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mv1simp · 4 months ago

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I love your stories so much, please write more dark manipulative Max, maybe something with mindbreak or bimbofication of an innocent reader? It would be fun if she was Toto's daughter and Max so holds it over Toto.

this is for all the dark!Max/toto’s daughter/bimbo/mindbreak reader requests all you freaks have been requesting 😼😼 for the first time i have something for the dark!lando girlies!!

Double Fantasy ♥️

Max Verstappen x Lando’s Fuckbuddy!Reader

I can tell that you think that I’m right for you, I already know that it's not true, but girl I'll lie to you (even though it's wrong)

Recently becoming a media executive for the FIA, you can’t deny that your dream job has given you access to your dream men. Sadly, your top pick, Max Verstappen doesn’t look twice your way - not interested in the daughter of Toto Wolff, who he openly dislikes. But you gladly enjoy your consolation prize of being Lando Norris’s fuckbuddy. You didn’t realise just how far Lando planned on extending your arrangement when he pisses the Dutch champion off one step too far - and now needs to figure out the perfect gift to give Max and make amends.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dark! max, dark! Lando, but bimbo!reader is into it lol, have done a twist on the usual innocent! reader, she’s toto’s daughter also, dubcon, blindfold, BDSM, no threesomes sorry I can’t share max with anyone else, WC 5.6k

Multiple heads turn your way as you make your way down the FIA garage, your YSL black and gold heels clicking smoothly on the floor. You can’t hold back the pleased smile on your pink glossed lips at the appreciative glances over your curvy figure. At 22, you’ve landed your dream job as a marketing and media executive for the FIA. Glowing recommendations, a perfect GPA and of course a touch of good old fashioned nepotism via your dad, the Mercedes team principal Toto Wolff, landed you here, dressed in luxury outfits and regularly networking with some of the richest people on the continent. What can you say? You’re a material girl, after all, with a pleasure for the finer things in life.

And that included an appreciation of rich, powerful men that you inherited as a result of a strict and emotionless father who preferred to spend his time running a motorsports corporation instead of at home. Daddy issues, one might even say (actually your therapist had said exactly that.) So the Formula One grid, filled to the brim with hot, millionaire drivers who have no issue flirting with the new pretty little toy on the paddock, was the perfect place for a girl like you to work. You definitely had your fun, arriving a few months ago for your first day, dressed in a tight yet full length maxi dress, giving you the perfect blend of sexy and demure that had much of the paddock panting after you.

But you were a girl with a taste for luxury - you weren’t going to settle for any dirty mechanic or plain news reporter. No, what you wanted more than anything, was to get the best of both worlds like your lucky bitch of a stepmom Susie Wolff had done - FIA executive and WAG of the hottest and richest team principal. Even you had to admit, apart from your dad, the rest of the principals were a little bit too far on the balding old men side. But the drivers, you thought wickedly, the drivers were a completely different story. And they knew they were some of the most desired men on the planet, with their fame and status. Their egos were sky high - especially since multiple women would be throwing themselves at them every race weekend or media day. So you had made sure to play the game very, very carefully - unlike the other sultry models on the paddock, or conservative women dressed head to toe in basic team gear, you were the very picture of innocence with your sweet makeup and dark curls, cute girly dresses and heels, all shy giggles one minute and then serious, no nonsense businesswoman the next to keep them on their toes.

A lot of the drivers ate it up, too, flocking to Toto Wolff’s pretty daughter when they’d see you doing the occasional post race interview or brazenly flirting with you at a drivers’ meeting. But the one man who you truly wanted, the 26 year old in the Redbull gear with 3 world champions and a multimillionaire contract to his name, with intense blue eyes and thick thighs and broad shoulders, with a deep voice that sent shivers down your spine one second then flutters in your heart the next when you’d hear him laugh - he was the man who didn’t look twice your way. Despite your attempts to flutter your eyelashes, wearing tight outfits and bend over just so in a certain angle, or pressing your generous tits up against his bulging biceps as your breathlessly whisper Congratulations on the win, Max he wouldn’t even show a flicker of reciprocal interest. You were the daughter of Toto, after all - a principal who he was quite well known in the media for having ongoing disputes with for numerous years. As if Max Verstappen was going to be seduced by the likes of a gold digging daughter who was probably just as two faced as her father.

You’d pouted for weeks, growing bitter with jealousy at seeing Max instead walk around with Kelly, a pretty, tall and slim model who’d apparently outplayed you. But to your delight, you stumbled upon the best consolation prize. With all your pining you hadn’t realized you’d snagged one of the hottest and most desirable drivers on the grid - McLaren’s Lando Norris. Well, snagged was one way to put it - after all, a playboy like him was hard to pin down, especially when he knew how much pull he had over women. But you’d thought about that to, even going so far as saving your virginity like the perfect daddy’s little girl you were. Lando ate it up, twistedly enjoying getting to corrupt the paddock’s pretty princess, the one everyone wanted to get a piece off. So unlike the other women he slept with, the ones kept secret and hidden from the media, you were his favourite toy - one that he paraded around whenever you’d be in the same city. Not quite a girlfriend, of course, he was far too much of a flirt to put such a label on you so soon - more of a friends with benefits, a high maintenance fling, a fuckbuddy, some might call it.

And once you had your manicured hands clinging onto his arms at the races you sure as hell did not plan on letting go. Toto was not overly happy at the news that his eldest daughter was involved with a driver, of course, but had accepted it as Lando was still a good choice compared to many of the other drivers he wanted you to stay well away from - like Mad Max. So you stayed loyal to Lando, not wanting any rumours about you flirting with multiple drivers to impact your dad’s important reputation. You’d only flutter your lashes at Lando, kissing his cheek diligently with your glossed lips, sending the naughty photos of you in expensive lingerie just for him - because the rewards you got as his paddock arm candy were just too good. Always making sure your face was well cut out from any pictures, of course - you would die if they got leaked and your father found out.

But being Lando’s fuckbuddy came with a whole line of luxuries you’d quickly grown accustomed too. Tickets to whatever show you wanted, the finest food at the most expensive restaurant, the papparazzi going crazy at whatever outfit you’d wear when clinging onto Lando’s arm, and of course one of the most coveted men in the world between your legs, teaching you how to come apart on his fingers. That’s right, his fingers, and very rarely his cock, because you needed to secure that diamond ring, after all. And you sure as hell weren’t going to give him wife privileges 24/7 when he hadn’t even made you his official girlfriend yet. So instead you tried to push him to the limits, testing his patience to give up and retire his playboy ways if he finally got to bury his desperate dick inside your heavenly tight pussy again, after having taken your virginity.

Truly, you had outdone yourself, you thought, as every passing race this season Lando got more and more tense as tensions for the World Championships grew, with McLaren finally being able to threaten the Verstappen Red Bull reign for the first time in years. And with each passing race, he couldn’t relieve the tension enough, trying to furiously fuck his way through all number of vogue models but somehow always finding himself back with you, desperately begging to be let in between your soft thighs. And like always, you’d blink innocently and coo that you felt too shy, wasn’t last time enough, you didn’t want to ruin yourself for the man you were going to marry, remember?

And Lando would groan, because as much as he wanted you, he also knew there was no way in hell he was ready to take you to the altar over this. Although it had been getting harder and harder to resist, lately, because although you were truly so talented with your small hands and sweet, drooling mouth, he would endlessly replay the heaven that your pussy had felt like the rare few times you’d let him enter you with his cock.

But as the season went on even you couldn’t calm Lando down, especially after the Zandervoot race. Tensions were at an all time high between him and his normally good friend Max, after Lando stole his home race under him and even sealed the deal by throwing the Dutchman’s simply lovely phrase back at him cockily. Max was well and truly pissed off at Lando then, not even turning upto their weekly Padel games or replying to his texts. Although Lando wanted to win the championship, he also wanted to remain good mates with Max - especially because he knew being on Mad Max’s bad side always ended with the opponent finding themselves crashing into a wall at the next race. So as he pondered just what he could do to get his friend’s forgiveness, a wicked idea came to him, one night when he was out at a Monaco nightclub with you and had run into Max partying with his friends. He’d tried to talk to Max, but had been rudely ignored, so instead Lando stood off the corner, rather crossly glaring at the Dutchman, when he noticed you’d disappeared from his side to tipsily wander to the bar and get another drink.

He was about to go help you when he saw you stumble, maybe take you to the bathroom for a quick sloppy blowjob - but was suprised to see Max appear at your side, his intense blue eyes watching your tinier frame carefully as he rested a large palm over your plump ass to secure you. And Lando watched as you giggled happily, twirling your hair as Max handed over his black Amex to pay for your drink, rewarded with a lingering lip glossed kiss on his cheek from you, before you scampered back over to where Lando was hidden in the shadows. And as you loyally returned to Lando’s arms, whispering that you were going to make him feel so good tonight, he seemed so tense, the Brit found himself ignoring your seductive words entirely to instead focus on how Max’s hungry gaze lingered on your ass as you had strutted away from the tall blonde man. A sinister grin appeared on Lando’s face as he pieced it all together. He’d always thought it was weird that Max chose to completely ignore you, given that he normally was a friendly guy off the track. Turns out his good mate was just trying to avoid getting involved with Toto’s paddock bunny of a daughter, huh?

Turning his attention to you, Lando whispered if you could pretty please try out something new for him tonight, because he was really stressed, okay? He watches you nod eagerly, foolishly thinking your plan to get Lando so desperate for you that he was ready to put a ring on your finger was working. Too bad you had no idea that instead, your fuckbuddy was thinking about how he’d just found the perfect present to gift to his angry rival.

So that’s how you found yourself in a plush hotel bed later that night, all dressed up in a pretty white lace and mesh set and still in your heels, your eyes blindfolded with your hands tied behind your back. You eyes had gone wide with excitement, thighs clenching when Lando had pulled the ropes out, and you’d had to blush and act all innocent when secretly you couldn’t be happier that you were drawing out the dirtier desires in Lando. Because that meant he was falling for you all the more, right?

You had no idea about the private conversation your fuckbuddy had been having with the driver you’d previously desired, just outside the club in a dark alleyway, where Lando had finally cornered Max to apologise. The furious Dutchman had, as expected, been in no mood to hear it - but had stopped in his tracks and turned around when Lando slyly suggested that as he had taken something of his, it was only fair that Max get one of Lando’s precious things in return. Like maybe…you?

At the mention of your name, Max furrows his brows, telling Lando he wasn’t interested in the latest toy on the grid who spread her legs for whichever driver gave her some attention. Oh, Lando all but purred, that’s the catch, mate. She’s basically still a virgin, was one when I met her, only let me fuck her a couple of times, wants to save herself for the one or some shit. But I trained her how to use her holes, and fuck does she know how to suck a guy off with that sweet mouth of hers.

That’d caught Max’s attention, and he smirked to Lando, calling him a fucked up asshole for selling out the girl who was loyal to him like this, who was Toto Wolff’s daughter, no less - a powerful man someone like Lando wouldn’t want to make an enemy off. The Brit shrugged. Toto’s never going to find out. What’s mine is yours, mate. Enjoy. And with that, he tossed his room key to Max.

That night, Lando didn’t feel bad, not even one bit, as he tightly wound the rope around your delicate little wrists, knowing that you loved to act all innocent but secretly kinky shit like this has you dripping. Especially if you were going to be ruined tonight by a man who you secretly still had desires for - and Lando was certain you did, judging from the way he’d seen you look at Max like he was a God you wanted to worship on your knees. Really, he was being a good friend to you both by letting it happen - just this once of course, he wasn’t going to just hand you over to his track rival after putting in so much work to train you to be the perfect sex toy. So he’d left you there all alone in the room, abruptly saying he had an urgent call and would be back.

The drinks you’d had earlier certainly had their affects on you, making you whine against the tight ropes on your flushed and sensitive skin, almost grateful for the blindfold as you felt overstimulated already. When you finally heard the hotel door reopen, you sighed in relief as your fuckbuddy - soon to be boyfriend, you hoped! - finally came back. In your wildest fantasies you’d never have guessed that instead of Lando locking the door, Max stood in his place - and had taken one look at your tempting, restrained form and realized that the sly Brit had definitely not told you about his plans for tonight. Keeping you blind and tied up while you were tricked into thinking it was your beloved Brit entering you and not your daddy’s enemy, Max Verstappen? It was so dirty that Max got an instant hard on. He’d seen the looks, the touches you gave him too - they were rather hard to miss, after all. But he’d played aloof, not wanting to give into your gold digging ways - but he’d admit that he’s been rather disappointed when he found you’d settled for Lando instead. You’d surprised him with how loyal you remained to the McLaren driver, dutifully remaining by his side and avoiding Max’s intense gaze when it would occasionally flicker over to you. But when the alcohol had loosened your inhibitions tonight, Max had seen the desire in your blown pupils, in your hardened nipples that peaked just at the edge of your dress, and had cockily smirked at the realisation that Lando’s little toy, Toto’s precious daughter - that she was still lusting after him.

And now that this opportunity had presented itself….well, let’s just say that it had Max grinning wickedly as he plotted up all the ways he could walk away with both you and the world championship from Lando this year. That would certainly teach the younger male to mess with what was his, wouldn’t it? And even better, it would put that arrogant prick Toto in his place, keep him from daring to speak out against Max in the media when Redbull trashed Mercedes - because his adored little daughter would be spending the race weekends on her hands and knees for the Dutch world champion, if Max had anything to say about it.

So that’s how Max found himself at the foot of the bed, stripping off his clothes and lazily jerking himself off as he watched you squirm underneath your ropes, pouting as you couldn’t do your usual bit of trailing teasing hands all over Lando and rile him up. Baby? You crooned, tilting your head in the direction you thought he was in. Aren’t you going to-Oh!

You felt his warm, large palms cup your cheek, tracing your glossy, pink lips and you automatically poke your tongue out to circle his finger. Good girl, he sighed, the words making your tummy flutter. He sounded a little different to usual, his voice deeper, lower, but it was hard to think clearly over how much your head was pounding from raw desire, and you liked how he sounded tonight. You were feeling really horny and couldn’t wait for him to finally fuck you too - having had to desperately ride your tiny vibrator after stopping Lando fucking you multiple times this month.

His hands continued their path, trailing over your delicate throat and teasingly encircling it with his large hand, making you gasp - you hadn’t remembered it being quite so large that it wrapped around the whole width of your neck. But maybe your senses were more attuned now since you were blindfolded? It felt really good.

You promptly forgot to think about that any longer when those large hands moved downwards, roughly palming your bouncy tits and making you giggle from his attention. He teased and squeezed them, tugging down on the lace to free them in the open air, twisting on your hardened cute nipples. You squealed from the abuse to your overly sensitive areolas, distracted, and didn’t notice when your hands ended up being untied - only to be guided to a very large and hard cock.

Baby, you’d giggled, it’s been so long that you’re even bigger than I remembered. He swore under his breath as you diligently jerked him off with your two small hands barely wrapping around his length, spitting on it cutely to ease the glide. And then he’s rubbing his leaking cock all over your tits, slapping them with it and chuckling darkly as they jiggled, all wet from his precum. Before you know it, you were drooling and suckling all over his cock, sweetly moaning how good he tasted, even more than last time. Suckling his balls and then licking all the way the very tip, just like he’d taught you, placing messy lip gloss stained kisses down the wet shaft before sucking them clean off. You made sure to pay extra attention to the thick veins that ran underneath his length, even the new ones you hadn’t felt before, because he’d told you it drove men wild.

And when he grabbed your pretty curls, you let your mouth go lax so he could pump his full length furiously down your inviting throat, groaning how much of a good girl you were, maybe your full time job should be sucking his cock instead of trotting about the paddock. You moaned excitedly at the idea, and when he cums, all thick and creamy, you obediently swallow it all up.

Look, daddy, you say rather sluttily, dropping your mouth wide open, tongue out as you showed him how well you’d drank all his cum. Fuck, that’s so dirty, calling me and your father the same name, huh? Should’ve known you’d be into kinky shit like this.

You scrunch your brows cutely in confusion, not sure what he meant by that because you’d called him daddy many times before. But you don’t get to ponder too long because you suddenly hear the sound of a camera click and can see the flash go off through the blindfold. Your tummy lurches, because Nooo, baby, no photos, please, what if my dad sees-

Your pleas are ignored as you’re being lifted by two broad arms and tossed onto the bed, your hands dragged up and over your head as your wrists are tied to the headboard. You’re whining, asking him what he was doing, this was too much, you wanted to see him now, to touch him, but again you don’t get an answer.

Instead, you feel his thick fingers hooking around the sides of your soaked panties and sliding them off, lewd strings of your wetness clinging to the lace as it’s pulled away. Then you hear him deeply exhale a fucking hell, making you blush as strong hands grasp your ankles and push them far apart so your intimate parts are exposed for his hungry gaze.

That’s all the warning you get before there’s a foreign sensation of his warm breath blowing on your puffy folds, making you gasp, and before a broad tongue licks a stripe clean up your pink slit. You squeal in suprise, again stupidly babbling and asking what he was doing, because normally Lando didn’t like going down on you, finding it too much effort for a quick stress relieving fuck - he much preferred having you suck him off instead.

But the mouth currently lapping at your folds seems to have realized just how unfamiliar this pleasure seems to be for your sensitive cunny, because he buries his face right in, licking and slurping up all your dripping wetness. You thrash against your restrains, incoherently moaning because it feels so good baby, mmmh, why didn’t he do this more?

He laughs huskily, still buried inside your folds, and the deep vibrations make you almost cum right then and there. Your whole body is burning up with need now and you’re begging for him to put the condom on and slide in it, daddy, please, you needed it so bad-

You both moan as he finally sinks home, your creamy pussy gushing around him as it welcomes him in. You feel breathless at the size of him, because again he’s bigger and thicker than you remembered - not even just his cock, but his whole body, his bulging biceps and broad chest being able to hold you down with ease. You let him know it, too, whining that he’s so strong, it was really hot, had he been working out more?

That made him laugh again, lips grinning right by your ear, as he tilts your hips up to meet his and starts fucking your gushing pussy roughly. Through your euphoric daze, you feel familiar butterflies swirl in your stomach at the deep laugh, the accent sounding so different from Lando’s but still familiar to you for some reason - yet you still couldn’t quite place it. It was impossible to focus with the way he was thrusting into you, his hands pressing your hips down into the mattress in a bruising grip, making your tits bounce with each pump, your breath come out in soft pants as you gasped for air. You’re about to cum, you can feel it, the intensity building up-

And then, finally, he takes off your blindfold. Your brown eyes take a second to adjust to the bright lights - and then you widen them in pure shock as you realize just who’s wide cock was splitting you open.

You scream as Max grins wickedly down at you, pulling back to leave just his leaking tip inside your tight cunny, before slamming back in and, setting a bed breaking pace and drowning out your panicked wails with the loud banging of the headboard against the walls. You’re doing so good for me, schatje he croons, his voice sickly sweet but his actions pure evil as he grabs your dirty panties and meanly shoves them past your plush lips. Grabbing your soft thighs, he tosses them over his shoulder as he bullies his cock into you even deeper from this angle, repeatedly hitting your poor cervix. Tears pool in your brown doe eyes as you look at where he enters you, horrified as you see he’s making you take his cock raw - something Lando and you never did despite how hot it sounded as a baby outside of marriage would be too much for both of your families. You cry and wail and scream, tears streaming down your face at the embarrasing and degrading treatment you’re experiencing. Really, it’s such wicked and sinful behaviour and you should hate Max so much for this, hate Lando for leaving you all tied up and alone and defenceless against his evil and twisted rival to take advantage of you like this, to bully your practically virgin cunny with each deep thrust from his massive cock.

So why are you rapidly reaching your orgasm even faster than before?

Max has apparently learnt the signs of your pliant body underneath him far too quickly, because he slides his thick cock out of your swollen cunny and instead rests it just on top of your folds. Almost lovingly wiping your tears away with a flick of his thumb, he demands that you beg for it, for his cock to split you in half, to cum inside you, for him, Max, to be the only man you ever let inside your sweet pussy from now on.

You frantically shake your head, your muffled no no nos an obvious contrast to what you secretly wanted, as you’re simultaneously bucking your hips up against his hard length, drenching it in new slick. He smirks, leaning down so your foreheads meet and sweetly kissing up your tears. Despite the depravity of the situation, you’re finding yourself blushing from the unexpected gesture. Schatje, he whispers darkly, sending shivers up your spine because you’d always gotten jealous hearing him call other women that, you’re making this so much harder on yourself. It’s going to be so fun to watch you fall apart for me.

With that, he agonisingly tortures you, dragging just his tip through your folds again and again, slapping your throbbing clit with his head, biting and sucking on your sensitive nipples that leaves you arching your back into his talented mouth. You’re struggling to make sense of what’s going on, of trying to keep coherent. All that hard work and patience to try and lure Lando in was gone the very second your pussy had welcomed Max into it, because you knew Lando would never take you back if he found out about this. Your desperate brain reasons that then, it shouldn’t matter, right? It was too late for you and Lando. And now, you had Max Verstappen using your pretty body however he wanted, making you fulfill all his twisted desires. If you showed him how good you could be for him, be the perfect little pet for all his frustrations to be let out at, maybe he’d keep you around…permanently?

Max didn’t miss the dazed look that had overtaken your wide doe eyes as your whines quietened down. Guess all his teasing had finally melted that scheming brain of yours. Yanking your panties out of your mouth, he asked you if you were ready to behave and ask him nicely.

You nod obediently, looking at him with heart eyes as you confess that his cock felt so good, so addictive, you don’t think you could ever go back to Lando after being stretched open so wide, and could he pretty please fuck you hard and good?

Max growls at your submissive words. You’re offering yourself up to me so sweetly, baby. How can I say no?

He unties your aching wrists, running his soothing palms over the rope marked skin, bending down to give you a passionate, open mouthed kiss. You greedily slurp at his intruding tongue, letting yourself get lost in the pleasure as he lines himself up at your entrance before easily sinking into the wet folds. This time, he doesn’t stop his wicked thrusts, not when you’re squirting on his cock, eyes rolling to the back of your head, not when a creamy ring forms around the base of his cock from your cum, not when you’re tangling your hands in his hair and whining that it’s too much, you’re going to pass out.

He only stops once he’s tensing above you, one hand squeezing your neck and the other gripping the headboard as he drains his entire load into your tight cunny desperately clenching around him. Yours is truly the sweetest pussy he’s ever fucked. He’s never letting you go. He cums so much that it spurts out past your pussy lips, all over your soft thighs.

After a while, when he’s done whispering praises into your ears, your gooey brain soaking it all up, he slides out of you, admiring how his cum leaks out of your cunny that had treated him very well tonight. He places a gentle kiss to your temple and lets you doze off for a bit. It takes you a while longer to come to your senses, and when you sit up, you gulp down the glass of cold water that has been placed on the bedside table. You see Max spread out on an armchair across the room, shirtless and in some grey sweats, smirking at something on his phone - but he looks up when he hears you and lets his gaze drift down your marked up body. You flush under his intense ice blue eyes, heart fluttering at finally getting attention from the richest and fastest driver on the grid.

He beckons you over, calling you his pretty schatje, and in your blissed out state you obediently crawl over to him on your hands and knees, settling in between his spread legs and resting your head against his large thigh. And when he tells you that you looked so cute crawling for him, maybe next time he’ll get you a leash and collar with his name on it, hmm? you bite your lip and shyly nod, telling him of course, you’d do whatever daddy wanted.

He grins darkly, pleased with your submissive response, knowing you’re completely his. Forget Toto, forget Lando, the only man you’d ever be loyal to from now on was him. So you eagerly open your juicy lips wide at his command, drooling all over his cock to clean up the sticky mess your pussy walls had left behind. And when he points his phone at you, hitting record, you glassily stare straight at the camera, letting it capture how you hollowed your cheeks and licked up the creamy ring coating the base of Max’s cock. Gonna send this to your father if he keeps lying about how I’ve going to sign a Mercedes contract next year, Max teases meanly. Or to Lando if he tries to overtake me on the track again. You whine at him, brown doe eyes distressed, and start deepthroating him even faster to please him more, hoping if you did he wouldn’t show your daddy or ex fuckbuddy how much of a slut you were for the champion driver.

Being on your knees and obediently blowing Maxie was a position you became very familiar with. Because like he had wanted, every race weekend you would break your FIA contract clause of remaining unbiased and be dressed in a skimpy little outfit in Redbull colours, your lush tits pushed against Max’s thick biceps as you clung onto him through his paddock walk. Max couldn’t resist smirking at the Mercedes garage where Toto would glare, arms crossed, at the sight of his well accomplished daughter following the reckless Redbull champion around like a lost bunny. Placing a possessive large palm across your ass as he guided you into his private jet, giving it a good squeeze, Max made sure the paparazzi caught a good pic of that, too, for your father to see later when he opened Twitter.

And Lando, who knew how much Max despised sharing his toys, skulked from his seat when he saw you entering Max’s plane for the ride back to Monaco. He’d make sure to never make the mistake of flying in the Verstappen jet again, he thought as he moodily shoved his headphones over his ears to drown out the filthy sounds and desperate moans you let out as Max fucked you raw on the other side of the cabin divider. You’d never let Lando fuck you in such a public place or so often, no matter how often he’d begged you.

Fuck it, might as well make the most of it, the Brit thought once he stopped moping and realised his music wasn’t going to block out the obscene squelches as his rival continued to greedily bounce your creamy pussy on his thick cock. Shoving his hand down his pants, Lando slowly started jerking himself off, smirking when he sees one of Max’s air hostesses blush and bite her lip when he catches her looking. Apparently he hadn’t learnt his lesson of keeping his hands off what belonged to the Dutchman after all, because soon he’s thrusting into the hostess’s willing mouth with the same rapid pace that Max is fucking you with.

