“We can already stop up to one-third of all the plastic entering our oceans once these are deployed,” Slat said.

And as soon as he finished his Talk on the TED stage, Slat was told that TED’s Audacious Project would be funding the deployment of Ocean Cleanup’s efforts in those 30 cities as part of the organization’s next cohort of grantees. 

While it is unclear how much support Ocean Cleanup will receive from the Audacious Project, Head of TED Chris Anderson told Slat: “We’re inspired. We’re determined in this community to raise the money you need to make that 30-city project happen.”

And Slat himself is determined to clean the oceans for good.

“For humanity to thrive, we need to be optimistic about the future,” Slat said, closing out his Talk.

“Once the oceans are clean again, it can be this example of how, through hard work and ingenuity, we can solve the big problems of our time.”

-via GoodGoodGood, April 9, 2025

[alygator77]

──on the move

a/n. in honor of father's day, i wrote a short drabble for our favorite daddy fictional husband. here's some good 'ol dadjo fluff 🩵 this was a request, but it's also inspired by a scene from the romcom life as we know it.

cw. your daughter's first steps. humor. domestic fluff. dad! satoru. husband! satoru. also, satoru is just too stinkin' cute (isn't he always though?!).

Neither you nor Satoru were prepared for the day your daughter decided to walk.

She’d been going through another sleep regression—clingy, overtired, and endlessly fussy. The last few nights had been brutal for you both; nonstop crying, sleepless nights—hell, you barely remembered the last time you’d eaten something warm or sat down for more than five minutes without a tiny hand tugging at your shirt.

So today, when she finally settles, babbling to herself instead of wailing, Satoru doesn’t hesitate.

“You go clean up,” he says, already hoisting her up into his arms. “I got this.”

And you don’t argue. Because a hot shower and ten minutes to breathe feels like the most luxurious gift in the world.

Downstairs, Satoru sits leisurely, sinking onto the living room floor, one of your daughter’s stuffed toys shoved behind his back like a makeshift pillow. She sits a few feet in front of him, chewing thoughtfully on a rubber block like she’s solving some ancient puzzle.

As she babbles cheerfully, he nods along, blue eyes soft beneath the fall of snowy hair. One hand props up his chin as he listens intently, like he’s getting a full debriefing from a tiny general.

“I know, right?” he murmurs. “They really said no dessert before dinner. Criminal, honestly.”

An insistent string of nonsense syllables spills from her tiny lips, animated and loud, flapping one hand as to make a point.

“Exactly,” he hums, nodding solemnly. “It’s injustice. You and me—we should unionize.”

Then, without warning, she shifts—pushing herself up with both hands, wobbling slightly as she reaches for the coffee table. One tiny palm finds the edge. Then, slowly… she lets go.

Satoru blinks.

Standing. She’s standing. No hands. No support. Just two steady little feet on the rug.

All by herself.

“…no way,” he breathes, straightening instinctively. “Hey, uh—princess?” clearing his throat, his voice catches slightly. “Uhh… whatcha doin’, huh?”

And then she moves—one step. Wobbly. Uncertain.

Satoru's mouth falls open.

“No, no, no—wait—shit—uhhh… babe?!” his voice pitches as he springs to his feet, torn between staying and bolting for the stairs. “Hold on sweetheart—wait for mommy, wait—!”

Twisting towards the ascending hall, his voice booms.

“Babe! She’s walking!!”

Upstairs, the shower pounds steadily as you scrub shampoo from your hair. A voice echoes up the stairway. With a pause, you tilt your head slightly.

…is Satoru calling you?

“Huh?” you shout back, reaching for the knobs. “What was that ’toru?”

His voice echoes again—louder this time, unmistakable.

“SHE’S WALKING!”

“What?!” heart lurching, you move, fumbling out of the shower, slipping slightly on the mat as you grab for the nearest towel and yank it around your body. “Shit—okay—hang on—!”

But downstairs, equal chaos unfolds.

Your daughter takes another step, and Satoru's still at the bottom of the stairs, caught somewhere between panic and awe. He doesn’t want to move—can’t risk missing it. Can’t let you miss it.

“Okay—just—freeze,” he says, crouching slightly in front of her. “Hold it right there, little lady. Stay. Don’t advance. Mommy’s coming.”

But babbling back in defiance, her little eyes brighten with determination as she takes another wobbly step forward.

“Shit—fuck. Honey, I need you to hurry!” he shouts toward the stairs, voice cracking.

“Coming! I’m coming!” you call back breathlessly, hopping down the hall with one towel clutched around your chest and another half-heartedly blotting your dripping hair. “Just—stall her! I’ll be right there!”’

“Stall her?!” he echoes, eyes wide as she continues toward him, arms extended, smile wide—like he’s the finish line and she’s already won. “How the hell do I stall a baby?!”

Another leg plants itself on the rug, and Satoru scans the room in panic. No bottle. No snacks. No plan. No goddamn time.

“Okay—um, hey—look at me,” he says, dropping to his knees in her path. “Let’s do… let’s do clapping, yeah? You love clapping!”

And there he is, clapping with exaggerated enthusiasm, a desperate smile plastered on his face. But she doesn’t slow down. If anything, she picks up speed—giggling now, like this is all a game.

“Shit. Nonono. You are not following protocol…” he mutters, backing up a step. She’s almost at him. “Please princess… please… wait for mommy.”

He’s at a loss, and so, with nothing else to do, he reaches out—gentle, barely a touch—tapping her belly with two fingertips. But it’s just enough, because with little balance, she blinks—wobbling, plopping her butt onto the floor with a soft thud.

There’s a pause.

Then, in a matter of seconds, her face crumples, lip trembling as a tiny, heartbroken whine spills out of her.

Satoru's eyes widen in horror. “Aw, no—no, no, hey, it was just a loving little stall,” he says quickly, hands out. “A nudge. A tactical nudge. Fuck, don’t cry—”

And you’re bursting into the room just as the first real wail escapes her lips.

“What happened?!” you gasp, chest heaving, towel clinging to your damp skin as you rush over.

Looking up, Satoru's face is wide-eyed, painted with guilt.

“You… you said stall her,” he says helplessly. “So I… I gave her a little push.”

You blink. First at him. Then at her. Then back at him.

She’s hiccupping through a sob, hands balled up against her chest like she’s been personally wronged. Yet somehow, his face is more pitiful than hers.

“She was walking,” he adds weakly, looking down. “I… didn’t want you to miss it.”

Exhaling slowly, the panic bleeds out of you now, replaced by something warm and humorous—the edge of a smile tugging at your lips.

“Oh, ‘toru…”

He peeks up, sheepish. “I panicked.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, stepping closer, “I gathered.”

And sinking to your knees, you gather her into your arms. The second she’s pressed against you, the sobs dissolve into sniffles, cheek nuzzling into your collarbone like nothing ever happened.

“There we go,” you whisper, brushing your hand over her hair. “See? All better. She forgives you.”

“…you sure?” he looks doubtful. “Because she looked at me like I betrayed her entire damn bloodline.”

“Oh, shush.” Huffing a quiet laugh, you roll your eyes playfully, gently lowering her onto the rug in a seating position—pacified, for now.

Stepping closer, Satoru's gaze flicks between you and her.

“Five steps,” he says quietly, sliding his arms around your waist. “She took five real steps.”

“That’s incredible,” you whisper, arms looping around his neck. A slow smirk stretches across your lips. “Next time maybe just… record it, yeah?”

“Tch…” he huffs. “Right…”

And leaning in, his smile meets yours halfway—lips touching where laughter wants to begin. You kiss him, eyes fluttering, a hum rumbling through him.

But then—

pat-pat-pat.

Freezing, you pull away from that unmistakable sound. And turning, you’re left with the sight of your daughter tearing off down the hall with a delighted squeal, her bare feet smacking against the hardwood like she’s been walking her whole damn life.

“Oh.” Satoru's already straightening. “Oh shit.”

“Ohmygod…” you breathe in awe. “’toru… she’s walking!!”

“No,” he says grimly. “She’s running.”

And just like that—it begins.

Yeah. You’re never going to sit down again.

[ilovolderman]

The Match

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: While secretly dating You, Bucky gets roped into a dating app by Sam

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, light jealousy

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What" (this is already part 5, so yes, im calling it a series.) It doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

The kitchen was warm and quiet, filled with the soft morning light pouring in through the big windows. You were curled up on the counter in one of Bucky’s henleys — technically yours now, since you’d claimed it after “accidentally” falling asleep in it two months ago. He hadn’t asked for it back.

Bucky stood between your legs, his hands resting gently on your thighs as he stole tiny sips from your coffee cup every time you lowered it.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes at him as he swiped it again.

He smirked, brushing a thumb over your knee. “Can’t help it. Yours always tastes better.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned forward anyway, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. He caught you halfway and turned it into a real kiss — slow, unhurried, the kind that made time feel irrelevant.

You sighed against his lips. “If you keep kissing me like that, we’re never gonna eat.”

“We can skip breakfast,” he murmured, voice low, teasing.

“And deal with Sam’s ‘someone didn’t have their Wheaties’ speech again? No thanks.”

Bucky groaned and stepped back, reluctantly, while you hopped off the counter. You started prepping your coffee again, and he leaned close to watch.

“One scoop…” he counted aloud.

You snuck a glance at him and grinned. “Three.”

“Three?” he fake-gasped. “You planning to vibrate through walls?”

“Says the guy who had four yesterday.”

“Three and a half,” he corrected, deadpan.

You snorted. “Uh-huh. Keep lying to yourself, grandpa.”

He gave you a playful glare but said nothing, instead leaning over to steal one of your toast slices like a thief in the night.

And then — of course — the kitchen door swung open.

“Okay, what the hell is this domestic energy?” Sam’s voice boomed as he walked in. “Am I interrupting a rom-com or—?”

You and Bucky practically jumped apart like teenagers caught red-handed. You reached for the peanut butter like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Morning,” you both said, far too casually, far too in sync.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Weird. Anyway…”

He turned to Bucky, eyes narrowing as he opened the fridge. “You look grumpier than usual.”

“I always look like this.”

“That’s what worries me,” Sam said, pulling out the orange juice. “You need a little somethin’ in your life. A spark. Some romance.”

You snorted into your coffee. “Wow, subtle.”

Sam shot you a grin. “I’m serious, Bucky. You look miserable and I’m sick of it. Your need to get out there. Meet people. Real people. People who don’t, y’know, punch aliens for a living.”

“I’m not miserable,” Bucky muttered, taking a very aggressive bite of toast.

Sam ignored him. “You need someone to, like, hold your hand and remind you that the world isn’t complete garbage.”

“Y/N does that,” Bucky said before realizing. His eyes flicked to you. Yours widened slightly.

“Uh— I mean…” he coughed. “You could. You’re good at pep talks.”

Smooth. Real smooth.

But Sam was too busy with his phone to notice the weird energy. “Anyway, I’m gonna download Spark for you.”

“Oh no,” you whispered.

“Oh yes.” Sam grinned, typing furiously. “It’s like Tinder but for people who still believe in feelings.”

“Delete it,” Bucky said immediately.

“Too late. Already making your profile. Okay — full name?”

“Absolutely not.”

Sam looked up. “Fine, we’ll just put ‘Bucky B.’ You sound like a retired DJ. Age... one-oh-six... but we’ll round down to thirty-five. Close enough.”

You had to cover your mouth with your hand to stop from laughing. Bucky looked like he was actually malfunctioning.

“Give me your phone. I'm deleting it.”

“Nope.” Sam sidestepped him and kept typing. “Bio time. What do you want it to say? ‘Strong, silent, may or may not have trauma, will kill spiders for you’?”

“Sam.”

“Oh! And profile picture.” Sam’s grin went feral. “I’m gonna use the one from Clint’s barbecue.”

Bucky froze. “No. Not the one where—”

“Yup,” Sam said, turning the phone around dramatically. “The one where you’re smiling. A real smile. The people gotta see the goods, man.”

You wheezed. “That’s actually a really good picture.”

“It is,” Sam agreed, tapping to save the profile. “Now we wait. Trust me, you're gonna get matches faster than Tony blows money.”

Bucky looked physically pained.

And then… the phone buzzed.

“Oh snap — you already got a match! Girl named Olivia.” Sam said, scrolling like a man on a mission. “Look at this—she hikes, she volunteers at animal shelters. Honestly, Buck, she’s like a Hallmark movie in human form. You should totally message her.”

You blinked.

Something inside you twisted — that unwelcome, unmistakable burn of jealousy curling in your chest.

Bucky looked… surprised. And then cautious. “That was fast.”

“She’s cute,” Sam said, scrolling. “She said you have nice eyes. You should message her. Or better yet, go on a date. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You forced a laugh. “Yeah, Buck. You should totally go.”

Bucky turned toward you slowly. His smile had faded into something softer. Thoughtful. He tilted his head, studying your face like it was a puzzle he was halfway through solving.

“…Maybe,” he said carefully, like he was testing the word.

You smiled a little too tightly. “Good for you.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, like he could see right through you.

You lasted approximately six hours before cracking. Not that you were counting.

You’d spent the day trying not to think about Olivia. Or her "kind eyes". Or the fact that Bucky had apparently matched with her in under a minute. Not that it mattered, obviously. You were cool. Chill. Entirely unaffected.

…Until Bucky found you in the hallway on your way back to your room, grabbed your hand, and wordlessly tugged you into his.

He shut the door behind you, arms crossed. He didn't look mad. Just… knowing.

You tried to play it cool. “If this is about the last cookie, I swear I thought it was mine.”

“It’s not about the cookie.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding. “Then what?”

Bucky’s eyes didn’t waver. “You told me to go. Like it didn’t bother you.”

You scoffed lightly, trying to brush it off. “I was just being cool. Y’know, chill. Unbothered.”

“You were seething, doll.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest tightened. “Okay, maybe a little. So what?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He just watched you for a second, his silence pressing gently around your walls. Not demanding, not accusing — just waiting for you to be honest.

You exhaled and leaned back against the door. “I know I said it didn’t bother me, but the second Sam said you matched with someone, it was like—like my stomach dropped out.”

His brow furrowed, stepping closer.

You continued, voice softer. “I know you love me. I do. But the idea of someone else getting even a piece of you… I hated it. And that scared me. I didn’t want to be the clingy one or the insecure one or the girl who flips out over some dumb dating app.”

Bucky’s face softened completely. “Hey.”

He closed the gap and cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“You are not insecure. You’re not clingy. You’re human. And you love me.” He kissed your forehead gently. “I want you to care.”

Your chest cracked wide open, and you let yourself lean into him.

“I don’t want to share you, Buck,” you whispered. “Not even a little.”

“You never have to,” he murmured. “You’ve got all of me. Always.”

“…So what about Olivia?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He shrugged. “I unmatched her hours ago. Right after you said good for you like you were trying not to cry.”

You gaped. “You what?”

Bucky smirked. “The only person I want… is you.”

Your heart stuttered, full and aching and impossibly light all at once. “Bucky—”

“You’ve had me from the moment you stole my henley and never gave it back.” His voice was barely a whisper. “You don’t have to be chill. You don’t have to play it cool. You already have all of me.”

Your laugh was shaky, but your smile was real. “Even if I get all weird over fictional matches on dating apps?”

He grinned. “Especially then.”

You leaned into him, your fingers curling around the hem of his shirt. “So you’re not going on a date with Olivia?”

“Nope,” he said, nuzzling your nose with his. “Unless you change your name and start volunteering at animal shelters.”

You snorted. “I would for you.”

Bucky kissed you then — sweet, slow, soft. The kind of kiss that made you forget all the awkward moments of the morning. The kind that made you feel like you were the only two people in the world.

You laughed into the kiss, your fingers curling around his shirt. “You absolute...”

“—Boyfriend material?” Bucky finished, hopeful.

You smiled, lighter than you had all day. “Absolutely.”

Somewhere down the hall, Sam shouted, “I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DELETED SPARK—!”

You broke apart, laughing breathlessly. “We should probably tell him.”

Bucky sighed into your neck. “Or we fake our deaths and disappear into the Alps.”

“Tempting.”

next part

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd

[mywritersmind]

COOLDOWN - LN4&OP81

summary : Locked in a cooldown room with two teammates in orange is not how you expected to be celebrating your win. Definitely not expected, but welcomed.

listen up : smut!! taking abt threats. under lockdown, p in v. oral (m receiving), threesome, not proofread!!!!! i hope this is hot idk

words : 2547

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The three of you have been stuck for almost an hour. When the cameras cut out, so did the lights, then the doors locked and each of you got a million alerts to stay put.

Some threat was made, apparently a big one because the whole paddock is in lockdown just after the race ended. As scary as it sounds, you’re not worried.

The cooldown room is arguably the best place to be stuck. A backup light that drapes the room in a hazy yellow glow, No media, No fans, and two drivers in bright orange slumped in their chairs.

You can tell Lando is the most bored, stretching every five seconds and saying random things to try and start conversation.

Oscar is on the other side of you, his race suit matching Lando’s down the way they have it undone. His hair is a mess still, his hands behind his head and making you peak at his accentuated back.

The two men have been in your life for a year now, both too intrigued for their own good. “Have you guys ever had sex in a car?” Lando turns his head to both of you, getting to a certain point of insanity especially because how good you both look in his eyes.

“Us…?” Oscar says questionably.

Lando rolls his eyes, pulling off his cap and throwing it at his teammate, “No you muppet. Separately.” he smirks just as a rogue curl falls onto his forehead, “Unless…”

“Yeah.” Oscar answers quickly, hoping to shut him up, “Not with her.”

“Have you?” You can’t help but ask, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at the dark haired driver.

“I asked first.” he shoots back, something dancing in his eyes that tell you keep going, while everything inside you screams to stop.

“I crossed the finish line first.” You tilt your head, a slick reminder of why you’re sitting between the two.

They’d been in your rear view the whole race, swapping positions and fighting for that top step. They’d had a bad feeling just after lap one, as if they were in sync in realizing that you were not going to give either the chance to even try to fight you.

“Then cut me some slack, winner.”

Your eyes narrow, “I don’t like the idea of you knowing anything about my sex life.”

He just smirks, shrugging as if you’re the best of friends. “Seems great to me.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, giving in, more interested in his answer than yours. “Yes.”

“Damn.” He mumbles, “I feel left out.”

Oscar looks genuinely surprised at this, his brows furrowing as he leans forward in his chair, “You’ve never had sex in a car?”

You laugh, “That’s surprising.”

Lando’s jaw drops, letting out a scoff, “Why?”

You bite back a smile, eyeing Oscar who’s already looking at you. “You seem like the guy to christen a new car with an orgasm.” Oscar laughs at this, leaning back in his chair while Lando grins.

“Maybe I'll start.” He shrugs, moving his arms to drape over the back of the chair.

The younger of team Mclaren runs a hand over his face, “If we ever get out of here.”

“You offering, Piastri?” You can’t help but joke, the man eyeing you with no change in his expression except a quirk of his brow.

You stare at each other for one, weighted second, the silence being broken by Lando who’s seemingly taken the role of entertainer, “Where’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?”

“Are these all going to be related to sex?” Oscar pauses to ask his friend.

“Answer it, Osc.” Lando finds himself grinning now, looking at Oscar’s sudden shift in manner.

“It can’t be that crazy.” You say, shifting to the side and starting to get uncomfortable in the race suit.

“I don’t know… Oscar’s pretty freaky.” Lando says, looking directly at Oscar with a sneaky look in his eye.

You turn to him, raising a brow and not missing the way he smirks, “Speaking from experience?”

They both go quiet. Now this… you didn’t expect.

“Holy shit, have you guys fucked?” You laugh out loud. Wow, and you thought this day couldn’t get any better.

“No.” Oscar replies just as Lando shakes his head, “No way.”

You narrow your eyes at both of them, “But something has happened… right?” Lando shifts in his seat while Oscar just looks at the floor, “Don’t be shy. From what i’ve heard- it’s a common occurrence in teammates. Late nights… long meetings… hotel rooms…” They glance at each other. Oscar blushes. “I’m totally right, aren’t I?”

“So what, you’re fucking Verstappen then?”

You scoff, “I don’t do guys with children under twenty.” Lando is about to go back to your comment but you speak first, “Let me guess. Jacking eachother off? Or in the same room? Celebratory blow jobs? Don’t tell me you’ve shared a girl-”

“If we say yes will you stop?” Oscar has his head in his hands, his voice muffled and your smile growing.

“Which one?” You're pushing their limits but you don’t care.

Lando eyes you, “We’ve never shared a girl.” Oscar is shaking his head which still resides in his hands, the tips of his ears pink.

“You’ve done everything else?” Suddenly the room gets very hot- or maybe that’s just you. The thought of the two of them, desperate and needing each other, makes you squeeze your thighs together.

You hadn't realized that Oscar took his head out of his hands, his eyes blaring into you now and reading you like a fucking book.

“I had sex on a ferris wheel.” You say, desperate to change the subject suddenly.

“Jet ski. We flipped.” Lando says, looking at Oscar and tapping his foot.

“Principal's office.” He bites out, “Lost my virginity there.”

“I always knew I liked you.” You grin, tapping your nail on the armrest.

Lando cuts in, “How about another game? Truth or dare?”

You cross your legs and nod, “Truth.”

“Hottest guy on the grid.”

“It isn’t between you two… if that’s what you’re hoping.”

He shrugs, “Just hoping for truth.”

“Sainz.”

Lando scoffs, “He’s not even-”

“Hey! You asked for the truth.” Oscar laughs, making you look at him, “Something funny?”

“No, I agree.”

“What!?” Lando says soundly, “Hold on a second-”

“It’s the hair right!?”

He nods, “Body too.”

“I hate you both.”

“You’re a horrible liar, Lan.” Oscar says and it’s one of those moments when you remember how close the actually are.

Your mind goes straight back to them hooking up.

“So are you!” He argues, “Rivalry’s aren’t as hot as you think.”

“Truth or dare, Lando.” You say, an idea already in your head which is completely dependent on how reckless Lando is feeling today.

“…Dare.”

Oscar shakes his head, as if he knows what’s coming.

You just smirk. “Kiss Oscar.”

He doesn’t look worried, if anything, he looks pleased. Lando stands and as you motion Oscar to get up, he sends you an annoyed look. He’s not fooling either of you because as soon as Lando pulls him in for the kiss, Oscar definitely isn’t complaining.

You’re staring up at them. It’s probably the most insane thing you’ve ever seen, but then again, it seems so fitting. Lando holds the back of Oscar’s neck as if he’s done this a million times, he probably has.

Your mouth is slightly open, watching Oscar’s tongue meet Lando’s in a sensual and slow type of need.

Lando pulls away first, plopping down onto the floor and using his chair as a headrest, “Happy?”

“Horny?” Oscar coughs, looking directly at you when he does it. “Truth or dare, Y/n?”

The air is thick with tension, the faded light making both of them glow as they watch you. You say it confidently, “Dare.” but as soon as you see Lando’s smirk, your heart rate rises.

“Kiss one of us.”

It’s simple- it’s payback. It’s something that you can’t do. “No.”

“You’re chickening out?” Lando says.

“No, as in, I'm not choosing.” You shrug, unzipping your suit a bit more, “You pick.” They look at eachother, then you.

“Unfair.”

“Why? You both want me that bad?” You say it as a joke, carrying out the words with a laugh. They’re not laughing.

It’s Oscar who’s brave enough to say it, “Yeah,” he glances at Lando, “we do.”

“I-” none of the drivers have shown interest. Maybe it’s because of professionalism, maybe it’s because you’re too new and too female. This… is dangerous territory. “Arm wrestle.”

It seemed ridiculous at first, to them at least. But one end goal was always in your mind, and that is not having to choose one.

They’re up in a second, standing on either side of the table mounted to the wall’s corner. You stand, watching them lean over and join hands.

“We’re really doing this?” Oscar tilts his head at his teammate who purses his lips and nods towards you, theirs eyes still on eachother.

“Look at her.” When he does, every part of you feels it. Oscar Piastri never gives a meaningless look, that’s what worries you.

Lando’s hand is bigger than Oscar’s. Even though the three of you haven’t been close, it's something you’ve seen repeatedly either in real life or on social media. Maybe you’ve thought about it repeatedly too.

Both of their arms flex, fighting for dominance when you’re a bit distracted by their hands.

You roll your eyes when they take too long, sitting in Lando’s place on the floor and appraising the rest of them. Oscar’s taller, bigger… but Lando’s got the energy to overpower him even if he’s a brat.

Lando wins, locking his wrist and pinning his teammate's hand to the table, “Shit.” Oscar mumbles, stretching out his arm afterwards.

Lando scrambles to get next to you, waiting with puppy dog eyes and his face close to yours. You laugh, looking at Oscar who shrugs, sitting across from you both and nodding at you to kiss him.

God. That race now feels like fucking foreplay.

You kiss him soft, sweet. You kiss him like he’s the only thing in the world and the second his hand meets your waist, you stop. Lando pouts, a look that gets turned into confusion as you sit up and turn your attention to Oscar.

“I hate choosing.” Is all you say before crawling to the second man in orange and pulling him in. You can tell he’s trying to be soft, but you don’t want that for him. You grab his face and kiss him harder, feeling his hand on your ass and letting it stay there.

You hear Lando whine behind you as you straddle Oscar, hear Oscar groan as you grind into him.

Oscar’s lips meet your neck, allowing you the flexibility to look back at Lando. His hand is palming his underwear, his suit to his knees and his mouth slightly opened.

It’s so hot and so fucking dirty that you kiss Oscar again. “C’mon…” Lando whines, “I won the arm wrestling. I beat him in the race. I deserve it more.” he cuts right to the chase.

You pull away from Oscar who immediately works on pulling down your suit. “You’re a brat.”

Oscar pulls it off, only fireproofs and your pink lace thong left. They both groan.

You’re still on Oscars lap, his lips on your neck as you beckon Lando over. He comes right up to your face, trying to kiss you and getting rejected by a whispered, “You jealous?”

He nods, just nods.

Oscar cuts in now, “Of which one of us.”

Lando looks at you. Then Oscar. His eyes flicking between the two people who are responsible for his hard on. “Both.”

You kiss him then, hand going straight for his dick while simultaneously grinding on Oscars. “I think I dreamt about this once.” Lando mumbles into the kiss, making you and Oscar both laugh.

“Wanna check off that last thing on the list?” You ask, your mind consumed with the two men in front of you and how they would feel in you.

They both nod, Lando pulling off his fireproof as if it’s betraying him. Their lips meet in a strangled messy way, unconsciously moving your hips over Oscar again while Lando, fully distracted, tries to pull your top off.

“Want some help with that?” you say in a breathy voice, watching Lando twitch under his underwear.

“Thought that was my job.” Oscar says, smirking as Lando pulls out his dick, clearly not caring who helps. He’s standing in between you and with one wink, you and Oscar lick the sides of his cock.

He grabs your hair, Oscar’s shoulder, practically begging already. You take him fully in your mouth before Oscar can say anything about it. The feeling of rocking against a clothed, hard dick while having another one in your mouth is something you will never forget.

You feel your panties getting pushed aside, Oscar’s fingers, slim but mighty, slide into you with a choked groan. It’s a mess of wet and needy people wanting each other, Oscar taking over for Lando while still fingering you.

