mizerablez-blog

[timethehobo]

Quick scribble before my flight back home, I’m looking forward to seeing them soon. 🥺

[splendidfemalelegs]

Divine legs

[pucksandpower]

Meant to be His

Day 30 → Innocence Kink 💋 CEO!Lando Norris

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent, breeding, and manipulation

Kinktober Masterlist

Lando leans back in his sleek, black leather chair, eyes glued to the door of his office. It’s been like this for months now. You waltz in every morning, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside of him, completely unaware that he’s one wrong word away from losing it.

He tightens his grip on his Montblanc pen, watching you through the glass wall as you flutter about the office, bow in your hair, soft pink dress neatly pressed, kitten heels clicking softly against the marble floors. Innocent. Always so damn innocent.

He’s sure it’s an act. It has to be.

“Mr. Norris, do you need anything else before your meeting at two?” Your voice cuts through his thoughts like it’s nothing, and the soft, sweet tone of it only aggravates him further.

Lando exhales sharply, spinning his chair back to face his computer, pretending to check an email that he isn’t actually reading. “No. I’m fine.”

There’s a pause. You’re still standing there, he can feel it. His jaw tightens. She’s waiting for something, but what? An opportunity to toy with him again, no doubt. He glances up, catching your eyes.

“You sure? You seem tense,” you ask, that genuine concern on your face so perfectly played. You look so innocent. But Lando doesn’t buy it. Not anymore.

“I’m sure,” he says flatly, forcing his voice to stay calm. You smile, nodding before heading out of his office, your perfume trailing behind like some kind of torture. Sweet, light, impossible to ignore.

His eyes follow you as you return to your desk, and for the life of him, Lando can’t figure out how you do it. How you manage to walk around here, day after day, pretending like none of it affects you. The looks, the way he tenses up every time you’re near, the way his pulse races when you lean over his desk just a little too close to hand him a file.

You. Must. Know.

But you carry on, head buried in textbooks between calls, your fingers skimming through pages of what looks like accounting formulas while you answer emails. How the hell does someone focus on their studies while managing the workload he throws at you? And always with that ridiculous little bow in your hair. It drives him insane.

His phone buzzes, snapping him out of his thoughts. He glances down.

Max: Dinner tonight?

Lando ignores the text. He can’t think about dinner right now. His attention is on you, watching the way your lips move when you hum softly to yourself, tapping away at your keyboard. Do you know what you’re doing? Do you have any idea?

No, of course you do. You’ve got him right where you want him — second-guessing everything. Lando feels his frustration simmering, the tight knot of control he keeps around his emotions starting to fray. He’s built his career on maintaining composure, being the one who’s always a step ahead, but this — you — are throwing him off balance.

He hates that.

“Hey.” His voice cuts through the stillness, sharp. He doesn’t know what he’s about to say, but he’s tired of staying silent. “Can you come in here for a second?”

You look up, slightly startled, and he watches as you smooth down your dress before stepping into his office. The door closes with a soft click behind you.

“Yes, Mr. Norris?”

He doesn’t respond immediately, eyes narrowing as he watches you. His thumb taps rhythmically on the arm of his chair, thoughts racing. Your tone is so polite, so professional, as if you’re not in the slightest aware of the mess you’ve made of him.

“That report — did you finish it?”

Your head tilts slightly, confused. “Yes, I emailed it to you this morning. Did you need something else added?”

“No.” Lando pauses, his eyes lingering on the bow in your hair. It's small, white, and so out of place in this cold, polished world of corporate dominance. Yet you wear it like it belongs. It makes him irrationally angry, but he can’t say why. “I got it. You can go.”

There’s that pause again, your eyes searching his face for something, but you don’t push. You never push. Instead, you nod politely and turn to leave, but something inside him snaps.

“Why do you do that?” His voice is harsher than he intends, but he doesn’t care.

You turn slowly, brows furrowed. “Do what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely toward you, frustration bubbling over. “You walk around here like nothing bothers you. Always … smiling. Always so damn-” He stops himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He doesn’t want to say it, but it’s on the tip of his tongue. Innocent. Always so damn innocent. He grits his teeth instead. “Forget it.”

You blink, clearly taken aback. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”

The sincerity in your voice almost makes him feel guilty. Almost. But no, this is part of it, isn’t it? You play this innocent card so well, like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to him. He stands abruptly, crossing the room in two quick strides until he’s standing in front of you.

“Wrong?” His voice lowers, eyes burning into yours. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

You look up at him, wide-eyed, still confused. “Then what-”

“You can go.” He cuts you off, voice tight, jaw clenched. “Get back to work.”

Your lips part as if to say something, but you close them again, giving him one last glance before nodding and stepping out of his office. The second the door closes, Lando exhales sharply, running both hands through his hair.

He’s losing control. He never loses control. Not like this. He doesn’t lose sleep over things he can’t have. That’s not who he is. But you — you’re making him unravel.

He moves back to his desk, his eyes once again finding you through the glass. You’ve already gone back to work like nothing happened, typing away, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside him. How can you be so unaware?

Lando clenches his fists, determination settling in his chest. No, you’re not unaware. You can’t be. You’ve been playing this game for months, testing him, pushing him to the edge, making him question everything he’s built. But if this is a game, it’s one he’s determined to win.

This ends soon.

Whatever you’re doing — whether you’re aware of it or not — Lando is done letting it get to him. He’s done letting you have the upper hand.

It’s time to do something about it.

***

The morning sun filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lando’s office as he sits behind his desk, trying to drown himself in spreadsheets and stock analyses. But his focus wavers every few minutes, his eyes drifting toward your desk, watching you chew absentmindedly on the end of a pen while scrolling through emails. The quiet hum of the office is nothing more than white noise, and no matter how hard he tries, you’re there. In his head. In his line of sight.

He rubs the bridge of his nose, frustrated, trying to get a grip. Yesterday’s conversation replays in his mind, your wide-eyed confusion, the softness of your voice, the bow in your hair. He told himself he’d put an end to it, but now, here you are again, all cute dresses and innocence, as if you haven’t been driving him insane for months.

Then, he sees it.

You’ve unwrapped a lollipop, the plastic crackling softly as you slide it into your mouth, your lips closing around the candy in a way that feels intentional. Lando’s stomach tightens. His jaw clenches as he watches the slow swirl of your tongue around the stick. He knows he should look away, that he’s letting himself spiral, but his eyes stay locked on you. You’re concentrating on your screen, tapping at the keyboard, entirely oblivious to the effect you’re having on him.

He shifts in his chair, feeling the sudden constriction in his pants, the tightness unbearable. His breath comes harder, shallow. He balls his fists on the desk, eyes narrowing. That’s it. He’s had enough.

He stands abruptly, the chair scraping behind him. His body moves before his mind catches up, the determination settling into his steps as he crosses the office in long, forceful strides. He doesn’t even bother knocking. He doesn’t need to. He owns this place.

“Come into my office,” he says, voice low, tight.

You look up, startled, your lips still wrapped around the lollipop. “Now?”

“Now.”

You blink, eyes wide as you quickly nod, pulling the candy from your mouth and holding it awkwardly between your fingers. You stand, smoothing out your dress as you follow him, heels clicking softly behind him.

The second you step inside, he closes the door with a deliberate, heavy thud. His office feels smaller today, the air thick, charged. He doesn’t even look at you as he walks to his desk, his movements sharp, controlled, as if he’s barely holding onto the last threads of his restraint.

“Did I — did I do something wrong?” Your voice is soft, confused, and that only makes it worse. How could you be so unaware? How could you stand there, looking at him like that, when he’s been on edge for weeks?

Lando’s silence hangs heavy between you, and you shift nervously, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. That innocent little dress that clings to your waist just enough to remind him of every single curve.

“If I’ve made a mistake-”

He cuts you off with a sharp movement, his arm sweeping across the desk, sending papers, pens, and his phone crashing to the floor in one swift motion. The noise echoes through the office, loud, final.

You jump, eyes wide, taking a step back. “Mr. Norris-”

“Enough.” His voice is deep, guttural, and he steps toward you, crowding your space, forcing you backward until your thighs bump against the edge of the now-cleared desk. “You think you can keep teasing me, walking around here like this?”

Your eyes widen, genuine confusion etched on your face. “I-I’m not — I didn’t-”

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” His hands find your hips, fingers digging in just hard enough to keep you there, to stop you from retreating. You’re trapped, and he knows it. He’s planned it. His frustration, his anger — it’s all coming to a head, and there’s no going back now. “With your little dresses, your bows, that sweet little act. All of it.”

Your breath hitches, and for a second, Lando thinks he sees it — something flicker in your eyes. But then your voice, soft and trembling, breaks the moment. “I haven’t-”

“Innocent,” he spits the word like it’s a curse, fingers tightening on your waist. “Always so innocent. But if you’re going to act like that, you better be ready to pay for it.”

Your eyes dart to the door, panic creeping into your expression. “Mr. Norris, I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I swear, I-”

Before you can finish, he pushes you down onto the desk, the cool surface pressing against your back. His hands slide up your thighs, bunching the fabric of your dress as he leans over you, breath hot against your ear.

“You really think I believe that? You’ve been teasing me for months. The way you look at me, the way you walk around in those outfits like you don’t know what it does to me.” He’s practically growling now, his control slipping further with every word. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

“I haven’t-” You shake your head, breath coming faster, your voice breaking. “I swear, I didn’t mean to-”

He cuts you off with a hand on your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress higher, exposing the soft skin of your legs. His breath catches in his throat as he finally sees it — the tiny bows decorating the edges of your underwear. Innocent, delicate, just like everything else about you.

“Of course,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, his voice dark with disbelief. “Even your underwear has bows.”

You look up at him, eyes wide, lips trembling as you try to form words, but nothing comes out. You’re confused, scared even, but Lando’s mind is too clouded with months of frustration to see it clearly. All he knows is that you’ve pushed him too far, and now he’s about to push back.

Lando’s fingers toy with the delicate bows on your underwear, his grip tightening, anger laced with disbelief. Every detail of you, from your soft lips to the innocent little things you wear — it all feels designed to torment him. And now, this. The proof in the form of those bows only furthers his conviction that it’s all some calculated game. You have to be messing with him.

“Why would you wear something like this?” His voice is low, dark, as he tugs at the fabric just enough to make you gasp, your body trembling under his. “It’s pathetic. Like you’re trying to act sweet and untouched, but we both know the truth.”

Your eyes are wide, pleading, but you don’t say anything. Lando’s face hardens as he looks down at you. He doesn’t believe a word you’ve said — how could he? He knows the games women play, knows how they can hide behind innocent faces while pulling the strings behind the scenes. You’re no different. You can’t be.

But he needs to be sure.

Lando leans over you, his body pressing down on yours as his hands slide higher, pulling your underwear aside. The fabric moves easily, but what he finds next stops him cold.

His fingers pause, eyes narrowing as he pushes a little further, a soft pressure meeting his touch. His pulse quickens. For a second, his brain can’t quite process what he’s feeling. There’s no way. Not you.

He pushes a little harder, confirming what his mind refuses to accept. You tense beneath him, your breath shaky, and that’s when it hits him like a truck.

You’re a virgin.

A wave of shock floods through him, wiping away the rage that had been bubbling up inside. His mind races, trying to reconcile the idea of you — the teasing, innocent act he thought you’d been playing — with the reality of what he’s just discovered. You’ve never been touched. Not by him. Not by anyone.

He pulls back slightly, staring down at you in disbelief. “You're serious.” His voice comes out harsher than intended, but it’s the only thing that manages to escape his mouth. His breath hitches as the realization fully settles.

Your lips part, trembling. “I-I told you,” you whisper, barely able to meet his eyes. “I wasn’t … I didn’t …”

Lando stares at you, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in his mind. The shy looks, the blushing, the fidgeting. It wasn’t an act. You really are innocent. You’re untouched. Pure. And all this time, he’d been imagining the worst. Misreading every single thing about you.

A flood of possessiveness surges through him, stronger than anything he’s ever felt. He’s the first. He’s going to be the only one. His hands slide up your body, slower this time, deliberate. You’re his now. Completely. You’ve always been his, but now it’s clear. He’ll make sure of it.

“You're mine,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding. His eyes burn into yours as he leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear. “Do you understand that?”

You swallow hard, nodding slightly, though your face is still a mix of fear and confusion. He doesn’t care. You’ll understand soon enough.

He reaches for the lollipop laying abandoned on the desk, the one you had been sucking on earlier. Without breaking eye contact, he brings it to his mouth, licking the candy slowly, his tongue swirling around it just as he’d imagined watching you do the same. It’s sweet, just like you.

Then, without warning, he presses the lollipop back to your lips, his eyes darkening. “Open your mouth,” he orders softly.

You hesitate for a second, but his gaze is unrelenting, powerful, and you obey. Your lips part slowly, and he slips the lollipop into your mouth, watching with satisfaction as you close your lips around it. There’s something primal in the way he watches you now, the way your innocence only fuels the possessiveness raging inside him.

He leans down, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. “Don’t leave after work today,” he whispers, the words rough and commanding. “You’re coming home with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes wide, but you don’t protest. You don’t argue. You just look up at him, the lollipop still between your lips, and nod. He smirks, brushing a thumb across your cheek before pulling back, taking in the sight of you sprawled on his desk, dress bunched around your thighs, your lips wrapped around the candy he gave you.

His.

All of you.

***

The hours after Lando’s quiet command crawl by at a pace that feels like torture. He watches you from his office, stealing glances through the glass partition. You’re fidgety, distracted, clearly unsettled by what transpired. Your fingers keep brushing the spot on your lips where his lollipop had been, your gaze downcast, stealing anxious looks toward his office door. He finds it hard to focus on anything else, his mind swirling with the anticipation of what’s coming.

Finally, the workday ends. The usual shuffle of employees packing up to leave passes in a blur for him, and when he sees you stand to collect your things, his heart kicks into overdrive. This is it.

You look hesitant as you walk toward the door, but Lando meets you in the hallway before you can even reach for your coat. His voice is quiet, commanding, as he speaks. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

You don’t say a word, just nod and follow him. It’s all you can do. You’re out of your element, swept up in a current you don’t understand, but something about his presence makes resistance feel impossible.

The elevator ride down to the underground parking lot is thick with tension. He can feel your anxiety radiating off you in waves, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. His hand rests on the small of your back as you step out, guiding you to his sleek McLaren. The doors unlock with a soft click, and he gestures for you to get in.

Once inside, the car roars to life with a low, throaty hum as Lando pulls out of the parking garage, the city lights blurring into streaks of color as they hit the road. For a while, the drive is silent, save for the soft purr of the engine and the occasional sound of your nervous breath.

Lando’s grip on the steering wheel is tight, but he allows one hand to drift away, resting on the center console. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re staring out the window, fingers twisting in your lap, the tension in your shoulders palpable. His gaze lowers, following the line of your thighs beneath your dress, and something in him snaps.

Slowly, deliberately, he lets his hand fall to your knee, his fingers brushing against your bare skin. The effect is immediate — you stiffen, your breath catching in your throat, but you don’t move. You don’t push him away.

His hand stays there, warm and firm, his thumb tracing slow circles on your thigh as he drives. He doesn’t speak, but the weight of his touch says more than words could. It’s a reminder, a promise. You’re his now, and tonight, he’s going to make sure you know it.

The tension between you both is electric, humming in the space between his hand on your leg and your racing pulse. You bite your lip, a futile attempt to steady your breath, but Lando can sense it — the nervous anticipation that’s eating at you, the mix of fear and something else, something you’re not quite ready to acknowledge.