Your father had always said birds of a feather flocked together, after all.

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A/N: POST FIC CLARITY HIT HARD IN THIS ONE AHHHHHH 😳😳 hope this satisfies the dark max hoes (yall are so real for that)😼😼 as usual let me know what you think and send in more requests!

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sanguineterrain · 10 days ago

Text

falling behind | spencer reid

Summary: During a movie night with Spencer, he confesses to you that he feels like he's falling behind, having never kissed anyone. You offer to catch him up.

(based on laufey's falling behind)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bff!reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings/tags: spencer's first kiss, s1/s2 spencer, best friend reader, kissing, mentions of sex, some angst at the end.

the divider

"I think you need another bookshelf, Doc," you say, narrowly dodging a stack of books that comes up to your hip.

You’ve let yourself in for your traditional movie night that’s become far and few ever since Spencer started at the FBi. His days off are rare, but they’re always spent with you. You hang your coat and scarf over Spencer’s designated hook for you. Spencer’s putting about in the kitchen, cups clinking.

"I've been trying to find one at a flea market," Spencer says from the kitchen.

"Even though flea markets give you the heebie jeebies?" you call back, flipping through a thick hardcover about ancient Rome. Aaaand that's a naked man. You close the book. Spencer’s the mature one out of the two of you. That’s why he’s got books about Rome and you don’t.

"I'm not crazy about bringing home furniture that was once in someone else's house, though it’s usually very cheap. Still! They could’ve had termites. And that’s a best-case scenario. You won’t believe what some people have in their houses.”

“Oh, I know. Pet dandruff. Mold spores. Your worst nightmare.”

Spencer appears with two mugs of Ovaltine. He's adorably cozy, cocooned in an oversized Caltech sweatshirt and green slacks with the giant cargo pockets he loves. They're so practical!

“There’s no need for sarcasm,” he says, mouth pursed the way it does when you’re being a smartass.

“There’s always a need,” you say cheerfully.

He's wearing the Doctor Who socks you got him three years ago for his birthday. They're worn a little thin. You've offered to buy him new ones—Spencer insists these are still good.

“So how’s life in our nation’s capital?” you ask. “Besides all the serial killers.”

"Good. I still haven't gotten used to these D.C. winters but I feel a lot less silly making hot Ovaltine when it's not sixty-five degrees outside," he says, bending to set your mug down.

Instinctively, you pull out two coasters and Spencer puts your mug on one and cradles his own. He sits on the overstuffed couch he took from his mother's house. You'd helped him take it. You’d followed him out here, actually, after his second PhD, and you live just outside of D.C. because you’re not a big-shot FBI profiler. You’d split the cost of the U-Haul from California and stayed with him the first night because Spencer can’t sleep in unfamiliar darkness.

It had been four years since you’d seen each other. You’d shared a bottle of cheap wine to celebrate his new job at the BAU. Later, Spencer cried over Diana and you held him through it.

"Turning the heat on might help," you say.

"That's simply a luxury the FBI doesn't pay me for. Anyway, thermostats increase the chances of a fire. Especially if the pipes are old."

"We should ask your friend Penelope to hack a bank so you can buy a mansion," you say.

Spencer shakes his head and brings the mug to his lips. "Please don't give her any ideas. Are we starting the movies?"

"Yes! Home Alone?”

“Don’t we always start with your favorite?” he asks, smiling.

“We do. You indulge me, Spencestar.”

You get up to fiddle with Spencer’s ancient TV and DVD player. It takes a couple of strategic smacks to get it running, but you do and you put the DVD in. It’s a tradition, your holiday movie marathons with Spencer.

You get up and unfurl the giant fluffy gray blanket that Spencer keeps neatly folded on the sofa. You sit next to him and pull the blanket over the both of you, then take your Ovaltine into your hands.

“You know, you could always invite your new friends at the FBI for movie nights,” you say. “I’d be okay with that. As long as they understand that I'm your oldest and bestest friend and therefore take precedence.”

"As if I need you telling them embarrassing stories about me,” Spencer says, looking at you flatly. “I know your motivations. It’s bad enough that Derek calls me the baby bird of the bullpen."

“Derek is the one that set you up on a date?”

“Ugh.” Spencer covers his face. “Please don’t remind me.”

It had only been a month ago, Spencer’s date with the sister of one of Derek’s friends. She’d been nice enough, according to Spencer, but you’d sensed more had happened he didn’t want to dive into. There was likely an underlying judgment that Spencer’s encountered too many times to not be sensitive to.

But Spencer always got nervous about these things too. He had a habit of psyching himself out. For a long time, the only woman he’d ever had a full conversation with was you.

The TV screen freezes. You groan and get up, putting your mug down.

“Try moving the antenna,” he says.

“Yeah. The FBI should give flat-screen TVs for Christmas bonuses.”

You play around with the antennas. When that doesn’t work, you turn off the TV. It’s not an exact science—whether the TV wants to play or not is up to forces out of your control. Spencer thinks you have the magic touch, though.

“That date was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” you ask, checking the wires behind the TV. You wiggle them around and try plugging and unplugging stuff.

“No,” Spencer says lightly, in that mild, polite tone that might work on a stranger but hasn’t worked on you since fifth grade.

“Spencer…”

“It wasn’t!” he says. “Honestly, it wasn’t even her, it was… I don’t know. I felt so silly doing it. Like I was a kid trying to do adult things.”

“You are an adult. Is it playing?”

“No. Yeah, I know I am, but I also feel so behind. Like everybody learned stuff I didn’t and now I can’t do a simple thing like go on a date with a woman.”

“You’re not behind—ouch!” The TV shocks you and you snatch your hand back, grimacing.

Spencer stands up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. Where was I? Right. You’re not behind, Spence, you’re the smartest person I know. You’re the smartest person most people know.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Then Spencer suddenly appears, kneeling next to you. You grin.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi. You don’t have to get shocked so we can watch a movie. I can pull it up on my laptop.”

“No, I’m gonna make this work. Here, hold this.”

You hand Spencer a wire. He obediently holds it while you fiddle with the back of the TV.

“She tried to kiss me,” Spencer says quietly.

You pause and look at him. “Who did?”

“The woman Derek set me up with.”

“Oh.” You put down the wire—you’re starting to get the feeling that this is the kind of conversation that can’t be had while you’re trying to fix a TV. “You didn’t tell me that. Did you?”

“No.” Spencer scowls. “I chickened out. I just… Derek would’ve told me to just kiss her because she was pretty and she wanted me. But I didn’t want to. And that’s so stupid, ‘cause I should’ve, right?”

“Spencer, there’s no rule for when you should and shouldn’t kiss someone as long as both parties want to kiss,” you say.

“Yeah, but I’ve never kissed anybody. I’m twenty-five and I’ve never kissed anyone. How pathetic is that?”

You frown and turn to face Spencer fully. “Hey. C’mon, where’s this coming from? You know I don’t think any less of you for never kissing or dating or any of that stuff. You do it when you wanna. And I’d tell anyone that. I’m not just telling you ‘cause you’re my best friend.”

“I know, but…” Spencer shakes his head and it hurts to see him so defeated. “I told that woman that I hadn’t kissed anyone and that’s why I didn’t kiss her. And the look she gave me was so… I-I’ve gotten that look before, but… and I could just tell she was thinking freak, freak!”

“Spencer,” you say, voice cracked like an egg, and his name is the soft yolk spilling out. “Oh, Spence. You’re not a freak. I told you that when we were fourteen and I still mean it. Nothing is wrong with you for never kissing anyone. And someone who thinks there is isn’t a person you want to be intimate with anyway.”

He sighs. “I just feel like I’m falling behind.”

You press your lips together. Then you make a decision and stand.

“Come on,” you say, offering your hand.

Spencer takes your hand and lets you pull him up. “Where’re we going?”

“To the couch,” you say, more casual than you feel.

Spencer follows you to the couch and you sit. You take a deep breath.

“Who would you want to have your first kiss with?” you ask.

He shrugs. “No one comes to mind.”

You bite your lip. “What about me?”

Spencer blinks. “I—what?”

Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with all of Spencer’s attention on you. It doesn’t normally overwhelm you but considering the circumstances…

“Well, um. It would be low-pressure, right? I mean, we’ve known each other for so long.”

Spencer licks his lips. You track the movement, then look away, embarrassed.

“I guess so,” he says. “But won’t it be weird? Kissing each other?”

Yeah, probably. “No, I don’t think so. Well, a little, but it’s just so you don’t feel out of sorts when you go on a date. It’s, like, practice.” That last point feels a little weak.

“Practice,” Spencer repeats.

“Yeah.”

It’s still and silent for several painful moments, and that’s when you contemplate bolting and changing your address. But then Spencer speaks.

“Okay,” he says. “If you’re definitely sure about it.”

“I am,” you say.

He nods. You take that as an invitation to scoot closer so you’re facing each other. Spencer brings one knee up so you can be within kissing distance.

“So, um.” You clear your throat. “So when you kiss someone, it’s important to find a place for your hands. They can be on their face or their waist or arms.”

Spencer nods. “Got it. Like this?”

He puts his hands on your waist. You stutter on your next breath. You hope Spencer doesn’t notice.

Look, you’re not blind, okay? Spencer’s tall and cute and smart and a sweetheart and your roommate in college once commented on how he’s got hands made to finger a woman, which you’ve never been able to forget, much as you’ve tried.

So yeah. You know your best friend’s good looking. You know he’s a catch.

Does that mean you can be absolutely emotionless while kissing him? Not so much.

But you love Spencer. You’d do anything for him.

“Yeah, good.” You drape your hands loosely around his neck, his curls tickling your fingers. “Okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then you make eye contact but not too much. Don’t scare them.”

Spencer smiles with half of his mouth. “Don’t scare them. Noted.”

You roll your eyes. “Smartass. Alright, then you, um…”

“Kiss?” he asks.

You nod. “Y-yeah. Then you lean in and kiss.”

You press your lips to Spencer’s lightly. His mouth is soft but he’s stiff, which means he’s going to kiss stiffly.

“Relax, Spencestar,” you say against his mouth. “‘S okay. Part your lips a little.”

“Like this?” he asks, his mouth losing some tension.

“Exactly. Fit your lips to mine.”

Spencer’s warm, his breath tickling your mouth. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat right up your throat and into Spencer.

“I read about kissing,” he says. “For research.”

That makes you smile, a short laugh slipping out. You rest your forehead on his mouth by accident.

“What?” he asks against your skin, smile clear in his voice. The sensation gives you shivers.

“Nothing. You’re sweet, Spence,” you say.

You lift your head and close your eyes. And then you kiss him.

Spencer kisses gently, which you never thought about in-depth, but experiencing it now, it makes sense that he does. He’s so gentle in everything else, from the way he opens doors to letting you have the last bite of pasta. Of course Spencer kisses the way he lives in the world: kindly.

Your hands slip to his jaw to guide him. Your kisses are short first, to warm him up. You feel Spencer’s pulse in his neck under your palm, feel his easy hold on your hips, the way he twists a loose thread on your shirt.

“You can be a little more firm. Move your hands around,” you say, and Spencer nods.

He kisses you with a little more pressure, ever the quick learner. His hands travel up your spine and down, like he’s soothing you. It makes an unexpected sob work up your throat and you quickly swallow it down.

You thread your hand through his hair, your senses completely surrounded by him. Spencer’s more confident now, pulling you into him slightly, curving your back with his palms.

And before you do something really stupid, like kiss his neck or tell him you love him, you pull back. Spencer’s eyes fly open when yours do.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“No, no. You were good. That was good, Spencer. I just, uh… we’ve been kissing for a while, so I figured…”

“Oh.” His face turns pink. “Right, yeah.”

“Yeah.” You scratch your neck. “But that was good. It just takes practice.”

Spencer nods a lot. “Yes, of course. Like any skill.”

“Exactly.”

You drink your Ovaltine, needing to put your attention on anything but Spencer’s kiss-swollen lips. The Ovaltine is cold. You make a face.

“I’ll reheat it,” Spencer says, practically leaping from the couch. “Be right back.”

“I’ll try to get the movie started,” you say, making a beeline for the TV.

You turn it on, trying to calm your fluttering heart. This time, the movie plays with no issues. Of course when you want it to have issues so you don’t have to be curled up next to Spencer on the couch, it doesn’t. Figures.

Hesitantly, you return to the couch. Spencer comes out a few minutes later with your reheated mugs. He gives you yours and sits on the far end of the couch.

“Want the blanket?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m okay. I warmed up.”

The movie continues from where it froze. You and Spencer watch that one, then Home Alone 2, then the Muppets Christmas Carol.

And it’s fine, it’s normal. It’s normal, except you’ve just kissed your best friend. And Spencer doesn’t curl up next to you under the blanket for the rest of the night. You get this sinking feeling, wondering if catching your best friend up comes at a bigger cost than you thought.

#Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #Spencer Reid fluff #Spencer Reid fic #Spencer Reid kissing #Spencer Reid best friend #Spencer Reid x fem reader

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connorsui · 4 months ago

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More than luxury - Sylus

Sylus x fem! Reader

Synopsis: Sylus, a man who has spent his life chasing luxury and success, finds himself increasingly disillusioned by the hollow comforts of his opulent lifestyle

Genre/Warnings: pure fluff, soft moments, longing, sylus wanting a comfort life with you, no warnings we die in marshmallows

Note: sylus got that money money...like ...billion ..type of money ...

Sylus had always been drawn to the finest things life had to offer. His days were filled with high-end cars, exclusive parties, and luxurious penthouses overlooking the city skyline. He’d spent years chasing after these things, convinced that they would bring him happiness. But now, sitting alone in his sleek apartment, surrounded by all the trappings of success, he felt a hollowness he couldn’t shake.

It was in those quiet moments when his thoughts would inevitably drift to you.

Your life couldn’t be more different from his. While he spent his nights at glittering events, you were in your kitchen, baking something sweet, the aroma filling your small but cozy apartment. You didn’t need much to be happy—a cup of tea, a good book, maybe a favorite movie playing in the background.

Sylus found himself captivated by the simplicity of your world. He often made excuses to visit—dropping by under the pretense of needing to discuss something trivial or offering to pick you up on his way home. But really, he was just desperate for a glimpse into the life you led.

He would linger in your apartment longer than necessary, pretending to be interested in whatever small talk you offered, but really, he was soaking in the atmosphere. There was something grounding about your space, something that made him feel more connected to the world, more at peace. He marveled at how you could find joy in the small things—a new recipe you wanted to try, a potted plant you’d picked up from the market, or the soft glow of string lights you’d hung across your window.

Sometimes, he’d catch himself lost in thought, imagining what it would be like to come home to you. To walk through the door after a long day and be greeted by the smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen, to hear your laughter as you told him about something silly that happened during your day. The idea of slipping into this routine, of being part of your world, was both foreign and deeply appealing to him.

He imagined helping you in the kitchen, albeit awkwardly, chopping vegetables under your patient guidance. The two of you would bump into each other, laugh at his lack of culinary skills, and eventually settle into a rhythm that felt easy and right. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought he wanted—this kind of domestic bliss—but now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

When he was alone in his cold, modern apartment, the luxury he had once craved felt empty. The sleek, stainless steel appliances, the minimalist decor—they all seemed meaningless without you there to share them with. He found himself wondering when his priorities had shifted. When had he started longing for something more than just wealth and success?

Sylus didn’t have all the answers, but he knew that he wanted you to be a part of his life. More than that, he wanted to be a part of yours. He was willing to leave behind the life he had built if it meant he could have something real with you.

So the next time he saw you, he didn’t make an excuse to leave quickly. Instead, he stayed. He asked about your day, offered to help with dinner, and when you laughed at his clumsy attempts, he couldn’t help but smile. He felt like he was finally where he was meant to be.

And as you sat together at your small dining table, the two of you sharing a meal, Sylus realized that this—this simple, quiet moment—was worth more than all the luxury in the world.

Sylus shall live in my chamber of poor pillows

#suiwrites🍒#love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus #lads x reader #lads x y/n #lads x you #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #lnds sylus #consui says sum #consui sees

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creamflix · 2 months ago

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gojo satoru x female reader; 18+ content, minors and blank blogs do not interact. established relationship. slight findom (financial domination). pussy eatin', overstimulation. praise, gojo is very much in love with you (and your pussy). pussy drunk gojo, part of my #needthat drabble(s) — masterlist here ☆

everyone knows gojo satoru is addicted to you — but it’s not just about the way you look.

sure, you’re stunning, and he makes sure of that, down to the last detail. your hair? of course, he’s paying for every high-end treatment to keep it soft, shiny, and perfect. your face? he’s already gone through your wishlist and purchased every luxury skincare product on the market. and your nails? let’s just say you never need to worry about a fresh set because he’s constantly sending you thousands just to make sure they’re done to perfection. he likes them in the color of his eyes, naturally.

but none of that compares to how obsessed he is with you. particularly that pretty little cunt of yours — there’s no way he’s going to neglect her. it’s his favorite part of you, and as a way of saying thank you for being his perfect girl, his good girl, he spends hours worshipping between your legs.

satoru’s fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open as he burrows deeper, his tongue flicking against your clit with maddening precision. he’s found that sweet spot, the one that makes your back arch and your thighs tremble, but it’s not enough for him. not yet. he wants more. he wants to see you completely undone — mind blank, body trembling, unable to form a single coherent thought.

he wants to see that hair of yours, so carefully washed and blow-dried with his money, messy and wild against the sheets. he wants to see your face, always so radiant and dewy from those expensive products, flushed red, dripping with sweat. and those new nails? the ones you got in the color of his eyes? he wants to feel them clawing at his scalp as you try to pull him away, as if you could ever stop him when he’s like this.

you tug at his hair, gasping and whimpering, trying to push him off when it gets too much, but satoru just smirks, taking your frantic grabs as an invitation to dive even deeper. his tongue laps at your slick folds, collecting every bit of your arousal, humming in satisfaction as he swirls around your swollen clit again.

“oh, baby,” he murmurs, voice muffled by the fact he refuses to leave his spot between your thighs. “you’re so sweet.” his lips press against your clit, sucking gently, and you let out a high-pitched cry, your hips bucking against him. he chuckles, and the sound vibrates through you, sending sparks of pleasure straight up your spine.

your legs shake around his head, and he just grips your thighs tighter, pinning you down to the bed. there’s no escaping him now, not when he’s determined to fuck your mind so thoroughly that the only thing you’ll be able to think about is him.

he presses his tongue flat against you, dragging it up in slow, languid strokes, savoring every single drop of your essence. “you’re too good to me,” he hums, his words laced with affection, even as his actions drive you wild. “how else am i supposed to thank my perfect girl, huh? gotta make sure you know how much i appreciate you.”

you try to speak, to tell him something — anything — but the words are lost in a whimper as his mouth finds that spot again, that perfect spot, and your vision blurs. your nails dig into his scalp, tugging hard enough to make him groan, but instead of backing off, he only doubles down, sucking on your clit with just the right amount of pressure to make your whole body jolt.

“oh god— satoru, i— i can’t,” you choke out, your voice ragged and breathless, but he just smiles against you.

“you can,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet teasing. “and you will.” he pulls back for just a second, long enough to look up at you through hooded eyes, his mouth slick with your arousal. “c’mon, baby. lemme take care of you.”

and before you can even respond, his mouth is back on you, working you over like a man possessed. his tongue slides inside you, curling just right, and your body tenses, another wave of pleasure crashing over you so hard that you can barely breathe.

your nails scratch against his scalp as you try to hold on, but satoru’s relentless. he wants you to lose control, wants to see you fall apart because of him. your thighs squeeze his head, but it only makes him groan, his pace quickening as he pushes you over the edge.

you cry out, your whole body shuddering as the orgasm rips through you, your mind blank, hazy with pleasure. and satoru? he just keeps going, his tongue still working you, still lapping up every last drop, as if he’ll never get enough.

because, really, he won’t. he’s completely addicted to you, to the taste of you, the feel of you. this is how he thanks you for being his girl — by leaving you so fucked out, so dazed, that you can barely remember your own name.

and when you finally come down, panting and trembling, he pulls back just enough to smirk at you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “see, baby?” he says, his voice low and satisfied. “told ya i’d take care of you.”

#needthat

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helioooss · 4 days ago

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i was never there

synopsis: yu jumin joins novis corp as it’s head corporate lawyer, but her boss, y/n, remembers her eyes from somewhere else.

w/c: 3k+

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! stripper by night, lawyer by day karina, swearing

a/n: a short one for the books, this is more a prompt

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sun had barely crept over the horizon when your sleek aston martin pulled up to the curb of novis corp’s headquarters; the tech conglomerate you had built from scratch. the building, a masterpiece of modern architecture with its reflective glass and sharp geometric lines, it stood as a monument to your success.

as you stepped out of the car, the valet offered a polite bow before retreating and you adjusted your tom ford suit — a deep charcoal grey that sat perfectly on your shoulders, tailored to a level of precision; its silk lining was monogrammed with your initials, a subtle mark of exclusivity.

in your world, every single detail mattered.

as soon as the glass doors opened into the lobby, the atmosphere shifted immediately. the soft murmur of voices hushed to a whisper and employees straightened their postures instinctively as they caught sight of you.

your presence demanded attention, not because you sought it, but because you simply carried an aura of authority. heads bowed as you passed, a wave of respectful acknowledgment rippling through the space.

“good morning, y/n,” someone greeted softly, their voice tinged with awe.

you simply offered a slight nod, your expression unreadable as you stepped into the private lift. the moment the polished steel doors slid shut, the world outside felt momentarily silenced. you allowed yourself a brief glance at your reflection in the mirrored walls, backing a strand of misplaced hair and smoothing down the lapel of your jacket before the lift opened to the top floor.

here, the energy was palpable. this was where the very lifeblood of novis corp flowed, where your senior executives and teams orchestrated the daily operations of the tech giant. the open floor was a hive of activity: assistants juggling tablets and documents, executives murmuring into headsets and a faint hum of urgency in the air.

the moment you stepped out, it was chaos aimed at you.

“miss l/n, the european market data is ready for your review.”

“legal flagged the merger contracts; they need your approval before noon.”

“the board wants confirmation on next quarter’s strategic pivot —”

amidst the shitshow that you specifically called ‘the everyday’, your personal assistant, claire, darted towards you, her heels clicking against the polished wood floor as she clutched a stack of files to her chest whilst her usually composed demeanour was slightly frazzled as she struggled to keep pace with you.

“y/n,” claire began, her voice soft but persistent, “i apologise for the interruption, but felix has been trying to reach you all morning. he said it’s urgent, and i tried to hold him off, but he’s really insistent.”

you glanced at her, stride unbroken whilst offering a faint smile that was more a gesture of reassurance than warmth. “i’ll take care of it, claire. thank you.”

she gave a slight nod, relief evident in her expression, stepping back as you pushed open the heavy oak doors to your private office. the room was a reflection of your meticulous standards: minimalist yet luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unparalleled view of new york city. a sleek, dark wood desk sat in the centre, flanked by leather chairs and a low cabinet housing bottles of vintage scotch.

oh, and the air carried the faintest scent of bergamot, a signature detail you had to have.

as soon as you set your briefcase down, you loosened your tie slightly and sank into your chair. the intercom blinked with pending calls, but you ignored it for now, reaching instead for your personal phone. scrolling through the missed calls, you found felix’s name and with a small sigh, you hit dial.

he answered right after the first ring. “finally!” his voice was a mix of relief and mischief, as it always was when he called you.

“what’s so urgent, felix?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

“okay, hear me out,” he began, a tell-tale sign that whatever followed would likely test your patience. “there’s this club. super exclusive. like, billionaires-only exclusive. i’m talking black cards, champagne fountains, and the kind of entertainment that makes even the rich blush —“

pinching the bridge of your nose impatiently, you groaned. “just get to the point.”

“well, if you must insist,” he continued, “i need someone to vouch for me. someone who ticks the billionaire box. someone, you know, like you.”

“felix, why on earth would you want to go to a place like that?” you sighed, shaking your head. “everyone will just be as obnoxious as mum.”

“research,” he said, a little too quickly. “and before you ask, yes, it’s legit. i just…need to see it for myself. one night, y/n.“

“research,” you repeated, unimpressed.

“please, my dearest sister,” he pressed. “i promise it’s harmless. just one night, and then i’ll owe you. big time.”

he had always been the rebel — tattoos peeking out from beneath his sleeves, a penchant for bending rules and a charm that got him out of most trouble. he was your stepbrother, younger by five years and despite his antics, you couldn’t help but feel a soft spot for him.

he’d been your constant companion through a tumultuous childhood and for all his recklessness, his loyalty to you was unwavering.

you exhaled deeply. “if this turns into a mess, i swear, felix —”

“it won’t, i swear,” he interrupted eagerly. “you’ll barely even have to do anything. just show up, look rich — which is easy for you and let me in.”

there was a long pause. you weren’t one for foolishness, specially not something as absurd as this, but he had a way of getting under your skin and despite your better judgment, you relented.

“fine,” you mumbled; annoyance evident in your tone. “but this better not blow back on me — the press are already on my ass for not being present enough.”

“you’re the best!” he exclaimed, his relief palpable. “i’ll text you the details.”

shaking your head, you hung up and pressed the intercom button on your desk. “claire,” you began. “i need you to do something for me.”

“that’s my job, y/n,” her voice came through immediately.

