#incredible angle of course

[nitsa13]

At halt

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about not only the specific people lucanis pulls in to represent the 'locks' in his psyche, but the storytelling that happens in the structure/order of them. the underlying ideas are presented something like:

the lucanis who went into the ossuary never came back out again; he died down there (the boy caterina raised is gone forever) -> you're putting yourself in danger doing this (by being close to me), you should leave because I can't bear it if you get hurt because of me -> it doesn't matter even if we do try this, it won't work anyway (again because of me) ('you know what he's like, you can open the door but he won't walk through it' :'( oofie doofie) -> what if the real secret is that there was never anything but the monster in here from the beginning. you should leave, there was never anything here worth saving in the first place. (implicitly: what if I deserved what happened, all along.)

it runs pretty cleanly from outward-oriented attachment anxiety ('caterina won't even want me back like this, she won't recognize me (the same way I no longer recognize myself)) and gradually deeper inwards until we reach self-image and self worth. or you know, the harrowing basic lack of it lol.

"careful -- they'll know we're not right," spite says in one of their first scenes... but clearly, some very deep part of lucanis has feared or suspected for much longer than that that there's something inherently not right at the core of him, way before any demon entered the picture. and the voice he gives those lines to is the person who should know him better than anyone in the world, who he has loved more than anyone in the world -- and who deliberately chose to hurt him so horrifically anyway. 'It's better if I'm just a monster and deserved what happened than it is to allow for the idea that the brother I love doesn't really exist and maybe never did'. it's better if he's fundamentally flawed in some way that needed fixing to help him survive, and that's why caterina chose to hurt him again and again -- out of love. (this one I think he might have a very sad wakeup call on one day if he ever ends up with the responsibility and care of a child of his own in some way and realizes just how alien the idea of ever intentionally hurting them for any reason is to him. oh buddy. also interesting that he keeps caterina as the outermost lock -- there IS a distance he keeps there that he hasn't with illario. he doesn't resent her 'anymore' he says, but he also keeps her carefully further away from his deepest self.)

as far as I could tell the only note in the mind prison that's fully hidden and needs to be uncovered is the sad painful helpless stupid little truth that even after all this, even knowing what happened... he still loves his brother. is there anything illario could ever do that would make lucanis completely stop loving him, do you think? sometimes the trouble with unconditional love is that it is, well. unconditional, even when some terms and conditions probably would have been in order haha.

that's the pattern you see there again and again; he would rather destroy and abandon and imprison himself at every turn than let go of love, even when it's just scraps, even when there's only ever enough of it to hurt him. it's only when rook shows up and as it were takes his hand and walks along with him that he can entertain the idea of changing the story of what walking out the door might mean in the end.

[marshmellowtea]

last night had the thought "chris should have a ex girlfriend who he ended things mostly amicably with who's still involved in his life and has strong feelings on his parents" and then i realized. sandra. that's literally what chrissandra is for. how could i forget about chrissandra.......

[vigilskept]

alistair pov?? 👀

yeah…. breaking into 30+ wips with this one i think which is an atrocious way to start the new year 💀 can’t be helped though!

i thought too hard about ylva aeducan picking up a mild-to-moderately feral blood mage diya surana from the tower after uldred’s plans have fallen apart and the multiwarden worldstate brainworms rly got me! i dived headlong into 2 wips in 2 days, it’s that bad.

the one with alistair as the pov character takes place in kirkwall, shortly after diya & justice break away from the amaranthine wardens to get anders out of templar custody & out of ferelden.

it’s been really interesting writing him & diya in this worldstate because while they’re the same characters, they get off to such a different start that it’s a WILDLY different dynamic!

diya has none of the “oh god they can’t discover i’m a maleficar” paranoia & friendly but cautious approach to alistair in particular bc ylva VERY explicitly states her intent to shelter her, knowing full well that she’s blood mage. she might be in danger if she reveals herself in sight of anyone outside their travelling party but within it…. everyone already knows!

so unlike diya’s worldstate, it’s alistair here who approaches her with caution. not because she’s an unknown, but because she IS a known quantity and a dangerous one. at least with morrigan he knows she was raised outside the chantry. diya was raised within it and explicitly rejected it. she’s unapologetically a maleficar who is STILL more sympathetic to uldred than to wynne when they meet her!

so he’s not at all expecting it when she advocates for his exile when ylva intends to let his execution go forward & he’s not expecting her to show up in kirkwall apparently having deserted the wardens. it’s been a very fun situation to throw them into!

[alexanderwales]

I was worldbuilding two bog standard fantasy species, wise old tree dudes and impulsive little rat guys, when I realized it was far funnier if they had each other's personalities.

The rat guys think fast and talk fast, but they're incredibly conservative and like to cover all the angles before they take any action. This comes with being a prey species: their ancestral environment had lots of clever traps and devious hazards, so you get rat councils wisely working the problem.

The tree dudes speak and move slowly, but they will propose and then do the most insane things you can imagine. They can slot together a rocket in an afternoon and will then use it without so much as a test fire first. They test new potions by quaffing them down, sometimes not even waiting for it to cool (though they're tree dudes, so I guess quaffing a potion just means pouring it over their root legs). This comes from the ancestral selection process too: the tree dudes that won were the ones that took big risks, that grew faster, stronger, and tried new things without worrying about consequences. The tree dudes evolved in an era when they had no natural predators and their only competition was each other.

And this is, of course, initially confusing for any human who makes contact with them. If a giant bearded tree nods at you solemnly and tells you to go through a portal, your first thought is not that he's curious about what will happen to spacetime. And if a hyperactive little rat guy tells you with some urgency that you must accompany him into a ruined city, you won't immediately think that this is step 11 of his branching 27 step plan.

[madaqueue]

gn!reader - 18+ MDNI (literally just bro fucking you in a mating press but sweetly lmao)

“hold these for me.”

satoru’s body weight presses into you, folding at your knees. shaky hands wrap around the underside of your thighs, pulling them flush to your chest.

“that’s it, just like that,” he smiles through the praise. “you’re doing so good for me, so, so good.”

everything in your body feels hot, despite the brisk morning air making its way into your bedroom. maybe it’s your own blood pumping faster with each erratic beat, maybe it’s the sweat collecting in the space between you, maybe it’s the way he now hits deeper at this new angle until all you can do is take it. your heart struggles to contract when you feel him in your lungs.

“you feel fucking incredible, you’re divine, you’re everything.”

satoru was always a talker, but you don’t mind his voice. it keeps you grounded, it reminds you not to let go. the grip on your legs tightens.

little cries of “oh fuck” or “so good” leave his lips, warm words landing in your ears.

you can tell he’s getting close by the way they lose their shape, morphing into incoherent whines.

and of course, by the way his hips stutter.

at this point he’s rutting into you, paceless and greedy. his hands find purchase on any part of your skin he can grab, as if he could pull you into him and keep you there, as if he could possibly go any deeper.

your legs are starting to burn, stretched to their limits, but you pull harder, inviting him in. deeper, and deeper, and deeper. you can’t help the moans slipping from your throat with each thrust, and he swallows them with a grin.

hair tickles your cheek when he buries himself into your neck.

he doesn’t have to announce anything beyond the soft whispers of “i love you” muttered into your skin - his cock twitching inside you is enough. as he fills you, warmth spreads through your body, blanketed under him.

your legs relax and sink into the bed, your now-free hands cradling him. one traces up his spine, the other running through his hair. he melts into you, a fluid in the shape of satoru.

your lips rest on his forehead, his skin warm.

a/n: i promise i’ll write long things again ckdkckdkckdkdk i’m working on nnn it will be done soon i promise i promise i promise

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[snail-day]

You know how baby hair just does whatever it wants, sticking up in the wildest directions like it has no regard for the laws of physics? I just know Geto’s baby is coming out with a full head of thick, silky dark hair. No matter what hair type you have, his genes are winning, no question.

And oh my god, he’s so the type to do his babygirl’s hair every morning. He’d settle her on his lap, big hands incredibly gentle as he smooths down the unruly strands sticking up at odd angles. His touch would be so light, so careful, especially near her soft spot. It's truly a precious sight to see.

“Oh, is that cold? Daddy’s sorry,” he murmurs after spritzing just a little water, rubbing the tiniest circle on her head as if to soothe her. Tilting his head, thoughtful, his fingers ghosting over her silky strands. “Hmm, what should we do today, princess? Just a little clip? Maybe tiny pigtails?”

She doesn’t care, of course, just babbles happily, staring up at him with big, trusting eyes, reaching clumsily for his thick fingers. And he just chuckles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead, already so completely wrapped around her little finger.

God, he’s such a girl dad. It’s ridiculous.

Here is the TikTok link if you need it!

[mochroialainn]

Warnings for infertility, sub!johnny, dom!simon, oral sex, PIV sex, breeding, pregnancy mention 18+ MDNI

Thinking about trying for a baby with Simon but having issues convcieving so you both go to the doctors and get test done and find out Simon has an incredibly low sperm count and while its not impossible for you to get pregnant with Simons babe, it would be incredibly difficult. So you weigh up your options, talking about adopting and IVF, and while your both open to adopting you want to experience pregnancy but neither of you really want a random unknown donor who could have god knows kind of genetic and herititary disorders. You decide you want someone you know, someone you trust, eventually settling on Johnny. Hes Simons best friend after all and you both trust him immensely. When you go to ask him about he, hes happy to say yes all he has to do is jerk off into a jar and the doctors do all the rest. But then you inform him that no, you don't want to do it through doctors and stuff, you want him to fuck you and knock you up. Its less invasive that way, less stress on your body where you would be poked and proded and filled with hormones for egg extraction and stuff, and definitely far less expensive. He blushes a bright tomato red when you tell him this, stammering around an answer because he has always wanted to fuck you but you're Ghosts girl and he wouldn't do that to him and know hes been presented the perfect opportunity to do it. It stammers out a yes, not meeting Simons eyes, instead staring at your radiant smile.

Very soon after this, Johnny has you naked on his bed, legs spread as his head is buried between your thighs while Simon guides him with his hand and words, after all Simons 'gotta teach him how to fuck his girl right'. Simons fisting his cock as he watched you come undone under Johnnys tongue, eyes glazed over and switching between your look of pure pleasure and the way Johnnys laps at your clit and hole like a man starved and you were his first source of nourishment. After you've came twice from Johnnys tongue and fingers, Simon grips his hair by the roots and pulls his head up and Johnnys tongue lols out of his mouth and he pants like a dog, your cum soaking his chin and stubble and Simon has to stop himself from leaning down and licking the it and maybe even kissing Johnny to taste you on his lips (he decided in that moment, he would do that another time because there was going to be another time) and talks Johnny through fucking you. What angles you like, what pace to go at, how rough he can get with you and how you like for him to push down on your stomach when hes deep inside you. Then he sits himself on the chair facing the bed, hand wrapped tightly around his cock as he watches Johnny fuck you, matching Johnnys pace and barking out orders like they were on the field. The three of you cum at the same, Johnny pressed right against your cervix to ensure he gest his cum as deep inside you as possible (to help maximise your chance of getting pregnant of course and not for any other reason) and the moans you let out are harmonious and beautiful. Just 3 people reaching the same state of ecstaty.

And thats just the first time you fuck, after all it doesn't always work on the first try and maybe you'll continue on even after your pregnant.

[angelltheninth]

Can we get some Mark Grayson dating and first time having sex headcanons?

I finally caught up with Invincible season 3, so yes.

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, established relationship, dating, cunnilingus, virginity loss, dry humping, creampie, scared of power use, breeding kink

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Wanna see how long Mark will be able to stay positive this time. I'm not giving him a big time window for happiness.

As if it wasn't nerve wracking that you're losing your virginities to each other, Mark also has to be mindful of his superpowers

When you say you're sure that he wouldn't hurt you he tells you the embarrassing story of him breaking sex toys because he got too into it, he felt too good

He doesn't want to hurt you, this was supposed to be about pleasure

To ease into things he wants to eat you out first

Worst case scenario he gets you off with his mouth and tongue and then jerks off

Rips your underwear off with shaky hands

Almost drools at the sight of your pussy, dripping and waiting for him

Keeps his body against the bed so he can rut wildly into it, the friction making his cock twitch with need

Mark moans as he tastes you, finally, his tongue pushed all the way inside your clenching hole

When you say his name and tangle your hands though his jet black hair to pull him closer he relaxed a little, confidant that he can at least fuck you with his tongue

One of his hands presses against your lower back and pushes you up, allowing his mouth to close around your pussy, his lips nudging your clit, his tongue licking patterns in and out of your pussyhole

Sloppy as he is he's not a quitter, he'll eat you out until you squirt on his face

His pride quickly melts away as you pull him closer and tug on his erect dick, angling him with your entrance

Mark pulls back, still not sure about this, how can he be sure he won't hurt you

If he was normal, like you, he wouldn't have these fears, of course he would still be careful but he knows there would be less need to freak out like he is currently

You don't want him to back out of this because of fear, you keep pumping your hand up and down on his cock, keeping him hard and hot in your hand

The solution you come up with is that you will ride him

He can stand still if he wants, or he can simply hold you, while standing on his knees and watching you fuck yourself stupid on his incredible cock

Mark almost comes as soon as you take him past the tip

One of his hands balances himself on the bed, the other is pressed against your hip, encouraging and soothing your nerves at the same time

If it hurts you can stop, he won't hold it against you

But oh boy did he underestimate how much you want to fuck him

As soon as he's all the way inside and you've had time to adjust to his girth you pull away, you hear him gasp as his slick cock is revealed and then you slam right back against him, his cock back in your cunt where it belongs

Mark is mesmerized, barely managing to speak full sentences, he's talking about your hot pussy, how much he loves you, how nothing has ever felt this good, how this is so much better than his wet dreams made him think it'd be

The repeated smacks of your ass against his abs drive him crazy and he smacks one of your ass cheeks, chuckling and moaning when your pussy grips him tighter

Something about how tight you are, how your velvety walls are pulling him in is driving him crazy

He gets the idea to creampie you, the need to see you swollen with his seed, the urge to have his cum dripping from your pussy, the fantasy of fucking a baby into you, the dream of having a family and being a good father

Overtaken by this desire he pushes his hips into yours when you pull away, hardly ever leaving his cock out

You feel so warm he never wants to leave, and seeing as your pussy is only getting wetter, dripping all over the sheets, you like him being inside you too

Mark cups your jaw and trails his hand down your neck, grunting out how much he loves you as he slams deep into you and floods your womb with his cum

The torrent of heat makes your body tremble, your pussy spasming around him, your hips moving faster and faster, encouraged by his words

His arms wrap around you before you can fall against the bed and he leans back, pulling you into his lap and kissing your neck and shoulder

Nothing ever felt this good, he's not sure anything ever will

Tells you how much he loves you, how much fun this was, and in the midst of your words of love and giggles neither of you notice how his hand is constantly rubbing your belly

[eldragon-x-moved]

Let me ask you a question, Light.

