#no one in their right mind will read it i suppose

[fairene]

one of your girls / ln4, part two

lando norrisxfem!reader

no use of y/n, as always.

part one

a/n ⋯ I LIED IT'S COMING OUT NOW!!! i sat down for 'bout four hours after work and a family dinner to knock this the fuck OUTTTT. it's shorter than i expected, but this was the best way i could wrap up this supposed 'oneshot'. i hope you all enjoy it. and remember, it is up to YOU for what you are wearing, clothes are intentionally vaguely described for your own viewing pleasure. and tbh, i did not proof read this...don't sue me!!! I JUST WAnted it out asap for everyone@!!! pls don't let it flop!!!

warnings ⋯ SMUT 18+++!!! minors DNI!!!, language, drunk hookup, choking (slight), p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, overstimulation, feral lando. sickeningly in love lando, possession, jealousy.

wc ⋯ 13.7k (unedited!)

he hadn’t heard from you in weeks. weeks. it was driving him fucking insane. he didn’t know that the girl would come back, he didn’t know she would be a bitch, and he certainly didn’t know you would react that way. to his ultimate surprise, it was a comfort knowing that you did care. however sick and twisted it was, it told him without using your words, that you wanted something. 

things had been left unsaid between the pair of you for a long time. too long. he was never in the business of guessing your feelings, assuming that you felt one way or another about him. and neither were you. both of you were too fucking stubborn for your own good. neither of you could see what was right in front of you–

each other. 

and that was the worst part for lando. it had him pushing himself harder. faster. to be better to perhaps catch your attention. to win you back through his ability to race. but you didn’t care about that. you didn’t care about how fast he drove his car, didn’t care about the number of podiums he got. you cared about him. but you never let the words fall upon his ears, and that was your first mistake. 

it was the weekend in spain. warm, but not too humid, you traveled with alexandra and the rest of the ferrari hospitality team. you had gotten close to carlos’ girlfriend, rebecca, as well. they were both great company and more times than not, lando had slipped from your mind completely. 

but not for him. 

he was a mess. a wreck without you. guilt consumed him night and day, and he would feel eternally wrought with what could have been. he’s called you, texted you, even had oscar reach out to you, but there was nothing but radio silence and the bolded words ‘read’ beneath his sent messages. it hurt more knowing that you saw him suffering and did nothing about it. 

but he deserved it. he deserved this treatment. he wasn’t going to fight you. he would roll over, belly up like a good boy for you. pay attention to me, his actions would scream. look in my direction. but you didn’t even view his stories on social media anymore. didn’t even like his posts. 

the british driver would be found pacing back and forth, staring hunchback at his phone. oscar would watch him from across the room, legs dangling from the papaya barstool. he hated to see lando this way, but he knew what he did. lando was honest with oscar, hoping to maybe seek advice in his own girlfriend. but lily simply shrugged her shoulders and her expression said enough. 

you did this to yourself. 

but little did you know is that he threw that girl out the moment you left. okay, not literally, but in ever metaphoric way possible. he never contacted her again. he hadn’t contacted any girl, in fact, these past few weeks. he would be isolated with his PR team at every occasion, refusing to even entertain the thought of hitting up a new girl. 

his loyalty to you was suddenly unwavering, but it was too late. 

“mate,” oscar said from where he sat. lando didn’t look up, just hummed, staring at your last text to him. 

‘you’re too sweet,’ 

too sweet. what would you say now? you had replied to a set of merchandise he saved for you, special edition for miami’s grand prix, and that had been it. from you. he had to scroll down through the text chain to reach the bottom. his endless apologies, desperate words, and more apologies. he felt nauseous. sick that he ever treated you that way.

his favorite girl. his girl. 

“she’s here.” 

what? 

lando’s head snapped up, looking frantically around. but there was no sign of you. 

“with alexandra. ferrari paddock.” oscar gestured his phone towards lando. he snatched it from him, letting his eyes fly across the photo. it was a picture of you, rebecca, and alexandra. posted on alexandra’s instagram story. 

you looked…

happy. 

he…

he didn’t know why he was upset by that. he wanted you to feel the same level of anger, sadness, distress, even. but here you were– looking absolutely beautiful with your bright smile. so fucking beautiful. he remembers he was there when you picked out that top. and god, he was right, it’s meant for you. 

lando threw oscar’s phone back at him, and knew this would be a long fucking weekend. 

barcelona’s air had been clean. much cleaner than miami, new york. the decor of the paddock, too, had you thinking and trailing your fingers over the textures. you had done that more– feeling the things around you. you used to do that with lando. but now he was gone, and you had to suffice to other obscurities to lay your fingers upon. 

gone. the word echoed in the chasm of your mind. gone. you didn’t realize the depth of lando’s absence would impact you this much, but that had been a mistake on your part. clearly. an oversight of your intimate relationship. that, eventually, it would end. it would end in flames, crash and burn, and ultimately never recover. as much as you thought, anyways. 

you heard your name being called from the other side of the couch. you glanced up. 

rebecca stared at you expectedly. 

“sorry,” you breathed. “what did you say?” 

rebecca huffed, but repeated herself regardless. “i said that i have a friend with me i want you to meet.” you raised your brows quizzically. “i think you’ll like him.” 

him? him? oh, fuck, here we go. 

as much as you wanted  to breeze past what happened in lando’s monaco apartment, you couldn’t. your feelings, as heavy as they were, weighed you down into the abyss of lando norris’ wellbeing. 

you didn’t sleep with anyone since him. you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. it didn’t feel right, and your own attempt at an orgasm was ultimately futile. 

but you said nothing when rebecca turned, pulling a man from conversation with carlos. he looked confused, but let his eyes settle on you. he relaxed. 

he was a handsome chap. dark hair, dark eyes. tanned skin. fit. he had a grecian nose, one that was slim and curved. not like lando’s, you thought, but brought yourself down to earth and stood. you greeted him with two kisses on the cheek, and his name was raphael. 

“so you are…” his spanish accent was thick and attractive. you couldn’t deny that. “friends with rebecca?”

“that’s right.” you nodded, bringing a bottle of water to your lips to cool down. “you, as well?” 

he shrugged, giving you a ‘so-so’ hand gesture. “carlos, really,” you let out a soft ‘ahh’ and soon realized, too, that this would be a long fucking weekend. 

the day of free practices came and went. so did your time with raphael. he wasn’t a bad conversationalist whatsoever, you were simply not interested. but you made a promise to rebecca this weekend that you would try. try and branch out instead of looking insatiably bored on live television. she was right. you needed to get over this and move on, because lando must’ve, right? he must’ve slept with that girl, given the fact that he didn’t go after you. 

did you expect him to? 

you weren’t sure. you weren’t fucking sure of anything. you weren’t a mindreader for fucks sake. but you saw his text messages. all of them. you made yourself sick with despair every night, rereading them to yourself like the fucking bible. what did you expect him to do for you? crucify himself? maybe. just maybe. 

as you were walking down the pit lane with alexandra at your side, you felt the wafting air of an oncoming storm of people. you glanced around, but alexandra was the one to point it out. 

“uh oh.” 

the papaya suits could be seen from anywhere. it’s not like they were subtle. 

you bristled and stood up straight. fuck, okay. this was happening. he’s walking this way. was he coming toward you? no, don’t be so foolish. but you hoped that he would. 

lando was approaching you, but his eyes were set forward. but when you weren’t bothering to look, he had been staring at you the entire way here. he could spot you from miles away with your countenance, your undying beauty. 

but he didn’t stop to look at you. 

you didn’t either. 

but your hands–

god your hands

they brushed past one another when he swept past your shoulder. his pinky desperately latching to yours before you let him go. you gasped lowly and he heard it, his ears twitching with the sound. but he didn’t stop. he couldn’t. 

if he stopped to turn, he would kiss you out in the open. 

you dared him to.

but you both kept on your way, and the interaction had you fuming. why can’t he care to show up? texts, calls, whatever, didn’t compare to the ability to show up. you knew he was in monaco. you knew exactly when he was there. it wasn’t a fucking secret. 

fuck him.

you didn’t care if you were being a brat. you knew what you put at stake, but you opened your heart to him. and you believed that maybe, just maybe, if that girl hadn’t interrupted, the two of you would be in a very different situation. maybe. but you didn’t let that thought linger. you couldn’t. 

“what was that?” alexandra whispered to you as you both kept walking. 

“nothing.” 

and that’s what you promised yourself it to be. nothing. when in reality, it had been everything. lando had seen you, spotted you from what felt like a mile away with a man lingering at your side. fuck. reality set in for him that you were looking. you were looking elsewhere from him for companionship. it made him fucking sick to his stomach, and he knew that had to change. he was a man on a mission now, a conqueror ready to pillage. 

it was the evening when you found yourself locked away in your hotel room. it was well past ten o’clock, and you were exhausted form today. alexandra had invited you out, but you just couldn’t bring yourself. rebecca prodded away at you, too, insisting that you and raphael hit it off today. he said that he wanted to see you again.

you had thought about it. you really did. 

but you couldn’t. 

you’d been sucked into a tv melodrama in your hotel room when you felt your phone vibrate. someone was calling you. 

you checked the time and raised a brow, lifting your phone to see the all-too-familiar contact card lighting up your face in the ambient lighting of the room. 

lando

you hesitated. 

suddenly your heart was racing, beating rapidly against the cage of your chest, and you felt like a prisoner to your anxiety. you felt it drop to your stomach, feeling queasy, but hit ‘answer call’ anyways. you lifted your phone to your ear, and let out a soft breath. 

“what?” 

your words were bitter, but quiet in the solitude of your room.

“didn’t think you’d answer,” came his raspy voice from the other end. he was breathless, as if he had been running. or fucking some girl. fuck you, you wanted to bite out, but held your tongue. 

“neither did i.” 

that earned you a cheeky laugh from him. he hesitated, too, before breathing. “are you at your hotel?”

you were confused by the question. “yes.” 

“can i see you?” 

his words hit you hard. you fell back against the pillows of your bed, hand coming to rest over your forehead. you sighed with a grumble. “i don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

you could practically feel him wince through the phone. 

“please.”

fuck him and his soft words. his desperate tone, the pity that you felt for him grew. the fact of the matter flew from your head, disappearing with a singular plead from his cracked vocals. he sounded honest. that he truly wanted to see you, and a small part of you wished to reconcile whatever was happening between the two of you. you were not a woman of small touches– you wanted it all, or nothing. 

“okay.”

lando cleared his throat, choking on his breath, exhibiting his initial shock. “i– okay, okay, what room are you in?” 

“610.”

he hung up before you could let out a breath. your phone fell onto your nightwear– a simple baggy shirt and spandex. they were what kept you most comfortable at night. 

your hands raked over your face, pulling your eyelids with it. what were you doing? engaging with him, talking with him over the phone. the long text chains of read messages you had banished him to sat idly on your screen, staring you down with an ambivalence that you quivered before. was this a mistake? should you just pretend you’re–

there was a knock at your door seconds into your thoughts. 

you jumped from your bed, hands raking through your hair. how did he get here so fucking quick? you scrambled around your room, checking yourself in any reflection you could find. fuck, why were you so nervous? how could he possibly make you so riddled with anxiety in a matter of seconds? your heart was in overdrive once again, and you wondered just how much you could take. 

he said your name through the door. weak, pining. you dropped the brush you grabbed in the bathroom instantly, feet soaring over the hardwood floor to open it. when you did, you were face to face with the british driver. 

he wasn’t drunk. that’s a first. the thought crossed your mind only briefly, thinking that you were just a booty call in the late hours of the night. it wouldn’t be the first time. 

lando was disheveled, messy, and the white shirt he wore was ruffled. upon his head was a mclaren hat, concealing his identity from the outside. most importantly, though, that you noticed was how his face was glazed in a sheath of sweat. you cocked a brow at him. 

“did you run here?”

lando shrugged. it felt, in that moment, that things were normal between you two. that all of this…shit washed over for just a second. you felt at home. comfortable. but you cleared your throat and let him walk in, shutting the door behind you. 

you didn’t want to speak to him here. not where he could see your laundry everywhere, pairs of underwear sprawled around so he’d get distracted. not that you expected to fuck him here, though the thought didn’t upset you. fuck, you were in deep. 

you brushed past him, leading him to the small terrace just outside your bedroom. you slid the door open and leaned your back against the railing. he slid the door shut behind the two of you, and he took a seat in one of the wooden picnic chairs. he gawked at you, openly, letting his eyes run over your bare legs beneath the oversized shirt. 

“don’t do that.” you said, breaking the silence between you two. you seemed to rip him out of his dreamscape with a clearing of his throat. 

“do what?” he feigned innocence. though he knew what he was doing. he missed you, lest he verbalize that. 

“look at me,” you breathed, “like that.” 

his brow lifted, still playing dumb. dumb, as if he didn’t want to take you over this railing, ask you to be his. 

“like what?”

you scoffed. 

“like you’re in love with me.” 

ouch. your words bit harder than he thought they would, blood gushing from an open wound in his heart. he let your words settle before he leaned back in the chair, legs spreading as he fiddled with the skin of his thumbs. 

“i wanted to see you.” 

“i know,” you answered. “you saw me. now what?” 

lando shook his head. “don’t do that.” please don’t do that he wanted to say. 

“do what?” it was your turn to play dumb. your turn to pretend that you weren’t doing the same thing. pushing him away was the easiest way to deal with all of your problems. 

“act so cold.” he turned his head away from you, glancing over towards the lights of the city. “giving me frostbite.” 

“lando, what–”

“i’m sorry.” 

huh? you froze, eyes widening as you straightened upright. did you hear him correctly? it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve heard an apology. but this was a first to hear it in person, not in begging text messages half way across the world. 

“what–?”

“for everything. i’m sorry.” his head fell to his hands as he leaned over, gripping at the curls atop his head. you felt the same urge creeping up your spine, your hands feeling empty. you shifted on your feet, stepping a foot closer. 

“why now?”

he perked up, wondering what you meant. 

“why, now, are you sorry?” 

he was speechless. unable to form the words that could answer such a  vague question. but you had an idea, so you thought you’d share. 

“because i was with someone?” raphael. you know that he saw the two of you talking. chatting. maybe an occasional giggle so you could keep him quiet for the rest of the free practices. 

lando began to shake his head. “no, no–” 

“really?”

you stepped into his space, wedging yourself between his thighs. he stared up at you, lost in the reflection of your eyes beneath the starlit sky. his hands found your hips and you let him keep them there, at least for the moment. 

“really.” he promised you. head leaning forward to rest on your stomach. you felt the perch of his nose dig into your skin. your head leaned back, taking a large breath, feeling tears begin to well. 

“what do you want, then?” you said with a shaky breath. 

you felt his hands tense against your hips. 

“i don’t know.” his words were muffled, but you could make them out. it shattered you to hear the creak in his voice, but it hurt even more knowing that he didn’t know. you wanted something with him. a relationship. but he didn’t feel the same.

your fingers cupped his face, bringing him to look at you. “that’s it, then, huh?” your voice was dangerously soft. 

he was confused. again. 

“that’s all i’ll be?” he still didn’t catch on, too busy staring at your flushed face, reddened eyes. he wanted to fix it– take back his words. he’d do anything to reverse time. would do anything to revoke the words that spilled from your pretty lips. 

“one of your girls.”

you pushed him away, walking back to the railing with your back turned. he said your name over and over. you ignored him.

“i think,” you said, sucking in a tight breath to calm the storm of emotions that were threatening to raise hell. “that you should go.” 

“no, no–” lando stood, coming to wrap his arms around you, but you turned, holding up your hand to stop your advances. 

“we knew this would happen one day, didn’t we?” you reaffirmed, steadying your breaths the best that you could. but it was difficult. nothing about this was easy. but it had to be done. you were done waiting. done pining for someone that did not feel the same. did not burn the same. 

lando breathed your name again. you shook your head. “no. no. we can’t–” you choked on your tears. it felt hard to breathe. “i can’t keep waiting for you.” 

lando’s own eyes filled with tears. it felt like a breakup, when you two were clearly never together. you made that clear enough, and he obeyed, just wishing to feel your skin beneath his fingers, fall asleep to your heart beat. so why did he say he didn’t know? fuck, he’s such an asshole. he couldn’t take back his words now, could he? 

he tried to explain. words stumbled from his lips, nervous and riling with anxiety, but you would hear none of it. you simply brushed past him and into your room, opening the door from your hotel room for him. you said nothing else, tears sliding down your cheeks, lip caught between your teeth. 

“please,” he begged one last time. he had succumbed to his tears, too, cheeks flushed and lip wet. his hands trembled as he made one last attempt to cup your face. you let him. 

your foreheads met in both desperation and exhaustion. here, it felt like time stopped. the two of you in sync with your racing hearts, trembling hands, voracious blood churning through your veins. you looked up at him through your wet lashes and he met your gaze. it only had you sobbing harder. 

he wiped the tears from your cheeks. 

“please,” he said your name on his trembling tongue. the sound had your knees trembling, but you resisted. you had to. you couldn’t keep doing this anymore. there was a life out there, waiting for you to take hold of. “don’t make me go.” 

you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. 

“you have to.” 

lando hiccuped. his fingers were still shaking, and he finally accepted your rejection. though he supposed he signified it first. that was his first mistake. he couldn’t take back his words without sounding like a dick, so he was trapped. trapped utterly in this pit of mayhem. 

he exited your hotel room with his tail between his legs. defeated. 

you shut the door behind him and slumped against it, your back sliding down until you hit the floor. your head fell into your hands as you attempted to stifle your sobs. 

little did you know, that he had done the same thing, fallen limp against your hotel room door. your sobs were in unison as you began to unravel, whilst he coiled into knots. forever entwined amidst your inability to be vulnerable with one another. toilsome, but ultimately true. 

you didn’t know how long you stayed there. he didn’t know how long he stayed there. the two of you stayed in parallel behind a closed door, mimicking each other’s beating heart, for you knew that they would never be one. 

when you woke, you were still slumped against the door. you stood, stretching out your painfully aching muscles, arched your back, twisted your neck. your eyes were swollen raw with your epidemic of tears the night prior, and you rubbed the crust away. the memories flooded through you. lando was here. he was here, and you had to haul his ass out.

you thought he was going to kiss you. 

but he didn’t. your lips would remain untouched by his own. 

your fingers ghosted over your mouth, shivering at the memory of him so close to you. you could feel his breath fanning over your face– the heaving, desperate puffs of air– and he felt yours, too, with the same amount of anxiety. you were a wreck before him, and he was too. 

in no time you found your phone, grimacing at your battery, and the plethora of texts from rebecca and alexandra. it was still early in the morning so you had time to pull yourself together, but you had a big day with them today. qualifying was happening, and rebecca had set you up.

she set you up with raphael for the day. you knew she meant the best. and maybe it was. this was your opportunity to uphold your promise– to move on. you had to, or else you would be strung dry for the remainder of your life, with dreary hopes and aimless romantics. you would not drown in the ocean of lando norris, despite how cumbersome he gripped on your ankles. 

you fixed yourself for the day. showering quickly, styling your hair to your liking. you threw on a formal chic outfit, perhaps trying a bit hard today to catch raphael’s eye– or someone else’s, by chance. but you left the unattainable at the back of your mind today, heart far too raw to be ripped open again.

you would stick with something safe. someone safe. raphael was your answer in the short term. you were sick of playing the long game, bested to your knees in the face of whatever conspired between you and the british driver. you were convinced it was for the best. it had to be. these emotions couldn’t be for nothing. 

it couldn’t be for nothing. 

when you arrived to the track that morning, alexandra was quick to meet your side. she had an impenetrable amount of questions for you, yearning for your answers, but you only gave her a brief overview. 

“we’re done,” you said as you walked through the pit lane. “he doesn’t want me like that.” 

she was clearly taken back. her hand flew over her heart, obviously distressed for you. you admired her care for you. you would do the same for her. “really?” 

you nodded, gulping down the lump in your throat that was tempting to choke you. 

“it’s okay.” you reaffirmed her. she made a move to speak over you, console you to the highest degree, but you stopped her. “i’m fine. swear. let’s have a good day, shall we?” you plastered on a fake smile towards her, but you knew she saw through you. but she would accept this for now when you were approached by carlos, rebecca, and raphael. 

you smiled brighter when raphael came to kiss both your cheeks. you gripped his bicep. engaging in conversation with him felt easier today, and you weren’t begging for an out. you’d catch rebecca’s eye here and there, and she glowed with happiness. if you weren’t doing this for yourself, you could at least say that you were doing it for her. 

raphael was not a bad man whatsoever. he smelled good, had good hygiene, and had a glowing smile. but he didn’t smell the same. didn’t have the same musk. didn’t have the harsh pricks of a stubble that burned into the skin of your neck. 

fuck. you missed the feeling of that stubble. 

you clung to raphael’s side for the rest of the day, a burning itch between your thighs undoing the morals of your mind. if you wanted to get over lando, you’d have to truly get over him. 

it was never a ‘string’s attached’ relationship, was it? you were free to fuck whoever you want, when you want. so why would it be so bad if you wished to see raphael bend down for you? 

or you wanted someone else, but raphael was the closest you’d get. 

the rest of the day went by smoothly. for you, at least, but not for lando.

he had come into the mclaren paddock looking absolutely awry. his hair messy, eyes dreary with sleep and emotion, whereas you…you looked beautiful. untouched by your emotions from the night before. so much so that you were cuddled against that same fucking dude, which had lando’s blood bursting to life. 

you were across in the pitlane observing the car, arms folded over your chest. that fucking guy’s hand rested on the upper part of your back, rolling soft circles with the pads of his fingers. he clenched the rim of his helmet in his hands. his teeth grinded inside his mouth, sawing down the enamel. for you, he’d have no teeth. for you were the only world he wished to bite, and even then you starved him of it. 