“clear my schedule for tonight,” you carefully instructed. “reschedule all appointments and let the rest of the world know i’ll be unavailable after six.”

there was a brief pause from her end. “understood.”

staring out at the sprawling skyline, you heaved out a sigh. this wasn’t your usual scene, but something about it intrigued you nonetheless. tonight promised to be unlike anything you’d done before.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the hum of the limousine was almost soothing as it glided through the city streets, the blacked-out windows shielding you and felix from the world outside. the interior was nothing short of opulent: plush leather seats in a deep oxblood red, a bar stocked with rare whiskies and chilled champagne and soft ambient lighting that cast a warm glow over the polished surfaces.

felix was seated across from you, his legs stretched out casually as he swirled a glass of whiskey he’d poured himself. his usual rebellious flair was subdued tonight, though the faint smirk on his lips betrayed his excitement.

he was dressed sharply, his dark green blazer and crisp black shirt a rare effort on his part. the tattoos that normally peeked from his sleeves were hidden, though you knew they were still there, a reminder of his defiant streak.

you, on the other hand, wore a simple white shirt and blue jeans.

“so,” felix began, his tone light but probing, “how’s the empire going?”

you gave him a sideways glance, your fingers lightly drumming against the armrest. “the empire is fine, felix. novis is on track to secure the venatrix deal by next quarter and the sirocco expansion is finally moving forward.”

“of course it is,” he said with a grin, taking a sip of his drink. “you’ve got the golden touch. everything you touch turns to money.”

“it’s not magic,” you replied, your voice steady. “it’s work. a lot of it.”

he shook his head, leaning forward slightly. “and that’s the problem, y/n. you work too much. when was the last time you actually did something for yourself? and don’t say this counts,” he added, gesturing around the limousine.

you gave him a small, wry smile. “this is for you, not me.”

“exactly my point,” he said, leaning back. “you need to live a little. have some fun. maybe get a girlfriend for once in your life.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “a girlfriend?”

“yes, a girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle. “you know, someone to share your life with? someone to remind you that there’s more to life than spreadsheets and board meetings?”

you exhaled softly, turning your gaze to the city lights flickering outside the window. “it’s not that simple. i’ve got responsibilities. people rely on me. there’s no room for anything else right now.”

“that’s the excuse you always use,” he said, his tone softer now. “but you’re going to wake up one day and realise you’ve built an empire but never lived your life. is that really what you want?”

his words lingered in the air and for a moment, you simply let them. as the limousine turned down a quieter street, the glow of the city fading into the background, you thought about what he’d said.

was he right? was there something missing in your meticulously crafted life?

before you could dwell on it further, the car slowed to a stop in front of an unassuming black door, illuminated only by a discreet gold plaque that read elysium.

the driver opened your door and the moment you stepped out, you felt the shift in atmosphere. the door was opened from the inside by a tall, sharply dressed man who exuded an air of authority.

“miss l/n, mr. l/n,” he greeted warmly, his deep voice carrying just enough deference to make you feel like royalty. “welcome to elysium. my name is pierre and i’ll personally ensure your evening is nothing short of exceptional.”

“thank you,” you replied, your tone polite but guarded as pierre stepped aside, gesturing for you both to enter.

the interior of the club was breathtaking — sleek and sophisticated, with an undeniable air of exclusivity. red lighting bathed the room, casting a sultry glow over the rich leather furniture and dark wood accents. the faint hum of low music filled the space and the scent of expensive cigars and perfume lingered in the air.

pierre led the way, his posture immaculate. “we’ve limited the floor capacity tonight to ensure you have a comfortable experience. it’s not often we host guests of your calibre.”

your gaze flicked to your brother, whose smirk grew with every step deeper into the club.

“they’re really rolling out the red carpet,” he whispered to you, amusement lacing his tone.

there were silhouettes moving across the far end of the room. they were fluid, deliberate, their movements drawing attention like a magnetic pull.

it wasn’t until you caught the glint of polished metal — a pole, that the realisation struck.

this wasn’t just a private club. it was a strip club.

“i thought you said this was a fucking nightclub,” you muttered in that scolding tone of yours. “or whatever you said it was.”

he laughed at your comment and had deliberately chosen to ignore you, clearly revelling in the attention. as you passed, heads turned subtly, and even the staff seemed to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

“our girls,” pierre continued as he walked, “are among the finest in the world. each performance is curated to perfection. should you require anything — anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“a dance costs a million for each hour,” felix raised his eyebrows playfully. “i can afford it, you have nothing to worry about.”

i’m going to kill him, you thought.

the corridor opened into a sprawling room bathed in deep red light, the glow casting shadows that danced across the rich leather furniture and polished dark wood accents. chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal facets scattering faint prisms of light though the overall effect was moody and intimate rather than pretentious.

pierre, ever the professional, either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the exchange. “elysium prides itself on discretion and sophistication,” he explained, leading you toward the bar. “our performers are not only the best in the industry but also highly selective about where they work. we cater to an exclusive clientele and tonight, they are all eager to perform for you.”

the words hung in the air and while his tone remained formal, there was no mistaking the double meaning.

this wasn’t just about entertainment — it was about status, yours specifically.

“you’ve truly outdone yourselves,” you said evenly, though your tone betrayed nothing of the thoughts swirling in your mind.

“only the best for our esteemed guests,” he replied, stopping at the bar. “would you care for a drink before you settle in? our bartenders specialise in rare and exclusive cocktails.”

“i’ll take a manhattan,” felix answered, leaning against the bar as if he owned the place.

pierre turned his attention to you. “and for you, miss l/n?”

“call me y/n, please,” you requested, keeping your composure. “i’ll have a glass of champagne for now.”

felix shook his head, whilst pierre only nodded. “don’t worry, pierre, this is a good sign — champagne is telltale of the kind of night she plans to have.”

you gave him a look, one that could silence an entire boardroom, but it only made his grin widen.

as the bartender prepared your drinks, your eyes scanned the room. the performers were elegant, their movements slow and deliberate as they worked the poles or engaged in subtle conversations with other guests. the lighting accentuated every curve, every flick of hair, every step in towering heels.

it was seductive, but there was a sophistication to it.

felix clinked his glass against yours when your drinks arrived, his grin mischievous. “welcome to the real world, y/n. you might even have fun tonight.”

before you could respond, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with pierre, who gestured towards a hallway deeper into the establishment. “y/n, may i guide you to our private bar? we’ve reserved a section just for you.”

you nodded, offering a faint smile. “lead the way.”

he guided you through a discreet side door, the noise from the main hall fading into a low hum as you stepped into a quieter corridor. the lighting here was softer, the air perfumed with hints of amber and bergamot.

the sound of your shoes against the polished marble floor echoed faintly as you trailed behind him.

then, he stopped at a heavy door, its deep mahogany finish gleaming under the warm light. with a subtle bow, he pushed it open, revealing a private space that was both opulent and refined.

the room was bathed in a soft golden glow, with leather seating in a deep burgundy hue arranged around a bar made out of white marble. a crystal chandelier hung above, its light refracting into subtle rainbows across the room. the air was cooler here, yet tinged with the faintest trace of something warm and intoxicating.

“we’ve taken great care to ensure your comfort,” he gestured for you to step inside. “a selection of our finest performers has been prepared exclusively for this space tonight. as per tradition, all our vvip performers wear masks to preserve their mystique.”

your gaze shifted to the centre of the room, where a single pole stood illuminated by a spotlight. at its base, a woman danced, her movements fluid and hypnotic.

she was dressed in black, the fabric clinging to her graceful frame in ways that accentuated her every curve. a delicate mask adorned her face, its intricate lace design concealing her identity while leaving her eyes and lips visible.

and those eyes…

almond-shaped and lined with the faintest hint of shimmer, their depth was startling. they locked onto yours the moment you entered and for a second, it felt as though the world narrowed to just the two of you.

her lips were no less striking, painted a deep crimson that contrasted beautifully against her glowing skin. they moved subtly as she shifted her expression, curving into a faint smile that was neither coy nor brazen but perfectly balanced between the two.

you moved to one of the leather chairs directly in front of the pole, lowering yourself gracefully into the seat. a glass of something pale and sparkling had already been placed on the table before you — krug, if you had to guess.

she danced as though gravity held no dominion over her, movements slow and deliberate; her body bending and turning with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly.

her eyes never left yours.

there was no touch, no exchange of words. only the silent conversation carried through her gaze.

you sipped your champagne, the crisp bubbles fizzing faintly on your tongue as you watched her.

“her name is karina,” pierre’s voice broke the silence, soft and almost reverent as he stood to the side. “one of our most gifted performers. she never agrees to private dances, but tonight, she insisted.”

you raised an eyebrow at his comment but said nothing, your eyes still locked with hers.

her lips curved slightly, a small but unmistakable reaction to his words. whether it was amusement or approval, you couldn’t tell.

there was a certain kind of power in her performance, an effortless command of the room that rivalled your own presence in the boardroom. it wasn’t just her beauty — it was the way she carried herself, the silent confidence in her every movement.

for the first time in a long while, you felt captivated.

as the music swelled, she climbed higher up the pole, her body arching and twisting with a grace that seemed to defy logic. the light caught her skin as she spun, casting shadows across her toned figure.

her gaze found yours again as if she had never looked away.

the song ended, the final note hanging in the air as karina stilled, her body poised and elegant as she held your gaze one last time. then, without a word, she stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as swiftly as she had appeared.

you leaned back in your seat, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“she’s…impressive,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“indeed,” he replied, his tone pleased. “shall i have her return for a performance, miss l/n? or would you like to see the next girl?”

you glanced at the glass in your hand, then back at the empty spotlight.

“perhaps,” you said, your tone deliberately nonchalant, though the way your thoughts lingered on those eyes and that smile betrayed you entirely. “i’d like to see karina again.”

he gave a slight bow, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. “i’ll leave you to enjoy the performance, y/n. if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for me.”

you sent him a faint nod, watching as he quietly slipped out of the room — the air seemed heavier now, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

the soft spotlight followed her, casting her in a halo of warm light as she emerged out of the shadows. her movements were deliberate, the sway of her hips measured, her body arching with the kind of elegance that felt effortless. the music swelled, a sultry melody that filled the private bar, wrapping itself around you.

the pole became an extension of her, her fingertips grazing it lightly as she spun effortlessly, hair cascading over one shoulder like silk.

pushing yourself up in the leather seat, you cradled the crystal glass in your hand, the crisp bubbles fizzing against your tongue were forgotten.

your attention was fixed solely on her.

her gaze was dark and unrelenting, as though she could see through every wall you’d ever built. it made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to, yet you couldn’t look away.

for years, your life had been a steady climb to the top. every decision and sacrifice you made — it had all led you to become one of the youngest billionaires in the world; a life of luxury and power, yet moments like this felt foreign to you.

you had never allowed yourself distractions. relationships had always been a distant thought, something you dismissed as incompatible with the weight of your responsibilities. and yet here you were, sitting in the middle of a dark room, utterly captivated by a woman you didn’t know.

as the music deepened, so did her movements. she slid down the pole with precision, her legs extending gracefully before she landed softly on the floor. then, she began to close the distance between you.

you stiffened slightly as she approached, her bare feet making no sound against the polished floor. her every step was a calculated mix of power and allure, head tilting slightly as her eyes burned into yours.

when she reached the edge of your seat, she leaned down, her hands bracing against the armrests on either side of you. the faintest scent of her perfume: something floral with a hint of musk wafted over you.

your breath hitched.

karina’s face was mere inches from yours, her lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile.

she tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder and as she leaned closer, her lips brushed against yours — not quite a kiss, but enough to send a jolt through your body.

the touch was light, but it lingered. your hand tightened slightly around the glass, though you made no effort to pull away.

her eyes locked onto yours again, the corner of her lips quirking up ever so slightly. she didn’t move, staying close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of her breath against your skin.

“you’re full of surprises,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with amusement.

“you’re not what i expected,” you replied, your tone steady despite the way your pulse raced.

her smile widened just a fraction, her lips still hovering dangerously close to yours. “and what did you expect, miss l/n?”

you let the question hang in the air, unwilling — or perhaps unable to answer it.

she pulled back slightly, her eyes flickering over your face as if she were committing every detail to memory.

then, with a graceful turn, she returned to the pole, leaving you frozen in your seat, every nerve in your body alive.

but your focus wasn’t on the dance anymore.

it was on her.

the song reached its end, her final spin slow and graceful, her legs extended as she descended to the floor.

when the music ended, she stayed still for a moment, catching her breath, before calling out softly, “cut the music.”

the silence was deafening.

she stood up, reaching for a glass of water placed on the table near the pole. she sipped it slowly, her back turned to you, before setting it down and facing you again.

“you’re y/n l/n,” she said, her voice carrying an easy confidence, as though she were stating an undeniable fact.

you straightened in your seat, your composure returning. “i am indeed, and you’re karina.”

her lips curved into a small smile as she stepped closer, her mask framing her captivating eyes. “so, you’ve heard of me?”

“pierre mentioned your name,” you replied. “and according to him, you never agree to private performances.”

“ah, pierre,” karina chuckled softly, a low and melodic sound that sent another ripple through you. “that’s true, but you’re not exactly a regular guest.”

“why did you agree?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

she tilted her head, her smile deepening. “curiosity.”

“about what?”

her gaze didn’t waver. “about you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “me?”

“it’s not every day the most eligible bachelorette in the world walks into a place like this,” she said, her tone light but pointed. “how could i not be curious?”

her honesty was disarming, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“you don’t seem like the type to come here,” she continued, her voice softer now. “i wanted to see what kind of woman you are.”

“and?” you asked, meeting her gaze.

karina smiled again, enigmatic as ever. “i think you’re a woman who knows exactly what she wants, but you haven’t decided if you’re ready to take it.”

her words hung in the air, sharp yet tantalising. you swallowed hard, the weight of her observation pressing against you.

before you could respond, she glanced at the clock on the wall, her expression softening. “unfortunately, my time’s up — but i will see you again, hopefully.”

you watched as she stepped back, her movements as graceful as ever. “thank you.”

she turned back to you, her dark eyes glimmering. “the pleasure was mine, miss l/n.”

“please call me y/n.”

she nodded and then, just like that, she disappeared through the door, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of her lips brushing against yours.

moments later, pierre entered the room, followed by an awestruck felix.

“holy shit,” felix yelled, his wide eyes taking in the space. “this room is insane. do you know how much this costs?”

you raised an eyebrow at him, still feeling the warmth of karina’s presence. “do i want to know?”

“five million dollars. per dance,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

you smiled faintly, your thoughts far from the number. “well, tonight was the most expensive night i’ve ever had then.”

he put an arm around you, ruffling your hair. “told you you’d enjoy it!”

the limousine hummed softly as it glided through the quiet streets. deeply in your thoughts, you sat stiffly in your seat, legs crossed, arms folded, the leather cool beneath you.

the night had been…complicated, to say the least.

felix, sitting across from you, looked far too pleased with himself, scrolling through his phone with a self-satisfied smirk that only irritated you further.

“never again,” you said sharply, breaking the silence.

he glanced up, the smirk widening as if he’d been waiting for this. “never again, what?”

“you know exactly what i mean,” you snapped, glaring at him. “you are never taking control of a night out again.”

he raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “elysium? come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“felix,” you said through gritted teeth, “it was a strip club. a strip club. do you have any idea how bad that looks for me? if anyone had taken a photo of me, it could’ve been a PR disaster.”

he laughed, leaning back lazily against the plush seat. “oh please, that place is so exclusive. and anyway, it’s not like you were doing anything scandalous. you sat there, drank champagne and watched a performance. you didn’t even touch anyone. honestly, it was boring.”

you stared at him. “boring? you dragged me to a place where the floor alone costs millions to reserve and you think it’s fine because you had fun?”

“well yeah,” he said casually, shrugging. “and don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy yourself. i saw your face during that dance.”

heat rose to your cheeks and you looked away sharply, your fingers tightening around your arm. “that’s not the point, felix.”

“oh, it absolutely is,” he countered, leaning forward. “look, you’ve spent your entire life building this empire. you’re brilliant at what you do but you don’t live, y/n. you don’t even let yourself breathe. all i did was give you one night to do something out of the ordinary and now you’re acting like the world’s going to end.”

“because it could,” you shot back. “my name, my reputation — it’s all tied to novis. if anything jeopardises that, the fallout would be catastrophic. you don’t understand what’s at stake.”

he tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “no, i don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter but still firm. “because unlike you, i actually let myself live every now and then. when was the last time you did something just for yourself, y/n? when was the last time you let yourself feel something that wasn’t tied to work?”

his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. you glanced out the window, the city lights blurring as the limousine sped through the streets. “this isn’t about me,” you muttered, though the defensiveness in your tone betrayed you.

“oh, it’s absolutely about you,” he said with a knowing grin. “come on, admit it. you didn’t hate last night as much as you’re pretending to. i mean, you could’ve walked out anytime, but you didn’t. you stayed.”

you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “felix, i can’t afford to have nights like that. my life isn’t like yours.”

“and that’s exactly the problem,” he said, his voice more serious now. “you’re so afraid of messing up, you don’t even let yourself enjoy anything. y/n, you’re one of the most powerful people in the world and you’re scared of living? what’s the point of all this success if you never let yourself have anything?”

you didn’t answer, his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. instead, you stared out the window, your reflection blurred against the city lights. he leaned back, clearly feeling like he’d won the argument, though he said nothing more.

as the limousine approached your building, you sighed deeply, finally breaking the silence. “this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. no more clubs, felix. ever.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head. “we’ll see.”

as it rolled to a stop, you stepped out without another word, the weight of the conversation lingering as you made your way inside.

you couldn’t stop thinking about the way karina had looked at you — as if she saw right through the walls you had spent years building.

her eyes haunted you, dark and full of secrets you suddenly found yourself wanting to uncover. and for the first time in years, you wondered if there was something, or someone, outside your carefully constructed world worth stepping into the unknown for.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the morning was as chaotic as ever, the hum of novis corp’s top floor vibrating with urgency the moment you stepped out of the private elevator. polished shoes clicked against a mix of wooden and marble floors, assistants and executives alike moved from desk to desk, each with something that required your attention.

“y/n,” the updates for the venatrix deal are ready.”

“legal has flagged the elara contract for revisions.”

“the team needs your approval on the new AI interface by noon!”

normally, you thrived in the controlled storm of your office. today, however, your mind was elsewhere. your focus wasn’t on contracts or product launches — it was on her.

the memory of last night lingered in sharp detail: the intoxicating crimson glow of the club, her sharp gaze, the brush of her lips against yours.

karina had left an imprint you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried.

the design meeting was supposed to centre you. the team presented mock-ups for novis’s latest AI interface, a sleek design meant to revolutionise smart tech, but as the lead designer droned on about user functionality, your attention slipped.

their words barely registered. your eyes were on the screen, but your mind was still in elysium. the feel of her perfume in the air, the way her eyes had locked onto yours: daring you to react.

“y/n?” samuel, the lead designer’s voice, broke through your thoughts, ultimately bringing you back to the present.

you blinked, shifting slightly in your seat. “yes?”

“we were asking for your feedback on the gradient colour scheme versus the flat monochrome,” he said, his tone careful.

you glanced at the screen, the options displayed clearly, but for once, the answer didn’t come easily. “the gradient,” you pointed after what seemed like at eternity. “it’s fine.”

a few of the designers exchanged surprised glances. it wasn’t like you to give such a vague response.

when the meeting ended, you stepped into the hallway, only to find giselle waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall with a look of exaggerated curiosity.

“well, that was weird,” she said, falling into step beside you.

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your tone clipped as you navigated through the bustling corridor.

“you,” she replied, waving a hand dramatically. “you’ve been off all morning. normally, you’re snapping necks and giving ted talks in these meetings. today, you were practically sleepwalking. so, spill. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you said curtly.

she narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it. “is this a felix thing? what did he do now? start a crypto farm in the middle of montana? buy a haunted house because ‘it looked cool’? or, wait — did he drag you to one of those ridiculous underground poker rings again?”

you gave her a sharp look. “felix has nothing to do with this.”

“so there is something,” she said, her smirk growing. “come on, boss, you can’t keep secrets from me. i’m like the human recourses version of sherlock holmes.”

“giselle,” you warned, stopping in your tracks and fixing her with a pointed glare, “drop it.”

she raised her hands in mock surrender, but her grin didn’t waver. “fine, fine, i’ll drop it; but if you spontaneously combust during the next board meeting, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

as you started walking again, she called after you, “oh, by the way, your new head corporate lawyer is waiting in your office. yu jimin. punctual, sharp as a blade, and word on the street: dangerously hot. good luck!”

the name sent a jolt through you, stomach twisting as you reached your office doors, the memory of last night rushing back with startling clarity.

when you stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the figure standing near the window.

she was dressed sharply in a black suit that fit her perfectly, the crisp white shirt beneath it undone just enough to convey confidence without stepping into arrogance. her posture was relaxed, one hand resting lightly on her hip, the other at her side.

her dark hair was pulled back neatly, accentuating the sharp lines of her face. when she turned at the sound of the door, your breath caught.

her eyes met yours, and for a split second, the world tilted.

it was her.

the woman who had unraveled you the night before, the one who had danced with the kind of precision and allure that left you spellbound.

karina.

no, yu jimin.

“miss l/n,” she greeted, her voice smooth, calm, and so painfully familiar. “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

you forced yourself to nod, gesturing toward the chair across from your desk. “miss yu, please, have a seat. and call me y/n.”

you walked quickly to your desk, avoiding her gaze as you settled into your chair. when you finally looked up, the intensity in her eyes was undeniable.

she sat with perfect posture, her hands resting lightly on her lap, her expression polite but unreadable.

“so,” you began, clearing your throat, “tell me about your experience. what drew you to novis corp?”

her lips curved into a faint smile, one that sent a chill through you.

“my career has largely focused on high-stakes corporate law,” she said smoothly. “mergers, acquisitions, billion-dollar lawsuits — you name it. novis corp stood out to me because of its reputation for innovation and precision. it’s a company that demands excellence; i happen to provide that.”

her tone was professional, poised. but then her eyes glinted, and her smile widened just slightly.

“but if i’m being honest,” she added, “it wasn’t just the company that intrigued me. after last night, the person behind it all captured me.”

your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to maintain a neutral expression.

“i’m not sure what you’re referring to,” you said evenly, though your voice wavered just slightly.

“of course not,” she said, her smile deepening, though she didn’t press further.

the rest of the meeting passed in a blur of questions and answers, though the tension in the room never dissipated. every time her gaze lingered on you, you felt your resolve crack, memories of her dance, her eyes and her lips flashing vividly in your mind.

when it concluded, jimin stood gracefully, smoothing her blazer as she moved toward the door.

just as she reached for the knob, you hesitantly called out, “and miss yu?”

she paused, turning back to face you. “yes?”

you met her gaze, forcing your voice to remain steady. “i was never there.”

her smile returned, slow and knowing, her eyes glinting with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “don’t worry — the only person in that room was karina.”

for the second time in two days, yu jimin had left you completely undone.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

#kpop x reader #karina imagines #karina x reader #karina #aespa x reader #kpop gg #kpop imagines #jimin x reader #yu jimin

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notjustjavierpena · 5 months ago

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Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter I

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Here it is. I have been working hard on this chapter for you, plotting out the little details that will hopefully connect beautifully with the coming chapters. I hope you like my take on Marcus Acacius, and I hope you will be patient and follow along ❤️💖 I hope you enjoy the effort I’ve put into making this somewhat historically accurate!

Chapter Summary: In which you meet your future husband, get a warning from an old friend and explore pleasure on your own - all the while tension grows in Rome.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, reference to marital SA but no actual SA, religion in the form of Roman Gods, talk about virginity, intense kissing, f!masturbation involving shame and guilt.

Word count: 7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/146141770

Chapter I: In these tumultuous times

You step through the atrium with a pulse that might break your ribs, too nervous to enjoy the marvel of the glorious marble construction that envelops you in near gold-speckled white. Neither can you fascinate yourself in the grandeur of the peristyle garden that you eventually find yourself in, green and luscious with well-tended plants that have no other purpose other than being beautiful - much like you.

The afternoon sun will come soon, casting a shadow over the rose bushes and the fountains which slow trickles of water are supposed to bring you peace but somehow just makes you dread this meeting even more. Any girl back home would deem the location romantic from the blooming red flowers but you feel no affection for the man you are to greet in less than an hour. Even if your mother claims that you eventually will.

You thank the Gods that your mother isn’t here with you, knowing that you would have had to suffer through hearing her complain about Sol moving just a bit too far across the sky in his golden chariot to let your gown shine the way it is supposed to. She has already spent several hours doing your hair since dawn, decorating each strand with violets from the grass patch close to the river that runs through your village. Symbolizing modesty and faithfulness, she had said.

It’s not like you are here alone though. Instead of being here with your mother, you are here with your father; a senator who, despite his well-earned respect in the confusing web of Roman politics, still finds ways to satisfy his greed for more power. In this case, it is giving away his daughter to General Marcus Acacius.

“This is good for us,” your father had said during your silent crying as he talked about your new life with importance, “It will secure our family's position in these tumultuous times.”

Times are indeed tumultuous and they are changing right before your eyes in the form of angry shouts in the streets, rotting fruit and vegetables at the town square market, and fewer outings amongst commoners. Rome, once a beacon of hope and stability, now teeters on the edge of a type of chaos that not even the previous emperor Commodus could imagine putting his empire through. The co-emperors’ insanity, greed, and vanity drain the empire’s coffers as they engage in petty conflicts that lead to war left and right. As a result, the population is left impoverished, the youngest of men are dying in battle and the women cry for their families all the while the very top - your family included - luxuriates in growing wealth. Such is war, your father has stressed.

“General Acacius is a man of influence,” your father had continued, his voice laced with conviction that you did not understand, “His alliance will protect us from the whims of those who oppose the emperors and their righteous campaigns.”

