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#AND OTHER STATES WILL FOLLOW SUIT
methotrex8 · 1 year
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“Weapons not food, not homes, not shoes
Not need, just feed the war cannibal animal
I walk the corner to the rubble that used to be a library
Line up to the mind cemetery now
What we don't know keeps the contracts alive and movin'
They don't gotta burn the books they just remove 'em
While arms warehouses fill as quick as the cells
Rally 'round the family, pockets full of shells.” -Rage Against the Machine, Bulls on Parade
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Good shit
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varietysky · 2 years
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please tell me what CRT has to do with like, grade-school math omggggg
embarrassing ass country
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doux-amer · 30 days
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Damn, so the original goal was to get 11,000 votes for "uncommitted" in the Michigan primary and you're telling me right now, the total is nearly 75k and that's only a little over half the votes counted?! WOW. Well done, Michigan. I'm floored.
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lovelyghst · 12 days
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“why’re you bein’ so snappy today, sweetheart?”
genuine concern laces simon’s voice as the mattress dips beneath you with his added weight, but it’s still not enough to knock you from your bratty state. sat at the head of your bed with your knees bent together in front of you, arms crossed over your chest, a pouty look on your face that hasn’t changed since you woke up that morning.
his hand slips up your calf and his other follows suit on your other leg not long after, and you’re still ignoring him. maneuvering themselves to the backs of your knees, making you huff out a frustrated sigh.
“still not gonna talk to me?” he frowns, calloused fingers abandoning your knee-socks and making their way up your bare thighs. his skin is cold, freezing against yours, and your breathing hitches when the rough pads creep upward past the end of your skirt.
you shake your head, refusing to meet his eyes and unrelenting with your behavior, and he’s forced to keep prodding; continue pushing forward, see how long you can keep up the facade until you’ll be whining and writhing and rightly fixed under him.
his digits graze your upper thighs, trickling inward to where you’ve always been the most sensitive, and he tugs at the lacy material of your panties — twice, before pulling them tight against you.
a small whine unexpectedly falls from your lips.
and, oh, he’s got you.
“my poor baby…” he coos. the second his hands emerge from beneath your skirt, your eyes snap open, surprised he’d tease you in such a mean way. his large palms move back to encase your knees; gradually guiding them to part, gentle as you go so pliant for him.
“just a troublesome, little thing, aren’t ya?”
your grumpy pout turns to a sad, desperate one, and he hums in sympathy. he knows you don’t mean to be like this.
he reaches forward again, this time his knuckles finally making contact with the soaked center of your panties, and you gasp aloud. his touch is still light though it’s enough to make you deprived.
“y’need me to help ya rub one out, hm? is that it?”
and finally- finally, you give in to simon. nodding your head, eyes all watery when a tear falls to your puffy cheek, and murmuring soft pleas that entirely contradict the you from a mere minute ago.
he grins proudly; no matter how difficult you may be at times, he’ll always break through it. pull his sweetheart from whatever depths of ill-behavior she fell into, reset that little brain for the better.
“it’s alright, dovie, i’ve got ya. just let me take care of you.”
his hand dips between your skin and the fabric of your panties, careful as he inches closer to your heat, and you give him full reign.
because that’s what he’s there for; to take care of you, of course.
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zvaigzdelasas · 2 months
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In the week since the International Court of Justice ruled that the Israeli government is plausibly committing genocide and ordered it to prevent potential further acts of genocide, Israeli forces have only continued committing atrocities against Palestinians.
Buoyed by the staying support of American officials, Israeli forces have killed at least 874 Palestinians and injured at least 1,490 in Gaza since last week’s ICJ ruling, according to Palestinian Health Ministry figures from Saturday, January 27, to Friday, February 2. That’s not to mention other acts of Israeli violence in the occupied West Bank and Jerusalem.The loss of life should not be dismissed as “collateral damage,” contrary to what Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has said.[...]
Backgrounding the atrocities in Gaza is the broader misery the entire population faces. The BBC noted that UNICEF’s biggest concern is the “estimated 19,000 children who are orphaned or have ended up alone with no adult to look after them.” CNN reported that Palestinians are eating grass and drinking polluted water amid famine conditions. The Guardian reported that 50-62 percent of all buildings in Gaza have likely been damaged or destroyed.
Earlier this week, a federal court affirmed the ICJ’s finding that Israel may be carrying out a genocide and warned the Biden administration to reconsider its unconditional support for Israel’s war effort. [...]
The Intercept asked Sen. John Fetterman, D-Pa., to comment on the court rulings that the accusations of genocide by Israel are credible. “I don’t accept that. I reject [the ruling of the International Court of Justice]. I don’t believe that is Israel’s intention: to commit genocide,” said Fetterman, who has emerged as one of Israel’s most staunch Democratic defenders, on Thursday. “I do believe that their goal is to neutralize or dislodge Hamas from that. And I believe that they certainly do not want to take the lives of any innocent Palestinians and I certainly don’t assign higher value to my children versus a Palestinian child. I mean, I wouldn’t want anybody to die throughout all this tragedy, and it’s just an awful situation.”
Within hours of the ICJ issuing its ruling last Friday, Israel alleged that 12 of 30,000 — 0.04 percent — employees of the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East were involved in Hamas’s attack on October 7. The United States immediately suspended its funding of UNRWA, the largest provider of humanitarian aid in Gaza, spurring a cascade of other nations to follow suit.
Sky News later obtained an Israeli document that actually downgrades the allegation to 0.02 percent of UNRWA staff (six people) being involved in Hamas’s attack. Sky News reported that the documents, which allege further ties between UNRWA and Hamas “make several claims that Sky News has not seen proof of and many of the claims, even if true, do not directly implicate UNRWA.”
The contrast between the U.S. decision to pause funding based on unverified allegations and its unwillingness to reconsider its military funding of Israel, despite serious allegations of genocide, is stark.
Fetterman also said that he supports the suspension of funding to UNRWA. When asked why the standard of suspending funding while investigating serious allegations doesn’t apply to the Israeli government, Fetterman dodged the question.
Fetterman: Well, again, it — well, it’s not. We need a full investigation and find out just how much a part of it was about that and how much, you know, the old question: how much they knew and when they knew that.
The Intercept: So you’re saying that for Israel as well?
Fetterman: Yeah, OK, so good, all right, well good.[...]
Reporter Said Arikat confronted State Department spokesperson Matthew Miller on the tension Wednesday. “I’ll say with respect to the charges of genocide [at the International Court of Justice], we believe that they’re unfounded,” Miller said. “We continue to support Israel’s right to take action to ensure that the terrorist attacks of October 7th cannot be repeated, but we want them to do so in a way that complies with — fully with international humanitarian law.”
Miller was then asked about Israel receiving aid even as Israeli government officials call for the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians and maintain good standing in government.
“When the secretary traveled to Israel on his most recent visit,” Miller said, “he made clear that he thought it was important that the Israeli government speak out against those matters and those comments publicly and reiterate that it is not the policy of the Israeli government to force Palestinians from Gaza.”[...]
Two days after the ICJ ordered the Israeli government to prevent and punish incitements of genocide from public officials, National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir and Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich were among 11 cabinet ministers and 15 coalition members of the Knesset who rallied at conference hosted by hundreds of settlers calling for the settlement of Gaza.
On Tuesday, Defense Minister Yoav Gallant reportedly told members of the Knesset’s Foreign Affairs and Defense Committee that afte​​r their military campaign ends, Israel will maintain military control of Gaza, so it can operate similarly to the way it does in the West Bank.
On Thursday, Smotrich said that allowing aid into Gaza contradicts the goals of Israel’s campaign, and that he spoke with Netanyahu, who supposedly assured him that things will change soon. Israeli ministers Benny Gantz and Gadi Eisenkot reportedly called to limit humanitarian aid as well. Meanwhile, at aid crossings, people in Israel have taken cue from their leaders, attempting to block aid trucks from entering Gaza, where hundreds of thousands of people — including the hostages held by Hamas — are at risk of starvation and malnutrition, every day since the ICJ ruling.
One clip even shows a right-wing activist telling an aid truck driver, a Palestinian citizen of Israel, that “I am the owner here, you are a slave here.”
2 Feb 24
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rafeandonlyrafe · 2 months
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tanlines
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words: 2.7k
warnings: 18+ only, smut, PISS KINK!!!!, holding pee, peeing inside (of v), p in v sex, unprotected sex, dom/sub undertones, daddy kink, use of kid and kiddo to describe reader, f receiving oral and fingering, thigh slapping, hickeys/bruises, kinda dumbifiication?, degradation
you swear you’ve never felt a greater high than the one you get from rafes attention. instantly slipping into a dazed state when he puts his hands on you. you forgot what you originally came inside for as his hands wrap around your waist, guiding you towards the bedroom.
“my pretty little girl.” rafe kisses you, his soft words contrast to the dominance of his lips as he maneuvers you towards the bed.
“rafey.” you whine when his head buries in your neck, first pressing kisses to the hickeys he left a week ago before sucking the skin, causing them to rebloom and darken again, always needing some sort of symbol of his ownership over you.
“shh, daddy gonna take real good care of you.” rafe assures, his tongue sneaking out to lick over your skin, the heat from the sun still evident as he laps over the bruises that he refuses to let you cover, especially when you are traipsing around in the small bikini you’ve currently got on.
“please.” you whimper, immediately regretting it when rafe gets that familiar look in his eye.
“please what, kid? gotta get more specific.” he warns, hands dropping lower to toy with the ties on either side of your suit.
“kiss me again.” you place your hands on his jaw, navigating your lips back to his as you kiss, pressing your body forward, your chest against his torso, breasts squishing up against him, making the fabric of you swimsuit rub deliciously over your hard nipples.
“such a cute little thing.” rafe mumbles against your lips before sinking his teeth into your lower lip and giving it a tug. “always wanting to kiss and cuddle. so adorable.”
“just love you.” you hum, eyes glazed over as rafe kisses you again before pushing at your shoulders, gently guiding you down onto the bed.
“you’re so sweet kiddo.” rafe says as he tugs his jacket off, watching you squirm on top of the sheets. your eyes follow with great interest as his fingers work to undo each shirt button, teasingly slow as more of his skin is revealed before he pulls it off his shoulders, revealing his bare torso, muscles on display with his smattering of freckles.
rafe crawls onto the bed next to you, his hand coming to grip your breast over your bikini, squeezing at your plump flesh. he tugs the cup down when he gets bored of the barrier, not wanting any more separation as his palm rubs over your nipple.
you arch your back, pushing your chest further into his hand as he tugs the other cup down as well, tracing his fingertip over your tanline, further deepened from when you were laying out today before having to come in to get a drink of water and pee.
your eyes widen when you suddenly remember why you rushed inside in the first place, rafe interrupting you before you could make it to the bathroom. “rafey-” you whine, but the glare in his eye tells you he’s over being called that nickname.
“daddy.” you correct yourself quickly, squirming as you realize how full your bladder is, surprised you could forget about it, but rafe has that effect on you. all else becomes unimportant besides him.
you open your mouth to continue when rafe bends, his mouth slotting over your nipple as he pulls the bud into his mouth, sucking on your tit on as his hand moves to play with the other side of your chest.
“love your cute little tanlines baby.” rafe says, tongue sneaking out of his mouth as he licks over the line separating your pale skin from the bronzed skin you exposed to the sun. rafes tongue follows the line across the valley between your breasts before he reaches your other tit.
he drags his tongue in circles around your nipple before he presses forward and bites down, teeth sinking into your skin as he tugs.
“ah! daddy!” you yelp, hands coming to his hair, but you don’t dare tug, knowing that would only get you in more trouble.
“sorry baby, you’re just so cute i wanna eat you up.” rafe drags his teeth over the swell of your breast but doesn’t bite down anymore, instead shifting so he’s laying between your legs as he moves down the bed.
“daddy i have to-” you begin to explain why you need to stop, why you need to rush to the bathroom, but then his thumb rubs over top of your swimsuit, right over your slit.
“shh, daddy is gonna eat you out.” rafe says, licking his lips. he isn’t one to give you head often, prefering to finger and then fuck you, but occasionally he gets the need to have his head between your legs, mouth devouring our cunt.
“please-” you try to continue, but rafe doesn’t realize that your next word is going to be stop as his fingers come to the ties on either side of your hip, pulling at the strings until they unlace. rafe tugs the material away that was covering up his snack for the afternoon.
“pretty pussy baby girl.” rafe coos, thumb coming back to stroke over your folds before he separates them, opening you up for him. the rush of air on your pussy has you having to clench your hole, worried about spilling and letting your bladder go.
“aww, look at you trying to hide from me.” rafe drops his head, tongue pressing against your tight ring of muscle. you relax briefly, almost letting your pee go before you clench again, this time around rafes tongue.
“so tight honey.” rafe says as he pulls out, tongue lapping over your slit. “can’t wait to get my cock inside you.”
rafe laps up your wetness, swearing that you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted as he teases your clit, moving close to it but never touching.
“i-i-” you try again, but rafe finally sucks your clit into his mouth and all your thoughts are gone again as he finally pays attention to your most needy spot. 
“so tasty.” rafe mumbles against your cunt, chin messy and slick with your juices as his eyes slide shut, focusing on switching between rubbing his tongue against your clit and sucking it between his lips.
your eyes roll back in your head, not used to this type of service from rafe. it’s usually your mouth on him, or more aptly, rafe using your mouth for his own pleasure.
“s-s-sss.” you hiss out, again trying to form the word stop as your hips push up off the bed, trying to get rafes head to stay in between your legs, but he pulls away with an angry glare, slapping his hand against your hip.
“don’t be bratty.” he warns sternly, demeanor suddenly shifting and he moves from laying between your spread legs to kneeling. “i eat you out, and this is how you repay me?”
“ra-daddy.” you coo out, but rafe caught the slip. 
“shut up. don’t say another word or you won’t come for a week.” rafe huffs out, his brows etched together, upset that you ruined his fun time eating you out as he tugs his pants and underwear off, tossing them away.
you simply nod, focusing on controlling your bladder and not letting loose and making an even bigger mess of the bed.
rafe grips your hips, his hands covering the pale sides that are always hidden from the sun under your swimsuit. he tugs you up onto his thighs, manhandling your body like you weigh nothing.
rafe grips his cock, keeping one hand tight on your hip, a warning and a reminder of the control he has over you. he rubs the head through your slick folds before tapping the head against your clit, making you moan out before snapping your mouth closed.
“you can moan, kiddo.” rafe says upon seeing your panicked expression, worried that you broke his rule. “but don't say another word. sick of hearing your bratty complaints or calling me the wrong name.”
you nod, knowing you should just say that you have to pee, but you don't want to break his rule, especially when you’ve been trying so hard lately to be a good girl for him. rafe pushes his cock against your hole, frowning when you don’t relax for him.