“y’alright, mate?” oscar’s voice interrupted his thoughts. lando broke his stare from the pair of you, ripping his eyes away. 

but you had turned, then, and let your eyes linger on his back.

“fine.” 

that evening was no different than any other. for lando, at least, he succumbed to his hotel room for the night. he had no interest in going out. if he saw you with that spanish prick, he’d only lose himself even more. the guilt of losing you had been overturning, divulging into what a psychologist would declare as madness. 

but you were the opposite. you were out on the town, clubbing with rebecca and raphael. carlos was there, too, but was saving his energy for the race tomorrow. he held no drink in his hand, but you did. you were downing shot after shot. 

you were swaying your hips, grinding against raphael with a steady pace. he was into it. his dick was aggressively hard against the back side of your dress, but you weren’t scared by it. it enticed you further, in fact, and had you drawing new sensations of pleasure through you.

finally, you thought, a break from him. from lando. but the voices echoed inside the back of your mind. it bounced off the walls; he couldn’t compare. 

lando would have his hands drawing up the sides of your body. fingertips scathing the fabric of your dress, teasing touches that would have you writhing in his hold, desperate for him to fuck you in the back. 

lando would have his face nuzzled into your neck whispering bittersweet praises into your ear. he’d squeeze your hips with anticipation as the both of you would move in sync. always in sync. the two of you were one on the dance floor, one when you fucked one another senseless in your less than private moments. when he was particularly desperate for your touch, he’d go as far as taking you in the bathrooms at any club. he had no shame; not when it came to you. 

but raphael was tame. and maybe you appreciated tame. maybe this was a new start for you. fresh and free of any unknowns. 

“you’re beautiful, hermosa.” he would whisper to you, body trying its best to keep up with you. he did, for the most part, but you moved to your own beat. lando would know. he knew every inch of you. were you really prepared to be strangers? 

you spun around in raphael’s arms, wrapping yours around his neck. you offered him a cheeky smile. this wasn’t you. “and you’re handsome!” it was alcohol talking. you would never be seen so exuberant. not like this. 

it had raphael laughing, though, and it was enough for him to take you back to his place. 

the entire way back to his place you were giggling, latching onto his tanned skin. his hair was soft, sheen, and luscious. your hands never got lost in the strands of his hair– it was too combed, not curly enough. nothing was curly enough. 

and then he had you against the wall of his flat. your hands pinned against your head, and he met your lips with his. fuck, you couldn’t remember the last time you’ve been kissed. but the worst part about all of it was–

you hated it. 

you tugged his head down to your neck, letting him work the sensitive skin with his tongue. your lips felt hot. blistering with a heat you haven’t felt in a long time. it felt…it felt…

raphael’s tongue found the meeting part of your underwear and skin, “can i?” he asked with a timid voice. you let out a soft moan and nodded. he tugged the fabric down, your dress still hanging off your body. you didn’t even remember if he left kisses along your neck, your breasts, you guessed his lips weren’t that memorable. 

and then his tongue was against your slit. you weren’t wet enough. clearly. you could feel the chapped parts of your cunt, disappointed in your body that you couldn’t ‘get it up’ for him. whereas he was practically jacking off in his pants, you were left like a desert. it wouldn’t be like this with lando. 

he explored your cunt with his tongue, narrowly dodging your clit ever so slightly. he thought your noises of pleasure were noises of distress, so he avoided touching your clit as much as possible. so he tongued you through and through, until you began to become irritated. 

you couldn’t even feel tight in your stomach. the feeling couldn’t be outmatched. maybe your sexdrive had died. maybe you could never cum ever again. this was to be your fate– dry and lonely. fuck. you let your head fall back against the wall, which he took as a good sign, and kept going. instead, you threaded your hands through his hair, rolling your eyes. 

you let out a few soft, faked moans. you felt guilty– of course you did– but apparently it was an olympic sport to make you cum. he certainly wouldn’t make the playoffs. 

after another minute of this, you were fed up. 

you tightened your cunt on command, which took a lot of fucking work, thank you, and began to heighten the sound of your moans. the award for best fake orgasm goes to: you!!! you surged forward to grip onto his shoulders, even pretending to be shaking. 

you deserved an oscar. 

“didn’t think i was that good.” 

an egot, maybe. 

you let out a soft sigh, a faked chuckle, and let him lead you to his bedroom. he fell atop of you on your back, holding himself up with the strength of his forearms. he dipped his hand down, scathing over your irritated cunt. you gasped at his hand finding your slit once again, drenched in only his spit, and without warning slipped a finger inside of you. 

your mouth hung open, lurching at the sudden contact. you felt sinched beneath his weight, taught with tension. he even curled his finger inside of you. he grazed your bundle of nerves that had your squirming. squirming for more pressure. he kept hitting your spot until he pulled away. you looked confused at first, wondering where exactly he was going. 

and…then he was pulling his cock out. fuck. you really weren’t going to win here, tonight, were you? not in the slightest, it seemed. he looked down at you with a knowing smirk. the same one where he thought you came beneath his tongue. 

he thought you came. 

fuck!

“are you ready?” he asked when his cock pushed against the skin of your lower belly. he was a good size, you admit, but you had a inkling that you weren’t going to find a sweet release with his hands. you nodded, forgetting your manners, but raphael said nothing. 

he pushed into you with a discerning pace. you scrunched your nose out of his eyesight. he was too busy fucking himself into your pussy. he couldn’t even open his eyes to look at you. and, for the record, he didn’t use a condom. dick. at least you had a form of a contraceptive. you’d make sure not to let him finish inside you. that’s for fucking sure. 

he slid in and out of you with the lubrication of his spit and his own precum. you didn’t move. you laid there, bored, faking a moan and gasp here and there. 

the whole time you thought about someone else. and you didn’t feel guilty about it. you were able to find yourself comforted by the dreaming thought of lando’s voice in your ear. the phantom touch of his stubble. the amount of moles that you could count on his face. 

with a grunt, you felt raphael push off of you, cumming onto his own sheets. he laid there, panting, and you…”did the same.” 

he turned to face you, smile on his face. “did you finish?”

you nodded with an itching smile. he seemed triumphant. though you couldn’t be drier than a haystack. 

your exit from his flat quickly. it’s not like he even took your dress off. he insisted that you stayed, but you retorted that you had an early morning with alexandra. whether or not that's true, you didn’t seem to care. he didn’t fight your statement and seamlessly let you go, clearly too exhausted from his evening to even see you out the door.

you hailed a cab from your hotel shamefully. you felt icky. your lip sneered when you caught a cab and tipped the driver once you arrived back. the elevator ride never seemed so tantalizingly long. 

when you swiped into your room, you threw your belongings on your bed and turned on a hot shower. while you waited for the water to heat, you opened your phone. 

no messages from lando. 

did you expect any?

maybe. 

you decided to call him. you didn’t fucking care. it was the alcohol talking. 

ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…

no answer. 

you left a voicemail.

“heeyyy…!!” you surged into the phone as you began to untangle your dress from your body. “i–uh, i dunno i just…wanted to call you… because i…” you swore under your breath as you couldn’t get a strap off. “sorry i…” you stuttered, laughing to yourself. “i think i miss you, lan.” 

and then you hung up, singing yourself into the shower. the hot water panned over your body, fingers trailing over the mounds of your breasts. the soft skin of your abdomen. 

but with your whimsy, came a price.

lando was there. he just didn’t answer your call. he had been awake, wondering what you were doing, since you were absent on almost all forms of social media. so when he got your call, he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. 

then the voicemail came.

he must’ve played it over a dozen times. hearing your soft voice, amicable and kind. you had been drinking, clearly, and he could hear the sound of the shower running in the background. he held his phone against his head, other hand running through his hair. he was a wreck over you, and you were as well. drunk dialing was never a thing between the two of you. 

especially an ‘i miss you.’ 

and how ‘lan’ slipped past your lip with such ease. the name was meant for you to use. only you. 

he found himself stroking his cock to your words, the temptress in your voice. he knew she was there, baiting him, and he was no better than a fish to bite. he fisted his cock with your name on his lips, and a reminder that yours was on his.

with a pounding heartbeat and ringing in his ears, all he could think about was you. and more or less, you the same.

your fingers trailed down your navel in the shower, coming to nib at the lips of your clit. how swollen it was, angered and annoyed, that such a man could ignore it. by association, you. 

a hand rolled over one of your breasts, twisting your nipple in hand. you gasped at the sensation you provided, flicking your clit between your fingers. you truly needed no more to make yourself cum, except the thought of lando’s voice in your ears. 

‘come on, baby,’ he would say to you, fingers gliding along your drenched slit with ease. you clenched around nothing, whimpering to yourself in the hum of the hot shower. ‘little more for me, yeah?’ he would always talk you through it. never once would you be alone when you came. he was always there, lingering, a shadow against the walls. 

you slipped a single finger inside of yourself, curling it expertly as lando taught you to. ‘just like that, sweet thing.’ he’d mutter against your shoulder as he’d fuck you on a chair facing a mirror. you could never make yourself cum before his “lessons.” 

your back arched against the marble of the shower walls. your thumb and forefinger worked just like his would against your clit, massaging the bundle of nerves until a coil inside of you snapped, and you came all over yourself with his name on your lips.

and he could feel it. amongst the cosmic plane. he had been grudgingly fisting his cock, grunting your name over his lips. it was sinful, the way that his cock was spewing cum in only a matter of minutes at the thought of your voice. ‘lan, lan,’ you would say to him, ‘need it. need you inside,’ you’d whimper against him, begging for his cum to seep out of you. 

he’d never deny you a pleasure. so he shouldn’t deny himself. he came in a matter of seconds over the palm of his hand, your name flustering his tongue. and he’d lay there, soaking in his milky cum, eyes blown wide at just how much of an effect you had on him; mind, body, and soul. 

you stood there in the shower, flustered from heat, the slick running down your thighs. your hearts beat in unison at that moment, miles apart, on the same wavelength. 

the shower wasn’t the same after that. you felt dirty, but so good. the namesake of lando’s voice in your ear was enough to have you cumming on your own fingers, but the touch of another man made you ill. what a shock that was to you. or maybe it wasn’t a surprise at all. 

clean to the best of your ability, you slept easy that night. the best sleep you’ve had this weekend, in fact, with lando frolicking through your dreams. and you in his, whispering soft ‘i love you’s’ which had him writhing with pleasure. you infested every part of him, and he did the same to you. you’d never be free of lando norris, and the thought began to settle. it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but you couldn’t forget his words. 

‘i don’t know,’ he spoke into your stomach. his nose pinched you. the words sliced clean. your stomach coiled not with pleasure, but anxiety. why didn’t he want you that way? why did he hesitate? 

you weren’t taking his rejection well. that was clear. 

but he wasn’t taking this any better. he was going through his own emotional turmoil of trying to make this up to you. it would be the last thing that he did. 

when you woke that morning with a groggy headache and a sore ache between your thighs, you couldn’t help but groan. what the fuck were you doing last night? you perhaps had the most disappointing sex of your entire life, and now, as you looked in the mirror you were nothing more than mortified. 

littered on your chest, above your breasts, were a few specks of bruises. hickey’s. fuck. fuck. that was one thing that was always far too intimate. kisses and hickeys. what did this mean, then, that you belonged to raphael? your fingers trailed up the bruises on your chest, the flesh tender beneath your soft touch. you winced at the memory of his cocky face, thinking that he had you finishing more than once. if at all. you leaned over the sink, washing your face off with cold water. 

your hands rested at the base of your neck. your reflection stared back at you, pitiful, the bruises beneath your eyes reflected a tiredness that the word ‘exhaustion’ could not begin to fathom. you were disappointed in yourself. that much was clear. 

a sigh escaped you when you finally mustered the courage to leave the bathroom. for the race today, you decided on a long dress. one that covered your chest, but hung on your shoulders. it was a beautiful piece. you’d been saving it for this weekend, and you were more than thankful that the universe seemed to be looking out for you. 

you tidied up your appearance the best you could and slid on a pair of heels, grimacing at the sore ache from the night before. raphael didn’t have a valet, so you had to walk across four blocks with his hands wandering down your sides, desperate to fuck you in an alleyway. ew. you shivered at the memory, but continued on from your hotel room.

though, you took one last glance before leaving, and let your eyes rest on the balcony. it felt like a dream to see lando sitting there, his face resting against the tender flesh of your stomach. his stubble itched through the cotton of your shirt, but it rather tickled. and then he said he didn’t know what he wanted with you, and your whole life slipped right through your fingers. 

he slipped through your fingers. 

you shut the door. 

lando’s morning, on the other hand, started off stellar in comparison to yours. he had stayed up a while longer, wondering if you would call him back, but you never did. there was a faint pang of disappointment, but much more guilt that he let you slip away so easily. he should’ve refused to leave your hotel room that night. refused by any force you attempted on him. 

but he’s just that much of a fucking idiot, wasn’t he? when he left for the paddock early that morning, he glanced at his phone one last time. one missed call, and it was from you last night. and then suddenly, his heart was warm, and there was a smile on his face.

all this told him was that there was a chance. you called him. you called him whether or not you were shitfaced. blackout drunk. in your vulnerable moments you thought of him. reached out for him. fuck, he was in love with you.

in love

he paused when he shut the door behind him, frozen in place. what? is that what this was? love? 

anxiety churned in his stomach. this feeling had been there for a while. a long time. and only now he was just realizing it. shit. 

he fiddled with his phone in his hands. thumb hovering over your contact card, he let it fall. 

it rang twice before he heard the line connect. 

“yeah?” you said, demure and quiet. he knew you were exhausted. he’s heard this tone before. the tone you had when you were viciously hungover. it had him chuckling. “what?” 

“good morning to you, too.” the words rolled easy from him. he suddenly felt calmer with you on the other end, but it didn’t stop the butterflies from fluttering in the pit of his stomach. 

“good morning.” you said, like you were shocked that he was calling you to say good morning. 

“fun night?” he asked, stepping into the elevator and hitting the ‘lobby’ button. a few members of his team were already waiting for him. 

 but you had froze up in the car ride to the paddock. what? how could he know? did he know that you were with raphael? you cleared your throat. “what– what do you mean?” 

“you called me.” 

shit. 

if you weren’t fucked already, you were royally now. your hand dragged over your forehead as your head swarmed with anxious thoughts, completely forgetting about calling him and then…touching yourself in the shower to the thought of him. yikes! what a little freak you were. but lando would enjoy it. 

“i–” you stuttered, voice caught in your throat. “i’m sorry…i was just…” 

your voice trailed and you could hear his childish laugh from the other end. “no, no. it was cute.” you heard the elevator ding from his end, but it hard to focus on when there was a deep blush flustering your cheeks. 

“i didn’t mean to bother you,” you quickly said, finding the need to apologize over and over again for disrupting his night. it was embarrassing enough as is that you had the worst sex of your life, but you called the one man that didn’t want you for consolidation. what a conundrum that was, wasn’t it? 

“you didn’t.” his words were firm this time, no traces of playfulness. you perked up at this, finding yourself laughing. 

“must’ve said something dumb, didn’t i?” 

there was a pause. 

“yeah. yeah. something dumb.” 

there was another beat of silence. you shifted in the uber, the pass around your neck.

“i’ll see you there?” 

you heard him suck in a tight breath, then release it. 

“yeah. yeah, ‘course you will.” 

you smiled. he could feel it. 

“okay. bye, then.” 

he said your name softly on the other end with a salutation, and the line went flat. you slammed your back against the leather seats of the car, hands rolling over your face. you rubbed your eyes, wondering if you were still dreaming. 

it wasn’t fair that he could make you this way. that he had you in tears just a few nights before, and now your fingers shook with excitement. fuck him. fuck him for making you feel this way, and yet, there was no trace of annoyance on your face. 

just a bright smile. 

your name was called when you swiped into the paddock. it had you whipping your head up to see who it could be, but you already knew that it was alexandra. she wasn’t trailed by anyone else, thank god, and she flung her arms around you for a hug. 

you sang a soft greeting towards her, and she looked up at you expectantly. you raised a brow. 

“so…!?” 

you narrowed your eyes. 

“your night with…!” her voice dropped to a whisper. “raphael.” 

you shushed her, looking around, before you held one of her hands in yours. “you want the truth?” her facial expression dropped, but she nodded anyways. 

“awful.” 

she groaned, head rolling back in disappointment. “i told rebecca it wasn’t a good idea.” 

“the sex was…horrible. just…i mean, what the fuck?” alexandra burst out into a laugh as the both of you joined side by side towards the ferrari hospitality. you dreaded going, given the unanswered texts for him, you didn’t want to be confronted with…anything. 

“most importantly…” alexandra stopped the two of you before you entered. “are you over him?” 

him. the inevitable. 

you swallowed. 

and nodded your head.

alexandra was only slightly pleased and gave you a reassuring smile. boy, this would be a long day. 

before the race started you were wandering around the pitlane with your miniature crew of ferrari girlfriends and their friends. raphael had found you, eagerly, with a prideful smile on his face. out of kindness, you returned the gesture, and let him linger around you for the day.

ferrari’s pit was next to mclaren’s. you couldn’t help but stare. 

lando was there. in his papaya race suit. he was speaking to his engineers, and never glanced your way. look at me, you wanted to shout. please, your mind begged. but you stayed firm at raphael’s side.

he dared to stretch out his hand to let it loiter on your waist, but you shimmied out of the contact with an awkward smile. he noticed, but didn’t say anything. 

lando did too. 

but not what you wanted him to see. he saw you with raphael’s arm around your waist. you were smiling, laughing, in their presence. whereas he couldn’t even bear a night out without the cumbersome thoughts of you constricting his mind. he thought of nothing but you. and here you were, haphazardly dangling this spanish prick in front of his face. fucker. 

you turned to look at lando again, free of raphael’s touch. he was staring.

your heart beat faster, eyes widened. your palms were sweating– why were they sweating? he looked pissed, frustrated, but you didn’t know why. your brows upturned with a soft expression that he yearned for, and his envy flushed away. 

it was that easy. your gentle features. the concern ridden in your face. 

you even gave him a small wave, twiddling your fingers. he was bashful in response, and returned it with a small twist of his own fingers. 

but his eyes carried down. towards your chest. you blinked, realizing that part of your dress had slipped further. there was an obvious bruise making an appearance, and you felt guilty. guilty as if you had cheated on him, but you were never in a relationship to begin with.

you saw his jaw tightened and his hands flex before he turned, leaving you speechless. 

and then you were dragged away, just like that, into the viewing panel for the race. they were about to start their formation lap, yet you could barely focus with your racing heart. 

it past with ease. raphael tried to get closer to you, but you found excuses to stay huddled at alexandra’s side. she noticed, and even wrapped her own arm around your waist. the two of you were a picturesque vision of divine femininity. you felt untouchable at her side, incomparable to any girlfriend you’ve ever had. 

lando was fighting hard. he was aggressive on the straits, pushing past the limits of his drs. your hand traced over your chin as you watched the tv intensely, frightened when you saw him make contact with one of the mercedes drivers. 

“what is he doing…” you muttered under your breath. your nailbeds were being hacked on by your teeth, chewing them down to the stump. parts of your thumbs streamed with blood. 

little to your knowledge, your reaction had been broadcasted. alexandra’s face unfurled with a cheeky look, realizing that she had been played by your deception from earlier. you were not over him. in fact, you were entirely worse than before. your concern was ebbed through the power of media, and that wouldn’t be forgotten. 

“are you okay?” came raphael’s voice. you didn’t even look at him.