General Acacius is a man of great renown, co-emperors Geta and Caracella’s right-hand man, and with a sea of stories about his admirable exploits on the battlefield. Your father has somehow made the political move of his life by settling this deal, promising the great warrior a wife of exceptional beauty who he can do with as he pleases. Women never have a say in these things, so you simply smiled during dinners where your future was discussed in the same manner as when a farmer plans the sale of one of his cattle, listing the animal’s qualities like he would say them later to the buyer.

Whenever he finally let you in on the conversation, he would give you a stern smile and emphasize the importance of this arrangement because of the honor and security it would bring to your family to have such a man as your ally. However, where your father wanted you to think about your future husband’s victories, all you do think about is the fact that your future husband is a man in his fifties and you have barely surpassed your twentieth Summer in the mortal realm.

When the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness, you find a bench made of stone in the shade. You dust off your dress, tuck it close to your thighs, and sit down to steady your nervous breathing. The sun has made you unsteady, having beaten down on you - contrary to your mother’s worries - despite it being the last burning rays of the afternoon. You blame it on your overactive mind, the racing thoughts having gone straight to your heart and made your blood flow hot through you.

You lay a hand against your forehead, fighting off a sob as the nerves finally get the better of you. There’s no way you can ever see your reflection in the cold river again, smell the hyacinths that brush your ankles as you walk through them, or hear the laughter of children in the building next door unless the giggles are those of your own little ones.

You have been groomed for this, trained by your eager mother to be the perfect wife to a man you have never met. Your mother’s meticulous preparation is meant to ensure that you make a flawless first impression and are a suitable wife, but right now it does little to calm you because you know that this arrangement’s ultimate goal is for you to bear children that will be even more powerful than you and the General’s respective families.

Barely an adult and never been kissed, forced to be intimate by the General’s command that will surely come. You know well enough that there’s more to it than that, Cassius, a boy from the market, once having revealed in great detail what goes on between a man and his wife or even just a man and a woman. The future wedding night feels like an impending disaster, embarrassing for you with the way your mother has also dragged you aside to tell you horror stories of men taking what they want from their wives with little regard for their pain.

You gasp as a twig snaps close by, pulling you out of your trance to assess the situation. In front of you, you see him. General Marcus Acacius is standing no less than ten feet from you, his armor, a white plate body adorned with the design of two golden griffins, gleaming in the sunlight. He stands tall and imposing, his presence radiating with authority but when you spot him, his eyes make him seem incapable of the horrors that people attribute to married men. His hair, streaked with gray, frames a face marked by the years and experiences of a seasoned soldier. His eyes, sharp and assessing, bore into you as he waits for you to move.

You stare up at him for a second only to be seized by panic as you remember the routine you had been forced to practice with your mother. Quickly, you rise from your seat, dust off your dress, and lower your gaze respectfully.

“General Acacius, forgive me,” you say without finding his gaze.

You hear your name on his lips, surprised to hear that his voice is firm yet not unkind. It’s hard to suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine, a tingling sensation at the small of your back as he speaks because you know what he will be doing to your body soon, “I’m pleased to finally meet you.”

You nod, letting out the rehearsed lines expertly, “The honor is mine and mine alone, General.”

“Look at me, my child,” you hear him command softly, getting a glimpse of what led him to become the man of power and grace that he is today because you follow through without thinking. You only imagine what he must be able to accomplish when his voice is rough and demanding. However, his eyes are softer still, a striking contrast to his profession where he has to consider each of his steps with deliberate and measured precision.

Marcus steps closer. You automatically take a step back, afraid that he might try and touch you already against your will. Nobody would know if he ravished you right here. He presses his mouth together in a thin line but he still somehow doesn’t look angry, instead just looks like he is analyzing the situation that he is in.

“Your father thought it best that I introduced myself without him or the servants’ eyes watching. I was surprised at his immediate confidence in me to be alone with his youngest daughter,” he says while you hug yourself to soothe your aching chest, holding on tightly as you beg someone to help you escape. He examines you long enough for you to believe he won’t strike to take what he might want. You feel guilty for thinking that he might have, knowing that it’s not the actions of an honorable leader.

“You are much younger than I expected,” he admits after a moment, a hint of weariness in his tone.

A tear slides down your stinging cheeks but you quickly brush it away and regain your composure enough to not start sobbing. The embarrassment of your single teardrop is evident on your face as warmth creeps up through the intricate twists and bends of your bloodstream, a dull pounding sounding in your ears.

“And you are a great man,” you reply in the most steady voice you can muster, “I hope to be a worthy wife to you.”

Marcus smiles, a small but genuine expression while he ignores your obvious distress. After all, this is not a matter in which women have a say. He sounds ever so confident in you, encouraging even, in a way you guess is to soothe your impending tears, “You will do well, I am sure.”

When you do not respond, he tries again. You must look like a scared little girl, desperately in need of being approached like a frightened animal and your heartbeat certainly imitates the one of a rabbit.

“I see you wear flowers in your hair,” he notes, finding the least threatening subject to discuss.

“Yes?” You furrow your brow, arms already falling down your sides. You link your fingers together in front of you.

“I made sure to have the gardener do extra work on each of the flowers in case you were interested in flora and fauna,” he elaborates, “Does the garden please you, Carissima?”

Carissima. The Latin word for dearest. He seems to be trying it out, collecting information from how you react to it, and making a move based on it. Your brows knit even further together but you use the opportunity to seem less scared and more relaxed after hearing it.

“It’s very beautiful, General. I shall be very fond of it in the future,” you say genuinely because, despite your ignorance of its charm right now, a rational part of you knows that it is gorgeous and enchanting. You will come to love it wholeheartedly.

“The birds that land in the trees here sing you awake in the early hours of the day,” he continues and mirrors you by also softening a little, looking around with a surprising fondness toward the gentle coos of the doves sitting on the rooftops, “If you are very lucky, you might hear a nightingale amongst the doves’ coos.”

“Nightingales are common back home,” you tell him with longing in your heart, closing your eyes for the briefest second but being able to see your backyard so clearly in that fleeting moment. Marcus senses it, shifting a bit on the spot with a concerned expression so you force a smile to let him know there’s no reason to worry about getting a sorrowful wife. You will cry tonight but you will be ready when he needs you to.

“So you know their song well,” he answers thoughtfully, “Good. I’m glad. It will remind you of home in these new surroundings. Will you let me show you the rest of the garden? Perhaps we can get to know each other a little before the weekend’s ceremony.”

He holds out his arm for you and you hesitate for just a moment before taking it, swallowing thickly at the feeling of how strong he is. His muscles flex gently underneath his bare skin, nicely soft wrapped around the muscles of his bicep when you expect everything about him to be rough and worn out by years of service to the empire. His smell envelops you, near-dizzying to you because you’ve never been in such close proximity to a man before and you don’t think you can imagine being any closer than this even though you have to soon. To think that you were nervous about him stepping close just minutes ago and now he is touching you and it feels… fine, not scary at all.

As he walks beside you, you can see the lines on his forehead when he speaks in concentration. He still looks good for his age, you find yourself thinking, blessed by the deities Venus and Apollo for his well-aged beauty and the golden radiance of his skin that reminds you of the sun. You notice his nose now that you see his profile, it curving in the way of Jupiter’s and making you swallow thickly at the power his mere appearance gives him.

Some things speak to the young girl in you too; his beard has patches, one formed in a heart shape that you would tell the girls in your village back home about if you could. To this, they would giggle delightedly like they were still the age of getting tutored.

Then there are his brown eyes, deep as the darkest of amber you have collected on the shorelines in your youth. They shine with sincerity, more than once filling yours with their honey glow as you walk together. You begin to see beyond the fearsome reputation and the sternness that he first approached you with. He speaks of the flowers surrounding you with surprising tenderness, admitting to the jasmine being his favorite, and of how he had the garden designed to remind him of his childhood home in the countryside.

You think that your responses seem trivial compared to the anecdotes that he is able to share but he seems to enjoy hearing tales about your childhood home. He nods in understanding and adds the words of someone well-reflected even if he is known for brutality when at war. You let down your guard, “We must have more in common than I initially thought, Gene—“

“Marcus,” he corrects when you come to a stop, “You may call me Marcus when we are alone.”

“Marcus,” you repeat. You look down briefly as warmth settles in your cheeks, your heartbeat speeding up in your chest because you realize he has led you to a small, secluded area of the grand peristyle garden. The sun is lower now, casting a warm, golden hue over the marble fountain before you. It is small yet majestic in its simplicity, surrounded by vines of ivy and jasmine. It seems to be his favorite spot on all of his owned property.

“What are we doing here? Are we supposed to be this hidden from everyone else?” Your grip loosens on his arm.

“Never mind that, Carissima…”

There’s that name again.

“Look, I know this isn’t the Trevi Fountain of Rome but I thought we could wish for Fortuna to bring us good luck and happiness together,” he reaches for his belt where a pouch hangs in a string that pulls it closed. He digs his thumb and index finger into it and digs out a coin, its front decorated with an engraved picture of a peacock’s feather; a symbol of Juno, the Goddess of marriage and childbirth.

He holds the coin between his fingers, the sunlight catching its glimmering surface, and offers it to you with a gentle expression that’s not quite a smile in case it might scare you off. You take it, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your palm. This is your future husband and he is trying, doing everything in his power not to unsettle you but invite you to give yourself to him in the next coming days.

The coin is mostly cool against your skin but still holds the tiniest amount of warmth from Marcus’ fingers, its edges smooth and worn from years of handling.

“This is a tradition,” Marcus explains, his voice carrying reverence, “We make a wish and toss the coin into the fountain. It is said that Fortuna, the Goddess of luck, grants blessings to those who seek her favor.”

You nod. This moment feels intimate, a quiet ritual shared between the two of you amidst the grandeur of the garden yet still hidden away from everyone else. This is a ritual of lovers, of people whose fates are closely entwined. You look at Marcus, meeting his warm brown eyes, and find reassurance in his steady gaze and slow secure breaths. You find it shameful that you believed him to be violent with you, that he would do anything with anger because he is, you realize, the type of man who doesn’t have to take anything by force when it comes to women. In that moment, it makes total sense to follow his wishes, but even more, it makes sense to wed him and go to bed with him.

“What should I wish for?” You ask softly.

Marcus dares a smile, “Whatever your heart desires. A wish for happiness, perhaps. Or for our future together to be filled with understanding and respect. Perhaps, in our own way, companionship and love.”

Together, you approach the edge of the fountain and you lean over it to gaze at the many glinting coins on the bottom. A violet falls from your hair and lands on the surface of the water, floating effortlessly with such strong symbolism that your stomach does a flip.

Marcus steps closer behind you and you turn to face him, the rim of the marble fountain digging into the back of your thighs until you nearly fall backward in an embarrassingly young fashion. Marcus takes you by the wrist to steady you but the touch doesn’t last long since you’re supposed to throw the coin over your shoulder.

With a flick of your wrist, you send the coin into the water behind you. The only thing you feel is the coldness on your skin where Marcus’ fingers were a moment ago, the slight breeze cooling down his leftover body heat quickly.

The coin hits the water with a splash. You swallow your nervousness to say something for the first time that isn’t the answer to a question from him, “May Fortuna smile upon us.”

“May she indeed,” Marcus agrees, pleased. He motions to a bench close by, “Shall we sit for a moment? Your feet must be tired.”

You agree, and he helps you to sit. Your hands touching sends a spike of energy through you before you are disappointed by him taking a seat beside you but maintaining a respectful distance. He takes his sword out of its place in his belt and rests it against the bench, getting comfortable with you.

“Marcus,” you say his name before you even realize what you want to ask of him.

“Yes?” He waits patiently for you to continue, nodding his head in acknowledgment.

When your request comes to mind, you are struck by the fear of ridicule but you shove it down in favor of letting yourself have this.

“I know this is most unusual to ask of you, but would you give me a kiss?” The second you have said it, panic makes you babble in his presence, “I know my duties as a wife, my mother has told me plenty, but I cannot bear the idea of the first show of affection between us to be in our chambers and with… with more to come.”

If you are not to burst into tears at the festivities after your union or even worse, when he takes you to bed, you need to get this out of the way. You only hope to be successful in your attempt, knowing it is not customary to follow through on such an ask. It hangs in the air for a moment, the garden seeming to hold its breath along with you. It all comes down to your future husband’s view of modesty.

Marcus watches you carefully with an expression that is a mixture of surprise and contemplation. He looks like he might say no at first, afraid that someone from his staff might spot you and start a rumor that deems you unworthy of this arrangement. It might be the sincerity and vulnerability in your request that convinces him and lets him take the risk.

“Very well, I understand your concern,” he nods with determination.

He shifts closer on the stone bench, his movements slow as if trying to put you at ease, as if approaching a deer in the forest and not wanting it to run. You can feel the warmth of his body next to yours as your thighs nearly touch, the scent of his skin filling your senses. It is leather, sandalwood… and something that is his own distinctive smell. Your heart races, your skin prickles underneath your gown, and heat spreads across your thighs.

It feels like you only blink for a second but when you open your eyes again, Marcus is closer, his face inches from yours. You can feel his uneven breaths mix with yours,

“Are you ready?” He asks in a whisper, his breath warm against your face and his eyes roaming over your features in case you want to stop.

Your voice has died in your throat, so you simply nod your head. Marcus swallows thickly while you are lost in the fact that you can count his eyelashes right now. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours with care and apprehension that takes you by surprise. The kiss is soft and restrained as if he is giving you the chance to pull away if you want to.

But you don’t. Instead, you lean into the kiss when you’ve gotten used to the scratch of his beard, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders and moving inwards towards his neck, sliding under the collar of his cape. His lips are warm and you feel a shiver run down your spine at a sort of contact you have never felt before. You wonder what he thinks of you, if your passion even in your inexperience is worth his time to broaden your horizon… but any doubt vanishes as the kiss deepens slightly, Marcus’ hand coming up from where it rests on the stone to lay on the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A tiny noise leaves you and something stirs in the pit of your stomach. You can feel the strength in his arm as he has it wrapped around you but there is no force or demand in his touch. Instead, there is a sense of him handing control over to you.

An instinct tells you to get even closer, straddle him, do something, anything even if you are not sure what. One of your hands falls down to Marcus’ chest plate, his uneven breath evident in how it pushes against your palm like raging waves. Your hand travels further down until the tips of your fingers brush his belt.

It is only then that the General reacts, pulling back firmly but without hurting you. He creates some distance between you by pushing you gently away by the shoulders. The both of you are breathless. He shakes his head, “Carissima. That was not part of the deal.”

You are embarrassed by your actions, not sure if Cupid is playing tricks on you by blowing to the fires of forbidden desire that you were not even aware burned in your lower belly. Your body hums but you are mortified, “S-sorry, my legatus. I don’t know what came over me.”

You go back to general. It feels appropriate to use his proper title now. You have brought shame on yourself, might as well have let him take your maidenhead right here on the stone-cold bench and the worst part is that you are not sure if the fire in your loins would have fogged your brain enough to not stop him from doing it.

“Please, do not apologize,” he says to reassure, holding up a hand to stop you from protesting, “There is nothing wrong with what you feel. It is natural. But I want to honor my promise to your father, no matter the impulses that you give me. You are as beautiful as Venus herself. I shall enjoy our time together very much when it comes.”

“Thank you,” you say with a still trembling voice. The lump in your throat feels impossible to swallow.

“Now. Shall we continue our walk?” He suggests while getting up from his seat, his tone light as if to ease the tension. He offers you a gentle smile as he ties his sword to his belt again then reaches to take your hand.

You get up with a simple nod. He acts like nothing for the rest of the day.

—

You return home by carriage after dinner at Marcus’ estate. After a day with such complex emotions being explored, with how your new life seems less and less like a dream, and with how the sun hangs so low in the sky, you have already started to feel tiredness taking over your body.

You excuse yourself to your room not long after you return to the comfortable familiarity of your home, brattishly avoiding conversation with your mother about how everything went when she starts asking a million questions.

“I thought you might like to talk,” she says after you have gotten up from your seat in the living room, a few paces behind you as you make your way down the halls.

“Mother, I just want some rest,” you stress, bare feet patting across the floor. You hold your skirt up to walk faster, nearing your destination but not wanting to slam the door in her face, “I do not wish to talk about anything with anyone. Ask Father. I bet he’ll be eager.”

“Dearest,” she tries, “Don’t be cruel.”

“Please,” you beg as you turn around in the doorway, “It was fine. I’ll be fine, it’s just a huge transition from this life.”

“That’s why I wanted to—“

“No,” you say more firmly than intended but your overwhelmed state leaves you with little patience. You hope she understands, know that she might because her marriage to your father started the very same way, “I promise we can talk in the morning but I really need some time for myself right now.”

Your mother looks slightly hurt like she is watching her child slip through her fingers during her last night at home. You swallow thickly but hold your ground.

“Very well,” she says finally, eyes closing briefly to breathe through her nose. She forces a small smile and leans in to kiss your forehead, “Get some rest. We can talk tomorrow with this conversation forgotten.”

You offer the very same smile in return, then close the door behind you with a relieved sigh. You cross the room to the window, pushing open the shudders to overlook the buzzing garden.

Carefully, you start detangling the flowers from your hair and laying them on the window sill. A few of them are taken by the wind, some landing on the ground while others delicately fly through the air. You watch them until a gasp leaves you, two eyes belonging to a man staring at you from across the garden but you don’t feel frightened.

You sigh with annoyance as he steps out of the bushes and closer to the window, picking up one of the violets on his way, “You should not be here, Cassius.”

“I wanted to see you before tomorrow,” he admits with a little smile, boyish and inexperienced compared to the ones you have received from Marcus today. He places his hands on the window frame, about to crawl inside.

“Are you trying to get killed?” You whisper loudly and barricade the window, “You cannot be in here, don’t come in.”

“What if I never see you again?” Cassius huffs but doesn’t push it, “I just wanted to say congratulations on your union tomorrow.”

“We’ve known each other for years, Cass. Of course, I’ll see you again; you’re my oldest friend,” you say with exasperation but you know that it is naive of you to assume this is the way things work. Cassius grew up with a farmer for a father, living far away in the countryside where the houses are surrounded by fields of vegetables that they eat at the palace and a long way from the neighborhood that you have grown up in.

“Well, you can say it from outside my window,” you continue and tense up at a few footsteps outside your door. You hold your index finger in front of your lips, listening intently to see if they pass or stop in suspicion of who you are talking to.

A moment passes and the footsteps fade. You turn back to Cassius who now wears a troubled expression, eyebrows knitted together. You go a little softer, a little more quiet, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Cassius hesitates just a second before speaking, “Your dear old dad has probably told you about this but things are changing around the outskirts of Rome. It’s growing more dangerous by the day to live out where I am. Geta and Caracalla’s combined ruling. They are not in their right mind and it is tearing the backbone of the empire apart. We’re angry and starving.”

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him. Your father has indeed talked about this during dinners in the past but always with no air of real concern and more with a scoff when mentioning the ungrateful people of Rome, their greed, their arrogance but mostly their lack of trust in their emperors who are right under the Gods.

“Why are you saying this?” You inquire impatiently.

“To ensure your safety in all of this when things break loose. You know how I feel about you,” Cassius looks down briefly. Yes, you know how he feels about you and while you have never reciprocated his love, you feel a tug in your heart about how he has waited for you for years with knowledge of how impossible your life together would be. A farm boy and the daughter of a senator? It is doomed from the very beginning.

“If things are as dangerous as you say then the General will be able to protect me, will he not?” You ask to push him away, make him let go of you.

“Marcus Acacius is a powerful man, but even he may not be able to navigate the storm that’s coming to the citadel,” Cassius places a hand on the window sill, the violets flying to all sides from the force. It’s his way of trying to get closer.

“And your solution is what? That I run away with you? Please,” you look down at his hand. This is not one of those moments where you realize your feelings after all this time, after years of childhood friendship, and run off together with the boy next door, so you let your hands fall down to your sides.

“Don’t marry him,” he suggests with pleading eyes, “I don’t want you with those people.”

You laugh in disbelief and turn your head away, “Cassius, by the Gods, you know that I have no say in that whatsoever. Besides, who says that I don’t want to be there with him?”

Cassius ignores the last part of your sentence bitterly, “Then just be careful, my friend. I know your father has power but I know he favors the emperors which will not benefit him in the coming future. Those caught in the middle often pay the highest price and you’ll soon be at the very top, exposed.”

You shake your head to brush him off but something is looming underneath Cassius’ words. They don’t sound as delusional as your father might think them and you poke fun to maybe earn a confession, “You sound like you’re going to storm the palace tomorrow.”

It is Cassius’ turn to laugh but the sound is hollow, “Tomorrow is your wedding day. I would never be so bold as to make you hate me. No, I have no plans to go so far.”

“What are you planning?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Nothing right at this moment,” he replies quickly but unconvincingly. You can feel the tension in his voice and the strain on his jaw as he clenches it, “But I will do what I must if it comes to a point where I need to fight back.”

“You make it sound like I have the power to fix everything. I do not,” you say with frustration.

“Then at least change your heart,” he tries one last time, holding his hand out for you like he wants you to take it and crawl out the window, never to show your face here again.

You shake your head, “Cassius, you know our lives were never meant to intertwine like that. We come from different worlds.”

“But our hearts,” he whispers sorrowfully, “They’re from the same world. At least, mine has always belonged to you.”

“Cassius…”

“I understand,” he admits in defeat, “Marry him, have his children but stay out of the palace. I can’t stress that enough. Stay out of the palace.”

“You are speaking in tongues again, what does this mean? What do you know?” You stare at him.

Cassius steps back from the window, the distance between you growing both physically and emotionally. With a sad smile, he looks at you one last time. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Cassius,” you reply with furrowed brows.

With that, he turns back into the night, leaving you with a mind filled with questions. You watch as he disappears into the shadows of the garden.

You lean against the wall with a deep breath, heart heavy with uncertainty about who you thought you knew so well but you decide to ignore it completely to get some relief by rest. You will rather try to focus on the events of tomorrow as you start to undress down to your tunic, your thoughts swarming around Marcus instead of Cassius. The way that things are supposed to be.

Not long after, you lie down to sleep in your bedroom for the last time before moving into Marcus Acacius’ villa the next day. You should be feeling upset about leaving everything and everyone behind, nostalgic and melancholic even about Cassius, but all your mind does is replay the events that took place on the bench in the peristyle courtyard just half a day beforehand. It is so vivid that you cannot seem to rest, the images of Marcus’ beautiful, God-given eyes and mouth flashing on the inside of your eyelids whenever you try to fall asleep. The pictures are in such vibrant colors too, so intense that you resort to pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. The colors smear and blur together until they look like painting instead but you have to stop due to the ache.

It doesn't matter anyway because it isn’t enough. Your vision isn’t the only one of your senses that he has taken as his own. The feel of his mouth lingers on yours, enough for you to let your fingertips trace over your bottom lip. It feels the same but then again, it doesn’t. Maybe he has left a mark on you that no one has dared to point out?

As well lingers a feeling of a spark that cannot be extinguished once it has been ignited. The sensation has you restless under the covers, the woven fabric scratching uncomfortably against your arms and legs until you have to throw them off.

It is a warm night tonight. The window shutters are still open to let in a night breeze that feels nice on your bare, burning, and untouched skin. You try to find sleep by listening to the usual chirping sound of the crickets but it is of no comfort this time. Marcus is still right there with you, his strong hand on your back and his eyes flickering down to your lips. In your head, he wants you and he lifts up your tunic to touch you where your pulse throbs and— By Jupiter, you need to calm yourself.

You open your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Everyone has gone to bed, your parents, despite your protests, having come in and kissed you on the forehead while expressing how proud you have made them feel. Yet in the familiar surroundings of your childhood bedroom, everything feels foreign now that you’ve stepped into new territory of desire, unlocking something that separates you from what belongs to the mind of someone’s child. You don’t belong anymore in this room with walls that contain all of your childhood memories. You are grown now.

You should feel sorrow about this, about never coming back here but instead, your body buzzes like a hive of bees, tiny shivers of lust provided by Cupid flowing through you as teasingly as the softest butterfly wings flapping around inside you. It’s a forbidden feeling that stirs guilt in you but also a strange anticipation that has your hand slipping down your belly. Has your skin always been this soft?

You wonder if Marcus feels the same turmoil inside of himself, if he is lying awake just as you are right now and replaying the way your fingertips danced around his waistband but never got any further. The thought makes your hand slide down between your legs, reaching up under the hem of your tunic until your fingers slide over the wet skin there. You breathe deeply in through your nose.

You have done this a few times before but you’ve always gotten to a point where you have to stop yourself, afraid of what might happen when you feel yourself start to reach some sort of pinnacle that you are at a loss for words to describe. It’s natural, you remember Marcus saying about your body’s response. But doing it alone? Isn’t what you are feeling as you touch yourself reserved for your future husband? What would he say if he saw you explore yourself like this? Would he be disappointed in you? Or does he do it himself? Naked in his bed with his thigh muscles flexing as he feels what you are feeling right now? No, don’t think about him like that.

Your thighs fall out to the sides on their own accord. You find the spot that makes you gasp softly, the night way too quiet for you to be making such a noise when others are sleeping soundly. You tip your head back to open your throat, hoping it will make you quieter as you play with the sensation between your legs. Are the Gods watching you? Are they the only ones who can understand the complexities of your mortal longings? Can they tell you what will happen on the other side of this tightening in your gut?

Your breath quickens, shallow puffs of air coming out as you near the pinnacle quicker than ever. A noise close to the sound of a hurt animal escapes your lips and your fingers start to move in earnest, quickly back and forth over the little nub that you think is far too small to have such an effect on the rest of your body. How are you so soon covered in a sheen of sweat? How is your soul already teetering on ripping from your body, a mere vessel?

“Ah,” you moan a little louder, catching it in your throat by biting down on your lip. You feel the pleasurable buildup gradually increase in intensity and suddenly you’ve rolled around onto your front to grind your pelvis up and down on your fist.