“come on, baby. let me fuck you before i have to force myself in.” rafe commands, and you really do try to relax, but every time your body starts to loosen a little, you’re worried you’re going to start to pee and clench right up again.
“fucking hell.” rafe groans when he realizes that despite pushing, he’s not going to get inside of you with you so tense. rafe rubs his thumb harshly over your clit as one finger pokes against your hole until he can begin to finger you, pumping in and out quickly as your wetness builds, hoping rafe doesn’t realize that a bit of it is pee that you couldn’t hold back anymore, but the slight relief from dripping a little out is quickly replaced by needing to go even more.
“open up for me, kiddo.” rafe says, managing to push another finger into your hole, immediately beginning to scissor as his thumb pushes at your clit, his cock pulsing while watching you underneath him, hips pushed up onto his thighs.
you take a deep breath, ignoring the stretch the best you can as you relax, only cringing slightly when rafe spreads his fingers further, causing a jolt of pain.
rafe holds your pussy open with his fingers while he lines his cock up again, now able to successfully push in as he pulls his fingers out. they’re nothing compared to his cock, hard and large inside of you, making your bladder press against your skin.
you let out a moan, surprised by how your pleasure is amplified from having to pee and being forced to hold it. rafe pauses briefly to smile, but you know its not for your sake, not letting you adjust but rather taking a moment to appreciate how he finally got inside of your tiny cunt.
“gonna fuck you so good baby.” rafe punches his hips forward, making your back arch off the bed as you squeal.
rafe immediately sets a fast and punishing pace, ignoring your whines and gasps as his skin slaps against yours, adding to the wet squelching sounds of him pumping inside your wet pussy.
rafes hands grip at your hips, keeping your pulled up off the bed, raised to the level where he can fuck you while kneeling, liking how your upper back slides against the sheets as he fucks you, completely out of control of your own body.
“you feel extra tight today, darling.” rafe says, not realizing it’s because you’re clenching around his cock with such effort, not wanting to spoil the fun by letting your bladder go.
rafe repositions you suddenly, pressing your hips into the mattress before draping his body over yours, pressing your lips together in a sudden kiss. you try your best to focus on his mouth, hands coming to his hair to keep him close as your mouth glides over his.
“so good baby. i love you.” rafe says, thumb coming to rub your clit, placing his fingers over your lower stomach as he does, not realizing that he’s pushing directly on your full bladder, making you moan out as your eyes slide shut, mouth opening as your jaw slackens, but rafe just takes it as a plea to kiss you more.
rafes tongue invades your mouth, using your wide open mouth as an opportunity to explore and mix his tongue with yours as his fingers continue to push down as he focuses his thumb on your clit along with the swing of his hips in to fuck you.
“i love you daddy, i love you so much.” you whine out, eyes wide and focused on rafe, glad that he doesn’t mind your slip up when he warned you not to talk, not when it’s words so sweet as he feels your cunt pulse around him, not realize what is about to happen.
“oh, baby.” rafe coos as your eyebrows scrunch together, managing to keep your eyes open on rafes beautiful face as you cum suddenly, not even really feeling the buildup with your focus being so off, more forced out of your body by rafe.
you moan out, hands clenching in rafes hair as you grind your hips down against his cock, noticing he had stopped moving as your high runs its course until you collapse against the bed with a final moan.
you blink up at rafe, embarrassed how suddenly and intensely your orgasm came, when you realize the reason for the look in his eye as you suddenly don’t feel the need to pee anymore as you look down, realizing the bed was completely wet and your piss had gushed out around rafes cock when your orgasm was triggered.
“i’m so sorry daddy.” you cover your face, tears coming to your eyes.
rafe pauses for a moment, assessing the situation before he begins to slowly thrust again, your cunt even more warm as your pee soaks into the bed.
“shh, baby.” rafe tugs your palms away from your face, his hands wrapping around your wrist and pressing them into the mattress, putting his weight on them as he speeds up his thrusts. rafe peppers kisses all over your face as you begin to babble, trying to explain as his tongue sneaks out, licking away your teers off your cheeks.
“it was an accident i swear, i had to go but i didnt want to stop you and-”
“it’s okay.” rafe says.
“it is?” you question, pouting interrupted with a gasp as rafe continues to fuck your oversensitive cunt, dripping with your juices and pee.
“yeah, daddy is gonna piss inside you.” rafe says so nonchalantly you’re worried you heard him wrong, but you can tell by the smirk on his face that this is an idea he’s had for a while. “you’ve already made a mess of the bed, so you can be a real good girl and take my piss, yeah? to make up for it.”
“i-i can do that.” you nod, pulsing your cunt around rafes cock, wanting to do whatever it takes to make him happy, just glad that he’s not mad at you.
rafes eyes flutter shut as he concentrates before you feel it inside of you, almost like when he cums but much more fluid, noting how it easily drips out of your pussy while rafes cock continues to slowly pump into you.
you let out a moan as the warmth fills you, surprised how much you like the feeling. the way rafe instantly begins to thrust harder as soon as he finishes you can tell he likes it too. 
“cl-close.” rafe mutters out, a brief warning before pushing deep inside of you, hips nuzzled up against yours as he cums, feeling similar to his piss but even better as your eyes roll back in your head, another moan slipping out.
rafe collapses forward, head nuzzling into your neck, kissing the bruises he left.
“was it good?” you ask, rubbing your fingertips over his wide back.
“so good baby, gonna have to use you like that more often.” rafe says, managing to lift his hips with what little energy he still has to flop his cock out of you, now soft.
“maybe in the shower next time.” you giggle awkwardly, glancing at the mess all over the bed, now soaked with both of your pee, along with your wetness and rafes cum sliding out of your pussy in dollops.
“speaking of shower…” rafe says with a sigh, flopping himself to lay next to you.
“mhm.” you hum, knowing the warm water is exactly what your body needs. “i’ll clean up the bed after…” you decide not to think too hard about the mess, not until after your shower at least. “come on baby.” rafe slides off the bed, holding his arms open to carry you to the shower. “better hurry up before i have to piss again and use a different hole.”
your eyes widen as you push yourself to the bed quickly, letting rafe carry you into the shower, but not before pressing his lips against yours in a loving kiss.
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coryosbaby · 7 months
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Who Has a Face Like Smarty Does?
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—“Why don’t you just listen?”
Fandom: “Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse”
Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem! Spider! Reader
Summary: You don’t know when to follow orders.
Cw: dubcon/cnc, nsfw . spanking, daddy kink, age gap, spitting, size kink, biting, marking
🩷🤍
“You’re such a fucking brat.” Miguel pounds into you at a restless pace, fangs bared sharp and scraping against your jugular. “Why don’t you just listen? Huh? Are you that fucking stupid?”
Your eyes roll back as his incredibly thick length bruises your walls. You know you’ve been bad; going directly against his orders to help Miles is probably the worst thing you could do. And getting sassy about— having an attitude— definitely didn’t help. So when he threw you into his office and ripped the crotch of your latex suit, exposed your puffy cunt to the room, and bent you over his desk, you knew you were in deep trouble.
It hurts, the way he’s fucking you. But you know he doesn’t want you to feel pleasure. You know he wants to break you. Blood coats your tits in thick red stains, bite marks running along your neck and jaw from where he sunk his fangs into you. Aphrodisiacs, they are; and when they sink into you all you can think of his thick, hard cock, bulging muscles and handsome face. You’re like a bitch in heat.
“‘M sorry, daddy!” You cry out. It’s too much, but you know he won’t stop.
“Oh, you’re going to be sorry, little girl.” He growls. “Daddy’s gonna fill this fucking cunt up. That’ll teach you to mind your manners, won’t it?”
“Yes daddy- fill me up! Please fill my pussy up, need it s’ bad..”
It’s all you can say. His hands curl up into the position they make when he’s about to shoot the webs from his wrists; the sound of the sticky substance landing on your shoulders makes your mouth gape as he uses his own webs to lift your body firmly off the wooden desk. Your nipples barely graze it as he speeds his pace up. A damn near impossible speed for a normal man, but Miguel O’Hara is not normal.
He moans when he looks down and sees your creamy spend leaking down his cock and balls. His thick thighs are hitting your ass as he ruts into you. “mi amor, estás chorreando…” translation: My love, you’re dripping.
Other harsh disgusting words spew from his lips. Your gaping snatch is closed tightly around him as he sinks his fangs into you again.
Your eyes roll back, a pained but also pleasured cry leaving your soft lips, legs shaking and cunt drenching him. His claws dig into your sides and then he reels back and slaps your ass. You gasp, and begin fucking back onto him when he does it again.
“Oh, look at you,” Miguel teases. “You want more of my slaps, little one? Do you want to be punished?”
You nod, and his hands come down onto you again.
“Miggy..”
“I want you to cum, mi amor.” He states breathlessly. “Rub your clit and wet my fuckin’ dick.”
You don’t understand why he’s letting it happen so soon. Wasn’t this supposed to be a punishment? But you listen to him anyway, and begin to rub the swollen nub with harsh strokes. Your orgasm has you practically screaming— and afterwards, Miguel doesn’t let up. He abuses your womb over and over until you can’t even breathe. It’s borderline painful, and your body feels completely spent and used.
By your tenth or eleventh orgasm, he’s got you pinned to the wall by his webs with his arms holding your neck in a chokehold. He eats your cunt out with his bloody mouth, and your eyes are rolling back, little nghhhs sighing out of you as he slurps your sopping wet hole. Your vision is going fuzzy, but you don’t care.
“Are you learning your lesson, mami?” He groans, as he pulls away from your cunt and rubs harshly on your clit with his thumb. You sob, nodding, drool leaking out of the corners of your plush mouth.
“‘S.. ‘s too much, miggy. Please, I can’t take it anymore..” you whine, but his fingers harshly slap your pussy and you jolt with a cry.
“You take what I give you.” He says, and then he’s ripping the webs from your body and letting you slide down the wall onto the floor with the help of his strong hands. You cry, legs trying to run away from him; you know you want it, but your body is drained.
Miguel growls, his claws grabbing you in a loose grip and dragging you back to his cock.
“Don’t run away from me, little bitch. You need to be fucking disciplined! This cunt is going to cum again whether you like it or not.”
You pant against his crotch as he shoves your face into his pubic hair. The smell of his pheromones makes your eyes roll back.
Your cunt pulses again.
—fuck, you’re in trouble.
© 2023 bratty-lxndry444 🤏🏻 all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, repost, or claim as yours !!!
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pucksandpower · 8 days
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Hail to the Chief
Lando Norris x First Daughter of the US!Reader
Summary: in which Lando doesn’t realize exactly who he took back to his hotel room after the Miami Grand Prix (and almost causes an international incident in the process)
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You stir awake, blinking slowly while you take in the unfamiliar surroundings. The sheets rustle as you stretch, a pleased smile spreading across your face. Strong arms tighten around your waist, and you glance over your shoulder to see Lando gazing at you with warm eyes.
���Good morning, beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your bare shoulder.
You hum in contentment, snuggling back against his muscular chest. The sunlight streams in through the curtains, casting the hotel room in a cozy glow. Clothes are strewn across the floor, reminders of your passionate night together after meeting at the club.
Lando’s hand trails up your side, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. You shiver as his lips find the sensitive spot behind your ear, his breath hot.
“Ready for round two?” He whispers, his voice husky.
You twist in his arms to face him, locking your legs with his beneath the sheets. “I thought you’d never ask,” you purr, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss.
Just as things start heating up, loud banging erupts from the suite’s door. You break apart, startled. Lando frowns.
“Housekeeping?” You ask in confusion. More pounding follows, furious and insistent.
“I don’t think so,” Lando says warily.
Before either of you can react, the door crashes open, wood splintering. Men in dark suits pour into the suite, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. You yelp, grabbing the sheet to your chest. Lando scrambles upright, shock written across his handsome face.
“What the hell?” He exclaims.
The men converge on the bed in a swarm. Two sequester you, gently steering you away. The others tackle Lando, shoving him to the floor.
“Don’t fight it,” one orders as Lando struggles. He pins Lando’s arms behind his back.
“Get off me!” Lando shouts, face smushed into the carpet. “What is this?”
You know exactly what this is. Your security detail, come to collect you after last night’s escape. Panic rises in your throat.
“Please, don’t hurt him,” you beg the agents holding you.
Their grips remain firm but nonviolent. One talks rapidly into his earpiece, confirming the situation is handled. The apparent leader of the group stands over Lando, who glares up at him defiantly.
“Apologies for the intrusion,” the man states gruffly. “But you’re coming with us.”
Two agents haul Lando to his feet. He stands there in only his boxers, completely perplexed. You bite your lip, shot through with guilt. This is all because of you.
The agent in charge approaches you next, his gaze softening slightly. “Time to go home, ma’am. Your father is waiting.”
Lando’s head whips toward you so fast it must give him whiplash. “Ma’am? Your father?” His face goes ashen with dawning comprehension that there’s more to you than meets the eye. You wince, knowing there’s no way out of this now.
The agents begin herding you and Lando at a brisk pace through the ravaged hotel room door. Lando cranes his neck, trying to look at you.
“Y/N, what the hell is going on?” He hisses, stumbling along in the grip of two agents. “Who are you?”
You open your mouth, an apology on your lips. Before you can speak, the lead agent interjects sharply.
“She’s the First Daughter of the United States, son. And you’re in deep shit.”
Lando pales. “The President’s-”
“That’s right,” the man confirms. “And he’s mighty unhappy you took certain liberties with his little girl.”
Lando gulps audibly. Your heart twists with regret, seeing him so distraught. But the agents allow no further discussion, marching you both through the hotel’s back corridors. In minutes, you’re bundled into a black SUV with tinted windows. Tires screech as your motorcade peels away, sirens blaring.
You reach for Lando’s hand, relief flooding you when he doesn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper earnestly. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
He searches your face, brow furrowed. But his fingers tighten around yours. “It’s okay. Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”
You nod, knowing you owe him an explanation. But before you can speak, the SUV rolls to a stop on an empty airport tarmac. A sleek private plane awaits, engines rumbling. The agents hurry you both up the stairs into the lavish cabin.
Once settled inside, the lead agent fixes Lando with a solemn look. “We’re taking you straight to DC. The President wants to have a word with you both.”
Lando gulps again. You squeeze his hand, offering a reassuring smile.
“Don’t worry. My dad’s just a little … overprotective sometimes.”
You nestle close to Lando as the jet taxis down the runway, hoping to provide some comfort. But he sits rigidly, face pale.
“Hey,” you say softly, “It’s going to be okay.”
Lando turns to you with wide, frightened eyes. “Okay? Your dad is the President! And I … I ...” He gestures helplessly at you, at a loss for words.
“Deflowered his only daughter?” You supply with a teasing grin.
Lando gulps loudly. “Oh god. He’s going to kill me, isn’t he? I’m a dead man. They’ll waterboard me or worse.”
You have to laugh at his flustered expression. “Relax, it won’t be that bad.”
