an: i have this delusion that i could 100% change his bad habits because i work as a personal assistant and have experience in childcare. so enjoy this. also if you struggle with mental health, always know im here to talk <3
summary: lando norris, f1 golden boy who hasn’t slept properly in months and lives off protein bars gets assigned a carer by max who reminds him to eat, sleep, and maybe feel something other than anger or guilt. she brings flowers into his sterile flat and hides his gym clothes so he’ll actually rest and he lets her. and somewhere between her gummy vitamins and his races, he realises he doesn’t just need her, he wants her too.
wc: 10k
“ABSOLUTLEY NOT.”
Lando stood in the middle of his sparsely furnished flat, arms folded, jaw tight. The overhead light flickered once, as if in protest too. Max, seated on the battered grey sofa with a cup of tea he’d made himself, simply raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve not eaten today, have you?”
“I had a protein bar.”
“That doesn’t count, mate.”
Lando’s eyes flicked to the side. He knew Max was right. The protein bar had been from the stash he kept in his gym bag, a dry, tasteless thing that barely passed as food. Still, admitting that would mean giving ground, and he wasn’t in the mood.
“I don’t need a bloody babysitter,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “I’m not eighty-five.”
Max sighed, setting down his tea with the sort of calm that only long-suffering best mates could master. “She’s not a babysitter. She’s… a carer. Technically.”
“Oh, brilliant. Even worse.”
The silence that settled wasn’t comfortable. Outside, the steady hum of Monaco traffic drifted through the slightly ajar window. Somewhere below, someone shouted about bin day. Lando raked a hand through his curly brown hair and paced towards the kitchen. Max didn’t need to follow him to know what he’d find.
The fridge opened with a creak. Lando grimaced. A carton of milk two weeks out of date. Half a wilted bag of spinach. One lonely caprisun.
“See?” Max called from the living room. “You need someone to help.”
Lando shut the fridge, harder than he needed to. “I’m not broken.”
“I didn’t say you were. But you’re not exactly in one piece either.”
That one landed. He leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly. His eyes were tired, darker than usual, with the tell-tale puffiness that came from pushing through sleepless nights. After a bad race, it was always the same: the silence, the self-punishment, the long hours in the gym until his arms shook, or the empty buzz of late-night gaming until sunrise blurred into morning.
Lando wasn’t cruel, not to others. But he was brutal to himself.
Max stepped into the kitchen, soft-footed. He opened the cupboard, plucked a cereal bar, and tossed it to Lando. “Just give her a week. One week. If it’s hell, I’ll back off. You can go back to forgetting to eat and dying slowly. Deal?”
Lando caught the bar, didn’t unwrap it. He stared at it like it might explode. After a long moment, he gave a non-committal grunt.
“Fine,” he said at last, eyes flicking up. “But just a week.”
The doorbell rang at exactly ten o'clock.
Lando was on the sofa, one leg slung over the other, arms crossed, face unreadable. He hadn't shaved that morning. Or the one before, probably. Max, already halfway to the door, shot him a look.
“Try to smile, yeah?” he muttered.
Lando didn't answer. Max opened the door.
“Hiya,” came a warm, bright voice. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure which buzzer it was. I guessed.”
“You guessed right.” Max smiled, stepping aside. “Come in.”
She stepped over the threshold with a kind of lightness Lando noticed but didn’t comment on. Trainers, jeans, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder. She didn’t look like a carer, whatever that meant. But then again, what did he expect? A clipboard and scrubs?
Her eyes flicked to him on the sofa and lit up with a friendly smile.
“You must be Lando.”
“I must be,” he said, dryly.
Max shot him a warning look. She didn’t seem fazed, though. Just walked in like it wasn’t a battlefield.
“I’m here for the trial week,” she said cheerfully, pulling out a small notebook. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take over your life. Just nudge it in a slightly healthier direction.”
Lando snorted. “Great. Can’t wait to be nudged.”
Max coughed to hide a laugh.
She sat on the armchair across from him, perching rather than settling, like she didn’t want to assume too much. Lando appreciated that. A bit.
“So,” she said, flipping open the notebook. “What’s your usual routine, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Train. Race. Gym. Repeat.”
“And food?”
He shrugged. “When I remember.”
“Sleep?”
Another shrug. “When I can.”
She smiled, scribbling something down. “Right. Noted.”
Lando tilted his head. “You’re very… upbeat.”
“Would you rather I was miserable?”
“No, just…” He waved a vague hand. “You’re in a flat with a stranger who clearly doesn’t want you here. I’d be a bit put off.”
“Well,” she said, closing the notebook, “I’m not easily put off. And you don’t scare me.”
That surprised a breath of laughter out of him, more exhale than anything, but it was the closest he’d come to smiling in days. Max looked between them, pleased.
“She’s good,” he said to Lando. “Give her a day. You’ll be grateful by tonight.”
Lando leaned his head back on the sofa, eyes half-closing. “We’ll see.”
She stood up. “I’ll pop to the shop, then. I’m sure the fridge is crying for help.”
Max dug into his pocket, handed her twenty euros. “Get whatever you think he won’t argue about eating.”
“Right,” she grinned. “Crisps and biscuits, got it.”
She left with a wink. Lando opened one eye, watching her go. Max gave him a look that was both smug and fond.
“You like her.”
Lando didn’t reply.
But he didn’t protest, either.
He didn’t last long after Max left.
He didn’t announce it, didn’t say goodbye, just grabbed his keys, mumbled something about “needing air” and left her alone in the flat. It wasn’t meant to be rude, not really. He just didn’t know what to do with her being there, so full of smiles and softness and trying. It made his skin itch in a way he couldn’t explain.
So, he went to the gym. Again. Even though his arms still ached from last night. Even though he’d barely slept. He didn’t care. Pushing himself until the edges blurred was easier than sitting in silence with a stranger who was supposed to fix what he wouldn’t admit was broken.
He stayed out longer than he planned. Took the long way home. Wandered a bit, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on despite the fading light. He even stopped off at the corner shop and bought a bottle of water he didn’t want, just to delay the inevitable.
But eventually, the sun started dipping below the Monegasque skyline, and he had no more excuses.
When he opened the door, he paused.
The flat looked different.
Not massively, not like she’d moved furniture or painted walls, but nicer. The blinds had been tugged all the way open, letting the warm orange light of evening spill in. The windows had been cracked open too, letting out the stuffy, lived-in gym-sweat air he’d become nose-blind to. On the kitchen counter sat a small bunch of flowers in an old pint glass, cheap daffodils, probably from the shop down the road, bright yellow and unapologetically cheerful.
And she was cooking.
He blinked.
She hadn’t heard him come in. She had music playing quietly from her phone and she was humming under her breath as she stirred something on the hob. She’d tied her hair up, sleeves rolled, apron on that definitely wasn’t his.
He hovered at the doorway like a ghost.
“I won’t eat fish,” he said, voice flat.
She jumped slightly, then turned to him with a grin, unbothered. “Good thing I’m not making fish then.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“I know,” she added, casually flipping something in the pan. “And you don’t like raw tomatoes. Or coconut. Or mushrooms unless they’re chopped so small you can’t see them. I did my homework.”
He folded his arms, suspicious despite himself. “Homework?”
“Max told me what he could, and the rest I found in old interviews. You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”
He had no idea what to do with that. “Right.”
She nodded towards the side counter. “There are some vitamins over there if you fancy. They’re the gummy ones, so they’re fun to eat.”
Lando turned his head slightly. Sure enough, there was a bottle of multivitamin gummies sitting next to a clean glass of water. He squinted at it like it might bite.
“You think that’s going to fix me?”
“Nope,” she said, flipping off the hob and plating something. “But you’ll taste strawberry and get a vitamin boost, and that’s two good things. Two’s better than none.”
He watched her carry the plate to the table, proper food, he realised. Real stuff. A bit of grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, some sort of green that didn’t look like it came from a packet. She’d even set out cutlery.
“I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered, but his voice had less edge than before.
“No, but your fridge did. Loudly.” She smiled. “Sit down, Lando.”
It was the first time she’d said his name. It startled him, how easily it came out of her mouth, no weight, no judgement, just lightness.
He didn’t move right away. But the flat smelled warm for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. It smelled like food, and flowers, and something gentle he couldn’t place.
Eventually, he sat.
And he took the bloody vitamin.
He started eating without saying much, though to be fair, the food shut him up quickly. It was annoyingly good. Not fancy, not trying too hard, just cooked well. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until the first bite, and now his fork barely paused between mouthfuls.
While he ate, she moved around the kitchen, wiping down surfaces that were already pretty clean, rinsing the chopping board, putting away the little packet of daffodils that had come with the flowers. She was humming again, soft and almost tuneless, like it was more for her than anything else.
He watched her from the corner of his eye.
After a few minutes, he frowned.
“What about you?” he said, voice low. “Are you not going to eat?”
She looked up from where she was drying a mug. “I eat after work.”
He stopped chewing. “That’s weird.”
She laughed, not offended. “Not really. I’m used to it. I don’t like eating in other people’s homes unless I’m invited to.”
“Well… I’m inviting you now.”
Her eyes softened a little. “Thanks. But I’m alright, honestly.”
He stabbed a bit of potato. “Can you at least sit? You’re making me feel like I’m in a restaurant.”
That seemed to surprise her. She blinked, then nodded, pulling out the chair opposite him.
“You’re on edge,” she said gently, not like she was accusing him, just stating it.
He didn’t deny it.
She leaned back in the chair, folding her hands on the table, not trying to fill the silence with too much. Just being there. He hated how much of a relief that was.
After a beat, she tilted her head. “So… do you actually enjoy racing? Or is it just something you’re brilliant at?”
He looked up, fork halfway to his mouth.
“No one’s ever asked it like that before.”
She smiled. “Well, everyone knows you’re brilliant at it. But enjoying it that’s something else.”
He chewed, swallowed, shrugged. “I used to. When I was a kid. I’d sit in front of the telly with my dad and pretend I could hear the engines. I used to think the drivers were invincible.”
Her smile didn’t fade, but it did soften into something more thoughtful. “And now?”
“Now I know they’re not,” he said simply. “Now I know I’m not.”
She didn’t say anything to that. Didn’t rush to fix it or tell him he was, in fact, invincible. Just let it sit there.
He liked that more than he expected.
“You know,” she said after a quiet moment, “I watched last year's Brazil race before I came. The one where it rained.”
Lando rolled his eyes. “That bloody race.”
He didn't think of it fondly, until she spoke again.
“You made that turn like it was nothing. Everyone else looked like they were wrestling their cars, and you just… glided.”
He looked at her properly for the first time that evening. “You watched it for research?”
She nodded. “Had to see what I was dealing with.”
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re very strange.”
“Thank you,” she grinned. “I take that as a compliment.”
He picked up the glass of water next to his empty plate, holding it in both hands. He didn’t know how to name the feeling in his chest, tight and loose at once. Like something had shifted half a centimetre to the right.
He didn’t say thank you.
But he didn’t ask her to leave, either.
The flat had gone quiet again and before he knew it, he’d finished his food and she’d taken the plate.
Lando sat there a while after she’d gone to tidy up again, not quite ready to move. His limbs were warm and heavy with food, his stomach full for the first time in, God, he couldn’t remember. The corner of his eye still caught the flash of yellow from the daffodils. Even the clutter on the coffee table had been gently rearranged, like someone had lived here instead of just existed in it.
He stood eventually, dragging a hand through his hair.
He didn’t say goodnight. But as he passed her, kneeling to organise something ridiculous like the cereal cupboard, he gave her a small nod.
“Night,” she said softly, like she knew he wouldn’t say it first.
By the time he got to his room, he felt it creeping in, the kind of sleep that didn’t come with punishment. Not exhaustion, not collapse. Just rest.
He changed half-heartedly, dropped into bed without bothering to pull the duvet straight.
And for the first time in what felt like months, he didn’t lie there for hours staring at the ceiling.
He didn’t toss or turn or drag himself back up to check his phone, or throw on joggers and go for another run he didn’t need.
He just closed his eyes.
And slept.
Deep. Still. Undisturbed.
He was that comfortable with his sleep he hadn’t even heard her leave.
The trial week came and went, and with that came his little scheduled meeting with Max.
“So,” Max said, leaning back in the café chair, hands wrapped around his coffee. “How’s life with Mary Poppins?”
Lando rolled his eyes, sipping slowly from a mug of hot chocolate that was somehow still hot.
“She doesn’t float in with a brolly, if that’s what you mean.”
“But she’s working, isn’t she?”
Lando didn’t answer straight away. He watched a dog trot past outside the window, nose down, tail wagging. The streets of Monte Carlo were busy with the usual Sunday bustle, people with tote bags full of veg, couples bickering gently over directions, someone playing guitar near the kerb.
He shrugged. “It’s less shit.”
Max smirked. “That’s the highest praise I’ve ever heard you give anyone.”
Lando looked down into his tea. “She’s just easy to be around. Doesn’t treat me like I’m a problem. Or fragile. She just makes dinner and talks about stupid things and leaves vitamins on the counter like it’s no big deal.”
“And you like that?”
“I don’t not like it.”
Max grinned. “So you’re keeping her?”
Lando huffed. “She’s not a goldfish.”
“You know what I mean.”
He didn’t answer at first, and Max let him have the space. There was something behind Lando’s eyes, quieter than before, but still guarded. Except now, the edges weren’t quite so sharp. He looked a little less hollowed out. A little more present.
Lando stirred the drink absently, then said, “I think she’s staying another week.”
Max didn’t say I told you so, but he smiled like he’d already said it a hundred times.
Over the next week, a rhythm began to form.
It wasn’t a schedule, exactly, Lando hated those, but there were now patterns. Gentle ones. He’d wake up to the faint clatter of pans and the smell of food. She never made him breakfast outright, but there was always a plate of something on the side, covered with a tea towel, like it had just happened to be left there.
He’d find his gym gear washed and folded in the same place on the sofa each morning. Not spoken about, just done. Vitamins still by the sink. Her music always low. The flowers in the pint glass had been swapped out for fresh tulips.
He didn’t say thank you. But he noticed.
And he started sleeping better.
Not every night, but more than before. Enough that the dark under his eyes wasn’t as heavy. Enough that the fridge had actual food in it now, and it wasn’t all hers.
By Monday night, she was packing up her bag to go home like usual when he spoke up.
“I leave for Barcelona tomorrow.”
She looked up, bright as ever. “Yup, I know. Made you an airport snack.”
She reached into the fridge and pulled out a tupperware container, sliding it across the counter towards him. The lid was already labelled in biro, ‘Do not open until bored at terminal gate’.
He raised an eyebrow. “You know I fly private, right? They’ve got catering.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “And what are the odds you didn’t reply to the email asking about your dietary preferences?”
He paused.
She grinned.
“Thought so. It’s just a wrap and some fruit. No tomatoes, no weird mayo, no drama.”
He huffed, but he didn’t push it. He picked it up and tucked it under one arm.
“Oh, and,” she added, wiping her hands on a tea towel, “I put a few things on your bed. Clothes you might consider packing. You don’t have to. Just thought I’d save you standing in your pants tomorrow morning wondering what the weather in Barcelona will be, and yes I know you like to dress warm.”
He let out a proper laugh, low and unexpected.
“You’ve done two of my most hated tasks in one night,” he said, eyes warm for a moment. “That’s impressive.”
She shrugged, light as always. “It’s what I’m here for.”
He stood in the doorway, still holding the tupperware, gaze lingering on her longer than he meant to. She didn’t make anything of it, just smiled and went back to packing her bag.
Race weekends were always a blur.
Even after years of doing it, Lando never really adjusted. The heat, the noise, the cameras, the pressure. Spain in May was dry and heavy, the kind of heat that sat on your shoulders and made your helmet feel three sizes too small. Qualifying had been a disaster, traffic, a lock-up, something just off with the rear grip. He was starting further back than he liked. Further back than the car deserved.
He hadn’t spoken to anyone on the cool-down lap.
His engineer had been cautious over the radio, Max had texted a brief ‘rough one. you’ll fix it.’ and that was about it. Lando stayed in his suit too long, helmet off but gloves still on, sitting at the back of the garage with his jaw clenched and a bottle of water sweating in his hand.
Later, after media duties and a cold shower and a half-hearted poke at some pasta, he was lying on the hotel bed, one leg still on the floor, staring at the ceiling when his phone buzzed.
He glanced at it out of habit.
It was a photo.
She was in a little French bar somewhere, low lights, strings of flags, telly mounted high on the wall with the F1 coverage paused mid-graphic. He recognised his own face in the corner, frozen mid-interview. She was holding up a pint of something cloudy, face half in frame, smiling like she’d just bumped into an old mate. A bowl of crisps sat in front of her.
The caption followed a second later:
That quali looked tough. Make sure to have enough electrolytes or a banana.
Lando stared at it for longer than he meant to. Something tugged at the corner of his mouth.
She hadn’t asked how he was.
Hadn’t said you’ll get them tomorrow or you’re still the best or any of the usual platitudes.
Just, looked tough, take care of yourself.
Simple. Uncomplicated.
He let out a small breath of something that might have been a laugh. His thumb hovered over the screen for a second, then tapped out a reply.
They only gave us oranges.
A few seconds passed.
That’s alright. Oranges are just citrusy bananas in disguise.
He shook his head, grinning now, properly.
There was still noise in his chest, frustration, the echo of tyres locking up, but it didn’t feel quite so loud anymore.
And for the first time after a bad Saturday, Lando didn’t feel like running from it.
The flight back to Monaco was uneventful. He slept for half of it, sprawled inelegantly in the reclined seat, his cap pulled low and earphones in with no music playing. His body was tired in that hollow, post-race way, blood still buzzing faintly, muscles tight, but his brain was quieter than usual.
P2 wasn’t bad. Not a win, but solid points. Still, it ate at him.
He arrived home just after midnight. The flat was dark, blinds drawn, the sea outside nothing but soft black noise.
Lando dumped his bag by the door and kicked off his shoes. It should have felt like relief, home, bed, no media duties, but it didn’t. It felt still.
He flicked on the light in the kitchen, expecting nothing.
Instead, there it was on the counter.
A piece of white printer paper, creased slightly down the middle, folded like a school certificate. Hand-drawn, with glitter gel pen of all things.
P2 – WELL DONE, CHAMPION
Underneath, in all-caps block letters, it read:
REDEEM THIS FOR 1 (ONE) FAVOURITE CHOCOLATE BAR, TO BE EATEN IMMEDIATELY.
And there it was. His favourite. Not the obvious one either, the one he used to buy from the corner shop when he was fifteen and couldn’t afford imported Swiss stuff with his pocket money. He hadn’t had one in years.
He picked it up, staring at it like it might disappear.
Beside the certificate was a folded note, written in her loopy handwriting:
I figured you’d want some space after the weekend, so I’m giving you the night off from me.
BUT. Your favourite meal is in the fridge. I expect to see the container empty when I’m back at 7am. I will be checking the bins. I’ve taken the power cable for your PC and hidden your gym clothes, so don’t bother looking. Please sleep. Properly. You’ve earned it x
He read it twice, then once more for good measure.
There was no teasing smile in the room, no hum of music or smell of herbs in the air, but her presence was there, in every corner. Quietly looking after him without needing him to admit he needed it.
He opened the fridge. The meal was there, labelled, still warm enough to be reheated. He didn’t even question how she knew it was his favourite. He just took it out, turned on the oven, and sat at the counter with the chocolate bar already half-eaten.
The flat was silent.
Normally he hated the silence. It stretched and scratched at him until he had to fill it. TV, weights, anything. But tonight it was different.
Tonight, the silence felt... safe. Like something was waiting just out of frame.
And though he’d never say it aloud, not even to himself—
He missed her. Slightly.
Just enough that 7am didn’t feel all that far away.
The first light slipped through the half-open blinds, soft and pale against the dark wood floor.
Lando was already up.
He didn’t mean to be. He’d woken sometime in the small hours, restless, but then the smell of coffee brewing pulled him from the blur of sleep. He found himself in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, the warmth of the oven still humming softly nearby.
The meal was gone. The container clean.
He smiled a little to himself, small victory, at least.
The kettle clicked off, and she appeared in the doorway, hair tied back loosely, eyes bright but gentle.
“Morning,” she said quietly, like she was trying not to wake the flat.
He met her gaze, caught in the calm.
“Morning.”
She reached for the coffee pot and topped up his mug, then poured one for herself.
They stood there for a beat, just the two of them and the quiet hum of the morning.
“Did you sleep?” she asked.
Lando shrugged, but there was something different in his tone. “More than I usually do.”
“That’s good.”
He nodded, watching her move around the kitchen with that effortless ease, putting the chocolate wrapper in the bin, tidying the dishes.
He felt it again. That small, stubborn flicker of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before: contentment.
She looked over her shoulder, catching his eye.
“Race weekend’s done,” she said softly. “You’re home now.”
He gave her a crooked smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes just yet, but was close.
“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”
She blew on her coffee, then glanced over at him with a curious tilt of her head.
“So what do you usually do on days like this? After a race?”
Lando paused, mug halfway to his lips.
“Usually?” he said. “Try not to think.”
She gave a small nod, like she understood exactly what he meant.
“Right,” she said lightly. “So why don’t we go to the beach?”
He blinked. “The beach?”
“Yeah. You know, sand, sea, a bit of fresh air. It’s 27 degrees, the water will be decent. You’ve done all the not thinking bit, now you can do the part where you feel like a person again.”
Lando looked at her like she’d just suggested skydiving. In the rain. Naked.
She met his stare head-on, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile.
“I’m not saying we have to go swimming,” she added. “Just sit. Maybe with a drink. Or ice cream. I’ll bring snacks if that helps.”
He huffed a small laugh. “You’re relentless.”
“I prefer the term optimistic.”
He glanced out the window. The sun was already climbing, a shimmer of gold across the buildings. Monaco in May didn’t waste time. It was exactly the kind of day he’d usually spend in a dark gym or glued to his screen with a headset on.
And yet.
“Okay,” he said at last, surprising even himself. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”
Her smile lit up, bright and immediate. “Brilliant.”
He turned to head for his room. “I’ll grab my stuff.”
“I’ll meet you back here in thirty,” she said, already halfway out the door. “Just need to pop home, get a few bits.”
He nodded. “Alright.”
And then she was gone, the flat felt quieter without her, but not in the lonely way. More like a held breath, waiting.
Lando glanced around, bemused at himself.
The beach. On a Monday.
He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “What am I doing?”
But he was already reaching for his sunglasses.
When she came back, the sun was even higher in the sky and so was something in Lando’s chest. He’d opened all the windows while she was gone, and the breeze drifting through the flat was warm and salt-tinged.
He heard the door go and turned, halfway through stuffing a towel into a backpack.
She stepped into the kitchen in a light summer dress, sunglasses perched on her head, a bag slung over her shoulder. It was nothing dramatic, just something simple and floral, but it suited her. She looked soft, golden in the sunlight, like she belonged exactly in that moment.
Lando’s brain hiccuped. He didn’t say anything but he looked, really looked, and quietly thought to himself.
God, she’s pretty.
She caught his gaze, raised a brow. “What?”
He blinked. “Nothing.”
He slung the bag over his shoulder and nodded towards the door. “We’ve got to go somewhere that’s not Monaco, though.”
She tilted her head. “Why?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “People’ll see. Paparazzi, fans, someone’ll clock it. Me. Us”
Her smile curled. “Us?”
“I just mean—” he started, but she was already grinning wider.
“I know what you meant, so where then?”
“We’ll have to drive into France,” he said, completely serious.
She laughed.
He looked at her. “What?”
“Nothing, sorry,” she said, still smiling. “Just the way you said it like it was just us popping down to the shops.”
He gave her a look, lips twitching. “It sort of is.”
She shrugged, following him down into the garage. “Alright then, France it is.”
The garage was cool and dim after the heat of the morning. Rows of sleek cars sat like sleeping beasts under soft overhead lights. She slowed as they walked, eyes wide.
“Bloody hell,” she murmured. “Is this all you?”
He chuckled, unlocking one of the quieter looking models. “Some are mine. Some are team perks. Some are just there.”
She ran a hand along the bonnet, clearly impressed. “Not bad for a day at the beach.”
They set off, the coast unfurling beside them like a painting. The drive was easy, winding roads and open skies, her hair dancing in the breeze as music played low from the speakers. She sang along quietly to bits she knew. He didn’t join in, but he listened.
And he smiled.
The beach was quieter than expected, a little cove tucked away from the road, shaded by cliffs and speckled with driftwood. They laid their things on the warm sand, and she kicked off her sandals with a sigh.
Lando was laying out the towles when she pulled her dress over her head in one swift motion, revealing a bikini underneath.
He didn’t stare, or at least he told himself he didn’t.
But he did definitely notice.
Something in his stomach dipped for a second, caught between admiration and the very sudden awareness of who he was and who she was.
She stretched like she’d been waiting all day to do it, hair tied up now, skin kissed golden by the sun.
Lando barely had time to take off his own shirt before she looked over her shoulder, grinning wickedly.
“Race you!”
And before he could respond, she was already sprinting towards the sea, feet kicking up soft clouds of sand.
He blinked, startled, then swore under his breath, grinning.
“You little—”
He chased after her, heart thudding, not from the sun. Something lighter than adrenaline, freer than pressure. The breeze bit at his skin, the salt stung his eyes, and the sound of her laugh carried over the waves.
And for the first time in a long time, he felt light.
The sea was warmer than he expected, cool at first touch, then refreshing against his sun-warmed skin.
She was already thigh deep when he caught up, turning to glance over her shoulder with a grin that said you’re too slow.
Lando launched at her.
She yelped, laughing as he caught her around the waist and they both stumbled deeper into the water, waves breaking around them.
“Alright! Alright! Truce!” she shouted, breathless.
But he didn’t let go, just held her steady against the current for a second too long. She looked up at him, cheeks pink from the sun and smiling so wide it almost knocked the breath out of him.
Then, without warning, she dunked him.
His head went under with a surprised splash and he surfaced with a splutter, hair slicked to his forehead and eyes narrowed.
“Oh, you’re done for,” he said, grinning through the water dripping from his lashes.
They splashed and shoved and laughed like children, the kind of silly, harmless chaos that left his chest aching, but not in the bad way.
Eventually, soaked and smiling, they drifted into a quiet stretch of the cove, water up to their waists, the sun casting long golden streaks across the surface.
They talked a bit, nothing too heavy. Favourite ice creams. Embarrassing childhood stories. He learnt she hated the sound of polystyrene, and she learnt he once fell asleep in a bin lorry by mistake during a school trip (real story from me lol).
Time stretched in that slow, delicious way that only seemed to happen when he was with her.
The rest of the day passed in sun-drowsy contentment.
They dried off on the towels, eating snacks and reading bits from a tatty magazine she’d brought on how to impress your manager. She dozed for a while with her arm flopped across her eyes. He sat beside her, knees pulled up, watching the tide roll in and out, trying not to overthink how much peace he felt in that exact moment.
Later, on the drive back, they stopped for ice cream from a stand near the harbour. She ordered something fruity. He got mint choc chip, mostly so she’d stop teasing him for being too grown up and choosing something like coffee.
By the time they were halfway home, the sun had dipped below the hills and she was fast asleep in the passenger seat, head turned gently towards him, mouth parted slightly.
Lando glanced at her, then back at the road. His grip on the wheel softened.
When they got back to the flat, he didn’t wake her.
Instead, he slipped out of the driver’s seat, came round, and unbuckled her gently. She stirred slightly as he lifted her into his arms, warm and still faintly smelling of suncream.
Her head dropped to his shoulder. He didn't say a word, he didn't even breathe.
The lift ride up was quiet. His flat even quieter.
He nudged the door open, padded through the hall, and carried her straight into his bedroom. The sheets were still crisp from the morning, untouched.
He laid her down carefully, brushed a bit of hair from her face. She sighed softly, turning into the pillow like she belonged there.
Lando lingered for a moment.
Then he backed out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.
He crashed on the sofa, limbs heavy but heart oddly light. His damp curly hair pressed against the cushion, and for once, the silence didn’t bother him.
He could still hear her laugh echoing in the waves.
The following morning she woke with a start.
It took her a second to realise where she was, the unfamiliar softness of the duvet, the crisp linen, the faint scent of him on the pillow. Definitely not her flat. And definitely his bed.
“Shit.”
She sat up quickly, heart thudding, scanning the room for her jacket or bag or anything that proved that she hopefully hasn’t slept with him.
The flat was quiet except for the faint sound of something clattering in the kitchen. Not exactly a disaster, but not quite peace either.
She pulled a random hoodie over her head, ran a hand through her tangled hair, and padded out into the main room, bracing herself.
He was in the kitchen. Barefoot, curls a mess, concentration furrowed into his brow as he flipped a pancake that looked… questionably thick.
The pan hissed. The pancake landed mostly where it should’ve.
She crossed her arms, trying not to laugh. “Are you… cooking?”
Lando turned, startled. His cheeks were flushed, not from embarrassment, more from the warmth of the kitchen and the fact he hadn’t expected her to be awake.
“Sort of,” he muttered, glancing down at the half-stack on the plate. “They’re edible. Just about.”
She looked at him, messy-haired, in an old hoodie, trying to figure out if the one in the pan was burnt or just dark golden.
She couldn't help it. She smiled.
“I’m meant to be the one looking after you,” she said, shaking her head.
He rolled his eyes but there was no bite to it. “You fell asleep. I wasn’t going to wake you just to supervise me making average pancakes.”
“Below average.”
“They’re fine,” he defended, lifting one with the spatula. It folded in half on itself. “Okay, they’re character-building.”
She stepped closer, nudging him with her shoulder. “Look at that. First meal you’ve cooked yourself in how long?”
Lando scoffed, but the back of his neck went pink. “Dunno. Ages.”
She tilted her head, eyes soft with something he couldn’t name. “Domesticity looks good on you.”
He froze for a second but he felt the words settle somewhere in his chest.
Domesticity.
Her, here. His hoodie. Pancakes. Morning light.
He looked at her, really looked, and for once didn’t feel the urge to run from the quiet.
Instead, he flipped the final pancake with a slightly smug smirk. “Told you I didn’t need a carer.”
She raised an eyebrow. “One half-decent breakfast doesn’t mean you’re cured, sweetheart.”
He smiled despite himself. Sweetheart.
And just like that, he knew the rest of his day was going to be warm.
She grabbed a plate and scooped a pancake onto it, then passed it over with a cheeky grin.
“Here, try not to burn it.”
Lando took it, biting into the warm, slightly uneven stack. It wasn’t bad. Actually, it was pretty good. The kind of good that made you forget about the mess of your last few days.
He looked up at her, a slow smile tugging at his lips.
“Not bad for a carer’s breakfast, huh?”
She laughed, sitting down at the small kitchen table. “I might have to upgrade you to sous chef.”
He shook his head, but the smile stayed. “You sure you want to get stuck with a bloke who can barely boil water without a minor disaster?”
She reached across the table, nudging his hand lightly.
“I think I can manage.”
There was a pause, comfortable and easy. The sunlight caught her eyes, making them shine in a way that made Lando’s chest tighten just a little.
“So…” she said softly, “how are you, really?”
Lando swallowed, the question catching him off guard. Usually, he brushed it off or changed the subject.
But today, he let it hang in the air.
“I’m… better than I was,” he admitted, voice low. “Being with you, well, it’s different. Less noise upstairs.”
She smiled gently, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the table.
“That’s good,” she said quietly. “You deserve that.”
He met her gaze, a flicker of something like hope stirring beneath the usual mess.
Maybe this was the start of something, not just a routine or a distraction, but something real.
He didn’t know what it was yet.
But for the first time in a long time, he felt like he wanted to find out.
A few days passed in the way only good days do, quietly, comfortably, and all at once.
They fell back into their routine with ease. She was there every morning, bright and soft and organised, keeping him on track without ever making it feel like a chore. Meals appeared when he forgot he was hungry. She swapped out the expired yoghurt in the fridge without saying a word. She scribbled reminders onto post-it notes and stuck them in ridiculous places. On his phone, the bathroom mirror, his steering wheel.
And somehow, despite everything, he was sleeping again for more than 4 hours.
The flat no longer felt too quiet.
He met Max at their usual café down in the port the morning before he flew out to Austria.
Lando slumped into the chair opposite him, hoodie pulled up, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky.
Max gave him a look. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. You dress like a celebrity in hiding but show up to the same café every time.”
Lando smirked, pulling down his glasses. “Creature of habit.”
Max took a sip of his coffee, eyeing him properly now. “You look better.”
Lando blinked. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean, you’re not half-dead,” Max said bluntly. “You’ve got colour in your face. You’ve shaved. I don’t see a Monster can fused to your hand.”
Lando huffed a laugh. “Thanks, mate. Proper confidence boost, that.”
Max grinned. “So she’s working, then.”
Lando paused. Thought about the pancakes. The post-its. The quiet sound of her humming in the kitchen. The way she made the flat feel like something more than just a place he slept in between breakdowns.
“She is,” he said, nodding. “More than I thought, actually.”
Max raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Told you. She’s got that stubborn kind of sunshine thing going on.”
Lando looked out at the boats bobbing gently on the water. “It’s weird. I don’t feel like she’s fixing me. It’s just… I want to keep up. For once.”
Max leaned back in his chair, smiling like he already knew.
“You’ve got someone in your corner now,” he said. “And you like it.”
Lando didn’t answer straight away.
But he didn’t deny it either.
Austria should’ve felt like business as usual.
The team was buzzing, the garage busy, the hotel sleek and sterile in that forgettable sort of way. He’d done this so many times he could go through the motions with his eyes shut, briefings, media, gym, sleep. Repeat.
But something was different this time.
His room was too quiet. His meals, though catered, tasted like cardboard. He’d forgotten to bring his vitamins, and the note she’d once stuck to the inside of his wash bag, remember to be a person, not just a machine, was no longer there.
He missed her. Not just her reminders and routines, but her. The way she’d talk at him while he made coffee, narrating her morning like it was the most important story on earth. The way she hummed while folding laundry. The way she looked at him, not like he was a driver, or a mess, but just… him.
The ache surprised him.
By Saturday night, he was holed up in his hotel room, lights dimmed, race prep done. But instead of watching footage or scrolling, he stared at his phone.
Then, almost on a whim, he opened their chat.
Would you ever come to a race?
Three dots appeared almost instantly. Then disappeared. Then came back.
That’s quite a question. Is this your subtle way of inviting me to Austria?
He smiled. Tapped back.
Austria’s a bit mad. But Silverstone’s next. Thought you might like it. Home race and all that.
The typing bubble came and went again. Then,
We can talk about it when you’re home.
And there it was, that word.
Home.
He stared at the screen longer than he meant to.
It did something to him. Knocked something loose. Not because she’d said it. But because she meant it. Like his flat wasn’t just a stopgap anymore. Like him being away wasn’t permanent.
They’d talk when he was home.
He stared at her last message a moment longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
I’d like you to be there when I get back Sunday night. If you’re free, I mean.
He regretted sending it immediately. Read it back twice. It looked desperate. Or worse, uncertain.
But a reply came a few minutes later.
I’ll be there.
That was it. Simple. Certain.
He smiled. Couldn’t help it.
And for the first time on a race weekend, he couldn’t wait for it to be over, not for the result, but because it meant he’d get to see her again.
Sunday night came fast.
The flight was smooth, the car from the airport quick, but Lando felt that weird tug of nerves all over again as the lift doors slid open to his flat. His bag thumped against his leg. The hallway smelt faintly of fresh linen and vanilla.
She was there.
He could feel it even before he saw her.
When he stepped inside, the lights were low, and something warm flickered in the corner of the living room, a couple of candles, set along the windowsill. The blinds were open, showing off the Monaco skyline in soft golden hues.
She looked up from the sofa, dressed in cosy joggers and a big jumper, her hair tied up, a bowl of popcorn balanced in her lap.
“There you are,” she said, smiling like he hadn’t just spent three days thinking about her.
Lando stepped in, shrugging off his jacket, suddenly very aware of the domesticity he'd walked into. A blanket was draped across the back of the sofa. Two mugs sat on the coffee table, one clearly his, already filled with hot chocolate.
“I wasn’t sure what kind of mood you’d be in,” she said, shifting slightly to make room, “so I picked three films. Comfort, distraction, or dramatic sobbing, dealer’s choice.”
He didn’t speak right away. Just looked around at the quiet little world she’d built for him in his absence.
His shoulders dropped.
“This is nice,” he said, finally. “Really nice.”
She grinned. “Well, I figured if I’m going to keep pretending to be your carer, I might as well offer full post-race recovery packages.”
He laughed, genuinely, the kind that shook a bit of the tension from his chest.
She patted the seat next to her. “Come on then. Sit down before your hot chocolate gets cold.”
And he did, just like that. Kicked off his shoes, slouched onto the sofa, and let his body fold into the warmth of it all. Her shoulder brushed his as she pressed play, and he didn’t move away.
He hadn’t realised how much he needed this.
Not just the quiet, but her quiet.
And as the film played and her head gently tipped onto his arm, Lando let himself enjoy it, just for a while.
Home.
It really did feel like that now.
The following morning he woke with a crick in his neck and the faint scent of her still clinging to the blanket draped over his chest.
The telly had switched itself off at some point in the night. His hot chocolate was long cold. And she was gone, left sometime after the credits had rolled, quietly, without waking him.
But the flat didn’t feel empty.
It felt like she’d just stepped out.
He pulled the blanket closer, burying his face in it for a second longer than necessary. Lavender and laundry powder. Familiar. Her.
Later that morning, she came by as usual, letting herself in with a chirpy “Morning!” and two coffees in hand.
He was already up for once, hair still rumpled from sleep, hoodie creased.
“Sleep on the sofa?” she asked, amused.
“Mm.” He took the coffee gratefully. “Didn’t make it very far after you left. Blanket was too warm.”
She gave him a knowing look but didn’t tease.
They settled at the kitchen table, a shared croissant between them, her notebook open to a new page.
“So,” she said, flicking the cap off her pen, “Silverstone. Talk to me.”
Lando took a slow sip of his coffee. “I meant what I said. I want you there.”
She glanced up, smile tucked in the corner of her mouth. “I know. I just didn’t want to assume.”
“You never do,” he said, honest and quick, before he even realised it.
That earned him a small look, soft, appreciative.
“So,” he continued, shifting slightly in his seat, “you’ve got two options. I can get you a pass for the paddock, proper team kit, blend in, pretend you belong.”
She raised a brow, amused. “Pretend?”
He smirked. “You’re bossy enough, you’d fit right in.”
She grinned. “Flattering.”
“Or,” he went on, “you can watch from the grandstands. Might be a bit calmer, but I’ll know you’re there either way.”
She looked at him properly now, pen stilled in her fingers. “And you want me there even if it’s chaos?”
He shrugged, suddenly a bit shy. “I don’t know. Just when you’re around, it feels like less of a mess.”
That quiet settled in again. Not awkward. Just true.
She nodded, scribbling something in her notebook. “Alright. I’ll come. You’ll have to get me a kit that doesn’t drown me, though. I’m not showing up looking like I borrowed it off a rugby player.”
Lando laughed. “Deal.”
And as she tucked her notebook away and moved to put the kettle on, he watched her like he was seeing the start of something he hadn’t quite had the words for yet.
But he knew this much.
He didn’t just want her there.
He needed her there.
They flew out on the Thursday morning.
Private jet, naturally, something Lando barely registered anymore, part of the machine that came with the job. But watching her take it all in was another story entirely.
“Wait,” she whispered as they pulled up onto the tarmac. “This is yours?”
He shrugged, smirking. “Well, not mine mine. But yeah. Team flight.”
She stared up at the sleek plane like it had dropped out of a film set. “Right. Okay. No big deal. Totally normal. Not freaking out.”
Lando chuckled as he grabbed her bag from the boot. “You’re allowed to be impressed, y’know. You don’t have to be cool all the time.”
“I am cool,” she insisted, following him up the steps with wide eyes. “Just also wildly unprepared for this level of luxury.”
Inside, she settled into one of the leather seats like she was afraid she’d break it, eyes darting around at the polished surfaces and perfectly folded blankets.
He sat opposite her, grinning like a fool.
“You alright there?”
She looked at him over the rim of her paper cup. “Lando, they offered me a mimosa and I said no because I panicked. I’m not alright.”
He burst out laughing, tipping his head back. “You’ll get used to it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
By the time they reached Silverstone, her nerves had settled into excitement.
The team garage was already buzzing, and when she stepped out in the McLaren kit he’d had waiting for her, a proper fit, not some oversized leftover, Lando had to look away for a moment just to get himself together.
She fit in effortlessly.
Wearing the colours, she didn’t look like someone tagging along. She looked like she belonged.
And it was oddly comforting, more than he’d expected.
She was laughing with one of the engineers before he’d even finished debrief. Swapping notes with his physio. Keeping a watchful eye on the water bottle in his hand like it was her full-time job.
And for once, when he walked through the paddock, he didn’t feel like he was floating above it all.
He felt anchored.
Between sessions, she found him sat outside the motorhome, cap pulled low, headphones around his neck.
She passed him a banana and a look. “Don’t roll your eyes. You skipped breakfast.”
Lando took it, peeling it slowly. “You just like bossing me around.”
“Absolutely,” she said brightly. “Now eat it, number four.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You calling me by my driver number now?”
She grinned. “Only if it motivates you.”
And as she sat beside him, cross-legged and chatting like they were just two mates at a park somewhere, Lando realised this didn’t feel like chaos.
It felt… right.
Later that day, the two of them found themselves in the motorhome again, half-drawn blinds, casting warm strips of light across the small lounge space. Lando had pulled off his boots and fireproofs, now in team joggers and a loose t-shirt, legs stretched across the sofa while she sat on the carpet in front of him, back resting against the edge of the seat, her hair still slightly windswept from being trackside.
His hand dangled loosely near her shoulder. Not touching. But close.
She was humming, some random tune from the playlist she’d put on while he cooled down, and carefully peeling the corner of a protein bar wrapper for him.
