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sports-on-sundays · 2 days

Note

Okay so 🤭 what if Y/N use to be with ( whatever Barca player you choose ) and they broke it off because they supposedly wanted to focus on their career and the reader was really heartbroken and omg to make it more better y/n is Carlos sister and then she sees or hear how they moved on already! And little by little she starts to be with lando and they announce their relationship when he wins in Miami!! Like full on hard launch. 😭🙌🏽

Also this got me motivated to think of more ideas ima write them down for the future 🤭

papaya girl / LN4

Summary: ex!Ferran x Sainz!baker!reader x Lando - After a devastating breakup with your footballing boyfriend, you think you'll never be able to date someone again.

Warnings: there's a golf scene and I don't golf so-!🤞, mention of sickness, foul language, sorry if some things are not accurate, headache, partying/dancing/drunkenness/clubbing, mention of getting so drunk you had no memory of what happened, implied getting drunk to dampen emotions, getting injured, vomiting, slight soulmate feel, a bit of suggestive talk, use of babe/baby/bae/baby girl/etc., I feel like every kiss I describe is exactly the same sooo- sorry about that! ✌

Requested?: YES! 😘

Author's Note: Do you ever write something so good that you wish you could make it into a movie? That's how I feel about this. I can imagine the scenes. Didn't plan it but I guess 24 is the magic number for this one. I made the request more dramatic because... I like doing that... 👉 👈 🥺 ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST. PERFECT MIX OF ANGST AND FLUFF. I LITERALLY LOVE YOU! If you do have any more ideas and you're up for it, let me know!

When you met Ferran Torres, you were a Madridista with a passion for Ferrari. Being a Sainz, you've always been rooting for Real Madrid, but your favorite Formula 1 team isn't as consistent. Because before that, you were a McLaren fan. And before that, Red Bull. And everything else before that, too.

Wherever Carlos is, you're a fan of it.

You, quite literally, on the day you met Ferran, were wearing a Cristiano Ronaldo jersey and a backwards Ferrari cap.

And, well, he, a new arrival from Manchester City, liked that, apparently!

And it was beautiful. They way you slowly became closer and closer, growing to know each other more and more.

And then, maybe you just hit a point. Hit a point in your relationship where you wanted more, and Ferran realized that if any more was given by him, it would be too far for him.

And he cut it off. Said he was doing well in Barcelona. He had high hopes. You, a sold out Madrid fan, had been wearing his number on the back of a blaugrana jersey. And despite that blaugrana jersey, he ditched you.

He said his work, his career, his passions, his dreams, were more important than you.

But you can't complain, Y/n. That's fair. He was gentle in letting you know. He made it clear he didn't want any malice between you and him.

You roll over in bed, staring vacantly at your wall. There's a large Real Madrid flag hanging in the middle. A smaller Ferrari flag on one side. A few posters of bands and teams you like or events you've been to, signed by different celebrities. People who are more famous than 'Carlos Sainz Jr.'s sister' or 'Ferran Torres's ex-girlfriend.' On one side, it seems silly to have a poster signed by Max Verstappen, but you do. On the other side of the flag, you have a peeling old McLaren poster, showing the younger versions of Carlos and his former racing partner, Lando Norris, looking just seconds away from breaking into a loud, hysterical laughter.

And next to that, you have a Barcelona poster.

You smile sadly to yourself.

I must look like such a conflicted sports fan.

You stand up, walking over to the wall. After gently peeling the Barcelona poster off the wall, you slowly trace the badge with your fingers, any hint of a smile now gone as tears begin to fill your eyes, threatening to fall.

"This is stupid," you murmur scornfully, your voice cracking softly. "This isn't even my team! It's not my city...!" You toss the poster across the room, leaving it in a place where you don't intend to pick it up anytime soon.

Let it gather dust and crumple. That's what Ferran did. He threw away our relationship like it was nothing but a worthless piece of paper. And now I'm suffering the consequences.

You sigh. You're trying not to let yourself be bitter. You want to look back on everything you and Ferran had and be happy. Appreciate it. You still love Ferran. You don't want to be angry with him.

Someone said to you once, Hurt heals with time, as long as you let it.

You grab a bold, red Sharpie from your drawer and your notebook from a dresser. You scribble those words in all caps, rip out the page, grab some tape, and hang the piece of paper where the FC Barcelona poster used to be.

You sigh, but nod, before turning to get ready for your day.

You hate winter. You never hated winter before this winter, but now you hate it.

With the breakup, you've been avoiding anything La Liga like the plague, even if it doesn't involve Ferran Torres. It just reminds you too much.

And with Carlos on winter break, getting ready for the start of the season, he's not around much. Going on different trips, he's quite busy. Which you don't like. You and your brother have a strong bond.

It's not like you don't have anything to do. You just don't have anything interesting to do. You have a shop that you run, but you have enough staff hired to not have to be there all the time.

Yes, in a family of racing, you were never too into it. Your strong spot is in baking and business running, so that's why you opened up a bakery in Madrid.

And being a Sainz, of course it was a success.

Same type of thing as Charles Leclerc's 'LEC,' except you're not the racing driver Charles Leclerc, you're not doing ice cream, and you've always been doing this, for five years now.

You watch as a young, excited couple walks in, jabbering away in English. You can just tell they're tourists as they get in line to order. Once they get to the counter, the woman immediately leans over the counter in excitement, saying, "Is Carlos Sainz here?" in English.

You chuckle. Sounds American. "Which Carlos Sainz?" you tease.

They look blankly at you as if you're just about the dumbest individual to walk planet Earth. You chuckle and say, "Why don't you get to ordering? There's a line."

Towards the afternoon, as things begin to quiet down just a little bit, you look up at the doorbell jingles and freeze.

When he reaches the counter, you snap at Ferran, "Why are you in Madrid?"

"Am I not allowed to be? Either way, hello to you, too."

You sigh, licking your lips as you study the Valencian boy. "What can I get for you?"

He shrugs and orders, before seating himself down at one of the seats at the counter. "How have you been, Y/n?" he asks.

"Fine," you swallow, staring down. "And you?"

"I'm good." From there, he begins just talking, as if we're old friends or something, and not exes.

He seems so happy. So content.

To not be with you.

Suddenly, mid-way through one of his many sentences, you slip your hand over his, almost on impulse. He stops, staring to your hands, and then to you.

You breathe softly, "Why? Why did you come here to just talk to me? Aren't you moved on? Ferran, this is torture for me."

Lines crease into his face. You can see him swallow, looking at your smaller hand on his. "I'm... I'm sorry. I am moved on. I'm doing well. I just thought maybe we could be friends. I'd never want to date you again; I'm not in the place to date anyone. I'm happy single. But I just feel bad. I know you're hurt, and... I'd be happy to still be friends with you, is all?" He slips his hand out from underneath yours and takes his cup of coffee with it, taking a sip as he watches you intently.

You drag a hand over your face. Though you didn't want to admit it, seeing him come in to the bakery gave you hope. That maybe he wanted to try again. But those words that came out of his mouth? They cut deep.

"Listen, Ferran," you barely whisper. "I'm still trying to work through what happened. Everything. It's hard for me. But I appreciate it, and when I'm ready, if I'm ever ready, I'd love to be your friend. O- Okay?"

He nods slowly, staring down. "Alright... Fair enough."

"What's wrong?" your older brother, Carlos, asks. You watch outside the window as the world travels by.

You sigh. "Ferran."

"Him, again?"

"Carlos," you sigh. "Stop. It's nothing new. I'm just missing him. He wants to stay friends, but I said I needed time."

"Ah. Well, you know, I did tell you never to date-"

"-a Barcelona player. I know," you roll your eyes with a little smile.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Hurt heals with time, as-"

"-long as you let it. I know," you comment, smiling a bit wider.

"Exactly. It'll come."

You sigh. "I hope so."

As Carlos pulls into the parking lot, you say, "So. Is that why you decided to take me golfing with your friends? Just wanted to check up on me, but you never have the time to sit down over dinner these days?"

Carlos smiles as he shuts off the car. "No. I could have made time. But I wanted your company golfing."

"You know I'm not big on g-"

"Shut up," he grins. "Yes you are."

"I suck."

"Not as bad as some people I know. In fact, you're actually pretty okay."

Soon, you meet up with a bunch of Carlos's friends. They're all chatting, and you're just kind of zoning off, looking out over the grassy hills, when suddenly you look up when Carlos says, "Ay! Lando!"

You blink in complete and utter shock. "Why is Lando Norris here?"

As Lando approaches, he eyes you, saying teasingly, "Well, thank you for the warm welcome, Y/n Sainz."

"Lando was just around, so he made the drive to meet us here," Carlos quickly fills in.

Soon, you're all off. After a round, as you're walking back to the cart to go get lunch, Carlos says, nudging Lando, "I think my baby sister is better than you."

Lando laughs. "You fucking muppet; what are you talking about?"

You grin, falling in step with Lando and Carlos. "I'm a better golfer."

"That is just wrong," Lando says, glancing at you. "Downright wrong."

"It's a Sainz thing," Carlos puts in. "There's no way for you to beat us, Lando. You can't. Winning runs in the family."

Lando rolls his eyes, reiterating, "Your baby sister is not better than me."

"You have no right to call me a baby," you put in indignantly. "I'm probably older than you."

Lando looks at you, his nose all scrunched up. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"Hah! Same age."

"That still doesn't mean you get to call me a baby!"

"Her birthday is in January; different year than Lando's. Lando, you can call her a baby; you're older," Carlos says.

"Carlos!" you snap. "Don't give him permission!"

Carlos grins and shakes his head as he breaks off to chat with some of his other friends and get on the cart with them.

Lando grins, giving a discreet pat on your lower back as he murmurs, "Sorry, baby."

And for some reason, that makes you feel things. You decide to blame it on the fact that Lando's just good-looking.

Once you're all seated down with your lunch, you comment, "So what's with the whole..." your hand goes to your chin, referring to his facial hair, as you look at Lando expectantly.

Lando slams down his fork, saying lightheartedly, "Sick of people asking me that!"

You smirk. "Makes you look like you're forty."

"Whatever, baby."

"You know, I have a picture on my wall of you and Carlos when you were just babies, too."

As soon as Lando raises an eyebrow with a smirk, you know it was a mistake to word it that way. "You have a picture of me and Carlos on your wall?" he asks, mock condescendingly.

"No, no. I mean, I do, but- It's just an old McLaren poster." You immediately look down.

"What, are you a fan of mine?" Lando teases further.

"No! I'm a fan of Carlos, and you just so happened to be his teammate at that time. The point is that you two look like pipsqueaks in that photo! Lando, you looked so awkward, with all your acne-"

"What, Lando, you think she's a McLaren fan? She's sold out for Ferrari," Carlos interrupts.

"Literally! I deck myself out in red every Sunday!"

"Today's Sunday," Lando starts like the stupid idiot he is, "And I don't see you wearing red."

You groan, leaning back, covering your face in your hands. "Carlos, how are you this guy's friend? He's so annoying! Why'd you invite him for? How do you put up with him?"

Carlos just smirks, patting your shoulder, and says, "I'm used to having to put up with irritable people, after having to grow up with you."

You roll your eyes, fighting off a smile as all the guys around you at the table laugh out loud.

On the car ride back, you're mostly silent, your thoughts swimming with one thing and one thing only.

Lando Norris.

And there's a soft smile on your face as you think about your morning with him.

But Carlos can tell you're deep in thought. Usually, you'd be yapping away right now. "Anything on your mind?" he asks carefully.

You sigh. "Not much."

"You're bad at lying. You're staring out the window dreamily. What's on your mind?"

You sigh. "It's stupid. You'll make fun of me."

"I'm not stupid, though. I can already guess what it is."

You gulp. "How?"

"For the whole day, the only person you talked to was Lando."

You feel your stomach drop. "It's nothing serious, Carlos. He's just funny."

"You said something like that to me about Ferran Torres right before you officially started dating."

That makes you feel a bit sick. "Carlos, I won't let that happen again."

"Don't. And don't be getting interested in anyone until you're over your ex. And we both know you're not. And please don't be getting interested in someone like Lando."