“fine.” 

he took your cold tone in earnest, realizing that there was something more at stake here. 

you couldn’t be more grateful when lando passed the checkered flag. your hand found the column of your throat, finding comfort. you let your face be consumed by a smile, one similar to raphael’s when he thought he made you came. stupid man, you thought, glancing towards the spaniard. you had a new priority now.

you had to prove that you wanted lando. but how? everything felt like it was becoming too complicated. your fates were intertwined via an invisible string. 

and you didn’t even go to his podium.

he looked for you, sweat dripping down his forehead, but didn’t see you. it had him grow weary, agitated. he raced this hard so he could prove himself to you. prove that he was better than some lowlife. 

but he fears he lost you. 

the hickey’s on your neck spoke volumes. you fucked him. fucked that stranger. his fists curled around the trophy, break-necking the medal display. 

did you come? 

no. stop that. it’s none of his business to ask–

she didn’t. you couldn’t. 

the pieces began to fall in place in his head. the phone call. you called him…when you needed him most. 

it suddenly made holding this trophy all the more worthwhile, and he even donned a smile on his face when he raised it high above his head. this, he thought, was victory. 

the night came as swiftly as the day went. you were getting ready to go out, alexandra reminding you to schedule your uber. you did. the dress you wore this evening was short. one of your favorite colors, and had a high neckline. for obvious reasons. you were entirely mortified that raphael felt the primal need to mark you like some bitch. it had your stomach twisting with anger, fingers pulsing with a punch. 

but your violent urges stayed dormant when you met up with alexandra, charles, rebecca, carlos, and…raphael. jeez, what a lot you’ve surrounded yourself with. raphael was at your side in an instant when you climbed out of the uber, refusing to give you a morsel of space. it had your lip curling, grimacing down the vomit that curdled in your throat. 

you barely spoke a word to him tonight. there was nothing more to say to him. if you were to say anything, it would be a rotten lie. 

alexandra tugged you along through the doors, charles at her flank, which you gladly let her do. anything to get away from raphael would be best for you, given how much you didn’t want to confront him. it was just for the weekend, right? no strings attached. 

no strings attached, echoed through your mind. flashes of lando’s hands on your hips, the phantom embrace that tensed around your flesh, seeped into your head. your heart plummeted against your will, looking around futilely for his bright smile amongst the sea of oncomers. 

it didn’t take you long.

but you wish that it did. 

he had his arm slung around some girl, hat backwards, first few buttons undone on his white dress shirt. hands clamming up, you tightened them together over your front, letting your eyes gawk at such a beautiful pairing. it was a different girl than the one you had rudely met in monaco. 

another one of his girls. 

your mind begged you to let it go. but your heart chained itself to lando, refusing to let go this…infatuation that had you sick to your stomach. what did she have that you didn’t? was she nonchalant? was she a cool girl? 

your staring lasted too long. lando saw you. he felt your eyes– your heated stare, beckoning his attention. he answered your call, glancing directly at you. but he did not wave. 

neither did you. 

the urge thwarted you to look anywhere else but him, tugged your attention elsewhere, but you stayed firm on his freckled face, sharp cheekbones, his daunting stare. you felt the beat of his heart from across the room, the bass boosted rap, his irritability when raphael came to rest a hand on your hip. but you did not turn away from this fight. your arsenal was loaded, and so was his. 

lando glanced at raphael, first to break eye contact, and swug the rest of his cocktail in hand. he let the glass slide across the counter of the bar before tugging the girl at his side to his front, the pair of them dancing with one another. 

fine, if he wants to play, then you’ll play. 

you were handed a cocktail by raphael. you thanked him sincerely before you downed your own in one gulp. raphael gaped at you with a slack jaw. you wiped the loose drops from your jaw, and offered him your hand. 

“dance with me?” 

raphael didn’t need to be asked twice when he took your hand. you led him deeper into the club, the led lights brightening both your faces. in this light, you supposed that he was irrecoverably handsome. and the thought slipped through your mind that maybe, just maybe, you could’ve had a good life with him. that in some universe that you could get over this feud with a man who doesn’t want you, you’d have a well-earned chance at happiness. 

but the thought left just as quickly as it came. 

your hips were against his. ass against his crotch, grinding in a rough series of movements. he began growing accustomed to how you moved, and that much you could be thankful for. no longer would the two of you be awkward on the dance floor, fragile hands trembling against your body. he felt more confident, but you could tell there was something brewing behind those big brown eyes of his. but you honestly couldn’t care less, not when you were distracted. 

not when your eyes were entranced on a man who treated you like garbage. who cried in your arms, begged for your presence. then, left your hotel room with tears streaming down your face. 

his hands were tightly wound around the girls abdomen, cocky expression glazing his face. he spoke to a few of his buddies here, too, amply looking like a douche. one that who knew exactly what he was doing to girls. fuck. 

you were just one of his girls. 

this enraged you. but it shouldn’t. but it did. there was no excuse for your fray of emotions. they simply existed, and you were going to deal with them. not in a responsible way. no, you were far too gone for that. alcohol warmed your throat, your palms, your chest. 

you let your head lean back onto raphael’s shoulder, your mouth coming to his ear. “you can touch me.” you encouraged him. he seemed to lighten at this, becoming bold enough to let his hands trail up your body. he’d indulge in your shape, letting his fingers imprint against the globes of your breasts, the lining of your panties beneath your dress. 

a light giggle left you when you let your head rise from his blades, and were met with an aggressive, terrifying, stare from across the room. 

your lips puckered. 

lando’s head was resting on the girl’s shoulder, his hips swaying with hers, but his eyes were trained on you. you, you, and more you. he was glaring at the man behind you, his gaze so bitter that it soured even your own tongue. it was the miniscule amount of guilt that flustered your head, but you shoved it down. 

lando retaliated, beginning to kiss on the girls neck. she leaned against him, a gorgeous smile lighting up the room. 

you grumbled, turning your head to meet raphael’s eyes. your eyes pleaded with a language of seduction, one that any man could understand. 

raphael took the bait. 

his lips trailed down your ear, down the column of your neck. all whilst your back was pressed against his front, you felt the outline of his dick. your palm tightened at the memory of how he attempted to fuck you, but you had to remain composed. you couldn’t fail now. 

your lip caught between your teeth for dramatics. like you were holding back a moan. 

lando was watching. in fact, he never stopped. he was drunk on the addiction of watching you. watching you grind your hips on that fuckin’ guy, not even wince when his lips were glossing over the sensitive flesh of your neck. could he make you wet with just his mouth? 

the british driver could feel his end nearing. if this progressed any further, he’d drag your ass to the bathroom and fuck you like you’d deserve. he didn’t give a fuck. not anymore. not when your lip was bitten by your top row of teeth, an illusive point to how that guy was pleasuring you. he felt fucking sick. though he was starving to the same degree. 

his chest was aflame at your teasing touches on your own body. he could see the outline of your panties, the lack of a bra. your nipples were pinching against the fabric that confined them, and he had to stop himself from drooling. you were so fucking sexy. 

the girl at his front was growing bored of her lack of attention. he, honestly, didn’t even remember her name. but he’d suffice it with a swirl of his tongue around the skin of her jaw. it was a critical move, since he knew that you’d never let yourself be kissed. you wouldn’t risk such intimacy with a man you’ve only known for a few days–

except you would. 

this was war, wasn’t it? 

watching lando suck and slurp on that girl’s neck had you desperate to come up with an alternate idea. an approach that would crown you victorious without a second thought. it was cruel, you knew this, but you were out of options. you had something to prove. prove that you were over him. though, you knew that this would end in one of two ways;

him, fucking you.

or, him leaving. 

you much preferred the latter. 

with enough fury boiling in your bones, you lifted your head to meet raphael’s eyes. with your pointer finger, you let it roll over his chin, connecting with your thumb. you glanced at his lips, your tongue wetting your own, and pulled him to meet you. 

raphael said your name into your mouth, nervous to even let his tongue explore yours. you sucked in a tight breath, lip curling to reference a snarl at how much you despised the sensation. it was messy, wet, and you felt instantly disgusted with yourself for even letting him touch your lips. you felt like you jumped too far into a relationship with raphael, even though you were certain that you didn’t want one. 

“be my girlfriend,” raphael breathed into your mouth. you hummed a laugh, thinking that he was joking. but he moved to separate you too, staring at you with a brazen thoroughness that you never wished to see again. 

“i’m serious. i want–” 

“‘scuse me, mate,” you knew that voice. you knew that voice too well. your head spun around to see lando leering dangerously close to raphael’s face, the heat of his body emanating onto your own. he stood only a few inches from you.

you felt his hand ghost over the small of your back, and you suddenly felt desperate to feel it. with your lips raw from that kiss, your fingertip glazed over the flesh, your eyes lost in lando’s tense expression. his jaw was tightened, chest doing it’s best to keep his heated expression under control. however, that control was slipping with every passing moment that you were in raphael’s arms. 

raphael turned his attention to lando, suddenly pissed. “need something?” 

lando gave him a hoarse chuckle. “yeah. can i borrow your lady for a second?”

raphael made a move to shake his head. “no, we were just—”

“thanks, mate.” lando gripped your back with his fingertips, digging into the skin without mercy. you felt his anger rolling off of him in tense waves, the urge to consolidate him overwhelming. he led you through the crowds of people with an insurmountable force, jaw tightly clenched the entire way. you could practically hear his teeth grinding against one another. 

he said nothing until he opened– no, broke the door– to the bathroom. it was a single stall– no one was in there. he allowed you to enter first, stretching out his arm as a much needed signal. you waited a moment, arms crossing over your chest. 

his eyes didn’t relent. he would wait here all fucking day before you decided to go in. and you did. he locked the door behind the two of you in an instant. 

“what the fuck are you–” you began to scold, back turned to him as you approached the mirror and the sink. you were interrupted when he spun you around, hand place firmly on your hip. the contact had you gasping, glancing down at his hand. 

“so, what?” he said, looking down at you through hooded eyes, blown pupils. his heart was electrified, hidden behind his cage of ribs, and one hand flexed as it gripped the edges of the porcelain sink. he hummed, “hm? he your boyfriend now?”you gaped at him. “you’re serious?” you stifled a laugh, unbelieving of his attitude. “what’s it to you, lando? hm?”

his shoulders tensed. “you shouldn’t be with him.” 

you rolled your eyes. lando gripped your chin, demanding your attention. “why not, then? ‘m i supposed to be your whore forever?” 

his thumb rolled over your bottom lip. “you never were,” he tsked. you were bewildered. brow raising, however difficult to focus when his hand around your hip began to swirl circles on your skin. 

“what the fuck are you saying, then, lando? you need to–”

“you let him kiss you.” 

you froze. 

“never me. why?” his restraint was slipping. his forehead edged closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath fanning across your face. 

“why?” he asked again, his nose brushing against your own. you shook your head ‘no,’ lip beginning to quiver beneath his body. his chest pressed against your own as he got closer. he needed to be closer. “he fuck you better? hm? that it?” 

you shuddered when you felt his fingers lower from your hip, trailing circles towards your navel, the slit of your dress that met your upper thigh. 

“go on,” he urged, his voice tense from gritting his teeth. “tell me. tell me, and i’ll stop.” 

you stayed quiet except for the whimper that left your throat when his fingers curled against your panties, a dampened spot ruining the fabric. there was a deep chuckle against your face, lando’s forehead still against your own. you tightened your lips together, not daring a word to spill. 

“tell me, and i’ll let you go party with your new boy.” 

“fuck you,” you bit out, seething with your desire, angered with his jealous antics. 

“yeah? yeah? you want ‘ta fuck me?” there was no way of hiding his cocky grin. it could be seen from miles away, even when his face was millimeters from yours. 

“you’re an asshole,” you heaved, your hips bucking when he began to slide your underwear to the side. your breaths were harsh against his cheeks. 

“must like ‘em mean, then,” he cooed, followed by a deep chuckle. “‘cause you’re drippin’ for me.” you felt your slick seep around his fingers as h grazed the puffy lips of your cunt. your head was thrown back against the concrete wall, smacking against the surface. lando was quick to adjust your head, his fingers tugging into your hair. 

“fuck,” you sighed, finding his pleasures undeniable. he was so on edge from seeing you kissing raphael, that he was lost in his madness. this pent up lust was bursting from its locked away jar, pouring its fury onto you. “touch me, lando. please–” 

with a swift motion he perched you onto the porcelain sink, your head lolling against the mirror, supported by his palm. he tugged you forward so your glossy cunt stained the front of his black pants. the wet spot was pertinent, your face flushing with embarrassment. you were supposed to hate this. why did you love it? 

“‘am touchin’ you, baby.” his middle finger teased you, blessing you with a split moment of euphoria of grazing your clit. you moaned, eyes fluttering shut. “look at me,” his hand tightened in your hair. your eyes flashed open, face to face with his crooked, loving smile. “look at me when i make you cum.”

you nodded, whimpering rapidly. he grinned harder at your desperate, pleading tone. though you spoke no words, he could tell just how badly you needed him. 

“inside,” your begging didn’t cease, especially when he was still refusing to slide a finger inside of you. “please, please—”

your words were cut off when his middle finger curled sweetly inside of you, eliciting the sweetest pleasure you have felt in weeks. the moan you delivered was guttural, deep, and most of all, primal. lando’s dick pulsated in his pants, his fingers twitching at your lewd voice. 

a hand reached out to grip onto his bicep, your head falling into the crook of his neck. you felt undeniably at ease in his hold, despite the hurt that he’s caused you. 

his finger began to slide in and out of you, scissoring you to high hell and back, and you were putty in his hands. moments like these is what he favored most with you, but he would take anything to be in your presence. he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt when he swooped you up from that asshole’s arms, leaving him shocked and disrespected. lando was keen enough to twist his head over his shoulder when he led you away, watching as raphael’s face contorted with disappointment. it had his jaw tensing, resisting the urge to smirk. 

“come on, baby,” lando’s voice cut through your high, your naval tightening with a hot pressure. “know you’re close. can feel it.” 

he added a second finger, using his thumb to roll over your sensitive bundle of nerves. the stimulation was overwhelming, your throat raw with the carnal moans he drew from your depths. he’d be the only one to hear any of these ever again. he promised himself that much. 

your orgasm was imminent, the coil in your belly snapping with a hopeless yearning you’ve been deprived of for what feels like an eternity. slick covered the palm of his hand, and your eyes had locked onto his. he watched as you trembled with desire, legs twitched around his waist. with one quick move he brought his two fingers to your lips.

you knew what he wanted. 

you’ve never tasted yourself before. but your lips parted, and he lathered your slick over your tongue. you sucked in earnest over his calloused digits, lips puckering, cheeks hollowing. you swallowed, letting your tongue linger over his fingertips.

“now you know,” he whispered, clutching you tight. “why i can’t stay away.” for a brief moment, you thought he was mentioning because of the taste of your cunt. but with the deep look in his eyes, you knew it meant more. you were made for him. both in spirit and sensuality. 

lando spun you around from your seat atop the sink, having you flipped, staring at your reflection in the mirror. you look disheveled, and downright fucked. your feet met the ground, the palm of his hand spreading over the expanse of your back, flattening you to a ninety degree angle. 

“lift your hips for me, love,” you obeyed without second thoughts, rising to your tip toes as he ran his fingers along the underside of your thighs, pulling down the fabric of your panties. they hit the floor, and your cunt went rigid with the cold air. but you heard lando making fast work with his belt, his jeans, and you sifted back and forth. you even turned to look at him over your shoulder, lashes batting unintentionally at the spring of his cock against his lower belly. 

“missed this,” he breathed, saddling his hand at the base of your neck. you pushed into his hold, deepening the connection. 

your exhaustion didn’t impede your ability to get fucked. that was for sure. lando wasn’t going to spare a single effort on your behalf. he was riled, pent up, and now he wanted to see tears in your eyes as you were split open on his cock. it was a promise. 

“missed you.” you mumbled. lando’s hand tightened around the frontal base of your throat. 

“what was that?” 

you whimpered. “missed you!”

“atta girl.” he was pleased with your higher volume, and awarded you by edging the tip of his cock through your folds. you lurched forward, gripping onto the dish of the sink. a deep groan left you, and he gave you a grace period to adjust. but it took too long. you wanted him deep. bottomed out. until there was nothing else for you to give. 

“show me,” you grit your teeth. “show me he’s not good enough.” 

your words seemed to ignite a flame inside of lando that couldn’t be ignored. you felt him huff air, the sensation tickling your spine, and he thrust himself inside of you. forget a grace period, you were going straight to heaven. 

you moaned, his cock stimulating a perverse area inside your cunt that no man could ever reach. lando was out for blood to prove that he was the only man that could truly fuck you. and fuck you he would. 

the sound of skin slapping echoed through the bathroom. your moans intertwined with his mewls, creating an atmosphere derived from both of your pleasures alone. nothing would ever compare to this feeling. how he curved deliciously inside of you, how you tightened so mercilessly around his cock. he’d let himself run dry so he could feel your tight walls each night. 

the pressure of his hand around your throat didn’t relent. with his index and thumb squeezing at every point he bottomed out, you swore you were seeing stars. you were an irrecoverable mess in lando’s arms, and that’s just the way he wanted you. in the reflection of the mirror stared the fading marks that fucker left on your skin. but he was determined to make his own. and it was different that you’d let him. without a doubt, he could bite through your skin, make you bleed for all you fucking cared. 

“who’s fucking you this good?” lando asked, hand tightening briefly for your response. you were lost in your haze, unable to truly focus on his words. your brows furrowed. 

“you,” you said, breathless, clenching onto the sink with all your prospective might. 

“who?” he prodded further, opposite hand coming to rub at your clit. you seethed, breath tightening in your throat. tears burned at your retinas, the skillful work of his fingers bringing you to an oncoming orgasm. lando felt it, and paused his fingers. 

you whimpered, then looked at him in the mirror. he loomed like no man you’ve ever seen. darkened eyes, sweaty hair. fuck, he’s so hot. “you!” 

his fingers returned their assault on your clit, and you could feel the burning heat once more. you grinded hopelessly against the palm of his hand, which he responded as to pinching the bundle of nerves atop your cunt to with more pressure. 

it didn’t take long before you were keeling over the sink, his hand around your neck forcing you to arch before him. with your unbearably tight cunt, he came with you, filling you with hot ropes of cum. the feeling of him warm, vested in your walls brought you a comfort like nothing else. 

lando’s head fell forward with his heaving chest onto the base of your neck. his heart was beating so fast, you could feel it. you lifted yourself from the downward angle of the sink, his hands coming to steady you despite his exhaustion. 

“i lied to you before,” he spoke into the skin of your neck. too fucked out to really process what he was saying, you turned slightly to catch one of his eyes. “you aren’t a favorite.”

you frowned, still confused, heart feeling ripped open once more. 

“you’re the only girl.” 

you turned fully this time to face him. 

“what?”

“you heard me.” you did. that was true. but what you didn’t believe was true, was his words. 

“don’t…” you begged. “don’t play with me anymore, lan…” the nickname rolled off your tongue with ease. “i can’t…i can’t wait for someone who doesn’t…” love, “want me the same.”

lando brushed a stray hair from your forehead. he let himself lean into you. your bodies fit together perfectly. 

“what do you want, then?” 

your voice was caught in your throat. there was a million things you wanted, but there was only one thing you needed. 

“i need you.” 

need cut through his body like wild flower to barley. need was the mending his heart needed. need was the remedy of his uncertainties about you. 

his face upturned into a smile. 

“i can’t do this,” he said, taking a breath. “any of this, without you. need you here, with me,” with his forehead touching yours, you could feel his lashes against your browline. 

“lando…”

he shook his head. your name was soft on his tongue. “please, please, stay with me. i should’ve never left that hotel room. never.” 

your cheeks were wet. but they weren’t from your tears. his. his lip was quivering when you opened your eyes, his own shut as if he were too afraid to face you. 

and instead of answering him with words, you tilted your head up, and let your lips collide with his. torn into shock, lando’s eyes flew open, unbelieving of what was happening. you were kissing him. your lips on his, intimate. you wanted to be intimate with him, not just fuck him. 

his eyes fluttered shut, and his hand came to wrap around the back of your neck. he returned your kiss, tongue eager to explore the cavern of your mouth, and you let him. you had been afraid to let him kiss you, fearful that you would become addicted to this pleasure. 

you were right in your fear. there was never a universe where you wouldn’t be drunk on his tongue, craving his teeth clashing with your own. it was an ensued battle with your mouths, one you weren’t going to relent easily. but he remained victorious and let his tongue run over yours. the two of you were inseparable, body and spirit. 

there was finally a blasted knock on the bathroom door, which had you jumping. lando turned his head over his shoulder, and was quick to drop to his knees to roll your panties back up. 

“like you down there,” you commented from him on his knees. he turned to look at you with a knowing smirk, and kissed the skin of your thighs. when he stood at his full height, he adjusted his own pants, looking presentable enough. 

“beautiful.” he complimented, leaning in for a plethora of kisses. he kissed all around your mouth, your nose, your jaw, before he landed on your mouth.

“i love you,” he blurted out against your lips. you gaped at him and he was worried you wouldn’t feel the same. but the two of you knew this answer for a long, long time. 

your brows upturned. “i love you too.” 

his hand fell on your lower back, guiding you out of the bathroom. “guess you’re my girl now, yeah?” 

you slapped his bicep. “we have a lot to talk about, but for tonight…” you nodded. 

he was happy enough with that answer. 

“gotta let raphael down easy…” you mumbled as lando held the door open for you. 

“oh…!” he said in an exaggerated tone. “that’s what his name is.” 

taglist

@sofs16 @strengthandstay @mybluesoul1 @f1fantasys @cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

[luveline]

HI!!! so i am obsessed with your reader x coworker james first kiss fic. can we maybe get something about what came after? like how were the interactions the day or week after, how did they behave around each other, did james tell the boys or was he too nervous?

—you and James maintain a facade that Remus sees through

James wheels his chair to be as far from you as possible. He leans back, turns his monitor. Through the gap, he has a perfect window of your face without it being obvious that he’s staring. Well, sort of. 

Stop staring. 

James reads Remus’ slack message in surprise. He glances at you, finds you still snacking on chocolate covered somethings less covertly than you mean to be, and decides to grace his friend with a message back. 

Nope 

James, Remus messages. 

I’m not really staring 

You’re staring. She can definitely tell 

James looks back to you, hoping to prove Remus wrong, but you’re staring straight at him. He has the instinct to look away and the sense not to, charmed into grinning when you squint at him, your mock suspiciousness adorable. 