What it is, Ryuzaki?

I've been wondering: Who is your favorite Pokemon Mystery Dungeon character?

...I see what your game is, L. Deducing the probability of me being Kira based on my answer. Not bad, but I'm already ten steps ahead of you.

If I tell him my favorite character is Dusknoir, it's obviously going to link me to Kira. Not only is he a cunning, detective-like figure chasing after himself, but he is part of a species of grim reapers which can be connected to the shinigami.

But,

It would be befitting Light to pick Dusknoir since in the expanded story of Explorers of Sky, he grew willing to take great risks in order to make the world into a better and safer place. And even before his redemption arc, he is shown to be genuinely concerned about fellow Pokemon who are in immediate danger.

Of course, he could always play it safe and say Grovyle, who is a well-written and widely beloved character in the community. Not to mention a true seeker of justice.

No, it's too obvious. I have no choice. I'll just be outright. He can't possibly connect my liking for Dusknoir to Kira if I just present the facts.

I think my favorite would have to be Dusknoir! His development in Special Episode 5 was a fascinating choice and made me appreciate his character as a whole.

I see. I'm personally rather fond of Celebi.

!?

What the hell... Who would care about Celebi? Is this a threat? She is one of the characters who contributes to foiling Dusknoir's plans... Is he that confident in his ability to stop Kira? What is your angle, L...

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon!? I love these games! My favorite is Munna!

!

Misa, what are you doing?! Munna seeks to rid the world of rotten Pokemon! You're blatantly making a connection to Kira!

Besides, Gates to Infinity is hardly worth of the Mystery Dungeon title... It's naive message about trying to better the world just through hope... I suppose it is just like Misa to like this game.

Still! Munna is an incredibly incriminating choice. Dammit, Misa...

Ahehehehe... Wigglytuff.

[smutoperator]

After The Photoshoot

Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader

Tags: A2P, anal, (lots of) choking, couch sex, degradation, erotic photoshoot, facial, (lots of) facesitting, foot play, head stomping, mating press, passionate fucking, photographer, quickie, rimming, rough sex, stool fucking, titfucking

Word count: 4671

You had been rising up the photographer ladder quite quickly. Today, you were going to make your first photoshoot for a brand: taking pictures of Coralique's new muse, ms. Kwon Eunbi.

"Good morning, ms. Eunbi, get yourself comfortable," you said as the beautiful short girl with big boobs arrived for the photoshoot. "Thank you," Eunbi answered, getting herself comfortable and striking a pose for your first photo of the day.

Eunbi kept switching outfits and your camera kept clicking all day long. You really felt like this was the opportunity of your life, taking countless pics of every move she made and asking for her feedback. "These are such beautiful pics," Eunbi said as you captured her sexiness to the fullest. "I'm glad you like them," you answered her.

The photoshoot kept going for hours and hours, you never getting exausted of capturing the best angles of Eunbi's beautiful body in countless colorful outfits. "You're such an incredible hard-working woman," you praised her, making her blush. "Wow, you're such a kind guy, I love the way you praise me," Eunbi answered.

"I think that's the last one for today," you told Eunbi, taking one last pic as she switched to her final outfit, wearing a blue bra top with a white skirt. "I don't think I've ever like a photoshoot like this one before," she said. "I was glad to help," you replied to her.

"I should reward you for such a good photoshoot," Eunbi said. "Reward me? I was just doing my job," you said to her. "Well, you did such a good job I feel like I need to reward you," she replied. "And how would you reward me?" you asked.

"Let me show you," Eunbi said, pulling her bra to the side and showing you her massive tits. "I want you to play with them, play with my whole body, I saw how excited you were taking all those pics of me," she said.

"Are you sure?" you asked Eunbi, trying to keep it professional. "Of course," Eunbi said, pushing her in your direction and starting kissing you. Despite the massive gap in height between both of you, Eunbi was the one dominating the action, taking the initiative and showing her the insatiable animal she was.

"Damn, you're such a fire woman," you told Eunbi. "Well, let's say my humble beginnings made me proud of my assets," Eunbi said, refencing her long path to stardom. It didn't take long and Eunbi was already pulling your pants down to suck your cock. "My cock, you're such a hungry woman," you told her. "No, I just respond by you guys being so hungry for my milk," she replied.

Eunbi beautifully sucked your cock, licing your shaft from top to bottom. "Let me see if you can take it all," you asked her, Eunbi quickly seetting the pace and throating your hard shaft to the fullest. "I saw how erect you were taking my photoshoot, must have been really hard, if you know what I mean," Eunbi said. "Quite the opposite, it made it easy for me to keep going," you told Eunbi.

It didn't take long for you and Eunbi to get completely naked in the room, you kissing her as she wrapped your cock between her big tits for you to bang it. "Confess it to me, you wanted to do this all day long," Eunbi said. "Yes, I did, those big boobs can steal any man's attention," you said to her.

Eunbi behaved like a hungry animal, pushing you against the couch she had just filmed the photoshoot as she throated your cock like a demon, jerking it off really fast. It didn't take much long and she was already sitting on it, moving her hips hard and grinding fast against your pole.

"Damn girl, slow dowm, you're moving too fast," you told Eunbi. "Am I? You really seem to like it?" she said, bouncing her big tits in front of your face and riding you fast, you grabbing her ass as she kept moving up and down your cock. "That is just the warm-up, baby," Eunbi said, jumping out of your cock and deepthroating you, before climbing back on top of you and totally dominating you with her hot body.

"Damn, you're such a fucking animal," you say to Eunbi, sitting on the couch and letting her spin on your cock. She teased you, switching between her pussy and her ass and turning the set of the photoshoot into her bed. "HOLY FUCK, YES," she moanned, you watching her big tits bounce hard as she rode your cock. You spread her pussy, her licking your feet and then climbing back to suck more of your cock. You got on top of her, fingering her pussy as you got on top of her.

You bent Eunbi over, taking her and stretching her mouth, trying to tame her as she spreads her cheeks for you to fuck her ass. "OH MY GOD," she screams, feeling your big cock tease in and out of her asshole before you start pounding it hard and choke her. "Yes, baby, fuck me like that," she says, you then turning to clap her cheeks hard. "AHHHHH, AHHHHHH," she screams.

Eunbi laughed as she hugged you. "Seems like you can be an animal too, how about you take me home and fuck the shit out of me?" Eunbi asked, tasting her ass from your cock. "Let me fuck a bit more here," you tell her, making her big tits bounce against the couch with your hard thrusts. "AH, AH, AH, AH," she moans, licking your feet in the couch.

"GOD DAMN IT, FUCK, FUCK, HOLY SHIT," Eunbi screams as you show her you can fuck hard too. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she continues to scream, you not holding anything back and pounding her ass. "You really like to fuck that ass, don't you?" she asks. "Yes, I love it," you tell her, offering your cock to Eunbi to taste it.

"Let's go home and fuck like animals," Eunbi said, putting her clothes back on and showing you the directions. You two soon arrived at her apartment. "Let's take the next step," you say to her. "But first, I wanna have some more memories of this special day," you continue. "Sure, anything you want," Eunbi says.

You put your camera in a tripod in Eunbi's living, room, programming it to take pictures of both of you as you two engage in an erotic photoshoot, the camera capturing her sucking and licking your shaft, your cock between the strings of her panties, you sucking her beautiful big tits. You then sat on the couch, Letting Eunbi slide in a 69-esque pose as you grabbed her body and she sucked your cock, the camera capturing everything.

Eunbi pushed her tongue to the side and put your cock in her ass, adding more pics to the photoshoot while you licked her high heels, bouncing on your cock for the camera as her big tits jiggled, before switching to a reverse ride. "You're enjoying this photoshoot, aren't you?" Eunbi said as she shaked her ass and you spanked it, her then tuning around and ripping your shirt off.

"I think we can startd for good now, let's turn the camera off" Eunbi says, doing it and then taking your pants off once again and diving to lick your asshole like a mad woman. She grabbed your toes and start licking them too. "You're so obsessed with my feet, such a nasty girl," you told her. "Yes, I love licking some dirty feet and ass," she answered.

Eunbi gets on top of you in the couch, overwhelming you even though you're a tall guy and she's a short girl. She shoves her big tits straight into your face. She takes her panties off, wrapping it around your shaft and bobbing her head on it using no hands. "So you want to get nasty?" you ask her. "Yes, give me all of it," she answers, you pushing your cock as deep as possible down her throat.

You give Eunbi's ass a little spank as she continues to choke herself on your cock, giving you some insane deepthroats. You then take her bra off and wrap it around her neck, choking it. "I'm gonna take it as a trophy after we are done," you said.

You shove Eunbi's little body against the couch, sitting on top of her face as she starts to lick your asshole right after. "Your slutty body is 90% tits," you say to her. Eunbi fingers her pussy as you suffocate her face with your ass, then brings her big tits togeher for you to slide your cock between them.

"OH FUCK YEAH," Eunbi moans as you reach your fingers into her cunt, plowing her tits from up top while a water bomb comes out from the bottom of her body. "I can't hear you," you say to her. "OHHH YEAH, AHHHHHH," she screams loudtly, her legs trembling as your cock fucks her boobs, your hands fuck her pussy and your ass suffocates her face.

Eunbi gets out of your face, sucking your balls in the process. You qucikly shows her who is in control now, thwarting her attempts to kiss you as she gets back on her feet and shoving her on all fours into the couch. "Yes, yes, yes," she whispers as you dive your face into eating her asshole and spank it. "FUCK BABY, LICK THAT DIRTY ASS," she begs.

"I'm gonna do much more than lick that dirty ass," you tell Eunbi. "Spread those cheeks for me," you continue, Eunbi obliging as you pin her against the couch, pressing her huge tits against the furniture. You tease her first, taking your cock slowly in her ass before putting it all in. "OH YES, PLEASE, GIVE IT TO ME, AH, AH, FUCK," she screams.

"HOLY SHIT," Eunbi screams as you kiss her and destroy her ass, her big tits jiggling hard. She moves her hips to meet your thrusts, you soon get on top of her to tame her. "OH DAMN IT, THAT'S SO DEEP," she screams. "Is it? Because I'm just starting," you say.

You mount on top of Eunbi, drilling her ass as hard as possible. Eunbi closes her eyes, putting her ass up and sticking her tongue out. "You're really a proper slut," you tell her, clapping her cheeks hard and pinning her tits against the couch. You push her face up, stretching her mouth as you choke her with the bra wrapped around her neck. "FUCK FUCK YES, LIKE THAT, LIKE THAT, SHIT," she screams, almost valling down the couch as her boobs now bounce in the air. "YES, YES, MORE, MORE," she begs, you grabbing her shoulder and treating her like a ragdolll.

"Come here," you tell Eunbi, taking a break to sit in the couch and letting her suck your cock. Eunbi makes groaning sounds like those of an animal, deepthroating and stroking your shaft like crazy, before taking her bra off her neck and wrapping it around it. "Is that my cock ring?" you ask her. "Hell yeah," she says, smiling as she circles her tongue around your balls, before another hard session of fast cocksucking and extreme deepthroating.

Eunbi spits on your cock and takes it deep in her mouth, sticking her tongue out. "You love to throat that cock," you say to her. "It's because I want to get it wet for you to fuck my ass," Eunbi says, kissing you as she gives your cock another good titfucking.

Eunbi sits on your lap and impales your cock in her ass. "YES, YES, FUCK," she moans, moving her hips rather quickly while her tits are all over your face. "You love riding it like a good slut, don't you?" you ask her. "Yes, I love it," Eunbi says, getting your cock deeper and moving up and down your shaft. You hit her face, Eunbi laughing and only pushing hard, turning you into her personal playground as she starts squatting on your cock. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she moans.

Eunbi teases you, swtiching between her ass and her pussy before she lets you carry her and take back the commanding position. "HOLY FUCK, OH MY GOD," she screams as you grope her tits and then start choking her. "Please choke me," she begs, you pressing her legs against her big boobs and taking possession of her small body, Eunbi barely able to move as you strangle her, making her cough a bit with how rough you treat her.

You push Eunbi's body against the couch, taking turn betweens her pussy in her ass.. "Look what you're fucking doing to me, yes, please, use me like your fucktoy," she begs, your hard thrusts. "YES, YES, HOLY FUCK," she screams. "PLEASE, BABY, USE ME," she begs, you attacking both her holes hard and spitting in her mouth. "I love the way you fuck me," Eunbi says, you going back to choke her and spank her.