“Do you know you hum constantly?” he said, watching her with that quiet, lopsided sort of amusement.
She glanced up. “Do I?”
“Yeah. Like, properly. All the time.”
“Well, maybe you’re just always around now.”
He smiled, then laughed softly when she tossed the protein bar at him without looking.
They fell into that easy silence again, the kind that didn’t need filling. She reached up to tug a hairband from her wrist, redoing her ponytail absentmindedly. His gaze lingered.
“You alright?” she asked, craning her neck slightly to look at him.
He nodded. “Yeah. You just make all this feel
less mental.”
That earned her softest smile, the kind she didn’t even have to think about. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”
He didn’t say anything, just looked at her like he wanted to say more but couldn’t figure out how.
Then the door creaked open and Oscar stepped in with a knock-knock gesture and a raised brow. “Sorry, didn’t realise this was occupied.”
Lando blinked, quickly sitting up, hand retreating behind his head like he hadn’t been close to her at all. She turned slightly, offering Oscar a warm, unapologetic smile.
“Hi,” she said, chipper as ever. “Nice to meet you, I’m Lando’s carer.”
Oscar grinned, clearly amused. “Oh yeah?”
Lando shrugged, slumping back into the sofa like it was no big deal. “Yeah. She cares so I don’t have to.”
Oscar snorted. “Nice work if you can get it.”
She laughed, then added, “To be fair, he’s more work than a pensioner with a sugar addiction, so I earn every bit of it.”
Oscar shot Lando a mock-sympathetic look. “She’s got you nailed, mate.”
Lando just shook his head, lips tugging into the smallest of smiles as Oscar backed out of the room with a wink and a wave.
Once the door shut again, she turned and looked up at him from the floor.
“Too much?” she teased.
He leaned forward, still smiling. “Not at all.”
And for the rest of the hour, with her back pressed to his knee and the quiet buzzing of the paddock beyond the walls, everything felt settled.
Like maybe this was becoming the new normal.
Race day came with its usual noise and nerves. The low thrum of engines in the distance, the hiss of tyres on tarmac, the sting of adrenaline thick in the air.
Silverstone buzzed with the kind of energy only a home race could bring.
And Lando had never driven better.
Every lap was clean, calculated, ruthless. No mistakes. No self-doubt. Just grit and instinct and a car that, for once, felt like an extension of himself.
When he crossed the finish line in P1, the roar from the grandstands felt deafening. Team radio crackled with cheers, engineers shouting down his ear, someone nearly in tears.
He barely heard it.
All he could think, where is she?
Pulling into parc fermé, he yanked off his helmet and looked around like a man on a mission.
“Where is she?” he asked one of the mechanics, already half out of the car.
The guy blinked. “Who?”
“Uh” He gestured vaguely. “My uh carer, she’s in the team kit, she was in the garage earlier. Has anyone seen her?”
Shrugs. Shaking heads. No one knew.
His jaw tensed, nerves he hadn’t felt all race prickling in now like static. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. All of this meant less if she wasn’t here to see it.
Still, he went through the motions: hugs with the crew, the sweaty TV pen interviews, the slow walk down the corridor lined with monitors and back-slaps. The moment was his, but it felt a bit empty.
Then he stepped onto the podium.
The crowd was thunderous. British flags everywhere, people chanting his name, flashes going off like strobes.
And there, down below, tucked between a few McLaren pit crew, cap pulled low and grinning up at him like he’d just done the impossible, there she was.
Her face lit up when he spotted her, and the tension in his chest just dropped.
He grinned, grabbed the champagne bottle, and with precision honed from years of celebration, arced the spray right in her direction.
She squealed, laughing, trying to duck behind someone’s shoulder but getting caught in it anyway.
He laughed too, and when the moment calmed, he looked down again and caught her eyes.
She mouthed something at him, something small, like ‘well done’, and he mouthed back.
Go back to the motorhome.
She gave a little salute, still smiling, and disappeared into the crowd.
And suddenly, the day felt complete.
The moment the press duties were done, Lando didn’t waste a second.
Still damp from champagne, hair sticking to his forehead, race suit tied at the waist, he all but jogged back through the paddock. Past cameras, past well-wishers, barely nodding as people tried to offer congratulations.
He needed to see her.
The motorhome was quiet when he pushed open the door, the rest of the team still caught up in the chaos outside. But she was there, sat on the sofa, McLaren cap now off, holding a bottle of water and staring out the window like she was waiting for him too.
“Hey—” she started, but didn’t finish.
Because he was already across the room, already scooping her up into a hug that nearly knocked the breath out of both of them. She gave a soft little laugh of surprise, arms winding round his neck as he held her like he’d just won her.
Which, in a way, he had.
“You were incredible,” she said against his shoulder.
“I didn’t care about the win,” he murmured, voice muffled in her hair. “Not until I saw you.”
She pulled back slightly to look at him, eyebrows drawing in. “Lando…”
“No, I mean it,” he said, heart racing now for entirely different reasons. “When I crossed the line, I should’ve felt everything. But I couldn’t think about anything except the fact that you weren’t there. Not at first. It felt, empty.”
Her expression softened, smile faltering at the edges.
“That’s the adrenaline talking,” she said gently, fingers brushing the back of his neck. “You’re on a high, people say all sorts when their heart’s going.”
“No,” he said firmly, eyes locked on hers. “I know it’s not.”
She stilled.
Lando took a breath. “My heart’s been on fire before, after wins, crashes, everything in between. But it’s never felt as empty as it does when you’re not near me. I didn’t know it at first, I didn’t have the words for it, but I do now.”
She blinked up at him, wide-eyed.
“I don’t just want you here when I’m falling apart,” he said quietly. “I want you here when I’m winning. When I’m okay. When I’m tired. When I’m not.”
Silence fell like a held breath.
And then she smiled, soft, shaken, and real. The kind that said she’d been waiting to hear those words without even realising it.
“I was always going to stay,” she whispered.
He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes fluttering shut. “Good.”
They stood like that for a moment, bodies close, breath mingling, the silence between them full of everything that had been left unsaid for too long.
She tilted her chin ever so slightly, and his nose brushed against hers. Neither of them moved beyond that, like they were afraid to disturb something fragile.
Then she whispered, “You smell like champagne.”
He gave a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath. “You smell like bananas and home.”
She smiled at that, small and warm and a little bit shy.
And then, like gravity had finally caught up with them, he leant in.
Their lips met softly, tentative at first, the kind of kiss you give when you’ve been thinking about it for far too long and you want to get it right. It wasn’t hurried, or heavy, or anything like what the world outside might’ve expected from a Formula One driver fresh off a win.
It was slow. Careful. His way of saying he didn’t want this to be over too soon.
Her hands curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, and he held her like she might disappear if he let go. When they parted, barely an inch between them, neither moved away.
She blinked up at him, dazed in the gentlest way.
“That wasn’t adrenaline,” she said quietly, as if to confirm it for herself.
“No,” he murmured, thumb brushing her cheek. “That was me. Just me.”
Her nose scrunched in that familiar way, eyes glinting with something fond. “Good.”
He smiled again, this time slower, fuller. And in the soft hush of the motorhome, with the noise of Silverstone still echoing somewhere in the background, Lando finally felt what peace might look like.
you're obsessed with your boyfriend's thighs and you refuse to keep that fact to yourself
note: guys i couldn't stop thinking about oscthighs so i had to make this. i felt possessed tbh. hope you like it~
warnings : swearing, implied/referenced sex, one kms joke
fc: ruby lyn
･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･
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yourusername: i can’t tell you a single thing about this book bc oscar was wearing shorts today 💔
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user: you’re so real for this
user: OSCTHIGHS OSCTHIGHS OSCTHIGHS
hattiepiastri: yn i love you but please keep your thirsting over my brother in private
⤷yourusername: hattie love, i think you’ll just have to block me
user: god that picture of oscar i’m so sick
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oscarpiastri: Why did you add blush to my cheeks?
⤷yourusername: to make you cuter
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⤷yourusername: it’s so refreshing
user: does this girl post about anything other than her bfs legs
⤷yourusername: nope.
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oscarpiastri: Past few weeks
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yourusername: are you joking right now
yourusername: OSCAR JACK PIASTRI
yourusername: THIS IS TARGETED HARRASSMENT
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yourusername: posting these on ig instead of sending them to me directly you EVIL EVIL MAN
⤷oscarpiastri: 😁❤️
user: i know his ass did this on purpose
⤷user: like he knew exactly what would happen posting these pictures
You fumbled with the room key, missed, tried again; Lando’s lips found your jaw and then the shell of your ear, hungry, already slightly drunk on the attention he wasn’t supposed to need. He hadn’t let go of you since the club, not even as you’d elbowed open a cab’s sticky back door and climbed into his lap, not even as you’d paid the driver with a crumpled fifty. His hands were greedy, never quite squeezed tight enough to bruise, but always insistent, as if afraid you might dissolve into the city smog if he let up for even a second.
When the door finally yielded, you staggered into the suite, catching yourself on the impossibly soft arm of a velvet sofa. Lando followed, shedding his jacket and pressing himself to you from behind. He was still trying to be the one in charge—pinning you against the furniture, hands mapping out your hips, tongue already finding your neck’s most sensitive spot.
You twisted, sudden, and tumbled him backwards into the couch, straddling his lap before he could object. “Not so quick, superstar,” you said, leaning down until your noses nearly touched. Lando’s face was flushed, pupils so wide there was only a ring of ice-blue around them. He made a show of not submitting, but you felt the subtle shiver go through him at the press of your thighs. Out in the world he played swagger and control, but here, hands knotted in the fabric of your skirt, he was already melting for you.
You kissed him until he forgot to breathe, until he was gasping and desperate, the sharp lines of his jaw softened by the wet heat of your mouth. You paced yourself; you liked drawing it out, liked the way he pretended it was pain, biting at your lower lip as if you could possibly be the one to break. Lando’s nails dug into your hips when you rocked forward, a low moan leaking from his throat, and that tiny crack in his composure made you want to devour him more.
“Thought you said you could last all night,” you murmured, grinding down in a way that made him buck up, helpless, the gathering pressure of arousal almost comical in someone who spent his days squealing through chicanes at 330 kph.
Lando tried to flip you, but you caught his wrists and pinned them above his head, grinning down at him. He fought the hold for a second—he liked to put on a show, and you let him, just for the way his arms flexed and the wild charge in his blue-green eyes. But his resistance was only another kind of invitation, and when he stilled, you shifted, using one hand to keep his wrists pinned and the other to trail goosebump-raising lines up his chest.
You freed his hands, only to dig your fingers into his hair and kiss him again, harder this time, until he was making a mess of himself, fully pliant and helpless under you. Lando was good at giving up control; he wore need like a cologne, and he wanted you to see it, wanted you to make something of it. You bit lightly at his earlobe, his cheek, the hinge of his jaw, leaving invisible marks for no one but yourself.
You licked up the salt at his collarbone and nipped hard enough to make him gasp, the way a fighter tests the bruise for weakness. His fingers twisted in your hair, tried to angle your mouth back to his, but you ducked, tracing the bared tendons of his neck, sucking at skin until it threatened to purple. Lando’s head fell back, baring his throat, and you felt him shudder all the way to his knees. You gave him a warning squeeze at the thigh—a silent don’t get cocky, not yet—but Lando wouldn’t stop squirming, restless under you.
“Jesus,” he breathed, when your teeth grazed his Adam’s apple.
“Say please,” you whispered, letting your tongue flick just inside his open shirt at the hollow of his throat, feeling the racing panic of his pulse.
He laughed, strangled, trying to line up the next attack: “Come on, you know I don’t—”
You bit down, this time deliberate, and Lando arched into you so hard the couch groaned. “Fuck. Please,” he managed, voice gone hoarse and bright with disbelief. He sounded like he hated giving it up, but you felt the way he trembled beneath you, the way his hands slid from protest into frantic, greedy mapping: up your back, your shoulders, the sharp line of your jaw.
You unbuttoned his shirt at the pace of a lazy summer afternoon, dragging your knuckles across each strip of skin as you opened it—first the top, then the next, then the next, slow enough you saw his stomach notch in when your hand skimmed the edge of his ribs. Lando squirmed, trying to help, but you slapped his hands away. His shirt peeled open: a fresh canvas, the skin warm and golden and shivering under your lips as you traced the bones of his shoulders and the muscle that made him almost superhuman from the chest down. You pressed your mouth to every inch you could find, sucking little galaxies of color into the tender places he might have hidden from the world.
He grabbed for control, surging forward in a half-sit, twisting to kiss you deeper, hands roaming. You let him—for one heartbeat, two—before palming his face and shoving him back, grinning at the shock that lit up his eyes.
“Warned you,” you said. Your voice had thickened with want. “You keep fighting, I’m gonna get creative.” You flexed your hips, grinding down, loving the way his whole body stuttered in response.
“Please,” he said again, but this time it was wet and desperate, tongue stumbling over the word, so much more honest than he’d ever been behind a microphone.
You slipped a hand under his button-down, found the racing heat of his heart, and trailed your nails up to the clavicle, then back down, soft at first, then harder, leaving faint red trails. Lando whined low in his throat, tried to clutch at your hips again, but you caught both his hands and pressed them flat above his head, pinning him to the couch with just your weight and the sharp warning in your smile.
“You like losing, don’t you?” You murmured, and kissed under his jaw until he shattered, every corner of him surrendered to your bite.
He mumbled something against your hair—some low, senseless confession, too ruined to be words—and you let yourself believe him, if only for tonight.
You raked your nails over his sides hard, never enough to break skin, but enough to snap a gasp from him, and in answer he tried to wriggle up the couch, away from the raw sensation. You caged him back with a palm to the chest, and with the other hand, yanked his shirt off his shoulders; it caught at his elbows for a second, trapping him, and you leaned in to breathe deeply at his throat. He smelled of sweat and the half-sweet burn of club liquor, but there was sun in him too, salted and bright, not even hotel aircon could bleach it out. Your hand mapped a quick, hungry circuit across his ribs, then his stomach, below the line of his waistband. You could feel the fine tremor in his muscles as you grazed your nails up, up, until they caught at his nipples.
He made a noise—high, breaking, nothing like his voice in real life, and you almost laughed for how it snapped out of him, but you didn’t, because he was already hyperaware, already pink and desperate, watching you with a kind of disbelief. You liked how reactive he was: first shocked, then ruined, nipples hardening almost immediately under your touch. You rolled one between pinching fingers, gently, then with more cruelty, the other hand bracing his jaw so he couldn’t look away. Lando writhed, burying the top of his head against the back of the couch, but that only bared his chest further. You flicked the nipple, sharp, and he yelped—actually, truly yelped—knees coming up reflexively as if to shield himself, but you were ready, and you pressed them apart again, keeping him completely open.
“Sensitive?” You asked and tapped the spot again, this time with a finger wetted at your own tongue.
He gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn’t stop the way his hips jerked. “It’s so—fuck, okay,” he tried, and failed, to laugh it off, but his voice wobbled and the sound turned to something helpless, almost a whine.
That lit you up. You ran your mouth down the length of his throat, pausing to lap at the sweat at his pulse, then snaked lower, all the time never losing the rhythm of your hands at his chest. When you dragged your teeth over the sensitive skin just below his nipple, he went taut, every muscle in his body drawn wire-tight. You circled the area with your tongue, slow and mean, then sucked, hard, until you could feel him start to shake under you. He grabbed at your shoulders, tried to push you away, too overstimulated to handle it, but you bit down—light, just enough to leave a mark—and he caved, the resistance draining out of him in an unsteady rush.
You didn’t let up, alternating between sides, pinching and licking, then switching to sharp flicks of your tongue, and he was melting, making noises no one in the world had ever wrung out of him. He was shockingly vocal, for how cocky and self-governed he’d been an hour ago: every time you changed the pressure, or switched tactics, he moaned, or gasped “shit—shit, please,” like it hurt somewhere deep inside him. You loved it. You ran your tongue up to his neck, then down, over each rib, tongue etching wet lines across the sweat-damp terrain; sometimes you just pressed your open mouth to his chest and inhaled, like you needed all of him inside you.
You felt him getting hard, obviously, through his pants, but you ignored it for now, wanting him to lose track of himself entirely, reduced to nothing but nerve endings and want. You cupped his face after a while, kissing him slow and deep, letting him come back to earth. He was glassy-eyed, flushed all along his cheekbones, breathing like he’d just run a mile in the rain. It made you want to break him more.
But now you took your time, slow and methodical: kissing a stripe down his sternum, hands kneading at his ribs, up to his clavicles and along the hard edge of his deltoid. No inch untested, every angle mapped with mouth and tongue. Lando was shifting, squirming, every so often trying to grab at you—your shoulders, your waist, your hair—but you batted him away or pinned him down, administering a firm click of tongue or nip whenever he started to resist.
His sounds got higher, less controlled, until he was panting and cursing, nonsense words choked off by the way your fingers dug into his hips. You pulled away, just for a second, eyes locking with his, and raised your fingers to your own mouth, wetting them, making a show of it before returning to his chest. You traced the wetness around each nipple and this time, instead of the shock, he shuddered visibly, entire torso vibrating with it.
“Can’t handle it?” You murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. “I thought you liked to push limits.”
He shook his head, grinning dumbly, and for a moment you saw the anxiousness in his teeth, the way he almost begged you not to stop, but also not to keep going, torn in the best way. “You’re a menace,” he managed and you rewarded him with a long, slow drag of your tongue across his other nipple, bottoming out his brain entirely.
You kept at it until the flush on his chest was mottled red and pink, and you could feel his wet, shuddering breath on your forehead. You eased up then, crawling your warmth up until your lips ghosted over his; Lando exhaled, trembling, and for once didn’t try to one-up the moment. He let himself be held like that, leaking need, uncertain if you’d let him come up for air or drag him deeper under.
You slid down his body, trailing your mouth over skin hot and damp with sweat, tasting the aftershave and something elemental in him that crackled under your teeth. You pressed your lips to every mole stippled across his torso, cataloguing each one with tongue and a sudden, unaccountable tenderness you hadn’t meant to allow. The dark dot just to the left of his navel got a swirl of tongue, a tiny punctuating kiss, and Lando gasped, thighs shoving up against your shoulders, the sound spilling into a laugh like he couldn’t believe this was real.
At the waist of his jeans you paused, breathing slow and shallow, pulse so loud in your ears you could barely hear his desperate, ragged laughter. You bit gently at the skin just above the waistband, catching it between sharp teeth, then licked to ease the sting, and felt his hand tangle in your hair, like he was too spent to grip, just needed somewhere to anchor so he didn’t float up off the couch. You looked up and he was wrecked, blinking down at you like every nerve ending had been rewired and laid bare.
The button on his jeans was slick with your spit and when you pulled it open you did it one-handed, drawing out the moment until Lando was visibly vibrating, chest seesawing, hips twitching in micro-increments. You peeled the zipper down slow, tongue tracing the V of skin exposed, and he practically keened at the contact, head thrown back in surrender.
You palmed him through underwear, just the heel of your hand, enough for him to know you could be mean if you wanted, but you’d chosen not to, not yet. The hardness there was a revelation: so eager, so straining, like his body was trying to outstrip the limits of fabric and patience both. You exhaled hot against the damp cotton, and he swore, a strangled “fuck, please” that sounded so unlike him you wanted to preserve it in a glass bottle to smash later in the face of his arrogance.
You laughed low and pressed your mouth over the shape of him. Through the thin cloth you let your teeth just graze, slow enough to unspool his thoughts from his body, and he bucked up in a helpless jerk, more animal than human.
You palmed him again, and this time, with the slow precision of a surgeon, you pressed two fingers down the length of him, mapping every twitch and shiver, feeling the hard, human heat pulse reckless against your hand. The cotton was already soaked and you rubbed your thumb gently, just enough to tease out another strangled sound. Lando clutched at your wrist, as if anchor against the threat of coming apart, but even that small resistance turned arcs of electricity back through you.
“So hard for me, so wet,” you flattened your palm, used the edge of your pinky to carve a path up, then circled with a pressure that would drive someone less wound, less desperate, to the edge of violence.
He was panting, openly and ragged, hips lifting again and again with shame-discarding need. It was the kind of surrender that would mortify him in any other room, but here—arms slack above his head, legs trembling open, body begging—he couldn’t manage more than the greedy, inarticulate pleadings that came out with every rock of your hand.
You half-expected him to jerk away, to try to snatch the throttle back, but when he whispered, “Fuck, please,” it sounded like a prayer. You kept your grip light, methodical, increasing only when he thought he couldn’t bear another second of waiting; you eased the waistband down with your lips, tongue flicking at the skin just above, then lower, tasting the trace of his sweat and the ghost of whatever minty soap these hotels standardize on.
He would have been beautiful even if you hadn’t wanted him ruined. You liked the way his body snapped between resistance and liked the way the first brush of tongue against his boxers made his back arch, every muscle in him straining like a drawn bow. You could see the pulse in his throat, the way his hands clutched and released, useless to do anything but clutch the empty space.
You licked along the ridge, tasting him through fabric, heat seeping through soft cotton as if your tongue could incinerate the last buffer between your mouth and cock. Lando choked, legs clamping around your shoulders for a second, but you bit down on the inside of his thigh, warning. He melted, as if the threat alone was enough to keep him wild, but obedient, and you drew your tongue up the length, slow enough to make him sob out another broken, “Please, please. Please, take me—”
You slid the briefs down, just enough to free him, and for a moment just looked: flushed, wet, the head blushed dark and angry. You circled the tip with your thumb, collecting the glisten, then sucked it off, meeting his eyes with your own dare.
He looked completely gone, mouth open in a silent O, and you could feel the tension stringing his whole body, tight as over-torqued cable. You took him in your mouth, barely the tip at first, savoring the salt and the shock of it, the way it filled the whole roof of your mouth and then some, crowding out everything, but taste and heat and your own want. Lando’s hands flexed in your hair, intent, but never cruel, and the way he held you felt as if he’d given over every last scrap of control to whatever you wanted to do to him.
You flattened your tongue on the underside, mapped every vein and ridge, and when you tightened your lips and slid down, he bucked helplessly, hands flying up to your shoulders before dropping away again, afraid to throttle your rhythm.
You set a pace, not fast—not yet—but enough to keep him teetering, always a half breath from breaking. You let your tongue swirl, then pulled off to stroke him with your hand, slick and lazy. Lando was a mess above you, knees trembling, fingers desperate for somewhere to fasten. You kept at it until his thighs started to twitch, then let your nails drag down the inside of one, watching him shudder at the new hit of sensation. You spat in your palm, vulgar, then spread it over him, working the slickness in with a rhythm that made him groan like he was being starved and fed at once.
After a while you glanced up, just to see if he could hack it, and found him watching you, eyes glassy, but present, burning through you with focus so intense you felt it in the pit of your stomach. You smiled, mean as you’d promised, and licked him again from root to tip, watching the muscles at his stomach jump and contract. You felt the heat gathering at the base of him, and you loved the way you could sense the end coming—you could feel it before he ever said a word, long before his hands twisted desperate in your hair.
You used your hand at the base, twisting with the drag of your palm, the other hand splayed steadying him at the hip. Every time you swirled your tongue, his hips jolted, and you could hear the obscenities rattling out of him, half in English, half in something guttural and wordless.
You pulled off for air, stroking him slow, and leaned in close enough he could feel your breath: “Is this what you wanted?” You asked, voice soft enough he’d have to strain to hear, and when he didn’t answer, you bit the inside of his thigh, not hard, but enough to jolt him.
“Yeah,” he hissed, “yeah, just—don’t stop—” and you grinned, worshipful and wolfish, and took him back in, moving faster now, letting your hand work in concert with your mouth. He was making only the smallest sounds now, all his bravado shattered and scattered.
You let your breath warm him, then kissed along the seam where thigh met groin, salt and cologne and something so alive it startled you. He was sweating now, the taste of it already dark, sharp. You pushed his knees wider, not asking, draping your forearm across the bone of his thigh and feeling him jerk at the contact. You licked the crease, slow, pressed your tongue flat, traced the muscle by feel alone.
The shiver that ran through him was nearly violent. You felt it in the way his legs squeezed against you, in the hands clutching at the back of your head with something close to panic. You moved lower, running your tongue beneath, then around, teasing at the velvet weight of his balls. You sucked one, gently, then harder, letting it stretch in your mouth, the sounds he made barreling down into the root of your body. You tongued him there, slow and measured, letting your saliva drag wet circles, and Lando arched, hips snapping upward so that his cock slapped against your cheek. You laughed, open-mouthed, nipped at the closest mound, then switched to the other, showing no partiality for which was wetter, more sensitive.
Once, you’d read that the nerve endings here all knotted up into the base of the spine. You wondered if he’d ever been worked at so thoroughly, if any of his pretty, interchangeable girls had ever taken the time to learn where the body unlocked itself. You suspected not. You let your nails score the top of his thigh in tandem with your mouth, carving out that paradox of pain and gentleness until Lando was writhing, breath gone ragged and battery-acid raw.
You licked your way up, tongue tracing under his cock, felt the tremor of muscle and the fight not to come too soon. Didn’t care. Shifted your grip so you could jerk him with two fingers, slow and mean, while your tongue lavished absolute focus on his balls, laving, sucking, then nipping with surprising sharpness so he lost all sense of pride, every sound that spilled from him groveling in its honesty. His hands grabbed at your shoulders, first to control, then just to hang on.
You broke away to look up, reveling in the way Lando’s mouth was parted, his eyes wild and red-edged, no hint of calculation left. “Say it again,” you whispered, voice shredded with want.
He blinked, confusion smudging the lines of his face. “What?”
“Please.”
The word didn’t even hurt him now, he was so out of his mind. “Please,” he gasped, and the sound of it, from someone so used to hearing crowds shout his name, went haywire in your chest.
You returned your mouth to his cock, but this time you didn’t rush. You alternated—tongue flicking at the head, then down to suck a ball, back up in a circuit to overwhelm his nerves, until he was caught between the hot wet of your mouth and the sharper pressure of your hand. You cupped his ass with your other palm, squeezed, liked the way he bucked to fill the space. When you wanted, you slid a finger further back, just testing, grazing the soft skin until he jolted, a wild animal edge to the way he gasped.
You backed off only to swirl your tongue around the tip, watching his face, then looked down, letting saliva string from your lip in a filthily deliberate show before you sucked him right back. He grunted, hips rocking to chase you, his entire body tensed to the point of shudder.
But you still kept your left hand busy, sliding up to the chest you’d left wrecked and red. You pinched a nipple, rolling it between slick fingertips, and Lando made a whimpering sound that stabbed into you, pure and sharp as glass. You pressed harder, flicked it, then sucked him with your whole mouth, and his entire body seized, as if someone had wired him direct to the wall outlet.
You switched sides, pinched the other, and the feeling in your mouth swelled, his cock pulsing so close to orgasm you risked it. You wanted to drag it out. You released him for a heartbeat, licked around the crown, tongued the slit, and heard—actually heard—him sob your name, just for you.
“Is that all it takes?” You whispered, not unkind, just goading. You flicked the nipple again, watched the ripple of sensation jerk through him, then went down, throat relaxing, letting him in deeper until your chin pressed to the base. You felt the pulse stutter all along his body. Lando’s hands twisted in your hair with something close to reverence.
He tried to warn you—you saw it in the way his chest seized, the frantic shake of his head, then, “Gonna—fuck, I’m—” but you bore down, deepening, unwilling to let him escape back into the clean air of self-control. His body seized, locked, and for a split instant you worried he’d black out. But then his hands were in your hair, clutching tight, and he came with a shudder so violent it nearly jerked you off the couch.
You kept him in your mouth, not letting up, even as he whimpered and tried to twist away, so sensitive he was almost sobbing, the noises coming out of him wet and bright and totally debauched. Only when you felt the tremor ease into aftershocks did you pull off, slow and gentle, and rest your cheek on his thigh, breathing him in.
Lando was an absolute wreck. He’d thrown an arm over his eyes, face gone pink to the hairline, chest streaked with sweat and lovebites, breathing as if oxygen had turned suddenly into something richer, addictive.
Before you could so much as needle him with a word, Lando snapped to life, hauling you up and off—then in one liquid motion, spun you and dropped you onto the couch. You yelped, almost undignified. His hands were already up your skirt, the slide quick and rough, and you opened reflexively for him without so much as a thought.
You tried to plaster on a look of unbothered disinterest, but your whole body prickled at his sudden aggression. The tables had turned, sharp and hot, and you caught your own surprise in the pulse at your throat when he pressed your knees wide apart and bent to mouth at the inside of your thigh, the same spot you’d nearly bitten him minutes ago. Payback, you supposed, but better. You watched his face disappear into your skirt, felt the drag of his mouth along the sensitive, shivering length of your skin, the catch of his teeth almost mean.
Fabric rucked around your waist and your underwear joined the haphazard heap of his clothes at the edge of the sofa. Lando didn’t hesitate: he licked you, slow and flat, the whole tongue at once, leaving you slick and shaking. You gasped; you didn’t mean to, but it came out uncontrolled. His fingers dug into the meat of your thighs and pulled you open, no space for protest, and you squirmed, watched with disbelief as he worked at you like he’d been starving for it all week.
You wanted to make a joke, but your head was buzzing. You heard your own breath get ragged, felt the too-bright heat swirl upward from the point of his tongue spiraling over you, stopping just short of where you needed it most, like he wanted you to beg. When you reached down to claw at his hair, he gripped your wrist and pinned it to the cushion with a force that made you want to yelp again, but you let him, let yourself be caught and held and devoured.
His tongue circled and flicked, and every deft movement made you shake, hips twitching up into his mouth despite your best effort to keep it cool. He licked until you swore, then finally, finally sucked at your clit, soft at first, but then brutal, and you bucked so hard you nearly kneed him in the jaw, which only made him laugh into you, vibration dragging you to the edge of something you’d sworn you’d never let anyone see.
He was a menace. You tried to fuck his mouth, show him he hadn’t bested you, but he held you down, face buried until all you could see was the dark mess of curls and half-wrecked eyes, pupils shot so wide the green and blue were barely visible. He didn’t let up. He went at you until you were on the cusp, seconds from shaking apart, and then he broke away, two fingers pressing in slick and sudden, curling up just right, and your vision collapsed to a pinprick.
You bucked upward, tried to chase his fingers, but he held you down with all the patience and precision of someone who measured progress in milliseconds. He crooked his fingers deliberate and slow, curling until you felt yourself clench around the fullness of him, every muscle strung nickel-taught. You squirmed against the slide, tried to grind for more, but Lando just grinned into you, teeth flashing as he held you right at the razorline.
“Oh, now you know what it’s like,” he murmured, the words a salt-burn dragged up your inner thigh. His lips were glossy, chin slick with you, and he tongued the swollen clit until you saw white, and then—like he had all the time in the world—he stopped, sat back on his heels, and watched you with the lazy confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
“Look at you. Begging already.” He punctuated it with another curl of his fingers, this one so soft it barely touched, but every nerve ending fired as if he’d thrown a switch.
You arched off the couch, made a sound you would have punched yourself for in daylight, and he laughed, small and soft, then picked up the pace—not mercy, not really, but a new kind of sadism. He feathered his thumb over your clit, keeping it barely-there, teasing you open, making you grind down until you were whining, actually whining, and hating how good it felt to lose like this.
He pressed his mouth right up to you, hot breath a warning: “You want it that bad?” He didn’t wait for an answer; he drew his tongue up, firm, and your hips jerked. “Say it.”
You tried to pull him deeper, but he just slowed again, unhurried. “Fucking say it,” he said, voice gone dark and velvet, nothing of his usual half-smirk left.
“Please,” you managed, but it came out more as a gasp, gutted and unguarded.
“What was that?” He twisted his hand, pressed up and in, and you almost blacked out for a second. “Didn’t catch that.”
“Please, fuck—” The words came babbling out, all your careful control gone, every muscle focused on the next jolt of pleasure, the next twist.
He watched you squirm, drawing it out, building the pace so slow it felt like punishment. Each time you neared the edge, he’d ease off, letting the need coil tighter until it hurt. “Should take a video,” he said, and the idea shivered dark through you. “Show you how much you like being ruined.”
You tried to glare, but he ducked in again, tongue lapping fast and then suddenly stopped, waiting for you to really lose it. “C’mon,” he whispered, “let’s see how loud you can get for me.” He sucked at your clit, pinched with his lips, and now you couldn’t breathe, everything inside collapsing to a single point right at the base of your spine.
You begged, outright, no irony, just “please, please—don’t fucking stop, I’m—” and he kept going, mouth and hand in perfect sync, just as mean as you’d been with him. Your body tensed, legs locking around his shoulders, and you tried to hold off, wanting to outlast him, but he wouldn’t let up, not even as you fought to keep composure. He curled his fingers and flattened his tongue at the same time, and the orgasm detonated through you like shrapnel, tearing noise from your throat you’d never heard before.
He didn’t slow; if anything, he doubled down, drawing it out, coaxing wave after punishing wave until you were shaking, your thighs slick and your pulse so wild you could feel it in your teeth. He finally released your wrist, let you writhe and clutch at him until the aftershocks subsided. He leaned back, licking his lips, face smug with the kind of pride you couldn’t fake.
“Didn’t take much, did it?” he said, fingers still inside, just barely moving, like he wanted to keep you right on that edge.
You wanted to punch him, or kiss him, or both. “Shut the fuck up,” you breathed, but your voice was spent, weak as paper.
He thumbed your clit again, gentle enough to make you jolt, and you shuddered, oversensitive, pushing at his wrist to make it stop. When he finally withdrew his hand, it left you aching and hollow, and you watched him—disgusted with yourself for how it turned you on to see the evidence of you on his mouth, on his chin, on the hand he wiped carelessly on his own naked stomach.
You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, trying to catch your breath, which came out as a delirious, unsteady laugh. “You’re fucking insane,” you managed.
“You started it,” he said. He worked his way up, pushing your dress further, until he was eye level with your face again, grinning like a maniac. His hair was a mess, the lower half of his face wet and shining, and he looked so genuinely pleased with himself that you couldn’t summon up any real venom, no matter how much you wanted to needle him.
He kissed you then—not sweet, not soft, but wild and open-mouthed, and you tasted yourself on him, which made you want to bite him again. You did, nipped at his lip until he hissed, then pulled him closer, arms around his neck, yanking him flush against you.
You didn’t plan on moving for the rest of the night, but Lando slid you sideways on the couch, your thighs slung over his lap, muscled arms caging you in. There was a wetness cooling on your legs and fabric bunched at your waist, the inside-out feeling of having been completely undone. He braced you with a rough hand at the small of your back, pulled you up against him, and went in for the kill, barely pausing to let either of you get a full breath.
You fought for dominance, a quick sequence of grip and countergrip—your knee jammed to his chest, his forearm pinning you armrest-to-armrest, then, in a moment of brute force, he pulled the top of your dress down. No finesse; elastic snapped, and your tits spilled out, skin flushed from neck to nipple from the heat of your session. Your nipples were already peaked, wounded-pink, and for a moment it didn’t seem possible his mouth could be that much hungrier, but Lando latched onto you with the feral drive of a kid who’d lost too many games in a row.
His tongue was hot and flat, lapping sweat from beneath your left breast, then the right, then he mashed them together, grazing each nipple with teeth, alternating as rapidly as his tongue could flick. You tried to fist his hair, but he caught your wrist and pinned it again, licking a long stripe up the center of your chest before sucking an areola so thorough it might leave a mark. Your nerves, already shot from before, started a fresh round of panic as he worked you over, switching from tongue to lips with no warning. You didn’t care about the noise now; you moaned, honest and cut clean, legs clenching hard enough to bruise.
“You’re a fucking disaster,” he said, voice muffled in the valley between your boobs, but he never stopped with his tongue, the edge of every consonant honed on your skin. You wanted to say something clever—you could taste the comeback forming—but then he sucked your nipple between his teeth, rolling it just so, and the whole sentence died in the back of your throat.
You’d never thought of yourself as the sort of girl who got off on this much attention, but his tongue kept up, working each nerve ending like he could taste the difference in you. He slid a hand up, catching both breasts, thumb pinched tight, holding them for his mouth to ruin. You could see the dark flush blooming, streaks of red veining out from where he’d bitten down. Your hips bucked without permission; you found yourself riding his thigh, chasing the friction, reduced to the same embarrassment he’d suffered so well.
“Look at you,” Lando said, mouth wet against your nipple. “Fucking melting. Thought you played tough.” He shimmied you both upright, pushing you back into the couch, so that the bounce made your tits leap in his hands.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you tried, and it almost landed, except your voice came out shaky, more breath than word.
He bent in, sucked the other nipple, licked a spiral around it. “Tell me to stop,” he said, and then bit down, this time the tremor going straight to your pelvis.
You wanted to say you could handle it, that you were in control, but then he wedged his thigh up and you ground against it like your life depended on it. He palmed your breast, squeezing, while his mouth worked the other, the tongue pace relentless. With every rock of your hips you felt the hardness of him, still pressed against your thigh, not flagging in the slightest.
You caught him watching you—dead center, blue burning through you—and for a second you thought he’d let the tension relax, let you get air, but he scooped you under the knees and hauled you sideways, onto his lap, you dress bunched at your waist, nothing left between you, but slick and heat. He kept your legs splayed, one over the couch arm, and dove again between your breasts, devouring as though he could take your entire self inside and leave you nothing, but the aftertaste.
He kept up the attack: sucking, then kissing, then biting until there was a line of red imprints from one nipple to the other. You wanted to claw at him, but he’d pinned you so neatly, all you could do was hold on and take it. He bracketed your ass with his hands, grinding you down against the hard line of his cock, until you didn’t know if you were going to sob or combust.
Then, in a sudden pivot, Lando let you up—only to spin you, stomach to the cool velvet, your nipples dragging across the upholstery with a friction you instantly regretted loving. He knelt behind, forced your legs apart, and dragged your hips up so the crescent of your ass was at perfect height for his mouth.
He dove in immediately, licking you from clit to asshole, sucking every ounce of wetness out until you were gasping, trying to claw your way up the back of the sofa for more. His hands never let you move: fingers splayed over your back, pressing you down, a thumb digging into the muscle by your hip to keep you right in the sweet spot of his tongue.
You ground back, you couldn’t help it; there was no dignity left. The desperate, wet sounds of his mouth working you set off a fire in your chest, radiating down to thrum at every pulse point. He alternated, first licking broad and slow, then quick darts of tongue, always returning to where you were neediest, where each touch stung like a pulse of electricity.
Lando paused to catch his breath, but only to say, “Should see yourself. Can’t get enough, can you?” He punctuated the question with a sharp bite to your ass, then a kiss, then another plunge with his tongue, back to work as if doing penance.
He tongued your rim, soft and deliberate, and you bit the back of your hand to keep from screaming. He licked up, swirling, then let his thumb press at the edge, opening you just enough for the nerve endings to riot. There was nothing in the world, but the obscene, relentless pleasure of it; you arched, nearly headbutted the armrest, but he just snorted into you, deeper, firmer, and didn’t let up. With your face pressed to the armrest and the velvet growing damp under your cheek, you thought you might actually black out if he didn’t fuck you, soon, hard, right now, and if it meant dying by inches from the frustration then maybe that was the way you deserved to go.
You tried to reach back, desperate, hand snaking for his wrist—but he caught it, laced your fingers and planted them both in the small of your back. You arched, ass up, and felt the tip of him—already hard again, already thick and hot—drag from clit to entrance, over and over, so close you could have sobbed. Lando lined himself up, face pressed to your lower back, chest shuddering with every breath. Then he moved his hips forward, just nudging, a slow rolling attempt at mercy.
You wanted to spit, wanted to tell him he was a coward, but only a whimper came out. He eased the head in, then pulled back, then in again, a deliberate tease. Every cell in your body screamed for friction, for the brutality of being split open, filled, but he kept you right at the edge with the kind of meanness only a fellow addict could understand. “Lando,” you moaned, your dignity gone somewhere with your underwear, “if you don’t—”
He pressed forward so you felt every millimeter, then withdrew again, shallow, laughing through his teeth at how fast you came unspooled. He ran his cock along your slit, wet enough that it smacked when he let it fall, and the sound vibrated down your spine. You nearly sobbed, back arching, hips shoving back for more.
“Still think you running the show?” he rasped, and the velvet of the couch bit into your knees as you tried to push yourself toward him. He wouldn’t let you. One hand braced your hip, the other snaked under your belly, holding you in place, immobilizing you for the drag of his cock just outside, just about, just almost in.
You gasped, “Please, Lando, please—” so greedy for it your voice broke in two.
He gave you the tip, just that, held it as if he was satisfied with the outline of absence it pressed into you. “You can do better than that,” he said, breathless. You tried, but your hands were shaking; you could barely make your body obey.
You contorted, tried to look over your shoulder, but all you caught was the dark gleam of his hair, the wildness in his voice. “Please fuck me,” you said, urgent, shameless. “I can’t, I can’t—” and you couldn’t even finish the sentence.
You felt him smile against your lower back. “Could’ve sworn you liked to win,” he teased, and then, without warning, thrust in to the hilt. It wasn’t slow, or gentle, or even cautious—just a punch of heat and fullness that erased your thought process, left you gaping, cheek mashed to the velvet, mouth open with no sound coming out.
“Fuck—” you managed, every bone dissolving. He snapped his hips again, harder, and you felt your body open for it, every inch slick and electric. Lando had spent all his energy learning how to control a cockpit, but here he surrendered to the violence of it, hands digging into your hipbones, pace unrelenting. You were babbling now, something near a scream with every drive of his cock, the pressure so good it bordered on painful.
You’d done this before—shoved each other around in bed, left each other bitten and bruised, but nothing like this. He pistoned in, straining as if he could get deeper than your body allowed, and for a split second you thought you would actually break from it, come apart entirely.
“Who’s begging now?” he muttered, knuckles white where they gripped your waist.