“James,” Remus says, clearing his throat. 

James pulls his gaze away reluctantly. “What?” 

“Can you answer my email?” 

The email isn’t an email, but another slack message. Are you serious right now? You couldn’t be more obvious if you tried 

James flicks a pen lid at him. “Obvious about what?” he mouths. 

You get up and stretch, tactically failing to meet anyone’s eyes as you pick up your empty glass of water and leave. 

“James, what’s going on?” 

“What ever could you mean, my love?” 

Remus rolls his chair toward. “Don’t flirt with me. I’m serious, what the hell is going on with you? You’re supposed to hate the girl.” 

“Hate is such a strong word.”

“Well, you’re being a bit much no matter what.” 

James bites his cheek in a hurry to straighten up. “You think so?” 

Remus just stares at him.

James has done a fantastic job at keeping your kiss a secret. He doesn’t know how, mind you —you kissed him, you kissed him, you asked if you could and you kissed him like a sweetheart with the softest mouth he’s ever had the fortune to feel pressed against his own. 

Since your kiss, he’s been feeling weirdly poetic. He totally gets all those Carol Ann Duffy poems they made him read at school now. 

One day without telling anybody is impressive, at least to his own standards. “I know what I’m doing,” he says. 

Remus frowns. “I’d love to be informed on what exactly that is.” 

“Certain events have transpired and convinced me that I was quite wrong to have judged our girl so harshly.”

“Certain events?” 

“I’m allowed some mystery,” James says, before smiling so hard it makes him squint and his cheeks apple. He rubs at his face roughly in an attempt to move forward, but he remembers the way your kiss had melded from soft and shy to hungry. Fuck, he loved it. He needs another one. He has no idea how to get it. “Ugh, I’m gonna go get my lunch from the fridge.” 

“Sure you are. Alright, well, I’m gonna find Sirius and maybe he can convince you to start acting normal again.”

James goes to the kitchen first but abandons his charade when you aren’t there. He grabs his lunch, tucking it under his arm as he makes his way through to the break room. You’re thankfully, blissfully, sitting by the open window with a shop-bought salad. 

He nods at the chair across from you. “Can I sit?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s all you're eating?” he asks. A little tray of salad is hardly enough to keep you going until the end of the day. “I have gyoza chilli noodle soup, it’s amazing.” 

“You’re gonna eat it cold?” you ask. 

He leans forward, elbows on the table, holding your gaze. “No, but I’m busy right now.” He needs time to look you over. Every time he realises how pretty you are is like another beat of his capering pulse. 

“Don’t harass me.” 

“I’m not harassing you.” 

“What would you call this?” You stab a few pieces of lettuce onto your fork. “I can’t have much more for dinner, I just had half a packet of chocolate covered strawberries.” 

“Don’t say that, like some snacks and a salad are more than you’re allowed. Here, I'll warm this up and you can share. You’ll really like it, the gyoza are amazing.” 

“So what, you’re gonna take care of me now?” you ask. You’re teasing, but there’s a slight edge of bitterness to it like you believe what you’re saying. James is swift to set that right, though he stays speaking in tongues with you.

“I’ve been trying to.” James can hear footsteps at the doorway, and besides, you’re right, he’s being too nice. He sucks in an unbothered breath. “Whatever, loser, stick to your sad salad.” 

Your eyes widen. “I don’t want your cold soup, you idiot.” 

Sirius and Remus filter in with one of your coworkers just behind them. “I thought you said he was being weird?” Sirius asks. “He seems pretty normal to me.” 

Remus sighs forlornly, prompting a side hug from his boyfriend as he shepherds him to the table where you and James are sitting.

“He’s always being weird,” you say. 

James kicks your foot gently. You pick through your salad with a poorly concealed smile. 

[reyalvr]

RUMORS!

I KNOW YOU HEARD THE RUMORS, YOU MUST GET OVER TO IT RIGHT AWAY!

synopsis ┊ ken sato- a remarkable name in the world of modern baseball- has graced japan with not only his presence, but also his skills as a key player for the yomiuri giants. from press conferences to media endorsements, it’s clear that his stardom has only intensified from his recent move. but what happens when you, his personal assistant, are left to deal with some more… serious rumors?

genre ┊ chaotic fluff, oneshot

pairing ┊ ken sato x gn-PA!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, ami is not the reporter depicted!

word count ┊ 2.2k

author’s note ┊ hiya! i recently found time to watch ultraman: rising and this fic was just writing itself in my head hehe… happy reading! (p.s. yes… the title was inspired from the new minions song)

THREE MONTHS. That was how long you had known baseball’s darling, Ken Sato. And in those three months, you had undergone every single PR nightmare you had ever conjured up in your mind prior to pursuing your career. You had worked with celebrities before- doing God knows what ‘til the waking hour on their every beck and call. But Ken, despite presenting himself as a laid back man, was an entirely new… experience. 

From the Kaiju attack at his first game under the Giants, to the continuous streak of losses throughout the first half of the season, it seemed like the Gods were against you as you did your damndest to handle the damage control on his reputation. His ego didn’t aid you either- having to spin and twist multiple incidents to get reporters and media outlets off his back. You weren’t exactly sure what it was that kept you from quitting all in all, but the longer you worked under him, the thinner your thread seemed to snap. 

You huffed an annoyed sigh into the cold air, picking up the pace as you jogged along the designated path by the bay. Your days off were scarce- not because of Ken’s schedule, but because of your own decision to be up to date with his spontaneous actions. Despite the rarity of solitude, you always managed to savor your time off. The music played at a mellow volume in your ears, the morning sun starting to warm your surroundings as you watched its rays splash hues of orange across the sky. 

Your felt your watch beep against your skin, signaling the end of your morning run. Pausing by the railing, you leaned against the old metal bars as you checked your stats. You swiped absent-mindedly on the screen of your smartwatch, scrolling once you were sure that everything was in order. There was one thing that caught your eye, though, as you noticed the red notification bubbles on your message app were continuously going up. It was odd, yes, but not odd enough to be out of the ordinary- at least in your line of work. 

Deciding not to bombard yourself this early in the morning, you opted to give everything a once-over once you made it back to your apartment. Whatever it was could wait- you were on your time and your pace. Besides, it couldn’t be that bad. Could it now?

IT DEFINITELY COULD, AND IT DEFINITELY WAS. You pushed on the gas as hard as you could, your tongue poking into your cheek as you continued to drive to Ken’s house. Of all the days that he decided to make perhaps the stupidest decision in his career, he chose today. Doing your best not to see red, you dialed his phone once more. The ringing played throughout your car as you maneuvered through the roads, and you swore for what felt like the umpteenth time that morning when you heard the tone of his voice message. 

Hey, it’s Ken. Leave a message after the beep, and I’ll be more than happy to ignore it! Said his usual arrogant tone playing before the generic beep. You gripped the steering wheel harder, huffing angrily as you sharply turned a corner. 

“Kenji Sato answer your goddamn phone right now! I’m ten minutes away from your house and when I get there, I better not be greeted with your supposed secret love child!” You yelled, pushing the red button once you finished your message. 

Ah yes. The centerpoint of your current rage: Ken’s “leaked” one-on-one with a reporter about juggling baseball and his homelife. Someone on Ken’s staff had sent the article in your shared work group chat, and nearly all of his personnel had directly messaged you about the issue. It was inevitable for celebrities to get into a scandal once or twice, but one on this level would not be an easy fit to overcome. 

You don’t exactly remember what you were doing prior to receiving the messages- all you knew was that you needed to get to Ken as soon as possible. Of course it just be a misunderstanding, hell it could even be a hoax! But knowing Kenji, anything could be possible. You neared the hill of his private property, driving past the gates as the security recognized your car.

You parked haphazardly at the front of his house, your feet stomping into the gravel as you made your way to his front door. His estate had numerous smart tech installed throughout his home, so you knew that each and every one of your moves were either being recorded or observed. You crouched slightly to be in frame with the doorbell’s camera, your anger slightly toned down.

“Ken.” You paused to narrow your eyes. “Open the door.”

For the next minute and a half you swore you could hear some sort of clash and bang from inside the house. You kept your arms crossed, raising your eyebrow from time to time when the clashing seemed to grow louder. After what felt like an eternity, the front door opened slightly. Not all the way, but just enough for Ken to peek out and smile at you- albeit nervously cocky.

The nerve.

“Hey, [Y/N]! What uh- what are you doing here?” He manages to cough out, roughly combing a hand through his hair. “I thought it was your day o-”

“Save it.” You reply, your gaze sharp enough to slice through whatever excuse he had at the ready. You held up your phone then, the article’s headline prominently bolded:

OUT OF LEFT FIELD: Ken Sato Strikeout? Nope! Love Child Home Run!

Ken’s head bent down to get a good look at what you were showing him, and you watched carefully as his eyes scanned over the article not once, but thrice. You let out an impatient hum, your mouth forming into a slight scowl as the both of you stood in silence. With your head tilted to the side, you dropped your hand back down and crossed your arms. 

“Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to start explaining to me what the hell you’ve been up to these past twenty-four hours?” You question, moving past him as you enter the house. 

Usually you would wait for Ken to let you in, but stalling would only hinder you from coming up with what to do next. The article had already been up for two hours, and you halted any statements from being made before you could get an explanation from Ken himself. He quickly tailed after you, nearly stumbling over himself as you stopped at his kitchen. You gripped the marble countertop, closing your eyes momentarily before you turned to face him once more. 

“[Y/N] I swear, it’s not as bad as you think it is,” Ken says as he tries to add reassurance to his tone, but it doesn't mask the lingering tinge of falsehood.

“Oh, really?” You say, your eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Because in the span of two hours I have had thirty news outlets blowing up my- your management team for a response!”

He opens his mouth to speak, but stops again midway when you continue. “The headline I showed you was local. I want you to tell me exactly how and why you were on the phone with a reporter talking about your private life at God knows what hour. Now.”

You can see him swallow, licking his lips after as he tries to form the right words. He blinks a bit before pinching the bridge of his nose, tilting his head up as he lets out a deep sigh. When he opens his eyes he’s still greeted with your restive stance. Still he remains slightly hesitant, but he does end up recalling the remnants of his conversation with a reporter he had met at one of the parties he attended. Ken goes on to explain that he had only seeked out advice. His schedule, his personal life- he needed an outlet. You can feel yourself slowly untense, though you continued to listen to make sure all your facts were straight.

When he finishes his retelling, he puts his hands up slightly- as if he were trying to put you at ease. “I swear, that’s all I said. I thought,” He pauses, his brows furrowing in a way that made you slightly mad at yourself from blowing up at him. “I just thought I could have a normal conversation for once. ‘Guess I was wrong.”

The warm lights cast a sombre shadow on his features, and from this angle you notice the worn out expression painted on his face. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, not to mention the fading bruises from his latest altercation with one of players from his opposing team. In front of you was not Ken Sato, this was Kenji; Simply a man who was thrust into a new life without the needed support. 

“Well, no shit.” You say, finally breaking the silence, you fix your posture against the counter as you tone down the anger in your voice. “Jesus Ken, sometimes I wonder how you were able to maintain your career before me.”

At that he lets out a soft laugh, his dull expression slowly fading. “Yeah, I do too.”

You give him a puzzled look before you reply. “Are you mocking me?”

“No! No, I was being serious.” He says, his smile dropping slightly. “I know I haven’t been an easy task, hell you’re here on your day off for Christ’s sake.” 

You hum at his words, narrowing your eyes slightly as you push yourself off the counter with another awkward cough. In all ninety days of working under Ken Sato, never has the man gotten this sentimental with you. You decide not to linger on his words, your attention going back to the problem at hand. 

“Right, well,” You sigh, whipping your phone out in the process. “I need you to give me the name of that reporter. I’ll get the legal team to draft an NDA breach.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows then, looking at you as if you’d said something odd. “I didn’t make him sign an NDA though?”

You only give him a smile, a hint of confidence plastered on your lips. “I know. I have my ways, Sato.”

“You’re a pretty good assistant, then.” He replies, the corners of his lips going up slightly as he keeps his arms crossed. 

“I’m an excellent assistant.” You correct without looking at him, your fingers tapping away at your phone as you prepare the next steps of your plan. 

Ken can only chuckle in agreement, tapping his fingers on his forearm as he awaits your next set of instructions. Within the next twenty minutes you’ve sent out the necessary details to your team, your legs kicking as you sit on one of his bar stools. He’s stood across from you, leaning on the countertop looking at you intently as you explain the response plan. 

“And lastly,” You say, sliding out your hand. “Give me your phone.”

 His head tilts, the same confused expression on his face. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Your hand curls, motioning for him to hand his phone over. “No, I am not installing a monitor.” You add when you see his mouth open to interrogate you. 

He slides his phone over with a defeated huff, and you open a new contact page on his contacts. “If you need to talk, do it with someone who won’t leak your shit.” You say, sliding back his phone when all your details are settled.

“I have your number though, don’t I?” Ken questions, looking over at the number you inputted. 

“You had my work number. Now you have my personal phone.” You point your finger at him before continuing. “Don’t abuse it. I’m still your assistant.” “Wasn’t gonna, sweetheart.” He says, an amused smirk mixing in with his addled look. 

You quirk your eyebrow at the nickname. You shake your head, hopping off the stool as you make your way back to the front door. Ken follows behind you, hands in his pockets as he watches you leave. Before you can open the door though, you look back at him one last time. 

“I mean it, Ken.” You say, making sure it gets through his head. “You have a problem, tell me. You need a solution, you tell me.”

“I know, I know.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile, nodding towards the door. “Go enjoy the rest of your day off before I start thinking you care about me.”

“I do. It’s my job to care about you, Ken.” You reply, giving him a look before you open the door. “Whether you like it or not, I’m your lifeline. At least until you get rid of me, which won’t be happening for a good while.”

“Oh yeah?” He jests, his cocky demeanor slowly coming back. “‘You so sure about that?”

“Extremely sure.” You’re standing outside now, slowly walking backwards. “Twenty minutes ago people thought you had a secret love child and that you were a terrible father. Now you’re back on the face of KFC as baseball’s darling.” 

He’s taken aback. Was he actually booted off of his collaborations? He hastily checked his phone, scrolling through all his platforms. To his surprise, he was greeted with… his usual feeds. No sight of the article, no lingering gossip. His ads had doubled, his partnerships boosted on the products he had endorsed. He looked back up to say something, but you had already started your car. You backed out his estate, giving him a smile through the tinted glass of your windshield. 

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. You were right. But who was he kidding?

You always were.

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

Competitiveness

Word Count - 1500 roughly

Author's Note: Originally this was suppose to be a fluff piece. But then I started typing and it turned into light smut. 😬 Let me know if you guys would want a part 2 where it would be more smut. As always thanks for reading. 💜

Possible Triggers - use of y/n, light making out, grinding, heavy flirting - VERY VERY vanilla compared to other things I have on this blog. 🤣

Summary - Quinn is surprised when he comes home with a new video game Mario Kart and he sees a whole new side of his calm girlfriend. Someone who becomes super competeive and it's very hot.

It was no secret that Quinn had a competitive personality. Most men naturally do, but for professional athletes it’s a given. Plus he had brothers who were naturally competitive in everything - whether training in the summer, wakeboarding, bored games - but especially video games.  During the season when Quinn felt more separate from his brothers not only through the distance but sometimes mentally since they lived together now since Luke started playing for the Devils. 

You were the complete opposite, sometimes you could be competitive when it came to board games during the summer. But besides that you truly didn’t have a competitive bone in your body. Except when it came to a particular video game from childhood - Mario Kart. Which you failed to mention to Quinn, even though he buys you what he calls “cozy games” for your switch randomly all the time, because he knows they’re your escape from the stress of the world around you. You also told him that you find yourself gaming more when he’s on roadies because it gets your mind off him being away. Buying you games has become one of his ways he shows his love, especially right before a long roadie. So it came to a shock to Quinn when you came home one day and saw him playing Mario Kart, and seeing your face immediately light up. “Ooooo Q when did we get Mario Kart.” As you stand next to him, and start bouncing on your toes so excited to see one of your favorite things from childhood in your new life you’ve built with Quinn. 

Quinn had just finished Rainbow Road so he paused his tourmount he was playing. “I just picked it up today, I went to pick up that new game I saw for you, “Stardew Valley” figured it was time to get you a 2 player game so we could play together. But I also saw Mario Kart and figured it would be fun for when the guys come over.” He says a full grin on his face now as he’s watching you fixated on the T.V. “Baby.. what are you thinking about?” As he gets up and slowly wraps his arms around you from the back. 

“Hmm…” you say, finally giving attention to Quinn. 

“I asked what you're thinking about?” as he kisses the side of your neck, your own little ritual for when he comes home or you come home. Even 2 years later, he loves the way your cheeks blush when he does it. 

“Oh just how I love this game and I’m gonna kick your ass” As you turn around his arms so you can see his face finally for the first time since you came home. A huge smile displayed on your face, your eyes glittering with excitement. 

“Really?” he asks in a smug voice. “Baby I have never seen you play anything that isn’t relaxing.”

“Uhh Mario Kart is relaxing sir.” You say snutching your face almost with disgust because he didn’t know this as basic face. “It was actually the only game that would get my mind off of everything growing up - I would stay up for hours with (your sibling’s name) and play until ma would catch us and force us to go to bed. In fact, ma banned the game along with “Smash Bros” because we would physically tackle each other when we didn’t win.” 

Quinn is now full blown laughing imagining you fighting them. “Okay fine you're on, but I’ll have you know I never lose.” 

“Oh baby boy, that's so sweet you think you can beat me.” As you go to grab the second controller that was charging. 

“Alright we’ll see.” He says as he starts exiting the tourmount he started so that you can switch to 2 players. 

“Alright, since you're so cocky, let's make this interesting.” You say as you get comfortable between Quinn’s legs like you always do when he’s gaming with his brothers and you're on your switch. Quinn always whines when you aren’t close to him when he plays, he says it makes him focus. In some way, bickering  at his brothers while playing “Call of Duty” brings your anxiety down too. 

“Ooo like what, the person that loses gives the other a kiss.” He says glancing down at you as you're picking your character, you know it sounds cliché but you’ve always played as Peaches as a kid and never lost when you did. Now that you're playing with Quinn, the superstitious part of you won’t risk it. 

“Aww that’s so cute you were thinking of a kiss. But I can kiss you anytime I want. I was thinking more like.. Whoever loses has to let the other person do whatever they want to them.” you say as you turn in his lap and because of how you were laying your boobs laying on his cock. As he looks down at you, your boobs falling out of your shirt giving him the perfect angle of them. 

“Fuck..” he mumbles under his breath. “Have I told you how much I love you lately?” as a smirk is plastered on his face, as his mind is wandering to all the things he wants to do with you when he wins this tournament. 

You puff off a breath of air, a mix of a chuckle and gasp. “Lately yes… today no. So does that mean we have a Hughes deal?” Sticking your hand out for him to shake to the agreements like it’s an official bet. 

“Oh baby girl I love you so much,” His hand is going to crease your cheek making your breath catch in your throat. “ And we 100 percent have a deal Y/L/N”As his hand moves your cheek casually touching the top of your boobs on display as he goes to shake your hands. Both of you have devilish smirks on your face as you turn around to have the screen as you both get ready for the tournament. 

Let’s just say 10 minutes later Quinn is shocked he didn’t win a single round. He didn’t even play during the award ceremony but you got first. You go to sit up and turn on. “Well like I said I love this game, now what do I want you to do first” As you bit your lip.

“Nope nope nope, rematch now.” He declares brows pulled down with a look mix of determination and pouting on his face. As he is already setting up for a second round, as he shifts himself on the coach so he’s sitting up and it would be physically impossible to lay back down. 

“Quinny… it won’t matter I will still win but if it will help you sleep better tonight then okay.” As you adjust yourself so your sitting criss-cross applesauce on the coach. 

“Oh baby I’m not gonna go easy on you this time” He says as you're about to start the first race.

“Easy Hughes you couldn’t even place, ONCE and I could feel you stiffen under me after the first 2 races but okay if you “going easy on me” is your excuse for losing.” you say as you take off leaving Quinn in the dust. 

You win again without a problem.But you will say Quinn was able to place this time with Bronze. You don’t have the heart to tell him you were going slowly on the last race so he would do better overall in the tournament. “Ssso.. do I get to cash in my price yet.” As you climb into his lap and lightly grind against him to feel his semi-hard cock get harder. 

“Okay.. I give up.” as his hands go down your arms finding their way to hips and squeezing. Encouraging you to continue as you start kissing him, as he quiets your moans with his tongue sliding into your mouth. His hands going to your ass, the need to feel all of you at once slowly taking over his body. He pulls his mouth away from you just far enough to ask “okay where do you want me ms. winner.” As you go to chase his lips again. “First bed.. I want you to carry me up the stairs and fuck me against the wall. But the wall furthest away from the mirror so I can see your full body and how well you fill me up as I cry in pleasure.” You say connecting your lips again this time Quinn moaning and whimpering into your mouth at the thought.