"HMMMMM," Eunbi tries to breathe but you don't let her, covering her face and watching it turn red while your hard pounding make her big tits bounce like pinballs. She reaches to finger her pussy, you spanking her face. "Fucking nasty slut, give me those tits," you say, pulling out and pushing her head against the couch, fucking her boobs hard and then slapping your cock all over her face.

"Turn around, let me show you how a bull fucks a titcow like you," you say to Eunbi, getting on top of her as she gets on all ours with her ass up in the couch. "OH YES, OH MY GOD," she screams as you fuck her ass like a raging bull destroying his cow partner. "FUCK, FUCK," she cotninues to scream, you giving her no rest and fucking her ass balls deep, your arms wrapped around her neck as her boobs get pinned into the top of the couch. "YES, YES, YES, SHIT, SHIT, GOD DAMN IT," Eunbi screams as she gets used hard, the sex getting more animalesque each second. "You like that" you ask her. "Yes, baby, I love being used like a slut," she answers.

Eunbi gets up and licks your torso and armpits, smashing your cock between her body before going down to suck it, jiggling her huge tits as she chokes herself on it. You two share a pair of hot kisses. "COME ON, COME ON, GIVE ME SO MUCH MORE," she begs. You give her what she wants, grabbing Eunbi's hair and sticking your cock in her ass, Eunbi promply riding in a reverse cowgirl while she looks at you and you push her tits against her face. "FUCK, FUCK FUCK, FUCK," she continues to scream.

"Stay right there," you tell Eunbi, grabbing her waist and letting her shake and spin all over your cock. "Take all that cock inside, up and down" you tell her, Eunbi opening her ass as she bounces on your cock, you enjoying watching the bouncing of her tits from the side. You push Eunbi's body against yous, lying on the couch. "Oh my God I love this, keep puuhing deep inside, up and down," you tell her. "YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, FUCK," Eunbi moans, twisting and turning all over your cock as she gets it deep in her ass, alternating soft and hard bounces.

However, you feel like Eunbi is having too much fun bouncing on your cock, grabbing her neck and pushing her back into your torso. Eunbi gives you a naughty stare and keeps bouncing, laughing as her boobs jiggle. She moves to ride you sideways. "YES, YES, FUCK, FUCK," SHE MOANS, spinning on your cock and giving you a full view of her tits bouncing at their full glory.

Eunbi stops bouncing and both of you now share a spitting contest between each other. "So nasty," you say to her as she sticks her tongue out. "Who told you to do that, slut?" you then ask. "No one, I just wanted to," she answers. "Well, now I'm gonna punish you, stupid titcow," you tell her.

You pin Eunbi against the couch, getting completely on top of her body and stomping on her head as your cock finds her asshole one more time. "YES, YES, PUNISH ME LIKE THAT, BABY," she begs, her face already completely ruined. "OH MY GOD, YES, BABY," she continues to plead, you choking her neck so hard you could kill her. Heck who cares if she taps out, you'd just keep fucking her. You get really rough with Eunbi. "Open your ass," you command, pushing your cock hard and deep against it while pushing your hands against her head.

"YES, YES, YES, CHOKE ME, CHOKE ME, CHOKE ME," Eunbi screams as you turn her into a begging mess. "AHHHHHH," she continues to scream, you tying her arms bahind her back, spanking her face. "Such a nasty baby begging to be punished," you say. "I LOVE BEING CHOKED, PLEASE, KEEP GOING," Eunbi begs, but you have different plans.

You drag Eunbi's body to the floor, spanking her butt and then lifting it up before taking it for one more round. "OH FUCK, YES, YES, YES," she screams. Eunbi carries you into her kitchen, you spitting on her face and hitting it nonstop. "Did you take me to the kitchen because you want more sausage?" you ask her as you keep hitting her face. "Yes, baby, I did," she answers.

Eunbi gets hit countless times in her face, you treating her like a completely useless slut. "You took that endorsement because you're nothing without reminding us about your big fucking tits," you say to her. "That's all you are, a stupid horny titcow taking advantage of our lust for your milk bags," you continue, degrading her as Eunbi can't really deny it.

You slde Eunbi's body up and down the floor, before shoving your cock into her throat, enjoying her head-bobbing and tit-bouncing as she sucks it. You sit in ons of the kitchen's stools, jerking your cock off as you stomp in Eunbi's massive boobs, showcasing your domination over her. "Finger that pussy, show me that water bomb," you tell her, Eunbi franctically reaching into her clit as she squirts hard on the floor.

"That's what I want to see," you tell Eunbi, putting one of your foot in her neck the other in her pussy. She gets up and bobs her head on your cock. "Suck it, bitch," you say, Eunbi's red face deepthroating it like crazy. She laughs as you spit and spank her face, "Keep going, show me the cock slut you are, suck it until you gag," you tell her.

Eunbi then turns and spreads her ass, indicating she wants more of your cock inside it. "Come here," you tell her, Eunbi moving in your direction until your cock sinks deep inside her asshole. "YES," she screams, bouncing on your cock as her tits turn into loose pinballs. You grab her hair, pushing her into she stool and spanking her ass hard. "AHHHHH," Eunbi screams almost crying, you plowing her from behind and groping her big tits.

"YES, YES, YES, HOLY FUCK," Eunbi screams. "Open your ass for me, stretch it" you keep telling her, Eunbi fisting her butthole and then letting you dive to eat it while she shakes her ass in your face. You stick your cock in her ass again, Eunbi moving her hips and begging for more. "Harder, harder," she pleads, pushing her head agaisnt the kitchen table. You tease her, thrusting a couple times into her pussy.

"Sit down and turn aroud," you tell Eunbi, flipping the stool and putting her into eye-to-eye contact with you as you grabbed her head and thrusted into her pussy, setting your sights right at her big boobs, kissing her and groping them as Eunbi enjoyed your hard pounding. "Yes, baby, keep going," she begged.

"I've fucked your ass for so long I forgot you had such a good pussy," you told Eunbi, increasing the pace and making her cheeks clap and boobs shake. "Yes, please, keep fucking that pussy," she begged, kissing you and looking you in the eye as you passionately attacked her cunt, getting needier the more you fucked her. "Come here," you told Eunbi, sticking your cock in her pussy in the couch and continuing the romantic session while spitting all over her face. "Please, please, I need more," she begged,

You wrapped your arms around Eunbi's hot body, getting her under your complete control. "I love that," she said, kissing you as your cock kept madly thrusting inside her pussy. You now have total control of Eunbi's small body and her huge tits, her becoming completely submissive and cock-drunk for you. "I don't want you to stop, I want you to keep fucking me forever," Eunbi says, kissing you and showing her vulnerability as she gets pounded like never before.

You turn into use Eunbi's pussy like a fleshlight, attacking it at a straight angle without even looking. "OH YESSSSS," she screams, you making her squirt hard. You reward her for her orgasm by sitting on top of her face and banging her huge tits, Eunbi reaching to jerk your cock off as you plow her tits and finger her wet cunt. "HMMMMMMM," she screams, her moans muffled by your ass in her face as a geyser of squirt comes out of her cunt.

"Look, it's the waterbomb festival," you say to Eunbi as you finger-fuck her pussy at the same time that you fist her mouth. "OHHHHHH," Eunbi screams as she keeps squirting, falling onto the floor. "You're all mine, you fucking big tit slut," you proclaim.

Eunbi pants on the floor as you keep making her pussy squirt and choking her. She coughs, her face completely ruined as you spread her saliva all over it before stuffinf your cock back in her mouth. You drag her back up, Eunbi barely able to stand on her feet, you putting her upside down on the couch as you shove your cock back in her ass on a pile driver. "AHHHHHHH," Eunbi screams, you attacking her asshole really hard. "Open this ass," you tell her, Eunbi spreading her legs and pinning her knees against her big tits. "HOLY SHIT, OH MY GOD, FUCKK," she screams, your cock relentlessly pounding her ass, her body at a fetal position and completely dominated.

"OH FUCK, YES, YES, YES, HOLY SHIT," Eunbi moans as she gets turned into a fleshlight. Her skin is red, her face ruined. You pull out and stick your cock back in her mouth, Eunbi bobbing her head hard on it as soon as it gets down her throat. "Oh yeah," you say as Eunbi gags on your cock. She tilts on the couch, sucking your cock as you push her head against.

"My nasty little big tit girl," you tell Eunbi. "Put this dick inside your ass again," you command to her, Eunbi sitting back on your cock and squatting hard on it, making very loud clapping sounds against your hips. "FUCKKKKKK," she moans, making sure to ride it as hard and fast as possible, pushing you to the edge even though she is already completely wasted. "YES, YES, FUCK," she screams.

Eunbi teases you, jerking your cock off. "I know what you want, put that ass up," you say to Eunbi, placing her back on all fours and drilling her asshole in the couch. "YEAH, YEAH, AHHHHH," she screams, spreading her cheeks for you as your cock destroys her guts. "DON'T STOP BABY, YES, FUCK THAT ASS," Eunbi begs, you stomping on her head as your cock plows her butt hard. She can barely move at this point, completely tapping out as you just use her as a training ground to your pleasure: spanking her, choking her, fucking her, using her.

"Oh yeah, you're such a naughty big tit girl," you say to Eunbi, taking a little break to look at her ruined beauty. "Beg for more," you tell her. "Yes, please," Eunbi follows, you opening her legs and hitting her face and tits, spitting on her body as she fingers her cunt and squirts all over you. "Horny slut," you say to her, choking Eunbi and then putting her legs over her head for a mating press, locking her body except for her massive tits, which you let bounce freely.

"FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK ME," Eunbi begs as her pussy gets destroyed. You keep choking and spitting on her. "I want you to use my pussy and let me taste your cum," she begs. "You do?" you ask her, increasing the pace and plowing her pussy a bit, before shoving your cock in her mouth for a little round of facefucking that makes her gag.

"Oh fuck," Eunbi moans as she jerks your cock off and sucks it. Her face is completely red now, her barely able to think straight, all she wants to be now is your cocksleeve and you deliver it to her, passionately fucking her pussy while wrapping your arms around her body. You treat her very rough, but also show her how much you love her, Eunbi getting overwhelmed by her emotions as she keeps receiving the fucking of her life.

You hug Eunbi as you keep fucking her pussy. "Yes, please," she begs, your passionate thrusts driving her crazy. You spread her legs and fuck her pussy one last time, Eunbi turning into a beggar. "Please, please, please," she repeats as she keeps getting her pussy plowed on a mating press. Your urge to breed her grows the more time you spend in her pussy, but you won't deny her wish to get your cum in her face.

You pull out of Eunbi, fucking her tits just as you start getting close. She sticks her tongue out, ready for your cum, panting as she can barely breathe, your load hitting right in her face and dripping down her tits. You give her a massive cumshot, built up from all those hours you spent taking pictures of her and holding how horny you were the whole time. "A white rain of cum for the silver rain," you say to her.

Eunbi rewards you with a nice kiss of your cock, twisting your balls. "God, you fuck me so hard it felt like I just got gangbanged by 5 guys," she says. "Ms. Eunbi, you're such an insane woman, fucking her was amazing too" you say to her, praising her skills. "Thank you," Eunbi says, hugging you and feeling a little emotional. You truly owned her and she loved it. "Just one session and you're already my faovirte big tit woman ever," you say, declaring your love for her.

However, you love moment with her suddenly gets interrupted by the door of Eunbi's house ringing.

"Eunbi unnie, we are coming for dinner," a girly voice says behind the door. "Fuck, I gotta hide you," Eunbi says as she shows you her dorm while getting herself dressed to receive her guest.

"Eunbi unnie, why are you taking so long?" another girl's voice comes in. "Sorry, I was busy" Eunbi says as she opens the door, just getting enough time to wear a robe. "No problem," Yena answers her.

"Did you make dinner for us, Eunbi unnie?" Minju asks. "No, I just came home," Eunbi answers her. "You're looking very sweaty," Chaewon says to her.

"Come to my room, I have something way better than dinner for you," Eunbi tells the girls. "If you say so," Minju says. Eunbi guides the 3 girls to her dorm, letting Yena open it as the girls find you naked in Eunbi's spatious bed.

"Oh that's much better than dinner," Chaewon says.

[malsmind]

ok would hacker matt ever grow the beard?

oh yes he would.

⤷ eating pussy. slight edging. dirty talk. pet names. unprotected sex. creampie. matt’s sexy ass beard.

it was…unusual. especially for matt. you were away with your family on holiday during a college break, so you haven’t seen matt for at least a few weeks. he definitely has seen you. of course he has. with knowing that he was watching, you even set your phone up for him, all nice, and angling just perfect so he can watch, so he knows that you know.

but when you came back, when matt was already waiting for you on the parking lot infront of your dorm complex, and he looked…very different. not bad different, but…different. he stood up straight from being leaned against his car, walking towards you with a smile.

“hey.” he greeted softly, going to pull you into a hug, but you stopped him.

your hand was up infront of his chest, keeping him from stepping closer as your eyes roamed over his face—his facial hair—with a slight frown on your face.

“what’s all this?” you asked, finger swirling in the air, pointing the the outgrown beard that sat there.

“what?” matt asked, returning the same frown you were sending his way, his fingers ruffling trough the fine hairs on his face.

it wasn’t anything unusual, not normally, but for matt, it was. he’s always kept his beard trimmed, maybe letting it grow out to a certain point, but never this much. you took a step closer, closing the distance between you two to give him a kiss. after all, you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in weeks. he kissed you back. still confused, but never turning down the feeling of your soft lips on his. when you pulled back to look at him again, your face kept the same expression.