You tried to bite back your answer, but there was no room for shame. “Me,” you gasped, “please, don’t stop, don’t—” and it felt like falling through the floor, gone and gone and gone.
He rutted into you, no rhythm left except desperation. Every drag and push jangled teeth, reminded you you were alive, that there was something in you still tethered to physics and skin. Your hair clung damp to your forehead, sweat running cold along your shoulders, but you couldn’t move except to buck back against every thrust, needing it, sobbing for it.
Then he angled his hand, thumb finding your clit from behind, and the wet noise it made was obscene, the friction jolting through you like a wire. You scrabbled at the armrest, all but climbing it, helpless to control the way your whole lower half seized up. He flicked your clit, once, twice, then rode you through it as you splintered. The orgasm hit like a rigor, bending your spine to a perfect O, and you screamed into the velvet, crushing the soft fiber in your mouth to keep from waking the neighbors.
Lando didn’t let up. He fucked you through it, again and again, until you were limp, until your thigh muscles jumped with aftershocks you could not predict. By the time he finished, you could barely tell where you ended and he started—just one long mess of shaking limbs, sweat, and spit.
He collapsed over you, chest to your back, still inside. You lay there, gasping, neither willing to ruin it by speaking first. You felt the rise and fall of his body, the way his exhale rattled like a confession. For a second, you wondered if he’d ever let anyone win before, or lose, or if surrender was a new word in his vocabulary. He kissed the spot below your ear, slow and apologetic.
You tried to think of something clever to say, but the best you could manage was a choked laugh, muffled in sofa cushion. “You’re the worst,” you muttered and felt his smile etch hot and crooked against your neck.
He eased out, hands bracing your hips as if you might break, and you tumbled together in the heap, ruined and reckless. You didn’t need to look at him to know that he was grinning, that lazy, wolfish half-smirk. Your throat tasted of salt and couch lint. Your knees ached. You felt a grin break across your face before you could stop it.
You trailed the rough pad of your thumb along his cheekbone, admiring, for once, the artless vacancy of his expression. His hair, glossy with you, fell over his brow in shattered commas. You thought about the half-bored way he’d stared at the start lights earlier, the full lip quirk he gave press like none of it mattered. Now here he was: gasping, undressed, hollowed out.
He rolled closer, hand searching across the tangle of dress and thigh and velvet, landing at your wrist. He let your fingers tangle, easy, like a tangle of shoelace before a race.
For a long while, there wasn’t anywhere to be, but here. The wet stink of sex, the sticky funhouse echo chamber of your heartbeat, the lines on your thighs where velvet had impressed itself deep enough to nearly outlast the bruises. It was nearly funny. You’d always told yourself you were the one who could walk away, that you could fuck or fight or strike back without ever really giving in. But now your body was still jittering with aftershocks, fingers nestling into the sweat-ringed hollow of Lando’s armpit, as if your DNA were already mutating to fit the shape of his bones.
pov. the loser nerd that hasn’t lost their virginity but decides for their bucket list; they want to lose their virginity. at a party, they come up to the popular frat boy and begs them to take their virginity.
notes. when i made this plot idea post, i didn’t have anybody in mind… but rereading it, i couldn’t help but think rafe is perfect for this plot.. ok enjoy
content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, rough sex, dirty talk, explicit language, no proof read cause idgaf, teasing, big dick rafe, penetration
your nose’s home is books, you could smell the scent of a fresh book being open from miles away, you never fail tests, and always turn in projects on time. there’s nothing wrong with being smart, but god being so smart means you have no time for a sex life even if you wanted it.
twenty somethin’ years old and you’ve never seen a cock in real life besides that one time where they brought out a penis in your middle school sex education class. you’re too shy to even sneak a look at the print through a man’s pants, too shy to even stand next to a man.
just your shoulders brushing against a man makes you want to throw up from your nerves being unstable. you’re positive you’ll die a virgin at this point.
but graduation is coming up, and your bucket list that you created in freshman year of college needs to be finished. the only thing that hasn’t been done is having sex, it didn’t matter how you did it. just have some physical contact that’s sexual with someone that isn’t your fingers.
a party would be your best bet, somewhere nobody knows you, all you needed was fake confidence and you’d fit perfectly in to the crowd.
but when you got there, it was so clear you’ve never been to a party in your life. you asked questions on what they were drinking, why they were drinking, and what do people normally do at a party. you were embarrassing yourself but you were curious.
you were lost at this party, not physically but emotionally. a lot of stuff was going on all at once, people grinding on each other, smoking, drinking, fighting.
focus. virginity. right. your eyes look around the room, eyes finally locking on a tall man. he was text book description of a frat boy, maybe he’d be the perfect guy for a quick fuck? you sigh and muster up courage, walking over to the man.
once you get there, you freeze. his eyes looking at yours, he looked confused. “have you lost your virginity?” you ask out loud, but he doesn’t seem shocked by the delivery of your question. “why do you wanna know?” he replied dryly, bringing his red solo cup up to his lips. “can you take mine?” you ask.
he paused, the rim of the cup brushing against his lips before he put it down. “what?” he said to her, he wasn’t sure if he heard her correctly. “can you fuck me? can we please have sex?” you explain, your sentences rushed out and you end it with a sigh. “wow, you don’t waste time.” he sarcastically said, placing his cup on the kitchen counter.
you tilt your head. “okay. so? yes?” you question. he looks stuck as if he’s trying to figure you out but you only become more confusing for him. his tongue presses against his inner cheek. “maybe. maybe not. why’s it matter?” he asks. “uh.” you stammer, your hand going to itch the back of your neck.
he waits for an answer but you didn’t have an answer. “uh, i don’t know, i’m sorry—i’m wasting your time.” you continue, turning to walk away. he laughed under his breath. “you come up, ask the weirdest question I’ve heard all month, and you’re embarrassed?” he questions as he shook his head.
“that’s rich.” he stated before speaking up again. “you want me to fuck you for fun? or what?” he asked bluntly, you freeze and your cheeks burn with embarrassment.
it wasn’t because he said it out loud but because he read your mind completely.
you turn to him and think to yourself. for fun? that sounds confident. “yeah…for fun.” you reply, a soft smile spreading against your lips. he looks at your smile and back up at your eyes, he doesn’t smile back, but he nods slowly like he was processing what you said.
the conversation went quiet, but your smile stayed put during it. he leaned in a bit. “come here.” he told you, curling his finger to signal you to come closer. you do what you’re told and his lips to get next to your ear. “you think you can handle seven inches for your first time?” he asks, his eyes looking into yours like he’s genuinely curious.
your smile faded immediately hearing that. they get that big? “what?” you ask, but he doesn’t react. “seven inches” he repeats. “inside you.” he adds, his eyes watching your face to see how you’d react. “think you could take it?” he asks, his tone dripping in tease.
your jaw drops a bit, staring into his eyes. he lazily smiles and looks down at your lips. “i don’t believe you.” you shot back, smiling now. he chuckles, clearly taking your doubt as a joke. that was hot. he was confident in his size and found it humorous when doubted because he’s always told it’s so big.
"don't believe me?" he echoed, eyes still locked on hers. a slow smile appeared on his face. "guess there's only one way to find out, huh?"
rafe’s hard cock sprung out his boxers like a sling shot being pulled back and your jaw drops. he was huge. thick. and hard. your eyes look up at his, and his eyes meet yours after a couple seconds, he slightly smiles proudly. “you wanna touch it?” he taunts. “can i? or- should i?” you stammer.
he laughs and leans over to the nightstand, grabbing the condom and dropping it in your hands.
you couldn’t help but feel shy, it felt wrong to even look down at his dick, regardless if he wanted you to see it. he wasn’t shy, he was literally flaunting his size and teasing you. you swallow your spit nervously.
“what- uh. what do i do with this?” you ask, looking up at him. “put it on.” he answers simply, but it didn’t answer much of your questions. “have you never put a condom on a banana?” he questioned, curious on how inexperienced you truly were.
you roll your eyes, and he delivers a soft slap from the tip of his fingers on your cheek—it was all he could reach while he was standing up. “what was that for?” you asked, holding your cheek even though it didn’t hurt. you are just dramatic. “that’s for thinkin’ you can roll your eyes at me. try it again and it won’t be so gentle.” he states.
you sit there, completely dumbfounded. he grabs the condom wrapper out your hands, opening it and demonstrating how it’s supposed to go on just by putting it over the tip of his dick. “pull it down.” he tells you, holding the condom on his dick before you took over. you slide it down his dick, brows furrowing.
the condom looked like it was struggling to even stretch over his dick, like it was cutting of circulation. when it finally stretched to the start of his dick, he looked down at you.
“easy, yeah?” he asks and you nodded, your eyes were staring at his dick, overly examining it. he watched you stare, wondering on why you were doing so in his head. eventually, his hand grabbed your face, lifting it up to see your eyes. “rough or soft?” he asks.
you lift a brow. “what?” you ask, and he rolls his eyes. “you can’t hear or something?” he asks you, which you didn’t reply to. “you want me to fuck you rough or soft?” he repeats, clapping his hands together roughly and hard to show you rough, then slow and lazy with soft.
a smile spreads. “rough.” you tell him and his brow lifts, part of him didn’t think he even heard you right. “rough?” he echoes. “you sure that’s what you want?” he asks, but you nod before he could even finish.
he nods back at you, pulling his shirt over his head and picking you up effortlessly. he moves the both of you to the end of the bed, a place where he could have more space to do whatever to you. “take your clothes off.” he said but you stayed put. “take them off for me.” you reply and he smirks.
a glint of mischief in his eyes glows. “you think you can order me around?” he replies, amusement lacing his voice. he steps closer, his presence overwhelming as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “not how this works.” he pulls back slightly, locking eyes with you, a challenge present in his gaze.
with a swift motion, he grabs your shirt, lifting it over your head in one smooth move, leaving you exposed. he tosses it aside, and his eyes trail down your body, taking in every inch as a satisfied grin spreads across his face.
“let’s get these off too,” he says, moving to your pants. he kneels in front of you, fingers deftly working on the button and zipper, glancing up at you as he slowly pulls them down, savoring the moment.
as he removes your pants, he leans in closer, whispering, “you’re gonna love this.” he finishes the task, leaving you bare before him, a mix of excitement and nervousness hanging in the air. rafe straightens up, his gaze intense, filled with a dark satisfaction as he takes in the result of his handiwork.
you were quiet, but the need in your eyes lit up. he shifted between your legs, pushing your thighs wider apart with his knees. his free hand wrapped around his cock, thick and heavy, and he slowly dragged the swollen tip through your folds.
your jaw drops, looking down. “are you ready?” he asked, his eyes watching yours. you nod and he smiled, teasing the thick head up and down your entrance, pressing just slightly against your tight hole before pulling back again. “such a smart girl.” he comments, looking around your dorm room with books that he had no idea existed.
he leaned down, his chest brushing your tits, making you feel even smaller. the weight of him, the heat of his body, it was overwhelming.
he nudged the tip against your entrance again, this time pushing in just a little, barely the head, stretching you open before he stopped. you whimpered, trying to roll your hips for more, but he held you still with his hips. “uh uh.” he scolded softly, lips brushing your ear. “you don’t get it yet. not until I say so.” he said.
you pout and he kisses it off your lips. he rocked his hips in shallow little movements, letting just the fat tip slide in and out, teasing you. every time you thought he’d finally push deeper, he pulled back again, leaving you clenching around nothing.
“doin’ so good.” he muttered, voice husky. he pressed in a little deeper this time, still not even half, and groaned at how tightly you gripped him. “fuck. that’s it. keep squeezing around my cock like that.” his hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he continued the slow, torturous teasing. “does that feel good?” you ask, your sentence interrupted by your own moan.
he nods, looking into your eyes. “beg for it,” he said against your neck, biting down gently. “tell me how bad you want the rest.” he tells you. for a second, you thought it was a joke. beg?
but you do so anyway. “please rafe, please.” you cry out, brows furrowed. “sound so pretty,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “say it again.” he whispers. you swallowed hard, cheeks burning. “please, rafe… please.” you whimper.
he groaned softly, clearly enjoying how desperate you sounded. he pressed the fat tip against your entrance again, this time pushing in just a little further, enough to stretch you open but still nowhere near enough. “you’re so tight,” he rasped, eyes locked on your face. “Begging like a good little nerd… all polite and pathetic for my cock.” he taunts. “nerd?” you echo, lifting a brow.
he smiled, pausing. “you’re such a nerd.” he echoes, looking around the environment. “no, i’m not. i’m just smarter than you…which to be fair isn’t hard.” you reply. he laughs, looking at you in your eyes. “say it again” he tells you.
when you start the sentence, he rocked his hips in shallow thrusts, fucking just the head in and out of you, teasing mercilessly. you choke on your sentence, gasping. “what was that?” he teased.
you tried to push up to take more, he pulled back, keeping full control. you shook your head, dismissing his ask. he laughed in your face, loving the fact you shut up and took it. “you want me deeper?” he asked, voice rough as he looked down between your bodies, watching how his thick cock stretched your tiny pussy. “you think this little pussy can even handle all of me?” he teased.
you nodded quickly, breathing fast. “please. i want it. please, rafe.” you beg. he smirked, clearly satisfied. it was crazy to him that he broke you down so easily— but again. you’re a virgin. anybody can do that. one of his big hands slid down to grip your thigh, spreading you even wider as he finally started pushing in deeper. he kept it slow, thick, and relentless.
“that’s it,” he groans, his voice low. “keep begging and i might give you every inch.” he taunted.
rafe watched your face closely as you kept whimpering those soft little pleases, and something in him snapped. “fuck” he muttered. he gripped your hip with one hand, the other still pinning your wrists above your head, and slowly pushed forward. his thick cock sank into you inch by inch, stretching your tight pussy open wide. you gasped sharply, back arching off the bed as he kept going, relentless, until his hips finally pressed flush against yours, every single inch buried deep inside you.
you gasp for air, his dick was way too big. “shit…” he groaned, low and rough. “look at that. such a tiny little nerd pussy taking all of me. didn’t think you could handle it, baby.” he said.
you were so full it almost hurt, the size difference between you two making it even more intense. he was so much bigger, his broad body completely covering yours, hips settled heavy between your spread thighs. rafe leaned down closer, lips brushing your ear as he stayed buried to the hilt, grinding slow and deep.
your legs shake, your moans gaining volume. “fuck.” he mutters. he pulled back just a little, then slammed back in hard, making you moan loudly. his pace started picking up, deep and possessive strokes that had your smaller body jolting underneath him with every thrust.
“you feel that?” he said against your neck. “feel how deep i am? no one else is ever gonna stretch you out like this.” he teased, but it was true. he let go of your wrists so he could grab both your thighs, pushing them wider apart as he fucked you harder, his heavy balls slapping against you with every thrust.
“beg some more,” he rasped, voice dark. “tell me how good it feels getting ruined by my cock.” he tells you, but you couldn’t, all you could do is moan.
rafe kept his thick cock buried deep inside you, grinding slow and heavy, when he suddenly grabbed the back of your thighs and pushed your legs up. he folded you easily, pressing your knees toward your chest until your legs rested over his broad shoulders. the new angle made him sink even deeper, as you let out a broken moan.
“there we go,” he murmured, voice low and dark. “look at you… all folded up for me like a little toy.” he mocks. he started thrusting again, deep and rough strokes that made your tits bounce with every move. it felt too good. overwhelming. your eyes started watering, tears slipping down your cheeks as your mouth fell open in silent cries.
rafe noticed immediately. a smug smirk spread across his face. “aww, are you crying already?” he cooed mockingly, still pounding into you. “poor little nerd can’t handle how deep i’m fucking her?” he taunts. one of his big hands slid up and wrapped around your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make your head spin while he kept thrusting. his other hand fisted into your hair, yanking your head back against the pillow so you had no choice but to look up at him.
tears kept falling faster now, soft sobs mixing with your moans as he hit that spot inside you over and over.
“fuck, you’re so pathetic like this,” he laughed lowly, tightening his grip on your neck just a little more. “crying because my cock feels too good? keep those tears coming, baby. they look real pretty on that smart little face.” he said. your pussy throbs at the way he’s talking to you. who would’ve known that the nerdy girl liked being talked to like this?
he pulled your hair harder, using it as leverage to fuck you even deeper, hips slamming against your ass with every rough thrust. your legs shook over his shoulders, body trembling underneath his much larger frame.
“that’s it… cry for me while i ruin this tight pussy,” he growled, eyes locked on your tear streaked face.
rafe kept your legs pinned high over his shoulders, fucking you deep and steady while his hand stayed wrapped around your throat. your tears were still falling, soft sobs slipping out every time he bottomed out inside you.
“i’m— rafe— i’m gonna—” you whimpered, voice breaking and cracking, your moans interrupting you. but he knew what you were saying. “yeah? you’re gonna cum already?” he mocked, smirking down at your tear streaked face. “go ahead then, nerd. cum all over my cock.” he says.
your whole body tensed hard as the orgasm slammed into you. your pussy clenched and fluttered wildly around his thick length, soaking the condom with slick, warm cum. you cried out sharply, legs shaking violently over his shoulders as you came hard, tears pouring down your cheeks.
rafe groaned at the feeling, watching your face the entire time. “fuck… that’s it. look at you making such a mess,” he laughed lowly, still thrusting through your orgasm. “crying and cumming like a little slut for me.” he coos.
before you could even catch your breath, he pulled out of you, making you whine at the sudden emptiness. in one smooth, strong motion he flipped you over onto your stomach. he grabbed your hips and put your ass up high, pushing your face down into the pillow.
face down, ass up. exactly how he wanted you. “good girl,” he growled, slapping your ass before lining his thick cock up again. he pushed back inside you in one rough thrust, burying himself balls deep in your still-spasming pussy. “now stay just like this,” he ordered, one hand fisting tightly in your hair while the other gripped your hip, pulling you back onto his cock. “ass up for me while i keep fucking you stupid.” he laughed.
rafe fucked into you from behind, gripping your hips tight as he buried his thick cock back inside your soaked pussy. the new position had your ass high in the air and your face pressed into the pillow. “fuck, this ass looks so good up like this,” he groaned, starting to thrust rough and deep. every stroke was heavy, his hips smacking against you loudly.
he leaned over your back, one hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck, pinning you down harder while the other kept your hips pulled back onto his cock. “you like getting fucked like a little slut?” he asked, voice low and filthy against your ear. “tell me.” he teases.
you could barely think straight, the pleasure hitting you so hard your voice came out in high-pitched squeals mixed with moans. “yes— yes, yes!” you squealed, voice cracking as he pounded into you. “yes, rafe— yes!” your squeals got louder and more desperate with every rough thrust, your smaller body jolting forward each time he drove deep. tears were still leaking from your eyes, soaking the pillow underneath your face.
rafe laughs, tightening his grip on your neck as he kept fucking you mercilessly. “that’s right. keep yelling for me, nerd. let me hear how stupid my cock makes you.” he says. he slapped your ass hard, then gripped both cheeks, spreading you open wider so he could watch his thick length disappear inside you over and over.
“again,” he demanded, voice rough. “tell me who this pussy belongs to while you scream.” he says.
rafe kept pounding into you from behind, his hips slamming against your ass with every rough thrust. your face was buried in the pillow, back arched deep, ass held high for him while he gripped your neck and hair. “say my name,” he growled, yanking your head back by your hair.
“loud.” he said, making sure you knew. “rafe—” you squealed, voice breaking as he drove even deeper. “raf— rafe—!” he smiled, hearing that.
every thrust pulled another desperate squeal out of you. your smaller body was shaking uncontrollably under his much bigger frame, pussy clenching tight around his thick cock. “again,” he demanded, slapping your ass hard while tightening his grip on your neck. “louder.”
“rafe! rafe— oh my god, rafe!” you cried out, squealing his name like a broken record, tears soaking the pillow.
he groaned deeply, fucking you faster, harder, chasing his own high. “fuck, that’s it… keep saying my name while you cum,” he rasped. “i’m close— cum with me, baby.” he told you. your whole body tensed hard, legs shaking violently as the pressure became too much. you squealed his name one last time, loud and broken.
“rafe— rafe— i’m cumming—!” your pussy spasmed wildly around him, gushing all over the condom as you came hard. rafe cursed under his breath, burying himself as deep as possible and holding you there while he came right after you, thick pulses filling the condom as he groaned your name against the back of your neck.
both of you stayed locked together, breathing hard, bodies trembling. rafe kept his hand around your neck, possessive even after he finished, pressing soft kisses against your shoulder while you whimpered softly.
pairing: lando norris x fem!reader (no y/n, established rel.)
warnings: sweet and cliche, p in v, slight dumbification, sleepy soft sex, soft dom lando
wc: 2.7k
summary: lando comes home to his sleepy girlfriend after an exhausting triple-header
ale's note: RACE WEEEEK !!! i tried to write something soft and sweet but you know me i always have to add smut...
also, for everyone asking stalker!osc is coming soooon 🙂↕️
lando has his forehead against the cold taxi window, watching monaco slide past outside in a haze of orange light, thinking about nothing in particular except that he's nearly home.
three weeks. austin, then mexico city, then são paulo, back to back to back, a stretch of paddocks and airport lounges that wrung him dry. it’s been weeks since he’s had you in his arms. he’s had the curve of your spine and the smell of your hair on his mind for the entire length of the triple-header. he’d thought about calling last night, but hadn’t, worried you’d hear how sad he was and start crying too. he’d told the team he was flying back in the morning, but the idea of one more night on a starched hotel pillow, the silence of not-you, made him punch in a last-minute booking and wedge himself into a seat on the earliest possible plane.
it's not complicated. he just missed you.
theres a neurochemical whiplash to the change—from track adrenaline to the slurred, irritable exhaustion of a long haul, from the humidity and heat of brasil to the crispness of the monegasque night. he imagines you, tucking yourself into bed, sleepy. the way you’ll probably cry when you see him because you get emotional when you’re exhausted. the thing about loving someone who tires easily is that you start to get addicted to the way they sag into you. the trust in it, the vulnerbaility. lando is thinking about this as the taxi pulls up in front of the apartment building. he drags his duffel out, thanks the driver in mushy french,then keys himself into the lobby. the lift takes forever. he stands in it with his bag and the pervading stench of airplane and his bajillion unread messages from jon, watcing the floor numbers go up.
he opens the door with a metallic snick, careful and quiet in case you’re asleep. the first thing that hits him is the warmth, so different from the chill outside, and saturated with the scent of your perfume. you must have cooked something earlier, he thinks, something rich and garlicky. he kicks off his shoes, toeing them neatly by the door. he can hear sound from the tv in the living room, light from the screen flickering out into the dimly lit room. he leaves his bag by the door. he'll deal with it later.
and there you are, in the living room, curled on the couch. your cheek is smushed into the leather and your lips are parted, a tiny gloss of drool pooling at the edge of your mouth.
the blanket is half off, exposing your bare thigh. your hair is a wreck, mussed and waterfalling over your face. his throat tightens. he’s not sure what it is—maybe the picture you make, all sweet and oblivious, or maybe the memory of how empty the hotel beds felt these last weeks—but it does something to him.
there’s something in him—a failure of emotional maturity, probably, or maybe just a hole in his own childhood—that has always wanted to keep something soft alive, to have something that needs him. he thinks of you as a baby bird, or sometimes a puppy, all twitchy and sweet and trusting. it’s not meant to be an insult. you’re smarter than him, probably. but you’re still so easily tired by the world, so obviously in need of shelter. he sometimes has this weird need to build a house around you and stand outside all night, knife in hand, just in case.
he kneels by the sofa, reaching out to brush stray locks off your cheek. you don’t stir. he wonders if he can get away with watching you like this forever, but theres this greedy, selfish urge clawing at him. he missed you. he needs you to wake up. he drags his knuckles along your jaw, the softest nudge. you make a small noise, nose twitching, and your eyelids flutter. he strokes your face again, more deliberate. “hey, sleepyhead.”
your eyes flutter open, unfocused and bright. you blink slow, like your brain is still rebooting. it’s disgustingly cute.
“‘lando?” your voice is raspy, a little confused.
“hi, sweetheart,” he whispers back, smiling, “didn’t mean to wake you.” lie.
you stare at him, foggy, and your mouth curls into a half-smile, sleepy and dopey. “you’re not supposed to be home,” you say, like you’re accusing him of something horrible.
“missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t try to hide the way his voice breaks.
you try to sit up, but your limbs are noodles, and you just flop over sideways. he pulls you into his arms instead. you come down easy, melting against him like you want to crawl under his skin. you burrow your head into his armpit, so pliant and so warm that he feels like he could hold you forever.
“i missed you more,” you mumble into his skin. at least that’s what he thinks you say, your words are barely intelligible and slurred with sleep.
he lifts your chin with a finger and looks at you properly. your eyes are glazed, pupils blown wide, and your lips are parted, soft and lush. you look like you’ve just been fucked into oblivion, not like you’ve been napping. he grins, a little wolfish, and you catch it, your eyebrows lifting, “whuh?”.
“you’re just…” he shakes his head, can’t find the right word. “sweet.”
you roll your eyes, but it’s slow, like your brain is wading through syrup. he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and tucks your head back against his shoulder. the clock on the wall ticks to 12.
“you should get to bed,” he whispers, but you only whine, a wordless sound that means you want to stay right here, in his lap.
“i’ll carry you,” he offers, only half-joking, because all he wants is you in his arms, but your answering noise is so eager, he can’t help but smile.
“‘kay,” you say, and he hooks an arm under your knees and another around your back and stands, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you just cling, face buried in his neck, hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt. he can feel your smile againt his skin.
he deposits you on the bed, pulling the duvet over you. your hand shoots out for him when he moves away.
“stay,” you whisper.
“i have to shower, sweetheart. i’m disgusting.”
“don’t care,” you slur. “wanna smell you.”
something in his chest squeezes. “5 minutes, yeah?”
you make a vague sound, somewhere between a yes and a snore.
he showers fast, rinsing the smell of recycled air off him. when he comes back, you’re still in exactly the same position, sweet, defencdeless, and completely his. he crawls into bed next to you, pulling your back against hsi chest. you make a pleased sound.
“i love you,” he breathes into your hair, and he’s never meant anything more in his life.
he wants to tell you more, everything. how lonely it is in those hotel rooms, how the world feels sharper and meaner when you’re not with him, how the thing he wants most isn’t the win or the champagne or the cameras but this: you, drooling on him, arms around him, so tired you can barely keep your eyes open but still greedy for his touch. how he could have all of the podiums and the trophies in the world, and how it’d still mean nothing without you.
but he knows you’re about to fall asleep again—he can feel your breath evening out, your muscles going slack—so instead he swallows the emotion down.
he kisses the crown of your head, then your temple, then your lips. you smile in your sleep, making a little blissed-out noise, and lando thinks: if this is what the rest of my life is, i’ll never need anything else.
꩜
lando wakes to sunlight spilling through the blinds. your arm is splayed over his chest, your hand has curled loose around his bicep. there’s a damp spot on his chest where you must have drooled, which makes him smile.
he’s always felt a little sick with how much he loves you. it gnaws at his insides, the affection. sometimes he thinks about you as a child—photos of you with fat cheeks and scraped knees, the stories you tell about getting locked out of the house by your older brother. he gets obsessed with the idea of having known you then. he wants to peel back the years and wrap his arms around every version of you, keep you safe and soft and protected, make sure nothing ever bruises you except the things he can kiss better.
he moves a fraction, and you grunt in protest, wiggling closer back into him. there’s something almost perverse about how easily you fold into him, no friction at all, only this puddling collapse. its like your bones have liquefied in the night. an hour ticks by and evebtually, you shift, eyelids fluttering.
“lando,” you mumble, and then, “lando, don’t let me go.”
he squeezes you and you nestle in. you’ve always been the coldest human alive, and in winter you use him like a hot water bottle. he lets you, likes it even, how you shove your iceblock feet between his legs.
eventually, you begin to stir. it starts with a hand at his waist, searching for him under the sheets. he rolls you to face him, and you blink up at him, dazed in the blue morning light. your hair’s a disaster, and your face is creased from the pillow. he wants to bite you, a little, just to see what you’d do.
you reach for him again, pulling his arm across your chest so his hand lands on your tits. you sigh, content, and it’s so obvious what you want that he has to laugh.
“missed me that much, huh?” he teases, but you don’t rise to the bait. you just push your tits into his palm and shiver, like you’re cold, like you can’t get enough of him. he obliges, thumb brushing over your nipple until it’s hard and you’re making those tiny whimpering sounds he loves.
“lando,” you whisper, drawn out and needy. he’s been waiting weeks to hear you like this.
he kisses you, slow and deep, licks into your mouth until you go slack. you melt, your body going boneless under his touch. he takes his time, kissing you like you’re oxygen. your tongue is lazy, letting him do what he wants, and he does—tilting your head, biting your lip, sucking your tongue until you moan into his mouth.
you whine when he pulls away, hands chasing him in effort to keep him close. he loves that—loves how you go floaty and dumb for him, how your only thought is how to get him closer.
he kisses your jaw, your throat, then slides down to lift your top, taking your nipple in his mouth. you arch, pulling him closer.
“greedy,” he laughs, low in his chest, and you only nod, lost to the sensation. he traces down your ribs, his hand spanning your waist, thumbs hooking into the band of your shorts. you buck up, hips chasing his touch, and he’s so hard it almost hurts, his cock pressed against your thigh.
“you want me?” he murmurs, and he’s a little mean about it because you always say yes, but this time you’re so gone you can’t even speak. you just nod, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth open, panting. he slides his hand down, cups your pussy over the fabric, and you whimper. he can feel the heat leaking through cotton.
“so wet, baby,” he coos, smug, and rubs slow circles through your shorts until you’re grinding desperate against his hand. he wants to see you, wants to fuck you until you can’t walk, but more than anything he wants you to just let go, let him do everything for you.
he slides his palms under the fabric and squeezes your ass. you grind down, making his cock twitch.
“jesus, you’re needy,” he murmurs, almost reverent.
you only make a broken, whimpery sound. he flips you, easy as tossing a pillow, and you let yourself be manhandled. he wants to laugh again, at how much you love being small, how much you love being handled, but it would ruin the spell. your eyes flutter shut, maybe with exhaustion, maybe with pleasure.
“you awake?” lando asks softly, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose.
“’m awake,” you slur, your expression caught between bliss and confusion. “missed you so much.”
“did you now?” he traces the line of your jaw with his tongue, nipping at your earlobe.
“mm. missed you. missed your cock,” you mumble, almost too quiet to hear.
he freezes, then pulls back to look at you. you’re blushing, but smiling, all the same.
“greedy,” he tuts, but the word is thick with lust.
“please?” you manage, and the word is so pathetic, so honest, he has no choice but to oblige you.
he peels your shorts down, and you try to help, barely, lifting your hips just enough for him to slide them off. your cunt is glistening, wet and puffy. he touches you gently, running his fingers over your clit, and you choke out a moan, clutching at his arm.
he shushes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’ve got you, sweetheart. just relax.”
“inside?” you look up at him, eyes wide and trusting. “lando, inside, please?”
and fuck, that voice. what else can he do but give you what you are so sweetly begging him for?
he peels off his boxers and lines himself up, presing the head of his cock against you and pushing in slow, savouring every inch of it. you gasp, back arching, hands grabbing for his arms, his shoulders, anything to anchor yourself.
“okay?” he asks, even though you’re already nodding, already grinding back onto him.
“feel so good,” your voice is slow, like you can’t concentrate on all the sensations at once.
he pulls out, thrusts back in, slow and shallow, and watches you come apart under him. you keep making these soft, kittenish sounds, keep scratching shallow lines down his back. he wants to fuck you harder, wants to pin you down and make you scream, but he knows that’s not what you need.
“pretty girl,” he praises, “you’re so fucking pretty. my good girl.”
“please,” you breathe. you’re almost crying, you don’t even know what you’re begging for.
he leans down, mouth at your ear, “you can cum, sweetheart. want you to.”
you do, eyes screwed shut and panting, cunt fluttering around his cock. then you melt, arms falling away. you blink up at him, dazed and grateful, a tiny smile pulling at your lips.
“’s good,” you mumble, then yawn, already half-asleep again.
he’s hasn’t finished, but he doesn’t care. he stays inside, just holding you, more for you than to chase his own pleasure. he thinks about just thrusting back inside you so he can cum—it’d be so quick, so easy—but looking at you, sated and sleepy, he knows he can't ruin that.
you whimper when he tries to pull out, arms and legs locking around him, trapping him inside.
“okay,” he laughs, breathless, so full of love he could burst, “okay, baby. i’ll stay.”
you sigh, content, and in minutes you’re asleep again, still clutching him. he stays inside you, uncomfortably hard, the heat of your cunt making his head swim, but he’s never been so happy.
he’s stuck there, buried in you, and it feels like the only place in the world he’s supposed to be. the room is warm and light, and lando thinks he might die here, in this bed, in this moment, and be happy forever.
synopsisyou and Trinity decide you've had enough of being the casual booty call, agreeing to play hard to get to prove to your partners you can go without them. easier said then done
warningsmut. oral (f! receiving) fingering, language, pinv, unprotected sex, MDNI. slight praise kink. no use of y/n
authornotethe way in which i need to be driven mad by this man using me is concerning to feminism
main masterlist. other Robby fic
“I don't get it!” said Santos for... well, you had no idea how many times she'd repeated herself but you were considering making it a drinking game. Every time she said she 'didn't understand' you resolved to take a shot. “I thought we were fine, doing great and casual- what- what is casual?”
Whitaker's hand hesitated in the air like they were in class. “Well I think by casual she means-”
“I know what casual means, Fuckle-berry,” said Santos quickly. “But it was casual now it's just weird.”
You nodded along, humming.
She groaned, hands running through her hair in frustration. “I don't get it!”
You took a long gulp of your wine.
“How do you handle it?” Trinity asked, arms wide in question at you.
“Me?”
“Yeah, how do you and Robby do casual?”
“Oh- we... it's- um-” you stumbled over your words, hoping that if you let it up long enough she'd take it back and start on her problems again. She didn't and she stood in front of you and Whitaker, waiting for an explanation.
The whole thing between you and Robby had started about the same time Santos and Garcia started. In an awkward confrontation that was you and Trinity bumping into each other in your shared bathroom, both your hairs messed up and both supporting bruises suspiciously in the shape of lips on your necks.
When you returned to your room you and Robby waited eagerly to see who would flee Santos's room. Neither too shocked to find Garcia.
“It's um?” Trinity asked.
“It's going,” you said into your wine glass, finishing it and pouring in more. The truth was for a while things had been odd, on your end more so.
Casual was a label you thought you could do, that when Robby said to you a week after sleeping together, his sheets over the both of your bodies that he liked keeping it simple. Sex. Release. You thought you could do it.
Almost three months since then and you were regretting it because every time you saw doctors eyes lingering over Robby, every time you heard his 'seven-week rule' and every time you saw happy couples fawning over each other in the ED your stomach twisted.
You didn't realise you wanted that until it was dangled in front of you and snatched away all in the same minute.
Trinity's brows rose. “Oh?”
You looked to where Whitaker was next to you, hoping for sympathy. You only found curious eyes. “It's just different than before.”
“Different how?” asked Dennis.
“Is it still casual?”
You scoffed, mumbling under your breath. “Yeah to him.”
“You want to be more?”
You didn't know if she was accusing but your room-mates expecting eyes on you heated your body in shame and embarrassment. “And you don't with Garcia?"
“Ok, enough!” suddenly Whitaker stood up. “The two of you, we need to sort this out.”
With a vacant seat next to you Trinity plopped herself down and you gave her your wine. You just decided to take the bottle.
“I cannot stand it anymore, okay! The two of you, we're gonna change this,” he said. “Trin- no more pining and waiting for Garcia to call at like one am.”
She was wanting to retort but only folded her arms over her chest as he carried on.
“And you-” he focused on you. “Need to stop crying over Robby. You guys can do better.”
“Yeah in a world where we're not working twelve hour shifts five days a week,” you said. The idea of casual hook ups wasn't anything new to the ED, not even the hospital. It was easy way of escape without the pressure of dating when all their time was spent saving lives or charting about saving lives or studying how to save lives.
On the coffee table in front of you Trinity's phone pinged and she reached for it like it was seconds away from self-destructing.
She tucked her phone into her chest to read the text before slamming it back down.
You caught a glance at the words and the contact. Can't make it tonight, I'll hit you up tomorrow- G
“You're gonna leave them,” he said.
You and Trinity sat up. “What?”
“No!”
There was a flicker of fear in his eyes.
“Okay- I take it back,” he said, surrendering. “Then how about give them a taste of their own medicine.”
“Their medicine?” you asked.
Whitaker gently nudged the empty glasses and cans of beer aside, perching on the edge of the coffee table, appealing to the two of you. “How many times have they cancelled plans, or said you couldn't come over to ask you to come over two hours later?”
You hadn't realised how perceptive he was.
“Now, make it so you guys call the shots. They want to come round, you say no.”
The idea was new to you. You'd always wanted Robby. You spent half your spare time wanting him and the other half having sex with him. You'd never even wanted to say no.
“So then we what, don't have sex?” asked Santos.
“You will,” he said. “You create distance, get them wanting and crying or what-whatever and then they'll realise they've messed up.”
You thought we was giving them too much credit.
Santos chuckled. “Huckleberry, are you telling us to play hard to get?”
He thought about it, eyes moving as if he was calculating it. “Yes!”
That's how plan 'hard to get' started. It was agreed you and Santos, the next time Garcia and Robby asked you to come over you'd say no.
Easier in practise when you work with them.
The next day was a slower day, un-usual in that sense. It meant everyone had more time to linger around each other.
“And so I said to him- officer-” said Myrna, lying on the bed between you and Robby. She'd seizure, hurt her leg and needed it disinfected and cleaned- not for the first time in her life. There was a mix of glass and gravel that needed plucking out and apparently the attending of the ED had nothing better to do that join you in the task. “What would you have done if you caught your third husband eating out another woman?”
“And did he say shoot him?” asked Robby. He was bent over the same leg as you, your heads so close you were either gonna head butt or kiss. Not likely over the state of her leg.
“No, he didn't say anything, he just arrested me!”
Robby hummed, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “Imagine that.”
“You know Myrna sometimes I can't tell if all these stories are true,” you said, taking a small bit of glass and adding it to the pile you'd already created.
“Oh they're all true, honey, I never lie. Unlike Mark that two faced bastard.”
“Which one was Mark?” you asked.
“The fourth husband. Good body and shit everything else!” she said with a wheeze. Abruptly she grabbed your hand. “Are you single?”
Robby glanced up at you, creases of amusement at the corner of his eyes.
You looked away first. “Why, you asking me out?”
“If you're single, stay single!” she said. “Men, all they are are liars! Lying bastards! And babies! I hardly even shot the guy!”
“Am I so bad, Doctor?” asked Robby looking over the frames of his glasses at you.
Was he so bad? No. He was short-tempered sometimes, moody, didn't accept help from anyone. But you knew he could be gentle, you knew his true belly laugh and the smile he gave at mornings when you were still in bed. You just wish you knew if he ever saw himself staying in that bed a little longer, if he ever wanted to make breakfast and take the day together, stealing moments throughout.
“No,” you said, looking back down to her leg that was almost clean. “You're not.”
Myrna was oddly silent but you could see her head moving between the two of you. “Don't go there sweetheart,” she said, a word of warning. “This one might look fun but he's all danger and heartbreak.”
“Me? No,” said Robby with an air of un-care. “I'm a teddy bear.”
Five minutes later you and Robby were instructing Perlah wrapping her leg before throwing off your gloves and leaving her to it.
“How many husbands you think Myrna had?” he asked.
“Oh there's no telling,” you replied, fetching her chart to finish off the notes. At some point someone had put a star next to her name, as if she was VIP.
Robby leant next to you, scanning around the ED. “Any plans tonight?”
“On a Wednesday? Nop.”
“Wanna come over?”
There was an abrupt and loud clear of a throat.
You hadn't realised Whitaker was there but he was watching the two of you, closely. When you met his eyes he gave a small subtle shake of his head.
Robby looked. “You got a cough, Whitaker?”
He cleared his throat, sliding down in his chair. “No.”
The agreement. It was all fine in practise but how were you supposed to say no when you just said you had no plans and you really wanted to have sex with him! It was the glasses, you were sure that was what did it. The way he pulled them on and pulled them off, the focus it gave him and the way they slipped down his nose.
“So, tonight?” he asked again, voice low.
Only a few people knew, like your room-mates and you were sure others had guessed. Robby wanted to keep it private. Or a secret, you'd never asked for clarification.
You caught Whitakers gaze on yours, watchful. He didn't say anything but you wondered if he'd be disappointed. Would you even be disappointed in yourself? “I can't tonight.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Okay.”
He didn't sound annoyed. He didn't sound anything. It was impossible to tell.
“Yeah, we just- there's this thing-”
“Thought you had no plans?” he asked, an almost amused rise in his brows.
Ah. “It's like- not a plan- just a- a room mate thing. You know?”
Robby looked to Whitaker as if to confirm.
He nodded. “Yeah! Every Wednesday. We watch films.”
“Films,” you confirm.
“And talk.”
“We talk.”
Robby nodded. “Sounds thrilling.”
“Robby!” Dana called. “Got a trauma, woman in her thirties. Five minutes.”
“Got it," he said but he was still slumping over the counter. He took his time moving, stretching up till his shirt rode up enough to expose that slither of skin that held so many promises. “Some other time then.” His hand ghosted the small of your back before he disappeared.
You watched him go, realising you wouldn't spend the night buried in his bored but sleepless and restless.
Whitaker replaced Robby at your side. “See? Doesn't that feel good?”
You answered truthfully. “No.”
That night you, Santos and Whitaker sulked on the sofa, face masks over your faces with a bowl of popcorn left on the table and a shitty movie filling the silence.
Your phone lay face up with nothing from Robby and from Trinity's expression you figured she'd had nothing either.