“Fuck baby. Your wish is my command.” He says as picks you up off the coach, you let out a squeal of shock and he carries you effortlessly upstairs. “Can I just say I see why your mom banned Mario Kart.” As you enter the bedroom your black slams against the wall you requested. You let out a small moan welcoming the pain your shoulders are feeling from the impact. “But I don’t think we're at the level of banning yet.” He whispers as he continues his attack down your neck. You let out a moan, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure. To say that you were happy that you got to play Mario Kart for the first time in probably 10 years would be the understatement of the year. 

[starringthesturniolos]

bite me(part 6)-Matt Sturniolo

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

summary: matt hates your guts but all of that changes when he wakes up and finds out your his mate.

contains: vampire!matt x reader, highschool au! (18 years old), dark themes, death, smut (not in this part)

A/N- THIS CHAPTER IS KINDA SAD but y'all will be alright, trust. a lot of violence in this chapter so by all means if that is not your thing please don't read. I want everyone that reads this to ENJOY it. love yall, bye!

matts pov.

the drive back to my house was silent. even with my heightened sense of hearing, I could only hear the sound of our breathing and the quiet hum of my engine. two minutes ago, she had been crying and I saw into the darkness that was her life. key word, was. between the protection spell and me, no one is ever going to hurt her again. a dark thought pops into my head, and ,unlike any other time, I welcome it with open arms.

"do you want him dead?" I mutter, letting the thought free. I said It quietly, but it sounded like I might as well have screamed compared to the quiet of my car. it made my skin crawl and judging by the look on her face, it made her's crawl too. "what is that supposed to mean??" she whips her head to me with fear in her eyes. merciful. I added that to a list of chracteristics that y/n had that I subconsciously accumulated in my own head. even though he hurt her in the worst ways, she'd never want anyone to lay a finger on him.

"he's my dad, matt!" she panics taking my lack of response as a promise that I would go back to her house and finish him off. I put one arm up in defense. "I was just asking. you panic too much, someone should go check your blood pressure.Jesus." I scoff, playing it off as if I wouldn't have gotten rid of him the moment she told she wanted me too.

she slumped back in her seat, clearly relieved. its right then that I notice the dark circles under her eyes. she's tired, and humans need rest. "go to sleep, you look like shit." I quip. if she were in her right mind, she probably would have said something back. instead she brings her knees into her chest and puts her head on the window. her eyes close and in a few minutes her breathing and heart rate slow. she's asleep and my eyes stay on the rough, pot - hole infested road. all the way home, I dodge the holes so she sleeps fine.

unreasonable fear hits my chest at my own actions. when did you start to care so much? is the question I ask myself as I gently lift her sleeping form into my arms to bring her into the house.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

y/n is in the other room, and I wake up to my phone buzzing incessantly. I pick up my phone to see that nick is calling me. "he disappears off the face of the earth for two days and all of a sudden he wants to chit chat at the crack of dawn", I think to myself before smashing the accept call button in annoyance. "what?" my gruff voice answers in a more than grumpy tone.

"I need you to come to meet me, now! I'll send you my location. do not bring anyone with you, and do not to take your sweet ass time either matt." he says seriously. I can hear in his voice he is fighting to keep himself from sounding panicked. sensing the danger he's in, worry surges through me, and I can't help but wonder what he's gotten himself into. "don't worry nick, im coming." I say back just as seriously before hanging up the phone and rushing out the house.

I drive over as fast as I can to the unknown spot. it's just a clearing of trees and grass where two cars are parked side by side. ones nicks' and the other is someone's I don't recognize. I hop out of the car quick on high alert. nick where are you??

"you think you can just take my daughter and get away with it. I'm sorry son, but you're in for a real treat." says a terrifying voice that-unless god forbid I took another girl to my house tonight- could only be y/n's fathers’. I turn slowly to see him, a tall, burly man. he's holding nick close too him, a knife pressed lightly against the sensitive skin of his neck. regulary, I would look at this and shrug, vampires aren't supposed to be able to die. but nick's neck is bleeding from where the knife lightly grazes him. vampires can make other people bleed, but they themselves can't bleed, at least that's how it's supposed to be. even though the wound wasn't deep enough to be lethal, the wound itself was the problem to begin with. All thoughts aside, I lunge forward to grab nick away from the man but he dodges with unnatural speed. he smells human, but he's quick, too quick, which can only mean one thing.

y/n's dad is a fucking lunatic magic user, and, based on the position he's got me and nick in right now , he's a damn strong one too.

he throws nick to the side right then, and nick flops to the floor gasping for breath and clutching his bleeding throat. I freeze in fear for what's happened to nick. for what is going to happen to me. he waves the same knife he had pressed against nick at me in tauntingly cold, cut motions.

"matt, run" nick says weakly. my feet listen to nick's instructions, and I turn to bolt, only to find the powerful magic user right in front of me in an instant. before I can react, he plunges the knife into my stomach in three quick motions. unbearable pain laces through me and I feel something coming that I never thought I'd ever have to experience. that something is death.

"should of asked for a protection spell yourself." he lets out a cold, hard laugh as I drop to the floor slipping into an abyss of darkness.

@bbernard-03

@sturnthepot

@hoeformatt

@sturtriple16

@faygo-frog

@sturniol0s

@katie-tibo

@cindylcuwho

@I34n

@chrissv4amp

@sturnslimited 

[joemama-2]

Midnight Baking

megumi x reader

a/n: a little cute fluffy drabble after my last megumi post, he's so lovely.

"move over". megumi's gruff, but tired voice startles you, almost causing the whisk in your hand to fall to the ground. you turn you head over your shoulder, it's dark and late at night so you have to squint your eyes to actually see him. he's rubbing his eyes, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. only then do you realize that he wants you to scooch when he lazily motions with his hand.

confused, you move a bit to your right and he walks to the sink, turning the water on and getting started on washing the several dishes you already had in there. he wants to scold you about the number, especially since you obviously just started. but everytime he does, you hit him with a "i'm baking, obviously i'm gonna dirty dishes".

"did I wake you up?" you ask, voice quiet in case he actually is just sleepwalking, which would explain this. never has megumi helped out with your late night baking scandals, considering he wasn't an insomniac like you and he was a pretty heavy sleeper.

"no." he mutters, a lie. "i was awake for a while, figured i'd help you." his hands work diligently at the dishes, lathered in soap suds. and you can't help the small flutter of your heart and grin forming. but, he quickly adds on. "don't wanna wake up to a shit ton of dishes to wash either."

"hey!" it's a little too loud since he gives you a side glare, causing you to lower your voice. your attention turns back to whisking. "i always clean up after myself."

a huff. "you mean I do." you want to roll your eyes, but you know he won't see it, so you hold back.

a small silence envelopes you too and he finishes washing, wiping his hands. "brownies?"

"mhm." you nod. "but i'm adding some matcha in them, cause remember you said you had them that one time at that cafe you didn't invite me to."

a sigh is held back from him. you two have gone over this already, he says it was a lunch invite from itadori, but you say it was a date and he's cheating on you. "didn't think you remembered that."

"why wouldn't i?" you look at him, setting the whisk down. "i remember everything you tell me."

god, he feels his cheeks heat up. he fights back a smile, instead huffing. "yeah, yeah, whatever." he reaches up to grab one of the trays from your cabinets. a thought goes through his mind that makes him wonder how you would reach it if he wasn't there.

setting the tray down, you begin to fill it with the matcha brownie mix. "you need to start just reading a book if you can't sleep." he says.

you scoff. "i'm not you."

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"it means you're a bookworm." he frowns, that cute one that makes you kiss it off his lips every time. after the mix is successfully poured in, he opens the oven and places it in. you already had it preheating.

he leans up and see you licking the whisk clean, like always. and like always, he allows you to offer him some, tongue swiping over the same areas yours just did. "a cute bookworm, though." you say, gently chuckling as you welcome his arm around your waist to bring you closer.

"i'm not cute." he holds the whisk out for you to get the last few licks, because he knows you'd throw a fit if he took it all. been there done that. his thumb absentmindedly rubs soothing, small circles along your hip.

"uh huh, sure you're not, cutie." he grimaces and you laugh, hand cupping his cheek as you two share a light kiss to one another's lips. at least that's what you think before he dips down for another. and another. and ano--

"okay, okay." you huff playfully hand squeezing his cheek. "don't get ahead of yourself, you'll hurt yourself."

his face buries itself into the crook of your neck, inhaling your oh so sweet scent, placing a small kiss to your pulse. "shut up." he grumbles.

you two move to the couch, laying on him and idly playing with the hem of his shirt as you discuss mundane things to pass time until the pastries finish. you tilt your head up to meet his eyes and he's already looking at you.

he stares back. "what?"

"nothing, just thinking."

"about?"

"how much i love you."

and you always knew just the right things to say. his ears heat up again. "why are you being so cheesy right now?"

"can't i express my love to the greatest, bestest boyfriend ever?" you scoff.

"i'm your only boyfriend." he retorts. his eyebrow raises as you look away, holding back a smile. "don't do that." he nudges with his shoulder.

"do what?"

"not agree with me."

you roll your eyes now, looking back at him. "don't get your panties in a twist, you already know you're right." he says nothing and you let out an overdramatic sigh. "you're my only boyfriend."

he hums in approval, it's your turn to nudge him. "your turn?"

"for?"

"tell me you love me and that i'm your only girlfriend and i'm the best." now, he turns his head away, inhaling a hiss as if you couldn't be further from the truth. "megumi!" you say, lifting your body up slightly.

he lets out a small chuckle, pulling you down and kissing your lips, thumbs caressing your cheeks. "you're my only girlfriend, you're the best, and i love you."

you smile. "i love you more."

he lets out a small sigh, but gives into your cheesiness. "i love you most."

[localplaguenurse]

(Puts cracker in your mouth)

I am eating your blind reader right outta the pot and I was struck with a singular thought that hasn’t left my mind

What if when reader bumped into pants he ruined pants’ clothing in some kinda way (spilled drink/smeared ink from hands/food being smeared on etc)

For context: I was brainstorming a future fic starring a blind reader in discord.

You know what? It's not going in the current version so I'm writing this version here. Consider this a part one to the actual fic. (sorry beta)

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader)

Notes: SFW, first meetings, Pantalone's kind of a dick, and so is Reader's dad. Reader has retinitis pigmentosa which is a genetic condition that causes your retinas to deteriorate over time. He has central vision but also experiences night blindness and loss of peripheral vision. Not beta read.

The sounds of merriment echo through the halls of your family estate, the clicks and clacks of your typewriter unable to drown the sound out as you work. The noises grow louder once the band kicks in, and grow louder still once dinner is served. The smell of fresh food does not travel to your study like the music and laughter did, this section of the manor is a little too remote for that, but you know with the chime of the clock on your wall that this is when it should be brought out.

While not an outright demand, your father had advised you wait in your office for a servant to bring you a helping. Your mother protested, saying there were plenty of people who would love to meet her darling sweetheart of a son, there's no need for you to stay cooped up in your study! You gently reassured her that it was fine, really. The deadline for your novel's first draft is coming up soon, so you really should focus on finishing it as soon as you can. Besides, there is some rather elite company attending the party, and you know your father does not want to risk you making a fool of yourself, and also him by association.

Time ticked on, and your stomach growled, breaking the concentration you barely maintained on writing. You look up, right at the spot on the wall where the clock is. While you can't really see the time at this distance, you know the staff should have brought you your helping some time ago. You sigh, and stand.

You don't dislike parties, you think you enjoy them as much as the next person actually. The problem is that you don't like large, crowded parties due to your condition. Your central vision is perfectly fine, but you've been steadily losing your peripheral vision ever since you were little. It's been especially bad the past few years, to the point you will trip over anything that is not directly in front of you, like furniture and people. When your parents throw elaborate parties or host networking events, your father will suggest you stay up in your room or your study (to avoid any blunders as a result of not seeing the millionaire standing right beside you). While you know there is good meaning behind it, it feels isolating, even a little patronizing at times.

Even if the darkness of the hallway renders you completely blind, you've walked down it enough times you do not worry about tripping. Hand on the railing, you make your way down the stairs, and the light of the estate grows brighter with each step you take down. Before you fully descend, you let your eyes scan the room to try and make a mental map of where everyone is to avoid bumping into anyone on your way.

You barely make it to the ground before you feel a familiar presence and smell a familiar blend of cologne and champagne on your right. You're glad you can't see out of the corner of your eyes because you know exactly what face your father is making right now. You know he's not happy to see you downstairs before he even speaks.

"I thought you were working on your manuscript?" he asks, the accusatory tone in his voice on the more subtle side.

You shrug. "I wanted something to eat."

"Colleen was supposed to bring you your food," your father retorts.

"If she did, I wouldn't have come downstairs, would I?"

Your father scoffs. "Look, just go back upstairs, and I'll talk to Colleen."

A second voice chimes in, softer and sweeter. Your mother. "Oh, sweetie!" Her face comes into view, and she seems happy to see you. "Are you done your manuscript already?"

"Colleen didn't bring him his food, apparently," your father says.

Your mom turns her head in the direction of your father's voice. "Dear, Colleen left early, remember? Wasn't feeling well? She said Adelaide was supposed to bring him his food." "That's a lie, I haven't seen Adelaide at all tonight!"

You raise a hand. "Or, or, I'm an adult who knows where the kitchen is and can get my own serving?"

Your mother cups your face in her hands. "No no, we'll get you something, unless you're here to socialize as well? I was just talking to this woman, she has a daughter about your age-"

"I'm just going to get my food," you quickly cut in, "maybe I'll play matchmaker next time, but I just want something to eat and then I'll get back to work."

"Let the staff get it," your father tells you.

You pull away from your mother and turn to glare at your father. "It's fine. I can get it myself."

You step around your parents but feel your mom clasp your arm. "You father just-"

"Doesn't want me bumping into people, I know, and I won't."

You take two steps before your left side slams right into a passing partygoer. You stumble and hit the ground, while whoever you bumped into manages to maintain their footing. Glass breaks, and when you hit the ground you feel wetness soaking the back of your shirt and the front as well. You hear your mother gasp, and the room goes silent. Even the band has paused their playing, and you can feel the eyes of the room on you.

"What is wrong with you?"

While the man's voice is melodic, it only serves to make your face burn hotter with embarrassment. This is why your dad doesn't invite you to join them at parties, you remind yourself. When you do not immediately answer the question, opting to instead push yourself up, the man continues to chastise you.

"Do you have any idea how much this suit cost? How much it's going to cost to have it properly cleaned?"

You roll over so you're sitting up. Red stains your shirt. "Sorry, I-I didn't see you there."

"Clearly! How painfully unobservant do you have to be to not see me coming through? I was right next to you!"

You drag your gaze up the man's body, as he takes up the entirety of your eyesight. Everything he wears looks designer, and as you take in his shoes, his dress pants, you make it to his suit jacket and shirt. He's wearing black with hints of indigos and dark blues, but the wine stain is still very visible on his chest. Your eyes continue, and you see a snarling, but handsome, but still very angry face. You don't recognize him from the long black hair, the glasses with the bedazzled chain, or the shine of his eyes. You recognize him from the pin on his lapel. At this distance you recognize the Fatui symbol, and your face blanches.

You just ran into a Harbinger.

You hear the footsteps of your father approach. "M-Mister Regrator, I am so, so sorry for my son's actions, I-I'm sure that's a very expensive suit and I am deeply sorry."

The Regrator does not take his eyes off of you. "Yes. Very expensive. Expensive even for you."

"I-I swear, I'm sorry," you stammer, "I didn't see you, I really didn't see you there, I-I-"

You feel your father pull you up by the arm. "I already told you to go upstairs."

Pantalone watches as your father drags you away. You only protest a little before accepting defeat as you are pulled up the stairs. He feels the scowl on his face worsen when your mother approaches with the most desperate and pitiful expression he thinks he's ever seen a woman of her standing wear.

"Are you alright, my lord?" she asks timidly.

Pantalone takes a step back as a maid comes over to clean up the broken glass. "I'm fine, thank you."

"I am so sorry about that, if you'd like, w-we can have our staff clean your suit for you."

"This material is incredibly expensive and difficult to thoroughly wash," Pantalone states, "I highly doubt your staff would know how to clean it."

The woman looks down, embarrassed. "A-Ah, I see..." She looks back up at him, her expression somehow more pitiful than before. "Please, forgive my son, it was an accident, truly. H-He didn't see you there."

"Oh, I know," Pantalone replies, grinning harshly at the woman, "I'm just surprised at how unobservant someone can be, it's almost impressive."

The woman bites her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Still, she clears her throat, though she does not meet the Regrator's eyes. "M-My son is going blind."

Somehow the room goes quieter.

Pantalone stares at the woman as the words echo in his mind. He blinks, and his expression dulls a little. "Your son is what?"

"Going blind." She lifts her head up a little bit. "It's a genetic condition, m-my father had it as well. He's been losing his eyesight little by little ever since he was a boy. The doctor at his last appointment s-said he's lost most if not all peripheral vision now."

Pantalone can feel the wine begin to soak through to his shirt now. His eyes scan the room, and the guests are clearly pretending they're not listening to the conversation. He turns to the woman, his voice displeased but noticeably softer. "So the, ah, 'unobservant' assumption..."

"He truly did not see you," the woman reiterates, "I-I can't speak for him, of course, but if he's anything like how my father was at his age, he cannot see anything unless it is directly in front of him."

Pantalone clicks his tongue. "Is that so?"

The woman nods. Silence fills the room for a few moments, and then Pantalone sighs.

"In any case, I have to leave," he says, "I do not have a change of clothes, and I really should have this cleaned as soon as possible."

"A-Apologies again, Lord Pantalone..."

Your mother watches Pantalone as he leaves, praying to any Archon who will hear her plea that perhaps the Regrator will take pity on you on account of your condition. She also mentally curses your father for even inviting the man over. Sure, things have been getting a little shaky financially for your family, but getting buddy-buddy with a Harbinger can't be worth it, can it? They're an unsavoury lot she doesn't want around, especially around you.

Your father is already in a foul mood when he comes back downstairs, having lectured you for literally blindly running into Pantalone. The two had plans to work together, after all, so that spectacle could have completely cost the family any chance at maintaining the dwindling fortune. He becomes more upset with your mother when he finds the Regrator has left already, sparking an argument that finally kills the party, leaving the guests to awkwardly mingle before finally leaving hours before the party is set to end.

Your father does not talk to you for a few days. Your mother offers smiles and reassurance that everything will be fine, but the spats echoing down the hall lead you to believe otherwise. You attempt to tune out the building stress in your household and focus on your work, but it's in vain. In the quiet moments between replacing the paper in the typewriter, or when you cannot figure out how a scene is meant to play out, you briefly picture the Regrator's face and feel your face burn up again. Is it anger? Embarrassment? A little bit of attraction? Yes, probably.

The tension in the house reaches a boiling point when a letter sealed with the Regrator's insignia is delivered to the estate.

"You're paying for the suit, boy," your father snaps, figure barely visible as he paces the drawing room lit only by the fireplace.

"W-We don't know if that's what the letter is," your mother remarks, "and he doesn't have enough to cover for it."

"That's the worst part! We would have to cover the majority of it!"

"Can you just open the fucking envelope?!" you finally snap.

Your father advances towards you from the darkness, suddenly right in front of you. "Don't you speak to me like that when this is your fault!"

Both of you flinch when your mother all but rips the envelope from your father's hands. She steps just out of your line of vision, and you hear the ripping sound of the envelope. After a few moments, she lets out a loud sigh of relief.

"He's apologizing and forgiving us for the misunderstanding," your mother says, "though he, ah, he does want us to split the cleaning costs..." You hear the flutter of paper, and she absentmindedly steps forward as she reads the letter. "Oh, j-just for the shirt. That is... oof, that's still a little much..."

You sigh. "I should have enough money saved. Might have to put off moving out for a little longer, though."

"Oh, don't be so down!" your mother awkwardly laughs. "We don't mind having you here a little longer. It gives me peace of mind knowing you're safe! And there are o better doctors out there than in Snezhnaya!"

Your dad has disappeared out of view, but you can still feel his stare. You don't think he's as thrilled as your mother is, but it's better than him paying the full cost of Pantalone's dry cleaning. You wonder if there's anything in the letter stating if he'll still work with your father, and if that means you'll have to see him again before you eventually move. You hope you never see him out of sheer embarrassment, but a part of you wants to. It would be nice to remember a more cheery expression on his handsome face before the day your central vision finally leaves you.

[juniperdugong]

Perfection {Teaser}

No one has looked at you like that. With such admiration, such kindness. Taking in all your details and intricacies. Playing with a piece of paper and through it piecing together what was meant to be you. Eyes glancing back and forth with a smile. Oh god, why did the mortician have to have such a sickly sweet smile as he looked at your corpse? Why did your soul not leave when it was meant to?

Pairing: mortician!mingyu x corpse!GNreader

Genre: Mortician!au, Horror!au || Fluff, Crack (simply bc this concept is not normal in the slightest babes), Romance, Angst(?)

Warnings: Mentions of death, corpses, and gore (Nothing in depth and nothing intended to disturb) || Necrophilia(?), It's more like Necro-romance, aka romantic attraction to a corpse. || Nudity || {Please let me know if there are other warnings you would like me to add}

Teaser WC: 518

Songs that inspired this fic

A/N: Hey, people...First fic and it's one based on all the different renditions of Frankenstein...Because of course, I would. My incessant need to write stories with insane premises is shining right now. If you listen to the playlist I hope you don't mind the mix of goth, rock, and folk. Oh lord, in my mind I just feel like Mingyu would be the type of hopeless romantic to fall in love with a dead person. I hope y'all enjoy!