“feels weird with that full thing on your face. scratching the fuck outta me.” you mumbled, bending down to grab your bags and starting to walk your way to the entrance of your dorm building.

matt stopped you, taking the heavier bag right out of your hands before following you towards the door. “you don’t like it?”

you didn’t answer his question until your keys turned, unlocking the door. “it’s not bad.” you shrugged, continuing to make your way to the dorm room you’d surprisingly missed a lot while being on holiday.

when you finally put your handbag down, kicking your shoes off and throwing your jacket over the chair, your body flopped down on the bed. you sighed, relaxing into the mattress as you watched matt put the big duffle bag loaded with your clothes down on the floor next to your bed. he sat down beside you on the bed, taking his shoes off before laying down with you. the both of you laid there in a comfortable silence for a moment, your body stretching to relieve some tension in your muscles from the long car ride. when you turned to lay on your side, matt was already looking at you, his usual empty expression making your heart skip a beat.

when he used to look at you like that before you had admitted your feelings to each other, it would make you feel disappointed sometimes. because, even though he kept entertaining the game you played, making his own rules and starting to fire back, you were almost one hundred percent certain that he had no interest in you. but now—now it had a different meaning. there was something behind that cold gaze, something that made your breath catch in your throat. you knew he loved you. and that’s what mattered now.

“i missed you.” you whispered, fingers grazing his hand.

he didn’t say it back, didn’t have to. you knew he’d missed you too. the screenshots you couldn’t resist taking when he texted you how he wished you were here with him were more than enough. he moved his hand when your fingertips brushed over it, placing it on top of yours, interlocking your fingers with his own.

“do you want me to shave the beard?”

the question caught you off guard. he sounded almost…insecure? maybe. maybe you just caught it the wrong way. either way, you shook your head no. it did look incredibly attractive on him.

you couldn’t help the way your mind played with the little thoughts of just how beneficial this beard could be. without another word, you closed the space between you two, pressing your lips to his in a slow, testing kiss. the feeling of his beard scratching your cheeks and chin was new, but not unpleasant. for whatever reason, it seemed to make it more intense.

his lips moved with yours in that quiet, steady way you hadn’t realized you missed so much until now. there was no rush—just the slow, building heat that came with being apart too long. your fingers crept up to his jaw, grazing the scratchy texture of his beard again, and this time, you didn’t hide the shiver it sent down your spine. matt felt it. you knew he did.

he pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing just a little, reading you like he always did when things started getting heavy. “you like it,” he said lowly, not a question—an observation, one laced with quiet amusement.

you didn’t answer right away. just looked at him, pupils already blown wider, your breathing picking up. then you nodded, slowly. “it feels… different. good.”

that was all he needed.

he shifted his body lower without a word, pressing a lingering kiss to your stomach before tugging down your pants and underwear in one fluid motion. he didn’t say anything, but you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth when he noticed just how wet you already were. his beard brushed your inner thigh as he kissed it, soft at first, then rougher as he moved closer to where you needed him most. the first swipe of his tongue made your back arch off the bed—but it was the burn of the coarse hair dragging across your sensitive skin that made you moan, your fingers tightening around the sheets.

“fuck, matt…” you breathed out, your legs twitching slightly from how overstimulating it already was.

he didn’t respond, didn’t stop—he doubled down, eating you out with a purpose, tongue firm and steady, beard rubbing mercilessly with every movement of his mouth. the friction was overwhelming in the best way. maddening. he was soaking it in—your reaction, the way your hips pushed into his face, your fists tightening in the sheets.

you were close. embarrassingly close. your thighs were trembling, and your stomach clenched tight as the orgasm built fast, all-consuming.

“don’t stop,” you begged, voice breaking around the edges. “don’t—”

but he did.

he pulled back suddenly, lips glistening, chest heaving slightly, and that cold look was back—but now it was charged, feral, barely restrained. your eyes met his, lips parted, heart racing, and you were about to curse him out until he pushed up, pulling his hoodie off and leaning over you in one smooth motion.

“turn over,” he said, his voice rough, already undoing his jeans.

you didn’t argue. didn’t need to. you shifted onto your stomach, bracing your arms against the mattress. he climbed over you, fitting himself behind you like it was second nature—because it was now. it always had been. he lined himself up, slid in slow but deep, and groaned against your neck the moment he bottomed out. his beard scratched at your skin again, but this time at a different angle—along the base of your neck, your shoulder, your jaw as he moved. he kept his face there the entire time, buried against your skin, breathing hard, whispering things you couldn’t fully make out through the haze of sensation. his thrusts were slow at first—dragging, drawn out—like he wanted to make you feel every inch of him, every inch of what you’d both missed while you were gone.

“missed you,” he mumbled against your skin, lips brushing the spot just beneath your ear.

you clenched around him hard at the sound of it, overwhelmed with the heat, the intensity, the intimacy of it all. his beard scratched you again as he pressed kisses along your jaw. you weren’t even fully thinking when you said it, the words spilling out between soft gasps and sharp breaths. you just couldn’t help yourself.

“so you missed me, huh?” you mumbled into the pillow, voice laced with a kind of teasing that only came when you felt like you had the upper hand. “actually said it out loud this time.”

for half a second, you swore matt stilled. just barely. his breath hot against your skin. you could almost hear the shift in his head—how your tone flipped something inside him. how that tiny bit of cockiness in your voice was exactly the wrong move if you wanted to keep things gentle.

because then he moved.

deeper. harder. without warning.

your mouth fell open in a choked moan, your whole body jolting forward from the force of it. “matt—” you gasped, trying to catch your breath, but he didn’t let up.

“say it again,” he said low against your ear, voice suddenly sharp and dangerous in that way that always made your stomach flip. his pace didn’t slow, not even a little. if anything, it got rougher, more deliberate. punishing.

you tried to hold on—your pride, your breath, your voice—but all of it crumbled when he fucked you into the mattress like that. relentless. every drag of his hips bruising, every thrust pulling a wrecked sound from your throat.

“thought so,” he scoffed, beard scratching your neck as he kissed your shoulder again—messy and hot, lips dragging open across sweat-slick skin. “all that attitude… n’ you can’t even fuckin’ answer.”

your fingers clawed at the sheets, legs trembling from how fast everything unraveled. any thoughts of control, of teasing him, of being smug? gone. completely gone.

he had you—right where he always wanted you. and you didn’t even want to fight it anymore. you didn’t even realize you’d started shaking until matt slowed down, until the rhythm turned from harsh and rough into something deliberate, coaxing. his hand found yours, fingers threading tight like he was anchoring you—like he needed you just as much.

“y’wanna come f’me, baby?” he whispered against your skin, his other hand reaching around to toy with your clit.

your body jerked back into his when his fingertips started rubbing tight, slow circles on the sensitive nub. “please..”

your little whimper made him double his efforts. but not in a rough way. he held you trough it, talked you trough it. his lips placing soft, comforting kisses along your shoulder as your orgasm washed over you, legs fighting not to give out. matt was quick to follow, burying his face in your neck. his groan—desperate from how long it’s been since he had you like this—send a shiver up your spine.

your breath hitched against the pillow as he filled you up. the room felt too quiet now, save for the sound of your breathing, the quiet thump of your heartbeat in your ears. he didn’t speak, didn’t pull away either. just stayed like that—his body pressed to yours, face buried in the back your neck, beard still scratching faintly against your skin with every breath he took. you thought maybe that was it. the quiet end to something chaotic. but then he mumbled, so softly you almost missed it.

“i don’t just miss you when you’re gone.”

you blinked, his words sinking in like a slow burn through your chest. you turned your head slightly, catching the profile of his face against your skin—soft, honest in a way you didn’t expect. he pulled out gently, arms still around you as he rolled to his side, keeping you close like he wasn’t ready to let go. you didn’t push him away. didn’t say anything right away either.

just lay there, still flushed and wrecked, your fingers brushing lightly across the curve of his shoulder.

“i know,” you whispered after a moment. “you don’t really hide it well anymore.”

matt huffed something between a scoff and a laugh, but it was tired. content. the kind of sound that only happened when his walls finally slipped. and they had—at least a little.

you curled in closer, letting your body melt into his, eyes drifting closed against the thrum of his heartbeat. you could think about the chaos later. the hacking, the watching, the lines you both blurred to get here. but for now—this moment?

you were his.

and he was yours.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Three

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, so much fluff, strong language

Notes — This is a long one, so grab a snack and send me your thoughts afterwards! I'd love to chat about our favourite Norris'.

2023 (Qatar —Brazil)

Somewhere just outside Milan, on a golf course a little too sunny and a little too posh, Amelia was exactly where she didn’t want to be — but wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

She was reclined awkwardly in the shade of the golf cart, legs folded beneath her, sunglasses perched high on her nose, and an iced coffee sweating on the dashboard beside her. Her phone was in one hand, but she hadn’t looked at it in twenty minutes — not since Oscar had taken his second swing of the day and nearly decapitated a green shrub.

Lando stood at the tee in a white polo and beige shorts that she’d ironed for him that morning, right after threatening to dump them in the villa’s pool if he left them all crumpled on the floor again. He adjusted his grip with unnecessary flair, smirked at Oscar, then lined up for the next hole like it was Sunday at Augusta.

Amelia watched with a lazy smile.

“I am incredibly bored,” she called, not bothering to move. Her voice was flat, deadpan. The kind of tone that could mean anything — annoyed or fond or quietly amused.

Lando glanced back over his shoulder, grin sharp. “Just think about the nice tan you’ll get, baby! Lots of vitamin D!”

Damn him and his awareness of her vitamin D deficiency anxiety. Her specialist had said she was borderline again after Austria and ever since, Lando had taken every opportunity to drag her into the sun like she was a bloody houseplant. She didn’t mind. Not really. But she liked to pretend to mind, just to see the little grin he gave when he knew she was pretending—being playful.

Oscar, standing ten metres away and swearing under his breath about a divot, shook his head. “Amelia, you literally planned this.” He looked at Lando. “Like, she literally booked the tee time. And now she’s complaining?”

Lando’s grin widened. “Because she loves me.”

“I do,” Amelia sighed, leaning further back in the seat. “Unfortunately.”

She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d ended up here — but it was a victory celebration that she’d come up with after their double podium in Japan.

Lando loved golf with a level of passion Amelia could only describe as dangerous. Oscar was… trying his best. And Amelia?

Well, she liked watching.

Not the game, exactly. But them. Lando, focused and fluid and maybe a little smug. Oscar, messy and determined and weirdly graceful even in failure. The two of them chirping at each other between swings, betting stupid things on who could land closer to the pin — the loser having to make the others smoothies for the next three race weekends. (Amelia was very invested in who won that one; Oscar’s smoothies always tasted like grass—then again, Lando’s weren’t much better.)

And every so often, one of them would glance back at her. Just to check. Just to make sure she was still smiling, or sipping her drink, or willing to give them a thumbs-up from her perch in the cart. She didn’t have to say much — they always knew when she needed a break from noise or heat, or when to dial it back on the loud bickering if she was getting overwhelmed.

That was the nice thing about being known; and seen.

Oscar swung again. The ball shot off at a violently wrong angle, bounced twice on a paved path, and disappeared into a hedge.

There was silence.

Amelia winced. “You’re getting better!” She attempted.

“I hate this game,” Oscar muttered, trudging off after his ball.

“You said it would be fun,” Lando reminded him.

“I was lying.”

Amelia tucked her chin into her shoulder to stifle her laugh. Lando finished his own swing — smooth, effortless — and then jogged back toward the cart with that little bounce in his step he always got when he was pleased with himself.

“Did you see that?” He asked, bending slightly to meet her eyes.

She blinked up at him behind her sunglasses. “You’re very talented.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That was sarcasm.”

“No. I swear. I’m so incredibly impressed by your ability to hit a little white ball hundreds of meters away and then having to run to go and get it — its like you’re playing fetch with yourself. It’s endearing.”

Lando snorted. “You’re such a supportive golf wife.”

Amelia nodded solemnly, her lips twitching. “I know. You’d be so lost without me here to cheer you on.”

Oscar wandered back from the hedge, ball retrieved, some small twigs in his hair. “Are we getting food after this?”

Lando offered him a bottle of water from the cooler. “Depends. Are you going to finish a single hole under ten shots?”

Oscar drank half the bottle in one go, then gave a deeply unbothered shrug. “Probably not.”

Amelia leaned her head back against the seat and smiled, letting the sun brush her cheeks. This — the warmth, the jokes, the sheer absurdity of two F1 drivers whacking balls into oblivion on a golf course while she heckled from the sidelines — was exactly the kind of celebration she liked.

Not loud. Not flashy.

And as Lando walked to the next tee box, she slipped a hand into her pocket and curled her fingers around the worn, yellow golf ball she kept there.

The original.

It had been their first date, if you could even call it that, back when everything was still a terribly-kept secret. Before she’d joined Red Bull and Lando was a rookie, and no one knew how many nights he’d driven out to Oxford just to spend time with her.

He’d taken her to a golf course in Surrey. Not posh. Not fancy. Quiet enough to remain private. Lando had grinned the whole time, letting her sit in the cart, tossing her snacks like they were bribes. At some point, he’d handed her a yellow golf ball and said, “This one’s lucky. Keep it.”

She had.

She’d held it in her hand through simulator tests and race briefings and long-haul flights when the cabin lights were too bright. She kept it on her desk at the MTC now. Sometimes in her pocket.

Today, it was both comfort and talisman.

“Hey,” Lando said, reaching into the cart’s storage bin. “Got you something.”

She turned, and he tossed her another golf ball — same shade of yellow, brand new.

Her mouth twitched. “A replacement?”

“An expansion,” he said, crouching beside the cart. “New memory.”

Amelia reached into her pocket and held up the original.

The difference between them was obvious. One was scratched, smoothed from years of anxious handling. The other gleamed in the sun like a lemon drop.

“No replacement,” she murmured, brushing a thumb over the old one’s surface. “This one’s forever.”

Lando’s eyes softened. “You want to keep it?”