You'd been to the bathroom once, took your phone with you and debated texting him but you never got that far. You only flicked through texts, casual one's at first. Small 'Are you coming over?' or 'You left your shirt at mine.' There were some dotted from him, on times you were both too busy to meet where things got more... riskier. His texts started simple but you could always catch on to his wants, leading his want.
Things like 'Thought about you today,' or 'you looked good today,' but he never just complimented you for the sake of it.
The texts didn't help so you turned your phone off and re-joined the two all the while your head and heart were in bed with Robby.
The next day passed like another dry spell.
It was busy- too make up for the quiet day beforehand. You didn't have time to greet Robby before being thrown into the chaos from a pile up on the highway. All day your bodies shuffled past each other, his hands lingering on your arms when he passed or always standing next to you in trauma.
It felt something like punishment.
Or a test.
By Friday you were crawling out of your skin, still dealing with the ramifications of the last two days. You hadn't even seen that Robby had text you the night before, so exhausted from work you crashed only spotting his name on your phone the morning you woke from the blare of your alarm.
“You're avoiding me,” he said, kneeling at the computer you typed furiously at to get your charting down. It was a casual move he used, usually un-tying and re-tying his shoes. This time, he simply knelt, seemingly done with pretence.
“What? No.”
“I've barely seen you the last few days," he said, wetting his lips. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, no, I've just been super busy,” you said, tapping on the computer.
Robby shuffled next to you. His hand laid next to yours. He didn't take your hand or stop you but his fingers fidgeted like he didn't know what else to do with himself. “Did I do something?”
You looked down at him, spotting the crease between his brows. “No.”
It was the closest you'd got to seeing him vulnerable.
“So tonight?” he asked. “Feel like I'm losing my damn mind.” His finger was light as it traced your hand, slowly drawing circles.
Tasting Robby was like the first sip of alcohol. It always left you wanting me. Sweet. Bitter. Whatever. You were just left wanting and nothing else, which was why you went crawling back every time. Why saying no had never crosse your mind before. Why the smallest touch from his hand was leaving you in shivers.
You squeezed your eyes shut. “I can't tonight-”
Robby smirked, breathing out a puff of air.
“I would,” you said quickly, turning in your chair to face him. “Believe me, I would, it's just... Trinity is going through some stuff and I just- I don't want to leave her alone, you know.”
It was the truth. Trinity was taking Garcia's silence worse than you or Dennis had anticipated. You knew there was more going on, you only wanted to be there to help her.
Robby perked. “You need me to speak to her?”
“No, no, it's just stuff. She'll be okay I just, want to be safe.”
He nodded but his finger fell from your hand. “Okay.”
“Doctor Robinavitch!” his name was called by the familiar dread of Gloria.
He sighed under his breath as he pushed himself up. “Oh so help me, God.”
By Saturday you were sure Robby thought you were lying and sort out to punish you. He was practically glued at your side all day long. He didn't ask to see you, didn't put his lips near you. But he lingered.
“Okay we don't have a lot of time, there's a lot of bleeding,” said Robby in the face of a trauma, looming over you. “We'll do a Hilar flip.”
“A Hilar flip, are you serious?” said Trinity.
“No other choice.”
You gulped, staring down at the bleeding and misplaced lung. “I've never done one of them before.”
“I'll talk you through it, we'll go easy,” he said, coming at your side. “You're gonna rotate the lung one-eighty, very slow. Very gentle.”
Perhaps it shouldn't have been as erotic as it was. The way his chest heaved against your back, his arm stretching along yours to hold your hand and guide it through the blood to his lung. His face was concentrated next to yours but his breath was hot on your cheek and breathless.
“Go slow.... go slow. Easy.... gentle.... just like that, there we go,” he uttered against your ear.
“Blood loss is slowing down.”
“There we go, you got it,” he mumbled as you slotted it back into its place. “Okay-” Robby moved on like your whole body wasn't trembling. You had to carry on trying to save the guys life after it, like you weren't picturing his entire body draped over yours, whispering filthy things in your ears.
“Thought I was watching a porno there,” said Santos as you all fled the room when the guy was stable.
“Jesus-” you caught your breath, throwing off the gloves and running your hands through your hair, trying to get some air to your neck that sweat.
Santos chuckled to herself. “So does Doctor Robby talk you through it?”
“Trin-” you snap.
“Does he praise you? Is that the kind of thing you're into.”
You didn't respond, hiding in the bathroom to throw cold water onto your face and calm the rush of blood but you could hear Santos outside the door. 'This is a teaching hospital!' she teased.
It became a thing you had to do, get away from him. You couldn't be distracted when dealing with patients. It was bad enough working with him when all you could think about was fucking him!
But Robby seemed to insist in helping you.
“Gaping wounds like this, under the skin we use sub-Q to bring it together,” he instructed as started the stitching for a mans wound on his leg. It was just like anything else, hardly a teaching wound when you knew how to do it. As it was under tissue and there was just no other nurse around Robby insisted.
“Five-O under skin, three-O after that,” he said.
“You think you could show me?”
You both knew you didn't need to be shown but Robby still gave you a small smile and sat on the stall, coming close to you till his meaty thigh was against your own. His hands- though gloved as yours were- still grazed yours as he took the instruments to do it.
“Guide it through... it's finer so you want to extra gentle... lotta care...”
You hummed but you couldn't say you were watching it with keen eyes. You weren't watching the way the stitches came together just the way his hands flexed, his fingers moved.
“Start deep... all the way in... bury the knot in... yeah, see how it comes together just like that?”
You nodded with an absent mind.
Robby held the equipment out to you. “Go ahead.”
You hesitated. Maybe you should have paid more attention.
He all but shoved them into your hand. “You're a big girl, you got it.”
Santos's voice played it your head. Were you into this?
With a breath you steadied yourself and went in. As he had before Robby leant over you, his body practically weighing you down.
You took the thread under the skin, pulling together just like he had.
“Bit deeper-” Robby's hands guided your arms. They were as light as a feather at your elbows before slowly sliding down your arms with a firmer hold, leading the threads.
You remembered his tight hold on you when he wanted you in place on the bed, when he was was dragging clothes off your body or wrapping a hand around your neck-
Robby called your name, watching you expectantly. His eyes were softened at the edges but they grew darker, the smallest bit of a smirk at the corner of his lips. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
“Right... sorry-” you went as deep as he instructed, knowing his face was concentrated on you and your hands.
“Do you want me to leave?” asked the patient.
If he could leave his leg and leave it would've been great.
“We'll get you out of here in no time,” said Robby.
You'd thought that maybe the stitching at taken so long it was almost time to leave. Maybe you could talk to Whitaker and Santos about this hard to get thing. It was only eleven and you had more than six hours left with situations that constantly brought you and Robby together. Even when it didn't, there he was, whispering words of encouragement.
“You got this... nice and easy.... doing really good there...”
Or the simple phrase that had you hiding in the bathroom for five minutes.
“Good girl.”
When the end of the day came you ran out of there, gasping in air and rushing back back to your place.
“Hey,” you greeted walking through the door.
Trinity was already there, looking like she was ready to leave, jacket thrown over her scrubs she hadn't changed out of even though she finished an hour before you. “Hey.”
“Where's Huckleberry?”
“Oh he's at Amy's tonight.”
You scoffed. “Woah. What a speech about doing better and playing hard to get but as soon as the chance comes to play farm. So, movie tonight? I can order pizza?”
“Actually, I'm just on my way out too,” she said. “Garcia called.”
You slumped. Your entire body slumped. Your heart gave up. “What? I thought we all made a deal?”
“We did, I played hard to get now she wants to see me,” she said.
“I haven't seen Robby in three days!”
“So go to his, get dicked down, girl,” she said, moving past you with a breeze. “I'm sorry, we can talk about how much of a bitch I am when I'm back from having the best sex yet! Later!”
She was out the door before you could chastise her. You shut it after her, falling upon it.
You'd ran from the ED to stay strong, to avoid another interaction with Robby that would have you climbing his bones in an empty room. You'd happily have done it with the teasing he'd subjected you to all day. For your friends and the promise you'd made you remained strong.
You'd never do that again.
Saturday night after the longest shift of your life and you had the place to yourself. It was rare. Either Denis or Trinity were home or you were spending the night at Robby's.
Your phone was heavy in your pocket.
Call him.
But the problem still lied un-answered. You were still at Robby's beck and call, begging for his attention. Begging him to be hard thinking about you so he could fuck you into the mattress to be professional the net day and treat you like you were just another MR.
You didn't want special treatment so to say, didn't want him to give you the easy patients or get you into the traumas more. You just wanted a smile, or a glimpse of .... love.
Maybe your friends were okay with what they had. You weren't.
You turned your phone off for the night and stripped from your scrubs, changing into a large shirt and blasting music Trin hated and Denis claimed to hate (but you'd heard him playing your playlist in the shower). For a crazy night alone you caught up on washing several pairs of scrubs and anything else, cleaned out the freezer leaving you barren of anything to eat. Maybe you'd even iron some normal clothes-
That's at least what you were thinking when there was a knock at the door.
You'd hoped it was Denis or Trin coming back, tails between their legs, keys forgotten.
Robby stood on the other side of the door.
You stood, frozen, shocked to see him there. He was just as still, waiting with raised brows. “Doctor Robby. Is everything okay?”
His backpack was slung over his shoulder, his scrubs only slightly dirtied from the day. But his eyes were alive and his body didn't sag with exhaustion like usual. His eyes darted back behind you. “Can I come in?”
You held open the door, closing it slowly behind you.
Robby had only been to your place once before. He looked the open living space open with interest. Typically your meet ups were at his, on account he lived alone and his bed was much nicer to be down on than yours.
“Er- Whitaker and Santos aren't home, if- if this is a hospital thing.”
“It's not,” he said, lowering his bag at the sofa.
“Oh?”
He turned, leaning against the back of it. “It's a me and you thing.”
“Oh.”
His arms flexed as he folded them over his chest, the green of his top under his scrub bunched at the forearms. His head ducked, trying to get a read on you. “So?”
You rocked on your heels, realising the shortened of the shirt you wore. Not that it wasn't anything he had seen before. “So...”
“What's going on?” he asked. There was still nothing in his voice to give away his true thoughts, only a slight edge of urgency.
“What-what-what do you mean?”
Robby listed off what he saw was wrong like symptoms. “You've been avoiding me, you never answered my texts, you didn't want to see me the other night nor tonight though you have the place to yourself-”
“I didn't realise they were gone,” you said.
“Okay so every other time?” he asked. “If I did something you can tell me. I'm a big guy, I can take it.”
It was a chance to voice up every ill thought you'd had but all you could think about was how big he was. Standing there, jutted on the back of the couch with his scrubs around his arms and thighs.
“You didn't do anything,” you said, though you weren't looking at his eyes more his arms.
They flexed again like he knew what he was doing. His voice dropped, finally to something you could name. “So tell me. what's going on.”
If you threw yourself at him you knew the chances of him taking you to bed were high, but the chances of you regretting it in the morning when he had rolled out of bed, dressed and left you were higher.
“I just-” you blew out a breath, readying yourself for the dismiss. “I don't think I can do this anymore.”
Robby waited like he was listening to the words re-play. His head lowered as he nodded, taking it in. “May I ask why?”
“It's the casual thing,” you rushed out before you could take it back. “I don't think I can do casual. I thought I could, but I-I can't.”
He nodded, chin tucked into his chest and for a moment you thought you really had upset him. But then he straightened up, pushed himself from the sofa and shrugged. His boots thudded heavy as he stepped to you slow. “Okay then.”
Was this the moment when you got the door for him on the way out?
“Okay, so... um.... I guess I'll see you-”
Robby's hands grasped your cheeks and he kissed you quick, hard. His lips tasted as they always did with a hint of mint-freshness. They were rough as always as they worked against yours, opening you up to him as always-
You brushed away, shaking your head. “I um- Robby I can't-”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. He stepped closer to you, the heat of his body waving over you. “We don't have to be casual anymore, I don't want to be casual- not anymore.”
Everyone knew Robby only knew casual. Only selected few ever got past seven weeks. Heck you hadn't counted how long this had been going on for, maybe ten weeks but that could be nothing. You were good sex, that was all.
“Robby-”
“Listen, listen-” he said, arms waving around you before settling on your forearms. “You don't want casual, neither do I. You want me to ask? You want me to ask you to be my girlfriend, I'll ask.”
“Robby you don't date,” you tried to tell him.
He scoffed. “I date. But not anymore, not if I have you.”
Had word of the deal got out? Was Robby just tired after his shift? Delusional?
“Hey, hey-" his hands ran through your hair, cradling your cheeks. “I should've said it earlier, I know but I want this. I want serious.”
His eyes crinkled as he looked at you, the edges of his gaze soft. “You don't just have to say this. You can have anyone else-”
Robby's head ducked into the crook of your neck, brushing your hair back and pressing light kisses to the expanse of your neck. “I don't want anyone else, I want you.”
Your body awakened in shivers that he elicited.
His fingers wound to the front of your body, slowly peeling away the buttons of the shirt till it pooled at your ankles. He didn't move to ravage you, his lips remained light as they kissed down your neck, finding your collarbone and working a mark there.
Your hands wound up his arms, clutching at his shoulders. “Robby-”
“Not this time,” he uttered against your collarbone.
You knew what you called him when it was you and him. “Michael-”
“Good girl.”
You moaned out at the words, the moan you'd held all day revibrating around your flat.
He slowly kicked odd his boots and helped you throw off his scrub top before he kissed you again.
You only got a short glimpse at the body you craved before his tongue, hot and heavy, slid into you mouth, bathing in the warmth. His hands were rough as they studied every inch of your body, fingertips digging into skin.
“I want you, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your lips as you scaled your hands under his shirt and along his stomach till your fingers skimmed under his waistband.
His mouth opened against yours, groaning at this slightest touch. “Oh-”
His arms scooped you up, bringing your body up and flush against him as his arms were strong on your back, kissing you. It was all wet tongue and soft lips as he stumbled back on the edge of your couch.
“Santos will kill me if we have sex on our couch,” you gasped.
Robby rose a brow. “Oh, we're having sex?” he teased.
“I should hope so.”
You kissed you hard again, wetting the both of your mouths in delectable smacks of your lips. The two of you stumbled away to your room and his body caged you in as the two of you fell atop your sheets.
You crawled up the bed as Robby's face fell between your chest. His tongue made wet paths from each breast, taking a nipple in his mouth and his hand groping at the other one till you withered against his body.
“Michael-”
He moaned into your breast and shoved a meaty thigh between your legs. “Grind on me,” he demanded.
Your body did against him as if it only listened to his command.
He mouthed your other breast, groping where his tongue had pressed before. All the while you body moved against his thigh, dragging your pussy against him.
“Yeah.... jus' like that... god.... can feel you.... so good,” he uttered as he jutted his thigh against you.
Your hands went to his shoulders, messaging the skin there until he came back up your body and shoved his tongue down your throat again. Your arm wrapped around his neck, keeping him into you.
All the while you wet down his scrubs.
“You want serious?” he uttered against you, pulling back enough to see you.
You nodded, hair splayed over your pillow.
Robby nodded along, eyes hooded. His hand slid down between your bodies. “I can do serious.”
His finger slid into you, working in and out in slow thrusts. But even the meassured curl of his finger had you holding him, back arching from the bed.
“Mmph-”
“Don't be quiet,” he said, nuzzling his head in you neck, biting the skin there. “Don't do that.”
Another finger curled in and you moaned on. You weren't quiet usually, there was nothing more than Robby liked than being loud. Everything was measured in the ED, out of it, buried inside of you or hot mouths on each other had Robby groaning, moaning and wanting you to do the same.
His fingers thrusted knuckle deep in and out again, the soft moving of skin moving around the room as your breaths covered the sound.
His fingers moved quick as your breaths grew laboured. He sucked the skin of your neck, thrusting and curling as his hips sort some sort of friction.
You withered against him. “I'm gonna- Michael I'm gonna-”
He released your skin with a small bite and laid his mouth open on yours. “Cum,” he uttered.
“Michael-”
His voice turned harder, the hand that wasn't inside of you wrapping around your neck, pushing you into your bed. “Cum.”
With just the right curl Robby had your pussy in the palm of his hand, slick with your release as he worked you through it, rubbing his hand along your clit with jolts of your body.
“God so good,” he said, looking up at you as a thin sheen of sweat glistened on your bodies. “And all mine?”
You nodded, cheeks flushed. You could feel the heat of your body as strong as it was when he walked in.
“All mine, huh?”
“Yes,” you said, breathless.
Robby slowly took out his fingers from you, putting his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean like it was nothing. He fell back on his feet, fingers working on the ties of his scrubs. “That why you were avoiding me?”
“I wasn't-” your words died in your throat as he dropped his scrubs and boxers in one.
You'd seen his cock enough to know it by memory but the size and fullness of him always rendered you speechless.
Robby knew it to. He stood there with a smirk. “You weren't avoiding me?”
Slowly, he sank to his knees.
“No,” you said, mesmerised by the sight of him going down.
Robby's hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them. He tapped your ankles, getting them on the bed as he got closer to your heat, still leaking from the last orgasm. “Promise?”
The words had hardly left your lips before his tongue pressed into you.
Your entire body moved into his but his arms wrapped around your hips, keeping you pressed into the bed. He moved further up, burying himself in you.
“Aw- fuck-” your hands waved for purchase before curling into the sheets.
He licked a stripe up and down before nudging your lips open and finding himself in there. It wasn't the slow drag of fingers but the desperate kisses and licks of a man hungry. He pulled back, spitting against you. “You won't avoid me again, will you baby?”
You shook your head.
Robby's eyes remained on yours until he buried himself in your pussy. You watched his eyes roll into the back of his head as he moaned into you.
His hands kept you spread open every time they quivered but it didn't take long for his hand to wind down to his cock. You prepped yourself up onto your elbows to watch as he pumped his cock agonizingly slow.
“Want your cock, Robby-”
He halted his movements and you but down on your lip.
“What did you just call me?” he asked, slowly moving up your body.
You knew you were supposed to call him Michael but watching the full swing of his cock stand to attention as he made his way over you was far too distracting.
“Hey-v his hand cupped your chin, forcing you to look up. “Michael.”
You nodded. Your hands reached for his cock, straining to wrap around him.
The only notice of the effect you had was the clench of his jaw.
“Michael,” he repeated, voice almost a growl.
“Michael.”
He nodded.
“Condom?” he asked, jutting back on his heels.
Your hand slowly worked his cock, the pre-cum beading at the tip. You shook your head. You were both clean, you were on the pill but tonight you wanted to feel everything, wanted him to even fill you-
Robby bent his head, spitting down on his cock and your hand. For a moment that's all it was, you hand moving on his cock as your other circled your clit. “God... your hand.... missed you...”
When your strokes got heavier, faster Robby's head fell back and he groaned. His cock was pink, heavy in your hand-
Quickly he grabbed your wrist and threw it off before grabbing the hilt of his own cock and slowly pushing into you.
His throat strained as he groaned at the push in and your back arched into him. “Fuck!” he fell atop you, arms braced at either side. “Shit- ah-”
Your arm wrapped around his shoulders, keeping you in.
“God, you make me crazy,” he uttered, searching for your lips.
The two of you collided in a mess of salvia, tongue, lips as he pushed into you, catching your gasps.
Eventually the rock of his hips grew steady. The creak of your old bed echoed the moves of him against you.
“Shit- ah-” he groaned, shaking off the sweat and the tension.
“Michael,” you said, holding him in closer. “I want you to... go hard.”
Hard he could do. Soft he could do. He would do anything you asked.
His tongue darted out, swiping your lips. “You missed me?”
“So much, so much, so much,” you pulled him down till his weight tested yours, cock deep. “On me.”
“Okay, okay,” he mumbled to himself. He put all his weight down, crashing your body into his bed. He wasn't as young as he once was. By no means but if you wanted it, he'd give it.
Pressed into you his cock went far and deep and he couldn't fully withdraw so it was small, maddening movements.
“Oh god,” he uttered.
You moaned, loud, as he wanted and he was breathless, groaning.
The dull thump of your headboard banged on the wall and something on your bedside table fell off.
Robby's arm stretched out, grabbing your hand and stretching your arms to the headboard, trying to steady it. With the stretch of the bodies he reached that spot in you.
“Aw fuck!” You yelled out, louder than anticipated. “Michael I'm gonna- I'm gonna-”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” he grunted with you. His other hand threw to your hip, holding your pelvis flush into you. “Fuck!”
In seconds he let go inside of you and the gush of his cum and the sound of the wet bodies threw you over the edge. His clutch on your hand grew tighter as his body trembled with yours, the spurts of your releases cooling down.
If this was casual Robby wouldn't have lingered, he'd have pulled out, flashed you a smile before using the bathroom.
He moved slower, staying till the both of you were spent. He kissed you, soft and sweet, lips moving around to remember the taste. “I'll move out,” he whispered as he took out his cock.
You stole a glance of both of your release leaking from you and around him before Robby moved aside.
He didn't flee, he didn't go to the bathroom. He pulled the sheets from under your bodies and got the both of you into bed. He laid beside you.
Robby tucked you under his arm, sweat on both your bodies cooling as you laid together. “Feels better when we're serious.” His fingers moved slow on your shoulder, delicate touches like a feather.
If he woke with a new thought, woke with regret you'd deal with it. For the moment you allowed yourself to feel the thump of his heart as the two of you slowly lulled to sleep.
Your alarm was the first thing you picked up in the morning. It's beeping ringing in your ear as you moved to turn the thing off or throw it at the wall-
A weight over your stomach made the effort harder but you got it.
Last night came back to you in the spill of scrubs on the floor and the ache between your legs.
Robby stirred next to you. Last night.
He stayed.
“You on today?” he asked, morning voice rough. You got a look at him, it was a rare sight you got to see him in morning light. His eyes were still shut, his face without the stress the day job gave him. He asked so casual, as if this was a morning routine you'd slipped into years ago.
You hummed, nodding and readying to move-
His arm tightened, drawing you in. “Call in sick.”
You chuckled, but your eyes closed. You promised yourself five more minutes. “My attending might have something to say about that.”
Robby grumbled. “Have a word with him, I'm sure you can be very persuasive.”
Somewhere in you apartment you heard the front door open and close, voices moving around the place.
You hadn't closed the door.
“Hey! We brought coffee and bagels!” called Santos.
“We're sorry for leaving you- we- huh?” you heard Whitaker. “What the?”
The clothes on the floor. The scrub top that would have his doctors badge on it.
You groaned and suddenly Whitaker and Santos were passing the doorway, one smirking, the other shocked.
Robby beside you didn't even stir.
“Good morning, Doctor Robby!” called Santos.
He only lifted a hand in greeting before making sure the covers were over the two of you.
You reached for something heavy, landing on a cushion and aiming at the door. It closed in front of your laughing friends.
SUMMARY: Y/N spent her entire life being reminded she would never be enough—too ugly, too strange, too easy to overlook. She was raised to believe that love was conditional, and that beauty was the only thing that could make a woman worthy of it.
After years of trying to become someone easier to love, she finally succeeds. Then Lando Norris comes into her life and, for the first time, someone looks at her like she’s worth choosing.
TAGS: ANGST, FLUFF, SMUT, LOW SELF-ESTEEM, BODY IMAGE ISSUES, HURT/COMFORT, INTERNALIZED SELF-HATRED, MORALLY GREY FEMALE CHARACTER
WORD COUNT: 11K
NOTE: Hello everyone, first of all, I want to thank you for the support on my previous stories. I’m still new to all of this, and it truly motivate me to keep writing. I hope you enjoy this story, which feels a bit more raw to me than the others since it touches on some difficult topics. Please keep in mind that the main character has gone through significant unresolved trauma in her life, so some of her behavior and decisions may be questionable at times.
masterlist
“You’re ugly, but you’re a calculating bitch, and that gives you an advantage over the pretty girls.”
That was the sentence my mother said to me the day I told her about my insecurities with men.
It might come as a surprise to many that a mother would use such demeaning words to describe her own daughter, but to me, that was normal growing up.
All my life, I grew up not only under the pressure of a mother like mine, but also in the shadow of a sister who was my complete opposite. Lula was the kind of person who looked like every beauty standard had been sculpted into a single human being. Apparently, just like my mother, she believed that gave her the right to humiliate and throw hurtful words whenever she wasn’t happy with me.
The worst part was that I knew they were right. Back then, I was a very ugly child, extremely skinny, and my features were… unusual, to put it in a less hurtful way.
Life at home was difficult, but school was a thousand times worse. I had no friends. I was intelligent, yes, but I never stood out because I was far too shy to let anyone notice. My classmates were cruel to me. The boys would joke around by pretending to be my boyfriends, and everyone would gag at the idea.
One moment that scarred me forever was when my sister brought one of her friends home. When she introduced me, he made a face of surprise mixed with disgust, as if he couldn’t believe someone so beautiful could have such a horrible-looking sister.
That day, I cried alone in my bedroom. Everyone treated me so badly that it felt like being ugly was the worst sin a person could commit.
Things didn’t get any better in high school. The “hey, my friend is in love with you” jokes no longer affected me, but I watched my classmates grow out of their awkward phases and turn into princesses while I remained just as painfully skinny and ugly.
Then my mother did one of the very few loving things she had ever done for me and took me to a doctor. It turned out I had issues with my immune system, which was why I couldn’t gain weight. With medical treatment and proper care, I eventually overcame it.
Puberty finally arrived, and combined with all the sports I played, my body changed dramatically. I became curvier and fit, the soft curves gave me a beautiful ass and gorgeous boobs, and the extreme thinness disappeared with my childhood, never to return again.
By the time I reached university, maturity had made me practically invisible to everyone. The way I dressed certainly didn’t help. And while I preferred invisibility over being harassed with mockery, human beings are social by nature, and loneliness was beginning to take its toll on me.
Sometimes I felt my thoughts drifting toward darker, more troubling ideas. I think part of it also came from the things my mother used to tell me.
With my first job came my first love. At twenty years old, I had sex for the first time and discovered that I genuinely enjoyed it and that I was actually very good at it. His name was Elliot, and he was my supervisor.
I loved him. I truly did. And I felt loved in return, which is why I believed every word he told me.
Eventually, I realized I was being played when I caught him on a date with one of my sister’s closest friends.
And my sister knew absolutely everything.
When I confronted her, she simply shrugged and, with breathtaking cruelty, said:
“Did you really think a man like him would genuinely fall in love with someone like you?” She laughed. “Get your feet back on the ground. Men only go after ugly girls to fuck them because they’re desperate for anyone to pay attention to them. Women like me are the ones they marry and build families with.”
Her words felt like a blade driven straight through my heart. I already knew men were selfish, filthy creatures, so betrayal from one of them wasn’t exactly shocking.
But betrayal from my own sister—my own blood, the person from whom I still expected loyalty, unconditional support, and love despite everything—has no name.
And you may be wondering, why I’m telling you all of this?
So you can understand that all the chaos I went on to create was justified.
(…)
The cruelty my sister showed that day made it painfully clear that she was never going to change and that I could not trust her or anyone else in my family.
That harsh reality hardened my heart. I began to think that maybe I didn’t want to keep letting life beat me down, and that perhaps it was time to unleash the miserable bitch my mother always claimed was hiding inside me.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t be ugly and cruel at the same time, so I decided to stop being ugly.
Or at least become a little less ugly.
The following year, I isolated myself from everyone. I started training and eating healthy again. I became obsessive about taking care of my hair, followed a strict skincare routine twice a day, and began orthodontic treatment that eventually left my teeth perfect.
I also took several etiquette and glamour classes, where I learned things like maintaining proper posture at all times and walking correctly in high heels.
I replaced every single piece of clothing in my closet and made the effort to pay a stylist to help me build an entirely new look.
Every two weeks, I subjected myself to facial cleanings, waxing appointments, and every kind of cosmetic treatment imaginable.
It seemed to be working, but I needed something more drastic.
Every day, I looked at myself in the mirror, and there was always something about my face that still didn’t feel right.
I consulted a plastic surgeon, who confirmed that what I truly needed was a slight adjustment to my jaw and a nose job to improve the balance of my face.
And that was exactly what I did.
My mother didn’t approve because, to her, beauty had to be natural or it simply didn’t exist. So I went through the entire process alone.
By the time I had fully recovered, I looked like a completely different person from the one who had started this transformation.
Physically, at least.
Inside, I was still just as wounded and alone. I felt that even after everything I had done, my life still had no meaning.
During that time, I had moved to a different city for work and managed to make a couple of friends. One of our favorite things to do together was go out partying.
And on one of those nights, I met Lando Norris.
“Are you related to Taylor Hill?” was the first thing he asked after we were introduced.
“What?” I stammered a little. I was so used to being compared to beautiful women as a joke that I couldn’t tell whether he was serious or not.
“Yeah, the model. I mean, you look alike. You have similar features—the eyebrows, the lips, and your eye color,” he continued with a smile.
I looked into his eyes, trying to find even the slightest hint of mockery, but all I found was curiosity and genuine kindness.
“No, I don’t know her,” I finally replied.
“You could be sisters,” he laughed softly.
All I could manage was an awkward little chuckle.
“Do you want another drink?” he asked after noticing I had finished mine.
I hesitated for a moment. No guy had ever bought me a drink before.
“Yeah… why not?”
Lando got up from the couch and headed toward the bar.
I turned to look at my friend Jack, who immediately started making obscene gestures with his hand and mouth, mimicking someone giving a blowjob.
I grimaced in disgust.
Little asshole.
Lando came back a few minutes later and handed me a drink—the same tequila sunrise I had been having before.
“I haven’t seen you around Jack before. How do you know each other?” he asked before taking a sip of his drink.
I explained that we were coworkers and that we got along so well professionally that it naturally turned into a friendship.
“So, are you a psychologist too?”
“No, I’m an engineer, but I don’t work in the field anymore. I’m in the administrative department of a healthcare services company.” I didn’t mention that my grandfather—technically my step-grandfather—owned it.
“Oh. Well, I don’t know much about that, but I guess it must be interesting,” he nodded while looking at me.
“If you think answering requests from grumpy old people is interesting, then yes, I have fun every single day,” I replied sarcastically.
Lando laughed.
“Tell me about your job. Since I studied engineering, I understand the car aspect of F1 a little, but what’s it actually like being a driver?”
“Well, more than a job, I guess it’s my passion. It’s what I love doing most in the world.” Something in Lando seemed to light up as he spoke.
He went on to tell me about racing and which parts of it he loved most.
The two of us became completely absorbed in conversation for the rest of the night. Lando was definitely interesting—and he genuinely seemed like the kind of person who would make a great friend.
“He likes you,” Jack said the moment we got into his car after saying goodbye to everyone else.
“Who?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“What do you mean, who? The man you spent the entire night talking to. Lando Norris, you idiot,” he said as if it were painfully obvious.
“Jack, you’re misreading the situation.”
“I know what I saw, Y/N. That man was practically drooling over you.”
“Of course he wasn’t… and even if he was, I’m not interested in him. At least not like that. My type is completely different from him.”
(…)
“I still can’t get used to your face. You look so… weird.”
I let out a sigh.
“Hi, Mom. I missed you too.”
I hadn’t wanted to come to this “family gathering” because I knew the moment my mother saw me, she would start with her passive-aggressive comments.
My grandfather—technically my step-grandfather—was obsessed with golf. So obsessed, in fact, that he owned shares in one of the largest golf clubs in London.
It was his birthday today, and he had decided to celebrate it here.
And even though I didn’t get along with my family, I had to come no matter what, because he was one of the very few people who genuinely supported me.
“Let’s head to the first hole,” my grandfather instructed. “The earlier we start, the more we’ll get out of the day.”
We split into two golf carts and began our round.
This time it was my mother, my sister, my stepfather, my grandfather, my grandfather’s other son, his wife, and their little boy.
We played until midday before deciding to head back for lunch.
“I’m going to the bathroom for a second. I’ll be right back,” my sister announced before walking away.
“We’ll wait here for you, sweetheart,” my mother replied before turning to me. “Y/N, what have you been doing here in London now that you’re all alone?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
I swallowed hard. No matter how emotionally detached I was from her, my mother still intimidated me.
“Working,” I answered simply.
She let out a quiet scoff.
“I don’t understand why you made your father spend all that money sending you to school just for you to never use your degree. What a waste. But then again, nothing about you surprises me anymore,” she scolded.
A sharp pain settled in the center of my chest, but before I could respond, my stepfather spoke for me.
“Mirna, we’re celebrating as a family. Let her enjoy the day. She’s not the first nor the last person who doesn’t work in their field. At least she’s not wasting her life being lazy.”
My mother merely rolled her eyes at her husband’s harsh tone.
It wasn’t common for my stepfather to defend me. He cared about me in his own way, but he preferred not to interfere with my mother’s parenting. Many times, he comforted me when her cruelty crossed the line, though he always limited himself to telling me to try to understand her.
My mother and I were immigrants. We arrived in this country after my biological father became an alcoholic and buried himself in debt. Here, my mother met Roger, and they got married. Some time later, my sister was born.
I suppose part of my mother’s resentment toward me came from how much I resembled my father. Of course, that was never said out loud.
Roger always told me to understand her—that her life hadn’t been easy and that all she wanted was for me to succeed.
“Y/N is my best employee, and I have absolutely no complaints about her, Mirna. Don’t worry about her. She’s a very level-headed girl,” my grandfather added.
My mother simply shook her head with quiet disdain.
Her attention shifted toward my sister, who had apparently come back from the restroom and was now chatting animatedly with a man whose face I couldn’t properly see because he had his back turned to us.
Finally, my sister took him by the arm, and the moment he turned around, both of them started walking toward our table. The second I got a better look at him, my eyes widened in surprise.
“This is my family,” my sister introduced proudly, still holding onto his arm. “Family, this is my friend Lando.”
Her voice carried unmistakable excitement.
She began introducing us one by one, and the moment Lando’s eyes landed on me, his expression mirrored my own surprise.
“Y/N, it’s good to see you again.” He took my hand, giving it a small shake without losing his smile.
My sister’s smile faltered for a split second.
Almost imperceptibly.
But I noticed.
“You know each other?” she asked after recovering herself as though nothing had happened.
My mind immediately started moving faster.
She likes him.
That’s why she introduced him like that—like he was her future husband and not just a friend.
Pathetic.
“Yeah, we have some mutual friends,” Lando answered naturally.
My sister let out a small, obviously forced laugh.
“What a surprise… such a small world.”
Her eyes shifted toward me, and the smile she gave me was painfully tense.
I’ve got you, bitch.
“Yeah, that’s true. Lando is great company,” I replied this time.
The twisted thoughts that sometimes haunted me began to resurface. A plan was slowly forming in the darkest part of my mind.
My mother always said I was a calculating bitch.
I suppose it was finally time to make her proud and show her just how far I could go.
(…)
“Just the person I was looking for,” I said the moment I sat down across from the only person who could help me right now.
Jack lowered his glasses slightly so he could look at me over the frame.
“Missed me?” he asked sarcastically.
“Of course I did,” I replied in a sweet voice.
“Okay, now I’m actually getting a little scared.”
“You’re so dramatic. I just wanted to talk to you about… life, friendships, entertaiment, you know, very casual things.”
“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms while studying me more carefully. “What does the lady want?”
“I just wanted to ask you a few things. You know… about your friend Lando.”
Jack burst out laughing.
“What?” I asked flatly.
“I thought you said you weren’t interested and that he wasn’t your type.”
“I never said otherwise. I just want to know more about him,” I replied, pretending it wasn’t a big deal.
“Alright then, what do you want to know?” He took off his glasses and placed them on the table between us.
“How often do you see him? I mean, do you hang out regularly or are you more like one-of-those-friends-you-see-once-a-year?”
“And why exactly do you want so many details?” His brow furrowed suspiciously.
“Just answer me, please?” I pressed my hands together pleadingly and stuck out my lower lip in an exaggerated pout.
Jack let out a sigh before answering.
“Well, I couldn’t really tell you exactly. We see each other pretty much whenever he’s in London. At least we try to.”
“And when is he coming back?”
“Y/N, I’m not answering another question until you tell me what’s going on or admit that you like him.” His voice was firm and final.
I knew that if I told Jack what I was actually planning, he would look at me like I was completely insane.
So I lied.
“Fine. I like him. I think he’s cute,” I answered, giving him exactly what he wanted to hear.
“You know what? I still don’t believe you.”
Indignation rushed through my body.
“It’s true.”
“Really? Since when?”
“I saw him again at the golf club over the weekend, and I got a better look at him. He’s actually very…” I paused, searching for the right words. “Charming. And really handsome too,” I finished.
“You know I still don’t buy any of this, but whatever. I’ll answer your question. He’s coming to my birthday party. You’re lucky.”
Excitement buzzed through my body. Finally, for once, luck seemed to be on my side.
“Thanks, Jack. I’d kiss you right now if it were professionally acceptable.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He grabbed his glasses and pointed them at me. “You owe me an amazing birthday gift for the favor I just did for you—and for the ones I’m about to do.”
“Expect nothing less from me.”
We both stood up, and I took the opportunity to give him a hug that Human Resources would fully approve of.
I walked back to my desk replaying the plan forming inside my head.
My sister was the one who owed me the most. Her humiliation had crossed every limit I had, and it was finally time for me to strike back.
It was obvious she liked Lando, and I knew that in her airheaded little mind she was already imagining a relationship with him. She was so predictable it barely took effort to figure her out.
That night at the bar, when Lando and I talked for hours, I had felt his interest in me too. At the time, I dismissed it—mostly because of my insecurities—but now it was something I could use to my advantage.
I was going to make sure Lando and I slept together. My sister didn’t need to know, but if my assumptions about him were correct, he would never entertain her romantic fantasies after getting involved with me. His conscience wouldn’t allow it.
And just like that, the little fantasy bubble my sister was living in would burst. Knowing her the way I did, she would spiral into a depressive state for quite a while.
It was a simple plan.
Maybe even a stupid one.
But effective.
There was absolutely no way anything could go wrong.
(…)
Two weeks later, it was finally Jack’s birthday, and in true Jack fashion, he decided to celebrate it at a rooftop bar.
Earlier that same day, he had confirmed that Lando would actually be there.
So, for the occasion, I decided to wear black. The stylist I had hired once told me the color looked perfect against my tanned skin.
When I finished getting ready, I looked at myself in the mirror.
The black silk dress clung to my body with a soft, fluid drape. The halter neckline left my shoulders bare, while the open back dipped down to the curve of my waist, held together only by two thin straps tied behind my neck. The dress was absurdly short, brushing the tops of my thighs and barely covering my ass.
I paired it with impossibly high black patent heels, delicate straps wrapped around my ankles and open toes. Simple, elegant, and painfully uncomfortable.
I wore my hair in a low bun and left my curtain bangs loose to make my face appear slimmer.
My makeup was light. I still struggled to experiment with it. The ugly-girl complex wouldn’t let me. I was embarrassed by the thought of people seeing me as an ugly woman trying too hard to be beautiful.
I was giving myself one final look-over when the intercom buzzed. It was the security guard announcing that someone had arrived to pick me up.
When I got downstairs, I was met with a car I didn’t recognize. I was just about to turn around and ask the guard if there had been some mistake when the driver’s window rolled down, revealing none other than Lando in the driver’s seat.
Jack, I love you, you son of a bitch.
I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my lips, and when Lando noticed my reaction, he smiled just as brightly.
“Lando, I wasn’t expecting you,” I said as I climbed into the passenger seat.
“Jack asked me to come pick you up, and I couldn’t really say no.”
Lando was dressed in black pants, a white sweater, and an open jacket layered over it. His curly hair fell slightly over his forehead. He had a beautiful smile—and even prettier eyes.
If I believed something serious could ever happen between us, I would probably allow myself to like him.
But that was almost impossible.
Lando was successful, attractive, and surrounded by thousands of beautiful women—women who, most importantly, were naturally beautiful.
So I settled for the idea of simply sleeping with him and ruining my sister’s life in the process.
We arrived at the bar, and almost immediately someone shoved a drink into our hands. Jack didn’t believe in warm-ups. He always went straight for the main event: drinking and dancing until he collapsed.
I sat down on a small couch while Lando wandered off to greet half the room. He clearly had that effortlessly popular-boy energy—the kind of person everyone naturally liked.
Meanwhile, I sat there alone, not speaking to anyone. Jack and Lando were the only people I knew in that place, and even though I had promised myself I would enjoy the night, my old demons decided to pay me a visit.
My thoughts turned dark.
I was an idiot. Of course my plan would never work. Lando would never truly look at someone like me, and even if he did, my sister would still go on with her life making mine hell.
I was stupid. All the effort I put into changing myself physically should have gone into something actually worthy. My mother was right. My sister was right. My classmates were right.
“Hey, why the long face?” Lando asked as he sat down beside me.
I snapped out of my thoughts, trying to hide the burning sensation gathering behind my eyes. I inhaled slowly, attempting to steady my breathing.
By then, Lando’s expression had already shifted into one of concern.
“I’m okay. The drinks are just a little strong,” I said, lifting my half-empty glass.
He didn’t seem convinced.
“Okay… if you want, I can get you something lighter.” He gestured toward the bar behind us with his thumb.
“No, don’t worry about it. I think I should probably stop drinking.”
I was ridiculous. My life was pathetic and meaningless.
I would probably be better off dead.
Apparently, my face betrayed my thoughts because Lando’s expression softened even further with worry.
“Do you want to go downstairs and get some air?” he asked, getting up before I could answer.
He took my hand and guided me toward the elevator.
Downstairs, we sat on a wooden bench near the parking lot.
“Aren’t you cold? It’s the middle of December, and you don’t even have a jacket.” He slipped off his own and draped it over my shoulders.
It was the first time a man had ever done that for me.
That made two firsts I had experienced with Lando.
I laughed softly.
“What?” he asked with a smile.
“Nothing. I’m just kind of a disaster,” I muttered, wiping my nose with the palm of my hand. At this rate, I was probably going to catch a cold.
“Hey, don’t talk about yourself like that. Everybody has bad moments.” One of his hands rested on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“My whole life has been a bad moment,” I laughed humorlessly.