You pull Oscar’s dick out, too needy when his fingers leave you to meet Lando’s mouth. He’s hard as a rock, bigger than Lando but slimmer, making you practically scream when you sink down on him.

He moans on Lando’s dick, a sound so erotic that you could come right then and there. “Holy fuck.” Lando’s legs are shaking, his eyes meeting yours as he cums in Oscar's mouth.

Lando kneels again, kissing you hard and fast while Oscar, his mouth a bit sticky, throws his head back. Lando pulls your shirt up, kissing on your tits while you bounce up and down. You reach for his dick, it twitching and partially hard already.

“Take me so well…” Oscar groans, kissing you sloppily.

“So hot.” Lando groans, “I call next.” You don’t wait for you or Oscar to finish, rising up so the sudden feeling of him makes you feel empty.

You’ve got your sights set on Lando, ready to really see who can beat you in something, when someone bangs on the door.

You freeze. The lights are on. When did the lights come on?

“How are you three doing in there? Unlock the door. Situations over. Podiums still on.”

You all three swear. You get your clothes back on first, Lando and Oscar far slower and more obviously turned on.

“We can’t go out like this-” Oscar tries to readjust his hard and dripping dick.

“That’s what you’re worried about? You were inside of her and I was so close-” Oscar slaps the back of Lando’s head as he zips up his suit.

“That’s one way of letting the time pass.” You breathe out, brushing down your hair and smiling.

Lando groans, “Unfair- you look perfect. You’re fucking glowing! We’re fucking blue balled and a mess.”

“Have fun out there.” You drift your hand over Lando’s chin, fixing Oscar’s hair, “Drown me in champagne and pretend it’s cum.”

You unlock the door, practically skipping out and leaving them with their dicks hard, lips read, and jaws on the floor.

[starpens]

୨୧ㅤִㅤׄ COUGH SYRUP ― GOJO SATORU.

satoru is a bit of an idiot who will do anything to get you to speak to him after an argument.

𓈒 ݁ ₊ content ﾉ fem reader, clingy satoru, established relationship, mild argument, fluff, not proofread, randomly started missing my boy :( <3

satoru can’t function when you’re upset with him. 

he knows he should be an adult about it — he is an adult, after all. he should give you space, let you simmer down. most people do not do things such as send one hundred and fifty text messages (he counted each of ‘em; you left him on read one hundred and fifty two times. who does that?) to your phone while you’re in the middle of grocery shopping and they most definitely do not take a sick day because their significant other is mad at them. 

 but then again, satoru isn’t like most people. 

which is why he’s currently sprawled out on the sofa in the middle of the day, wrapped in your favorite throw blanket — one that still smells faintly of your perfume. tissues litter the coffee table and floor around him, an unconvincing movie set of misery. call him manipulative, but it’s the only thing he’s got left in the tank since, for the last seventy-two hours, you haven’t spoken more than five words in a sentence to him. 

you’re his main source of enrichment, his brain stimulated by your sweet kisses and good loving so when you take that away, you’re stripping away his heart and soul. he’s got nothing left. he might as well die.  

in satoru’s brain, he figures that surely, if he’s coughing up a lung, you’ll feel bad for him and start talking to him again. in sickness and in health, right? 

by the time you walk through the front door after making a quick run to the supermarket for groceries, he’s in full performance mode, clutching his stomach with a groan. 

the sound is so realistic that you feel a sudden stab of worry, wondering if he’s injured. rushing into the living room, you find all six foot three of your boyfriend balled up on the sofa, looking like walking death. 

or trying to, anyway. 

“satoru?” you ask, eyebrows arching as you set your grocery bags down on the floor, taking out your phone and glancing at the time on the lockscreen. “why are you home? it’s eleven am.” 

“baby,” he groans pitfully, looking up at you. his glacier blue eyes are red rimmed and shimmering suspiciously — like he squeezed them shut repeatedly until he got the desired effect. satoru sniffles for good measure, huddling into the blanket. “i’m sick,” he announces, his lower lip wobbling, dragging out the last syllable like it physically hurts him to say it. 

“sick? you seemed fine when i left this morning,” you say, taking a step forward. you reach out a hand, pushing back his wintery locks to check for a fever. his skin feels normal, cool to touch even. your eyes narrow. you’re dubious — satoru never gets sick, yet it is his favorite act whenever he��s in the doghouse and wants attention. that, and he’s a terrible actor. you purse your lips, irritated. this is what he does instead of just apologizing? 

“i wasn’t fine emotionally,” satoru whines back. “i’m heartbroken here. it’s debilitating my health rapidly.” 

your expression doesn’t budge and satoru’s pout deepens when he realizes you’re not buying it. he clutches the blanket tighter around his big body, exaggerating a shiver for good measure. “you’re my life force, angel. my happiness. my —”

“stop it,” you interrupt and hold up a hand, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. you’re mad at him — you are. “but let me get this straight. you called out of work because i wasn’t talking to you?” 

“it was a medical emergency. do you have any idea what it’s like to go hours without hearing you voice?! without seeing you smile at me? you wouldn’t even let me use your body wash last night so we could share the same scent. i barely survived the night. any longer and i’d be a goner,” he sighs dramatically, then remembers he’s supposed to be on his last leg and hacks, phlegm rattling in his throat. 

“you’re obsessed,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to hold firm. but your damned heart has selective memory and it is making an appearance again, rapidly forgetting why you’re still mad at him. oh, you had a right to be upset over what he did, but it seems insignificant now when he’s in front of you, groveling like a servant at a throne. 

“angel, come on,” he presses, sitting up on the sofa and reaching for your hand, hurt flashing bright across his eyes when you step out of range. if you let him pull you down on that sofa with him, he’ll sweet talk his way into you forgiving him without consequences. he’ll do that anyway, but you won’t make it easy for him. “i’ll do anything to make it right.” 

“don’t angel me. you can’t just manipulate me into forgiving you with your big pretty eyes,” you wag your finger at him. “i bet you don’t even know what you did.” 

“i know, but it’s working, ain’t it?” he grins, shamelessly dropping the congested tone in his voice. “and i know what i did,” he scoffs. “you’re mad at me about that thing.” 

yes, that thing.

two nights ago, your body pillow — your very expensive, weighted body pillow which happened to have a giant render of your boyfriend on it, went missing. you’d commissioned it to have something to cuddle with on those nights when satoru is away on business and you miss him in your shared bed an unhealthy amount. you’d become a little too attached to it, though, while satoru wanted nothing more than to burn it. 

“he has a name,” you hiss, swatting satoru’s knee as you struggle not to laugh. “don’t call mr. comf-toru-ble a thing! he’s sensitive.” 

“see?” satoru says, scrubbing a hand over his handsome face before gesturing around wildly. “you even named it.” 

you give him a sharp look. “he cost me an entire paycheck— an entire paycheck that three days ago, you gave to the garbage collectors because i was cuddling him instead of you!” 

“i was feeling neglected!” he defends, voice pitching higher in his affront, placing a hand on his chest. “you spent the whole night with it. meanwhile, i— your husband— was right there, cold and alone. i can’t let me steal my wife.”

“we’re not married, satoru,” you remind him, then pout. “unlike my husband, the pillow doesn’t hog the covers, snore, or throw out things that i really like.” 

“it’s not hogging the covers, it’s redistribution of them for my comfort,” he grins playfully, but upon seeing your serious expression, he concedes, sobering up. in truth, he knows he messed up and went too far. it was childish to throw out something that you bought because of his frequent bouts of absence. maybe if he was around more, you wouldn’t need to cuddle with body pillows that look like him. “look, baby. i’m sorry. it was a moment of weakness. it’s not everyday i gotta be in competition with myself, but i’ll make it up to you! i even ordered you another one.” 

“a moment of jealousy, you mean,” you counter, but there’s no real bite behind your tone now.

“hey, you gotta see it from my perspective though. it’s kind of crazy seeing you cuddle with a pillow that looks like me when the real thing is right here,” satoru gestures down the long line of his body, though it looks more comical than inviting when he’s wrapped like a overstuffed burrito in your throw blanket.

“mm,” you nod, “well, maybe if the ‘real thing’ is a good boy, i’ll cuddle him more often.” 

“deal,” he answers immediately and when his muscular arms shoot out from behind the blanket and reach for you this time, you let him. his arms circle around your waist, pulling you into his lap. it was just a few days of silent treatment, but satoru wastes no time tucking his face against the dip of your neck, breathing in your sweet scent like you’re something precious and rare he lost ages ago and is just discovering again after eons. 

he’s squishing you, he knows it, but god he hates it when you’re mad at him — and you, in return, hate being at odds with him too. you both make too much sense to each other to be apart, and there’s upset in the balance of the world when the two of you are in an argument. 

“worst seventy-two hours of my life,” satoru blows out a breath of relief, the air tickling the hair at the nape of your neck, drawing a shiver down your spine. “never do that to me again, angel. you hear?” 

“don’t throw out my customized satoru merch again and i won’t, baby,” you coo, smiling. 

“you’ll still choose me over the other guy though, right?” 

“we’ll see, ‘toru, we’ll see,” you answer playfully, yelping when he darts in to nip at your ear in retaliation.

getting comfortable in satoru’s lap, you lean in to put the both of you out of your miseries and forgive him with a kiss when you get a whiff of menthol and childhood memories wafting from his chest.

 “are you wearing vaporub?”

[eraserbread]

nanami's not about to fight with u... he's just gonna show u who you truly belong to. read part 1 for context

"i'm not fighting with you, just get on your knees."

"ken, we have a houseful of guests-

he's shaking his head, tugging his zipper in a fateful swoop. you don't lie and say you weren't buzzing with the idea of what he'd do next, but it felt so wrong. now was not the time to be getting him off.

"i won't repeat myself." then his pants are down and he's easing his already-flushed cock from its confines. he's rubbing himself to his full potential right in front of you, so comfortable with you standing in front of him, wide-eyed and nervous.

luckily your kitchen is closed off from the rest of the house, but it's not completely closed. someone could easily pop their head into the arched entryway and see everything you're seeing. deep down you know kento wouldn't let that happen. he has the awareness of an anxious cat, so you trust him enough to get on your knees, crawling to close the distance between you two.

"i'm doing this because domination tends to make you mild-mannered," he explains briefly, voice tinged with a hint of arousal. "and that's what I need from you right now. do you understand?"

"mhm." you reply, looking up at him with silent doe-eyes. from this angle at his feet, he looks so much bigger. daunting and familiar. so beautiful... and all yours.

"relax your throat." he demands just before taking a handful of your hair and guiding you down the length of him. he's not easy to take in the slightest - your jaw burns, eyes screwed shut as you try to swallow back a gag.

then, a thunderous bout of laughter erupts from the other room and you fold -- gagging and choking all over his pretty cock.

he yanks you backward, face screwed up in distaste. "what did I just tell you?"

"'m sorry." you whine as he smushes your lips with his tip.

"if satoru walks in here and sees you like this, i will be extremely upset."

"'m sorry." you repeat, genuinely sorry and just wanting him inside of you again. he's barely gracing your lips, but every atom in your body is screaming for him. if you thought satoru was charming five minutes ago, you didn't even know who he was now. all you want is your husband.

"him and his righteous savior complex.. makes me sick." he mutters, mostly to himself. he has two big hands on either side of your head, squeezing like only he can. it's been too long together, he knows you're not a china doll.

so, he fucks your limp throat like he hates you, eye twitching as he watches your face go more flushed with each mean thrust he's delivering. you've never taken him like this, feeling the drippy tip of his cock at the base of your throat, giving you goosebumps all around his touch. you've never felt closer to him, yet so pained by every one of his movements.

it's like your entire mind goes limp. etched with scrawling versions of his name only. he's you can think about, all you can taste...

only when he's finally done and marked your stomach with his seed, does he help you up with a strong hand, just holding you close for a second until yours stops shaking.

he doesn't say a word, just watching your eyes as they stare back at him expressionless but teary and bloodshot nonetheless. he leans forward and kisses your forehead.

"sorry. you know i'll always love you."

you nod, because... yeah. same. that makes him smile.

and he guides you back to your party holding your hand, watching out for you as you take the seat next to satoru back. it's like he doesn't even notice your presence, he's far too preoccupied teasing utahime about some nameless story from the past.

once the party has concluded and kento is seeing them all out, does satoru stop and say something.

"poor, little nanami..." satoru stops just before he reaches the first step past the front door. ken regards him with a nod, leaning against the doorframe. "this is what happens when the lamb chooses a wolf."

"do i even want you to explain?"

satoru shrugs him off, throwing up in hand as a curt goodbye as he turns around. "she's too nice. it's sad to know you yelled at her... she was all teary-eyed and mellow for the rest of the night."

kento turns around, chuckling to himself as he finally shuts the front door. reveling in the quiet comfort of his home he thinks:

ha. did much more than make her cry...

[flowersforbucky]

love language

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 6.6k

snapshots of your relationship with bucky told through the five love languages.

“remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

warnings/tags: smut, oral, unprotected sex, mentions of blood, wound care, brief uses of alcohol, anxiety and self-doubt, language, reader is afab, avenger!reader, fluffier than what i typically write, undercover mission, friends to lovers!!! 18+ only

Acts of Service

“Exciting Friday night?” Your head snaps up at the masculine voice. You nearly slosh hot tea on both yourself and the pages of the book that lay open in your lap. You're surprised to see him - as far as you were aware, Bucky and Sam were in Munich. You didn't think they were supposed to be back in the country for another two days.

“Something like that,” you answer, regaining your composure as you bring the mug to your lips. “What are you doing back so early? Did recon go okay?”

Bucky lets out a long sigh as he plops down into the recliner, adjacent to where you're curled up on the sofa in the compound’s communal living room. His eyelids look heavier than normal, with dark circles underneath that aren't typically present. You place your cup of tea on the end table next to you and close the book before angling your body towards him, giving him your undivided attention.

“It was a shit-show,” he answers bluntly, voice laced with defeat. “HYDRA had the drop on us from the minute we entered Germany. What was supposed to be us just gathering intel turned into an ambush. One minute, it was just the two of us in an old warehouse, and then the next..” he trails off, eyes locked on one of the buttons of his tactical pants that he’s fidgeting with. “We’re lucky to have made it out. Sam was taken to med-bay as soon as we got back. Broken arm and collarbone, dislocated shoulder, possibly a few fractured ribs..” he lists off the injuries.

“Jesus,” you cringe, a death grip on the book in your hands as you listen to him summarize the mission. “Looks like you came out pretty unscathed in comparison.” You glance him over from head to toe, relieved to see no visible wounds or bruises.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, sitting forward and pulling the collar of his black t-shirt over to expose his right shoulder. Your eyes bulge when you see the obvious knife wound that the fabric had been concealing. “Not completely unscathed.”

“Holy shit, Bucky, why didn’t you go get this stitched up?” You stand up quickly, your book falling forgotten to the floor as you step closer to him to inspect the cut. There’s dried blood covering the surrounding skin of his chest and shoulder, with fresh blood still seeping from the opening of the wound. Even with the luxury of the Quinjet, a direct flight from Germany to New York is at least eight hours, who knows how long the cut had been steadily oozing–

“The bleeding has slacked off for the most part at this point,” he tries to assure you, attempting to cover the wound back up with his shirt. His shirt that, upon closer inspection, is thoroughly soaked through with blood. You all but smack his hand away so that you can continue to inspect the cut.

“It’s too deep,” you shake your head. “It needs stitches.”

“It’ll be fine by morning–” he starts to argue with you, but you’re already walking away from him, exiting the room to retrieve a first-aid kit kept in one of the shared bathrooms just down the hallway. Though you can’t currently see him, you have no doubt that he is shaking his head and rolling his eyes at you.

Before returning to the living room, you stop by the kitchen and grab a cold can of Blue Moon to help take the edge off. Upon reentering the living room, you find that he’s hunched over where he sits in the recliner, leaning forward to grab your book from where it had fallen on the rug.

“What were you reading before I so rudely interrupted you?” The corner of his mouth tugs upwards in a smirk as he inspects the cover of the book.

“The Hunger Games,” you answer simply as you place the first-aid kit on the couch and hold out the beer to him. He accepts the drink, a small, surprised smile appearing on his face.

“Shirt,” you instruct a second later, turning to him with a warm, wet rag that you intend to clean some of the dried blood off with. Surprisingly, he obliges your request, placing both the beer and the book in his lap to pull the bloodied fabric over his head.

“And what exactly is The Hunger Games about?” he asks, looking up at you through his thick lashes before turning his attention back to the book in his lap. He flips it over, skimming the words on the back cover.

“The Hunger Games,” you begin as you delicately swipe the damp washcloth across the dirty skin around his wound, watching as the material turns from white to pink as it collects the old blood. “Are dystopian fiction novels. The books get their title from an annual event in which a boy and a girl, ranging from the ages of twelve to eighteen, from twelve different districts are selected by name-drawing to compete in a fight to the death. Twenty-four go into an arena, one comes out.”

“Sheesh,” Bucky grimaces and pops the tab to the beer. You turn away from him, placing the soiled washcloth on the table next to him before retrieving some disinfectant from the kit. “And what’s the point in having a bunch of children kill each other?”

“Punishment and control,” you shrug, pouring some of the clear liquid on a large gauze pad until it’s soaked. He gives you a vague nod, signaling he’s ready for you to clean the wound. You dab the drenched cotton along the opening of the wound, wincing more visibly than Bucky does himself. “The districts where the children are reaped from have had uprisings against the nation’s Capitol in the past. The games are to punish them, as well as to remind them what power the Capitol holds.”

Bucky’s brows furrow together, contemplating your words. You make the initial incision for his stitches and he lets out a grunt of discomfort. “Sorry,” you mumble, concentrating on the stitchwork.

“So what happens?” He asks after a few moments of silence, obviously trying to distract himself from the needle going in and out of his tender flesh as he sips on the amber colored liquid. “The group of kids rebel and take down the Capitol?”

“You’re not too far off,” you chuckle lightly. “I guess you’ll just have to read them for yourself to find out.”

“I suppose I will,” he says, eyeing your needlework from the corner of his eye. “Will you let me borrow your copies when I finish The Lord of the Rings?”

“You’re reading The Lord of the Rings?” you fail at hiding your tone of surprise, more focused on finishing suturing his cut.

“Don’t act so shocked,” he feigns insult. “I read when I have the free time to do so.” He turns his head towards you for the first time since you began stitching, causing you to realize just how close his face is to your own. You push down the fluttery feeling in the pit of your stomach at the close proximity, clearing your throat as you turn to grab a pair of small medical scissors. You clip the thread before backing away from him.

“That should hold you together well enough until your supernatural super-soldier healing abilities take care of it while you sleep.”

He stands from his position in the recliner, holding out your book to you. “Thank you,” he tells you sincerely. “For the stitches, and the beer.”

“Of course,” you say as you take your book back from him. “Don’t want you getting blood all over the compound.”

“I think I’m gonna go check on Sam,” he sighs. “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

“Get some rest!” you demand as he retreats to the hallway.

“Yes ma’am,” he calls without looking back, his Brooklyn drawl making an appearance.

For the rest of the night, you try to focus on your book and not the way you felt when his plush pink lips and cerulean blue eyes were just inches from your face.

Receiving Gifts

One week later

Punctuality has never been your strong-suit, but you didn’t expect to be the very last person to arrive at Bucky’s birthday party - get together, as he insists on calling it, since he feels silly having a birthday party at over one hundred years old. However, as you’re approaching the pavilion at the compound’s lake, you see that all of your friends are already mingling comfortably.

Natasha, Sharon, and Wanda wave at you from where they lounge next to the bonfire, Steve and Sam are engaged in an intense game of beer pong (which Sam seems to be doing impressively well at, considering one arm is still in a cast and sling), Clint and Bruce are playing cornhole - everyone is here, though you don’t see the one person you came for.

You make your way over to a picnic table closer to the lake that has been dedicated to presents so that you can add yours to the pile. You had ordered the gift a week ago, the same night that you had stitched up Bucky’s shoulder wound, and it arrived just in time - in today's mail, only an hour ago.

Hence the reason you are the last to arrive with a shittily-wrapped present in hand.

“Is that Avengers wrapping paper?” You whirl around at the amused voice to see Bucky walking towards you.

“That it is,” you confirm. “You and I aren't featured, though. Just the OGs,” you shrug, staring down at the cartoon depictions of Steve and the others.

“I was starting to wonder if you weren't going to come.” He says lightheartedly, nodding in the direction of everyone else.

“Your present didn't get delivered until the last minute,” you explain, giving the box-shaped object in your hand a shake. “Didn't want to show up empty handed.”

“You didn't have to get me a gift at all,” he says reassuringly, but eyes the present curiously. “But since you almost missed my party over it, I should open it right away.” He holds his hands out expectantly, almost childlike.

You roll your eyes, handing over the poorly packaged present. You had never been the best at gift-wrapping, usually preferring to reuse bags.

“I did not almost miss your party. It's just now eight o'clock,” you defend yourself, staring at the sun that's just starting to set over the lake's horizon, painting the New York sky in hues of orange and purple.

He smirks, walking past you to place the present on the table. You watch as he rips the wrapping paper away unceremoniously, until the gift is revealed.

“I know you had asked to borrow my copies,” you begin, suddenly feeling nervous as you watch him look over the box set of the first edition of The Hunger Games trilogy. “But my copies are old, and tattered, and have been annotated to shit, so.. I thought maybe you'd like your own,” you shrug nonchalantly.

He studies the box, pulling out the first book and glancing it over with a look you can't quite decipher. There's a faint hint of rose on his cheeks, and the lines around his eyes crinkle when he turns his head to look at you.

“Thank you,” he says with a soft, earnest smile. “This is incredibly thoughtful of you. I'm going to start reading them–”

“This pizza is getting cold!” You hear Sam's voice bellow from under the pavilion a few yards away. “I'm about to dig in with or without the birthday boy.”

You exhale through your nose, a half laugh, half sigh and look at Bucky expectantly. “Pretty sure you're the only birthday boy here.”

“I guess that's my cue,” he sighs as he places the books with the rest of his unopened gifts. “Thanks again, really. It's my favorite gift,” he adds with a sly grin as he begins to walk towards Sam and the table of pizza boxes.

“You haven't even opened the others yet,” you point out, following in his steps.

“Don’t need to open any of the others to know that yours is my favorite.”

Words of Affirmation

Two weeks later

Overstimulated. That's the best word to describe the way you're currently feeling.

Nervous, uncomfortable, irritable, a little hungry, even - any of those words would suffice, too. But with the way the velvet fabric of your dress hugs your hips too tightly, the way that the conversation of the drunk party guests roars in your ears, and the way that the heels of your feet already burn in your platform wedges so early in the evening, you think overstimulated sums up your current state the best.

You fidget with the extravagant ring that adorns your left ring finger, twisting it back and forth and rubbing the pad of your right thumb across the oval-shaped stone.

You aren't even supposed to be here, your brain keeps reminding you. It was supposed to be Natasha. Natasha, who has a boatload of undercover operations experience. But then she had to come down with the flu. Natasha, who never gets sick with anything more than a head cold, bedridden with the flu the day before a highly anticipated undercover mission that you are now taking her place in.

It's not that you hadn't been part of an undercover operation before - you had. You just hadn't been part of any undercover operation that required you to pose as someone's wife before.

Definitely not Bucky's wife.

The two of you had just arrived at the party no more than thirty minutes ago and you had spent the entirety of that time thinking that you wouldn't be able to make this believable; that everyone would see how anxious and awkward you feel and just know - just know that you weren't meant to be here and that it's abundantly clear that you and Bucky aren't actually together.

“Ivanov just arrived,” Bucky's voice murmurs next to your ear as he walks up behind you, snapping you out of your self-doubt induced trance. His left hand, disguised using nano-tech to look like a human, flesh hand, comes to rest against the small of your back and his right hand extends the drink that he retrieved for you from the bar.

“How'd you know I like lemon drops?” You ask, instantly recognizing the pale yellow liquid in the martini glass.

“I'm your husband. It's part of my job to know your go-to cocktail,” he smirks, looking at you in a way that almost makes you believe his words. “Besides, I'd know your drink of choice anyway. You always order a lemon drop.”

You clear your throat, breaking his stare by checking out the fellow attendees and event staff filtering through the ballroom. You slowly sip the sour liquid, trying to focus on the burn of the vodka and not the heat radiating across the skin of your back from him simply resting his fingers against the material of your dress.

“So where's Ivanov?” you break the tension. The illegal arms dealer that you'd been assigned to spy on was nowhere to be seen.

“He should be showing his face any minute now,” Bucky answers, a hint of displeasure in his voice. “I overheard some men at the bar saying he had just arrived in a three million dollar Bugatti with his twenty year old girlfriend.” You visibly cringe at the numbers. Ivanov had to be approaching senior citizen status at this point.

“Can't say that I'd expect anything else from him,” you sigh, attempting to wipe the disgust from your features. “What’s our game plan from here? Hover close by him and listen in on conversations–”

“Dance with me,” Bucky interrupts, his eyes locked on something on the opposite side of the room. You follow his gaze, realizing that Ivanov has entered with his exceptionally youthful girlfriend on his arm. Bucky extends his own arm to you, which you accept after tossing back the last sip of your drink and setting the empty glass on a table behind you.

He guides you to the center of the dance floor where several other couples are swaying to classical piano music. Ivanov mingles with a small group of questionable looking men just a few feet behind you, where Bucky is able to keep an eye on him.

He places one hand on your waist, using the other to hold one of yours in his own as he begins to slowly sway both of you to the rhythm of the music. Your free hand rests on the back of his neck, where you nervously twirl a tuft of his hair between your perfectly manicured fingers (you tried not to take too much offense to Sharon rushing you to the first salon she could find yesterday to help you look the part).

Bucky huffs a low laugh before using his grip on your hip to tug you closer to him, closing an awkward amount of space that separates your chest from his.

“If we want this to be believable, you’re gonna have to act like you kind of like me,” he murmurs lowly so that no one near you overhears. His face is just inches from yours - the scent of sandalwood from his aftershave and spearmint from his mouthwash is dizzying. Add in the fact that the lemon drop you had just quickly downed was heavy on the vodka, it’s a miracle that you’re still standing upright in these ridiculous heels that Sharon had picked out for you.

“I do like you,” you huff, your cheeks warming. “Not liking you isn’t the problem.” His gaze shifts away from where Ivanov stands a few yards behind you and down to your face.

“What is the problem then?”

You stare at his hand that holds yours, your eyes fixated on the brilliant diamond of your faux wedding ring. “For starters, I don’t really know how to slow dance,” you half-mumble. As if on cue, your left ankle shifts ever so slightly in your shoe, causing you to wobble. Bucky tightens his grasp on both your waist and hand to help steady you. He cackles - loudly enough for an old lady walking by to give him a side-eye.

“I think it’s pretty unlikely that our cover gets blown because you’re a little unsteady,” he whispers reassuringly. It does little to ease the lump of anxiety that has settled in your gut.

“It’s not just my lack of dancing experience,” you retort. “It’s all of this. I’m a bit out of my element here and I can’t help but feel like Natasha would have been able to do a much better–”

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, beginning to massage his thumb over the skin of your hand in languid, circular motions. You can’t decide if it’s the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins or if it’s just the fact that it’s him, but it feels as though there’s a continuous trail of hot sparks everywhere his skin touches yours. “You've got this. If anyone’s got this, it's you. You've handled missions far more daunting than this with ease, right?”