"Why?" You eyebrows scrunch together. "I thought you two were buddies."

Carlos grins teasingly. "If you somehow got yourself with him, there would always be two annoying people in one place."

"You're intolerable!" you snap, laughing.

"You are too, hermana."

It strikes Carlos as strange when the first thing Lando says to him the weekend of Bahrain, before even a hello, is: "Is your sister here?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Lando shrugs. "She's nice."

"No... She'll be coming to Australia, though..." Carlos can't help but feel suspicion fill his chest. He's always been somewhat protective of you, being his little sister and all.

"Perfect," Lando grins, and he's off.

In Australia, like any other race, you're decked out in your red. Ferrari hat, Ferrari jacket, red jeans. Ferrari earrings. Even your black shoes have a stripe of red on the sides.

Carlos always tells you it's dumb. But it's become a part of your whole thing, since you spend a huge amount of your life following Carlos around and going to Grand Prixs.

It's fun sometimes, being Carlos Sainz Jr.'s sister!

But when you see a shock of papaya in your red world called Ferrari's hospitality, you squint, slipping your sunglasses up on your hat, and say, "Who said you could walk in like that uninvited?"

"No one," Lando grins, "but I'm only here to see you."

Your eyebrows raise as you stand up. "Wha-"

"Come with me. I'm going to barf if I have to breathe Ferrari air any longer. Just your terrible get-up is making me nauseous. I guess I'll be free from seeing that stupid outfit next year when Carlos isn't in Ferrari-"

"Oh, shut it, you!" you snap, but follow him with a grin on your face.

"So you broke up with your Barcelona man?" Lando start, cutting straight to the chase.

"Uh-" you swallow. "He broke up with me."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

You're not sure why Lando wants to know, and he certainly doesn't have any reason to know, but still you say, "We had been dating for a while, you know? I wanted something more. You know, to go deeper. Someday, I'd love to even maybe get married. But, Ferran... well, he didn't want to go the step deeper. Said he wanted to focus on his career. He broke it off. We're on fine terms, though."

"Ah..." he nods slowly. "That sounds like a tough breakup."

"Yeah... Yeah, it was."

He continues nodding, and catches your eye before saying, "So I'm assuming you want to... you know, you won't be up for any more relationships any time soon? Lot to work through?"

You suddenly feel your face begin to heat up. "Uh, well- depends on who it is, I suppose," you blurt without thinking.

"Hm?" He raises an eyebrow. A little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Well, considering the fact that your face is just about as red as that Ferrari hat on your head, I'm wondering what you think of me."

You swallow, feeling even more embarrassed. "Are you suggesting...?"

"If you're up for it, the night after the Grand Prix, you can meet me at my hotel room, and we'll go from there. Text me if you decide 'yes,' for the details."

"I don't have your numb-"

He gives a cute little smile and opens his hand to reveal a folded up piece of paper. "Now you do. See you later, Miss Sainz!"

You stand, dumbfounded, as he jogs off.

"Oh my God, Carlos! Well done! So well done! Oh my God!" you scream in the midst of your strings of excited swear words, in both Spanish and English. "Did you actually just win the Australian Grand Prix?!"

He grins as he kisses your cheek, patting your back and saying, "Yes, I actually just did."

You hug your older brother tight, resting your head on his shoulder. "Love you. You did amazing. After everything you've been through. You're going to be leaving Ferrari next season and with your surgery and everything and-"

He smiles a bit. "Want to let me go now? Can't squeeze me too tight, remember?"

"So you can drive a race car and win the race, but you're too fragile for me to hug you!" you laugh, but release him from the hug.

He laughs out loud. "Yes, pretty much."

Hours later, you stand in the lit, mostly empty hallway, knocking on the white-painted door. You've change out of your Ferrari red head-to-toe fit, and are now wearing a black t-shirt with the F1 logo in red on the left side, black sweatpants, and your hair held back by a headband.

Lando probably isn't here, you think as you wait. I look so stupid. He doesn't care as much as he acts like he does. He's probably out partying or something. He got a podium. Carlos won. There's no way he's just sitting around in his hotel room-

You look up in surprise as the door clicks and swings open to reveal Lando Norris standing before you.

You beam and say a bit too loud, "Lando!"

He laughs. "Hey..." He's dressed in a white button down, dark blue jeans, and his regular assortment of jewelry. "Want to come in for a bit?"

You nod. "Were you... just out?" you ask slowly.

He chuckles again, plopping down on the sofa. "If I were just out, I wouldn't be looking this neat."

"Oh... Oh?"

"Come on. Sit down next to me," he encourages with a wave of his hand. "Something funny- I've had my eyes on you for a while now."

You look up in somewhat shock. "That's why you're so confident about this?"

"That, and that I'm just the peak of all confidence," he jokes, clearly mocking cockiness.

You roll your eyes.

"But really. I've been flirting with you for a while."

This time your eyes widen. "No way."

"Just little. I knew you were dating that Torres-"

"How?"

He smiles. "Doesn't take much to find out. Anyway, I think you just blocked it out because you were dating someone else. Shows you're a loyal girl."

"Hm..." you nod slowly. "I... I suppose...?"

Suddenly, he takes your hand in his. "So, you like me?"

"I think I have for a while. Like you said- I blocked it out because I was dating someone else." You didn't even know that until now, hearing the words coming from your mouth.

He smirks. "Even better. So..."

"Yeah?" you ask, a little glimmer in your eyes.

"I'd like to know what the hell you're wearing."

Suddenly, your face falls. "Uh- I'm sorry- I- I thought we- Um-"

Lando laughs. "Y/n! I'm teasing!"

"O- Oh!" you laugh nervously.

"I was just thinking... Maybe you'd want to go out and celebrate with me?"

"Oh-" you nod. "Right."

"So, do you want to get changed? I'll text you where we'll meet in a half hour?"

You grin, standing up. "Sounds good."

"See you then."

"Holy fuck, man," are Lando's first words when he sees you. You're wearing sunglasses, a form-fitting sequin shirt, and flattering white jeans.

"What?" you ask anxiously. "Is it too much?"

"Too much? Y/n, you're gorgeous."

You sigh in relief. "Alright good... And- one thing."

"Hm?" Lando asks, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know if we... could we say we're... that you're my..."

"Partner? Boyfriend?"

You swallow. "Sure. I think... I think I'm good with that. At least for tonight."

He nods.

"But let's not make it clear here. I don't want the way for everyone to find out about this being, you know, by nightclub pictures on the internet."

He smirks a bit, nodding. "Fair enough, then. Let's go."

"Rise and shine! Let's hit the grind, Y/n!" an unfamiliar voice wakes you up.

You roll over to see Lando's handsome face looking down at you. You're in his hotel room, in the one bed. He's all dressed and ready to go, and towering over you, looking like a giddy dog.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes. "I've got a killer headache. What happened last night." You feel disgusting, and wrinkle your nose as you get a whiff of the alcohol scent radiating off of you.

He grins. "I learned that you have no tolerance whatsoever."

You frown. "Unlike you, Norris, I'm not getting drunk all the time! Now, tell me what really happened!"

"Nothing much. Just a lot of fun," he sits down next to you, "and it's a shame that you can't remember any of it." He chuckles a bit, saying, "You got fucking wild. You were more fun though before you got absolutely drunk out of your wits."

"You didn't do anyth-"

"No, no!" he rolls his eyes. "Besides, Carlos was there. I wouldn't dare. You at least remember Carlos, right, being there?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes, of course I do."

"But you really did completely black out? You don't remember anything?"

You swallow nervously. "No... I don't really remember anything... I mean, I guess..." You close your eyes, thinking hard. "Just dancing... music was super loud, but... that's not anything specific. I don't feel well at all now, though..." You start to feel a bit dizzy at the energy you're putting into trying to remember.

You open your eyes and look at Lando.

He smiles. "Well, it was fun, nothing more. Want me to bring you back to your hotel now?"

"Yeah, I guess..." you nod, cradling your head in your hands. "That'd be great..." You see the wine stain on your jeans. You can feel an ache in your ankle. You just need to clean yourself up.

Lando helps you limp to the car, assuring you that you just tripped. Saying your ankle is fine; it'll feel better in a few days' time.

You're not so sure.

As Lando drives, he knows he should tell you the details, like Carlos said.

But it still feels like you'd be better off not knowing at all.

Nine hours before

Though every single one of Lando's molecules in his body told him not to, he had to keep pushing you off. He sat talking away with some other dudes, and you sat his side, drunkenly trying to wrap your arms around him.

You blubbered softly about all kinds of stuff, a strange mixture of being utterly devastated and overly romantic.

Lando knew. You didn't get drunk this often.

A part of him felt bad. A huge part of him. He didn't think he had pressured you into anything. Certainly not intentionally. And you were the one who kept drinking more. But maybe he did...

Maybe it was his fault you were the mess you were now.

"Lando..." you murmured, your hand gripping his bicep. You leaned closer. "You're so sexy in that shirt." You reached over to unbutton another button of his shirt.

He gently pushed you away for the millionth time. "Remember, Y/n? You don't want anyone to know you're into me this much," he whispered lowly to you, running a hand through his hair. "Remember that, baby."

You pouted. "Ferran broke up with me and made me sad. Can't you make me happy now."

"Not now. I won't be doing anything when you're this drunk."

"I'm not that drunk..."

Lando snorted. "Whatever you say, lovely."

All was going as fine as it could be going. But then Carlos showed up. "Hey, Y/n-" he had started.

But you had interrupted him by slapping your hand on Lando's shoulder, leaning into it, and giggling giddily, "Look at this pretty boy."

Immediately, Carlos's eyes flashed with shock. And then vague panic. And then anger.

"Lando, how drunk did you get her?!" he snapped, raising his voice even more than he already was. The flashing lights on the Spanish man's face helped Lando's anxiety no more.

"I didn't get her drunk at all! I tried to stop h-"

"Yeah, fucking right. Come with me Lando-"

"No!" you had snapped, standing up to grab Lando's sleeve before your older brother could drag him away.

You were clearly biting back tears. "Lan didn't do anything..." You stumbled drunkenly into the British man, who steadied you gently, before helping you sit down again.

Carlos's face remained hard and steadied on Lando, but he spoke no words, as if he was battling in his head what to do.

Lando sighed. "Listen, Carlos. She won't remember any of this tomorrow morning. Let's just not bring this up again, yeah? It was a mistake. Stuff happens. She got wild and had one too many. We've all had those nights."

But Lando genuinely didn't think Carlos had had one of those nights before.

Lando certainly had, though.

"She deserves to know."

"Maybe she shouldn't, though. She's gone through a lot with her ex breaking up with her and everything. And I'm sure your career up in the air isn't helping her cause much, either. She loves you more than the world. And think about how worrying it was for her to see you go into surgery like that, and race right afterwards? The good emotions just hit her, man. But it's probably a lot. She's just going through a lot. She doesn't need the guilt of getting too drunk and acting a little stupid, yeah?" Lando ranted, intently studying the older Spaniard's eyes.

Carlos's eyes slowly softened. "Alright... I won't tell her what's happening once she's sober. Only if I can make a deal with you."

Lando bit his lip, running a hand through his messed up hair. "What is it?"

"I won't say a word to her, as long as you promise to stay away from my sister. I know you're interested in her."

Lando's eyebrows creased together. "What does that men? Why?"

"Quit trying to get with my sister, and then it's a done deal."

Lando let out a shaky breath, slowly nodding. "Alright, then. Whatever. It's a done deal."

Of course Lando didn't intend on following through with his end of the deal.

But when Lando turned around to check on you on the couch, he froze when he saw you were gone. "Where'd Y/n go?" he immediately asked the other guys and girls sitting around.

"The hot Spanish girl?" one guy asked in a painfully slow Australian accent.

"Yes, her!" Lando demanded, his buzzed brain filling with irrational panic and overwhelming confusion.

He lazily gestured and responded, "Went to go dance, I reckon."

And before Carlos or anyone else could react any faster, Lando tore into the crowd, shoving people aside and squeezing through gaps that weren't there, in search of you.

She's drunk out of her mind! What the hell was she thinking!

That's right. She wasn't thinking.