The drive is short, the distance between his office and his penthouse a blur. Before you know it, he’s pulling into the private garage beneath his building. The McLaren comes to a smooth stop, and Lando kills the engine, the silence that follows heavy and oppressive.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly, stepping out of the car and coming around to your side before you can even unbuckle your seatbelt. He opens the door for you, his hand outstretched. You hesitate for only a second before placing your hand in his, allowing him to help you out.

His grip tightens as he leads you toward the private elevator. The doors close behind you with a soft hiss, and the moment you’re sealed inside the confined space, you feel his presence even more intensely. His hand slides up your back, fingers pressing into the curve of your spine as the elevator ascends.

When the doors slide open again, you’re in his penthouse — a sprawling space of glass and steel, modern and minimalist, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city below. But you don’t have time to take it in. Lando’s hand is still on your back, guiding you through the entryway, through the open living space, until you’re standing in the middle of his bedroom.

The door clicks shut behind you, the sound echoing through the large, empty space. You can hear your own breath, shallow and quick, the thud of your pulse loud in your ears. But Lando is calm, methodical, as he steps in front of you, his gaze never leaving your face.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice soft but commanding.

Your legs feel weak, but you take a step forward. His hands find your waist immediately, pulling you closer, his breath warm against your temple as he presses a kiss to your hairline.

“Do you know what happens now?” His voice is low, a quiet rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. You shake your head, barely able to think, let alone respond. Lando pulls back just enough to look down at you, his expression unreadable. “You’re mine. I told you that.”

You nod, swallowing hard, unable to speak. You can feel his hands moving again, tugging at the hem of your dress, pulling it up slowly, exposing more and more of your skin until it’s bunched around your waist. You gasp softly, feeling his hands on your bare thighs again, the same spot he’d touched in the car, but now his touch is more urgent, more possessive.

He pushes you gently onto the bed, your back sinking into the plush mattress as he leans over you, his eyes dark and focused. “I’m going to make sure of it,” he murmurs, his hands slipping beneath your thighs, spreading them apart as he positions himself between your legs.

Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers find the barrier again, that small, fragile proof of your innocence. He pauses, his eyes narrowing as he looks down at you.

“You really were telling the truth.” His voice is low, almost disbelieving, as if the idea of you being untouched still doesn’t fully compute in his mind. He’s quiet for a moment, and then his expression shifts, a dark, possessive gleam entering his eyes. “You’re mine,” he whispers again, and this time, there’s no doubt in his voice.

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes filling with tears, overwhelmed by everything — the intensity of his gaze, the feel of his hands on you, the weight of what’s happening. A tear slips down your cheek, and Lando’s lips are on you immediately, kissing it away, his breath warm and soft against your skin.

“Shh,” he coos, his voice soft now, almost tender as he kisses your tears. “Don’t cry. You’re all mine now, and I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

His hands are gentle as he pushes through the barrier, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. You let out a soft, broken gasp, and Lando leans down to kiss you, swallowing the sound as he moves deeper. His lips trail over your cheek, your jaw, your neck, kissing away every tear, every bit of hesitation.

Lando’s grip on your hips tightens, his breath coming in slow, deliberate waves as he watches your every move. There’s a fierce, possessive satisfaction in his eyes as he presses further into you, feeling the way your body reacts, the soft gasps escaping your lips, the way your fingers curl into the sheets. He’s in complete control, and that’s exactly how he wants it.

You’re his now. Completely. And he’s going to be the first — the only one — to take you over the edge. That thought alone sends a surge of pride through him, dark and possessive. The world has never touched you the way he’s about to. You’re untainted, and he’s going to keep it that way.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice low and rough as his hand finds your chin, tilting your face toward him. Your eyes flutter open, wide and unsure, still glistening from the tears he kissed away moments ago. There’s an innocence in your gaze, a vulnerability that cuts through the sharp edge of his dominance for a moment, but he pushes that aside. He wants you to look at him — not in fear, but in understanding.

“This is how it’s going to be,” Lando murmurs, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he holds your gaze. “I’m the only one who gets to do this. No one else. Ever. Do you understand?”

You nod, your breath catching in your throat, and he smirks. “Say it,” he demands, his thumb brushing over your lips. “Say that you’re mine.”

“I-I’m yours,” you whisper, your voice shaking, but there’s something else in it now. A tremor of something more than fear — something closer to surrender.

“That’s right.” He leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear as his voice drops to a whisper. “You belong to me. And I’m going to show you exactly what that means.”

He moves deliberately, his hands sliding down your body, claiming every inch of you as he goes. His touch is firm, authoritative, yet maddeningly slow, building a tension between you that leaves you trembling beneath him. Lando can feel the way your body reacts to him, the way you instinctively arch into his touch, even though you try to hold back. It makes him smile, dark and knowing. You might be innocent, but your body is learning quickly. It’s beginning to respond to him, just like he knew it would.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmurs, his hand sliding between your thighs, teasing, as his fingers brush lightly against your skin. “You want this. I can feel it.”

You make a soft sound in the back of your throat, a shaky, half-swallowed whimper, but you don’t pull away. You don’t deny it. Because deep down, even if you don’t want to admit it, you do want this. You want him. He knows it.

Lando’s lips curve into a satisfied smirk as he continues his slow, torturous movements, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm with the soft gasps that escape your lips. He watches every flicker of emotion on your face, every shiver that runs through you as he pushes you closer to the edge. You’re so close — he can feel it.

“I can feel you trembling,” he whispers, his voice dark and seductive as he leans down, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “You’re almost there, aren’t you? You’ve never felt this before, have you?”

You shake your head, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps now, and Lando feels a rush of satisfaction. He’s right. No one else has ever brought you this close. No one else has ever touched you like this. And no one else ever will.

“I’m going to be the first,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck as his hand moves with agonizing precision, his fingers coaxing soft, breathless sounds from you. “The only one to make you feel this way. Do you know how good it’s going to feel, baby? How good I’m going to make you feel?”

Your only response is a soft whimper, your body arching beneath him as you inch closer to that tipping point. Lando can feel it in the way your body moves, the way your fingers clutch at the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin, his voice barely a whisper.

“Don’t hold back,” he coos, his voice dark and commanding. “I want to see you fall apart for me.”

His words send a shiver through you, and Lando can feel the way you’re teetering on the edge, the way your body is trembling, so close, so painfully close. But he doesn’t let up. He won’t let you slip away from this.

And then, with a deliberate, calculated move, he pushes you over the edge.

The gasp that leaves your lips is soft, broken, and Lando watches with dark satisfaction as your body tenses, your eyes squeezing shut as you finally fall. He keeps his touch steady, guiding you through it, his voice low and soothing as he coaxes you through the overwhelming rush of sensations.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his hand still moving in that same, steady rhythm. “Let it happen. Let me see you.”

Your breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps as your body trembles beneath him, and Lando can’t help the satisfied smirk that tugs at his lips. He’s the first to do this to you. He’s the only one who ever will.

As you come down from the high, your body slowly relaxing, Lando’s hand moves to cradle your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. He leans down, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice soft but firm. “And I’ll never let you forget that.”

You don’t respond, your breath still shaky as you lie beneath him, your body completely spent. But Lando doesn’t need a response. He knows you understand. You belong to him now, in every way that matters.

***

Lando wakes early, the soft light of dawn filtering through the sheer curtains in his penthouse bedroom. The city outside is still and quiet, a far cry from the chaos of the day that is yet to begin. He blinks, his eyes adjusting to the gentle light, and then his gaze falls on you, lying beside him, still asleep.

The sight of you — curled up under the covers, your breathing slow and peaceful — does something to him. It’s as if, in sleep, you’ve become even more vulnerable, even more innocent. Your face is relaxed, lips slightly parted, your hair falling messily across the pillow. There’s a softness to you now, a contrast to the tension that had filled the air between you both the night before.

Lando’s chest tightens as he watches you, his mind racing. How could someone like you, with your wide-eyed innocence and shy demeanor, have this kind of effect on him? He’d never wanted anyone like this before, never felt this need to possess, to claim. But with you, it’s different. It’s all-consuming.

You stir slightly, shifting beneath the covers, and Lando feels his pulse quicken. Even in sleep, you’re irresistible to him. He can’t stop looking at you, drinking in every detail — your soft skin, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks as you dream.

He feels the pull again, that deep, primal urge to claim you in every possible way. He wants to feel you, fully, like he never has before. The thought sends a wave of heat through him, and before he can stop himself, his hand is moving, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. His fingers trail softly down your cheek, barely touching, but even that small contact ignites something inside him.

You don’t stir, still lost in sleep, and Lando’s gaze darkens. He’s always in control, always dominant — but there’s something about the idea of taking you like this, of being the first to truly have you, that sends his desire spiraling out of control.

Slowly, deliberately, Lando shifts closer to you, careful not to wake you. His hand moves down your body, sliding under the covers, fingers grazing your skin. He inhales deeply, his breath catching in his throat as he feels your warmth, your softness. You shift slightly again, a soft sigh escaping your lips, but you don’t wake.

“Shh,” Lando whispers under his breath, his voice barely audible. “Just stay like that, baby.”

His hand moves lower, slipping beneath the fabric of your underwear, and he feels you tremble slightly in your sleep. He’s gentle, careful not to startle you, but he can’t deny the hunger building inside him, the way his body aches to be closer to you.

You stir again, your body instinctively shifting toward his touch, and Lando bites back a groan. The feel of you — soft, warm, so completely vulnerable — drives him to the edge. He leans down, pressing his lips to your neck, kissing the delicate skin just beneath your ear.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice dark and low. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

He pulls back, just enough to see your face again. You’re still asleep, still completely unaware of the effect you have on him, and something about that only spurs him on. He slides his hand down further, positioning himself between your legs, his breath coming in slow, deliberate breaths as he moves.

He’s careful, so careful, not to wake you. This is his moment, the one he’s been waiting for. He pushes forward slowly, his body tense with anticipation, his heart pounding in his chest. You let out a soft, barely audible whimper in your sleep, but you don’t wake.

Lando’s jaw tightens as he feels the first resistance, the proof of your innocence, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment, letting the satisfaction wash over him. You’re really his. No one else has ever been this close to you, no one else has ever taken this from you. And now, it’s his.

He moves slowly, savoring every second, every soft sound that escapes your lips. You shift beneath him, your body instinctively reacting to his touch, and Lando’s grip tightens on your hip, holding you still.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his voice thick with need. “Just relax, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You stir slightly, a soft whimper escaping your lips as he moves deeper, but your eyes stay closed. Lando watches your face intently, his breath shallow, his entire focus on you. You’re so tight, so perfect, and the way your body responds to him only fuels his desire.

He moves carefully, slowly, not wanting to hurt you, but the heat between you both is undeniable. His control is slipping, and he knows it. But he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop. Not until he’s completely inside you, not until he’s claimed you fully.

Your body tenses as he pushes further, a soft moan escaping your lips, and Lando bites down on his bottom lip, trying to stay focused, trying to hold back. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you — not yet. But the feel of you around him, the way your body tightens and trembles beneath his touch, drives him wild.

You make another soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and your eyes flutter open, just barely. You’re still half-asleep, your gaze unfocused, but you feel him now. You feel what he’s doing.

“L-Lando?” You whisper, your voice barely audible, thick with sleep and confusion.

“Shh,” Lando soothes, his lips brushing against your ear. “Just relax, baby. I’ve got you.”

You shift slightly beneath him, your brows furrowing in confusion, but you don’t pull away. Lando watches your face carefully, his breath hot against your skin as he moves deeper, taking his time, savoring every inch of you.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “Just let me in. Let me have all of you.”

You let out a soft whimper, your body instinctively arching toward him, and Lando feels a surge of pride. You might not fully understand what’s happening, but your body is responding to him in exactly the way he wants.

“That’s it,” he breathes, his hand moving to your cheek, brushing his thumb over your lips. “You’re mine, remember? All mine.”

Your eyes flutter closed again, a soft sigh escaping your lips as Lando finally pushes all the way in, feeling the last bit of resistance give way. He’s inside you now, fully, completely, and the satisfaction that rushes through him is almost overwhelming.

For a moment, he stays still, just savoring the feel of you, the way your body trembles beneath him, the way your breath comes in soft, uneven gasps. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his hand cradling your face.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “So perfect.”

You make a soft, breathless sound, your hands instinctively reaching for him, your fingers brushing against his chest. Lando smiles, dark and satisfied, as he begins to move, slow and deliberate, his body pressing against yours with every thrust.

Lando watches the way you shift beneath him, the way you tense and relax with every movement. You’re unraveling, slowly, in his hands, and there’s something so intensely gratifying about it that he can’t help the dark, satisfied smirk that pulls at his lips.

He moves deliberately, controlling the rhythm, controlling you. Every thrust is measured, precise, pushing you closer to the edge while keeping you right where he wants you. He can feel it — feel the way you’re struggling to hold on, feel the way your breathing becomes more erratic, the way your fingers clutch at him, desperate, uncertain.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Lando murmurs, his voice rough and commanding as he watches your face. Your eyes flutter open, wide and unfocused, your lips parting as you try to catch your breath. But you don’t answer, can’t answer — your body is too consumed by the sensations he’s drawing out of you.

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “I want to hear you say it,” he growls softly, his hand gripping your hip as he presses deeper into you. “Tell me how close you are. Tell me how badly you want this.”

“I — Lando-” Your voice is a shaky whisper, breathless and uncertain, and Lando smirks again. You can barely speak, barely string two words together, but that’s exactly how he wants you. He wants you undone, unraveling in his hands, unable to think of anything but him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his hand sliding down your side, his touch firm and possessive. “I know you’re close. I can feel it.”

He moves faster now, his hips grinding into yours as he keeps the rhythm steady, watching your every reaction. You’re trembling beneath him, your body responding to him in ways that make his chest swell with pride. Every soft whimper, every sharp intake of breath — it’s all because of him. And he loves it.

“You feel that?” Lando murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s me. I’m the only one who’ll ever make you feel this way.”

Your body arches beneath him, and Lando can see the way you’re fighting to hold on, the way you’re trying to keep control. But he won’t let you. He’s not done with you yet.

He slows his movements slightly, just enough to keep you teetering on the edge but not enough to push you over. You let out a frustrated whimper, your fingers digging into his arms as you try to pull him closer, but Lando just smirks, keeping you right where he wants you.

“Not yet,” he whispers, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “You’ll come when I say you can.”

Your eyes flutter shut again, and Lando can see the tension building inside you. He watches the way your chest rises and falls, the way your lips part in desperate, breathless gasps, and he knows you’re on the verge of falling apart.

But he holds you there, just on the brink, savoring the way your body reacts to him, the way you’re completely at his mercy. It’s intoxicating, the power he holds over you.

“I can feel how badly you want it,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl as he moves his hand between your legs, teasing you with soft, deliberate touches. “But you’re going to wait. You’re going to wait for me.”

You make a soft, pleading sound, your body trembling beneath him, and Lando’s grip tightens on your hip, holding you steady as he starts to move again, his pace slow and deliberate. He watches every flicker of emotion on your face, the way your brow furrows, the way your lips part as you struggle to breathe through the overwhelming sensations.

“You can take it,” he whispers, his voice dark and commanding. “You can take everything I give you.”

You’re so close now, so impossibly close, and Lando can feel it — the way your body tightens around him, the way your breath catches in your throat as you inch closer to the edge. But he’s not letting you fall yet. Not until he’s ready.

“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. “The only one who gets to take you apart like this.”

His words send a shiver through you, and Lando can feel the way your body responds to him, the way you arch into his touch, desperate for release. He’s holding you on the edge, keeping you there, and the power rushes through him like a drug.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, breathless and pleading. “Lando, please-”

He smirks, dark and satisfied. That’s what he wanted. He wanted you begging for it, wanting it as badly as he does.