Marcus. Marcusmarcusmarcusmar—

No. Clarity comes to you right before you lose it, fear too as it feels like your spirit might leave your body completely. You force yourself to stop your hips’ rapid movements against your hand, surprised at how quickly the sensation of something so unfathomable can ebb away from your grasp. It leaves both a physical and emotional ache. You pant against the bed, nearly creating a damp spot where your mouth rests against the linen.

You roll onto your back once more, wiping your slick fingertips on the sheets before pulling your tunic back into place around your thighs. You suddenly start to freeze, the air from outside your window starting to cool down the sweat on your skin.

It takes a few minutes for your heart rate to drop again. Tomorrow, you will marry Marcus Acacius and a new chapter will begin - a chapter where the tingling ache between your legs will belong to him - but for now, you let the fatigue of managing to hold off lull you to sleep.

You pull the covers up to your chin, feeling smaller like this but it doesn’t comfort you like it did when you were a mere child. You cannot stop the tears that spring to your eyes, starting as a tightening in your chest, a thick swallowing, only to come out in quiet sobs.

You feel the drops slide down your face, running freely down to the sides of your cheekbones and over your ears. Your hair dampens slightly, your nose grows stuffy and sensitive but despite all the telltale signs of your distress, there’s mainly relief as you let go to cry harder about your new life.

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totothewolff · 7 months ago

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The Big Slip

+18 | one shot | Toto x reader | romance, smut, drama, pinning.

Summary: Your life as a struggling arts graduate in Monaco, coming from a working-class family who lives on the outskirts, is about to change. Toto Wolff enters your life not only by giving you the best sex ever but also by making you love somebody for the first time. Arranged marriages, a horrible breakup, and an induced coma, plus his terrible parents, were a complete surprise. Author's note: Get ready for a ride!

More Toto Wolff fics right here > Masterlist - Toto hasn't been to his parents for a couple of years.

His relationship with them has gotten, how do you say it politely? Problematic?

The older and more independent he gets, the more he notices the enormous pressure they have inflicted on him from a young age.

Being the firstborn in a blue-blooded, deep-pocketed family, carrying the Wolff last name around places an immense weight on his shoulders.

He is required to be the perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect gentleman, the perfect businessman, the perfect big brother, and the perfect heir.

"There's a lot on stake, Torger, not only millions," his father tells him at his massive and fancy in-home office. "You can't lose focus, this," he gestures with his finger around in a circular movement. "It will be all yours one day, and that," he points to a big and beautiful architectural model designed by Foster + Partners of their new offices and latest and giant factory based in Austria laying on the large meeting table made of expensive agarwood. "Will be yours to lead".

His dad isn't a normal one. Every time Toto gets called into his office, he feels nervous and timid, something that has never changed over the years.

His dad is a businessman first and a father second.

"Every choice you make matters, son. One day, you will become head of this family, an ambassador for our last name. Make us proud," he says, pouring himself and Toto a drink into a beautiful set of glasses. "Let's toast to that, to your future legacy."

He clinks his glass with Toto's.

Being an heir of the owners of the "Silver Wolff Mercedes F1 Racing Team" and "Wolff & Co." is supposed to be fun.

Being a part of that accelerated, fast-paced world full of excess, wealth, luxury, and stunning seductive women, a land with no limits.

Yet it isn't. It's a golden cage that people would give everything to get locked into, but it's still a cage.

"I'm moving to Monaco after graduation," Toto informs his father, again in his office, but years later, with all the courage he gained over the years, he feels ready to break those bars in his cage.

His parents sent him to study university at the LSE (London School of Economics), giving him a spoonful taste of freedom.

But he barely partied and slept around. He was required to be the perfect student, the top of the class, and the ideal college kid his parents could show off in social gatherings.

"Monaco?" the expression on his father's face is priceless.

"Yes. Water motorsports are on the rise. You know how much I love water! I could develop a racing team there, create a new branch for Silver Wolff, and enter the yacht market for Wolff & Co., handling it by myself."

"Before you return to your duty, the real one, this company, to Silver Wolff Mercedes. It will serve you as a pilot. Think of it as a five-year project."

"Yes, sir."

"Good," his father hugs him and kisses him on the cheek.

Toto feels proud of himself as he heads out of that office.

"Torger?" he turns around at his father, calling his name. "Don't lose focus."

What can you expect when you give total freedom to someone who hasn't tasted it before?

Parties, excess, women, all kinds and types of sex, alcohol, weed, everything, what he wanted, he had, he satiated all his appetites.

But at the end of the day, of the rush, he is alone.

Completely alone, with no real or deep relationship with anyone.

Toto built his life based on a "this is just a one-time thing only, a just-for-the-moment" philosophy, knowing that everything in his current life was temporary and that he isn't the actual owner of his life choices.

That's why he is not interested in building new friendships or having a girlfriend.

His real friends are his childhood friends, the kids of wealthy, upper-social-rank families his parents approved of and hung out with.

They are the ones who get him, who know what he is going through. And Obasi, his only real friend from college, Toto loves Obi.

Being the heir of a build-from-scratch empire of a Nigerian-rooted family that escaped the dictatorship, made it to England, and became incredibly successful is a burden more challenging than his.

Obi's parents expected him to make no mistakes, a margin of zero, and they had for him higher than the sky expectations.

The night is fully set in Monaco, and your boss gallery's lights illuminate the sidewalk as the prestigious Galerie d'Art 3816 is holding an exhibition.

Located on the famous Boulevard de la Croisette, it's buzzing as art lovers and collectors gather for the exclusive opening of "Lumière," a small but exquisite collection featuring an array of stunning paintings.

You worked your ass off to earn a spot and get featured, showcasing tonight two pieces as part of that exhibition, earning a well-deserved place.

With luck, a sponsor may see your work or art buyers will acquire them.

As guests enter the gallery, your boss greets them warmly and offers glasses of champagne.

The large room has white walls and a luxurious, polished grey marble floor. It's well-lit, and soft music plays in the background, creating an intimate atmosphere perfect for appreciating the displayed pieces.

As the evening goes on, champagne and canapés travel around while conversations flow freely.

At the same time, you attend the people interested in your paintings while some of your work colleagues sell and promote their own in their places.

Then your world spins around as you notice the tall guy, at least 6'2", whose presence seems to fill the room.

He is looking over the artworks on display one by one, his eyes lingering on each piece with an air of discernment.

His dark hair is styled perfectly, with a hint of messy charm, and the lighting in the gallery accentuates his sharp features.

The Greeks seemed to have carved his chiseled features, perfectly sharp jawline, and strong facial structure.

His suit, tailored to perfection, fit his broad shoulders and athletic build like a glove.

You can't help but feel a flutter in your chest as he moves towards you, his long strides eating up the distance between you.

"Oh! Mr. Wo-" Your boss tries to greet him. She approaches him in a rush, distracted by the other guests, without noticing when Toto enters.

"Mr. Bednarczyk, I'm Christian. It's nice to meet you," Toto lies to you, introducing himself, much to your boss's surprise, and cutting her off.

She plays along while he offers you a handshake and adds as you two lock eyes with each other, "Mr. Bednarczyk, we are glad you joined us." she says.

"That's unique," he points out, looking at the art in your painting, admiring every detail. Your boss takes this as a signal for her to leave you discuss.

Not before whispering to Toto's ear discreetly, "Christian Bednarczyk? Toto, what!?"

"My middle name and mom's maiden name. I don't want all the attention the Torger Wolff name drags around here."

He is right.

People in Monaco may not know what the Wolffs look like, but they have heard their last name and know what type of family they are.

What should have been a five-minute conversation between Toto and you lasted almost an hour.

You told him all about the meaning behind the painting, the techniques you used, your creative process, and more, feeling an instant connection with him.

A couple of other guests gather around to listen. In the end, a French businesswoman buys it.

"Happy for how it went?" Toto asks you.

"Yes! I sold the two paintings I got allowed to exhibit!" you answer as you do a little dance for him.

He looks only a few years older than you but seems full of youth and energy.

"So, now, can I buy you a drink?" he flirts with you.

"Yes, please." you feel your knees shaking.

Accepting his invitation to get some drinks results in a night of passion.

Toto's lips and teeth clash against yours, his tongue demanding entry. You part them, letting his tongue swirl around yours.

His hands roam your body, feeling your curves, then he squeezes your ass, pulling you closer to him.

You can feel his hardness pressed against you, and you reach for it; he groans, deep and guttural, his breath hot on your neck as he picks you up and carries you to the bed in a hotel room.

He lays you down gently, his hands cupping your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples through the light fabric of your dress.

"Fuck, so sexy," he mutters, his voice full of desire. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his touch.

You are desperate for more, desperate for him. You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second, your body responding to his touches.

Toto's fingers work fast, pulling out your dress and exposing your undies before getting them out of the way. He groans as he takes in the sight of you fully naked, his eyes dark with lust.

"Beautiful," he whispers.

He leans down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You gasp as he teases it with his tongue, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

"You're fucking wet," he says, his hands now exploring your slick folds. You whimper as he circles your clit with his fingers, "I want to taste you," he states, his voice low.

You nod eagerly, unable to speak. Toto wastes no time.

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and dives between your thighs. His tongue is warm and wet, tracing a path up and down your slit.

You moan as he explors with his mouth, parting your folds, his breath warm against your clit.

You bite your lip as he flicks his tongue against it. The sensation is intense and immediate. Your hips buck as Toto sucks it.

"Oh my god," you moan, digging your nails in the sheets beneath you. You are so close already, your body coiling with need.

Toto's fingers slide inside you, and you moan even louder. He presses against your G-spot, and you feel an orgasm rising inside of you.

And then, just as you are about to explode, Toto pulls away. You let out a whimper of protest as you feel your orgasm fade away into nothingness.

But Toto isn't done with you yet. Not by a long shot.

"You taste so good," he moans as he crawls up your body, pressing his hard cock against you. "Do you want me inside of you?"

"Yes!" you answer while moaning as you feel his tip brush against your entrance. He is teasing you, and you love it.

You want him inside of you so badly it hurts. He pushes against you, inch by inch, until you are stretched around him, finally joined.

The feeling of his hard length filling you is indescribable, and you let out a gasp of pure ecstasy.

Toto thrust into you, his hips moving in rhythm. Each stroke brings a new burst of pleasure that almost brings you to your knees.

You grab onto his biceps to stay grounded.

Your moans become louder, more primal as he pounds you, sensing the pulse of his cock deep within you.

"Goddammit, Chris. Yes... yes..." you let out, your breaths becoming shallow gasps. Your muscles tremble with exertion, and sweat drips down your forehead.

You close your eyes, lost in the sensory overload, as he continues to thrust deep into you.

Your breasts are bouncing with each impact, and your heart is on the verge of exploding.

You are nearing the end but want to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. Savor every moment of this encounter.

"Tell me how it feels," Toto demands. "Good god, you're so tight, so fucking perfect." Toto murmurs, continuing to pump hard into you.

You let out tiny cries, knowing that you are close to cumming. "Goddamn, you feel so good inside me. Your body is pure perfection," you moan.

He shifts positions, his body dominating yours again, and you wrap your legs around his waist. His hands hold your hips, pulling you closer. He kisses you passionately as his pace quickens, bodies moving faster.

You can hear the wet sound of skin slapping together with each hard thrust. Your body quivers in delight, feeling his strong hands grip your hips tight.

The way Toto moves inside you is delicious. He moves deep, giving you long, slow strokes as he continues to kiss you passionately.

"I want to hear it all, every dirty little thought that goes through your mind. I want to feel you clench around my cock when you get what you want."

His words send a thrill down your spine, igniting a fire. You rock your hips harder against him as he continues to thrust, his movements becoming more urgent, more frantic.

"Oh, fuck yes. Yes, Chris. I want you to claim me, to make me yours. I want to feel every inch of your thick cock stretching me open."

"Fuck, Y/N. That's what I like to hear."

"God, yes!" you cry as he hits the right spot.

"Tell me you want it," his voice raw. "Tell me you want me to make you cum."

You look into his eyes, seeing the desire and urgency reflected there, his fingers digging into your flesh.

"Make me cum, baby," you stammer; you are so close.

Toto's expression changes at your words, and he looks more determined than ever to make you finish.

With a low growl, he increases his pace, his hips snapping against yours with animal urgency, taking your breath away.

Your hands go to Toto's ripped abs; you can feel his muscles flexing as he drives into you with fierce movements.

"God, yes," you pant, trying to hold on as best you can.

Toto's hips are a blur, his body moving with intensity you have never experienced before. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, your sweat-slick bodies slamming together.

"Fuck, I'm going to cum," you cry, your voice hoarse with pleasure. The orgasm is building.

Your whole body is trembling, and you can feel every inch of you tingling with anticipation. You sink your teeth into Toto's shoulder as he continues to pound hard into you.

"Yes, yes, YES!" you cry out, surrendering to the pleasure, giving yourself completely to him. The orgasm hits you suddenly, and you feel your body convulse, releasing.

You hear yourself yelling out his name as Toto keeps thrusting, mercifully prolonging your orgasm. His hips continue to snap into you as a guttural moan tears from deep from his throat as he comes too.

He moans so deliciously as he finishes, firm chest going up and down, you running your nails on it, as he recovers his breath.

"It was spectacular," you say the following day while sharing breakfast, looking at him with adoring eyes. Oh, the things he did to you were just wow.

"I totally agree." he gives you a cheeky smile.

"You seeing someone? Maybe we could..."

"Sorry, I can't. This was a one-time thing, sadly. I'm not looking for that, but I can give you my number if you want to be friends." Toto explains, looking at the dismay on your face.

"Sounds good, better than wiping you off from existence!" you chuckle.

And you two become "friends"!

"Friends" that text each other daily and hang out at any minute possible.

Who were you kidding?! FRIENDS?!

You are utterly into that man. And he seems also into you.

"Well, that was a complete failure." You sigh as you close the gallery.

Only eight people attended your personal art exhibition, and you did not sell a single piece.

Toto is carrying your stuff around in a box. You two cross the street to grab a seat on the pier, which overlooks the harbor and the sea, and hang out a bit more.

"You okay?" He bumps your arm with his, looking at your sad eyes.

"I want to make my parents feel proud of me. I know they haven't asked me for that. They only want me to be happy! But I know the effort they made to put me through college, and you know, I want to be successful so I can help them out so they don't have to work that hard anymore. They aren't that young," you answer.

Toto looks fondly at you and catches the single tear sliding down your cheek with his thumb finger before caressing your face tenderly.

"You are a good daughter. Even if your parents haven't asked you for anything, you feel a need to deliver. It will come! Don't get impatient! No one starts with instant success. Usually, there are a couple of years of struggle before it. Focus on what lies ahead."

"Why are you so smart?!" he smiles shyly at your question, his cheeks blushing. "Can I kiss you?" you come closer to his lips. "I know you told me we'd be friends only, but can we be of those friends who kiss each other?"

He laughs softly before claiming your lips in a passionate kiss. "I don't think those friends exist. I don't think those are called friends." Toto replies.

You laugh. "Damn, you got me!" and after a couple of minutes, you dare to ask. "What is it about me that doesn't convince you?"

"It's not, listen, ahem..."

"I'm single and have a boyfriend job opening right now. There is no need for an interview for you, in case you are interested," you invite him shyly, asking him to please date you.

To which Toto blushes and looks down at the floor.

There's a silence break in which you slowly take distance from him, returning to where you were sitting before kissing him.

"Can I change your mind?" you ask softly at his lack of reply, which sounds more like a plea.

He turns to look at you but doesn't say yes, which hurts you. He can see it in your watery eyes.

"It's getting late. So I bett-"

"Don't leave, please." He sounds earnest.

"Chris, I'm not sure I can only be your friend with these dumb feelings I have for you. I don't know how to be around you without wanting to be with you. I'm sorry."

"This amazing idea you made of me may be wrong. I'm not that ..."

"You are kind and fun. I love those dumb reaction faces you do," a small smile forms on your lips. "You are very gentlemanly, holding the doors open for me and standing up when I arrive. I have never seen that one before! Also, holding my hand on stairs and carrying my stuff around, you make me feel so special."

"Every time we talk, it feels meaningful. Gosh, I love sharing life with you. You are so full of great advice, you know?" you continue.

No one had shown Toto such earnest affection before, not so openly.

"I can be your life coach if you have that job offer available," Toto says. You can feel his eyes piercing your skin. He is looking at you with such intensity.

"I don't know. You, you feel too meaningful, this," you gesture with your finger between you, "Feels special. And let's not talk about all of this going on here," you move your hand around, gesturing to Toto's face and body. "All this tallness hotness stuff you got going and under gets even better," you quickly add, every word speaking faster. "Those things you did to me the other night, Jesus! We could, you know, repeat it sometime or many."

A huge smile forms on his lips before he relaxes again, watching you joke around.

"I really gotta leave, tho," you say.

"Can I at least drive you home?" his voice sounds slightly sad.

"Oh, hey, no worries, it's far. That's some gas you are going to spend. I can grab the transp-"

"Please"

"I live on the outskirts projects. Do you know where those are?"

His father's best friend's real estate company developed the units in those buildings. Of course, he knows where those are! "Yes, I have an idea, but you can guide us there."

"You sure?"

"Hundred percent"

It's a quiet ride at first.

"Gaga, really?"

"What?" he looks at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road as "Shallow" plays in the back.

"Are you a pop girlie?! That's... you know."

He starts laughing at your reaction, judging his music taste. "Unexpected?"

"Give me." You grab his phone from the car's cup holder on the central console.

"Password?" you ask.

"941123"

"Does it have a meaning?"

"It's a birthday."

"From who?"

"A girl"

"Oh," your mild jealousy showing.

"My sister's, not... there's no one else, so you know."

There's silence for a bit. So, you keep searching on Spotify for a song you like.

"Then, why not me? If there's no one else in your life," you ask before thinking, shit! It would be best to stop pushing him, but you can't.

He gives you no answer again, and things start to feel awkward for a few streets while Arctic Monkeys play in the back.

The streets of Monaco never look more attractive as you observe them through the car's window, not being able to look at Toto and feeling embarrassed. Rejections are uncomfortable.

"Do you have or had someone?" he asks, trying to regain your attention, feeling awful too.

"I had a boyfriend for years. He was my neighbor, and he still is, sort of, he moved a couple of buildings away. Let's say he forgot he was my boyfriend before having a new girlfriend. That's a cool photo on your locked screen! I have never skied, and those snow outfits always look so cool. So handsome, gorgeous smile. Turn left here and go all the way there. Oh, you went the other way, ahem."

"You said left; this is left," Toto informs you, side-eying you.

"Oh!" you smile at him. "It was to the right, then." You make a funny oopsie face.

You open the Apple Maps app and pin your address before passing him the phone at a red light.

"Okay, got it now." Toto gives you his phone back.

"Have I told you when I got "lost" downtown? My parents went crazy! It turns out I never left the street; I just went right thinking it was left."

"WHAT?!"

"Oh yeah, get comfy on your seat, Chris. The wackiest shit always happens to me," you tell Toto before sharing that memory with him.

When you finally arrive in your neighborhood, it takes you forever to get to your home because you keep telling him anecdotes and memories of things that happened to you in various spots.

Toto slows down the car, amused and more than engaged in the conversation.

"And on that sloping street we used to bike down! Oh, and on Charlotte's birthday - a girl that used to live in that house in that street - we went to slide down during her party held in their front garden, and I hit the sidewalk there and flew to the grass next to it. My dress got all green in the belly and chest, and I flashed the entire party with my Hello Kitty panties before my mom rushed to see if I was okay and pulled down my dress; well, at least the guests got to know me!" you two laugh heartfully. "And that's me." You point to a building.

Suddenly, your eyebrows frown, and a concerned look fills your face.

"You good?!" Toto asks you, worried.

"Why is my dad in PJs out in the street?!"

A big guy wearing no shirt, belly on full display, not a fit body at all, and pajama pants bottoms wearing sandals was in a rush walking around the street, looking for something.

Toto parks the car, and you get out of it quickly. He follows you.

On your way to your dad, you find your mom, also wearing pajamas, hair a mess, crying in your building's entry hallway.

You instantly hug her.

"I left the door open a second!, just to get the Amazon package inside! And "Chico" went off, he ran so fast down the stairs, we can't find him anywhere! It's my fault!"

You comfort her before getting all emotional, too, and scared for Chico's well-being. Your dog flew the house; he is tiny, old, and almost blind, which is not good.

After one hour of searching, your family, Toto, and some neighbors still haven't found Chico.

You turn around, all desperate, and bury yourself in Toto's chest, weeping, where he wraps you in his arms and comforts you, rubbing you.

"Let's keep looking. Chico must be near."

"What if he got run over?"

"Shh, don't think of that." Toto kisses your head and soothes you. "We will find him, okay?" He bends a bit to rub his nose against yours softly and gives you a couple of brief kisses.

Your parents witness it all.

Around two hours later, Toto goes exploring further away from the park again.

This time, he hears muffled dog cries in the distance, so he follows the sound to find Chico under some tall bushes in a neighbor's open yard.

His little leg got stuck between the big branches, so Toto rushes to get him out and leave before he gets in trouble.

He returns to your building with Chico in his arms, who looks even smaller in those muscular arms and is all dirty.

Your mom and you run to Toto and pat Chico before hugging the Austrian from both sides.

"Our girls' hero!" your dad approaches you all and tells the dog. Chico, don't scare us like that!" before addressing Toto. "Okay, let's go. I buy the beers. We still can catch some of the game." He pats Toto's arm, assuming he is your boyfriend.

"Let me see what I can make for dinner." your mom tells you.

"Go ahead," you ask them two, wanting to have a time alone with Toto.

"Please, give me a chance. I promise you won't regret me," you beg him.

He nods.

Toto can't keep ignoring his feelings for you, which is reckless, before you two kiss while leaning on Toto's black Mercedes car - the one he told you he got lucky to inherit from his late godfather - and while holding hands.

"Honey?!" your mom calls you from the window on the second floor. Your apartment faces the street and a small grass patch. "Can you go get some cheese?"

"And more beers!" you hear your parent scream from inside. You have that bad habit of doing that.

Your relationship feels like a dream. It's healthy, romantic, supporting, and spicy.

There are weeks you can't keep your hands off each other or your clothes on.

Everything is soft and tender between you, helping and supporting each other throughout the day's challenges.

You talk a lot, but he is pretty reserved. You respect that and hope that time and love will change it. You want him to feel secure and loved enough to open up.

Toto extends his visit, staying longer after his sister's baby's christening mass and gathering in Austria at their parent's state.

He loves his young sister more than anything in life.

He wanted to spend some time with her and her kids, who were also staying there, but as soon as they left their childhood home, he remembered why he had stayed away.

The following day, at the garden breakfast table, his parents bring up the always-expected topic: "Torger, my dear, your father and I are worried. It's been almost seven years since you left for Monaco, two more years that agreed."

"We need you around, son. I'm afraid you are falling behind on how to handle the business only with your brief appearances with the team and at the factory," his father adds.

"I have known how the business works perfectly since I was a child; that is all you taught me. Haven't I succeeded with the new assets I created?"

"Yes. Monaco has been a total success. But you made a promise, and a Wolff keeps them. Your duty is with Silver Wolff Mercedes and this family. Man up to it." his dad gives him the ultimatum.

"I know it, believe me. But fine, I will prepare everything for my return."

"When will this be?" his father asks, growing impatient at his current lack of control over his son.

"By the end of this year. It's time enough to handle our aquatic racing team to another team principal."

"Perfect," his dad looks pleased.

"There's also another subject we would like to discuss," his mom has the word again.

Okay, this one is unexpected.

"We can't keep avoiding the fact that you have reached an age to settle down with no proper prospects. We think we could help you with that departm-"

"Hold your horses there." Toto steps in.

"Did you interrupt your mother? Your manners also stayed in Monaco?" his father looks at him sternly.

His dad has this really angry-looking resting face, but he is actually quite easygoing and even goofy sometimes.

"Sorry, continue"

"Most of your friends got married the past few years, your cousins are all fathers now, and even your baby sister has welcomed her second child. It's time for you, too. The daughter of my friend Anya is a perfect and stunning fit. She has always liked you."

"I can get girls on my own, mom, thank you."

"Yes, of course you can! You are smart, successful, handsome, fit, and wealthy. What's not to like?!" His mom gives him a look.

"Then, the problem is?"

"That finding the fit for you is not that easy. You need a girl that matches everything listed before to be even."

God! Toto had forgotten how old school his parents are.

"We are arranging this for you," his dad informs him.

"Are you like for real?! Arranging for me a marriage? Oh! Man," Toto's expression is priceless.

"Why are you articulating like that?" his dad looks at him, not in a good mood anymore.

"Like a commoner!" his mom adds. "Didn't we give you higher education? What's on the water in Monaco? It's not doing you well."

Toto chuckles but does not answer. Spending time with you and your is showing.

"Well, it's not like your father and I precisely met on a cruise, didn't we? Our parents arranged it, yet we formed a successful marriage with wonderful children."

"Understood." Toto plays along with it, not feeling like fighting it. They were sort of right.

You go to a fancy restaurant for your one-year anniversary. Toto never lets you pay for anything, and you tell him several times it isn't necessary.

Monaco is expensive for the working class, and you know the struggle. You don't want him to feel that type of pressure on him.

You know he works as a coach on an aquatic racing team in town, which is not a high-salary job precisely.

But he insists, and any hint of you putting a fight tonight goes away the moment he picks you up wearing that fancy suit, looking unbelievably handsome.

You are left speechless, and he closes your mouth with a finger on your chin before kissing your lips and hand.