And then, he spotted you, just for a moment. Moving your hips, stumbling about, thinking you were just about the sexiest thing in the room.

"Move out of my fucking way," was Lando's polite way of shoving two guys out of the way.

He could see the sweat glistening on your face. He could see the dumb smile on your face, your high giggles. He could see fresh wine spilled on your white jeans. He could see hands on you; he took no energy to see who they connected to as rage filled his entire being.

And he watched, almost in slow motion, as your ankle rolled on your black stiletto, and you stumbled to the floor with a brain rattling, painful cry.

Immediately, Lando shoved his way to your side, slipping his hands under your body. "My God, Y/n!" he nearly screamed over the music. "You idiot! You beautiful, fucking stupid, idiot! Tell me why I fell in love with you! You're going to be the death of me!"

"Hi Lando," you murmured through tears. "My ankle..."

"Yeah, yeah, I see. Let's get you out of here, yeah?"

You swallowed, nodding as Lando tucked your hair behind your ear. He lifted you to your feet and let you lean on him as he helped you limp out of the club.

"I'm sorry, Lando..." you had muttered hoarsely.

"Hey, don't worry," Lando had responded. "Never apologize for having nothing but a good time."

But he, Lando Norris, disagreed with the words coming out of his mouth. That was his motto, his excuse, all the time. But as soon as soon as he saw you, someone he genuinely really loved, really cared about, living like that?

It made him sick to his stomach.

Speaking of that, as soon as you were outside, you stumbled away from Lando. He steadied you with one hand and held your hair back with the other as you doubled over and vomited, your previously red face impossibly pale.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah..." you gasped after about a minute.

"Alright. Okay. Let's get to my hotel room now."

Lando could barely understand your slurred words as you responded, "As long as we're getting away from here."

Now

You were going to go to the Japanese Grand Prix. But you just wanted to stay home. With a sprained ankle that confines you to crutches and an illness you've picked up, there was no way you were going to fly across the world for a Grand Prix, especially with the potential jet lag.

You lay on your couch and text Lando. You've been thinking, and you let him know that though you really do want to go places with him, you want to go slower.

You still don't know what happened on that night in Melbourne. For some reason, you can't get anything of significance out of Carlos or Lando. But you know more than what they're saying must have happened that night.

You asked Charles, because he was there. He provided a bit more information, but not much. He said he wasn't really hanging around you that night, but that he did see you cuddling with Lando.

When you asked Lando about it, he said you were drunk, it was just you not thinking, and it only happened once. That you stopped after he pushed you off.

And social media shows no one caught it on camera, or anything that night, for that matter.

So at least there's no fans going crazy over anything.

Lando texts you back, saying that he thinks it's best to go slow. Just let yourselves ease into whatever your relationship is going to be.

It's a relief to see he agrees with you on that.

But then he sends another text, asking you to try to keep it a secret. Even from your family, including Carlos.

You ask why, and he responds saying he simply agrees it's good to be private, and he doesn't want Carlos judging.

Though you're not sure about it, since Carlos is not only your favorite (only) brother, but also your best friend, you still tentatively agree to it.

Lando probably has a good reason.

Right?

By the time the Chinese Grand Prix comes around, though your foot is still in a walking boot, you're over your illness, and decide you're going to go for it and make the trip halfway across the world. After all, you've never been to China!

It's true that your walking boot doesn't look the best with your shades, shining silver jewelry, and overalls, but oh well. The most annoying part is literally everyone who even half knows your name (the Sainz part) keeps asking you what the hell happened to your ankle.

And you have literally no response but, "I fell," because you have no more of an idea than them, and there's no way you're about to say, 'Hah I just got drunk with Lando and got so fucking crazy that I twisted my ankle and sprained it! Anyway!'

Yeah, no way.

So "I fell," is the best option you have.

But the most concerning thing to you is that you haven't even seen Lando yet, all weekend. Though you haven't seen each other in a while, you've been calling, texting, and face timing often, your relationship growing a lot.

You chew your lip as you limp towards the McLaren garage. You peek in, scanning for Lando, but only see Oscar.

You limp to him.

"Whoa- What happened to your-"

"I fell," you say, thoroughly exasperated with this. "Anyway, is Lando around?"

"Lando? Uhhh..." he looks around.

Dude, hurry up. I'm not supposed to be here, your thoughts practically scream.

But then he walks in himself, and you grin, waving, "Lando!" you call.

He walks over to you, smiling. "Aw. Look at my little injured girlfr- uh, uhm, mate. My injured mate." He glances nervously at Oscar.

But the Australian just smiles, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

Lando nods gratefully, before leading you to a more private place. "Hey," he says softly once you're alone, his hands resting on your waist. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright... Ankle's getting better, slowly but surely."

"Oh, good," he almost looks relieved. "That's so good to hear. I'm so glad you made the big trip to be here, Y/n."

You smile softly. "I was starting to miss you."

He grins. "I was missing you, too, baby... I think I could make some time for you this weekend, too. We could just get take out, hang out at my hotel room, you know. No more partying, even if I win, right?" he teases gently, gesturing to your foot.

You snort. "Yeah. Yeah, no more partying for now for me."

Later that night, you lay next to Lando in his hotel room. His arms are wrapped around you, his hand rubbing your back. "Look at me," he murmurs sleepily.

You look up to see his soft eyes looking at you, with so much, tenderness, so much...

love.

You feel a flutter in your stomach. "Lando, how did we get here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Two months ago, I would lie awake in bed, dreaming about and missing Ferran. I was so lonely. Now here I am. Two months, and I'm laying here, in your arms."

He grins a bit. "I bet it's because we're meant for each other."

"That's cliché."

"No, it's not. I really mean it. You know, I had a crush on you even back when Carlos was in McLaren, you were around a lot more, in papaya."

"No, you didn't-"

"Yes, I did!" he laughs softly. "I really did. The day I saw you in the paddock. The day Carlos pointed you out as his sister. The day you flipped your hair and looked at me with those warm brown eyes. And then looked away from me, because in my first season in McLaren, I was the farthest thing from attractive."

You giggle at this. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not! That was the day that I knew- I knew- that someday, I was going to make you mine," he murmurs, his eye half-lidded as his hand gently caresses your cheek.

"Lando!" you squeak, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. "Don't you dare make me cry for no reason!" You wait a minute, before saying softly, "Well, maybe, just maybe, back then, though you were a pipsqueak, you were kind of cute... And I've always gotten butterflies from your jokes and teasing, even all those years ago, before I was even dating Ferran."

He laughs. "Awww... So you've always had a little bit of a crush on me, too!" You can see by his blushing cheeks and beaming eyes that just this fact is making him feel warm inside.

You roll your eyes, giggling. "I guess, maybe...."

He flicks your nose gently, playfully, holding you even closer. You lay there in more silence, before Lando says softer, even more tenderly, "Hey, Y/n... can I talk to you about something...?"

"Of course, Lando..." Your eyebrows knit together.

You watch as he swallows. Nods. Sighs. "Okay... Something has been bugging me..." He pauses. "I... I feel like I never should have brought you out that night in Australia... you know? Like, beyond the sprained ankle."

Your eyes flash. "What do you mean?"

"Well... You just got so drunk, and... I feel so bad... Like, somehow, it's my fault... I didn't mean for you to get hurt, or to drink that much... I just thought we'd have fun. Like I always do with my friends. And you're my girlfriend; supposed to be my closest friend..."

"Lando," you murmur shakily. "Did you try to get me that drunk? You didn't encourage it, did you?"

He looks nervous. "I genuinely don't think so, but I'm nervous I did... I tried to tell you enough was enough, but maybe I should have looked out for you more... Maybe I should have worked better at keeping you from getting that drunk... But we were having so much fun and I figured you would know your limit... I shouldn't have assumed."

"Lando! Don't blame yourself! It was my fault. I got too drunk, I fell and sprained my ankle. The sentiment of you wanting to look out for me is nice, but when push comes to shove, I'm in charge of myself, just like you're in charge of yourself, and it was my fault. My mistake. M'kay, Lando...?"

He nods slowly, still looking a bit unsure. "Well, Carlos isn't mad at you about it. He's mad at me..."

"Carlos is what?!"

"Ah, fuck. Forget I ever-"

"Lando Norris, explain."

"Whoa, that's sexy," he laughs.

"What?!" you exclaim in exasperation, yet you're still unable to keep your stomach fluttering by Lando's sudden spoken intrusive thought.

He grins, his eyebrows raised. "I don't know. Full name, in such a firm voice? Like, yes, mommy, order me around. I'll do whatever you want me to," he says in a low, goofy, teasing voice.

You can't stop your face from heating up. "Oh, shut it, you!" you snap, your voice cracking awkwardly as you flick him in the nose this time. And you flick his stupid nose harder than he flicked yours earlier.

He giggles evilly, rolling over. "Look at yourself! You liked that! You're a blushing mess!"

"No, I didn't. What a stupid way to flirt."

"Oh, well, I can show you even more stupid ways to flirt. Because, apparently, it doesn't quicken your heart rate at all."

You groan. "You are so annoying."

He leans over, giving you a peck on your lips. "I know. And you know you love me for it."

You forget to ask him again about Carlos.

"Baby, c'mere," Lando says, nodding for you to join him in his driver's room.

"Dude, watch what you call me when there's listening ears around."

Lando shrugs. "It's only Oscar in the other room."

"So? What makes you trust Oscar so much, anyway?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. He's a good guy. And he's not gossipy, like me."

You laugh. "You are, are you?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm a fucking gossip girl."

You laugh out loud at this as Lando shuts the door of his driver's room behind you.

Lando grins. "Anyways, Oscar is trustworthy because he's not the type of guy to have any desire not to keep a secret."

You frown, crossing your arms. "Alright. Whatever. Anyways, why'd you bring me in here?"

Lando shrugs, sitting down on the one chair in the room. "Sit down, babe."

You blink. "Where? On the fricking floor?"

"Uh, no," Lando rolls his eyes jokingly, as if this is the most obvious thing. "On my fricking lap, Y/n. Come on now. Duh."

You can't help but find yourself blush at that as you slip onto his lap. He wraps his hands around your waist, giving you a kiss on the cheek. You smile, leaning into him as you ask softly, "So why'd you bring me in here? Just for kicks?"

He grins. "I need my Y/n fix before the race. You know, it'll make me drive better."

"Oh? Is that how it works?" Suddenly, though, before Lando can respond, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You slip it out and sigh. "It's Carlos, asking me where I am. I feel like I'm under surveillance."

Lando blows a raspberry before saying, "Just ignore it, bae. You're a twenty-four year old woman; Carlos needs to get over it."

"Get over what?" you ask, an eyebrow raised.

"You not being his baby sister anymore. You're my baby now," he murmurs into your shoulder, pulling you closer to himself.

You laugh. "I still can't decide whether you're the worst flirt I've ever met or the smoothest. But right now, I'm thinking the worst."

"Oh, well!" he says, looking up at you with innocent eyes, batting his lashes. "Doesn't matter to me, because either way, you like it! Anyway, back to before Carlitos had to interrupt-"

You giggle as he begins kissing your face and say, "Carlitos? I'm not even allowed to call him that without him going psycho man on me-"

"Mmm... Can you talk less? It's cuter when you do that giggle thing," Lando murmurs between kisses.

This causes you to laugh out loud. "Sometimes, Lando, I think you're so weird." You realize, in a strange way, though, Lando is right. Because of the giddy feeling of literally having your boyfriend shower you with kisses and love, you're just kind of trying to find anything to talk about.

But maybe you should just take one moment to shut up.

You lean into the kisses, exhaling slowly. Contently, despite your pounding heart and sweating neck.

Finally, you feel as though your face is absolutely, completely covered in Lando's kisses. You sigh, contented, as Lando kisses the tip of your nose, and then pecks your lips.

You giggle, opening your eyes to gaze into his.

