wildflower-cth

[wildflower-cth]

Quinn being all clingy after you came home from a business trip. Can I ask for...no smut...or not... idk

Hello, lovely. I don't mind writing no smut. 🫡🥹 I fear I have written this with slight angst… I don’t know why. I’m sorry if you don’t want that. [Anyway, there is a bonus content for this with your POV (it's the voices, i swear), but you don’t need to read it.] Hopefully, you’ll like this. 🧎🏻‍♀️

Blues and Ease

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Fluff (cuddles and kisses), showering together (conserve water jk), a dash of separation anxiety Quinn so a bit of Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Count: 1483 words (+ 483) | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re still not home. Quinn paces again and again. You still haven’t messaged him when he told you to text him if you landed. He wants to pick you up at the airport, but you refuse him. Now, he’s here stressing because you still haven’t messaged him.

He's not used to you going on a business trip. You go on vacation, sure, but he’s usually there with you. He’s not used to not seeing you next to him when he wakes up. Not used to the silence of his—and your—house anymore.

He can cope when it’s him on a road trip, because he is not here. He doesn’t see your clothes, your towels, your perfumes, your trinkets, your plants, and everything else in a hotel room. There are no hints and memories of you there. He calls you every time. He sees you doing your stuff—work or hobbies—with yourhome in the background. It eases his soul.

But not this. Not this house with your things and no you. No soft hums. No walking and pacing, just because. No you on lazing on the sofa with whatever show on one TV, reserving the other for him. No keyboard sounds of you typing. No you eating dinner with him. He hates it.

It's the worst. The worst week of his life.

Everything is not right when you’re not here.

His home is not a home without you. He needs you here.

His heart squeezes. Tears glaze his vision. You’re just gone for a week and he’s losing it. He’s usually gone for a couple for his road trips. You must be enduring this. You are so much stronger than him. You are patiently waiting for him while also cheering him on every time. Unlike him who is being all pathetic because you’re just gone for a week—

Quinn hears the front door open and close. He immediately turns and sees you with your suitcase and a huge bag of chocolates…and flowers? Whatever, because relief is flooding his body.

You’re here.

“Quinn, I’m home!” You dash towards him.

You’re home.

Quinncatches you in a tight embrace. He says, “Welcome back.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck and takes a big inhale. Roses, today.

He misses you so much. He misses this. Holding you. Feeling how perfect you feel in his arms. Basking in your warmth.

It doesn’t matter if you didn’t tell him your plane landed. You’re here. That’s enough.

“Quinn,” you giggle, pressing a kiss on his neck, your hands pushing him off.

It makes him swallow a whine. He doesn’t want to part from you. Even an inch distance is making him want to cry.

“I got you chocolates and flowers.” You push them to his arms. “I need to shower,” you say, kissing him on the lips, walking towards the bedroom.

He blinks at the gifts. He thought it was yours. It’s…for him? His heart speeds up. His spirit that was down in the depths of loneliness lifts. You brought him flowers. Him. Flowers. And chocolates.

He feels nothing else but giddy as he places them on the counter and hastily puts them in a vase. He needs to trim up the stems. Put water in it. Research what these flowers are. He has no clue. Later. He’ll do that later.

Now, Quinn wants to be with you. The smallest distance from you right now is making his head spin, his heart ache. He can’t not be with you right now. He’ll die.

He stands at the bathroom door that’s ajar. He can hear the shower running, can feel its steam, can see the trail of clothes on the floor which he knows you’ll put away after your shower. Just one of your silly quirks.

“Can I join you?” He asks, knocking on the doorframe.

“Yes please,” you reply.

He’s so quick to undress. He joins you in the unexplainably hot shower. It doesn’t matter to him even if it’s scalding to the point of burns—it’s not. It doesn’t matter. No hot water can come between him and you. He hugs you from behind, humming when you say you want to shampoo your hair. It can wait.

“Just wanna hug you.” He kisses your temple. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Quinny.” You turn your head and smile so lovingly. “But I really need to shower. I came from the airport. It was a long flight.”

He's so mesmerized with the water cascading your skin. With the lightest pout on your lips when he doesn’t let go. With your lips still stained by your lipstick. With how your wet lashes group together. With the curves of your eyebrows. Every feature he has memorized, dreamed about, and kissed. You’re marvelous.

Why did the week rob him of you? Why did it feel like you were gone for much longer? Why did it hurt so much this time?

“Quinn?” you call in worry, spinning to face him, hands on his cheeks. “Why are you crying, my Love?”

“Not crying,” he shakily says. “It’s just water.”

“Don’t lie to me, Quintin.”

He shudders, leaning against the wall, taking you with him. “You weren’t home.” It sounds so pathetic, his voice breaking. “I know it’s work. I know. I understand but you weren’t home. It was so quiet. I’m not used to quiet anymore.”

You turn off the water, hugging him. One hand around waist. One hand on his nape to hold him, forehead to forehead. You let him sob. Every tear feels like the release of every chain weighing him down. Every broken breath comes easier and better. All because of your touch, your warmth, your presence. God, he misses you.

“I don’t want you to think you can’t go on another trip, because of this, because of me. You can. I just…It hurts,” he admits.

Your lips capture his. A small, chaste kiss that eases his soul. You rub your hand over his chest where his heart slowly mends itself just by being with you.

You gently say, “I’ll always come home to you, Quinn.”

“Please do.” He tightens his hug. “Please.”

“I promise.” You grab his cheeks. “Do the same for me?”

“You’re my home.” Quinn presses a kiss on your palms, murmuring his promises and affirmations, capitalizing on your touch. “You complete me.”

Quinn knows you would retort that you two are complete pieces that perfectly fit together. But you didn’t today. You only smile as you repeat his words. Oh, his love for you just grows day by day. Moment by moment.

After a few more minutes of just hugging each other, you shower. Quinn just stands there, while you do your routine. He helps when you need to scrub your back and your legs—he doesn’t mind going on his knees to do so—or wash away the suds from your hair.

Even if he gets soapy, he remains there with a hand constantly touching you. Your hip. Arm. Back. Shoulder. Your finger. The tips of your hair. He can’t not touch you. You let him, perfectly understanding how to soothe his need.

He's happy just helping you shower. Then you turn on him and wash him. He already took a shower this morning, but shamelessly, he can’t turn you away. He’ll spoil right back…later. Now, he likes your attention. He relishes your touch, your stories about your trip, your new skincare finds, and most of all, your smiles. You’re so beautiful. So gentle when you condition his hair.

“There we go. Now both of us are clean.” You brush your nose against his. “Boop.”

He misses that. Your silliness. He’s not making it up when he says you complete him. It’s real. So real because you make him happy. You make him feel loved. That’s enough for Quinn. You’re enough.

Oh, he loves you so much.

When both of you are dry including your hair, you cuddle together on your bed, wearing matching sweatpants and sweatshirts. Both of your hands casually slide underneath your shirts, drawing circles on each other’s backs.

Quinn shares what he did during the week. He tells you about the white socks he mistakenly included with the colors which made it an ugly gray. About the media he’s done for the Canucks’ social media. About the potatoes he stupidly burned this morning because he was out of it. About the dinner with his teammates.

He tells you different things.

Simple things.

But you stare at him with sparks in your eyes. Your gentle voice resonates in his chest as you ask and share too.

It spurs him on to ramble.

On and on.

Until both of you are yawning and blinking slowly. Quinn swears he can hear your heartbeats seemingly in sync. Strong for one another. A little lullaby that pushes you two to slumber.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

You stare at Quinn. His hands are all wrapped up around your middle. His legs are tangled with yours. His soft exhales tickle your face, but you let it. You want to tug on his long eyelashes. No, you are going to tug on them when he suddenly murmurs your name. It stops you from pestering him, but it doesn’t stop you from slipping your arms beneath his so you can hug him. He does the same, pulling you further into him. All while still sleeping.

He’s so pretty when he sleeps. So adorable. Pressing a ghost of a kiss on his nose, you continue to silently gaze at him. 

You two slept from yesterday’s afternoon through today’s morning. Quinn is still sleeping, but you’ve been awake for an hour. It’s a long sleep but not surprising. It happened many times before. Just the two of you sleeping through everything. Too comfortable in your private bubble.

Your heart tugs. You’re so comfortable with him. So deeply in love with Quinn.

His cuddles are something you always miss whenever he’s on the road. Even more when you were on your trip. When he cried yesterday… your heart squeezes. It hurts to see him cry—hurts to think about it.

Although, Quinn being so clingy makes you warm all over. It’s his need for you. Not his pain. Never his pain. It’s the way he kept touching you even when you were showering. The way he melts into your touch. You like that. You love that, because you also cling to him. So. Much.

You bought him chocolates and flowers because he deserves them too. Deserves to know your love. He’s always been working so hard.

The shower with him is great, but you can top that. Stealthily, you slip from his hold, replacing yourself with a nearby pillow and a stuffed toy—a bear with a small Canucks jersey and a number 43—for good measure.

Quinn likes baths. He always joins you, so to spoil your beloved, you start a bath. Vanilla sounds great today—

“You were gone,” his panicked voice made you jump more than his sudden touch.

It hadn’t been five minutes. “Just preparing us a bath, Quinn.”

“I wanna do that with you. I’ll do it with you.”

Quinn doesn’t really need to panic or be desperate. You’ll do whatever he wants. You guess your Quinn is still needy and hurt. Good thing, you’re here to make him feel better. You hold his hands tightly, nodding before kissing him. The small shudders that wreck his body thrum your soul.

Well then, you need to call for a day-off tomorrow.

For your Love who needs reassurance that you will be with him forever.

For your Quinn who desperately yearns for your touch.

Well, you also feel the same way, so it’s no big deal. Not at all. Never at all.

[wildflower-cth]

i need to ride quinn and blurt out that i wanna make him a daddy when he’s about to cum, and watch while his brain goes completely fuzzy because he’s been dreaming of knocking you up for months

a/n: oh you’ve come to right place, i deviated ever so slightly (I got carried away)

NSFW! — lowkey very breeding kink-y

Soft breaths of staggered air trickled out of your lips as you shifted and felt the thick length of Quinn's cock drag in and out of your core, igniting every pleasurable nerve.

"That's it, pretty girl" He encouraged, one hand holding the back of your neck as the other circled your sensitive, puffy clit. “Take what you need."

Your hips moved rapidly, desperately chasing your climax that was breaching your every nerve.

“Want you to fill me up,” you rasped out, sweat beading across your forehead and bare chest as your hands grasped at Quinn’s biceps.

“Yeah?” He groaned, hips bucking up to meet yours. “Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

Your head nodded rapidly, forehead now resting against his as you feverishly rocked against his throbbing cock, your core tightening and pulsing around him.

“Wanna make you a daddy,” you blurted out, eyes rolling back as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders. “Need you to fill me up.”

A deep rumble shattered through Quinn’s chest, his eyes darkening as his thoughts went haywire.

“Oh yeah?” In a sudden move, he flipped you over, hips thrusting against yours as he went deeper and deeper, strangled gasps for air leaving your lips. “Gonna let me fill you up and finally make me a dad, huh?”

You let out a sharp moan, your legs forcibly spread by his strong grip as the pressure in your stomach grew tighter, breath escaping in loud whimpers.

“Been dreaming ‘bout it for months,” he panted, voice low and heavy as you writhed beneath him. “Fuckkk…been thinking ‘bout knocking you up, and making you a momma.”

“Please, Quinn,” you begged, squirming as your body trembled, fingers scraping down his back. “Need you to fill me up.”

“That’s it, pretty girl, come for me, your pretty pussy’s milking me, hm?” he growled, slamming himself into you again, his pace unrelenting as you shattered around his cock with a loud whine, body shaking.

“Gonna stuff you full o’me,” Quinn huffed, his voice still low yet almost slurring as he spoke again.

With a loud groan, you felt the thick ropes of his release coat your inside, his hips still pushing deep into of you.

Your body stuttered with the aftershocks, Quinn’s body heavy against yours as he rutted into you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, tiredness washing over you as he finally stilled, rolling to keep from crushing you. His throbbing cock remained deep within you as he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, whispered sweet nothings falling from his lips.

“Gonna make such a good momma,” he murmured, his nose brushing against yours. “So pretty…gonna have to go again to make sure you stay full up o’me, make sure it’s sticks.”

[wildflower-cth]

Beat me for the crown 1

Part 1 of 3 (possibly 4)

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

Years after the war, Xaden and YN are raising their two children, Liam and Kaia, in Tyrrendor’s royal residence. While YN is away on a girls' trip that for some reason includes Ridoc, Liam—small for his age despite being heir—is relentlessly bullied and hides his injuries until a brutal second attack drives him, bloody and broken, into Xaden’s arms late at night

⚠️ Content Warning: This story contains themes of bullying, physical violence, drinking, anger, emotional distress, and injury involving a child.

The sun is golden through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm glow on the mess of dresses, boots, and accessories strewn across your bed. Your room—your room in the royal residence of Tyrrendor—is a chaotic masterpiece of controlled packing frenzy. You’re half-laughing, half-arguing with yourself as you debate whether or not you need the fourth pair of heeled boots (“I definitely might need them, what if we go somewhere fancy?”) when you hear it.

A low, drawn-out groan. Then a sigh that sounds borderline pained. Followed by the unmistakable thud of a heavy folder hitting your desk.

You glance over your shoulder.

Xaden Riorson, your husband, your partner through war and fire and revolution, the King of Tyrrendor and the father of your two terrifyingly clever children, is currently slumped at your desk like the world’s most exasperated bureaucrat. His hair—still that inky black, streaked now with a dignified silver near his temples—falls forward as he rubs his hand over his face, fingers dragging down with dramatic exhaustion.

“Everything alright, Your Majesty?” you tease, turning and leaning against the edge of the bed, arms crossed, hip cocked.

He doesn’t even lift his head. “If I have to read one more request for funds to renovate a statue of someone no one remembers, I’m going to set the entire treasury on fire.”

You grin, biting your lip to hide the laugh. “That would be… dramatic. Even for you.”

He lifts his head at that, those obsidian eyes locking on yours—and you see it, the smirk trying to fight its way past the grumpiness. But he loses that battle and lets his head fall back with another groan. “You’re abandoning me.”

“I’m going on a girls trip,” you remind him, tossing a bundle of socks into your bag. “It’s not abandonment if I warned you.”

“You didn’t warn me Ridoc was coming.”

“That’s fair,” you murmur, grabbing the list Mira sent this morning and tucking it into your satchel. “I didn’t know until twenty minutes ago.”

“He’s not a girl.”

“Technically, no. But Sloane insists he makes the best cocktails, and Violet wants him for target practice if we get bored, so…”

Xaden grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like I knew this was a mistake.

You walk over, slipping behind him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He leans back immediately, head tilting into the curve of your neck with a tired sigh. “You’ll survive,” you murmur, pressing a kiss just below his ear. “You have Garrick to keep you sane, Sawyer to help you build forts with the kids, and Brennan for sarcasm. Plus our children—who are basically miniature yous. You’ll be fine. Oh and your cousin.”

“I miss you already,” he says dramatically, and you laugh into his neck.

“You're going to miss my ass in these shorts,” you say, voice low and teasing.

He growls, arms reaching back to pull you into his lap, the desk groaning in protest under the sudden shift of weight. “That too.”

You giggle, letting your forehead rest against his. “You’re insufferable when I leave.”

“Because I actually like you,” he says plainly, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “And because Liam and Kaia are going to take full advantage of your absence to negotiate extra sweets and a later bedtime.”

“Use the look,” you whisper.

He smirks. “Which one?”

“The one you used on that Sage before you vaporized him.”

“Tempting.”

The door creaks open before you can respond, and a little voice pipes in: “Dad, Kaia says she’s Queen now and I have to listen to her forever.”

You and Xaden both blink. Liam, now twelve and shorter than most boys, stands in the doorway with his arms crossed, looking exactly like his father on a bad day.

From somewhere down the hall, Kaia yells: “BECAUSE I WAS BORN SECOND. I’M A MIRACLE.”

You glance at Xaden.

He sighs again. “Go on your trip,” he mutters. “Before I pack myself in your bag and come with you.”

You kiss his cheek and whisper, “You wouldn’t last five minutes with that many women.”

“You’re probably right.” He glances down the hall. “And neither will Ridoc.”

You both laugh.

And when you finally close your bag and sling it over your shoulder, you take one last look at your chaotic, wonderful little family—King Xaden surrounded by paperwork and pint-sized versions of himself, and all of them completely, utterly doomed without you for the weekend.

Perfect.

The moment Liam disappears from the doorway with a loud, exasperated sigh, you barely have time to adjust your bag strap before the unmistakable sound of bare feet pattering down the hall echoes like a storm brewing in the distance.

And then she appears.

Kaia Riorson barrels into the room like a force of nature, a blur of dark curls and swishing skirts, her arms already open wide as she launches herself directly at your legs.

“Mama!” she squeals, clutching your thighs like you’re about to disappear forever rather than leave for a weekend. “You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye to me, were you?”

You bend down, brushing her wild curls back from her face. She’s the image of her father—onyx eyes with those telltale golden flecks, skin like warm bronze from days spent in the sun, and that sharp Riorson jaw she already uses to full effect in every argument, whether with her brother or the palace tutors.

And stars, is she already eight. Eight going on eighty.

“Of course not,” you say with a grin, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “How could I leave without a proper Kaia Riorson sendoff?”

She straightens at that, planting her tiny hands on her hips in a way that mirrors Xaden so perfectly it makes you bite back a laugh. “I left you a checklist on the dresser,” she announces with regal seriousness. “To ensure you remember your travel documents, your tonic for headaches—since Aunt Mira talks so much—and your good boots for hiking. And the backup ones.”

You glance over her shoulder to the edge of the dresser, and sure enough: a neatly folded parchment list written in tiny, careful script.

Xaden raises his brows from the desk, giving you a look that very plainly says She’s your child, and you smirk in response.

Kaia isn’t just clever—she’s terrifyingly bright, already reading at a level far beyond her age, soaking up history and politics with a kind of fierce hunger. It makes sense, you suppose. She's grown up in the aftermath of war and revolution, in the heart of a rebuilt kingdom, with a father who rules and a mother who would rather die than be ruled.

She’s got both your blood in her veins—and she burns like it.

“Did you also leave me a tactical escape route in case Ridoc tries to teach us dance moves again?” you ask, deadpan.

Kaia giggles. “Obviously. It’s on the back of the list. Plan Alpha-K.”

“I taught you too well,” you whisper, tugging her close and kissing her temple.

She melts into the hug for a second—just a second—before she pulls back with an almost wistful frown. “I wish I could come with you.”

“I know, baby.” You brush your thumb across her cheek. “But this is just for the girls. You’ve got a kingdom to help Dad rule while I’m gone.”

Her eyes light up at that. “Does that mean I get the crown?”

From the desk, Xaden cuts in dryly. “No.”

She spins around and marches over to him. “Why not? I already read the amendment to the Tyrrish Succession Treaty and everything. It doesn’t technically say heirs under ten can’t assume temporary authority—”

“I burned that amendment,” Xaden says with an arch of his brow. “You annotated it in red ink and included a doodle of yourself holding a sceptre.”

“It was artistic interpretation!”

You stifle your laughter as Xaden leans back in his chair, rubbing his temples with all the weariness of a man outnumbered by the brilliance—and persistence—of the women in his life.

Kaia pivots back to you. “Okay, fine. No crown. But if Dad falls asleep in a meeting again, I am declaring a National Dessert Day.”

You hold out a fist. She bumps it like the tiny revolutionary she is.

“Well, good,” she says primly. “Because as the acting Lady Regent while you're away, I need to be briefed on several things. First, the kitchen staff needs to understand that under no circumstances is Dad's allowed to cook. Not even toast. We all remember what happened last time.”

You press a hand over your mouth to hide your laugh, glancing over at Xaden, who’s watching from the desk with a raised brow and a wounded expression. “That fire was barely bigger than a candle,” he mutters.