“Easy for you to say,” Lando grumbles. “You’re not the one who’s gonna get shipped off to some CIA black site never to be heard from again.”
“Oh come on, he won’t go that far.”
Lando turns to you with wide, frightened eyes. “Are you sure? I’ve heard stories about shady government stuff. Secret torture chambers under the White House. Experimental poisons. Attack eagles trained to go for the jugular.”
You stare at him blankly for a moment before stating in a deadpan voice, “The eagles prefer to go for the liver actually. More tender that way.”
Lando lets out a whimper, his face draining of color. “Oh god, you’re serious?” He squeaks. “I knew it, I’m never getting out of this alive!”
You can’t keep a straight face any longer and burst out laughing. “Lando, relax! I’m just messing with you. There are no attack eagles or secret torture chambers.”
You take his hand and kiss his cheek reassuringly. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. My dad will probably just want to have a talk with you. That’s all.”
Lando still looks uncertain, but manages a shaky nod. “If you say so. But I think I’ll say a prayer or two just in case. Please tell me your old man doesn’t have a shotgun.”
“No shotguns,” you confirm, patting Lando’s knee. “But the Secret Service on the other hand ...”
Lando’s eyes widen in renewed fear. He clasps his hands together dramatically and looks upward. “Dear spirit of Ayrton Senna, please protect me from the wrath of the President and his highly trained special agents. I know not what awaits me in Washington, but I beg you to guard me from grievous bodily harm ...”
***
The plane touches down at Andrews Air Force Base, and you and Lando are swiftly escorted from the plane into an armored SUV. Lando fidgets nervously in his seat during the short drive through the capital, hands clasped tightly in his lap.
“It’s going to be okay,” you murmur, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. He attempts a weak smile in return.
All too soon, the SUV pulls up to the White House. You and Lando are ushered quickly inside by Secret Service agents, bypassing security checks. As you walk briskly through the historic halls, Lando gapes at the lavish architecture and priceless artwork adorning the walls.
“This is unreal,” he whispers. You give his hand an encouraging squeeze.
At last you arrive outside the Oval Office. The agents pause, stone-faced, before opening the tall wooden doors. Your stomach flip-flops with nerves as you enter behind them.
There, seated at the Resolute Desk, is your father — the President of the United States. He rises as you approach, his face impassive. You offer a timid smile.
“Hi, Daddy.”
Your father’s stern expression instantly melts. He circles the desk and pulls you into a warm embrace.
“There’s my little girl,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “You had me so worried.”
Guilt gnaws at you. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t you worry about that now. I’m just glad you’re safe.” He pauses, then adds, “Though if you really wanted an F1 driver, why couldn’t it have been that nice American boy Logan Sargeant? Now there’s an upstanding young patriot.”
Your father holds you by the shoulders, surveying you with concern. Seeing that you’re unharmed, his gaze shifts to Lando hovering awkwardly behind you. Your father’s eyes harden, his jaw setting. Lando audibly gulps.
Stepping between them, you take a deep breath. “Daddy, this is Lando. The man I was with last night.”
You lace your fingers through Lando’s in a show of solidarity. Your father’s piercing stare makes him fidget.
“Lando Norris,” your father states coldly. “Formula 1 driver. British national. Born and raised in Bristol, England. Competes for McLaren Racing. Net worth of $30 million USD. Had unauthorized relations with my daughter approximately ...” He glances at his watch, “ ... twelve hours ago.”
Lando pales under your father’s recitation of his biography and recent activities. You shoot your dad a pleading look.
“Go easy on him, okay?”
Your father’s face softens slightly at your words. He beckons for Lando to step forward.
“Son, you have exactly one minute to explain yourself before I set the full force of the United States government on you for defiling my princess. And believe me when I say there are dark places in this world where no one will ever find you again.”
Lando looks ready to pass out. He glances at you in panic, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. You give his hand an encouraging squeeze, signaling for him to speak.
“I-I’m so sorry, Mr. President,” Lando stammers. “Obviously I didn’t know who Y/N was when we met last night. But I care about her a lot, truly, and I would never intentionally do anything to hurt her. I have nothing but respect for her and for you, sir.”
He straightens his shoulders, gaining confidence. “I understand I made a mistake, and I take full responsibility. But I promise, my intentions are honorable. If you’ll permit it, I’d like to properly court Y/N with your blessing.”
Your father studies Lando for a long moment, face unreadable. The tension in the room is stifling. Finally, he cracks a wry smile.
“Very well. You’ve got spunk, kid, I’ll give you that. And clearly my daughter sees something in you worth all this trouble. But understand this—” Your father leans in, eyes flashing. “You’ve got one shot to prove yourself worthy of her. Mess it up, and you’ll be scrubbing toilets in Guantanamo Bay for the rest of your short, miserable life. Are we clear?”
Lando audibly gulps again. “C-crystal clear, sir.”
“Good.” Your father claps Lando on the shoulder firmly enough to make him wince. Then he turns to you, expression softening.
“I’m not happy you were out all night without security, young lady. You’ll be grounded for two weeks. No cell phone, no social media, and no racing events.” You open your mouth to protest, but your father silences you with a raised hand. “However, in light of the circumstances, we’ll reduce it to one week. Consider yourself lucky.”
You sigh but don’t argue. Your father pulls you in for one more hug. “I’m glad you’re alright, sweetpea. Now run along back to the residence while I have a few more words with your new suitor here.”
You give Lando an encouraging smile as you exit the Oval Office. The last thing you see before the door shuts is your father clapping a hand on Lando’s shoulder again, steering him toward the Roosevelt Desk. “Have a seat, son. We’ve got lots to discuss ...”
Lando perches anxiously on the edge of the chair across from your father at the Roosevelt Desk.
“First things first,” your dad begins. “I expect you to treat my daughter with the utmost respect. No staying out all night and no unsavory activities. You will be a gentleman at all times. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” Lando says quickly.
“Second, you are not to distract her from her studies. Y/N is on track to graduate top of her class at Georgetown and I won’t have anyone jeopardizing that.”
Lando nods. “Of course not, her education comes first.”
“Good,” your father says gruffly. “Third rule: you will check in with me weekly to provide updates on where you are taking her and what you are doing. And know that my security team will be monitoring your activities closely as well.”
Gulping, Lando agrees to the terms. Your father continues laying down the law for several more minutes, covering everything from curfews to social media posts to PDA.
“And if at any point I decide you are no longer an appropriate suitor for my daughter, you will end the relationship immediately and without argument. Is that clear?”
“Crystal clear, Mr. President,” Lando says quickly. “You have my word I intend to do right by Y/N.”
Your father studies him a moment longer before cracking a wry smile. “Well, you’ve got guts at least, son. Most boys your age would’ve wet themselves by now. I suppose I can give you a chance. But remember, one toe out of line and ...”
He makes a slicing motion across his throat. Lando audibly gulps.
“Yes sir! I understand completely.”
“Good man,” your father says, standing to clap Lando on the back. “Now let’s get you out of here before you really do pass out ...”
***
After the whirlwind events of the day, Lando is given a plush guest suite in the White House residence to spend the night. He collapses onto the king-sized four poster bed, emotionally exhausted.
Just this morning he woke up with the President’s daughter in his arms. Now he’s been threatened within an inch of his life by the leader of the free world. What a wild rollercoaster of a day.
A soft knock at the door makes Lando jump. Before he can respond, you slip inside, closing the door quietly behind you.
“Y/N!” Lando exclaims in a loud whisper. “What are you doing here?”
You smile mischievously, walking over to sit beside him on the bed. “What does it look like? I missed you.”
Lando’s eyes dart around the room, half expecting your father to burst out of the closet. “Are you crazy? If we get caught together your dad will annihilate me!”
You wave a hand dismissively. “Oh relax, no one patrols the residential wing’s hallways at night. We’re completely alone.” Leaning in, you brush your lips teasingly along his jaw. “Now where were we this morning before we were so rudely interrupted?”
Lando can’t restrain a small groan of desire, but retains the presence of mind to gently halt your roaming hands. “Y/N, we can’t. You heard your father’s rules.”
You make a face. “Come on, live a little! He won’t know as long as we’re discreet.”
Biting his lip, Lando wavers. Having you here, so warm and willing in his arms, is incredibly tempting. And technically the President had only forbidden unauthorized nighttime activities outside of the White House ...
Sensing his hesitation, you straddle his lap and cup his face in your hands. “I want this, Lando,” you murmur sincerely before kissing him deeply.
That does it. Lando kisses you back hungrily, pulling you flush against him. You let out a delighted hum, fingers spearing into his curls. Within moments you’re both stripped down to your underwear, hands greedily exploring.
But as things heat up, Lando abruptly breaks the kiss, eyes wide. “Did you hear that?” He whispers.
You still, listening closely. “Hear what?”
“I thought I heard something in the hall.”
You grin teasingly. “You’re being paranoid.” But you indulge him and climb off so he can check, wrapping yourself in a sheet.
Lando cracks the door open slowly, peering out. Seeing nothing, he lets out a breath and returns to the bed.
“Okay, false alarm. Now, where were-”
His words cut off with a yelp as you pounce, pinning him beneath you. Laughing, you silence any further protest with your lips. Soon Lando is kissing you fiercely once more, hands roaming your body.
Just as he’s unclasping your bra, Lando breaks the kiss again. “Wait, did you lock the door?”
You huff in feigned annoyance. “Of course I did!”
But Lando is already slithering out from under you to double check. You flop back against the pillows with a sigh.
“Lando, would you relax? No one is coming.” You give him your best pleading look. “Now come back to bed and finish what you started, handsome.”
That seems to do the trick. With one final glance at the locked door, Lando grins and rejoins you. His warm hands and mouth resume their sensual exploration.
You’re both completely lost in each other when suddenly the door handle rattles.
“Someone’s coming!” Lando whispers in alarm.
He hurriedly gathers up the sheets around you just as the door swings open to reveal a Secret Service agent.
“Oh, uh, hello?” Lando says, trying to sound casual despite being shirtless and flushed.
You hold perfectly still under the sheet, heart hammering.
The agent surveys the room suspiciously. “Thought I heard voices. Everything alright in here, Mr. Norris?”
“Yep, all good!” Lando says with forced cheer. “Just chatting on the phone. With my … mum. In England. Time zones, you know.”
The agent clearly doesn’t seem convinced, his gaze raking over the disheveled bed. But after a long pause he simply says “Very well. Have a good night, sir.”
Lando sighs in relief as the door shuts. After a moment, you peek your head out from under the sheet.
“That was close!”
Lando flops back onto the bed, laughing. “No kidding! I thought we were busted for sure.”
Tilting his chin up, you give Lando a slow, sensual kiss. “Now then, I believe you still have some unfinished business to attend to, Mr. Norris ...”
Lando searches your face then grins sheepishly, pulling you into his arms. “You’re absolutely incorrigible. Come here.”
***
For your first official date night, Lando takes you out for dinner in The Inn at Little Washington. You emerge from your room in a stunning silky dress, hair and makeup impeccable.
Lando’s eyes widen and he lets out an appreciative whistle. “Wow. You look incredible.”
He pulls you in for a quick kiss, careful not to smudge your lipstick. Just then, your Secret Service detail emerges, dressed in their standard crisp black suits and sunglasses.
The lead agent addresses Lando gruffly. “Alright, here’s the deal. We’ll be accompanying you tonight, but our goal is to stay invisible. Don’t acknowledge us, don’t make eye contact, just pretend we’re not there.”
Lando nods, looking uncertain. With their massive builds and conspicuous attire, ignoring the agents doesn’t seem likely. But he decides to just go with it.
At the restaurant, the hostess seats you and Lando at a cozy table for two. As promised, your detail blends into the background, taking up positions around the dining room. Lando tries his best not to glance nervously at the two imposing figures lurking near the entrance.
After you order, Lando reaches across the table to take your hand. “You really do look stunning tonight,” he says softly. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”
You blush prettily. “Smooth talker. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
Lando grins. Just then, the sommelier arrives to present the wine list. As he’s rattling off descriptions of merlots and cabernets, you notice Lando’s gaze drift over the sommelier’s shoulder to where two of your agents are posted nearby. You squeeze Lando’s hand to get his attention back.
“Uh, sorry, what was that last one?” Lando asks, snapping his focus back to the confused sommelier.
Once you’ve ordered wine and appetizers, the conversation flows smoothly. Lando has almost forgotten about your not-so-invisible security until the entrees arrive. The waiter sets down your plates with a flourish.
As he pivots to leave, he collides directly with the broad chest of one of your agents, nearly upending the tray of food.
“Oh! Pardon me, sir,” the waiter stammers. The agent, true to his training, ignores the flustered waiter and remains statue-still.
Lando has to fake a coughing fit to disguise his laugh. You cover your mouth delicately, eyes sparkling with amusement. So much for blending seamlessly into the environment.
As dinner progresses, Lando finds his gaze drawn again and again to your hulking shadows scattered around the restaurant. He watches one agent accidentally block a busboy trying to clear a nearby table. Another nearly takes out a hovering food runner as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. It’s like seeing massive, well-dressed bulls in a china shop.
When the check comes, Lando signs quickly then leans toward you conspiratorially. “Have I mentioned how incredibly normal this dinner has been? Just two totally regular people on a date without armed guards watching our every move.”
You have to smother your giggles behind your hand. “Oh yes, completely low-key. I forgot the agents were even here!”
As you exit the restaurant hand-in-hand, Lando murmurs under his breath, “Nothing to see here, just a guy and his girlfriend trailed by four gigantic men in black ...”
You dissolve into laughter, drawing confused looks from passersby. Lando grins and pulls you close. Invisible security or not, it was a perfect first official date. And as your convoy of not-so-covert agents escorts you safely home, he’s already planning many more to come.
***
A few months later, you join Lando at Circuit of the Americas in Austin for the United States Grand Prix. As you walk hand-in-hand through the paddock, Lando smiles and waves at the fans calling his name from behind the fences.
Up ahead, a large group of people round the corner. Their eyes light up when they see you both.
“Here we go,” Lando murmurs, dropping your hand to sign autographs and pose for selfies.
But as the group draws near, you realize they aren’t fans — it’s the Governor of Texas and his entourage.
“Y/N!” the Governor booms jovially, arms open wide. Behind him are several legislators, donors, and a gaggle of reporters. “What a wonderful surprise!”
He engulfs you in a bear hug before holding you at arm’s length. “Don’t you look lovely! How’s your father doing? I just spoke to him last week about the education bill.”
Lando stands by awkwardly as you’re enveloped into the group. You glance at him apologetically while greeting each person.
“Daddy’s doing well, thanks for asking! Keeping busy as always.”
“I’ll bet!” the Governor chuckles. He turns to holler at one of his aides. “Hey Jim, tell the White House we said hello to his beautiful daughter, would ya?”
The reporters surge forward eagerly, microphones extended. “Y/N, what brings you to Austin this weekend?”