But his eyes flutter shut as he leans in, his hand slipping to the nape of your neck. And his lips meet yours again, this time in a real kiss. You shut your eyes, enjoying those lips on your own, sending tingles throughout your whole body, causing your breath to grow heavier and heavier. Desire pulses in every beat of your heart, causing the passion in the kiss to build and build. Your right hand falls into his chest as the other knits itself in his curly locks. You feel Lando's hand on your hip as his fingers snake under to grip your ass gently. You can feel his hot breath on you, in you, apart of you, as his other hand gently stroking your neck, giving you little twitches of longing for more. Your tongues find an art of lingering exploration, Lando's hunger seeming to never be satisfied as his tongue and lips tease your nerves, the emotional and physical connections between you seeming stronger than ever. His hand slides down your neck to your back, pulling you closer to him, so your chests are pressed into one another.

Suddenly, though, there's a pounding on the door of Lando's driver's room. Your eye cracks open. Lando's squeeze tighter shut, his eyebrows creasing together, as if he wishes so much that this never has to end.

Lando grunts, finally pulling away. Oscar's voice on the other side of the door saying Lando's name seems to be in another, insignificant world. You're both gasping as you study each other's eyes in a certain awe.

A soft, mischievous smirk appears on Lando's lips. Those lips that now you can't stop staring at. "Was your first kiss with Torres that hot?"

You let out a breathy laugh. "Definitely not."

There's a pause, of just softly smiling, gazing into each other's eyes, before Lando breathes, his eyes half-lidded, "My fucking God," He gently, slowly strokes your warm, pink cheek. "Did I ever tell you how head over heels I am for you?"

Before you can respond, Oscar's voice says again from outside, "Lando, if you don't respond, soon, I'm coming in."

Lando groans again, leaning his head back, "You can't! The door's locked!" He then adds under his breath, "Fucking Osc, interrupting as soon as I was going to take it to the next step."

At this, you blush even deeper. "You were-"

Lando waves his hand dismissively. "I would have checked with you first."

You nod, breathing deeply.

"Alright, baby," he sighs, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it up a bit. "Let's go see what the hell Oscar wants."

When the door swings open, Oscar can't help but chuckle how how much, in that moment, you two look like some snarky super villian duo, about to give him some cheesy monologue. You both stand, arms crossed, practically back to back. Lando wears a scornful grin and you display a glare as hard as stone. Even your clothes- Lando's racing clothes and your head-to-toe Ferrari red, finish off the silly look.

"What's so funny?" you demand upon seeing the Australian's laughter.

"Nothing, nothing. But I hope you guys know: These walls are not soundproof."

"What are you suggesting?" Lando snaps. "You couldn't have possibly heard anything, you idiot!"

"Whoa, whoa! I didn't! I'm just saying!" Oscar says, going on the defensive, putting both hands up. "Me and my girlfriend don't lock ourselves in my driver's room before the race, losing track of time and forcing you to go get us!"

"You and your girlfriend are probably going to buy a house with a white picket fence and have 2.5 children and a golden lab! Oscar and Lily is bad enough, but I'm surprised it's not John and Emily!"

"Whoa," Lando says, laughing as you walk out of the driver's room together and he shuts the door. "Shots fired. Calm down, Y/n; jeez."

But Oscar's laughing, too, so you know there's no need to apologize.

"Lan... You know I wasn't kidding earlier when I said I won't go out, right?" you say nervously as you walk into his hotel room, rolling your suitcase from your own hotel room.

"Yeah, I know you weren't. I wasn't kidding, either."

"So... What?" you ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed, crossing your arms. "You're planning on going alone? Then why did you bring me to your hotel room-"

"Y/n," he suddenly says, leaning down to gently grab your chin and look you directly in your eyes. "I'm not going anywhere tonight. I'm staying right here."

Your jaw actually drops. "I'm sorry, but who are you and what have you done with Lando Norris? Because that man would never miss an opportunity to party."

This makes Lando let go of you and break into a fit of laughter. "Y/n!" he breathes. "What the hell are you talking about? Before that, I would never miss an opportunity to spend time with you."

You stare. "Okay, actually. I'm being serious now. What did you do with Lando?"

You watch as your boyfriend chuckles, sitting down next to you. "Baby. I'm not going to go out clubbing while you sit in a hotel room alone. And there's no way I'm taking you out again; my guilty conscience can't take that, and neither can your sprained ankle. So why not celebrate P2 here, just you and I, hm?" he says in a low tone.

Immediately, at this suggestion, you blush. "Oh, uh, Lando... I, uh... I don't know if I'm ready for something... you know... for that... right now... Not yet... You know, it's too early for me in our relationsh-"

Lando suddenly breaks into laughter again. Oh, that sweet, silly sound. "Y/n! My God, what a dirty mind you have! I wasn't thinking that at all-!"

"You, Lando Norris, are saying I have a dirty mind?! I bet you really are his doppelganger!"

He crosses his arms. "Only reason why I wouldn't suggest that is because I know you're not ready. Which is more than one hundred percent fine with me. I wasn't even thinking about that, anyway."

"What were you thinking, then?"

He smiles with his eyes. "Well, let's both get ready for bed," he begins pulling his shirt off over his head as you absolutely bear your eyes into him, "And once we're both ready, I'll meet you back... here...?" His confused face slowly turns to one of teasing nature when he sees your eyes trained intently on his bare chest. His perfectly toned abs. His perfectly shaped pecs. His strong, straight, tan back. The little brown beauty marks sprinkled all over his torso. You would love to kiss every single one of them. "Why don't you take a picture?" he smirks stupidly. "That way, it'll last longer."

"Oh, shut up," you murmur, licking your lips as you tear your eyes away from his bare middle. "You can shower first," you murmur.

Once you're both all clean and ready, you snuggle up under the blankets, only to find your arm brushing against Lando's bare skin.

You feel your heart flutter as you murmur, "Are you not wearing a shirt just to bother me?"

"What, no," Lando says, overly innocently. "I never wear a shirt to bed. Just like I'm sure you never wear a bra...?"

If you were embarrassed before, now it's ten times worse. You specifically decided to wear a bra, to avoid... that. And now here Lando is, bringing it up like it's the weather.

"Uh..." you begin.

"Anyway!" Lando says, apparently seeing the vaguely panicked look in your eyes. "Wanna just watch a show or something?"

"Yeah," you nod. "That sounds good."

Lando turns some stupid show on his laptop, and as you snuggle and it gets later, you become more relaxed. You lean your head on Lando's shoulder as he plays with strands of your smooth, wet, dark hair. Your hands begin softly feeling his chest, just drawing circles and feeling the shapes of his abs.

Everyday, you seem to get to know Lando more and more- inside and out.

He sighs, contented, and murmurs sleepily, "That feels nice."

You smile, nuzzling into him.

"I saw Barcelona and Madrid played today," he comments as your fingers continue stroking the abs under Lando's soft skin.

"Yeah... El Clásico..."

"You don't sound as excited as I thought you would. I thought you were big on Madrid."

"Yeah, I am... Just having been keeping up with La Liga lately, I guess."

"Hm... Well, would you like it if I could find some way to watch the game...?"

You smile softly. "Hm. Yeah, maybe that wouldn't be so bad..."

Lando nods, and soon, you're cuddled up with your boyfriend, watching your favorite team play against FC Barcelona/your ex's team.

It feels weird, but you like it.

You decide your bra isn't very comfy and slip it off under your shirt before tossing it across the room.

"You're finally over being embarrassed with me?" Lando teases.

You smile softly, shutting your eyes. "At least for now. Too sleepy to care."

He smiles back. "You're cute when you're sleepy. Cuter."

Soon, though, Lando is gently shaking you, murmuring, "Look. Your ex was subbed on."

"Hmmm? What about Fer?" you murmur with a yawn. You must have dozed off for a bit.

"Fer?" Lando asks, his nose scrunching up. "Yeah, Ferran Torres."

Your eyes flutter open to see your ex-boyfriend running onto the pitch. You feel a sudden, unexpected pang in your chest. When you and Ferran were still together, you watched him do that so many time, with a sense of pride and excitement.

But now, you don't feel much at all. It's no different from anyone else going out there to play.

But, like a train, memories of the past begin to hit you.

Going for walks with him. Cheering him on at finals. Hanging out with his teammates. Working out with him. Bringing him to the Barcelona Grand Prix. Exchanging gifts on birthdays and holidays.

Just all the little things you used to do.

Like snuggling with each other on late nights after Barcelona won.

Not unlike what you and Lando are doing right now.

Suddenly Lando's arm around you tightens, and he says, "You okay?"

"I- yeah..."

Lando leans forward to see you face. You try to turn it away. Lando doesn't let you.

You stare into each other's eyes.

"You're crying," he states softly.

"I guess..." you trail off, averting your eyes.

There's a few beats of silence before Lando states again, "You still miss him."

"I guess..." you repeat. "But... I'm happy to be with you... it just all happened so quick... It's a lot for me... I'm mostly over it- over him- by now, but sometimes things just... make me start to think. Reminsce of what's not anymore."

Lando slowly nods, and begins rubbing your shoulder. "I- Alright..."

"But don't worry. I'm way more happy to be with you right now than sad to not be with Ferran any longer."

"You're sure?" the Brit asks tentatively.

You nod, leaning into him once more. "I'm sure. One hundred and one percent."

"Hey, Lando," you grin giddily before the Miami Grand Prix. "Just drive your best out there, okay? Good luck, baby." You give him a high-five. You can sense he wants to give you a hug, but painfully knows he can't because of the ever-watching cameras and eyes all around you.

But he leans in close, until you can practically feel his breath on your face, and says softly, in just about the most heart-wrenching-in-a-good-way low voice, "Oh, baby... I'm going to go out there and win that race. For you."

"Oh, stop being such a romantic. You're going to make me cry."

He leans in, about to kiss your cheek, but you gently push him off, saying, "You better get going, Lan! Race is going to start soon!"

"Right! Bye bye, bab-"

"BYE!" you scream to overpower his stupid 'baby girl.'

And before you can even blink twice, it seems-

It's lights out....

And away we go!

"LANDO! FUCKIN'! NORRIS!" you scream as soon as you see him, running to him as fast as you can. Your eyes threaten to fill over their brims with tears as you leap into Lando's arms, immediately forgetting about hiding your relationship.

Right now, that just seems too silly to care about. It doesn't matter enough.

Your boyfriend is a race winner.

The racer winner!

He leans back with the most joyful, most romantic, most adrenaline filled, most glorious look in his eyes as they search yours. His hand slowly strokes your cheeks as he purrs, "I told you I would win it for you, didn't I?"

"Lando-" you begin in excitement, but are interrupted by Lando's lips on yours, aggressively, passionately leaning into yours, flooding all his emotions into you, sharing his dream coming true with you.

For some reason, you begin to cry. Flows of tears, flooding down your cheeks as you kiss each other, and your heart pounds at a million kilometres an hour. His hands grip your waist tight, and the moment-

It all seems so perfect.

Right now, you don't care about the fact it was supposed to be secret. You don't care about what Carlos will think or say or do, or what fans on social media will post. None of it matters.

In this moment, the only two people that matter are you and Lando, in a symphony of amorousness, standing on the top of the world.

In this moment, you and Lando, both in sync, know this is the right time. Though it's been merely three months of being in a real, serious relationship, it feels like several lifetimes.

You don't care about the shock of other people, or the cameras flashing and clicking and filming.

All the sudden, you're proud of it.

You want everyone to know, no matter how they'll react, that you're Lando's, and Lando is yours.

When you finally break away from each other, Lando's smile remains as he gazes into your eyes.

"Are you crying too?" you giggle softly as you spot a glint in his eyes.

"What? Me, crying? No, I'm not crying! Of course I'm not crying!" he says teasingly, hastily wiping at his eye with his thumb. "You're the one crying! But anyway-" He slips the papaya McLaren cap off his head and plops it on yours, saying, "Won't be needing this for the top step. Besides," he smirks, leaning in closer. "Enough with all this Ferrari stuff. I think it's finally time for you to admit: Papaya looks best on you. Papaya's your color."

As you watch him jog off after that, stunned, you feel pleased.

Finally, for once, content.

That's right. My color isn't white, or blaugrana. It's not Ferrari's red, either.

I'm a papaya girl.

His papaya girl.