Kaia ignores him entirely.

“Second,” she continues, tugging your hand and making you crouch so she can whisper in your ear like she’s sharing classified battle plans, “Liam keeps letting the palace boys bully him out of the courtyard when they spar. Just because he’s small doesn’t mean they should treat him like a baby. He’s the heir to Tyrrendor, and I keep telling him to act like it, but he says I’m bossy. Am I bossy?”

You smooth her hair, hiding your soft smile. “Only when you're right. Which, unfortunately for the rest of us, is often.”

Kaia beams, utterly pleased.

Then her arms are around your waist again, and her voice is soft in your side. “Be safe, Mama. And tell Aunt Violet I think her hair looks better short.”

You kiss the top of her head and breathe her in, letting yourself memorize the scent of wildflowers and parchment and sunshine that always seems to cling to her. “I will.”

She pulls back, brushing invisible dust off your traveling cloak. “I’ll watch over Liam,” she adds, more seriously now. “The kitchen boys were teasing him again. I’ll make them regret it.”

Your heart tightens.

Because Liam—twelve and bright and thoughtful—is still small for his age. Still soft around the edges. Still gentle in a world that hasn’t quite learned to stop testing him. He’s the heir to Tyrrendor, yes. But that doesn’t stop the older boys from pushing him around, doesn’t stop the whispers, the underestimation.

Kaia sees it. Feels it. And even if she’s younger, even if she’s half a head shorter, she’s got claws for him.

You crouch again, hand cupping her cheek. “Just make sure you don’t start a fire, okay?”

She grins. “Just a small one.”

Then she kisses your cheek, twirls on her heel, and dashes from the room with all the fury and elegance of the little queen she’s becoming.

And you’re left standing there with your bag over your shoulder, a half-packed bed behind you, and your husband watching you with that unreadable expression that still manages to stir heat low in your belly, even after all these years.

“You sure you want to leave me with her?” he mutters.

You flash him a grin. “I trust her more than you.”

“She’s eight.”

You shoulder your bag with a smirk. “And already running circles around you.”

From the hallway, you hear Liam mutter something about Kaia being “Queen of Overreacting,” followed by the sound of footsteps retreating quickly—probably realizing she’s within earshot.

“She just wants to protect him,” Xaden says behind you, voice low and warm, like the smell of the cedarwood soap he still insists on using. “Even if it comes out like a battle cry.”

You nod. It’s true. Liam may be the heir—the firstborn, the boy with the lineage and the weight of a crown already etched onto his shoulders—but he’s still small for his age. Sharp as a blade, sure, but not built for the kind of battlefield presence Xaden had at twelve. And he gets pushed around for it more often than he admits. Kaia, on the other hand, is half his size and twice as loud, and somehow convinced it’s her job to fight his battles and run the kingdom while you’re gone.

“She’ll take care of him,” you say softly, kissing the top of her head.

Kaia pulls back into the room, suddenly solemn. “I know I joke a lot,” she says, eyes wide and serious, “but I’ll be good, I promise. And I’ll take notes if anyone does anything especially stupid.”

“Please do.”

You stand and she wraps her arms around your waist one last time, squeezing tight before looking up at you with a grin that is all mischief and heart.

“Bring me back something expensive and shiny,” she says sweetly.

“Of course,” you laugh. “What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t?”

“A broke one,” Xaden mutters without looking up from his paperwork.

Kaia snickers and skips to the door, pausing only to give you a little wave. “Bye, Mama! Try not to kill Ridoc.”

“No promises!”

And then she’s gone, trailing chaos in her wake like a proper Riorson. You look back at your husband, who watches her go with a tired kind of fondness.

“She’s you,” you say.

“No,” he murmurs. “She’s you—just dressed in my temper.”

You laugh, heart full, and finally shoulder your bag with a sigh. The room feels quieter without Kaia’s whirlwind presence, but the warmth lingers.

And gods help Tyrrendor if she ever really does become Queen.

You cross the room slowly, giving yourself a moment to just look at him—at Xaden. Your husband. The King of Tyrrendor. The same boy who once stood beneath lightning-split skies and dared fate to take him first. Now he’s older, steady. His broad shoulders still carry the weight of too many things—battlefields, guilt, duty, your shared past—but there’s peace in the lines of his face now, etched beside the silver starting to dust the edges of his dark hair.

He groans softly and leans back in the chair, rubbing his temples like the stack of scrolls in front of him might catch fire if he so much as glances at them wrong.

You rest your hip on the edge of the desk, arms folded, teasing. “You know you’re allowed to delegate, Your Highness.”

He looks up, glancing at you over the tops of the papers. “I tried. Kaia told me my signature was unbalanced and revoked the parchment.”

You snort. “To be fair, she does have a decent eye for penmanship.”

“She’s eight,” he mutters.

“She’s Kaia,” you correct, sliding the paper off the top of the stack and reading it sideways. “Hmm. Budget request for a secondary aerial defence net over the west cliffs?”

“Yes, and apparently the only justification was ‘just in case.’” He groans again, slumping forward to rest his forehead on the desk. “I’m begging you. Take me with you.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you laugh. “You’ll be fine. Garrick and Bodhi are here, Liam needs a confidence boost, and Kaia needs to be stopped before she rewrites the palace's entire line of succession.”

“I’m going to die,” he says into the desk.

You run your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck, and he hums like a man starved of touch—even after twelve years of marriage, two kids, and gods know how many war council meetings.

“Don’t you dare,” you murmur.

He turns his head just enough to look up at you with those dark, molten eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

Your heart tightens, just a little. “I’ll miss you too.”

And then, softer, teasing, “But not so much that I won’t enjoy having one night without someone barging into our bed because of a thunderstorm, a bad dream, or a heated debate about whether the moon is technically a weapon.”

He groans again, but this time it’s almost a laugh. “Liam started that argument.”

“And Kaia finished it.”

“With charts.”

You grin. “That’s our girl.”

He sits up slowly, taking your hand, pulling you between his knees so you’re close—so close—and the teasing fades from his eyes, replaced by that look. The one that says no matter how long it’s been, no matter how much life has shifted beneath your feet, you’ll always be it for him.

“Be careful,” he says, voice low and rough.

You lean down and kiss him—soft, slow, lingering like the promise of something waiting for you when you return.

“I always am,” you whisper.

He brushes his lips against yours once more before letting you go. “Tell Mira I said if she brings home another owl, I’m burning the aviary.”

“Noted.”

You sling the bag over your shoulder, give him one last wink, and turn toward the door.

Behind you, his voice is a low murmur, reverent and amused all at once. “You were always the dangerous one.”

You glance back, smiling. “Still am.”

And then you’re gone—out into the corridor, toward the echo of voices and laughter and friends waiting to whisk you away, just for a little while, from crowns and chaos and the most loving kind of madness that is your family.

And stars, you wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.

The halls of the Tyrrendor royal residence are quieter than usual—too quiet, which immediately tells you Kaia is either plotting something or Liam finally got her to leave him alone long enough to hide in the library. The soft echo of your boots against the marble floors is the only sound as you descend the wide staircase, the weight of your travel bag slung across your shoulder and the lingering warmth of Xaden’s kiss still pressed to your lips.

You adjust your grip and keep moving, the grand archways of the lower wing coming into view—and with them, voices. Familiar, chaotic, ridiculous voices.

“No, Ridoc, for the last time, you cannot come just because you say you identify as ‘emotionally feminine.’”

“That’s a legitimate excuse!” he protests. “Besides, you need someone to carry things. I’m very strong. Exceptionally strong. Just ask—”

“Absolutely not,” Mira says, cutting him off with that patented General tone that makes even grown riders snap to attention. “You’re here because Kaia invited you and you had the audacity to say yes.”

“She said I was essential to the operation,” Ridoc insists, arms spread like he’s appealing to a jury. “Her words, not mine.”

You turn the corner into the vestibule and laugh at the sight before you.

Rhiannon is perched on the edge of a chaise, hair braided back tight and face buried in the packing list she wrote for everyone two weeks ago. Maren and Cat are sorting through supplies, arguing about whether it’s “overkill” to bring five daggers each—spoiler: it’s not. Mira is checking a map and muttering about schedules. Sloane is sitting beside Violet on a bench, both of them sipping tea, looking serene in a way that only ever precedes absolute chaos. And Ridoc… well, Ridoc is standing in the center of it all with a satchel slung dramatically across his chest, already wearing tinted glasses like you’re going somewhere tropical instead of the Aretian coast.

“Sorry I’m late,” you announce as you walk in, and eight heads turn toward you like a synchronized squadron. Violet’s face lights up immediately.

“You’re never late,” she says, standing to hug you. “We were starting to worry Xaden locked you in a room and threw away the key.”

“He tried,” you murmur, grinning as you return her hug. “But Kaia overruled him.”

“I knew she was my favourite niece,” Rhiannon says brightly.

“She’s everyone’s favourite niece,” Mira sighs. “Including mine, and I’m not even biologically allowed to pick favourites or Leia would end me.”

You drop your bag by the others and stretch your arms with a groan. “She’s planning a full security audit while I’m gone. And apparently Xaden is forbidden from cooking.”

“Smart girl,” Maren nods.

Cat tosses you a piece of dried fruit. “We’re packed, provisioned, and Ridoc has agreed to carry all our bags.”

“Wait, what?” Ridoc sputters, but Violet just pats his shoulder as she passes.

“You’re emotionally feminine, remember?” she teases. “Lean into the nurturing energy.”

“You’re all going to miss me when I marry rich and leave you behind.”

“You say that every week,” Imogen mutters, grabbing her pack.

You laugh again, warmth blooming in your chest as you look around at this ridiculous, perfect group—your friends, your family. The war was years ago, the revolution even longer, but this? This is peace. This is yours.

“All right,” Mira says, rolling up the map and tucking it under her arm. “Let’s go before someone gets cold feet.”

“Or Xaden shows up shirtless in the hall and begs you to stay,” Cat grins.

“Don’t give him ideas,” you say, hoisting your bag. “He already tried that move twice.”

They laugh, and together, the eight of you head for the doors—toward the carriage, toward freedom, toward a weekend of laughter and stars and chaos. And, if Ridoc has anything to say about it, probably at least one spa day and a very expensive bottle of wine.

You don’t look back.

You’ll be home soon enough.

Tyrrendor Royal Residence, Evening

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting golden light over the rich stonework and high-vaulted ceilings of the reading chamber. The scent of burning cedar mixes with old pages and Fern’s faint, warm dog smell—a comfort all on its own.

Liam is sprawled across the couch, one arm slung over his face, a thick leather-bound history book open across his chest. The other arm is draped over the gangly mass of limbs and fur that is Fern, their shaggy, brown-footed Gordon Setter who has made herself very comfortable using the twelve-year-old as a full-body cushion. Her tail thumps against the cushion every time Liam shifts beneath her weight, a silent protest that he should stay still.

Kaia, eight years old going on eighty, is curled on the floor in front of the fireplace, her legs crossed, her posture absurdly perfect as she reads aloud quietly to herself from a diplomatic theory tome that probably should’ve bored her to sleep fifteen minutes ago. But Kaia doesn’t do boring. She does analysis, logic, and the occasional ruthless breakdown of someone’s psychological weaknesses—for fun.

The door creaks open, letting in a gust of cooler air and the heavy sound of bootsteps.

“Evening, squirt,” Garrick says as he walks in first, nodding toward Liam with an easy grin and ruffling his dark hair as he passes. “Didn’t see you out in the courtyard this afternoon. Bunch of the other heirs were doing sparring drills.”

Bodhi trails behind, tossing a wrapped sweet into his mouth. “Yeah, I saw the Ironcrest boys working the heavy blades. You could’ve joined them, right?”

Xaden walks in last, tall and quiet and very, very still.

There’s no mistaking the flash of warning in his eyes, the subtle shift of muscle in his jaw. His gaze narrows—just slightly—but Garrick doesn’t miss it.

“Easy,” he mutters under his breath, lifting both hands in surrender.

“Liam’s got time,” Xaden says evenly, walking past and setting a stack of correspondence on the sideboard. “He’s ahead of his studies. There’s more than one way to prepare to lead.”

But Liam’s shoulders have already tensed beneath Fern. His face remains neutral, but there’s a flicker of something beneath it—shame, or maybe that low-grade anxiety he’s carried since he turned eleven and everyone started expecting him to be someone. To be Xaden Riorson’s son.

“Please,” Kaia mutters from the floor without even looking up, “he’s not training because he doesn’t want to get beaten up again.”

The room stills.

Xaden turns sharply. “Kaia—”

“He didn’t even tell anyone,” she continues, flipping a page like she’s reciting weather patterns. “They broke his ribs. A week ago. Brennan mended him before anyone else found out.”

“Shut up, Kaia!” Liam snaps, sitting up so fast Fern lets out a soft yip of surprise and scrambles off him.

Kaia finally looks up from her book. “Well, it’s true, and you shouldn’t be ashamed of it. They ganged up on you because you’re smaller and quiet and smarter than all of them combined, but you don’t have to be quiet—”

“I said shut up!” Liam’s voice cracks with the sharp edge of hurt that makes him sound younger than twelve. “Why do you always have to run your mouth?”

“Why do you always let them hurt you?” Kaia shoots back, rising to her feet, her cheeks flushed with rising anger. “You think hiding it makes you stronger? It makes you a coward!”

“Kaia,” Xaden barks, his tone edged with authority now. “Enough.”

But neither of them hears him. Not really. The fire snaps behind them like the tension in the room, and Liam’s fists are balled at his sides.

“I��m not a coward!” he yells. “You don’t know what it’s like—every time I go out there, they look at me like I’m some little kid who got lucky being born first. Like I didn’t earn anything!”

“You don’t try! You sit around with Fern and read while everyone else is out learning to fight! You let them walk all over you and then pretend it’s fine!”

“I hate you!”

“Good! I hate you more!”

Xaden moves, quick as lightning, stepping between them—but Liam’s already storming for the door, brushing past Garrick and Bodhi without a word.

“Liam!” Xaden calls, low and sharp. “Liam, stop—”

The door slams hard enough to rattle the sconces.

Kaia stands in the middle of the room, shoulders heaving, eyes brimming but defiant. “He always runs away. He always runs.”

Xaden rounds on her, but his voice is softer now. Not gentler—just lower. Controlled. Dangerous in a different way. “And that gives you permission to humiliate him? Publicly?”

She opens her mouth, but Garrick holds up a hand. “Let her sit with it, Xaden. Let both of them.”

Xaden’s jaw flexes. For a moment, he looks like he might snap the nearest chair in half.

Fern whines softly and pads toward the door where Liam disappeared, ears low.

Kaia stares at the fire again, her lower lip trembling now that the adrenaline is gone.

And Xaden—Xaden just sinks onto the couch, one hand over his face, like the weight of fatherhood and peace is somehow heavier than war ever was.

Xaden exhales slowly through his nose, the kind of measured breath that’s meant to calm, but does absolutely nothing to untangle the knot of rage and helplessness pulling tighter in his chest. He drops his hand from his face and looks at the flames instead, watching as they lick over the charred logs like they’re trying to burn through the tension still crackling in the room.

Fern whines again at the door, then pads back to sit beside the couch, pressing her head against his knee like she’s asking him to fix it—like she knows he can’t.

Garrick’s voice is the first to break the silence. “Kaia.”

She doesn’t look up from the fire. Her arms are crossed tight over her chest, jaw clenched, face blotchy from holding back the flood she’s too stubborn to release.

“What exactly happened?” Garrick asks, softer this time. Not as the General. As Uncle Garrick. “To Liam.”

Kaia’s throat bobs as she swallows, and for a second it looks like she might stay silent. But then she huffs out a breath and shakes her head. “He didn’t tell me,” she says. “Not really. I found out because I walked in on Brennan healing him in the north wing. I wasn’t supposed to see, and Brennan made me swear not to say anything, but—” She cuts off, her voice tightening. “He looked like he met Malek. His ribs were black and blue, and he couldn’t even breathe without flinching.”

Xaden stiffens. “Who?” The word is barely a growl, cold and low.

Kaia shrugs, finally turning toward them. “He wouldn’t say. But it happened in the training yards. The day they let the Ironcrest and Marhen boys spar. I guess they made a ring and kept pushing him in. Liam said it was a game—that it was ‘all in fun.’”

“Fucking hell,” Bodhi mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “They jumped him.”

“He’s small,” Kaia says quietly. “They know he’s the heir, but he doesn’t look like one. So they test him. He never fights back.”

“Because he’s trying to prove he’s better than them,” Garrick mutters, pacing toward the hearth. “Godsdammit.”

“I only brought it up because…” Kaia's voice falters again. “He just keeps shrinking, and no one’s saying anything. You always tell us that protecting people means seeing them, and he’s right there, hurting, and no one even notices!”

Xaden presses a hand against his mouth, the fury in his veins starting to lose its edge, replaced by something colder. He didn’t miss it. Not really. He saw the way Liam flinched last week when Fern jumped up on him too hard. The stiffness in his posture when he sat down for dinner. The way he always seemed to vanish around sparring hours. He just… didn’t push.

Because he wanted Liam to come to him. Because he thought maybe giving his son space was the better option than pressing into his pride. Because Xaden, for all his commanding presence and ruthless intellect, still found himself lost in the damn dark when it came to fatherhood.

“You did the right thing, telling us,” he says finally, voice rough.

Kaia blinks, surprised.

“I know you’re trying to protect him,” he adds. “But sometimes protecting someone means letting them be seen—even when they don’t want to be.”

Kaia swipes at her cheek with the back of her sleeve. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Xaden stands. His shadow stretches long and tall across the room. “No,” he says. “But I’m going to find him.”

And then, without waiting for anyone else to respond, he heads for the door, Fern trailing faithfully at his side, both of them moving into the night to find the boy who wears his eyes—and all of his weight.

The corridor to Liam’s wing is quiet, unusually so. The kind of quiet that seeps into the stone itself, amplifying every footstep until they echo like memories.

Xaden’s boots tread heavily down the long hall, Fern’s claws clicking beside him in a staccato rhythm, like she’s urging him forward. The guards posted at the entrance to the family quarters straighten when they see him, but he waves them off without a word. His jaw is tight. His brows drawn low. The air around him hums with restrained power, with the fury of a father who’s failed to see something he should have.

He reaches Liam’s door and lifts a fist to knock—firm but not loud. He doesn’t want to startle him. He just wants to talk.

“Liam,” he says, voice steady. “Open the door.”

Nothing. No shuffle of feet, no sound of movement. Just silence.

Fern whines softly and presses her nose to the seam beneath the door.

Xaden frowns, heart picking up pace. “Liam, I know you’re in there. Let me in, son.”

Still nothing.

He places a hand on the wood. “I’m not here to yell. I just want to talk.”

A beat.

Then—

“Go away!”

The words slam against the wood as hard as a spell-cast. Liam’s voice is cracked, frayed at the edges, too loud to hide the fact that it’s trembling.

“I’m not leaving,” Xaden says, jaw tightening.

“You should!” Liam yells from the other side. “I don’t want to talk to you! I don’t want to talk to anyone! Just go!”

Xaden’s stomach sinks. He leans his forehead against the door.

“Liam,” he murmurs.

“You didn’t see it,” his son screams. “You didn’t even notice! And now everyone’s looking at me like I’m some fragile little prince who can’t hold his own. And Kaia—Kaia told everyone!”

“I didn’t need her to,” Xaden says quietly. “I saw it, Liam. I saw it, and I should’ve asked. That’s on me.”

A choked sound breaks through the wood—half a sob, half a breath held too long.

Xaden closes his eyes. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. You didn’t deserve to carry it alone.”

“Don’t—don’t say that like you know,” Liam shouts. “You’ve never been like me! You’re not small, or quiet, or scared! You’re the Rebellion’s Weapon. You’re you! And I’m just…” His voice fades. “I’m just nothing.”

Xaden’s heart twists, a raw, deep pain he hasn’t felt since the war, since holding someone he loved in his arms while the world fell apart.