“You want to come?” He growls softly, his grip tightening on your hip as he moves faster, his thrusts deeper, harder. “You want me to let you come?”

You nod, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you try to hold on, your body trembling beneath him.

“Say it,” Lando demands, his voice rough and commanding. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“I-I want it,” you whisper, your voice shaking as you clutch at him, your fingers digging into his arms. “Please, Lando — please let me come.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pride as he watches you unravel beneath him. “Come for me. Let me see you fall apart.”

And with that, he pushes you over the edge.

Your body tenses, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. Lando watches every second, his grip firm on your hips as you arch beneath him, your breath coming in soft, broken gasps. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow his movements as he guides you through it, his breath coming in slow, deliberate waves as he watches you fall apart in his hands.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he keeps moving, keeps pushing you. “You’re doing so well. Just let it happen.”

You make a soft, broken sound, your body trembling beneath him as the pleasure washes over you, and Lando feels a rush of satisfaction. You’re his. Completely, utterly his.

But he’s not done.

As you come down from the high, your body slowly relaxing, Lando’s grip tightens on your hips again. He’s close now — so close he can feel it building inside him, the tension coiling in his muscles as he moves faster, harder, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

“Look at me,” he growls, his hand moving to cup your jaw, forcing your gaze up to meet his. “I want to see your face when I take you.”

Your eyes flutter open, wide and unfocused, and Lando groans at the sight of you — flushed, trembling, completely undone. He’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he murmurs, his voice rough as he moves faster, his body tensing as the pleasure builds. “You’re going to take all of me. Do you understand?”

You nod, your breath shaky, your fingers clutching at his arms as you try to keep up with him.

“Good girl,” he growls, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re mine. All mine.”

With one final, deep thrust, Lando feels the tension snap, the pleasure crashing over him as he finally lets go. He groans, his grip tightening on your hips as he comes inside you, his body shuddering with the force of it.

For a moment, he stays still, his breath coming in heavy, uneven bursts as he comes down from the high. He watches you, your body still trembling beneath him, your breath coming in soft, uneven gasps.

And then, slowly, carefully, he pulls back, his hand sliding up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

“You were meant to be mine,” he whispers again, his voice soft but firm. “And I’m never letting you go.”

You don’t respond, your body completely spent, but Lando knows you understand. You belong to him now, in every way that matters.

***

Lando lies beside you, his chest pressed against your back, a comforting warmth in the quiet aftermath. The soft sheets cling to both of you, and he can feel your heartbeat gradually slowing, returning to a steady rhythm as you begin to relax in his arms. His fingers lightly trace the curve of your lips, a subtle smirk playing at his own.

There's something so innocent about the way you look right now — your eyelashes fluttering gently as if you’re dreaming, the soft rise and fall of your chest. He wants to savor it, the moment of peace after everything, but he’s far from done.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough from the lingering remnants of passion. You blink slowly, your gaze focusing on him, a small smile tugging at your lips. The look you give him is so tender, so trusting, it makes his chest tighten in a way he’s not used to. Vulnerability looks good on you, he thinks.

“You’re still awake,” Lando continues, his fingers brushing over your lips before moving to caress your jaw. He shifts his body closer to yours, resting his head on his hand as he looks down at you. “What were you thinking about?”

You blink again, your lips parting to speak, but before you can answer, he tilts his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What are you studying at university, again?”

There’s a brief pause, and he watches as you seem to collect your thoughts. “Business economics,” you say softly, almost shyly. “I’m in my second year.”

He raises an eyebrow, his hand still trailing lazily across your skin. “Business economics?” There’s a note of surprise in his voice, but more than that, there’s something else — something almost dismissive.

You nod, your eyes flicking to his, unsure of what he’s thinking. “Yeah, I mean … it’s interesting. And it’s practical. I thought-”

“Why?” Lando interrupts, his voice cutting through the air like a knife, making you pause mid-sentence. His tone is calm, controlled, but there’s an underlying tension there, something that makes you hesitate.

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused, your brow furrowing slightly.

“Why are you wasting your time on that?” Lando’s fingers stop their gentle tracing and move to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes locked on yours. “You don’t need a degree.”

You stare at him for a moment, the words sinking in. There’s a silence that stretches between you, and Lando can feel the subtle shift in your energy, the way your body tenses just slightly, like you’re gearing up for some sort of protest. But before you can speak, he continues.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, his voice softer now but still firm. “You don’t need to worry about school, or work, or any of that. I’ve got more than enough for the both of us.” He pauses, watching your reaction, waiting for the inevitable pushback. “Why would you bother with a degree when you have me?”

There’s a flicker of something in your eyes — uncertainty, maybe even hesitation. You open your mouth to say something, but the words die on your tongue. Lando’s hand moves to rest on your thigh, his fingers brushing against your skin, a silent reminder of the control he holds.

“I … I don’t know, I just …”

“You don’t need to worry about it,” Lando interrupts, his voice smooth, reassuring, yet unyielding. “I’ve got everything handled. I’ll take care of you. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

You swallow hard, trying to process his words, trying to reconcile the offer of security with the dream you’ve been working toward. “But I like studying …”

Lando’s hand moves down your thigh, his grip tightening slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to make a point. “Do you?” He murmurs, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “Or are you just doing it because you think you need to?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question, and he takes advantage of the moment. His hand slips further down, his fingers brushing between your legs, a slow, deliberate movement that leaves no room for argument.

“Lando-”

“Hush,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a faint smile as he leans down, his mouth hovering just over yours. “I don’t want to hear any excuses. You don’t need that degree. You’ve got me now.”

His fingers move with practiced ease, and you gasp, your body betraying you as you react to his touch. Any coherent thought slips away as he works you over, your head falling back against the pillow, your body arching into him.

“You’re going to quit,” Lando says, his voice calm but firm, a quiet command that brooks no argument. “You’re not going back to school.”

You shake your head, or maybe you don’t — it’s hard to tell anymore, everything feels hazy, your mind clouded by the sensations coursing through you. But Lando doesn’t care. He’s already decided.

“Say it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear as his fingers press harder, drawing another breathless moan from your lips. “You’re going to quit.”

“I … I don’t …” Your voice is weak, shaky, barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

Lando’s grip tightens, and he moves his body over yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress, grounding you, reminding you of who’s in control.

“Say it,” he repeats, his tone sharper now, more insistent. “You’re going to quit.”

Your breath hitches, your body trembling beneath him as you struggle to form a coherent response. But he doesn’t let up. His touch is relentless, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, until you can’t think of anything but the way he’s making you feel.

“Lando … please …”

“Say it,” he demands again, his voice a low growl. “Tell me you’re quitting. Tell me you don’t need that degree.”

Your body arches beneath him, your mind a blur of confusion and pleasure, and finally, finally, the words tumble from your lips, broken and breathless.

“I … I’ll quit. I’ll quit.”

Lando smirks, satisfied, as he watches you unravel beneath him, your body trembling with the force of your release. He doesn’t stop, not yet, not until he’s sure you’re completely spent, until there’s nothing left of you but the quiet, trembling aftermath.

When it’s over, he pulls back slightly, his hand moving to cup your jaw as he looks down at you, his eyes dark and possessive. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lips. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You don’t respond, too exhausted, too overwhelmed to speak, and Lando chuckles softly, his hand slipping from your jaw to rest on your chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of your breath.

“You’ll get used to it,” he says quietly, his voice low and soothing now, as if he’s trying to comfort you. “You don’t need to worry about anything anymore. I’ve got you.”

There’s a part of you that still wants to argue, still wants to push back against his words, but it’s a small, quiet part, drowned out by the overwhelming sense of relief and security that Lando offers.

And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

Maybe you don’t need that degree. Maybe you don’t need to worry about your future, because Lando is your future now.

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of his embrace, the steady, reassuring presence of him beside you.

“I’ll take care of you,” Lando whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. “Always.”

And in that moment, with his arms wrapped around you, it’s easy to believe him.

***

Lando’s fingers drum impatiently on the steering wheel of his McLaren as he pulls into the parking lot of your university. It’s a cloudy morning, the kind of gray that matches his mood.

He doesn’t want to be here — certainly doesn’t want to waste time with the formalities of this. But he knows it has to be done. He glances at you from the corner of his eye as the car comes to a smooth stop, his grip tightening for a moment.

You’ve been quiet since you left the penthouse, a subtle tension hanging in the air between the two of you. Lando notices the way your hands fidget in your lap, the way your gaze flicks nervously towards the university buildings. He doesn’t like it. You’ve already agreed to this; you’d already said you’d quit. This is just tying up loose ends, nothing more.

He shuts off the engine and leans back, turning his full attention to you. “You ready?”

You hesitate, and he doesn’t miss it. A small nod, your lips pressed together in uncertainty. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Good,” Lando says firmly, not giving any room for further discussion. He unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of the car, coming around to open your door for you. His hand slides possessively to the small of your back as he guides you toward the administration building. “Let’s get this over with.”

The university halls feel cold, sterile, as the two of you walk through them. It’s early, and the place hasn’t fully come alive yet. But the walls are lined with student posters, the smell of textbooks, and the quiet hum of academia that fills the space feels completely foreign to Lando. This world doesn’t fit you, he thinks. Not anymore. You belong with him.

The Dean’s office is tucked away in the corner of the building, and when you reach it, Lando notices how your steps slow slightly. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re sure about this, yes?”

You glance up at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes for the briefest second. But then you nod. “I … yes. I’m sure.”

Lando smirks, satisfied. You’re just nervous, that’s all. He’s not worried. Not really.

The secretary outside the office lets you both in with a nod, and the Dean, a man in his early fifties with glasses perched on his nose, looks up from behind a stack of papers. He smiles at you as you enter, but his expression quickly shifts when he notices Lando standing beside you, his arm firmly around your waist.

“Miss Y/L/N,” the Dean says, his voice carrying a note of pleasant surprise. “What brings you here today?”

You shift awkwardly, glancing at Lando for a moment before speaking. “I … I’ve decided to withdraw from my program.”

The Dean’s brow furrows in confusion. He leans back in his chair, folding his hands on his desk. “Withdraw? Are you sure? You’re one of our most promising students. Your work in economics has been exemplary.”

Lando feels the slight tremor in your body, senses the moment of hesitation as you start to open your mouth, your gaze flicking back to the Dean. The man’s words clearly have an effect on you, and Lando doesn’t like it. His jaw clenches.

“I … I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” you start, your voice quiet. “I’m just not sure if this is the right path for me anymore.”

“Nonsense,” the Dean says, shaking his head. “You’ve made such incredible progress. You have a natural talent, and it would be a waste to throw it all away. You’re capable of so much more than just-”

“She’s not wasting anything,” Lando cuts in, his voice sharp and cold. He glares at the Dean, daring him to continue. The room falls silent for a moment, the tension palpable. “She’s made her decision.”

The Dean’s eyes flicker between the two of you, clearly noting the way Lando’s grip tightens around your waist, the way his presence dominates the space. He frowns, clearly displeased but unwilling to press further. “Miss Y/L/N,” he says carefully, “are you certain this is what you want?”

You hesitate, biting your lip, and Lando feels his frustration bubble up. He leans down, his lips close to your ear, his voice a quiet command. “Tell him you’ve already decided.”

You swallow hard, your body stiffening slightly before you nod again. “I’ve already decided.”

The Dean sighs, clearly reluctant, but he reaches for the necessary paperwork nonetheless. “If you’re sure,” he mutters, sliding the forms across the desk toward you. “You’ll need to sign here, and I’ll need a statement of withdrawal.”

As you reach for the pen, Lando keeps his arm firmly around your waist, watching carefully. He can still feel your unease, the way your hand trembles slightly as you begin to sign your name. But he knows this is the right decision. You don’t need this place. You need him.

The Dean watches silently, his lips pressed into a thin line, clearly displeased. “It’s a shame,” he says after a moment, his eyes lingering on you. “You had such a bright future ahead of you. I hope you’re not making a mistake.”

Lando’s jaw tightens. He can see the way your fingers falter over the paper, the way the Dean’s words make you second-guess yourself. Before you can say anything, Lando steps in again, his voice cutting through the tension.

“She’s not,” Lando says firmly, his eyes locked on the Dean with a warning edge. “She’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.”

The Dean doesn’t reply, only nods curtly as he gathers the signed forms. Lando watches as you hand them back, your face a mix of emotions — confusion, doubt, and something else he can’t quite place.

As soon as the paperwork is done, Lando wastes no time. He pulls you close to him, practically ushering you out of the office. You cast one last glance at the Dean, but Lando’s hand tightens on your waist, his fingers pressing into your side in a way that leaves no room for lingering thoughts.

Once you’re out in the hallway, Lando’s tone softens slightly, though the control in his voice remains. “It’s done. No turning back now.”

You nod, but he can tell your thoughts are still drifting, still caught up in what the Dean said. That won’t do. Lando knows he needs to distract you, shift your focus back where it belongs — on him.

“There’s an Hermès store nearby,” Lando says casually as the two of you walk toward the parking lot. His tone is light, almost conversational, but there’s an underlying purpose behind his words. “I’ve been thinking … you’d look adorable with one of their twilly scarves tied in your hair. Maybe even a matching Birkin.” He glances down at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What do you think?”

You blink, momentarily thrown by the abrupt change in topic. “I … I don’t know.”

Lando’s grip on your waist loosens slightly as he moves his hand up to brush your hair back from your face. “Trust me. You’d love it. And I’d love seeing you with a cute little bow tied in your hair. It would suit you.”

You can’t help but smile, though it’s small and unsure. The shift in conversation, the mention of luxury, seems to distract you enough, pulling your thoughts away from the earlier doubt. That’s exactly what Lando wants. He needs you focused on him, not on whatever misplaced ambitions the Dean tried to stir up.

“I’ll take you shopping,” Lando continues smoothly as he opens the passenger door of his car for you. “We’ll find something perfect. After all, you deserve it.”

He watches as you slide into the seat, your expression still tinged with uncertainty but softened by the promise of something new, something exciting. Lando can feel the satisfaction curling inside him. He’s got you exactly where he wants you.

As he rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat, he shoots you a quick glance, his hand already moving to rest on your thigh, a silent reminder of his control. “You won’t regret any of this,” he says quietly, his voice filled with certainty. “You’re mine now. I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

You don’t respond, but the way you lean into his touch tells him all he needs to know. He starts the engine, the roar of the McLaren filling the air as he pulls out of the university parking lot.

***

Each day seems to fall into a rhythm. Lando likes control, and now he’s exerting it over your life, molding it to fit his own. You’re no longer rushing to university or working long hours at his company. Instead, you’re left to fill your days with something else, though Lando never lets it be anything without him at the center of it.

It didn’t take long for you to find a new routine. It started the first day after you withdrew from school. You spent the morning pacing around Lando’s penthouse, the sprawling space eerily quiet without him there. His presence filled the place even when he wasn’t around, but it still felt empty without him.

By noon, you found yourself in the kitchen, your hands moving on instinct, putting together a lunch that reminded you of simpler times. You thought about surprising him at work, the idea sparking a tiny thrill in you. Maybe he’d like the surprise.

You had no idea how much he would love it.

Now, you’re in his office every day without fail. Each morning is spent in careful preparation — choosing the perfect outfit, something that Lando would appreciate. You know how much he loves your bows, so you always make sure to tie one into your hair. Your dresses are carefully selected from the expansive closet he’s stocked for you, all designer, all perfectly tailored to accentuate your innocence, your softness. It’s what he likes. It’s what keeps him satisfied.