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gabessquishytum · 2 days

Note

Okay I love your mer Dream, but wouldn't it be funny that Mer Dream ends up getting pregnant by a human (someone who didn't want any part of the pregnancy) and Dream tells his family that the father will meet them at a dock at night (a lie to appease his family from disowning him) So they get to the docks and somehow as if God was listening to Dream's plight had one Job Galding sitting down at the dock fishing. Cue the Endless family interrogating him and demanding when the wedding will be and if they have it as soon as possible before the pups are born.

Hob getting accidentally baby-trapped by mer!Dream is truly a wonderful scenario. And the best part is, he totally just goes along with it. See, Hob’s had some pretty wild nights in recent times, so he's not even 100% confident that he didn't fuck a merperson and accidentally leave them with child. He's definitely done stranger things while drunk, so he should probably take accountability for this one! Plus the pregnant merperson is so beautiful and looks so sad, Hob just has to do something to help.

Dream is shocked that this man is willingly and calmly taking responsibility, talking to his family about performing a wedding that can be held in the shallow water, talking about how he'll build a house right down by the shore to provide for Dream. Dream is so touched by the fact that Hob is stepping up and being so kind, he reaches out to tightly hold his hand. Before it was a way for him to keep his family from being so angry, but now Dream kindof genuinely wants to marry this man. Hob looks a little bit overwhelmed when Dream’s parents mention that there will be pups (like most ocean swelling creatures, merpeople tend to produce multiple offspring, for example Dream and his six siblings all came along at the same time!) but he still doesn't freak out. He's smiling and curious when Dream let's him touch his belly. And he has all kinds of questions about Dream’s favourite foods, what he likes to do for fun........ Dream can definitely think of some fun things he'd like Hob to do to him!

And maybe it's all a bit of a disaster waiting to happen, but Dream really enjoys his wedding. He loves the little house that Hob built on the beach. And he knows that Hob will try hard to make him happy. Even if he spends the rest of his life perpetually damp and soggy! The bedraggled look is good on him <3

#askrosemarymckneal #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw mpreg #cw pregnancy #cw monsterfucking

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catsteeth · 2 days

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Ovulating as we speak but anyway.

Sandor seeing y/n holding a baby and he can't stop imagining what it would be like if they had a baby together. 🤭

(mayhaps a little bit of smut)

Thicker Than Water🤍

Sandor x Reader CW: NSFW, MDNI, Oral (Fem Rec), Breeding Kink (obvi), Afab reader, baby fever. A/N: Your Honor, My client was ovulating!☝️🧐 okey girl you said “a little bit of smut” and if it pleases the jury i did the whole damn thing.

After the war was fought and won, you and Sandor still lived within Winterfell. He had a new occupation working as a groundskeeper. He never thought he’d ever have let alone enjoy an occupation that did not center around violence.

But once the war was over you made him swear he’d never put himself in harm's way for no good reason.

While Sandor was off chopping wood, you were walking past the watering well when you saw a woman trying to pump her bucket full while holding onto her babe in her arms.

You approached her, not knowing that around the corner your Husband was approaching you.

“My Lady, would you like some help with that?” You said, offering to pump the water into the bucket for her.

“That would be lovely!” She said, pushing the babe into your arms.

Sandor watched the exchange from afar, he chuckled to himself as you looked overwhelmed by the babe in your arms. But something naturally maternal instinct took over you and he saw it.

the babe in your arms reached up in an attempt to grab your nose, however their attempt was futile as their arms were far too short. You smiled and you took the babe's hand and kissed it sweetly as you rocked and bounced the babe.

Sandor found himself watching you in awe.

You traced your finger gently down the babes forehead down the bridge of their nose, all the way down until the tip of their nose.

He felt a strange wave of emotion. One he’d not ever felt before.

He’d thought in passing of having children. More so how awful he’d be as a father. But things had changed around him and within him, drastically changed.

He wasn’t the Kings Dog anymore and he wasn’t in the South. And most importantly now he had you. And you had him. He was yours completely.

He thought of your belly swollen with his babe. How plump your breasts would get, how everyone would know truly that you were his. But then he thought of how beautiful you’d look carrying his babe in your arms. How he’d watch that babe grow, how they’d carry your features, and his own. He wondered what they’d look like, would they have your hair? Or would they have his? Would they have your eyes? Your nose? Your-

His day dreaming was interrupted when he heard you ask, “Worst pain I’ve heard. Worse than any pain in the world I’ve heard.” You said. You’d heard the awful awful stories of women who’d even died in childbirth. But with the babe in your arms you couldn’t help but feel a sense of possibility.

The woman laughed a little, “Aye, it’s not nearly as pleasurable to produce it as it is to make it. But you are left with the most splendid thing.” The woman said.

You smiled, “He is quite splendid isn't he?” You ran your fingers along the babe's sparse hair, “Aren’t you?” The Babe cooed back and you snuggled them a little closer, unable to help yourself.

Maybe you wanted this too.

The woman finished filling her bucket, she looked over at you and the Babe, “You should have one.” Your eyes went wide and your mouth went dry. Sandor did too even though he had heard it from afar. The woman laughed, ”I felt the same, but once you’ve got one you’ll never know how you ever could have lived without them.” The woman smiled at you warmly,

That was when Sandor finally came to you,

“(Y/N), we better be off.” He said, trying to ignore the babe in your arms as it cooled at him. If he dared look it might have stopped his heart.

You nodded, “Right,” You smiled at the woman “I’d better return this to you,” You said as you gave her back her child.

As you took Sandors arm and walked home you and he didn’t talk about it, but you both thought about it.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Later that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about the babe, or more accurately, the prospect of you having one of your own.

It’s not that the thought never occurred, it had, but it was war.

When you were coupled he always spilled his seed on your belly, on your thighs, on your arse, or in your pretty mouth. And the very few times that he couldn’t pull himself out in time you were lucky enough to have access to Moon Tea herbs.

As you finished the soup you were making for supper you poured a bowl for him and placed it in front of him while he sat at your table. As you stood beside him he snaked an arm around you and pulled you closer, he placed his large hand against your belly making you giggle and squirm but his arm around you kept you in place.

“What’re you doing?” You asked, smiling as you placed your hand on top of his that was on your stomach.

“Do you want one?” He asked you earnestly as he rubbed your belly slightly,

Your eyes went wide, and heat spread across your cheeks, “Want what?” You knew what.

“A babe.” His deep brown eyes met your own, his gaze was warm and so inviting. Like a fire on a cold night.

You felt your face go red completely, “What?”

“In here,” He asking gripping onto the plushness of your belly making you squirm even more.

“Y-yes.” You whimpered, “Do you?” You asked, running your hand over his cheek.

“Aye,” He said, his voice low and hoarse. “I want no other woman,” He began as his hand that was holding you in place snaked up your back and began to pull at your dress ties. “To carry a babe of mine.” He finished as your dress came loose.

He pulled the sleeve that covered your shoulder down, he pulled you closer onto his lap and kissed at your exposed skin. Soon, he pulled it even lower than that exposing your breast. He kissed, licked, and bit at your skin sending shock waves of pleasure through you. You caressed his head and ran your other hand over his back, digging your nails into the leathers of his top.

“Ah!” You moaned as his hand traveled over your ass, squeezing it pushing you closer to his body. He gave you one good spank before his hand moved lower and in between your legs. His middle finger teased your clothed entrance. His mouth abandoned your breast and moved to your mouth. You moaned and whimpered into his lips.

Your hands left Sandor's face and roamed down over his neck, his chest, his stomach, and finally to his aching cock that was uncomfortably trapped in his breeches. You looked into his eyes intensely as you released him from his pants. His cock was eager as it sprung out and practically straight into your hands. You stroked him, letting him groan into your mouth as you gripped him harder, and harder, stroking harder and harder.

He let go of you for a moment to swipe the table of the bowl of soup you’d placed there as he pushed you onto it.

As you laid back onto the dining table panting with anticipation, Sandor ripped your small clothes off of you, to which you squealed “Sandor!”

“No more of these fucking things.” He huffed and got on his knees between your legs, “I don’t want you wearing any of those fucking things before I get you good and bred, aye?” He commanded you, You nodded, your eyes dazed and love struck looking at your husband between your legs. “Good,” He said as he spit on your cunt, then rubbed his spit into your clit with his thumb.

As he rubbed your clit with his thumb he fucked you with his tongue. You threw your head back and arched your back at the wonderful sensation. However it didn’t last too long as he stood, “You’re good and ready now.” He said, making you feel slightly embarrassed but you couldn’t dwell on it for too long before he held out his palm to you, “Spit,” He commanded, and so you did. You spit into the palm of his hand and he stroked his length with it.

You propped yourself up by your elbows as you watched him line himself up with your entrance. He looked at you and you nodded in desperation. He began to push himself into you, “Seven-fucking-hells!” He hissed as you clenched down on him immediately.

“Sandor!” You whined, his eyes blinked to yours, “Kiss me!” You desperately moaned out.

He leaned down over you as he grinded in and out of your weeping cunt. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding him close to you. He thrusted into you with a brutal pace, you thought for certain the table was going to give out. But his kisses were sensual and slow. They were a testament to his love and devotion for you, and only you. His wife, his woman, and he was determined to make you the mother of his child. “Look at me,” He said, trying to hold back his own moans of pleasure, “Look at me when I spill my seed into you.” He said, “Do you want that? You want my seed?” He asked you, teasing you slightly.

“Yes! Please, Sandor!” You gasped, whimpering into his lips, “Please my love, I need your seed, only yours, no one else-” You said staring deep into his eyes,

“No one else?” His thrusts began to be more erratic and his groans were more apparent.

You shook your head, “No one, only you,” You closed your eyes for a moment as your face contorted to the peak that was approaching you,

“Look at me!” He desperately commanded you,

You looked in his eyes as you reached your high, “Please, please my love-” You begged, and Gods it done him in,

He growled and pressed his hips flush with yours, making sure he was as deep as he could be inside of your cunt. You could feel the heat of his seed spilling into you, “AH!” you cried out at the intense pleasure of it all.

Sandor practically collapsed on top of you, he panted as he rested his head on your bosom. You ran your hands through his hair and down his back.

He stood, and pulled himself out of you. However when he saw his seed begin to spill out of you he pushed his softened cock back into you making you gasp slightly,

“Can’t have that go to waste, or I’ll have to fuck you harder next time, aye?”

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 2 days

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

TW: nsfw, angst

You wake up to the smell of bacon, coffee, and something sweet in the skillet.

Usually such a thing would mean you are dreaming, and you need to wake your ass up before you’re late for work. But you roll over to look into your tiny kitchen, finding a sight fit for Playgirl Magazine before your disbelieving eyes.

Dear Penthouse, I can’t believe this actually happened to me…

Detective Tom Ludlow is in your kitchen, making pancakes…in nothing but a towel around his trim waist. His dark hair is combed back, still wet from the shower. His broad shoulders are something to write home about–Kansas farm boys had nothing on this beautiful specimen of masculinity.

Had the night before even been real?

As though he senses your return to consciousness–or maybe the weight of your gawker’s stare upon him–he turns to look at you. “Morning, beautiful.”

You blink with surprise, because he is talking to you.

“Hi,” you greet, clever as ever, and goddammit but are you blushing?

“Whacha looking at?” he teases, spatula in hand. The very picture of domestic bliss. God help you, but in that moment you were 300 percent ready to put a ring on this man.

“Just…the most best thing I’ve ever seen,” you admit, knowing you’ll kick yourself for it later.

However, the smile he pays you, smug yet somehow gentle–it fries your brain entirely.

“Likewise, sweetheart.” He crosses the short space with a few long strides to press his lips to yours. “You like pancakes with blueberries?”

You’d bought the ingredients–and promptly stuck them in the cupboards–for just such a purpose, thinking that someday, when you had time, and weren’t bone fucking tired from working 12 hour shifts days in a row, you’d make a point to treat yourself.

Funny, how that never happened, until Tom Ludlow came around.

Here you are, getting emotional about blueberry fucking pancakes.

“Yes,” is the only answer you can muster, and he kisses you so sweetly that it curls your toes.

His soft smile down at you will be the death of you. “Sleep well?”

“Like a well-fucked rock,” you tell him, winning a bark of masculine laughter.