“Well, don’t let tonight become one too.” His hand slid down to my bare back, rubbing slow comforting circles against my skin. “Come back upstairs with me, okay? I promise you’ll have fun.”
“Okay,” I answered after a moment of hesitation.
To hell with my plan.
My sister wasn’t worth it.
I was going to get drunk tonight, and tomorrow I’d go right back to drowning in my self-destructive little hole.
We went back upstairs and immediately started drinking again. We danced until my feet nearly bled. Around three in the morning, the party finally started dying down, and it was time to head home.
“I’ll take you home,” Lando whispered into my ear.
I simply nodded.
I was completely wasted.
We made our way down to the parking lot and headed toward his car. Once inside, I settled into the passenger seat, waiting for him to start the engine.
But Lando stayed still, his hands resting on the steering wheel before he slowly turned to look at me.
The intensity of his gaze made me uneasy.
“What?” I asked.
Without saying a word, he leaned toward me and pressed his lips against mine.
I froze in surprise for a second before finally kissing him back. Slowly, the kiss deepened.
His tongue brushed against my lips one last time before we finally pulled apart, our eyes meeting in the dim light of the car.
“I really like you, Y/N,” he whispered.
Change of plans.
The plan was back in motion.
(…)
Throughout my life, I had found myself in ridiculous situations. Even though I tried to avoid them, God seemed to have made me into some kind of experiment, using me to test just how much humiliation a person could endure before finally exploding.
Tonight, however, the situation was ridiculous in a completely different way.
And far from embarrassing me, it felt unbelievably good.
Lando drove with one hand while the other tangled itself in my long dark hair. My warm mouth wrapped around his large cock had him letting out quiet little moans (don't try this at home). I sat in the passenger seat, but the upper half of my body was bent over toward Lando’s seat so I could reach his dick more easily. The position was uncomfortable, but it was worth it just to watch him struggle not to close his eyes from the pleasure.
My neck moved up and down in a steady rhythm. I hollowed my cheeks slightly, and my tongue traced along his length every time I slid him in and out of my mouth.
I knew I was good at this.
During one of my weird phases, I had watched some porn—not because it turned me on, but because I treated it like study material. Which, in hindsight, was admittedly problematic, considering most of it is performative and completely detached from what sex is actually like. Though I only realized that later.
The point was, I had learned a lot.
I knew I could give a good blowjob, that I was flexible enough to handle almost any position, and that all the years of sports had given me enough stamina to ride someone for an hour straight without my legs cramping.
Back to the blowjob.
I took him so deep that the head of his cock brushed against the back of my throat.
“Fuck—”
Lando released my hair just long enough to jerk the steering wheel sharply. The movement was so sudden I had to stop what I was doing. I sat back up and realized he had parked beneath a tree in a dark isolated spot.
“Come here.”
He pushed his seat back, creating more space between himself and the steering wheel. Then he tugged his pants down further until his cock was completely exposed.
I climbed over into his seat and settled between his legs, my back pressed against his chest. Lando cupped my face, and we kissed again.
Suddenly, he shoved me forward. My breasts pressed against the steering wheel, in this position my ass was perfectly angled for him to pull my black thong aside.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered against my ear. “So desperate to have my big cock inside you, huh?”
The sharp smack of his palm against my ass forced a moan out of me.
Lando took his dick in his hand and began rubbing the tip against the entrance of my pussy.
Slowly, he started sliding it inside me, stretching my walls and drawing a series of moans from my lips.
“Yeah… you love that, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh…” was all I could manage to reply.
Once he was fully inside me, I started moving up and down. Lando gripped my hips with both hands, matching my rhythm and making it easier for me to move. Because of the cramped space, he couldn’t move much himself, so most of the work fell to me.
With every hard drop onto him, the car rocked slightly, and in that tiny space the only sounds were my ass slapping against him and the moans spilling from both of us.
My pace stayed steady; I never once stopped to rest. The angle I was in made Lando’s cock hit deep inside me, enough to make my eyes roll back.
I was so wet I could already imagine a white ring of my fluids forming around the base of his cock.
“Wait, wait…” Lando grabbed my hips to stop me. “I don’t want to come yet.”
He took a few deeper breaths, trying to hold back his orgasm.
“Alright… now.”
He gave my ass a hard slap.
I decided to shift positions a little. I lifted both legs until they were bent, resting my bare feet on either side of Lando’s thighs. My back pressed completely against his chest. It looked like a mix between an Asian squat and a reverse cowgirl — the best I could manage in such a tight space.
Lando immediately understood what I wanted. Once he saw I was fully settled, he thrust back into me with full force. I resumed moving up and down, now with a little more difficulty, but without slowing for even a second.
Lando tilted my face toward his and started kissing me. At the same time, one of his hands found my nipple while the other began rubbing my clit.
The sensations were overwhelming, I could feel my orgasm building fast.
“Yes… just like that…”
Only moans escaped my lips, and I could barely keep my eyes open.
With a few more breathless cries, I came. My legs started trembling from the intensity of the orgasm.
Seeing the pleasure twisting through my body, Lando couldn’t hold back much longer. After only two more thrusts, he came too.
“Fuck!” he groaned as warm spurts spilled from him.
Somehow, I managed to climb back into my seat. Our breathing was ragged, and the heat radiating from our bodies had completely fogged up the windows.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever ridden me like that before,” he said with a straight face.
So serious that it made me laugh, and he quickly joined in.
“Want to come back to my place?” he asked, his eyes lingering on my bare chest.
I shrugged lightly.
“Why not?”
(…)
The next day, Sunday, I woke up with a horrible headache, fully prepared to run out of Lando’s apartment and disappear forever before he could wake up.
The problem was that Lando had gotten up long before I did and walked into the bedroom carrying breakfast before I could make my escape.
We ate together, and after a while, I finally managed to relax a little. We talked about trivial things, both carefully avoiding the obvious elephant in the room.
Later, I showered, Lando lent me some of his clothes, and then he drove me home. I wanted to say goodbye with a hug, but he was faster and kissed me instead.
Today is Monday, and just as I predicted, I came down with the flu. My whole body felt miserable and sluggish.
I still had to come to work.
The first person I saw was Jack, who immediately looked me up and down with an all-knowing grin.
Asshole.
I threw myself completely into work, so much that I entirely forgot to get up and find something to eat.
Turns out I didn’t need to.
With a quiet little laugh, Jack placed a paper bag in front of me that very obviously contained food.
“And what miracle is this?” I asked in surprise.
“Not from me, so don’t get too excited.”
Confused, I opened the bag and found several containers inside. One of them held soup.
“It’s from your new boyfriend,” he confessed mockingly.
My cheeks instantly started turning red, which only made Jack laugh harder.
“That’s what good pussy does to a man,” he said while walking away.
I nearly choked on my soup.
Son of a bitch.
I finished lunch and threw myself back into work. Nepotism may have secured me the position, but it certainly wouldn’t keep me in it, so I had to work hard.
I was focused on replying to a request when my phone buzzed with a message notification.
When I checked it, it was from an unknown number.
X: Hope you liked the soup. Jack told me what your favorite kind was. Get well soon ❤️
X: By the way, it’s Lando.
ME: Hi, Lando 😅
ME: Thank you so much for the soup and the good wishes. I’m already feeling a little better 🥰❤️
LANDO: glad to hear that
LANDO: I’m on vacation for the next few weeks
LANDO: I was thinking maybe we could go to the Christmas market together. What do you think?
I stared at my phone for a couple of minutes, unsure of what to reply.
The plan was supposed to end once I slept with Lando. Going out with him afterward had never been part of it.
Lando was sweet, and he treated me well, but deep down I knew I didn’t really want a relationship with someone at his level. That would expose me to situations even harsher than the ones I had lived through.
There was a difference between my family humiliating me and calling me ugly and the entire world doing it.
I wouldn’t survive that.
I preferred remaining invisible to everyone and living a quiet life.
But somewhere inside me, there was still a small desperate desire to experience the things I never got to have, and this was probably the biggest one of all.
I had never experienced what it felt like to go on a real date with someone. I mean, I thought I had been in a relationship with Elliot, but according to him, that had only existed in my head.
He had never made an effort to do anything because he knew I would settle for the bare minimum.
I thought about it a little longer and realized… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
The plan had already succeeded, but if I had the chance to take things a little further, why wouldn’t I?
ME: I’d love to. When?
That Saturday, Lando came to pick me up at my apartment. We were both dressed comfortably this time—and properly bundled up. My flu had already passed its worst stage, but the moment we arrived at the Christmas market, Lando insisted on buying me a scarf.
“To protect your throat from the cold.”
We wandered through the crowds, stopping every so often at little stalls to eat sweets and drink hot chocolate. Overall, it was a really lovely evening, and I laughed more than I had in a very long time.
The cherry on top was ending the night moaning while Lando penetrated me mercilessly in his bed.
I would repeat it all over again without hesitation.
(…)
By the time New Year’s came around, I assumed my “relationship” with Lando would quietly fade into oblivion.
Instead, the opposite happened.
He seemed more and more interested in spending time with me.
And honestly, I always said yes whenever he invited me out or asked me to hang out because I genuinely enjoyed being around him.
I also had to admit that the sex played a big part in it too. We had an unreal kind of sexual chemistry.
The months passed quickly, and before I knew it, it was already March, and Lando had to leave for Australia to start the season. He seemed excited because things were looking promising with both the team and the car.
The day after saying goodbye to him, I had to attend a dinner my grandfather had organized, which of course meant my entire family would be there.
Throughout dinner, my sister seemed oddly downcast, and apparently I wasn’t the only one who noticed because my mother eventually asked her what was wrong. She only gave a vague answer.
I didn’t pay much attention to it. Her problems meant nothing to me, and frankly, I couldn’t care less about whatever she was going through. As long as she wasn’t dying, I figured she could deal with things on her own.
“Y/N, can you ask your mother to bring another bottle of wine? They’re in the kitchen,” my stepfather asked.
“Yeah, of course.”
I got up and headed toward the back of the house where the kitchen was, but just before walking in, I heard my sister’s shaky voice and instinctively stopped.
“I just don’t understand what happened. I mean, he seemed interested. I thought maybe we could become something more, but…” Her voice cracked at the end.
“But what?” my mother urged gently.
“But when I talked to him and told him how I felt, he just apologized and said he was dating someone and didn’t want to confuse things. He said he only saw me as a friend.” A quiet sob escaped her mouth.
“Oh, sweetheart… better men will come into your life.”
“Mom, it’s Lando Norris. I highly doubt anyone compares to him.”
My heart stopped for a second.
She was talking about Lando.
My Lando.
With all the time that had passed and the strange turn my plan had taken, I had almost forgotten this whole thing had started because I wanted to hurt my sister.
And apparently, it was working.
Just not in the way I imagined.
Lando is dating someone?
An uncomfortable knot settled in the pit of my stomach.
Why hadn’t he told me?
We were fucking just the day before, and not once had he bothered mentioning that there was someone else.
I couldn’t listen to the rest of the conversation between my mother and sister because my eyes started filling with tears. I went straight to the bathroom, trying to contain the anxiety attack already creeping its way into my chest.
Why would Lando play with me like that?
Why had he been so kind and attentive if all he wanted was to use me?
The answer was obvious.
Because he was a fucking man.
That was all.
A fucking man who saw me as easy prey.
Who saw right through me—through every insecurity and every complex I carried inside myself.
My eyes met my reflection in the mirror.
But then again, what man wouldn’t jump at the chance of having consequence-free sex?
My sister had been right. Men only sleep with the ugly girl because she’s desperate enough to serve them her pussy on a silver plate
And I was still that ugly girl.
No matter how much my exterior had changed, she was still alive inside me.
The following days felt like an out-of-body experience. I was there, but at the same time, I wasn’t. I did everything on autopilot.
Lando had started the season by winning in Australia, and I think he had been waiting for my congratulatory message, because after that, he started texting me relentlessly.
I didn’t answer a single one of them.
You would think that after being ignored like that, he would eventually give up and stop looking for me.
But no.
If anything, he seemed almost insane trying to get me to talk to him.
His messages went from desperate to resigned, then angry, and finally apologetic.
I wanted to reply. In fact, I was using every ounce of self-control not to.
Because if I answered him, I knew I’d lose control and end up telling him everything I overheard, and that would turn into accusations. I couldn’t be shameless enough to accuse him of using me when I had been doing the exact same thing from the very beginning.
“I don’t know what the hell is going on between you and Lando, but you two need to fix it. I can’t deal with his message-spamming, and I definitely can’t keep coming into work every day and seeing your abandoned-puppy face,” Jack said the moment he sat down beside me at lunch.
“Hi, Jack. Nice to see you too.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Y/N. What’s going on? Last I checked, things between you two were going amazingly.”
His expression made it clear he wouldn’t accept anything less than the truth.
I let out a deep sigh.
“The other day, I overheard my sister saying—”
I couldn’t even finish because Jack immediately let out an exasperated groan.
“Your sister is a fucking bitch. I wouldn’t believe a single thing that comes out of her mouth.”
“But… she sounded convincing.”
“I’m sure she did,” he rolled his eyes. “But don’t you think you should at least give him the chance to explain what happened?”
I knew I should.
But I couldn’t demand honesty from someone when I hadn’t given any myself.
“Do it for me, okay? So I can finally get that pain-in-the-ass man off my back.”
I laughed quietly, though there wasn’t much humor in it.
According to the F1 calendar, Lando should be in Japan by now. I calculated the time difference and decided the best thing would be to call him the next morning.
The following day, I woke up earlier than usual so I’d have time to talk to him.
I called his phone.
It rang without an answer.
Maybe he’s busy right now.
The time difference was around eight hours, so I knew he had to be awake already.
I was about to put my phone down and continue with my morning routine when it suddenly started ringing with an incoming call from Lando.
My heart immediately sped up, and my hands began trembling.
I cleared my throat before answering.
“Hello?”
“Y/N… where the hell have you been? I’ve texted you like a hundred times.” His voice sounded desperate.
“I’m sorry, Lando, it’s just…” The words disappeared from my mouth.
“It’s just what? You didn’t even have one minute to say, ‘Hi Lando, I’m fine, I just don’t want you in my life anymore’?” His tone turned sharper.
“It’s not that, Lando.”
“Then what is it? Why did you disappear like that? Did you even think about how that would affect me?”
The accusations kept coming.
“Lando, it’s just… I’m sorry, okay?” was all I managed to say.
“Sorry for what? Give me an actual explanation.”
“Fine. A few days ago, I overheard something about you, and it upset me a little.”
“What did you hear?” he insisted immediately.
“That you were dating someone else. I mean… I know we’re not officially anything, and you don’t owe me explanations, but I’m not willing to be someone’s second option.”
I finally admitted it, trying my hardest not to sound accusatory.
Lando went silent for a moment. The only thing I could hear was his uneven breathing.
“What?” was the first thing he finally said. “Who told you that?”
“My sister,” I admitted softly.
Lando started laughing, though it didn’t sound amused.
It sounded disbelieving.
I stayed quiet, simply listening.
“Okay,” he finally said after a minute. “I think I understand what’s happening now. Your sister and I have some mutual friends, and we used to hang out together sometimes. You know, parties and stuff like that. I saw her as a friend. Nothing more. I swear.”
I stayed silent, my anxiety practically eating me alive while he continued.
“The last week I was in London, we all went out again, and at one point she pulled me aside and told me she liked me.” He paused briefly, almost hesitant. “I never gave her any reason to think something could happen between us, so honestly, I was surprised. I told her I was dating someone and that we could only be friends.”
Another pause.
“Because you and I are dating each other… right?” he finished uncertainly.
I went completely speechless.
Lando and I were dating?
Since when?
I mean, yes, we went out together and spent time together constantly, but he had never officially asked me anything. Unless I was just stupid and didn’t understand how relationships worked.
“Y/N?” Lando’s voice pulled me back to reality.
“Yes—I mean, I don’t know… you never asked me.” My face burned from how stupid I sounded.
“I’m sorry. I know I should’ve been more direct so there wouldn’t be any confusion. I just assumed you already knew.” He sounded oddly shy now. “Y/N… will you be my girlfriend? I know this isn’t exactly ideal, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
My breath caught in my chest.
Lando couldn’t possibly be serious.
How had I even gotten to this point? He wasn’t supposed to mean anything to me. I was only using him to hurt my sister a little.
I thought about saying no.
I really did.
But then another thought followed immediately after:
Why not? (That should be my new life motto btw)
This transformation deserved a grand finale, and what better ending than having someone like Lando Norris by my side?
“Okay… yes. I accept.”
God, I was an idiot.
But I’d figure out later how to deal with the disaster that was inevitably coming with my sister… and with the rest of the world.
Lando let out a long relieved breath.
“I really like you, Y/N. Don’t ever doubt that for a second. I would never play with you or risk what we have.”
A stab of guilt twisted in my stomach.
I was such a bitch.
“Now tell me,” he continued, “what exactly did your sister say?”
A lightbulb practically went off inside my head.
“We were at the dinner my grandfather organized, and as always, she started making fun of me. Saying I was stupid for thinking someone like you would ever want anything to do with someone like me.”
“Someone like you?”
“Yes. Someone ugly, awkward, and pathetic like me,” I continued dramatically.
“What the fuck?”
“Then she said you only pretended to care about girls like me and that you would never in your life even touch me with a ten-foot pole because you already had a girlfriend.”
Inside, I was practically cackling like an evil witch.
“Y/N, you know that’s not true. Why would she say something that horrible?”
“Because she hates me. It’s really that simple.”
“And how does she even know you were interested in me? Did you tell her?”
The small smile that had formed on my lips vanished instantly.
“Well… I think she suspected it because I asked her a few questions about you,” I answered, trying to hide the slight tremble in my voice.
When my script started falling apart, I wasn’t nearly as good at lying.
Lando sighed.
“I didn’t think your sister was like that. Maybe I should talk—”
“NO.”
I cut him off before he could finish.
“I mean… I don’t think that’s a good idea. It would just create more problems between us.”
“Alright. I won’t do it only because you’re asking me not to. But I really don’t like that she’s talking so much shit behind people’s backs.”
I let out a small laugh.
“Don’t worry about it. She says plenty of shit to my face too.”
Lando laughed softly.
“Baby, I have to go. I need to get back to work. I’ll call you around noon, okay? Keep your phone close.”
And just like that, we said goodbye.
I replayed the conversation several times while showering and getting dressed.
How was it possible that out of nowhere, I suddenly had a boyfriend?
And not just any boyfriend.
Lando Norris.
My life had become so strange ever since I decided to become pretty—and cruel.
And speaking of cruel, I know lying to Lando about the conversation with my sister was wrong.
Even childish.
Why did I do it? Because I can.
Well… in reality, it was because according to my logic, if Lando and I were going to be in a relationship, then he couldn’t stay friends with my sister.
He was either with me or against me.
And I was willing to do absolutely anything to make sure it never became the second option.
(…)
A few months had passed since that day, and my relationship with Lando was going incredibly well. Even in the middle of the season, Lando always found time to come back to London so we could see each other.
I had also gotten the chance to meet his family and part of his McLaren team, and little by little, we kept growing closer and more attached to one another.
Our relationship still wasn’t public, partly because I was terrified of my family’s reaction and partly because I knew that once the world found out, I would never know what it felt like to be completely invisible again.
And that scared me more than anything.
Lando respected my decision, but it was obvious that, in some way, he wanted me to be present at his races. He was doing incredibly well, and even though half the season was still left, people were already projecting him as the future champion.
Which filled me with pride.
“You should come with me to Silverstone.”
I opened my eyes and lifted my head from Lando’s chest. His hand lazily played with my hair.
“I’m not really sure. What if someone notices?”
“Would that really be so bad?” Lando kissed my forehead before looking at me expectantly.
“No, of course not. It’s just… you know. I’m scared,” I admitted while holding his gaze.
“Y/N, sooner or later it’s going to happen. I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you, but I would like you to be there at my races.” He noticed my hesitation immediately. “Look, if you want, you don’t even have to go near the cameras. We’ll keep you in the garage where nobody will bother you. Okay?”
I thought about it for a little longer, but in the end, I agreed.
It was time to accept that if I wanted to be with Lando, this was going to become my new reality. Sooner or later, I would have to get used to it.
We agreed that I would only attend on Sunday—the race day.
That morning, I nearly lost my mind trying to decide what to wear, how to do my makeup, and what to do with my hair. If this was how every race weekend was going to be, I was genuinely going to lose it.
Eventually, I settled on a short mauve-pink chiffon dress with a deep V-neckline, a ruched bodice, and bishop sleeves that weren’t overly dramatic. The waist was decorated with lace details, and the skirt fell in layered lettuce-edge ruffles.
I paired it with nude stiletto sandals fastened with delicate ankle straps.
I decided to wear only a light layer of makeup and leave my long dark hair loose.
Lando had already given me my paddock passes beforehand and arranged for someone from the team to pick me up and take me directly to the garage. By then, I already recognized several people, so I didn’t feel quite as out of place anymore.
I managed to talk to Lando for a little while before he disappeared into race preparations. Everyone treated me kindly. It was obvious they all knew I was Lando’s new girlfriend.
Once the race started, they insisted on giving me a seat where I could see everything better. The experience oddly reminded me of some of my engineering classes, which made me unexpectedly nostalgic.
During the pre-race broadcast, several cameras kept focusing on the garage.
And that was when it happened.
One of the cameras zoomed in directly on my face. I only realized because I suddenly saw myself on one of the large broadcast screens. I looked up and found the camera pointed straight at me.
I immediately looked away and tried to act natural while subtly hiding behind someone else.
Several people in the garage laughed after noticing my reaction.
How embarrassing.
Lando walked over to kiss my cheek goodbye before the race started, and unfortunately for me, the camera caught that too.
Anyone watching the broadcast at that moment could easily put the pieces together and figure out exactly what was going on.
I tried not to think about it and focused instead on the start of the race.
I would deal with the gossip later.
The race started, and the entire time I felt my heart lodged in my throat. I tried to stay calm, but there were moments when it became almost impossible.
In the end, Lando won the race.
His team wanted me there to greet him afterward, but honestly, I felt like I had enough attention for the day.
After the celebration, we decided it would be best to head back to London immediately. A few weeks of break were coming up, and Lando wanted to enjoy every second of them.
“Are you staying at my apartment?” Lando asked.
“Yes, but I need to stop by mine first to grab a few things.”
“What things? You can just wear my clothes, and tomorrow we’ll pick up the rest.”
“No, I need my skincare stuff. I can’t go to bed without doing it.”
Lando sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes in amusement.
“Alright, alright. Women and their things,” he muttered under his breath.
“Hey.”
Lando answered my complaint with a laugh.
Idiot.
We arrived at my apartment building after about two hours on the road.
We stepped into the elevator, and Lando immediately started kissing me while I tried to push him away. The last thing I wanted was for security to catch us on the cameras.
The elevator doors opened when we reached my floor, and we stepped out still caught up in our playful teasing.
“I always knew you were a fucking jealous bitch.”
My sister’s voice startled me so badly I nearly jumped.
Before I could even react, her palm collided hard against my cheek.
The shock was so intense that I froze completely.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lando snapped instantly. “Who the hell gave you the right to hit her?”
His voice was furious as he stepped directly in front of me protectively.
“You knew perfectly well that I liked him, and you still acted like a slut and crawled into his bed. You’re nothing but fucking trash, and you always have been. That’s why I hate you, and that’s why Mom hates you too.”
Lula ignored every single one of Lando’s questions and kept screaming in my direction instead.
Every word felt like another knife sinking into my already battered heart.
“Are you insane? I’m not going to let you disrespect her like that,” Lando shouted back. All I could see was his back rising and falling sharply with restrained anger.
“Don’t defend her. You have no idea who she really is or what she’s capable of. She’s a miserable bitch who could never stand the fact that I was better than her at everything, so she decided to go after you. Don’t you get it?” Lula was becoming more hysterical by the second, desperately trying to “make him understand.”
“This is who she was before she started pretending to be someone else. She hates me because I’ll always be more beautiful than her, and because ever since we were kids, she’s been nothing more than dirt stuck to the bottom of my shoe.”
Lula shoved a handful of photos toward Lando, who silently began flipping through them one by one.
I barely caught a glimpse of them before all the blood drained from my face.
They were pictures of me as a child and teenager.
Before the surgeries.
Before I learned how to take care of my appearance.
My eyes immediately filled with tears from the humiliation and heartbreak crashing over me.
How much did my sister have to hate me to do something like this?
Was I really that disgusting to her?
Lando stayed quiet for a moment before finally turning toward me.
“Y/N… I’m so sorry.”
His expression was completely serious, while on Lula’s face, a satisfied smile slowly began forming alongside an even more smug look.
Then Lando took the photos in his hands and ripped them apart.
“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with such a fucking bitch your entire life.”
He took my hand and guided me back toward the elevator.
The look on Lula’s face was fucking priceless.
She definitely hadn’t expected her little show to end like that.
(…)
“Y/N, say something. You’re being way too quiet, and you’re starting to worry me.” Lando rested his hand on my thigh, gently massaging it.
We had arrived at Lando’s apartment five minutes ago, and I still hadn’t fully come out of the state of shock my sister’s confrontation had left me in.
“It’s just… I…” I let out a shaky sob.
Lando’s face twisted as though seeing me like this physically hurt him.
“Shh, shh. Easy, baby.” He kissed the top of my head several times while holding me close. “Hey, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. The ones who should feel ashamed are your family for treating you so inhumanely. You were just a little girl. It’s cruel that you had to carry the weight of not fitting beauty standards when you were that innocent.”
Lando’s words felt like a warm embrace around my bruised heart.
“I love you so much, sweetheart.” He pressed more kisses into my hair as my sobs only grew stronger. “Come on, don’t cry anymore. I don’t want your eyes getting swollen. They’re too pretty.”
“Lando… why do they hate me so much?”
Before Lando could answer, the sound of my phone ringing cut through the room.
We both looked toward it, and I felt my stomach drop.
Mom.
I wasn’t ready to face her.
But Lando, clearly determined to end this nightmare once and for all, picked up the phone, put it on speaker, and handed it to me.
“Hello?” My voice came out barely above a whisper.
“You ungrateful little bitch. How could you do something like this to your sister?” My mother’s voice exploded through the speaker, full of rage.
“Mom, I—”
I couldn’t even finish before she launched at me again.
“Never in my life did I think I’d end up raising enemies under the same roof. Your heart is rotten, and I’ve always known it. End whatever the hell you have going on with that man right now and get on your knees to apologize to your sister. It’s the very least you can do. I always knew you’d turn out exactly like your worthless father, a shameless wh—”
Lando snatched the phone from my hand before she could finish. He turned off the speaker and pressed the phone against his ear.
“Your daughter isn’t going to do a fucking shit, and you can go fuck yourself.”
Without another word, he hung up.
Then he powered off my phone completely and tossed it onto the couch.
I stared at him with my mouth hanging open.
The sheer shock of what had just happened made me burst into laughter even as tears continued streaming down my face.
What the actual fuck had just happened?
“Are you okay?” Lando looked at me with an expression caught somewhere between concern and amusement.
“Yeah, it’s just… I never thought I’d see you like that.”
“Neither did I. But I think we both have the right to lose our minds a little after everything that just happened.”
I stared at him while he reached over to wipe away my tears.
“I love you, Lando,” I finally confessed.
“And I love you more, sweetheart.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against my lips. “Now come on. Let’s go get your things. You’re never going back there.”
The next day, we flew to the Maldives to forget about everything and everyone.
At least for a few days.
I still felt emotionally drained and had little desire to do much of anything, but Lando encouraged me to go out and explore with him. We ended up scuba diving and riding around on the hotel’s bicycles.
Very Pinterest-worthy.
That afternoon, we sat together watching the sunset by the shore.
I was sitting between his legs, my back pressed against his chest while his arms wrapped around me.
“What would you think about living in Monaco?” he asked after a long silence.
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Lando Norris, are you asking me to move in with you?” I teased.
“Yes. Why not?” he replied simply. “I want you all to myself. I want to have you beside me all the time.”
“Are you serious?” I pulled away from his arms and turned to face him.
“When have I ever not been serious with you?” He leaned back against his hands casually.
“It’s just… I don’t know. I have a life in London. I have my job there too.” I tried to come up with more reasons why I should stay, but I couldn’t find many. I no longer had a family there, and I could always visit Jack whenever I wanted.
“You can find a better job. Or not work at all if that’s what you want. I’ll take care of you.”
“You say it like it’s that easy,” I muttered.
“Because it is. With me, you never have to fight to earn anything. I’ll give it to you without thinking twice.”
The seriousness in both his voice and expression made my chest tighten.
“Okay… so we move in together, and then what?” I asked lightly, not expecting the answer that came next.
“We get married.”
He said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Lando…” I was left completely speechless.
“After the season ends,” he continued calmly. “I love you, and I don’t want to waste time. I want us to become one.”
“You can’t possibly be serious.”
(…)
He was serious.
Very serious.
Now I stood alone in a room, reflecting on what my life had become over the past year.
It was December again.
But not the same December.
This one carried a different kind of sadness.
I looked at myself in the mirror once more, and the woman staring back at me felt like a complete stranger. My old insecurities no longer haunted me the way they once had.
Now it was different emotions tearing me apart.
I carefully examined my appearance one last time.
The white dress flowed around my body in a fluid, asymmetrical silhouette. A single draped strap wrapped delicately over one shoulder while layers of semi-transparent chiffon sculpted my figure almost like art, emphasizing the crossing fabric at my waist. A slit along the skirt revealed flashes of my leg as I walked, extending into a soft train that brushed the floor behind me.
On my feet were beautiful pearl-white heels that were surprisingly comfortable.
My hair was styled into a classic low bun, covered by a veil made of sheer, weightless tulle that floated softly around me. The dramatic scalloped trim was embroidered with silver embellishments, translucent bugle beads, and shimmering crystals shaped like delicate organic patterns, almost like a halo resting above my head.
In my hands, I held a compact bouquet of white peonies tied tightly with satin ribbon.
And on my ring finger rested a piece of jewelry that caught the light with every slight movement of my hand. An oval-cut champagne diamond surrounded on each side by two delicate pear-cut diamonds, all perfectly set on a yellow gold band.
The ring Lando Norris had given me the moment we arrived in Monaco.
So yes.
As you can probably imagine…
Today was my wedding day.
And all I could feel was sadness.
Sadness because only two people were here with me today: my grandfather—whom I invited under the condition that he wouldn’t tell the rest of the family—and Jack, who honestly counted as both Lando’s guest and mine.
Sadness because I was about to marry a man who deserved far better than a life with someone like me.
Sadness because after a painful amount of introspection, I realized my mother had been right about one thing.
My heart was not pure.
And even knowing that, I was still going to give it to someone who expected to find innocence in it.
My thoughts never cleared, and carrying the full weight of my emotions, I walked toward the altar.
Alone.
Because even though my grandfather was there, I had decided that was how I wanted it.
Lando waited for me at the altar in a custom-tailored suit made specifically for the occasion. His smile was radiant, his eyes shining with excitement the moment he saw me.
The ceremony started.
And the priest’s words struck something so deep inside my chest, that for a brief moment, I questioned whether this was truly what I wanted.
Maybe I should let him go.
Maybe he deserved a life with someone who could genuinely make him happy.
But the thought alone nearly brought me to tears.
The mere idea of losing him felt unbearable.
I wasn’t perfect.
But I was willing to spend the rest of my life trying to become worthy of the love of someone who, for the first time ever, loved me without conditions.
“…Y/N?”
I lifted my gaze and found the priest staring at me expectantly, waiting for my answer.
based off this post by @2008braziliangrandprix (and my nonsense yapping in the tags)
one shot | 4.3k | read here on ao3
“Miami?” Lando asks abruptly, half puzzled, half amused. He lifts his head up from Oscar’s shoulder, coming eye to eye with the boy who definitely looks like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
The thing is, the back traces have always been absentminded. Oscar does it without thinking, and Lando receives it the same way—welcomes it, without question.
“Yes,” Oscar says simply. “It’s Miami."
Lando breaks out in a laugh. “Jesus, you’re desperate for a race, aren’t you.”
or the one where lando realises oscar's soothing back traces are actually just him drawing out f1 track circuits. until it isn't.
or even better simplfied as — their first i love you story
[STR8 Aussie Guy Gets WRECKED by Hung British Twink, FIRST TIME]
landoscar | explicit | 16.6k
When Lando had suggested the idea in the first place, Oscar didn't believe him. I mean, who would have? Lando had always been known for saying odd things. Why would this be any different?
Oh, how wrong Oscar had been.
The worst part? He didn't even know Lando was into guys like that!
⤷ carlossainz55 He isn’t even trying to be subtle anymore
⤷ charles_leclerc where has being subtle ever gotten me?
sharls_lerklerk something good to come out of this whole thing is the fact that charles crushing on y/n has practically made him and lando best friends
⤷ carlossainz55 No cause why is Charles at Lando’s more then me? 😒
kikagomes body tea 😍😍
kikagomes wow who took this amazing picture?
⤷ charles_leclerc I bet I could take better pictures of her
⤷ lando leave my baby sister alone charles
⤷ charles_leclerc NEVER i WILL be your brother in law one day little lando
⤷ yn stop
⤷ charles_leclerc okay 👌
alex_albon who allowed charles to be this down bad for a girl 6 years younger than him
⤷ georgerussell63 We did actually…
⤷ alex_albon oh yeah…
⤷ kimi.antonelli I guess us constantly sending ship edits to the drivers gc didn’t help…
danielricciardo y/n stronger then me cause if charles leclerc was openly crushing on me i would not shut up about it
⤷ yn ???
⤷ danielricciardo what?
🝮
charles_leclerc
🎵 sienna • the marías
liked by georgerussell63 and 1,617,324 others
charles_leclerc 🌙
lando what are you doing with my baby sister in the middle of the night charles leclerc
⤷ charles_leclerc enjoying life
⤷ yn we’re with kika and pierre
⤷ lando that’s not easing my nerves those two are the biggest shit stirrers other than george and alex
ihatemymiserablelife she’s obviously playing with his feelings like bro take the hint she doesn’t like you
⤷ charles_leclerc goodness forbid a guy likes a girl who makes a man work for her love
kikagomes i guess your photography skills aren’t the worst
lilymhe this is giving mysterious baddieeee
olliebearman he’s in loooveeee
lando i don’t like you hanging out with my little sister without my supervision
⤷ charles_leclerc lando i would never do anything inappropriate to your sister
⤷ charles_leclerc without her consent 😈👅👅
⤷ lando CHARLES YOU BETTER NOT TOUCH MY SWEET LITTLE INNOCENT BABY SISTER
⤷ kikagomes innocent?
⤷ lando NOT NOW KIKA
⤷ yn i’m in bed lando you don’t need to worry
⤷ lando who’s bed
⤷ yn mine
⤷ lando with who
⤷ yn me, myself, and i
⤷ charles_leclerc i can fix that mon amour
⤷ lando charles don’t make me come sit with you all night to make sure you don’t sneak out to see my baby sister
⤷ charles_leclerc i wouldn’t mind some cuddles 🥰
⤷ lando oh i’m omw baby boy
⤷ charles_leclerc doors unlocked ;)
⤷ yn what 😟
🝮
yn
🎵 forrest gump • frank ocean
liked by serenaapagee and 1,294,055 others
yn soaking up the sun
lando silverstone babyyyy 🇬🇧
⤷ yn manifesting that lando lewis max podium
oscarpiastri Forrest Gump? Sure
⤷ yn whatchu out here being messy for 🤨
charles_leclerc absolutely beautiful
lilyzneimer Cutie girl 🥰
♥︎ by author
charles_leclerc My feed is just obsessed with you
⤷ arthur_leclerc Is it or did you just mute everyone’s posts except hers?
⤷ charles_leclerc shut up arthur no one asked you
olliebearman she’s in loooveeee
⤷ yn what i can’t listen to good music anymore?
⤷ arthur_leclerc she said she will not stand for everyone thinking she’s in love with charles 😂
⤷ charles_leclerc fuck you
⤷ arthur_leclerc oops touched a nerve there
⤷ lando he in fact does not play about her. i said she was acting like a brat once and he gave me a wedgie. it was extremely humbling
⤷ charles_leclerc ah good times good times
charles_leclerc drop the haircare routine 🗣️🗣️
charles_leclerc we need a youtube channel bébé
⤷ lando BÉBÉ??????? oh we’re getting real comfortable huh
⤷ charles_leclerc uhhh I meant mon ange
⤷ lando just shut up
⤷ charles_leclerc Okay
danielricciardo I just have a hard time believing that someone so cool and beautiful and funny and kind is related to someone like lando
⤷ yn thx king i do too 😘
⤷ lando umm okay??
🝮
yn
🎵 middle • dj snake, bipolar sunshine
liked by charles_leclerc and 1,301,688 others
yn livin that sweet life
charles_leclerc if I speak
⤷ lando don’t
charles_leclerc just one chance
kikagomes the best traveling buddy, i love our cuddles 🥰
⤷ yn me 2 😘
lando delete this
lewishamilton You broke him
charles_leclerc yk you wrong for that
⤷ yn i was feeling bold
⤷ charles_leclerc you’re feeling bold, i’m feeling hard we’re meant to be
⤷ lando what the hell charles
⤷ charles_leclerc in a respectful way you know??
⤷ lando no i don’t know, that’s my baby sister you pedo
⤷ charles_leclerc I thought we agreed you would stop calling me that if I stopped sending you ship edits of me and your sister
⤷ lando yeah then you started openly thirsting over her again
⤷ yn maybe i should delete this post
⤷ charles_leclerc go ahead I already took a screenshot of everything I need
⤷ yn okay creep
⤷ charles_leclerc only for you mon cœur 😘
lilymhe so hot wow 😍😍😍😍
alex_albon i dare you to date charles leclerc
⤷ lando she said truth
🝮
charles_leclerc
🎵 pipe (feat. xdna) • christina aguilera, xdna
liked by charles_leclerc
charles_leclerc one like and I’ll ask her out on a date
lando did you seriously just like your own post?
⤷ charles_leclerc pfft no, that’s so lame
yn what the fuck why do you have a picture of me sleeping in the doctors office when i was sick
⤷ charles_leclerc shhh don’t worry about it
mclaren The way everyone collectively decided to not like his post is hilarious
⤷ charles_leclerc oh who is you
alex_albon This post reeks of desperation and I love it
lewishamilton Are you drunk?
⤷ charles_leclerc drunk in love 🥰
alex_albon YES CHARLES A MAN WHO YEARNS IS A MAN WHO EARNS
danielricciardo Wow you just unlocked a whole new level of pathetic yearning
⤷ charles_leclerc only for my baby 🥰
⤷ lando boi
charles_leclerc sooo @yn what do you say about that date??? me + you + sushi??? 😁😁
⤷ yn what the hell, sure
⤷ lando excuse me?
⤷ lando are you guys serious i thought this was just a joke
⤷ lando guys??? no
⤷ lando GUYS??? NO
⤷ lando I HAD ONE RULE CHARLES
⤷ alex_albon LFGGGGGG
⤷ kimi.antonelli HE DID IT
⤷ olliebearman MAMA Y PAPA
⤷ pierregasly MY BOY DID IT
⤷ oscarpiastri What a time to be alive, truly
⤷ arthur_leclerc big bro finally grew a pair 🥹
lando i had one rule for her, don’t date any f1 drivers. what does she do? goes out on a date with an f1 drivers
⤷ lorenzotl I had a rule for him too, don’t get involved with anyone’s sister. What does he do? Gets involved with someone’s sister
⤷ lando they grow up so fast don’t they? 🥹
⤷ lorenzotl They sure do
⤷ arthur_leclerc acting like they just got married and you’ll never see them again, they haven’t even went out for their date yet jeez
⤷ charles_leclerc and for my next trick, i WILL pull my best friends sister
🝮
yn
🎵 kind of • faye webster
liked by lando and 2,416,815 others
yn i like em french
charles_leclerc yk what, I don’t even care as long as i’m yours
⤷ lando how come she gets to call you french and not me?
⤷ charles_leclerc she lets me do things you wouldn’t let me do to you
⤷ lando i hate you
⤷ charles_leclerc I love you too BROTHER
⤷ lando yeah yeah 😒
alex_albon i used to pray for times like this
oscarpiastri This is hope core
carmenmmundt So cute 🥰
arthur_leclerc he is a proud frenchmen 🇫🇷
carlossainz55 He can die happy now
charles_leclerc MON AMOUR ♥️
kimi.antonelli We got chayn before gta6
georgerussell63 You have my etsy witch to thank for this 🙄
⤷ yn girl
⤷ charles_leclerc THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU
⤷ yn girluhh
🝮
charles_leclerc
🎵 best part (feat. h. e. r.) • daniel caesar, h.e.r
liked by lewishamilton and 2,164,973 others
charles_leclerc thank you george russell’s etsy witch for making my girl mine
georgerussell63 I take PayPal, Cash App, or Venmo,
⤷ charles_leclerc just sent you 16 dollars ❤️
⤷ georgerussell63 Dafuq am I supposed to do with that
⤷ charles_leclerc get some tea or something, I know you buss down on some good matcha
oscarpiastri What am I looking at here
⤷ charles_leclerc the intro to our sex tape
⤷ lando what the actual fuck
⤷ oscarpiastri And the crowd is not surprised
⤷ francolapinto Need a third? 🌹
⤷ charles_leclerc I don’t share
⤷ francolapinto 🥀
lando i guess out of all the men out there i’m glad my baby sister ended up with you 😒
⤷ charles_leclerc OHHH YOU CANT WAIT TO HAVE ME AS YOUR BROTHER IN LAW
⤷ carlossainz55 Lando acts like he doesn’t like you two together but I caught him telling his mom that you two are “definitely gonna last”
⤷ yn awhhhh landoooo 🥹
⤷ charles_leclerc HE LOVES ME
alex_albon Oh ya’ll are freaked out
⤷ lilymhe Oh yeah he wants that cookie
⤷ yn real bad
⤷ lilymhe 👏👏👏
francolapinto Can I at least watch?? You won’t even know I’m there
⤷ charles_leclerc You wanna sit in the cuck chair?