You finally shift your eyes to meet his gaze. His deep blue eyes bore into yours with utmost sincerity. You give him a small nod of agreement and a tight-lipped, uncertain smile.

He leans in closer so that his mouth hovers just next to your ear, his warm breath raising goosebumps down the expanse of your neck and shoulders.

“And remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

The slow, gentle swaying motions you'd been forcing your body to perform come to a sudden halt. You look at Bucky as if he's grown a second head. He’s looking at you with a shit-eating grin spread from ear to ear.

“Did you just quote Peeta Mellark?”

“I finished up the first book yesterday,” he shrugs as if his words hadn't just made your heart skip several beats. “Now let's get this job over with so we can go discuss the book in detail over some greasy diner food, yeah?”

Quality Time

The mere thought of getting the fuck out of that giant estate and away from Ivanov and the other countless skeevy party-goers to gorge on greasy diner food was more than enough motivation to get you through the duration of the mission.

Of course, it helped that Ivanov is a lightweight drunk with no concept of volume control. After a couple drinks, he handed the location of his next illegal arms deal to you and Bucky on a silver platter - without ever even noticing the two of you dancing just feet away from him.

“I'm sending the audio recording over to you right now,” Bucky says as he types on his cell phone. The two of you are currently in a drugstore parking lot half an hour away from the estate, sitting in the Audi SUV that you'd been given for this evening’s mission.

“Got it,” Sam’s voice booms through the car’s Bluetooth speakers a second later. “You guys did great back there. Go ahead and get back to the compound for debriefing.”

Your eyes flash to the time on the vehicle's touchscreen display - 10:06 pm. You can feel your stomach churning from hunger and your skin itching to get out of the restrictive velvet fabric, the last thing you wanted to do at this hour was go to a fucking debriefing.

“About that..” Bucky starts, noticing your disappointed expression and tense posture. “Debriefing is going to have to wait until the morning.”

“We should really get any details while they are still fresh–”

“What’s that? Sam? Sorry, you're breaking up, can't understand what you're–”

Bucky's flesh finger touches a button on the digital display screen and the call disconnects before he finishes his sentence.

“You know he's going to call back any second, right?” You ask after a moment of loaded silence. Bucky says nothing at first. You watch as he powers off his phone, and then grabs yours from its location in the center cup holder and powers it off, as well.

“I fully anticipate him trying,” he answers as he puts the car in reverse and peels out of the nearly vacant parking lot. “But I promised you a potentially gut-rotting meal, and I'm going to keep that promise.”

Half an hour later, you and Bucky sit opposite each other in a cozy, corner booth of the only open diner in a five mile radius. It's half diner, half arcade, and the two of you are some of the only people here save for the teenage couple making out next to the jukebox in the gaming area. You both look out of place - him in his black satin suit and you in your burgundy colored dress with the thigh-slit, but you're too relieved to be eating to care.

He's already scarfed down a fried chicken sandwich and is rapidly making his way through a pile of mozzarella sticks. You're eating a fat stack of blueberry pancakes and the best loaded hash browns that you think you've ever had.

Breakfast foods hit different at eleven o'clock at night.

“I'm just saying, Katniss is kind of oblivious,” Bucky shrugs with a mouthful of fried cheese. “It's obvious that Peeta was never just pretending to be in love with her.”

“That's a big assumption coming from someone who hasn't even started the second book yet,” you say as you fork a bite of pancake into your mouth.

He throws his hands up in mock defense, covering his now empty plate up with a dirty napkin.

“You're not wrong though,” you admit. “She did miss a lot of signs, and she's not always the most reliable narrator.”

He responds with a small hum as he watches you finish your pancakes with a soft smile that shows his laugh lines and the dimple of his left cheek.

His smile turns to something more curious as the young couple who had been making out in the arcade room earlier dashes past your booth and out the back door of the restaurant.

“What is it?” You ask, pushing your empty plate towards the center of the table.

“The game room is free now,” he states, as if it's obvious. “Now I can kick your ass in air hockey.”

And kick your ass in air hockey he does. And skee ball, and Dance Dance revolution.

“Please don't tell Natasha that you beat me at Dance Dance Revolution,” you beg him as you pick up your high heels that you had discarded for the game. “She'll never let me live that one down. In fact, if anyone asks, it was a dead tie for all of these games.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” he chuckles, approaching the pool table in the center of the room and leaning against the edge. “As long as you win this game of pool.”

“No, nope, absolutely not,” you freeze where you're standing, crossing your arms over your chest. “If I couldn't beat you at air hockey then I don't stand a chance of beating you at pool.”

He ignores you, instead turning to choose two cue sticks from the selection on the back wall. He tosses one to you from several feet away, which you instinctively drop your shoes to the floor to catch.

“I haven't even tried to play pool since I was maybe ten years old,” you whine.

“Why were you trying to play pool at ten years old?” he chuckles, gathering up all of the balls and placing them inside the triangular rack in the center of the table.

“It was at a birthday party,” you admit. “I pretended to know what I was doing to impress a boy that I had a crush on.”

“And how did that go for you?” He removes the triangle-shaped container from around the balls and begins to line up his shot.

“Well, I haven't tried to play pool since then,” you begin, taking a seat on the edge of the table and turning your head to watch him. He pulls the cue stick back and quickly stabs it forward, breaking the balls apart and sending them rolling in various directions across the felt table. “And Kyle from my fourth grade class thought that I had cooties, so, you tell me how you think that went for me.”

“Sounds like it was Kyle's loss.” You watch as he walks to one of the table's pockets to look inside. “I've got stripes,” he states, looking at you with an expectant smile.

You exhale a dramatic sigh, hopping off the edge of the table and turning around to position your stick in front of the cue ball.

“Fine,” you relent, looking up at him from where you're leaning over across the table. “But you're not allowed to laugh at me when you realize I wasn't lying about having no experience at this.”

“Scout's honor,” he swears and you can tell by his smile and reddened cheeks that he’s already trying to contain his laughter.

Feeling extra nervous due to the way you can physically feel him watching you, you take an embarrassing amount of time working up the courage to propel the tip of the cue stick towards a solid purple colored ball.

It travels a foot or so across the green felt material of the table and comes to a stop just inches away from a corner pocket.

“Damn it,” you sigh under your breath.

“That wasn't too bad, actually,” he says, not even trying to conceal his tone of surprise as he walks over to where you're standing. “You just need to change your stance a little and hit the ball a bit harder.”

“So, do basically everything differently, then?”

“I can help you, if you want,” he offers with a smug grin.

“Hm,” you bite your lip as you pretend to contemplate the proposition. “Okay,” you accept with a shrug. “But this better not be an attempt to pull a cliche “pretend to help her with pool as an excuse to make a move” kind of move.” You're fully joking - you know Bucky well enough to know he wouldn't make such a corny, obvious move with anyone - and you definitely wouldn't expect him to do so with you.

But you don't miss the way his expression darkens ever so slightly and his eyes sweep up your figure before moving to stand behind you, propping his own cue stick up against the table.

The front of your thighs brush up against the edge of the table and Bucky’s arms enclose you on either side - his hands coming to rest next to each of your legs on the table's edge, as close as they can be to you without actually touching.

Your breath hitches in your throat when the silky material of his suit brushes against your bare shoulders, the sensation causing you to go deadly still as you await his next move.

“With how fast your heart is beating right now, I don't think I would have to do something as cheesy as that to make a move.” He murmurs, his mouth close enough to the exposed skin of your neck that you can feel the heat of his breath. It's an automatic response, the way your head tilts back into his touch. You start to pull away, start to feel embarrassed, start to tell him just how wrong he is, when he brings a flesh finger to the ball of your shoulder and trails his index finger down the skin of your arm, eliciting a surge of goosebumps in its wake.

This physical reaction doesn't go unnoticed by him, either. He hums a small laugh, inching closer to you so that his body presses against your ass.

“In fact,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “I think that if I wanted to, I could have you bent over this table for me without having to resort to anything like that.”

If his chest wasn't pinning you between him and the pool table, you probably would have fallen over. The air in the arcade feels a sudden ten degrees warmer and you swear you can hear your blood pumping in your ears - things that unfortunately can't be blamed on the effects of the martini that had dissipated from your system hours ago.

No, it's all him. His closeness, his warmth, his voice, his scent. Just him.

“If you wanted to, yeah?” You question, your voice an octave higher than you ideally would have liked. “That makes it sound like you don't want to. But the bulge I'm feeling from your pants makes it seem like you do want to. Kinda sending me mixed signals here.” You rut back against him for good measure.

He hisses next to your ear, his hands snapping to your hips, effectively stilling you beneath him. His fingers dig into the flesh around your hip bones, the pressure somewhere perfectly between uncomfortable and pleasurable.

“Here? Bent over this table?” he tuts, his lips grazing the skin next to the shoulder strap of your dress. “Where a couple of unsuspecting teenagers could walk in for a game of skee ball at any second?” He lets out a low laugh, the sound vibrating against your back.

“No, I don't think so,” he continues. “Not when we've got a brand new Audi with a spacious backseat and highly tinted windows just outside this building.”

Physical Touch

If someone had asked you six hours ago if you thought there was a chance you would be ending this night by having sex with Bucky Barnes, you would have said no.

But if someone had asked you if you thought there was a chance you would be having sex with Bucky Barnes in the backseat of a car in a diner-arcade combo parking lot, you would have said fuck no.

You would have been wrong on both accounts. And with the way that he's nipping and sucking up the insides of your thighs, you're pretty fucking okay with that.

Your dress is bunched up around your waist, your panties discarded on the floor of the car. You're laying as comfortably as you can across the backseat with Bucky nestled snuggly between your legs. It's a tight fit, and the stagnant air inside the Audi is balmy, but you'll be damned if you interrupt this to turn the AC on. The only light inside the vehicle is from the glow of the full moon that illuminates the sky, and the giant neon green diner sign a few yards away from where you're parked.

He's not wasting any time - it's well past midnight at this point and considering the fact that Bucky turned your cell phones off hours ago, you're surprised that Sam hasn't traced the location of the vehicle and sent search and rescue already.

As soon as his mouth makes contact with your center, you’re lacing your fingers through his short, soft locks and tugging on them. You grind your pussy against his face, meeting his fervent motions with your own. He locks his lips around your clit before pulling away with an obscene, wet pop that echoes through the cab of the car.

He reaches one hand up to your shoulders while keeping his lips on you, quickly tugging down the spaghetti straps of your dress and then pawing at the fabric covering your chest to free your tits.

At the same time that he plunges his tongue inside you, he rolls a nipple between two of his cool, metal digits, yearning a sharp yelp from you. He releases his grip and then palms your breast in his hand, continuing to work your folds with his lips and tongue.

You don't know if it's the fact that it's been a ridiculous amount of time since you so much as kissed someone or the fact that Bucky eats pussy like he's starving, but you're approaching your climax insanely fast.

You clench your thighs around his ears and push your hips upwards, the friction building that warm tension in your lower belly that comes spilling over when he lets out a guttural moan across your core.

You cum against his face, feeling your juices drip down the insides of your thighs - there's a pesky voice in the back of your head telling you that you're going to have to pay to have this car detailed before giving it back.

He sits up, his back resting against the middle of the leather seat. He unbuttons and unzips his suit pants, raising off the seat just enough to tug them down to mid-thigh along with his boxers. You're still coming down from your orgasm when he's pulling you up from the seat and into a sitting position.

You tuck your legs underneath you so that you're propped up on your knees on the seat directly next to him. Bucky pumps himself in his hand as you lean over, gathering all of the saliva in your mouth and letting it slide between your lips and over the head of his cock.

You push his hand away to replace it with your own, using your spit as lubrication as you stroke him up and down. He throws his head back against the headrest, looking up at the roof of the car as he brings his hand around the curve of your ass, flesh hand finding your pussy that's still throbbing from how hard he had made you cum.

You can feel the smooth band of the engagement ring that you'd been wearing all evening repeatedly caress a large vein on the side of his dick - you remove your hand from him, causing him to snap his head back down to look at you. You bring your other hand to remove the ring from your finger, planning to tuck it into a cup holder for safekeeping while you use your hands on him.

“Leave it on,” he breaks the thick silence when he realizes what you're doing. “Want you to keep wearing it.”

You push the ring back down on your finger, his command sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core. You're extending your hand back to his cock when he cuts you off, pulling you to him and across his lap.

You straddle him, his erection locked between your pussy lips and his lower belly. You move forwards, and then backwards - earning another deep groan from him as you coat the underbelly of his cock in your juices. You grind up and down against him several times, until you're feeling impossibly empty and can't take the feeling of not having him inside you any longer.

You lift yourself up on the balls of your feet, high enough for him to guide himself to your entrance. He teases your hole with his head - or at least tries to, before you're sinking yourself down onto his length. You go still for a moment when he's fully inside you, giving you both time to adjust to the new, overwhelming sensation of each other.

You begin to ride him, slowly at first - he stretches you blissfully sweet and soon you're picking up the pace, your ass bouncing off of his thighs with each comedown.

He places a hand on the back of your neck, pulling your face down to his in a sloppy, searing kiss. It hits you that he's inside you raw right now, and you're just now kissing. You taste yourself on him, warm and salty sweet. He sweeps his tongue along your bottom lip and you open up for him, letting him explore your mouth from the perfect angle that he's at beneath you.

He continues to kiss you but removes his hand from the back of your neck, moving both of them to cup your ass. He begins to meet your movements with his own, thrusting himself upwards so that his cock is ramming into that sweet spot of your cervix and sending you towards a second climax.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” you moan into his mouth, breaking the kiss for air. Your encouragement spurs him on, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Your legs turn to jelly beneath you, but he's got you - he holds you up by your ass cheeks and leans forward to take one of your nipples in his warm mouth.

It's enough to send you over the edge again. Your orgasm builds, heat exploding through your abdomen as his movements grow erratic and he spills into you from below.

He stills beneath you when you're both spent, your chest heaving against his. You make no effort to remove yourself from him, and he seems more than happy to keep you right where you are - his arms locking around your waist and pulling you close to him.

“I guess now would be as good of a time as any to ask you if you'd like to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Go on a date with you sometime?” You lean back, looking down with him with the limited amount of moonlight and neon lighting that breaks through the tinted windows. “We dressed up real nice, slow danced, spied on a bad guy, ate greasy diner food, played arcade games, and you're inside me as we speak. I think it's safe to say we're currently on a date.”

He snorts, breaking into laughter beneath you. “A second date, then,” he concedes. “I would love to take you on a second date.”

♡♡♡♡♡

thank you for reading!!! kind of nervous to put this one out there tbh, i've been working on it off and on for weeks but i love how it turned out and i hope you all do too. as always comments and reblogs are very appreciated 💕

it's nice to have a friend

moth to a flame

oil & water

[gloomwitchwrites]

okay okay okay here we go,

The reader who has a very sensitive neck. even a breath hitting her neck affects her. (They can be in a relationship or not, however you like)

Thank you🩵

I won't lie to you...I made this one a little spicy. Not full on mind you, but there's some heat below the break. I couldn't help myself. I really couldn't. You said "sensitive neck" and my brain said "write something thirsty because you deserve it." And here we are!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, dirty thoughts, kissing, possessive behavior, mild sexual content, mention of alcohol

Word Count: 1,200

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Excuse me?”

The pint pauses just shy of John’s lips. He turns toward the unfamiliar voice, finding a stranger standing next to him. Your voice is laced with desperation, and you keep turning your head with a nervousness that instantly puts John on alert.

Someone is harassing you—bothering you. Making you feel uncomfortable. Doesn’t matter that you’re a stranger, no woman should feel backed into a corner.

You lean into him a bit, lowering your voice. “Can you pretend like we’re together?”

John won’t make you ask twice.

Sliding his arm around your waist in an intimate embrace, John tucks you into his side, using his body to create a shield from the rest of the bar. With your back to the room, your gaze is on him, and anyone looking would only find a couple in a relaxed hug.

John dips his head forward, closing the space until it appears as if the two of you are heading for a kiss. You fluster slightly, smile softly, turn away as if embarrassed. Inwardly, John is grinning. You’ve been in his arms for all of five seconds but you fit so perfectly.

“Who is it, love?” he asks, breath ghosting across your skin at your exposed throat.

You shiver—whimper. Not in distress, but with pleasure. It’s probably the alcohol in his blood that makes him bold—that makes him push a boundary.

“Who?” he asks again, this time tracing down your neck to the hollow of your throat.

It happens again, but instead of pulling away, you snuggle closer to him. John suddenly doesn’t care who it is that’s been bothering you unless they show their face. You’re an interesting creature. Sweet. He can see you fitting into his life.

What does he need to do to possess you?

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You’ve been a bloody tease.”

A rising wave of possession wells within Simon, threatening to drown him. When he wants something, he puts every effort into obtaining it. Right now, that something is a someone. And that someone is you.

You glance over your shoulder and scowl. That pouty lip sends blood straight to Simon’s dick. That mouth would look so perfect suctioned around his cock, licking over his skin, opening wide to show him how good you are before you swallow. Simon fucking dreams about it. It’s an obsession.

“Hardly,” you scoff. “Think you can’t take a hint.”

“Funny,” mutters Simon, leaning in until the two of you are close enough to tease a kiss. “You were the one in my bunk, playing with yourself when I walked in.”

“I told you,” you growl. “I thought I was in mine.” You glance away, clearly too flustered to look him in the eye. “Thought I was alone.”

“Sure, love.”

“I got confused in the dark!” you protest, attempting to move away from Simon.

Simon steps in front of you, forcing you to stay pinned against the wall. There was no mistake. The hallway is lit up enough that any numpty could navigate.

“You meant to be there,” he croons.

You fluster further, and Simon grasps the side of your face, tilting your head back. His thumb brushes against your neck, and you shiver. It’s not a slight thing, but a tremble. You’re sensitive here. Simon notes this. Saves it for later for when he gets you under him.

You lick your lips, pausing a moment before answering. “Maybe.”

Simon smiles, knowing he’s victorious. He gives that gorgeous throat of yours another light brush of his finger. This shiver is stronger. Simon nearly groans.

Blood rushes downward, and a plan forms.

John "Soap" MacTavish

It’s a quick tug. A dark corner.

Johnny pushes you against the brick wall at the mouth of the alley, caging you in from the eyes of the nearby street. There’s a buzz beneath your skin from the alcohol you consumed at the pub, and Johnny’s nearness only quickens the sensation. Just as his hands are on your hips, your hands are on his shoulders, pulling him in as close as physically possible. The smile on Johnny’s face is electric and it only fuels your own joy. This date is amazing. A firecracker of an evening.

Lips brush over yours, featherlight. You arch into him, wanting more—needing more. It’s an inherent reaction. Primal. Dirty. There is nothing you want more than for Johnny to push up your skirt and have his way with you in the dark alley.

With a squeeze of his hand, Johnny closes the distance, sealing your mouths together in a passionate desperation. The two of you have kissed before, but it’s always been at the end of your dates. Chaste and cute and nothing this wanton.

Another kiss. Another. A nip at your bottom lip. A suckle.

You whimper, and Johnny groans, nuzzling the side of your neck. His warm breath dances over your exposed throat, and you moan, body shaking with pleasure.

“You sensitive here?” chuckles Johnny. He runs his tongue along your neck. You let out another little gasp. “You are,” he breathes, like the idea excites him.

Johnny teases your throat, bites lightly, pulling forth a mewl. You’re incredibly wet between your legs, aching with a dreadful need.

“I need,” you gasp. “I need—”

“Me?” he croons, and you nod eagerly, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Johnny’s Scottish lilt becomes gravely. “Then turn around,” he growls. “And lift that fucking skirt.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Shit,” you mutter, tugging on the harness buckle.

The thing is stuck, and if you don’t have yourself strapped in before the helicopter takes off, you’re prone to flying headfirst into the floor. These things are fickle. At least they are when you’re attempting to strap yourself in.

You tug on it again, but it hardly budges.

“Why does this always happen to me?”

“Struggling again?” comes a familiar voice.

Kyle steps up into the helicopter, grinning as you continue to tug on the buckle like that will magically fix everything.

“Well this is embarrassing,” you groan, dropping the damn thing.

Kyle laughs, bending forward to keep his head from smashing into the ceiling. He shifts over a step so that he’s in front of you. Even though he’s wearing sunglasses, you feel his gaze roaming over you and then the harness setup.

“Sit back for me,” he says, kneeling in front of you like a man proposing.

You obediently do, allowing Kyle to fuss about, tugging on the straps. His lips purse slightly as he snags the one giving you trouble. He pushes up. Leans forward. You’re momentarily startled as Kyle cages you against the seat, his arms behind you.

“Lean forward a bit,” he says.

It means your forehead rests against his shoulder, but you do as he instructs. With head still bent, Kyle messes with something just out of sight. You lean to the right to allow him a bit more clearance, and that’s when his breath ghosts over your exposed throat.

It’s a tender caress, making you visibly shiver.

“You good, love?” asks Kyle, and again, his breath brushes against your skin.

You have to force down a moan.

I’m trying hard to ignore how horny I am, sergeant. Thanks for asking.

“I’m fine,” you reply.

[pucksandpower]

Baby Girl Norris

Lando Norris x pediatrician!Reader

Summary: you know what you have to do — track down a world-famous Formula 1 driver, tell him about his newborn daughter, and maybe, if he’s willing, help him navigate single fatherhood — falling in love with their little family was not part of the plan … but doing so changes all your lives for the better

You take a deep breath as you enter the nursery, steeling yourself for the task ahead. As a pediatrician at the Princess Grace Hospital in Monaco, you’ve cared for thousands of babies over the years. But this case is different.

Baby Girl Norris, born just two hours ago, is now legally parentless after her mother signed away all parental rights. Hospital protocol demands you track down and notify the father before assuming guardianship. Easier said than done when the father is Formula 1 superstar Lando Norris.

Approaching the clear bassinet, you gaze down at the sleeping newborn. Wispy dark hair peeks out from under her pink cap. Ten tiny fingers curled into fists. She has no idea how complicated her life is about to become.

You flip through the chart again, verifying the details. Mother is French, here on a student visa. Refused to even look at the baby after a 27-hour labor, immediately signing away rights. Father listed as one Lando Norris of the United Kingdom.

You sigh, picking up the phone to dial the number listed. It rings five times before disconnecting. You try the landline for his Monaco residence with the same result. Probably outdated.

Time for plan B. You search the McLaren Racing website until you find a generic service line. Heart pounding, you dial.

“McLaren Technology Centre, this is Marie speaking.”

You take a breath. “Hello, I apologize for the strange request, but I need to reach Lando Norris as soon as possible. It’s … it’s regarding a private family matter.”

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Norris does not accept unsolicited communications. Have a nice-”

“Wait!” You interject. “Please, I am calling from Princess Grace Hospital in Monaco. We have a newborn baby girl here, and we believe Mr. Norris may be the father.”

Marie hesitates. “Hold please, I’ll transfer you.”

Your pulse quickens. This may actually work! But your hopes are quickly dashed.

“This is Andrew from McLaren Racing public relations. May I ask who I’m speaking with?” His tone is suspicious.

You explain again about the baby, her mother, and the situation.

Andrew sighs loudly. “I’m sure you understand we get calls like this constantly. Lando isn’t even in the hemisphere right now. I’m afraid we can’t help you.”

“No, wait, please!” But the line goes dead.

You frown, gears turning. The team must think you’re some obsessed fan or scammer. You’ll have to get creative.

Over the next two days, you call every related number you can find. Each time you’re met with more resistance. They must have flagged your information as a nuisance caller.

On the third day, you’re signing charts at the nurse’s station when a colleague walks by. “Did you hear? Lando Norris is coming to take a tour of the hospital next week. Some charity thing.”

Your eyes widen. This is it — your chance to intercept him in person!

You spend the next few days obsessing over what to say, how to convince him. Baby Girl Norris needs her father.

The big day arrives. Heart hammering, you lurk near the lobby, peering around the hallway corner as Lando walks in flanked by handlers. He looks exhausted but flashes his winning smile at the staff welcoming him.

You watch them start down the opposite hallway for the tour when you make your move. Rushing forward, you plant yourself firmly in his path.

“Mr. Norris! Sorry, I need just a minute of your time, it’s urgent-”

A member of his team immediately swoops in, pushing you back. “Ma’am, please. We kindly ask that you step aside.”

“No, wait!” You raise your voice over them. “Mr. Norris, my name is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. I’m a pediatrician here. I’ve been trying to reach you for days now regarding your newborn daughter!”

The team looks exasperated, but Lando holds up a hand. “It’s okay, let her speak.” His eyes bore into yours warily.

You take a breath. “I know this sounds insane. But a baby girl was born here last week to a French student named Celeste Dubois. On the birth certificate, she named you as the father before signing away parental rights.”

You continue explaining the situation rapidly, watching Lando’s eyes widen in shock.

One of his handlers steps in. “You honestly expect us to believe this wild story? We’re on a timeline.” He tries to tug Lando along.

“No, it’s okay.” Lando stands firm, studying you intently. “What proof do you have of any of this?”

You hold his gaze. “I can show you the birth certificate, but a DNA test would confirm if you’re the father. It’s hospital policy to notify and provide the father an opportunity to assume custody.”

Lando chews his lip nervously. His team murmurs among themselves.

After a long pause, he speaks. “Even if this is some scam or mix-up, that poor child deserves to have answers. Please, lead the way for a test.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. Wordlessly, you turn and lead Lando to the lab. His team protests but he insists on following through.

In the lab, you supervise as the technician takes a simple cheek swab. “24 to 48 hours for results,” she confirms.

Lando nods, looking dazed. “Right. Okay. If she’s really mine, I want to step up. Just call me, yeah?” He extends his number on a slip of paper.

You smile and promise to be in touch. As he turns to leave, you feel swarmed with emotions. One major hurdle down, but nothing certain yet.

The next 48 hours pass at a snail’s pace. When the lab calls, your fingers shake as you unfold the results. Positive. A 99.99% match.

You pass along the news and arrange a meeting at the hospital. The press can’t know about this yet.

Approaching the secluded waiting room, you pause to observe Lando through the window. He paces nervously, running his hands through his hair again and again. His usual polished veneer is gone, replaced by a young man anxiously awaiting life-changing news. Your heart goes out to him.

Finally knocking, he whirls around as you enter. “Well? Is she really mine?”

You nod, holding out the results. He accepts them with unsteady hands.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” he says quietly. “This is just ... a lot.”

“I understand. It’s a complicated situation. But you’re here now.” You offer an encouraging smile.

Lando takes a deep breath. “Can I meet her?”

You lead him to the nursery viewing room. He presses against the glass, eyes scanning until they settle on bassinet D7. His brows knit together.

“That’s her?” His voice wavers slightly.

You nod. “Would you like to go inside and hold her?”

He hesitates. “I don’t want to confuse or upset her.”

You gesture reassuringly. “Newborns seek warmth and a gentle touch. She’ll appreciate the contact.”

Looking uncertain, Lando follows you into the nursery. You lift the swaddled baby, carefully transferring her into Lando’s awkward embrace. He peers down at her, his expression unreadable.