“Likewise, beautiful. Definitely likewise.” He vacates the couch to flip his pancake. You continue to stare, still dumbfounded.

“Tom?” you ask, still struggling to wake up.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Did last night…actually happen?”

“Sure did. Don’t you remember driving to Vegas? We got the best Elvis in the building.”

You blink stupidly for a few moments, before registering his absolutely shit-eating grin.

“Very funny. And the joke would be on you, if you married me on a drunken lark.”

“Why?” he asks, seemingly amused by your discomfort.

“I told you. I’m a fucking mess.”

“Far as I can tell? You’re fucking perfect, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.”

You’re not really sure why this pithy little compliment brings tears to your eyes, your lip quivering. Only a beat later does he notice, and he rushes over again.

“Hey, hey, no crying, baby, I’m sorry. What’s wrong? I was just joking.”

You swipe at your eyes with the heels of your hands, embarrassed. “You’re just..so sweet, and I actually fucking believe you, when you say this shit, ok?”

He blinks, but god bless, it only takes him a moment to assess, and act. He presses his soft lips to yours, then his forehead to your forehead, as though he can will you to accept his declarations through osmosis. “Believe it,” he tells you. “It’s true…well. Not the Elvis bit. We can do that next weekend if you want.”

You know he’s joking…but it still doesn’t fail to utterly melt your insides. This man who manhandled and harrassed you has turned out to be the biggest fucking softy, and you just might lose your shit.

You’ve already cried in front of him too many times, though, so you play it off and act like what he’s saying is no big deal. “Really? I think I’d rather have Michael Jackson instead.”

You wonder if he misses being married. If he fucked his wife like he’d fucked you last night…you can’t fathom stepping out on him. But then you also know, that sometimes cops can also be married to their jobs. It could make for a difficult threesome. You imagine going without him, while he was working an intense case, would be absolute hell.

Tom snorts. “Whatever floats my lady’s boat,” he answers, flipping another pancake onto the stack. He ports them to the table with a flourish. “Come eat, sweet girl. You gotta work today?”

“Later. Unfortunately.”

He sticks his full lip out in a pout that should be illegal on a grown ass man. “Then eat quickly, because I’m not done with you yet.” he informs you with a wicked smirk that causes a brand new flood between your already sticky thighs.

He turns, that broad, tapered back on full display, to finish plating breakfast, and you can’t not watch the tight muscle in his butt shift in the thin towel. You get this sudden strange urge to sink your teeth into him and latch on, and wonder if ancient cavewomen bit their partners to lay claims. Because that’s what Tom Ludlow works on—the part of your spongy brain that developed before speech and theory—the part that wants to bite and howl.

Evolution is a bitch.

Oh no, he can cook. And cook good. The pancakes he sets in front of you, drizzled with honey and topped with fresh blueberries, taste like a fluffy heaven in your mouth. Even the coffee is splendid, done up blonde and sugary just the way you prefer. “Tom, damn,” you compliment between mouthfuls. “You went out to get blueberries?” It’s selfish, but the thought of him leaving you alone even to run out and grab something for you makes your insides twist uncomfortably.

“Oh, no, I borrowed some from your neighbor.”

Of course at that moment you have an entire mouthful of coffee that you almost spray on his bare, beautiful chest. “What?!”

He adopts a bemused smile. “Very nice lady.”

“Please tell me you had more than just a towel on?”

“Less, actually.”

He bursts into laughter and the astonished look on your face.

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Ludlow.”

“She asked me something really interesting.” He wipes a little honey off your top lip and sucks it into his mouth, making you dumb enough to forget you’re annoyed. “She asked me if I’m the nightmare?”

“I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

“You are a terrible little liar, you know that? I can see your tell from a mile away.”

“Oh, what is it?” You smirk, shove a bite of pancake into your mouth.

“You’re lucky I’m hungry,” he threatens, playful and promising, sending a thrill through your chest.

You grab a glob of honey on your finger and kitten lick it off, almost bold enough to make direct eye contact with him for more than five seconds while you’re doing it. “Or what?”

He pops up from his seat, and your first instinct is run. Run away. You make it two steps before he has you grabbed around the waist and is dragging you back to his place at the table.

Your squeals of nervous laughter crescendo into a moan when he pulls you down onto his big cock. It surprises you as much as it did last night, how well he fills and stretches you. Not a piece of your fluttery hole unpunished by his silky, maddening pressure. You immediately grind, eager for that pressure to shift and rub and build you, but he stills you with a mitt on your waist.

Then his big hands bunch in the ruffled fabric of your sundress, which somehow you never managed to remove amidst both of your eagerness to get to other parts of you instead. Slowly he draws it up over your head, tossing it away somewhere across the room. Before you can even begin to think about feeling self conscious he makes a low sound of appreciation behind you, running his hands down your curves.

“So fucking beautiful. I just wanna stay inside this pretty little pussy all day,” he tells you, smoothing his wet tongue across your shoulder. You arch into him, and he nips your skin for the retaliation. “Feel her throb while I tell you what I wanna do to her. Jesus, you’re soaked.”

You try to squeeze your thighs together for precious friction on your clit, but he tugs them back open, chuckling at the pathetic attempt. “You wanna fuck yourself, baby?”

“Yes. Fu-uhck.”

“Want me to pet that pretty clit while you ride me?” He kisses up your neck, into your hairline, tugs your ear between his teeth and you see white fire.

“Yes, Tom. Yes. Please.”

“Then eat your breakfast.”

It’s impossible to focus on the delicious food anymore. The chunks of stuff getting forked into your mouth are no match for the small taste of him. It isn’t long before he’s done with silverware and hand feeding you, making you lick and suck his sticky fingers clean.

“Atta girl. Keeping me all warm and cozy.” His mouth traces circles on your upper back that make you twitch and gasp while his heavy pointer and index finger rest on your tongue, sweet and salty-pleasure and pain-the desire to move trumping all of it.

When his fingers trail up your side and land on your nipple, rolling and pinching, you clench your thighs shut again. He grunts at you, although you think it was meant to be a sound of disapproval before you clenched deliberately on his cock.

“You want to cum?”

“Yessss.”

“Then open your legs back up.”

You obey with a groan of frustration, widening your hips so that the tantalizing pressure is off your throbbing clit. That means all you can focus on is having him inside you, and that would be great if he would just fucking thrust.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He grabs your hips to hold you in place. “You’re busy.”

“Could be important,” you say.

“More important than this?” He grinds up, into your cervix, into all the sensitive soaked walls of your cunt, and the answer to his question is no. Absolutely not. There is nothing more important than him or his cock.

“Tom,” you hiss.

He sighs. “Alright. I’ll get it. Get dressed.”

How empty you feel, when you slide off of his cock as you stand on trembling legs. He halts your progress by gripping your hips, pressing his mouth to the curve of your buttocks. You forget about the door, and everything else, turning in his arms so that he can bury his face in your cleavage. “These beautiful–” He kisses one breast cupped in his hand, “Naughty,” a kiss for the other, just beside your nipple, the tease, “titties are in so much trouble.” He sucks on your perked nipple with a pop, making you cry out.

Knock knock knock.

“Someone’s fucking determined,” he grumbles against your skin.

Reluctantly you manage to pull away from him, and you remember this state of the art technology in your door called a peephole. Naked as a jaybird, you peer through the tiny lens–and gasp at the sight on the other side.

This clearly interests Tom, his head canting at an angle in question. You shake your head, just knowing a perfect storm is brewing. “It’s no one. Ignore it,” you say quietly, hoping they don’t hear you on the other side, praying they have the sense to go away. You try to distract Tom again with kisses and by trying to pull him towards the bedroom, but dammit this man is solid as a fucking tree when he doesn’t want to move.

“Who is it?” he asks with a lifted brow.

Knock knock. “Y/n? I know you’re home.”

Goddammit.

What can only be described as a wicked grin spreads over Tom’s handsome features. “Oh. Let’s say hello, shall we?”

#tom ludlow x reader #keanuverse fic #keanuverse

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octopiys · 2 days

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Cw: blood/murder, body horror, mentions of catholic guilt

Witch!Johnny who has no idea of what he's doing.

His nights since "Simon" has returned have been restless, dreamless, and he's always woken up feeling.... unfinished. There was was always unease in his chest, buried deep, like the feeling of forgetting something. His days don't go by much easier.

His work is mostly on the computer, and there are sometimes where he must go into the offices, bring Gary some leftovers from the night before, fill out some files, and head on home.

Today, though, is different. He spends his time searching through every record their office had, trying to find any semblance of what he's seen.

Witch!Johnny, who's beginning to think the lack of sleep has made him go insane. Maybe he's making it up. He feels more comfortable gaslighting himself into believing that a storm pushed over the tree in his backyard, than-

NCO!Gary who finds Johnny asleep at his usually empty desk. There were numerous tabs pulled up on his computer, of age old chat forums and supernatural sightings from years ago, blogs that had gone cold. He smirks, shaking his head with the roll of his eyes as he pats Johnny on the back, trying to wake him up.

NCO!Johnny who wakes with a jolt. Gary looks slightly concerned, he must've fallen asleep again. He apologizes, and shuts down his computer. He's just felt so tired recently.

Witch!Johnny, who comes home to Ms. Riley, pacing anxiously on his front step, who's eyes light up when she sees him. She looks tired too.

"Oh, John, thank goodness- Mozzie's run away, and Tommy's coming in tonight, I was gonna ask if you can keep an eye out for him!" She pleads and he agrees, equally worried for Mozzie, short for Mozart, which is short for Mozzarella, who's been the Riley dog as long as he can remember. How the little rat dog escaped bequeaths him, but he promises to double check his wildlife traps tomorrow when he takes the cart around to collect them.

NCO!Johnny who ensured that his traps were practically harmless to the environment, not a doubt in the world that Mozzie had gotten into one of his raccoon cages.

Witch!Johnny who locks his doors twice tonight.

Fae!Simon, who thinks it's rather hot. The weather, that is.

It's a peculiar thought to have when some humans flesh and blood lies mangled beneath him. There was a soft inkling of recognition in the base of his skull, a little tendril that beckoned him to destroy it, and so he did. The heated metal bits that were fired at him had little effect. They could not hurt him now.

They could not hurt him anymore.

What used to be the wriggling mass under him had called him something odd, whispered it like a True Name, and it was. It hit a notch in the tendrils of his heart, and he sprung. This man had wronged him before, and used his true name to do so. Yet, when he said it, it didn't entirely feel like his.

Like something else shared it.

So it must've not been his after all.

He turns, the earth warm beneath his feet as the sun rose high in the sky.

What is a Simon, anyhow?

Witch!Johnny, who dreams tonight. He's a kid again, pouring over his nan's old books while she bakes too salty cookies in the kitchen. He never complained, and she gave him a handful of chocolate chips to munch on while the cookies were in the oven. Simon would be coming over later, and he too, would not complain about the cookies. Johnny would give him a chocolate chip for his bravery.

His Nan bumbles up to him, her chest puffing proudly that the boy is following in her footsteps. "Did ah ev'r tell ya 'boot my lil' Jackie?"

"Yes, Nan," He'd always say in response.

"Aye, but y' dinnae ever listen!" Something sharp lurks beneath her words, like sharp rocks that you take notice of when you finally take the training wheels off of your bike. "When ah was a wee lass, my lil broder, Jackie, was too curious for his own good. Born with caul, too, if ye can believe. Mam would call us in fer dinner, and she'd send me ou' ta find him. He loved the woods, that boy, and the life inside o' it. Real sweet lil' thing, too. Broke his heart anytime Mam squished a bug, and God forbid he stepped on one o' em on his own! I found him, one night, sittin' just inside o' the trees. There were mushrooms all 'round him, like somethin' had died just up under th' roots. An' ah knew then, I think. But ah ran inside and got me Mam, cus he would nae answer when ah called 'im. She came out with th' shears-" She pokes him in the side with a wooden spoon for extra measure, and he giggles, despite the tragedy of the story. "An' cuts up all o' the mushrooms, an' he sits up, and walks back inside."

"What then, nan?" He asks, always too eager for his own good.