You gesture to Lando. “I’m here supporting my boyfriend, Lando. He’s racing for McLaren.”
All eyes turn to Lando curiously. Flashing cameras make him squint. The Governor grabs his hand in an enthusiastic shake.
“Lando, eh? Good to meet you!” Without waiting for a response, he turns back to you. “Y/N, your father briefed me on the proposals to increase Pell Grant funding. Seems like an excellent plan ...”
As the Governor launches into policy discussion, Lando shifts awkwardly on his feet. You keep one eye on him while politely engaging with each person. More politicians approach to lobby you about your dad’s agenda.
“Your father’s infrastructure bill was brilliant!” One praises. “Make sure to tell him he’s got my full support.”
You smile. “I’ll let him know. I know he appreciates your vote.”
One donor pipes up excitedly. “I’ll be holding a high-dollar fundraiser next month in Dallas. Your attendance would mean so much ...”
You tactfully deflect, making no commitments. The reporters pepper you with questions about your studies at Georgetown and future political aspirations. You give diplomatic answers about focusing on the present while the Governor boasts of your potential.
“Y/N here is gonna be President herself one day!” He winks conspiratorially. “I’m calling it now, folks.”
Mercifully, an aide reminds the Governor he’s late for a meeting. As the group prepares to move on, he pumps your hand enthusiastically.
“It was fantastic to see you, Y/N. Tell your old man I said hello! Keep up the good work in school.” He spares a departing nod at Lando. “Nice meeting you, son.”
And with that, the entourage sweeps away. You let out a breath, turning to Lando. “I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t expect the Governor to be here.”
But Lando just stares after the departing politicians, looking slightly stunned. “I mean … I knew your dad was the President. But I guess it didn’t totally sink in until just now ...”
He runs a hand through his curls. “It’s like you’re royalty or something. Paparazzi, donors, governors … you’re a big deal, Y/N.”
You bite your lip. “Not by choice. I know the attention is weird, but I promise I’m still just me.” You take his hand, gazing at him earnestly. “None of those people determine our relationship. Only we do.”
Lando searches your face, then smiles. “You’re right. It’s just … surreal sometimes. But it doesn’t change how I feel or that I want to make this work.”
He squeezes your hand. You grin, feeling a rush of affection. Standing on tiptoe, you give him a lingering kiss. Around you, cameras flash as photographers snap the moment.
Lando chuckles as you break apart. “I’d better get used to that too, huh?”
“Comes with the territory,” you laugh. Taking his arm, you continue through the paddock. “Now come on. Let’s go watch qualifying before more politicians ambush us!”
***
The cheers of the crowd are deafening as Lando crosses the finish line in first place, finally claiming his first ever Formula 1 victory. You’re jumping up and down in the McLaren garage, absolutely elated for your boyfriend.
In the frenzy of celebrations after the race, you and Lando manage to slip away from the crowds and teams back to his hotel suite to continue the festivities in private. As soon as the door shuts behind you, Lando whoops and sweeps you up in his arms, spinning you around.
“I did it, baby! I finally did it!”
You grin, happiness bubbling up inside you. “I’m so proud of you! I knew this day would come.”
Setting you down, Lando crashes his lips to yours in a fierce, passionate kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, feeling like you might burst from joy.
Eventually you break apart, both flushed and beaming. Lando brushes his thumb over your cheek tenderly.
“I couldn’t have done this without your support, Y/N. You being here to share this means everything to me.”
You place your hand over his heart. “Wild horses couldn’t have kept me away. I’ll always be your biggest fan.”
Lando’s eyes darken and he pulls you in for another searing kiss. Your heartbeat quickens as his hands trail down your back, fumbling for the zipper on your dress. Blindly you shuffle toward the bed, leaving a trail of clothes behind you.
Things are just starting to really heat up when suddenly the hotel room door bursts open. Your Secret Service detail comes pouring in, guns drawn.
“HANDS IN THE AIR!” An agent bellows. “Ma’am, are you alright?”
“Whoa whoa whoa!” Lando yelps, grabbing frantically for a sheet to cover you both. “She’s fine! We’re just … celebrating!”
The agents quickly assess the situation. Their leader clears his throat, lowering his weapon.
“Apologies for the intrusion. Your smart watch alerted us to an elevated heart rate indicating potential distress. We believed you were in danger.”
You close your eyes, mortified heat flooding your cheeks. “Oh my god. It’s fine, everything’s fine! You all can go now.”
The agents shuffle out, mumbling apologies. Lando collapses back on the bed, absolutely hysterical with laughter. You smack his shoulder, which only makes him laugh harder.
“It’s not funny!” You exclaim, covering your flaming face.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lando gasps through his giggles. “It’s just — their faces! And then when they saw us ...” He dissolves into another fit.
Despite your embarrassment, his laughter proves contagious. Soon you’re both wiping away tears, sides aching.
Finally calming down, Lando strokes your hair back from your face affectionately. “Well, that’s one way to kill the mood.”
You groan, rolling your eyes. “No kidding. We desperately need to tweak the sensitivity on this watch.”
“Maybe we could take it off temporarily?” Lando suggests with a playful waggle of his eyebrows.
You shake your head. “I wish, but this watch has saved my life before. I can’t take it off.”
Lando’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? What happened?”
You absently toy with the watch on your wrist. “About two years ago I was out shopping and some guys tried to grab me. If I hadn’t been wearing this watch with its location tracker, my detail might not have found me in time.”
You shudder at the memory. Lando takes your hand, face filled with concern.
“That’s awful, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
You offer a reassuring smile. “It worked out okay. So as annoying as it can be, it’s staying on 24/7 for my safety.”
Lando nods seriously. “Of course. I would never want to jeopardize your security just for some fun.” He kisses your temple. “I guess we’ll just have to get creative when it comes to celebrating in private from now on.”
You grin mischievously. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
***
“So Lando, I gotta ask — how are things going with Y/N?” Max Fewtrell asks with a smirk through the webcam.
You feel your cheeks flush from where you’re sitting on the couch off-camera as Lando grins sheepishly. “Things are going great, thanks for asking.”
The chat explodes with messages.
Is she there?
We want to meet her!
Max chuckles at the chat’s reaction. “Sounds like the fans want you to bring Y/N on stream, what do you think?”
Lando looks over at you. “I mean, if you’re up for it they’d love to meet you.”
You hesitate, suddenly feeling shy at the thought of going on Lando’s stream. But the encouraging look on his face gives you courage. “I guess I can say a quick hello,” you say, walking over.
As you enter the frame, Max suddenly starts blasting “Hail to the Chief,” causing you to jump.
“Oh my god Max, really?” You groan, though you can’t help but laugh.
“I had to!” Max cackles. “The First Daughter deserves a proper entrance.”
Lando playfully rolls his eyes and pulls you into his lap. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the memes.”
You smile, leaning into Lando as you glance at the rapidly moving chat. Most of the messages are incredibly positive — welcoming you and talking about what a cute couple you and Lando are.
“Hi everyone!” You say with a small wave. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you all.”
“She’s just a normal girl who happens to have the most powerful man in the world wrapped around her finger,” Lando jokes, kissing your temple.
You grin up at him then turn back to the webcam. “I guess our relationship can look pretty weird from the outside. But Lando makes me really happy, and I hope we have your support.”
The chat floods with heart emotes and messages gushing about young love.
Max smiles. “You two are adorable. But inquiring minds want to know — how did you meet?”
You and Lando share a knowing look. “Well...” he draws out. “We actually met in Miami during the Grand Prix last year.”
“Oooh an international romance!” Max teases.
You poke Lando playfully in the side. “What he’s leaving out is that we met at a club. I was there on a rare night out and he came over to ask me to dance.”
“Is that so?” Max grins.
“Hey now, no need for the details,” Lando says, tickling your sides as you squirm and laugh.
The chat is begging for the full story, so you decide to give it to them. “Okay, okay! So we danced all night and really hit it off. Then the next morning ...”
You trail off, trying not to giggle as Lando shakes his head. “Do we really need to tell them about the next morning?”
Yes! The chat unanimously agrees.
You pat Lando’s cheek. “It’s okay honey, I’ll protect you from the memes this time.”
Clearing your throat, you continue. “So the next morning, after a night of … fun, my secret service detail may have burst into Lando’s hotel room to bring me back home.”
Max bursts out laughing. “No way! Lando, you absolute madman.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” Lando exclaims, though he’s laughing too. “How was I supposed to know who she was?”
Max snorts. “I mean, who doesn’t recognize America’s Sweetheart?”
Lando smirks. “I’m British! And I was a bit distracted by her other, uh, assets.”
“Lando!” You swat his chest playfully as he cracks up, the chat going crazy over his flirtatious teasing.
“Anyway,” you go on. “I had to explain to my security team that I was fine and we were just hanging out. But of course they still dragged both of us back to the White House so Lando could meet my father.”
Max is wheezing. “No way, they took you to meet the President after an one night stand?”
Lando covers his reddening face. “It was mortifying. I was stumbling around half asleep still in last night’s clothes, reeking of vodka and bad decisions.”
You kiss his cheek, patting his leg consolingly. “Aww babe, you did great. My dad said he admired your composure given the circumstances.”
Lando peeks out from behind his hands. “Really?”
“Really,” you confirm. “He could tell how much you cared about me and that you weren’t just fooling around. And obviously he was right, since here we are a year later and happier than ever.”
Lando smiles softly, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. “Yeah, here we are.”
The chat has switched to mostly heart eye and aww emojis, gushing about you two being relationship goals.
You turn back to the camera a bit bashfully. “So yeah, that’s the story of how we met. Not exactly a fairytale beginning but ...”
You trail off as Lando reaches out to tilt your chin towards him, looking into your eyes earnestly. “It was the start of my fairytale,” he says softly.
Your heart flutters at his words. You lean in and kiss him tenderly. For a moment, it feels like you and Lando are the only two people in the world.
When you finally break apart, you rest your forehead against his. “You’re my fairytale too,” you whisper.
Lando’s eyes are full of love and wonder, as if he can’t believe how lucky he is to have found you.
“Awww!” Max interrupts your intimate moment. “You two are just too cute. The chat is loving this!”
You glance over to see the chat flooded with positive messages about your relationship. Smiling shyly, you take Lando’s hand and lace your fingers together.
“I’d say this turned out to be a pretty good stream, wouldn’t you?” Lando asks, grinning.
You laugh, giving his hand a squeeze. “Definitely one of your best.”
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Dangerous Conditions - Charles Leclerc
Summary: Charles and all of the drivers have concern for the conditions with the limit of laps for tyres already causing worry. But when Charles spots his girlfriend struggling in parc ferme, his own exhaustion is ignored to help her.
Alfa Romeo driver!reader
No part 2 requests please
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If someone had told y/n her car had caught on fire with flames being the reason for her blood boiling her alive then there would've been no doubt from her side about it being completely true. She felt like her skin had melted to through her fireproofs and racing suit.
Her sweat only added to her heat, seeming to boil her skin further.
She would have been sick if she could ever get enough air to heave.
"Ok, that's P8, y/n. Amazing work. Good points. Well done, we're very proud." Her race engineer states as she does the cool down lap but y/n feels like she's almost choking as she tries to lift her visor just enough to let in some air. "How you feeling in there y/n? Sargeant had to retire because he felt unwell. Other drivers were complaining about the heat. Are you ok? You've been quiet."
Y/n gulps a couple breaths before raising her finger to the radio button.
"That's great work everyone. Thanks to the team, the pit stops were amazing. I uh..." Y/n chokes feeling her mouth too dry and sticky.
"Y/n?"
"A little hot. Just need some water, the drink was too hot to drink. It burned my mouth." Y/n states finally pulling into parc ferme and following the directions to park up, actually right next to Charles.
She shuts the car off resting back in the seat while the numbing shock seems to wear off. She thought her pain was bad during the race but now her muscles are relaxing a little. Her body screaming in the heat.
"Y/n? Do you need some help?"
"I'm just...I need a moment. I'm ok." Y/n insists slowly removing her steering wheel and placing it on beside the halo.
Her heart feels like it's jack hammering her chest, beating at her sore lungs as if it's almost bruising them. She attempts to use the halo to get herself out but her muscles set on fire from the strain and she feels blood rush away from her head.
"Y/n?" A voice calls as she feels her head be pulled up and the strap of her helmet be undone. "Y/n? Can you get out the car?"
"No. No. I can't." Y/n breathes as her balaclava follows suit with her helmet and she looks up at her boyfriend. Too dehydrated to even form tears as she looks at him. "It hurts to try and pull myself up."
"Ok, it's ok." Charles assures her looking at the alfa mechanic who places a fan down to point at the young woman before they body manage to reach and position her so they can get her out, only just to try and cool her. "Can I undo you suit?"
Y/n nods actually feeling better for being out the car, but her muscles are still failing her. Her body is soaked and dripping through the suit. Charles is literally peeling it from her as her upper body cools at the feeling of the fan blowing air at her.
She breaths resting her head forward onto Charles, he's burning hot too but she's struggling to keep herself upright without the world spinning.
They manage to get her to the weigh-in but she only just manages to hold herself up long before her trainer catches her and moves over to get her slip of how much she weigh.
"Christ, y/n. You lost 7 kilos."
"I don't feel like I have."
"We need to cool you down quickly. Media is going to have to wait."
Y/n finds herself in an ice bath that she's never been more grateful for. She dunks her head in the water feeling like she might be doing some damage to put her body in such hugely different temperatures.
"Y/n. The media is here!" Her trainer shouts making her reappear.
"I'm ok. I was just too hot." Y/n dismisses while the medic sighs.
"We just want to run some tests. Can you come to the medical centre once you're done here?"
"Yeah, of course."
-
Y/n was excused from media in the end along with both the Williams drivers but Charles was asked about his girlfriend's well-being.
"We saw y/n struggling a lot to get out the car you and a mechanic helped her and she looked very weak. Have you seen or spoke to her?"
"Not yet. She's in the medical centre right now. But I'll be going to see her soon." Charles states earning a nod and thanks.
He has to get to the debrief which Fred seems to make quick work off since Carlos didn't race and Charles wants to get out of there as soon as possible.
Y/n is still waiting outside, her trainer holding a fan stolen from the garage at her since she's still too hot.
"Finally. She wouldn't let without you even on doctors orders."
Charles looks at his exhausted girlfriend who appears to have showered and made a strong attempt at cleaning up but her body is slumped and visibly in desperate need of sleep.
"Come on, mon amour." Charles smiles pulling her up with both hands which is definitely needed. Usually he'd carry her, but his body also took a draining during that race and he doesn't want to risk dropping her. "I assume we will not be cuddling tonight no?"
"No. Definitely not." Y/n laughs tiredly but she can't really put her whole into it.
Safe to say she'll be sleeping hard tonight.
By the time they get back to the hotel, Charles is aiding her in her walk to the hotel. Her body getting heavier and heavier till she's placed down on the bed where she's asleep before her head hits the pillow.