“You are everything,” he says fiercely. “You are everything I ever hoped my son would be.”

“Then why do I feel like I disappoint you every time I walk in a room?”

Silence.

And then the soft sound of a quiet sob Liam doesn’t manage to swallow.

Fern whines again, pawing gently at the door.

“Liam,” Xaden says, low and aching. “Please. Let me in.”

But the lock stays bolted. And Liam’s voice returns, softer this time. Fragile. “I can’t. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“I don’t care how you look. I care that you’re hurting.”

Another pause. Another breath.

“Just… just go,” Liam says again, his voice breaking. “Please, Dad. Just go.”

Xaden stands there a long time. Long enough that the fire torches down the hall begin to dim. Long enough that Fern lies down and rests her chin on her paws with a heavy sigh.

He presses his hand against the door once more, as if he could reach through it and wrap his arms around the boy on the other side. His son. His legacy. His heart.

“I’ll be right outside,” he says softly. “Whenever you’re ready.”

And then he sits. Right there on the cold stone floor. His back against the door. Guarding his son in silence—not as a king, not as a warrior. But as a father who refuses to walk away again.

Two hours.

That’s how long Xaden sits there, back pressed to the cold wooden door of his son’s room, knees drawn up, arms draped loosely across them as Fern sleeps beside him. The hallway has long since grown quiet. No servants pass. No guards linger nearby. Just the crackle of distant torches and the subtle tick of time bleeding out.

He’s not sure what he expected—maybe Liam cracking the door open just a sliver. Maybe one of those sigh-heavy reconciliations you read in books, or that one sob that leads to a father pulling his son into his chest and promising him he’s not alone.

But the door never opens.

Not even a shuffle of feet. Just the distant sound of a boy crying—quiet now, muffled behind the thick stone walls. Like Liam has pressed his face into his pillow and is trying to drown the sound in cotton.

And maybe that’s what breaks Xaden more than anything else.

He scrubs a hand over his face and leans his head back against the door, his neck stiff from the angle, his heart heavier than it’s been in years. Not even the revolution weighed this much, he thinks grimly. That war had a path. A purpose. This?

This is his son—his baby—hurting, and pushing him away, and he can’t do a godsdamn thing about it.

He closes his eyes. He’s not used to giving up. It’s not in his blood. But something in his chest tells him that staying now—forcing it—might do more damage than good.

So, with the weight of failure dragging on every limb, he exhales one long, shuddering breath and slowly rises to his feet.

Fern lifts her head, confused, tail twitching.

“I know, girl,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers behind her ears. “I hate it too.”

He turns back to the door, resting one palm flat against the wood. “I meant what I said,” he whispers. “I’m right here, whenever you’re ready.”

Then, before he can change his mind—or let the guilt devour him whole—he turns and walks away, the hem of his black tunic whispering against the stone, the shadows swallowing him up as he disappears down the hall.

Behind him, Fern hesitates for a beat longer… and then follows.

And in the silence that follows, only the sound of a quiet sniffle remains, buried deep within the locked room where a twelve-year-old boy curls up and quietly lets himself break.

Xaden’s steps are slow as he walks back through the winding halls of the residence, each footfall echoing too loud in the quiet. The kind of silence that hangs heavy with the things that weren’t said, the comfort he couldn’t give, the son he couldn’t reach.

His shoulders sag with the weight of it. The defeat.

He pushes open the double doors to the main sitting room, the warm glow of the hearth spilling across the stone floor like it’s trying to offer some semblance of peace. But peace feels far away tonight.

Garrick looks up from the armchair near the fire as the doors whisper shut behind Xaden. His expression is unreadable—not surprised, not judgmental. Just there. Steady in the way only Garrick ever is. His hands are steepled over his stomach, one boot propped over the other knee as he leans back in the deep brown leather, eyes tracking every exhausted line on Xaden’s face.

No one speaks at first.

And maybe that’s a kindness.

Bodhi sits on the long couch closest to the fire, slouched down far enough that the curve of his arm is a perfect cradle. Kaia is tucked into his side like a little shadow, her tiny hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt, dark curls falling over her brow. Her cheek is pressed against his chest, mouth slightly open in the deep, dreamless sleep of the utterly spent.

The flames catch in her onyx eyes—closed now—and make her look impossibly small.

Bodhi’s head lifts when Xaden enters, but he doesn’t move, careful not to disturb her. “She cried herself to sleep,” he says softly, voice a murmur meant not to wake her. “Kept saying she didn’t mean to make it worse.”

Xaden swallows hard.

“She was scared for him,” Bodhi adds after a moment. “Guess she didn’t know it’d hurt him more.”

“She’s eight,” Xaden murmurs, stepping further into the room, each word a sigh. “She shouldn’t be worrying about her brother breaking ribs in a training ring.”

Garrick shifts in his chair, his voice quiet but pointed. “And he shouldn’t be getting his ribs broken in the first place.”

Xaden glances at him, the tired lines around his mouth pulling tighter.

“He wouldn’t let me in,” he admits.

Bodhi’s brows draw together. “Still?”

Xaden nods once.

“I sat there for two hours,” he says, voice low. “He cried. I heard him crying. And he still told me to go.”

Garrick doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at him with eyes that have known Xaden longer than almost anyone alive. Then, finally, he nods once toward the fire.

“Sit down,” he says simply. “You look like you just lost a battle.”

Xaden huffs a humourless breath. “Didn’t even get to draw my weapon.”

But he moves anyway, taking the seat across from Garrick, elbows on his knees, hands tangled together. The firelight catches on the silver threads at his temples, makes the weight of age and fatherhood look like armor he never asked to wear.

Fern settles beside the couch, curling beneath the table like even she’s exhausted.

The only sound for a long while is the crackle of firewood and the slow, steady breaths of Kaia sleeping against Bodhi’s side.

And in that room, dimly lit and warm, surrounded by people who love his children like their own, Xaden closes his eyes for a brief moment—and lets the ache in his chest bloom into something raw and wordless.

Because this isn’t war.

This is something far more delicate.

And gods, he doesn’t know how to win.

A/N: I was not intending it to get so long for it to turn into a mini series but here we areeeeeeeeee Comments, thoughts and reblogs would be really appreciated

Credit to @empyreanevents for the divider

[wildflower-cth]

Fool's Gold || Part I

Summary: Sweet Y/N, with her fluffy pastel dresses, soft makeup, and ditzy mannerisms. She’s seen as a fool in a world where there is no place for such things, but little do they know, the only fools are them.

Pairing: mafia leader!Jungkook x mafia leader's daughter!reader

Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: most warnings associated with mafia fics (e.g. violence, blood, etc), additional warnings might be added as the story progresses

<< masterlist || next part >>

“I heard that she’s a complete airhead.”

Jungkook’s expensive shoes smacked against the pristine white and gold marble floors as he continued to walk through the lavish hallway, hands disappearing behind his pockets while his steps were slow and confident. Most would think he was choosing to ignore the comment, but his closest friend knew better than to rush a man as calculating as Jungkook. 

Instead, Taehyung strolled alongside him, taking in the glittering chandeliers looming over their heads and the intricate designs carved into the white walls that were much too traditional for his taste. Jungkook and Taehyung were nowhere near out of place in the sea of extravagance with their custom suits and shiny black dress shoes. Taehyung, the more simple of the two, had his brown hair parted and pushed back to reveal a blemish free forehead while his grey and black suit complimented the grey specks in his brown irises. 

On the other hand, Jungkook’s black on black outfit adorned two expensive cufflinks and a gold brooch attached to his lapel. Taehyung’s gaze dropped to his black hair, which he noticed had grown in the past month. 

When Taehyung realised that Jungkook wasn’t going to speak, he decided to fill the silence. 

“Like apparently she’s huge on wearing pink and frilly stuff -which I guess is just a girl thing- but still, this is a mafia not a tea party.”

He paused, waiting for his comrade to offer his thoughts, but was met with silence once again. 

“I’ve also heard she’s dumber than a pile of rocks. Barely passed high school and then dropped out of university not even a month in. Her major wasn’t even that hard. Commerce, was it?”

Taehyung’s eyebrows furrowed as Jungkook continued to lengthen the silence. 

“And as you already must know, she was also married about a year ago but then was widowed after her husband was killed by a rival gang on the same day. Even though their marriage didn’t even last a full 24 hours, she had been so traumatised by the whole thing that apparently she didn’t even speak for an entire month after the ordeal. Can you imagine how much of a princess she must be for a simple death to shake her that much? She must be a real- come on man, how long are you going to make me go on?”

Jungkook turned his head to offer him a sly grin, “I was wondering when you would reach your limit.”

Taehyung gave him a halfhearted punch to the arm, “you’re such a jerk. Answer my question man. I’m dying to know what she’s actually like.”

He followed Jungkook as he turned into another hallway, curious as to what he thought of her, but his answer had him staring at Jungkook incredulously. 

“I don’t know.”

Taehyung faltered in his step, gaping at the back of the man who continued through the hallway nonchalantly. When the weight of his answer finally processed completely in Taehyung’s mind, he ran forward so that he could walk alongside his friend once again. 

“I think you misunderstood my question,” Taehyung tried again slowly, “I want to know about Lee Y/N, you know, your soon to be wife? The one you’re about to marry right now?”

“What is there to know?” Jungkook commented, mind occupied with a topic of much more importance, “a marriage with her will allow for the unification of two powerful mafia families and will also allow for an heir to be born. Is that not the whole point of marriages for individuals like us?”

“Well yeah, but there’s no harm in getting to know her at least a little bit. Did you even hear about the ‘dumb as rocks’ part when I was rambling?”

“That will only make her easier to control,” he deadpanned.

“Fine, whatever. Is she at least pretty?”

Taehyung’s eyes widened even more when Jungkook didn’t respond, “please tell me you’ve met her at least once. Oh my god, have you even looked at a picture of her?” 

Jungkook's silence was all Taehyung needed to know that the answer was, in fact, no,” I knew I shouldn’t have gone out of the country! My parents kept telling me everything would be fine and they’d take care of the whole thing but you haven’t even met her once? I should’ve made my return flight earlier, then I could’ve-”

Taehyung’s voice faltered as he noticed Jungkook’s distant expression, causing his brows to furrow. He wasn’t listening to a word he was saying, which wasn’t something entirely out of the ordinary, but it usually wasn’t this bad. He sighed as he shifted his gaze to the expensive hall before him. 

“Is this about the Parks?” He asked, noticing his friend’s focus return.

“It’s the Parks and the Mins,” Jungkook admitted, “ever since their alliance, they’ve been getting bold. They made a move on our West docks last week and would have been successful in seizing them if it weren’t for the blackmail I managed to procure at the last minute. But that won’t hold them off for long.”

Taehyung’s head tilted to the side, “you’ve always enjoyed a challenge. Why’s this bothering you so much?”

Jungkook turned into another hallway to finally come face to face with a large pair of grandiose double doors that towered over them. The two men came to a stop, aware that their conversation was now on a timer. 

“I just… have an uneasy feeling,” he said, unable to reveal anymore to Taehyung. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his best friend what he had really witnessed when he visited the docks yesterday.

Taehyung, clueless to Jungkook’s inner turmoil, slapped him on the back, lightening the mood with a grin, “come on man, this is your wedding. You’ll figure everything out later, for now just relax. You deserve it.”

Before he could protest, Taehyung shoved the double doors open to reveal an enormous and crowded wedding hall. The white and gold marble floor stretched across the entire room, while multiple diamonds came together to form a giant chandelier that hung over the hundreds of tables that had been decorated with shiny silverware and pristine white roses. The people were just as decorated as the furniture, with their elegant gowns and glamorous jewellery. 

At the sound of the doors opening, the once chattering crowd silenced, opting to sneak glances at Jungkook and his friend instead. Hushed whispers echoed around the hall as Jungkook straightened his back and held his head high before making his way to the centre of the room. Behind him, Taehyung took his place, his outgoing and extroverted personality tucked away to look just as regal and intimidating as the groom. The crowd began gathering on either side of the aisle, clearly excited for the bride who had been scheduled to appear any second now. 

Most men’s hearts would be racing during a time like this, Jungkook thought distantly, eyes focused on the aisle as well. Marriage to others was supposed to symbolise unwavering love and devotion. But not for him. For him marriage was simply a contract, a means to an end that he hoped would lessen the burden of a number of challenges. In a world like this, there was no such thing as love. 

Only power. 

The sound of the double doors opening pulled him from his thoughts, with two professionally dressed workers fixing them on either side so that they remained open this time. Jungkook watched a pair of women in what seemed like light pink bridesmaid dresses trail behind two girls who couldn’t have been more than five throwing white and light pink flower petals in the air. Behind the entourage was a figure drenched in white. 

You walked slowly into the room, your glimmering white dress trailing behind you as a thick white veil draped over your face and the front of your dress. Jungkook could only make out your hands clutching a small bouquet of white roses while your arm looped around your father’s, who was slowly guiding you down the aisle. Despite the aid, he couldn’t help but notice an uneasiness to your steps and a slight shake in your hands. 

The crowd’s gaze stayed fixed on your figure, drinking in the Jeon Jungkook’s soon to be wife. There were some gasps of astonishment at the beauty of your dress and figure, while there were some gasps of jealousy towards the woman who was taking Jungkook off the market. You didn’t seem to pay them any attention as your head stayed fixed in front of you, focusing on not falling as you continued through the aisle. 

To Jungkook, it felt like years had passed before you finally reached the small steps leading to the stage he was standing on, your bridesmaids taking their places on the opposite side of where Taehyung was standing. Your father unlooped his arm from yours and stepped back to sit on one of the seats that had been reserved for him, leaving you to hesitantly step onto the stage yourself. Your heel wobbled as you brought your foot forward and Jungkook knew exactly what would happen before it did. 

He watched your heel slip sideways, causing you to careen to your right under the heaviness of your dress. But before you could crash into the large pots of white roses, Jungkook shot forward so that his hand could grab your waist, hoisting you up to prevent you from falling. The crowd swooned at the gesture, murmuring about its romantic nature, though all Jungkook could wonder was how you’ve been surviving in a mafia family for so long. Taehyung had only said you were dumb, not a complete klutz too. 

He could feel the warmth of your delicate hand on his shoulder as he guided you up the steps, only letting go of you once the two of you were facing the patiently waiting priest. Once he had motioned for everyone to sit, he began his sermon in an obnoxiously boring voice. Jungkook had no particular interest in paying attention to a speech he had listened to multiple times growing up. Instead, he took the chance to survey you briefly. With your veil still hiding your face, he could only take in your perfect figure and pristine skin. 

Eventually, the priest asked you to remove your veil, to which you complied slowly. Taehyung came forward, offering to take the bouquet in your hands while your bridesmaids helped you hesitantly lift the soft white cloth over your head. 

A wave of hushed whispers spread throughout the crowd at the sight of your face, one that caught Jungkook off guard. Your eyes had been lined with a light liner, while your lips and cheeks had been made to look dainty. Your hair fell from the top of your head to your shoulders, styled in a way that framed your features and neck. Jungkook noticed a small silver necklace in the shape of a heart resting against your exposed collarbone. 

Your makeup made you look so innocent and… young. Jungkook almost wanted to pull Taehyung’s parents aside and confirm that you really were twenty three and not some nineteen year old. It was a bit of a turn off, he realised, slightly bothered by the fact. As a twenty six year old, he obviously wasn’t into teenagers, so he didn’t know what having a wife that looked like one was going to do for him. 

Then again, he wasn’t marrying you for some kind of gratification. He was marrying you because he needed to form a strong alliance between your father’s gang and his so that he could be, or at the very least appear, stronger than the Mins and Parks. You were nothing more than a path to more power and, aside from upholding his responsibilities as a husband, he would treat you as such.

As the priest continued to drone on, Jungkook continued to analyse your form. He watched your eyes stay focused on the priest before they strayed, hesitantly landing on Jungkook for a split second. When you noticed his gaze already on you, a small squeak sounded from your lips before you quickly shifted your focus forward. With the bouquet of flowers now hanging from Taehyung’s hand, your own fingers were clasped awkwardly in front of you. 

You were apparently everything Taehyung had painted you as earlier, Jungkook thought. Your makeup and mannerisms had an air of exaggerated innocence, while your body language was shy and sheepish. He had no problem imagining you as a weak girl that was so traumatised by the death of your first husband that you couldn’t utter a single word the following month. 

The priest turned to the seated crowd, beckoning anyone that had an issue with the marriage to step forward and speak their mind. Just as Jungkook expected, no one dared make a stand, preferring to cherish the connection between their head and neck instead. Following the silence, you and Jungkook were made to stand facing each other.

Your gaze was fixed on his collar, seemingly too shy to meet Jungkook’s eyes. It only confirmed his suspicions regarding your confidence, or lack thereof. 

Yet, despite your evidently timid nature and lack of intelligence, Jungkook couldn’t help but experience an uncanny feeling lingering at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was his untrusting nature, or maybe he had just been forced to over analyse you during the long and boring sermon. But he could have sworn that there was something about you. Just… something about the way you had trouble meeting his gaze yet seemed to have no problem in scanning Taehyung up and down. For a fraction of a moment, the look in your eyes was almost calculated, as if you had been assessing him. But just as fast as Jungkook thought he saw it, the look disappeared, replaced by a timid and shy gaze once again. It left him questioning whether he had even seen it in the first place, or whether he was letting paranoia see things that weren’t there. 

Finally, the priest turned to the two of you and made you both say your vows outloud. They were the standard vows, Jungkook and you putting no effort in creating a confession that you both knew was ingenuine. Instead, the two of you repeated after him, answering “I do” when the time was right. Jungkook was glad that, despite your seemingly ditzy nature, you hadn’t requested any giant romantic gestures. According to your father, you had even had no problem with Jungkook requesting that there be no kiss at the altar. It made his life a lot easier and truthfully made this entire situation a lot less awkward.

To Jungkook’s relief, the priest finally addressed the crowd once more, ending the sermon on a final note filled with hope and prosperity. He spoke about how the marriage would strengthen the two mafias, mitigating worries relating to attacks from enemies that may wish to harm them. Jungkook had already expected this part of the speech, as he had been the one to tell the priest to say those exact words. 

At the end of the sermon, Jungkook and you were made to walk down the aisle back to where he knew his expensive car was waiting. He turned to you, looping his arm around yours so that you wouldn’t fall again, and guided you down the steps slowly. He noticed that your every step was still wobbly and he could feel your hand shaking as you placed it on his bicep to steady yourself further. But this time, with the veil now draped behind you, he could see the distress in your face as well. Your eyes were wide as you took in the crowd surrounding you, looking as naive as Taehyung had made you out to be. 

Jungkook tried to remind himself of Taehyung’s words. About how you had barely been able to pass high school and then completely dropped out of university a month in. About how your style consisted of pink and frilly clothes that didn’t have much place in the mafia. About how, at this moment, you seemed almost scared of the crowd and attention. 

A girl like that was shy and naive and ditzy. Aside from being slightly irritating, that meant you couldn’t be much of a threat to him or anyone else. If anything your incompetence would be a threat to your own self. Jungkook had nothing to worry about when it came to you. 

So he tried not to be unsettled. 

He tried not to be unsettled by the fact that, despite your apparently innocent and weak nature, your fingers were gripping into his bicep so hard he would no doubt wake up with a bruise tomorrow morning. 

He tried not to be unsettled by the way your shy gaze, which stayed fixed on the floor, would sometimes stray upwards to almost study the crowd around you before quickly darting back to the ground. 

He tried not to be unsettled when you looked up at him to give him a bashful smile, one that the logical part of him agreed looked sweet and innocent enough.

Yet, why did another part of him wonder whether there had been something else lurking behind those seemingly innocent eyes?

-

-

-

The only thing that Jungkook had learned about you from the car ride was that your voice was as light and soft as your appearance. 