“Yeah. You gave it to me.”

Oscar walked past, grumbling something about sand traps, and muttered without looking, “God, you two are so married.”

“We really are,” Amelia agreed, gaze still on the yellow ball in her palm.

Lando leaned in, kissed the top of her head, then tucked the new ball into her drink holder beside the iced coffee. “For the new balcony. We’ll put it in a plant pot.”

Oscar lost another ball on the next hole. Lando birdied the ninth. Amelia stayed in the shade, sipping her coffee, and let her mind wander.

—

A long white table ran the length of the patio, dotted with bowls of olives and carafes of wine, sunflowers in thick glass jars, and one very lopsided chocolate cake that Lando’s mum had proudly made herself. There were candles too — thick ones, flickering despite the breeze — and the scent of grilled vegetables and lemon roasted chicken drifted on the late summer air.

It was Flo’s birthday. Lando’s little sister. The youngest and loudest of the Norris siblings. She’d chosen the playlist, and she’d chosen the theme — which, according to the group chat, was “dressy but casual.”

Lando had interpreted that as white linen and loafers. Amelia had chosen a soft navy dress and her noise-dampening earrings shaped like small silver stars.

Lando reached for her hand as she approached the table, tugging her into his side briefly.

“You okay?” He murmured.

She nodded. Hummed. “Just wanted to wash my hands.”

He smiled, brushing a kiss over her temple. “I’ll sit you close to the good bread.”

True to his word, they slid into seats near the far end of the table — close to the outdoor kitchen, shaded from the worst of the noise. Oscar had already arrived and was sitting cross-legged on a bench, sipping lemonade and chatting with Flo. Lando’s dad was carving meat, and his mum waved cheerfully the moment she spotted Amelia.

“Amelia, darling, come try this courgette thing — I don’t know what I did, but it’s actually edible!”

Lando nudged Amelia’s side with his elbow. “Just give me a look if you need a save.”

Amelia smiled tightly and stepped forward, spooning a small portion onto her plate. “I believe in your courgette abilities.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” his mum said, then touched Amelia’s arm very gently — just fingertips. “You look lovely.”

Amelia didn’t flinch. She didn’t need to. That kind of touch, soft, expected and all very mum-like, was generally fine. She tucked her hair behind her ear and murmured a shy, “Thanks,” before slipping back to her seat and letting Lando press his knee against hers under the table.

She was still learning this, sometimes. New family dynamics. Casual affection. Birthday celebrations that she wasn’t explicitly in charge of. She supposed that she was part of the Norris family now — she even had their last name — but they were still exuberant in a way that sometimes made her chest tight.

And when she did get overwhelmed, too many voices, too much movement, Lando always knew. Always shifted closer. Gave her a little squeeze behind the knee. Changed the subject for her when someone asked a question she wasn’t quite ready to answer.

Now, he passed her a basket of warm bread and whispered, “There’s a little set-up in the kitchen if you need a break, baby.”

“Don’t need it yet,” she said, quietly grateful.

Dinner was lovely, in that charmingly chaotic way that big families managed. Conversations overlapped like sheet music. Lando’s dad was telling a story about Lando’s first karting accident and how he’d tried to bribe the mechanic with stickers to fix the engine faster.

Lando himself was perfectly at ease. His sunglasses were perched in his hair, his cheeks sun-warmed and dimpled from laughter. Every now and then, his hand found Amelia’s beneath the table and just rested there, thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles.

She didn’t mind the noise when it was like this; soft-edged and loving. Familiar.

Halfway through dessert, Flo leaned across the table and grinned at Amelia.

“So, how does it feel being the only person here who can boss both my brother around?”

Amelia blinked. “Technically, my dad can too.”

Lando snorted. “Zak just thinks he can.”

Amelia took a bite of cake to hide her smile.

Later, when the sun had dipped low and the candles burned brighter than the sky, the group moved to the lounge chairs near the pool. Some of the family peeled away — Lando’s auntie went to put her toddler down for a nap, his older brother disappeared into the house to take a call. But Lando stayed with her. Always with her.

Amelia ended up curled sideways in a chair, her head resting against Lando’s shoulder, his arm slung loosely around her waist. Oscar sat on the patio steps, legs stretched out, gently dunking his feet in the water.

Amelia thought it was nice that Lando’s mum had extended the invitation to Oscar. He spent too much time alone while he was in England.

There was a small yellow flower tucked behind Amelia’s ear — courtesy of Flo, who’d been decorating everyone like it was a midsummer festival. It smelled faintly like lemon balm.

Lando looked down at her and murmured, “You did well today.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“You did,” he said softly. “You did, baby.”

She stared at him.

He knew what it cost her, to hold space in her mind for noise and chaos and unstructured celebrations like birthdays and holidays. To make room for people, even people she liked (loved, even), when her energy ran on such strict reserves.

But she’d done it, because this was her family now, and she loved them. “Your mum always makes me feel comfortable,” she said. “And she gave me the recipe for the courgette thing.”

“She texted me earlier asking if you liked the cake. She was sat two chairs away.”

Amelia smiled. “It was very… chocolatey.”

Lando grinned. “That’s your polite way of saying dry?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Beside them, Oscar stretched and yawned. “I give this night a 9 out of 10.”

Lando looked over. “Why not ten?”

“No fireworks,” Oscar said, dead serious.

Amelia frowned. “Don’t give Flo ideas. I hate fireworks.”

Oscar gave her a look. “How do you handle the Middle Eastern races then?”

She made a face. “Industrial grade ear defenders.”

As the laughter rose behind them, cousins chasing each other around the grassy area, Amelia let herself settle. The soft buzz of family. The gentle weight of her husband’s arm. The quiet, private pride that came from navigating something that once would’ve been a big no-no.

She reached into her pocket, thumb brushing absently over the ridged edge of her yellow golf ball. Still there. Still grounding.

Still hers.

—

The kitchen was quiet.

The last of the plates were stacked, the dessert forks rinsed and tucked into the drying rack. Somewhere out in the garden, Lando and Flo were arguing over which card game they were going to play.

Amelia stood barefoot on the cool tile, hair up now, sleeves rolled. She was drying glasses — not because anyone asked her to, but because she needed to be doing something with her hands. Her yellow golf ball sat tucked by the fruit bowl, close enough to reach. Just in case.

Across the counter, Lando’s mum moved with practiced ease. She wore a loose cardigan over her dress now, and her hair had been tucked into a clip, strands slipping free around her face. She handed Amelia another wine glass, careful not to clink them together too loudly.

“I’m so glad you came today, sweetheart,” she said fondly. “It’s always lovely to have you were — I told Lando to warn you that things can get loud on birthdays.”

“He did,” Amelia replied, not looking up from her towel work. “I brought my earplugs. But I’m used to it, now. Thing being a bit loud.”

Lando’s mum smiled. “Lando’s always been noisy. Even before he could walk.”

There was a companionable quiet then, filled only with the sounds of cloth against glass, the occasional scrape of a chair shifting outside.

After a while, Lando’s mum leaned her hip against the counter, holding the last dish towel in her hands. Her voice softened. “Have you had a nice evening?”

Amelia nodded once. “Yes.”

“Not too much stress?”

“No. It was fine.” Amelia told her.

Another pause. Then Cisca said, “I’ve really enjoyed having you around. Not just tonight — all of it. The last few years.”

Amelia tilted her head, not quite sure what to say to that. She didn’t do small talk, didn’t do the light layers of meaning most people danced through in social niceties. But she knew this wasn’t fluff. This was sincerity. So she answered plainly. “I like being part of the family.”

Lando’s mum’s eyes softened. “You are. Completely. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Amelia said. “Mostly because everyone keeps feeding me. Which is a pretty strong cultural signal.”

That made Lando’s mum laugh — a soft, surprised sound that echoed off the tile. “You’re good for him, you know,” she said after a moment, folding the towel neatly. “You keep him grounded. Focused. I think he relaxes more around you than he ever has.”

Amelia blinked. “He says I make him brave.”

“Well.” Her mother-in-law smiled. “Then that goes both ways.”

They stood in that gentle stillness for a beat longer, until the quiet grew warm again, full of the kind of silence that didn’t need filling.

And then, casually, Lando’s mum glanced toward the garden and mused aloud, mostly to herself, “God, imagine little ones running around out there. I don’t know how they all used to fit on the swings as kids. One day I’ll need to put in a second set.”

It wasn’t a prompt. Not really. Not an intrusive question. Just a meandering thought.

But Amelia, as ever, didn’t do subtle. “Oh,” she said brightly, setting down the towel. “You want grandkids? That’s great. I want three babies.”

Lando’s mum froze.

Amelia carried on, gaze wandering as she thought out loud. “Probably two or three years apart. It gives me more recovery time and better age grouping. Closer than that and it can get overwhelming, but too far apart and they don’t grow up together.”

There was a long beat of stunned silence.

Amelia looked up, completely unbothered. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I—” Lando’s mum blinked, gripping the edge of the counter like she might sway. “Are you… have you already started to plan this?”

“Well, yeah,” Amelia said simply, eyebrows lowering. “Me and Lando are married. We love each other. Babies come next.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry, honey. It’s just that you said that so—” She paused. “So casually.”

Amelia tilted her head again. “Should I not?”

“No, no! I just—” Her mother-in-law laughed, flushed and delighted and mildly overwhelmed. “That was just very matter of fact. I thought we were still at ‘maybe one day’, but you’re already planning!”

“Well, I have stage one endometriosis and some hormone instability, so I’ll probably need to plan anyway,” Amelia added, as if discussing what to get at the supermarket. “Might as well think about it now.”

Lando’s mum blinked again, then laughed — this time fuller, warmer.

“Okay,” she said. “Three grandbabies. Wow.”

“They’ll have your curls if I’m lucky,” Amelia said, very seriously. “I like your hair genetics.”

“I—thank you?”

“And your nurturing instincts,” Amelia added, as though building a character profile. “You’re very good at intuitive parenting. Lando always says you were the reason he felt safe growing up.”

At that, Lando’s mum had to sit down. She pulled out a chair and dropped into it, hand over her heart, laughter laced with sudden emotion.

“You’re going to kill me,” she muttered, smiling behind misty eyes. “You’re too much.”

Amelia tilted her head again. “I thought you liked me.”

“Oh, darling.” Lando’s mum reached over and squeezed her wrist. “I adore you.”

Amelia smiled then, soft and genuine. “Good. Because I think you’re going to be an excellent grandmother.”

“Well now you’ve really done it.” She sniffled.

They stayed like that for a while, one sitting, one standing.

Out in the garden, Lando’s voice floated through the open window, calling her name.

Amelia turned toward the sound, then glanced back. “I should go. He gets fussy when he’s ignored.”

“He gets that from me,” his mum said proudly.

Amelia paused just long enough to scoop up her yellow golf ball from the fruit bowl. Then she turned, light on her feet, and disappeared out into the garden — barefoot, sun-warmed and so loved.

And behind her, Lando’s mum sat back in her chair, hands pressed to her mouth, and whispered, just to herself, “Oh my God. Three.”

—

The link came through on the Thursday.

Amelia was halfway through a review of McLaren’s rear wing iterations for Quatar, coffee long gone cold beside her laptop, noise-cancelling headphones pushed down around her neck. The screen pinged — a message from Celeste, attached to a Rightmove URL.

iMessage — 17:09pm

Celeste

How cool is this? x

—

Amelia blinked, opened it, and paused.

It was the manor. Their manor.

The property where she and Lando had gotten married — tucked into the countryside, ivy-streaked and storybook quaint, with sweeping fields behind it and that crooked old sycamore where the marquee had stood. Where her dad had cried into the champagne tower, and Lando had held her hand all day long (other than when he was throwing himself around on the bouncy castle), and her dress had caught a tear in the gravel and she hadn’t even cared because her heart had been full to bursting.

It was for sale.

Amelia clicked through the gallery, something slow and tight pressing behind her ribs. The listing was full of charming estate-agent nonsense — “refined country character,” “versatile entertaining spaces,” “historic orchard with development potential.” But all she could see were memories. The long garden path where she and Lando had snuck off to breathe after the ceremony. The kitchen where she’d sat cross-legged on the floor in her wedding dress, eating crisps while the caterers cleared the dessert plates. The upstairs window where she’d caught him staring at her during golden hour, grinning like he’d won the lottery and couldn’t believe it. His camera has been in his hand — but she’d never seen those photos. He was keeping them for himself.

But the manor. It was right there. Available. Real.

Amelia stared at the asking price, did quick maths on the equity they had, the rental yields on their current apartment in Monaco, how much they were planning to invest into the two bedroom in Monaco, and what their joint savings could comfortably stretch to. The answer was: probably, if they were strategic. Not now-now. But soon. With a plan.

She opened a fresh Notes doc, typed.

‘Manor as UK based family house? Logistical breakdown’

She listed costs, zoning requirements, timelines for permits. She checked the regional council site for restrictions on redevelopment and found that yes — the orchard could potentially be converted into a private home with the right architectural submission. She bookmarked three firms. Two hours later she’d drawn up the outline of a house. Open-plan lower level. South-facing windows. Space for a workshop or sim room. A sensory room. And three children’s bedrooms.

She added a note.

‘Would need to bring in autism-specialist designer for stimulus-neutral planning.’

And then.

Bedrooms: 5. One guest. Three kids. One master.

Gap between each baby: 2.5 years (ideal).

She stopped typing, blinked at that for a second. Then nodded once, satisfied.

The door opened behind her — quiet but familiar. Lando padded into the room, hair damp from the shower. He glanced over her shoulder. “Architectural planning?” he asked, brow quirked. “That’s not your Quatar doc.”

Amelia turned the screen toward him. “Celeste sent me a property listing.”