“She’s so tiny ...” he murmurs. The newborn girl yawns, eyes still shut, snuggling instinctively into his chest.

Lando’s guarded facade finally cracks, eyes glistening. He adjusts his arms to cradle her more securely.

“Hi there,” he whispers. “I’m your ...” He trails off, not quite able to say it.

You touch his shoulder gently. “You’re her father. And she needs you.”

He nods, never breaking his gaze from the newborn’s face. “I’ll do right by her, I promise. Whatever it takes.”

Relief sweeps over you. While an arduous legal process awaits, this sweet child will finally have a real family.

As Lando rocks the baby gently, he suddenly laughs. “She’s a real beauty, isn’t she? Look at that hair. Thick and curly, just like her old man.”

You chuckle. “It appears so. Have you thought about a name?”

He hums contemplatively. “I’ve always been partial to Georgia. Gigi for short.”

“Georgia Norris,” you say with a smile. “It’s perfect.”

The new father beams down at his daughter. “Welcome to the world, little Gigi. I can’t wait to take you home.”

As you observe this tender moment, your heart swells for both father and daughter. With someone as loving and dedicated as Lando by her side, Gigi’s future looks bright indeed.

Watching them meet for the first time — seeing a family begin to blossom out of hardship and uncertainty — is the greatest reward of your job. As you quietly slip out to give them space, you can’t hold back a smile. Everything, after all, is turning out exactly as it should.

***

After spending over an hour bonding with his newborn daughter in the nursery, Lando reluctantly hands her back to the nurse for feeding time. He turns to you, smiling but still looking dazed.

“I can’t thank you enough, Y/N. Really. You’ve given me and Gigi a new start.”

You touch his arm warmly. “Of course. I’m so glad I could help connect you two. She’s absolutely beautiful.”

Lando grins proudly. “She really is perfect. I already love her so much, it’s mad. I just ...” His face falls slightly. “I don’t have the first clue how to actually take care of a baby. Let alone with my job, traveling all the time for races and training. What have I gotten myself into?”

He runs an anxious hand through his curls. Your heart goes out to him.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You gesture for him to follow you out to the waiting room for privacy.

Lando collapses onto the sofa, head in hands. “Sorry, I’m just now fully realizing what this means. A baby, she’s completely dependent on me! I don’t know the first thing about babies. I’m barely an adult myself!”

You sit beside him. “Lando, look at me.” He lifts his head reluctantly. You offer an encouraging smile.

“It’s normal to feel overwhelmed. But you stepped up when Gigi needed you most. That’s what matters. With some guidance, you’ll be an amazing father.”

He doesn’t look convinced. You continue gently, “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll give you all the essential information for first-time parents. I’ll even set you up with parenting classes, and we have a support group-”

Lando groans loudly, letting his head fall back. You suppress a chuckle.

“Okay, forget classes for now. Just focus on learning the basics. Things like feeding, changing, bathing. Infant CPR. I’ll give you my cell to text with questions anytime. Day or night.”

You jot down your number and hand it to him. He nods, looking slightly encouraged.

“We’ll also get you connected with services that can assist first-time parents with supplies, nutrition consultants, and childcare options.”

His eyes widen again. “God, I haven’t even told my family yet! Or bought anything she’ll need!” He scrubs at his face anxiously.

You lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Breathe. Setbacks are expected. But you’ll get there.”

Lando takes a deep breath, regaining some composure. “You’re right. Sorry for the meltdown. I really appreciate you talking me down.”

“Don’t apologize. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t at all anxious about this huge life change.”

You smile warmly. “But you accepted your daughter unconditionally when it mattered most. Not every man in your position would do that. I know you’ll figure the rest out over time. It’s a process.”

He nods, starting to calm down. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We’ll take it step by step.”

You spend the next hour walking Lando through all the basics — safe sleep, feeding schedules, hygiene, developmental milestones, and pediatrician visits. He takes vigorous notes on his phone, determination returning to his face.

“Clothes, blankets, nappies, bottles ...” He mumbles to himself as he types. “Maybe pick up a parenting book or two as well ...”

You grin, happy to see him growing more at ease and optimistic. When the nurse returns with a sleeping Gigi, Lando immediately takes her back into his arms.

“We’ve got this, little one,” he whispers to her. “I’ll give you the absolute best in life … starting with a nice new flat for us here in Monaco.” He looks back at you questioningly.

You nod in approval. “Giving Gigi a stable home should be your top priority.”

He smiles down at the baby, gently stroking her cheek. “Daddy will take good care of you. I promise.”

Your heart swells at the natural bond already forming between father and daughter. In this moment, any lingering doubts fade away. However difficult the road ahead, together they’ll be just fine.

After another hour visiting together, it’s time for Lando to head out. He’s clearly still anxious but also radiating love when he gazes at Gigi.

“Thank you again for everything,” he says sincerely, shaking your hand. “I’ll call my parents when I get home. Figure out how to break the news and beg for their help.”

He chuckles and you join in. “Don’t hesitate to text me anytime. About anything.”

Lando glances down at your scrawled cell number, then back up with a crooked grin. “Careful or I might take you up on the anything part.”

You blush slightly, waving him off. “Get out of here, you charmer. Go buy a crib and get some rest. Your life is about to get very busy.”

With a laugh, Lando walks backwards toward the exit, pointing finger guns at you. “Yes ma’am, Dr. Y/L/N. Catch you later.”

You stand shaking your head as he disappears from view. What an interesting patient case this has turned out to be.

Over the next several weeks, you and Lando text constantly. He sends cute videos and photos of Gigi along with his near-constant questions about her care. You don’t mind at all — you’re happy to guide him through this life transition.

True to his word, he quickly finds and furnishes a family-friendly luxury apartment in Monaco. He introduces Gigi to his stunned but excited parents via video call. He adjusts his training schedule to maximize time with her.

When his race travel resumes, he arranges for his parents or a local nanny to assist with Gigi full-time. Still, being apart takes an obvious toll on him.

The day before he’s set to fly to Australia for the first race of the season, Lando texts you a selfie looking forlorn, with Gigi snoozing on his chest.

Can you believe she’s already a month old? I don’t want to leave her!

You grin down at the photo. Gigi’s little rosebud lips are slightly parted as she sleeps. Lando’s staring at her adoringly despite the bags under his eyes.

I know it’s hard being away from her. But Gigi knows she has a father who loves her so much. Focus on making her proud out there!

You always know just what to say, doc. I’ll text you after the race!

You smile softly as you set down your phone. Over the past weeks, you’ve found yourself looking forward to Lando’s frequent messages and photos. He’s relieved when you reassure him he’s doing a great job as a new dad. And seeing Gigi thrive and grow under his doting care makes your heart fuller.

Professionally, your work is done now that Gigi and Lando are connected. But you can’t help feeling personally invested in this little family you helped create. You make a silent vow to always be there for them both, as long as they need you.

***

Weeks later, you’re jolted awake by your ringing cellphone. Bleary-eyed, you check the time: 2:37 am. Who could be calling at this hour?

You don’t recognize the number on your buzzing phone. But you answer anyway, just in case it’s an emergency.

“Hello?” You mumble into the phone.

“Y/N? Oh thank god!” The panicked voice on the other end makes you sit bolt upright.

Lando.

“Lando? What’s wrong?” Worry floods your system, instantly washing away any grogginess.

“It’s Georgia,” he cries. “She woke up crying and felt so hot. I took her temperature — it’s 39 degrees! I think she has a fever?”

You’re already throwing off your blankets, phone tucked against your shoulder. “Okay, stay calm. How is she acting otherwise?”

“She’s crying and really fussy. Won’t take her bottle. I don’t know what to do!” Lando sounds near tears himself.

“Shhh, deep breath,” you soothe. “Fever in babies this young is serious. You need to take her to emergency department right away.”

“Right, emergency, of course-” Lando rambles nervously.

“I’ll meet you there ASAP. Princess Grace Hospital, yes?”

“Yes, please hurry!” He ends the call abruptly. You scramble for clothes with adrenaline pounding.

In under ten minutes, you’re peeling out of your driveway towards the hospital. Even at this hour, Monaco’s streets remain congested. You drum your fingers anxiously on the steering wheel, praying Georgia will be okay.

Once you’ve parked, you race inside the ED doors. Your eyes scan the crowded waiting room until you spot Lando pacing in the corner, Georgia whimpering against his shoulder.

You rush over. “Lando!”

He turns, relief washing over his features. “Y/N, you came. Thank you.”

“Of course.” You squeeze his arm comfortingly before looking Georgia over with practiced eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, eyelids fluttering as she whines. Definitely not well.

Lando bounces lightly, trying to soothe her. “They told me it’s at least an hour wait. She’s getting worse though.” His eyes glisten with tears.

Your protective instincts flare, seeing them both so distraught. Striding to the check-in desk, you put on your most authoritative voice.

“Excuse me, I’m Dr. Y/L/N. I have an infant patient here who needs immediate evaluation.”

The nurse scans the packed waiting room. “I’m so sorry doctor, we’re doing our best. If you could just wait-”

You interrupt firmly. “This is a seven week old with a spiking fever. She requires urgent triage and treatment, not a waiting room. I must insist we be seen next.”

The nurse purses her lips, but can’t really argue with your reasoning. “Of course. I’ll let the charge nurse know to get you back immediately.”

You nod curtly before returning to Lando, who looks awed. “Blimey, remind me not to get on your bad side.”

The hint of a smile on his lips relieves you. Georgia’s still fussy as you both follow a nurse back moments later.

In an exam room, you help transfer the baby from Lando’s arms to the table. Her pitiful crying tugs at your heart.

Lando hovers anxiously as you take Georgia’s vitals and change her into a hospital gown. 39.1°C — higher than the concerning range for an infant. You frown in worry. Poor little love.

Soon the attending pediatrician arrives to assess her. You explain the situation from Lando’s frantic call to racing over. The doctor asks questions while examining Georgia’s ears, throat, and reflexes. Lando clutches your hand tightly the entire time.

After what feels like an eternity, the pediatrician steps back. “Given the fever with no apparent source, I’m concerned this could be a serious bacterial infection. We’ll run labs to check for things like meningitis. Start IV antibiotics and paracetamol to bring her fever down quickly.”

Lando pales, swaying slightly at the onslaught of medical terms. You slip an arm around him supportively.

“You’re saying she might have meningitis?” Lando chokes out.

The doctor holds up his hands. “It’s just one possibility. We’re not sure yet. The labs will tell us more.”

Lando buries his face in his hands. Your heart breaks seeing his shoulders shaking.

After the doctor departs to order tests, you guide Lando to sit down, keeping an arm around him. “Hey, try to breathe. Georgia needs her daddy calm and strong right now.”

Lando drags a hand over his wet eyes. “God, I’m trying. But she’s so little and sick. What if … what if it’s something serious?” His voice breaks again.

You turn him gently to face you, hands on his shoulders. “Listen to me. Whatever is going on, we will figure it out, okay? I’m right here with you both.”

He searches your face before nodding unsteadily. You draw him into a fierce hug.

“We’ve got this,” you whisper.

A nurse entering startles you apart. “Alright, time for labs.”

You both watch anxiously as she collects blood and other samples from a deeply unhappy Georgia. Her shrieking cries at the poking and prodding are harrowing. Lando has gone deathly pale.

Once finished, the nurse situates an IV line in Georgia’s tiny hand, securing it with tape and popping a pacifier in her mouth. Her eyelids droop, cries fading to soft whimpers as medication starts flowing.

You glance at Lando. “Why don’t you hold her again? Skin to skin contact will help soothe you both.”

Looking relieved by the suggestion, Lando strips off his shirt and takes Georgia, nestling her against his bare chest. You drape a blanket over them before rubbing his back comfortingly.

Georgia’s fussing settles as her father hums softly, eyes never leaving her face. The pure love between them makes your throat tighten.

Despite the uncertainty ahead, you know Georgia couldn’t be in better hands. And you silently vow to remain steadfast by their side, for whatever comes next.

Eventually Georgia drifts to sleep. The pediatrician returns shortly after with test results. “Good news. All the cultures are negative so far. With the antibiotics and paracetamol, her fever is already decreasing.”

You and Lando both sigh in relief.

“So no meningitis?” Lando asks hopefully.

The doctor shakes his head. “Doesn’t appear to be. We’ll repeat testing tomorrow, but likely just a minor bacterial infection. She’ll need to stay a few days for monitoring and fluids.”

Lando clutches Georgia closer. “Anything she needs. Thank you, doctor.”

Once you’re alone again, Lando gazes down at his sleeping daughter. “I was so scared,” he admits softly.

You nod, squeezing his shoulder. “I know. But she’s getting great care now. Try and rest — it’s been a long night.”

Lando glances at the empty cot along the wall. “Stay? Please? I … I don’t want to be alone right now.” His voice sounds so small and vulnerable.

Your chest tightens. “Of course.”

You help shift Lando and Georgia onto the little bed. She stirs slightly as you both get settled on either side of her.

Lando strokes Georgia’s cheek tenderly. “My brave girl. You’re going to be just fine.” Glancing up, his eyes meet yours. “Thank you, Y/N. For everything.”

You offer a tired smile, taking his hand. “That’s what I’m here for. Get some sleep.”

Exhaustion quickly pulls you under. But Lando’s hand remains wrapped firmly in yours until morning.

A strong bond has formed between the three of you. And you know that whatever the future brings, you’ll be facing it together.

***

A few weeks after the scare, you’re finishing paperwork at your desk when your cell rings. Lando’s name pops up, making you smile.

Since the hospitalization, you and Lando have fallen into a routine of near daily calls and texts about Georgia. You don’t mind at all — you adore hearing the latest antics and milestones of your special little patient. Not to mention Lando’s voice tends to brighten your day.

You answer warmly. “Lando! How are my favorite patients today?”

He chuckles. “Well, Georgia just mastered holding her head up while on her tummy. She’s getting so strong! But uh, that’s actually why I’m calling ...”

You detect the hesitancy in his tone. “What’s up?”

Lando sighs. “So McLaren just sprung a mandatory sponsorship meeting on me last minute. It’s in like an hour. I don’t have any childcare lined up though.”

You frown sympathetically. The demands of Lando’s career often collide with new parenthood. “Oh no. Can you reschedule or bring Georgia with you?”

“I tried, but it’s impossible to postpone. And definitely not an ideal environment for a baby,” he laments. “I don’t have any family nearby and my usual nanny said it’s too short notice.”

Your thoughts race, heart sinking at imagining his distress. “Hmm. Well, do you happen to have any trusted neighbors or friends there who could babysit?”

Lando makes a frustrated noise. “I’ve barely met my neighbors. And my mates, well, most are even less qualified than me for childcare. I’m stuck.” Defeat colors his tone.

You bite your lip, hesitating only a moment before saying gently, “Lando, I could come watch her.”

“What? Really?” He sounds stunned. “But isn’t it your day off?”

“It’s no problem, truly,” you insist. “I don’t live far. Be there in fifteen?”

“I-I don’t know what to say. You’re a lifesaver, Y/N. Thank you, thank you!” Lando gushes gratefully.

You smile, already grabbing your keys. “Anytime. See you soon!”

On the drive over, butterflies flutter in your stomach. You adore Georgia, of course. But something about visiting Lando’s home, being fully immersed in his world, feels monumentally intimate.

Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself that your priority is helping a friend in need.

You park outside Lando’s sleek modern condo building and take the elevator up after checking in with the concierge. Before you can even knock, the front door swings open.

“Y/N, thank god,” Lando sighs in relief. He looks unfairly attractive despite being slightly disheveled in a dress shirt and slacks. “Please, come in.”

Stepping inside the open concept condo, your eyes sweep over minimalist furniture and racing memorabilia decorating the shelves. Cozy baby items like a playmat and bouncer provide stark contrast. It’s uniquely Lando.

“Nice place,” you remark sincerely.

“Thanks. Still feels empty sometimes, but slowly making it a home for Gigi.” He smiles softly. “Speaking of which ...”

You follow Lando down a short hallway to the nursery. Your heart melts at the sight of Georgia kicking on a playmat, wearing a pink romper with a giant bow.

Lando swoops her up, blowing raspberries on her cheek. “Daddy’s got a big important meeting, princess. But Y/N is going to play with you instead.”

He passes the baby over. Georgia gives you a gummy smile, cooing.

“There’s my sweet girl.” You tickle her belly, eliciting a giggle. Lando beams proudly.

“Alright, her bottle is prepped in the fridge, and there’s clean nappies on the change table. Call if you need anything at all.”

Lando leans down to kiss Georgia’s head. “Be good for Y/N, monkey.”

With a final grateful smile your way, he heads out. You settle on the nursery floor with Georgia. “What adventures shall we have today, miss?”

The next few hours pass in a blur of playing, feeding, changing, and rocking little Georgia. You even manage a nap time by singing softly, something that always seemed to soothe her in the hospital.

Watching her sleep, you feel a rush of tenderness for the tiny being who has depended on you since her first moments. You vow to always be there when Lando and Georgia need you.

Soon enough, Lando returns home looking drained. But his whole face lights up seeing you and Georgia on the floor.

“How’d it go?” He asks, crouching down to tickle her toes.

“Perfect. We had lots of fun, isn’t that right, lovebug?” You hand the baby over for cuddles.

“Daddy missed you.” Lando nuzzles Georgia, before giving you a grateful smile. “I can’t thank you enough. Truly. You’re a natural with her.”

You wave off his praise, but can’t deny the warm spark his words ignite.

After chatting a bit more about Georgia’s afternoon and Lando’s meeting, it’s time for you to head out.

At the door, Lando halts you with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“Hey, let me take you to dinner this week — a proper thank you,” he entreats. “Anywhere you like.”

Your pulse quickens. It sounds suspiciously close to a date. But Lando’s smiling hopefully, and you find yourself nodding before overthinking it.

“I’d love that.”

Lando grins, looking both relieved and excited. “Brilliant! I’ll text you details. Have a safe drive home.”

Strapping into your car, your thoughts race wildly. This man and his daughter have captured your heart. What started as a professional duty has grown into so much more.

As you drive away, Lando and Georgia waving from the window, you can’t keep the giddy smile off your face.

Your lives are intertwining in the most marvelous ways. And you can’t wait to see what adventures are in store next.

***

The following Saturday evening, you stand in front of the mirror, fussing with your hair and makeup. Glancing at the clock, you feel butterflies swarming. Lando will arrive any minute to pick you up for dinner.

You smooth non-existent wrinkles from your knee-length black dress. It’s daringly low cut for you, but you want to feel beautiful tonight.

A buzz from your phone makes you jolt. Lando is here! Taking a deep breath, you grab your purse and hurry downstairs.

Stepping outside your apartment building, you freeze in awe. Gleaming in the golden hour sunlight is a sleek dark blue vintage supercar unlike any other you’ve seen before.

The driver door opens, and Lando steps out looking devastatingly handsome in a tailored suit. He beams. “Wow, Y/N. You look absolutely stunning.”

You blush at the sincerity in his warm gaze. “Thank you. This is … quite the car!”

Lando grins, patting the hood affectionately. “She’s my baby — a Lamborghini Miura. Isn’t she a beauty?”

You take in the aerodynamic lines and what you can only assume is a very powerful engine. “Gorgeous. And probably costs more than my yearly income.”

Lando laughs. “But she’s perfect for impressing a lovely date.” He winks before opening the passenger door for you.

You carefully climb in, hyper aware of the tiny black dress riding up your thighs. Lando’s eyes trace your legs appreciatively as you smooth your skirt.

Soon you’re zipping through the seaside city, wind whipping your hair through the open windows. Lando navigates the roads expertly.

He glances your way. “Hope this is alright! Wanted to take the fun car out while the weather holds up.”

You grin at him. “Are you kidding? I feel like a movie star!”

He looks delighted, picking up speed as you both relax into the ride.

Before long, you pull up at the legendary Hotel de Paris Monte-Carlo. A uniformed valet opens your door. Taking the proffered hand, you step out feeling like a princess.

Lando offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Inside the opulent restaurant, you’re quickly shown to an intimate table beside a window overlooking the glittering Mediterranean sea. Soft piano music fills the space.

“Lando, this is incredible,” you breathe, taking it all in.

He smiles, eyes never leaving your face. “Only the best for you.”

You blush again at his sincerity. A waiter appears to take your drink order. When you request just water, Lando insists you pick any wine on the menu.

You settle on a creamy chardonnay that pairs perfectly with your scallops and Lando’s steak. Thoughtful touches like him pulling out your chair or refilling your wine glass make the lavish meal all the more special.

The conversation flows effortlessly from racing to traveling to favourite films and music. More than once, Lando’s foot brushes yours beneath the table, sending sparks skittering across your skin.

After dessert, you both linger over coffee, hands unconsciously joined on the pristine tablecloth between you. The connection humming between you feels profound.

When Lando finally checks his watch with a reluctant sigh, you’re surprised to see you’ve been there for over three hours. It felt like mere minutes.

On the drive back, you steal glances at his sharp profile in the fading light. Joy bubbles inside you. The evening exceeded your wildest expectations.

Too soon, you’re pulling up outside your building. Lando hurries around to open your door, ever the gentleman. Clasping his hand, you step out onto the curb together.

Turning, you find him watching you closely. “I had the most wonderful time tonight,” you say sincerely.

Lando’s face breaks into a grin. “Truly magical. Thank you for coming, Y/N.” He squeezes your hand, thumb tracing delicate circles.

On impulse, you lean up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Lando.”

With a final squeeze of his hand, you turn and walk inside, casting a coy look back to see him touching his cheek in wonder.

Safely in your apartment, you kick off your heels, collapsing onto the sofa with a giddy smile. The evening played in your mind like a movie — the fancy car, exquisite dinner, effortless conversation. And that powerful connection with Lando blossoming into something new and tender.

What started as a professional relationship has organically grown into a deep friendship over your shared love of little Georgia. But tonight awoke a yearning for more. You sensed the same from Lando in the way he looked at you — with affection, wonder, and desire.

You drift off on the couch still reliving each vivid moment. This feels like the start of something life changing.

Meanwhile, Lando remains fixed outside your building, fingers brushing the spot your lips graced. The soft press seared an imprint deep within him.

People had warned him pursuing anything romantic with Georgia’s physician was unwise. But from the instant he saw you holding his fragile newborn girl, instinct told him you were special. That only grew each day as your compassion and devotion soothed his frightened heart.

Tonight confirmed what he felt blooming for weeks now — he’s completely enchanted by you.

With your laughter still echoing in his mind, Lando finally drives off into the night. He knows his future, wherever it leads, must have you and Georgia in it. He’s falling, fast and hard.

And for once, recklessly chasing his heart feels entirely right. He just hopes you’ll take this leap with him.

***

On a sunny afternoon, you’re sitting cross-legged on Lando’s living room rug playing with Georgia. At nearly four months old now, she’s mastered rolling over and absolutely loves tummy time.

You grin as she determinedly pushes up on her hands, rocking back and forth. “That’s it, clever girl! You’ve almost got it.”

Georgia gives you a gummy smile before toppling over with a huff. Behind you, Lando chuckles from the couch where he’s on hold with a takeaway place.

“I swear she gets more stubborn every day. Definitely takes after me,” he remarks fondly.

You smile. “She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to work for it. Sound familiar?”

Lando laughs. “Too right. At this rate, she’ll be racing cars herself soon.”

You’re about to respond when the sound of the front door opening makes you both freeze. Before you can react, an accented female voice calls out excitedly.

“Lando, darling! Surprise, we’ve come to visit!”

Lando flies off the couch just as his parents round the corner. “Mum! Dad! What are you doing here?”

He embraces them both tightly while you hover awkwardly behind Georgia. What must Lando’s family think finding a strange woman playing with their grandchild?

But before you can open your mouth to explain, Lando’s mum spots you. Her face lights up. “Y/N! How wonderful to finally meet you in person!”

To your shock, she swoops down and hugs you like a long lost relative. Bewildered, you return the embrace.

Over her shoulder, Lando rubs his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I may have told them a fair bit about you and Gigi ...”

His father approaches next, politely shaking your hand. “Lando speaks very highly of you, Y/N. Thank you for taking such good care of our boy and the little one.”

“Oh, um, of course!” You manage to stammer out. Lando mentioned you to his parents? The thought makes your heart flutter wildly.

Before you can dwell on it, Georgia lets out an impatient shriek from her abandoned tummy time.

Cisca gasps, immediately scooping her up. “Oh my goodness, look how big you’ve gotten, baby girl!” She tickles Georgia’s belly, eliciting sweet giggles.

Lando smiles softly at the sight. You feel privileged to witness this intimate family moment.

Soon you’re all seated around the living room, chatting comfortably. Adam keeps throwing not-so-subtle winks Lando’s way whenever you and Cisca fawn over Georgia together. Lando just shakes his head, cheeks slightly flushed.

Later, his parents insist on taking you both out to dinner at a nice restaurant. Over the meal, you observe how Cisca’s animated mannerisms and Adam’s dry wit remind you so much of Lando. He clearly inherited the best of both.

Walking back to the car afterwards, Cisca links her arm through yours fondly. “I’m just thrilled Lando has you looking after him and little Georgia. It takes a very special woman to so selflessly love and support someone else’s child.”

You squeeze her arm, touched. “Well, they make it easy. I’d do anything for those two.”

Cisca pats your hand knowingly. “I can see that, dear. Don’t ever let my son take that for granted.”

Glancing ahead, you watch Lando swinging a sleepy Georgia in his arms, gazing down at her with pure adoration. Your heart clenches.

“I don’t think that’s possible. He’s the most devoted father imaginable,” you reply softly.

Cisca follows your gaze, smiling. “He is at that. Just like his own.”

Adam wraps an arm around his wife, kissing her temple. Cisca leans into him with a contented sigh. Their easy intimacy and abiding love is relationship goals.

You find yourself sneaking another peek at Lando, imagining strolling arm in arm like that one day. But it’s too soon for such daydreams.

Still, meeting his wonderful parents today, seeing how he talks about you … it feels like things are shifting into place.

That night, as Lando walks you to your car, he stops you with a hand on your wrist. “Thank you again for today. You were brilliant with my parents — they’re absolutely smitten.”

You grin. “They’re lovely. I see where you get it from.”

Lando rolls his eyes but smiles bashfully. An impulse has you leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Goodnight, Lando.” With a little wave, you slip into your car before he can respond.

But the awestruck look on Lando’s face stays with you the whole drive home. Something big is on the horizon, you can feel it.

And if the way his family embraced you today is any indication, you have their full support too. You’ve never been more excited about what the future holds.

***

A few days later, you’re rushing around your apartment getting ready. Lando invited you over for dinner and a movie tonight while his parents watch Georgia. You’ve been looking forward to the rare child-free evening all week.

After debating outfit options, you decide on form fitting jeans and a silky camisole. Casual yet flirty. Dabbing on a bit of perfume, you check yourself in the mirror. You want to knock his socks off.

Precisely at six, your phone chimes with a text from Lando that he’s waiting outside. Taking a deep breath, you go meet him.

As expected, he looks effortlessly handsome leaning against his flashy car grinning at you. “Well don’t you look gorgeous tonight,” he remarks, opening your door.

You smirk, settling into the low seat. “Not looking too bad yourself, Mr. Norris.”