The ride in his black car decorated with gleaming small white roses and ribbons had been mostly silent, the two of you making no effort to start a conversation. Jungkook had never been one for small talk, more than content to let Taehyung talk for hours instead. The reason for your lack of conversation, though, was unknown to him. 

It was only when he was speeding through the highway that you had spoken to request that he slow down a bit. Your voice had been soft and timid, as if you were scared that Jungkook would lash out at you for the simple request. Or maybe that was just the way you spoke. Considering your personality, Jungkook wouldn’t find that too hard to believe.

Now the two of you walked through the entrance of his home, your eyes taking in the grandeur of it all. Despite its vastness, Jungkook felt that this was where he felt the most comfortable: between the white and fawn walls, the elaborately designed bannisters, and the creme marble floors. His home had remained the only constant in his life and, because of that, he cherished it immensely. 

There were only a few people that Jungkook had allowed inside, all of whom were people that he trusted with his life. This was the first time, he realised, that someone outside of those few was stepping foot onto the marble floor and laying their eyes on the spiralling staircase. It was an odd feeling, allowing you to enter into what he felt was the only place that truly allowed his mind and body to relax. 

He observed your reaction curiously, taking in your wide eyes. They bounced from one thing to the next, each structure seeming to fascinate you more and more. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were assessing the space, but the logical part of him kept trying to reassure himself that you couldn’t possibly be considered any kind of threat. 

The sound of the door opening behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He turned around to find Taehyung walking through the doorway, a particular look on his face. Jungkook recognised it right away, causing him to turn to you for a moment while calling over one of the maids. 

“Get her to the bedroom,” Jungkook commanded the maid as Taehyung stepped beside him, “and help her take off her makeup and dress into something comfortable.”

The maid nodded before she began to guide you up the flight of stairs, pointing out a few directions here and there to get you comfortable with the new environment. Jungkook watched you look back at him and Taehyung for a split second, an unreadable look in your eyes, before you faced forward once again and allowed yourself to be dragged away wordlessly. 

Once you had disappeared up the stairs, Jungkook turned to Taehyung with a raised eyebrow.

“Well?” He prodded. 

Taehyung glanced at the top of the stairs to make sure you really were gone, “I should be asking you that. What do you think of her?”

Jungkook mulled over his question for a moment, “she seems to be everything you said she is. Although, are you sure-”

“She is one hundred percent twenty three years old. I triple checked that one,” Taehyung said immediately, hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

Jungkook let his hands nestle into his pockets, wondering if he should bring up his other concerns as well. Uptil now, you haven’t actually done or said anything worth garnering suspicion. Jungkook just seemed to be picking up on small things here and there, but he wasn’t sure if those things were just him being paranoid or genuinely things that he should be cautious over. This whole marriage thing was proving to be a lot more confusing than he had initially thought. 

“What is it?” Taehyung asked, noticing his friend’s silence. Jungkook hesitated for a moment, but, after earning a questioning look from Taehyung, he relented slightly. 

“How well of a background check did your parents do on her?” Jungkook asked cautiously. He didn’t want Taehyung to know too much of how he was feeling at the moment, in case this was just his mind being overactive, but something in Taehyung’s expression seemed to indicate that he knew a lot more than what Jungkook was letting on. 

“They did a very thorough one, of course,” Taehyung said, eyeing Jungkook knowingly, “you know my parents. If there’s one thing that they’re the best at, it’s uncovering people’s secrets.”

Then he added with a smile, “couldn’t get away with much while growing up because of it.”

Jungkook let his gaze wander around the room, “I just…”

“You’re just suspicious of her,” Taehyung finished, causing Jungkook to look his way, “of course you’re suspicious Jungkook, you’re letting a girl that you’ve never even met before into your house for the first time. It’s a natural reaction, especially considering how untrusting we’ve been conditioned to be since we were young.”

Taehyung clapped Jungkook on the back reassuringly, “I was the exact same way when I married Chaewon. Hell, in our first year of being married I even accused her of being a traitor when she was planning a surprise party for my birthday. When she finally told me… man, it took me a whole year to make it up to her. On another note, from a married man to a newly married man, don’t accuse your wife of anything unless you’re a hundred and ten percent sure of it. Otherwise you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, causing Taehyung to laugh.

“Besides, have you seen Y/N? She’s so shy and naive, her own reflection in the mirror must frighten her. I doubt you have anything to worry about, especially after my parents’ background check. Just enjoy yourself, man, it’s your wedding night,” Taehyung said with a knowing smirk. 

Obviously ignoring the suggestive comment, Jungkook nodded, finding logic in Taehyung’s other words. Jungkook had never been married, all of this was new to him. But if Taehyung, who had been married for almost a decade, said feelings like this were normal, then maybe he really was just being overly paranoid about the situation. You’d had a thorough background check done, which revealed nothing, and your personality was quite clear to Jungkook after he’d observed you at the wedding. 

It was time Jungkook started trying to enjoy this marriage as much as he could. He was going to be stuck with you indefinitely, and constantly being suspicious of you was only going to wear him out, especially since you now had access to the only place he allowed himself to be free of the constantly vigilant and calculating mind that came with being the leader of the Jeons. 

Jungkook turned to Taehyung, about to thank him for the insight, but the sound of the door opening once again caused the two to shift their gaze to behind them. The sight of the man walking through the doorway immediately had Jungkook wrinkling his nose in distaste while Taehyung’s expression had become a distant neutral. The man didn’t seem to mind the reactions if he noticed them, casually strolling deeper into the house until he was standing before the two. 

“Jungkook, Taehyung,” Daehyun nodded, the respectful gesture somehow seeming more disrespectful if anything. He had clearly just come back from the wedding, still wearing his black suit and light brown hair styled back, “you just got married, yet I see only Taehyung and no bride. Shall I assume the two of you are running away together?”

The tasteless joke was followed by a deep laugh, one that belonged to neither Jungkook nor Taehyung. Instead they just stared at him with an unamused scowl.

“Relax, it’s only a joke,” he shook his head, gaze wandering the place casually, “I doubt your wife and kid would like the thought of that anyway.”

Taehyung’s jaw ticked at Daehyun’s words. Even if he hadn’t directly threatened or disrespected them in any way, just the mention of his family from his mouth was enough for Taehyung’s gaze to turn icy.

“Careful Daehyun, you’re standing before two mafia leaders,” Taehyung said, voice low and intimidating, “I would be less casual in our presence if I were you.”

To Taehyung and Jungkook’s dismay, Daehyun simply chuckled, “ah yes, but Jungkook and I are cousins. He’ll cut me some slack, won’t he?”

Jungkook didn’t answer, even after Daehyun gave his arm a lighthearted punch. Daehyun was the cousin that Jungkook could never be rid of, no matter how badly he wanted to. He was slimy and tactless and everything Jungkook hated rolled into one unbearable being. Having to give him access to his home, his only place of peace, had been one of the hardest things to do. But at the time, Jungkook had had to make sacrifices and this had been one of them. 

Daehyun, undeterred by his cousin’s lack of response, leaned his arm on Jungkook’s shoulder casually, “congratulations by the way. When I saw your wife’s face- god did she look young! You’re so lucky man, I hope my future wife turns out like that.”

Jungkook grimaced as he suddenly felt the desire to wipe off any remnants of Daehyun’s touch from his suit. Daehyun had attended the same university as Taehyung and Jungkook, yet he had evidently obtained none of the class that they had. Everyday he wondered how the two of them could possibly be related. For the sake of Jungkook’s mental wellbeing, sometimes he liked to imagine Daehyun had actually been adopted and his parents had simply decided not to share that piece of information. 

“I should get going,” Jungkook said stiffly, brushing his cousin’s arm off his shoulder. He fixed his suit as Daehyung smirked at him, likely thinking of Jungkook’s comment as more suggestive than he had actually meant. 

Jungkook faced Taehyung to give him a curt nod before he turned and began walking up the stairs, not bothering to use the fawn iron bannisters on either side of him. He could hear Taehyung taking his leave through the front door, dragging a complaining Daehyun behind him to Jungkook’s satisfaction. The sound of the front door shutting had never sounded so delightful. 

A silence ensued as Jungkook walked through the hallway upstairs, continuing until he paused in front of his bedroom’s door. He couldn’t hear any noises coming from inside the room, so, with a light knock against the white and fawn wood, his hand wrapped around the handle to turn it and finally push the door open. 

The windows displayed an almost set sun, coating the atmosphere in a blanket of dimness. Everything about his bedroom had been changed. His once dark brown and white bed had been switched out for a cream and fawn coloured one, with a bouquet of vibrant red roses sitting atop the fancy and plush duvet, while his black leather couches had been replaced by light cloth ones. The ceiling and walls had been painted white, complimenting the new white and fawn patterned marble floor. His old dresser had also disappeared, a cream coloured dresser twice its size sitting in its place instead. 

Aside from the drastic changes that had been made to his bedroom, no doubt to signify the change that came with marriage, the first thing Jungkook noticed was the maid who was drawing the curtains closed. The room would have fallen into complete darkness if it weren’t for the lamps sitting atop the bedside tables which were emanating a warm light around the space. 

The second thing he noticed was you, who was sitting timidly on the edge of the bed and facing him. Your fingers were playing awkwardly in front of you while your gaze had been fixed on the floor, but at the sound of the door opening, your head raised to look at Jungkook. The sight of your face once again caught him off guard, the lack of makeup revealing a different side of you. 

You no longer looked young. Without the innocent look that had been created with the blushes and the eyeliners and the lip glosses, Jungkook could see the mature shape of your eyes and the defined look of your features. You looked your age now, a lot more maturity prominent in your appearance. 

You were pretty. Jungkook could admit that much now that you didn’t resemble a teenager. He wondered why you had done your makeup like that in the first place. He’d been to many weddings before and none of the brides had been made to look so young. Then again, Taehyung had already told him that, on top of looking innocent and naive, you seemed to dress the part as well. 

“Is something wrong?” Your soft voice asked, eyes blinking innocently up at him. 

Jungkook shook his head, motioning for the maid to leave the room. She gave you both a low bow before scurrying out the doorway, making sure to close the door behind her. 

“No,” he finally answered. For the first time in a long time he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He wasn’t sure if you were expecting anything to happen tonight, or if you even wanted anything to happen for now. 

His gaze lowered as he mulled over his next actions. You had changed out of your wedding dress into a light pink, mesh lace nightgown that came all the way down to your knees with a silk bow stitched into the centre of your chest, as if your clothes were meant to compensate for the lack of makeup dolling up your features. He almost wanted to raise an eyebrow at you, but you seemed much too fragile to be ridiculed. 

Alternatively, he decided to take an experimental step in your direction, surveying your reaction closely. He watched your fingers close tighter around the duvet on which you sat, your gaze hesitantly darting everywhere but him. That was answer enough for him to know how far you were ready to take it tonight. So instead, he passed the bed, opting instead to drop onto the couch on the far end of the room. While he was facing you, you had to turn your head to keep him in your sights. 

“What would you like to do now?” He asked you, resting an arm over the back of the couch while he crossed an ankle over his knee. 

Your gaze dropped to your lap, watching your fingers fidget against each other nervously. It was almost as if having to answer a question like that had you stressed, which again made Jungkook wonder how you had survived growing up in a mafia family. How could you have been this weak?

“I-I don’t know,” you squeaked, not able to meet his gaze. 

Jungkook sighed, turning his head to the side to survey the room. Technically, the two of you could just call it a night and go to sleep. You were clearly too shy to even speak a word to him, and Jungkook had never been one to beg others for things. Only time would tell how well the two of you would get to know each other. 

But then Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the coffee table in front of him, noticing some sort of gift basket placed in its centre. It was obviously a wedding gift, filled with chocolates, scented candles, roses… and some wine and champagne. Jungkook has always been more of a whiskey guy, but right now he’d take just about anything. 

“Why don’t we have a drink?” He suggested, uncrossing his leg so that he could lean forward and grab the top of the expensive-looking bottle of red wine. He prayed you weren’t one of those people that didn’t drink, your innocent personality couldn’t possibly extend all the way to drinking as well. 

You paused for a moment, taking in the bottle in Jungkook’s hand, before slowly nodding your head, to Jungkook’s relief. 

He beckoned you over with his free hand, “come here.”

You hesitated before slowly pushing yourself off the bed and took small steps towards him. Jungkook waited patiently until you were standing right in front of the couch, hands clasped shyly in front of you while your gaze stayed glued to the floor. He held up the bottle of wine and champagne in front of you, hoping you weren’t so dumb that you wouldn’t understand the question in his actions. Thankfully you studied the two bottles before a shaky hand raised and tapped against the bottle of champagne. 

He pushed the bottle in your direction, forcing you to take it in your own hands, before standing up from the couch. The unexpected action seemed to scare you, causing you to immediately take a timid step backwards while you hugged the bottle to your chest. Jungkook had to suppress a tired, and maybe even slightly annoyed sigh, as he manoeuvred past you. He was trying to be patient, but this was becoming ridiculous. 

“You get that open while I wash up,” he said to you, pointing at the bottle still pressed to your chest, “okay?”

You nodded slowly, allowing him to turn away from you and walk into the joint bathroom. Once the door was closed behind him he let out the sigh he had suppressed earlier. You really were… something. He couldn’t believe he had been suspicious of you earlier when you could barely even function properly, much less be any sort of threat. It was irritating, Jungkook felt, to have someone so incompetent for a wife. He wondered if he would have to break you out of that shell. You were the wife of a mafia leader now after all, you had to keep up at least some air of confidence in the presence of others so that you didn’t make him look weak. 

Jungkook walked over to the sink and turned it on, splashing some cold water on his face before he began brushing his teeth. You were far from his ideal type, and he doubted this marriage would ever stem into whatever Taehyung and Chaewon had going on. Hell, he was wondering how the two of you could ever even produce an heir. You’d probably spontaneously combust if he even tried to touch you. And besides, he didn’t really want to touch you if he was being honest. You reminded him too much of a weak and helpless child, which was obviously a huge turn off. He may have been a mafia leader, but he wasn’t a complete monster. 

Jungkook placed his toothbrush into the holder after spitting into the sink, drying himself off with one of the towels hanging near him. He was about to start changing into more comfortable clothes, only getting as far as unbuttoning the first few buttons of his black collar shirt, before a crashing sound rang from the bedroom. In less than a second he had pushed out of the bathroom, immediately scanning the bedroom before him as his hand automatically sought out the gun at his side. 

It took him a moment to realise the lack of intruders in the room, and then another to take in your completely unharmed form. You were standing with your hands covering your mouth, looking down at the ground. Jungkook followed your gaze to find the champagne bottle rolling along the marble floor, still entirely intact. You had clearly dropped the thing accidentally, causing Jungkook to place his gun back in his waistband.

“I’m s-so sorry,” you squeaked, bending down quickly to pick up the bottle. Suppressing a huff, Jungkook walked over to you to take it from your hands. 

“Here, let me do it,” he said, taking two of the crystal champagne flutes from the gift basket and placing them on the glass coffee table as he sat himself down on the couch, distantly annoyed at the fact that you couldn’t even pour a glass of champagne by yourself. Was this seriously what he was going to have to deal with from now on?

He tipped the bottle, filling both glasses to the brim with the bubbling liquid as you hesitantly sat yourself down on the couch to his left. His gaze fell on you as he was about to offer you one of the flutes, but paused when he noticed the look on your face. For the first time since he met you, you looked almost… excited. Usually your eyes would be downturned and focused on the floor, but this time they were fixed on the crystal glasses before you as if you were eager to taste the expensive liquid. Jungkook made a note of it, tucking it into the back of his mind for later. 

“Take one,” he said as he motioned towards one of the glasses, but to his surprise you hesitantly shook your head. Your expression had turned timid once again, any hint of excitement from earlier entirely gone. He narrowed his eyes at you as he wondered if he had just imagined it. It had barely been there anyway. 

“I don’t drink,” you said in your signature soft tone, not able to meet his gaze. Of course you don’t, Jungkook thought irritatedly, god forbid the princess touch a glass of champagne. He knew the thought was immature, but there was no way he was the most immature person in the room at the moment. 

He pushed himself off the couch, very much aware that his patience was starting to wear thin, “well then I guess we should call it a night.”

But before he could step towards the bed, your hand shot out, clutching the edge of his sleeve with your fingers. He immediately looked down at your still seated form, a question in his eyes. You had to look away for a moment, seemingly collecting your nerves, before you met his gaze once again. 

“Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you can’t,” you said, “I don’t want you not to enjoy yourself because of me. Please stay.”

Jungkook noticed the evident guilt in your eyes as your fingers continued to stay enclosed around the edge of his sleeve. When he didn’t move, you hesitantly leaned forward to gently pick up one of the glasses and then slowly presented it to him. His gaze shifted to the glass in your hand, pausing for only a moment, before he took it from you. He let himself sink back onto the couch as he studied you. 

You continued to sit in your spot on the sofa, posture still timid. Your gaze bounced from one part of the floor to the next, while your expression remained shy. But there was something else lurking behind the expression. If Jungkook focused well enough, he could have sworn the edges of your lips were turned slightly upwards. It was so faint that it might have not even been there, but the more he focused, the more prominent it became to him. 

A naive part of him might have thought it was from being successful in getting him to stay and have the drink, but the more logical part of him had already latched onto an idea, one that refused to be swept to the side any longer. 

His gaze lowered to your collarbone, a glint from the heart-shaped necklace resting over your soft skin catching his attention. Unlike earlier, he noticed that the metal heart was actually a locket, and that its two sides were slightly open. It couldn’t have been ajar by more than a millimetre, but Jungkook still noted it down in his mind.

His gaze then ascended to your face, still a perfect picture of innocence. Your eyes were widened to resemble a curious doe, while your lips were pulled into a timid line. The hands resting in your lap fumbled with each other shyly, really completing the look. 

Finally, his gaze dropped to the drink in his hand. He brought it closer to his face, as if he were about to take a sip, before eyeing the expensive liquid. His gaze fixed on the miniscule bubbles that continued travelled from the bottom of the flute to its surface, causing it to sizzle.

Jungkook slowly leaned forward, keeping his eye on his drink as he brought it away from his lips and instead calmly set it down on the coffee table before him. He then easily pushed himself off of the couch, which caused your brows to jump. There was an apparent question in your expression, one you decided to voice out loud. 

“Is something wrong with the drink?” You asked, voice still soft as your doe eyes looked up at him through your lashes. 

Ignoring the question, Jungkook placed a hand on the edge of the coffee table and slowly pushed it forward so that it was farther away from your seated form. The action caused you to blink. 

“Is everything okay?” You tried again slowly.

But Jungkook then faced you, assessing you for a moment, before he took a few steps in your direction. You had to crane your neck upwards to continue meeting his gaze, his tall form towering over your seated one. This time your brows pulled together, eyes still doe-like, as you continued to question his actions. 

“Jungko-”

Jungkook didn’t let you finish. The second you opened your mouth his large hand suddenly shot out and grabbed your neck, slamming your head into the seat of the couch. You squeaked at the sudden violence, immediately clawing at the fingers now enclosed around your throat. But your efforts were nothing in comparison to Jungkook’s iron hold. 

“J-Jungkook, you’re h-hurting me!” You let out a choked cry, continuing to put up a weak fight against Jungkook. Tears had already started to coat your eyes and run down your cheeks, but Jungkook ignored them completely. He watched you struggle, fascinated by the way you thrashed around like an animal yet every jab at him was weak and ineffective. There was no sign of the strength he had noticed when you had grabbed onto his bicep earlier, so hard that he was sure it would leave a bruise. It was enough to make him grin.

Jungkook lowered his face so that his lips neared your ear, his body still hovering over your smaller form. 

“If you wanted to kill me princess, you’ll have to do a better job than that,” he said, voice low. Your eyes widened even further as you continued to struggle against him, making pitiful noises that didn’t move him in the slightest. 

“K-Kill?! What are y-you talking about?!” You continued to choke out as tears streamed down your cheeks. Your hands had moved to his chest, desperately trying to push him away, yet failing miserably in the process. Jungkook tilted his head at your weak plea, eager to hear what other ways you’d beg him to let you go.