Not proofread!

MASTERLIST

He was oh so gentle with you. The way he was careful with his movements as he heaved your stretcher onto the table. Your eyes followed him as he went ahead and gathered various things from around the room. Setting them on a table near you. A deep breath settled in him as he scanned your body. You felt vulnerable in this state, not much you could do about it but still. He got a clipboard and read through it. As he did he circled you, tapping gently at different parts of your body as he went along. Assessing your situation and what he would have to make "presentable" no doubt. Then he stopped. Pausing as he made his way back towards your head. Another sigh as he gazed at you. "You were so pretty. I wish we had met under other circumstances y/n." If a heart was in your body it would be beating so fast right now. His hand reached out and grazed your forehead. Is he moving the hair from your face? If you had working veins you would be blushing wildly. This is crazy. You've decided that this is crazy. Your soul for some reason has decided to stick to your body instead of following the heavenly trumpets towards the pearly gates of paradise. And here you were, prisoner in your own skin, unable to move or speak or do much of anything. And the only thing on your mind is the man who is preparing your body??? Oh, Christ. What the actual hell is happening? Also, why does it seem like the mortician is just as invested in you? Are morticians supposed to have organ jars in their preparation rooms? You suppose they do take care of those sorts of things, plus he's the professional in this situation, right? "The more I look at you…The more I wish…What am I saying?" he shook his head with a huff. Your eyes were open, not like you could willingly close them, but you were somehow able to see in this state. You could see the way the protective gown fell on his arm, very faintly outlining some sort of muscle. The way his breath caught on the mask, not shallowly at all either, a heavy breath. Almost like when he looked at you you had taken it away and he was grasping to get it back. The gloves that held snug to his big fingers, his warm hands, the ones that graced you gently with every touch. So caught up in memorizing his features you hadn't noticed that he was tracing your inner arm and staring right back at your lifeless eyes. "Actually, you might be perfect and these might just be perfect circumstances y/n…" he tilted his head as he said those words, gazing deeply at all of you, taking you in like some person at the other end of the bar. Why was he walking away? What did he mean by perfect? Is he walking over with one of those jars right now? Lord, you should've followed the trumpets…

{Right on time, just minutes after voting closed, let me know what you think, love you all!}

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen

TW: noncon, angst, trauma, PTSD, don’t read this if you like hot doctors named Julian (he was probably an actual sweetheart in canon, but we decided to flip that around in this, so read with that in mind)

You really should have foreseen it, before letting yourself hang out alone in the breakroom. But you are tired–exhausted, actually, and you can only blame so much on the work at hand.

Tom fucking Ludlow.

You find yourself grinning like an idiot at your sandwich–which is exactly how Dr. Julian Mercer finds you, of course. You don’t even fucking hear him approach. He just appears at your side like a ghost, and you nearly jump out of your skin as he says in a low voice, “Y/n.”

“Jesus Christ,” you wheeze, clutching your chest. “Julian…”

“Maybe Doctor would be more appropriate.” It probably would, but you’re not sure if he’s asking for this out of the cold indifference his tone suggests–or that other little extra meaning it has for the two of you.

“Okay, Doctor Mercer. Creep around like a fucking ghost much?”

“No. You were just distracted.”

You blow air between your teeth. You really don’t want to fight with this man right now, but it feels like he’s spoiling for something. “What do you want?”

He takes your hands in his, running gentle fingers over marks on your wrists that have now mostly faded. You hate to admit it–but this careful, questing touch sends a thrill across your skin. “The animal,” he growls under his breath. “Clearly no clue as to what he was doing.”

Hoo boy, was he wrong about that.

“Did you have a safeword at least?”

“No…?”

“Fucking amateur.” 

You don’t know how to tell him, that rendering sex absolutely clinical with boundaries and safewords beforehand just doesn’t do it for you. You just…trusted Tom not to hurt you. And he didn’t. 

“Julian…”

“Doctor.”

“Yeah, that. What do you think you’re doing?” You try to pull your hands away, but he holds on, just firm enough to keep you. Despite what Tom likes to taunt, Julian is not little, or weak.

The look in his eyes is that of a man drowning.

“Losing my mind?”

“You are being ridiculous. You have got to let it go.”

“I’m trying, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

This is absurd. Men do not lose their shit over you. They use you, then throw you away at their first convenience. You give a fat sigh that you hope conveys your annoyance. 

“Julian, have you seen the women that walk around this hospital? Better, Have you seen the women in your BDSM club? Have you never thought of trying one of those girls out? I mean, they are into the same stuff.” 

His thumb presses on the dark marks the belt left on your wrist, making a little diffuse ache light your skin. “You are clearly into BDSM, y/n. Just the unsafe way of doing it, I suppose.” 

Okay, now he’s just plain pissing you off. Once again, a man insinuating that you’re too stupid and naive to advocate for yourself. Too weak to take initiative, too gullible to know that you have to. You wrench your hand back from him, and he glares after it like it called him a dirty name. “Are you kidding me?” You say, not hiding the bite of your words, “and setting people on fire is just so safe, right? Whipping someone’s feet is the safest thing you can do in sex, yep, boy howdy, you’re absolutely right, Julian. How stupid of me.” 

Your aim is to hurt him with your words, although now you’re regretting it when he looks back at you with those big, brown, sad orbs. Fuck, you can just never win with this man and his multiple personalities. He runs a hand through his hair. “You’re with him, then?” 

“I’m…” you take a breath and try to step outside of yourself for a minute and view the situation objectively, just like you learned to do in therapy, and what you’re seeing is a misguided man who doesn’t know he can bag any freaky woman he wants become overly attached to you because he was vulnerable with you that one time. “I’m not.” How do you word it without sounding pathetic? “I’m not that great of a catch. I promise you there is a much better person out there for you.” 

“I don’t think so,” he says quietly, intensely, sending a shudder through you that freezes and burns all at once. “Do you love him?” 

“What?” You ask incredulously. “I just met him.”

“Well, then, I still have a chance.” 

Your fist clenches unconsciously, ready for a fight. Maybe a metaphorical fight, but a fight nonetheless. “No,” you tell him, swallowing your nice, “you don’t, Julian.” 

“What if…I promised not to punish you?”

This does make you pause, and you swear, not because you’re actually considering it, but because you are surprised he would even think to compromise his needs, for you. 

It’s a heady feeling, if not entirely misplaced.

“No,” you answer, much too late. “No, no, nope.”

“I can see you’re intrigued.”

“No, I’m…flabbergasted. It wouldn’t be any fun for you.”

He looks you up and down, blatantly checking you out. You swear you will never get used to that look in a man’s eyes, trained on you. “I wouldn’t say that.” Then his attention turns back to your wrists, tracing the marks Tom’s belt left again with fascination. “Just let me…do this to you. God, the things I would do to you.” He inches closer as he says this, until before you know it you are standing nearly chest to chest, and your heart is beating at a mile a minute.

You have to try twice, before you find your voice. “That’s exactly what scares me about you, Julian.”

He dares to touch you, turning your face up to his with his palm on your jaw. “That you might like it, y/n?”

You take a deep breath, and you step back, away from Julian. Away from your sandwich too, unfortunately. But you guess you’re going to have to write it off. Or circle back later. You have no further clever quips to offer Dr. Julian Mercer. For lack of a better word–you flee.

At the nurses’ station a bright and cheery reminder of someone else’s devotion awaits you. A happy bouquet of sunflowers, with a simple card that reads, Dorothy, Thinking about you. Glad you’re not in Kansas anymore -T It is just the boost to morale you need, after your chilling little interlude with Julian.

However, you don’t get to take them home. They disappear while you are working, and you think you know who is to blame for the childish act of revenge. Rather than letting it drop, you decide to prove to Julian that you have boundaries and he can’t just push you around like this. 

You catch him as he’s about to get into his car, and get Deja Vu from the scenario. The parking garage isn’t well lit, empty of other humans, and damp with oppressive LA heat. Maybe it’s not the best place to confront a man, but you never claimed to be a complete genius. And, now that you’re here…

“Julian, do you know where my sunflowers went? From the desk? Tom got them for me.”

He looks down at you with dark eyes. “Fresh flowers are a health code violation. I had to dispose of them.” 

And you thought Tom could make you livid; Julian is here proving that he can spike your anger from a two to a ten in one simple sentence. “And what about the flowers you got me that stayed at the desk? Huh? Those were fine, right?”

He shrugs. “No.” 

“So, what the fuck?” You’re raising your voice, feeling the heat of anger singing through the blood in your body like a vengeful choir. Your fist clenches to actually punch him—God, you want to. 

“I’ll buy you more flowers,” he says, as if that’s going to fix the problem. 

“I don’t want your flowers,” you growl, “I don’t want you, Julian!” 

Before you know what’s happening, he has you gripped up in his hands and pressed against the door of his car, mouth on your own, bullying inside to suck and bite and bruise. You try to push and kick and thrash against him, but his long body is pressed firmly into yours, holding you steady against warm metal. His blunt fingers dig into the flesh of your upper arms and make you gasp, which allows him further entrance into your mouth.

You can’t fucking breathe with him latched onto you like this, and your frantic hands reach to tear at his scrubs, his belt, his skin. He pulls away, blessedly, panting and wild eyed, and you immediately start in on him. “Get the fuck off me, Julian.” You writhe in short, shallow breaths, lungs crushed by his heavy torso and unable to entirely fill. 

“This is what you want,” he says, ignoring your demand. “You want someone to take advantage of you. Make you, force you. And if that’s what you need, that’s what I can give.”

“I don’t want that,” you reply. “I want the opposite of that! Get off me! I will scream.” 

His mouth edges into a terrifying smile. “You think anyone’s going to hear you?” He asks, looking around the empty parking garage. “You think anyone’s going to save you if I decide to take you home for a few days and do terrible things to you?” He grabs your chin, fingers spanning the entire bottom, reminding you of the size difference and making you whimper in pain. He presses his lips against the shell of your ear. “Make you regret having nerve endings…” 

Your whole body is shaking violently with adrenalized fear. Sweet Doctor Julian is a fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing, and he’s hungry for your flesh and blood. You should have known. You should have seen this coming. Shouldn’t you be an expert on narcissists and abusers by now? Shouldn’t you have been smarter? Shouldn’t you do the smart thing now and convince him to let you go?

“Please, Julian.” Disgust bubbles in your gut, reacting vehemently to the pathetic, pleading voice that leaves your mouth. “Please don’t.” 

He pulls your chin up a little higher. “You can beg prettier than that.” 

“Please, Doctor.” You swallow the raging hatred you have for yourself. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll be a good girl.” 

He hums and kisses you temple, lips ghosting into your hairline as he inhales your shampoo choice. “You’re lucky I don’t put you on your knees right here and make you choke on my cock for a while, pumpkin.” 

“Please.” You give him your best impression of a beaten dog with wide, owl eyes, hoping you can somehow get out of this without actually getting hurt. All you can think of is Tom; how you wish he was here to beat the fuck out of Julian, how you should have let him beat the fuck out of Julian on your doorstep. 

His hand moves down, pressing softly into the front of your throat, just enough to make it uncomfortable. “It’s refreshing to see something so wild become so tame with fear.” Fear is an understatement. Pure panicking terror is what consumes you. Bred from C-PTSD and Julian’s heavy, big hand on your throat. You’ve been here before, small and terrified under a man with power… And, suddenly, you’re her again, that little girl trembling and cowering and cornered. You don’t know that you’re crying until a little tear tickles down your cheek. 

He kisses that saltwater trail, peeks his tongue out to taste your sad desperation and shivers against you. “You taste delicious.” 

Fucking Hannibal Lector, Psycho, serial killer. How did you not see it? How? 

It occurs to you that Tom saw it, saw straight through the mask, to the beast beneath Julian Mercer’s carefully constructed facade, all along. He’d warned you, but like the stubborn little idiot you are, you didn’t listen. 

Tom. Somehow it’s the thought of him, how he looks at you like you are precious, like you’re not stupid, like you are something worth saving, that breaks your thought pattern, your desire to just freeze and hope this man with his hand on your throat isn’t going to hurt you, hope that the bad thing goes away if you’re still enough, small enough, don’t draw attention to yourself. You think on what Tom would have you do.

You hear Ludlow’s voice, plain as day, cutting through the fear: c’mon, you have just enough room to fuck him up. 

You drive your knee as absolutely hard as you can into Dr. Julian Mercer’s gonads. 

The good doctor crumbles with a groan that sounds like his soul leaving his body. 

You run. On your shaking legs as fast as you can to your car, barely able to unlock the door with your trembling hands trying to manipulate your keys in the lock. You feel like you’re in a horror film. Instead of being the one yelling at the screen, Don’t run up the stairs, stupid!—you are the stupid girl, and you have so much sympathy for the girl being chased by the Big Bad with a knife and having no idea what to do with your hands. 

No. You are not dying today. You are not letting this monster win today. You are not fodder. You are Final Girl material, goddammit. Maybe you never believed it before, but Tom’s voice is still in your head. You can hear him ordering you what to do. Put in your key. Twist. Open. Get in. Lock the door. 

 You manage all this somehow, just before Juian slams against your window, his face a mask of fury. “Open the door, y/n.” 

Maybe still channeling Tom, and maybe acting completely on your own now, you press your middle finger against the window for him before starting your engine and peeling away. He barely manages to stumble back in time to save his toes from getting crushed by your racing tires. 

[intzue]

SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER DRABBLE!! happy pride, I present to you reincarnation :3 note/s: male!reader, mentions of hanging (public execution), war, and a gun. THIS IS ALSO BASED ON ONE OF MY FAVORITE CAI BOTS MADE BY DEARKUNI ON TIKTOK!!!!

He couldn't hear them. No, he wouldn't listen to them.

How could he?

How could he listen to everyone else's screams and begs of aid when no one could for him? His pleas to the Shogun, his mother; not to take you from him.

How could he pay attention to anything else other than you—his lover, supposed husband—your lifeless body hanging from the ligature, your head covered by an old brown sack.

The gears shifting in his mind blocked out all noise as he tried to process, tried to accept that you were gone. That it was you, lifeless in front of him.

What brought him back was the feeling of cold steel against the back of his head, nudging it forward ever so slightly.

Ah.

Right. The war between Natlan and Inazuma.

For a brief moment, he thinks of how he'd run from this position. He'd knock off the person's gun from their hand and make a run for it. But he knows it'd be no use. At some point, he'd still be shot dead.

Bang!

The gun popped, and then came his body that fell to the ground.

“... These, as you can see on the pamphlet, are believed to be letters exchanged between two lovers during the war. And according to those who found these, judging from its contents, they were from opposing nations! Sound familiar?” “Like a soap opera.” “Indeed! Now,...” Your gaze followed the docent’s hand that gestured to the two separated stacks of old yellowed paper inside its display case.

As you read over the few visible words, you noted that they were carefully stored, or so it seemed. For the ink on the paper on top of the rest seemed well preserved.

As your gaze lingered longer and the group had soon left you behind, you couldn’t help but notice the presence of a man that joined your side.

From the corner of your eye, you could make out his hair—dark blue and covered most of his ear.

From his hands, you observed his fair skin up to the tips of his slender fingers.

And for whatever that came over you, your gaze traveled up his arm, onto his shoulder, and soon, your eyes met.

Your eyes widened as they locked onto the man’s indigo irises that shone, looking right into yours.

You took in his features, delicate and almost doll-like—added the red that traced over the outer corner of his eyes, he looked artificial.

!!!!

Soon, you felt heat rush up to your head and you realized just how close you two were.

You took two nervous steps back, laughing awkwardly as you waved your hands in front of you, as if putting a barrier between you and the man or perhaps to fan out the sudden warmth that had you sweating despite the ac of the museum.

“A-ah! My apologies. I-I…” You profusely apologized, smiling lopsidedly. The embarrassment didn’t lessen one bit despite the man’s urging that it was fine, he too was sorry.

Overtime, the two of you settled with an awkward silence.

You fought with yourself mentally, looking off to the opposite way, still standing in front of the exhibit of letters.

It was when you realize you’ve been left by your group when you decide to finally walk away. Only to be held back by a firm hand on your wrist.

“Wait…” It’s that man. His gaze averted yours and settled on his hand on your wrist as he spoke.

“I’m… Scaramouche.” He introduced himself, eyes slowly meeting yours once again with a faint red on the tips of his ears.

“(Name).”

“Have I met you? Or have I seen you before?”

[musclesaber]

BIGger: Part 1

Not so Big

[Story Gallery]

Ian is tired of being small. He walks through the world as less of a man since he’s so little and is hopefully in for a big surprise in the morning. Commission I did for @maletfgrowthblog on Twitter/X.

The alarm blared out a painstaking screech as Ian rolled himself over in his bed. “Ugghhh, 5 more minutes,” groaned the freshman college student as he hit the snooze button. Sitting up, Ian rubbed his eyes and yawned. He looked at the clock and sighed. 8:45 am read the clock. Getting out of bed. Ian scratched the back of his head as he walked over to his closet. Still walking like a zombie, Ian threw a t-shirt and athletic shorts on and went over to the mirror. His clothes hung off his wire frame like a tent as he swiped a comb through his long dirty blonde hair and brushed his teeth quickly.

Making his way out the door of his tiny apartment, Ian started walking to his first class of the day. On his way, Ian had to walk through the student union building where he saw a giant cardboard cutout of a huge bodybuilder winking at him. “Step right up! Step right up! Compete in the strongman competition tonight at the carnival in town for a chance to win a free meal pass for an entire year!” said a buff student in front of the booth. 

“Hey! I’d like to compete!” said Ian with a smile on his face.

“Uh are you sure about that little guy?” asked the buff student, giving Ian a weary look. “I don’t know if this competition is the right thing for a person of your…stature.” Ian was only 5’3 on a good day and 110 pounds soaking wet. Nothing about his body screamed strongman.

“Well, are there any restrictions on competing? Am I not allowed to?” asked Ian as he took a flier.

“No, you can still compete, but if I’m being honest, I doubt you’d even beat me in a strongman competition and I know I’m not gonna be the biggest guy there,” said the student as he looked Ian’s body up and down. 

“There’s no waste in at least trying, right?” asked Ian as he folded up the flier and put it in his book bag. 

“I guess not. But a word of advice, the rec center is free to all students on campus. Maybe go and lift a few weights and learn some good form for doing lifts just so you don’t hurt yourself.”

Ian pondered for a moment before responding. “Alright, I have a few classes today so I’ll head to the rec after for some help.”

“Awesome. I know first time clients for personal trainers get their first session for free. What’s your name by the way?”

“My name’s Ian.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Kevin.”

“Nice to meet you as well, Kevin. I’ll see you tonight at the carnival,” said Ian as he made his way to class. Hustling into the classroom, Ian saw most of the seats were taken except for one in the second row. After he took his seat, Ian looked up at the board and saw he couldn’t see a thing. One of the football players was sitting in front of him, and a big one at that. He looked three times wider than Ian’s body and sitting down in the chair, he seemed taller than Ian was standing.

“Hey, buddy. Do you mind leaning over?” asked Ian, tapping on the big guy’s wide shoulder. The hulking body didn’t move. “Excuse me, can you trade seats with me?” repeated Ian tapping his shoulder. Again, the wide silhouette didn’t budge. “Hello! Big guy!” Ian pushed on the back of the man’s shoulder and finally saw the big frame turn.

“What?” asked the jock as he took out his airpods. “Did you say something?” He turned and looked down at Ian shoving him.

“I can’t see the board from behind you. Do you mind switching seats with me?” asked Ian.

“My eyes won’t let me see the board if I move any further back. I have to sit up front,” replied the jock pointing to his glasses.

“But, how am I supposed to see the board behind your wide back?”

“Not my problem. Have a growth spurt maybe?” chuckled the jock. “Small fry.” He put his air pods back into his ears and turned back to face the front.

“Like you seeing the board will improve your grade in the slightest,” whispered Ian under his breath. As the professor started the class, Ian could only see about a quarter of the top of the board over the jock. “I’m not learning anything today,” admitted Ian as he sat back in his seat, defeated.

Finishing up the class, Ian was right. He could only take notes from whatever the professor had said, but had none of the powerpoint to work from. Closing his laptop, Ian rushed out of class annoyed. Ian went to his next classes without much issue, until finally he was free to hit the rec center. 

Ian had only ever been to the rec center when he was on his campus tour, but from what he remembered about it, it was a fairly nice facility. Entering the building, Ian walked up to the front desk. “Hi, I’d like to meet with one of your personal trainers for one of those free workout sessions?”

The woman working the front desk looked up from her phone then looked back down immediately. “The sign up sheet for a personal trainer is right there and a trainer will be by in a few minutes to help you with your workout,” said the woman in a monotone voice. 

“Thanks,” replied Ian, matching her energy. After putting his name down, he went to the weights section of the gym, spotting an open squat rack and nabbing it immediately. Putting his things down next to the machine, Ian started grabbing weights to rack onto the machine. After struggling to put two 45’s on one side of the bar and one on the other, Ian was returning with the last 45 to see a man had gotten onto his squat rack.

“Hey! I was using that!” shouted Ian. The man looked down at Ian and laughed.