Lando just winks before speeding off into the golden hour sunlight. You chat easily throughout the short drive about your days apart. When you mention missing Georgia, Lando smiles softly.

“Me too, constantly. But she’s in great hands with my parents tonight.” Reaching over, he gives your hand an affectionate squeeze that makes your heart race.

Soon you pull up outside Lando’s sleek condo building. He leads you upstairs, fingers entwined.

Inside, mouthwatering aromas fill the air. You follow Lando to the kitchen where pots bubble away on the stove.

“I hope you’re hungry. My dad’s recipe for chicken curry.” Lando stirs one of the pots before glancing at you shyly. “I may have been practicing all week.”

You grin, touched that he went to such effort. “It smells incredible! I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Full of surprises.” Lando winks. “Now you just relax while I finish up.”

You perch at the kitchen island while Lando works. The domesticity of it all makes your chest feel warm. You could definitely get used to this.

Soon dinner is served along with a crisp white wine. You compliment Lando between bites, making him preen. Everything is delicious.

Over dessert, your feet become entangled beneath the small table. The simmering looks passing between you leave no doubt this is a date.

With dishes cleared, Lando leads you to the living room. “Now, the entertainment portion of the evening.” He gestures grandly towards the large TV.

You settle onto the plush grey sectional while Lando queues up your chosen rom-com. Before pressing play, he pauses.

“Do you maybe want to get more comfortable?” He gestures to the blanket and abundance of throw pillows nearby.

You smile, touched at how he’s trying to create a cozy movie watching environment. “That sounds perfect.”

Working together, you both strip down to t-shirts and lounge pants, then arrange the pillows and blankets into a comfy nest. Your heart races at the intimacy of it all.

Lando opens his arms for you to curl against his chest. You sigh, breathing in his comforting scent. His steady heartbeat thrums beneath your ear as the movie starts.

About halfway through, you glance up to see Lando staring down at you tenderly, movie forgotten. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, fingers trailing down to tilt your chin up. Eyes fluttering shut, you lean in as his lips meet yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

Everything around you fades away. The only sensation is Lando’s gentle lips moving with yours, laced with warmth and affection.

When you finally break apart, faces lingering close, he exhales shakily. “Wow. That was ...”

“Perfect,” you whisper, caressing his stubbled cheek. Lando nuzzles into your touch.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” he admits with a crooked smile.

You grin. “What took you so long?”

Lando laughs, pulling you closer again. Your lips find their way back together naturally. With your legs entwined and his hand trailing up and down your back, you lose all track of time and space.

Eventually you pull back just to catch your breath, lips pleasantly swollen. Lando strokes your hair tenderly.

“Y/N, you must know by now how truly special you are to me. From the moment we met, I felt fate bringing us together. And I never want to let you go.” His eyes search yours intently.

Your pulse quickens. “Lando ...”

“What I’m trying to say is ...” He takes a deep breath. “Will you be my girlfriend? Officially?”

Joy erupts inside you as you throw your arms around his neck. “Yes, I’d love nothing more!”

Lando’s delighted laughter vibrates against you as he squeezes you tight. You stay locked in an embrace, trading giddy kisses until sleepiness inevitably sets in.

Lando carries you to bed, tucking you both under the covers with your head pillowed on his chest. You drift off smiling, his steady heartbeat your lullaby.

Waking wrapped in Lando’s arms the next morning feels like pure bliss. He stirs, blinking awake to see you watching him fondly.

“Morning, beautiful.” Lando caresses your cheek before capturing your lips in a tender good morning kiss.

You hum contentedly. “I could get very used to this.”

“Well luckily, you’re my girlfriend now. So you’re stuck with me.” He grins playfully.

You snuggle impossibly closer. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

***

On a sunny spring morning, you’re in Lando’s kitchen pureeing some bananas for Georgia’s breakfast. At nearly one year old now, she’s mastered eating soft finger foods.

Lando wanders in with Georgia propped on his hip, her dark curls tied up in adorable pigtails. “Someone’s ready for her breakfast!”

You grin, smoothing Georgia’s hair back to kiss her chubby cheek. “Morning, my darling! Got your bananas all ready.”

Lando settles Georgia into her high chair, handing you her baby spoon shaped like a rabbit. “Not sure who’s more excited about mealtimes now, her or me,” he jokes.

You laugh. “Gotta get our girl fed so she has energy to get into everything!”

Georgia bangs her hands impatiently on the tray until you scoop up a spoonful of bananas. “Alright, here comes the Formula 1 car!”

You zoom the spoon around playfully before popping it in her mouth. Georgia squeals in delight, kicking her little feet.

Lando leans against the counter smiling as you continue taking turns feeding her. When the last bites are finished, he grabs a washcloth to wipe Georgia’s sticky face and hands.

“Who’s my big girl eating like such a pro?” He coos, tickling her belly. Georgia dissolves into adorable giggles.

Setting the washcloth down, Lando brushes a stray banana strand from her hair. “You’re the sweetest, most beautiful girl in the whole world. Yes you are!”

Georgia beams up at him, waving her hands excitedly. Then clear as day, she exclaims “Mama!”

You freeze in shock. Did she just ...

Lando’s eyes fly to yours, equally stunned. An awkward tension instantly permeates the room.

“I-I never encouraged that, I swear,” Lando rushes to explain, panicked. “I always call you by name when I talk about you to her.”

“No no, of course, I didn’t think-” You halt, flustered. “I would never try to make her call me ...” You can’t even say it, heart pounding wildly.

A heavy silence falls. You avert your eyes, anxiously twisting the washcloth between your hands.

Lando scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why she ...” He trails off helplessly.

After a long pause, Lando touches your arm gently. “Hey, look at me?”

You reluctantly meet his earnest gaze. Lando takes your hands in his, tone serious.

“Y/N, you must know how much I respect your role in Georgia’s life. We’re partners in this, fully. I would never try to force a maternal label on you.”

His obvious sincerity makes you instantly relax. Offering a small smile, you squeeze his hands.

“Of course. I didn’t think that. It just took me by surprise is all.” You take a deep breath before continuing hesitantly.

“But, well … the idea of Georgia seeing me that way doesn’t scare me. Not if it happens naturally.” You chance a glance at Lando through your lashes.

His eyes soften. “Truly?” At your shy nod, a smile spreads across his face.

“Because, well, I was thinking the same.” Lando cradles your face between his palms. “You already are a mum to her in every way that matters.”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Joy and relief flood your system.

Georgia makes an impatient noise, breaking the tender spell. You both chuckle.

Lando lifts her from the chair into his arms. “Don’t worry princess, your mama isn’t going anywhere.”

Hearing those words from Lando sends your heart soaring. You join the cuddle, Georgia nestled happily between you.

“Our sweet girl,” Lando murmurs, meeting your gaze over her little head. The pure love reflected back at you erases any lingering doubts.

You place a soft kiss to Georgia’s curls, then lean up to capture Lando’s lips. The promise of your future together never felt stronger.

Many more milestones await, for Georgia and your relationship both. But you know without question that the bonds between you three will only continue growing deeper.

Of all the twists and turns on this journey, your little family is the sweetest gift of all.

***

The day of the Monaco Grand Prix dawns bright and clear. You finish braiding Georgia’s hair as she babbles happily. At 18 months old now, her vocabulary expands daily.

“There we go, pretty girl! All set to cheer on Daddy!”

Georgia grins. “Dada race!”

You smile, smoothing her dress. “That’s right, darling!”

A knock sounds right before Lando pokes his head into the nursery. “My two favorite girls about ready?”

Scooping up Georgia, you turn so he can admire her race day outfit. “Well don’t we look beautiful!” Lando tickles Georgia’s tummy before pulling you both into a hug.

“I can’t tell you how much it means to have you both here today,” he says softly.

You squeeze him tight. As a pediatrician, getting full weekends off for races proved nearly impossible. But for Monaco, you moved mountains.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you assure him. Lando’s responding smile warms your heart.

The energy at the track is electric. Georgia’s eyes widen taking in all the sights and sounds. You carry her through the paddock towards the McLaren garage, Lando greeting various people along the way.

Inside, Lando steals a quick kiss. “I better go get suited up. See you after?”

You nod, adjusting a squirmy Georgia on your hip. “We’ll be cheering the loudest!”

Lando changes into his race suit, then leads you both over to his car. Georgia is mesmerized, reaching a tiny hand towards the shiny machine.

“That’s right munchkin, this is what Daddy drives!” Lando points out key features, then grabs a helmet from a crew member.

“Want to try it on?” Not waiting for an answer, Lando gently fits the helmet over Georgia’s curls. She immediately shrieks in delight.

Laughing, Lando scoops her up, zooming her around like she’s driving. “Look at you, a future champion in the making!”

You snap some photos of the adorable scene until it’s time for Lando to go off with his performance coach. After one last kiss for both of you, he disappears into the controlled pre-race chaos.

An assistant escorts you to the McLaren hospitality suite overlooking the pit lane. The view of the gleaming harbor and yachts reminds you this race is unlike anywhere else.

As start time nears, you cuddle a restless Georgia close, pointing out Lando’s car lined up on the grid. “See? There’s Daddy! He’s about to go racing.” Her little brow furrows, not quite understanding.

When the lights go out, Georgia startles at the loud roar of engines. Rubbing her back soothingly, you keep your eyes glued to the screen as the cars hurtle towards the tight first corner bottleneck.

“Come on Lando,” you murmur under your breath. He emerges from the chaos in 4th position. Off to a promising start.

Over the next 90 minutes, you fluctuate between pure elation and anxiety as the race unfolds. A collision forces Lando to pit unexpectedly. Just as your heart rate settles, another car spins right in front of him, spraying debris across the track.

But Lando holds his nerve, keeping the car under control to cross the line in P3. You leap up, cheering loudly with Georgia.

Soon Lando emerges, hair damp from the obligatory champagne shower.

His race suit is unzipped to the waist as he sweeps you both into an exuberant hug. “You did so good,” you murmur into his neck. Pulling back, Lando caresses Georgia’s head where it rests heavily on your shoulder.

“Little one tuckered herself out cheering for Daddy, hmm?” He takes her gently as she nuzzles into his chest with a yawn.

“Let’s get my best girls home.” With Georgia cradled in one arm and the other around your waist, Lando leads you out of the paddock like a proud family man. Your heart feels fit to burst.

That night after Georgia is tucked into bed, you curl up together on the couch. The TV plays highlights of the race you lived firsthand.

Lando absently strokes your hair. “You know, the lads invited me out to celebrate tonight.”

You lift your head. “Oh really? You should go have fun!”

But Lando just smiles, pulling you closer. “And miss this? Not a chance.” He kisses you tenderly. “Partying in Monaco holds nothing on being with my two favorite people.”

You kiss him again, touched. However far Lando’s career takes him, you know his heart will remain right here with you and Georgia.

***

Summer finally arrives, bringing a short respite between races for Lando. Eager to make the most of it, you suggest visiting your hometown to introduce him and Georgia to your parents.

“They’d love to finally meet you both,” you say over breakfast one morning.

Lando smiles, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “That sounds brilliant, love. I can’t wait to see where you grew up.”

You grin excitedly. “It’s nothing glamorous like Monaco. But I have so many good memories there.”

With plans made, you set off early one sunny Saturday morning, boarding a flight with Georgia securely buckled into her carrier. She babbles happily for most of the flight, enchanted by the clouds and miniature landscape passing below. Lando keeps one hand firmly clasped in yours the entire time.

Late afternoon, you finally pull up outside the cozy house you grew up in. Taking a deep breath, you unbuckle a sleepy Georgia from her seat.

“We’re here, Gigi! Ready to meet Grandma and Grandpa?”

She rubs her eyes with a tiny fist, still drowsy. Lando comes around to lift her into his arms.

“Someone’s a bit tired from all the traveling, huh? Maybe a quick nap first?” He kisses Georgia’s fuzzy head as she snuggles into his shoulder.

You nod, smoothing down her rumpled sundress. Taking Lando’s free hand, you head up the front walk.

Before you can even knock, the front door swings open. Your mum stands beaming at the threshold.

“Y/N! Oh, let me see her!” She sweeps you into a tight hug before immediately cooing over a now awake Georgia. “What an absolute darling!”

You grin. “Mom, meet your granddaughter, Georgia.” Saying it out loud sends a little thrill through you.

Your mother gently strokes Georgia’s dark curls. “Look at all this beautiful hair! Those eyes are all her daddy though.” She smiles warmly at Lando.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Lando says politely, shaking her extended hand.

“Oh please, call me Y/M/N! Now come in, come in!” She ushers you both inside the familiar cozy house.

Your dad appears from his office to exchange hearty handshakes and hugs. Lando looks slightly overwhelmed by the enthusiastic welcome.

Sensing this, you squeeze his arm reassuringly. “Why don’t I put Georgia down for her nap? You guys chat.”

Lando shoots you a grateful smile. You disappear down the hall to your childhood bedroom, now converted to a cozy nursery space. Georgia is out like a light before you’ve even finished tucking her in.

Returning to the living room, you pause in the doorway, heart swelling at the scene. Lando sits between your parents on the sofa as they animatedly show him your baby photos. His eyes shine taking it all in. This is the sense of family he’s long craved.

Eventually Georgia wakes, cranky and clingy. You scoop her up, breathing in that sweet baby scent as you rub her back.

“I know, lots of new things happening today. But you’re being so brave.” Dropping a kiss to her curls, you return to the living room.

Your mother immediately reaches for Georgia, who goes willingly into her arms. “Come sit with Grandma, sweetheart.”

Settling on the couch between your parents again, Lando slips an arm around your shoulders. Georgia babbles happily from your mother’s lap.

The rest of the day passes comfortably as your parents dote on their new granddaughter. Watching your mom help Georgia toddle around the yard, your dad pushing her on the tree swing, Lando’s arm stays wrapped securely around you.

That night after Georgia is down, you find Lando out on the back porch gazing up at the stars. You join him on the steps, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

Lando looks down at you with a soft smile. “More than. Today was really special.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Seeing how your parents just immediately welcomed us into the family … it means everything. I never expected to find this.” His voice turns thick with emotion.

You lift your head to meet his sincere gaze, heart brimming over. No words needed, you convey it all in a tender kiss.

When you eventually pull apart, foreheads touching, Lando exhales shakily. “Being here with you and Gigi, it just feels so right. Like we were always meant to be a family.”

Joyful tears prick your eyes hearing him voice the same feeling living inside you. You cradle his face gently.

“We were, Lando. From that very first day in the hospital, I knew fate brought us together for a reason.”

Lando’s responding smile could outshine the moon and stars overhead. He kisses you again, soft and unhurried, arms encircling you on that familiar back porch.

***

Two years to the day after that fateful first meeting, you’re finishing rounds in the maternity ward when your supervisor requests you in her office. Brow furrowed, you make your way down the hall and knock lightly.

“Come in!”

You step inside to find her beaming behind her desk. “Y/N! Please, have a seat.”

Perplexed, you settle into the plush chair across from her. “Is everything okay?”

“Better than okay, I’d say.” She grins and slides an official document across the desk towards you. “Take a look at this.”

You scan the letter, eyes widening. It’s a notice of a 250,000 euro donation to the hospital’s maternity ward and nursery … made in your name.

“What? This must be a mistake, I didn’t ...” You trail off, completely baffled.

Your supervisor laughs. “Oh it’s quite real, I assure you. In fact, the donor himself insisted on being here today to celebrate.”

Before you can respond, a knock sounds. You turn to see Lando stroll in, right on cue, with a grinning Georgia perched on his hip.

“Lando!” You gasp. “Did you … is this from you?”

He smiles almost shyly, setting Georgia down so she can toddle over to you. “Wanted to do something meaningful to mark the anniversary of when we first met.”

You stand frozen in shock as Georgia crashes into your legs. Scooping her up, you turn back to Lando with tears in your eyes.

“This is too much, I … I don’t know what to say.” You glance between him and your equally emotional supervisor.

Lando moves closer, taking your hands in his. “Say you’ll come with me for a proper celebration? Just the three of us?” He brushes his thumbs over your knuckles, eyes twinkling.

Unable to form words, you simply nod. Lando’s face lights up with that smile that still makes your heart skip.

After signing some paperwork and hugging your supervisor profusely, you allow Lando to lead you out to the car, Georgia babbling happily between you. But instead of heading home, he drives to the glittering harbor front.

There, you gasp to see a magnificent yacht floating ready at the dock. A crew in crisp white uniforms wait nearby.

Lando grins at your stunned reaction. “Told you we’re celebrating in style today!”

The staff smiles warmly as you board, cooing over Georgia toddling around excitedly. She especially loves watching the foam trail behind the yacht as it pulls away from shore.

You stand wrapped in Lando’s arms, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I still can’t believe you did all this,” you murmur.

Lando presses a kiss to your temple. “You deserve it all and more, my love.”

You pass a blissful afternoon on the water, enjoying a gourmet lunch and each other’s company. Lando is attentive as ever, making sure you want for nothing.

As the sun dips low, a crew member approaches. “So sorry to interrupt, but we’ll be arriving shortly. Please follow me downstairs to prepare.”

You glance questioningly at Lando, but he just smiles and urges you to follow with Georgia. Down in your luxurious cabin, an elegant evening gown awaits on the bed alongside a tiny version for Georgia.

Your heart flutters wildly now. Lando is clearly planning something major. You help Georgia into her dress, your hands shaking slightly with anticipation.

A knock at the door announces the crew member has returned. “We’ve arrived back at port, whenever you’re ready.”

Back up top, Lando stands waiting in a sharp suit, holding a bouquet of roses. He looks devastatingly handsome.

Taking your hand, he leads you down the gangplank onto the dock where a car waits to whisk you away into the hills overlooking the sea. The sunset bathes everything in golden light.

When the car stops at a secluded lookout point, Lando helps you out then retrieves a sleepy Georgia. Hand in hand, you approach the cliff edge.

Down below, a massive light display flashes to life along the shoreline. You gasp as the glowing words become clear:

Y/N, will you marry me?

You clap a hand over your mouth, spinning to Lando with tears pooling in your eyes. He’s down on one knee, Georgia sitting next to him playing with flower petals.

“Two years ago, you came into our lives and changed everything,” Lando begins emotionally. “Your compassion and selflessness as a doctor saved my fragile new family.”

He takes a shaky breath. “But you gave me so much more than that. Your kindness, your beauty inside and out, your incredible love for me and Georgia … you’re my dream come true.”

Tears spill freely down your cheeks as Lando pulls out a glittering diamond ring. “So Y/N Y/L/N, nothing would make me happier than for you to officially become my family. Will you marry me?”

A joyful sob escapes you as you sink down, throwing your arms around him. “Yes, Lando, a million times yes!”

His relieved laughter vibrates against you. When you pull back, Lando takes your hand gently to slide the exquisite ring onto your finger. A perfect fit.

Georgia seems to sense the significance of the moment and toddles over to wrap her little arms around your legs. You lift her into a fierce hug between you.

“I love you both so very much,” you whisper emotionally. Lando’s responding smile outshines the luminous lights along the shore.

Cradling your faces in his hands, he seals his proposal with the sweetest kiss as the sunset fades to twilight.

You linger wrapped in Lando’s arms, Georgia nestled between you, as the first stars emerge overhead. Right here, surrounded by your little family, you’ve never felt happier or more at peace.

It’s extraordinary what two short years can bring — unexpected joy, profound purpose, and a love greater than you dared dream.

The brightest days are still ahead. But tonight, in this perfect moment, you know you’ve already found everything you’ll ever need.

***

The day of your wedding to Lando dawns bright and sunny — perfect weather for an outdoor ceremony overlooking the glittering Mediterranean sea.

Inside the bridal suite, your mother puts the final pins in your elegant updo while your bridesmaids fuss over the train of your lace gown.

A knock at the door announces your father’s arrival. When you turn to face him in your wedding finery, his eyes well up.

“Oh sweetheart … you look absolutely beautiful.”

You immediately tear up too, embracing him tightly. “Don’t make me ruin my makeup before I’ve even walked down the aisle!”

He laughs wetly, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “Couldn’t help it! My girl is all grown up.”

Looking in the mirror, you hardly recognize yourself in the exquisite dress and pinned-back curls. But the overwhelmed bride staring back has the same little girl dreams you harbored all those years ago. Dreams that are finally coming true today.

Another quick knock precedes Georgia toddling in, chubby legs pumping. Your flower girl is absolutely angelic in her silky dress.

“Mama, pwetty!” She declares, rushing over for cuddles. You scoop her up, breathing in that sweet baby scent you adore.

“You look so beautiful, my love.” Blinking back fresh tears, you smooth down her unruly curls. “Ready to walk down the aisle with flowers?”

Georgia just grins and reaches for your necklace. You tickle her belly, making her dissolve into adorable giggles. Your heart swells with love for your daughter.

Too soon, the wedding coordinator is poking her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s just about time!”

Butterflies erupt as everyone hustles to line up. Your father tucks your arm through his, beaming with pride. Just outside the doors, Georgia toddles down the petal-strewn aisle ahead of you both.

Then the soaring orchestral processional begins, and you step out into the golden afternoon sunlight. Gasps and murmurs rise at the sight of your dramatic gown trailing behind.

But your eyes lock instantly on Lando under the flower-woven arch, looking devastatingly handsome in his slate grey suit. His face lights up, and you know that your own mirrors the same wonder and joy.

The ceremony passes in a blur of emotions. Before you know it, the officiant instructs you and Lando to face each other and take hands. Time for the vows.

You go first, hands shaking as you pull out your prepared words. But speaking from the heart comes easily.

“Lando, when we first met under the most unexpected circumstances, I had no idea of the amazing journey we’d go on together. My job was to ensure your new daughter received the care she deserved.”

Your voice wavers slightly. “But so quickly, you both became so much more. Being welcomed into your family was the greatest gift. Watching Georgia grow, guiding her first steps and words ...”

You have to pause, blinking back more tears. Lando squeezes your hands encouragingly.

Composing yourself, you continue thickly, “I vow to always provide that same nurturing love and support. I promise to be your safe place to call home after long days apart. And I pledge to show our daughter daily what it means to be a strong, compassionate woman.”

Taking a shaky breath, you finish softly, “You two are my entire world. Loving you is life’s greatest joy.”

Lando’s eyes glisten as he brushes away the single tear trailing down your cheek. His thumbs linger, cradling your face tenderly.

Clearing his throat, he begins his own vows, voice wavering with emotion. “Y/N, you appeared in my life like an angel that frightening day at the hospital. I was so lost, overwhelmed by the massive responsibility of suddenly having Georgia.”

He glances down at your joined hands. “But your compassion and wisdom guided me through those uncertain early days. You made us feel safe.”

Looking up, his eyes pierce yours intensely. “What started as our doctor-patient relationship grew into the most important friendship I’ve ever known. And then, miraculously, into true, deep love. Thank you for loving Georgia as your own and showing me what true partnership means.”

Lando’s voice cracks. He pauses to take a shaky breath. “So I vow to spend every day reciprocating that love and support. I promise to shield you from the chaos of my world and provide a peaceful home for our family.”

Then he turns, taking a folded paper from the best man. “I asked Georgia if she wanted to say anything to her mama today.”

He opens it to reveal a drawing of three stick figures, one much smaller than the others. Scribbled hearts surround you all.

Lando’s voice thickens. “She said to tell you she loves you ‘this much’ and that you’re the best mama ever.”

A sob escapes you as Lando refolds the cherished drawing and hands it over. You press it to your heart, blinking back a fresh wave of tears.

Finally, you slip the wedding bands onto each other’s fingers with whispered words of eternal love and commitment.

When the officiant pronounces you husband and wife, Lando sweeps you into his arms for the kind of kiss that steals your breath and stops time.

You are finally, officially, wholeheartedly one.

The reception flies by in more happy tears, moving speeches, delicious food, and dancing under the stars. Watching Lando twirl Georgia around the floor tugs at your heart.

Later, as you slow dance wrapped in your new husband’s arms, Lando kisses your hair and whispers, “Ready for this new adventure together, Dr. Y/L/N-Norris?”

You beam up at him. “Absolutely. Lead the way, Mr. Norris.”

No matter where life takes you next on this journey, your family will thrive and grow stronger. Lando’s love lifts you up in ways you never imagined possible. And you vow to cherish and repay that gift until your last breath.

***

Returning home from a blissful honeymoon, you settle back into domestic life with Lando and Georgia. Mornings are spent over pancakes, playing hide and seek, and dancing around the living room. The pure joy of your little family never ceases to warm your heart.

One evening after putting Georgia to bed, you curl up with Lando on the couch and hesitantly broach something you’ve been thinking about.

“So I wanted to discuss something with you. It’s just an idea, and please don’t feel pressured at all.” You take a deep breath. “What would you think about me officially adopting Gigi?”

Lando’s eyes widen in surprise. You rush to continue explaining.

“I don’t want you to think I need a piece of paper to love her with my whole heart, because I already do. More than anything in this world.” Your voice cracks slightly.

Reaching out, you grasp his hands. “I just want to make sure that no matter what, I have a legal right to take care of her. But only if you’re completely comfortable with it!”

Lando is quiet for a long moment, studying your anxious face. Then a smile spreads across his face. “Love, I think it’s a beautiful idea.”

You sag in relief. “Truly? I wasn’t sure if it was too much ...”

Lando silences you with a tender kiss. “Gigi is the luckiest girl in the world to have you as her mum. I want the whole world to know that too.”

Tears prick your eyes as Lando caresses your cheek. “The day you promised to love Georgia as your own was the moment I knew you were different. I see how you are with her — the time, the care, the unconditional love ...” His voice cracks slightly.

“You gave us the greatest gift. I want you to have the same security that she’ll always be yours.”

A single tear traces down your cheek. Lando brushes it away gently before drawing you into his arms. You cling to him, heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

When you finally pull back, Lando is dabbing at his own eyes. “So,” he says with a watery chuckle, “How do we make this official?”

You explain the process — paperwork, a hearing, lawyer fees. He waves it all off.

“Whatever it takes. I’ll call our attorney first thing tomorrow.” Lando squeezes you tight. “Soon you’ll legally be Gigi’s mum too!”

You grin and kiss him soundly. With Lando fully on board, excitement takes root.

Over the next weeks, you go through the steps — filing petitions, scheduling court dates, and explaining the process in age-appropriate ways to an occasionally grumpy Georgia when she can’t go play outside instead.

Finally, the big day arrives. You dress Georgia in her favorite pink checkered dress and do her hair in perfect pigtails.

“My beautiful girl,” you murmur, smoothing down a flyaway curl. Her answering smile melts your heart.

At the courthouse, you all meet the social worker assigned to your case. She questions you and Lando gently about your relationship, home life, and approach to parenting. You cling tight to Lando’s hand the entire time.

Finally, it’s time for the hearing before a grandfatherly judge. He smiles warmly, peering over his glasses at you all.

“Well, I must say, this is one of the more straightforward cases to come before me. I can see clear as day how much love exists in this family.”

Relief floods you. The judge continues, “Therefore, I am more than pleased to grant the petition to finalize the adoption of Georgia Senna Norris by her mother, Y/N Y/L/N-Norris.” He bangs his gavel with an air of finality.

Joyful tears pour down your face. Lando whoops and sweeps you into a spinning hug. Even Georgia seems to realize something momentous just occurred, clapping her little hands.