 “P-please-” You began, but then cut yourself off abruptly when your tear-filled gaze met his. You must have seen something in his eyes, because he felt your body slacken, no longer desperate to fight him despite his hold on your neck cutting off your lung’s supply of air. 

Instead you studied him, really studied him. He could see the same calculated look you had used on Taehyung earlier during the wedding. It was as if you were assessing Jungkook, picking out his strengths and weaknesses to figure out how you could use them to your advantage. He watched you weigh options in your head patiently before you finally tilted your head to the side calmly and shot him a look. In response, Jungkook decided to loosen his grip on your throat. He watched you catch your breath for a moment before you spoke. 

“Well, you’re already smarter than the first one,” you commented, but your voice was entirely different. It was no longer soft and timid, rather it was a lot more deep and confident. He watched your expression change in the same manner. Your once wide and innocent looking eyes narrowed into a more matured look, while your lips straightened into more of a dangerously amused grin than a naive pout. 

Then he processed your words. The ‘first one’ had to be your first husband, who Taehyung had explained had been killed on his wedding day. Taehyung had mentioned that a rival gang had been the one to murder him, but the actual one responsible for his death was clear to Jungkook now. 

“Do you make it a hobby to poison your husbands’ drinks on their wedding nights?” He asked, hand still wrapped around your throat. He had situated himself between your legs, his own leg pushing one of yours against the back of the couch while his free hand pushed the other down against the seat of the couch. The position ensured you wouldn’t be able to kick him, while his body hovering over your own seemed to take care of the rest of you. You were smart enough not to try anything anyway, knowing Jungkook’s strength was incomparable to yours.

You shrugged, panting at the limited oxygen entering your lungs, “golf just wasn’t cutting it for me anymore.”

“Golf? How can a weak and helpless girl like you play such a sport?” Jungkook couldn’t help but quip, bordering on mocking you. It only made you grin, clearly no hint of offence in your expression. 

He studied your nonchalant demeanour curiously. You had tried to kill him, and he should send your head back to your father’s doorstep for it. And yet, you couldn’t have looked any less composed with his hand around your neck. Either you were a complete idiot, which seemed much less likely now that he was starting to see your real character, or you believed you had the upper hand in this situation. 

“You’re quite calm for someone I should have killed,” he noted, meaning for it to be a threat. But once again you didn’t seem deterred. In fact, the comment seemed to amuse you even more. 

“Just because you should have me killed doesn’t mean you’ll actually have me killed.”

Jungkook’s brow raised, finding an opportunity to prod you further, “and why won’t I have you killed? Your father sent you here to kill me under the pretence of an alliance. I should start a war for this.”

You nodded, “but you see, my father did send me here to form an alliance. The whole killing you idea was all mine.”

Jungkook scoffed at the lame attempt at a lie, “you expect me to believe that?”

But you scoffed as well, meeting his gaze just as vehemently. It was an odd sight considering you had spent the entire day trying to make yourself small and avoiding his gaze. Yet here you were now, eyes ablaze like a thrashing fire. Not a spontaneously violent fire either, no Jungkook could very easily handle that. You were more like an electrical fire. It was becoming increasingly apparent that he had to be cautious around you, and that trusting any word that came out of your mouth was dangerous. 

“Prove it then,” he challenged, tightening his hold on your neck for a moment to remind you of your vulnerability. 

“I don’t need to prove anything,” you said, a hand coming up to wrap around his wrist, “just go ahead and mention to my father that I’m not a complete airhead that’s afraid of her own shadow. He’ll laugh in your face and call you a moron.”

The revelation that your father was just as clueless about your true self as everyone else only confirmed his initial thoughts. It also proved he couldn’t have trusted you to carry out an assassination attempt, meaning your father really did genuinely want an alliance with the Jeons. That was perfect, because Jungkook had certain plans that relied on this partnership. It was a relief that they hadn’t gone to waste.

“If it wasn’t your father’s idea, then why did you poison my drink?” He asked with a raised brow. 

Silence filled the room following his question, one that allowed you both to hear the sounds of the wall clock. He got the feeling that you were contemplating something once again, planning out your next move.

Then you squirmed underneath him, seemingly getting comfortable, but Jungkook knew better than to believe whatever you appeared as. The second your hand went for the gun wedged in his waistband, he grabbed your wrist, pining it against the couch, while the hand that had been around your throat pulled out the matte black weapon. He slowly brought it to your temple with an amused grin.

“If you wanted it so badly, you could have just asked,” he taunted, bringing the gun down so that its barrel lifted your chin, “now, I asked a question princess.”

You huffed, your amusement finally falling to give him a half-hearted glare.

“I want a divorce.”

Jungkook couldn’t help the laugh that sounded from his lips at your straightforwardness. You just tried to kill him, it didn’t take a genius to work out that you weren’t a fan of this marriage and wanted out of it. 

It was an arranged marriage after all, and even though all arranged marriages didn’t equal a forced marriage, technically he couldn’t be certain that this marriage was of your own choice or not. For all he knew, you had some secret lover waiting for you back home, your marriage with Jungkook coming between the star crossed romance. The thought made his jaw tick. He was far from in love with you, but Jungkook tended to be territorial about what was his. And you were his wife at the moment. 

You, on the other hand, seemed surprised by his reaction, as if it was the last thing you expected him to do.

“I mean you obviously want one now too, right?” You asked with your brows furrowed.

Jungkook didn’t respond, and that only seemed to make you more agitated.

“I’m not the wife that you want. You clearly can’t stand me when I have my ditzy front pulled up and you can’t trust me when I don’t.”

Although the points that you were making were true, there was one important factor you were missing, and that was the alliance between the Jeons and the Lees. Jungkook needed this alliance to, at the very least make himself seem like, he was more powerful than the Parks and the Mins. And with their recent moves -with what he saw at the docks just last night- he needed this alliance now more than ever. So while he normally would have had you executed and then sent your head to your father’s doorstep for your little assassination attempt, this time he was going to have to sweep his pride to the side.

Jungkook placed his free hand next to your head as he pushed himself up, choosing instead to stay standing in front of the sofa. His intense gaze dropped to your still form while his gun hung from his fingers firmly. 

“No,” he finally said, causing your brows to jump. 

You quickly pushed yourself off the couch to stand just as he was, but Jungkook didn’t move. With the sofa right behind you, barring you from taking a few steps back, that left you and him standing dangerously close to each other. The bow from your nightgown pressed against his partly unbuttoned black collar shirt, while its edge grazed his dress pants. Jungkook could feel the heat of your breath raise goosebumps from his exposed collarbone. 

“Why not? I’m not the wife that you want.”

He smiled at the bite in your words, finding your frustration amusing, “you’ve got it all wrong. I simply wanted a wife to make the Lees allies, nothing more.”

Like a fire set alight, your eyes flashed in anger, “I won’t change. I’ll still be your idiot wife that will make you look weak.”

It was true that most wives of mafia leaders were strong and confident beings, symbols of their husbands’ power, and that having a wife like you may be a slightly risky choice. But Jungkook was sure his carefully established reputation could take the hit. Besides, although you might make him look weak, your marriage with him would make him far from actually weak. 

“You think divorcing you won’t make me look weak?” Jungkook decided to say, unsure of if he was saying it to play with you more or to make sure you don’t believe your threats are inconveniencing him, “you’ve fooled everyone with your ditzy facade. A divorce will make them think I wasn’t able to tame a naive girl. You think people will accept me as a leader then?”

You didn’t react to the point, giving him the feeling that you might have already known that might pose an issue for him. Perhaps you thought his reputation could take the hit? When Jungkook really thought about it, it probably could have. He’d worked hard to be both feared and respected for years, a divorce like this, while questionable in the eyes of the people under him, could have been pushed under the rug given time. But the alliance was too important to him. 

And that was something he needed to make sure you knew. 

“That means you will continue to be my wife,” he settled, lowering his gaze so that it met yours with unwavering finality, “so you’ll continue to act like it.”

Jungkook felt his voice naturally lower, a hint of a threat evident in his tone, “listen to me well, Y/N. I don’t care if you act like the dumbest woman on Earth or the most sultry. Regardless, what you will act like is my wife. When we’re outside of this bedroom, we will laugh together, we will hug each other, and we will do whatever other damn thing married couples do so that no one doubts this relationship.”

“And if I don’t?” You bit, the speed of your reply making his jaw tick. 

“If you don’t, you can stay locked in this bedroom until you learn how to behave. Understood?”

Your rage couldn’t have been more prominent, with a fierce glare burning right through him and a pair of fisted hands at your sides. Yet Jungkook ignored it all, instead meeting your gaze coolly as he waited for your confirmation. 

It took a long moment to come, so long that Jungkook thought it wasn’t going to come at all. But eventually he noticed you nod your head. It was barely a movement, your head tipping down slightly before resuming its earlier place, but it was enough for him despite your unwavering glare. 

He finally took a few steps back, thrusting the barrel of his gun once again into the waistband of his pants. Your angry form, on the other hand, didn’t move, opting instead to stand perfectly still despite your calves pressing into the sofa behind you. Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, brushing the strands that had fallen onto his forehead away from his face.

“Good, then we’re done here.”

He finally turned away from you, eyeing the door on his left intently. But before he could move towards it, your words made him pause.

“I just tried to kill you,” you commented before he turned to question its randomness. He found you sitting on the sofa once again, an eerily thoughtful look lurking behind your rage-filled eyes, “how will you know I won’t do it again?”

Jungkook tilted his head in response. 

“You can try all you want, princess,” he said, liking the feeling of that nickname on his tongue more and more. It was almost addicting, “but you won’t succeed.”

Then his lips curled into a sly smirk, “after all, what kind of husband would I be if I barred my wife from her hobbies?”

He was able to just barely catch the roll of your eyes before he turned and pushed through the door he had been eyeing earlier, his hands automatically locking it behind him as he casually surveyed his office. The room had been spared from the new gleaming white and fawn furniture which had taken over his bedroom. Instead, it was filled with familiar dark brown.

Refined dark oak wood shelves and cabinets lined the walls except for the wall behind his large desk, which was made up entirely of a bookshelf filled to the brim with various hardcovers. For the sake of matching with the rest of the house, the marble floor had been done a light fawn colour, while another wall was made up of bulletproof glass, its centre having the ability to slide open to reveal a decent sized balcony. 

Jungkook shrugged off his blazer as he made his way to his desk, laying the piece of cloth over the back of his black leather chair, before he opened the glass cabinet behind it. He didn’t need to think much as his fingers expertly curled around an expensive bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass. Before he knew it, he found himself standing outside on his balcony overlooking his estate, one hand holding the crystal glass filled halfway with light brown liquid while the other clutched the iron railing. 

His gaze bounced around his estate for a peaceful moment as he took a sip from his glass, taking in the expanse of the luscious green field bordering the neatly done driveway despite the darkness of the night. In its centre was an intricately designed white fountain spewing water in four different directions, but all of which emptied systematically into the white basin at its base. The estate itself stretched for metres, the gates enclosing the space barely visible from where he was standing. Jungkook’s thoughts bounced around his head just as quickly as his gaze. 

What a day it had been. At first, you’d been a complete idiot, one that had irritated him to no extent with your doe eyes and evident shyness. 

But then you had turned out to be an entirely different species, far from the innocent and ditzy girl he’d labelled you as. You were cunning and feisty and seemingly very much ready for a divorce. 

Jungkook felt the corners of his lips pull upwards into a grin as he took another sip of his whisky.

You were quite the enigma.

But he was going to enjoy the challenge.  

A/N: comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated!

[wildflower-cth]

no thoughts just quinn leaning over you, his hair in his eyes as he thrusts into you, his lips on your neck, leaning up to rest his forehead against yours as the filthiest things spill from his lips

I've been thinking abt this for fucking days let me TELL you-

I think he'd love kitchen counter type sex cause he can lean over you and see your pretty expressions. It also really accentuates your size gap and drives him fucking wild.

his hands would switch between bracing on the counter under you or holding the backs of your thighs to keep you spread open for him. You don't have to do anything but sit there and look pretty for him while you take his cock and he'll remind you of that frequently when his lips aren't attached to your neck. You're damn near hypnotized staring up into his green eyes cause you can't seem to break the contact, his forehead pressed to yours while you moan against eachothers lips that are just barely touching whenever his hips meet yours.

its never planned, it just happens. Whether it's him making himself late to a team event cause he couldn't keep his hands off you or fucking you after practice only to drag you to the shower afterwards with him for another round (or two, or maybe three-) he swears he'll never ever get tired of the way you grip his cock like you were made for him. Sometimes he'll free up a hand to have it gently set against your throat, squeezing just enough to keep you from looking anywhere but directly at him. It's like there's no one else on earth but the two of you in these moments so the comedown is always a little jarring when you realize that's not the truth again.

[wildflower-cth]

https://x.com/lanadelgothx/status/1749821329271103986?s=46

it’s giving quinn 😫

the fact this actually looks like him makes me DIZZY

But ik for a fact he'd get off having you ride his face after a bad game cause he just wants to feel you, taste you, have you melting for him. If he focuses all of his energy onto you he'll forget about the shitty calls and the even shittier final score. You taste too sweet to let anything else into his mind.

[wildflower-cth]

😇

“prettiest ass in all of fucking canada,” william grunts, driving his hips into yours, his cock buried deep in your cunt

you whine and cry his name, pressing your ass back to take him even deeper. his hands are hot on your hips, gripping your skin tightly enough to leave marks

his thighs are pressed against the back of yours, his chest draped over your back. the hair on his chest and stomach tickles your skin and you shiver happily while you take every inch of him

“tightest, sweetest cunt i’ve ever had,” he groans, dragging one hand over your hip bone to play with your clit until you shriek, coming on his cock with blinding force. william keeps fucking into you, his stomach against your lower back, soft and warm. you cry his name, chanting it like a prayer when he finishes inside of you, playing with your clit the whole time and drawing a second orgasm out of you in extremely quick succession

“love you, love you, oh my god,” you babble, dropping flat on your stomach and exhaling harshly when william drops down on top of you, the hottest weighted blanket you could imagine. his cock is still hard inside of you, his breathing harsh in your ear, and you wriggle under him

william laughs and flutters his fingers against your clit, trapped between you and the bed. “you want another, älskling? my greedy girl wants a third orgasm, huh?”

“mhm,” you hum, turning your head so he can kiss your cheek

“i can’t do all the work,” he teases, rolling into his back and taking your with him so you’re sitting on his lap, reverse cowgirl style, his cock seated deep inside of you

you roll your hips and draw a strangled groan from deep in william’s chest. he keeps his hands on your hips to steady you until you find a good rhythm and then his hands wander, tracing over your ass and drawing a line up your spine. he cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing and rolling your nipples between his fingers

pleasure builds low in your stomach, coiling tighter and tighter until william thrusts his hips upwards and the head of his cock hits your g-spot perfectly to send you over the edge of your third orgasm

your entire body trembles from the force of it and william chuckles behind you, leaning forward to bite at your shoulder. “fuck i love how your ass moves when you come,” he mumbles, licking over the spot he just bit. “i’m the luckiest guy in the world, that i get to be here with you”

you reach back to tangle your fingers in his hair and tug gently, too dazed and fucked out to speak

and thirty minutes later, he’s got you on your back, knees at your ears, railing you into the mattress again ❤️‍🔥

[wildflower-cth]

Hi lactation and breeding kink with max pls!!!!!

warnings!!: smut, p in v sex, lactation kink, breeding kin, mentions of post-partum body insecurities

my masterlist

Max was absolutely feral about you.

He had thought that he couldn’t resist you before, when you were hot and sexy and all that he desired.

But then you got pregnant, and in his eyes, you were hotter and sexier 10 times over.

So sexy that he was thinking of knocking you up again, only a mere couple of months after you gave birth to your son.

You would be wary of that every time you would find a couple of alone moments, the thought of Max getting you pregnant again very present at the back of your mind.

This time was no different.

Your son had just gone down for his afternoon nap, and Max had found the perfect opportunity to love on his woman.

He had you sprawled on the bed underneath him, his shaft deep inside of you while his mouth was all over your chest. He was biting at the skin of your sensitive and full boobs, sucking every time his tongue would glide over your erect and leaking nipples.

"You look so fucking good" Max whispered against your boobs, making you moan and clench around his thick shaft.

"You feel so good" you whimpered out, your hands burying in the hair at the back of his head.

Max never failed to make you feel like the hottest woman in the world to him, especially since you struggled with your self-consciousness during your pregnancy.

But now, how could you not feel like the hottest woman when Max takes such good care of you?

"These tits are so fucking perfect. So full and plump, feeding our child and helping him grow" his attention was fully on your breasts now, his hips slightly slowing down but still thrusting deeply inside of you.

You couldn't form a single thought, the pleasure you were feeling blinding you to everything else. You had been so busy lately with your baby, you hadn't even felt the extent of your need for Max to just make love to you, fuck you like he used to.

Max was sucking on your nipples, pinching and twisting at them until he noticed droplets of milk squirting out of them, something which made him even harder inside of you, his cock swelling against your tight walls.

"This is so fucking hot" he murmured before his mouth dove to your nipples, sucking and sucking until he felt his mouth fill with your delicious milk, listening to your squeals and moans as you became stimulated from your pussy and nipples at the same time.

"Oh my God, Max" you moaned out, arching your back and pushing your boobs in Max's face.

He felt like he was in heaven. His cock was giving you the fuck of your life, his mouth was draining you of your milk and his fingers were now rubbing harsh circles on your clit, the coil inside of you threatening to burst at any moment.

Max's thrust sped up, his orgasm building faster than he had realized. His thumb was rubbing your clit and applying pressure, his mouth was not letting up on your boobs, and the combination just blindsided you as your orgasm ripped through your body, your walls fluttering against his cock which spurred his orgasm on, shooting ropes of cum deep inside of you against your cervix, your mixed moans echoing through the room.

As you slowly came down from your high, Max's soft cock was still buried deep inside of you, keeping his cum as deep as possible, while his mouth was sucking lazily on your boobs, the new taste of your milk already getting him addicted to tasting you.

"You're gonna get me pregnant again if we keep this up" you joked, feeling the vibrations of his chest against your as he looked up at you with mischief in his eyes.

"Oh, I'm counting on it"

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[wildflower-cth]

Siren Eyes

Pairing: Siren!Lando Norris x Human Reader x Werewolf Oscar \

PART 1 OF 2

Rating: R

Words: 7.5K

Warnings: Angst, hating one self, panic/anxiety attacks, also kinda made Daniel a villain but don't worry

Synopsis: Lando's excited about his new teammate, until this new teammate has him losing control

A/N: woah, the love for this fic I have is insane, honestly I couldn't be prouder of myself for writing this

Lando wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and sleep; instead, he was sitting in a stupid meeting, learning about his new teammate. "He's a werewolf, but very calm and keeps to himself, so I think that's perfect for you after...Daniel." Lando sighed, closing his eyes as he remembered what happened when Daniel learned the truth about Lando. The way he felt unsafe, and the team dealt with it swiftly. He'll always be grateful as McLaren has been the only team to openly not oppose what Lando is. He's forever thankful. "He does have a girlfriend; from what we know, they're rather private; she's a human, sweet girl," Zak adds, and Lando nods. 

"And, does he know?" Zak's response was a gentle shake of the head, and Lando's understanding was clear in his nod. Oscar remained unaware of Lando's true nature, a decision that Lando believed was in their mutual best interest. "Now, he'll be here in a few days to join us for promotions, pictures, and all the boring stuff you hate. But he's a sweet kid; don't put him at arm's distance, okay?" Lando sighs, looking out of the large windows and staring at the green plains of Woking. "Yeah, alright." 