"Wow," he whispers to you while he looks you up. You are wearing a fancy, tight blue dress, all glam up. "I'm so lucky." Toto lets out.

During dinner, an "I love you" scapes your lips.

Toto gets saved by the bell in the form of a marriage proposal happening in the following table.

You two clap for the couple like the rest of the people at the tables surrounding them when she says yes.

When Toto turns around, he sees you looking at him in a way he wants to shoot himself.

What had he done!?

How could he have been so irresponsible?

He hates himself for being unable to say no to you from the beginning.

While you two make love passionately, you ask him while riding him, his dick filling you completely as you rock your hips eagerly, bouncing on him while holding hands and between moans that he stays forever.

Toto has a full-on panic attack in the bathroom of the hotel suite you went to spend your anniversary night while you peacefully sleep after fucking your brains off, not knowing what to do now.

You shouldn't be part of his life. This wasn't supposed to happen!

But the fear of losing you is equal to his fear of hurting you.

To confess is not an option. God! You will hate him when you discover the truth and that he lied to you about his life since the day you met him.

This Christian Bednarczyk is a facade that hides something worse, Toto Wolff.

"A what?!" Your parents and you all turn to look at him with a funny face, all situated at the outdoor table.

You went camping on a family trip for the weekend.

"What's with all those fancy words you say here and there?" your mom asks.

"Yeah, right? I also noticed!" you add, pointing.

"You went to one of those "big farts" schools?" your dad questions him while biting his steak.

"Baby, do you want something else?" you ask Toto as you continue placing food on the big plate in the middle of the table and still taking ribs from the grill.

"No, love, I'm so full!" Toto rubs his belly.

"We ate half a cow already." your dad colorfully adds, as usual, still a bit of food in his mouth.

Toto and your dad nod, recognizing themselves as guilty.

"I used to read a lot," Toto answers his question.

"That's from where your posh English comes from. Makes sense! Honey, pass Mr. Thesaurus here another beer?" your dad messes around and requests you.

Their relationship is as great as yours is.

Toto loves to hang out with your family. Sometimes, he is even at your parents' tiny apartment, where you still live, not yet able to afford a place of your own, when you are not.

Where they constantly and unintentionally embarrass you in front of him, creating lots of funny moments on both sides.

Your parents knew no shame, and Toto's out-of-touch secret silver spoon upbringing sometimes made him say and do things that made him look like he was from Mars. Not teasing him was impossible.

But all in good spirits!

It's Sunday morning.

Toto and your dad watch the race in the living room while you are in the kitchen sink, blending acrylic paints and listening to their funny, excited little screams.

They are both fans of the F1. As the race is in the final laps with a clear winner and they go to commercial break, Toto goes to the fridge for a can of Coca-Cola.

"Pss, pss," you grab his attention.

He turns to you to see you approaching him and softly pushing him to the broom closet; he puts no resistance.

"Yes?" he asks you suspiciously, standing beside a mop.

You steal a passionate kiss from him first, and as you pull away to catch your breaths, you explain.

"Mom and I are saving to get tickets to the race here in Monaco for dad as a birthday gift. Do you want to come? We plan to have breakfast at that seafood place he took us once."

"The one with the delicious baked coconut shrimp?"

"Yes, the one with the cook owner with a lazy eye."

"Captain Evil Eye"

You two invented a whole backstory in which that dude used to be a pirate in his prime.

"And then, off to the race! We plan on going all dress the same, you know, dad's team."

The idea of Toto showing up in Ferrari gear was hilarious. That man had poor taste in all senses, but especially in teams.

Actually, it was a great and iconic team, but their fierce rival was so it was an instant and natural despise.

"I would love to, but I'll be in Austria, remember? I plan on giving your dad his birthday gift before leaving."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot! Son of a Biscuit!"

"Yup!" Toto says it like you do.

"What are you two doing hiding there in the broom closet?!" Your dad says as he gives you THE LOOK, now standing before you, opening the door. "I would like to remind you, Chris, I'm a police officer and have my gun in that drawer," your dad messes around.

Toto raises both hands and gets out of there and away from you. "I didn't even touch her," he says while collecting his stuff and heading to the door. "Oh, but she did!" he jokes, quickly closing the door after him as your mom and you die of laughter.

"You better run!" your dad says aloud.

"See you at night! It's sushi night!" Toto screams from the street as you and Chico appear on the window.

"Have a great day, sweety!" your mom warmly screams Toto goodbye.

He was coaching today.

Toto hates to lie to you.

He did not travel to Austria. He is there at the race, but at the pitlane in his team's garage, away from the cameras, next to his dad running this thing.

The live coverage crew knows they can't shoot any of the Wolff family members, and they don't dare disobey, so there is no risk since you and your family are in a sector far far away.

By this point, Toto's family has been trying to arrange a marriage for him with his father's goddaughter for months. Her name is Emma. She is a lovely girl, but she is not you.

Toto's parents think they successfully brainwashed him into thinking he is old enough now to settle down and form a family.

Not only to keep the family's social rank and prestige but also to bear beautiful children with a gorgeous rich wife and grow the fortune of his future heirs.

Toto plays along with it, but he is no longer interested in anyone after being with you.

Be dating you is the best well-kept secret that he has held from his parents throughout his life.

Only Obi knows about you. He won't risk his other friends opening their mouths, spreading the rumor among the elites, and reaching his family.

There is no part of you Toto didn't explore, a corner of your body he didn't touch, or part of you he doesn't own.

On a Thursday after work, you meet Obi, Toto's roommate. Since they both share a tiny apartment without privacy, Toto never takes you there.

Obi is so handsome and tall, with a gorgeous smile and a sexy British accent; he looks like an African prince. He is super fun, light-spirited, and a clear best friend of your boyfriend.

Thanks to him, you get to know a bit more about Toto's life, well, about Chris's life.

They met in college.

"Two broke kids with crazy parents," Obi says among laughs.

Then you find out that Toto is not close with his parents, that's why he never mentions them.

You want to know why Toto's relationship with his parents got strangled. Maybe you can help to fix it.

When you ask the real questions, he dodges them, along with your requests to meet his family, even though he has met everyone relatively important in your life, even your dog!

A month passes, and Toto picks you up to go on a date, but you forget your paintbrush roll-up bag upstairs in the workshop, where you work above the gallery.

He offers to get it, and while you wait for him, you grab his phone to put your shared couple's playlist with songs both of you like.

Whenever you unlock his phone, it warms your heart. Toto changed his password to your birth date.

Amidst choosing a song, a text arrives from some "Emma,"

You aren't toxic, not one of those people who routinely nose in their partner's phones, but this one makes your jealousy monster come out.

Why is this girl calling him "my love"?

God, you wish you hadn't opened that conversation.

As Toto opens the door to get back inside the car, he gets welcomed by you, holding his phone and looking mad before asking him:

"Whose Emma?"

FUCK!

TORGER YOU FUCKING IDIOT!

FUCK!

"Let me explain to you, please."

Tears are filling your eyes.

"Wait, not, please don't do that, don't cry," he looks desperate.

Then, you finally discover he has been seeing another woman for potential nuptials due to his parent's idea of arranging his marriage. You are a secret he has kept from them.

"So all this time, I was the "meanwhile," an entertainment for when the real one arrived." you sound so hurt and bitter.

"Don't say that." Toto looks anguished.

"That's why you didn't say it back."

"What?" he asks.

"When I told you I love you,"

"I hate myself more than you can imagine for hurting you like this. I didn't plan for any of this! It happened, and I couldn't be more grateful to have you in my life. You have no idea how much you have healed me. I was completely lost before you, and I don't want to break your heart..."

"Too late for that! Thank you, asshole, for exploding it into pieces." you interrupt him. "I will help you and your parents with that; I'm going to stay the fuck away of your life. I'm a fucking idiot!"

"I'm the fucking idiot here, for not being honest with you, for the lies, for everything. Please forgive! Don't leave me," Toto is begging for his life.

"Does the sorry for everything part also involve me?!" tears are everywhere on your face, but rage is starting to show, too.

"For hurting you! Do you think I regret any of this?! That I regret us!?! You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me!" Toto confesses now in a loud voice, too heated.

"Yet not great enough apparently to put an end to that shit circus going on with your family. If you truly loved me, you would fight for me, for us."

"Y/N, you don't know them..." Toto barely murmurs.

"Wrong answer," you say, lips trembling, before exiting the car and slamming the door.

Every step you take away from him kills you. You are so disheveled that you can't even show up to your parents.

As the weeks go by, you still look like a depressed mess, a shell of a person living life.

Not wanting to leave the bed, shower, eat, or go out.

Your mom and dad are distraught. Your dad even suggests you go to "the looney."

God, he tries! But that is how concerned he is.

It is clear to them that Toto and you broke up, and they are sad about it, too. They considered him part of the family, but there isn't a clear explanation yet.

To touch the subject with you is impossible, so they cease.

Time plus painting helps you heal, and your art becomes more edgy and moody, which sells well. At least a positive outcome of this!

You blocked Toto out of your life. And you are still trying to erase him from your mind, heart, and body.

Five months have passed since you two broke up when a call comes from an unlisted number.

You answer your phone a bit dubious.

"Miss Y/N Y/LN?" the voice of a professional-sounding woman answers.

"Yes, who's speaking?"

"I am contacting you from the front desk of the ER at Princess Grace Hospital here in Monaco" Fuck! Something happened to your parents! You start to panic. "On behalf of Dr. Gastaud, you appear listed as Mr. Torger Wolff's emergency contact. He is curre-"

"Oh, wrong number, then. I don't know that person." You feel a brief sense of relief.

"Oh? But all your information is on our system. Are you sure you don't know patient Torger Christian Wolff Bednarczyk?"

"Christian! Yes, of course, is he okay!?" you feel your heart in your throat.

"We just moved him to intensive care. We need you here as soon as possible." She sounds so calm in comparison to you.

"I'm on my way!"

As the male nurse rushes Toto's IC bed across the doors, the doctor explains to you as you two walk alongside it at the same pace.

"Apparently, he was on the deck of his yacht where he slipped and hit his head. His staff brought him here."

His yacht? His staff?! What?!

"The blood tests showed a high ingest of alcohol in his system." The doctor continues.

But Chris doesn't drink like that! He barely likes beers. Why?!

"He hit his head against the yacht's railing and has lost a lot of blood; according to the x-rays and the MRI, his brain is a bit swollen, and his arm got broken. I need your approval, miss."

The doctor stops for a second, grabbing the clipboard at the end of Toto's bed, next to his feet.

"What for?!"

"To induce him into a coma," the doctor answers.

You feel like fainting.

"I, I, I..." you are entering a state of shock that the doctor immediately recognizes as being used to dealing with those.

"Miss Y/LN," he snaps his fingers, getting you back. "We are losing time. It's the best option to stabilize and prevent him from leaving us. Do you approve of it?" The doctor shoves the clipboard to you.

"Yes," you feel your soul leaving your body.

"Sign here and wait there. It's going to take time," the doctor informs you.

You notify your parents about the situation. They immediately come to the hospital to join you while you wait for Toto's procedure to finish.

"We brought you dinner," your mom sweetly mentions.

"Thank you, mom, but I'm not hungry. Actually, I threw up a bit ago," you confess.

"Let's pray, then." your mom grabs your shaky hands.

After it gets done, they move Toto to an intensive care room; tons of tubes, cables, and saline and meds bags get plugged into him.

This is and looks like a nightmare.

It feels so wrong for you two to reunite like this since you called it quits.

Then, as the hurtful memory of that day hits you back, an even worse crosses your mind.

His parents. They need to know! Do they know already? Did they get notified, too?

Around 3 a.m., you gather the energy to go to the front desk. Your mom stayed with you at the hospital to spend the night. She will look over Toto as you investigate.

This room and the whole private area look expensive. It would be best to ask about Toto's insurance and the bills here. You are already worrying about how he is going to pay for it. You have some savings he could use if needed.

"Hi, miss. Did Mr. Wolff's parents get notified, too?" you ask the lady who called you.

"We only notify the people on his emergency contact list; you were the only one registered there," she explains.

"Oh..."

"But you can contact his insurance agent. They usually notify the patient's family. Personally, I never rely on the insurance people; sometimes they are the worst," she whispers to you, hiding behind her palm.

You look at her with a blank expression.

"Would you like the phone number to call?" she looks at you, a bit confused.

Why would you ask her for all this essential information about your husband? He registered you as his wife on the list.

Only if she knew.

She prints a sheet of paper and underlines some numbers with her blue pen.

"Thank you so much."

After a lengthy exchange with the insurance people and many revelations you didn't see coming, you obtain the number of Toto's father's office.

They indeed live in Austria. Toto's insurance covers him up to millions, a shocking amount, and the "Wolffs" are an important family you should know about.

You check on Google if it's a suitable hour to call Austria before remembering this is an emergency.

Toto appears stable, but he is not progressing as the doctor hoped. There is still not much brain activity on the damaged part.

You gain the courage to hit the call button after going over and over about how to introduce yourself and explain what is happening.

"Miss Y/N, hold in the line for a second. Thank you," Toto's father's beautiful assistant, sitting at her desk, tells you as she pushes a button on the intercom while holding the phone between her ear and shoulder.

"Mr. Wolff! I have a girl on the line who says she is your son's girlfriend. She needs to inform you something about Toto. It sounds important."

Emma?! Did Torger propose to her? His dad thinks. "Yes, communicate her."

His dad picks up the phone.

"Emma? Good afternoon, dear. How can I help you?"

So Toto is still with her?

"Good night, Mr. Wolff," your voice takes him by surprise. "I'm Y/N Y/LN. Your son is in intensive care at Princess Grace Hospital here in Monaco. We don't know how, but he slipped on a yacht deck, hitting his head with the railing. The hospital notified me, so I came as quickly as possible."

"How is my son doing? Please send all the information to my assistant's number. We will arrive there soon." He sounds genuinely concerned.

"He is stable, sir," you feel your voice cracking. "But he is not progressing as the doctors expected."

"What doctors? I need the names and the medical records sent to me. We would go through them on the jet on our way there. We have many top-tier medical professionals on call."

"Ahem, give me a second. I'm searching for the full names," you say as you ask your mom to pass you some papers. Mr. Wolff hears other voices around you.

"Is this a scam?!" he sounds mad now.

"Sorry?"

"Whose there?"

"My mom"

"I have no idea who any of you are or why my son is in there with you. Hold," he pushes a button and asks his assistant to contact Torger.

No answer, she tries again.

"Could you tell Mr. Wolff to keep the conversation on the other line?" you answer from Toto's phone.

The nurse just handed you a bag with the belongings Toto was admitted with at the hospital just a second ago. His bloodstained clothes disturbed you deeply.

This would have been very helpful hours before.

It turns out his phone is still on, and Toto hasn't changed his password.

"Mr. Wolff, why would I be joking with something as serious as this?"

"It's unexpected news."

"For all of us, I asked the nurse for the medical records. I already sent the doctor's names to your assistant."

"Is my son heavily medicated, resting, or is he able to talk to us?" Toto's mom is also present and listening through the speaker.

"He is in a coma."

"WHO PERMITTED YOU TO INDUCE MY SON INTO A COMA! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? ARE YOU AWARE HOW DANGEROUS IT IS? THE MINIMAL MISTAKE COULD DAMAGE HIM FOR LIFE IF NOT KILL HIM."

You can hear the screams coming from inside as Mr. Wolff is at a reunion with the doctors.

Your parents and you are sitting on one side of the narrow hallway, and Toto's mom is on the other, right in front of you, without talking to you.

Toto is getting "showered" by the nurse, and you all leave the room to give him privacy.

His mom is so beautiful and well-dressed that you feel almost ashamed of how you look at the moment, but those were the clothes you were wearing when they gave you the news. You haven't left the hospital for a second.

"Mom, could you please bring me some fresh clothes and my things."

"But honey, we don't want to leave you alone."

"No worries, Mr. and Mrs. Wolff are here, too."

"Are you sure?" she asks, concerned because they don't appear particularly friendly toward any of you.

You nod.

"We'll return faster than a kid getting chased by a dog," your dad says, waving and loudly addressing Mrs. Wolff. She scrutinizes him and slightly nods.

After some minutes alone, she asks you.

"Why brought him to this cheap hospital?" she looks around, not pleased with what she sees.

"It's near the harbor where his yacht apparently is."

"Young lady, if you had any involvement in his accident, you should speak right now; our detectives will conduct an investigation."

"Detectives?"

"Well, our son is worth millions, and our family billions, and you, out of nowhere, appeared as his emergency contact, also as his caretaker and the primary beneficiary in case something happens to him." she says, her eyes piercing brown eyes looking into your soul. Toto added you some months ago without telling you anything. "And suddenly, this happens."

"WHAT?!" Okay, this is just not real. "I wasn't even there when it happened, and I had no idea about everything you mentioned."

Toto's parents want you out of the picture as soon as possible. Now it's clear to them you are the reason why Toto keeps pushing away his engagement with Emma.

They act cold to you and yours. However, the hospital and doctors allow you to stay and partake in life decision-making regarding him and the procedures he needs since you are also Toto's legal caretaker, much to their dislike.

"How much?" his father catches you off guard one afternoon.

"Pardon?"

"How much money do you want to stay away?"

"I'm not here for any of that. Please don't ask me that again; it's insulting," you warn Toto's dad, not letting you be intimidated by him and holding his stare.

This surprises them and earns you some of their respect.

Your life becomes being by Toto's side at the hospital, swallowing your social life, job, and income.

Toto's parents listen to the call in which your boss, against all her will, has no other remedy to fire you. You take it easy before returning to shaving Toto's beard tenderly and fixing his hair with a comb.

A brief, empathetic look crosses Toto's mom's eyes.

Still, your parents support you, knowing how much this and he means to you, yet unsure why you two ended things up since you both seemed so in love.

You remain silent under Toto's parents' continuous demands to know all about your relationship, current status, and details.

"Did you were sleeping around with our son?" his mom asks.

"We were in love and were in a relationship."

You refuse to speak more than that about it because it is personal, it's none of their business, and it also still hurts, and you don't want to give them the pleasure.

One day, they arrive with Emma; that girl is stunning and as classy and elegant as them.

She rushes in and places herself on the side of Toto's IC bed before tenderly caressing his cheeks and kissing his lips.

All in front of you, inside, you want to smack her away from him, but you know she is in no way responsible for this situation; she was dragged into this mess, too.

You remain quiet, watching it unfold before you. To Toto's parents' surprise, they expected a big drama.

After she leaves, they talk to you, explaining why they believe Emma is a better fit for Toto than you in all aspects and that if you love their son, you should step aside since you and your family don't belong with their kind.

A couple of days later, Toto undergoes another surgery but fails to stabilize.

Doctors are unable to make more progress with him, so his father ponders moving Toto to a better hospital in Austria or Switzerland after finding a legal grey area in the caretaker clause, which sends you into a frenzy and full panic that they take Toto away.

"Moving him is a risk, a gamble," you warn them.

"We don't see enough progress here."

"And over there would be any different? They can assure you that?" you ask.

"No, they can't."

That idea doesn't materialize anyway because, throughout that night, Toto's condition gets worse, and you all learn he could die.

That causes you to enter into the worst depressive mood you have ever had and look significantly affected in the eyes of Toto's parents.

This raises questions in their mind that you might be more than a side chick and your connection more profound than just sex and financial interest, as you claimed several times, to their disbelief.

Toto needs to undergo a risky procedure. There's a tiny chance of survival, but a speedy and total recovery awaits him if he does.

Your family and his gather to say goodbye as Toto gets moved at the doors leading to the operation room.

You don't know what to say. You're full of fear, so your dad goes first.

"Hey, big guy, once you told us you were strong enough, with those big arms of yours, to take down John Cena, I'm sure you will be strong enough to tackle this down," you and your parents chuckle at the inner joke.

The three of you remember that day you all got in the new furniture up the stairs.

You laugh until your laughter quickly turns to tears, and you break down for the first time. Your dad hugs you tightly.

"He loves you so much, enough to not run away from you and us after that day!" your mom adds, looking at you with a tiny smile. "You can do this, sweetie." she grabs Toto's hand and addresses him.

You are a total mess when you get close to him. You rest your temple in his. "Please don't leave me, please; I love you, Torger," you beg him, using this name for the first time.

Toto's family observes you say goodbye, giving you the space to it.

Before they come closer to kissing his son's forehead, "We love you, and we'll see you soon."

He survives, Toto is out of risk, and he is in excellent condition for a transfer to another hospital.

So you make a deal with his parents to not take him away from you.

They will allow Toto to remain at this hospital and you to be by his side till he finishes recovering fully.

But after that, you will be out of his life for good.

Two weeks later, Toto's health improves, bringing him out of the coma.

Toto's vision is blurry. His eyes cannot focus well, and the light hurts him a lot. He also hears a loud whistle in his ears.

He thinks he hears people say, "He's baiting his eyes." "Yes, he is opening them."

He rubs the palm of his right hand against his face, closing his eyes again before being able to focus more. Shapes become more precise as he turns his head to the side and sees you.

"Y/N?" his voice sounds so rough and crackly.

"Hi," you let out in a cry.

He reaches your face with his hand, touching around, not seeing you well.

Toto feels dizzy and confused. "I wanted to make sure you were real this time," he closes his eyes for a second and exhales. "I v o," he murmurs.

"Sorry?" you ask.

"I love you," says louder. Toto thinks he sees your big smile. "Love of my life," he adds, staring at you.

"Hi, son," he hears his father's voice on the other side of his face.

"Dad?"

He feels his hand on his.

"Welcome back," his mom squeezes his arm and holds it tight.

"What?" he is so confused.

Before the accident starts coming back to him, he tries to pull himself up, but his head hurts a lot, no strength at all.

"Easy, easy," you rush to aid him when the nurses and doctor enter.

"How are those Bambi legs doing?" you ask in a brief imitation movement as you greet Toto, to his amusement.

"Look at these tighs, stronger than ever," he jokes back.

"Strong enough to choke out John Cena?" your dad asks him, joining the fun and giving him a friendly shake.

"How are you, sweetie pie?" your mom greets him.

"Feeling better, the headaches are getting less intense."

His parents watch you interact, still not mingling, but not as judgy as once they were.

His recovery therapy has been a long journey. Most of his damage showed up in his physical motor skills, so there were lots of sessions on walking, coordination, and more.

You have been by his side every second of it.

During his remaining and final weeks at the hospital, his parents see Toto behave as they had never seen him before. He looks so happy, full of life, and in love.

They also notice how well you take care of him and his recovery.

The soft touches you two share and the looks you exchange show undeniable affection and love.

When he finally leaves the hospital, he holds a small dinner to celebrate and thank you for all your support.

It's your first time visiting his apartment. He never lived with Obi, and it turns out that guy is even richer than him.

It's a penthouse luxurious as fuck.

There is a lot of food and drinks, and everyone looks so happy, everyone but you.

You know that tonight is the night you say goodbye to him. His parents give you a hint that this is the moment for you to stay true to your word.

So, after everyone leaves, Toto approaches you on the balcony.

"It's a sick view!" you softly say, feeling the sea's breeze on your face as you admire the panorama.

"I kind of miss Ms. Telbot's awful curtains," he says, referring to the neighbor across the street from your parent's place.

"Oh! She got new ones! They are even worse!"

You two share a laugh.

"Could you give me a second chance? I promise you I won't disappoint you." Toto asks you. He looks at you in a way that makes you want to throw yourself into his arms and for him to take you straight to his bed, but you can't.

"I'm sorry. It's best this way," you barely whisper.

"I know I hurt you a lot, and I screwed things up, but please, allow me to fix it." he looks hopeless.

"It's not that. I now get the full picture and understand why you made those choices. You belong with someone who suits you and your life better. It's going to make everything easier for you. I respected your choice, and I hope you respect mine," you say with conviction while trying to hold back your tears and eat your feelings.

"Why this feels like a goodbye?" he asks, choking up.

"Because it is. You are the best thing that ever happened in my life, too, and I'm so happy we made it through that and that you are still here. You deserve an amazing life; we both do, but we are not made for each other."

As the Wolff family jet leaves Monaco the following day, Toto looks out the window while crying in silence, tears flowing down his face.

His parents exchange looks, feeling the guilt.

A week later, as Toto finishes the recovery exercises he still needs to do, his dad checks on him; Toto has looked like a complete mess since they arrived.

"Emma wants to see you. She is being insistent. It could also be good for you, some company and warmth."

"Who?" he looks confused for a second. "Oh, yeah, the Rothschilds girl, yeah, dad, I'm, my head is hurting a lot today, maybe tomorrow."

His dad nods before leaving, knowing it wasn't a time to push him.

A month passes, and Toto hears a couple of knocks on his childhood room's enormous, regal wood door, where he is staying for the moment, as he finishes fixing his tie.

They were expecting the Rothschilds over for a "special dinner."

"This ring belonged to your grandma, then to my mother, then to me, and now it belongs to you," his mom says, giving him the vintage red velvet box.

Toto looks at it, leaving a big sigh to escape his lips, and unenthusiasticly nods. He seems beyond resigned.

As they wait for their guests to arrive at the Wolff state, sitting on the elegantly set garden table, Toto looks miserable. He is there, but he indeed isn't.

"You are feeling this way because of Y/N?" his mom asks him, not being able to see his son suffering a minute more.

Toto's eyes go up at the mention of your name. "It doesn't matter anymore anyway."

"Why?" his father asks.

"She didn't have me back. She wants me out of her life."

"That's not true," his mom adds.

"Excuse me, but how could you know that?"

"We may have made a mistake," she confesses, looking sad and guilty.

"What do you mean?"

"We judge her poorly. Her family is something peculiar, the father..." she puts a face. "But the love she feels for you is undeniable. You know she never left your side at the hospital? Not even a second."