In a daze, you sign the final paperwork making it official before emerging from the courthouse into the warm sunlight, your family now fully complete.

That evening, after Georgia is asleep, you curl up with Lando in bed, reliving the special day. He kisses your hair and murmurs, “I’m so proud of you, Mama.”

You grin against his chest. “I never thought I could feel so much love. She’s changed my life in every way.”

Lando tilts your chin up, eyes glowing. “That’s exactly how I feel about you. My girls who make life beautiful.”

***

One sunny afternoon, you’re in the kitchen prepping a snack for four-year-old Georgia when she comes bounding in from preschool.

“Mummy, guess what? My friend Amy at school is gonna be a big sister!” She hops up on her stool, eyes bright with excitement.

“Oh really? That’s fun!” You slice an apple into bunny shapes.

Georgia nods vigorously. “Yeah! Her mum has a baby in her tummy. Can I have a brother or sister in your tummy too?”

You freeze, knife hovering over the apple. Slowly setting it down, you turn to face her. “You want a little sibling?”

“Yes yes yes!” She bounces in her seat. “I asked Daddy already and he said I should ask you too.”

Your mind spins. A baby … it’s something you and Lando have only vaguely discussed as a someday possibility. But with Georgia asking so eagerly, the concept suddenly feels very real.

Just then, Lando walks in from his office. Georgia immediately appeals to him. “Daddy, tell Mummy we should have a baby! I wanna be a big sister.”

Lando meets your startled gaze, scrubbing a hand through his curls. “Well, uh, what do you think, love? Could be kinda nice to add to our crew.”

You glance between their hopeful faces, heart swelling. “I think … that could be really special for our family.”

Georgia cheers while Lando grins, coming over to wrap you in a hug. “A mini you running around? Sign me up.” His smile falters slightly. “Only if you want to though, truly.”

You squeeze him back. “I really do. We’ve come so far since the days of newborn Georgia. I’d love to go through it all again with you.”

The joy lighting up Lando’s face erases any lingering doubts.

That night after Georgia is asleep, you curl up together to discuss logistics. “I’ll need to give notice at the hospital once I’m pregnant so they can find someone to cover my maternity leave.”

Lando waves dismissively. “Don’t worry about any of that. Focus on growing our little muffin and I’ll handle the rest.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Our little muffin?”

“Or crumpet. Jellybean. Peanut.” Lando grins. “Take your pick, I’ve got a million terrible nicknames ready to go.”

Laughing, you swat his chest playfully. Sobering, you add, “It won’t be easy juggling a newborn and busy four year-old. But I can’t wait to see Georgia as a big sister.”

Lando smiles tenderly, threading his fingers through yours. “You’re already the most incredible mum. Our kids are so lucky.”

Your throat tightens at the absolute faith in his voice. No matter the challenges ahead, you’ll get through them together.

When you share the news with Georgia, she screeches loud enough to wake the neighbors. Her enthusiasm never wanes over the following months.

Finally, the big day arrives. After a long but relatively smooth delivery, your son enters the world screaming indignantly. The sound is music to your ears.

Lando cuts the cord with shaking hands before your little boy is placed in your arms. Love surges fiercely and instantly.

“Hi Maddox,” you whisper through joyful tears. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Lando presses a kiss to both your heads before going to bring Georgia in. She gasps softly, climbing up to peer at her new brother with wide eyes.

“He’s so little!” Reaching out a gentle finger, she strokes Maddox’s downy cheek. Your heart clenches watching your babies meet.

Georgia cuddles close as you adjust her arm to help cradle Maddox. “I’m your big sister Gigi! I’m gonna help take care of you.” She drops a sloppy kiss on his forehead.

Blinking back a fresh wave of tears, you meet Lando’s equally wet gaze. The road that first led you to Lando has become so much more than you ever imagined. But you wouldn’t change a single unexpected twist or turn.

***

You link arms with Lando as you make your way through the familiar Silverstone paddock. The distinctive smell of race fuel hangs in the air, mingling with the buzz of excitement rippling through the crowd.

Georgia skips ahead, her brunette curls bouncing with each step, while Maddox clings to Lando’s free hand, his eyes wide with wonder. Alexa, your two-year-old, nestles securely in your arms, her tiny fingers clutching the McLaren teddy bear she insisted on bringing today. A small smile tugs at your lips as you glance down at her cherubic face, so much like Lando’s. Your heart swells with love for your beautiful family.

“Mummy, look!” Georgia calls out, pointing towards the McLaren garage suite. “Can we go in and see the car later?”

“We’ll see, darling,” you reply with a wink, knowing full well that Lando will ensure a special tour for the kids.

Lando squeezes your hand, his warm eyes twinkling with adoration. “Anything for my favorite girls … and Maddox,” he teases, ruffling Maddox’s hair playfully.

Maddox giggles, his freckled cheeks dimpling. “I’m your favorite boy though, right?”

“Of course,” Lando assures him with a conspiratorial wink.

As you continue down the bustling pathway, a Sky Sports reporter spots your family and rushes over, microphone in hand.

“Lando! Dr. Y/L/N-Norris! Do you have a moment for a quick interview?” He asks, his cameraman already rolling.

Lando nods, ever the professional. “Sure, mate. Go ahead.”

The reporter flashes a bright smile at the camera. “We’re here at the Silverstone Circuit with McLaren driver, Lando Norris, his wife, Dr. Y/N Y/L/N-Norris, and their children, Georgia, Maddox, and Alexa. It’s the weekend of the British Grand Prix, and the Norris family has been a fixture in the paddock for years.”

He turns to Georgia and Maddox, crouching down to their level. “So, you two must love coming to the races with your dad. What’s your favorite part?”

Georgia’s eyes light up as she launches into an enthusiastic explanation about the cars and the pit stops, her hands gesturing animatedly. Maddox, the quieter one, simply mumbles “the colors” with a shy grin.

The reporter chuckles, clearly charmed by the children’s responses. Straightening up, he addresses you and Lando. “And how about you two? Managing a hectic F1 schedule with three young kids can’t be easy. What’s the secret?”

Before either of you can respond, Georgia pipes up, “But it’s not three kids, it’s five!”

You tense, shooting Lando a panicked glance. This wasn’t how you’d planned to share the news of your pregnancy.

“Five kids?” The reporter’s brows furrow in confusion.

Georgia nods matter-of-factly. “Yep, there are two more babies in Mummy’s belly!”

A hush falls over the small crowd that has gathered nearby, and you can feel dozens of eyes trained on your still-flat stomach. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively place a protective hand over your abdomen.

The reporter blinks, clearly thrown off-script. “Well, I … congratulations! That’s certainly going to be a handful.”

You force a laugh, leaning into Lando’s solid frame. “Yes, well, Lando’s always said he wants a football team.”

Your husband grins, that cheeky grin you fell in love with, and wraps an arm around your waist. “What can I say? I like to keep things interesting.”

The crowd titters with amusement, and you can feel the tension dissipating.

“I can only imagine,” the reporter replies with a smile. “Well, thank you all for chatting with us today, and congratulations again on your growing family!”

As the reporter and his crew move on, you turn to Lando, your eyes shining with unshed tears — a heady mix of residual mortification and overwhelming love.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur, stroking his stubbled jaw. “I know we wanted to share the news on our own terms.”

Lando silences you with a tender kiss, his lips warm and achingly familiar against yours. When he pulls back, his gaze is soft, adoring.

“Are you kidding? There’s no better way to announce it than through Gigi,” he says with a wink. “Besides, I’m just happy the whole world knows that I have super sperm.”

You laugh despite yourself, shoving his shoulder playfully. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me,” he counters, that infuriatingly irresistible grin stretching across his face.

“God help me, I do,” you sigh, melting into his embrace.

Georgia bounds over then, Maddox and Alexa in tow, her expression a mixture of exhilaration and uncertainty.

“Was I not supposed to tell, Mummy? Did I do something wrong?” She asks, her eyes wide and questioning.

You quickly kneel down, gathering all three children into your arms and peppering their faces with kisses.

“No, my darling, you didn’t do anything wrong. You just … surprised us, that’s all.” You share a look with Lando over their heads, a look that conveys a thousand words — your hopes, your dreams, your boundless love for this incredible little family you’ve created together.

Lando reaches down, ruffling Georgia’s curls with one hand while gently squeezing your shoulder with the other. A silent promise, a vow to always be by your side as you navigate the beautiful chaos of your life together.

Rising to your feet, you adjust Alexa on your hip and take Georgia’s small hand in your own. Maddox slips his hand into Lando’s, and you set off once more, the television crew long forgotten.

This is your life — a whirlwind of races and airports, photoshoots and interviews. But it’s also quiet nights cuddled on the sofa, re-watching Disney movies for the millionth time. It’s family hugs and sloppy baby kisses, skinned knees and endless giggles. It’s laundry piled to the ceiling and sleepless nights spent pacing the nursery.

It’s messy and magical, exhausting and exhilarating. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[softbabybelle]

𝜗𝜚 c!w. sibling issues, reader has a mean!older sister, self-doubt, crying, soft!rafe, one thousand percent self indulgent.

mia - (sister's name)

"what's wrong with you, huh?" rafe cameron's voice came out smooth as butter. you felt him nudge your arm with his elbow.

you only shrugged in response, not feeling all that well enough to use your voice.

you were sitting on the couch of tannyhill, snuggled close to rafe. he picked you up every friday night from your house, then sat you snug on the couch, filled you up with all the wrong kinds of foods and put on whatever movie your heart would desire.

tonight, it was the princess diaries. you'd been excited all week to show rafe the movie you'd adored so dearly. you told him before that you were educating him on all the things he missed out on.

as excited as you'd been all week, rafe noticed that tonight you couldn't seem to so much as train your eyes on the tv.

"you're in a mood." it wasn't a question, more of a statement as he studied your face. you were close to him by all means, hands wrapping around his arm and head leaning against his bicep.

but you were quiet, you had been since he picked you up over an hour ago. you were staring at this one spot on the ground, rafe swore that by the time you looked away, you'd burn a hole in the carpet. "'m not." you answered sheepishly, turning your nose up at him.

he could tell you were trying to put on this brave face, the one you often tried to put on around him, and failed effortlessly.

he frowned at you.

at the beginning of the relationship, you'd been so closed off, not wanting to bother him with all the the things 'wrong' with you. but he thought you'd grown out of that by now.

"c'mere." he didn't give you much adjustment, already pulling you to seat yourself on his lap, where he liked you. this way, you had no way of sneaking away from his confrontation. "what's wrong, huh? what happened to m'girl?"

rafe was so soft, adoring as he traced his fingers up and down your arms, soothing you so gently.

it was the kind of calmness you'd been searching for all day.

he knew how your home life could be, especially with your older sister. you used to be close with her, she used to be your favourite person in the world. and then she got a boyfriend, and well, you don't really seem to know what to think anymore.

he felt your hands paw at his shoulders, almost pushing him away. "rafe, i-i don't―" your eyes began to gloss over, rimming red around the edges.

"hey, hey." he didn't allow you to push him, grabbing your elbows to hold you in place. "what's going on, huh? why you pushing me away?" you huffed out a breath and avoided his eyes, but nonetheless, stopped trying to fight back.

rafe felt his frown deepen.

it broke his heart a little to watch you revert into your old bad habits. but he swore sometimes, you were taking two steps forward with him and then suddenly your sister's shooting you back another five steps. "hey, c'mon, we talked about this." his fingers tapped at your chin. "y'gotta let me in."

you let out this shaky breath that he swore would have been accompanied with a whimper if you didn't have such self-restraint. "'s mia."

and rafe didn't need to hear anything else to know what was wrong.

to be blunt, rafe didn't know what to make of your sister. he knew you cared for her, he knew she would never not be your sister in any twisted universal dimension. but she wasn't exactly nice to you. to be honest, rafe wasn't so sure why you even liked her to begin with. she called you names, she teased you, she yelled at you, made you feel like a big pile of nothing.

then she'd walk into your life again as if nothing had happened.

there was always something going on with her, if it wasn't an argument with her boyfriend then it was something with work and if not that, something silly like not being able to get lunch at the country club.

and somehow, all of her problems seemed to backtrack and land on you.

your parents would often take their anger out on you too, too stressed with everything going on with mia to comprehend what they were doing to you. and you, well, you were too nice to bite back. still offering your sister money when she complained about having none after not showing up to work.

if rafe had known what you'd been spending all your allowance on, he wouldn't have let you take it in cash, he would have given you his credit card and told you very sternly to spend as much as you wanted, as long as it was on yourself.

"sweetheart."

all he had to do was say that name in that soft, gentle tone he used and you were already unravelling.

you were staring at your hands, as if looking for an answer while trying to keep your tears at bay. "she's jus' so mean."

"i know, honey." his hands were grasping at yours, trying to redirect your attention to his face.

and you did look at him, finally you looked up but you had this broken look on your face as you swallowed the lump in your throat. "i ha-have to ask you something." you were speaking all strained, trying not to cry.

rafe, suddenly nervous, soothed out the nerves in your hands and up your arms, across your shoulders to behind your neck. "you can ask me anything, baby. what's goin' on?"

"do you think..?" rafe was patient with you, listening to you choke and struggle on your words but he never once rushed you. "do you think 'm selfish?"

rafe's face contorted, as if he were actually offended that you'd even ask such a question. "what?"

you hiccuped. "'cause i t-try really hard to be nice to everyone, b-but mia said―" you cut yourself off, trying to control your breathing. you were all worked up, the day being too much, everything too overwhelming. "s-she always says that 'm selfish 'n that 'm mean. i don't... i don't wanna be a bad p-person, rafe."

for a moment, rafe was rendered speechless.

it wasn't often that rafe wasn't quite sure what to say, but this was indefinitely one of those unfortunate times.

but he could see that teary look in your eyes, staring into his own. you were searching his face, trying to gauge whether or not he believed you were good. you needed him to tell you. you needed him to believe you were good.

so he took a breath and shook his head.

"you are... by far, the most selfless person i've ever met." his fingers trailed across your cheek, down your chin, anywhere they could touch and skim your skin. "c'mon, baby, mean? you get a little hangry come seven o clock with no dinner in you but even then you wouldn't so much as raise your voice."

you huffed out a giggle, pushing his face with your sleeve-covered hands.

"'m serious." he maneuvered you so you were laying with your back against the couch and he was hovering over you. "you're m'sweet girl. the sweetest girl in the world, yeah?"

"but―"

a kiss planted against your lips shut you up. "no buts." he announced, moving a kiss to your cheek. "you are." then a kiss to the other. "the sweetest." against your forehead. "girl." a pepper to your nose. "in the entire world." and finally a kiss right back on your lips.

you stared up at him like he was worth a million diamonds and he swore he couldn't find anyone in the world that was better for him. it was you, through every universe, every dimension and every lifetime.

"now you say it." at his words, you tilted your head slightly confused. "say you're the sweetest girl in the world so i know you believe it."

another small giggle passed your lips. "rafe, n-no." feeling heat pile on your cheeks with embarrassment.

"say it." you felt his fingers pinch your sides sending a tickle up your body.

instantly, you tried to shove him away. "rafe!"

but the boy simply couldn't resist. he'd been challenged and he wasn't going to give up. "say it!" and he didn't stop pinching you, even when you were a screaming mess of giggles, begging him to stop but the laughter bubbling in your chest suggested he keep going. "all you gotta do is say it, baby."

"'m so sweet." giggling through your faux self-assurance.

however, rafe didn't stop his abuse to your sides. "'s not the full sentence!"

"fine! fine!" you felt him pause and raise an eyebrow at you, waiting. your giggles faded into a lopsided grin. "'m the sweetest girl in the world."

"yeah you are. there's m'good girl." he sat back up into a seating position, bringing your body with him so you could sit against his lap. "feelin' better, princess?"

you nodded against his chest, arms loosely falling around his body. "mm, thank you rafey." he glanced down, watching you yawn against him, perhaps today had been just a little bit too much on you.

he glanced back to the tv which was long forgotten. "what do you say, we go to bed together now 'n finish this tomorrow?"

but he was already picking up the remote to switch it off and your eyes were already fluttering closed with a whine. "no, rafey. wanted you to watch it tonight."

"oh, i know." while picking you up to bring you to your shared bedroom, switching off the lights in the process. "'m just the worst."

"no." you mumbled tiredly. "y'the sweetest boy in the world."

and rafe couldn't help but grin.

yeah, you were definitely the perfect fit for him.

[luveline]

I wanted to know how Aaron Hotchner would react to discovering the existence of a daughter (something from college perhaps), she would be his copy both in appearance and personality

—Hotch has a surprise visitor and the world spins on a new axis. daughter!reader, 2.2k

readers physical traits like hair and skin colour are not mentioned, but she is described as looking like her mother (also not described) and as sharing some characteristics with Hotch!<3 I also altered canon so that Hotch and Haley take a break at college 

“There is a kid in your office.” 

“Morgan?” 

Hotch pulls his phone away to check. D. Morgan blinks on his phone screen. It’s a slightly absurd sentence. 

“There’s a child in my office?” he asks, returning the phone to his ear. 

“I’m standing with her right now. She won’t tell me who she is. Anderson let her in.” 

“How old?” Hotch asks, scratching his cheek. God forbid he steal two minutes of peace in the bathroom. 

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m twenty two,” a feminine voice says. 

“You said kid,” Hotch says, frowning. 

“Anyone under twenty five is a kid to me. Are you on your way?” 

He sighs. “Yeah,” he says, and hangs up, dropping the small body of his phone into his pocket. Twenty two isn’t a kid, it’s a year younger than Spencer was when he started at the BAU; Hotch doesn’t underestimate the intelligence of young adults. Why you’re in his office is another thing. He can’t have one day without inconvenience. 

Hotch makes his way into the BAU office and up the stairs to the half level where his own office resides. Morgan leans against the door with his arms crossed, standing to attention when Hotch passes. 

“Thanks, Morgan,” Hotch says. 

Morgan nods, sending a curious gaze at you before he leaves. 

You’re dressed very formally for someone your age, but it’s not as though this is different from the norm of the building. You have on a dark shirt with a starched collar and a fitted blazer, a crisp skirt, and leather Mary Jane heels, one pressed flat to the back of the other. 

You stand when he comes in. 

“Mr. Hotchner?” you ask. 

“Yes?” he asks. 

You have a small file in your hand. Paper with worn edges pokes out of one side as though you’d been looking through it and put it hastily away, and the Manila file itself is fresh.

“Do we know one another?” he asks. 

You look familiar. It’s possible he would’ve known your parents —it could make sense. A colleague or acquaintance assumed he could help you with something, and you in your naivety you made your way in. 

“I think you know my mother.” 

“And she was?” he prompts. Not impolite, but needing to move forward. He’s very busy. 

You take a small step back. “Mr. Hotchner,” you say again, something nervous in your eyes as you lift your chin, “I don’t want to waste your time. I’m aware I might sound foolish, or that this… might not be something you want to hear, but. My mother told me you met in college, and that…” 

You bite your lip. 

He’s incredibly confused now. Not one to let a stranger suffer whether in real pain or awkwardness, he opens his hand. “Can I?” 

“Yes, sir,” you say.

You don’t want to pass it over, but you do as he’s asked. 

The photograph is a shock, held with a paperclip to a magnolia sheet of paper. It’s of Hotch, undoubtedly, a much younger Hotch sitting on a bench with a woman he recognises immediately. He only looks at her, and he knows why you’re here, and he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

“Do you remember her?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer.

“She says you’re the only man that could… possibly be my father.” You hold your hands behind your back. 

He lifts the photograph. There’s not much else to look at, only your photo ID, your birth certificate where he is glaringly not listed, as well as your mother’s birth certificate, and proof of her enrollment at George Washington University. 

You look a little teary. Trying very hard to be sober, as you have been since he laid eyes on you, but clearly getting more and more upset as time goes on. He’s feeling a similar ache, a searing pain in his chest, staring at you from over the Manila folder to really, really look at you. He swears he can see something of himself in your face, though he’s not sure what. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking. 

There’s certainly some of him in your frown. 

“I think you should sit down,” he says softly. 

You sit down immediately in the chair you’d inhabited a few minutes ago. 

He’s not sure what to say. Are you sure it could only be him? Is your mother? But you’re looking at him with an expression he practically trademarked, whether he wanted to or not, and the proof is in his hands: you’re your mother’s daughter, and Hotch would have slept with her almost twenty three years ago. He doesn’t need much time to do the math. 

“I realise my word alone isn’t a lot to go on, sir, so– so if you’d want to, I’ll of course submit for a paternity test. Or if you want nothing to do with me, that’s okay too.” 

“It’s not okay,” he says, closing your folder. 

Your eyes widen just a touch. 

“Can I sit with you?” he asks. 

You push your chair back to make lots of room. He sits in the chair besides yours, cautious that being across a desk from you is insensitive, or cold, at least. 

He looks at you and he’s sure that you’re his. The longer you sit there, the more sure he becomes.

“I do want a paternity test,” he says, watching your tight nod. 

He believes you. And truly, if he was unsure of what you’re saying he’d still give you grace now, because the first time you meet your father should be full of love. He should’ve been there to hold you in one arm twenty two years ago, he should’ve been there for you through everything he’s already missed. 

“But I believe you,” he says.

“You do?” 

“I’m a very good judge of character. I know that you believe what you’re telling me completely,” he says.

“How?”

“When you’re nervous your hand drifts to your chest, but you didn’t move when you suggested I’m your father. You haven’t once checked the door or looked toward the camera in the corner of the room.” And the full truth. “I want to believe you.” 

“Why?” you ask.

“You look like your mother, but…” He lets himself smile. “You sound like me.�� 

You laugh under your breath. “Hopefully not so deep.” 

“I’ve had it described to me as mellifluous.” 

“I’ve wanted to hear your voice since I can remember. My mom didn’t talk about you much, but I’ve always wondered. She told me she didn’t know who you were, and…”

“And you believed her. Any child would do the same.” 

“She’s made mistakes.” You look to him with eyebrows gently pinched, asking him to understand. “But I looked you up. When she told me your name, I looked for you online, and… I always thought I never needed you, even if I wanted to know you. I thought you might want to know me. I thought that a man like you would want to know.”

There’s something you’re not saying. Hotch doesn’t mind. “Of course I want to know you.” 

You chance a smile at him. “You really believe me?” 

“You were expecting me to turn you away.” 

“No, just– I’m not a kid, even if your colleague said so. And I’m not an image of you, I don’t have your eyes. All I have is that photograph. There's not much evidence to go on.” 

He sees no reason why a young girl like you would walk into his office and tell him who you are. Self preservation insists on a paternity test, and soon —UnSubs haven’t ever done something so conniving as imitating a family member yet, but there’s no prediction for evil— but Hotch has an inherent sense of the truth.  

“What do you do?” he asks. 

You frown. “Sorry?” 

“What do you do?” he asks again, “You’re dressed like a lawyer.” 

You nod with a smile you’re pushing into a flat line unsuccessfully. “I’m at GWU. For law, like you and my mom.” 

“She only just told you who I am?” He speaks each word carefully. 

“The photo fell out of an old album, and I had a funny feeling. I asked her about it and she said I’m too much like you. She admitted it like the secret had been eating her alive.” You look at your hand on the armrest. “We aren’t getting along right now.” 

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell you. Or me,” he says honestly. 

“I don’t know either.” 

Hotch is expecting a lot more awkwardness than he feels as he puts his hand over yours. You stay very still. 

“Thank you for coming here today.” He gives your hand the barest squeeze and stands. “Have you eaten? I could take you out for dinner,” he suggests. 

You stand with him. “Are you serious?” you ask, gentle and pleased at once. 

“I think you have a lot to tell me, and I’d love to listen.” 

“You’re not working?” 

Sometimes, sometimes, there are things that can be worked around or held on the back burner. You and Hotch go for lunch. 

—

Aaron Hotchner knows many important people. Your paternity test takes a day, less than twenty four hours from the time you both submit samples, but you have a class you can’t miss and he’s sure you’re nervous, so you don’t meet again for two days regardless. By then, you both know the results. (And Aaron’s had to have a very strange conversation with his wife, in which she doesn’t believe him, and then has to sit down.) 

He can admit to being far more protective of you once he knows the truth for sure, though he knows it before the results come back. You’re his daughter, and he’s left you without a father for two decades of your life, your formative years, time he can never get back. 

He doesn’t even know what to do. How can he make up for it? Twenty two years of birthday cards? He feels like buying you a diamond necklace with a stone for each year, and then he wants to buy you a house, but mostly he wants to give you a hug. He thinks about it for so long the morning before he’s scheduled to meet you again that it makes him as upset as he’s ever been in his life, desperate to say sorry to you and your mother and furious with her for keeping you a secret. 

He thinks of all those years without an inkling of your existence, and now you’re the only thing he can think about. His remorse makes him sick. 

You’re smiling when you see him. For a millisecond, you look like Jack. 

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner!” you say, standing from the table, your formal dress and cardigan pressed neatly, your hands held behind your back.

‘Mr. Hotchner’ will need to be fixed quickly, though he won’t force you to call him anything else. He can’t help himself, however.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly. 

You pause, and you laugh. “This is weird.” 

He doesn’t mean to make it weirder, but he opens his arms, and he waits for an indication that you might not want a hug before he leans in to hold you. You’re still so young. There’s still time for him to be a good father to you. 

He can’t say everything he needs to in his hug, and at the end of the day he’s a stranger to you; you probably don’t want him to hug you for too long. But he rubs your back, and he promises himself that he won’t let you down twice.

Your arm curls tentatively behind his back. For a second, you press your face to his shoulder and breathe. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling away. 

Your lip twitches to one side like his would when presented with such heavy sincerity. “I’m okay. How did, um, Haley take the news?” 

“She just wants to meet you, okay? You’re part of my family now.” 

You give no indication you’ve heard what it is he’s saying to you, or whether you like it as you sit down at the dinner table. He quite likes that some way, somehow, you’ve become like him, but he wonders if he might not love it so much when he asks how your mom is taking this new development and you just smile. 

“We’re going to tell Jack about everything this weekend,” he adds. “He’ll be excited, if no one else.” 

“And Haley doesn’t mind?” 

“She’s not going to ask you to babysit anytime soon, honey, but no, of course she doesn’t. He should meet his sister before she’s too old for legos.” 

You actually laugh. 

Dad humour transcends age, and for that, Hotch is grateful. 

—

only after I finished did I wonder if I misinterpreted the request and this was supposed to be x reader with a shared daughter so if that’s the case I’m sorry original requester!! and I can totally write that if that’s what you meant 🫶❤️

[extinctlesspains]

What about Dae-Ho from squid game 2 and teen!reader? Like teen!reader is here for some abusive reason (maybe to pay her abusive father debts) and Dae-Ho is mostly like a big brother figure to reader? It's like during the game of the carrousel and reader as no one to go to and almost die until Dae-Ho save her. Then after the game, they eat and Dae-Ho ask her why did she join the game at such a young age so reader explain and Dae-Ho became very protective toward reader?

𝐵𝑟𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 [𝐾. 𝐷𝑎𝑒-𝐻𝑜]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: ʏᴇs ᴏʀ ɴᴏ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴋᴀɴɢ ᴅᴀᴇ-ʜᴏ x ᴛᴇᴇɴ ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ғʟᴜғғ, ᴀɴɢsᴛ.