The meeting ends; Zak hangs back, Lando making no attempt to stand, much less leave, as he stares at the picture of Oscar smiling. "He's a good kid; I don't think he'll care what you are, Lando. He's from Australia. They're the first real country to be open to the idea of," "Sirens? That's because they're Australian, surrounded by water, and have a fairly large population." Lando huffs and looks up, taking in the statistics. "He's going to give me hell, isn't he?" Zak snorts and leans on his chair, folding his hands. "Yes," 

Lando sits up and takes off his sunglasses, his sea-green eyes sparkling in the sun; with a smirk, Lando leans back, staring at the picture. "Bring it on," 

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

Oscar groans when he feels pressure on his chest. He knows what the weight is, and honestly, he wishes it was a different kind of weight. Slowly blinking, he comes face to face with Mr. Orange, your cat. He hoped it was you sitting on his chest. Instead, it's the damn cat. When you started dating, he clarified that he was a werewolf; you just rolled your eyes and didn't care. Being human and dating a supernatural wasn't uncommon but not overly popular. 

When you made it clear you had a cat, Oscar groaned loudly; cats and he didn't mix well. But since he started staying over, Mr. Orange, this old, grumpy, fluff ball of an orange cat, has not left his side. The cat actually prefers Oscar over you. Oscar would never admit it, but he grew close to the cat and started getting used to its weight, which he wakes up to. "Morning, Mr. Orange," The cat just blinks at Oscar, purring slightly when Oscar scratches behind his ear. 

"Oscar, phone call," You don't have to yell; he can hear you clearly as he groans and buries his head in the pillow, wanting to hide from the world. "Who is it?" He yells, and your sweet giggle has him smiling. "Zak Brown?" Oscar jumps up, Mr. Orange voicing his displeasure at losing his pillow, running down the stairs, Oscar following. "Seriously?" You giggle, holding the phone, and nod; grabbing it, he places it on his ear. 

"Mr. Brown, hi." You snicker, and Oscar waves you off, slapping your ass which has you running to the kitchen. "Oscar, good morning; I hope I didn't wake you," Zak jokes, as it is well-known how much Oscar loved his sleep. "No sir, actually just got done with training." You snort a laugh, and Oscar glares at you in the doorway. You stick your tongue and slowly start to raise the shirt that you're wearing. Oscar sucks in a breath and cuts you a look that says to knock it off. 

Smiling, you turn back to cooking and groan, having to reach something, the edge of the shirt rising, and Oscar about loses it there; you weren't wearing any underwear. Your perfect ass was on full display. "Oscar? Oscar?!" Oscar shakes his head and turns away, trying to ignore his blood rushing south. "Yes, sir, I'm thrilled to have joined the team and to work with Lando." Zak sighed. He was glad to hear that, and Oscar was proud of his media training. 

He wasn't lying. He was excited to work with McLaren and Lando but couldn't help but be a little weary, sensing they were keeping something from him. "Um, Mr. Brown," "Please call me Zak," "Okay, um, Zak," Oscar rubs the back of his neck, unsure how to approach the topic. "There isn't anything you're hiding, is there? I mean, about the team, I figured I'd have already met Lando properly," Oscar, with his excellent hearing, can hear how Zak stops breathing for a second before letting out a nervous chuckle. 

"Lando is just, well Lando. , you'll meet him properly in Woking. I hope that isn't an issue. That way, we'll talk in person. It's easier to explain." Oscar jumps when cold hands touch his warm skin. Calming down, Oscar covers your hands with just one of his and smiles, feeling your body push into his back. Oscar smiles when he feels your hand travel down and gently slide past the waist of his boxers. "Yes, Zak, that's perfectly fine." Oscar bites the inside of his cheek, feeling your hand grab his cock and start to slowly move up and down, and you place butterfly kisses on his back and shoulders. 

"I'm glad, and also, Oscar?" Oscar pulls the phone away, letting out a low groan, and then pressing the phone back to his ear. "Yes?" "Congratulations on becoming a Formula 1 Driver." "Thank you," Oscar hangs up the phone; taking your hand out, he spins and leans against the counter. "What are you doing?" He groans as you slowly sink to your knees and giggle. "About to blow my gorgeous, talented Formula 1 driver boyfriend." You comment, pull his boxers down, and lick your lips. 

"Yeah?" He asks, fingers cupping your cheek. You lean up and lick from his balls to his tip, sucking it, and he throws his head back. Pulling off, you smile up at him. "Yeah, he just a got a Formula 1 seat and a future World Champ; think that allows a blowjob, don't you?" Oscar groans low in his throat. It's almost a growl, "Fuck, yes." You smirked and placed a kiss on his hip as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the way your mouth felt on him. 

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

Lando lays his head on the conference room table, sunglasses on and hood over his head, taking slow, deep breaths. It's odd, but he used to ask Carlos what it was like to smell and hear everything within a mile. Carlos would chuckle and ruffle his hair. 

"I can choose to turn it on and off, muppet." Lando would blush and crave Carlos's touch. Carlos was never afraid of Lando, as Carlos and Lando had a different love that was pure and based on brotherly love. With Daniel, he acted like he was okay with Lando being a siren when, really, he kept Lando at arm's length. It hurt; it made him miss Carlos. He would always slink off and sit with Carlos and Charles. 

It helped that they weren't attracted to Lando, so his powers and eyes would not affect them. Charles was a vampire, so he understood people's avoiding him and helped Lando hide his supernatural marks. Lando would be forever grateful when Carlos and Charles took him to a shop for vampires. It had contact lenses that could match his eye color; they were enchanted, so whenever he wore them, people could look at him in the eyes and not know he was a siren. 

Lando was wearing them now, but he was still careful. He would lie if he said he was relaxed about meeting Oscar. Oscar, a werewolf, was this extraordinary talent and probably came in and dethroned him as McLaren's golden boy. The door opens, and Lando groans, tightening his arms around his head. "You're early," Lando looks up at the dark outline of Adrea Stella, the Team Principal of McLaren. 

"You said to be here at 7. It's only 6:45." Lando whispers, looking at the giant clock on the wall. "Still," Andrea grumbles and starts lying out files. He smacks Lando gently on the head with his. "He's a good kid, won't be like," "I don't want him to know at all. The only people on the grid who know are Charles, Carlos, Max, and Daniel. But I don't think he'll say anything." Lando whispers; Andrea nods his head but is still worried about Lando. 

Everyone starts to float in, Lando sliding off his glasses and hood and ruffling his hair as time passes. "He does know where MTC is, right?" Lando asks, earning a couple of chuckles as Zak sighs and gives him a look. "What? He's about 15 minutes late." Lando defends himself, raising his hands. The door opens, and this boy with pale, perfect skin, round brown eyes, and soft, messy hair tumbles in. He is wearing an all-black outfit and smiles softly. Lando can tell immediately that this is Oscar, who was smaller when they last met, and now he is a buffer. 

"Oscar, welcome." Zak and Andrea stand, as does everyone else, but Lando is stilln't too shocked by Oscar's beauty. If anyone didn't know Oscar was a werewolf, they'd think he was the Siren with his perfect lips and stunning smile. "Hey, sorry I'm late, I overslept." Oscar mumbles, his cheeks a dusty pink, and Lando licks his lips. He can feel the tug in his chest and clears his throat, shaking off the twitch in his powers. 

Oscar makes his way around; Lando stands clumsily and holds out his hand when Oscar gets to him. "Hey, Oscar," Lando smiles brightly. "Yeah, I know, Lando. But you know that already," Lando and Oscar still shake hands until Zak clears his throat, making the two slowly stop and drop their hands. Lando grows cold again, missing the warmth that was tickling up his arm. "Well, why don't we start. Oscar moves around Lando, sits down in front of Lando, and watches the screen. Lando sits down slowly, unable to stop his eyes trailing to the back of Oscar's head. 

Lando twitches when he hears a soft vibrating noise. Oscar slowly looks around and slips his hand into the pocket of his black jacket. Pulling it out, he smiles. Lando hates how his skin crawls; that smile is so sweet and soft that he remembers hearing Oscar have a girlfriend. Oscar's fingers move, typing a quick reply before pocketing his phone. Oscar slowly raises his hand, and Lando can't help but think how cute he is. 

"Yes, Oscar?" Andrea calls, the lights flicking on, Lando blinks his eyes fast, but Oscar, with near-perfect eyes for a werewolf, doesn't even budge. "When you called me, it sounded like you were hiding something about the team; what is it?" Lando goes so fucking still he's sure Oscar would clock the fact he even stopped breathing. Oscar doesn't show awareness, staring hard at Zak and Andrea, who keep sharing looks. 

"There's an issue with the car, and we won't be able to fix it until Austria....it will be a hard start of the season," Andrea admits, and Lando sighs. Oscar nods, satisfied with the answer. "How bad are the issues?" He presses, and Lando is proud that the little rookie isn't afraid to ask the hard questions. "That's a good question. Will we look good in pre-season testing or be a laughing stock?" Lando asks, leaning back. Oscar casts a glance but quickly looks back at Zak and Andrea. 

"With the data, we're looking at being dead last; we'll most definitely be lapped and a possible DNF, maybe even for both cars," Andrea admits; Oscar finally looks at Lando, who is just leaning back in his chair with a slight smirk. "I like a challenge, do you Osc?" Oscar looks away, and Lando chuckles, seeing the slight blush on his pretty, pale skin. Lando can't help but wish he could make Oscar blush that prettily again. "Yeah," Oscar clears his throat and sits up straight. "I like a challenge." 

Zak and Andrea stare at each other before smiling at one another. "Perfect," 

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

"Hey mate," Lando jumps so far out of his skin that he fears he'll never get it back. Turning, he glares at Max, who sits on his couch with Petra, watching some trashy show. "How.." "We have a key for emergencies," Petra smiles, and Lando can't even argue, as he's grateful for his friends. "How was the meeting?" Max asks, sitting up slowly and looking over Lando. Max was one of Lando's best friends and the only one who never cared that he was a siren. Max was human and loved him; he didn't care if Lando was different; Lando was his brother. 

"It was fine," Lando looks away, trying to hide his blush as he hangs up his jacket, still wearing his sweatshirt. Petra and Max share a look, and both smirk, "Just fine?" She drawls out, biting the inside of his cheek; Lando glances at them sideways and moves to the kitchen. Petra is right before him, moving faster than light, giggling. "Stupid vampire speed," Lando grumbles as he faces Max, smugly looking his best friend up and down. "Does the bay have a crush?" His teasing tone has Lando pout, dragging himself to the couch. 

"He's cute," Lando drawls out the 'e,' his head thrown back and eyes closed. He pictures Oscar smiling at him as they leave the factory. "Lando, he is aware, yes?" Petra asks, crawling onto the couch, sitting on his other side, and pressing herself into his side. Lando's head flops and lands on her shoulder; Max's weight leaves the couch as he heads to the kitchen, probably to get Lando's favorite Jon-approved snacks. "Petra, why'd he have to be cute," Lando whines, Max comes back, dumping the bags on the couch, and Lando happily digs into them. 

"Mate, it's okay that he's cute. You learned to control your powers with Carlos, and Daniel was the real test," Max says as he sits on Lando's other side, the couple cuddling their friend. "Carlos, I just idolized him; he's my big brother and Daniel," Lando sighs; they had a challenging relationship initially, not really liking each other. But, as the year went on, and into the second year as teammates, Daniel had found out and didn't take it well. Daniel raised concerns with the team, and the team lashed him for saying Lando was only doing better cause he was using his powers. 

Lando was hurt, hurt that someone, yet again, was using what he was against him. Daniel even threatened to go to the FIA. He intended to report that Lando was a siren and used his powers to get ahead. The team shut it down immediately, and Daniel lost his seat. It was very tense, with some static between them, but it was improving. Daniel has apologized for what he did, and Lando accepted it, but that didn't mean things could return to how they were. 

"We know, buddy," Max whispers, playing with Lando's hair. Groaning loudly, Lando hides his face on a pillow. "He even has a girlfriend, which isn't a shocker; he's cute, funny, has great dry humor, and just....perfect." With Petra covering her mouth, Lando gushes, trying not to giggle at her friend's expense. "Well, maybe that's a good thing, him having a girlfriend, mate. You can remember that when your....song gets out of hand." Lando looks at him, confused. 

"Song? I don't know what triggers my powers, much less causes me to use them. I barely know anything about what I am. My parents are human, and I'm the freak of nature." Lando snaps, Max cringes and Petra sighs, knowing it wasn't fair to Lando. Being a siren in a family that was forever thought to be human, only to find out, was far from the truth. They try their best for Lando; Cisca and Adam are always there for him, but they don't understand, and there isn't much lore about sirens. All people knew were from the Odyssey, which didn't give them a good reputation. That's the only piece of work on sirens, and anytime someone heard the word Siren, they ran. 

"We're still looking; we'll find something, Lando, we promise," Max whispers, pulling his friend close and kissing the top of his head. 

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

Oscar holds his arms out as you run at him, squealing loudly. He chuckles, happily catching you, spinning you around, and you wrap your legs around his waist. "How was it? Was it everything you dreamed? I'm sure it was!" You rapid fire at him; Oscar laughs, carrying you deeper into the apartment and placing you on the counter so he is at eye level with you. "It was good, but we're going to be struggling hard until Austria, but that's okay. People won't expect much from me, and I can just chill and learn the teamwork and all that." Oscar kisses the tip of your nose, still wearing what he left you this morning. His shirt, and only his shirt. 

"Well, that's good, and Lando?" You ask softly, watching Oscar's reaction, a slight blush, and you start to smile. "Knew it, I knew you'd find him attractive." You giggle, and Oscar sighs, resting his forehead on your shoulder. "Y/n," Oscar groans, wrapping his arms around your waist, squeezing slightly. "He is beautiful and has such pretty eyes." Oscar snorts, "Yeah, but we wear those stupid vampire contacts." Cocking your head to the side, you hum. "I didn't know he's a vampire; that explains why he's so good-looking." Oscar shakes his head. 

"No, he's not a vampire. He didn't smell like iron and earth. He....smelled like the sea, but that's probably because he lives in Monaco. He's not human, but it's not my place, and the team seems to ignore it, so I should, too." You move your fingers through his hair and tug softly. "Hey, I'm sure he'd tell you when he's ready," You knew this was bothering Oscar more than he'd let on. The team hid more than the car's status; they seemed nervous when Oscar asked about the earlier conversation and how Lando stopped breathing. 

It worried Oscar. Initially, he was going to ask about Lando's status. Still, he knew how everyone reacted, so he avoided that conversation and quickly changed it to the car. Lando started to breathe again, which calmed Oscar down; he didn't like upsetting the older Brit. It spiked Oscar's own anxiety when he felt Lando go still and stop breathing. It took everything in Oscar to not reach over and palce a hand on his knee. It was a reflex he did with you when you got nervous and felt that same protectiveness wrap around his heart. 

"Yeah, maybe; I'm hoping we're teammates for a long time," Oscar mumbles, fingers digging into your hips, taking a deep breath, smelling your shampoo and favorite lotion. "I hope you two are teammates for a long time, too." You whisper, rubbing between his shoulders, feeling the tension get released. "I'm sure everything will work out," Oscar nods, "Can we take a nap," Right on queue, Mr. Orange appears, meowing softly and rubbing his head at Oscar's ankles. "Of course," Oscar lifts you up, carrying you with ease, as you two walk down the small steps into the open space and fall onto the fluffy bed. 

Oscar and you giggle, letting the sun glow softly on your skin, leaving soft kisses and words as you two sleep. 

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

Lando wanted to scream and rip his driver's room apart. He'd felt anger before, but this rage was unexplainable. It was hot, burning liquid in his throat. Something inside him was clawing at his throat. He knew it was something evil, and he was terrified. His driver's room door was closed, locked to protect anyone from him. 

A knock at the door rigidifies his body, and the knock is soft again. "Lando, are you okay?" Lando covers his mouth, feeling that darkness in him claw his way out. Oscar's sweet voice makes him whimper, and he hates that he made a sound; Oscar could hear it. "Lando, are you okay?" Oscar's voice sounds slightly panicky, his door handle wobbling under the pressure of Oscar's grip. 

"Oscar, go away," The jingling stops, feet walk away, and Lando whimpers, feeling the bile in his throat. Fuck, he had used his powers on Oscar. Lando hated this feeling; when his emotions got out of control, he felt something clawing at him, ripping him from the inside out. And he couldn't run away, couldn't leave. He needed to be here for the team. 

The door handle wobbles again, Lando curling in on himself, stopping himself from yelling. To prevent the darkness in him from escaping, the door creaks, and suddenly, it's open. "Mon cheri," the velvet French calms his heart, mewling practically as two more bodies fill the room, the door closing. Shhhh, it's okay. Deep breaths, Carlos, come here." Lando doesn't open his eyes, instantly feeling the warmth. 

Gasping out, Lando sobs, burying himself into the warm chest of Carlos. Carlos whispers soft Spanish in his ear, Charles murmuring in French. Something cold touches his skin, causing him to hiss before the familiar hand on his neck. "You're okay, Lando, we've got you," Max whispers, crouching beside Charles. Lando slowly peels his eyes open, burning as he stares at Max. Max's blue eyes mirror, smiling softly; Lando blinks, feeling this calmness wash over him. 

"You're using your powers," Lando whispers, his ugliness dying. Max's hand is slightly warm but comforting. "I am; you seemed to be struggling with... this." Max chooses his words carefully. Charles rests his head on Max's shoulder, smiling gently. "Hey, there," Charles whispers, running fingers through Lando's sweaty curls. "I'm here," Carlos whispers, pulling away, but Lando chases after him and clings to Carlos. "Don't leave," Lando's voice so vulnerable and raw that Carlos can't help but growl softly, "I'm not leaving you," Carlos whispers, tightening his grip. 

"How," Lando takes a deep breath, his chest shaking as he feels his anxiety comes down. "How'd you know?" Lando whispers, hiding his face in Carlos's neck, loving the smell of his cologne. "Oscar was pacing outside; he seemed distressed, and we were talking. He knows we're close, and that's how we knew," Max whispers, sitting down properly, Charles moving to curl into Max. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have to be here with me. Charles, you had a bad race, too." Lando whispers, hand grabbing Charles's free hand and holding it close. 

"Eh, typical Ferrari, but nothing like yours." Lando cringes, Max and Charles giving him a pity smile. "Should've DNF'd would've hurt worse." Carlos chuckles and pulls Lando off the couch and into his lap so he can curl up with the others. "I used my powers on Oscar. I didn't mean to," He whispers, disgusted with himself. The first race, and he's already fucked up. "Lando, it's okay. You were under a lot of stress; everyone has a flare-up." Max tries to comfort him, but Lando shakes his head. 

"This isn't like calming or angering someone by accident, Max," Lando spits, feeling angry that they think what he did was okay. "I can make people do whatever I say; it's unnatural." Lando looks down, picking at the skin around his nails. "Lando," Carlos growls, grabbing his friend by the hands and making him face him. "It's not unnatural; you're a siren, and their voices are powerful. That's not a bad thing. You just got worked up, and that's fine. You think I haven't lost control, Charles or Max haven't? It happens, and it'll happen again. You can only control how you react to it, which will make the difference." Carlos presses a soft kiss to Lando's temple. 

"I know; maybe I should return to therapy or buy those special mouthguards. "No," All three growl. It was a mouth guard given out by the FIA for any supernatural they deemed dangerous. It was a barbaric practice that Sebastian and Lewis had fought for years. Meant for wolves, vampires, and anything else the FIA didn't like, it was another way to control the drivers. "You buy one, and I swear to god, I'll call your mother." Lando cringes at that threat, knowing that Cisca would rip the world. 

"But," "No," Charles's accent thick, his gorgeous hazel eyes a dark red. "Lando, we don't care if you use your voice on us; it happens; I mean shit, I feed off Carlos sometimes," "What?" Max growls, "Nothing, babe, anyways, we're family, and sometimes we have to use our gifts on each other. Besides, you've never caused harm." Charles tries to comfort him, and Lando sighs, moving and welcoming him into Charles and Max's arms. "I know, but," A large hand covers Lando's mouth, and warm chocolate eyes stare into Lando's sea-green eyes.