⤷ francolapinto I’m open to anything 😸
⤷ charles_leclerc No
⤷ francolapinto 😾😾 sharing is caring
⤷ charles_leclerc I don’t care
🝮
charles_leclerc
🎵 i always wanted a brother • lion king
liked by maxverstappen1 and 1,862,343 others
charles_leclerc my brothaaaa
lando BROTHAAAAAAA
⤷ charles_leclerc YES LANDO YES LFG
lorenzotl What am I then??
arthur_leclerc Ungrateful, as always
⤷ charles_leclerc oh bug off
⤷ alex_albon you’ve been hanging out with lando too much
"put your lovin' where you mouth is, your sugar talking isn't working tonight..."
synopsis: when you catch rafe running his mouth about your relationship to his friends, you make him apologize, on his knees, with his tongue.
warnings: 18+, female receiving oral, angst, smut
word count: 2.3k
author’s note: holy shit i feel like a sadist bc of how attracted i am to teary rafe
Despite only dating for a little more than a month, Rafe and you fell hard and fast for each other. He makes you feel safe like no man ever has, never failing to reciprocate your affection. The two of you had your differences; Rafe was beloved by his peers and a golden boy to his elders, and you were relatively unknown, shy, and nervous. But, being next to him was like you were finally living life for all it could be. Holding his hand, sitting in his lap, hugging him - it cleared your head better than anything in the world.
Simply put, Rafe took care of you: emotionally, physically, sexually. Oh my god, did he take care of that. The sex was unreal. You always thought that you never had a particularly high libido, but with Rafe, you felt like a starved wolf in desperate need of some thick meat. In just a month, Rafe must have taken you in hundreds of combinations of sex positions and locations through Tannyhill. His cock, his fingers, his abs, his body belonged to you, and you weren’t shy to show him. Rafe knew he could have you wet and panting for him in less than five minutes and boy, did he abuse it.
Friday night, Rafe and you head out to a party. You were a little nervous. Rafe had a much, much bigger social circle than yours, and your whole life, it was always intimidating being the outsider looking in. But now, you had Rafe by your side, and everything felt so easy when he was next to you.
You and Rafe take a shot together, you play as his partner in beer pong, and you sit in his lap while the two of you chat with his friends. When your favorite song comes on, you pull Rafe in to dance. Your back is flush with his chest when Rafe grabs your hips and grinds on your ass.
‘Rafe!’
‘What baby? I thought you wanted to dance?’
You blush brightly, ‘We’re in public,’ you whisper meekly in his ear.
‘And? Everyone knows you’re mine.’ He flashes a smile that makes your knees buckle. You turn to face him and give him a loving kiss when Topper taps Rafe’s shoulder. Topper slides a little white baggie into Rafe’s hands and gestures upstairs.
“I'm gonna go with the guys for a little, baby. Okay?” You nod yes, and Rafe leaves with a chaste peck on your lips.
Suddenly, it’s cold, and you’re all alone in a sea of strangers, floating off without your anchor. You pour yourself a strong drink and linger awkwardly in conversation with kook girls who don’t want to know you because you aren’t one of them, wondering how much longer until you can be back home with your boyfriend.
You glance longingly upstairs. You know better than to interrupt Rafe when he’s with the guys. You know they’re skiing in there, and you know Rafe doesn’t want you around all of that, but what can you do? You miss him.
The alcohol has given you unearned confidence as you stumble upstairs to the door, slightly cracked open.
“Rafe, what’s going on with you and that chick?” Topper asks. You stop dead in your tracks, peering inside from the shadows. ‘That chick’, who the fuck does Topper think he is talking about you that way?
“What do you mean?” Rafe asks. Topper scoffs and the guys’ agreements resonate throughout the room.
“I don’t know how you put up with that shit,”
“Didya see her bend over in that dress? That’s how Rafe is putting up with her clingy ass.”
“Yeah her pussy better be worth it because, damn she doesn’t let you breathe for a second man. Why is she always up on you?”
Rafe stayed silent. Why is he letting them berate you like this? Say something, asshole.
“Naw, rafe’s pussywhipped. Where’s your fucking collar cause I think you’re her bitch now?” Kelce claims to howling laughter from the boys.
Rafe finally speaks up. ‘Finally, he’ll set them straight, thank god’, you believe.
“Oh fuck you guys, it’s not even like that, we’re just having some fun. And while you guys jerk yourselves off every night, I'm getting the best neck in OBX,” Rafe snorts another line while he daps up the other guys, relishing in their cheers.
You can’t stop the tears from running down your face. You sprint to the bathroom, sobbing hysterically. Rafe meant the world to you, and you thought what the two of you shared was the real thing, but apparently you were just some chick that gave good head who was stupid enough to believe sweet nothings Rafe Cameron whispered into your ears.
You have to get out of this house. You clean yourself up and head back downstairs, trying to get an uber back to your apartment.
“Baby! Are you ready to go?” You jump back at the sound of Rafe’s voice as he comes down the stairs. You swallow the lump in your throat and smile. You can’t break down in public. Rafe doesn’t even know you overheard his conversation. You nod yes, you were planning on staying at Tannyhill this weekend before you found out your entire relationship was a joke.
“Let’s go home baby” You follow him meekly, arms crossed, not taking his outstretched hand into your own. You get in the uber Rafe bought, looking out the window, not having spoken a word.
“Are you ok baby? Is something wrong?”
“No it’s fine, I'm just tired.” How could you even bring it up without the entire relationship falling apart?
By the time you get home, you’re in an almost catatonic state. Rafe sneaks up from behind you and starts kissing your neck, sliding his large hand under the bottom of your dress. You shake him off of you with the lump in your throat growing.
“Come on baby, let me be close to you,” he says in a hush, soft tone that you can barely even recognize anymore. When you step out of his touch again, he finally asks you what’s wrong.
You snap. “‘Let me be close to you?’ I thought I was suffocating you? And that, we’re barely even together, right? Just some easy pussy for you,” You head over to the kitchen to get a glass of water to cool your increasingly hot head.
Your back is turned to him as he desperately follows your fast pace across the mansion. Tears well in your eyes as you yell at him, unable to face him in your fit of rage and desperate sadness.
“I can’t live without you, Rafe? You couldn’t last a day without me! You're the one who can’t fall asleep without a goodnight voice memo from me. You’re the one who checks my location and calls me every 5 minutes when I’m out. And you are the one who practically begged for me to move all my shit into your house so I’d never have to go back home!”
You finally turn around to face him as you chug your glass of water and wipe the tears off your face.
The silence is heavy between you two, but you can see the visible tears in Rafe’s eyes. He steps a little closer, and you put your hand on his chest, setting your boundary. He chokes out an apology, timidly speaking with his head down, ashamed.
Rafe is biting his nails with a furrow in his brows, thoroughly wrecked with anxiety. He thought you were downstairs. He thought he was just saving face in front of his friends, spitting meaningless guy talk. But, you did hear him, and you thought that he meant what he said, and now, Rafe realizes that he couldn’t care less about his ego or persona if it costs him the woman he loves.
“Baby, I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know why I get like that when I’m with them. I said such fucking awful things,” He chokes on his words, barely holding down a sob brewing in his throat. “I guess I just know how completely in love I am with you, and if I let those guys know that, then it’s gonna be so much more embarrassing when I fuck this up and you eventually leave me.”
“And should I?”, you cup his chin in your hand and make him look you dead in the eyes, teardrops staining his cheeks.
“Should you what?”
“Leave you.” You really should end things. This two-faced thing is a clear warning sign of a rocky future, but he was looking at you with those blue eyes, those pouty lips, curling into you so that your faces were exactly eye level. He read the consternation splayed out on your face, and clutched your hands into his.
“I'll do anything to make it up to you, sweetheart.” His eyes shifted to a crazy desperation. He begins nuzzling his face into your neck like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to be this close to you. And he’s whimpering so close to your ear, it's driving you insane. You’re so upset with him. You’ve never been this angry before in your life, but your traitorous body is so fucking turned on that if Rafe doesn’t touch you in the next five minutes, you might implode.
“You wanna make it up to me, right?” You yank him by his hair, pulling his head back.
“Yes, yes, yes, anything you want, baby, anything,” He’s getting ahead of himself, gripping your hips and rutting himself against your body.
“Then you are going to get on your knees on this cold, kitchen floor, and you are going to make me cum harder than you ever have before.”
Rafe sinks to his knees, his eyes never leaving your fiery gaze. You strip off your dress, leaving Rafe with the sacred image of you in your lacy panties. Rafe plants his hot breath and warm tongue on your sensitive pussy through your underwear, already moaning like a madman. You place your right foot on Rafe’s shoulder, gripping his hair and pushing his face further into your folds. Rafe clutches your ass tightly and you onto his mouth, lightly nipping at your clit through the thin fabric.
“Fuck me,” you moan out as your head throws back in pleasure.
Eager to please, Rafe strips your panties off and winds you up all over again, kissing from your ankles to licking your inner thighs. He runs his fingers through your leaking pussy. “You’re so fucking wet, it’s unreal,” His eyes fully entranced with your glistening folds that he keeps playing with, never fully touching where you desperately need him to. Just when you were practically on the verge of tears, Rafe sucked on your clit and stuffed two fingers into your tight cunt.
You gasp loudly, with one hand shooting to cover the debaucherous moan exiting your mouth and the other bracing the counter. His fingers keep rocking your back and forth, in and out, and as he licks your clit, Rafe whimpers out the softest apologies.
“I’m so sorry, baby. P-please, don’t leave me, I need this,” He licks you whole, “can’t live without this pussy.”
“God, Rafe, you’re mine,” You preach as you swivel your hips on his thrusting fingers. “Say it, say who you belong to.”
“You, babygirl. I belong to you sweetheart.”
“Yeah, you need me?”
“I couldn’t live without you. I can barely breathe without you,” Rafe quickens his pace, and you feel like you’re floating. “I’d do anything for you, god, I’d kill for you.” He pistons his fingers in just right, and you’re practically screaming.
“I need that fucking mouth right now,” you gasp out.
Rafe doesn’t need to be told twice. You moaned with ferocity and immediately dug your hands in back in Rafe’s hair, shoving your pussy into his face with no regard to his breathing. Rafe felt assured that oxygen was optional as long you kept making those pretty sounds.
“Holy fucking shit! Rafe!” He flattened his tongue, completely covering your pussy, letting you take whatever you needed from him. He brought his hand back up to your clit, rubbing hard and fast. Rafe kept making so much noise while eating you out, devolving into a whimpering, moaning mess as if somehow he was experiencing more pleasure than you were in that moment.
Rafe knew you were close, “Please, sweetheart, give it to me.”
You let go, coming so hard that your knees almost give out from the sensation. Rafe catches your legs and supports you up, still kneeling on the ground. His face was stained with tears and your wetness, and you were getting worked up all over again just looking at him. He rises with a desperate need to kiss you. Rafe captures your mouth, assuaging all the worry and anger away.
“I promise I will never hurt you in any way again.”
“You better not Rafe. You’re on thin ice.”
“Did I do a good job? Made you cum hard?” He leaned in for a smug kiss.
“Yeah, the best neck in OBX in fact,” Rafe’s face turns a bright red.
You glance down at Rafe’s ridiculously hard cock strained in his jeans and look back up to see his face lit up with desire.
“I’m really tired. I’m gonna get ready for bed.”
“Wait, are you not gonna, ” Rafe adjusts himself in his pants, “like, help me out here?” A clear disappointment strewn across his face.
You laugh, “I think you can jerk yourself off tonight, Rafe!” You shove past him as you head back to the bedroom. Rafe may have earned your forgiveness, but he still has to spend a couple nights in the doghouse.
In which Steve is just trying to love his girlfriend but he forgot he asked for six children.
fem reader, bikini, make out, smut p in v at the end, language, not proof read
The first occurrence was on all accounts, an accident. An annoying one.
"What'd you say, movie, me, you, tonight?" Steve expressed his desire for a date night, leaning over the counter that was splattered with butter and a variation of soda's.
"Steve, baby, you do realise I work at the movie theatres?" you asked, boxing up popcorn for someone who had brought tickets.
"Yeah, and I work at family videos, still wanna see you."
You had to admit, with the both of you in between jobs and babysitting gigs you somehow always got roped into it had been hard to get alone time together. But date night at the place you worked wasn't your idea of magic.
But Steve had turned up, his family video vest still hanging on only half an hour or something after his shift because he wanted to spend a night with you.
It was also humanly impossible to say no to Steve. "Fine. Weekend at Bernie's is on tonight at seven and that's one I haven't actually seen yet."
"Perfect," he grinned. "I'll pick you up when you're done here, drop you off at yours so you can get ready then I'll pick you up for six-thirty."
"Steve, that's too much driving, I can get the bus back."
"The bus?" he gasped dramatically. "I'd never have my girl on a bus." Steve pushed himself over the counter, pecking your sweet and salty lips from the popcorn you swiped between customers.
So at seven on the dot the two of you were walking through the cinema. The perks of working there was the tickets and treats you got on discount that Steve still insisted on paying for. He had Reeses and Boppers while you had the largest box of popcorn that Steve wasn't even sure was an option for regular customers.
You settled into your seats in the rather packed cinema and Steve threw an arm around you as the previews started.
"See, this is nice," he uttered to you. "Just you and me, date night."
Even if this was a room you swept more than fives times a day even you could admit, it all felt different with Steve.
You laid your head back on his arm. "Yeah."
Steve admire you. "I love you."
His lips were as soft as always as they kissed you, not daring to go any further while sitting in the middle of the cinema. If it was the back row, on the other hand-
"Shit, shit, I can't see,"
"Dustin, just move,"
"I am, geez, I just paid for this popcorn I am not spilling it,"
"You're walking like a grandma,"
"Grandma Henderson is spry for her age, asshole!"
Steve's nose brushed yours as he pulled back, dread marking his features. "It can't be."
Your heart sank. "No."
"Holy shit, hey guys!" said Dustin Henderson.
There was a chorus of surprise from them all: Dustin, Lucas, Max and Will. They piled in, pushing and shoving each other on the row below you.
"Huh, what are the chances?" Dustin grinned.
Steve laughed through clenched teeth. "Ha ha, tell me about it."
Lucas frowned at you. "Hey, I thought you worked here."
"I do."
"So don't you see movies on shift? You know, for free?"
"Woah, genius, I hadn't thought about that."
Max rolled her eyes, tugging on Lucas's arm. "They're on a date, leave them alone."
"Oh- oh!" said Dustin in loud exclamation. He apologised to those around him. "Sorry, sorry. We'll just take our seats, don't worry, you two carry on, you won't even know we're here."
Steve and you were not convinced even before they sat down. They sat down right on front of the two of you, the curls of Dustin bouncing as he tried to situate himself with his large soda and even larger popcorn.
Lucas and Max were arguing over who sat where while Will took the seat on the end, quietly munching on his popcorn and watching the preview intently.
"He's my favourite kid," said Steve to you.
Dustin's head turned back. "Sorry, what were you saying?"
Steve pushed his head around. "I wasn't talking to you."
"Oh right, yeah," Dustin apologised. "Not even here, we're not even here."
The movie started and they seemed on their best behaviour for all of five minuets. It was really Steve that started it, un-able to stop himself when he saw Lucas yawn and dramatically stretch out his arms until one of the laid across Max's shoulders. He couldn't not lean in to tell you that was his move.
"It's a classic," he whispered to you. "I've taught all of them that but Lucas executes it flawlessly."
Lucas looked back to the two of you and Steve threw a very proud thumbs up.
The quiet of the cinema room was interrupted when Will opened a large pack of chips. A collective 'shh' came from every party in the room.
Will lit up in red. "Sorry," he whispered.
"Hey, Will," Dustin tried to call as quiet as possible which for Dustin was not quiet enough. Another round of 'shh' started. "Shh yourselves."
"Dustin," you lectured.
"What? I just want some chips!"
Will took some before passing along the bag, letting Lucas take a generous hand full before handing it over to Dustin. The crinkle of the bag as he dove in was louder than the movie.
Dustin turned around to the two of you. "Any for yourselves?"
"No," said Steve. "Turn around."
"Alright, alright, was just asking!"
The rest of the movie went more like that. A passing of snacks and whispers that led to glares from everyone trying to watch the film. Every time you and Steve tried to settle in with each other, his arm around your shoulder or you leaning into his side, Dustin would turn to look at the both of you, seeing if you guys were laughing at the right times or Lucas poking you in the knee to have some popcorn.
It turned into just a regular baby-sitting gig.
When the movie finished everyone seemed happy to be up from their seats.
The four were ahead of you and Steve, talking about their best parts and throwing the last of their snacks away.
"Can't escape them for two hours, huh?" said Steve, fingers entwining with yours as he swung your arms back and forth.
"No, I guess not."
"Hey," he tugged at your arm, stopping you. "I'm sorry about them, we'll get a quiet night, I promise. How about my place, Friday? My parents won't be home."
You grinned. "I guess it's a date."
Steve's lips curled up as he kissed you, hand sliding to the back of your neck to keep you there, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip practically begging for enterance-
"Ew, gross!" Will complained.
"Steve, c'mon!"
Max huffed. "Leave them alone!"
"Steve, can give us a lift home!"
Steve pulled away, his hand curling in on itself on the back of your neck but his thumb was still loose to sooth you. "Shitheads-"
You couldn't help but chuckle. For all the complaining he might give you knew Steve loved those kids like they were his own. Just as you did. You couldn't really be angry at them if you tried. "Take them home, I'll go see Stacy, she'll be finishing up. I'll hitch a ride with her."
"What? No, no, no what kind of boyfriend would I be? Those little a-holes can bike home," he said, hands running up and down your arms.
"Steve," you said. "You'll be a great boyfriend- and even better one- if you take them home. Please, for me." It never did sit right with you that the kids were fine biking home in the dark. What with all the monsters you've already faced.
Steve couldn't say no to you so he decided he wouldn't even try. "Okay, fine but take this-"
The kids awed and cooed as they watched Steve peel of his jacket and drape it over your shoulders.
You rolled your eyes. "Steve-"
"The walk to the car will be cold." He draw you in, pulling at his jacket to do so to kiss your popcorn lips.
"Steve!" Dustin yelled.
"I'm gonna kill him, I swear," your boyfriend mumbled against your lips. He pecked them once and fetched the keys from his pocket before pulling it closer around you. "Call me when you get home, I love you!" he called, trotting back to the kids.
"I love you!" you called after him.
Max turned back, winking. "Yeah, love you too!"
You held your middle finger up to her, with affection.
Lucas clasped his hands over his chest as Steve pushed the kids ahead. "Oh Steve, I love you so much, mwah mwah-"
Dustin and Will laughed, the former making obscene kissing noises while rubbing his arms up and down himself.
"Cut it out!" Steve whacked him on the back of the head.
Really, after all this time, should the kids have been surprised at how the two of you were?
The next Friday came around with sweltering heat. Steve had turned on all the fans he could in his house but he had something better.
A swimming pool.
You'd stripped to your bikini almost immediately, sliding into the water that instantly cooled your body while Steve was upstairs trying to find his trunks and if you knew him getting distracted by his hair in the mirror for an extra ten minutes.
You swam a lap or two before relaxing on the side, arms slung out and head tilted back, letting the droplets of water slide down your neck. The pool stilled, the sun beamed-
"Cannonball!"
Before you could react Steve bombed into the pool splashing you in the process and sending shock waves through the water.
"Steve!"
He popped back up to the surface, shaking his hair out like a dog and wiping down his face. "Oh, now that feels good!"
You laughed. "You're ridiculous."
Steve found you once all the water was out of his eyes, heading your way. "You're beautiful," he said, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in. "So beautiful, sexy-"
"Steve-" he kissed along your shoulder, playfully nipping at the skin.
"-mine."
You hummed when he kissed you eagerly, as if he hadn't greeted you the same way when you walked through the door. It had been a hassle enough to get to the pool without Steve un-dressing you then and there.
You wrapped your arms around his waist as Steve's hands cupped your backside, fingers digging into the flesh as if there were no bikini bottoms there. The two of you moved back through the water until you gently hit the wall of the pool.
You gasped at the feel of the tile.
Steve broke away at once. "You okay, baby?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Your legs squeezed around him, bringing him in until his lips were on yours again, starving.
His hands sort out your back, travelling the expanse and toying with the straps of your bikini top-
When the sound of his backdoor closing alerted you both, followed by the sound of six voices struggling.
"I told you Steve would have ice, you didn't need to bring a bag!"
"Well shit Mike, it's for the cooler."
"Maybe Steve's got some beer for us?"
"He has nice wine," said Max. "y/n told me he has nice wine."
The two of you were still practically entwined at the edge of the pool.
"Please tell me I'm not gonna turn and see what I think I'm gonna see," said Steve, pulling away enough so you could hear him.
The kids, that being all of them, waved at the two of you when Steve turned to look.
Dustin was already throwing an inflatable bed thing into the pool while Max, El and Mike were setting down bags on the lounge chairs Steve had, Mike helping El out with lying out her towel.
"Lucas?" Max called over, clearly wondering if he was gonna make sure she was comfortable.
Lucas was already filling up water balloons with Will's help.
It was as if they hadn't even realised you and Steve were there... at his pool.
"Hey!" he yelled. "What the hell are you doing?"
Dustin grinned. "Hey Steve!"
The rest of them copied his grin at the two of you, waving and greeting you.
Stunned, you held your hand up in a wave.
"I repeat- what are you doing here?" Steve asked.
"You gave us a key!" said Dustin.
"Yeah, for emergencies!"
"This was an emergency!"
"What?" you asked, immediately jumping into action. You pushed yourself out the water, grabbing a towel that wasn't too far and started to dry yourself off. They were all too calm in the face of an 'emergency' "What emergency? Is everything ok?"
"No," said Lucas.
"Well what, what is it?"
"None of us have pools in our back yards."
You deflated.
"Are you serious?" asked Steve, sending a splash of water over to Lucas and Will.
"Hey."
"You can't just waltz in here and make yourselves at home!" argued Steve, reaching out to you to try and pull you back in the pool as you got to your feet.
"It's hot!" said Dustin.
"So hot," added Mike.
"And we needed to cool down!" said Max.
"We were almost dying," said El, "it was really sad."
You smirked to yourself, knowing that if Max and El pulled out the pouted lips and puppy dog eyes, he was done for. The girls were his weakness.
"Yeah... well..." Steve wasn't even trying to argue when he looked up at you.
The red bikini that framed your curves perfectly, the little droplets of water that slid down your body. He tracked each one doing down, rolling down your sternum and further down your legs-
"Steve!" yelled Dustin.
"Wh-what?" he reluctantly forced his gaze away from you to look at him.
Dustin gestured to the floaty that was drifting from him. "Hold it steady!"
"My god," he grumbled.
You had your towel, patting yourself down and sitting with Max and El as Mike went to join Lucas and Will's efforts. You sat with them in the shade.
"Nice suit," said Max. "Pretty sure Steve's eyes were about to jump out his sockets."
"Oh, ha ha," you rolled your eyes. "You guys got swim suits?"
El nodded. "We went shopping."
"Show me!"
Steve was, once again distracted by you. Sure, it was annoying not getting a spare second alone with you. Really he should have pulled you into his room and made it quick before getting in the pool. But the kids meant best... he hoped and the way you were with them, especially Max and El who deserved kindness more than most, warmed his heart.
He could just picture you with the children he hoped to have with you one day. The care that you had, the love. And of course the way of making babies was not lost on him-
"Okay, okay," said Dustin as he stood at the edge of the pool, clearly thinking of the best ways to get onto the float. "Hold it steady... hold it steady..."
"I'm holding- I'm holding it steady!" said Steve.
"Steady!" yelled Dustin.
Steve held it for him but at the last second- when he realised Dustin was going to jump on it- he moved it, sending Dustin crashing into the pool.
The group of them were left laughing as he broke through the water, paddling around. 'Shit! Shit!'
After that you and Steve got busy. It was summer break, so people wanted films all the time and ran Steve off his feet, his days dragging. By the time he picked you up from your shift (which he insisted on) he could sneak a kiss before dropping you off, or sometimes you'd stay with him but the two of you were always too tired for anything. A quiet meal, watch a show then go to bed to do it all again.
Any small moment was special, Steve just wished they'd last.
One day he was at work, fixing up messy shelves and updating the posters at the windows when the door opened.
"Hey Steve!" El and Max called, rushing to two different sections.
El to romance and comedy.
Max to action but Steve knew she'd watch any romance El wanted.
He smiled and was ready to greet them when you practically fell through the door next, arms overflowing with bags.
"Hey!" you smiled, breathless.
"Hey, hey," Steve was in front of you at once, kissing your cheeks and looking down at all the bags. "What's this? You finally moving in with me?"
"Girls day."
Girls day had ran you dry, clearly. You were leaning on the door, feet aching.
"Shopping, snacks and now a film," you said. "And I wanted to see you."
Steve grinned. "Well isn't that sweet." He kissed you deep and slow, dragging the moment out to last.
"Oh gag me!" Robin called from behind the counter. "Porno's are over there, people!"
El peeked up from a shelf. "What's a por-no?"
Max went red in the face, laughing wildly as she turned to you and Steve. "Yeah guys, what's a porno?"
Steve blushed and stuttered.
"Nothing, El, hurry up and get a movie, we need to catch the bus back."
Steve turned back to you. "Bus?"
"Not again," you rolled your eyes.
Steve didn't have an aversion to the bus. He had an aversion of you getting a bus when he could've been using that time to spend a few extra precious minutes with you. "No, no, tell you what, we're almost done here-"
"No we're not!" said Robin.
"Well, we'll close up and I can take you all back and we can all enjoy girls night, how about that?" he asked, inviting himself and Robin along.
Your cheeks ached with the smile Steve brough to you.
Max thought less so. "No, no, no, this is a girl's night, Steve. No boys allowed."
"Yeah, no boys," Said El, joining her friends side.
"Guys c'mon, it's Steve," you argued.
"I couldn't bring Mike," said El.
Steve cringed. "Mike's Mike."
El's brows furrowed in thought. "Mike is... Mike?"
You turned to Max, batting your lashes. "Please..."
Max didn't want to be the 'bad cop' but she also wanted a girls night. And perhaps she was worried, after all, besides Steve she didn't have that much of a positive out look on 'man'.
Lucas wasn't there yet.
Steve jutted out his bottom lip.
Max crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.
Steve knew Max, knew her well. It had come with the years of looking out for each of them. "Okay, how about I get us all a tub of each others favourites ice cream? Vanilla and sprinkles for El, Mint choc-ship for Robbin and strawberry for you?"
It worked a treat, you could practically see Max's body melting at the suggestion.
"Fine," she said, still feigning her annoyance. "But you don't get to pick the movie!" she said, rushing off.
Steve scoffed. "Please, I work with movies," he leant down to your ear. "I cannot watch pretty in pink again, please."
You shrugged as Steve's hands ghosted yours. "Tough luck, babe. That's what happens when you invite yourself to girls night."
He shrugged. "Just spend time with my girl, and hey, if you can't beat them, join 'em." His eyes wondered down to your lips before he kissed you again, slower.
"Earth to Dingus's!" called Robin. "You're blocking the door from actual customers!"
The two of you shuffled away from the door, abashed and apologising as a customer awkwardly made their way in.
"Okay, we've chosen," said Max as El signed out her movie with Robin. "So let's go!"
El joined Max's side after sliding the tape into one of your bags, leaving you stumbling with the bags.
Steve was conflicted. If he were with you he would have taken the bags from you in an instant but clearly you were carrying them for the girls so they would be free.
Max's eyes lit up in mischief. "Oh, if only you had a car, y/n. Then we wouldn't have to walk so far," she pouted.
"With such heavy bags," El added, eyes downcast.
You gave the girls a look but it wasn't enough to stop them.
Steve's eyes rolled and he dug into his pockets before you could tell him no. They had him wrapped around their finger. Never mind El could move things with her mind, she get Steve to do just about anything she wanted. Steve looked at you. "Take my car-"
"Thanks!" Max plucked the keys from him instantly, rushing out with El.
Steve followed her, poking his head out the store. "You're not driving!"
You chuckled and stood tall to peck Steve's cheek. "They have you whipped."
His eyes rolled, mocking you. "Drive safe."
And though Steve wished you could have stayed, or he could have gone with you, at least he'd wormed his way into 'girls night'.
Finally, Steve received the invite he was waiting for. Your family out of town, your house all alone... just you and him.
It wasn't like he'd never been alone in your home with you but it had certainly been so long. Your house was warmer than his, sign that a family might love you whereas his parents didn't know he was in another dimension half the time.
He had a little night bag in the back of the car for the weekend you would have together. Your favourite sweater of his, along with sweatpants and an extra pair of his clothes for you. Snacks, a film and.... a box of condoms. Steve had big plans.
He sped away from work, not even caring if he hadn't clocked out right and trusting Robin would correct it or berate him for it- either way it could wait. He drove quick through Hawkins but took roads that wouldn't take him by Lucas's house in case he got roped in giving Lucas or Erica a ride. He avoided town in case Mike and El had gone on a date and spotted him. At one point he saw a kid with curls on a bike and he swerved, trying to duck in case it was Dustin.
They were great kids. But the only thing greater than them was getting time alone with you.
Finally, after an extra half an hour de-tour of Hawkins he parked up in front of your house, checking over his shoulder in case one of them popped up.
Steve rattled his knuckles on the door.
It took a moment but you swung it open, breathless. "Hey!"
"Hey," Steve stepped in, hands on your shoulders and pecking your cheek. "I'm sorry I'm late, I took the long way, I didn't want to risk the kids-"
"They're here," you said.
Steve frowned. Was your family back? Was their a maintenance guy around. "What? Who's here?"
"The kids."
At your word there was a crash from your kitchen.
Your head whipped around. "Shit- shit-shit- no, no, no!"
Steve was hot on your heels.
Lucas and Dustin stood over a pie that now laid in pieces along with the dish it was in.
"Oh, come on!" Steve deflated against the wall with all his hopes and dreams.
"Sorry," said Lucas.
"It's fine," you sighed, reacting quickly when Dustin went to clean it. "Careful, you'll cut your hands!"
Steve surveyed the area. Max and Mike were having an argument about... well, with them it could have been anything. On the sofa Will was watching the film with El who painted her nails on the coffee table. "Are you serious right now?"
Dustin and Lucas went back to searching through your cupboards, assuming it's for a snack.
Steve knelt next to you, helping you clean the shards and crumbs up. "How did this happen?"
"I don't know," you whispered. "I knew El was coming around for some nail polish but I didn't think she'd bring Max and then Lucas followed her and he radioed Mike who was with Dustin and Will-"
"And you answered the door every time?"
"It was that or they break a window climbing in!"
"Y/n!" Max called.
Your head sagged but you quickly perked up when Max and Mike stood in front of you.
"Can you please tell Mike that Jean Grey is obviously more powerful than the Scarlet Witch!"
Mike spluttered. "What? Wanda Maximoff is literally a Nexus being and can warp the minds and reality around. She created children with nothing but her mind-"
"Jean Grey has the Phoenix force!"
"Like that means shit!"
Their argument started up again and Steve pulled you up, tugging you back into the corridor while everyone was distracted in their own chaos.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you rambled at once. "I wanted it to just be us, I did, but then El started to paint her nails and Max starting opening up about how hard things have been and I've been trying to get her to open up and then Lucas appeared and you know things have been tough between them and then the others came and I couldn't throw them out without kicking them all and they're good kids and-"
Steve grasped your cheeks and kissed you. Only partly to stop your rambling, and the other because he'd been wanting to kiss you all day. He let himself indulge a moment too long before pulling away. "It's fine. We babysit tonight and then tomorrow, we're not leaving your bed, deal?"
You licked your lips of the taste of him and smiled. "Deal."
Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead as the stairs creaked.
"Oh hey Steve," greeted Robin as she casually walked down the stairs as if he hadn't left her at Family Video not long ago. "I didn't know you were coming tonight too." She pat his back and moved past him.
Steve wondered if Jonathon and Nancy were lurking somewhere in the garden. It seemed half of Hawkins knew you had the place to yourself.
"Oh fuck, Steve!"
"Yeah, yeah baby, you like that?"
Steve had made sure of his promise.
The night ended at midnight exact when Steve realised you had fallen asleep on the sofa. He draped a blanket over you and quietly but urgently shoved all the kids away, putting them on their bikes or cars (their parents collecting them) and sending them on their way.
Steve didn't want to wake you so he carried you upstairs and fell asleep with you.
The next morning you were up early to make breakfast, dressed only in one of Steve's flannels and panties. Just to drive him mad. You were half way through pancakes when Steve's arms wrapped around your middle and all but threw you on the sofa, flattening you there.
That's how you both ended up naked on your parents sofa, you in his lap, his cock stretching inside of you and moans bouncing off the walls.
You mewl into his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulders.
Steve rocked his hips into yours as you continuously grinded down on him. "Wanted you so long, baby, was- was going mad."
"I know, I know!" You groaned, pulling back and holding his face in your hands, laying your head against him.
The two of you bodies sweat together, the cushions on the sofa already fallen off the floor and your clothes thrown anywhere other than around you.
Steve meant what he said. He kissed you, all tongue and teeth, desperate to get as deep inside of you as possible and then some more.
You pulled back, Steve's lips dragging down your neck, collecting your sweat and pulse. "Ah, St-Steve!"
His hand held the small of your back, pushing you deeper into him leaving you biting down on your lip to stop screaming out. "You feel me there, huh? Feel me deep?" he all but whined.
You nodded. Your back arched, cunt squeezing him harder as you leant back, hand on his thigh to steady yourself. "Steve- Steve- I'm gonna-"
There was a sudden pounding at the door.
Your whined but not in the way Steve wanted as he felt your climax escaping him.
"No, no, no baby, focus," he cupped your chin, forcing your gaze on him. "Focus on me baby, let them knock."
You both had already guessed who it was.
Steve's eyes screwed shut as he rutted into you quick but the knocking was just as insistent.
"Steve! Y/N, we know you're in there!" Dustin called.
Steve shook his head, rocking you against him. "They-they don't- arg-"
"Steve! We can see your car outside!" added Lucas.
You sat up on him, a hand on the back of the sofa and another on Steve's shoulder. "Steve-"
You both knew you'd never have the day to yourself if they were there, knocking at the door every time you were going to finish.
Steve looked at the door and back to you.
"Maybe there's a spare key?" suggested Will.
"That's it!" Gently Steve helped you off him and almost regretted it at once at the sound of your small whine and the sight of his hard cock leaking and everything coming out of you-
Quickly, Steve grabbed a blanket and tied it around his waist, brushing his hair back as you picked up another discarded on the floor to cover yourself.
He kicked his jogging bottoms out the way as he went and swung open the door, catching the gang of them scrambling for a spare key under the flower pots.
Dustin noticed the hair on his chest and the sweat first, chuckling. "Damn, Steve, all that hair got you stressing-" he realised half way through just why he was sweating and standing there in only a blanket.
"No!" he said. "You cannot have either of us today!"
Will had the decency to blush and look away, Max's jaw was on the floor at what they'd clearly interrupted.
"We just want-" Mike tried.
"No! Nop! None! Zero! We are closed today!"
"Well, actually you seem pretty open-"
"You want to finish that sentence, Sinclair?" Said Steve. "All I want is a day alone, of peace with my girlfriend, and yes that means doing adult things."
El frowned. "Adult?"
Sometimes he forget El didn't know all the ins and outs of the world.
And sadly they'd caught Steve on the precipice of bursting (literally).
"Sex! Yes, that is what happy and loving couples do, that is what we have been trying to do but we keep getting interrupted! So, no, you cannot come in and no you cannot go to my house to eat snacks or go in the pool cause guess what? We're gonna do it there to!" he actually had no plans for that but he just might. "So please, please just move along and let us get to it!"
Lucas chuckled.
Dustin cleared his throat, his voice stuck in a higher pitch. "Okay. We'll er... we'll just... move on."
"Yes, thank you!" Steve waited at the door, waving them down and watching them go all the way down the street. Every time one of them looked back, he waved. He saw El leaning into Mike and his ears going red but he decided he'd let Mike deal with that one.
When he was sure they'd got far enough, Steve slammed the door, locked it and put a chain on for good measure.
You were laughing, face hidden in the blanket when he returned, standing over you with his hands on his hips. "I cannot believe you just did that."
"Oh," said Steve, dropping the blanket as he fell to his knees, pushing up your blanket and pulling apart your legs. "It was a long time coming. And speaking of coming..."
Summary: In which Steve doesn't realize that his way of coping with Nancy and his breakup is hurting Y/N in the process. He also doesn't notice that Billy Hargrove is not only trying to take his throne, but the girl he's loved forever too
Warning(s): Angst, mutual pining, Billy being bff material, smut, light choking if you squint, fluff, Steve being a dummy, riding, oral (f receiving), cockwarming if you squint
A/N: was listening to Forever by Jessie Murph while writing this
She didn’t really understand how she got to where she was. How she wound up in this position. Truth be told, she somewhat did, cons of asking Steve for a ride to the party.
She would’ve expected him to wander off with Nancy, and do his own thing as usual while she would go join some of her friends for beer pong. She’d expect him to tell her when he and Nance were ready to head out, as she always made sure they got Y/N home okay. Y/N would also expect for him to let her know if he got her a backup ride in case they left before she wanted to.
What she didn’t expect was to watch him storm away, eyes glossed with tears as pure anger set throughout his entire face, pushing past the people in the crowd. Her gaze dropped and frowning as she gulped another sip of her beer. “Steve?” Y/N called out towards his direction.
She followed when he didn’t even so much as acknowledge her, setting her cup somewhere on some random table, the music going to a soft hum as she stepped outside. “Steve, where are you going? What happened?” she calls out, watching him unlock his car. He still said nothing as he clenched his jaw.
“Steve?” she says once more, rushing down the yard as he started up his engine. “Steve!” her voice rises as he begins to drive off without her. Y/N lets out a few curse words as she flips off his car while it sped down the street.
She tried searching for Nancy when she got back inside, only to find her being carried out by Jonathan, explaining she was drunk off of her ass. She nods, thanking him while letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. When Jonathan offered her a ride, she politely declined, saying she would ask one of her friends to bring her back. Explaining that he should worry about getting Nancy home safely.
Which now led her to where she stood on the porch, drink in hand as she let out a frustrated huff. Her friends had all been long gone by the time she tracked down one of their boyfriends, stating how they were all planning to stay put for the night. She usually would’ve stuck with that idea, but she had to be home to bring Dustin to Mike’s the next morning.
“The party’s inside, sweetheart,” a voice chuckles behind her, making her roll her eyes.
She didn’t have to turn around to know who the voice belonged to. “Too overstimulating, and I’m trying to sober up enough to walk home.”
Billy Hargrove takes a seat next to her, cigarette in hand as he blows out a puff of smoke. “Thought King Steve was your chauffeur,” he snorted. “At least I see you following him like a lost puppy. How does Nancy not hate that?”
Y/N scoffs. “I do not follow him around like that. We’re best friends, and on top of that, they both want me to stay close by in case we need to leave. So don’t act all snarky, Hargrove.”
Billy lets out a loud laugh, taking in another drag. “I’m just saying,” he starts. “You’re a little obvious for how in love you are with Harrington. Maybe back off a bit, or better yet, leave the guy be.”
Y/N’s gaze snaps toward him, glaring hard. “What the fuck are you on, Hargrove?” she snaps, watching his eyebrows raise as his smirk widens.
“Struck a nerve, have I?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
He purses his lips while shaking his head. “Not a bit,” he takes another drag. “But he’s gotta watch his own actions before Nancy realizes he loves you too.”
Y/N’s eyes widened at his words.
“What are you talking about?” she snips, and he shrugs as he stands up, blowing out the last of his cigarette.
He turns back to her, holding out his hands for her to take. “I’m gonna head home, I’ll drop you on the way.”
“I’d rather take another gulp of whatever is in Tommy’s mystery punch bowl than ride anywhere with you,” she scoffs, Billy rolling his eyes as he lets out a huff.
“It’s the least I can do for being an ass-”
“You’re always an ass-”
“Are you always this much of a fucking headache, Henderson?”
Y/N just stares up at him in shock at his tone, watching as he stands in front of her with his hands on his hips. She then sighs, crossing her arms. “You’ve been drinking, Billy.”
He purses his lips once more with a smirk, shaking his head lightly. “I can take more than you think, honey. I am sober enough to drive with my eyes closed if I wanted to.”
She eyes him once more before taking his hands he then offers her once more, Billy helping her stand upright as he leads her to his car. He even opened up the passenger side for her, closing it once she was inside.
The engine revved to life, Billy giving her a smug expression before he sped off into the night.
It was quiet for the first few moments, Y/N’s gaze looking out the window with her hands picking at one another in her lap.
“So what is it about King Steve that makes you so obsessed with him? Let alone every girl I’ve met at that shit school of yours?” he starts up, making her groan and shake her head. “He seems like he’s so up his own ass, you can see his head coming up his throat.”
“Oh fuck off, you’re just as cocky. I don’t even know what you’re talking about, just let it go.”
He tuts. “Nope, I’m driving you home so I deserve to know what it is. You owe me that.”
“I’d rather jump out of the moving car-”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Well you’re wrong.”
Billy grabs her jaw to make her look at him as they rolled up to a stoplight. “Am I? Because it seems like you can’t see how you stare at him like he hung the moon.”
His tone is a bit more serious, nothing playful whatsoever as he looks at her, her eyes deflating as she sighs. She takes his hand off of her when the light turns green, rubbing her face in exhaustion. “There’s a lot to it,” she admits. “But he’s just always been there. Even in the worst circumstances, I’ve never had to question if he would be there for me. Even for my brother, he’s there at the drop of a dime.”
“Seems like tonight was the opposite.”