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ɢᴀᴍᴇs, ᴅᴀᴇ-ʜᴏ sᴀᴠᴇs ᴀ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ, ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙʟᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇsᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘᴇʀɪʟᴏᴜs ᴄʜᴀʟʟᴇɴɢᴇ, sᴛᴇᴘᴘɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟsᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ. ᴀs ᴛʜᴇʏ ʙᴏɴᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ sʜᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴇᴀʟs ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ sᴛᴏʀʏ, ʜᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇs ʜᴇʀ ғɪᴇʀᴄᴇʟʏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ɢᴜᴀʀᴅɪᴀɴ, ᴅᴇᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʜᴇʀ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴏᴅᴅs.

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴀʙᴜsᴇ, ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

The carrousel loomed like a monstrous relic in the center of the arena, its rusted metal creaking as it began to spin. The ominous voice of the announcer echoed through the room, explaining the next pairing number:

"Two."

Panic rippled through the crowd of contestants as they scrambled to find someone to trust—or, at the very least, someone they could tolerate. Amid the chaos, you stood frozen, clutching the fraying edges of your jacket. Your small frame and young age made yoy an oddity among the hardened contestants, and no one seemed eager to approach you.

You took a tentative step forward, your voice trembling as you tried to speak to a nearby man. "Excuse me, can we—"

"Beat it, kid." He pushed past you, locking eyes with someone older and more capable.

Your heart sank, and you glanced around desperately. The crowd was thinning as people paired up, and the rooms began to flood.

"Five seconds remaining," the voice boomed.

Your breathing quickened, your limbs heavy as the realization hit—no one would pick you.

Just as the timer reached zero and the guards grabbed their guns, a hand yanked you back into a room with surprising strength. You stumbled, crashing into someone’s chest. Looking up, you saw a man with sharp features and tired eyes.

Dae-Ho.

“Hang on,” he muttered, gripping your arm as shooting became very loud. He held you steady, shielding you from the chaos around you both.

The survivors stumbled back into the main room, their faces pale and hollowed by exhaustion. The stark white walls felt oppressive, a stark contrast to the blood and marking on their bodies. Dae-Ho released his hold on you but stayed close, his gaze scanning the room as if calculating threats.

“Keep up,” he said curtly, glancing over his shoulder.

You nodded, your legs trembling as you followed him through the corridors. The silence between you was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the fluorescent lights.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was softer. “Why didn’t you pair up sooner? You almost got yourself killed.”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “No one wanted to.”

Dae-Ho’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Instead, he started walking again.

When you reached the main area, trays of food were waiting—a meager portion of rice, a hard-boiled egg, and a slice of bread. Dae-Ho grabbed his tray and sat at a corner bed, gesturing for you to join him. You hesitated, glancing around the room, but the hard stares of the other contestants made your choice clear.

As you sat on the bed besides from him, he pushed his egg toward you without a word.

“You need it more than I do,” he said, taking a bite of his bread.

Your eyes widened. “I—I can’t take this. You need it too.”

“Don’t argue.” His tone left no room for debate.

You nodded, peeling the egg carefully and taking small bites. The food felt heavy in your stomach, and for a moment, the knot of anxiety loosened.

Dae-Ho leaned back in from his seat, watching you closely. “What are you doing here?”

Your hands froze mid-bite. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a kid. These games… they’re not for someone like you.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked down at your tray. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Everyone says that,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But what’s your reason?”

The words spilled out before you could stop them. “My dad… he’s in debt. A lot of debt. He said it was my fault, that I had to fix it. So, I…” You trailed off, your hands trembling.

Dae-Ho’s expression darkened. “Your father sent you here?”

You nodded, tears threatening to spill over. “He said if I didn’t, the loan sharks would come for me anyway. This was my only chance. He gave me the card and told me to call.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Dae-Ho reached across the table, placing a hand over yours.

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” he said, his voice firm. “But you’re here now, so you have to survive. No more freezing up, understand?”

You nodded, wiping your eyes. “Okay.”

“And stick with me. No one’s going to mess with you while I’m around.”

From that moment on, Dae-Ho rarely left your side. He became a constant presence, guiding you through the challenges and shielding you from the more ruthless players. He taught you how to read people, how to spot traps, and how to hide your fear.

In a world designed to break you, you found solace in each other.

But the games weren’t over, and Dae-Ho knew that your bond would be tested in ways neither of you could imagine.

[0bticeo]

air sex with mark. reader has begged him to take her flying before, but bouncing on his dick in the sky is new for him. i feel like at first he would be hesitant, but then would enjoy the thrill of showing off his strength. and maybe he also likes the idea of someone looking up and seeing, as a treat

WHAT'S NEXT, ALIEN SEX?

summary:

what happens next can probably be explained by a mix of sleep deprivation, adrenaline, and not having seen your boyfriend for two months. fuck martians. fuck the nasa. fuck cecil.

“mark?”

“mm?”

he keeps pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck, hands already reaching for the small, silver zipper of your catsuit.

“fuck me while you fly us home.”

tw: air sex, piv sex, fingering, slightly ooc!mark but it'll make sense in part 3 i prommy, switch!mark, cunnilingus, mark being whipped, fluff, couples fighting together against a common enemy à la will turner/elizabeth swann minus the swords, if u know who the art belongs to pls lmk so i can give credit pls, the author being a vv slow writer and apologising, pls show my bby some love and leave a comment, mwah

part 2 to boyfriend material

having a superhero boyfriend has its perks. 

sure, you may get interrupted mid-date by a world-ending emergency or a bank robbery - because invincible has range like that. sure, cecil stedman has you on watch because anybody that gets close to mark gets the GDA premium treatment of you-could-potentially-be-useful-so-we-keep-a-close-eye-on- you-in-case-something-happens. and sure, nolan grayson's ice cold gaze - assessing, cutting, predatory - sets you on edge.

but at the end of the day, you're in love with mark grayson. mark grayson is invincible. so you love invincible. perfect syllogism. however, you could really do without the flaxans invading downtown chicago in the middle of your coffee date. 

“seriously? it’s the third time this month!”

he sends you an apologetic look over his sugary monstrosity of a beverage. something with so much caramel and whipped cream you’re getting vertigo just by looking at the damn thing. viltrumite biology-induced cravings, maybe?

you’re cut in your musings by panicked passer-bys running for their lives.

he takes a sip through his straw, brown eyes darkening, split earth after a thunderstorm. a little pout has his lips curling downwards. you kiss it away, a short, sweet peck that has him smiling against your mouth.

“karma’s a bitch,” you grumble, downing your coffee - black, no sugar because you’re no heathen.

mark lets out a huff of laughter, something awfully soft in his eyes. his fingers lace with yours, bringing your hand to his lips.

“c’mon, baby. duty calls.”

duty is a damn bitch is what she is. one flick of your wrist has your civilian outfit - pretty, casual, a nice little sundress that had mark do a double take because you don’t wear these that often - melting away in the shadows, replaced by your trademark coat and catsuit. 

shadow’s back in the game and she’s pissed.

(her boyfriend’s struggling in the men’s room with his invincible suit, because clark kent makes wearing his super suit under his everyday clothes seem easy, but it really isn’t.)

it’s a bloodbath. 

downtown chicago has been turned into a one-sided battlefield, the harsh, viscous green of alien skin burnt into your retina. your jaw ticks. they’re aiming at civilians, laser beams turning innocents into fine, bloody paste.you witness a little girl, no older than five, face half melted in the concrete, whimpering as she takes her last breath. a twenty something college student cradling his abdomen, innards spilling out. christ’s sake, a dog, half eviscerated, crawling towards its dying master, man’s most loyal companion.

you step forward, cracking your knuckles. 

“sorry lads. the earth is closed today.”

the sun is still high above, a witness to dull afternoon hours turned into a horror scene. your shadow spreads and spreads, encompassing the army standing before you. you tilt your head, eyes rolling back behind your domino mask as you call in the darkness. the shadows twist. you raise your hand, pointing at the first few ranks aiming at you, barking in their language. 

further back, near the portal, on what appears to be their equivalent of a tank, their leader, face marred by a long, jagged scar running from his brow to his lips. they twist in a snarl upon glimpsing your silhouette. he raises an arm, finger vengefully pointed at you. ah, so they do recognise you.

looks like somebody didn’t appreciate being on the receiving end of your tridagger. pity.

you clench your hand into a fist. it doesn’t deter them, the way the ground shifts under their boots. the slow corruption of the concrete below, as it is rendered one with the dark. your shadow’s stretched out enough to encompass all of them and give them a nice, cosy one way trip to the shadow dimension. its many beasts are hungry for fresh meat. maybe then they’ll stop ruining your dates.

something shifts when the first bullet manages to hit you, the laser burning away both leather and kevlar. blood drips from your shoulder.

“oooh, so you want it close and personal, huh?”

 you grin and throw yourself in the fray, black cloying the edges of your vision.

adrenaline courses through your veins. your shadows move along with you, sliding and shifting, the ground caving in treacherously under the aliens’ feet. concrete splits open. the one on your left shouts, beady eyes wide and panicked, and shoots. bang. dodge, duck, slam your foot at the back of its knee and watch the fucker fall into the abyss. kick up its rifle and shoot. slam it in an alien’s skull before it gets to you.

the scent of charred flesh fills your nostrils. ah. you’ve been hit again. spots dance in front of your vision. you take a hit. another. another - your lips split, grin flashing wide as your hand pierces feeble tactical gear. blood drips on the ground. the alien looks at the gaping hole in its sternum.

(shadows bend to your will, you’ve explained to mark when you first met, on the edge of midnight city where you hail from. your legs were dangling carelessly at the edge of a skyscrape under his watchful gaze. even then, even before the both of you became something too much to be put into words, he wanted you safe.

you’ve demonstrated it for him. harmless things, your fingers molding together, shapes taking form on the wall, shadows rippling as they came to life, dripping down like ink as small rabbits hopped out of the dark and around mark’s legs. 

you’ve shown the lethality of it. 

your gloved hands shifted, middle and index fingers pointing towards an approaching thug, other hand cradling your curled fingers.

bang.)

you’re laughing, cradling the poor thing’s heart, darkness like ink coating your fingers like a glove. you  make it sharper, deadlier. 

a shift behind you. the burning energy of a laser bullet aimed your way, straight for the head. too fast for you to dodge. 

a fist closes on it. 

you smile, lazily.

“mm. you’re late, invisible.”

invincible grins, a little sharp, wiping away flaxan blood on his suit, red a stark contrast against the bright yellow of it. lasers ricochet off him, rippling across his broad back as he turns to face you, shielding you with that cocky little grin you love. he rolls his shoulders, barely affected by it. you bite your lip at the sight.

“sorry, shade. you wouldn’t believe the traffic.” 

he moves, liquid smooth, hands on your hips as he shifts you away from an opponent. you use the momentum to head kick the fucker, its jaw giving away with a sickening crack under your soles. a sharp, screeching sound as it crumbles to the ground. you kick up its rifle, leaning on it with a sigh.

a tilt of your fingers and a shield rises before you, lasers sizzling against the surface.

invincible’s lips brush your jaw, gaze lazily surveying the progression of the flaxan troops.

“can i make up for it?” he breathes. “being late?”

even with his goggles hiding his eyes, you feel the weight of his gaze, something that has heat settling low in your core. his grin sharpens at that, nose brushing against the sliver of skin left bare by your suit. his thumbs rub small circles on your hip bones, and you’re intimately aware of how close he is, the firm line of his body pressing against yours, all hard edges, battle-honed. you lean back into him.

“maybe later. y’know, when earth isn’t invaded by murderous aliens.”

he chuckles, pressing a soft little kiss to your cheek. you gasp when he squeezes your ass. cheeky bastard.

“lemme deal with that.”

and fuck, the way he tears into them and slams their leader into the nearest building, fingers digging in the soft, breakable flesh of its throat, concrete shattering upon impact… you watch, eyes wide behind the lenses of your domino mask, as he crushes its skull between his hands, the bone brittle under his palms.

he turns back to look at you, floating above the battlefield, sun setting low behind his frame, his shadow stretching and stretching. blood drips down his clenched fist. you think of the deadly edge of a sword, perfectly poised, teetering on the edge of carnage. 

the flaxans look up, panicked, and aim at him. 

“sorry guys.” he cracks his knuckles, his grin sharp. “can’t keep my girl waiting.”

and fucking hell, you think as you leap towards the now empty tank, taking advantage of them being distracted. you should be focused on smashing the device creating their portals. it’d be easy enough, to use the shadows as an exoskeleton to enhance your strength. 

it would be, if mark wasn’t so bloody gorgeous while smashing his enemies to pieces. you think you hear him laugh as he does, something almost boyish. sunlight hits him, all goldens and reds - so much red, dripping down his chin, staining his goggles. you watch the lean muscles ripple under his suit, the way his fingers flex as he curls them into fists, the way his shoulders tense. the way he toys with them, faster than they can perceive, dodging their shots at the very last second. he’s making them harm their own kin.

snap out of it.

you smash your rifle against the complex machinery beeping before you. utterly unrefined, but you’re not exactly well-versed in alien mechanics, so it’ll have to do. the green light of the portal fizzles out. it’s closed.

mark flies above, lazily cracking his wrist.

a low, mournful cry rises from the troops.

//

you’re standing in a secluded alleyway, having bravely fled from the crowd of journalists creeping closer to the scene of carnage. 

“wasn’t that meg?” you muse, taking off your domino mask with a relieved sigh.

mark’s thumbs find the underside of your eyes, gently massaging the skin where your mask has been pressing.

“oh, her?” 

he pouts. you giggle at that, leaning into his touch. gently, you pry off his mask, revealing what has to be humanity’s most devastating puppy eyes.

“what? she’s pretty.” a conspiratorial smirk. “i need to know where she bought that skirt.”

his hands drop from your face, lightly resting on your waist in a way that makes something primal in you purr. he’s soft with you, mindful of the cuts on your shoulder, on your forearm. from this close, you can smell him, sharp ozone, and something distinctly mark that has you almost nuzzling him, burying your nose in the crook of his neck. 

“actually that’s not a bad idea.” he grins. “it would look good on my bedroom floor.”

“mark, you little-”

“what? would you prefer your bedroom floor?”

you slap his chest.

he cackles at that, looking down at you like you’re something precious.

you inch closer, hands pressed up against his chest. you watch as his pupils dilate, a never-ending void consuming the soft brown of his eyes. his gaze darts down to your lips and he frowns. his thumb brushes away a small drop of blood oozing from the thin line where your lower lip has been split.

his thumb meets the tender skin of your mouth and you press a soft kiss to the tip of it. 

mark finds his heart stuttering in his chest. you’d think he’d be used to have you by now. three months in, tangled up in each other in both hero work and school work and yet there he is, back pressed up against the washed up wall of a dingy alleyway come dusk, flushing under your adoring gaze. 

you’re devouring him, hunger practically oozing off of you as you take him in, all firm lines and soft gazes. god, you think michelangelo might weep in despair for having died in an era without him to immortalize. his hand clenches, long, slender fingers left bare by his suit flexing smoothly in a motion that has you pressing your thighs together with a soft sigh. 

dusk settles over chicago, golden sunbeams brushing the sharp edge of his jaw and you raise your hand to trace it, absently. a smile curls up your lips when he leans into your touch, as your gloved fingers brush past his jaw to go up, up, up, carding through the soft mess of his hair. blood and viscera got stuck in it. he does get violent when he fights, you muse, absently.

there’s still blood splattered on his suit.

maybe you love him a little too much. maybe you should be worried your boyfriend once tore out one of the mauler twins’ head for having made fun of your hair, laying it before your feet like an offering. doesn’t matter when you feel him against you, hard and wanting. doesn’t matter when he’s burying his face in your neck, teeth nipping at the soft skin, marking you. 

what happens next can probably be explained by a mix of sleep deprivation, adrenaline, and not having seen your boyfriend for two months. fuck martians. fuck the nasa. fuck cecil. 

“mark?”

“mm?”

he keeps pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck, hands already reaching for the small, silver zipper of your catsuit. 

“fuck me while you fly us home.”

he freezes, parting from you. you nearly whine at the loss.

“wha- baby are you…?”

a soft flush blooms on his cheek and you coo, peppering soft kisses to his sweet face.

“c’mon… it’d be fun…”

you send him that look. the look that had him reeling at teen team’s base after a group mission. the look that had him fucking you in their showers, one hand firmly clasped on your mouth to muffle your moans as you heard rex and eve arguing outside. the look that had him fighting for his life under cecil’s no-nonsense gaze during briefings. the look that kept him company during his two months trip to space, palming himself through his suit to the thought of you.

fuck martians and their unchecked sequids invasion, he wanted you by his side. 

he has you now, so he puts his mask back on and pulls you close, breathing you in. coffee. that one vanilla and caramel perfume you love. blood. his thumb grazes the cut on your shoulder. you squirm in his grip.

“let’s get you home, mm? i’ll patch you up there.”

he scoops you up in his arms, fingers digging in the fat of your thighs as your legs wrap around his - sinfully small - waist. you’re in the air before you know it, arms wound tight around his neck, gloved fingers playing with what little baby hair is left uncovered by his mask. he shudders at the contact, a small whimper leaving his lips, barely audible with the roaring of the wind whipping past you.

you glance down. chicago stretches out, glimmering gold. at the edge of the horizon, you watch the sun set, all-consuming gold bleeding into creeping night blue. mark keeps flying you higher, careful not to go too high, where the air would be too rare for you to breathe.

your fingers dig in his shoulders, pulling you closer to him. he wouldn’t let you fall, you know.

(you’re in his bed, still panting, flushed and full in a way you’ve never felt before. mark has gathered you in his arms, and you’re curled up against him, head on his chest as he strokes your hair. he hasn’t been this relaxed in a long time, and you’re putty in his hands. 

you inch closer, fingers lacing with his, lips pressed to his knuckles. the bruises from his last fight are fading.

“mark?”

“yeah?”

“i meant it, y’know. i’m falling for you.”

he stills, a split-second of terrifying second-guessing. too much? too soon? you open your mouth, mortification creeping in. you close it when you meet his eyes, impossibly fond, the softest you’ve seen them yet.

“don’t worry. i’ll catch you. always. can’t have my baby falling.”

you boop his nose.

“sap.”

there’s a wide grin on your face. your heart feels light.)

his grip on you tightens. his lips brush against your ear, his voice low.

“i need you, baby.”

you feel his breath, harsh and heavy on your nape, the way his shoulders tense, adrenaline still coursing through him. your fingers palm his bulge, and you grin against his collarbone when you find him hard and wanting. you can feel the outline of his cock, even through the damn kevlar. you think you might feel the way he’s leaking through his boxers, too, tip flushed the same pretty shade of pink spreading across his cheeks. palm pressing in, grinding against the kevlar of his suit, you look up at him.

his breath catches. his hips stutter, his flight grows haphazard. his lips part in a soft, ragged little exhale of your name. you don’t think you’ve seen him this needy, with the way he presses you close - not just for safety - his hands somehow managing to knead your breasts, your ass, your thighs. 

it has you clenching your thighs, desperate for any kind of friction.

you lean closer, a soft whisper in his ear, lost to the icy wind nipping at your cheeks.

“is it the suit that turns you on?”

“it’s just…” he lets out something suspiciously close to a whimper. frustrated. needy. “i’m not sure how we should do this, y’know? logistically, i mean. i won’t let you fall, you know that, but what if-”

you press your lips to his, sweetly, softly. he melts against you. it feels like the roaring of the world has finally stopped, his mind a delicious, blissful blank. he’s stopped flying, he realises absently, pulling you close to him by the waist. you shiver, nestling against him, eager for warmth - viltrumites run hot. a side effect of having to fly in cosmic depths. 

he shudders deliciously when your nose brushes the sharp edge of his jaw, your mouth hot against his pulse, rabbit-fast under your ministrations. 

“baby…”

“you think too much,” you breathe.

he lets out something like a strangled gasp when you bring your hips closer to his, thigh brushing his aching cock. you stroke his cheek over his mask and he’s burning, inches away from ripping his suit off and fucking you senseless. 

he leans into your touch with a sigh, nuzzling your palm. 

“hey.” you give him a tiny eskimo kiss. “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“no, i want to.” 

his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging in the fat of them hard enough to leave bruises. he wonders how long it will take him to lose control, with the way you look at him like that, flushed and needy, practically gasping for air, like you can only breathe when his mouth is on yours. 

still he hesitates, because there’s something about the way you press yourself against him, catsuit drenched in blood, about the soft ripples of darkness fluttering along the edges of your coat, about how fucking out of it he makes you -

he couldn’t stay away from you if he tried, even if he should, for your sake.

he all but pins you against him, relishing in the feeling of your smaller frame pressed tight against the broad expanse of him, his hand finding its way to your chest, to that small, tantalising zipper between your collarbones. his thumb brushes the sliver of skin you’ve left exposed. for comfort, you said. 

he flashes you a grin, thumb soft on your pulse. persistent. deadly.

“comfortable?”

you splutter.

“mark!”

“that’s invincible to you, shadow.”

your jaw snaps shut. you swallow. right. no names while wearing the suit, but fuck. it’s getting hard to breathe, and the lack of oxygen isn’t at fault. mar- invincible cups your chest, hand gently squeezing the soft mound under your suit. you feel your heart hammer violently under his touch and know he feels it too. he hums, finger circling your nipple, the kevlar brittle under his touch. the motion, the rush of air as he slowly makes his way through the skies, the only thing stopping you from plummeting to your death being him-

it has you wet beyond reason.

“invincible,” you whine, desperate. 

it gets to him, the way your voice softens, the way your hips grind against his thigh mindlessly. he can’t see your face, with the way you’ve been trying to bury it in his chest, with a flustered noise.

fuck, you’re cute.

he pins you to him, your back to his chest, one strong arm locking you in place, a vice grip around your middle. you bite back a soft cry, his erection firmly pressed against your ass. his mouth presses against your neck, a hint of teeth against your carotid that has you gasping his name.

his fingers grasp the zipper, the motion a delicate little thing. cold air hits your skin and you whimper softly, invincible’s cheek nuzzling yours as he pulls it down, down, down, until your breasts spill out of your suit, nipples pebbled and aching, until his fingers reach your cunt.

“shit…” 

you see him bite his lip from the corner of your eye. his fingers dip between your lips, teasingly, barely brushing against your clit, enough for him to find you soaked and eager.

“all for me?”

you smile at his eagerness, at the (almost) innocent surprise in his voice. 

“you see anyone else here?”

he nips your earlobe, grinning wide against your ear.

“cheeky.”

you and invincible- fuck it, you and mark had sex before. hell, you lost your virginity to him in what has to be one of the most intimate moments in your life. but this? this is close second. this, you and mark, suspended hundreds of feet above the ground, head in the clouds, watching as the sun sets. mark’s lips slot against yours, your head tilting back to meet him halfway, his fingers curling in you in a way that has you seeing stars.

he sweeps your coat away with a soft growl.

“careful! it’s a gift!”

“yeah, a very inconvenient one.”

“you gifted it to me you- ah!”

somewhere along the way, he managed to free his cock, the bite of the cold air harsh against his leaking tip. you let out a soft whine of protest when he drags it along your folds, robbed of the sinful vision of his leaking tip. 

“m’gonna put it in, okay?” he babbles against your ear, hips grinding against your ass. “oh, baby-”

he lets out a low, soothing sound, nuzzling your neck as he drives himself deeper in you, until you’re clawing at his bicep with a keen.

“m-mark-”

it’s one thing to have him take you from behind, his hand warm and steady on your hip, pulling you impossibly closer to him. it’s another to do it in the air, where you have little to no leverage to make him feel good, too. 

“fuck- do you like it?” he rasps, hips snapping forward.

“mm-”

you’re caught in the in-between, the cold air nipping at your skin, mark hot and heavy behind you, fucking up into you like he’d die if he didn’t. your vision blurs at the edges. it’s too much, the delicious drag of his fingers as he teases your clit, the way his cock fills you to the brim. so fucking warm you feel like you’re about to melt into a puddle of heat. 

looking down would mean a casual reminder of your situation, hundreds of feet above ground, but you do. the sight has you moaning, wanton and debauched, with the way mark’s cock has your lower abdomen bulging out ever so slightly with each thrusts. 

you don’t even realise he’s leaning back until you’re faced with a flurry of emerging stars, watching you from lightyears away. he’s practically lying down in the clouds, the humidity of it raising goosebumps on your heated skin, like he’s baring you to the world.

slowly, he pulls out and has you straddle him, facing him.

he grins up at you, hands resting on your hips, thumbs drawing soothing circles on your hips as you sink down on him with a soft little moan of his name.

“talk about being on cloud nine.”

you snort.

“and i’m the cheeky one?”

“absolutely. my cheeky, adorably fucked-out girlfriend.”

you open your mouth to bite back when his cock hits that sweet, sweet little spot inside of you and your words die in a low, needy little moan. he’s taken off his mask, you realise, absently, discarding it god knows where. he’s taken off his mask, and he’s looking up at you like you’re his sun.

and you’re beautiful, he thinks, running his hand along the slope of your neck, relishing in the contact, in the way you melt against him. absolutely breathtaking, the setting sun cradling you in gold until, shadows framing the dips and planes of you as you ride him until you come apart. he groans, watching your slick coat the base of his shaft, your cunt milking him for all he’s worth until he’s bursting at the seams, your name the only constant on his lips as his hips buck up into you. 

“mmm fuck- i wanna try something-”

“mmn?”

he grins, something a little sweet, a little sharp. there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s up to no good.

“sit on my face.”

“you- mark!”

“what? i won’t let you fall. besides… i did say i’d eat you out, didn’t i?”

you’re trembling, when he slides out of you and pulls you to him, eager, arms wrapped around your parted thighs as he settles you over his mouth. you keen at the first contact of his tongue against your cunt, hips bucking up instinctively. he groans against you, the vibration sending shivers up your spine. 

“taste so good, baby…”

he’s looking straight at you, feeling his cock harden as you grind yourself on his face, the lapels of your coat spread out on his abdomen like he’s about to spread you out, thumbs parting your nether lips to sink deeper in you, to taste you better. 

next thing you know, he’s sinking his fingers in you and sucking at your clit, the sharp press of his teeth against the sensitive bundle of nerves a shock to your system. you fist his hair and feel him tense beneath you, his eyes hooded as they take you in.

“mark- mark i can’t-”

he presses a soft kiss to your clit. sweet. reverent. you don’t know if you find it cute or unfairly hot, not with the way you’re dizzy with him, begging for something, anything. something in you builds, coils low in your underbelly and snaps, leaving mark’s lips drenched and his eyes rolling back in his sockets with a strangled moan. you make out more than you feel his hips stuttering, coming to a stop as he cums.

there’s a ringing in your head. nagging. persistent. it won’t go away, no matter how badly you want to shake it off. the world is narrowed down to you, mark, and the way his tongue gently lap at your oversensitive cunt, cleaning you up with tiny kitten licks that have your heart hammering in your chest.

then, slowly, he peels back from you, his face ruined by your slick. he presses a kiss to your inner thigh as he pulls back, a teasing little bite, and zip up your suit.