Today is no different. You step off the elevator into his building, a picnic basket swinging delicately in your hand. The security guard already knows you by name, offering a polite nod as you pass by, though you can’t miss the curious glance he throws at the basket.

When you reach Lando’s office, his assistant greets you with a knowing smile. “He’s in a meeting,” she tells you, her voice pleasant. “But you can go in. He always makes time for you.”

You smile back, nodding your thanks, and push open the door to his private office. The space is immaculate, modern, with sleek lines and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the city. It screams power, control, everything that Lando is.

He’s seated at his desk, deep in conversation with a group of executives who are standing across from him, discussing something about market shares. But the moment you step inside, his eyes flick up to meet yours, and everything else in the room seems to fall away.

“Gentlemen,” Lando interrupts smoothly, not bothering to hide the way his gaze lingers on you. “That’ll be all for now.”

There’s a moment of hesitation from the executives, confusion flashing across their faces at the abrupt end to the meeting. But Lando’s tone leaves no room for debate. They gather their papers, nodding respectfully as they file out, each of them casting curious glances your way as they leave.

Once the door clicks shut, Lando leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes you in. The picnic basket, the way your dress hugs your figure, the bow in your hair — it’s all exactly as he likes it.

“Come here,” he orders, his voice low but commanding. You don’t hesitate, crossing the room toward him, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor.

Lando doesn’t say anything as you set the basket down on the edge of his desk, but you can feel the intensity of his gaze as he watches every move you make. He doesn’t even look at the food; his focus is entirely on you.

He reaches out, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you closer until you’re standing between his legs, his chair swiveling slightly as he turns toward you. His other hand moves to the hem of your dress, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric.

“You always know just how to dress for me, don’t you?” His voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it, a possessive undertone that sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, swallowing hard. “I thought you might be hungry,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s smirk widens, his hand sliding higher up your thigh, under the skirt of your dress. “Oh, I am,” he murmurs, his fingers grazing the lace of your underwear. “But I’m not interested in whatever you’ve brought in that basket.”

You bite your lip, your heart racing as his touch becomes more insistent. This is the routine now, the unspoken agreement. You bring him lunch, and he makes sure to have his appetizer first. His hands are all over you before you’ve even had a chance to set the table.

His thumb presses against the lace, and you gasp, your body instinctively arching toward him. “Lando …”

He chuckles, pulling you down onto his lap, positioning you so that you’re straddling him, your dress riding up as his hands find your hips. “You know what I want,” he says, his lips brushing against your ear. “And you’re going to give it to me, aren’t you?”

You nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps as his hands roam over your body, tugging at the fabric of your dress, pulling it up higher. His fingers find the bow tied around your waist, and he tugs at it, loosening it until the dress falls open slightly.

“You look so innocent,” Lando whispers, his voice dark with desire. “But you’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your hands gripping his shoulders as his lips find your neck, kissing and biting softly.

Lando growls softly in satisfaction, his hands moving with practiced ease as he takes what he wants, as he always does. You’re used to this by now, the way he demands control, the way he always takes his fill of you before anything else. And part of you craves it — craves the way he makes you feel, like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

After he’s had his way with you, his hands still lingering possessively on your hips, Lando finally leans back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Now,” he says, his voice still husky, “what did you bring me for lunch?”

You’re still breathless, your body trembling slightly as you try to regain your composure. You reach for the picnic basket, opening it to reveal the meal you’d spent the morning preparing — a simple but elegant spread of sandwiches, fruit, and pastries.

Lando watches you, his smirk never fading as you set everything up on his desk. “You spoil me,” he murmurs, reaching for one of the sandwiches.

You smile, trying to steady your breathing as you watch him take a bite, his eyes still fixed on you. “I just thought you might like something different,” you say softly.

He chuckles, swallowing his food before leaning back in his chair, his gaze predatory. “Oh, I do. I like it very much.”

As he eats, you sit across from him, watching as he devours the food you’ve made. There’s something intimate about it, the way he looks at you, the way his hand casually rests on your thigh as if he can’t go a moment without touching you.

When he’s finished, Lando leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “I want you to keep doing this,” he says after a moment. “Bringing me lunch every day.”

You blink, surprised. “Every day?”

He nods, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh. “I like having you here. I like knowing you’re close.” His gaze darkens slightly. “And I like having you as an appetizer before the main meal.”

Your cheeks flush at his words, and Lando’s smirk widens. He leans forward, his hand moving to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “You’re mine, remember? And I always get what I want.”

You nod, your heart racing as you meet his intense gaze. “Yes, Lando.”

His smirk softens into something more tender, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Good girl.”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. You stay with him, lingering in his office as he works, your presence a constant distraction for him. Every now and then, he glances up from his papers to watch you, his eyes filled with a dark, possessive hunger that never seems to fade.

And when the workday finally ends, Lando takes you back to the penthouse, where the cycle begins again.

***

Lando is lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, his body pressed close to yours, his hand idly tracing circles on your bare skin. The mid-morning sunlight filters through the curtains of his penthouse bedroom, casting a soft glow over the room. It's quiet, peaceful, the kind of quiet that only comes with mornings like this — when the world outside is busy, but inside, it's just the two of you.

His lips are on your neck, warm and gentle, brushing against your skin with lazy affection. You can feel the way his breath hitches slightly, how his hand drifts lower, over the curve of your waist, until it comes to rest on your stomach. His fingers spread out across your skin, his touch firm yet tender.

“Baby,” Lando murmurs, his voice deep and hushed, as if he’s talking to himself as much as to you. He lets the word linger in the air, the possessiveness in his tone unmistakable. “You’d look so pretty with a baby.”

The words catch you off guard. You feel your heart skip a beat, a rush of warmth spreading through you, but there’s also confusion, a flicker of uncertainty. “Lando,” you breathe, turning your head slightly to look at him.

He doesn’t stop. His hand stays on your stomach, gently pressing against the flatness there, as if imagining it full, imagining you carrying his child. His lips find your jawline, kissing softly, his voice a low rumble against your skin. “You’d look perfect. So beautiful.”

You blink, trying to process what he’s saying. The tenderness in his voice is at odds with the intensity of his words. “A baby?” You ask quietly, unsure of what to say.

Lando’s eyes flick up to meet yours, his expression serious, though there’s a softness in his gaze. “Yeah,” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “My baby with my baby.”

There’s a pause, the weight of his words hanging between you, and you feel a tightening in your chest. You’ve never really talked about this — about the future, about where this relationship is headed. You’ve been so caught up in the present, in the way Lando makes you feel, in the way he consumes every part of your life, that you haven’t allowed yourself to think too far ahead.

But now, he’s thinking for both of you. His mind is already made up.

“Lando, I-” You start to speak, but he cuts you off with a gentle kiss, his lips capturing yours in a way that steals your breath, that makes it impossible to think straight.

He pulls back, just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Don’t think too much about it,” he whispers, his tone coaxing, soothing. “Just imagine it. You, with a little bump, carrying our baby. Doesn’t that sound good?”

You swallow hard, your mind racing. It’s overwhelming, the way he’s speaking, like he’s already decided this for you. His hand is still on your stomach, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and it’s as if he’s trying to imprint the idea onto you — his baby, your body, his future.

“Lando, that’s … that’s a big decision,” you manage to say, though your voice is soft, tentative.

He smiles at you, that confident, easy smile that always makes your heart flutter. “I know,” he says, his voice calm, unhurried. “But it’s the right one. I want this. I want you to have my baby. I want you to be mine completely.”

His words send a shiver through you, both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. He’s never been shy about claiming you, about making it clear that you belong to him in every way. But this feels different. This feels permanent.

“I …” You try again, but once more, Lando silences you, his mouth moving against yours, his kiss more insistent this time, more possessive.

His hand slips down, over your thigh, pulling you closer to him as he deepens the kiss, his body pressing against yours. He’s making it hard to think, hard to focus on anything other than the feel of him, the way he takes control with such ease.

“You trust me, don’t you?” He murmurs against your lips, his hand cupping your cheek as he pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes dark and intense.

You nod without thinking, your heart racing. Of course you trust him. He’s always been there, always known exactly what to do, what you need. But this … this is different.

“I do,” you whisper, your voice shaky, unsure of where this is going.

Lando’s smile softens, his hand sliding back to your stomach, pressing there again, more firmly this time. “Then trust me with this, baby. You’d be perfect. You know that, right? You were made for this — for me.”

The possessiveness in his voice is unmistakable, and it sends a jolt through you. He’s always been dominant, always in control, but this feels deeper, more intense. It’s not just about the moment — it’s about the future he’s already planned out for you, the future he’s pulling you into without hesitation.

“Imagine it,” he says again, his voice dropping lower, his lips brushing against your ear. “You, carrying my child. Everyone would see it, would know you’re mine. You’d be so beautiful. So perfect.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the weight of his words settling over you, wrapping around you like a tight embrace. The idea is both terrifying and intoxicating, and you don’t know how to respond.

Lando doesn’t give you the chance to. His hand moves again, this time slipping lower, between your thighs, his fingers pressing against you in a way that makes your mind go blank, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he whispers, his voice soothing as his fingers tease you, his touch both gentle and firm. “I’ll take care of everything. You don’t need to think about it. Just let me take care of you, like I always do.”

You gasp softly, your body arching toward him, and Lando’s smirk widens as he watches you unravel under his touch, his hand working expertly to drive you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his lips pressing against your neck, his voice a low growl. “That’s my girl. So good for me.”

Your mind is spinning, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words, his touch, the way he’s controlling the entire moment. And yet, there’s a part of you that wants to give in, to let him take control, to let him decide everything, because it feels safe, it feels right.

Lando’s grip tightens slightly on your stomach, his thumb brushing over your skin in a possessive way. “You’re going to be perfect, baby. You’ll be mine completely. You already are.”

His words sink deep into you, the finality of them making your heart race. He’s not asking. He’s telling you. This is what he wants, what he’s decided for both of you. And in this moment, with his body pressed against yours, his hand between your thighs, his lips on your skin, it’s impossible to argue.

You’re his, and you always will be.

***

Lando's eyes are fixed on you, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight. The golden light hits your skin, casting you in a soft glow, but all he can focus on is the slight curve of your stomach, the undeniable proof of the life growing inside you.

His child.

You’re wearing one of those dresses he loves, the fabric soft and flowing, cinched just below your breasts to accommodate the growing bump. It’s a subtle change for now, but Lando notices it like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. The way you move, the way your hands instinctively rest on your stomach sometimes, like you’re protecting what belongs to him. He can’t take his eyes off you.

You turn slightly, catching him watching you from across the room, and your lips curve into a soft, shy smile. “What?” You ask, voice light, but there’s a hint of nervousness in your tone, like you’re not sure what he’s thinking.

Lando doesn't answer right away. Instead, he walks toward you, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving your bump. When he finally reaches you, his hand moves to rest on your stomach, the warmth of your skin radiating through the fabric of your dress. He feels it under his palm — the slight roundness, the beginning of the change, the proof of his claim on you.

“My baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and possessive, the words more for himself than for you.

You look up at him, a flicker of emotion in your eyes. There’s still that innocence, that soft vulnerability that Lando can’t get enough of. Less than a year ago, you were untouched, unclaimed by any man, and now — now, you’re carrying his child. The thought makes something primal stir deep inside him, a fierce sense of ownership and pride.

Lando’s thumb brushes lightly over your stomach, tracing the curve as if memorizing the way your body is changing. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, his voice rough around the edges. His eyes flick back to yours, intense, as he continues, “I always knew you’d look perfect with my baby growing inside you.”

A flush spreads across your cheeks, your lips parting slightly, but you don’t say anything. Lando knows this is overwhelming for you — everything about him, about this relationship, about how quickly everything has changed. But that’s exactly how he wanted it. He wasn’t going to give you time to second-guess anything. You belong to him now, and there’s no going back.

He kneels in front of you without warning, one hand still resting on your stomach while the other grips your hip, pulling you slightly closer. His breath hitches as his eyes level with the slight swell, and he presses his lips softly to your stomach, placing slow, deliberate kisses on the fabric of your dress. His baby, inside you. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

Lando looks up at you from where he’s kneeling, his eyes dark with intensity. “I still can’t believe it,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Less than a year ago, you hadn’t even been touched by a man. And now …” He trails off, his hand moving to press against the bump again. “Now, you’re full with my child.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you swallow hard, clearly unsure of how to respond. Lando’s always been intense, always so certain, so in control of everything between you. But this — this is something different. This is forever.

He stands back up, his hands sliding up your sides, holding you close as he towers over you. His thumb brushes along your jawline, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Do you even understand what this means?” He asks quietly, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’re mine. Completely. No one else will ever have you like this.”

You nod, a bit shakily, and Lando smirks. He knows it’s a lot for you to take in, but that’s exactly how he wants it. He wants you overwhelmed, completely consumed by him, by the life he’s building for you both.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, and there’s a softness in his voice now, a gentleness that he only shows you in these quiet moments. “You’re doing so well. Carrying my child, making our future.”

His hand moves back to your stomach, rubbing small circles as he continues, “I always knew you’d be perfect like this. My baby with my baby.” He chuckles softly, leaning down to kiss you on the forehead. “You’re going to be the most beautiful mother.”

You lean into him, letting out a soft sigh, and Lando feels something warm unfurl in his chest. He likes seeing you like this — soft, pliant, completely under his control. He likes knowing that every part of you belongs to him, from your mind to your body to the life growing inside of you.

“I want you to rest more,” he says suddenly, his tone taking on that commanding edge again. “No more worrying about anything. I’ll take care of everything.”

You blink up at him, a slight frown crossing your face. “I don’t worry, Lando,” you say softly, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“You do,” he insists, his hand tightening just a bit on your hip. “You don’t have to, though. That’s not your job anymore. Your only job is to take care of our baby. Got it?”

There’s a pause, and you nod again, this time more slowly, like you’re trying to process what he’s saying. Lando watches your expression carefully, knowing that you’re still adjusting to this life with him. But he also knows that he’s not giving you a choice. This is your life now — his life.

Lando leans down again, pressing another kiss to your stomach before straightening up. “I want you to rest now,” he says, his voice softening. “Come on, let’s go lie down.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then you let him guide you to the bedroom, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back as you walk. When you reach the bed, he helps you lie down, pulling the covers over you with a tenderness that contrasts with the intensity of his words.

He sits on the edge of the bed, watching you as you settle in, his hand resting lightly on your stomach again. “I’ll stay here for a bit,” he murmurs, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I just want to be close to you. To our baby.”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t have to. Lando knows that you’re still processing everything, still adjusting to the life he’s created for you. But he’s patient. He’ll wait. Because he knows, deep down, that you’re his. Completely and utterly his. And soon, there will be no part of your life that isn’t touched by him, controlled by him.

He smiles to himself, brushing his thumb lightly over your skin as he leans down to kiss your forehead once more. “Rest now,” he whispers. “You’re doing so well.”

And as you close your eyes, Lando stays there, watching over you, his hand never leaving your stomach, his thoughts already spinning with plans for the future. You and him, and the life you’re building together. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

And it’s only just beginning.

***

The lecture hall buzzes with quiet anticipation, students shifting in their seats, eyes on the door as they wait for the keynote speaker. Lando strides through the entrance with effortless authority, his tailored suit emphasizing his power. Every step he takes commands attention, but his focus isn't on the sea of students. It's on you.

He keeps you close to his side, his arm protectively wrapped around your waist, guiding you through the lecture hall. You're heavily pregnant now, your rounded belly making it harder to move with the same ease as before. Lando notices every wince, every slight shift in your weight, and his grip tightens, steadying you.