He leaned closer. Then froze. “…Is that—?”

“Yup,” she said. “The manor.”

Lando stared. “Our manor?”

“They’re selling it.”

He stepped behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders, staring down at the screen like it might vanish. “That’s so weird. I haven’t thought about it in ages.”

“I have,” Amelia said. “Not constantly. Just sometimes. It was a good day.”

“The best,” he said, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She gestured at her notes. “I’ve been planning.”

Lando blinked. “Planning what?”

“Buying it. Not, like, the whole thing. Just the orchard part. If it goes through zoning, we could build a house. Make it something generational. Keep it in the family.”

His silence wasn’t disapproval; she could tell from the way his hands tightened, his breath caught. “A house,” he echoed.

“A big one,” she said. “Made for… us. Not for show. But for living in. Long-term. Home base. With a playground in the garden. And plenty of open space. And a pantry big enough for your ridiculous cereal collection.”

He laughed under his breath. “Do you… want that?”

She paused. “I didn’t know I did. Until I saw the listing.”

Lando slipped around her chair and crouched in front of her, eyes warm. “Are you sure? You’re not just being nostalgic?”

She met his gaze. “Lando — that place… it made sense. Felt like somewhere I belonged. We could make it ours.”

Lando looked at her. Then at the screen. Then back. “You’ve already done zoning research, haven’t you?”

“I found three architects,” she said. “And checked school catchments, just in case.”

Lando blinked, then grinned. “Of course you did.”

She hesitated, then added, quieter, “I’d want to be pregnant there. Eventually. Not soon, but… there.”

He didn’t tease. Didn’t joke. Just leaned up and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then her ring finger. “Okay. Then we’ll make it happen.”

And just like that, it was decided.

Amelia turned back to the screen, updated her note.

Step 1: Contact estate agent. Arrange viewing. Step 2: Call Dad. Warn him. Step 3: Pick floor tile suitable for future tiny baby feet.

Behind her, Lando pulled her onto his lap. She let him. The tab stayed open. So did the idea.

And somewhere deep in the marrow of her bones, Amelia felt it: rightness. Not the adrenaline spike of racing, not the sharp pride of strategy well executed — but the slower, steadier thing. The one that sounded like footsteps down a future hallway. Familiar laughter echoing through the orchard. A house. A home.

Theirs forever.

—

Qatar

The air was heavy with desert heat, painfully dry even in the mid-morning. Most people moved slowly here — in the heat, haste became impractical. But Amelia strode with her usual focus, clipboard tucked under one arm, iPad in her hand, and a thin layer of sweat collecting under her collarbones. She didn’t seem to notice. She was watching brake wear overlays and updating cooling parameters and trying not to think about how much she despised the dry, cloying heat.

She was halfway through checking a piece of data that’d come straight from the factory about the new airflow model when she felt someone fall into step beside her, shadow overlapping hers. She didn’t need to look.

“Morning, Lewis.”

“Morning, Amelia.”

She glanced at him. He was dressed well (always was), sipping a bottle of electrolyte water, sunglasses perched just so. There was something about the way Lewis moved — quiet, deliberate, like he had nowhere to be and yet was always where he needed to go.

“You’re braver than I am,” he said. “Out here without a parasol.”

“I hate carrying them,” she said with a sigh. “They pinch my hands.”

Lewis chuckled. “They do. I’m sure if you asked, McLaren would have someone walk around and hold it for you.”

Amelia blinked at him. “Would they?”

He gave her an amused look. “Of course they would.”

She nodded slowly. “I might ask next time.”

They walked a little further, the chaos of the paddock continuing to hum around them. Team radios crackled. Engines whined in the distance. Amelia’s eyes kept darting to the telemetry, to the graphs, to her overlays — but she was listening. She always listened.

“Hot day,” she said eventually.

“It’s Qatar,” he replied. “Always is.”

A beat passed. Then, “You’ll do well this weekend,” Lewis said. “Oscar’s looking sharp.”

“We’re not taking anything for granted.”

“You never do.”

They stopped outside the Mercedes garage. Amelia turned to him. “You’ve been consistent lately. Steady.”

His smile tugged up again, softer this time. “Just trying to keep these kids honest.”

She inclined her head. “You’re still the benchmark. Even if some of them won’t admit it.”

He tapped her tablet gently with one finger. “Keep an eye on your tire deltas. It’s gonna be a degradation race.”

“Already modelling it.”

He gave her a look. “Of course you are.”

And then he was gone, moving through the crowd like water, slipping between people without ever breaking stride.

Amelia stood there a moment longer, adjusting her headphones, refocusing — until someone whistled.

“Ah, Amelia. Don’t tell me you’re fraternising with the opposition.”

She turned around and beamed.

Fernando stood in the corridor between the Aston Martin trucks, arms crossed over his chest, half a smile on his face. He looked relaxed — but then again, he always did.

“I’ve missed you!” She exclaimed, walking to him and giving him a hug. “You had such a great first half of the season and I feel like I hardly saw you throughout any of it.”

Fernando sighed. “No stress. We have both been busy, no? I am just pleased to see you doing so well.” He said. “Despite the fact,” Fernando began, “That I still think it is a crime that Verstappen let you go so easily. You made his car sing.”

She didn’t respond.

“I mean it,” he continued. “Some engineers are smart. Others are intuitive. You are both, mi nina. That’s rare.”

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” she said simply.

“That may be,” he replied, “but if I were Lawrence, I’d be doing everything I could to steal you.”

As if summoned, a new voice entered the conversation. “I have been trying.”

Amelia turned.

Lawrence Stroll stood there, eye-waveringly expensive suit slightly wrinkled from travel, sunglasses pushed back into his greying hair, hands in his pockets. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you, Amelia.”

She narrowed her eyes, only slightly. “This isn’t about Oscar, is it?”

“No,” Lawrence said, with a slight chuckle. “It’s about you.”

Fernando, sensing the shift in tone, raised a hand in farewell. “I’ll let you two talk.”

Lawrence ignored him. His gaze stayed on Amelia. “I’ve watched your work closely for many years now,” he said. “Your leadership. Your race management. The way the drivers respond to you. It’s not just talent — it’s control. Trust. Those things are hard to build.”

Amelia didn’t blink. “You’re not being very subtle.”

“I don’t have time to be,” Lawrence said. “I’m building something. Something long-term. And I want the best. You’re on that list.”

“I’m already taken,” she said bluntly.

“I know,” he said. “But contracts can end. Or change. As you know very well.”

There was a pause. A long one.

Lawrence tilted his head. “Just think about it. That’s all I ask.”

“I will.”

He nodded once, then disappeared down the paddock with the weight of ambition in his wake.

Amelia watched him go, arms crossed now, her mind shifting back into gear. Already, the data was pulling her back in. Already, she was recalculating.

But there was a spark of something new in her chest.

Just a reminder of how valuable she’d become.

And how many people had finally noticed.

—

Her walk through the paddock was steady, breath tight in her chest, like if she exhaled too sharply, the whole moment would dissolve. Oscar’s voice had still been in her ears when he crossed the line. Still calm. Still contained.

“You did it, ducky. Sprint winner. Incredible driving.”

And his response?

A simple, stunned, “Oh. Wow.”

Now the world was echoing that same disbelief back at them — media swarming, mechanics clapping, the orange corner of the grandstand nearly shaking itself apart. And there he was, standing under the canopy of the cool-down room tent, race suit half-peeled, hair wild and wet with sweat.

Amelia saw him before he saw her.

Oscar looked dazed, like the adrenaline hadn’t quite cleared, and the gravity hadn’t quite landed. Mark was stood next to him, one hand clapped firmly on his shoulder, saying something low and fast and proud in that unmistakable Aussie drawl.

It was the way Mark was looking at Oscar — like he’d always known this would happen, and yet it was still better than expected — that made Amelia’s throat catch.

Then Oscar’s eyes found hers.

He blinked. Straightened. And smiled — wide, slightly crooked, boyish in a way he rarely let slip.

“Ducky,” she said simply, coming to a stop in front of him.

He laughed at the nickname. “That’s me,” he said. “Your statistically improbable Sprint winner.”

“You were perfect,” she said, all dry precision. But her eyes, bright and damp and more open than usual, gave her away.

Oscar’s grin faltered into something smaller, realer. “I kept waiting for the tyres to drop off. But they didn’t. It just… held.”

“You managed them. Just like we practiced.”

“I couldn’t hear you properly on the cool-down lap.”

“I didn’t say much,” she admitted, voice softer now. “I was… I was a little busy staring at the sector deltas and stimming like a lunatic.”

Oscar stepped forward then, ignoring the chaos beyond the ropes. He pulled her into a tight hug — unexpected, grounding, a little sweaty. Amelia stiffened for half a second, then melted into it, her fingers fisting into the back of his Nomex suit.

“You did it,” she whispered. “Oscar, you actually did it.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just held her tighter. When he pulled back, his eyes were a little glassy. “Thanks for… I don’t know. For always being ten steps ahead. And for being so brutal in debriefs.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, and meant it.

Mark joined them then, grinning like the proudest man alive. “You’ve created a monster,” he said to Amelia, gesturing at Oscar with exaggerated disbelief. “I mean — who does that to Max Verstappen?”

Amelia gave Oscar a mock-critical look. “Apparently Oscar.”

Oscar flushed.

Mark stepped in and offered Amelia a quick hug of his own. She stiffened, jaw tight and uncomfortable, but let it happen. “He needed someone who’d challenge him. You’ve given him more than that.”

“I’ve given him too many Excel sheets and an unhealthy obsession with braking telemetry.”

Mark laughed. “And he’s bloody better for it.”

They turned to watch Oscar be ushered toward the podium staging area. Media was already beginning to descend like buzzards, but he turned back once, just once, to catch Amelia’s eye.

She lifted a hand. Just a little wave.

He beamed.

And she smiled too — that rare, bright thing she usually reserved very carefully. It stayed on her face even as the chaos pulled him away, even as the noise grew again.

Because this was just the start.

—

The floodlights above Lusail beamed down like a thousand moons, bleaching the tarmac into shining silver, catching every sparkle of champagne, every fist pump, every celebration grin.

They had done it again.

Second and third.

Oscar, steady and instinctive, had held off Mercedes. Lando, smart and ruthless and near-flawless, had chased Max all the way to the flag. Both cars on the podium; again. But it felt even more electric this time. Not because it was a surprise, but because it wasn’t.

They expected this now. And they’d earned it.

Amelia stood frozen on the edge of parc fermé, headset still hanging around her neck, fingers curled tight into the sleeves of her fireproof undershirt, like she was holding herself together physically.

She’d watched the data with locked knees and clenched teeth — the tire drop-off, the rising temps, the wild degradation that almost threw Oscar’s balance completely out of sync. She’d tracked Lando’s closing distance to Checo with obsessive exactness, whispering split times under her breath like a mantra.

And when they crossed the line, second and third, orange and papaya gleaming beneath the lights, she hadn’t cheered, but her hands had started to shake.

Not from fear. Not even from the intensity of the race.

From release.

From joy so big it didn’t know where to go. It had to come out somewhere.

Zak had clapped her on the back — a proud, grounding weight — but she hadn’t looked up. She couldn’t, not until she’d pressed the backs of her hands to her eyes and pressed hard until the burn became manageable.

“You alright?” Will asked quietly beside her.

“I need a second,” she said, voice hoarse. “Just— I’m good. Just wait—”

She exhaled hard through her nose. Pressure valve, she reminded herself. It’s just joy. It’s okay to feel it. Let it happen.

So she did.

Right there on the edge of victory lane, Amelia rocked forward slightly on her feet, fingertips tapping a sharp rhythm against the back of her neck. She bounced a little on her heels, grounding, focusing, reining in the swirl of movement and sound and heat. She let out a breath in four-second beats.

In. Two. Three. Four.

Out. Two. Three. Four.

And when she opened her eyes again, she saw them.

Lando was laughing on the cool-down room couch, hair soaked with champagne, hands gesturing animatedly as Oscar flopped down beside him, face flushed and alive with adrenaline.

Oscar turned his head toward the glass and saw her watching.

He pointed.

Amelia flinched.

Then he mouthed, slow and dramatic, “Golf?”

She choked on a laugh and covered her face again.

God.

Her boys.

—

The paddock was quieter now.

The air still shimmered faintly from the heat of the day, and the sharp edges of celebration had dulled into a hum — softer now, half-hearted claps and fading laughter in the distance. Most people were halfway to a plane, or dragging their feet back toward the garage with radio kits slung over their shoulders and eyelids sagging.

Amelia lingered just behind the McLaren garage, leaning against a cargo crate under the metallic halo of the floodlights. The desert breeze hadn’t made it this far — the air was thick, warm against her skin. Her braid was stuck slightly to the back of her neck, her headset long since abandoned, replaced by the hum of low, far-off chatter.

She was just about to leave — phone in her pocket, half-formed message to Lando abandoned — when she caught a familiar flash of navy and orange in her periphery.

Max.

He walked slowly, alone, like he wasn’t in a rush to do anything or be anywhere — like the weight of a whole championship had finally lifted off his shoulders, or maybe just settled into them more comfortably than ever. His fireproofs were still on, peeled to his waist, Red Bull cap in one hand and a half-drunk water bottle in the other. There was something tired about his expression, but not worn out — no, it was a softness. A quiet. The kind of emotional fatigue that only came with finishing something enormous.

Amelia stepped out from the shadow.

“Hey,” she called softly.

Max turned immediately. His eyes found hers with ease — and his whole face changed.

“Zusje,” he said, voice warming. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

She smiled as he closed the distance. Even though they hadn’t worked together since the end of 2022, the nickname had not changed. She was still the woman who used to throw a pen at him across the engineering office when he refused to hydrate. Still the one who used to walk him through telemetry until midnight, murmuring grip differentials and weight distribution while he paced behind her chair like a caged animal.