“Oh little guy, there’s no way you could lift all this weight,” said the man, hardly containing his laughter.

“Yes I could! I’m trying to get strong for a strongman competition later and need the practice!” said Ian as he threw down the 45. The man looked him up and down and continued to laugh.

“Puh-lease, you? Winning a strongman competition? That’s rich. And what else is gonna happen today, huh? Will I see a flock of pigs flying by when I leave the gym? Is tuition gonna be made free today too? Sorry little guy, this rack is for people who actually have a chance at winning that competition,” said the man as he got under the bar. 

In a fit of rage, Ian grabbed his bag and walked back to the front desk in a huff. “Hey, where’s that personal trainer?” asked Ian to the front desk lady. Again raising her eyes from her phone for a second before returning them back to what she was looking at.

“A trainer will be by in a few minutes to help you with your workout,” she repeated.

“You said that already a few minutes ago. Are there even any trainers here that are going to help me?” asked Ian with annoyance in his voice.

“They will see you whenever they become available. Some have clients they are working with at the moment and others are doing their own workouts. If you would like to schedule an appointment with a trainer, you may. Otherwise, you can wait until one becomes available,” said the front desk lady. 

“I don’t have time for this,” said Ian as he puffed air out of his nose in a huff and turned around to leave the gym. Resigning to just going back to his apartment.

Walking back, Ian slouched his body down, making him appear even smaller than normal. Slugging his way into his apartment building, he got onto the elevator to take him up to his room. While waiting for the elevator to take him up to his room, a very fat man rounded the corner into the elevator and his big bulk smashed Ian into the back wall of the elevator. 

“Uh, excuse me!” said James. His voice muffled between the wall and the fat man’s back. As the elevator moved upwards, the large man didn’t budge from his spot. Leaving Ian pressed tightly between a rock and a hard place. Finally the elevator doors opened and the fat man walked out, releasing Ian from behind the lard prison. 

The doors closed and went up to Ian’s floor as Ian straightened himself out after he’d been flattened like a pancake. “Jesus, I’m surprised the elevator could even move with that big guy on here.” As the doors opened, Ian walked to his tiny studio apartment. Plopping down onto his bed, he looked at his phone. 4:00, he still had an hour before the meet. “I might as well shower, I did get a little sweaty from lifting those weights. Even though it was just the plates.”

Ian got up from his bed and shucked off his clothes quick enough and hopped into the shower. Why am I even doing this strongman competition? thought Ian. I’m not strong. Hell, I doubt I could’ve even lifted two of those plates. Ian looked down at his body and was unimpressed. His body was extremely underdeveloped. He had no muscle tone in the slightest, no hair on his body aside from his head, and what little size he did have was in the form of a small belly that bulged out from his midsection. That guy at the rec was right. I shouldn’t even be in this competition in the first place.

Ian rinsed off his face and started lathering his body with soap. No, I can’t give up on this. Ian scrubbed between the few crevices he had on his body. I’ve always wanted to be big and this will show all those big guys that I have the drive to get big like all of them. Ian turned the faucet in the shower off and put a towel around his waist. “I’ll show them that I have what it takes to grow big!” said Ian as he exited the bathroom.

Putting on a compression shirt and short gym shorts, Ian grabbed his phone, wallet, and keys, and headed out the door. He got in his car and the drive to the fair grounds was a quick drive, but Ian was anxious to get there. Entering the carnival, Ian bought a ticket and found the booth where the competition sign ups were because sitting there was the cute jock from earlier, Kevin.

“Hey! Kevin, it’s me, Ian,” said Ian as he walked up. “Remember me?”

“Ian, yes. Of course I remember you. Our ringer,” said Kevin with a chuckle. “Glad to see you made it. We just need a little bit of information about you before we can get started with everything.” Kevin got up from his seat and got beside Ian. “First things first, what is your full name?”

“Ian McCormick.”

“Muh-cor-mick,” said Kevin as he wrote on his clipboard. “Perfect, and what year are you at the university?”

“Freshman.”

“Got it, and what made you want to sign up for this competition?”

“Because I wanna show everyone how big I am,” said Ian. Kevin looked up from his clipboard as Ian spoke those words with an inquisitive face. “And the free meal pass.”

“Ah, you are not the only one in that category,” said Kevin as he jotted down Ian’s answer. “Alright, now last things, if I could get your height and weight, here on this scale.” Kevin stepped aside to reveal a scale. 

Stepping forward, Ian got onto the scale and Kevin started moving the blocks on top down. “Okay, it says here that you weigh…108 pounds,” said Kevin, writing down the results. Ian gave a bit of a half smile before walking over to the wall behind the booth where there was a measuring stick. Kevin got close to Ian for a moment as he put his clipboard on top of his head to get an accurate measurement. And as he did, Ian couldn’t help but admire Kevin’s fantastic physique up close. 

“I didn’t mention this earlier, but you have quite the size on you, for just being a student that is,” said Ian as Kevin stepped back.

“Thanks, I have been lifting for a long time so I’m very proud of my work,” said Kevin as he brought up his arm and it bunched up to the size of a baseball as he flexed. 

“Well, even though you said you probably have some steep competition, I hope you go far in the games.”

“Thanks little guy,” said Kevin, flashing Ian a smile. “And you are 5 foot 2 and a half inches tall.” Kevin wrote down the results and pulled the sheet of paper out of the clipboard.

“Alright Ian, now that you’re all signed in, let’s get you to the first round,” said Kevin as he led Ian behind the booth.”

“How many rounds are there exactly? It might surprise you, but I’ve never been to a competition like this before,” said Ian as he followed.

“No worries, there will be 3 rounds. First a basic test of strength, next a lifting competition, and lastly there will be a flex off with our finalist. Then a winner will be crowned.”

“Sounds simple enough. So what’s this test of strength I have to do?” asked Ian as they entered a big tent. 

“You’ll need to score high on this classic carnival game,” said Ian as he gestured toward a high striker game set up with a large hammer beside it. “You have to get at least up to the 700 point range then you’ll be able to move onto the next part of the competition.”

Ian looked the game up and down. He saw little lines along the side with numbers running up it by the hundreds. The 700 mark was fairly close to the top part of the tower, but it should be doable. “Alright, can I go whenever?”

“Give it your best swing.” Ian walked over and grabbed onto the handle of the hammer and struggled to pick that weight up alone. Swinging the hammer over his shoulder, Ian steadied himself in front of the tower before pushing the hammer down in front of him and hitting the launch pad. The metal ball in the machine rang out as it started to fly up towards the top. But Ian’s enthusiasm quickly melted away as the metal ball stopped in between the 100 and 200 markers and began to descend..

“Oooo not even close. I’m sorry Ian,” said Kevin as he patted Ian on the back. “There’s always next year. Maybe you could train hard in the gym and I’m sure you could make it at least to the next round no problem,” said Kevin trying to comfort Ian.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll do that. I guess.” Ian looked extremely defeated and didn’t even look Kevin in the eye before shuffling away. Walking through the carnival, Ian felt like he was going to burst into tears from embarrassment, but he held it all in. “I’m never going to get big. I’ll never be strong. I’ll always be a weakling.”

Ian headed towards the exit before a strange attraction caught his eye. The Great Zoltan! Here to Grant your Deepest Desires! “Like that could ever happen,” said Ian mockingly. Examining the machine, Ian took out a dollar. “Why not? It’s not like this day can get worse.” Sliding the dollar into the machine, the animatronic inside the booth lit up.

“I am Zoltan! What do you desire?” asked the animatronic as it moved its robotic mouth.

“I wish I could do this whole day over, but if I was bigger,” said Ian as he closed his eyes.

“Your wish, is my command!” replied the animatronic. It crossed its arms and closed its eyes before lights started flashing from the booth. A cheesy sci-fi music track started playing behind it as smoke appeared in the booth. Finally, the animatronic opened its eyes again and returned to its original position.

“This is some bullshit. I’m never getting that dollar back,” said Ian as he kicked the machine. Walking back to his car, Ian pouted the entire ride home before slugging his way back up to his apartment and flopping himself down on his bed. “What I wouldn’t give to be bigger.” Ian yawned and despite it still being fairly early, he got a strange sleeping spell that took over his body until he was fast asleep snoring. Unaware of what tomorrow had in store for him.

[thefrogdalorian]

Hello! 

You may (or may not... I don't like to presume) have noticed my little break from posting. I just wanted to share something in case anyone was worried about me and assure you there is no need to be :) 

There isn't really one reason for why I've been on hiatus, but I guess a collection of things. 

I was really poorly with covid but thankfully I'm feeling a lot better now! But being so sick and stuck in I guess made me reevaluate certain things. 

Since recovering I got to see a lot of people I really adore with my whole heart, as well as being lucky enough to experience so many things I love with them.

And it made me realise what truly makes me happy in life. I suppose it really put things into perspective for me. I'm thinking more and more that tumblr (and being online generally) is something which unfortunately does not spark joy any longer. 

To be honest, (as I'm sure many people who were given far too much unsupervised access to the internet at a young age also do), I have a complicated relationship with social media. It doesn't make me feel good most of the time. I don't know how to handle some of the things I read and some of the things people have said to me. And just like I do irl, if the vibes feel off, I usually retreat into my shell to regroup. 

While I have made so many friends over the years of being chronically online and spoken to plenty of great people, I can feel myself getting drained again. And I really haven't missed it during the time I've been away.

I've filled my time with a lot of reading (I read Pride and Prejudice THREE times... doing amazingly), some writing and lots of long walks in nature. It's been really good for me!

As a result, right now, I just don't feel like continuing to post on this blog.

This decision wasn't caused by anyone or anything in particular. But when I've made my mind up about something, it's pretty impossible to change it. I've been mulling it over for a few days and my heart is telling me to go.

Anyway, I'm going to continue working on my WIPs and most likely continue posting them to AO3. It's by far the least social media-ish platform out there, and I really like posting on it. 

I need to take a step back to remember why I started writing, which was really as a way to get emotions out and to scream into the void a little. I don't enjoy sharing my work on tumblr, I kind of felt like I had to rather than genuinely wanting to. 

Truthfully, I just want to create and consume others' work in peace. I don't want to feel like I need to market my writing or whatever or compare myself to others. As much as I try not to, I think it's only human nature. 

So, I guess I'm really making this post to say I'll be going on a hiatus from tumblr. But I don't intend to stop writing or posting to AO3 and I hope to see you over there! 

I have no idea how long I'll be away for. Who knows... when winter comes around and my seasonal depression returns, or perhaps there is a major Mando update, maybe I'll return! 

For now, all there's left to say is how much of a pleasure it was posting about Mando and talking with you lot all these months. 

If anyone (mutual or otherwise) would like to keep in touch, feel free to message me for my discord! I'd be happy to continue chatting to you on there.

For me, in the headspace I'm currently in, one on one conversation is far less intimidating than being perceived by lots of people lol. 

I'll likely drop in at some point soon-ish and check for any of those messages, but until then, it's not a goodbye, but a see you later! 

Please care of yourselves and be kind to others :) 

Love,

Spud 🐸🩷

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Ange, I swear this isn't the Aemond thirsty girlie in me talking-

but what the FUCK?

Aemond literally only had TWO scenes in this episode....like, where was he in the council right after Jaehaerys died? Did we need to see Cole be an ass, or another sex scene of Cole and Alicent AGAIN? I feel like he had more scenes in the last episodes of s1 he was in than the first two episodes of s2, am I alone in that? Yes, Tom, Phia, and the cast are acting phenomenally, whether or not I agree with certain directions for certain storylines. But hello? Aemond? Where is he, going to see Helaena after Blood and Cheese? Instead he's with the god awful brothel woman, bragging about how Daemon sees him as such a foe that he came for him? Wtf? Where is his grief? His brother, sister, mother- all grieving. I know maybe it can be interpreted as him going to that woman in his grief, but he did state he was also there the night of the attack itself, so I'm sorry I don't buy it. Is he just gonna pop up again for Rook's Rest, play villain and become Prince Regent? Where's the development? Maybe I'm reading into it too much, perhaps it's my post-episode adrenaline, but for fuck's sake. Especially when you think about how in the press and promo he was front and centre. I have other thoughts about the episode, obviously, but this one I had to get off my chest.

-🦋 anon

Okay. I am here. Watched the episode at 2am BST and have been patiently waiting for people to catch up. Once more I will be using your ask to dump my thoughts, I hope you don't mind!

This episode was better than last week's. Helaena's grief and discomfort over the funeral procession was superb. Aegon rushing away from her, his rage, his tears?! Ugh, the acting from TGC so far this season has been phenomenal.

Rhaenyra and Daemon's interaction was spot on. They've softened show Rhaenyra up compared to her book counterpart, but I don't hate it. It was really nice to see some meaningful interactions between Jace and Baela, and Rhaenys and Corlys. I am obsessed with Addam.

I despise Criston, and I am tired of being beaten over the head with Alicole sex scenes; we get it, they're fucking, move on.

Erryk and Arryk's deaths were so poignant, and perfectly indicative of what a waste of life this war is.

We are not getting enough Aemond. The scene in the brothel made my blood run cold. The madame is infantilising Aemond - they have clearly just had sex, and yet she is letting him lay in her lap while she teaches him the difference between right and wrong as though he's a toddler. It felt incredibly weird to me, and creeped me out, but I suppose it's valuable insight into Aemond's state of mind. I do feel like lots of meaningful character development is being rushed, or not touched upon at all though. We never saw him reprimanded for Luke's death, he has no reaction whatsoever to the death of Jaehaerys. I feel like our guy is just gonna rock up at Rook's Rest, betray Aegon and we're just gonna have to deal with the fact that we've seen none of the unravelling that's occurred mentally to get him there.

We shall see. Overall, I enjoyed this episode. Otto absolutely stole the show for me. Him shouting made me so violently horny that I had to get up and pace around.

[bitethedevil]

More Than Our Fathers (Raphael x Demigod!Reader): Chapter 3

Chapter: one, two

Read this on AO3

Summary: You get an unwanted visit from your father and you finally have the opportunity to give him a piece of your mind, though he does the same and scares the Hells out of you. Raphael takes you to the Hells, introduces you to Haarlep, and you basically do the Infernal version of getting married in Las Vegas on a whim.

Word count: 4,441

(AN: Had a lot of fun making up Infernal wedding traditions and yeah, it is one hundred percent inspired by that one scene in House of the Dragon)

TW: Blood

You were considering Raphael’s little marriage proposal: you were considering telling him to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. The audacity of him…You would not spend centuries trapped in the Hells, when you would finally have the power that you had sought for so long within your grasp. Especially not as Raphael’s doting wife.

You liked Raphael. Despite his nature and his arrogance, the two of you were kindred spirits and he had grown on you throughout the many years that you had known each other. You still thought he was overstepping with his little plan.

Although he was right about one thing: the gods would not take kindly to your newfound powers. You were at a risk if you decided to stay in the Material Plane after claiming your father’s powers, as the gods might strike you down. You would become a threat to them.

A fact that was quickly proven as you fell asleep a couple of nights after your meeting with Raphael.

You suddenly saw a bright light as you were deep in slumber. You blinked in confusion and looked around at your surroundings. Anger started boiling up inside you at the realization of where you were: the Heavens.

Your dear father had suddenly remembered that he had a daughter, it seemed. You had not seen him since those few times he spoke to you when you were still a child. It had been before your mother died. The bastard did not even have the decency to check in on his child after she was essentially made an orphan.

Though here he was now, in front of you with his crystalline face and pale eyes, looking down on you as he had also done then. It angered you to no end that after having been ignored for over a whole millennium, now was the time he decided to show up. He spoke to you in Halruaan rather than in the common tongue.

“My dear daughter…” he greeted you.

You scowled at him.

“What a joke,” you scoffed in Halruaan. “I’m neither dear to you nor have you ever acted like a father to me. What do you want?”

You already knew what he wanted. He felt threatened by what you were doing, and you wanted him to admit it.

“Do you truly hate me so much, child?” Savras asked with a stern voice. “I know the things you have said of me. Are you truly so arrogant? You believe my actions unwise, though have you considered that I simply have seen the grander picture and made my decisions accordingly? You see clearer than any other mortal, and yet, there some things you cannot see and other things you willfully ignore.”

Any ‘other’ mortal, you noted he said. Your father saw you as nothing more than a mortal playing with things she did not understand. His accusation of you being arrogant was also rich coming from him who was currently talking down to you as if you were an insignificant speck.

“Arrogant, am I?” you snapped at him in common and all that hate that you had been keeping inside came rushing to the surface. “If who I am offends you, perhaps you should have been there to raise me. You see everything, isn’t that so, oh wise Savras, the All-Seeing? You knew my mother would die! And you did nothing! I was alone!”

Savras looked down at you with those empty eyes that you remembered from the few times he had spoken to you in your childhood.

“Your mother was supposed to die,” he said in that infuriatingly calm voice of his. “Some things are not to be changed. You know that Sibylla.”

Your eyes started tearing up despite your roaring anger at what he had said.

“Why would you put me in this world, just to be alone?” you spat at him.

“You were not alone. You had guidance from the wizard Melesmer. You were always meant to meet,” Savras said. “It is how it should be.”

“But he died too…” you said, your voice cracking.

“Though he did not die before teaching you the things that he should teach you,” Savras said coldly.

“What things?” you asked frustratedly. “Answer my question! Why did you have me just to let me suffer on the Material Plane? I prayed to you at every temple I could find, for decades, and you never answered me.”

“It is all a part of the greater picture, dearest daughter,” Savras explained. “You are immortal, and loneliness is the curse to the blessing. You will not remedy that by clinging to this…hellish half-breed, this cambion of yours. His interference in your life will only bring destruction and chaos. I have seen it.”

For some reason, it angered you even further to hear him speak of Raphael in such a manner.

“Devil,” you corrected angrily. “He’s a devil, not a ‘half-breed’ and not a cambion. And he has been there for me more than you ever have, father.”

“He will lead you to ruin, Sibylla,” Savras warned. “You will discourage him from taking the Crown of Karsus, and you will leave him and the Scepter of Savras alone. If you do not, there will be grave consequences. You are playing with the fates of a lot of mortals, child. I will not abide it.”

You sneered at him.

“How dare you demand anything of me!” you hissed at him. “So, this is what it takes for you to finally act instead of passively letting fate pass you by? You can send me back. No doubt Mystra and Azuth misses their loyal dog.”

Savras’ eyes turned thunderous, and you could physically feel the ground underneath you shake as he spoke. You felt genuine fear for the first time in centuries.

“You will heed my warnings!” he roared. “I am breaking my own principles to warn you, you arrogant child! When I look into the future I see a void, and it will come to pass if you continue down this road. I will not be able to save you from gods, devils, or mortals, should you be ignorant enough to go through with this.”

You were terrified in the face of your father’s wrath, but your stubbornness forced you to try and keep a brave face.

“Send me back,” you said quietly.

Savras raised his hand and scowled at you.

“If you cannot stop this because I tell you to,” he said. “Then think of what Melesmer would have said.”

Savras sent you back with a flick of his wrist and you woke up in your bed covered in sweat.

The next day, Raphael came by to hear if you had changed your mind. You were pacing around your tower in Waterdeep like a trapped animal. There was no doubt about it: your father had delivered a threat from the gods to you. There was a real possibility that they would strike you down, even before you got your hands on the scepter. You were getting paranoid.

The fear of dying is usually a foreign concept to an immortal, and you were experiencing the feeling for the first time in your life. It was terrifying. You did not even hear Raphael appear because you were so lost in thought. You jumped when he put a hand on your shoulder to stop your pacing.

“Whatever is the matter?” he asked confused and looked at your wide-eyed expression.

“We’re doing it,” you said hurriedly. “And we are doing it now. I’m moving in with you.”

Raphael raised an eyebrow.

“Doing what precisely?” he asked.

“What do you think?” you said frustratedly. “We are getting married. I’m moving in and I am getting out of this realm as fast as possible.”

“What has gotten into you? Calm down, dear,” Raphael said.

You spoke in a lowered voice, as if the gods might be eavesdropping. It made no sense, but your mind was running on anxiety.

“My father visited me last night,” you said. “He warned me about all of this, about the consequences, about you. Not only did he warn me, but it sounded like an actual threat. Please…just take me to Avernus.”

Raphael seemed slightly surprised but nodded. He snapped and the both of you appeared in the House of Hope.

You explained it all to him. How your father had approached you for the first time in millennia and how he warned you about what would happen if you went through with it. You were quickly convinced that staying on the Material Plane was not the way to go.

You weren’t a fan of the idea of marrying Raphael, but the more he clarified and explained how it would work, the more at ease you felt. It seemed simple enough and Raphael went into every little detail of what he expected of you.

You would act like his wife to the public, you would share a bed or at the very least a room when you slept, and you would put on a convincing performance, or the plan would crumble. The devils of the Hells had a good nose for deceit.

Your eventual divorce would be easy enough: it was simply dependent on a verbal agreement between the two of you as well. All you had to do was to mutually come to the agreement that you no longer wished to be married.

You both agreed that the wedding ritual would be performed as quickly as possible so you both could get to work. Luckily, Raphael was ordained to perform the ritual himself, as he was the child of an Archdevil, so you could get it over with in private and without anyone else there.