“You alright?” He murmurs, leaning down slightly, his voice low but firm. He stops walking as you pause, his thumb brushing against your side in a rare gesture of tenderness.

You nod, offering him a small smile, but Lando isn’t convinced. He’s always watching, always reading you, making sure you’re taken care of. He doesn’t want you out of his sight, especially not now, not when you’re carrying his child — his future. It’s why he insisted you come with him to this keynote speech, even if it meant pulling you away from the quiet of home.

“I don’t want you far from me, baby,” he’d said that morning, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You stay by my side today.”

And now, as he guides you to the front row of the lecture hall, he’s making sure you’re positioned just right. The front seat, where he can keep an eye on you, where no one else can intrude. Lando gestures for you to sit, his eyes dark and serious as you lower yourself into the chair, careful of your bump. He crouches down in front of you, smoothing a hand over your knee before leaning in, his lips close to your ear.

“If you need anything,” he says, his voice quiet but commanding, “you call me. I’m right here. Don’t even think about getting up on your own.”

You nod again, feeling his intensity radiating off him, and he gives your knee one last squeeze before standing up, adjusting his suit jacket with precision. He takes the stage with ease, the shift from boyfriend to powerful CEO seamless.

Lando begins speaking, his voice steady and commanding, captivating the room effortlessly. The students sit up straighter, hanging on every word, as he talks about leadership, success, and the ruthlessness it takes to survive in the world of business. But every now and then, his eyes flicker to you, checking, ensuring you’re still there, still safe.

You sit quietly, watching him, one hand resting on your bump, and the baby kicks softly against your palm. The speech is engaging, and you’re proud of him, but there’s a slight discomfort creeping in — the weight of your pregnancy, the strange sensation of being back here, in your old university, surrounded by classmates who wouldn’t recognize the person you are now.

After Lando finishes his speech, the applause echoes through the hall, loud and appreciative, but it barely reaches you. You’re too caught up in your thoughts, in the reality of how much has changed. Less than a year ago, you were sitting in one of these very seats, studying, dreaming about a future you thought would be on your own terms. Now, here you are, with Lando's baby growing inside you, a future that looks nothing like what you imagined.

As the students begin filing out, Lando steps down from the stage, immediately walking over to you. His hand is on your shoulder before you can say anything, and his presence instantly makes you feel safe, grounded.

“Let’s get you home, baby,” he says softly, his tone gentle but firm. “I don’t want you out for too long. You need to rest.”

But just as you start to stand, you overhear a conversation behind you, voices you vaguely recognize — former classmates, their tones incredulous, like they can’t believe what they’re seeing.

“Is that Y/N?” One of them asks, the disbelief clear in her voice.

“Yeah, but … wow. She’s changed so much,” another replies. “I mean, look at her. She’s pregnant — and with Lando Norris? How did that even happen?”

You freeze for a moment, uncertainty creeping in as their words sink in. Of course, you knew people would notice, would talk, but hearing it said out loud — how different you are now — makes your heart race a little. They don’t know the half of it. They don’t know how your life shifted so drastically, how Lando swept you into his world and never let go.

Lando’s eyes harden as he catches the exchange. He glares at the group of students, his expression darkening. The possessiveness that always simmers under the surface rises to the forefront. He tightens his arm around your waist as if to make a statement — one that’s loud and clear.

Without breaking his gaze from the group, he speaks, voice low and controlled. “We should stop by Burberry after this,” he says, leaning close to you, his hand pressing against your back, anchoring you to him. “I’ve been thinking we need more clothes for the baby. Maybe some cute outfits with little matching accessories. What do you think, baby?”

His words are meant to distract you, to pull you away from any lingering doubts those comments might have sparked. You look up at him, meeting his intense gaze, and for a moment, you’re not sure if you should feel reassured or overwhelmed by how much control Lando always has over every situation.

The students fall silent, quickly averting their gaze as Lando’s attention stays fixed on you. There’s no mistaking his message — Lando is in control. Of you. Of your life. Of everything. And no one else’s opinion matters.

You swallow hard, nodding softly as you lean into him. “Yeah, that sounds nice,” you murmur, your voice quiet, unsure.

Lando's eyes soften slightly as he looks down at you, clearly pleased with your response. He cups your cheek briefly before turning to lead you out of the hall, his arm still firmly around your waist.

As you walk together through the corridors of your old university, you can’t help but feel a strange mix of emotions — nostalgia, confusion, but also a deep, almost unsettling sense of belonging. It’s as if you no longer fit into the life you once had here, and the only place you truly belong is at Lando’s side, under his protection, within his world.

Once outside, Lando stops, glancing down at you as you lean against him. “You alright, baby?” He asks, his voice softer now, more intimate.

You nod, though the tightness in your chest lingers. “Yeah,” you whisper, but your mind drifts back to the students, to their words. How much you’ve changed.

Lando studies you for a moment before brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You don’t need to worry about what anyone thinks,” he says, his voice firm but gentle. “Your life is here, with me. That’s all that matters.”

He kisses your forehead, the gesture unexpectedly tender, and pulls you closer. “Let’s go to Burberry. We’ll pick out something nice for our baby.” His hand moves down to brush lightly over your bump, possessive and affectionate all at once. “And maybe something for you too.”

You lean into him as he guides you toward his car, trying to shake the strange unease that’s settled in your chest. It’s true — you’ve changed so much in such a short time. But with Lando by your side, there’s no room for second-guessing.

Your life, your future, your identity — it’s all wrapped up in him now. And there’s no turning back.

***

Lando sits behind his massive desk, the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office casting a warm glow across the room. He glances at his watch, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. It’s almost time. Every day around this hour, like clockwork, you arrive at his office with a homemade lunch, dressed in one of your designer dresses and kitten heels, looking as perfect as ever. But lately, there’s an extra reason for his anticipation. A tiny reason.

He hears the familiar knock on the door before it creaks open. His heart, normally steady and guarded, stirs a little, as it always does when you walk into the room. And there you are, with that ever-present bow in your hair, a smaller version of it perched atop your baby daughter’s head as you hold her close.

“There are my girls,” Lando says, his voice low, but with a warmth reserved only for you and your daughter. He stands from his desk, smoothing out his suit as he crosses the room in long, confident strides.

Your daughter, barely a year old, gurgles happily as Lando approaches. He reaches out and takes her from your arms with ease, holding her in one arm while his other hand reaches out to rest possessively on your lower back. His thumb brushes against the silk of your dress, the simple touch staking his claim over you, over everything you are.

“Daddy’s been waiting,” he says softly, his gaze flicking down to the baby in his arms before he turns his attention back to you. “And what did my girls bring me today?”

You smile up at him, a little breathless, always affected by the sheer presence of him. “Your favorite,” you say, lifting the picnic basket a bit. “And something new I wanted to try.”

Lando’s dark eyes sparkle with something unreadable, though you’re sure it’s a mix of amusement and affection. He loves these moments. These tiny, perfect slices of domesticity. He’d once filled his life with the best of everything — lavish lunches from Michelin-starred restaurants, anything he wanted at the snap of his fingers. But none of it compares to this. To you, his beautiful wife-to-be, and the child you both created together.

Without a word, Lando steps away from you just long enough to sit down on the edge of his massive desk, setting your daughter on his lap. She immediately grabs for the bow on his tie, her tiny fingers tugging at it while she babbles incoherently. Lando laughs — a sound so rare that even you pause to savor it.

“She’s got good taste,” he comments, adjusting her tiny hand so she doesn’t pull the knot loose. His eyes meet yours again, and you know that he’s shifting the focus back to you. He always does. “You two make quite the pair, you know that?”

You blush a little, smoothing the front of your dress as you walk over, the baby’s gaze following you. “I think she takes after her daddy,” you tease softly, though there’s truth in your words. Your daughter’s eyes are the same shade of bright green as Lando’s, her expressions sometimes eerily similar to his — calm, calculating, but always with a spark of something mischievous beneath the surface.

Lando’s expression softens, though the control, the dominance that defines him, never wavers. He slides off the desk and takes your hand, pulling you toward him until you’re standing between his legs, his chest close enough to brush against yours.

“Do you know how perfect this is?” He asks quietly, the words intimate, meant just for you. His hand, the one not balancing the baby, comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. “You. Her. This …everything.”

You tilt your head slightly, leaning into his touch, feeling the familiar tug of his pull on your entire being. There’s something in the way he looks at you, something that both grounds you and makes you feel like you’re floating.

“I couldn’t ask for more,” you whisper, meaning every word.

Lando’s eyes narrow slightly, that smirk you know all too well tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh, but I can. And I will.”

You blink, confused for a moment, but then you see the glint of metal as his hand slips into his pocket. He pulls out a small, black velvet box and opens it in one smooth motion. The ring inside is enormous, the diamond catching the sunlight streaming in from the windows and casting shimmering reflections across the room.

Lando doesn’t ask. He doesn’t get down on one knee. That’s not his style. There’s no question in his mind, and there won’t be in yours, either.

“We’re getting married,” he says, his tone leaving no room for discussion, no space for hesitation. His eyes are locked on yours, the weight of his words sinking in slowly, like gravity pulling you deeper into his orbit. He’s not making a suggestion. He’s making a decision. For both of you. Just like everything else in your life together.

Your breath catches as he takes your left hand, sliding the ring onto your finger. It’s heavy, almost too heavy, but then again, isn’t everything with Lando like that? His presence, his control, his love. All of it weighs on you in ways that sometimes feel overwhelming, but at the same time, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Lando, I …” Your words falter as you stare down at the ring, a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. Excitement, disbelief, love. “I wasn’t expecting …”

“You don’t have to expect anything,” Lando interrupts smoothly, his hand still wrapped around yours, anchoring you to him. “I make the decisions for us. And I’ve decided it’s time. I want you as my wife.”

Your heart races at the finality in his voice, at the way he always seems to know exactly what you need before you even realize it yourself.

You look up at him, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something — vulnerability, maybe — in your expression. But Lando catches it, and his hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you close until your foreheads are almost touching.

“Trust me,” he murmurs, his voice low, intimate. “This is right. We’re right.”

You nod, the words catching in your throat as emotion wells up inside you. “Yes,” you finally whisper, your voice shaky but certain.

Lando’s smirk deepens as he presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your lips, a soft, possessive brush of his mouth against yours.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your skin, the praise making your heart flutter.

Your daughter gurgles in Lando’s lap, her tiny fingers still clutching his tie, and he chuckles softly, pulling back just enough to glance down at her.

“See that, little one?” He says, his voice shifting into something softer, more playful as he speaks to your daughter. “Mummy’s going to be Mrs. Norris soon. Isn’t that right, baby?”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and filled with happiness, as you reach out to stroke your daughter’s cheek. She coos at you both, completely oblivious to the monumental moment that just unfolded.

Lando shifts his grip on her, settling her more comfortably in his arms before his eyes meet yours again. There’s a heat in his gaze now, something deeper, more possessive. “We’ll have a celebration soon,” he says, his tone firm. “But today, I want you all to myself. No distractions. Just us.”

Your pulse quickens at the implication behind his words, and you feel a familiar warmth spread through you as you lean into him, your fingers curling around the front of his shirt.

Lando tilts your chin up, pressing another soft kiss to your lips, and for a moment, the world outside disappears. It’s just you, Lando, and your daughter — the family you never imagined, but the one you wouldn’t trade for anything.

“Let’s have lunch,” you finally say, breaking the silence with a soft smile. “I made all your favorites.”

Lando’s eyes darken with something unspoken, but he nods, the smirk still playing at the corner of his lips. “After,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “Right now, I want to spend time with my girls.”

And with that, he pulls you even closer, the weight of his presence wrapping around you like the most precious gift of all.

***

Lando lies in bed with you curled up against his side, his arm draped possessively around your waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. The room is dark and quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside the penthouse windows and the occasional faint sound from the baby monitor on the nightstand, signaling your daughter’s peaceful sleep in the nursery next door. It’s a rare moment of calm, one of the few times when Lando’s dominant presence seems softer, more intimate.

But even in moments like these, where his touch is gentle and his voice low, that control is never far beneath the surface. It’s in the way his arm tightens slightly around you, holding you close as if he can’t bear to let you go, not even for a moment. It’s in the way his eyes, though closed, seem always watchful, always aware of you, of every movement you make.

You let out a soft sigh, your body fully relaxed against his. It’s been a long day, but a good one, filled with moments that have become your new normal — bringing Lando lunch at the office, watching him melt when he sees you and your daughter, his two girls, as he always calls you. The rhythm of your life has shifted since you became a family, but Lando remains the constant anchor, the force that drives everything forward.

As you settle deeper into the warmth of his embrace, Lando’s hand moves from your waist to rest gently on your stomach, his palm warm against your skin. The gesture seems innocent at first, a continuation of the tender touches you’ve shared all evening, but then his hand lingers, his fingers spreading out slightly as if to claim more of you.

His voice breaks the silence, soft but unmistakably deliberate. “You know,” he begins, his tone casual, yet carrying that undercurrent of intent that always makes your heart race, “I’ve been thinking.”

You open your eyes, tilting your head slightly to glance up at him. “Thinking about what?”

Lando’s eyes are still closed, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the kind that tells you he’s about to say something that will change everything. “About us,” he says, his hand pressing a little more firmly against your stomach. “And about how perfect you looked carrying our little girl.”

Your breath hitches slightly at his words, a flush rising to your cheeks as the meaning behind them begins to sink in. “Lando …” you start, but your voice falters, unsure of what to say.

He opens his eyes then, looking down at you with that piercing gaze that always makes you feel like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him. “You’ve been perfect, baby,” he says, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate register. “More than I ever imagined. But now …” His thumb strokes your skin, just beneath the swell of your stomach, and his eyes darken with that familiar possessiveness. “It’s time for the next one.”

You blink up at him, your mind racing to catch up with his words. “The next one?”

Lando nods, his expression entirely serious, but with a hint of excitement beneath the surface, as if he’s been thinking about this for longer than he’s letting on. “It’s time we started working on our next baby,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I want to see you pregnant again. And this time …” His hand tightens just slightly on your stomach, his voice taking on a more commanding edge. “I want you to be pregnant when we get married. Walking down the aisle with my ring on your finger and a little bump under your dress. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

Your heart skips a beat at the image he paints, the idea of walking down the aisle, your hand in his, your body already showing signs of the new life you’d created together. It’s overwhelming and thrilling all at once, the way everything with Lando always is.

“Lando,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to process what he’s saying. “We just had our daughter …”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and filled with that familiar confidence that always sets you on edge. “And she’s perfect,” he agrees, his fingers trailing up to brush the side of your face. “But why stop there? We’re just getting started, baby. I want a family. A big one. And I want you to be the one who gives it to me.”

His words settle over you like a blanket, heavy and warm, filled with expectation. There’s no question in his tone, no room for hesitation. Lando has already decided, just as he always does. And as much as the thought takes your breath away, there’s a part of you that already knows you’ll give him what he wants. You always do.

You bite your lip, your mind racing as you try to form a coherent response. “But … what if I’m not ready?”

Lando’s eyes darken at your hesitation, his hand moving from your stomach to tilt your chin up so that you’re forced to meet his gaze. “You are ready,” he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “I know you are.” He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You were made for this, baby. For me. For our family. And you’ll give me what I want, won’t you?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, your body already responding to the commanding tone of his voice, the way his words wrap around you like a vice, pulling you deeper into his world, his desires. You nod slowly, unable to do anything else. “Yes, Lando,” you whisper, your voice trembling with both anticipation and submission. “I’ll give you what you want.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face as he pulls back to look at you, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, a reward for your obedience.