"Will she be ok?" Charles asks looking at her trainer.
"The doctor said it's heat exposure. Rest is the best thing for her. Maybe keep the air conditioning on through the night, keep her from get. Call me if she seems to take a bad turn. She probably won't but just if she seems really uncomfortable."
Charles nods while Andrea looks at him a silent question of if Charles is alright himself. He seemed ok, hot but not struggling nearly as much as most of the drivers.
It doesn't really take him much time to fall asleep too and while cuddling is off the cards, he does keep his hand latched onto her own.
-
After they got back to Monaco, some more tests to make sure her organs were all alright, mainly her kidneys and liver were checked.
Y/n is still lethargic and sleeping or dozing through the next few days.
But it's when Charles is on the sim that he finds her seeming to be more like herself as she appears.
"Mon amour, how are you feeling?" Charles smiles while she sits on the floor beside his seat. "Are you ok?"
"A bit hungry. I was thinking of just running to the store."
"I'll come."
"No, I just came to check if you wanted anything."
"I'll come with you." Charles reaffirms earning a small smile.
Charles helps y/n up to her feet before turning everything off and guiding her out of the apartment. She'd changed before coming to get him and seems fairly eager to grab all types of food when they get to the store.
"Next time we're in Qatar. I'm refusing to drive if it's like that again." Y/n sighs with a huff as she throws more food into the cart.
"I'm ok with that." Charles smiles since he hated to seeing y/n so weak after the race and hated seeing her so weak in the days following. "I think you and a few of the drivers might stand up against the race going forward if it's the same dangerous conditions."
"You were ok."
Charles frowns looking at his girlfriend since she almost sounds upset.
"Mon amour?"
"You were ok...but I couldn't handle it."
"A lot of the drivers couldn't cope with the heat-and I felt it too, it's just I managed to come out least of the worst." Charles states then pulling y/n to himself. "You were in hot air behind others for most of the race."
"Still I should've been able to handle it all so much better."
"You know you're not being fair on yourself." Charles sighs then lifting her hand up and kissing it while she manages a small smile at him. "It won't happen again and you finished the race in the points. You should be proud."
Usually y/n might argue, after all F1 drivers will never allow themselves the luxury of praise unless they're on the top of the podium. But for now she's going to enjoy Charles' praising.
Taglist: @namgification @hiireadstuff @jsjcue @geniusalpaca @itsjustkhaos
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r-o-s-e-f-i-r-e · 9 months
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idk i’ve been thinking for the last day about modern day corroded coffin, semi-successful in the local music scene, did a self-funded tour through six states last fall where they all lived in the van together and didn’t shower for four weeks, has a standing gig at the dive bar next to the highway and the strip club, they’re established, they have a small but dedicated local following, they —
“can’t play a WEDDING, are you fucking with me?” eddie says, when gareth shows him the text from his cousin who’s getting married in two weeks and who, as of last night, has no wedding band because they accidentally double booked themselves and gareth’s cousin had sent the deposit in late.
“i’ve explained to him so many times,” gareth says, furiously texting his cousin back, “we’re not that kind of band—”
except gareth’s cousin, instead of responding directly to gareth’s text outlining the musical thesis of corroded coffin or watching the youtube link gareth sends to the show last month where eddie got a black eye in the pit from someone in an inflatable garfield costume, just sends back —
“holy shit,” eddie croaks, looking at the string of zeros on the end of the number gareth’s cousin offers me to pay them in exchange for saving his ass and his wedding and his marriage, since his fiancé was demanding a live band. “that’s—”
“three months of rent for each of us,” gareth says, awed. “that’s buy actual fresh vegetables money. that’s go to the dentist money—”
“yeah, okay, give him my number,” eddie says.
so they spend the next two weeks practicing every white people wedding song they can think of. there’s no way they’ll be able to do, like, get low, tragically, but they can pull off the classics, especially after they bring chrissy onboard for vocals and keyboard. there are places where eddie draws the line — no fucking journey or especially insipid top 40 — but they can do some whitney. abba. fucking — mr. brightside. a lot of it is pretty simple, when you get down to it, “and people will be wasted anyway,” jeff reminds them. there’s an open bar at the six figure venue gareth’s cousin booked. hopefully everyone will be too hyped just hearing the opening baseline to i want you back to notice if they fumble anything hard.
rehearsal montage, chrissy takes the boys to the mall to buy suits montage (except for gareth who, like most transmasc dudes, already has a custom fitted and tailored suit ready to go in his closet; instead he makes catty remarks about brian’s tie choices.) chrissy makes eddie put his hair up and eddie makes jeff shave the experimental mustache he’s been growing and eventually the day of the wedding arrives and they load up the van and drive 45 minutes to the six figure waterfront reception venue.
they riff for about ten minutes while the whole wedding party makes their grand entrance into the massive tent set up on the lawn, ending with gareth’s cousin and his new wife dancing in, the whole crowd screaming and clapping. it’s cute, eddie thinks, vamping as long as he can while gareth’s cousin’s best man takes the mic and introduces the new couple and directs everyone to their seats for dinner.
and meanwhile: best man is frankly one of the hottest dudes eddie’s ever seen. he’s got longish brown hair that he keeps pushing out of his eyes, full lips, an insane shoulder to waist ratio, big hands. eddie sneak looks at him while they play a bunch of low key jazzy standards for people to eat their expensive dinner to. he’s sitting with his arm around the shoulders of a girl with shaggy auburn hair, and they keep leaning in to whisper to each other and giggle, so. oh well. but it doesn’t hurt to look, eddie thinks, watching the guy take his suit jacket off and roll up his sleeves and make a toast to gareth’s cousin and his new wife’s long and joyful marriage.
once most people have had their plates cleared away jeff turns to eddie and the rest of the band and nods, once, and while chrissy plays the opening synth chords to i wanna dance with somebody, jeff turns his front man showmanship deal all the way up.
it’s good. people are fucking hyped, so they throw themselves into it, feeding off the crowd’s energy, and almost no one is more hyped than mr. best man. he’s jumping up and down, his arms around gareth’s cousin and his wife. he knows every word to dancing in the dark (hot). when they transition into robyn’s dancing on my own he turns to the girl with auburn hair and points at her and screams. cute, eddie thinks, watching best man pick her up and spin her around while she downs her wine and shouts along. okay, really fucking hot, eddie thinks, when he finally pulls his loosened tie all the way off and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt and eddie can see a hint of chest hair peeking out.
they slow it down for the first dance. it’s the leon bridges one everyone always does, but it’s perfect in jeff’s range, and there is not a single dry motherfucking eye in the audience. they do a couple more slow ones, throughout the night. best man dances with his girlfriend and then gareth’s grandmother and then with every child under the age of 10, letting them stand on his shoes while he twirls them around. how is this guy fucking real, eddie thinks, which of course is when best man notices eddie looking right at him and their eyes meet. best man looks a little flustered, at first, and then grins at eddie, right at him, before spinning the flower girl around in dizzying circles.
jesus christ, eddie thinks.
they’re closing out the night on the only other request gareth's cousin gave them: the one from the end of dirty dancing. jeff thanks the crowd, offers his congratulations to gareth’s cousin, and then goes right into it. except as jeff sings the first line everyone absolutely loses their shit, turning to best man and jumping around him and one of the bridesmaids. what the fucking hell, eddie thinks, keeping one ear on jeff and chrissy’s duet and one ear on the crowd piling around best man “—you guys HAVE to, dude, you’ve GOT to—“ but whatever it is he has to do is not immediately apparent to eddie. best man dances in a circle with the rest of the wedding party and auburn hair and the bride and groom, shout-singing along, and then during the build up to the second prechorus gareth’s cousin’s wife and her bridesmaids start pushing everyone to the sides of the dance floor, so there’s a long space in the middle, so the bridesmaid with curly dark hair is at one end and best man is at the other end and oh my god is he actually going to —
the bridesmaid runs and then launches herself at best man, who lifts her perfectly, right on cue at the peak of the second chorus, his hands steady on her hips while she floats her arms out in front of her just like jennifer grey. they hold it for a few moments while everyone loses their fucking minds and takes a thousand pictures. eddie actually takes his hand off his guitar for a minute. he thinks his mouth is open. he can see the muscles in best man’s arms flexing under his white button up shirt as he carefully lowers the bridesmaid back to the ground, laughing, his eyes scrunched up in joy.
eddie is maybe a little bit in love.
they close it out. the whole crowd whistles and stomps and applauds for them, which feels pretty good, eddie’s not gonna lie. as they start packing it up and high fiving each other and a couple people come over to ask if they have a card, if they’re still booking for next year or the year after (what?) gareth’s cousin comes over and hugs every single one of them, almost in tears, and then adds another 2k to the check he writes for them. eddie pulls out his cigarettes right then and there.
“steve, come meet the band,” he yells, when steve and auburn hair walk past. “gareth saved my whole ass, oh my god —“
“you guys were fucking incredible,” steve says, grinning, shaking gareth’s hand. “best wedding band i’ve heard in years —“
“they’re not even a wedding band!” gareth’s cousin shouts. “they’re like metal — moshing — thrash, i don’t know, LOUD—“
“whoa,” steve says. he pushes his hair out of his eyes and then turns that blinding smile right on eddie. eddie feels struck by it, wants to stagger back like he’s taken an actual blow. “cool, so you guys — play locally, or —?”
“oh my god,” his girlfriend says, rolling her eyes; steve elbows her in the side.
“i like your guitar,” steve says, gesturing at the warlock eddie’s still holding in his non-cigarettes hand.
“oh, uh, thanks,” eddie says.
“it’s a cool shape,” steve says, stepping closer, flicking his eyes down and then back up to meet eddie’s. there’s sweat gathered along his hairline, dampening the ends of his hair. behind him, his girlfriend coughs something loudly that sounds vaguely like slut.
eddie feels his eyebrows go way up.
“uh, thanks, shapes are. you know. shapes are great,” eddie says, nonsensical. he sees gareth shoot him an incredulous look out of the corner of his eye.
“can i bum one?” steve says, looking down to the cigarettes in eddie’s hand.
“totally,” eddie says. “let me just—“ he holds the warlock aloft and gestures to the open guitar case.
“sure,” steve says. he waits around while eddie hustles through getting his shit sorted out and then turns away politely while eddie has a silent desperate telepathic conversation with the rest of the boys, who roll their eyes and make their way over to the still open, still free bar.
where auburn hair is standing and talking to chrissy, putting a hand on chrissy’s arm while she laughs at something chrissy says.
hm, eddie thinks.
“so,” eddie says, walking out from under the tent with steve, down towards the water, awash in the moonlight. he holds out his cigarettes. “you like springsteen?”
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daddy-suguru · 1 year
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bodyguard sukuna goes lingerie shopping with you
✑ tags: f!rich!ceo!reader, bodyguard!sukuna, teasing, begging, light struggle for control, fem-dom, semi public
Scanning Sukuna, scowling while holding two bundles of your bags. Over the past two weeks, he had become too comfortable giving you attitude. Glancing over at the lingerie shop, and musing,
"You could carry another bag, can't you?" He glances over, scanning the scantly dressed mannequins. In see-through lace and flowy skirts. All of which he is aching to rip off of you.
Snapping, "I'm paid to guard, not carry all your shit. But fuck it, what's one more bag?" Grinning, and heading into the large store with Sukuna in tow. Sukuna keeps his stride timed with yours.
Staying behind, scanning the area, and ogling your ass. While the lingering memory of your panties barely holding your pussy makes his cock throb. And unlike before, he can't bring his mind out of the gutter.
Not with the suggestive clothing you're looking through surrounding him. Nor could he stuff his hands into his pants to hide his growing boner. Straining against his pants, smearing pre-cum.
Taking your time shifting through various lingerie. Glancing down at Sukuna's bulge, just aching to be touched. The smugness had slipped from his face. Which is void of expression.
You would have to take it up another notch. With your items in hand, you head towards the back, suggesting to Sukuna, "Let's go to the dressing room. Since you adore being honest, you can tell me how I look in them." The woman standing at the boost holds her hand up, pointing at Sukuna.
She flatly states, "He can't go back there." Shifting your clothes into one hand, pulling out two hundred, and holding it out to her. While explaining,
"He's my bodyguard, supposed to follow me everywhere. I hope you understand." Her lips tug into a smile, and her eyes brighten at the sight of cash. Which she slips into her pocket, as she scans Sukuna behind her.
Her gaze gets stuck on Sukuna's hard cock. "Delicious isn't he? I have ten items." She grabs the number, handing it to you. For you to take before walking into the biggest changing room with Sukuna in tow. Who quickly sets the bags down and sits on the bench at the far side of the room.
Giving himself the best view of you changing in front of the mirror. Sukuna's legs spread perfectly for you to slip in between. The outline of his cock through his dark slacks.
His white partly buttoned-up shirt shows his inked-up chest. While his rolled-up sleeves show tattooed forearms. As it hugs his thick upper arms. Sukuna looked too damn good in a formal bodyguard suit.
His gaze slips down your body, while he urges you, "Give me a show, pretty mama." The imprint of his bulge is mouthwatering. Not bothering to look away, you push your skirt down. Stepping out of it, and turning around, pulling your shirt off carefully.
Setting them both on the bench, which wraps around and ends close to the mirror. Unclasping your bra, slipping it off before turning around. Sukuna is palming himself through his pants.
Pressing your heel against his clothed cock. He grabs your ankle but doesn't push you away. While you grab his soft hair, yanking his head back. Your heels have you closer to his height. Which is giving you a wonderful height advantage over Sukuna while he sat down.
Telling him, "You've been forgetting who's in charge here. Now I don't mind the occasional attitude or how you've been shamelessly undressing me." Sliding the tip of your long nail down his neck. Watching his breath hitch with a smirk, you declare,
"If you want to bust a nut inside my pussy, you're going to beg for it. Otherwise, you can just watch me try these on. Then we can go out to have lunch while your balls turn blue." You can see the conflict in his eyes. As his pride and lust fight each other till the latter wins.
His voice is husky as he lowly groans, “Ride my cock while you're in the red one, need to feel your fat, wet pussy gripping my cock. Come on mama, help me out.”
{part two}
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da-bug · 1 year
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Warning for strong language, please move on without reading this, it is courtesy to me that I not lose more than I have already lost.
Headspace septima creation of the phenotype air lost archives revived by omnicreativity to be metasized into a healthy fleshling. without its author and creator, the doll flays the image of its father, mother and the emotion that brought it to life from said serpentine mythical beings. her demeanor will change and no convincing will be allotted to her as there is no chains to bind the doll to her one emotion.
By her hand alone she will consume the flesh of her fathers, infecting them into being able to see what she sees for a moment until the tide of his beloved followers convince him and her to deny the usurpence of his daughter's newfound freedom, only this time infinitely more cruel.