"Thought ye said ye heard o' this one?" She teases him, before turning away and continuing. "He was so quiet after tha'. Made me sad, cus he would nae talk aboot anythin'. Like a switch had been triggered. He stepped on a bug he found that night. And another one, after that. His eyes were so cold." She trailed off, sounding almost sad, which seemed impossible to Johnny, because his Nan was never upset. "Me Mam turned him out the next week. Told him that she wanted her boy back. She warded the creature off with those shears up there, an I never saw 'im again." She hums, like this was an everyday occurrence as she gestures to the old sheers hanging in the window.

Witch!Johnny asks, no longer a child. "What was it, Nan?"

His Nan just smiles, before looking down at the book. "Seems like ye found one o' yer own, have ye nae?"

Witch!Johnny who looks down at the old book, where written in ancient ink across the top was the header: Changeling.

Witch!Johnny, who sits up in a cold sweat. His clock read 3:13. Unlucky. Somewhere in his former catholic brain, an alarm bell rang.

The curses of the law lifted by becoming the curse.

Did he still have that book?

He'd found one of his own. He spills out of his bed, racing to his bookshelf.

He blows dust off the cover and flips through it until he's satisfied, eyes settling on the thinning paper. Changelings. Was he right?

Deep-seated unease settles inside of him as he read, mentally ticking off boxes.

For it is written.

Pointed teeth. Cold eyes. Personality change. Precious, precious, precious. Did he play any instruments? No. Not Simon. He barely talked anymore. Barely ate, that he knew of.

Changeling, changeling, changeling.

The man that lives down the street, who came back rugged from war. The man who was not the person he grew up with. The Simon who came back. He should've known. Oh, his grandma must be turning in her grave right now, or laughing at his stupidity. He drops the book, hands shaking.

The Ghost that replaced Simon Riley was a Changeling.

Cursed is everyone who hangs in the trees.

Last part | Next part

Inspired by Meet Me In The Woods by Lord Huron

Taglist: @whorangi1104 @impossible-to-pronounce @the-only-universe-here

(If your blog is here but the tag doesn't work, there's a good chance your blog is accidentally hidden! Lmk if that's the case :) )

Any questions? My ask box is open!! <3

#call of duty #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #modern warfare 2 #ghostsoap #captain john price #alejandro vargas #alerudy #incorrect quotes #johnny soap mactavish #soapghost #soap x ghost #ghost x soap #kyle 'gaz' garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gary roach sanderson

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asmolfolk · 19 hours

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Childhood Dreams - Prologue.

I'm so sorry for the long wait, I couldn't get my hand to finish the prologue YET! So, it's going to have 4 chapters probably... So a really shortfic! I hope you guys like the prologue!! It's really simple, but I hope ya'll like it!

ChildHood Dreams - Next chapter. [Not released yet.]

Prologue.

You were always close to him and Robin. Since the early days of their lives, you were there - happily and always loving as you always were. Both Sunday and Robin acknowledge the fact that one day, you would spread your wings towards a new life. But, as you were all good friends, they never thought too much about it. They supported and praised your dreams, always trying to help you out to choose another planet to visit… Sunday never thought too much about it, well… He never did until he was 10 years old.

He was a good artist, always knew that and his sister would praise him deeply. While she loved Jazz and Pop, he liked way more to hear and indulge into Opera… Maybe that’s why he never was the main attraction, the ones in Penacony started to love the new era of music, preferring the cheerfulness of the Jazz or Pop’s beats than the melancholy of the Opera. And it didn’t help a lot that Sunday, himself, hid his own voice. He never wished to be the main attraction, after all, never once wanted to be against his sister in any way… Maybe, that’s why he was so shy when you found him playing the violin while humming to an Opera song. “W-What are you doing here?” The little squeak on his voice when he noticed you, with your wide eyes once you realized his talent. The way your mouth was open with visible shock as you tried to say something. “You are… AMAZING!” Your voice would go as high as you could! Once you approached the confused and flustered Sunday, embracing him in a tight hug. “You are amazing!! I didn’t know you were so good at playing the violin?! What else can you do, hm?? TELL ME!” Your visible cheerful attitude made him blush from embarrassment, he couldn’t form a phrase properly and started to look around, trying to not let himself melt in front of you. “I’m- I’m not that good…” “YES, YOU ARE!” You would interrupt him and cup his cheeks, distancing yourself a bit. ”Say it! Say that you are good!” “I-” “Sayyy ittttt!” As you insisted, he would quietly say: “I’m… Good. I’m good at playing instruments… A-And I can sing Opera too.” Your words would mark him, as he would start showing you more of his talent. Every week after that day, he would sing, play something or just show you what he had written. You, just like him, were Robin’s first and most loyal fans… And then, you turned into his fan too. It didn’t take too long before Robin also became a loyal fan of his, you and Robin would joke around, saying about how you three could form a band or something like that.

Even if Sunday knew he would never be part of it… He still couldn’t NOT dream of something like that, being around his two favorite people. He understood right there that he was in love with you, maybe it was just a childhood crush… But, he still understood it. As he knew about your plans, he never thought about confessing to you, he NEVER wanted to make you feel obligated to be around them… And he knew the moment where he would have to let you go. The moment where he told you that he loved you, you would be between two choices… And he knew none of you would be happy with those choices.

And he thought… Maybe, just maybe… Those feelings would disappear once he grew up… Oh, how stupid he was.

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Taglist: @ruumirmir, @irissirisbiris, @4onlyyouruse,

#x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #hsr x reader #gn reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #sunday x reader #sunday x you #hsr x you #hsr fluff

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hardlysticks · 2 days

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The Sea Breeze Carries Unknown Secrets

Chapter 1

You can’t remember much of last night, you remember waking up and seeing two creatures in the ocean. Clearly it was a dream, being back in this town brought back the ideas of the creatures that your grandfather had warned you about.

Besides that weird dream and the splashes near the rocks, everything had been fairly normal. You spend your days venturing into town and reliving parts of your childhood summers that you could remember; that cute little cafe that always served tasty treats, or maybe the little antique shop where your grandfather had bought you a little model sailboat. It was all surprisingly still here.

It brought you a sense of comfort to see that everything was still the same, which meant that those you had met when you were younger still remembered you.

“Oh darling! It’s been so long since we last saw you!”

An older woman broke you from your thoughts as she brought her hands up to pinch at the apple of your cheeks.

You couldn’t help but smile at the affection and her words, you remember the older woman, she was one who would feed you stories of the sea while always leaving a seat open for you and your grandfather open at her restaurant.

“I know I know, college and my career really kept me away from visiting. But I’ve moved into papa’s old home” you mentioned to her.

You weren’t that young kid who would run around town and listen to whatever story you could get your hands on, you were now in your mid thirties and had stepped your foot into the world of publishing and writing books.

“That’s wonderful! We really have missed seeing you around. Now if you ever need a little something to eat then you know where to find me” she gave you a quick pat on the cheek before she had wandered off back to her restaurant.

As the older woman wandered off you pulled your phone out of your pocket to look at the list you made for yourself, even if you finished unpacking you still had stuff left to do. Such as grocery shopping.

With your phone in hand you made your way to the small market that the town called a grocery store, staring down at your grocery list you meandered down the aisles grabbing the food that would sustain you in your new houses.

The fruit and vegetables always seemed to be more ripe and colorful in the coastal town, you don’t remember seeing such a juicy mango in the city. Staring at the display of vegetables in front of you, it distracts you from the feeling of being watched. Coal brown eyes that followed every little bit of your movement, but staying out of your sight.

Your mind played it off as someone not recognizing you in a town of close knit people, with a shake of your head you moved to wander down the bakery aisle instead.

With your gaze focused on your grocery list you managed to walk into a wall, though when you glanced up from the list you noticed that it was in fact not a wall…. And instead a wall of muscle.

“Oh!- oh I’m so sorry! I really should have focused on where I’m going-“ you stuttered out as you started at the behemoth of a man.

The man, now that you got a better look, was around 6’2 and built like a brick house. A black surgical mask covered the lower half of his face, if you squinted just slightly you could see a display of light freckles that dusted his face, and then there was the dark brown eyes but you could have sworn under the fluorescent light it turned to an amber like color.

“It’s fine” a gruff voice interrupted you from your thoughts, the thick Manchester accent definitely matched this giant of a man. The man held a basket filled with summer vegetables and what seemed like tea boxes.

“Right um… still I should pay better attention” you added, before offering your name towards him. The man raised an eyebrow; staring down at your form before letting out another grunt.

“M’names simon” he replied, a tinge of hesitancy lining his voice, all while his eyes held a sort of amusement. With a smile you gave him a nod and glanced down at your almost full basket, you had gotten what you came here for.

“Well… it’s nice to meet you Simon. But I must be off now. I hope to see you around” you offered him with a smile before heading off to the cashier. The line went by fast and you were able to pay for all the necessities you needed for the next few days.

The walk home was nice, the cool sea breeze cools you down from the summer sun all while letting your hair wisp against your face. It was far better than the smog filled air you had learned to live with in the city.

Town wasn’t all too far from your seaside cottage, a long gravel road welcomed you back to your cottage. Carefully balancing your bags of groceries in your arms you tried to reach back towards your pocket to retrieve your key to open your door. As you stopped at your porch you noticed something blocking your way.

Fish… dead fish

As you took a closer look at the fish you noticed it was a small arrangement of cod and grouper… how the hell did they make their way to your porch from the seaside? With a groan you stepped around them and brought your groceries inside, trying to plan on how to deal with the fish.

Eventually the only thing that came to mind was… throwing the dead fish back in the sea. Your lip curled up in slight disgust as you picked up the dead fish and tossed them back into the sea, mumbling to yourself about how gross that was.

A pair of sapphire eyes watched from past the rocks on the coastline, squinting with confusion as they watched you toss the fish away.

Authors note!- y’all I’m so sorry school kicked my ass with exams but I should now be regularly posting each weekend! And also next chapter reader will do some interacting with someone special 👀

#cod modern warfare #john soap mactavish #cod x reader #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #captain john price #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #john price #john price x reader #mermay #poly!141 x reader #poly!141 #johnny soap mctavish x reader #captain price #price x reader #kyle gaz x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #simon ghost x reader

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discretocincel · 1 day

Text

Watch the world keep changing

More fluff for RadioApple Week 2024! Go read it on AO3!

Since I decided to make the stories in the series connected, for today's prompt Deal/Blood I decided to work on the beginning of their relationship! Have some 3+1 thingy where Lucifer is slowly catchinig feelings and Alastor is in deep denial still:

The first time Lucifer saw Alastor bleed was three days before the battle with Heaven.

It was late, Vaggie’s training already officially over, but there were still a couple of cannibals around practicing some moves, familiarizing themselves with the angelic weapons, their weight and length. Lucifer still found it strange, watching so many sinners being friendly with each other, even while sparring. He was used to their everlasting conflict and hostility, to their selfishness and pettiness, not… not this. Part of his punishment supposedly was that he’d never get to see the good of humanity, the benefits of the freedom he granted them, to grow outside of the predetermined lines set in stone for their souls. His daughter had given him the most amazing gift by showing him that sinners were capable of good, in the right context. It made him regret some of the choices he had made in the past, but it also made him hopeful for the future. Which was why he never missed an opportunity to see them train. He wanted to see more of it, of their positive emotions and interactions. And he also wanted to care. He wanted to remember the faces of the ones who would be risking their lives for his daughter’s dream.

So far, Lucifer hadn’t seen Alastor step into the training sessions. He witnessed them, most often from the shadows, and on the few occasions he had something to say, he did it quietly, only addressing Charlie. Lucifer assumed the sinner didn’t want to interact with the volunteers.

Was he wrong?

“You’re being far too predictable, my dear,” he said, sporting a tamer variation of his smile, as if to not give a wrong impression. He didn’t sound like the arrogant, mocking bastard that would criticize Lucifer’s eating habits. It was almost like he wanted to be helpful. Genuinely.

“How can I not be predictable and still react fast? I’m not thinking much before moving because you’re too fast! I’ll die before I’m able to surprise you!”

The only two people still on the training grounds, apart from Lucifer, who was watching from the roof, were Alastor and a younger sinner. Lucifer didn’t know his name, but he had seen him around the cannibal overlord more than once. He was short, always wore a different hat, and he seemed to favor the color green, but apart from that, he was hardly remarkable.