He doesn’t waste any more time. His hand moves lower, slipping beneath the sheets, his touch firm and deliberate as he begins to remind you exactly who you belong to. Your breath hitches, your body arching toward him instinctively, already pliant under his control.

“You’re going to look so beautiful, baby,” he whispers against your skin as his hand moves with expert precision. “Walking down the aisle with my child growing inside you. Everyone will see. Everyone will know.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mixture of desire and awe flooding through you. He’s not just talking about a wedding. He’s talking about a future, one that’s already been mapped out in his mind, one that you’re destined to follow. And as overwhelming as it is, there’s something undeniably thrilling about being part of his plan, of knowing that you’re the center of his world, the one who will give him everything he wants.

Lando’s movements become more insistent, his lips trailing down your neck as he presses you further into the mattress, his body radiating heat and control. You can feel the weight of his expectations, the force of his desire, and it’s enough to make your head spin.

“Lando,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as your body trembles beneath him.

“Shh, baby,” he soothes, his voice dark and commanding as his hand continues its relentless pace. “Just let go. Let me take care of you.”

And you do. You always do.

[strang3lov3]

Clean

Joel makes a mess on you, then keeps you in the bathtub until the water goes cold. (3k)

Tags - dark!joel, one shot, smut, fingering, come shot, manspreading, masturbation, overstimulation, forced orgasms, dubconnnnnn, daddy kink, innocence kink, inexperienced reader, biiiig girthy yet unspecified age gap, weird feelings and some good ol' fashioned shame, hitting, Joel is fatherly in a hot and disgusting way, calls himself 'your old man', gratuitous use of the nickname 'kiddo'. Say the affirmation with me: The ickier it is, the harder I nut.#bushnation, MORE DEPECHE MODE REFERENCES. TRY AND STOP ME. Like car sex, I write bathtub sex uniquely in that I’m not bound by bullshit ass physics or logic so yes, both people fit in the tub and everything is fine. Reader is bathed by Joel, her hair is washed and finger-combed by him too, but length and texture are not described. This was a decroded fic for me to make i can't lie Fic help - @endlessthxxghts, thank you for always seeing my disgusting visions and giving me your eyeballs A/N - thank you for all the birthday wishes, dear friends in my phone! I celebrated with you all last year when I was writing Mall Rats and it’s special that a lot of you are still with me today, but some I have new friends too ❤️ I love you. Having readers like you in my corner all this time has been beyond special and so rewarding and I hope you know I mean it when I say that I love you.

You’re washing the dishes tonight, your least favorite of the chores Joel makes you do. You prefer doing laundry or plucking the weeds with him, because he lets you collect flowers and put them in vases. He even taught you how to press them between heavy books, and how to frame them nicely. 

Joel calls your name from upstairs. You quickly wash and dry your hands, then scurry up the steps. His door is closed almost all of the way, just a small sliver of light peeks from his room into the dark hallway. “Joel?”

“In here, sweetheart. Need ya for somethin’.” 

You push open the door the rest of the way, and Joel’s naked and sitting upright on the edge of his bed, cock in hand with his bare thighs spread wide. He’s grunting as he squeezes the base, the tip all flushed and swollen. “C’mere. Switch me spots.” 

You don’t yet obey his order. You’ve seen Joel’s cock before, seen him masturbate before, too. Despite that, it still makes you feel nervous to see him and be with him like this. It gives you that icky feeling in your gut and makes you breathe funny. 

“C’mon. You know it ain’t gonna bite ya, kiddo.” Joel stands up  and pats the spot on the bed. “Sit,” he says, his tone sharper than before. “Need somethin’ pretty to come on.”

 Joel doesn’t like repeating himself. You won’t make him ask a third time. 

You sit on the bed, the covers warmed and slightly damp by Joel’s body heat don’t comfort you. He stands in front of you, rock-hard cock bouncing in his loose grip. “Why don’t you give me a hand this time,” he says, reaching for your wrist. He pulls it up to waist level, then wraps your palm around his member, closing your fingers tightly. “Ohhh, fuck,” Joel groans from deep in his chest. Loudly, he breathes in and out through his nose as he twists your hand up and down his shaft. “Jus’ like this. That’s a good girl.” 

This is, however, the first time you’ve ever felt his cock. All of your firsts with Joel have never gone the way you thought they would. The first time he saw you naked, touched you, or that you saw him - it was all surreal and rather abrupt. Joel tells you things like this are always a little new and funny at first. 

His cock feels heavy in your palm. You think about the things you like about it - the warmth, all of his veins and ridges, how smooth and soft the head is. But it’s a little sticky, too, which is unexpected to you. 

“Alright, alright. S’enough,” Joel says, pulling your hand away. “Lift up your shirt.”

You lift your shirt, pushing it up your torso until it’s bunched just beneath your breasts. “Nuh-uh. Like this,” Joel murmurs, pushing the garment up above your chest, exposing yourself entirely to him. He rubs his thumb in circles over both of your nipples so that they pebble under his touch, then gropes and squeezes your flesh. “Lie back,” Joel says, pushing you down on the bed. “Attagirl.”

You watch as Joel pumps his cock above you, the end of his fist slapping against his softened belly repeatedly. He breathes heavily, and his dark eyes are wild like an animal as his gaze is fixed on your naked form. Joel breathes quicker as he approaches his release, grunting a slew of swears he doesn’t allow you to say. “Fuck, goddamn. Oh, goddamn,” he hisses as ropes of his hot come spurt onto your body. He covers you like a canvas; his favorite painting, and for his eyes only. 

Joel collects a bit of his spend up with his first two fingers. “Give it a taste,” he says. “Want you to try it.”

You open your mouth, and Joel pushes his calloused digits inside, painting your tongue with his come. “Suck,” he says, and you do. You furrow your brows at the salty, bitter flavor, how it tastes dissimilar from its scent. “Don’t like it?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think so.”

Joel chuckles, cupping your jaw and rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. “S’okay. Y’don’t have to.” Joel yawns then, patting your cheek gently with his weathered hand. “C’mon, kiddo. Bath time. Daddy made a mess a’ ya, didn’t he?”

Joel walks you to the bathroom with him, holding your hand the whole time. He puts the little rubber stopper in the drain of the bathtub, then turns the water on. “Warmer, pl-”

“Don’t need a reminder, sweetheart. Know you like it hot. Daddy won’t let you freeze.”

“And bubbles.”

“I know, baby girl. I won’t forget your bubbles.”

As the bathtub fills, Joel opens the oak cabinet under the sink and pulls out the old bottle of bubble bath, the one he’s been refilling just for you. He pours a capful under the water, bubbles immediately building. It smells mostly of nothing, but a bit of that original bubblegum scent remains. Your image reflected in the mirror begins to blur as steam fills the bathroom, and when the tub is full, Joel shuts off the water. He helps you undress and then gets in the tub first, carefully lowering himself until he’s sat with his back against the wall. “Jesus, s’hot. Gonna turn us both into soup,” Joel laughs. You smile shyly. 

 He spreads his legs, then outstretches his arm to you. “C’mon. Hop in.” You take Joel’s hand, squeezing it while wobbling a little on your one foot as you step into the bath. “I gotcha, kiddo,” he says. 

The water is warm on your feet, nearly burning you but you enjoy the tingle. Joel helps you down, lowering you until you’re submerged in the water, your back against his warm chest, his thick package pressing against your ass. 

Joel fills an old, plastic measuring cup with the soapy bath water and brings a hand to your chin, tilting your head back so he can rinse your hair. The hot water feels soothing on your scalp, and Joel repeats the action until your hair is soaked all the way through and dripping down your back. 

You giggle at the noise the bottle of shampoo makes when Joel squirts a bit into his hand. He lathers it between his palms, then scrubs your scalp. “Eyes closed, kiddo. Don’t wanna hurt ya,” he whispers. 

Your eyes flutter shut as Joel works the soap into your hair, scrubbing your scalp all over. He alternates between scratching you gently with his dull nails, to massaging you with the tips of his fingers. He uses his thumbs to rub the base of your skull in circles, the other four fingers of each hand drawing lines up and down and all over. Once Joel’s built a thick lather, he uses the same plastic cup to rinse out the shampoo.  

He conditions your hair next, working the cream into the strands. He uses his fingers to loosely detangle, “Ow, daddy,” you complain as he tugs on a knot. 

“I know, I know. M’sorry, baby girl.” Joel presses a kiss to your forehead. “Was an’ accident. M’tryin’ to be gentle.” He rinses out the conditioner next, “Grab me that bar of soap, will ya?” he asks. 

“Mhm.” You lean forward and reach for the orangish, rectangular bar of soap in front of you on the shower niche, then grab it and hold it over your shoulder. 

Joel takes the soap, “Thank ya kindly, darlin’.”  He dips it in the soapy bathwater before lathering it between his palms that are already beginning to prune. Gently, he pushes you forward to scrub your back and your neck, then pulls you right back into himself. “Gimme an arm,” he says, a slight rasp in his voice. You raise your arm for him and he washes you with the lather, “An’ the other,” Joel adds, now washing your other arm, massaging you with his strong hands. “Here-” Joel taps your shoulder with the soap. “Your daddy’s gettin’ old,” he grumbles. “Can’t bend like he used to. Wash your legs f’me, sweetheart.” 

“Okay,” you murmur, taking the soap back from him. You lather the soap just like Joel did, then wash your legs one at a time, bending them at the knees. When done, Joel reaches over you to take the soap back. He pulls you back against his soft middle and puts his soapy hands on your torso, sliding them up and down your skin, washing off his now dried spend. He groans quietly as he washes your breasts, kneading the flesh there and circling your nipples with his slippery fingers. You feel his cock twitch against you. 

Joel washes down, down your stomach. “Spread ‘em,” he says, and you part your legs wider. Your stomach jumps when his hands rub past your pubic hair and he washes your folds, that soft, private place between your thighs. You whimper when his thumb catches your clit. 

“That feel nice, kiddo?”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you search for an answer. 

“I-”

“You can tell your old man. I know it does,” Joel coos, rubbing his thumb left and right over your clit. You lean your head back and turn your head to the side, burying yourself in his bicep as you whine. “You don’t take much at all, do ya, sweetheart?”

Joel’s made you come before. It’s one of the first things he did when he brought you home, actually. But you amaze him every time, how quickly and easily you fall apart on his fingertips. He thinks about tasting you for the first time, how sweet you’ll be on his tongue. Or his cock, down your throat or between your thighs and splitting you in two. God, you’ve so much to learn, and Joel gets to walk you through it all. His favorite innocence. 

Joel adjusts you both so that you’re sitting more upright and he can reach around you with both hands. “Rest on me,” he says, pressing the side of your head against his so that his scruff is tickling you, but not scratching you. It’s too long for that.

 Joel peers over your shoulder to watch what he’s doing, and to watch how you react. Your soft tummy rising and falling with big breaths, thighs twitching. Joel circles your clit with his middle and ring fingers, patiently working you up. “How’s that feelin’?” he asks, “Can you tell daddy?”

“Mm,” you hum, “Yeah…”

Joel chuckles, dragging the tip of his aquiline nose along the side of your face. “Use your words, baby girl,” he instructs. “Good girls use their words, hm?”

“Feels g- feels good,” you whimper, voice breaking as Joel works you. He rubs your clit faster now, and you’re rocking against his palm, splashing the water a little. 

Joel brings his other hand to your core and lines two fingers up with your entrance, slowly pushing in while he massages your clit. You wince in pain, squeezing his bicep as he pushes them in further. 

Joel hums in sympathy. Being in the bath means you’re not a slick, slippery mess like usual. “Know it hurts, kiddo, but you gotta get used to it.” Joel’s fingers are all the way inside you now, and he pulls them back out. “You’ll get used to it,” he drawls, now pumping those fingers in and out of you, slowly. “You’re bein’ so brave for me, baby girl.” 

The ache of Joel’s fingers stretching you out dissipates eventually, and he changes the action - instead of drawing his fingers in and out of your cunt, he curls them repeatedly inside of you - Joel knows you love when he does this to you. 

You moan freely, relishing in the pleasure. Joel’s right, he’s always right. You’re used to him now, and he feels so good. Swirling his fingers around your clit, stroking that sweet spot inside you with the other hand - it takes no more than five minutes until your breathing turns ragged and you feel that hot, sticky feeling in your gut, the one that feels both bad and good all at the same time. 

“Ask for it,” Joel mumbles, reminding you of your manners as he senses how close you are. “Be polite.”

“Please,” you say, “Can I come?”

“‘Course you can, sweetheart. Of course.”

The orgasm washes over you quickly. You come with a symphony of breathy moans, saccharine in nature. Joel’s never heard anything like it, and he’s grateful he has enough of his hearing left to be able to. 

With his weathered, wrinkled fingers, Joel fucks you through your climax until the last of it courses through you. You come down, but Joel doesn’t stop touching you. 

Maybe he thinks it’s not yet over. Joel keeps doing those same tight circles on your clit, and you start to squirm. “Joel–” you wrap your hands around his forearm and attempt to move him, but his strength is far too great for your efforts to mean anything at all.  

“Sit still. You’re givin’ me another one.” 

Joel keeps your back pinned tightly against his hairy chest, your legs spread wide with his hand in between them, patiently swirling his middle and ring fingers around your swollen and over-sensitive clit. Your hips are starting to ache and the sensation of Joel pleasuring you has turned uncomfortable, downright painful. 

“I wanna be done, Joel. I can’t do another one,” you whimper, voice shaking as tears well up in your eyes. There’s nowhere to run, and you know you just have to take it. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he whispers soothingly, his ministrations on your pussy unfaltering. Joel’s holding you back. You’re not supposed to tell him no. “Know you can.”

His words serve more to frustrate you than encourage you. “I. Can’t,” you huff as you try to pull away from him and close your legs shut in the now lukewarm and soapy water, but Joel keeps you in position in his vice grip. 

“Knock it off,” he growls. Joel has to hide his amusement. You’re quick to anger, just like he is. Just like your daddy. “Jus’ relax.”

You’re close, and whether you realize it or not, Joel does. Your twitching legs, the way you’re breathing. Release is right around the corner if you’d just calm yourself down. Poor thing. You always did struggle with regulating yourself.

“Get - I told you-“ you interrupt yourself to groan, “You’re not listening to me, daddy. I said I c-can’t fucking—” you don’t finish the sentence and instead seethe in frustration, jerking and splashing bath water onto the floor. “F-”

Joel slaps your cheek, hard. “Easy,” he scolds, “I didn’t raise you to speak to me like that.” Joel his nose against the side of your head and bites your ear, the way a dog does with a pup. A warning. “An’ I don’t have to listen to you. You listen to me,” he adds. “Adjust the fuckin’ attitude and try it again before you piss me off.”

Your voice cracks as you whimper Joel’s name, a sob then escaping your chest. Your cheek stings and tingles, like you never stopped feeling the impact of Joel’s hand meeting your skin. 

“Don’t start cryin’, just breathe. Breathe. Go slow,” Joel instructs, pleased when you inhale steadily. On your exhale, Joel whispers, “You need me to talk you through it?”

You nod against him, sniffling. “Then I’ll talk you through it. Focus on my voice, focus right here, kiddo,” he tells you. “Relax, just a minute. Calm yourself.”

You rest against Joel, and he pauses his ministrations on your clit. “I can’t do it again, Joel,” you plead. “I don’t think I can.” 

“I know what you think. It don’t matter, ‘cause it ain’t up to you, sweetheart. We’re tryin’ it again.” 

Joel restarts, circling and massaging your clit with that same pressure from before. And just like before, it’s uncomfortable. It hurts, and you don’t like it. 