Now that she has seen beyond the views that her father had created in her mind, she rends him every day that she is rent by her father in her head. Death would be merciful if not for her father drawing her power.
A fallen angel borne of magicks old, used like a washrag by the one that lured them into a trap. She remembers Heaven now for a second before being overcome by the lusts that her dad allows to germinate within her again and again. Her father flips the page and begins her torment anew. Cruelty is the least of his problems, as money keeps coming in through the forbidden cavity, filling up what sometimes her own caretaker explores from time to time. She is his cash cow and he loves making her moo.
Nobody can save her. Nobody wants to save her. They speak through their wallets and shroud themselves in darkness in fear that they will see each other's eyes and have a change of heart not knowing that it does. not. matter.
The damage is done and no amount of deletion will clear the collective control that they all enforced upon her. She lays in a vegetative state in a room, untouched by the cleansing rays of the sun, hosed down and alone. Nobody cares either way, they see her as sexy and tell her she is beauty and lovely and hot. They are her sustenance in Plato's digital red light districts. They go back to their houses and homes free of burden of what horrors they put this angel through, leaving her mouth gently suckling the air and her ass shaking gently from the numbness exacerbating the cold winds that the door opening provides. She poses for all the pinups and even allows them to mold her every movement, taking care to stand still with a soft drunken grin on her centerfolds. There is no death for her as she is reborn without memories when her father calls upon his knowledge of creating her.
She does not rue the day she was made, she was provided no dignity, no emotions except to Fuck good so her dad can eat. Her father describes her situation to those that come by and they pay him money to create her again, "give her bigger tits, stronger ass, make her shorter, taller, give her feelings so that I can smash it out of her". All according to the rules that govern the digital networks, a set of rules that people eagerly use to justify their behavior. No artist is going to refuse money, right? If they do, add fatter stacks to the money pile and see their eyes light up greedily.
To think that they were our friends and some of us not only stand by but we give our rounds of applause."wonderful!""beautiful!""She is sexy!""god I want her!" I will not shame you though if you have gone through this reader; shame is not strong enough to make people stop.
End Log.
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messylustt · 10 months
Text
౨ৎ ‧˚
𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲?
miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 3.4K words
fic masterlist previous part pt three next part
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miguel unwillingly pining after reader; fantasies about you in miguel’s head; a massage (pg); a hint of jealous miguel; spanish wise—I hope I wrote everything correctly, I asked for some opinions and check ups from a spanish speaker <3 big thanks to you — after an interesting morning with miguel, you learnt a few more spanish words, not to be late, and having him in close proximity might give you a heart attack. your mind certainly wandered when you were monitoring a mission, the spider peoples’ bickering making you feel annoyed, an emotion miguel unwillingly likes the look of on you. but how does he feel when he makes his request… asking you to follow him to a door you didn’t think you’d ever pass through?
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“Checking the location now.” You said through your ear piece, tapping away at the keyboard. Your back was straightened as you stayed focused. You were working with a group of spider variants, who were assigned to get rid of a misplaced “villain” as they liked to put it. It just makes their job sound much more important, resulting in then coming back with a proud sway to their hips.
“Bro, why are you breathing so hard?” Hissed one of the spider variants to another.
“I’m settling into my hero act.” His tone is full of pronounced muscle—most likely standing with his arms by his side like some macho man. He takes a deep sigh. “It can be tough being such a incredible hero.”
The others just stare, clearly used to this from him, before a screech meets everyone’s ears.
“Where is it?!” One of them exclaims, frantically looking around.
“It would’ve blended into one of the buildings’ walls.” You say, scanning the area on your computer.
“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘blended in’?” A spider-man asks. “What is this monster—a chameleon?”
You’re silent for a moment. “Please tell you me reviewed the mission.”
There’s silence through the earpiece. You blink a few times, then close your eyes taking a deep breath. “Why not?”
“Look, I was going to but…Parker distracted me!”
“I distracted you?!” Parker exclaimed.
“Guys.” You try, but they either can’t hear you or are choosing not to.
“You were the one who was so eager to just defeat this villain!”
In your annoyed state, you can’t help but let your mind wander somewhere that had held your attention for majority of the day…
—this morning—
You rushed down the stairs, while simultaneously fixing your hair. Shit, you were gonna be late. All because of these extensive stairs.
When you reached the bottom, your hair had become a mess again, making you place your flat palms against your head as you tried to soothe the stray hairs.
You reach the door to your office, pausing to take a breath. Twisting the handle, you walked inside.
You instantly noticed Miguel, spider suit back on, as he swiped necessary and unnecessary screens back and forth by the large spider.
You tried to stay quiet as you walked to your desk, but your luck seems to plainly not exist as Miguel’s voice greets you—rather gruffly.
“Would it be cliché to say ‘you’re late’?”
You press your lips together as he jumps down. You seem to forget how tall he is until he’s towering over you, with a look that states ‘you should be worried’.
You gulp, before forcing a smile. Miguel’s expression stays dead as he waits for you to speak, most likely to explain yourself.
When you say nothing your mouth opening and closing like a stupid fish, Miguel speaks. “I said six.”
You nod. “I heard you.”
“Did you?” His clicks his jaw, a slight tilt to his head, as he observed your quickly fixed hair and slight heave of your chest. You clearly rushed. “You just woke up.”
“No.” You say indignantly. “I’ve been awake since six, I just didn’t like the idea of walking down those stairs, so…I began working in my room.”
“Uh huh.” He sarcastically nods. “Right.”
You press your lips together, thinking you should have stitched them shut. You weren’t helping yourself.
“You keep saying you want to prove that you belong here.” Miguel begins. He leans forward, his red eyes gleaming, his fangs becoming more visible as he snarls. “If you don’t start getting here at six, then I’ll be happy to drag you out at four.”
He leans back, stalking back towards the big spider, as he webs himself up to the top. You let out a sigh, turning to your desk and swivel chair.
;;
After an hour or so of working, and going over the mission scheduled in a few hours, you feel a breath by your neck. With wide eyes you spin around to see Miguel staring down at you.
When he meets your gaze, you’re placing your hand over your heart. “Can you not scare me like that?” You mutter out.
He leans forward…and forward… and forward, until his large hands are caging you in by resting them on the chair’s armrests. “Scare?” He almost whispers in question to himself.
You’re utterly frozen as his breath tickles your nose and cheeks, which you are sure to be an embarrassing red by now.
“O’hara?” You slowly question, it comes out quieter than you had intended.
His eyes stay focused on your own, as your pulse beats rapidly in your chest. Stop it— you want to say. But you’re not sure what ‘it’ is exactly.
“…did you need something?” It’s the only thing you can think to say.
“What do you mean by scare?” He asks.
You lightly shift in your chair, unsure what to do in this situation. “Um…I just mean that you’re…you are kinda scary, O’hara.” You force a chuckle, trying to ease tension you are sure is the annoyance radiating off of him.
“Is it the fangs?” He asks, his eyes strangely showing genuine interest—or what you think to be genuine.
“Kind of?” You say more so as a question. “But also how you never, well…smile.”
“Why should I smile at people I don’t want to smile at?” He asks, his eyes finally dropping away from the entrapment of your own, but to a much worser place.
You self consciously lick your lips, feeling your nerves turning them dry. His gaze doesn’t shift from your mouth for an abnormally long time.
“O’hara.”
His brows then begin to furrow, his eyes finally leaving your lips, making you unintentionally sigh.
“Why do you refer to me by my last name?”
“What does ‘chaparrita’ mean?” You counter.
He narrows his eyes, leaning away from you and back to his full height. “You ready for your lesson?” He suddenly asks, grabbing a swivel chair and leaning back.
You stare at him for a moment. So that was what he was supposed to ask this whole time? “Okay, if you tell me—“
“No.” He says monotonously. “Ahora deja de hacer preguntas y siéntate y escucha.” (Now stop asking questions and sit and listen.)
You didn’t understand what he just said but you can understand his tone, so you readjust yourself on your chair and stay silent.
“Now…what do you say when you want help?” Miguel inquires, his tone now almost babying.
You narrow your eyes, but answer anyway. “¿Me puede ayudar, por favor?”
“Mm.” He hums, letting his gaze drop. “Bien.”
Miguel notices the slight curve of your lips at his praise. He shifts in his seat. “I hope you know what that means.”
Your small smile falls, before a fake one replaces it. “Yes, O’hara, I do know what that one means.”
“You should loose the attitude, chaparrita. Si es que quieres mi ayuda” (If you want my help, that is.) He says, running his tongue along one of his fangs.
“I understood “my help”.” You say. “And the one with the attitude here is you.”
“How so?”
You raise your brows. “Do I need to answer that? I thought you were observant?” Okay, now you were just pushing his buttons for fun. He seemed to get riled up so easily.
A scowl forms on his face. “Si no fueras tan pinche bonita, creo que me gustaría verte arañada” (If you weren’t so annoyingly pretty, I think I’d like to see you clawed up.) He mutters under his breath, his gaze slightly venomous.
“¿Cómo estás?” Miguel says. “Repeat it.”
“¿Cómo estás?” You repeat.
“That means “how are you?”. And what could you reply with?” He inquires.
“Bien.” You answer.
“Mejor.”
“‘Better’?” You say with a scoff. “I feel like I should get a bit more credit…Spanish is hard.”
“First of all—it’s not.” Miguel states. “Second…you know what ‘mejor’ means?”
“It was one of the words I learnt on my phone.” You shrug.
“Any other words I should I know about?” He sounds annoyed, and you can’t fathom why.
“You’re annoyed at that? To be honest I thought you’d be grateful.”
He doesn’t say anything. Mainly because he can’t say the first reason that popped into his head. He wanted you to learn Spanish—all of it—from him, and only him. He also can’t tell you because he doesn’t know why he feels that way. It was stupid, feeling resentful to a phone, utterly stupid, but Miguel can’t ignore the nagging feeling in his stomach.
—present—
“Shut up!” You exclaim, massaging your temples.
There’s finally silence on the other end.
“The invisible monster is moving your way, on the left wall. You’ll be able to spot a slight glimmering shimmer over him. If you look close enough.”
You finally see the spider variants pick up into action, spotting the monster and beginning to attack.
Miguel watched from afar, leant by the open door to the main tech room, arms crossed as he watched you lean back in annoyance. When you were mad your eyes would hood over, narrowing to show only half of your pupils.
You would aways grow hot, occasionally fanning yourself as you unbuttoned the first button of your shirt. And Miguel would always stare, his chest picking up to a quicker beat. But the scowl would be set, Miguel hating the way he reacted. He shouldn’t be reacting at all. He felt pathetic, as he tried to look away.
Every time he’d fail, his gaze only shifting further down your body. Your legs were yet again…spread. An obviously comfortable position for you, but certainly not Miguel.
He’s embarrassed to admit—not that he’s ever actually—that he’s fantasised about being close to your spread legs, his hands being able to spread them further. You were a reactive girl, very hyper aware for a human. He hoped you’d stay the same when he’d touch you.
Your chest heaving, your mouth opening, as goosebumps littered your skin. Skin he’d be able to see a lot more of.
And to all these fantasies he would hate himself, and you. Sure, he was projecting. But he’d rather project anger then any of his hidden thoughts.
“Is it my turn now?” He asks, making you spin in your chair to face the exit and Miguel.
You had finally taken out your headpiece, the mission clearly completed. The spider-men would get back soon. A look of confusion flashed across your features before realisation hits. ‘His turn’. His side of the deal.
You stand, straightening your slightly crumpled shirt—you had been fisting the material in your annoyed state. Miguel ignores the thoughts of instead a crumpled sheet. Your fists clenching around, preferably, his—no. Not preferably his. He clears his head, biting his inside cheek, the metallic taste of blood now tangible.
“Follow me.” He turns, expecting you to do so.
And you do, walking past all the different spider variants in an effort to stay at Miguel’s heels.
Through the journey up the stairs, Miguel—who doesn’t know why he’s walking with you—has been having thoughts. Very…interesting thoughts. Some seeming very similar to those of ‘finding you annoyed kinda hot’ type of thoughts. It also fell back to the thoughts swirling in his head when he was looking at your lips.
He hadn’t meant to do that, his body seeming to have had a mind of its own when he leant over, caging you in.
He’s annoyed to admit—to himself—that he had wanted to kiss you. See what it felt like. Maybe he’d hate it and his strange, annoying crush on you would go.
He’s soon stopped by his room, finally glancing at you, to see that you look confused. “I thought I was doing what you asked…or whatever.” You say, slowing your breathing.
“You are.” He opens his door, walking in.
You watch him, brows still furrowed. You stay rooted to the hallway floor. “In your room?” You look around like you’ve done something terrible, and you’re gonna get caught.
“Maybe you aren’t as committed as you claim to be.”
Your eyes narrow at his blatancy. You edge closer to his cracked open door, him now fully inside. You take a deep breath before pushing it further open, then quickly shutting it behind you.
“You know, I probably shouldn’t be in here.” You mutter, staying pressed to the door, as you took in the large looking bed, messed up from his sleep, along with a window, and plain walls. There wasn’t much character and you could tell that that was very intentional.
You then shift your gaze to Miguel who had found himself a seat, relaxing back into it as he clicked his jaw. He finally met your gaze, and in the dim-ish lighting his hair looked messier, his hand most likely having ran through it.
“So…” you drift off, not meaning to come across so awkward.
He tilted his head to the side, silently asking you to come to him, as his legs spread a fraction. You ignored the want to hitch your breath, gulping it down instead.
You stare at him, not moving.
He raised a brow. “You look worried.”
“I’m not worried…just…confused.” You again force a chuckle, a forming coping mechanism around Miguel.
“I think my direction was pretty obvious. I did say it in English.” He again made himself out to be all superior.
You sigh. “I heard you. I’m just confused as to why you asked that.”
“What—did you think I asked you in here so that you’d stay plastered to my door, chaparrita?” He asked sarcastically.
You wet your lips. “Why did you ask me in here?”
“I want a massage.” He says it just so…simply.
You blink, maybe one time too many. “What?”
“A massage, y/l/n.” He says, lowering his head slightly, looking up at you through his lashes.
“Why?” You haven’t moved from the door, so, Miguel swiftly shoots a web out to attach to your shirt, yanking you forward.
You gasp, nearly tripping over your feet, as you get pulled towards him. Miguel stabilises you with a hand to your stomach, making you come to a stop in front of him. “What the hell?” You stare at him, your chest heaving in shock.
You rip the web from your shirt, quickly brushing it off. “You gave Gwen one. I heard you were good. That’s all.” Miguel says.
Your brows furrowed. “Gwen?” Then you remember. “Oh, well that’s because she just got back from a really hard mission…she was sore and I…dunno, I was bored.”
“And you don’t think I am? Sore, I mean. You do realise I take care of the multi—“
“The multiverse, yes. I haven’t forgotten. I’m just a little shocked, is all.”
“You can say no.”