"She lived in there. She even lost her job," Toto's dad explains.

"WHAT?!" Toto looks now concerned. That was your only source of income! "Wait, what did you do?!" now he looks mad.

"We did what we thought was best for our son, but it wasn't."

"What did you do?!" he sounds so severe right now.

"We... found a grey area... in the caretaker clause, so we thought it was best for us to transfer you to a hospital here in Austria, where we could look after you."

"Away from her." Toto sounds judgy, eyes piercing them.

"Yes, so, she, we, made a deal," his mom continues explaining. "She would stay out of your life after it if we let you stay there until she saw you leave the hospital fully recovered."

"That's why those words didn't sound like hers that night. How could you do that to me, to us?!" he sounds resentful.

"Because we didn't know Y/N and had no idea how strong that bond between you truly was. Her love for you is indisputable." His dad tells him.

"She never cracked under our pressure; she fought hard and fair and did an amazing job caring for you." He continues. "It's our fault, and we are deeply sorry."

For Toto's dad to apologize and for his mom to look this ashamed it was something so significant and never seen.

"So now what?! Emma and her parents will be here any minute." Toto says.

"Only if you had a jet waiting for you to leave for Monaco," his dad expresses, winking an eye.

"Only if you had a ring to offer to Y/N," his mom tells Toto, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head.

You arrive at the gallery, finally back at your job, and glad your boss hired you again! You are so excited to paint in the workshop.

You finish pushing the door, which is already slightly open. Someone must have arrived early, too, but the place is empty, to your surprise.

You don't think much of it. You go straight to the easel with your name on it, pull out all your brushes and materials from your bag, and remove the dust white sheet on top of the empty canvas.

You look perplexed as you read the freshly brush-painted letters on it: "Will you marry me?"

"I found the truth," Toto's voice makes you jump slightly.

You turn around to watch him smile big at you with adoring sparkling eyes before you answer his question.

"Yes"

- More Toto Wolff fics right here > Masterlist

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farfromstrange · 3 months ago

Text

Fictober Day 4: Thigh Riding

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Thigh Riding (✨)

Summary: You ride Matt's thigh. That's it. That's the plot.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), thigh riding, dirty talk, use of "good girl", PWP

Word Count: 817

A/n: Today, you are getting a Drabble. I finally managed to write something a little shorter, but I did it mostly to challenge myself. I don't write Drabbles often, so this was fun to do, especially with that prompt. If you were hoping for something longer, I apologize, but thigh riding is one of the juiciest prompts for our Deranged Catholic Lawyer ever and I might use it again in the future.

[Smut right under the cut!]

Read Me On AO3!

The air is thick with sweat and despair. Every breath you take gets caught in your throat and turns into a wanton moan. It’s loud enough to bounce off the walls and spiral back to you.

You most certainly lost your mind a long time ago.

Matt has been so busy lately, never leaving a hopeless stone unturned until he has done everything he can to help those who can’t help themselves. It’s one of many things you love so much about it. You are so in love it sometimes makes you want to bash your head through drywall. And tonight, he has taken the night off from the streets of Hell’s Kitchen to take care of his girl. Because you need him, and he can’t say no when you need him. When he can smell the arousal soaking through your panties the moment he sets foot in the door.

The dinner you made was forgotten before you even had a chance to tell him what you made. Matt walked in, and the second his senses picked up on you in that tiny black dress, he pounced like a starving animal on the hunt.

Your bare cunt drags over the fabric of his clothed thigh as his nails bury themselves in the flesh around your hips. With every brush of your clit against the taunt muscle, a million fires reignite in your belly. You are weak to the smoldering heat of an inferno waiting to happen and level you to the ground.

“That’s it,” he grunts in your ear. “Just like that.”

There is nothing more ethereal to him than you when you are like this—mouth agape against his shoulder, biting the fabric of his dress shirt, and your heart beating through your chest into his. He can feel you in every crevice of his being, taste you on his tongue. When you’re this vulnerable for him, when you let your guard down to take the pleasure you deserve, you are the easiest to admire.

His words are far out of his control as they slip, injecting them right into your bloodstream like the most addictive drug on the market—and you are getting it all for free.

Good girl. Take what you need. Gonna make yourself come, hm?

Your eyes roll back into your head.

Gonna wear those pants to work tomorrow so I can smell you. Imagine what it’d be like to bend you over and fuck you ‘till all of New York knows my name. That what you want? Yeah, you do. That’s my girl.

To him, it sounds like gibberish, but with every syllable uttered, your heart starts beating faster. Your walls clench around nothing. Your lungs contract, and you cry his name into the void. That’s what he was looking for.

Matt drags his nose from behind your ear, down your throat. Your pulse jumps under his touch. He revels in the way you react to him, always. Like you have never been touched before.

“Mine,” he writes those words on your upper thigh as he says them, barely conscious yet precise with his fingertips. “You’re mine.”

The possessiveness he feels with you makes him crazy, but you are not so far behind him. He has long driven you into madness. You would use a hot iron and brand his name into your skin if it meant you could stay like this forever, with him.

“Yours,” you choke out between pants. Yours, and only yours. Though you’re not strong enough to say much more, not when it feels this good to ride those thick thighs of his.

His hand comes to rest around your neck. Air is a luxury, but with him, you don’t need it. You like it when your head gets fuzzy, and all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears as the noose of pleasure threatens to hang you.

He’s flexing his thigh and squeezing your neck, and the crescendo is building; you can’t outrun it. Your cunt continues to grind against him, so selfish, so needy, and you know you would give him anything if he just asked.

The light at the end of the tunnel is right there. Every drag feels like a punch to your gut, but a pleasurable one nonetheless. Not a second goes by when you’re not connected to him. And when you open your eyes and you see the look on Matt’s face, the way he’s taking you in, it’s more than enough to send you hurdling over the edge.

As always though, he is there to catch you as you fall.

“Shh,” he runs his hand through your hair, “I’ve got you. Breathe.”

You breathe him in. Your legs may be shaking, and you have lost all sense of time, but you are with the man you love, and nothing could ever make you quite as happy as he does.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @xnatyx @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze

#matt murdock smut #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #pwp #drabble #lizzi's fictober 2024 #charlie cox

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wttcsms · 1 year ago

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we play our fantasies out in real life ways ; shouto todoroki.

pairing shouto todoroki x f!reader word count 2.7k synopsis knocking up his sugar baby seems (and feels) like a dream come true for the future ceo and youngest son of japan’s richest conglomerate family. content contains sugar daddy!shouto, yandere themes, car sex, creampie, breeding kink, quirkless au, ceo!shouto, tiny daddy kink author’s notes this is a repost of an old fic but pls tell me we are still horny 4 shouto. also ignore the Tesla promo, i was feeling silly when i wrote this </3

He can have anything he wants, you know.

And of course you know this. Of course you do. It’s hard to ignore this fact whenever he’s the exact reason your closet is overflowing with more dresses than you know what to do with; why your dresser can barely stay shut due to the amount of lacy lingerie you’ve had to shove in them; why you’re a third year college student driving to campus with a brand new Mercedes that technically isn’t even supposed to be out on the market ‘til next month.

He can have anything he wants, and because you’re his, by extension, you have the power to make all your material wishes come true, too. All you have to do is ask him.

All you have to do is look up at him and give him those puppy dog eyes of yours and say, “please, daddy, can I cum?” and he’ll let you. You know he will, because stoic Shouto Todoroki, the future CEO and prized son of the Todoroki clan that happens to be one of the most famous conglomerate families in all of Japan, just can’t seem to say no to you. He signs off multi-billion yen deals as easily as one blinks and running multiple companies is just something he’s been born to do. It’s no easy feat to give commands to such a powerful man.

And yet, one look and a tiny whimper is all it takes to turn him into putty in your hands.

It’s always an out of body experience when you’re with Shouto. Being with him is like constantly being the main character of a movie. He rents out entire restaurants so the two of you can dine away from prying eyes. He sends you good morning and good night texts every single day. (One time you joked about him forcing his assistant to do it because there’s no way a busy man like him would ever have time to do something so insignificant; he didn’t like that you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around the concept of you being someone very important to him.) Shouto is incredibly good to you, incredibly good for you.

He’s incredibly good with a lot of things. Taking care of you, for one. Taking care of all his businesses, for another. And right now, he’s taking real good care of your cunt when he’s got three of his fingers knuckles deep in you.

The windows to his sleek, outrageously priced car are tinted so dark, even you struggle to see through the windshield. You always tell him it’s dangerous, but he reminds you that there are always reasons for the things he does. You wonder if getting tinted windows so he could fuck his college student sugar baby with some semblance of privacy is the reason.

And then all thinking on your end comes to a stop when he nips at the skin of your neck, biting down softly and getting you to let out a tiny whimper. It doesn’t hurt. You don’t think Shouto is even capable of hurting you; not because you’re some unbreakable being, but because you don’t think the calloused hands that have caressed every centimeter of your body is capable of harming you.

The two of you are currently parked in the lot right outside the building where his main office is located. In about ten minutes, the parking lot will be flooded with employees who have just clocked out and are getting ready to speed home. In about ten minutes, anyone could accidentally (or purposely) become a little voyeur to the activities going down in the future CEO’s luxury car.

Your back is pressed against his chest. More often than not, you find yourself naked while he’s practically still dressed, and it’s the same thing that’s happening right now. The buttons on his shirt are digging into your back, but you can’t find it in you to complain. Instead, you focus on gripping the wrist of the hand that’s in between your thighs. The sleeves of his button down shirt are rolled up, and if you take your tiny fingers just a bit higher, you can feel the veins running down his arm.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” The baritone of his voice is smooth, calm, collected — in control. Because you can make any request in the world, and Shouto will fulfill it for you, but that does not mean that you are the one who makes the final decisions. At the end of the day, everything you have, everything that is given to you, is because of him, because of the decisions he makes for you.

His eagerness to gift you the world thinly veils the true depth of your submission to him. A subconscious part of you is well aware of the power imbalance in this relationship, but if all has been well these past two years, then surely it’ll only be smooth sailing from here?

You lean back, leaning into his warmth, breathing deeply to inhale the scent of his spicy cologne that costs more than your textbooks (that he bought for you).

“D-daddy.” You moan out, trying to coax him deeper in your tight little cunt, as if his fingers aren’t already as deep as they can go, spreading out your hole to prep you for what he knows you truly crave.

“You’ve got to speak up, love. I can’t give you anything if you don’t tell me what to give you.” His breath is warm against your ear, and it’s so hot in the car. So, so hot. You wonder if it’s just you feeling the heat, though. Shouto seems as collected as ever, not the least bit uncomfortable at all.

“Mmm — w-want you.” You wriggle a bit in his lap, but his free hand grips your side and squeezes you with a firm, nonverbal command to stop moving. You do, immediately. Because that’s what you always do: follow his command.

“I know you do.” He coos, finally moving his fingers. It’s agonizingly slow, too slow. The car is silent save for your little pants and the obscene wet sounds that come as a result of his fingers thrusting in your wet cunt.

“Faster, daddy.” You whine out, looking up at him. The sun is setting, and despite the tint of the windows, the orange glow from the sun still shines against his smooth skin, casting his face into something that’s half sunset/half shadow. It’s a good look; a sharp contrast that matches his hair. Seeing your blatant admiration of him only spurs him to give in and go faster. He had planned on drawing this out for as long as he possibly could. He had originally wanted to coax you into as many orgasms ‘til you were nothing but a fucked out little mess, too worn out to pay attention or even care when he finishes your little session with you plugged up with his cum.

The lives of children born into the Todoroki family are more cursed than it is blessed, and Shouto had, a very long time ago, made a vow that he would never continue the bloodline. He would have no children, which would be easy because he planned on never having a lover.

And then he met you, started providing for you, realized how much he enjoyed providing, and realized even more that the only way to strengthen this transactional relationship is by forcing your hand. He likes to think that you would stay with him willingly, but there are some chances that he’s just not willing to take; there are some extremes that he’s all too entirely happy to go far to, though.

Your sweet moans mix in well with the lewd sounds of your pussy getting thoroughly fingerfucked. His fingers are so much longer than yours, can reach spots inside of you that you can’t quite reach yourself. He’s efficient with anything and everything he does, and you’re not surprised when he doesn’t slow his pace. The consistent strokes of his fingers, your lowered inhibitions when around Shouto, and the look on his face (equal parts concentration and adoration) all help in making you cum all over his hand.

“Good girl.” Shouto whispers, removing his fingers and holding his hand up. The sunlight beaming through makes his digits glisten even more, and you’re enraptured as you watch him bring his fingers to his lips to suck your essence off of them. Piercing heterochromatic eyes never leave yours as he sucks on them, and you have to turn away from embarrassment. How can he keep such a straight face when literally licking your cum off his fingers?

“Don’t turn away from me.” His hand — still wet — grips your chin and forces you to look at him again. “I don’t like it when you shy away from me.”

You nod meekly, and Shouto sighs.

“You shouldn’t be shy around me. I don’t like making you feel uncomfortable, you know that, don’t you?”

You nod again, a subtle, barely there move. He’s not impressed.

“Answer me properly.” There’s a hard edge to his tone, and you sit up a little straighter. Shouto would never lay a hand on you with the intent to physically harm you, but he’s not above roughing you up during sex. You’ve heard him get this way before, and the imprint of his fingertips and the purple hickeys littering your poor body took three days to fade properly.

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You say with a pout, trying to conjure up any sort of leniency he can spare. Judging by his facial expression and the wavering look in his eyes, he’s already softening up. You just have to make it up to him now to have his complete forgiveness.

Maneuvering in the limited space the driver’s seat gives is no easy task, but you manage to shift positions to where you’re straddling his lap, finally facing him properly. He’s leaned back, watching you with a hungry glint in his eyes that makes you feel like the most wanted girl in all of Japan. A surge of heat flows through your body, from the tips of your ears to your cheeks and all the way down to between your thighs. If you were in a different position, you could clench them together, try to rub your thighs in an attempt to ease the need for friction.

Your fingers make quick work of his belt and his zipper, pulling down on both the waistband of his slacks and his briefs to finally free his cock. He’s already hard, and you admire the way your hand can’t even wrap fully around him. The tip is flushed red, pearly beads of precum already present.

This is the part where you look up at him, almost as if you’re unsure about what to do. You don’t know what it does to him, to see you sitting on his lap with his cock looking outrageously large in your tiny hands. He can see your pretty pussy practically dripping all over his slacks. Now’s not the time for you to be playing the role of an innocent, unsure little girl, but then it hits him: you’re asking him for permission. He almost lets out a bark of laughter.

“You’ve already taken it upon yourself to tear into my pants and make a grab for my cock. Surely you don’t expect me to beg to fuck your little hole now, do you?” He has a cold smile on his face as he brings you closer to him. “I thought this was my apology. Don’t tell me you’re going to make me do all the work?”

“O-of course not!” You look startled at the suggestion, eyes going big and round. He looks at you expectantly, as if telling you to do something.

It always burns when you first take him. It doesn’t matter how many times he makes you cums, doesn’t matter how long he spends stretching you out on his fingers. By now, your pussy should have memorized the feel of his dick, should have been moulded to fit him and only him. And while there’s a tiny flash of pain and discomfort for you (which Shouto hates), it’s hard not to be in love with the feel of just how tight you are.

The stinging pain is brief, though, and is easily replaced by one of satisfaction from being stuffed by the prettiest, fattest cock you’ve ever taken in your life.

You moan, rocking your hips back and forth. Maybe this was originally supposed to be an apology to him, but it feels more like you’re using him as your own personal toy, and Shouto really couldn’t care less. After all, if it brings you pleasure, it brings him pleasure.

“Are you enjoying yourself, baby? What would happen if I never met you, hmm? Are you willing to spread those pretty legs of yours for any man?” He says the last sentence with a tone sharper than usual. You shake your head as you continue to rut against him, chasing after your own high because you might not be a simpleminded slut for anyone, but you are nothing more than a cockslut when it comes to Shouto.

“Ah — fuck, fuck, fuck!” You moan out, falling against his chest, burying your face into the space between his shoulder and neck. “D-daddy, fuck!”

He holds you close to him as you cum, not even minding the mess you’ve made of his work pants. “Daddy’s got you.” He coos, his hand finding the back of your neck and squeezing you there, gently. “You must be tired now…”

You’re still too fucked out to really comprehend what’s exactly going on ‘til it’s happening, but even with your slow reaction times, you still manage to let out a slutty moan as you feel Shouto thrusting up into you. It must be uncomfortable, you think. This position doesn’t make it exactly easy for him to chase after his own pleasure, but then you remember that Shouto Todoroki doesn’t back down or break down when it comes to challenges.

He perseveres.

You’re like a rag doll, like a personal little fucktoy, made for him to use (and maybe even break) as he pleases. Every thrust is sharp and intense, and his teeth are clenched as he continues to use you, enjoying the warmth of your tight walls and admiring the ring of white that coats and clings to his dick every time he pulls out.

It doesn’t take him much longer to finally finish; he grabs you by your hips, raising you slightly before abruptly pushing you down on his cock, making sure that he’s nestled as deeply in you as he can be when he finally cums. He’s breathing a bit harder as he comes down, and then he’s grabbing you by your hair, making you stare at him.

His cheeks are flushed, there’s some slight sweat building up on his forehead, his shirt is wrinkled. He’s never looked better. You’ve never felt better.

Or, more accurately, never felt fuller.

“Shouto, did you c…” You can’t even finish the sentence. Did you cum inside? Not like you have to; you know the answer. Some of it is dripping out of you.

All he does is give you that small smile, the one that he rarely lets anyone see, and starts up the car.

If he doesn’t want to talk now, there’s no way you can get him to answer properly. You try to remove yourself from his lap and make your ungraceful, disgusting journey to the passenger seat, but Shouto places a firm hand on your waist, forcing you back down.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Shouto, you can’t possibly drive while I’m sitting here on your lap.”

“I bought a Tesla for a reason.”

Right. Because everything Shouto does has a reason for it.

You think about this on the drive back to his penthouse, a little bit of fear building up in your lower belly. Shouto does everything for a reason, and what’s the reason for any man cumming inside?

#shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #one shot #yandere #smut #shouto todoroki smut #drabble #imagine

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ordinaryschmuck · 1 year ago

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I love that The Ghost and Molly McGee's forced cancellation isn't just frustrating to fans of the show but to people in the animation industry as well. They're just as sick as we are about how much studios disrespect animation. They keep looking for the next Spongebob, Simspons, or goodness forbid Family Guy, but instead having faith in the creators and their content, they just...wait. They wait to make a profit and do the bare minimum to market their shows and make them available.

Let's look at Gravity Falls for example. I remember that when Gravity Falls was still airing, you would be able to find out a new episode was coming out based on coming across a commercial by random chance or by the people working the show promoting it online. Add that with the fact that it was on a different channel that required you paying MORE for your cable to get it. It WAS available through Disney Channel, a channel more available at a cheaper price, but the entire of Season Two got moved to the more expensive Disney XD, where Disney shows go to die, because...REASONS. With no warning or announcement. I think I found out about Gravity Falls moving to Disney XD because the trailer played during a commercial break. And that's just the START the show's problems. Mixed in with poor marketing, the show would have a crazy inconsistent schedule, where we'd have four episodes a week, a few months of NOTHING, a few more episodes a week, nothing for a few months, a random episode playing between that nothingness with next to no promotion, and all of that happening to the rest of the show until it finally died a slow death with its series finale where four episodes got stretched out for six months. That...is NOT okay. And it doesn't stop with Gravity Falls.

Steven Universe, OK KO, Ducktales 2017, Amphibia, The Owl House, and now Ghost and Molly McGee are all shows that had similar and sometimes WORSE treatments as Gravity Falls did, where the networks gave next to NO marketing, the creators had to promote their own shows themselves, and the airing schedules were so inconsistent with wildly long hiatuses that only the most dedicated fans were willing to keep watching. General audiences (mainly kids) weren't willing to keep up with shows that had ongoing stories if the episodes stories kept being too spaced apart and never had reruns as frequent as other shows like Teen Titans Go or Big City Greens (Or whatever's constantly on network TV nowadays. I don't know. I mostly watch shit on streaming).

The people of the animation industry is catching onto all of these tricks, and they're getting sick of it. They're getting sick of inconsistent schedules. They're getting sick of trying to bend over backwards in every possible way to make the show they wanted. By either making serialized content as episodic as possible so the network could air it more or by condensing their stories as much as they can, already expecting that forced cancellation to happen sooner than later. And in some cases, they don't even get the luxury of being told their show is ending. Did you know that Inside Job and Paranormal Park both had seasons that were already in development before Netflix pulled the plug shortly after releasing new episodes of their shows? Did you know that The Ghost and Molly McGee was already working on a Season Three before Disney shut that down so they had to force out a series finale that would still be good despite the cancellation? Because it's true. It's ALWAYS true. Creators want to make MORE, but the studios won't let them because they didn't profit off of it. Except they WOULD HAVE if they treated it better.

I want kids to grow up with characters that stick around through their childhood, just like I did with mine. I want kids to have their own Ed, Edd n Eddy, Codename: Kids Next Door, Phineas and Ferb, or Kim Possible. I want kids to watch shows that last more than two-three seasons, stick around for years, and leave an impact as if they have all the time in the world because to them, it feels like they do. I want kids to have a show that ends on a high note because the creators wanted it and not because the networks demanded it. But the unfortunate thing is that it doesn't seem possible nowadays. Because if a mostly episodic show like The Ghost and Molly McGee fails, despite being charming and inoffensive and something most kids will love, the what hope IS left.

#the ghost and molly mcgee #gravity falls #steven universe #ok ko #ducktales 2017 #amphibia #the owl house #disney #cartoon network #netflix #animation #rant

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fuckyeahgoodomens · 2 years ago

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The Good Omens Card Game is coming out June 5! 🥳❤

Renegade Game Studios will release Good Omens: An Ineffable Game June 5th, charging players with stopping the apocalypse in seven different battle games, each of which you can learn as you play, all in one box! Each of the seven cooperative battle games sees players taking on a different challenge, and each can be played at varying difficulties!

“We’re thrilled to be collaborating with Amazon Studios to bring fans a Good Omens game” said Scott Gaeta, President of Renegade Game Studios, “Being a huge fan myself, it was important that we capture the spirit of the show and I think that designer, Matt Hyra, came up with something fans will really enjoy.”

In Good Omens: An Ineffable Game players will call upon characters, both much-loved and deeply-loathed, in order to defeat the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Fight Heaven, Vanquish Hell, and even prevent Armageddon. The battle games are easy to learn but pack a challenge for any group, and each is themed around the confrontations that take place at the conclusion of Good Omens Season 1.

Fans can catch up on the first season of Good Omens now streaming on Prime Video ahead of the second season premiering July 28th. The series is co-created by Neil Gaiman and is based on the well-loved and internationally best-selling novel by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.

“Good Omens: An Ineffable Game promises to bring the world of Good Omens to life in an exciting new way” said Jamie Kampel, Head of Licensing & Merchandising for Amazon Studios, “We are thrilled to be creating this game in collaboration with a well-known board game publisher like Renegade, who is passionate about the property and has adeptly captured the tone and details of the series in a way that will delight fans.”

Renegade will be producing three versions of Good Omens: An Ineffable Game, each with their own unique box art and bonus items, but all feature the same great gameplay! The Amazon exclusive version will include 12 foil versions of the character cards in the game. (= First Version) The Barnes & Noble exclusive version includes a Heaven & Hell-themed black and silver embroidered Good Omens dice bag (= Second Version), while the Hobby Market exclusive includes an Agnes Nutter Book of Prophecies-themed dice bag, in a luxurious green with gold embroidery (= Third Version).

Good Omens: An Ineffable Game will be available wherever games are sold and have a suggested retail price of $25.

Amazon - $25.00 - the exclusive 12 foil character card versions (First Version)

renegadegamestudios.com or Hobby Market- €25.00 - seems like this is the Third Version with the Agnes Nutter bag, they have several internet stores that you can switch at the left corner of the page (for example for EU click on the last one):

The Barnes & Noble (Second Version) didn't publish the product at their pages yet :)

The Agnes Nutter Book of Prophecies-themed dice bag from the third editon:

#good omens #good omens card game #good omens merchandise #good omens goods #merchadise #WAHOO! :)

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thecordelialetters · 3 months ago

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Homelander x Vampire! Reader

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Summary: There's nothing that taste better than the blood of the strongest supe in the world. Warning: Fem! reader insert, smut, explicit sex Wc: 1,778

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Since you developed them at the age of 8, your powers were a blessing and a curse. Gifted with an immortal indestructible body, the speed that rivaled A-Trains, and the strength of a thousand men, you had one flaw, your insatiable thirst. As a young girl who knew nothing of control, you tore right through your parents, ripping them limb from limb and sucking them dry. You've gotten a lot better at self-control since then, though the memory still haunts you. Starlight, or Annie as you knew her from her childhood was the sweetest girl you ever met. You had known her since she was a little and babysat her when her mom was away. The ball of sunshine always asked to see your fangs ( not that her mom knew until Annie was older ) and loved riding on your shoulders while you ran. She would ask you to throw her up and down, always falling into a fit of giggles, before making you chase her through the house.

You saw Annie all the way to adulthood being a loyal friend by her side when she joined the Seven and even after she met the boys and her boyfriend Hughie. As much as the spineless man annoyed you with his nerdy tendencies and sweaty smell, he was good to Annie. That's how you end up in the Vought Tower as a double agent. Ashley was the one who found you, she saw some articles about the good deeds you had done a few years back and wondered why with powers such as yours, you had flown under the radar. You could hear her voice in the meeting room introducing you. "Homelander this is Night Crawler, she would make a great member of the team, her abilities include super strength, hearing, and speed." You could smell her blood pumping and her heart rapidly beating under the scrutiny of Homelander's eyes. Pushing the door open with one hand you strode in head held high while looking around the room.