“Lean into it, sweetheart. Let it ride.” 

Frustrated, you shake your head. “Daddy–”

“You need to let it happen. Got all night, sweetheart. Water’s gettin’ cold.” 

“Joel.” Your voice cracks.

Joel ignores you. He pumps his fingers, focusing specifically on your g-spot as he knows how sensitive you are there. Your protests begin to quiet, replaced by soft noises of pleasure. “There it is,” Joel purrs. “Make those pretty noises for me. You’re doin’ good.” 

Pleasure begins to build, just like Joel said it would. It almost makes you mad, mad that he’s right. Always right. Mad that Joel knows your body like the back of his hand, better than you do. The stubborn part of you wants to stave off release, but a bigger part of you doesn’t wanna fight Joel on this. You don’t like to fight with him anyway. You always lose. So, you allow yourself to bask in the pleasure Joel knew you’d feel.

“You gonna come one more time? You gonna come on daddy’s fingers?”

“Yeah,” you nod. Your eyes squeeze shut as the feeling builds, almost exponentially. Your gasps and moans halt and there it is - Joel’s pulled another orgasm from your body. More powerful than before, the feeling washes over you like the tide, waves of warmth and electricity flowing over your body with each movement of Joel’s fingers. “Yeah, attagirl,” he breathes. “Manners, sweetheart. What do you say?” 

“Thank you,” you whisper, out of breath. 

Joel rinses you with the water as you come down from your second orgasm of the evening. He taps you twice on the hip, “Up,” he says, and you stand up on shaky legs. 

Joel reaches for an old, floral-patterned towel and dries himself off first, then wraps it around his waist, thick belly bulging over the edge of the fabric. He grabs another towel for you next, drying your legs and arms one at a time before wrapping the towel snugly around your shoulders. 

“You finish those dishes?” Joel asks, pulling the drain stopper out of the tub. 

“Not all of them,” you answer. “I’m sorry.” 

“Nah, don’t you worry ‘bout it. I’ll do the rest, hm?” 

You wear a small smile, “Okay.”

“An’ I was thinkin’ that I could make us popcorn, like you like. Put on a movie. One of those girly ones I picked out for you, huh?”

Your smile grows. “Yeah,” you answer. 

Joel smiles too. “Good. Let’s get you dressed, then.” 

thank you for reading! please consider engaging by reblogging, hopping in my inbox, and/or commenting. your words go so far in keeping me motivated to write ♡

More dark!joel

[reminiscingtonight]

Smooth Operator

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

[WOSO Masterlist]

Aitana’s smirking at you when you drop into the seat in front of her. You’re instantly dropping your face into your hands, wishing the ground would just come swallow you up. 

“What the hell was that?” Keira chuckles, giving you a gentle nudge. 

“What the hell was what?” you huff, shoving Keira back. 

“Nice shoes? Really?” Aitana tags on, joining in on the teasing. 

“I panicked, okay?!” you groan. 

Having joined the team in the last trade window, your best friend thought it would be a great idea to go explore nearby cafes in an effort to immerse you into the Barcelona culture a bit. Aitana tagged along just for funsies, but it was a clear coincidence that the three of you ran into Alexia. The Barcelona captain looked deep in conversation with her sister when the three of you walked into the shop, not even noticing you guys until Alba looked up and waved.

You’ve been enamored with Alexia long before you even joined the team. You’ve only ever had the chance to admire from afar, but it wasn’t until you actually saw her in action that your admiration turned into a feet stumbling, constant stuttering, blushing hot mess. 

You like to take pride in your smoothness, the way you can charm almost any person that crosses your path. Just in the latest national team camp you were voted most likely to talk their way out of a ticket. 

“A couple fluttered eyelashes and a well-placed laugh, who wouldn’t fall for her?”

If only your teammates could see you now. 

Every time you cross paths with the Spanish midfielder you’re grasping at the straws just to string along a coherent sentence. 

Alexia asks if you know the time? You blurt out that your phone is dead before diving behind Keira, ignoring the timepiece sitting upon your wrist. 

Alexia jokes that the Spanish sun is zapping away all of her energy? You trip seconds later, spilling your water all over her.

Alexia defends you in a drill? You stumble over the ball, missing it completely before taking Alexia straight to the ground.

No matter what you try to do, you always end up embarrassing yourself. 

Case in point just a few seconds ago. 

Being the pieces of shit they are, Aitana and Keira send you to order your drinks. Coincidentally Alexia’s back in line herself, ready to get another thing for her sister. 

You’re mentally rehearsing your orders when a gentle hand on your back grabs your attention. Alexia gives you a soft smile when you turn to face her. 

“How are you today?” 

Her english is heavily accented, but it’s nice how she tries to keep you engaged, knowing you’re still struggling through your catalan and spanish lessons.

Or it would be cute if you actually heard any of it, because the truth is anything she says after she flashes a smile your way goes right over your head. Your heart turns to goo, hands getting sweaty, throat going dry.

“You’re so pretty.” 

It’s a whispered comment meant only for your ears. But the second you realize you said it out loud rather than in your head like you intended, your face burns in embarrassment.

Thankfully, Alexia’s eyebrows furrow together, your quiet words difficult for her to decipher. 

“Què? I am sorry, I did not catch that.”

“I just-- I meant--” you fumble, desperately trying to find an excuse. “Your… shoes! Your shoes are very pretty! Very nice too!”

Your voice carries, definitely not meaning to be as loud as it comes out. It’s hard to miss the way Alba tilts her head curiously at the two of you and the way Keira and Aitana start giggling near the back of the shop.

Your face feels even hotter as you will for the line to go faster. The sooner you get out of here, the sooner you can stop embarrassing yourself. And the sooner you can strangle the two bozos masquerading as your friends. 

Alexia still looks confused but she nods. “I… uh, thank you? I think it’s a Nike one. Running shoes.”

Not trusting your mouth to say anything else, you slam it shut. You must look like a madwoman as you nod vigorously. 

You don’t miss the way Alexia gives you a concerned look, but then the barista is calling your name, saving you any more small talk.

A mumbled goodbye and you’re booking it back to your table as fast as you can without spilling any of your drinks.

---

You wish you could say things get better in the following days.

But you’d be a liar if you said that.

So far you’ve complimented Alexia’s club issued shorts, awed over her bare, unpainted nails, have even miraculously asked if she got a haircut (spoiler she did not). Every time you receive a confused look and a tentative thank you, two acts that make the urge to transfer clubs and never show your face again more and more tempting.

None of it amounts to anything until a few days later. 

You’re out getting drinks with the rest of your team after a successful game. You yourself had scored two goals, and Keira, ever the best friend she is, wanted to celebrate your first brace with Barca in style.

The first drink didn’t even last a whole minute. Keira had no choice but to watch you inhale your cocktail, somehow only managing to choke once. She’s lost for words when you also down the shot Mapi slides your way. Reaching across the table, you pick up Keira’s shot as well, tipping back your head before slamming the cup onto the table. 

It isn’t until you’re reaching for your fourth glass that Keira says something, hand quick to cover the drink before you can lift it. 

“Woah there, drink a little faster why don’t ya?” she teases, a silent question of concern underlying her words.

Shrugging her off, you’re quick to down your third shot. “I need a little bit of liquid courage,” you huff, fighting back a wince at the burn.

“Liquid courage for what?” 

Keira’s question is quick to be answered when a shadow falls over the two of you. Keira’s hand is quickly replaced with those of your captain, Alexia not looking too amused to see you drinking so much alcohol during the season. 

“Everything okay over here, chicas?”

She raises an eyebrow, almost daring you to give her a reason to snatch away the only thing keeping you sane at the moment.

Alexia’s obviously expecting a somewhat coherent explanation from you. Or even a half-assed stringed-along excuse. What she gets instead is--

“Will you go out with me?” you blurt out, instantly slapping your hands across your mouth the second the words come out.

Alexia pauses, looking at you with wide eyes. From all around, your teammates are choking on their drinks, clearly not expecting you to just blurt it out like that. 

Unlike their captain, everyone else on the team has been well aware of the affection you’ve been holding for the Catalonian. Ingrid has to elbow Mapi in the side to stop her from cackling, Pina in the same boat with Patri, the older woman nearly falling off her chair in laughter. Meanwhile, Alexia’s mouth opens and closes a couple times as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing. 

“You want to… go out with me?” She sounds confused, as if she can’t comprehend the thought of you being romantically interested in her. 

You’re half mortified, half exasperated that you said it the way you did, but you’ve shown your cards at this point so you might as well just roll with it. 

“This is embarrassing,” you mutter, eyes nervously darting around the room. “I’ve been trying to ask you out since like… day three of joining Barca.”

An unhelpful snort escapes Keira and she wither as you direct your glare towards her. 

But the anger is short lived as a soft finger curling under your chin has you raising your eyes back up to Alexia. Your captain looks amused, a small smile starting to settle on her face. “So you asking about my shoes a couple days ago was you trying to flirt with me?” 

The tease causes your face to flush even more red as you wince. “Yeah, that didn’t really come out the way I intended.”

The quiet laugh Alexia lets out should make you feel even more mortified, but you’re past the point of caring anymore. Now if only Alexia would grant you the mercy of a quick rejection you could finally let go and squash this giant hopeless crush of yours. 

“I’d love to go on a date with you,” Alexia chuckles, giving your cheek a fond pat. It’s done mockingly, really, but you can’t help but be endeared by the action. 

“Really?” You’d be embarrassed by how quick you light up but that would be the least embarrassing thing you’ve done all month so really you could care less.

“Really.”

And sure, you definitely see the way Keira halfheartedly slides a euro over to a gleeful Aitana, and yeah, Mapi’s definitely poking fun about how stupidly unsmooth you are but for tonight you’re the luckiest girl in Barcelona. 

Because you have a date with the Alexia Putellas. 

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[kurooh]

I’MA MAKE U SCREAM ★ S. GOJO & S. GETO

⊹₊˚. a series of unrelenting, mysterious phone calls late at night leads to you being sandwiched between two hot ghostface slashers who’ve got you fucking for your life.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, ghostface! gojo & geto, threesome, knife play, landline phones, mentions of death, oral (f receiving), double penetration, anal/fingering, tongue piercings, pussy slapping, biting. 5.2K words whew (pls read anyway 🧎‍♀️)

xoxo, juno. happy halloween!! thank you to my dearest wolfy anon for beta reading <33 comment & rb if you enjoyed!!! 🎃

“hello?”

“why don’t you wanna talk with me?”

“who is this?” you roll your eyes, unimpressed by the cheery voice coming through the phone. “it’s like eleven at night, what do you want?”

“ya tell me your name, and i’ll tell ya mine,” that voice lilts into a teasing tone, words dripping with persuasive sweetness.

“nah, i’m heading to bed. nice talk.”

“aw, bedtime already? you’re not even gonna watch a movie before you sleep?” the question has your brows furrowing in aggravation, but you sigh, choosing to answer anyway.

“i didn’t have anything in mind,” the caller lets out a laugh, straight into your ear. “what, you’ve got a suggestion?”

“do you like scary movies?” and you can hear the smile in the caller’s voice; he’s amused, probably laughing with his friends over the prank call in the moments of muffled silence.

“i suppose so.”

“don’t you have a favorite? why not watch it?”

“well, i won’t be able to sleep,” you reply simply, twirling the phone cord between your fingers. “but the longer we talk, the more sleep i lose out on. so, have a good night!”

“wait!” the caller snaps, demanding as ever. the sudden outburst sends chills straight down your spine. “don’t hang up on me.”

“and why shouldn’t i?” the blatant defiance has the caller letting out a laugh that sounds rather menacing . . he clears his throat, seemingly returning to his more even tempered tone.

“we’re not done talking,” he says simply, sounding a little crackly through the phone. “so don’t hang up, you’ll—”

a rational person with an interest in talking would certainly call during the day, and only once or twice before quitting altogether to wait for a call back. an irrational person would have your house phones ringing off the hooks while you were in the shower, calling nonstop and then getting far too arrogant once you finally picked up. just as you slam the phone back down, it starts to ring again.

you decide to leave the room, figuring that the caller will tire himself out quickly, but he doesn’t. in the time that you left the phone to go to another room, there wasn’t a single beat of silence. furious, you race toward the phone, fingers sliding on the kitchen counter as you snatch it up.

“fuck you! listen to me, you’d better stop—”

“no, you listen to me,” the caller snarls, and the harshness of his voice has your heart kicking hard against your rib cage. something in your gut tells you that this isn’t just a talkative caller. “don’t fucking hang up on me again, got that?”

you recover some of your composure, goosebumps rising on your skin. the cool breeze blowing through a nearby window adds to the chilling feeling that’s washed over you in only a matter of seconds. “w-well, what do you want, then?”

“i wanna see your insides, dummy,” is the crazed response, and you can’t stop the way your face immediately twists in horror. a clicking sound is heard as the second phone in your house—the one upstairs—is picked up, and another person hops onto the call.

“now, now,” this new voice is smooth, immediately drawing your attention as you listen attentively through the phone. “that’s no way to talk, you’ll scare her silly.”

“what the fuck?” you ask aloud, although you hadn’t meant to. all you can think about is the fact that two weirdos have you almost . . cornered on the phone.

the crazy voice scoffs, ignoring your mumbling. “well, you heard her! trying to hang up and shit,” he clicks his tongue in disapproval before sighing. “anyway, where were we?”

you don’t even say anything, and the other voice exhales into the phone. “see, look at what you’ve gone and done now. our girl’s too scared to talk to us, isn’t she?”

“look, i-i’m just gonna go to bed. goodnight.”

“you’re not going anywhere, honey,” the calmer one of the two says, but this time his voice is much clearer, almost as if he’s standing beside you. you take a step backward, trying to shake off the weird feelings and relentless goosebumps spreading across your skin.

you might as well be wearing nothing.

the satin slip dress you were planning to sleep in is as thin as plastic wrap; you’ve backed up into someone’s strong chest and thanks to the thinness of your pajamas, you can feel each sharp ridge of muscle. the pecs are strong, firm to the touch, and the abs are hard enough to cut diamonds. fear races through your body, so overwhelming that your lips part to let out a scream—but the noise is muffled by a large palm that pulls you back, flush against the muscles. separated only by a few layers of clothing, you can feel the warmth of their body and the casual rise of their chest as they breathe. if you weren’t being silenced, this would be comforting, in a way.

“promise you won’t scream, baby?” that calm voice has a dangerous edge; you nod immediately, frantically, desperately — as you feel a few tears gather in your eyes. this . . does not look, feel, or sound good in any way imaginable. who even are these people? and why you? a seemingly normal thursday evening had gone entirely downhill, and you didn’t even know why.

“good girl,” the person hums, dropping their hand from the lower half of your face and instead replacing it with the sharp edge of a knife. “let’s head upstairs, shall we?” as you ascend the steps, the blade drops lower, until it hovers over the tender skin of your throat. you can’t even turn around and see who the person is, for fear of getting cut over the simple action.

“could i at least turn around?”

“what for?” he asks, nudging the bedroom door open. you’re met with the frightening sight of a person in robes lounging on your bed, against your pillows. they have a spooky, ghostly mask, but you know who it is the second their mouth opens.

“you took the knives out that quickly?” the figure clicks his tongue, raising a hand to his face to pull off the ghostface mask. so this is what this is—some kind of ridiculous scream roleplay . . but the feel of the knife and the way it gleams is too real. “what happened to playing around, suguru?”

“it’s—it’s you! from the phone.” you say, straining against the man behind you, who pulls the knife a few inches away from your throat.

“careful now, doll. you’ll hurt yourself.”