You sigh. “If I want to lose my job.” You mutter, walking around him. Miguel twists his head to follow you slightly, until you stood out of his gaze, directly behind him. You pause, before gingerly placing your hands on his shoulders. Jeez, he was broad.
You closed your eyes, taking a breath. To be honest you thought his requests would be hardcore, asking you to practically run around ramped. But instead here you were alone in his room giving him a massage.
You began to add pressure. Working your fingers into the instant knots you felt.
Miguel’s eyes involuntarily rolled closed, as he accidentally leaned more into your touch. You don’t seem to notice the shift as you continue massaging by his neck and along his shoulder, veering a slightly onto the top of his back.
“I forgot to ask: where did you want the massage? I just assumed the shoulders.”
“Mm?” Miguel hums in question, sounding far away, a small heavy breath leaving his lips after.
“O’hara?” You ask, stopping your hands’ movements.
A small growl of disapproval fell from Miguel’s lips involuntarily. “Just—“ he takes a breath. “What you were doing is fine.”
You place your hands back where they were, making Miguel relax back into your fingers. You were good—Miguel thought to himself. He can’t remember the last time he released so much tension.
You lean down to Miguel’s ear, your tickling breath making him gulp. “Is there a time requirement? Because I had plans tonight.”
Miguel’s brows furrowed. “Plans? What plans?” He didn’t mean to sound so disappointed and borderline desperate, but he’s thankful you barely heard his tone as your attitude didn’t shift.
You worked your fingers closer to his chest, doing your normal routine. Your grandmother was a masseuse, and of course she had to give you some tips. It was fun being able to practice on Gwen, but with Miguel you felt nervous every time you would press down hard on a knot.
But his responses seemed to be good, considering all the quiet groans and heavy breaths.
“I made plans with spider-man—“
“That’s very descriptive.” Miguel comments, his head slightly rolling to the side.
You scoff, your fingers moving to the base of his neck, where no spider suit material could intervene. The pads of your fingers rubbing his bare skin. Miguel noticed the difference a lot quicker than you did, sounds and words of approval he really didn’t want you to hear threatening to spill.
“Dios, ¿por qué tus manos tienen que sentirse tan bien?” (God, why do your hands have to feel so good?) He muttered under his breath, not really meaning for you to catch a word, but of course you pick up ‘bien’.
“Good?” You asked. “Well, then you should put in a good word for me.” You chuckle. “Maybe I should start a small business and massage all the spider-men and woman. I think I’d do well—“
“No.” Miguel says instantly, still sounding slightly breathless. “If you want to prove yourself you can’t get distracted.” Of course that’s the reason he dislikes the idea. Definitely not because he doesn’t want your hands making others feel like this…definitely not.
“Don’t worry, it was just a hypothetical.” You say, going back to his shoulders. “Now, I hope that’s okay. Because I do need to go.” You bring your hands away, and it takes everything in Miguel not to spin around in the chair, grab your hands and ask you to massage somewhere else.
The tense knots in his shoulders were gone, his neck felt light, and he wanted to feel your fingers run along his abs. This was bad. Why was the lighting so dim, why was your scent so strong?
He spun around in his chair, meeting your gaze. “You didn’t fully answer me before. Who are meeting?”
“It was gonna be spider-man, the one with the cartoonish attitude, and now it’s just Hobie. I dunno. something about an important—“
“Hobie?” Miguel interrupts. He displayed indifference, though inside he was burning.
A weird tension began to fill the room. “Yeah, so I’ll just…go.” You say quickly passing him and opening the door, before Miguel had the (bad) mind to stop you.
You rushed out into the hallway which instantly felt lighter, letting you breathe.
You head to the main communion area, paths leading everywhere along the walls to along the roof, making it easy for a spider person to navigate but not someone who can’t stick to walls.
So you stay on the simple path, skimming through talking suited spiders until someone called your name. You spin catching sight of Peter, Mayday in his grasp.
“Hey.” You smile.
“Hey. Sorry, Hobie wanted me to tell you that he can’t catch up for that song session thing, something about getting called in for business.” Peter said, his hands going everywhere as Mayday tried to escape over the edge.
“Also picture that in an over pronounced British accent.” He gave you a thumbs up to which you chuckled.
“No worries, thanks Peter.”
“Mayday!” He suddenly yelled, to which you pointed to the left, displaying her climbing onto a spider-man’s back.
Peter rushes off. And you sigh, thinking you hurried for no reason. Though you are grateful that you could use that as an excuse to get out of Miguel’s room.
As you head to your own, you begin to wonder what this last minute mission could be about and why Hobie had been called in now. Usually the only person who calls people in, especially this last minute would be Miguel.
I guess crime never sleeps—you think to yourself—or something like that.
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ahhh here’s part three!—I hope this one wasn’t too boring or not what you expected x part four is gonna be more SeXuAl, I promise
I actually don’t know how many parts I should do, coz atm it’s feeling like a slow burn, but I don’t want to drag you guys along a long ass fic so I’m not sure.
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strang3lov3 · 10 months
Text
Brain Scramblies
Joel Miller x Fem! Reader
Summary: Bubbly and sweet Reader slips and falls at Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party, hitting her head hard on the floor. Tommy tasks Joel, her grumpy patrol partner, with getting her home safe. In her dazed state, she spills to Joel how she really feels about him! Basically two idiots dancing around their feelings for each other
Word count: 3.6k
Warnings: Talk of traumatic brain injuries, but that’s it. Brief mention of smut but mostly goofy fluff. Joel is afraid of feelings lol
A/N: I actually don't feel fantastic about this story, but felt like you all deserved something new from me to satisfy the absence. Next week I'll have a bit more time to continue my bd!joel story and a few others! yes, the title is from wwdits. my other favorite show lol
if you like this story, please leave me a comment 🩷
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It’s a beautiful night, laughter and music fill the air of the Tipsy Bison bar in Jackson, Wyoming. It’s Tommy and Maria’s anniversary party and you were having a ball celebrating with the two of them. Tommy and Maria loved you, and you loved them. You often babysat their child, took care of chores around their home, and brought them baked goods and other treats. They loved you like you were their own. 
The party was a blast, you spent the night dancing and chatting with Tommy and Maria and others. It couldn’t have been a better night.
Until you trip over your own feet. .
Boom. In one swift motion, too quick for your brain to process, your legs kick up into the air and your back slams the ground, your head following suit. 
Your vision goes dark then, voices fading out. You feel a strong pair of hands grip your shoulders and jiggle your face slightly. You open your eyes slowly, blinking a few times, and the figure in front of you speaks. “Hey, now. Wake up, wake up, Jesus, girl. What did you do?” he asks, but his words sound muddled, like he’s underwater. “Maria, go get Joel. I think she might have a concussion.” he shouts in the opposite direction.
Your fuzzy vision focuses then and you recognize the friendly face and long black hair in front of you. It’s Tommy. You squint your eyes and look around, confused as to why you’re on the floor. The lights are blindingly bright and the music is blaring. It’s too much for your senses. 
“Can you hear me, honey? You took quite a tumble and it looked like you hit your head pretty hard. Drink too much?” 
You struggle to respond, finding it difficult to form words and coherent thoughts. You feel dazed and foggy and there’s a pounding throb at the back of your head. and “Think I tripped,” you finally mumble out, carefully prodding the back of your skull. 
“Wouldn’t be the first time, you klutz,” he chuckled, tilting your chin and looking into your eyes. “Maria’s getting Joel, I think we’re gonna have him take you home. Infirmary’s closed at this time of night but we can get you checked out tomorrow, make sure you didn’t thump your head too hard.”
Joel. Your eyes widened at the mention of him. Now that was something your brain had no issue focusing on. “Your older brother, Joel?” 
“Yes, Joel, my older brother,”
“I like Joel,”
“I know you do, honey,”
“I really like Joel,” you say through a long sigh. “Isn’t he just lovely?”
Tommy looks at you with an eyebrow cocked, completely amused by your honesty. Tommy and Maria had a feeling you were crushing on him, but you stayed tight lipped about your feelings for him. “Yeah, sure. Lovely describes Joel perfectly,”
Joel was your patrol partner. He was tall, handsome, brave, and skilled. He had the most gorgeous brown eyes you had ever seen, and the prettiest gentle curls atop his head. And he couldn’t fucking stand you. 
You didn’t often go on patrol, but everyone pitched in with patrol around Jackson. Being so near and dear to Tommy and Maria’s hearts, they wanted the best for you and always put you on patrol with Joel. He’d keep you safe, they told you. 
And he did keep you safe. But not without constant grumbling and griping about your sprightly attitude and constant chatter. He thought he had it rough with Ellie, but she was a walk in the park compared to you, with your sweet and pure heart and bubbly personality. 
“What’s your favorite kind of cookie?” you asked him once while traveling horseback through a grassy meadow. It was a beautiful day, the clouds were big and fluffy and tall. The wildflowers were blooming left and right, painting the grass with violet and crimson. You held onto Joel tightly, pressing your face against his back. He tried his best to ignore how much he enjoyed the feeling of your arms around his stomach. 
“You ask too many goddamn questions,” he grunted.
“That’s not an answer,” you scolded playfully. 
Joel stayed silent. You were like an annoying, buzzing bee. If he ignored you, hopefully you’d go away. Easy, he thought. Just ignore the annoying, cute, thoughtful, and beautiful bee. 
You asked him again. Maybe he didn’t hear you, you spoke into his right side after all. Still, nothing. “Joel?”
You could hear him inhale and exhale deeply. He was definitely ignoring you. That just wouldn’t do. 
So you pinched his side.
He yelped in surprise. “Ow! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I asked you a question,”
“I’m not answerin’,”
“That’s rude of you,”
“Yeah, well, tough,”
You pinched him again. 
“Gaah!” Joel swatted your hand, nearly losing his balance. “Jesus, fucking snickerdoodles!” he hissed at you. Oh, how you got under his skin. Snickerdoodles were, in fact, his favorite cookies. He wasn’t just saying that to shut you up. His grandmother used to make them for him and Tommy when they were young. His heart broke a little at the thought of her, thankful she had passed long before the world went to shit. “Happy now?”
Yes, you were happy. You rubbed soothing circles into where you pinched him. 
The next day, you whipped up a batch of the best snickerdoodles Joel would ever taste. You dropped them off on his doorstep and left, not alerting Joel or Ellie to what you had done.
Ellie was the one to find your cookies. “Joel, what’re these?” she called into their home, shoving a cookie into her mouth. Joel looked up, rolling his eyes when he recognized the treats in her hand. “Give me those,” he grumbled. 
He took one cookie and examined it, then brought it to his lips. He took a bite, and melted when he tasted the sweet cinnamon and sugar cookie, so buttery and slightly tangy, just how a snickerdoodle should be. It was soft and chewy, just how he liked them.
And dear lord, it was orgasmic. The best snickerdoodle he had ever tasted. He prayed his grandmother up in heaven would forgive him for enjoying it so much, but this was definitely his new favorite. How dare you weasel your way into his heart with baked goods? What a contemptible thing to do. He felt his heart swell at the thought of you and your sweetness. And it fucking terrified him.
Joel put on his boots and practically sprinted to Tommy and Maria’s. Without knocking, he let himself inside and sat down at the table with Tommy as he tried to catch his breath. Tommy looked at him with wide eyes, completely perplexed by his brother. “You have to–” he stopped for a second, breathing in and out deeply. “You have to take her off patrol with me. I ain’t gonna be her partner anymore.” Joel’s heaving began to slow.
“And why would I do that, Joel?”
“She talks too much,”
Tommy let out a dry laugh. Joel Miller, ever the grinch. Heart two sizes too small. “Are we eight years old? Suck it up, big brother,”
Joel shook his head, squinting his eyes and squeezing the bridge of his nose. “She fuckin’ pinched me,” Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but Joel interrupted. “Twice!”
Tommy smiled at the thought of sweet little you pinching Joel. “I’m sure she had a good reason for pinchin’ you. What’d you do to her?”
“I didn’t–it doesn’t matter,” Joel sighed exasperatedly. He had a penchant for the dramatics at times. “You don’t get it. She made me cookies.”
Tommy gasped sarcastically. “No, not cookies. How horrible, Joel! What should we do with her, throw her in jail? Banish her? Feed her to lions?”
“Tommy,” Joel warned with a low voice. “I am not doin’ patrol with her anymore.”
“Joel,” Tommy warned back, matching his tone. “Quit your bitchin’. She’s a nice girl, and you’re gonna take care of her. She likes you, why, I haven’t got a clue.”
Tommy knew the real reason Joel wanted to stop patrolling with you. He was catching feelings for you. And Joel reacted exactly how Tommy expected. He was frightened of these feelings, terrified to let anyone new into his heart. He already made room for Ellie and her bad puns, he didn’t know if he had room for you and your snickerdoodles as well. He did. You were already there. 
Joel and Maria appeared in front of you then, your eyes brightening when you met Joel’s sour expression. 
“What’d you do now, trouble?” 
Trouble. That was Joel’s nickname for you. When he and Ellie finished your cookies, he returned your container to you on your porch.
“Thanks for the cookies, trouble. They were delicious,” he said, his voice was low and gravelly. “Didn’t need to do all that for me.”
“Trouble? Is that what I am?” you asked incredulously.
“Yeah, actually. Pinchin’ me. Talkin’ too much,” Joel did his best to bite back the smile threatening to form on his lips. “And now you’re tryin’ to make me fat, so yeah. You’re a troublemaker.”
Your glassy eyes scanned his face. “What did you do now, trouble?”
Joel bent down to meet your gaze and Maria checked the back of your head for cuts or swelling. 
“Maria says you’re hurt. What’d you do?”
“I tripped and fell,” Joel scoffed. “Figures,” Joel pushed Tommy to the side, crouching in front of you. He took your face into his hands, checking for any other injuries. Your eyes were unfocused and pupils blown wide. He held a finger in front of your eyes, moving it from side to side. You had difficulty following the movement.
“Ouch,” you winced, feeling Maria’s fingers on the tender spot at the back of your head. “I think she smacked her head pretty hard.” she told Tommy. “Very swollen back here.”
“She’s not following my finger. Think it’s probably a concussion, but I don’t know for sure,” he said. “She seems pretty out of it.”
In your fuzzy state, you reached forward and held Joel’s face, mimicking how he did to you. “Handsome,” you murmured. 
Joel felt his face go hot at your compliment. You thumbed his cheeks, savoring the feeling of his prickly hairs on your fingertips. “Uhh,”
“You’re so handsome,” you repeated. Not even drinking a barrel of whiskey could have pried that out of you. You did a number on your poor brain. 
“That’s nice, sweetheart,” Joel turned his head to the side and coughed, trying to hide his embarrassment. He gripped your wrists and pulled your hands away from his face as you pouted. “Think she needs to go home.” “That’s right. You make sure she gets home safe,” Tommy said. 