“can’t have you catching a cold on me, can i?”

the sun sets. mark grayson tucks you in his arms and flies you to midnight city as you doze off, his heartbeat strong and steady against your ear. he looks at you, all pressed up against his chest, head leaning against his shoulder, and smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

when he gets to your home - a small little flat tucked away in sixth avenue, midnight city, seventh floor, third window to the left - he lays you down on the couch and fetches the med kit. you curl up into yourself, half-asleep, reaching for the soft blanket draped on the armrest. a little meow interrupts you, nero looking up at you blearily. you scratch him behind his ears and watch at your cat falls back asleep on the blanket, his little paws curling. 

mark takes in the sight of you, sleepily petting your grumpy furball of a cat, the two of you curled up on the couch, and feels something tug at his heart. affection. boundless love, the kind that would raze cities and bring civilisations to ashes if needed be. he settles next to you, med kit on the coffee table, helping you shrug off your coat and catsuit.

“it’s not too deep.”

his hand brushes your shoulder, relishing the contact with your soft skin. you hum, drowsy, exhaustion catching up with you.

he patches you up, quietly, pulling you close once he’s done. he breathes you in, burying himself in your hair, taking in your flat. a little messy, books everywhere, little plants soaking up sunlight because you like your tomatoes and basil fresh. your cat, snoring lightly on the armrest. you, breathing slowing down, curling up against him with a soft little: “thanks.”

he leans back on the couch, pulling you closer, and thinks, stroking your hair.

he’s been deep in the abysses of earth and felt the tides struggle against him, trying to push back. he’s been close to its core, and felt gravity weigh him down, a feeble attempt at bringing him to his knees. he’s been in space. he’s seen supernovas burn before his eyes, stood before a black hole and watched the event horizon as it tried to pull him into its orbit, a gaping, hungry maw.

but, at the end of the day, it’s you he orbits around, the earth to your sun. 

taking the liberty to tag the the amazing ppl that left comments on my mark os: @gaiasmight @vinnyvamppp @odessa-is-my-queen @shadylilac @linkwho1 @tokoyamisstuff @sp4ceboo

[peachsayshi]

// brutally soft // II. 

baby daddy!sukuna x reader 

tags: non curse au; fluff; tension; reader and sukuna are co-parents; girl dad sukuna; mentions troubled past with sukuna; alludes to significant size different; sukuna being extremely soft | wc: x | read this for more context & this

note: you and sukuna attend your daughter's winter performance at school

dni if your blog is blank / ageless / or are a minor

your lips part, eyes widening as the crisp air stings the tip of your nose.

you take sukuna in - his tall body leaning against the pillar of the kindergarten in an outfit that's far too sharp than anything you've ever seen him in.

an overcoat, pressed matching colored slacks, a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle, polished loafers and a dark charcoal turtleneck hugging all the muscle he carries. the all black attire highlights his fiery hair and silver piercings glittering underneath the warm light. he has one hand in his pocket, the other flicking through his phone screen.

your heart hammers. the space between your leg pulses.

he looks so good.

you step forward, the heel of your boot climbing up the concrete stairs. he looks up when he hears you approaching, and stands upright to greet you with a warm smile. "hey," he states calmly, berry tinted irises tracking down your body to subtly check you out.

"hi," you reply, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. sukuna rarely ever dressed up like this. he was a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy. he owned one denim and one leather jacket. he loved worn band tees, gym attire and cut out shirts. he hated spending money on clothes because he found it "frivolous" and instead would blow it on his motorbike, booze, and weed. he rented a suit once and complained the entire time. but this...

"you look," you stammered, unable to ignore the slight spark that ignited between the space where you both stood. "you look really good, ryo..."

he runs his hand over his freshly trimmed undercut, the scent of oak moss and wood wafting across your nose and making you picture an evergreen forest.

"thanks," he murmurs with a slight pout, his face falling into an honest expression of uncertainty. "I thought I overdid it a little..." "not at all, you look…fantastic…” you answer with a shake of your head and a firm word of reassurance. "this shit cost me an arm and a leg, but I had nothing else to wear tonight..." he huffed, before relaxing his stance. "glad it paid off at least" you furrow your brows softly, "you bought all this for her play?" a hint of pink kisses sukuna's cheeks and he averts his eyes shyly. "yeah, the brat keeps complaining about my scary clothes and shit..." your heart melts over the gesture.

when you think about how much sukuna cares for your daughter, how much he wants to prove to her and everyone else around him that he does, in fact, take his role as a father seriously, it makes you immensely proud of him.

you've seen the growth in the man.

the sukuna you knew five years ago and the man standing before you now were two completely different people.

and that fact messes with your head.

you swore to yourself that you would never take him back.

that you would never give him a second chance.

"anyway, shall we head inside? the show is about to start in fifteen minutes..." he interjects, cutting your thoughts abruptly before you even have a chance to tell him anything else.

you nod your head, and he casually places his palm against the small of your back to lead you inside.

the parents were cramped in the auditorium, the steel fold out chairs were uncomfortably cold but even more so for your former ex lover who was struggling to find a position for his large physique. after watching him suffer for a few minutes, you finally offered him your own seat on the aisle to give his legs a bit of breathing room.

"fucking hell, all this money we spend and they can't get some decent chairs in..." he complains and you chuckle as you bump his shoulder into his.

the performance was all about celebrating the seasons of the year and each class from the kindergarten were set to perform a specific season. the first batch of kids started with the spring season, where the kids sang and danced in little floral costumes as they taught the audience in question all about how spring brings abundance and the start of something new. the next scene moved into summer, where the performance transitioned to upbeat tempos as the kids celebrated the warmth that the season brings. the third scene transitoned to fall, where the colors of the set morphed into earth tones as the kids sang about the celebration of the harvest.

and finally it was the last scene to honor the beauty of the ice, cold winter. the scene where your daughter was performing. you nudge sukuna when you notice him dozing off, and he instantly perks upright to catch the part that he's been waiting for all night.

his face lights up when his daughter scampers onto the stage, dressed as a sparkling little snowflake. you both can see her eyes scanning the crowd, and her face brightens when she finds the two of you.

sukuna leans in to whisper in your ear, "she wanted to wear that from when she woke up this morning..."

"and did you let her?" you prod, teasing him over his softness towards her and knowing full well that she could have easily gotten her way with him.

"hell no. I wasn't going to deal with the mess of all that glitter," he answers back, your voices getting lower as the audience hushes.

the performance starts - your daughter is twirling and moving with confidence. she sings along with the choir and whenever you glance towards sukuna, you find him beaming with pride the entire time.

and then there was her big moment, her solo.

the one she has been going on and on about for weeks.

the spotlight shines on her as she takes center stage, her small hands squeezing into two tight balls as she shifts her weight from one foot to the next.

she's nervous, you can see it and it makes you itch with anticipation. you can't help but tug at sukuna's sleeve subconsciously, but the man responds by naturally taking your hand in his own.

your daughter swallows the lump in her throat, a hint of fear veiling her eyes as she glances to the side of the stage then back to the audience.

her eyes fall to you and sukuna once again, and the man simply meets her focus as he playfully waves his fingers in her direction.

her small hand relaxes, and she gives him a secret wave in return before easing her stance.

your eyes sting with tears at the interaction before she starts to sing.

you're holding your breath the entire time, pride sitting at your throat as you let go of sukuna to pull out your camera to record the entire thing. her confidence unfurls as she carries on her performance, making you think of all the afternoons and evenings she has spent performing her solo in front of you and probably sukuna while at home. by the end she takes a dramatic bow before returning to the rest of her cast.

you pause the video and turn to the man by your side who is applauding louder than everyone else in the room.

he looks at you with nothing but fulfillment.

"that's our girl," he says with a wolfish grin and cheeky wink, only triggering happy tears to fall.

sukuna drapes his arm around you, and you sling your own around his bicep in return, the other wiping away at your cheek. "yeah," you answer with a sniffle, "yeah it is"

for a moment your eyes lock, the two of forgetting your surroundings as the final song ensues.

“thank you for bringing her into my world,” sukuna murmurs, his lips merely inches from yours. but you don’t even pick up on the depth of what his gratitude even means.

you dab away at the dampness on your face. “that girl is your world, ryo” you tease but pause when you notice his face soften as he dips his gaze to your bottom lip.

“you both are.” he clarifies earnestly, but you are too stunned to speak.

he leans forward, and replicates what happened on the sofa just a few months ago by placing a small but innocent kiss on the corner of your lip.

“you both are.”

[velvetsserenity]

tongue twister

caitlyn x reader x vi

✎ word count: 3.5k ꩜ content warnings: explicit sexual content, orgasm control, rough handling, light choking, public setting, humiliation, dominance dynamics, voyeurism, jealousy, threesome dynamics, oral (receiving)

You didn’t come to the Last Drop to cause trouble.

Well. Not exactly.

You came to dance. To drink. To press your body against strangers who don’t ask questions and know how to bite without drawing blood. You came to forget the week, the city, the bullshit.

You did not come to see them.

So when the bar door creaks open and the flickering neon catches pink hair and a high collar, you nearly choke on your drink.

You sit back on your stool, licking vodka from your bottom lip, and tilt your head slowly.

“...You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Vi walks in first, smug, relaxed, like the chaos of the Lanes lives in her blood. She’s in a loose tank, old gloves tucked into her belt, face lit by the dim blue wash of the bar lights.

And right beside her...

Caitlyn Kiramman. Hair pristine. Blouse starched. A few buttons undone to look casual, but still standing like she’s holding a badge under her skin.

They’re talking. Laughing.

Laughing.

Together.

You narrow your eyes.

They don’t see you.

Even when they cut through the crowd like they own the place, brushing shoulders with bodies that look at them and then away. Vi’s making a beeline for the bar. Caitlyn follows, hesitant but intrigued.

You swirl your drink and lean forward just a little, resting your chin on your palm.

This’ll be good.

You don’t approach.

Of course not.

You sit five seats down at the curve of the bar and watch. Sip. Wait.

Vi orders two drinks. You recognize her voice when she growls something flirty to the bartender. Caitlyn leans in closer than she needs to, smiling like she’s trying not to.

You hate that you know what both of them sound like in bed.

You hate that you remember Vi’s laugh when she came the first time, biting your shoulder, mumbling your name like a dare.

You hate that you remember Caitlyn’s breath catching when you forced her to beg. The way she kissed you like it was beneath her. Like she liked that.

They don’t know you’re here.

They don’t know they’ve both had you.

You shouldn’t do it.

But.

You’ve never been good at walking away from a fire.

You grab your drink, slide off your stool, and saunter up like you were invited.

Vi’s elbow is on the bar, back half-turned to you, boots crossed, mid-sentence about something stupid and flirty, probably trying to impress.

Caitlyn is pretending not to look impressed.

You stop just behind them.

Close enough to be felt.

Vi turns first.

She freezes.

Her mouth opens, closes. Then she leans back slowly, her eyes narrowing, recognition blooming like a bruise.

Caitlyn follows her gaze.

And stops breathing.

You take a sip and drag your eyes over both of them like they’re meat in a butcher’s window.

“Well,” you hum. “Didn’t expect to see this pairing.”

Caitlyn blinks. “You—”

Vi interrupts, stunned. “You know each other?”

You let the pause hang just long enough to hurt.

“Yeah,” you say casually. “You could say that.”

Caitlyn straightens, voice tight. “She and I... knew each other. Briefly.”

Vi scoffs. “No shit. When?”

“Before you,” Caitlyn mutters. Her voice is clipped. Controlled.

Vi turns to you. “Seriously?”

You tilt your head. “Don’t act surprised. We weren’t exclusive, Vi.”

“That’s not the point.”

You sip again. “Oh? What is the point?”

Vi just stares. Like she's running math she doesn’t want to solve.

Caitlyn watches you. Cold. Still. That elegant, calculating gaze you remember from the last time she had your wrist pinned to a wall.

You smile, just a little. “Relax. I’m not here to make a scene.”

Vi snorts. “You are the scene.”

Caitlyn’s voice is soft but sharp: “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a local,” you say. “You’re the tourists.”

Caitlyn’s mouth tightens. Vi looks away like she’s trying to hide the twitch in her jaw.

You step forward between them. They both shift just barely. A half-step back. You love that.

“You two look cozy,” you murmur. “Something going on?”

“No,” Caitlyn says quickly.

Vi shrugs. “Nothing serious.”

“Mm.” You drag your finger along the rim of your glass. “Neither was I. With either of you.”

That lands like a slap.

Good.

Vi breathes out hard through her nose. “So this is, what—some kind of fucking joke?”

“No,” you say, tilting your chin up. “But it’s getting funny.”

Caitlyn’s tone cuts in, cool as ice: “Are you jealous?”

You laugh. “Of what? Getting passed between Piltover’s problem children like a shared cigarette?”

Caitlyn’s face hardens.

Vi mutters, “Fuck’s sake...”

You finish your drink in one long swallow and slam the glass down.

“Anyway. I’ve got better things to do than stand between two half-fucks playing pretend.”

You pivot on your heel.

Vi’s jaw clenches the second your back turns.

You disappear into the crowd like you were never even there—just a flash of skin and shadow swallowed by flashing lights and smoke-thick air.

“Fucking hell,” she mutters, pushing off the bar.

“Vi—” Caitlyn’s voice calls behind her, cautious.

But Vi’s already moving.

The beat hits harder out here. The crowd is denser, stickier, full of the kind of people who never say sorry when they shoulder past. The kind of people you blend into.

She shoves through dancers, eyes scanning for a glimpse of your hair, the curve of your shoulder, the swing of your hips. But you’re gone.

Caitlyn follows, a step behind, trying not to touch anyone, trying to stay clean in a place that feeds on dirt.

“You don’t even know where she went,” Caitlyn says, clipped.

Vi glances back, eyes wild. “She’s not just gonna vanish.”

“She does that,” Caitlyn mutters. “Trust me.”

Vi grits her teeth and pushes deeper into the mess of bodies, the flashing lights slicing over her face in sharp colors—blue, red, green, then black again. She sees a girl dancing on a speaker who almost looks like you. She grabs her shoulder and yanks her around—

Not you.

Not even close.

The girl shoves Vi off and keeps dancing like nothing happened.

Caitlyn finally catches up beside her, breath shallow. “You’re wasting your time. She knows this place.”

Vi scans the perimeter, jaw tight. “She’s not from the Lanes. Not really.”

Caitlyn laughs, mean and bitter. “No. She’s under them. Slips through the cracks. That’s what she does.”

Vi doesn’t stop moving.

She checks the far corner, pushes through a knot of half-naked dancers, scans every booth, every back wall. The bathroom line. The Shimmer dealers. Even the goddamn DJ booth.

Nothing.

Caitlyn hangs back now, arms crossed, heels clicking sharply as she trails Vi with increasingly disgusted looks. Her hair’s slightly frizzed. Her blouse—too expensive for this hellhole—is sticking to her back. She’s done pretending.

Caitlyn follow her outside as she rummages trough the back alley of the club.

“This is pointless,” she says flatly. “You’ve checked every wall in that club twice.”

Vi doesn’t even look at her. “She’s fast, not invisible.”

“She wants you to chase her.”

Vi snaps, “And what? You’re just gonna roll over and let her win?”

“I’m going home.”

Vi turns now, jaw tight. “You’re seriously just walking away?”

“Yes. Because unlike you, I don’t have anything to prove.”

Vi scoffs, stepping in close. “Is that right?”

“I’m not wasting my night dragging through alleyways because some girl from your past decided to be cute.”

Vi bristles. “She’s not—”

“Not yours, Vi,” Caitlyn snaps, eyes flashing. “Not mine either. She made that perfectly clear.”

Vi glares. “This isn’t about ownership.”

“Oh, of course not,” Caitlyn says, voice icy. “You’re just out here playing detective in the dark because what tour ego couldn’t handle being walked away from?”

Vi’s teeth clench. “You don’t get it.”

“No. I don’t. Because I left it where it belonged—back inside.” Caitlyn breathes out, close now, close enough to smell the smoke still clinging to Vi’s collar, the sweat at her neck. “You’re beneath her. You’d crawl if she told you to.”

Vi moves fast.

She grabs Caitlyn’s collar, yanks her in, mouth hard on hers, teeth and lips and spit and fury. Caitlyn gasps, but she doesn’t push back. She pulls closer, fists curling in Vi’s tank top, dragging her backward into the alley wall with a thud.

The kiss is vicious. Angry. Hot with everything they never said and everything they swore they wouldn’t feel.

Vi bites her lip.

Caitlyn growls.

Hands fumble fast Vi pushing up the edge of Caitlyn’s blouse, fingers skating over her ribs like she’s searching for a place to ruin. Caitlyn shoves Vi’s jacket off her shoulders, fingers digging into her arms, dragging lines that’ll bruise tomorrow.

They break the kiss for one breath—both panting, flushed, glaring.

“This is a mistake,” Caitlyn pants.

Vi licks her bottom lip. “That your way of asking me to stop?”

Caitlyn doesn’t answer.

She just kisses her again, rougher.

Vi grabs her hips and flips them, slamming Caitlyn back into the wall this time. Her thigh wedges between Cait’s legs, grinding hard, unapologetic. Caitlyn moans before she can stop it.. and that sound? That sound goes straight to Vi’s head.

“You still think you’re above this?” Vi hisses against her throat.

“Shut up,” Caitlyn breathes.

Vi sinks her teeth into Caitlyn’s neck. Caitlyn arches.

They’re a tangle of limbs now, hands under clothes, against skin, fighting for control even while giving it up in pieces. No softness. No names. Just sweat, breath, the wet sound of kisses torn open too fast.

Vi’s hand slips lower, under Caitlyn’s waistband, fingers sliding dow. Then—

“Look at the lovebirds.”

The voice cuts through the dark like a blade.

Both women freeze.

Caitlyn jerks her head toward the sound, panting, eyes wide. Vi doesn’t move right away, fingers still resting just below Cait’s navel, breath hot against her neck.

You’re leaning against the alley wall five feet away, one leg crossed over the other, cigarette between your fingers, glowing tip a slow pulse in the dark. The smoke coils around you like it belongs there.

You smile lazy, cocky, dripping venom.

“Well, don’t stop on my account.”

Vi steps back instantly, eyes blazing, face flushed in a way that has nothing to do with arousal anymore.

Caitlyn scrambles to pull her shirt down, cheeks burning, hair mussed, mouth still parted like she hasn’t figured out what to say yet.

You tilt your head, take a long drag, and exhale slowly. “Didn’t think I had to leave you two alone for five minutes before the hate-fucking started.”

Vi glares. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you answer, voice sweet and sarcastic. “Remember? Local, remember? You’re the ones in my alley.”

Caitlyn’s lip curls. “You followed us.”

You raise an eyebrow. “If I had, I’d have gotten here earlier.”

Vi steps forward, chest still heaving, jaw clenched. “You’ve been watching us?”

You smile wider. “Why? Feeling shy now?”

Caitlyn mutters, “You’re disgusting.”

You flick ash off your cigarette without flinching. “And you’re still half-undressed. So maybe don’t throw stones, Kiramman.”

Caitlyn opens her mouth—then shuts it, nostrils flaring.

Vi looks like she wants to hit something. Or fuck something. Or both.

You glance between them, pleased. Flushed, frustrated, furious,just the way you left them.

You push off the wall slowly, walking toward them, your boots echoing in the wet alley.

“Cute show, by the way,” you murmur. “All that pent-up tension. Should’ve let me join—might’ve lasted longer.”

Vi’s eyes narrow. “You think this is a game?”

You stop right in front of her, blow smoke past her cheek. “I know it is.”

Then you look at Caitlyn.

“Was she good?” you ask, soft, mocking. “Better than me?”

Caitlyn stiffens.

You grin.

“Didn’t think so.”

And with that, you toss the cigarette to the ground, crush it with your boot, and turn your back on both of them.

Two steps.

That’s all you get.

Then a rough hand grabs your arm and yanks.

Your spine hits the wall hard, concrete cold against your back, your breath knocked straight out of your chest. Vi’s there, right there pressed in close, thigh between yours, hand braced beside your head. The wall behind you groans like it’s not ready for this kind of violence.

She’s breathing like she ran a mile uphill.

Eyes wild.

Teeth clenched.

You blink once, slow. “Touched a nerve?”

Vi doesn’t answer.

Her other hand grabs your jaw, tight. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make a point.

“You like this, huh?” she growls. “Running that mouth. Getting in our heads. Making everything about you.”

“It is about me,” you murmur, lips curling.Challenging her with just some simple words and a glare.

Vi’s eyes flash. She leans in like she’s going to kiss you, but stops just short so close her breath hits your lips.

“You think I won’t fuck the smug off your face right here?”

You exhale, slow, deliberate. “No. I think you will.”

Silence.

Tension so thick it’s choking.

Vi shoves her thigh up between your legs harder, her fingers sliding around your throat not squeezing, just holding.

Just threatening.

You tilt your head back against the wall, smirking. “What’s the matter, Vi? Caitlyn not enough for you?”

She snaps.

Her mouth crashes against yours hot, hard, brutal. Not a kiss. A punishment. You open to it anyway, let her take what she wants, let her teeth catch your lip until it stings and tastes like blood and smoke.

You hear Caitlyn breathe soft and sharp and shaky.

Good.

Let her watch.

Let her see.

Vi presses harder, her thigh wedged between yours, rough denim dragging over the thinnest part of your resolve. Her hand curls in your hair, pulling your head back, mouth dragging down your jaw to your neck, biting hard enough to make you gasp.

You don’t stop her.

You bare your throat like you want her to ruin it.

“You should’ve kept your mouth shut,” she growls, voice raw.

“You’re welcome,” you rasp, “for giving you a reason to use it.”

She snarls and grinds her leg upward, watching your eyes flutter for just a second. Just enough to make her grin.

Then her gaze flicks over your shoulder, toward Caitlyn.

Still watching.

Vi pulls back just enough to speak, her voice meant for both of you. “You like watching?”

Caitlyn swallows, but doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t deny it. ou turn your head toward her, lips swollen, neck raw.

“I think she does,” you whisper, just loud enough.

Vi smirks. Her hand slips under your shirt, palm splayed across your stomach. Her other hand stays in your hair, keeping your head tilted so Caitlyn has the perfect view of every reaction. Every flinch. Every filthy sound.

You let your mouth fall open. A quiet whimper leaks out, and you don’t bother hiding it.

Caitlyn’s knuckles are white now, fists clenched by her sides, like she’s trying to keep herself from reaching for something she shouldn’t.

“You can touch,” you murmur, eyes locked on her. “Or you can just stand there and ache.” You murmur as you shake your head in the most sassiest way.

Vi bites your shoulder—hard, you jolt.

Caitlyn steps forward. Not reaching for you. Not grabbing Vi. Just closing the distance.

Her voice is cold. Too calm. “You’re pathetic.”

You smile through the sting. “And you’re still watching.”

Caitlyn steps in even closer, now barely an inch from your lips, your back still held against the wall.

“But if I touch her now,” Caitlyn murmurs, voice like silk dipped in venom, “she’ll think she won.”

“I already did,” you whisper.

Vi watches, breath uneven, body flush against your back.

Caitlyn leans in, but doesn’t kiss you. Her lips brush yours, faint enough to burn.

“You can talk later,” she says softly, pulling away. “When I let you.”

Caitlyn’s hand slides up, fingers threading into your hair as she finally presses her mouth to yours. You moan into it before you can stop yourself.

She tastes like anger and pride and something clean beneath it like control wearing perfume.

Her tongue pushes in, sharp and deliberate, and she swallows the sound you make like it’s a win.

Behind you, Vi shifts.

Drops lower.

You feel her hands at your thighs, parting them like she owns them, her breath ghosting under your clothes a split second before her mouth makes contact.

Your head slams softly back against the wall.

Caitlyn breaks the kiss only to move down, her lips trailing over your cheek, your jaw, then to your neck. She sinks her teeth in where Vi left the mark earlier, sucking over it like she’s trying to stamp her name on top of the bruise.

“You’re so fucking loud,” she mutters against your throat.

And it’s true.

Vi had pushed your little dress up, bunching it around your waist. Starring at your panties before moving it to the side, admiring. Then Vi’s mouth is hot between your legs, tongue dragging slow, wet, and cruel as she sinks in deeper.

Your hands grip the wall behind you, nails scraping brick, hips jerking once—twice, as Vi locks you in place.

Caitlyn’s hand closes around your throat, thumb resting lightly on your pulse.

“Keep your eyes open,” she says.

You try.

You really try.

But then Vi moans against you hungry and it sends a shock straight through your spine. Your knees buckle, and Caitlyn catches you by the throat and jaw, holding you upright while Vi keeps working, mouth dragging you under like quicksand.

Caitlyn kisses you again. This time slower. Drowningly slow. Her lips smeared with control.

Vi doesn’t stop.

Not even when your hips start to tremble.

Not even when Caitlyn murmurs, “Already? What a mess you are.”

You can’t answer.

Your mouth is busy trying not to scream.

Caitlyn pulls back just enough to whisper into your ear.

“Don’t come yet.”

Vi growls in protest from below, the vibration almost enough to undo you right there.

But you listen.

Barely.

Caitlyn’s hand is still at your throat, fingers soft but commanding, her thumb tapping lightly against your pulse like a countdown.

“Still holding on?” she whispers, biting the shell of your ear.

You nod. Barely. Wrong move.

Vi takes it as permission.

She groans into you, tongue pressing harder, wetter, meaner.

Your hips jerk. Caitlyn’s hand tightens just enough to remind you: no.

You whimper, and it’s pathetic, but it slips out too fast to swallow.

Caitlyn’s mouth curls against your skin. “She’s trying to break you.”

Another roll of Vi’s tongue. Another flash of heat that nearly buckles your legs.

“She won’t,” you choke out.

Caitlyn hums. “You sure?”

Vi drags her nails down the backs of your thighs.

You cry out.

Your eyes flutter closed, only for Caitlyn to slap your cheek. Light. Sharp. Measured.

“Keep them open.”

You do.

You fucking do.

Tears threaten at the corners from the intensity, the burn, the pressure but you hold. You stay on that knife’s edge, breath shaking, lips bitten raw from trying to hold back the sound clawing up your throat.

Vi groans again, and Caitlyn chuckles darkly, voice rich with satisfaction.

“She wants to hear you fall apart,” she says, lips brushing your jaw. “But you won’t give her that, will you?”

You shake your head, dizzy.

Vi’s hands spread wider, forcing your legs open more. Her mouth gets sloppy now, messier, as she grinds her face into you like she’s past patience.

You’re soaking. Shaking.

So close you could snap.

And Caitlyn leans in, one hand sliding up under your shirt, fingers cool against your ribs as she whispers—

“Now.”

Your body obeys before your mind can catch up.

You break.

Hard.

Loud.

Your hips jerk. Your voice finally tears loose, raw and ragged and fucking ruined.

Vi moans into you like she just won a prize, her mouth still working you through it.

Caitlyn holds your jaw the entire time, her eyes locked on yours, watching every twitch, every gasp, every tear slide down your cheek like she owns them.

When your knees finally buckle, Vi pulls back slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, smug and wrecked herself.

Caitlyn doesn’t let go.

Not yet.

She tilts your head up and says, soft and clean—

“Next time, you’ll ask.”

And you nod, breathless.

Because you will.