And she was still, always, proud.

“Congratulations,” she said sincerely. “Three consecutive championships. That’s… incredibly impressive.”

Max’s mouth pulled into a smile, but not a smirking one. There was no sharpness to it tonight, just something full of gravity and warmth. He nodded slowly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling yet.

“Thanks,” he said. “It’s weird, isn’t it? How fast everything goes?”

Amelia nodded. “Feels like you were just yelling about turn-in balance in the sim room.”

“You were the one who was yelling,” Max corrected, faintly amused.

“You weren’t listening,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

That pulled a small laugh out of him, tired, but real. Then he quieted again. His eyes found hers in that way that people do when they’re trying to say something more.

“I’ve been thinking about you all weekend,” he said, gently.

Amelia blinked. “Okay.”

“I’m serious,” Max said. “You built me this car. The RB19. I know it’s not the official story, but I can tell, Amelia. I can tell.”

She opened her mouth to wave it off, to deflect, like she always did when people tried to give her credit, but Max held up a hand to stop her.

“No,” he said, firmer now. “Listen to me. The RB19 wouldn’t exist without the 18. And the 18 wouldn’t have won anything if you hadn’t been there.”

The words landed like something heavy and warm in her chest.

Amelia looked at him, trying to push past the way her throat suddenly tightened. “You would’ve done it without me.”

“No,” Max said again, quieter this time. “I wouldn’t. Not like this. Not this fast.”

He took a step closer, and for a moment, Amelia thought he might just say goodbye and leave it at that. But then he opened his arms and pulled her into a hug — without hesitation, without warning.

It was a tight hug. Not the kind people give out of politeness, but the kind that says thank you and I missed you and I’m so glad you’re still here all at once.

Amelia froze for half a second, then melted into it. She tucked her face against his shoulder, arms around his middle, letting the weight of it press into her ribs like the safe kind of pressure she craved when the world was too loud.

“Thanks for not going to Ferrari,” he mumbled into her hair.

She snorted, eyes stinging. “They never offered me enough money.”

Max laughed, still hugging her. “Then they’re idiots.”

They stood like that for a few seconds longer before pulling apart. His eyes were glassy now, though he blinked it away quickly — ever the professional, ever the calm public face.

Amelia nudged him gently. “You want a cake?”

Max blinked. “What?”

“I’ll make you one. For winning. Three tiers. Orange frosting. Maybe a little fondant helmet on top.”

He grinned. “You still bake?”

“I live with Lando. I bake a lot.”

“God help him.”

“I know. Poor thing.” She said flatly.

He shook his head, but the joy on his face didn’t fade. He reached out and squeezed her arm once, then let his hand drop. “Proud of you,” he said softly. “Really. McLaren’s lucky to have you.”

Amelia looked away, slightly flustered, always awkward when praise was pointed at her directly. “Thanks.”

Max smiled again, then gave her a salute with the neck of his water bottle. “Don’t be a stranger. We’ll do dinner in Monaco soon, yes?”

“Only if we can order in and have a movie night.”

“Deal.”

And then he turned, walking slowly into the night — a champion with one more trophy to pack, one more piece of history behind him.

Amelia stood alone again, the air still hot and dry, her skin buzzing faintly with old memories and new ones colliding in the quiet. She pulled out her phone, thumbed open a note, and started typing orange food colouring, almond extract, fondant, because she didn’t joke about cake.

And because Max, her brother in every way that mattered, deserved to be celebrated.

—

The hotel room was dark when they entered — not pitch-black. Lando immediately cracked the sliding door to the balcony, ensuring it was cracked open just enough to let in the dry desert breeze. Warm. Quiet. Comforting.

Amelia dropped her bag by the dresser and toed off her shoes with a tired sort of precision. She was past adrenaline now, past even the soft ache of overstimulation. What was left was weight — the good kind, the kind that came from surviving something huge and being allowed, finally, to stop holding herself together.

Lando went back to lock the door behind them. He was still half-damp from the champagne showers, still glittering faintly in spots from podium confetti. His curls were crushed under the McLaren cap he hadn’t removed since the post-race interviews. But his eyes found her immediately, soft and alert, scanning like always — a systems check, not for damage, but for peace.

“You need quiet time?” He asked gently, already moving to mute the TV.

Amelia nodded. “Just for a bit.”

She went to the bathroom first, washed her face — the water too warm, but the sensation grounding. She peeled off the layers of her race-day skin like armour; the undershirt, the sweat-dampened team hoodie, the lanyard that had been irritating her collarbone since sunrise.

When she came out, Lando was in one of the hotel robes, hair towel-dried, stretched sideways across the bed with her comfort yellow golf ball balanced on his stomach like it was a precious artefact.

“You left this in your bag,” he said, offering it to her without moving.

She climbed onto the bed beside him, took the ball, and rolled it between her palms. “Thanks.”

“Still your favourite?”

“Always.”

He reached out and traced a slow line down her arm, from elbow to wrist, just enough pressure to say I’m here without demanding anything from her. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, “Another double podium. We’re making a habit of it.”

Her throat tightened. “I know. It’s amazing.”

“Yeah. All because of you.”

Amelia leaned into him, resting her forehead against his collarbone. The room was wrapped in that perfect post-race quiet — not silent, but peaceful. The kind of quiet that only came after noise. After glory.

After survival.

He kissed the top of her head. She hummed.

“Are we sleeping in tomorrow?” She murmured, not moving.

“I already told the team that we’ll unreachable until noon,” Lando said. “I told them that I take protecting my wife’s peace very seriously.”

“You are my peace.” She mumbled.

He smiled against her hair. “Damn right I am.”

They stayed like that for a while — no TV, no phone lights. Just the low hum of the AC, the rustle of sheets, the subtle, syncopated rhythm of two people perfectly in tune with each other. Amelia’s fingers tapped lightly on his ribs — 4-4-3-1. Her grounding pattern. Lando didn’t ask, didn’t flinch. Just let her do it.

Eventually, she pulled back and tilted her face toward his. “I want to talk about the race now.”

“Okay,” he said, instantly alert but calm. “Do you want analysis or emotions?”

Amelia smiled tiredly. “Both. But I’m gonna start with this — Oscar should not have gone medium-medium-soft, but I understand why you both pushed for it.”

“We had to risk it. Track position mattered too much.”

“I know. I’m not mad.”

“You were right about pit windows again.”

“And you were right to stay out on Lap 32. I was going to make Will force you to box, but you felt something I couldn’t see in the data.”

Lando grinned, proud. “Yeah, I did.”

Amelia pressed a hand flat against his chest, directly over his heart. “You were… amazing.”

“You said that already.”

“I’m saying it again.”

They reviewed the race for nearly an hour in soft voices and tangled limbs, swapping data with half-formed sentences and coded phrases only they understood; Brake fade was smoother this time, Oscar felt twitchy into Turn 11, You covered the undercut like a bastard, I wanted to cry but I didn’t.

And when the words ran out, Amelia simply curled herself into his side and let her brain slow down. The stimming eased. The tapping softened to nothing. She traced lazy shapes on his chest — circuits and corner maps and invisible telemetry lines — until her hand stilled altogether.

“You good?” He asked, barely audible.

She nodded. “I’m so good.”

“Want me to read you something?”

“Yeah. That New Yorker piece on wind tunnels.”

“You are such a romantic.” He teased.

“I’m your wife. Everything I do is romantic.” She returned.

He chuckled, reached for his phone, and pulled up the article she’d bookmarked a week ago. As he read aloud, his voice lilted steady and familiar, her own version of white noise.

And somewhere between "computational fluid dynamics" and "thermal efficiency profiles," Amelia fell asleep — yellow golf ball still in her hand, Lando’s arm around her, her heart beating steady and unburdened in her chest.

—

The trophies sparkled.

Four of them. Lined up on a low table in the MTC atrium, beneath the glow of glass ceilings and beside a freshly wheeled-in faux bowling lane, complete with inflatable pins and McLaren-orange carpeting.

Oscar had walked in, taken one look at the setup, and said, “No one’s ever going to take us seriously as a team ever again.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lando grinned, flipping a trophy in one hand like it was a cricket bat. “I am deadly serious.”

Amelia, leaning against the edge of a bench, arms crossed and sunglasses still on indoors, said flatly, “You’re wearing socks with little trophies on them.”

“They’re on theme!”

“They’re ridiculous.”

Will entered last, clapping his hands like a game show host. “Alright, legends. Social team wants chaos, let’s give ‘em chaos. Two teams. Four frames. Trophy bowling.”

“Are the trophies the pins or the balls?” Oscar asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Will blinked. “God, no. The trophies are prizes. You get to keep yours if you win.”

Lando squinted. “Don’t we already—”

“Shh.”

Amelia let out a long, dry sigh, then pushed off the bench and rolled her shoulders. “Fine. Oscar, you and me.”

Oscar’s eyes widened in glee. “You’re choosing me over Lando?”

“He eats cereal with a fork. It’s a strategic decision.”

“That was one time!”

The McLaren comms team were already filming — phones up, boom mic wobbling overhead, a graphic artist hovering with cue cards shaped like little helmets. The whole thing felt like an inside joke, but Amelia didn’t mind. There was a certain charm to letting the world see this side of them — messy, loud, unfiltered. Human.

—

Oscar stepped up first. He rolled with more enthusiasm than technique, hurling the plush bowling ball down the lane with the kind of commitment that made Amelia wince in anticipation. It clipped four pins and skidded off into the foam barrier.

“Respectable,” Amelia said, patting his shoulder.

“You mean mediocre.”

“Mm.” She shrugged.

Her husband was up next, stretching like he was about to serve at Wimbledon.

“You’re taking this too seriously,” she muttered.

He smiled back at her, all dimples and trouble. “That’s because you’re not taking it seriously enough.”

He bowled like he drove: smooth, fast, calculated. Seven pins. Not bad.

Will followed with a bizarre overarm motion that somehow knocked down two and a camera tripod.

“Bonus points?” He asked.

“No,” Amelia said.

Then it was her turn.

She approached the line, calm and blank-faced, and underhanded the ball with the mechanical precision of someone used to high-pressure motor coordination. Strike. Ten pins. Easy.

The whole room exploded. Lando pointed at her like a WWE opponent. “You’ve done this before!”

Amelia shrugged. “Bowling is one of the only things I enjoyed doing as a kid.”

Oscar fist-bumped her. “My engineer is the GOAT.”

“I hate that acronym so much,” she murmured.

—

Will tried to distract Oscar by humming the F1 theme tune while he bowled. It worked. Two pins. Oscar cursed creatively.

Lando and Amelia shared a brief, subtle eye-contact moment that the cameras missed — the kind that passed entire volumes between them.

He walked past her and whispered, “If I win, you have to wear my trophy socks to the track.”

She looked him dead in the eye. “If I win, you make dinner every night for a month.”

Lando paled. “Harsh.”

“High stakes.”

His bowl went wide. Five pins.

Will somehow managed a bank shot that knocked down six and hit the snack table. Everyone cheered anyway.

Amelia took her time. She lined up, read the angle, adjusted her wrist — and bowled another strike.

Lando threw his arms up. “That’s cheating! You’ve got bowling angles in your head!”

“I’m just better than you,” she said calmly, collecting a high-five from the intern on drinks duty.

—

Oscar, determined to contribute something of value, nailed an eight and did a little celebratory shuffle that Amelia politely ignored. Lando stared at him, muttering, “You’re lucky I like you.”

Will slipped and fell into the pins.

Amelia, in sunglasses and zero emotional affect, simply bowled her third consecutive strike.

The room lost it.

The social media manager screamed. Someone triggered a confetti popper. Lando clutched his heart like a wounded soldier.

“She’s unstoppable,” Oscar said reverently.

Lando slumped dramatically to the floor. “I married a bowling superstar.”

Amelia walked over, bent down, and plucked the little trophy from his hand. “You married a winner.”

He reached up, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her gently down until she was seated beside him on the floor. The foam pins lay scattered around them like trophies of a different kind.

“You tried your best,” she said, voice low enough for only him to hear.

“Doesn’t make me feel any better,” he replied. “I’m shit at bowling.”

Oscar appeared behind them, brandishing his own trophy like a microphone. “Any words for your fans, Amelia?”

She blinked. “Yes. I’m going to put this trophy on my desk and carve my name into it with a nail file.”

Lando covered his face with one hand. “No!”

The camera zoomed in just in time to catch Amelia flicking Lando’s ear in triumph.

—

United States

The chequered flag had waved, the dust of the Texas tarmac still settling when news of the post-race disqualifications broke.

Back in the garage, the McLaren team pulsed with cautious celebration — engineers exchanging tired smiles, mechanics packing up with a bit more spring in their step. Amelia remained still, standing beside Oscar’s car, headset clutched loosely in one hand, her eyes darting between lines of data on her tablet.

Oscar had retired early — front wing damage from a Lap 1 squeeze that spiralled into floor and sidepod issues. It had been a helpless sort of race. Amelia had stayed composed on the radio, her voice steady even as her brain burned through every what-if.

Now, the sting was still there, hot in her chest.

But when she returned to the hotel hours later, the suite was already humming with something warmer. Softer.

Lando was at the window when she entered, silhouetted by the glow of Austin’s city lights, phone still buzzing with congratulations. His race suit had been peeled away in favour of a soft hoodie and shorts, but his grin hadn’t dulled with time.

“Third place,” he announced, voice teasingly casual, like he hadn’t just scored his sixth podium of the year. He dropped his gear bag by the door.

Amelia closed the door behind her, sighed, and padded in quietly. “Congratulations,” she said, her voice warm despite the weight in her limbs. She set her tablet on the desk and kicked off her shoes. “Accidental success.”