She rolled her eyes before sending him a scowl. “Something happened, so he probably needed to be alone. I get that way too when things happen. I’m gonna give him his space if so,” she explains, Billy snickering at her words.
“Wow you really are down bad, sweetheart,” he jokes. “Here I thought I’d be able to woo you somehow.”
“Not like I’d give you the time of day, Hargrove. That dick of yours has been in every girl known at Hawkins high school,” she shot back with a chuckle, watching as his jaw dropped lightly at her words. He puts a hand to his chest as he acts hurt playfully.
“Well played, Henderson. I’ll give you that,” he laughs, making her smile at him in amusement. “I like you, you’ve got some spunk to you.”
“You think I do, you should hear half the things my brother says.”
“Ah yes, the famous Dustin Henderson. I know all about that kid and his little shits of a friendgroup.”
She narrows her eyes and smacks his arm, making him hiss. “They’re good kids. Don’t you dare start.”
“They cause my sister to get into trouble, which causes me to get into trouble with our parents.”
“Well from now on if she goes off, you can tell your parents she’s with Dustin at my house. Have them call me and I’ll happily help you out. That way you don’t have to cancel any hookups of yours,” she jokes. “Fair trade?”
He rolls his eyes. “Noted.”
He pulled into her driveway, Y/N opening the door to step out, only for him to say her name softly. She bends down to look at him in the low car.
“Don’t wait around for a guy that’ll make you his second choice.”
She bit her lip. “He’s not like that.”
Billy gives her a look. “If you need help with igniting the fire, give me a ring.”
She laughs before closing his car door, waving goodbye as she begins to walk back to her doorstep.
It was the next morning, and Y/N had been stressing at the fact that she knew Steve was coming to pick her up this morning. She didn’t really want to deal with the awkward tension right away in that car, especially if things went down between him and Nancy.
She hesitated picking up the phone in the kitchen, dialing the number written down on a piece of gum wrapper from the night before. Her fingers slowly dialed the numbers into the keypad, biting her bottom lip as she held the phoneline to her ear. It didn’t ring for long, someone picking up the landline after a couple rings. “Hargrove residence, who’s calling?” a smaller voice, that didn’t take long for Y/N to know it was Max. She smiles softly to herself.
“Hey Max, it’s Y/N. I know this is going to sound weird, but is Billy there? He gave me a ride home last night, and I had to ask him something.”
She hears Max chuckle on the other line. “What in the world did you get yourself into last night?” she jokes, making Y/N run a hand over her face. “I swear it’s not what it sounds like. Steve ditched me, and Billy was nice to just give me a ride home.”
“If you say so,” Max snickered. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to lose you because my brother is an asshole.”
“It’s not like that, but I’ve got it.”
There’s some rummaging on the other side for a few moments, before it was just quiet for a small second. Bily’s voice booming through the phone softly. “Well if it isn't a little miss lovergirl. You change your mind?”
“Very funny,” she chuckles dryly, twisting the phoneline between her fingertips. “I really don’t want to be stuck in that awkward tension with him this morning. Are you able to pick me up?”
It’s quiet for a few seconds, Y/N shaking her head to herself before rubbing her forehead. “It’s fine if not,” she says quickly. “I will just walk if anything. I just cannot deal with all of that first thing in the morning.”
Billy hums for a second, leaning against the doorway with a smug look on his face. “Now what kind of gentleman would I be to let a girl walk to school, hm? Especially if it’s the one that’s going to cause Harrington a hard time?” he jokes back, making her roll her eyes.
“I’ll just walk at this point-”
“Okay, alright fine. Sorry. Yes I’ll be there in a few. Hang tight.”
With that the line clicks, and Y/N let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She finishes up her morning routine and eats breakfast with Dustin across from one another.
As she is finishing up putting her dish in the sink, a car honks outside and it makes her freeze. Dustin eyes her with a confused look. “That’s not Steve’s car,” he says matter of factly. Y/N shuts her eyes for a second before huffing.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Dustin smirks. “Oh I’m not worried,” he says slyly. “But Steve might.”
She shrugs. “Not my problem,” she mumbles before grabbing her bag, and going to give him a small hug. “Stay out of trouble today, please? Or at least wait till I’m home to go back into the woods.”
Dustin rolls his eyes, and nods. “No promises.”
With that she walks out the door, and looks up to see Billy’s car pulled up. Max is in the passenger seat, her smile widening at the sight of Y/N. Billy pushes Max’s arm, making her snap her head back at him with a glare. He nods to the backseat, making her huff and slide to the back.
Y/N smiles down at Max as she opens the car door to get inside. “Well good morning Maxine,” she chuckles.
Max smiles as Y/N hops into the passenger seat in front of her, squeezing her shoulders once she is inside. Once the door is shut, Billy sped off without warning, making both girls hold onto some part of the car while he laughs.
“Thank you,” Y/N says after a bit of driving. “For last night, and this morning. I mean.”
Billy shrugs. “Anything to make Harrington shake in his boots, I’m for it.”
She narrows her eyes while crossing her arms. “Is that all you’re keen on doing? To take some stupid title in the school that’s his?” she shoots, shaking her head. “If that’s your goal, you really have a low satisfaction line. Which is kind of sad.”
“That’s how he is,” Max sighs, making Billy glare at her through the rearview.
“Shut up, Max.”
“You’re not going to be an ass to her, not while I’m around. Especially if she’s right,” Y/N cuts in, making Billy roll his eyes.
“You sure have some spunk to you, don’t you princess?”
She grimaces at the nickname, smacking his arm. “Never that. Disgusting.”
“Okay fine,” he huffs. “No, I’m not just doing it to get on Harrington’s nerves. It is fun, yes, but I’m also doing it because I didn’t think you deserved to be ditched like that. I may be an asshole and go through girls like I do, but I’m not past letting a girl get left like that.”
Y/N raised her brows in shock at his words, but nodded slowly. “I don’t know how that really cancels out with how you treat women, but I guess that’s nice? Of you?” she trails off, not missing the way Max holds in a snort. Y/N trying to hide a smirk herself, and Billy eyes her.
“I’m half tempted to make you walk the rest of the way.”
“Do it, then. I said I was fine walking.”
Billy huffs out a laugh, turning down the street as the school comes to view slowly. “You really are a little shit like your brother.”
“If that’s what you think, then sure,” she shot back, not missing the way he coughs over a snort leaving his lips.
Y/N had a few side conversations with Billy after that throughout the schoolday, only when they walked past one another in the school’s hallways. Or if they were in the same class, he would come sit next to her instead, and just talk to her. Nothing more than platonic, Billy enjoying having a girl that didn’t want him just to say she had him, but because she actually wanted to be his friend.
The bell rang, signalling that second period was over. Y/N grabbing her books as she headed to her locker. She put away her history books and grabbed her things for physics, shutting her locker and jumped at the sight of Steve coming to view behind it. She held a hand up to her chest, letting out a breath. “Fuck, Steve,” she sighs. “You can’t just show up like that unannounced.”
Steve is looking at her with a hardened face, but his eyes are soft as he crosses his arms. “I showed up to your place this morning, Dustin said you were already gone. I was almost late to school. Where were you?” he asked her, making her eyes flick away from his. She tightened her grip on her books.
“I’m gonna be late for physics,” she mutters before trying to breeze past him. Steve grabs her arm and turns her back to him. Y/N’s eyebrows furrow, looking at where his hand was and then back up into his eyes. “Steve I have a test this period, I can’t be late-”
“Where were you this morning?”
Y/N sighs. “You now care? It seemed quite the opposite last night,” she shot, making his face drop.
“I was upset about the fight that happened between Nance and I. I just needed to get out of there,” he sighs, his voice getting quieter after each word he spoke. Y/N looked between his eyes. “I also just thought you’d be able to get a ride home from Tina or Rachel. So I didn’t really think about it after that.”
“Well then there you go. One of them picked me up this morning. End of story.”
Steve looks straight through her and frowns. “They’re not here today. Too hungover,” he shot back, Y/N snatching her arm away from his grip.
“Well either way I got home, okay? Just leave it alone.”
“Y/N-”
“I’ve gotta go Steve.”
She turns to walk away, only stuttering in her steps slightly when she sees Billy walking by. Based on the look on his face, he had seen the interaction and gave her a questioning look as if asking if she was okay. She nods curtly before breezing past him, taking a sharp turn down the hallway towards the labs.
Billy’s face turns back to Steve, he doesn’t miss the way Steve’s expression hardens at the small interaction he had with his best friend. Billy gave him a snide smirk before walking off, patting his chest when he passed. He was going to get under Steve’s skin if it was the last thing he did.
After Billy found out through Tommy and Carol that Steve and Nancy had gotten into a fight, pretty much breaking up at the party, he was going to get Steve to crack. He was going to make sure he pissed Steve off in every way possible, to the point he finally realized how much he wanted Y/N too.
At least, if Y/N wasn’t going to do it, Billy was going to do it. In the most menace way possible.
Especially when lunchtime came, he noticed Y/N was sitting at the familiar table that their entire group sat at, his eyes seeing Steve was still getting his food at the lunch line. Billy made his way over, sitting right next to her, leaning his elbow on the table causing her to jump at his sudden figure next to her.
She smacked his chest. “You cannot sneak up on a girl like that, Hargrove!” she hissed, wiping her mouth with a napkin. He smiles widely at her.
“When’s your free period?” he asked her, and she hummed while thinking and taking a bite of her food.
“Fifth, why?”
He leans toward her. “You should come sit in the gym for a bit. Watch me humble your little boyfriend for a change.”
She eyes him. “This again?”
He chuckles with a shrug. “I just want to push his buttons a little. I think you’d enjoy that after he ditched you after the Halloween party.”
“I already told you, he and Nance had a nasty fight. He apologized after that.”
Billy hums with a smug grin. “I think it still would be fun to watch, no? Come on,” he trails off, making her grimace.
“Fine. But only because I couldn’t reserve the study hall in the library.”
“Good,” he says before standing up, his eyes immediately meeting Steve’s, who was glaring straight through him as he watched the boy slowly stand from the spot next to her.
“Harrington,” Billy scoffs smugly. Steve’s eyes furrowed. “Wrong table, Hargrove.”
“It’s not if Henderson’s at it.”
Steve sets his tray down next to Y/N, the spot where Billy once sat, before standing over Billy
“Back. Off,” he says. “She’s not the next girl on your list, so move to the next will you?”
Y/N frowns, putting a hand on Steve's arm. “Steve, leave it be,” she says, only for him to still look at Billy. Billy’s smirk just widens as he eyes Steve up and down. He looks at Y/N, eyebrows raising.
She gives him a look as if telling him to knock it off as well, watching his eyes roll while he chuckles. He puts his hands up in defense, before pointing at her for a minute. “I’ll see you during fifth,” he chuckles. With that, he walks off, Steve huffing before slumping into the seat next to hers. She looks at him with an amused look, watching as he looks at her and rolls his eyes.
“Don’t start,” he says with a sigh, she snorts.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“He’s harmless. Just being nice, that’s all.”
Steve looks at her with a look. “He’s being nice out of the blue? Yeah, he wants you, honey. You’re one of the girls on that long list of his.”
“Okay, don’t be an ass,” she groans, rubbing her hand over her face. “I’m still pissed at you, so you have no right.”
He shook his head. “I’m not trying to be, I swear. I just,” he sighs. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You deserve someone better than that jackass.”
Y/N’s eyes still at his words. “Steve, I’m not interested in him. He’s really just being friendly, that’s all. Nothing more, I made sure to vocalize that.”
He eyes her before letting it go, nodding before taking a bite of his food. “How did you even cross paths?” he asks her, making her shrug. She hadn’t told him that Billy was the one who drove her home that night, knowing he was already having a hard time with what happened that night with Nance. The last thing she needed was for him to flip out on hearing she was seen leaving with Hargrove that night.
“Just one of the classes we have together. We were partners for something in Physics, so now we’re just friendly.”
He snorts. “I’ve never known that guy to be nice to a woman unless he wanted something else.”
“Steve.”
He eyes her, before huffing. “Okay fine, I’m sorry. I know I don't have the right to worry, but I do,” he says. “I’m also sorry. About last night. You didn’t do anything, and you would’ve just been there to let me rant about what happened.”
Y/N nods, her chest tightening at his words. “I get that you needed time, but you could’ve just said that as you were leaving. You left without a word as if I did something,” she explains. “I mean it’s not that big of a deal to me anymore, because I’ve literally been in those woods at night after being chased by those creature things, but it hurts because of how you left.”
Steve’s gaze softens as he stares into her eyes. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
“You don’t need to make up for it. Just don’t shut me out,” she says, and he nods.
“So about Hargrove-”
“Steven.”
“Right, dropping it. Sorry.”
Fifth period came a lot quicker than she thought, not taking much time to grab her things to bring to the gymnasium. She saw that the guys were all already there, warming up for their game of Basketball, while she walked up to the bleachers to take a seat. She unpacks some of her homework, knowing it was better to get it done now rather than wait.
She nearly had to roll her eyes when she saw the giant smile on Billy’s face, seeing he wasn’t wearing his shirt, panting as they positioned themselves for the next ball drop. Steve’s eyes followed Billy’s, gaze hardening as he saw Y/N sitting in the stands, her face lightly red as she rolled her eyes at Billy. He turned back to eye Billy.
“You can’t just leave her be, can you, Hargrove?” he scoffs, panting as sweat rolls down his neck.
Billy shrugs, playing into it. “It’s fun when you want something you can’t have.”
Steve’s insides burn at his comment, zoning in as the game starts off not too long after.
Each time Y/N pulled her eyes up to watch the boys, she noticed how Steve and Billy were always on each other. She watches as Steve runs up on Billy, ball in hand as Billy guards up against him.
She can see that they’re exchanging words, but not for long because Billy then snatches the ball from him, going down the court to score. Billy stuck his tongue out smugly, panting and sweating as he eyed Steve in amusement, before going to wink at Y/N. Before Steve can say another word, he hears his name, causing him to turn and see Nancy.
Y/N’s heart clenches just slightly, not missing how easy Steve followed after her, Y/N’s eyes following the pair. Billy’s eyes leave the pair that exit the gym, his eyes softening as he sees Y/N’s longing stare at where the couple once stood. He felt his anger burn for her, knowing she was so into Steve that it hurt her. No matter how much she denied it.
He continued to play, anger radiating off of him as he creamed their team without Steve. One of his teammates had to exit the gym to go grab Steve as they got dominated by Billy.
When Steve came back in, he looked more pissed off than he did before, putting everything into his game that he could. Y/N knew something bad must’ve happened, based on how hard he was pushing up against his opponents. He was panting so hard she was convinced he would pass out.
The whistle blew soon after the excruciating game, Y/N having to prevent herself from wincing at the scoreboard.
She began to pack up her stuff, zipping up her bag as she made her way down the bleachers. Her eyes caught Steve’s, frowning at his expression. He looked like he was trying to zone out, wiping a towel across his face as he breathed heavily. “Steve?” she called, walking over to him.
“What happened? You okay?” she asks, walking with him as he goes to grab his water bottle. He hums while squirting water into his mouth.
“I saw Nance walk in-”
“Please don’t. Not right now,” he says, walking off towards the locker rooms. She turns to him with her eyebrows furrowed. “Do you want to go for a drive after school to talk about it?” she asks, and he shakes his head turning to look at her.
“You’re going to have to find another ride home. I’ve gotta stay here for tutoring tonight.”
“Again? You’re shutting me out? We just talked about this,” she says, and Steve looks down at her as his figure towers over her. He kissed her forehead softly. With that, he heads into the locker room, making her chest tighten just slightly. Billy’s hand comes up to her arm, squeezing softly.
“You okay?” he asks, and she nods.
“I just hate how he does this. He shuts me out when things go wrong.”
He takes another gulp of his water. “You want a ride home?”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll just walk. I’ve got to wait for Dustin anyways.”
He hesitates slightly, before nodding. She nods at him. “Besides I know how much you’ve been looking forward to this study date with Heather tonight. Just go, I’ll be fine,” she assures, making him purse his lips before squeezing her arm one last time and heading to the men' s locker rooms.
The walk home was nice for her, as she and Dustin talked about everything he figured out for what’s going on with Dart, his new animal friend he found in their trashcan. Saying how he’s going to take him to the school tomorrow to see if anyone can figure out what he is.
Once they had gotten home, Y/N had immediately set to the bathroom to take a shower, rinse off the last few days as she let her thoughts run.
She sighed as she dries off and throws on her pajamas, hanging up her towel. She hears a knock on the door, she opens it slightly. Dustin looks at her sheepishly.
“Mom’s going to sleep early tonight, and I need to get to Max’s. Can you drive me?” he asks her, she groans.
“Did she say I could take her car?” she asks, and he nods. “Yeah, just- give me a second.”
“If anything you can stop at Steve’s on the way back. I heard Mike say that he and Nance broke up. He’s taking it pretty hard.”
She froze slightly, but rolled her eyes while throwing on her sweats instead of her shorts. “You guys need to stay out of their business.”
He snickers. “You know about it all too, so you’re just as nosey.”
She shook her head as she grabbed the keys from his hand. “I actually didn't. Steve has shut me out since it happened,” she admits, walking out to the car. “That’s why I’ve been getting rides from someone else.”
“You mean Billy?” Dustin shot, making Y/N halt in her tracks. Her head snaps back at him, she lets her eyes shut with a groan.
“Max,” she says more to herself, Dustin nodding as he packs up his bag.
“You need to be careful with that douchebag. He’s not good company to keep,” he explains. “At least that’s what Max says. Has a new girl with him every second of the day.”
Y/N squints at him. “I don’t want Billy. Just because he’s nice to me, doesn’t mean he has my attention,” she explains. “Besides. I’m already stuck on someone else. I couldn’t get over them if I tried.”
“Steve wants you too, you know.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not this again-”
Dustin frowns as he opens his car door. “You’re his best friend, how has he not said anything?”
She shrugs. “He needs his space if it’s as bad as I think it is.”
“Or maybe he’s finally coming to the realization he’s in love with you.”
“Dustin!”
“What? It’s true!”
She rolls her eyes. “At least that’s what Nancy thinks. Said something about how he can’t fully commit. She thinks it’s because he’s obsessed with you.”
She palms her face. “Okay enough, stop eavesdropping on Nancy’s phone calls. I’ll tell her you’ve been listening next time.”
His eyes widened, only nodding before changing the subject about something Mr.Clark was teaching currently. Only, Y/N’s mind couldn’t focus as she thought about if that was really true. Her thoughts threw a million questions around her mind as her brother rambled.
Once she pulled into the driveway, she put the car in park and told Dustin to call her if he needed her to come get him. Knowing full well he would get back in one piece after everything that happened before El disappeared.
She pulled out of the driveway, beginning her trek home, her mind going to wander back to Steve. More so back to what her brother was saying earlier. He had to be wrong. Had to have heard the conversation wrong, right? Because she knew how in love he was with Nancy. He only told her more than one hundred times. Each time aching more than the last.
Y/N was sure he heard it wrong, not bothering to think much more about it as she drove back home quietly.
Once she got home, she could hear her mom’s wave machine going, meaning she was passed out. She set the keys on the table before trudging to her room, closing the door behind her.
She walked up to her phone, taking in a deep breath before raising the handle up to her face and dialing in Steve’s number. She wanted to check in, see if he was okay despite him shutting her out.
The line began to ring as she played with the cord, biting her lip as she waited. It seemed as though it rang forever, making her sigh. She knew he was home by now, but he was choosing to not answer. It went to the answering machine shortly after.
“Steve,” she says softly. “I know you’re hurting, and that you’re shutting down. But don’t shut me out, I want to help you. Whatever happened, I’m here to listen,” she says firmly. “But if you really want space, I'll give you your space. I just hope you’re okay.”
With that, she hung up the phone, and went to sit in her bed.
The next day wasn’t much better, as he was now avoiding her almost completely. Instead of prying, she chose to let it be, knowing he needed the space. She ended up walking to school that morning, only to get an earful from Billy, saying he would’ve happily stopped by to grab her again. She didn’t argue, as she was too exhausted to do so.
When lunchtime came, she saw him sitting at their table, making her eyes light up slightly. She began to walk over to him, going to sit in her normal spot. When she set her tray down, he immediately grabbed his own and began to walk away from her. She frowned at his behavior, her eyes burning slightly as tears lightly formed. She blinked them away.
Y/N didn’t notice how Billy had watched the encounter, how he had noticed them all morning. He walked over to sit with her, telling her to come sit in the gym once more during fifth period, in which she nodded.
She asked him how it went with Heather the night before, letting him ramble about it to distract her from the ache in her chest.
When fifth period came, the boys were playing much harder than they had the day before, Y/N was writing down her notes as she heard yelling. She looked up, watching Billy yell out King Steve as he dribbled the ball. She watched the banter. “I like it. Acting tough today,” he plays.
Steve rolls his eyes, guarding Billy. “Jeez, do you ever stop talking man? Come on,” he ushers back in a snippy tone. Billy just laughs as he dribbles the ball. “Why? You afraid coach is going to bench you now that I’m here, huh?” he pushes, watching the fire in Steve’s eyes ignite. With that, he pushes forward and checks Steve with ease, causing Steve to land on the ground with a loud thump and screech on the gym floor. She stood up like a reflex, shock written all over her face. She doesn’t miss the way he goes back over to Steve, lending down a hand.
Steve glares at Billy, but takes his hand. “Or are you more afraid I’m going to take the one girl you’re too afraid to admit you couldn’t commit to Wheeler for?” he taunts, watching as Steve’s eyes harden. “You’re moving your feet. Plant them next time. Draw a charge,” he growls, before slamming Steve back into the ground and walking away to cheer with his teammates.
He slowly straightens up, his eyes going over to the bleachers where he spots Y/N. She’s looking at him with both confusion and concern in her eyes, he doesn’t say anything, only looks away and gets back up to join his own team.
Y/N’s heart aches as he goes back to acting like she’s just another person in the gym, slowly going to sit back down.
Steve goes to guard Billy again, his eyes so harsh, they could’ve put Billy six feet under if looks could kill. “You’re not going to touch her. You’re gonna stay away from her,” he snaps, watching as Billy gets the ball passed to him.
Billy laughs at his words, expression smug. “Careful. You almost sound territorial,” he snickers. “Besides, if I wanted her. I’d have her already. But she’s too stuck on the only guy who takes her for granted.”
Steve charges after him at that, playing as hard as he can the rest of the class period.
When the whistle blows, Y/N is quick to grab her things and leave. Not wanting to stick around after what she witnessed, and knowing she also needed to get ready to take her test after school ended.
The boys headed to the locker rooms to shower, Steve letting the water wash away every ounce of anger he had towards Billy. Only to huff when he knew it wasn’t going to work.
“Don’t sweat it Harrington. Today’s just not your day, man,” Billy says in the stall next to him.
“Not your week, more so,” Tommy chuckles with a smug smirk on his face. “You and your princess break it off for one day, and she’s already running off with the freak’s brother,” he says, making Steve look at him with light confusion before looking away.
Tommy’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh shit,” he says. “You don’t know. Jonathan and the princess skipped yesterday, and still haven’t shown. That must just be a coincidence, right?” he cackles, Steve eyeing him, scrubbing the suds through his scalp.
“I don’t give a fuck about them. He can have her for all I care,” Steve snaps back, scrubbing his hands through his hair. Billy smirks with a hum.
“Oh I know,” he trails off. “You finally come to your senses over your Henderson girl, right? I hear she’s the reason you hate commitment. Because you want to commit to her, is that it?” Billy taunts, letting the water run down his chest.
Steve scoffs and shakes his head, paying no mind to what either man was saying. “You don’t know her like that.”
“Oh, yes I do. I know a lot more than you think.”
Steve froze in his spot, his head slowly turning over towards Billy. “The fuck did you say?”
Tommy laughs, giving Billy a look. “You better tell him before he finds out through someone else, Hargrove,” he says, before grabbing his towel and turning off the shower.
His words make Steve freeze. “What’re you talking about?”
Tommy wraps his towel around his waist. “Wow you really have been out of the loop,” he trails off, nodding his head at Billy. “She left with him after the Halloween party. Why do you think they’ve been so inseparable? Girl can’t get enough of him.”
Billy glares at Tommy. “Goodbye Tommy,” he snaps back, watching the guy walk away with a smug grin on his face. Steve’s jaw was clenched, his eyes darkening as he looked over at Billy.
“Relax, Harrington,” he chuckles. “Since some dick I know left her by herself that night, I was a gentleman and drove her home,” he admits, smirking happily. “You’re lucky she’s so obsessed with you, otherwise I definitely would’ve taken her back with me, and trust me,” he chuckles while turning off the shower, patting Steve on the shoulder. “I’m still debating.”
Steve eyed him hard as he left, whipping off his own shower head.
Y/N had finished up her test, smiling warmly at her teacher as she handed it in, bidding a goodnight as she left the classroom. The halls were now quiet as it was after school hours, the rain slowly beginning to dribble outside as she could hear the echoes of other students playing in the gyms.
When she opened up the school doors, the breeze had gotten a little chillier, goosebumps arising on her skin as she walked down the sidewalk. The rain slowly picked up as she walked, making her put her hood up.
Her eyes squinted as she noticed Steve’s car was still there, making her frown. She then froze only slightly as he stood, leaning against the hood with his arms crossed. He looked more than upset. He looked livid. “Steve? Why are you still at school? I thought you didn’t have tutoring tonight.”
“Get in the car.”
She frowns at his cold tone the closer she got. She shook her head.
“No. Not after how you’ve been treating me lately,” she shot back, walking up to him. He clenched his jaw as the rain began to get heavier. He towered her figure, eyes staring down into her own. “I have to wait for Dustin too.”
“He went home with Mike,” he answered quickly. “Get. In. The car,” he says once more.
Instead of prying, she huffs and walks over to the passenger side where he goes to hold open the car door for her, letting her slide in. As he closes her door and rounds to his side, she sets her bag on the floor in the back. He slams his door shut before reversing out of the parking lot, and driving off.
“Why are you so pissed off? What did I do to you to make you hate me so much in the span of seventy-two hours?” she finally breaks the silence, her arms crossing over her chest as the rain poured.
His jaw tightens at her words, hand rubbing over his jaw. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then why are you acting like a dick? All I’ve been trying to do is help you, and you act like I don’t exist,” she scoffs as she keeps her gaze on the window. “I don’t know what happened between you and Nance, but I’m just trying to be there for you.”
He stays silent for a few moments, and then speaks. “We broke up. Things were complicated and she said things between us weren’t going anywhere.”
“You could’ve just talked to me, you didn’t have to shut me out. I would’ve listened,” she says in a softer manner. Still somewhat firm to show she was standing her ground.
“It seems you had your hands full with Hargrove anyways,” he says under his breath, but it was loud enough for her to hear. She snapped her head over to him.
“What?”
“You really took a ride home from Billy Hargove? Of all people? Seriously?”
She scoffs. “I wouldn’t have needed to if you didn’t run off like you did! Besides, he offered and was actually nice to me the entire way,” she explains, running her hands through her hair. “You have no right to be upset. You’re the one ignoring me and acting all big macho whenever he’s around.”
“Is he the one who’s been picking you up too? Bringing you home even?” he shot, making her roll her eyes.
“You’re a fucking ass. Why are you so obsessed with this guy?”
“Because he’s not good for you! He wants to fuck you, and then leave you for the streets! You’re nothing but a piece of pussy to that man!” he blows up, making her eyes harden and her eyebrows furrow.
“Stop the car.”
“What-”
“Stop the fucking car, Harrington! I will not be scolded like I’m a fucking child by you! Stop the fucking car, so I can walk the rest of the way.”
Steve looks at her like she is crazy. “Are you kidding? It’s pouring-”
Y/N starts to unlock his car doors, going to pull open the lever as the car was still driving, causing Steve to slam on his brakes as she opened his car door. “Y/N seriously?” he screeches, getting out of the car to follow after her. “Get back in the car! You’re being ridiculous!”
“I’m not! You’re the one being an asshole, Harrington!” she yells back, not looking behind her. She hears him let out a frustrated groan before slamming his car doors shut, and his engine coming up to the side of her. He rolled down the window.
“Get in the car, Y/N!”
She ignored his pleas, her body shivering as she was now drenched from the pouring rain. “Y/N M/N, get in the damn car before I make you,” he warns, letting out a low growl as she still looks forward and keeps walking. Steve brakes the car once again, opening his door and stomping up to her figure.
Y/N feels arms wrap around her waist, despite her protests, she’s then thrown over Steve’s shoulder. “Put me the fuck down, Steve! What the fuck is your problem?” she screams out, punching at his lower back.
“Seriously, let me down! I’m fuckign done with you and your bipolar fucking behavior-”
Her words die in her throat with a squeak as a loud smack is heard, a sting following on her ass a few moments after. She narrows her eyes. “Did you just-?” She trails off as he walks over to open his backseat doors.
Steve softly places her figure into his back seats, ignoring her curses and shouts at him as he slams the door shut and gets back into the driver’s seat. He sped off after that, not missing the way she was sending daggers to the back of his head.
“I told you to get back in the car, and you didn’t listen.”
“Because you were treating me like shit, and started accusing me of sleeping with Billy. When all he’s been doing, is being a better friend than you. Nothing more than that.” she spat, crossing her arms over her shivering figure. Steve sighs, clenching his jaw at her words. Knowing deep down that she was right, he was being a total asshole to her.
“Not when I feel how I feel about you. I can’t move on, even if I tried.”
He froze, his heart stopped for a split second at her words, realizing she had said it so quietly in hope he didn’t hear, but he heard her perfectly clear.
All of his anger slowly washed away as her words repeated in his mind, realizing that Nancy was right. He couldn’t tell Nancy he loved her, not when Y/N had been here all along. No matter how hard he tried, he really tried to make things work with Nancy. But she knew it wasn’t meant to be.
Because he couldn’t control how strong his feelings were becoming towards Y/N. Nancy knew it too, she saw it when he didn’t. Which was why she couldn’t blame him. He did try. He couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Not after how things just ended with Nancy. He needed to see if what he felt for Y/N really was real, which was why he pushed away. Turns out it was more real than he ever knew or understood. Especially after hearing Billy’s words.
“We’re going to mine,” is all he says, making her glare at him.
“What? No, I’m drenched, I need to go home and-”
“I have stuff you can borrow, so stop whining. We need to actually talk,” he shot back, making her go quiet with her mouth open in shock. “No distractions, nothing. Because your brother will somehow bring us into the next adventure going on, and we need to figure our shit out.”
Y/N lets out a grumble, but doesn’t argue any further, the car was quiet the rest of the way to his place.
Once he parked in his driveway, he grabbed both of their bags, then opened the door for her to get out. She whisks past him as he locks his car, the pair running up to take cover under the slight covering over his front doorstep.
When they both got inside, the sound of the rain pattering hard over the roof was heard, as well as the light sounds of the occasional thunder booming. He sets down their stuff, huffing at his now drenched state, shrugging off his jacket.
“You can shower in mine. I’ll use my parents.”
He leads them upstairs, grabbing her a towel and walking her into his room that she knew all too well. He hands her a pair of his sweats and a hoodie of his she always used to wear, before grabbing his own towel and heading towards his parents’ room without another word.
She goes into his bathroom, looking around as she sees it’s still the same. It’s been a while since she has been here. Her having the decision that maybe they shouldn’t hang out like they used to when he started dating Nancy. She didn’t want Nancy to think otherwise, and knew it wouldn’t look right.
Y/N let the shower run for a bit, letting it get warm as she stripped down her soaked clothes, a light shiver running down her spine.
Once the steam had filled the bathroom, she stepped into the shower, the warm water cascaded down her back, making her let out a small hum in content at how good the warmth felt. She rinsed and washed up quietly as she let her thoughts linger as she rinsed her hair.
She was too in her mind to hear the door open slowly, Steve closing it behind him as he saw her back turned away from his figure.
He couldn’t take it anymore. Not after hearing what she said. He was sick of dancing around it.
When he opened the glass door, Y/N jumped at the noise and turned towards him with eyes wide. “Steve? What’re you doing?” she asked softly, her voice sounding exhausted. Defeated. Steve said nothing, only closing it behind him and walking to her slowly. Y/N’s eyes followed his own as they took in her figure, then eyes softening as his eyes found her own.
He stopped just inches in front of her, the water running over them both, Steve towering over her as he looked down at her. Her eyes staring between his own as his hand came up to her jaw to make her fully look up at him.
He inched closer to her face with his own, their lips just millimeters away. Y/N’s hands stayed covering her chest, but slowly slid down in relaxation as their lips barely touched.
Their eyes looking between one another for what felt like forever, Y/N looked back at Steve with one final nod. That’s all it took, and his lips slammed down onto hers. It was hungry, needy, passionate. Fire ignited between them both as their lips moved in sync. Tongues fighting and teeth clashing as their pants filled the air.
Steve brought both of his hands to her hair, pulling her head back to let his lips openly trail from her lips, biting at the bottom one before going to her cheek, her jaw, and down her neck. Y/N’s eyes shut with absolute bliss at the feeling of his lips making contact with her hot skin. How his tongue poked out every so often, teeth biting at some spots.
Her arms came up to his forearms when he found a sweet spot behind her ear, making him hum in satisfaction. Y/N had grown greedy, and in dire need of his lips on hers once more, making her grab his face from the spot in her neck to slam their lips back together.
Steve’s hands trailed down from her hair, down her body, leaving sparks and fire in his trail as he touched her everywhere he could reach.
He never realized how much he craved her until now. Now, he couldn’t live without her. He couldn’t live with the fact that any guy could have her like this. Could’ve been in his spot. He especially couldn’t stand the fact that Billy almost could’ve been in his place if he waited any longer.
The thought alone made him grip her hips hard, making her whimper lightly in his mouth. He groaned as she bit his lip. They broke apart, just millimeters away from one another as he looked at her with a haze in his eyes.
“I’m never letting you go now,” he muttered softly, leaving one hand on her hip while the other trailed to her belly button. He watched her lips hitch in a gasp at his touch. Her eyes were big and hazy as they looked up at him. The rain poured hard outside, being heard even through the shower running around them. “Not when I’ve got you like this. This is all I’ve ever wanted. I’ve always wanted you. That was the problem, honey.”
His hand trailed down her navel, just above where she needed to feel him most. Her insides burn with desire and need for Steve.
“I couldn't stop thinking about you. Every second of every day,” he trails off, leaving soft kisses on her lips between his words. “You were always the one thing I came back to,” he hums, letting his hand finally cup her heat. He smirked lightly as he watched her eyes roll back as he let his fingers rub up and down her slit.
“Steve.”
“Hm?” he says, letting his hand figure out what she liked, how she wanted, needed, to be touched. Her face would contort when he rubbed or flicked certain spots, making him bite his lip as she watched her lose any ounce of control she had.
“Hargrove kept saying how he would take you like this. How he was debating on it,” he taunts, letting a finger slide in, Y/N let out a moan as her head fell onto his chest. He chuckled darkly as he felt her beginning to hump herself into his hand. “I kept thinking about that. Picturing. It pissed me off.”
She shook her head as her hand went to grasp at his wrist while he pumped his fingers in and out of her. “Never would’ve happened,” she moans. “I wouldn’t have let it happen.”
He takes his free hand from her hip and trails it up to her neck, causing her to look up at him. Her eyes are still lightly closed, light moans and whines leaving her lips.
“You sure? It seemed like you enjoyed getting pretty friendly with Hargrove.”
She shook her head. “Only wanted you. I only want you.”
“Oh sweetheart,” he says softly, taking his fingers out of her, causing her to groan at the sudden loss of contact. “I wish I believed that,” he says, shaking his head. She frowned at his words, still dazed and confused at the fact he left her high and dry.
She decided to push right back at his smugness.
“Maybe I should. If you’re only going to leave me high and dry. I’ll let him finish your job.”
Steve’s eyes darkened at her words, causing him to turn off the water behind her, then grabbing both of her thighs to wrap around his hips. He walked them out to his bedroom, slamming her body onto his bed as he towered over her figure.
“You and that mouth of yours are going to get you in trouble, honey.”
He spread her legs open, biting his lip as he tried to muster his groan, but failing miserably.
“And here I was going to be nice and give you my tongue,” he tuts, before grabbing his dick and sliding it through her folds. “But after that little stunt you pulled, I’m not feeling so nice anymore.”
With that, Steve slams all the way into her. The pair both let out moans at the feeling, Y/N grabbing his hair in one hand while the other scratched down his back. Steve began to pump in and out of her fast and hard, lips and tongue busying themselves with her breasts as they bounced with every thrust.
“Steve, please,” she whimpers at his pace. He looks up at her through his lashes, seeing how she is biting her lip to keep from moaning louder. He releases her left nipple with a pop and leans down to kiss her hard.
“Maybe if you fix that attitude of yours, I’ll take my time,” he groans into her mouth, capturing her moans in his own. “Fuck you the way I’ve been dying to. Nice and slow to show you how in love I am with you. You’d love that wouldn’t you?”
Y/N’s hand grips his hair to pull his head back to make him fully look at her. “Please, baby,” she moans out breathlessly, causing Steve to groan. She clenches around him tight, causing him to stutter his movements. Steve soon begins to slow down slightly, still hitting that spot inside of her that she loved oh so much. Her grip loosened on his head, both hands going to grab the headboard behind her as her back arched. Steve looked down at her in amazement, mouth open as he moaned out her name.
“So fucking pretty, fuck,” he pants, taking her slower as his gaze falls to where they’re connected. He sees her hips grinding up to meet his own, making him bite his lip and grab them to meet his own with each thrust. “You’re fucking mine. Not Hargrove’s. I don’t share. Especially not when it comes to you.”
Y/N can feel the tightness in her stomach getting closer and closer with every thrust, causing her to look back at Steve who is so focused on watching him thrust in and out of her.
“Steve I’m-”
“I know, I can feel it. Let go whenever, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
It didn’t take much for her after that, clenching and sputtering around him with a loud moan that followed with his name. Steve came shortly after, placing his lips over her own as his hips stuttered against her pelvis. When their lips broke apart, Steve’s head immediately went into her neck, kissing at her collarbone a few times as they lay there breathless.
Y/N’s hand trailed from his shoulders, up into his hair. She didn’t miss how his body broke out into goosebumps from her touch. His breathing slowed moments later, his now softened cock still inside of her. She could feel him twitching again, hardening as she clenched around him each time he twitched. “Steve,” she moans softly, gripping his hair as she feels his tongue and teeth biting at the skin along her chest.
“I need more,” he groans out against her breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth. She arches into his mouth more at the feeling. His hands pushed down her hips as she started to nonchalantly grind up against his hips, letting his own hips slowly thrust and grind into her. “Gonna go all night. I might just need to have you like this forever,” he moans into her nipple, before pulling away with a pop. Y/N grabs his head and pulls his lips back down to hers, his thrusts hard but slow. Moans getting louder between them both as Steve hit that one spot inside her that made her toes curl.
Before Steve could react, Y/N had tightened her grip on him with her legs, turning them over with him still inside of her. She took his hands from her thighs and laced them with hers, pressing them into the mattress beside his head.
Her eyes looking into his with such adoration and want in them. She began to grind into him, moans leaving her mouth as she bit her lip from being too loud. Steve looked up at her mesmerized, mouth agape as he takes in everything about how she looked on top of him.
“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he sighs, watching her throw her head back she grinded and bounced on him.
She let go of his hands, bringing hers to lean back on his thighs as she worked her way on him. Steve’s hands immediately went to the crevice where her hips and thighs met. He gripped them in a bruising hold, guiding her every move as he met his hips with hers. “Fuck Steve,” she moans out, not missing the way he hit that spot inside her once again.
“Nobody will ever get to see you like this, Never again,” he moans as he lets one hand slithering up her front, going to grip her neck in a tight enough hold for it to go to her head. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head at the feeling. “Not even Hargrove. This is mine.”
“Always has been,” she sighs while looking back down into his eyes. Their highs were coming closer than they did the first time, Steve pulling her down by her neck to meet her with a sloppy kiss.
Both of their movements became faster and faster as the pit in their stomachs got tighter and tighter. “Let go baby. I’m right behind you,” Steve breathes out against her lips, her nodding against him before her hips stutter and stilled as she reaches high. Steve took over and thrusted up into her through both of their highs as Y/N fell forward onto his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, nails running through his hair. His hands trailing up and down her back as they lay there breathlessly. “This is gonna sting a bit,” he said first, before slowly pulling out of her. They both let out a loud hiss, Y/N followed with a slight whimper at the emptiness as she gripped his hair lightly.
“You okay?” he hums against her, and she nods lightly. He chuckles. “We should probably clean up soon.”
She hums. “Soon. Just not yet,” she breathes out softly against his chest.
“Oh no, I’m basking in this as long as I can,” he chuckles softly. She smiles against his chest at his words. “I’ve got you, and I will not be letting you go anytime soon.”
“So you like me?” she jokes, making him grab her jaw softly to look up at him. He looked at her like she had two heads.
“I think we both know I’m way past liking you,” he admits, making her eyes soften at his words. His thumb caressed her skin softly. “It only took me how many years to come to my senses.”
“It took me being friends with Hargrove for you to come to your senses,” she shot, making him roll his eyes.
“Whatever,” he laughs, making her snort. “He’s not gonna let up on this, you know. He will be giving you shit till the end of time for taking so long.”
Steve eyes her. “He really knew before I did? Ouch.”
She smacked his chest softly. “He figured it out, I didn’t have to say a word.”
“Well, I still don’t like how flirty he is with you. So he better knock that off,” he says slowly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“How will you do that?”
“Oh, honey we’ve got all night. I’ll make sure he knows to keep his hands off.”
Synopsis- You are Varang's quiet and sweet mate. When Miles Quaritch comes taking her attention, you develop a distaste for the demon—that is until it becomes glaringly clear they're in competition for you.
Warnings-Smut, dirty old perv Quaritch, toxic!Varang, dubious consent, power-imbalance
A/n- MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! I managed to (barely) make it... At least for my time zone hehe! This was my first time writing smut and omg... I have so much respect for Smut authors... It was so hard???? Anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy!