"Hello, I am Night Crawler." Before you could say any more the sweetest aroma hit your nose making you close your eyes and inhale deeply. What is that smell... It was sweet and musky enough to make you feel yourself salavate. When you opened your eyes to look at the direction of the smell your gaze landed on... Homelander.

"Well Night Crawler... what else can you do? Other than the basics." You drew your fangs out and dashed behind him wrapping your hand around his waist. He turned around the retaliate but you were faster and blinked in front of him. "Interesting...very interesting." Homelander hummed while his eyes ran up and down your revealing costume. Your costume consisted of a black spandex suit where the shorts stopped right under your butt and the top had long sleeves with a v cut down the middle. Your leather boots went all the way up your thigh leaving a sliver of skin. It was simple but effective, though Butcher thought you could stand to show more skin. "I've decided. Congrats Nightcrawler, you've made the team." He flashed a dazzling smile showing off his pearly whites. "In fact let me give you a tour of the building, as the Seven's leader it's my job to show around the newbies." Ashley went to object, but her face was met with a large red gloved hand. "Come, Nightcrawler." He commanded. You scurried after him, the scent of his veins luring you closer. Homelander gestures behind him "So as you know back there was the team meeting room, we meet there every now and then to discuss missions, stats, new marketing promos etc." Moving his hand forward, towards the elevator "Each person on the team has their own suite, mine is up here, the biggest one, since I'm the leader." Okay seems like overcompensating but who knows. The two of you stepped into the luxurious surprisingly small space. The air was suffocating; you felt like he was planning something. The ding of elevator made you jump. "Ladies first." paired with that same fake smile. You nodded and walked forward and felt him pressed on your back hard. "Come on little lady, we have lots to see and do." You looked up at him towering over your frame. "Of course sir." As you followed after him you felt your throat run dry. Shit you didn't think this meeting would run so long. You tried to distract yourself with thoughts about anything, counting how many lights where on the wall or clawing your hand at your side. "Did you hear me? Are you even listening?" You could tell Homelander was yapping about something or boasting about his saves and was annoyed that you missed the whole speech. But your mouth was watering and your head was pounding. You looked up into his eyes, gazes met. Homelander furrowed his eyes. Earlier your eyes were a bright green and now they matched those of crimson rubies. You felt your fangs poke your mouth. "Sorry," you blinked rapidly to come back to your senses. "Well then...come on Ill show you your room." He swiftly turned, cape trailing behind him. You felt like you wouldn't last any longer, you needed to get into your stash. You had asked Ashley to fill your fridge with donated blood, all you had to do was wait Homelander out. "This is where you'll be staying." He swayed his arm across as if to say "You've probably never seen a place this nice before". The room was very...stereotypical of what was thought of as vampires. Black and red colors were splattered through the room, it looked as if you stepped into a victorian gothic home. "There better not be a fucking coffin in here." You whispered to yourself. Homelander chuckled at your comment. "Do you do much...sleeping?" He cocked his head to the bedroom, strolling in as if this was HIS place. You could feel your hunger surging, if he didn't get out in the next 2 minutes you where going to go crazy. Next thing you know Homeland is by yourside, hands on your shoulders. "You know, I think I know what might help you rela-" He was cut off when you spun around and jumped onto him, legs wrapped tightly around his mid section. One of your hands wrapped around his jaw, the other one holding his shoulder for balance. You bared your fang and bit. It was the sweetest blood you ever tasted. It was like a delicacy and you couldn't stop, hunger clouded your mind. You kept sucking, relishing the feeling on your tongue. Your legs and hands squeezed tighter as if it would keep the blood coming.

Homelander stiffened, what the actual fuck. Here he was trying to get in the new girl's pants but not she was sucking him off, and not in the way he intended to. But he was getting lightheaded and turned on. The feeling of your lips on his neck, core pressed so close to him. He let out a strangled moan. He felt himself stiffening, suit a little tighter than usual. Eventually satisfied you let go, lapping up any extra spills with your tongue. Realizing what had happened and what position you where in you looked at Homelander ready to apologize. He couldn't help himself and slammed his lips on yours. The feeling of you sucking his neck was euphoric. His hand grazed your side, gentle like a lover. Before grabbing your neck and holding your body out. You hand grabbed his to release the tension. "What the fuck was that." You flashed your fangs towards him. "I need blood to sustain myself. And you have the best kind." Your smile was bloody and sadistic. It opened something up in Homelander. It was what he needed. Someone like him, you wouldn't mind his bloodshed you'd probably embrace it. He liked that you thought his blood was the best. I mean of course it was the best he was the strongest person in the world. He brought you closer to him, letting you stand on the ground.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚NSFW BELOW ⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧

Since you developed them at the age of 8, you're powers were a blessing and a curse. Gifted with an immortal indestructible body, the speed that rivaled A-Trains, and the strength of a thousand men, you had one flaw, your insatiable thirst. As a young girl who knew nothing of control, you tore right through your parents, ripping them limb from limb and sucking them dry. You've gotten a lot better at self-control since then, though the memory still haunts you. Starlight, or Annie as you knew her from her childhood was the sweetest girl you ever met. You had known her since she was a little and babysat her when her mom was away. The ball of sunshine always asked to see your fangs ( not that her mom knew until Annie was older ) and loved riding on your shoulders while you ran. She would ask you to throw her up and down, always falling into a fit of giggles, before making you chase her through the house.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚NSFW BELOW ⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧

"In that case. Continue." He stepped back slightly to undo the top of his suit and pulled it all the way down, letting his cock spring out for the bottom, slapping against his stomach. You were the worst double agent, but you were doing this for Annie, why not have some fun. You leaned against him, feeling him pressed on this stomach. You kissed his shoulder, opposite hand running down his chest. "So smell so good." His hand gripped your waist harder. You bit into his shoulder as he lifted you once more, legs going around his waist. His cock rubbed up against you, mouth moaning in your ear. You moved towards his neck again and bit the other side. Releasing your lips from his neck you pressed them against his, smothering the red liquid against him. He was such a passionate kisser, way better than any man you've ever dated. You broke the kiss only to shed your suit, blue eyes scanning every inch of your body. It was like you were the perfect specimen, not a flaw in sight, utterly beautiful. "I knew you'd be a great addition to the team." He said. You smirked in retaliation before sauntering to the bedroom. He followed, like a lost puppy and their owner. The bedroom was the same black and red color scheme, black silk sheets covered the bed, surrounded by dark wood furniture. There were red and white spider lily bouquets placed in vases throughout the room. There were way too many ornate vintage lamps. But the details didn't matter to you, not when Homelander was rubbing himself up and down your slit. He kissed your neck in a similar fashion as you, before slamming his hips against yours. There was no need to be soft, you two were the strongest in the world, and the sounds definitely proved it. The best rocked with each moment, the wood creaking from the pressure. He cried out loud as you bit his chest. His cock was pulsing as pushing in and out of you. He slammed into you again, the tension of the bed finally breaking and falling to the ground but that didn't stop him. Your pussy clenched around him. He grunted in your ear speeding up slightly before releasing his hot cum deep in you. He rolled off you and the two of you laid there panting filling the silence. You turned over to him with a smile, fang pushing out the bottom of your lips. "Again?"

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander x y/n #homelander x oc #the boys #the boys homelander #smut #fanfic #the boys tv

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 11 months ago

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The Arcana HCs: M6 and Kisses

~ enjoy :3 ~

Julian

Kissing him is never unemotional

Heated moments aside, Julian gives you both planned and unplanned kisses. Depending on the mood and context, how that feels and how that progresses can change drastically

He loves "occasion" kisses, tiny little pauses of the day's etiquette where he gets to swoop in and leave a peck on your cheek. Hello kisses, goodbye kisses, thanks-for-checking-on-me-at-2-AM-because-I'm-still-awake-from-thinking-too-much kisses ...

... though that last kind is less likely to be on the cheek, and more likely to be the most tired, grateful "thank you" you've ever heard, whispered against your lips as he trails after your touch

Unplanned kisses happen whenever someone says or does something that reminds him of what you mean to him. Between his scholar's brain and bleeding heart is a vast sea of sentiment

Maybe it's seeing one of the South End vendors, stooped with age, quietly lighting up as their equally weathered partner walks by on the other side of the canal and blows them a cheeky smooch

He never thought he'd live long enough to look like that, but now all he can think about is how he can't wait to be that with you

Then he's making good use of that massive coat of his, catching up to you in two long strides, pulling you into one of those all-encompassing hugs before he swoops the cape of it between you and prying eyes so he can pour his soul into a heartfelt kiss

Asra

Never the same and always the same, somehow

They don't care to be publicly vulnerable, so you're not going to get any lingering kisses in the street, or the market, or the tavern

But considering the extent to which his love for you has completely consumed him, he can't not express affection for you

And besides, they've never been conventional. Why limit themself to your face when you've got a whole body?

Unexpected kisses peppered across your knuckles when you hold hands. A subtle peck to the pulse point below your ear when he leans in to whisper something to you. The briefest brush of his lips against the back of your shoulder as you stand and wait together

All this without ever expecting anything in return - doing anything similarly sweet and subtle back will result in a blushing, stumbling, zoned-out magician and a laughing snake

Privately, kisses aren't about a heated moment (though they have been known to play into them, when you were interested ...)

They're about savoring you, lingering on the gift of your warm, living presence, delighting in their chance to luxuriate in finally expressing every ounce of devoted adoration for you

For someone as playful and creative as he is, every moment your mouths meet is a little different, a little new, that childlike curiosity excited to find yet another way to feel you

All while that loyal, bone-deep love feels like coming home

Nadia

Kissing her feels like you're being blessed

Getting kissed in public is almost always a statement of some kind. Each brush of her lips against your skin carries the weight of an important message

Anything from a kiss to your wrist, telling you that you handled a tricky situation well, to a firm kiss on your mouth, telling everyone around you that you are her most important person

It could be easy to feel you're just another face orbiting her, with how naturally she commands the attention of a room and takes charge of any situation and brings it into line

But when every moment of contact is designed to honor you, to credit you with the leader she's become, you may find that not sharing the spotlight with her is almost impossible

In private, kisses are raw and unrefined

They're still purposeful, but there's no grand painting to be a part of. The woman next to you is not the Countess, but the person who trusts you wholeheartedly and expects no less in return

Dizzying intensity, feeling every emotion freely expressed against your lips, watching her thoughts flit across her open, unguarded face. She desires vulnerability and abandons ceremony in her rush to be close to you. If there's no walls between you, why hold back?

Being the sole focus of such a powerful, regal person feels a bit like taking the concentrated power of the sun. Except it's Nadia, and her neverending need to saturate you with her love

Muriel

Kisses with him are tender

Halting and awkward, at first, and a little lost as he gets his practice, and much more involved and intense as time goes on, but never lacking in gentleness and consideration

You can count the amount of times he's kissed you in public on one hand. He is not into PDA by a long shot

Luckily for you, you two live in the woods. Being in public requires planning ahead. Being in private is another normal day

Casual kisses take time. They're never thoughtless, instead being something you receive in a split second after about ten minutes of intense mental planning and preparation on his part

Over time, you find it's easier for him to give you casual kisses with his fingertips - brushing your cheek gently, pressing one finger to his own lips before lightly tapping it to your nose

He has accidentally kissed your nose when he was aiming for your mouth multiple times now. The only way to convince him to get past it and keep initiating kisses was to make it an inside joke

Kisses for him are a way to reaffirm every silent promise he's made you. Whether it be his commitment to sticking life out with you, to healing, to growing, to protecting, to nurturing with you

To him, it's the weighty comfort of building a new home and family with you. To you, it's safety and trust and security and gentleness beyond imagining. Not the most heated, but always warm

Portia

Kissing her is like bubbling over

She loves fiercely and without restraint. If you're hers and she's yours, there is no reason to hold back

Kisses are her extension of general physical affection. She'll stand with her arm around you, nuzzling into your cheek as she teases you in conversation and planting a kiss there while she's at it

She's also so openly affectionate towards anyone she cares about that there's next to no room for anybody to feel awkward

If it's in reach and she's happy you're with her for the hundredth time that day, she's kissing it. Shoulders, arms, hands, elbows, nose, cheeks, hair - there are very few limits

Kisses in private don't get outrageously creative, but they take on a whole host of meanings for someone as expressive as she is

Frustrated kisses when she feels like she's failed, excited kisses when she's got a new idea, flirtatious kisses that make you feel those new couple butterflies after decades of life together

"You're irresistible with flour in your hair" kisses, scattered all across your face in her sunlit kitchen before she pulls you in for something longer and deeper and sweeter

"You make life feel like a storybook" kisses, full of suspended disbelief and excited giggles and romantic embraces

"You make me the main character of my story" kisses, lingering long as she holds you to her chest and savors your companionship

Lucio

Kissing him is an adventure

He wasn't used to kisses meaning much more than a good time. At least, not before you. By the time he met you, the ability to feel warmth and basic touch was overwhelmingly precious

As easy at it is for casual affection to be simply casual for him, it's never unappreciated, and certainly not taken for granted

Has no issues with PDA. If he wants a kiss, and you want a kiss, then it's time to enjoy a kiss. Anybody who has a problem with it is free to look in any other direction (though he's not thinking that far)

From moment to moment, they're the added spice to a good life. Sudden, rushed, sloppy kisses on the road just because he can, and because he's about to disregard that "no trespassing" sign

In quieter moments, kisses become so precious that each one feels like a polished gemstone falling into your lap

He's been starving all his life for a true connection, for a reliable affection that tells him it's safe to believe you when you tell him that you love him. He may act entitled, but he's not oblivious

Holding such a rollercoaster of a man while he loses both himself and all of his emotions in the safety of your kisses is enough to get you a little lost too, if you let yourself get drawn in

As much as he might grandstand and monologue as he puts all that leadership charisma into charming you, the moment you hold his face in your hands, he's clinging to your soul and offering his own in return. Through his mouth. Into your mouth. Again, please -

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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covid-safer-hotties · 3 months ago

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The next pandemic is inevitable. Australia isn’t ready - Published Sept 23, 2024

(Before you Americans yell at me, It's already the 23rd in Australia. This is very late-breaking)

I thought this was a really good breakdown of the current situation given the government-approved covid denial we live in. Long, but worth a read.

By Kate Aubusson and Mary Ward

Top infectious disease and public health veterans at the nerve centre of the state’s war against COVID-19 are sounding the alarm.

NSW is less prepared today to fend off a deadly pandemic despite the lessons of COVID-19, say top infectious disease and public health veterans at the nerve centre of the state’s war against the virus.

And we won’t have another hundred years to wait.

NSW’s gold standard Test-Trace-Isolate-Quarantine and vaccination strategies will be useless if a distrusting population rejects directives, refuses to give up its freedoms again, and the goodwill of shell-shocked public health workers dries up.

A panel of experts convened by The Sydney Morning Herald called for a pandemic combat agency akin to the armed forces or fire brigades to commit to greater transparency or risk being caught off guard by the next virulent pathogen and misinformation with the potential to spread faster than any virus.

“It’s inevitable,” says Professor Eddie Holmes of the next pandemic. A world-leading authority on the emergence of infectious diseases at the University of Sydney, Holmes predicts: “We’ll have less than 100 years [before the next pandemic].

“We’re seeing a lot of new coronaviruses that are spilling over into animals that humans are interacting with,” said Holmes, the first person to publish the coronavirus genome sequence for the world to see.

“People are exposed all the time, and each time we are rolling the dice.”

The independent review of NSW Health’s response to COVID-19 opened with the same warning: “No health system or community will have the luxury of 100 years of downtime.”

Pandemic preparedness needs to be a “permanent priority”, wrote the report’s author, Robyn Kruk, a former NSW Health secretary, “rather than following the path of those that have adopted a ‘panic and forget strategy,’ allowing system preparedness to wane”.

Why we don’t have 100 years to wait for the next pandemic The World Health Organisation has declared seven public health emergencies of international concern since 2014, including the current mpox outbreak.

Climate change is turbocharging the factors that coalesce to create the perfect breeding ground for a pandemic-causing virus, including population increases, bigger cities, and better-connected global markets and migration.

“Animals will be forced into more constrained environments, and humans that rely on those environments will be again constrained in the same environments. There will be more wet markets, more live animal trade that will just increase exposure,” Holmes said.

“It was clear that we weren’t ready [for COVID],” said Jennie Musto, who, after seven years working for the World Health Organisation overseas, became NSW Health’s operations manager for the Public Health Emergency Operations Centre, the team responsible for NSW’s COVID-19 contact tracing and containment.

“Everyone had preparedness plans gathering dust on a shelf, but no one was actually ready to respond, and so everyone was on the back foot,” Musto said. “Perhaps none of us really thought this was going to happen. We were waiting 500 years.”

Who would willingly become the next doomed whistleblower? Eddie Holmes, known for his repeated assertion that SARS-CoV-2 did not come from a lab, is deeply concerned that when the next pandemic-causing virus emerges, chances are it will be covered up.

“My worry is that if the virus appeared in a small population, say, somewhere in Southeast Asia, the people involved wouldn’t blow the whistle now, given the fact that you would get blamed,” he said.

Li Wenliang, the Wuhan doctor who tried to raise the alarm about a virulent new virus, was reportedly reprimanded by police for spreading rumours and later died of COVID-19.

The global blame game, culminating in a deep distrust of China and accusations that the virus was grown in a Wuhan lab, is why Holmes believes “we’re in no better place than we were before COVID started, if not worse”.

“I work with a lot of people in China trying to keep the lines of communication open, and they’re scared, I think, or nervous about saying things that are perceived to counter national interest.”

From a vaccine perspective, our defences look strong. There have been monumental advancements in vaccine development globally, driven by mRNA technology. In Sydney this month, construction began on an RNA vaccine research and manufacturing facility.

“But the way I see it is that nothing has been done in terms of animal surveillance of outbreaks or data sharing. The [global] politics has got much, much worse,” Holmes said.

Combat force Conjoint Associate Professor Craig Dalton, a leading public health physician and clinical epidemiologist, called for a dramatic expansion of the public health workforce and the establishment of a pandemic combat force that would routinely run real-time pandemic simulations during “peacetime”.

“No one is upset with fire brigades spending most of the time not fighting fires. They train. A lot. And that’s probably how we need to move,” he said.

“We need exercise training units so that every major player in pandemic response is involved in a real-time, three to four-day pandemic response every three to five years at national, state and local [levels].”

The federal Department of Health and Aged Care recently ran a health emergency exercise focused on governance arrangements involving chief health officers and senior health emergency management officials, a spokeswoman for Health Minister Mark Butler said. The outcomes of this exercise will be tested later this year.

Dalton said desktop simulations and high-level exercises involving a handful of chiefs didn’t cut it, considering the thousands of people working across regions and states. He instead suggested an intensive training program run in the Hunter New England region before the 2009 H1N1 pandemic provided a good model.

“We were ringing people, actors were getting injections, just like a real pandemic,” said Dalton, who once ordered a burrito in a last-ditch effort to contact a restaurant exposed to COVID-19.

Our heroes have had it The expert panel was emphatic that our pandemic response cannot once again rely on the goodwill of the public health and healthcare workforce.

According to the Kruk review, what began as an emergency response ultimately morphed from a sprint into an ultra marathon and “an admirable (yet unsustainable) ‘whatever it takes’ mindset”.

They were hailed as heroes, but the toll of COVID-19 on healthcare workers was brutal. Workloads were untenable, the risk of transmission was constant, and the risk of violence and aggression (for simply wearing their scrubs on public transport in some cases) was terrifying.

“We got through this pandemic through a lot of people working ridiculous hours,” Dalton said.

“You talk to a lot of people who did that and say they could not do it again.”

Tellingly, several expert personnel who worked at the front lines or in the control centre of NSW’s pandemic defences were invited to join the Herald’s forum but declined. Revisiting this period of intense public scrutiny, culminating in online attacks and physical threats, was just too painful.

So long, solidarity Arguably, the biggest threat to our pandemic defences will be the absence of our greatest strength during COVID: the population’s solidarity and willingness to follow public health orders even when it meant forfeiting fundamental freedoms.

The public largely complied with statewide public health orders, including the stay-at-home directive that became the 107-day Delta lockdown, and other severe restrictions prevented many from being at the bedside of their dying loved ones, visiting relatives in aged care homes and attending funerals.

“My worry is that next time around when those sorts of rules come out, people may say, ‘Well, don’t worry about it.’ They relax it in the future. Why don’t we just not stick to the rules?” said Professor Nicholas Wood, associate director of clinical research and services at the National Centre for Immunisation Research and Surveillance.

“I’m not sure we quite understand whether people [will be] happy with those rules again,” he said.

Dalton was more strident.

“I tend to agree with Michael Osterholm … an eminent US epidemiologist [who] recently said the US is probably less prepared for a pandemic now than it was in 2019, mostly because the learnings by health departments in the COVID pandemic may not make a material difference if faced with a community that distrusts its public health agencies,” he said.

“If H1N1 or something else were to spill over in the next couple of years, things like masks, social distancing and lockdowns would not be acceptable. Vaccination would be rejected by a huge part of the population, and politicians might be shy about putting mandates in.”

As for the total shutdown of major industries, people will struggle to accept it unless the next pandemic poses a greater threat than COVID, said UNSW applied mathematician Professor James Wood.

The risk of the virus to individuals and their families will be weighed against the negative effects of restrictions, which are much better understood today, said Wood, whose modelling of the impact of cases and vaccination rates was used by NSW Health.

“Something like school closure would be a much tougher argument with a similar pathogen,” he said.

A previous panel of education experts convened by the Herald to interrogate pandemic decision-making in that sector was highly critical of the decision to close schools for months during NSW’s Delta lockdown.

Greg Dore, professor of infectious diseases and epidemiology at the Kirby Institute, said the public’s reluctance to adhere to restrictions again may, in part, be appropriate.

“Some of the restrictions on people leaving the country were a bit feudal and too punitive,” he said. “Other restrictions were plain stupid, [for instance] limitations on time exercising outside.”

Meanwhile, the delays to publicly recognise the benefits of face masks and the threat of airborne transmission ��ate away at trust”, Dalton said.

“We shouldn’t make those mistakes again,” he said.

Transparent transgressions Uncertainty is not something politicians are adept at communicating, but uncertainty is the only constant during a pandemic of a novel virus.

Vaccines that offered potent protection against early iterations of the COVID virus were less effective against Omicron variants.

“[The public], unfortunately, got hit by a rapid sequence of changes of what was ‘true’ in the pandemic,” James Wood said.

Political distrust can be deadly if governments give the public reason to suspect they are obfuscating.

The expert panel urged NSW’s political leaders to be far more transparent about the public health advice they were given before unilaterally enforcing restrictions.

There was a clear line between public health advice and political decision-making in Victoria. The Victorian chief health officer’s written advice was routinely published online.

In NSW, that line was blurred as Chief Health Officer Kerry Chant stood beside political leaders, most notably former premier Gladys Berejiklian, at the daily press conferences.

Public health experts said that they looked for subtle cues to determine the distinction between the expert advice and the political messaging during press conferences, paying attention to body language, who spoke when and who stayed silent.

“It is fine for public health personnel to have a different view to politicians. They have different jobs. What is not OK is to have politicians saying they are acting on public health advice [when they are not],” he said.

The ‘whys’ behind the decisions being made were missing from the daily press conferences, which created “a vacuum for misinformation”, said social scientist and public health expert Professor Julie Leask at the University of Sydney.

“The communication about what you need to do came out, and it was pretty good … but the ‘why we’re doing this’ and ‘what trade-offs we’ve considered’ and ‘what dilemmas we’ve faced in making this decision’; that was not shared,” Leask said.

The infodemic In the absence of transparency, misinformation and disinformation fill the vacuum.

“We had an ‘infodemic’ during the pandemic,” said Dr Jocelyne Basseal, who worked on the COVID-19 response for WHO in the Western Pacific and leads strategic development at the Sydney Infectious Diseases Institute, University of Sydney.

“The public has been so confused. Where do we go for trusted information [when] everyone can now write absolutely anything, whether on Twitter [now called X] or [elsewhere] on the web?” Basseal said.

A systematic review conducted by WHO found misinformation on social media accounted for up to 51 per cent of posts about vaccines, 29 per cent of posts about COVID-19 and 60 per cent of posts about pandemics.

Basseal’s teenage children recently asked whether they were going into lockdown after TikTok videos about the mpox outbreak.

“There is a lot of work to be done now, in ‘peacetime’ … to get ahead of misinformation,” Basseal said, including fortifying relationships with community groups and teaching scientists – trusted and credible sources of information – how to work with media.

In addition to the Kruk review’s six recommendations to improve its pandemic preparedness, NSW Health undertook a second inquiry into its public health response to COVID-19, which made 104 recommendations.

NSW Health Minister Ryan Park said: “We are working hard to ensure the findings and recommendations from those reports are being implemented as quickly as possible.”

The expert panellists spoke in their capacity as academics and not on behalf of NSW Health or WHO.

The ‘As One System’ review into NSW Health’s COVID-19 response made six recommendations 1. Make governance and decision-making structures clearer, inclusive, and more widely understood 2. Strengthen co-ordination, communication, engagement, and collaboration 3. Enhance the speed, transparency, accuracy, and practicality of data and information sharing 4. Prioritise the needs of vulnerable people and communities most at risk, impacted and in need from day one 5. Put communities at the centre of emergency governance, planning, preparedness, and response 6. Recognise, develop and sustain workforce health, wellbeing, capability and agility.

#mask up #covid #covid 19 #pandemic #wear a mask #public health #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #still coviding #wear a respirator

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