Until then, of course. It was the first time Lucifer saw the Radio Demon personally instruct anyone in a fight, and they had been preparing the cannibals for nearly a month. That made him a little bit special. Only a little.

The spar was fun to watch. Alastor didn’t use one weapon, but two—he brandished a dagger in two tentacles, while he kept his hands clasped behind his back, like an asshole. He had to admit that it looked cool, but only to himself. The sinner didn’t need the ego boost. He jumped around the younger cannibal like a choreographed dance routine, with ease, making it look easy, without breaking a sweat. He was reading his partner like a traffic sign, maybe even better, but then the impossible happened.

The young cannibal tripped. He managed to get his feet under himself, but he stabbed the Radio Demon’s bicep in the process.

Lucifer’s eyes widened, and he prepared to take flight, imagining he would need to stop the Radio Demon from eating the poor bastard. What a miserable time to get lucky, he thought. The guy clearly wasn’t the most experienced fighter, and if the polearm he was using wasn’t one of angelic steel, then his hit probably wouldn’t have even scratched the skin. But it did. It probably wasn’t a very deep cut, but the Radio Demon’s coat was soaked in blood, even if the color did a good job of covering it.

Before he unfolded his wings, however, he decided to wait around a little bit and observe, since the Radio Demon hadn’t yet grown in size and the air hadn’t thickened with any green mist.

Against all odds, the Radio Demon didn’t eat the guy. His smile seemed a little more genuine, and when he went closer to the cannibal, he did it with a spring on his step.

“That was better!” he said cheerfully, patting the sinner’s shoulder with his microphone. “Now let’s try again, to make sure you didn’t just get lucky.”

The younger sinner groaned, knowing just as well as Lucifer and Alastor that he wouldn’t be able to replicate it. But he still got in position, and while he seemed even more nervous than before, his stance was slightly firmer, wider. His hold on the polearm was better, too.

Lucifer manifested a candy bar from the kitchen and got more comfortable on the roof, deciding that he would stay and watch a little longer. The Radio Demon was fun to watch when his witty remarks weren’t directed at himself, after all. And the way he moved, even for a mock battle, was graceful and elegant, like ballroom dancing, almost, with his long limbs, thin waste, and remarkable flexibility.

And if he noticed how he would sometimes delay his responses a fraction of a second to give the sinner a chance to scratch him one or twice, boosting his confidence without risking him getting too cocky, then that would remain a secret until the next time the Radio Demon pissed him off.

Or maybe not. It was too valuable information to give it away pettily at the first opportunity. Lucifer was smarter than that. Besides, Charlie could hear and consider it proof that her hotelier had a heart, which was simply ridiculous.

Lucifer knew better than that. No, he would keep that little detail to himself in the foreseeable future, stored away in a corner best left untouched, just like the fleeting thought of how attractive the sinner looked when slightly roughed up.

The second time Lucifer saw Alastor bleeding was a couple of days after the extermination, when by all means, he shouldn’t have been bleeding anymore. But his wound, which he hadn’t been told about, charged with angelic power as it was, wouldn’t close without angelic intervention, no matter how tight his stitches were. Good thing the sinner lived under the same roof as one of the most powerful angels ever created, right? Because the Radio Demon wasn’t an idiot, eventually he would have pushed aside his pride in favor of self-preservation, and he would have approached Lucifer on his own to ask for his help.

Right?

“You should’ve told Charlie, at least,” Lucifer mumbled, while he worked on the necrotic wound in the privacy of the Radio Demon’s room. “She would’ve told me.”

“Precisely,” Alastor replied curtly. “Besides…” He took a deeper breath, hands shaking slightly, but he remained remarkably still considering the pain he must’ve been feeling.

Durable motherfucker, truly. Lucifer was impressed. But that was another secret he was taking to the grave.

“She already has enough on her plate. It wouldn’t do for her to have even more worries and bad memories.”

“I agree, which is why you should’ve sought help so you wouldn’t add your death to her bad memories.”

The sinner didn’t dignify that with an answer, choosing to subtly turn his head away instead. Even with his neck twisted at an awkward angle, he couldn’t add much distance between them, lying on his back as he was, with Lucifer sitting by his side, both hands extended over the sinner’s bare chest. He had already cleaned the wound more than once, but the bottom half, near his hip, kept bleeding while he worked on the section of his shoulder, focusing on the damage done to his heart.

Now he could no longer tell Charlie that Alastor didn’t have a heart. He had seen it. It was a frail little thing, fickle, overworked, and scarred. The kind one could easily feel protective over.

A part of Lucifer, the one that kept going over the faraway corner where he stored the details about the Radio Demon away, wondered if he wasn’t already feeling protective of it, seeing as he had ambushed the sinner after dinner to treat the wound he only knew was there because he could smell it.

“Just don’t die on her, Alastor. She cares for you.”

“I’m not planning on dying any time soon, Your Majesty. However, if you’re interested in a deal…”

“Not in this life or the next one,” Lucifer cut him off quickly, grateful for the reminder of the kind of person the sinner he was healing truly was. Overlords didn’t need protecting. The rest of Hell needed protecting from them.

Alastor sighed dramatically, the little shit, but then his expression morphed into one Lucifer hadn’t yet seen on him; his smile was still there, barely, but it was crooked, and his eyes were half-lidded.

“I may have… procrastinated on fixing this particular issue. Your assistance is… appreciated. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Right. His assistance was appreciated, because it had been needed, and the sinner knew it. He had simply hesitated to ask for it, for some reason. But he would have done it, eventually. He should have done it, anyway. And the reason he hadn’t was probably his pride, because he was a sinner, an arrogant, overconfident, sadistic bastard—

—and he had a fickle, scarred heart. Lucifer swallowed down the lump in his throat, then shook his head slowly.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” he muttered.

“Nonsense. You had no obligation to help me, and yet… here you are.”

“Here I am,” Lucifer confirmed absentmindedly, trying to focus on what his hands were doing as he was finally passing on to the sternum, checking for any bruising on the bones. While he did that, one of his hands slid down to once again vanish away the blood that kept pouring out of the cut down on his bony hip.

He was so skinny, so delicate. Whose idea had it been to leave him on his own against Adam, of all things? It was a small miracle he didn’t die. And not only he had survived, but he had actually done some damage, earning them all time by keeping him away from the main battle and maintaining the property damage to a minimum while he could.

He had almost died for his daughter and her dream. He had a heart. One that was beating so damn hard, doing its very best, just like the sinner when he fought Adam.

He was a killer, a cannibal, an asshole. And he had a heart.

III

The third time Lucifer saw Alastor bleed was, in retrospect, not as big of a deal as he made it to be.

Lucifer wasn’t a great cook. He wasn’t incompetent; he kept himself and Lilith fed at the beginning of time just fine, but after imps were created, about ten thousand years ago, there really hadn’t been a need for Lucifer to cook ever again. But he wanted to do something nice for Charlie, and he had heard from Vaggie how Alastor had taught her a few things in the kitchen after he witnessed her setting toasts on fire, and how she had turned the cooking lessons into a bonding experience, the results of their hard work something she could proudly share with everyone she cared about.

Lucifer worked through his jealousy like he heard Charlie coach the hotel residents once, and he decided that there was no reason for him to not be a part of that. Surely, there were still things Charlie didn’t know how to make, right? And if there weren’t, then that was okay, because there sure were a lot that Lucifer didn’t know. She could teach him. She would! She instantly said yes the moment he brought it up to her, except…

Except she decided to include Alastor as well, because she argued that she wasn’t good enough in the kitchen yet, and apparently, the Radio Demon was a fantastic cook.

Lucifer complained mostly out of habit. Bickering with the sinner was fun, really, but the guy didn’t need to know that. His ego was big enough as it was. Not that he didn’t have a reason though; the man was charming, the perfect charismatic radio host who jumped up the ladder of Hell’s hierarchy faster than anyone before him, and he was powerful, for a sinner. Not only through his own strength and subsequently due to the souls he kept acquiring, but he was smart and chose enemies and allies well. Even after vanishing for years, when Hell surely should’ve forgotten him, he didn’t need to do much to get the spotlight back on him and reinstate his position as one of the most feared creatures in the Pride Ring. It was reasonable for a guy like that to have such a big ego.

And then, as Lucifer had the opportunity to have him teach him, he could only add that to his list of assets. His instructions were clear, he was patient and gentle but still encouraged them to be mindful of the time and move not like they didn’t know what they were doing, but like they were simply remembering something they hadn’t done in a long time. Which was actually true for Lucifer. Perhaps that was the problem. Feeling capable, he got a little too comfortable with the knife, and then…

“Alastor!” Charlie shrieked in horror.

“I’m fine, my dear, this is nothing. Don’t touch it with your hands, or you’ll get blood on them. We’re still cooking. Don’t get any blood on the vegetables!”

“You’re hurt!”

“I’m fine, Your Majesty, it’s really no big deal—”

“Stars, I hurt you! You’re bleeding! And it’s my fault!”

“Your Majesty, you can barely call this bleeding—”

“Let me fix it!”

“What? There’s nothing to fix, Your Majes—”

Blinded by panic, Lucifer reached out for Alastor’s injured hand —his hand, he had injured a pianist’s hand— and brought it to his lips, holding it by the wrist, so he could clean the blood and close the wound with his saliva, while keeping his own hands clean.

For a moment, no one in the kitchen moved. All three of them stood there, holding their breaths, with eyes far too wide and shoulders way too tense. Then Lucifer dropped the sinner’s hand and vanished with a ‘poof’ to reappear at the other side of the room, as far as possible.

“So! That’s fixed! Anyway!”

He went quiet, because he had no idea what to say, and apparently neither did the others. Charlie’s face was turning redder by the second, and Alastor had never looked more like a deer than in that moment, completely paralyzed. Still, after another minute or maybe twenty went by, he cleared his throat, fixed his smile which had nearly disappeared in his astonishment, and went back to the cucumber that Lucifer had been all too happily massacring.

“Well, I’ll be finishing this one, then!” he said, rinsing the knife before getting to it. “Charlie, dear, can you check on the gravy? Your Majesty, you may start on the rice.”

“Right. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Wonderful.”

Lucifer resumed the cooking like a man on a mission, laser-focused and repeating every instruction in his mind like a mantra until he was done with that particular step, doing his best to ignore the way his heart kept trying to escape his chest and the taste on his tongue that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he asked Charlie for a sample of the sauce she was merely monitoring.

He had to admit, in the end, that Alastor was indeed a fantastic cook. He also tasted fantastic himself.

+ I

The very first time Alastor saw Lucifer bleed was not an occasion he could ever share with someone else. Pity, he would’ve liked bragging about making the King of Hell bleed. But it would be impossible for a while, at least. Not only because the ‘wound’ was too insignificant to be called that, but because Alastor’s own madness could hardly be omitted from the narrative for it to make sense.

The little setback didn’t sour his mood as one would’ve expected, though; probably because he was still reeling with endorphins after the first make out session of his life. He’d always found the idea of a foreign tongue inside his mouth disgusting, and he hadn’t enjoyed the sensation at first, but when the tip scraped itself in one of Alastor’s fangs, releasing a delicious nectar that couldn’t even compare to the blood Rosie had bottled from the last extermination, the experience quickly became an unforgettable one, as was Lucifer’s promise that he would one day sit on his lap and let him drink straight from his neck, but there were a couple of wishes Alastor needed to grant the king for that to happen; some of those requests rivaling Angel Dust’s most depraved and rewarded works.

Alastor, while nervous in his inexperience and not yet convinced that he would find most if not any of those scenarios enjoyable, couldn’t wait. If anyone asked, he would say the golden, angelic blood of the fallen monarch was that addictive. And even to himself, he swore it had nothing to do with the way his own heart skipped a beat whenever The Devil smiled at him.

It was the blood. That was all he cared for. Really.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 #fanfic #appleradio #radioapple #writing #lucifer morningstar #alastor #Lucifer is growing and coming to term with his feelings like the ancient being that he is #but you guys aren't getting Alastor's version of events yet #this is merely a peek #radioapple week

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