Varang knew exactly what kept her breathing.
Spite.
It sat in her lungs like soot and settled behind her ribs like a coal that refused to die. Every memory she carried tasted of burned soil—blood soaking into blackened ground, screams rising like smoke. Hers. Her clan’s.
“Please, great Mother. Eywa, save us.”
It left her mouth in a whisper. Not a prayer, never a prayer.
She bent over a grove of saplings—young, thin things, barely taller than her waist. Infants compared to the old thunks that once crowned the forest. Their green made her stomach turn.
“Please, great Mother, balance of all. Eywa,” she crooned.
Her hand closed around a thin trunk, green where wood would grow. She drove it into the earth until it snapped with a soft, wet gasp.
She paused.
Do they pray? Did they beg Eywa when the sky-people burned the forest? Did they learn what refusal felt like, too?
“Tsahik.”
The voice came from behind her. Yepa stepped around a bushel of leaves, stripes still damp from the paint he had earned only days ago. A boy-turned-hunter, proud and awkward in the same breath.
Varang turned just enough to meet his eyes. Smiled. “Yes?”
He read the violence in her stance, the splintered tree at her feet, and managed a small, careful grin. “It’s Y/n. She asks for your presence.”
Ah.
Y/n.
Varang’s breath softened, just barely. Yes—spite kept her alive. Spite moved her hands, her teeth, her every step through the burned forest.
But there was something else that pulled herfrom the ruins. Something gentler. Warmer. More dangerous than any hatred she’d survived.
“If she asks for me,” Varang murmured, straightening. “it is only natural I answer.”
She stepped forward, leaving the crushed sapling behind her.
Y/n.
Y/n.
Y/n.
Her name throbbed in Varang’s chest like a second heartbeat.
“Y/n.”
You were crouched beneath a leaning pillar of old wood, shoulders tight, attention fixed on something beyond Varang’s first glance. When she stepped forward, she saw it. Him. Sapok.
The elder’s breaths were slowing, the chest rising more from will than its usual habit. A man held together by tendon, and even those were loosening.
You lifted your gaze to her, a soft frown creasing your features.
“It’s time.”
Those two words carried the finality of the situation. The kind that meant a soul would not return through the roots of the Tree, not tonight, not ever. Time meant the moment Eywa reclaimed what was left—unless, as in Sapok’s case, He refused.
Sapok had been split open long before his body began to fail—grief hollowing him when fire took his children, then his grandchildren, then the home his mothers grandmother had woven and built. Some wounds refused to close.
Grief had rotted him from the inside, until madness carved out his eyes with his own hands.
“I curse Eywa,” he’d spat at Varang once, voice shredded. “Do not let me return. Let my energy be mine, and mine alone.”
And she had promised.
Varang lowered herself beside you, knees against the soft earth. With deliberate care she drew her blades—curved shypers that caught what little light seeped through the smoke. Sapok could not see her, could not know whose hand would free him—but she swore his breath steadied, as if some part of him knew she was there.
She angled the blade.
Then she opened his throat.
With a second practiced motion, she severed his queue. The neural tendrils sparked with a frantic, chaotic flutter before collapsing.
Varang laid the queue against her hip, another to the collection.
“To the fires we will see you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the cooling skin of his brow, “and in the ash of your remains, we will carry you.”
You joined her in the ritual. Together you washed his body in ash, coating every wound, every ridge, every piece of him that grief had kept. You bound the flesh with cloth and quiet hands, sealing him for the journey he had chosen.
Tradition demanded quiet before the flames rose, and so you held your breath. Thinking.
Varang leaned in first (she always did) and brushed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck. You shifted, shy. “Not now,” you muttered.
But she only hummed and wrapped an arm around your waist anyway.
“Why not?” she whispered against your skin. “Life should be savored when death sits so close, no?”
You shot her a look. Annoying. So annoying. You gathered your tools, bowls—your things, and packed them into a hollowed gourd. “Do not be like this.”
One ear flicked. “Like what?”
“Crude,” you snapped.
Varang smiled. She always smiled. It never meant anything except whatever she wanted it to.
“You’re angry,” she said. She caught your hand and pressed her mouth to each knuckle, slow, though her eyes never left yours. “Tell me. What have I done?”
Your lips thinned. Your tail gave you away.
“The sky-person,” you grumbled. “The one with the strange voice and the uglier face.”
Varang paused. And for the first time, her smile shifted into something fond. Now that angered you. You pulled your hand away and turned, jaw tight.
“Oh. Him?” she said at last. “Miles Quaritch.”
She reached for you again, palms gliding up your forearms, barely touching. She tried to catch your eye again.
“Him?” you mimicked her airy tone. “Yes. Him.” With a sudden twitch to your tail you groaned. “Eywa preserve me. I will not have a lovers quarrel beside Sapok’s dead body.”
“He would laugh,” she offered lightly.
You hissed and shoved her back with a flat hand. She pouted, and somehow that made it worse. “I need to do some things.”
You slipped out of the hut, brushing past the hanging beads. Of course she followed. Her stride matched yours.
“That is very vague, Y/n,” she said, tone almost sing-song.
You turned your head back, hands failing about. “Oh that's very vague?! You-”
You suddenly hit someone's chest. “Oh!”
Your eyes looked up. Golden eyes, hair along the brows and a meatier, softer impact. Who else other then:
“Miles Quaritch.” You said his name clumsily. It was the demon language, English. But it earned something of a smile from him. Like Varangs, cocky. Unlike Varangs, surprisingly warm.
“Watch where you’re going, cupcake.”
You barely understood him. Varang seemed to, though. Her demeanor changed, she tilted her head. “Demon.” She briefed a nod, and he tilted his head back, gesturing to a nearby Yurt.
“We got some things to discuss.” He grumbled.
Varang soothed a hum, before gently taking a strand of your hair and pinching it. “I’ll see you in the evening.”
You watched as she led him, and glared at Miles Quaritch, who eyed you before following her.
Great.
.
.
.
You had seen death stare at you.
It wore a woman’s face—pleasant, almost gentle. Golden-amber eyes that caught the light, hatred folded neatly behind patient lips. Black against black: wax-dark hair braided with bones of past loves.
Death came as kisses pressed to your cheek, as queues offered in submission, heads bowed. Death had a name here.
Varang.
Quaritch was not death, but the feeling curled similar in your chest. It lodged beneath your ribs and dragged its way down your spine, coiling into your legs until instinct screamed. Move, idiot. Move until he catches you.
You stared at him as he stared at you, the bonfire crackling between. Varang had told you his story: human once, died, reborn na'vi. That's why the pair made sense together, you supposed—he'd crossed the threshold and returned, and if Varang was death itself, then he must be the one who guards her door. Gatekeeper. Guardian. Something worse.
Now the spirit would not stop looking.
You turned away first, fixing your attention anywhere but him. Your mouth pulled into a soft pout as you drank from the skull-cup—nectar cut with water. Too sweet, you felt your teeth ache.
“Your pet has a staring problem.” You grumbled.
Varang lifted an eye, her smile widened, and she played with your beaded top. “He is curious.”
“He should be curious somewhere else.”
“Now, Y/N,” Varang chided softly, “do not be hostile.”
You almost laughed at that. Do not be hostile. When has Varang ever uttered such words?
You flickered back at him, and he winked. His lips quirked up at your sneer, too-perfect-teeth reflecting the orange of the fire. Like stained blood. Then he drank from his cup, and then lifted up.
You had actually flinched at the movement, cocked your head to Varang in slight panic, but she only laughed. He moved, settling heavy beside her. “Evenin’, girls.” He tipped his head in your direction. You scowled back. “Mhm, not so touchy huh?”
“She does not understand you, Quaritch.”
He paused, cup halfway to his mouth. "Huh." A beat, then that grin widened. "Well. Guess I oughta teach her. She'll be talkin' to human grunts soon enough."
Varang's grin widened. She glanced at you, and you felt the weight of her attention like a hand at your throat. "He says he will teach you the demon language, Y/n." You knew that tone. "Take it."
"But Varang—"
And there it was.
The shift. The moment her eyes turned sharp and her smile crooked just enough to bare a hint of fang.
Your ears flattened. You looked at Quaritch—that stupid, shit-eating grin still plastered across his face—and swallowed every word clawing up your throat. Barely managed it.
Varang's fingers—meanwhile, found your hip, she dug in hard enough that tomorrow you'd wear the shape of them in bruises and adorn them like a kiss. That’s all you could do, anyway. She wouldn’t allow for anything else.
You bowed your head before you could stop it, face twisting despite yourself.
"F-Fine."
You turned the glare on Quaritch instead. Poured every drop of frustration and helpless fury into it, let it burn there where Varang couldn't track it. Never at her. Never where she could see. She wouldn't forgive that.
Her grip released. She rose—graceful and already dismissing you. She shoved you toward him with one careless hand. The push sent you stumbling forward before you caught yourself with Quaritch’s bicep.
"She'll do it, Quaritch."
"Atta girl," he drawled around a mouthful of meat.
You hissed at him. “Teylupil,”
.
.
.
Quaritch was everything you'd imagined and worse—arrogant, obtuse, swaggering through life with the blissful ignorance of someone who’d never met a problem his fists couldn’t solve. Worst of all, though? The man was charming, and with the several weeks spent between you two… fond.
You'd never say it aloud. Eywa could strike you down first. His ego needed no more compliments, it was swollen enough to crowd a room. Yet there it was: he made you laugh.
"Aww, c'mon. Like this." His tongue curled with exaggerated precision. "Patient. Pati-eee-nt. Feel that? The tongue goes up, not back."
You mimicked the shape of his mouth, lips pulling awkwardly. "Pati-eee-nt."
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. His palm landed twice against your thigh—approving pats. "That's right. Good job."
Your ears flicked traitorously forward. Heat crept beneath your skin as a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Varang had never been this patient, this rewarding. Good things from her meant extra morsels of food. But Quaritch kept a pocket full of those wrapped things—candy, he called them, and handed out those small, colorful spheres when you or another na’vi did something good.
"Patiee-nt. Patiee-nt," you murmured again, testing it.
One brow arched. His mouth quirked. "You're picking up my accent. That's a Kansa's special right there."
"Accent?" The word felt strange on your tongue. Your grasp on this language remained amature at best. You frowned. "Accent... what?"
"What's an accent," he corrected, softening his tone. "What is an accent, you mean, doll."
You tipped your head forward, eyes wide, a question within the angle. Something in that expression pleased him—his thumb caught your chin, tugging playfully. "It's like... hm. Well, not everyone talks the way I do." A laugh escaped him, warm like the sun. "S'funny, actually. You and the other Na'vi pickin’ up my way of speaking. All of you runnin’ around sounding like cowboys. The guys'll lose their minds if they hear you."
"Funny." You paused, tail curling uncertainly behind you. "Not... normal?"
He nodded, something careful entering his expression. "You ever listen to Wainfleet talk?"
"Bald one?"
Quaritch barked a laugh. “Yeah, the bald one. But don't let him hear you say that or he'll yank your tail."
That drew a smile, even if you struggled processing the words.
"Speak—" your tongue was slow and clumsy against the language. "—sloowwwlly." You tapped at your flickering ears. "Hear. Is trying to."
He hummed, tilting his head in consideration. "Yeah, that's right. Alright, I think that's done for the day." He lifted himself up and carefully reached for your hand.
The fourth finger still felt strange against your palm—foreign in the way the knuckle was twice your size. But it was nice, too. Bigger than any of the other males in your clan. No wonder Varang liked holding it. She always liked different.
"You're a quick learner, cupcake. Better than I ever was learnin' Na'vi." His voice carried some old frustration. "My boy, Spider—he tried getting it through my thick skull. An' I could barely string a sentence together."
"Spider. Son." You gave a distant nod. Varang had mentioned him once. He had a son. Wanted him back. No harm to come to him, you remembered that much.
"Mhm." His gaze drifted somewhere past your shoulder, through the woven walls to a place you couldn't follow. For once the mask of bravado slipped, and beneath it was grief of missing someone.
You didn’t really care. That was his business. And yours…
Your lower lip jutted forward in a small pout. Hand reaching out, expectant.
That snapped him back. The grin returned, easier now, and he dug into his cargo pants before pulling out the small bag. "You really like Skittles, huh?" He poured a few into his palm, fingers sorting through the colors before plucking out the red ones. You seemed to really like those. "There you go, little lady."
The taste was different from anything on Pandora, but you liked it. "Mh, good." You nodded. You immediately plopped them into your mouth and chewed. Yum.
He watched you for a long moment—longer than necessary—then bit his lower lip and reached over to tug gently at your cheek. "You're the cutest of the bunch, y'know that? Not so bad when you're like this." His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, voice dropping quieter. "No wonder Varang keeps you around."
"She is, isn't she."
Varang sauntered through. Her body shifted like the dancing of flame, but you knew her enough. You saw her for the fire, not the warmth. You bowed your head and drew your shoulders in. Small gestures for necessary ones.
Varang's mouth was a thin, bloodless line—aimed directly at Quaritch.
She stepped to your side and pressed her hip against yours. You felt the decorative bones pricking your side, stabbing your soft skin. The contact pinned you there while her gaze carved into him. "I told you to teach her."
"And what am I doing?" Quaritch's head canted, dismissive. He wasn't the yielding type.
“Making her weak.”
He scoffed—an amused sound that bubbled into genuine exasperation. His hand found your forearm. “Hm? And how am I makin’ her weak, buttercup?”
Varang hissed.
That surprised you both.
She hauled you back, fingers tight enough to bruise. "You may see. Not touch." Then she stepped closer to him, and the tension in her shoulders melted into something silk-smooth. Run, Quaritch. You tried telling him with your eyes. You are prey. But Varang had a way about her, captivating.
"Besides," Varang murmured, trailing one finger along the freckles of his throat, "you already have me." her lips ghosted over his pulse, and her fingers trailed down to cup the front of his pants. He hissed, a different one—a pleased one. "Do well to remember that."
She turned then, and the sultriness drained from her the moment her back faced him. Her hands found your arm again and you winced as she dragged you forward.
You cast one glance back at Quaritch. His face had gone stony.
Her grip on your arm tightened and you winced, allowed yourself to be turned.
"Varang—" you began, stumbling to keep pace.
She didn’t slow. She dragged you into her yurt, shoving you down onto the woven mat with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. Firelight dnced along the walls, casting her in molten gold as she paced before you.
You breathed slowly, words aching to come, yet withheld under her stare.
She paced forward, steady. You lowered your head, looking anywhere but her—the woven floor, the yurt’s wooden beams, the way ash fell between the light. Her fingers found your chin, and forced your face upward. "See me."
You did. You looked up. "I... I do see you."
That made her calm, just a bit. Her heart gentled and her expression softened into something sweet. She tilted her head, studying you with the intensity of someone memorizing a dying lover, before pressing a kiss against your lips. Her eyes never shut. They watched for your reaction, golden and unblinking, and you knew exactly which one to give.
You closed your own eyes, kissing her back, hands gripping her shoulders. Warmth bloomed where skin met skin—hers fever-hot, yours clammy. "You make me weak," she finally whispered against your mouth.
That gave you pause. She either didn't notice or didn't care.
"Varang." You tilted your head up, felt her lips brush underneath your jaw, trailing heat. Your eyes felt particularly hazy—fatigue, pain, something else entirely. She slowly brought her own queue over her shoulder, and your eyes caught the restrictive tie wrapped around the tendrils.
You glanced, freckles flashing in slight embarrassment. "R-Right now...?"
She gave a nod.
You brought your own queue forward with trembling fingers, a headache already forming. She let the tendrils bond together. The both of you shuddered. Her anger crashed over you first—the frequent memory of the volcano. The screams of her mother, the passive voice of her father: “If it is Eywa’s will, Varang… be like your sister, Varang.” Then her hate followed, the taste of salt and rock.
But underneath it lay something girlishly needy, embarrassingly seeking. A vulnerability she showed no one else. Only you were allowed such a look into her soul.
"Hm."
She walked backward then, pulling you with her until she hit the hammock. It swayed under the combined weight as she settled, then drew you into her lap, tugging at your hair. “Shhh,” She cooed.
Varang pressed a hand underneath the wrapping of your top, lifting it to kiss the skin there. You’d pierce your nipples months ago, and the bone that settled between the nubs made her mouth water. “Such fear,” she whispered against your damp skin. “But you love me. I see it. I know it.”
She licked a broad wet stripe across the sensitive areola, then drew the tight bud between her mouth, swirling her tongue around the piercing and faintly tugged.
You whined, frowning, fingers finding the ridges of her collarbone. "You always question it."
"Naturally." She nuzzled your shoulder, breathing in the ash still clinging to your skin. Her lips switched to its twin, finally fluttering her eyes close to gently suck, saliva coating your breasts. You grinded against her thigh, pressing your face against her shoulder. “Such a needy little thing, come—”
“Tsahik,”
Yepa stood where the privacy cloth was, eyes cast down. He knew better than to interrupt Varang when she kept you to herself. Her eyes sharpened, fingers pausing where they'd been toying with the piercing. Heat crawled up your neck. You looked away, cheeks burning.
"Speak." She said.
Her hand drifted lower, tracing the edge of your loincloth, circling just above your mound while her mouth pressed dizzying kisses along the curve of your cheek. "Forgive me, Tsahìk," Yepa murmured. "We've spotted a new caravan. The windtraders."
Varang exhaled through her nose. Her touch stilled. For one fleeting moment, she looked at you—something almost apologetic flickering behind her eyes.
Then it was gone.
You made a soft, plaintive sound, fingers curling around her wrist. "Stay." The word came out smaller than you meant it to, and you hated yourself for it. Varang despised weakness. You were weakness.
She pushed your hand away with her usual ease. "Others hunt the meat you eat, Y/n." She didn't look at you again, said it in a cooing tone that made it all the worse.
You rewrapped your chest with fumbling hands, tail lashing hard enough snap at the air. You shoved past Yepa without meeting his eyes, head bowed low.
Not fair. The thought curled bitter in your head. She could refuse you. You could never refuse her.
Around you, the clan stirred with new activity. Warriors readied their ikran, voices risingto prepare. Blades were sharpened, the new demon-weapons brandished with eager hands.
You weren't allowed on raids. Varang forbade it.
So instead you sat on the edge of camp and kicked rocks, watching them disappear into the embers of the sun.
"You're not going?"
You froze mid-motion, glancing back.
Quaritch.
Your frown deepened.
"Varang angry," you said quietly. She’s angry, and doesn’t want you near me. Is what you meant to say. But how could you? He was an idiot. Or maybe it was you, for not knowing how to say it.
You moved to walk past him, but his hand caught your shoulder—firm, four fingers pressing and encompassing most of it.
"So?" He snorted. "She throws a hissy fit and what? Law doesn't apply to me."
They do. Your eyes narrowed. You are one of us now. They apply.
But you didn't say it. Instead, you sighed and looked away, fingers tapping absently against the skin where your heart was underneath. "I…" You hesitated. "Weak. Not strong. Varang worry."
A pause.
"Don't tell," you grumbled.
Quaritch gave a slow nod, tail tracing a lazy arc. He leaned forward, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet. "You ever use a gun?"
You blinked. "Gun…?"
He lifted one of those compact metal bows from his holster, blocky and compact—nothing like the carved wood your people used. "Yeah. A gun. You've seen Varang use it." He jerked his chin toward the distant yurts. "Come on. I'll show you. Just don't blow my tail off."
Your gaze drifted to Varang's yurt, then skyward where the war party had departed hours ago, her Ska'avum among them. She'd be gone until dusk at least. You pressed your lips together.
"Yes. Okay."
.
.
.
The first shot made you jump, ears pressing flat against your head.
"Yeah! Booyah!" Quaritch's hands landed on your shoulders, shaking hard into your frame. "Clear damn shot. You're a natural at this, kid."
He thrust his palm upward, some human gesture you'd never seen before.
You stared at it, confused.
Then lifted yours suspiciously, mirroring the angle.
His hand met yours with a sharp smack.
"High-five. Well—high-four," he amended, grinning wide enough to show molars. His palm found your spine, a push that was encouraging and commanding. "Come on. Again. Let's see if it was a fluke."
He was close now. Close enough that if Varang were here, if she saw—
You swallowed the thought. No. This isn't about Varang.
You adjusted your stance the way he'd shown you: shoulders angled, weight forward, breath held. The target swam into focus. You squeezed.
Bullseye.
Your tail betrayed you, wagging before you could stop it—then his hand cracked against your ass and you squealed. "Ngh!" The hiss tore from your throat, glaring at him. You almost forgot he was an asshole first, friend second.
He was already moving past you, plucking the gun from your slack grip. "And she calls you weak." A scoff. He studied the target, grinning like some prideful mentor. "Feel pretty powerful, huh?"
You nodded slowly, studying the cluster of holes punched through the painted target. When you glanced back, he was counting the rounds with his usual efficiency.
"Think we'll add firearms to your training rotation." He didn't look up. "No point wasting time on that bow sissy-shit when you've got real stopping power available."
You stepped closer, watching his hands work. "What doing?"
"What are you doing," he corrected. "Grammar, kid. Makes me sound like some kind of assh-shat teacher." He whistled. "Anyway, I’m cleanin’ and reassembling. Maintenance. All this volcanic shit clogs the mechanisms. Messes with the equipment."
This was news to you. You paused. "Varang…knows?"
The question landed betwene you two.
His lips peeled back—too much teeth. "Nah." He didn't look up. "Keep it that way."
A secret. You had a secret now. The thought bloomed warm, and Quaritch must have seen it written plain across your face because he chuckled, low and knowing. "You're a little minx, aren't'cha?"
You didn't know what that was, but nodded anyway.
He dug into his pockets again, fingers closing around the crinkled bag. Your hand shot out before you could think to stop it, palm up, giddy.
He caught your wrist to steady it—the tips of his fingers padded in callouses. “You’re spoiled, you know that?” He shook the bag near your ear, grinning. "Never had much of a sweet tooth myself. Spider did, though." A pause. His jaw worked. "I traded my good socks for this."
The silence came. Then he pressed the entire bag into your palm, closing your fingers around it like it was something precious.
"Just keep it." It came out rough, almost embarrassed. "And don’t let the others see." He looked away.
You stared at the bag. Bright red plastic stamped with the strange alien letters from his world. Red. Yellow. Orange. Green. Purple. You traced each color with your eyes before lifting your gaze back at him.
You didn't know what you were thinking.
You kissed his cheek.
Quaritch actually stumbled back half a step. His ears snapped forward, eyes gone wide and startled as a spooked hexapede's. Before he could recover, you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. You felt reckless, daring. The power that Varang held, you wield it now.
You skittered backward, clutching the candy to your chest, a shy smile blooming despite yourself.
"Thank you, Quaritch," you whispered.
His lips quirked, just a bit. He tilted his head back, pushed air between his teeth in a low whistle that might've been a laugh. "Yeah," he muttered, but you think it was more to himself than you. "Yeah, alright."
You left then, the bag pressed tight against your chest, tail swaying in wide arcs all the way back to the yurt.
Another secret.
.
.
.
Things were different now. You felt different, you supposed.
This shared secret between you and Quaritch had festered into something physical. It lived in the space between breaths, in the pause before he spoke your name.
And Quaritch? Quaritch was all physical.
You couldn't walk past him without a slap to the rear or a pinch to your side, something too boyish for a man his size (and his age, as you liked to remind him). But there it was anyway, that grin splitting his face, the wink that followed. "That's it, baby girl." The words dripped easy, thick as the molasses you once tasted.
The lessons were no different. Or rather—no different in how he touched you now. Instead of sweet candy he'd nudge your lips apart and kiss.
"Say it. Patient."
"Patient."
Quaritch just grinned against your mouth. "Still got that accent. It's cute." Your eyes fluttered shut. You licked away the chapness of his lips, tasted salt and something faintly bitter.
Evening meals were distant, of course. Formal. When Varang sat beside you, eating whatever meal she'd presented—she’d present a kuru, sometimes several, gifts of power and affection—you'd accept with the usual grace. The usual smiles.
And later, after you'd ignored him through dinner and feigned disinterest, Quaritch would return. That all-too-easy smile waiting for you in the dark.
Varang wouldn't know. You were happy with that.
"Stop moving," you grumbled.
You painted the whites and reds against his face in careful strokes, slapping his hands when they wandered.
"It's damn cold," he hissed. But he remained still, huffing through his nose. The pigment was thick, it had to be. Smelling just a bit of crushed minerals, rendered fat, and berries. You had to change the recipe for him, he sweat too much and smeared it everywhere—too impatient to let it dry.
You rolled your eyes. The two of you were tucked beneath the newly constructed yurt. Varang had moved everyone to the RDA base, and Quaritch had been more than eager to accommodate the clan into the facility's sprawling guts. If he wasn't with her, or the strange pink-skins, then he was with you.
"It's cold because you take too long." You swept your thumbs in parallel lines along his cheeks, forming a sharp V that cascaded down the bridge of his nose. The pattern was traditional, though your hand trembled slightly as you worked.
You watched him through your lashes, heat creeping up your neck when you realized he'd been staring back. "What?"
Quaritch clicked his tongue, angling his head low. He pressed his cheek against your palm, the paint smudged just a bit, but you didn’t correct him. "Nothin'... just—sweet is all. You're sweet."
Your fingers drifted to your songcord almost unconsciously, tracing the amber bead you'd added most recently. Inside, suspended in golden resin, a single red skittle.
"I didn't think you'd be so sappy," you murmured, a smile tugging at your mouth.
"Sappy? Now where'd you learn that word?"
"Lyle." You said innocently. “The bald one."
Quaritch grinned, and his hand found your back—thumb pressing the base of your tail. "Course it was. The bastard—"
"Do you think I am a fool?"
Your tail went rigid mid-sway, ears swiveling before the rest of you caught up. You turned, careful, already knowing what you'd find.
Varang stood at the threshold, stripped of her usual paint and accessories. She looked exactly as she had when you were both girls and the forest still held its green—Vulnerable.
"Varang," you started, placating. "We were almost—"
A hiss tore from her throat. Her nose wrinkled, lips peeling back from her teeth. "Do not." She lifted one hand, fingers curling through the air in a white-knuckled clench.
You'd never seen her this furious. Not even since—
Your ears flattened against your skull.
"You do not ask permission, sky-man." She began to circle Quaritch now, and her hands drifted to the twin buugeng blades strapped at her hips.
Quaritch's expression didn't shift. If anything, it settled into something lazier. Bored, almost. He tracked her with his eyes, then let out a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "And when have you?"
He rose slowly, joints popping, and your handprint still blazed red across his cheek.
Varang faltered as she eyed the paint. For just a heartbeat—her brows pinched into something wounded—but then she shook her head, and the mask slammed back into place.
"Seems to me, cupcake," Quaritch drawled, stepping into her space, "that you and I are too similar."
His gaze slid to you.
Then his hands found Varang's shoulders, turning her to face you instead. "She don't seem too concerned." His voice dropped rough, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "And I bet she'd take both of us sweetly. Hm?"
Varang stared. Her expression smoothed into something unreadable, eerily calm, yellow eyes locked on yours.
"Have you two bonded?"
Your stomach dropped. "No. Varang, we—"
"Nah." Quaritch's answer came quicker than yours, easier. "We haven't. You can keep that if you want." His lips grazed the curve of Varang's neck, breath hot against the delicate skin there. His hands slid lower, palms molding to her waist, then dipping to the swell of her hips. "If it makes you feel special."
He grinned.
Varang twisted free in one fluid motion, closing the distance between you in two strides. Her hand fisted in your hair, dragging you close enough that you could see every fleck of amber in her yellow eyes. "You smell like him."
Then she kissed you.
Hard.
Her canines caught your lower lip, tugging until you tasted copper. A sound escaped you, swallowed just before it turned pitiful..
Behind you, Quaritch shifted closer. You couldn't see him, but you felt the heat of him, the broad wall of his chest almost brushing your shoulder blades. His hand came down heavy on the curve of your ass, grabbing an absolute fistful.
And you, you felt multiple hands now. Varang's fingers worked the braided top, peeling it free until your breasts were bare beneath her palms. They bounced just a bit, purple nipples perking. Behind you, Quaritch's thumbs traced the curve of your ass before lifting the weight of each cheek. He let them plop down, and groaned.
"Fuck," he muttered, voice dropping to gravel. "Won't you look at that." His knuckles grazed the stripes that contoured around the flesh, mesmerized.
Miles…" You turned your head, the syllable half-formed. Instinct seeked his face, but Varang's fist caught your braids and wrenched you back.
Her teeth found your lower lip.
"Not at him." The growl rumbled against your mouth. "Me."
Quaritch's laugh was low, almost lazy. "Think she likes me better. I ain't so punishing." His palm cracked against your rear—only once, but something purple was already forming. "Say my name again, doll."
"Miles—" But Varang swallowed it, mouth sealing over yours, and she shot him a look that could've drawn blood.
"You ain't playing fair," He had that smile, you knew he did even if you couldn’t see it.
Both hands rose to cradle your jaw, now. Thumbs stroking the jaw where tension pooled. She pressed kisses all over—the corner of your lips, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your shoulder where your scent glands were located. Marking you with her own scent.
"If you can only win by fairness," she whispered, lips brushing your shoulders "you are no true warrior."
Then she kissed you again
Quaritch's mouth twitched. Without warning, he hauled you back against him, fingers sinking into your hips, grinding you into the hard line of his pelvis. "So you wanna play like that?"
Varang pulled back with a hiss, chest rising. She looked at you—just once—then stepped forward. She wore seduction in her hips now, curling her lips, tasting her skin. "Only if you think yourself capable."
"Hm. Challenge accepted." His attention dropped to your chest, dismissive for just a moment before he took another look. He pinched a nub. "Fuck, baby girl. You had these the whole time?"
He flicked the other with his thumb, feeling the bone piercing. Your body jerked, a gasp wriggling out. “O-Oh…” His mouth went lower, descending a hot trail while his hands lazily hooked your loincloth to the side. His calloused fingers found your clit, the rough pad of his thumb circling.
"Miles, please…" Your head fell forward, brows pinching together, and the sound that left you was barely coherent.
Before you, Varang sank to her knees.
You'd never seen her like this—all that fierce pride folded into something softer, reflective of her soul. Her palms smoothed up your thighs, reverent. When she looked up at you through dark lashes, blinking slow, you blushed.
“You beg for him,” She undid your loincloth properly now, throwing it over her shoulder to the fire nearby. “Now you will beg for me” She simply lowered her mouth and licked—a long, flat, possessive stripe from your entrance to your clit, pushing Quaritch’s thumb aside with the force of it.
He only grunted. His fingers traced your ribs, mapping each curve, each rise of skin. Up, then down. Feeling. Always feeling. He nudged your legs apart. Varang needed room, afterall.
She took it.
Varang nudged her face, nuzzling the purple flesh and mouthing your pussy. Suckling the flesh. When she looked up, her eyes were hazy with peace—and if you dared to call it—love. You watched her tail sway behind her. A soft huff escaped you.
She spread your pretty pussy lips with her thumbs, then spat. You watched the silver strand descend, sliding down your slit in complete arousal.
“So pretty,” she cooed. “You like this, yes?”
Her finger brisked along the opening, pinching your folds together. They were undeniably swollen, plump. She always liked how engorged they became when you were aroused. Like a dumpling. She thought.
She pressed one fingertip to the left lip, and watched it bounce back. “Varang.” You pushed your hips forward, pouting.
Both chuckled. “What did I say?” Quaritch mused. “Spoiled. Absolutely spoiled.”
He lifted you—just slightly—and chucked his loincloth aside. You glanced down.
Your mind emptied of everything but his cock.
Your hands flew to his forearms, fingers digging into the muscle there just as your legs kicked in a brief instinctive pedal. “Wait—wait!”
He went still, swallowing. “Somethin’ the matter?” He glanced over your shoulder to look at Varang, who now leaned back on her hands, head cocked into something teasing.
He settled you on his thick thigh instead, tracing numbers over your stomach.
You dragged your gaze back down, helpless. It was… big. Long, thick, veined with ridges that made your mouth water and your lips tremble all the same. The head was a broad, blunt crown, flushed a deep, violent purple, and below, his balls were heavy and full.
A low, involuntary sound escaped you as you gave a tiny, shameful shuffle, the slick heat of you grinding against the muscle of his thigh. You bit your lower lip until you tasted the copper hint of blood.
“Well… it’s…”
“She’s never taken a man.” Varang’s murmur was matter-of-fact. Her eyes shifted to you, her smile softening.
For once, he seemed surprised. “What? But you and her have—”
“I have never allowed a man to touch her.” Varang’s scoffed, as if the idea was ridiculous. “Any who’ve tried I’ve killed myself.” She leaned forward now, before going on a crawl. Her eyes, now heavy-lidded, inspected his cock.
She bit her own plump lip, then leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the tip. Her eyes fluttered shut as she did it, and above you, Quaritch hissed—no doubt pleased.
“It doesn’t bite, Y/n.” Varang stroked your trembling thigh, her touch gentling, before she turned back. She opened her mouth, suckling the broad head, wetting it thoroughly, then licked a long, torturous stripe from root to tip. The sound was obscenely wet.
“Ngh, fuck…” The groan was torn from Quaritch’s chest, you never thought you’d hear such a sound from him.
It felt right, strangely.
He buried his face against the junction of your neck and shoulder, his arms locking around you, binding you to the solid wall of his heat. His breaths came in uneven puffs. His large, warm hands splayed across your stomach, fingers pressing in rhythmic, almost absent-minded taps. “Not so much now…” he managed, voice strangled.
Varang only scoffed around him, the vibration earning another jerk of his hips. She bobbed her head, taking him deeper, her cheeks hollowing. “This is not for you,” she shot back, pulling off with a wet sound. “So weak. Cannot even last.”
That earned a guttural grunt. He fluttered his eyes open, the yellow within them hollowed by the black of his pupil.
He turned his head and bit the shell of your ear. “You listenin’ to her?” he hummed. You felt his pout. “So mean to me. But you ain’t, darlin’. You’re good. All good and sweet stuff.” He nuzzled, then placed a softer, startling kiss on your cheek.
You both watched, mesmerized, as Varang returned to her work. Your own hands reached and took what she couldn’t. He groaned then, thighs bouncing, dragging against your clit.
“Ngh,” You whined.
Finally, she withdrew with a slick, echoing pop. She slowly unraveled her tongue, giving one last lon lick from across his shaft.
“There.” Her cooed. “Nice and wet for you to sit on, my beloved. A proper throne.”
“T_Thank you, Varang.”
You thought it was so strange, how someone like Quaritch could be so… gentle at times. His hands found the back of your knees, planting a squeeze against the delicate hinge. Then, he pressed your cheek against his.
“You ready, buttercup?”
You felt the vibration of his voice against your back, rumbling from his chest to your bones. He was like that, of course—all consuming.
Your eyes found themselves downward before you managed the smallest nod. “Y-Yes.”
It was all he needed. “Good girl.” The praise sent warmth all around your body. “Knew you could.” He pat your thighs.
Then he lifted. It was an easy strength he had, lifting as if it were nothing. He shuffled, bringing your knees to your breasts, cocking his head to the side to see. Instinctively, your hands flew behind you, fingers searching for the anchor of his shoulders.
You felt it first, the wet head jutting against your cunt. The broad slick head grazing your slit, parting it just enough to make it audible. Your pussy clenched, and you drew in your breath.
“Shh… relax.” He cooed. “I won’t move until you want to.”
He began the slow work of getting you used to it. His hips rolled in a shallow, circular tease, moving his hips so his dick coated itself with your slick.
Then, with a controlled shift, he gathered both your knees in the vice of one formidable arm, the other hand wrapping around the base of his shaft.
A groan, raw and deep, tore from his chest as he notched himself at your entrance.
Varang watched, transfixed at the sight.
He pushed.
The burn was instant.
Your eyes flew wide, seeing nothing and everything. “Big—it’s big, Miles—” You babbled, already trying to claw away.
He grunted, and his teeth found the end of your flickering ear. “The more you squirm, the more it’ll hurt. Shh… shh, it’ll be okay, sugar.”
You tried to obey—really you did, but you couldn’t help the tears that flowed down in wet fat blobs. “Thats it.” He settled you down slow, inch by inch. “See? Its not so—Fuck!”
Varang pushed your hips down, and naturally you screamed, suddenly impaled. Miles, caught off guard, bucked upward with a startled hiss, his ears pinning flat against his skull. Varang’s giggle was a light, airy thing that quickly boiled over into a full-throated laugh.
“So weak,” she snarled, the sweetness evaporating. She patted your trembling thighs before pushing them wider, folding you open and giving herself a perfect, obscene view of either sex.
“You’re fuckin’ crazy,” Miles breathed.
Your belly was full of him. A distinct, visible bulge swelled at your lower tummy. Your cunt was stretched to a painful pink halo around the thick blue of his cock. You just breathed, glancing down—at her, at him.
“Ngh… j-just go…. Please, Miles.”
The words left you in spent sigh, so fragile.
He shuddered where he held you—and nodded. “Alright, buttercup.” He pressed a single fat kiss to the crown of your head, then moved.
Miles Quaritch did nothing by half-measures. His hands locked around the curve of your hips, fingers biting into flesh as he pulled you down and drove himself up. You swore you could feel the tip bristle against your cervix.
“Oh… fuck.” The curse was low, a rumble you absorbed through your spine. “So fuckin’ tight.”
The force of him made your world condense to sensation. To the deep, stretching fullness, the slap of skin, the dizzying bounce of your breasts. One of his palms slid up to capture a peak—holding it to a squeeze.
And then, because he relished in it, he buried his face against your shoulder, his breath coming in delicious puffs. You could feel every stifled groan turn into a grunt, only to dissolve into a moan.
He likes this. He likes me. You blushed.
Varang shifted closer. Her cool fingers traced the sweat-slicked tension of his balls, cupping the heavy weight before her tongue swept over your clit.
You squealed. “Oh!” You pressed both hands over her head, eyes wide.
“You look so pretty, Y/N,” she murmured, her voice a honeyed smoke against your fevered skin. “So perfect, split open like this.” You heard the rustle of her loincloth, the wet sound of her own fingers working between her legs, the slick rhythm of her thumb on her clit.
Her moan was low, and the vibration of it against your most sensitive nerve sent pure pleasure tearing through your core.
“I love you—” The confession was a needy thing, meant for both, owned by neither. But they knew, you were sure they did. “I’m…ah…!”
Miles stole most of your speech, dragging your hips to meet his punishing pace, folding your body to fit him deeper. The angle was brutal, perfect. “Fuck. Gonna cum inside this pussy,” he growled. “Gonna flood you.”
Varang’s mouth left you with a soft pop. “No,” she hissed. “You will not.”
He laughed, somehow teasing and joyful…maybe a bit disbelieving. “Fuck yeah, I will. Gonna pump this tight cunt full. Gonna fuck a baby right into her.” He was sneering at her, a direct challenge even as his hips began to lose their rhythm, succumbing to a ragged, urgent pounding.
“Thrones do not talk, Quaritch.”
“T-This one does.” A stutter from him, a victory for her.
You could feel it. The ache of release. His balls drew up tight against you. Varang felt it too. Her hand tightened around a ball sack, vise-like warning.
He hissed. “Agh—Shit! Woman, don’t you—!”
And then you clenched. Not a voluntary act, your inner muscles clenching around him in a series of frantic, milking pulses.
A broken yelp escaped you as you came, turning liquid and mindless around his huge dick. Now he was trapped: between Varang’s iron hand and your sweet, convulsing vice.
“Ngh—Christ!” His whole body locked, eyes rolling back in a spasm.
Varang moved, she wouldn’t allow him. She hauled you off him, a gasp torn from your lips at the sudden emptiness, and her fist was around him, stroking, pumping, directing. His release shot in thick, pearlescent ropes across her cheek, her chin, the proud arch of her neck.
She blinked slowly, unimpressed. A single, sticky strand dripped onto her collarbone. She caught it on a finger, flicked it away with utter disdain. “You will not get her pregnant,” she stated, and it was final.
Miles was a spent force, chest heaving. He let out a winded puff, then a low, sated laugh. One eye slid open, crinkled with admiration. “You’re evil,” he rasped, pulling your boneless form against his solid thigh. He nuzzled into your hair, both hands coming up to weigh your breasts, holding you to him as if claiming spoils.
You on the other hand were dazed, trying to remember how to breathe.
Varang scoffed. “Well.” In one smooth motion, she took your wrists, pulling you from Mile’s slackened grip toward her. He yielded with a grunt, shifting heavily on the mat, already feeling exhaustion in his bones.
“Our turn,” Varang said. And she smiled, a true sweet thing.
You blinked. “...Uh… What?”
She laid you back on the woven mat, the fibers imprinting on your sweat-slick skin. Her loincloth fell away. “You haven’t made me come yet,” she pouted. “It’s no fair.”
You offered a weak, sheepish smile. “Let me—Oofmp!”
She pushed you flat, and climbed over you. “Shhh…” Her thigh brushed your cheek, then she settled her weight, the hot, musky scent of her arousal enveloping you. She sank down onto your waiting mouth with a soft, shuddering moan.
Then she glanced over at Miles, already snoring softly. She scoffed, rolling her eyes, and her hips began a slow, commanding grind against your lips.
“Weak.”
A/n- I tried challenging myself to 5000... It was not 5000 it was 8000 . I should be called the slow-burn queen. How people write 3000 or less... I wish for their skills. Anyway—have a Merry Christmas everyone! Remember to drink water and eat well!
GODDAMN WHAT IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF LITERATURE DID I JUST READ??? When I say you just perfectly encapsulated the energy of the characters present in the film, I mean this was a genuinely FLAWLESS NO-NOTES work of art and I will be thinking of this all day. Read this thighs-clenched the entire time and I am obsessed.
prguitarman
titsay
origamiaround
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tangentwithtanner
turnnoffyourmind