What you were not a fan of was the outcome of the ritual itself. Raphael explained that you would bear a mark that marked you as his and that particular detail made it hard to swallow your pride.

“I will be marked?” you asked.

“It would not be visible to you,” Raphael explained. “It is merely a formality, really. It is proof that you belong to me.”

“Like a dog-collar…” you commented with a tight-lipped smile. “Will it say, ‘Please return to Raphael if lost’ in Infernal as well?”

Raphael sighed.

“There is little difference between a mark and the rings that mortals give each other,” Raphael explained with a shrug. “Both signal ownership beneath all the tradition and symbolism.”

“Well, there is a difference,” you said. “You won’t bear a mark as well, will you?”

“It is a question of hierarchy,” Raphael explained. “As you are not even a fiend, I outrank you. I cannot make exceptions for you, dear. We will no doubt make a controversial couple as it is…And speaking of ownership, there is another topic that might be uncomfortable for you to discuss that I must bring up as well.”

“Which is?” you asked.

“Sex,” Raphael said casually. “Neither of us are the other unfaithful. We are not to bring other people into our marriage, it is simply too risky for what we are doing.”

“Are you serious?” you asked with a sigh. “Not even if it’s really discreet and someone we can trust?”

“You might as well learn this now,” Raphael said with a raised finger to emphasize his point. “There is no one in the Nine Hells that you can trust. I will keep using Haarlep to sate my needs if you do not wish to, and you are free to do the same, but no one else is to be involved.”

You shook your head.

“I’m not stupid, I know how incubi work. You can keep Haarlep to yourself,” you said. “And I’m not having sex with you either.”

“As you wish,” Raphael replied.

It was a tough pill to swallow, but if sex was the price to pay for security, power, and not getting struck down by the gods, then you could live with it.

“Speaking of Haarlep,” you said. “When will I meet them? I’ve heard you complain so much about them that I feel like I already know them.”

Raphael shrugged and got up from his seat. He beckoned you to follow him.

He took you to a room you had never been in: his bedroom. It was extravagant to the point of excessiveness. You immediately noticed the large pool in the middle of the room.

“Bit much, don’t you think?” you teased Raphael quietly.

He looked at you briefly and rolled his eyes before calling for Haarlep.

“Haarlep!”

“Mmmh?” someone said from further inside the room. It was the unmistakable sound of someone just waking up from a nap.

“We have guests,” Raphael said harshly. “Put on a robe before you enter.”

You took in the room while you waited for Haarlep.

“We’re getting drapes,” you said quietly to Raphael.

“Excuse me?” Raphael said and raised an eyebrow at you.

“You heard me,” you said. “You might be used to there being no night in Avernus, but I’m not.”

“You will get used to it, surely,” Raphael said.

“You can see in the dark anyway, so it matters little to you,” you countered. “You will get used to it. We are getting drapes.”

“Fine,” he sighed and then impatiently called for Haarlep again. “HAARLEP!”

“Always so impatient!” a very familiar voice drawled, making you furrow your brow in confusion.

Haarlep appeared in a black silk robe with red flower detailing. Their eyes lit up and their jaw fell slightly at seeing you.

“No, it can’t be,” Haarlep said excitedly. “Am I finally getting the honor of meeting the little goddess Raphael keeps talking about?”

Your face was frozen in a wide-eyed expression with a smile that was both confused and endlessly amused on your face as you looked Haarlep up and down.

Raphael had neglected to tell you a pretty crucial detail about Haarlep: that they were wearing his form. Not only that, but they also looked exactly like how Raphael had looked when you met him for the very first time in Halruaa all those years ago.

You turned your head to Raphael with the same frozen expression on your face. Raphael narrowed his eyes at you as if warning you to thread carefully. Bullying material for the next few centuries had just been served to you on a silver platter.

“How nice to meet you Haarlep…” you said and turned your attention back on them. “Excuse my reaction, but I didn’t expect you to be…well…him.”

“Oh, don’t insult me,” Haarlep purred and pulled you into a tight hug as if the two of you had known each other for forever.

You froze slightly in their embrace. You had never been hugged by Raphael before and it was odd to be embraced by his body like that. You also felt a bit too much of Raphael’s anatomy through the robe, making you move back a bit. Haarlep let you go from the embrace but kept resting their arms around your neck.

“I have heard so much about you, darling,” Haarlep purred and studied your face. “You are even prettier than I imagined and trust me he has gone on and on about you—”

Raphael interrupted Haarlep by clearing his throat and glaring daggers at them. Haarlep smiled mischievously to him over your shoulder.

You studied Haarlep’s face as well. It was so odd to see Raphael’s young face again. You had almost forgotten how he looked underneath all the glamour. Haarlep smiled at you.

“Look how young you looked once…” you said to Raphael over your shoulder. “You were kind of cute.”

Raphael was looking at the both of you with a tired expression.

“Hah!” Haarlep laughed. “I like her already. Can we keep her?”

“She is moving in, and we are doing the union ritual tomorrow,” Raphael replied smoothly. “Which means that you will move into the guest room and only enter here when called upon from this day forward. Do you understand?”

“Whatever for?” Haarlep asked with a slight pout. “Surely she wouldn’t mind sleeping between the two of us…”

Haarlep smiled at you, and you felt a hand slide down your back, making you shiver and take another step away from them.

“Oh, there will be none of that,” you quickly said, politely but firmly to them. “I’m not interested, Haarlep.”

“Oh, we’ll see,” They said with a sultry expression. “Because I am very interested, and I think that you will also find that I am very persuasive, little goddess…”

“Haarlep,” Raphael warned firmly.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Haarlep said and sighed dramatically. “I will move my things to the guest room.”

Haarlep sauntered through the room.

“Oh,” they said and paused to look back at Raphael. “And congratulations on the engagement, of course, you lucky boy.”

Haarlep gave you one last glance before leaving you and Raphael alone in the boudoir.

The both of you were quiet for a moment.

“Well…that was interesting,” you said. “Do you seriously mean for us to start sleeping together in the same bed already?”

“Yes,” Raphael said casually. “Is there a problem with that?”

“It’s just that I thought we could wait until you have the Crown and all that,” you said.

“We might as well start becoming more comfortable with each other now,” Raphael said. “It will make it seem more natural once we have to keep up our little charade.”

“Alright…” you said and shrugged. “Gods, I can’t believe I’m getting fake-married tomorrow…It will just be the two of us, right?”

“There is nothing ‘fake’ about it, dear,” Raphael said and smiled. “We are getting married tomorrow. And correct…just the two of us.”

“It’s weird. Isn’t it weird?” you asked, clearly sounding nervous. “Why are you so calm about this?”

“I suppose I have had more time to make peace with the idea than you have,” Raphael said calmly. “Why, is the blushing bride getting cold feet?”

“Oh shut up…” you said quietly. “This is a perfectly sensible thing to be scared about.”

“It is merely a political alliance, my dear,” Raphael said. “The terms of it are entirely up to you. I would never force you to do anything.”

“You know I’d tear you apart if you tried to,” you said and started walking in circles.

You took a deep breath.

“Just a political alliance…” you mumbled to yourself as a mantra.

After a long day of talking every little detail of your future arrangement through, you were both exhausted and went to bed. Raphael wasted no time starting to undress once you got to the boudoir.

“Whoa, wait a moment,” you said. “Are you taking all your clothes off?”

Raphael paused and looked at you as he was halfway through unbuttoning his shirt. He had already discarded his doublet.

“Did you expect us to sleep fully clothed?” he asked with a smile. “You are free to avert your gaze if the view offends you.”

You wrinkled your nose at him and looked away, while you slipped into bed.  

“I’m sleeping in mine,” you said. “I’m not getting naked in front of you. You can add a screen to the list of things we need for the boudoir, along with the drapes, which I can’t help but notice still haven’t been put up.”

You heard a ‘poof’ from where he was standing. You glanced at him. He had changed into his devil form.

“You’re kidding, surely,” you said. “You’re not sleeping in that form, are you?”

“Sibylla…” Raphael said tiredly. “Do you intend to complain about every little thing I do?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “If I feel as much as a tip of a wing, or horn, or any other limb for that matter, while I sleep, I might just freeze it off.”

Raphael slipped into bed beside you.

“Do you wish to know what I think?” Raphael asked as he laid down beside you, facing you.

“No.”

“You are pestering me because you are terrified,” Raphael said anyway. “In fact, I am not sure I have ever seen you as rattled as you have been today. Is it merely that we are getting married tomorrow or does your little meeting with your father have something to do with it as well?”

You sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

“Both,” you said. “I can’t believe that I’m going to be stuck here…”

“I could comfort you and tell you that there are worse places to be stuck, but we both know that would be a lie,” Raphael said and stretched his limbs before closing his eyes with a sigh. “But rest assured that I will do everything in my power to make sure your stay here is as comfortable as it can be. It will only be a few centuries. It will have passed before you know it.”

“Hm,” you hummed.

It didn’t take long before Raphael fell asleep. You couldn’t sleep for all the thoughts going through your head. It was all so much to take in.

The next day the both of you got dressed in white clothing for the ritual. You in a white dress and Raphael in a simple white pants and ruffled shirt. You weren’t quite sure why that was a part of it. Perhaps Infernal weddings were steeped in just as much tradition as mortal weddings were.

Raphael had talked you through the whole thing before you even started. You decided to do it on the balcony. There were two daggers laid out on the table beside you and you were standing in front of each other.

You placed your hands flatly against Raphael’s as he had explained. Your hands were slightly shaking. Raphael smirked when he felt it. He interlaced his fingers with you instead and held your hands.

“Breathe,” he said.

You nodded and closed your eyes for a moment. You had no idea why you were so nervous. You had made up your mind about doing it, but still it made you so anxious. You took a deep inhale and then exhaled.

“Should we start?” Raphael asked calmly.

“Sure,” you said quietly.

Raphael said a few short sentences in Infernal before getting a dagger from the table. He placed the blade of the dagger between your left hand and his right hand that was intertwined with it. He said a few words again before pressing his palm against yours and pulling the dagger out. You winced when you felt it cut into your flesh, but you didn’t move.

He nodded to you, gesturing for it being your turn. You moved your bloodied hand from his to grab the other dagger to put it between your right hand and his left. He said some more words and you pulled the dagger away, cutting the both of you deeply just like before.

You held both of your bloody hands flatly to his while he mumbled some more sentences in Infernal. The blood was steadily dripping from your hands. The bloodshed wasn’t over yet though. There was one final step.

You both grabbed a dagger each and came closer to each other. You felt your heart beating slightly faster despite yourself as you briefly looked him in the eyes. He parted his lips, and you held his chin and placed the tip on the blade to his bottom lip. He did the same to you. You both cut at the same time before dropping the daggers onto the table again.

You could see the blood was dripping down his chin and you could feel your own running down yours. You were so close to each other’s faces. You placed your bloody hands on his shoulders, and he placed his on your hips. You looked each other in the eyes, though Raphael’s eyes sometimes flicked to your lips with a look of hunger in them.

He spoke the last couple of sentences in Infernal. There was a breathier quality to his way of speaking, and you could feel his breath on your skin because you were so close. When he was done speaking the words, he leaned forwards and kissed you.

You had been told to give it your all, so you did. Your lips parted for him, and you felt his tongue invade your mouth, tasting your blood. You did the same to him. Though it felt odd to kiss someone on the lips that you had known for so long, you had to admit that there was something deeply sinful and exciting about the act of it.

You suddenly flinched when you felt your left arm starting to burn slightly. Raphael grabbed it and ran his thumb over it, never releasing the kiss. You whined slightly at the sensation.

“Shhh,” he shushed against your lips. “It will be over in a moment.”

His lips met yours again and the kiss was softer this time as you felt the burning sensation become worse. You dug your nails into his shoulders as the pain peaked and passed. Only when he could feel you loosen your grip on him did he release the kiss. 

“There,” he said and looked you in the eyes.

The two of you were still standing close to each other and you noticed you were still holding onto his shoulders. You let go of him and stepped back.

“So, it’s done?” you asked. “We’re married?”

“We are,” he said and grabbed some cloth from the table to wrap around your hands that were still dripping with blood.

You rolled up your sleeve with your free hand and looked at the spot where you had felt the burning. There was raised scars depicting Infernal letters around your forearm. Raphael looked at them before continuing to wrap your hand.

“The scars will heal, and the mark will not be visible to you once it has,” he explained. “Only devils will be able to see it.”

You looked at the strange letters in wonder.

“What does it even say?” you asked.

Raphael smiled.

“’Please return to Raphael if lost’, of course,” he said.

You gave him a light slap on his shoulder with your free hand, and immediately regretted it when you felt the scar in your palm hurt. Raphael chuckled.

“It says which layer the union took place on and who you are married to,” he explained.

“Hm,” you said and looked him up and down.

It suddenly made sense why you both wore the white clothing. You were both soaked with blood, and it made a pretty contrast against the white. The symbolism of ruining something pure with blood also fit perfectly into the culture of the Hells. There was something morbidly beautiful about it.

As he finished up wrapping your hands, you looked up at him.

“So, what now?” you asked.

Raphael smiled.

“A bath, a drink, and then we get to work,” he said.

[doyouevenknowwhatshappening]

You are, in fact, not a leftist or even left aligned if you do not support Jewish people and denounce anti-semetic behaviors when you see them.

You can not call yourself a leftist, an alternative person (such as punk, goth, etc), or call yourself anti-fascist if you do not stand up for Jewish Voices.

There is an actual rise in not-zees in the USA and even other places. This is usually a mind frame seen in the EXTREME right and MAGA crowd.

Know your dogwhistles.

Such as "Have a totally joyful day" or "lizard people control the government," as some of the more well known ones. Which are blatant calls for Jewish hate.

I am Goyim, I am not a Jewish person. I have no Jewish ancestors. However, I was taught about Jewish history in the most dumbed down way any kid can. Then I took it on myself (as you're supposed to do) to learn MORE. I have read about the past, both ancient and modern, of what jews have gone through. The amount of hatred, judgment, and fear these people experience is beyond me. For simply existing.

And before ANYONE begins to say anything about Palestine, I am 100% pro-palestine. I support the nation's right to exist peacefully, to have jurisdiction over their land, just the same as I support the right for Jewish people to have a safe place. The occupational control of the Palestinian people, the fact Hamas was created by Isreal, the fact that thousands are dying right now as I type this out; none of this is okay. What Isreal is doing, what Netanyahoo is doing, IS NOT OKAY. All of this has been caused by white nationalism, anti-semetism, and colonialism.

Jewish people as a whole, and Muslims, are NOT TO BLAME for the genocide happening in Palestine right now.

If you read the history, if you KNOW things before you scream them at the top of your lungs, you'd also know this. You'd know to blame Europe for what it has caused. You'd know to blame Anti-Semitism and the UK for "giving" Jewish people, Isreal. You'd know to blame the USA for getting involved in anything in the Middle East. You'd know that NEITHER THE JEWS OR PALESTINIANS WANT THIS.

Propaganda is two sides of the same danm coin people. Listen. Learn.

There are DEFINENTLY people doing things that are cruel, unjust, and horrifying to Palestinians. However, fear mongering has led people everywhere to believe, "Look what this one IDF soldier did/said!" Means "look, Jewish people ARE bad! Think of the children!"

The same way that many Israelis are being fed the same propaganda about Palestinians/Muslims as a whole. SINCE BEFORE OCTOBER 7TH.

Lies will and HAVE came from both sides. This doesn't mean that everything coming out of Palestine is false by ANY MEANS. But it does mean that fabrications to aid your opinions will always and have always been part of how wars have been fought.

People who scream for justice for Palestine while screaming at anyone for being Jewish and inciting hate against them are just as bad as the people supporting said Genocide.

You can acknowledge that what's happening to the Palestinian people is caused by a terrorist state. While also continue to fight against the hatred, misconceptions, discrimination, and fear of Jewish people worldwide. This is not about "picking sides" between Palestinians and Jewish people.

This is about liberation. Full stop.

This is about ending the tyrrany.

You can not be anti-war and yet celebrate when war is being fought. This is not a football game. This is not chess. These are lives.

[daria-meoi]

Thought I'd give it a try. In response to this post from @piratecaptainscaptainpirates

Ended up ranking a bunch of first and last and shovelling the rest in the middle without particular consideration for their placement. That middle section is in no way set in stone.

The Innkeeper, s2e03. My go to comfort episode. And knowing the amount of work and love put into its final minutes makes me ecstatic about it. Had it on a loop in the background at some point.

The Pilot, s1e01. I just love it. Meeting everyone for the first time, Stede is adorable, he has glasses (which are the loml actually and the only reason I keep watching this stupid show is my hope to see them again), and dressing up as a bunch of fancy boys, and the British arseholes, officer Hornberry, and Nigel, an all. Just the right amount of quirkiness for my taste. It is incredible. I'd probably have put it in the first place if it weren't occupied already.

Act of Grace, s1e09. Love from the start to the end. The whole interrogation sequence, the Crew, all of them and every one in particular, the great punch, Chauncey, Hornberry, this man is a fearsome pirate, soft desperate touches, the king George himself overthinking things as usual, boys' outfits in the academy (I see a person in those breeches, shirt, socks and shoes - I offer them my hand in marriage. It's a reflex), the kiss and soft touches again, Ed's delight and the most baby Stede's face. And the heartbreak.

This is Happening, s1e07. I love the way the world expands and deepens and breathes there. I love Jim's storyline. Olu shines. The Swede. Nana is bonkers and horrible and toxic and great and "my only family", which will be paralleled later to a certain other toxic character. And Blackbeard's Bar&Grill&Other Delicacies&Delights&Fishing Equipment and Snake Snacks. And Lucius' intervention and speech which I'm unable to repeat at a fraction of the same speed for the life of me.

Fun and Games, s2e04. I can't believe myself now. On the first watch when Stede approached Ed under the blanket I was, to put it mildly, very cautious about the perspective of them actually talking it through on screen. Because talking it through on screen is a very tricky business when the viewer knows more than the characters. I can imagine a thousand ways of making it tedious and cringey to watch. But it turned out so very lovely. Unbelievably lovely. You wrote me a lovely talk-it-through!

We Gull Way Back, s1e08. Calico Jack is nauseating. But he had to be like that. Get off my ship. Now. Morning, Captain. No, it isn't. The telescope and the black (or rather red) eye. The Chain ❤️

The Best Revenge is Dressing Well, s1e05. I love their fancy outfits with a wig and flowers and little bows. And the pyramid scheme. And Stede's delight in causing havoc. And the moonlit chickening out.

Red Flags, s2e02. It is heartbreaking. And real. And heartbreaking. You have hope, it's cute. And Ed is insane[ly beautiful]. And heartbreaking.

Impossible Birds, s2e01. Because it feels so fucking real. And I'm afraid your life is better without me. And brings me flashbacks of me crashing wall tiles in a sliiiiiiightly similar situation. Thank goodness I never had a gun.

The Art of Fuckery, s1e06. It was a wonderful fuckery. Stede's stabbing face 😅 I'm a witch and this is my cat. Miao. And I'm your friend. And did I do it right?

The Gentleman Pirate, s1e03. The Cream of the Caribbean and the Genital Pirate. You've heard of me? Also blood does look good on all white garments as internet warriors should know.

A Damned Man, s1e02. Oh, please move! I probably have children, Bonnet. They will never see papa again! I'm a dirty filthy murderer! Take me away! Don't you trifle! He does have the eyes of a madman. Sorry, you do.

Mermen, s2e08. It's long overdue to put it somewhere. Let it be here. Because it was good and it made me feel good. And it finally stopped that torture, which had been the fandom experience up to this point with constant "Aha, eat your shit, Izzy-haters! We always knew he was a blameless little angel! And we are getting all so validated!" And turned it into a different one.

Discomfort in a Married State, s1e04. I don't know why it's so low. It is wonderful all the way through. I love it.

Wherever You Go, There You Are, s1e10. I love Mary. And Evelyn. Stede is painful to watch. But I loved the "unhand me or bleed" thing. Yes, baby, you have it in you, together with all the soft and frilly things. I'm here for it. Just choose your subject wisely next time and maybe don't drink so much. Ed is heartbreaking. Cutting the toe was frankly cathartic. Loved it (as a vindictive dick I am at heart) and hated it (for Ed's sake) simultaneously. And it ends on a hopeful note.

Man on Fire, s2e07. It is a good episode I suppose. Lots of things happening. Lots to love. But it pains me. And the characters and their doings cringe me at places. And I'm not strong enough for it.

The Curse of the Seafaring Life, s2e05. Oh, hello, it's me, and I'm unpredictable sometimes. I love my boy in his suit. And the revisiting of the moonlight scene, and the thumbs war, and "you won". But the episode as a whole felt like a filler and a waste of opportunity and time in a timewise constricted season.

Calipso's Birthday, s2e06. It feels like a cushion after you pull it out of a washing machine - all the stuffing is a lumpy wet mess here and there, the rest is just a sad empty sack. Also "poison into positivity" repeated again and again in a clanky way like a ball bearing in a spray paint can. It was driving me crazy and throwing me out of the story and into a filming set, where actors are failing to find a way to say a particular line from the script and instead of dropping it or replacing it with something more organic, power through, with, well, that exact clanking result. I loved Ned Low though, he was cute. And the kiss and the curtain thing were hot as the fucking, which followed.