Lando snorted and crossed the room in three quick steps, looping his arms around her from behind. “Hey,” he murmured. “I know today sucked. For you, I mean.”

Amelia exhaled. Not with dismissal, but with tired honesty. “Part of the job,” she murmured, leaning into his hold. It had become her go-to response.

“You’re brilliant, you know,” he said, lips brushing her temple.

She turned in his arms, finally meeting his gaze, soft and steady. “You’ve gotta say that. I’m your wife.”

Lando grinned. “Damn right you are.”

They kissed once, light and quiet, the kind of kiss that felt like breath, then she slid past him and collapsed onto the couch with a groan. “Now order me food.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

—

Mexico

The noise in Mexico was different — brighter, higher-pitched, almost celebratory even before the lights went out.

Lando had started 17th. A disaster in qualifying, a flurry of yellow flags, mistimed laps. But the race itself? It was his to reclaim. One by one, he picked them off — a clean, flawless charge through the midfield. Lap after lap of controlled aggression. A display of exactly who he’d become as a driver.

Fifth across the line. From seventeenth.

Amelia had barely unclipped her headset before someone was already patting her shoulder — an engineer, another team member, someone mumbling something about “hell of a recovery.” But she barely heard it. Her eyes had never left Oscar’s pit board. Her mind was still full of numbers, brake traces, engine modes. Oscar had made it home — 14th, battered floor, another deflated kind of race. But he’d finished. He’d toughed it out, listened to her voice through every adaptation.

That night, the hotel room was quiet, high above Mexico City.

Lando lay sprawled on the bed, race highlights playing dimly on his phone, the glow flickering over his face. Amelia crawled into the bed beside him, dragging the duvet up, curling against his side like she was trying to fit herself into the rhythm of his breathing.

“That was a good one,” she murmured, voice sleepy-soft, fingers resting over his stomach.

Lando tapped the screen, paused the replay. “Yeah?”

She hummed. “The start. The passes. The way you forced Russell wide in Turn One. Clinical.”

He kissed the top of her head, fingers slipping into the ends of her braid. “Did you just call my driving clinical? Who are you and what have you done with my wife?”

She laughed under her breath. “Shut up. Take the compliment.”

—

Brazil

Interlagos sang like it always did — fast, frayed around the edges, a racetrack built on guts and glory.

Lando’s pace had been stunning all weekend. P2 in the Sprint. Another P2 on Sunday, this time only behind Max. There was a moment — brief but real — when it looked like the win might be his. He’d stayed with Max, hunted him, pushed him. It had taken everything Red Bull had to stay ahead.

Amelia’s race had been less beautiful. Oscar had been clipped early. A spiralling nightmare of overheating tyres, turbulent aero, and a damaged rear. Amelia had stayed calm, her voice like metronome rhythm in his ear, guiding him through a salvage run. Still, the frustration clawed at her ribs.

But then there was the podium. Orange-clad team members cheering in the background. Lando grinning.

Later, back in the hotel, it was just the two of them — Amelia curled into his lap on the window seat, arms wrapped around his torso, city lights glittering through the glass behind them.

“Another podium,” she whispered, sipping her drink slowly.

Lando rested his chin on top of her head. “Feels good to be in it. To actually believe we’re not just relying on luck anymore.”

“You’re not,” she said firmly. “You’ll be winning soon.” She pressed her face into the side of his neck, then kissed the mole just beneath his ear — the one she loved most. “I promise, Lando. I promise.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just held her tighter. Then he exhaled into her hair and whispered, “Love you so much.”

Her fingers found his. Interlocked.

There was still so much season left. But in that quiet moment — high above São Paulo, with champagne still drying on his race boots and her voice steady in his chest — it felt like everything was going to be just fine.

NEXT CHAPTER

[meganegatari]

Okay.. but like, loser ellie but she’s also a stoner and explains the entire lore of spider man to you while you’re trying to have seggs and she’s like stoned out of her mind and yapping about literally spider man 😭

before you read!!

☆: THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY IM CRYING LMFAO had me dying for like 10 mins straight. this is longer than intended bc im a yapper as we know, and i kinda don't know much of the spiderman lore (and you can def tell oops)…BUT I LOVE THE WAY YOUR MIND WORKS NONNIE.

◇: sfw but suggestive themes. warning: FAR from my best work, just wanted to keep momentum going ig. basically just fluff, lots of buildup as usual SORRY i have to establish a plot before we get to the good stuff…they're of age obviously, their relationship is left vague/up for interpretation so fill in the blanks w/ your own thoughts! “babe” pet name usage, consumption of weed, duh. ok i suppose that's all. OH AND SBWM REFERENCE HAHAHA (shameless self plug :3) + 1.0k wc.

One nice, regular night, chilling at Ellie’s humble abode, getting high, the usual Friday evening activities. You both were laying down in her bed, wrapped up in her dinosaur bedsheets of course, you were resting your head on her chest, occasionally coughing and swatting away the residual smoke that lingered in the air.

The weed had made your head fuzzy and your mouth drier than the Sahara desert, but despite all the not-so-great things, you loved to get high with Ellie.

Sometimes you'd fuck, sometimes you'd talk about life and reminisce about the good, the bad, and the ugly, and sometimes you'd just lay there to enjoy each other's company.

She was so warm and comfortable, you simply wished to merge bodies and become one with her, to make a home inside her ribcage even. You'd be perfectly fine just napping there on her cushiony chest, listening to her steady heartbeat and slow intakes of breath, if it wasn't for the familiar ache of need between your legs.

Shifting to look up at her, she was so incredibly zooted out of her mind, you found it hilarious. Chunky glasses covered in fingerprint smudges and sitting crooked atop her nose, eyes blood-red and so heavy lidded, you'd have thought she was asleep had you not taken a closer look.

You lifted yourself up and pressed your lips to the side of her pink cheek, repeatedly kissing her soft, smooth skin. She let out a husky giggle, her voice all hoarse and crackly from the substance. “Hiiii.”

She dragged out the vowel, grinning widely at you. Her smile was infectious, and you laughed at her state. Burying your face again in the crook of her neck, you mumbled, “Hi Ellie…you're so cute.”

Tangled up together, you kissed her some more on her neck, wanting to be as close as possible to her. She sighed, and angled her head to give you better access to more surface area. “That feels nice.” She'd slur, and you were pretty turned on at this point, to say the least.

It was worth asking. “Ellie…do you wanna fuckkk?” You whisper against her ear, and watch in delight as the bright-red blush spreads across her entire face like a wildfire, even reaching her collar, and spreading underneathyour shirt. “Um, yeah, duh. C’mere.”

You pressed a sloppy kiss to her lips, tangling your hands in her auburn locks and parting your puffy lips to invite her tongue in, not noticing the spit dribble down your chin where your faces met. Her breathing quickened immediately, and she whined into your mouth, the kisses getting even messier to the point where your teeth were clinking together, so you backed away for a breather.

The two of you shifted positions so she was now on top of you, resting her hand on your hip, thumb rubbing small circles. She moved in to initiate more lip-locking, but pulled away abruptly.

“Babe I forgot to tell you, so y’know Peter Parker, right?” And there she goes.

“Yeah, yeah I know him, can you just-” You try to rush past the beginnings of her rambling, because you knew once she got started, there was no end in sight. At least for a while.

You tried pulling her in to meet your lips again by the back of her head, but were met with lots of resistance. She seemed to look more alert now, a miracle. The power of superheroes!

She shuffled off of you and sat upright, assuming a cross-legged position, clearly not noticing your exasperated huffs and purposely obnoxious eye rolling, and the fact that there was a whole-ass human, half undressed, horny girl on her bed right there in front of her, who was slowly losing patience.

Ellie just went to her own world. Her eyes sparkled with passionate wonder as she thought about the series so dear to her heart. “Okay I rewatched all the movies a few days ago and I noticed something new…”

You were ready to give up what you originally had in mind, she was too far gone. She talked and talked endlessly, and you had to feign interest, nodding along and murmuring, “Mhm, yeah Els. Wow that's cool. Huh, never knew.” As enthusiastically as you could, so she didn't feel like she wasn't being listened to.

It was worth noting too though, when she started info-dumping about her interests she really was adorable, an excitement in her grassy eyes you never see otherwise, gesturing wildly with her hands and mapping out ideas to make it easy for someone who's never seen any of it to digest all this new information.

“...And then, in the movies Into the Spiderverse and Across the Spiderverse, there's this character called Gwen Stacy.”

She stops to cough and clear her throat, now seemingly appearing to completely forget that you were even there.

“And- oh yeah! She's also in the comics and ugh she's awesome, I really love her suit. It's got a hood on it…if I were to have a spider suit, it would be her style. Hm, it would also be mostly like, green…with red accents, ah I'm gonna show you all the sketches I made of it. But anyway…”

To be completely honest, you've been out of the mood for enough time now, and you've come to the realization that it actually didn't bother you.

This was Ellie, and you loved her for her! There was always next time you two met for a smoke session, you just loved spending time with someone so treasured such as her, and you'd be lying to say the Spiderman world wasn't a little interesting.

"That's so cool, wait. Okay can you explain the timeline of it all, oh and also how do all these different movies interact, is it the same universe, or something like the multiverse I think you mentioned?”

[comatosebunny09]

oblivious | sylus

summary: how he could confess so matter-of-factly is beyond you. you could only hope to be so brazen. but you won’t deny how it makes you feel. how your body vibrates with pleasant tingles and your mind colors with relief, knowing he feels the same. genre(s): fluff, romance warning(s): kissing, very minimal spice, short and sweet, allusions to sylus’ past? now playing: lago azul - jamila velazquez

Curiosity killed the cat.

But not knowing is killing you more.

“Sylus?” you offhandedly query from your place on the settee in his study.

“Yes, sweetie?” comes his automatic response from an adjacent armchair. He doesn’t look up from his book. Instead, flips another page, the yellowing paper flashing across the lenses of his glasses.

“Are you in love with me?”

For the first time since you’ve both occupied this room, he looks at you. Really looks, peering into the bowels of your soul. And with all the seriousness of the world, he answers, “Of course I am.”

You blanch. Nearly tumble from the couch, your tongue heavy and swollen in your mouth. Sylus watches you grapple with words, the solemness never leaving his face.

“Y-You…what? Are you serious?” Your voice is shrill, and it’s laughable how you clamber to your feet, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Yes.” He speaks evenly, as if his words will scare you off. “I am.”

“You—what?” It seems coherent sentences still fail you.

His book snaps shut with finality. He faces you fully, one leg crossed over the other as a smirk crooks his lips.

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” He waves a hand as if his affection for you is as evident as the transition from day to night.

“Huh?” You could smack yourself for how foreign the English language seems today.

“Sweetie,” Sylus sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose after sliding his frames from his face, shaking his head. “For someone so intelligent, you can be incredibly daft.”

“Heh, ha! Joke’s on you; I don’t even know what that word means!” It’s your attempt to dispel the pressure that’s settled on your shoulders. To shoo away the heat branching into your cheeks, the anxiety swelling in your chest.

How he could confess so matter-of-factly is beyond you. But you won’t deny how it makes you feel. How your body vibrates with pleasant tingles and your mind colors with relief.

Without relinquishing eye contact, Sylus slides his book onto the coffee table. Gradually stands, and you stiffen as he pads towards you, steps measured like those of a feline maneuvering through the snow.

“It means foolish,” he murmurs. “Ridiculous. Insufferable, much like you’re being right now.”

You’re a comical sight. Spine ramrod stiff, petrified like a goat. You unconsciously step back until the wall collides with your spine, and you’re like a cornered sheep in a wolf’s den.

You shrink as he spills over you like liquid smoke. He places a hand on the space beside your ear, blotting out everything that isn’t him. Eases his fingers beneath your chin to coax you to look up at him, and he’s surprisingly gentle as his thumb cruises over your chin, just shy of your bottom lip.

His eyes flicker like the slow inhalation of a flame, and he studies your gaze for something. An out, a sign of discomfort. There’s no fight to you. No qualms, no attempts to push him away. And when he discovers this, he slowly pans in until your mouth is but a hairsbreadth away.

His breath fans over your lips. Filters through your lashes, and you grow dizzy from the haze of it all. Find yourself painting a sluggish triangle between his hooded eyes and the pucker of his parted lips with your gaze, and—

And somewhere between the proximity of his body…

Between the warmth of his breath and the calming scent of sandalwood he carries…

Between his thumb tenderly tugging your bottom lip down, and your throat thickening with words left unbidden…

He kisses you. Sylus kisses you, honey-slow and exploratory, fingers curling affectionately around the nape of your neck whilst his thumb slides along the angle of your jaw.

Once the initial shock peters out, you’re kissing him back. Snake your arms about his shoulders, unconsciously drawing him to your height. He pours a bitten-off sound into your mouth. Brows furrow, his expression etched into one of anguish as if he’s waited lifetimes for this.

His lips slant possessively over yours, and the tension once coiled in his muscles like a spring slowly sloughs off. He bows into you, trapping you between the rigid pane of his body and the textured wall behind.

You’re both moving on instinct now as relief washes like a soothing balm over your limbs. And you’re kissing him with equal fervency as his sweltering tongue seeks out the wet glide of yours. You sigh hot and wanton into each other’s mouths, your fingers seeking solace in the soft riot of his hair.

His hands perch on your hips. Ease down, down, down to your thighs to wrap around the backs of them. He effortlessly hoists you into his arms, securing your legs around his hips. Doesn’t once break the seal of your lips as he turns you ‘round, walking you back towards the settee.

And as he lays you down all tender, your hair fanned around you like a halo, and his body a warm, homely pressure settled between your legs…

You think, maybe I’ve been in love with this insufferable idiot all along, too.

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