"Lando, no buts; if we didn't love or feel safe around you, we wouldn't be here, but we're here. We'll always be here," Carlos whispers, bumping his forehead against Lando's. "Lando!" The men all stiffen, hearing Andrea's voice. "We have the video to film. Is everything okay?" Lando takes a deep breath; pine, sweat, lavender, champagne, and damp earth fill Lando's nose, the smell of his family. "Yeah! Be out in a second!" Lando calls, sounding his usual self. Carlos smiles, placing a soft kiss on Lando's cheek. 

"I miss those eyes of yours," He whispers and hugs Lando close, who relishes in Carlos's warmth. Lando craves to be warm. 

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

Oscar can't help but pace back and forth, trying to rack his brain about why he just left Lando like that. Even though he was outside surrounded by different smells, the smell of fear, anger, and disgust still lingers in his nose. He no longer wears his race suit, just his black shorts and signature orange shirt. Hissing, Oscar looks down, seeing his finger torn to shreds. He had been biting the loose skin, trying to calm himself. 

He couldn't understand why Lando was so upset, which drove him. He was so close to breaking the door down that Lando spoke; a sweet taste was in his mouth as he walked away. Now, his head just felt heavy, and his mouth was dry. "What's up," Oscar spins, almost headbutting Lando, who was smiling like nothing happened. It did nothing to calm Oscar's nerves. "Lando," Oscar reaches out, but Lando pulls back, fixing his curls, placing his hat on top, and smirking. "We've got a video to film, and say how I finished last and to trust the process." Lando skips slightly, heading up the stairs. 

"You didn't finish last," Lando stops, turning around and looking at Oscar. "What?" Oscar clears his throat, looking away as he rubs the back of his neck. "You didn't finish last, I did." Cocking his head to the side, Oscar tries hard to keep himself together. Lando looks like a baby owl in his mind when he does that. "I DNF'd first; technically, I finished last." Lando snickers, covering his mouth before it escapes, and it turns into a huge body laugh. 

Oscar freezes. Hearing Lando laugh flustered him; something in him wanted to hear Lando's laugh more than anything in the world. His lips quirk up, turning into a full-blown smile. "Yeah," Lando catches a breath and gives him a gorgeous smile, lighting up Oscar's face. Yeah, you're right." Lando turns around, walking up the stairs, but Oscar stays still, Lando's laugh ringing in his ears, perfect little bells. 

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

"Can I meet him, pleaseeee," Oscar sighs as you lay on his massage table, giving him puppy eyes and a lovely view of your cleavage. "Y/n, can you let me get dressed before you're hounding me about my teammate," You groan and flip around, buttoning up your lilac shirt. "We're in Australia, and I still haven't met him; it's literally 3 hours before the race; it's like you're trying to keep him away from me," Pouting, Oscar tries hard not to take you again to the table. 

"I'm not keeping him from you, maybe lessening the blow." You mock gasp and sit up fast. Oscar Jack Piastri, how dare you! Are you saying I'm too much?" Oscar settles you with a deadpan look and snorts. "You two together is like an atomic bomb. You'll create chaos." You giggle, knowing it is very accurate. "Nope, I'm not buying it." Truth be told, Oscar was nervous about the two of you meeting. Lando and he had grown close, slightly, but he still had trouble wondering why he craved to hear Lando laugh or smile at him. 

"Welp, don't care," You smack him lightly, and he giggles, squishing your cheeks between his hands, kissing you gently, and then giving you small pecks. Your hands on his waist squeeze as you relish in Oscar's warmth. "You're always so warm," You sigh, burying your head in his chest, Oscar smiles, feeling this tingling feeling in his stomach. "I love you,"

You open your eyes, smiling as you place a kiss right over his heart. Oscar rarely spoke those three words, but you felt like you could breathe when he did. "I love you, and you'll do amazing. And even if you don't, Australia loves and supports you." Oscar smiles, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he kisses you. "Come on, let me introduce you to Lando." Squealing, you jump up and rush out the door, Oscar's hearty laugh following you. 

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

Lando stares at the screen, talking to Will and Jon, pointing at the screens and telling them what he needs fixed or set before the race. He notices movement in the corner of his eye but shrugs it off, directing his attention back to the screen. "Wow, you really are pretty," Lando jumps, turning to see a girl staring at him. "Um, thank you, strange girl," Lando steps back, Oscar rounds the corner, and Lando almost waves him off. Still, when Oscar's eyes land on you, he sees such a softness that he wishes Oscar was looking at him like that. 

"Y/n," You turn and smile, returning to staring at Lando. "I like the beard. It suits you. Your baby face makes you look too much like a baby," Lando blinks as Oscar approaches you, touching your shoulder blades. Lando follows his hand as Oscar slides it down your back to your ass before placing it back on your waist. Oscar looks up and smiles at Lando. Lando looks away quickly. "Thanks, I like my beard too," You smile and move closer to Lando. 

"Woah, I love your eyes," Lando's eyes widened, ripping away eye contact, and he felt panic and bile rising to his throat. He couldn't do that to you, not Oscar's girlfriend. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you nervous," You mumble, stepping back into Oscar's space. "No!" Lando yells, causing some mechanics to look over. He laughs nervously, fidgeting with his race suit. "You didn't make me nervous; I just got anxious when people looked directly into my eyes." You nod, thinking everything over. "Okay, then I won't do that. I'm Y/n, Y/n L/N." You stick your hand out, smiling so brightly. 

"Lando, Lando Norris." "I know," You giggle; Lando blushes and pulls his hand back, rocking on his heels. "She's been wanting to meet you, and finally, she can, which means she'll stop bugging me." Oscar jokes, bouncing his hip against yours. "You've been wanting to meet me?" Something in how he says it has you and Oscar staring at him. He said it in awe that he couldn't believe someone wanted to meet him. "Well, Oscar talks about you a lot, and I've been a fan since you joined F2. Why wouldn't I want to meet you?" Lando is shocked, closing his mouth. 

"Oh, I don't know," You smile and loop your arms together. Lando smiles, enjoying the way you are so relaxed with him. "Oscar, show us around," Oscar stares at the two of you, blinking slowly as he takes in the fact he very much liked the way you two looked together. He was in trouble. 

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

"Stop, I can't," you giggle, trying your best not to choke on your drink. Lando is red in the face, laughing so hard that Oscar growls in embarrassment. "Carlos just doesn't like him, and so Carlos, like, growled, and Oscar turned around and made this little kitten sound." Lando gasps out, which sends you into a new round of laughter. "He caught me off guard!" Oscar tries his best to defend himself e, but it's useless. 

"Guess you've been hanging around Mr. Orange too much," you wheeze out. Oscar reaches over and pinches your side, which makes you yelp and move closer to Lando. "Landooo," you whine and wrap your arms around Lando's neck. "Oscar is bullying me," Oscar rumbles lowly and shakes his head as the food is brought out. 

Lando blushes, feeling how you hold him, before pulling back and sitting in your chair. "I'm really proud of you two. It was a good race, and I avoided the crash. Made me worry," You suck the straw into your mouth and stare at the food on your plate. Lando smiles softly, pushing his caesar salad around. "We did good, and I got points at the home race. Feels good." Oscar smiles, and you lean forward, stealing a kiss before biting. 

"I'm worried," Lando admits, shoving a fork full into his mouth. "Worried about what?" Your voice is muffled as Oscar shakes his head at you, talking with a mouth full. "That the car won't be good, that the upgrades won't work, the fact we have to wait till Austria, and even then, we might not have all of them." Lando spills, Oscar looks down, understanding, but you just shrug your shoulders. "So?" The two boys look up at you, shocked. 

"Who cares? Your fans love you, and they'll support you no matter what. You have faith in your team, right?" Lando nods his head, as does Oscar, which makes your smile grow. "Then you have nothing to worry about. McLaren is a good team. They wouldn't have put you in this position if they didn't think you could." Lando smiles, his eyes soft as you take a hug bite, which has Oscar snicker. "You're eating like a werewolf," Shrugging your shoulders, you swallow before smiling. "Well, you wore me out last night and this morning," you tease. Lando looks away, and Oscar kisses you deeply. "I did," He hums, and you nod, look over at Lando, and quickly sit back. 

"Shit, sorry, Lando," You blush, but Oscar just smirks as Lando nods his head. "It's okay, I've been there," "With Carlos?" You didn't mean to ask, quickly covering your mouth. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked." Waving your hands, Lando chuckles and stops you. "Carlos is like my older brother; he's just very touchy," Lando gets this soft smile on his face, and Oscar can't help but feel something rear its ugly head in his chest. 

"Carlos, he was protective of me for certain reasons. He got worse after Daniel," Lando whispers, and you remember reading about how Lando and Daniel didn't get along in the beginning. "Daniel and I didn't end on good terms, but we're slowly getting there." Oscar stops, trying to understand why Lando looks so hurt. "Hey, some friends go through issues, but it makes the friendship stronger between you two; Oscar and I broke up once," Oscar's head whips to the side, and he feels his wolf cry slightly at the painful memory. 

He was gone a lot, more than needed, Oscar was refusing to explain, and you had enough. Oscar can still remember the hurt he felt when you said you two were done; he threw himself into racing. He worried Mark so much that he called you and asked you to talk to Oscar; he wasn't doing well. "Oscar and I worked it out, and we're more vital than ever. We need the pain to remind us that we're happy." Lando smiles, "Thank you," You giggle and kick his leg. 

"No more mopping. We need Oscar to show us around Melbourne," Oscar groans, throwing his head back. Baby, I told you we have a flight in the morning. We're going back to the hotel." You pout, and Lando decides to join in. Oscar tries to look away but groans loudly. "Okay! Okay, fine, we'll go out, but just no clubs," he begs, looking at Lando for that. "I'm chill with that!" Oscar nods and waves the waiter over. "I'll pay," Lando insists, but Oscar waves him off. "Hey, I should pay, besides my treat," Lando rolls his eyes, but they both stop when the waiter leaves. They turn to look at you, but you just giggle and sip on your drink. 

"You two were having a dick-measuring contest and decided to pay," Oscar snorts and leans in, stealing a kiss. "We both know who'd win that contest," Lando snorts and shakes his head, trying not to think about his teammates, cock. You giggle, a slight blush coating your cheeks, which has Lando thinking about how pretty you look with that blush on your cheeks and hating it wasn't him putting that blush on your cheeks. 

"So, what do you say?" Lando blinks fast as Oscar looks at him, waiting for an answer. I'm sorry, what?" He can't help but fidget with the pinkie ring, something you and Oscar notice he plays with often. We asked if you wanted to come to an old hang-out spot," Lando blinks, thinking it over. He wants to say yes, but he also knows that if he went, he might do something stupid. 

"No, um, I should probably go back to the hotel. Thank you for dinner," Lando stands, legs shaking, and awkwardly pats Oscar's shoulder. And thank you for paying, um yeah, see ya'll." Lando quickly rushes out, Oscar following his movements and then looking at you. "What the hell was that?" Shrugging your shoulders, you just think how cute and blushy Lando gets. "He's cute. Can we keep him?" 

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

"You're dumb," Lando glares at Charles, ignoring that he is naked with visible love bites that go farther than Lando wanted to know, and Max's hair is wild with lips bruised and swollen. "Shut up," He squeaks, as Charles leans back, rolling his eyes, Max squeezing his boyfriend's thigh, "Charlie, be nice," Max whispers, and Lando envies that. 

Over the years, Lando watched Max turn from this hurt and angry person to one who was now soft and only showed his true love to those close to him. Really, he only showed this side to Lando and Charles, but Max was different from Charles; it was this different, and Lando hated it; he wanted someone to be like that to him. Charles loved Max, faults and all; he thought Max was the Moon to his Sun. 

"What, I'm not going to be nice. He's being dumb," Charles pouts, looking out of the window as Max just chuckles softly, "Lando, you can't just suddenly catch feelings for someone you just met, let alone someone who is dating your teammate," Max is gentle with his words, but yet firm and Lando whines collapsing on the bed. "She's....she's so pretty, I couldn't help staring, and every time Oscar got to hold her, kiss her, make her smile and blush, I felt...jealous," He whispers, burying it in a pillow. 

Charles sighs, running his fingers through the curls he loved playing with when they cuddled. Max smiled at the two of them, Charles mildly annoyed, but Lando was a dear friend, and he'd never turn him awake; Carlos liked to call them a...pack. He didn't know what it meant, but Max explained it was a werewolf term for family, and it made Charles smile. 

"Do you want me to get Carlos?" Max whispers, and Lando cuddles closer to Charles, "No, he's with Rebecca. They're on a date," Charles coos. Let's move Lando closer before the boy stops and quickly backs up. "Clothes," He squeaks; Max chuckles as Charles glares and moves faster than light, coming back wearing underwear and an oversized t-shirt that hangs off his body. "Better?" As they move and curl together, Lando nods, Max moving around to ensure they have everything in reach. 

"Charles, did you ever....hate being a vampire?" Charles grows quiet, thinking over the question. "Yes," He whispers, pain rippling through Max's face, but he hides it, looking at the room service menu. "Really? Why?" Lando always wished he was a vampire, even a werewolf, and thought it'd be easier. "Lando, everyone I loved, I've outlived; I wasn't born a vampire; I was turned, unwilling; it was.....horrible. Being turned, it's like acid as your blood, and then just silence. My family, I watched them all pass away, and for a while, I was alone, but I'm not, not anymore." Lando makes a face, seeing the love between his two friends, but he's glad Charles shouldn't be alone. 

"Can I stay here? I don't want to be alone," Max puts the menu down, hugging Lando and nodding. "You can stay here however long you want," 

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

"Fuck!" Lando slammed the helmet into his driver's room, breathing heavily as the Miami heat got to him. His skin was dry, and he was uncomfortable; the dry humid had been pinching at him with each guess, the team trying their best to keep him hydrated. "Lando, here," Jon shoves a water bottle in his face, Lando slapping it away, eyes shimmering. 

"Okay, okay, I'm going to make an ice bath, okay," Jon whispers, knowing Lando was tittering on the edge, his powers starting to form little knives. Lando gasps, nodding his head as Jon slips out. Lando growls, trying to remove his fireproofs, but can't the proofs becoming a second skin, and it was starting to make him antsy. "Lando, you okay in here?" Lando freezes, hearing Oscar's worried tone, "Lando? I'm coming in," 

Lando doesn't even fight; he's just drenched in sweat and looking on the brink of passing out. "Lando," Oscar whispers, shocked as he trips over his feet and rushes towards his teammate. Oscar, help, hot," Lando gasps, tugging sluggishly at his fireproof. Okay, okay, hang on," Oscar kneels, gently pushing Lando down, and his fingers burn Lando's skin, making him whine. 

"Sorry, werewolf thing," Oscar jokes, but Lando is too exhausted to do anything. Oscar moves carefully and gently, pulling the fireproof off, hissing at the heat rolling off Lando's skin and how sickly grey he almost looks. "Lando, what do you need?" Jon bolts into the room and stares wide-eyed at Oscar but quickly removes the fireproof. Help him into the ice bath. Come on." Oscar quickly shoulders Lando's weight, and Lando whines at the heat Oscar is putting off but can't shrug him away as they drag him to the ice bath. 

"Help him in," Jon groans. They lift Lando into the tub and watch as some color comes back to his skin; his eyes are no longer dull or lifeless. "Lando, Lando, you okay?" Oscar whispers, his chest tight with worry, almost feeling sick. "He'll be alright, just he didn't stay hydrated enough," Jon tries to excuse, but Oscar whips around, growling lowly. "This isn't simple dehydration. This was more. What the hell," "Oscar, it's none of your business," Oscar whips around to see Andrea and Zak staring at him. 

"None of my," Oscar stops, feeling that anger claw at his throat before taking a deep breath and nodding his head, casting a look over his shoulder; he feels that protectiveness calm in his chest, seeing Lando looking more alert but still drowsy. "Just tell me when he's okay," Oscar whispers, moving past the team and to his driver's room, where you lay on the little couch, curled up, asleep. 

Leaning against the door, Oscar takes deep breaths, trying to understand what just happened. "Osc, what's wrong?" His eyes move over you, and he smiles gently, but it's useless. You can tell something is wrong. "Did something happen to Lando?" Pushing his body off, the weight of everything comes crashing down, putting together the puzzle pieces. 

"What do you know about Sirens?" 

[wildflower-cth]

Sorry if it's too much but the need to ride lando is so out of control. Also just imagining his abs becoming wet and glistening makes me 🫠🫠

A/N: I don't write smut often but hey let's try it out

"Fuck," He groans, head bending back and showing off that thick neck you love so much. The two of you had no idea how you got here one moment you were cooking dinner, he came home from the gym, and next thing you know you're both on the kitchen floor.

"Don't fucking stop," You whimper, both your hips meeting each other as you move back and forth, your shirt was off but Lando had messily pulled your underwear to the side as he slide into you. "God damn, never." He gasps as you move your hands shakily into his hair and he moves up taking one of your tits into your mouth, sucking and biting it, laying claim to your body.

You slow down your movements which draws out a whimper from him as you catch your breath, moving in slow half circles almost never completing a full circle which was driving him crazy. "Y/n, baby." He pulls off and moves kissing you deeply and slowly, his tongue licking you like he was eating your pussy again and god it had your body burning with fire.

You change the tune and move your hips back and forth but snapping forward and then speeding it up but slowing it down and Lando whimpers and pulls back with his head making a thump on the floor. "Feel so good in me, bay." Your hands splash over his abs, that are glowing with the light sheen of sweat from his workout and now and his cheeks flushed with a light pink. It made you want to take a picture of it.

His hands move up your thighs and rest on your hips, helping you bounce and also keep you from falling off. "Shit, Lando, I can't hurt." Lando moves wrapping his arms around you and pulls out, slowly and picks you up and places you on the counter. "You alright?" He asks, and tsks seeing your knees, bruised. "A little sore but okay," You comfort him, and he nods but you know later he'd be rubbing them and apologizing.

"Lans," He snaps his head back up and smiles at you, "Ready?" He asks, lining himself up and you nod your head. He slides in and you whimper, he always stretched you out so good and made you feel full. "I've got you," Your head lolls forward and drops on his shoulder as he moves slowly, taking his time taking you apart piece by piece.

"I love you," He whispers, and you moan when his thumb rubs your clit in slow circles as he moves harder, but a slow pace. "Lans, going to cum." Lando smiles and kisses you gently as he swallows up your moans and wraps his arms around you and pulls each and last part of you apart as you go tight before slacking in his arms.

Lando hums, rubbing his hands down your back and peppering kisses over you. "Come on," He whispers, and on his own shaking legs, pulls out of you slowly, you whimper at the loss and sensitivity as he carries you through the house, wrapped around him like a koala as he turns on the bath.

"I've got you,"

[wildflower-cth]

SENSITIVE — MV1 (18+)

pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader

summary: you wanted to see for yourself if the rumour was true. or i am obsessed with the idea of max having nipple piercings.

tags: smut, needy max, equally needy reader, they love teasing each other that's all i can say.

word count: 1.5k

minors dni!! warnings underneath ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

warnings: p in v, unprotected sex, cumming inside, dirty talk, not public sex but definetly risky

“I can’t believe I’m doing this” Max’s voice sounded both worried and excited as he locked the restroom door. You leaned against the washstand, propping yourself in a way you were almost sitting, but not quite; a teasing smile spread across your lips upon seeing his hands reach for his white shirt and unbutton it.

Pulling it out the inside of his pants, he made sure to undo all of the buttons until he fully opened the shirt, exposing his bare skin and – what you were most excited to see – his nipple piercings. Eyebrows raised, you nodded, biting your lower lip in admiration of both the visuals he was providing and the daring attitude he possessed.

“Believe me now?” he asked, tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek tauntingly. You ran a hair through your hair while answering his question, watching him getting closer to you with a grin on his lips and a fervent look in his eyes. Reaching you, he placed his hands on either side of you, his frame caging you as he looked down into your eyes.