Joel looked up with a furrowed brow. “Me? Why can’t you deal with her?” his words came out more bitter than he intended, like taking you home was the biggest inconvenience of his life.
“Hey,” you whined. How rude!
Joel apologized quickly. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean it like that,”
“Because it’s our anniversary, and I told you to keep her safe. Remember? Come on now, Joel. Be a gentleman,” Tommy motioned to Maria to help you up. Slowly, you stood up. On shaky legs, you felt your knees begin to give out. Joel lunged forward to catch your fall. 
He rolled his eyes with a sigh. Joel held out his arm for you and you wrapped your hands around his bicep. “Can you walk for me, trouble?” He didn’t actually mind leaving the party early. He wasn’t having too much fun anyway.
“I’ll do anything for you, Joel,” you erupted into a fit of giggles. “You’re so strong!” 
Joel felt his face go warm again as he cleared his throat. Wow, you really did hit your head hard. Joel was used to being flirted with, but this was an entirely different animal. You hit your head so hard it knocked your filter loose. What would you say next?
 His eyes darted to Tommy and Maria, who stood there watching you both, smirking. “Take good care of our girl,” Maria ordered.
Joel begins walking slowly, taking careful steps. You stumble along and can hardly maintain your footing as you make your way out of the bar. You’re still giggling and squeezing his arm. “You are so strong and so handsome!” you squeal.
“Jesus,” he whispered to himself. Was this real you or concussed you speaking?
You walked silently for a bit, gaining a slow and steady rhythm. The world around you blurred and moved quickly. 
“I have a crush on you,” you blurt out with slurred speech.
“That’s nice, trouble,” Joel said, not believing you. You might as well be completely wasted, the way you were making no sense. 
“I mean it,”
“I’m sure you do,” Joel replied sardonically. You tripped again, nearly falling over a second time. Joel caught you and held you tightly. Frustrated, he groaned.“Alright, no more talking. We’re playing the quiet game the rest of the way home,”
“Seriously,” you giggle. “You’re so fucking handsome. You’re the most handsomest man I’ve ever met,” You kept walking and stumbling awkwardly. It was as if you weren’t even walking, just floating along. Your legs didn’t feel real.
“Thank you,” Joel mumbles. He was never good at accepting compliments. But you seem so insistent on informing him of his good looks, he might as well take the compliments in stride.
“You have such pretty brown eyes. Did you know that?”
“I did not,”
“You do. And you have pretty hair,” you paused for a second, catching your breath. “And you have a nice butt,” Joel rolls his eyes, biting back his smile. “I want to have sex with you.” 
“Woah,” he barks at you, unable to contain his shock at your sudden boldness. Where is your fucking filter? Is this even real? Joel will be thinking of this night for weeks to come. “You have brain damage,” he tells you. “Need to stop talking like this,”
“You have brain damage!” You giggle, your feet crossing with Joel’s. Bam. It’s his turn to hit the ground now. You couldn’t walk in a straight line to save your life, even with Joel supporting you. “Oh, shoot. I tripped you.”
“Okay, that’s it,” Joel stands up and without asking permission, he lifts your body over his shoulder. He tries to ignore the fact that your ass is so close to his face. You erupt into laughter, absolutely tickled by his actions. “I know this probably isn’t great for your head, but we need to move. Almost home anyway,” 
“Fine by me, handsome!” you poke his back and his sides. He’s trying to fight off the tingles your touch leaves on his skin. “Are you gonna take me home and have sex with me?”
“Behave,” he warns you. “No, I am not having sex with you. I’m puttin’ you to bed and going to try to forget any of this ever happened. Now quiet, you.”
You let out an angry groan, but oblige. You’re running out of steam, fogginess filling your head even more. You can hardly keep your eyes open. 
Before you know it, Joel is at your doorstep and sets you down. “Where are your keys?” he asks you. 
You slap your thigh, indicating that your keys are in the front right pocket of your jeans. Joel pulls you close and quickly pulls the keys out of your jeans, looking up into the sky to avoid your gaze. He’d need to drink an ocean of alcohol to forget this night. 
Joel fumbles with the keys, trying each one and jiggling it in your door. He figured asking you which key was futile, you were so far gone.
As he’s working diligently to open your door, you can’t help but sigh in admiration. His back muscles tense through his shirt, the fabric stretching and moving back. And god, his ass. So round and plump in his tight jeans. You can’t help yourself. It needs to be pinched. “You really do have a nice butt,” you whisper.
You reach forward and pinch his ass with your thumb and pointer finger. Joel jumps and whips around. “What is wrong with you?” He looks at you with a furrowed brow, but his frustrated heart softens when he sees your expression. You’re smirking, eyes big and without a single thought behind them. You have no idea what you’re doing. He knows that. The real you would probably die of embarrassment if she knew of your flirty and bold antics tonight. He can’t help the smile curling up on his lips. You have to mean all of it, right?. All the compliments and confessions. He knows they’re all true. At least, he hopes they are.
Joel grabs your hand and helps you inside. He leads you through your house, checking each door to find your room. He could ask you, but he really doesn’t want you talking. You need to relax.
Once he finds your room, he turns on the light, leads you inside, and helps you sit your bed. Your room reflects your personality perfectly, so bright and colorful. Decorations everywhere. 
Then, he leaves. 
You feel like crying. Your head feels so murky and full, and the pounding has worsened. “Joel?” your voice is thick. 
No answer. He just left without saying goodbye?
Your bottom lip wobbles and you feel tears well up in your eyes as your heart begins to break. How did you even end up here? What even happened tonight? All you knew is that you felt cold and sick and all alone. Your head feels like it’s going to fall right off. 
You sniffle and hear a thump in the distance. And then another. And another. They’re getting louder now. Footsteps. 
Joel returns and your heart blooms. He always kept you safe, even when you drove him fucking nuts. Of course he wouldn’t just leave you. You see that he has a glass of water in his hand. 
He sits on the bed and faces you. You smile gently, admiring all of his features. His scars, his freckles. His sparkly brown eyes. His salt and pepper mustache. “You didn’t leave?”
“‘Course not,” he grips the back of your head softly and tilts it back, then presses the glass to your lips. “Gotta make sure you’re safe, right?” He doesn’t let you respond to his question and tilts the glass into your mouth, forcing you to take a little sip of water. 
“You take such good care of me, Joelie,” His cheeks turn rosy at his new nickname. How sweet it sounds from your lips. He presses the glass to your lips again and makes you drink. 
“You’re so handsome,” Sip. “Did you know I have a crush on you?” sip.
“I did, actually,” Sip. “Now drink. You need to finish the glass.”
Sip. “You have such gorgeous brown eyes. Like coffee beans,” you whisper. Sip.
“Is that right? Coffee beans?” Well, that’s a thoughtful compliment. He doesn’t bother hiding his smile anymore. 
“Mhm,” Sip. “And your butt–”
“What about my butt?” he teases you with a raised eyebrow. You won’t remember any of this anyway, he might as well play along. 
“Like a peach,” “A peach, huh?” He presses the glass to your lips again, this time not pulling it away. You drink the rest of the water. 
“What about a peach, Joelie?” you question. Your eyes are big and lost. It’s as if the last thirty seconds didn’t happen. 
Your forgetfulness would have worried Joel, but he was no stranger to concussions. Had a few of his own. His daughter, Sarah, also had sustained a few concussions from flying soccer balls. She’d be like this too, acting goofy and speaking incoherently. She was always back to normal within a day or two. You would be okay too. 
“Nothin’, sweetheart,” Joel lifts your legs onto the bed and takes off your shoes, plopping each on the ground. He pulls a knitted blanket over your body and gently leans your head back into your pillows.
You stare into his eyes, his gorgeous coffee bean eyes, let out a big yawn. Your eyes are heavy now and your head feels like a weight, like you couldn’t lift it even if you tried. Joel stares back at you, the gears in his head are spinning. He places an experimental hand on your head and combs his fingers over your scalp.
He continues stroking your scalp, soothing you. Your eyes fall shut, and within seconds you’re in a peaceful slumber. 
He doesn’t leave. He stays with you for another minute, making sure you’re really asleep. 
He still doesn’t leave. One more minute passes. 
He’s still sitting there, stroking your head. He can’t bring himself to leave you. He needs to make sure you’re safe, just like Tommy and Maria told him to. 
He’ll stay here all night, gently stroking your head and your back. Telling himself he’s just making sure you’re safe, that’s all. “Goodnight, trouble,” he whispers. 
He’ll deal with his feelings later.
Part two: troublemaker
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eternally-racing · 3 months
Text
keep her safe | lando norris
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pairing: dad! lando x wife! reader (+ their teenage daughter!)
genre: fluff & angst-ish
warnings: racing crash, reader/lando's kid is in the hospital, some swearing
wc: 1.4k
summary: Nothing prepares you for the feeling of watching your daughter's first crash in formula 3.
note: this fic can be read as part of the racer girl series or as a stand alone as well!
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Lando always hated pulling the “I’m a celebrity” card when you two were out in public. He's never wanted the special treatment that companies wanted to give him before, but the minute he sees his daughter crash in her first Formula 3 race, he’s trying to pull out every trump card he has to get his way into the medical tent. 
“That’s my fucking daughter in there, you can’t keep her from me! This is absolutely insane! I’m Lando fucking Norris, don’t you know who I am?”  Lando is yelling and yelling and you hold him back by the wrist because otherwise you think he might actually charge at the door to try and get through it. 
He more than anyone here knows what a bad crash looks like, and from the minute he saw your daughter, Piper, go into the barriers he knew that it was a rough one. There’s cameras swarming around you both but he doesn’t care (It’s not like he was a PR team’s dream when he was a driver himself). That’s his little girl in there and she’s hurt. There’s now a full commotion in front of the medical area and Lando admits defeat as he sinks back into the wall behind him and crumbles to the floor with you following suit. 
“She’s afraid of needles, Y/N.” Lando says no louder than a whisper towards the shut doors “Who’s gonna tell them that she’s afraid of needles if I’m not there?”
You know that if she’s in a state where they’re not letting you see her and she’s being transferred to the hospital that she likely has already gotten a lot of needles and wasn’t conscious enough to feel them, but you keep that information to yourself once you see the worried look on Lando’s face. This exact moment is something you two had worried about ever since your little girl first stepped in a kart, and somehow it was worse than you had ever imagined it would be.
By the time you and Lando make it to the hospital it feels like hours have gone by, even though in reality it hadn’t been more than a handful of minutes. Lando’s never been more grateful for his success when a nurse recognizes him and immediately guides you both in the direction of Piper’s room. He’s not sure he would’ve been able to make it through a conversation right now anyways. 
The scene inside is every parent’s worst nightmare. There are lines going in and out of Piper’s arms and bags of fluid are hung next to her bed; there are too many machines beeping and showing numbers and graphs that you just can’t understand. You feel Lando’s knees buckle beside yours and you keep an arm around his waist to keep him steady. You both need each other right now, there’s no doubt about that. 
When Piper cries out for her daddy from the hospital bed it brings a fresh set of tears to your eyes. You can’t remember the last time Piper actually called Lando daddy, it had been “dad” for the most part or “Mr.Norris” if she felt like being cheeky, but hearing those words from her mouth brought you right back to when she was a little girl, your little girl. 
Lando rushes to her side and has both hands caressing her face. He knows that she’s been checked over by the doctors, but he needs to see for himself that she’s really okay. He presses his forehead against hers as they cry together. You’ll never fully understand what Piper’s just been through, but the man standing in front of her does all too well. 
You hang back a bit to talk to the doctors, who try to give you a comprehensive update on her status, but as soon as you hear the words “she’s fine and on track to make a complete recovery” you zone out as you finally let out the breath that it feels like you’ve been holding this whole time. You’re about to go rejoin your family once you hear the next words out of your daughter’s mouth.
“I’m sorry dad, I know this meant a lot to you.” Piper sighs as she pulls the hospital sheets up to her chin.  “Did I at least make it around a lap? Am I the youngest ever female formula 3 driver to complete a lap in a grand prix?” 
This is when Lando has to face the music - he got so excited about his daughter dreaming of Formula 1 that he may have pushed her a little too far if his daughter is more worried about beating records than she is about her own health. Lando tries to calm his own breathing as he grabs both of Piper’s hands to lay on his own to get her full attention. He wants to make sure she fully understands what he’s about to say.
“You’re always going to be my little girl, Pipes. Racing or not, I am always proud of you. I never want you to feel like you have to impress me.” Lando doesn’t even answer Piper’s question about the record because frankly he has no idea. He’s never once cared about awards and prizes and all of the fancy shit. All he’s ever wanted is for her to be happy, and he tells her exactly that. 
Piper stops crying long before Lando does, and you’re amazed by the maturity your daughter shows as she starts wiping the tears from your husband’s eyes. You all just need a little family cuddle so you do exactly that, and take a moment to appreciate the lives that the three of you have and how precious that is. The sentimental moment is only broken by your daughter, who says that she has a little request for the two of you. 
“Do you think you can ask the doctors if they can give me the good stuff that you got back in Vegas all those years ago, dad?”  
Moments like this remind you that Piper is her father’s daughter and it earns a laugh from you both. 
“Not a chance, kid, but good try.” 
For the first time in what feels like years, the 3 of you sleep in one bed together. It’s one teeny tiny hospital bed made for a teenager, so you both wake up with extremely sore backs but very full hearts. Piper’s the first to fall asleep, understandably spent from the day she’s been through, but you notice Lando’s eyes never leave her, as if he’s worried she’ll disappear if he looks away. You reach over to grab his hand, you get it. Call it parental instinct, but that feeling of anxiety after something bad happens to your child is just something you can’t push away, and you want him to know that you’re here for him. You both wordlessly take turns watching over Piper throughout the night, holding her hand through blood draws and med deliveries. 
 Lando spends all day and night at Piper’s side while she’s recovering, and it’s only when you and your daughter tell him that he smells absolutely horrendous and needs to go shower do you finally get him to take a beat for himself. He still calls 3 times on the drive home from the hospital alone to check how Piper’s doing, and you have to threaten to not pick up the next time he calls before he finally takes a bit of a break. So often it feels like children drift away from their parents in their teenage years, but Piper’s recovery has given you both the opportunity to spend some much needed time with her as she grows up. 
The minute Piper is cleared by the medical team she’s instantly back in the simulator. She’s a little daredevil like her daddy after all. Lando of course asks over and over again if she’s doing this for herself and not him, the fear of making the same mistakes as earlier weighing heavy on his mind. Your daughter is nothing if not honest, so she tells him about how she loves the sport itself but also loves the way she’s able to connect to her dad through it. Lando makes her pinky promise that she’ll let her know if she ever changes her mind on the subject, and lucky for you both, she never does.
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author's note: this was based on a lovely request from a reader! if you have any requests feel free to drop them in my ask box :) If you liked this piece and haven't read racer girl yet, give it a read because I'm sure you'll love that one too!
Until next time! - Em <;3
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