“Is it true they make you more sensitive?” you asked with a giggle, not moving the rest of your body now, aware of the intense atmosphere you were now sharing. He chuckled with you, looking to the side as if confirming the door was indeed locked and you were safe, at least for a few minutes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His face was so close to yours, literally hovering above you, and you could see his chest rising and falling with every breath, glistening with slight sweat. “Are you daring me?” you raised an eyebrow at him as you saw him licking his lips at the question and lowering his gaze to your body – your dress highlighted some of your best features and left the others bare for him to explore with his hungry eyes.

Max leaned back, exposing himself to you more, an open invitation to test your theory – and one he wasn’t fully sure you’d dare to. He knew you were both being careless, that people would definitely notice your absence or eventually want to come to the bathroom themselves. He knew this, and yet he decided to pretend not to know the risks, at least for a while, at least while he could look at you, be alone with his own desire.

You stared at his body before deciding to place your palm on his chest first, noticing how his heart pulsed rapidly with the strength he was using to control himself. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you leaned in, tongue out, before placing it on his right nipple. He shivered with the sudden touch, the warmth of your tongue exploring him, a groan escaping his lips shyly. You pulled away while giggling, the excitement of teasing him making your own body ache.

“Well, theory confirmed!” you said, patting his chest almost mockingly, watching him run a hand through his dirty blonde hair. “Don’t do this to me” he said, half serious, half smiling himself, pushing himself against you so you could feel his erection against your core. You brought your mouth close to his ear, “and why not, Max?”

Almost in defeat, he leaned his head on your shoulder. Part of you was sure he was going to beg for it, and you pulled his shirt as if in preparation for it, pulling him closer. Yet, that wasn’t what came out of his mouth. “Because you want it as much as I do” his head raising again and staring deep into your eyes.

One of his hands had now been placed on your thigh, thumb caressing it softly while the pressure he was applying on it was hard and needy. Your body vibrated with the sensations that spread across your skin, and Max crumbled completely.

Losing his control entirely, he brought his lips to yours, kissing you roughly and feverishly, as if he had been containing an urge for too long. Your body melted as you reciprocated his kiss, his tongue grazing your lips before biting you, a whimper escaping your lips as he did so.

“You like that?” he mumbled, his hips grinding against you already, anticipation travelling throughout his body. You could only murmur in affirmation as he stood back to look at you, still holding you in place by the thigh, using his other hand to lower his pants. He was aware of the fact that you both had to be quick, the shortness of your dress helping tremendously with it, his head moving to the side as if in preparation.

Working on himself, he let his hand explore your body upwards and upwards, reaching your underwear. Through it, he could already feel how wet you were, and he let his fingers softly caress your clit with a triumphant smile. “Theory confirmed” he used your previous words against you, and you threw your head back with pleasure. “Screw you” you managed to say between breaths, holding his arm in place as he sped his movements.

“If you build it, I’ll come” he replied, and the way he managed to be so cocky even in moments such as these, even though just minutes later he was groaning as you had his nipple in your mouth, just intensified your need for him. As if guessing this just from your blissed expression, Max teased your entrance with his cock, letting it rub against your clit, your underwear pushed to the side hurriedly.

“Fuck” you cursed, your body aching for him. He was feeling almost desperate himself, giving up on his attempts to steady his breath completely. However, he did not want to stop teasing you, looking at your flushed cheeks and open mouth being worth the self control he had to possess. He brough his tip to your wet pussy, sliding so well he almost crumbled completely. Your gasp of pleasure made it all worth it, and your cry of frustration as he pulled himself out drove him absolutely insane.

The way you craved him made him dizzy, intoxicated with your drunkenness of him, having you all for himself the way you were in that moment being almost a dream. You stared at his bare chest, at the metal on his nipples that made him look so sensual, made you hungry for him in all of the meanings the word could have. Max noticed you staring, and dared you to fulfill your desire once more. “You want it” he whispered, head cocked to the side in defiance.

You would do anything for him at this point, needing his body in such a carnal desire you couldn’t form a coherent though anymore. His throbbing erection was already coated in your wetness and his precum, yet he waited for your mouth before entering you.

You loved feeling the reaction his body had inside yours, how he began to completely lose himself as soon as your tongue teased his nipple, playing with it unconsciously. Your movements were frantic, yet his were rough and thrilling, having little to no rhythm in his thrusts. The unexpectedness of it had you both feverish, climax being so close.

Max’s previously closed eyes opened and were met with your reflection, his hands on your hair as he buried himself inside you, the sight driving him insane. “Fuck you feel so fucking amazing” he growled, his pace quicker. All you could do was moan his name as he now held your head against his chest, your cries filling his ears.

“You want to walk outside with my cum inside you?” he asked, the fear of the question being too much or too risky not in his head anymore, nothing else possessing him except for the pleasure of being inside you. You could only nod against his skin, but that seemed to not be enough. Pulling you by the hair with just enough strength, his thrusts not stopping despite his closeness to climax, he asked once again “you need to be clearer than that.”

“Yes, yes” you said, the words coming out beggingly and louder than you expected, his hand coming to cover your mouth in sudden consciousness of being heard. “Fuck, you want… want everyone to know… you’re mine?” Max asked, sure that your answer would drive him to his release.

Staring at your teary eyes that could barely remain open due to sheer fulfilment, he felt himself convulsing inside you. The feeling of his warm cum inside you was your tipping point, your own body shuddering against his, loud moans muffled by his hand which you kissed in gratification.

Both of you breathed heavily, him still inside you as he tried to gain the strength to pull himself out. You both knew how you looked: flushed cheeks, messy hair and swollen lips – none of it indicated anything other than We Just Had Sex. Somehow, maybe due to how lightheaded you both felt, you laughed together, but that happiness would soon disappear.

A knock sounded and both your heads shot to the door. “Hello? Is this taken?”

“Fuck” you said in unison.

[wildflower-cth]

any wildest fantasies?

being loved or something

[wildflower-cth]

| MATCHING PAJAMA PANTS AND LATE NIGHTS ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando x reader

ꕥ summary: how lando spends the holiday season with his girlfriend.

ꕥ authors note: didn't know what type of christmas imagine to write tor lando so I just decided to do this <3 also I'm impatiently waiting for the mini vegas helmet of his I ordered (I'm just a teenage girl <3)

ꕥ warnings: suggestive words

THE HOLIDAYS WITH LANDO NORRIS consisted of a few must-do things. ever since he started dating her, there were things he had to do with every celebration, christmas being no exception.

MATCHING PAJAMAS AND LATE NIGHTS ON SNOWY ROADS

a good portion of the season was spent in the warmth of his mclaren, driving through snowstorms with the heat blasting and whatever music their hearts desired. they'd yell the lyrics at the top of their lungs, breaking into laughter with every voice crack and anytime they'd forget a word. lying on the hood of his car to stargaze on the outskirts of the city where light pollution hadn't yet touched the sky. all in their matching pajama pants.

if he didn't have as much money as he did, he'd surely have spent it all on matching sets for the two of them to wear all throughout the holiday season.

he adored the matching sets they wore together, smiles gracing his face as he stared at her lovingly as she wore the patterned pajamas he'd picked out. there was something so heart-warming to see her wearing the same thing he did.

he loved laying around the house in each other's presence, words unspoken would be exchanged through actions such as simply lifting the sherpa blanket one was under to invite the other into the comfort of their warmth, wrapping themselves in each other's arms or slipping into the same hoodie as she laid on his chest. they'd lay on their couch by the apartment window, watching the snow fall through the spot on the window they wiped with their hands.

decorating the christmas tree with ornaments passed down from generations, telling fond stories with each trinket and heirloom in their possession. it inevitably brought them closer to share such a peace of life and tradition with each other that they'd honor closely. he'd tell her stories of his childhood where he'd place various decorations on the tree, watching her inspect them in her hands. they'd been passed down from his parents to him to share with his love, though they'd visit his parents for a portion of the holidays.

ynusername

liked by landonorris and 32,283 others

ynusername I love the winter weather because I've got my love to keep me warm

view all 1,929 comments

oscarpiastri made me third wheel, but didn't even tag me.

ynusername we kind of forgot you were there

oscarpiastri yeah. I know.

user not them forgetting about poor oscar in the backseat 😭

landonorris he's fine

SKIING AND SNOWBALL FIGHTS

trips to various snowy countries and vast mountains were inevitable, despite lando traveling quite often for his career. he'd love ski trips before and even more so with her involved. he'd help her gear up, teaching her the way to do it without falling on her face so she'd be able to keep up with him. starting out, he'd rush to her every fall, cooing at even the slightest bruise forming, kissing it with his cold lips. but as she improved, she could find him bent over laughing, hand on his stomach before he'd trek his way to give her a helping hand.

late nights after skiing turned to snowball fights in the dark between the group that shared the cabin. lando often brushed off his girlfriend's attempts to give him a jacket, claiming he'd be fine. he'd end up getting sick and she'd be the one to take care of him.

landonorris

liked by ynusername and 502,827 others

landonorris ouch ☹️

view all 5,102 comments

ynusername I won the snowball fight

landonorris you only won because you nearly gave me a concussion

oscarpiastri she nearly did us a favour there

user why does lando never wear a coat 😭

ynusername I've been asking the same thing

user bro is just built different

lilymhe why is yn on the ground ?

landonorris I tackled her 😊

user BBYE NOR PQNDO ADMITTINT HE TAKXLED HIS GITRIENR 💀

ynusername the spelling goes crazy

BAKING AND BOARD GAMES

double dates were a frequent go-to thing between the couple and their friends, alex and lily. it was a good time for the couples to hang out and catch up from the chaos from the season. mostly organized by their girlfriends who simply wanted to spend more time together, and the boys being dragged along, mostly alex. lando was the one who had clung to his girlfriends arm, begging him to let her go, and it was only fair to make alex go with too.

they'd frequent christmas markets, with lando spending an unnecessary amount of money on anything his girlfriend pleased because he loved to spoil her, despite the comments of others saying she was using him for it. he'd gladly let her though.

they'd walk with mugs of hot chocolate steaming out of the cup with whipped cream and peppermint sticks. she'd laugh at her boyfriend for the whipped cream on his upper lip, lily joining in when alex had gotten the same style of white mustache. she'd withhold the napkins from his grasp, enjoying the sight before her as lando tried to reach around her back where she'd hide them in her palm. he'd gotten so close to her face, he'd smudge the cream across her lips too.

"that's what you get!" he'd exclaim to her before laughing it off and wiping away the remnants that smeared across her face with the swipe of his thumb. he'd suck off the sweet, watching how her eyes dilated and her throat move as she gulped.

he leaned in close to her ear, whispering to her so the other couple wouldn't hear, "I bet you'd taste sweeter." he'd pull away to watch her face malfunction, as she'd open her mouth but words failed to form as her face became red and flush. she'd end up just shoving him by the shoulder, pushing the napkins into his hands.

landonorris

liked by ynusername, alexalbon, and 628,910 others

landonorris she does NOT mess around when it comes to monopoly

tagged—ynusername, alexalbon, and lilymhe

view all 3,820 comments

user STOP THE DOUBLE DATE

user I know right 😭😭😭 I'm so painfully single

alexalbon yn is on board game ban

ynusername ☹️

alexalbon you bit me

ynusername I'm just a teenage girl

alexalbon you're 22

ynusername don't remind me

user not alex and yn bickering like siblings 😭😭😭

user right?! like the duo we never knew we needed

ynusername he's too ugly to be my brother

alexalbon you'd be adopted.

ynusername 😧

user no one asking what they even made like I wanna know

oscarpiastri something burnt probably

landonorris you weren't even there though

ynusername it was definitely burnt though and all lan's fault.

user yn calling him lan 🥺

ICE SKATING AND CANDLE-LIT READS

rinks set up around london would be occupied by the group of couples who'd find themselves falling over laughing as they tripped over the ice. they'd fail to keep their balance as they skated around the ice. he'd be bent over tying her skates as she watched from over his shoulder, carmen and george and alex and lily as the couples gripped each other for dear life. she'd break out into a toothy smile, exciting looking back at her boyfriend as he'd finish lacing her skates, watching her breath exhale from her nose, the pink across her face from the chilling cold.

she'd stumble on her feet at the unfamiliar feeling of walking across the ground to the gate that'd lead then onto the ice, taking the intial step with her boyfriend not far behind. his gloves hands firmly placed on her hips, making her stomach flutter even though she'd felt his hands on her numerous times before.

they'd fall countless times, racking up the number of bruises on their body that lando would later kiss it better as she laid in bed. candles lit as the only light in the room as she read. she knew it was bad for the eyes, but it was a one time thing—not.

he'd lift the cloth that covered her body, kissing every mark that ruined her even skin, which proved to be majorly distracting to her reading—his plan all along as she'd engross herself between the pages of whatever novel she'd held. moving his warm breath across her skin, from her arms to her waist and hips to the sides of her thighs where her breathing got particularly shallow. he'd groan when she tried to push him away, though he knew not in disinterest.

ynusername

liked by landonorris, lilymhe, and 71,927 others

ynusername

view all 2,928 comments

user THE SNOOPY SHEETS

user id like to think lando sleeps peacefully in her girly bed.

ynusername he does

landonorris I can't believe you just told them that

ynusername I'd post the proof

landonorris YOU HAVE PROOF?

lilymhe post it

ynusername for my queen, yes

landonorris NO

user YN BLACKMAILING LANDO IS CRAZY

user I aspire to be like them

they'd end up at his family's house for the rest of the christmas holidays, spending times in front of the fireplace with boards games at their feet—shed play over lando's shoulder despite being on ban.

eventually she'd shove him from his place and take over—he just couldn't do it like her.

"what the hell?"

"lan, you suck, just let me play!"

"you're banned from playing!"

"ok and?"

[wildflower-cth]

LANDO THE MAN THAT YOU ARE!!!!🧡🧡🧡🧡

[wildflower-cth]

please keep me in your prayers, I've become unwell

[wildflower-cth]

blurbs & drabbles

hi! here are my blurbs, drabbles and everything in between!

please don’t repost my work anywhere without my consent bc that would make me very sad!

some works contain smut! minors dni!! all works come with warnings above the cut, read at your own discretion

-

lando norris

just friends

fragile!

flashing lights

please

vampire (missing link)

then and now (missing link)

romanticise this

thigh riding

lewis hamilton

still i rise

charles leclerc

monza or mcdonald’s? a race suit debacle

george russell

you and george need some grown up time but your daughter doesn’t allow that…

daddy’s girl

make me your queen

the checo vendatta

lance stroll

you’ve got commitment issues, lance tries to fix that for you

oscar piastri

vampire

rookie of the year (missing link)

[wildflower-cth]

it’s always been you ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

lando norris & fem!reader

— in which you’re best friends with lando and after he wins p2 in singapore, things feel different and you can’t help but wonder if he feels it too.

author’s note: thought i would post something written for a change. i’ll be opening requests for some written work for lando, charles & carlos if you want to send some in! happy reading. kay xo

masterlist

Something about tonight felt different.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol already going to your head making it a little hazy, or if it was because of the sheer amount of happiness and pride you felt for Lando winning his second P2 podium in a row, or if it was because of a double papaya podium… just something felt different. A good different, though.

You place down your glass on the closest surface and lean against the wall, your eyes slowly taking in the room full of orange t-shirts until your gaze finally lands upon your best friend and his teammate: Lando and Oscar.

They were smiling and goofing around with their trophies — pretending to have a sword fight and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at their childish behaviour. Boys will be boys.

Your eyes quickly drift to the door, a few people were hovering around the open doorframe and you spotted a glimpse of red. You guess Carlos was here to congratulate his old teammate on his podium, and to also bask in the feel of his previous team giving him a congratulatory pat on the back for winning P1.

Carlos steps further into the room, his head turning right and left to find Lando, but he spots you first and gives you a cheeky grin.

You smile back, your hand automatically waving at him. He turns and moves in your direction, a bottle of beer suddenly in his hand. “You not having fun, Y/N?” He asks as he now stands in front of you.

“Having the time of my life.” You answer honestly. “I’m very proud of you. You did incredibly well out there. Congratulations.”

Carlos’ cheeks redden slightly and he reaches for your hand, giving it a light squeeze. “You were watching, I couldn’t lose and embarrass myself in front of my muppet friend’s girlfriend.”

Your stomach flips at his words. “We’re not dating. We’re best friends, you know that.” Even though you weren’t together, saying that put a sharp edge in your chest. Weird.

“But do you know that?” Carlos lets go of your hand and takes a long swig of his beer. He looks over his shoulder and spots Lando talking with Oscar and Zak Brown. “I better go and get my ego boosted. See you later.”

You nod, a small smile on your face. “See you.”

You watch Carlos walk away, a few crew members shaking his hand and dabbing him up until he reaches Lando and the others.

You pick up your glass again, taking a sip of whatever liquid is left and you pull your phone out of your pocket. As much as you want to watch from across the room at Lando being his happiest, you felt the sudden urge to see what his fans were saying online.

Without a doubt, you knew they’d be over the moon and showing their love and support towards him. But what you didn’t expect was the love and support towards you.

Yes, you were at most of the races in the Mclaren paddock cheering him and Oscar on, but you were always in the back, hardly being shown on camera.

There were comments about how you aways wore something orange on race day, even if it didn’t go with your outfit. Some people were saying you were Lando’s lucky charm. Others said that they can feel the love you have for him through their screens and vice versa.

Were others seeing something you weren’t? Did people really think you were dating even when—

“Someone’s being antisocial.” That all too familiar voice pulls you out of your deep social media bubble.

You put your phone back in your pocket, your eyes finding Lando’s and your heart suddenly skips a beat. Oh. So that’s why tonight felt different.

All of a sudden you felt hot; like the room had been set on fire. “You okay?” Lando tilts his head to the side, his hand finding yours and pulling you closer toward him. “Is the party boring you?”

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak because you know for a dact you’d blurt the wrong thing out.

Lando squints his eyes at you, his gaze quickly flitting from your lips to your empty glass and then back to your eyes. He’s so good with eye contact you feel your knees start to feel weak. “Lando…”

“Hm?” He brings his other hand to push your hair out of your face— an act he’s done countless times before, but now… it feels completely different. “We can leave if you want. I’ve spoken to everyone, there’s no one left to tell me how good of a driver I am.”

You roll your eyes but you can’t help but smile at him. He smiles back, the small wrinkles appearing by his eyes. “I want to stay. But… but I think we have to talk?”

“Have I done something?” His smile drops before he sees you shaking his head. A confused expression takes place instead. “What’s up? Talk to me.”

You look over his shoulder to find Carlos lifting his eyebrow up at you and smiling a very knowing smile. Goddammit, he was right. “I don’t know how to actually word this…”

Lando nods his head, “It’s fine. Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

You stare at his hand still holding your own. His thumb absentmindedly rubbing against the back of your hand and you feel warmth bloom in your chest. “Okay, alright. I’m just gonna say it, no beating around the bush.” You lift your head up and stare into his beautiful blue eyes. “Tonight… something about tonight felt different the moment I saw you up on that podium, and then I was watching you from across the room and I don’t know— it feels right being here. And then Carlos comes over and says that I’m your girlfriend and something about that sounded good to me? But I said we were only best friends and as soon as those words left my mouth my chest hurt, almost like I didn’t want that to be true.”

It takes Lando a few seconds to process what you were saying. “Wait, you don’t want to be friends anymore?”

You shake your head and he drops your hand. Shit. “No! Oh my God, no. That’s not what I meant. Obviously I want to be friends, but, I don’t know, just… more than friends?”

Lando takes a deep breath, “Oh thank God. I thought you were trying to break up with me.”

You shake your head. “Never in a million years would I dream of doing that.”

The air around you cools and you notice a weight has lifted off your shoulders that you didn’t even know existed. “And to answer your question— absolutely.”

Your eyes widen. “Absolutely?”

Lando nods. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

copyright to @mclanorizz 2023.