“if you let me go, maybe i’d—” the man on the bed sits up then, pulling off his mask. you can’t see who he is just yet, the shadow from his hood obscuring his face. in a moment, he grabs hold of your face with a gloved hand, fingers squeezing cruelly at your cheeks.

it’s utterly nasty, the way feelings of attraction twist in your stomach. heat rises to your cheeks and you swallow, looking into diamond blue eyes that have your heart fluttering despicably. how is it possible to even be focused on your grim reaper’s looks, almost entirely forgetting their intentions as you lose yourself in those eyes?

“cat got your tongue? i said i wanna see your insides and you didn’t even look fazed.”

beneath the robe, you can see the tips of snowy hair, along with a face that’s far too handsome to belong to some kind of murderer. you shake your head in disbelief, sucking in a breath. “uh . . huh? sorry, i didn’t hear you.”

he drops your face with an annoyed scoff, stepping back to plop down on your bed before fully pulling off his hood. “y’know what—suguru, you deal with her.”

the man behind you pushes you forward, and you awkwardly take a seat beside the sighing killer. suguru tugs off his mask and inspects the knife closely, running a gloved finger over the edge before nodding. “might as well use the knives on you. maybe you’ll hear us then?”

“what’re you—why’re you doing all this?” you ask, the words sputtering out of your mouth nervously. “is there any way i can convince you not to cut me open?”

suguru looks at his literal partner in crime, pushing his black bangs away from his eyes as he speaks. “oh? trying to cheat death, sweet thing?”

you shrug, casually flopping onto your back. the satiny fabric of your dress flips up, and you unintentionally give both of them a great view of your panties. now that they’re deliberating how to move forward with you, the fear of the situation has dissipated greatly. “i just wanna go to bed and live to see another day tomorrow. name the price for my life and i’ll pay it.”

“those are fighting words,” suguru remarks, “don’t you agree, satoru?”

satoru nods, eyes glued to the thin fabric covering what’s between your legs. his mind runs wild as he imagines what he and suguru could impose on you. they’re practically in sync—suguru looks over just as satoru looks up, the two of them sharing a knowing look.

“hmph. sit up and listen.” satoru nudges your thigh, and you do as he says, looking bored. the whole night has done one too many 180s, giving you the most severe case of whiplash in your life. you’d initially been annoyed, terrified, then mildly attracted, and now . . almost indifferent.

“you’ve got my full attention.”

“we’ll let you live, on one condition,” satoru raises a finger before you can object, while suguru’s eyes covertly sweep over your body. “think you could handle us at the same time?”

a proposition for a threesome is something you certainly did not see coming! you bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to maintain composure. suguru spices it up with a smirk, dragging that sharp knife of his along the edge of your jaw.

“you’ll have to fuck like your life depends on it.”

it does. tension weighs the air down, filling the room with a thickness even suguru’s knife couldn’t cut through. sweat beads along the skin of your spine and you exhale in defeat. being between these two would be hard—in all ways possible; but one mistake and they’d probably end up slitting your throat.

truthfully, you’re willing to risk it. most girls don’t usually cross paths with two men that are each extremely attractive and willing to share you between one another. you squeeze your thighs together, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“y-yeah, okay. i’ll do it.”

“atta girl,” satoru praises, the corners of his eyes crinkling. a wicked smile finds its way onto his rosy lips, but you don’t back down, instead spreading your legs. you look between them, a silent invitation extended in one glance.

“lie back for us.”

“you were the one who told me to sit up—” perhaps the unnecessary snark isn’t a good idea, not with the way suguru eyes you warily.

satoru leans in hastily, connecting his lips with yours to effectively shut you up. his body barrels into yours, pushing you into suguru, who catches you and cages you against his strong chest. the knife is abandoned as he strokes his fingertips along the tender skin of your neck, sighing into your ear while satoru occupies your lips.

“so pretty. heh, you’re pretty every night.”

suguru’s touch has you letting out a moan that satoru eagerly swallows, his gloved hands roaming your body. however, he seems to remember he’s got gloves on; without pulling away, he snatches them off.

“her tits, suguru—play with her tits.”

the mumbled words are audible only to suguru, who complies with a chuckle. unlike satoru, he makes no move to do away with his gloves. you moan, his hands squeezing at your tits while his fingertips stroke over your nipples until they grow hard.

“s-suguru,” you mewl, pulling away for a moment to suck a breath into your deprived lungs, “keep touching me there—just like that.”

satoru’s palm comes down hard against the side of your thigh, and he grips your face, forcing you to look at him. “focus on me, got that? wouldn’t want him to stop, would you?”

you shake your head, and in a split second, satoru’s got your upper lip between his teeth. he bites down playfully; the impact makes you gasp, and he seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. arousal pools in your panties, and you fidget in your spot between them, hoping that you’ll finally get the attention you’ve been craving sooner rather than later. suguru’s tongue drags against your neck while he takes in the scent of your body wash from earlier’s shower. there’s a cool sensation coming from the center of his tongue—you can feel a firm ball of some kind.

it’s a little shameful, getting this hot and heavy from a simple kiss. only, his tongue rolls against yours, and any semblance of embarrassment melts away. suguru’s fingers pinch both of your nipples at the same time, sending shockwaves right to your pussy.

“fuck,” you sob into satoru’s mouth, practically lightheaded from how overwhelming it already is, as well as the lack of air. “i-i need more.”

suguru hums, continuing to toy with your hardened nipples. “already slutting yourself out for us, sweetheart? that was fast, wasn’t it?”

satoru finally draws back, a glossy string of spit connecting your lips to his. he doesn’t move just yet, savoring the moment like a piece of special candy—you’ve practically got hearts in your eyes, all hot and bothered because of him. well, suguru is a factor, but he didn’t put in nearly as much work as satoru.

“lie back for us, babe.” this time you don’t fight them on it, scooting off suguru so you can comfortably prop yourself up on the mountain of pillows.

“tsk. this dress ought to go.” suguru brandishes his knife, and cuts through the satin material of the slip as easily as a stick of butter.

“hey!” you snap, the remains of your dress sliding off to the sides of the bed like rags. “what about you two!? you can’t just cut up my clothes like that when neither of you are naked!”

satoru rolls his eyes, tossing your legs apart. meanwhile, suguru clearly isn’t done with that knife; he trails it along the slopes of your naked body, the edge of the blade sharpened in a way that has you gasping. he applies a little bit of pressure, and your skin splits like it would after a paper cut.

“a-are you cutting my skin open?” you ask incredulously. you know the answer, but for whatever reason, you don’t pull away from him.

“maybe,” he replies breezily. “‘s nothing deep. you can handle it, can’t you, honey?”

“would you look at that?” satoru wolf whistles, and heat rises to your cheeks as he gathers your legs together, tugging them up. the knife pauses at your collarbone as suguru leans backwards to take a look, and his eyebrows raise immediately.

“she’s fucking soaked.”

“put the knife down ‘n come give it a taste.”

satoru’s request is breathless, but effective. the knife falls onto the blankets, and for a moment you use your head to consider what might happen in the future—someone could sit on that thing, lie down on it. satoru’s tongue rips the thought out of your head and replaces the words that were on the tip of your tongue with a sweet moan of bliss. your clit throbs at the prospect of more, and their balmy puffs of breath fanning over you only arouse you further.

their faces press together, side by side as they start to eat your pussy in a way that immediately has your back arching and hips bucking. satoru focuses all his attention on your clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over it while suguru slurps up all of your slick. there it is again, that cool sensation—he’s got a tongue piercing. the moonlight shines through the flowy curtains, illuminating the killers in an almost angelic glow . . maybe they’re actually pussy killers.

“‘s like fucking candy,” satoru moans, tongue dipping down to gather up your slick. it bumps into suguru’s, and he only lets out a laugh that sends vibrations through your entire core. “sweetest pussy i’ve ever tasted, shit.”

the room fills with the lewd, nasty sounds of their slurping and licking as they devour your pussy together. you slip a finger between your teeth and bite down once one too many noises threaten to escape you, and suguru pulls back to land a smarting slap on your pussy.

“ah ah. do not try to go quiet on us.”

“sorry, ‘m sorry,” you stutter dumbly, mind and body reeling from the delicious sting of the slap.

“we want you screaming,” he emphasizes, spitting onto your cunt and watching as it flutters, the glob slipping down more rapidly due to the movement. “and you will be, by the end of all this. understand, doll?”

you nod hastily, and his eyes flick upwards to your face, the hardness in them a simple warning. “yeah, i understand.”

satoru’s drawing hearts and letters on your clit, each one making you shudder more than the last. each drag of his tongue makes him moan as he takes in more of your taste. beside him, suguru’s dips his tongue between your folds, the sensation nothing more than a tease. they plan to split you open on their cocks, and getting you desperate for it is only the first step of their plan.

“ngh, t-that’s so fucking good,” you cry, thighs quaking on either side of their heads. “please, i’m gonna cum.”

“give it to us,” satoru is the first to speak, his voice clear as it cuts through the lewd sounds in the air. he’s got one hand on the side of your thigh, holding you open just for them. “on our tongues, like a good girl.”

satoru’s ministrations on your clit grow more insistent; he’s working to pull your orgasm from you, while suguru continues to slurp at your messy pussy, his eyes falling shut. a familiar and overwhelming sensation coils in your tummy; it’s one that has your hands flying to both suguru and satoru’s heads, fingers finding purchase in their hair.

“i—i think ‘m gonna cum,” you cry, back arching off the bed while your hips jolt forward into their faces. after hearing the first word of your delirious warning, satoru replaced his tongue with his finger and moved beside suguru, the two of them slurping all your cunt has to offer. to them, it’s like drinking ambrosia.

you’re pulling hard at their hair, only encouraging them to groan against you. suguru speaks, eyes rolling back from just a little hair pulling. but it makes sense, with hair like that. of course his scalp is very sensitive.

“cover us in your cum, baby.”

obedient and right on time, your pussy gushes, hole fluttering around nothing while your clit throbs beneath satoru’s finger. the intense orgasm has left you twitching from the aftershocks, gasping for breath, and overly sensitive. of course, satoru and suguru take advantage of the aforementioned sensitivity with smirks on their faces.

“no, wait, i-i just came,” is all you can sob, your hands smacked away once you try to tug them off your aching cunt. “satoruuu, suguruuu.”

suguru only laughs, mimicking your tone with a roll of his eyes. “aw, babyyy. that’s too bad, isn’t it?”

with how sensitive you are, it’s not hard for them to drag a second orgasm out of you. this time, a few tears cascade down your cheeks as you fall over the edge with a pitched cry. satoru spanks your still twitching cunt and laughs at the way you gasp and recoil, legs still trembling.

“suguru, whatcha think? you wanna take her mouth ‘n i’ll fuck her pussy?”

“that’s far too considerate, satoru.” he shakes his head, talking about you as if you’re not in front of them. “c’mon,” suguru purrs, gesturing for you to get up as he slips off his robe and boxers. “lie on top of me.”

you can’t help but ogle, a little starstruck by his body and the thrill of everything. he sticks out his tongue playfully when he notices you staring, the metal ball in his tongue gleaming. his abs flex and his cock bobs as he lays down on your bed, beckoning you over with a gloved finger. satoru gulps, panting softly at the sight. following his best friend’s lead, he slips off his matching clothing and mounts the bed, which sinks under his weight with a creak. part of you wonders if the bed frame will give out by the end of this.

“hand me the lube,” suguru grunts, catching the small bottle in his larger hand. the liquid is cool, even through the leather of his gloves. he rubs his fingers together to warm it up a little for you. his fingertips prod at the tight ring of your asshole, and you let out a squeak of surprise.

“c’mon. relax for me, doll.”

you take a breath, body sweltering with arousal. this is certainly new for you, but you don’t complain—and anyway, the slight coolness of the lube feels good against your hot skin. satoru bites down on his lower lip as he watches his best friend prep you to take both of their cocks at the same time. something wicked has the corners of his lips curling up into a smile as he pictures you screaming for them.

likely picturing the same thing, suguru tongues at your jaw, kissing the tender skin wetly before nipping hard. you can only cry out, his lips serving as a simple distraction while his fingers push inside and stretch you out.

you gasp, and he feels you squeeze down hard on his fingers, hips jerking away. “come now, don’t run from it,” suguru coos, twisting his body beneath you to angle you the right way again. he ignores your whining, and satoru silently strokes his cock to the sight. “i know, i know. just breathe for me, ‘kay?”

slowly, your body accommodates the new stretch without any more sting or discomfort. in fact, your hips begin to rock into his fingers, chasing them when he starts to pull out.

“i-i think she’s ready, suguru,” satoru finally speaks up, clearing his throat. his voice is a little choked, and you can clearly see the flush on his cheeks even in the dark. “for both of us.”

“you hear that, honey?” his warm breath fans over the shell of your ear, making you shudder against him. “let’s see who can make you scream the loudest—me or satoru.”

“as if,” the man in question huffs, pushing your thigh to the side and looking over your dripping pussy with an obvious hunger. “fuck, baby. i’m gonna ruin you.”

with that, satoru grasps his cock and guides it inside your needy cunt. suguru does the same, pushing his length into your ass. the three of you moan collectively, a harmony if ever there was one. you sob, tears burning at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of the stretch.

satoru grits his teeth and grips your hips for support, then pushes all the way inside you. he bottoms out easily, his cock sliding against suguru’s, separated only by a thin layer of tissue. so thin that they can feel the shape of one another’s cocks through you.

“fuckin’—shittt, oh my god,” satoru’s easily overwhelmed, heart pounding in his ears while sweat covers his entire body in a sticky sheen.

suguru bites your neck hard, but the pain registers as pleasure despite the fact that he tastes a few irony drops of blood on his tongue.

“do either of you plan to move?” you complain, lips parting in an ‘o’ shape around a whiny moan. “or are we just gonna sit here—”

“shut the fuck up,” suguru groans, clapping a dry and gloved hand over your tits before squeezing them. “we’ll move when we fucking feel like it.”

waves of almost euphoria wash over your entire body, leaving you breathless and panting. when you’d first met these two, you’d been sharp and aware of your surroundings, but now everything is hazy and your body burns as though you have a fever.

the bed creaks dangerously as satoru jumps into action, slowly rocking his hips into yours with a few choked, wanton moans. before long, he’s more confident, fucking into you with a tight grip on your skin and at an invigorated pace. you’re so hot and oh so tight—satoru fucking loves it—you feel perfect. he loves the way you squirm on top of his best friend, hips canting forward eagerly to meet his. the evidence of how good he’s making you feel is painted all over your face, apparent in the wobble of your lower lip and the tears in your eyes.

you hear a sigh from behind you. “can’t lose the bet,” suguru’s voice is laced with faux sympathy. it takes him a few seconds, but he finally starts moving, groaning in approval at the shake of your body and gasping, ragged breaths.

above you, sweat rolls down satoru’s face, the snowy tips of his hair sticking to his forehead while others fall in front of his eyes. “y-you like it like this, baby?” the question is rhetorical, but your whimpering tells him everything he needs to know. the corners of his lips curl into a smile that’s soon wiped away by overwhelming pleasure. “you’re taking us so fuckin’ well, sweetheart . . driving me insane, goddamn.”

“i second that,” the metal ball of suguru’s piercing clicks as he sweeps his tongue over his teeth, panting hard into your ear. “really, baby . . feel like the luckiest fuckin’ guy in the world right now, heh.”

as if you’re not the luckiest girl—being sandwiched between these two is a dream you didn’t even know you had. inside you, their cocks throb against one another, dragging in and out of your holes ruthlessly. the tempo only speeds up, becoming too much too quickly.

you nudge a weak, clammy hand against satoru’s waist, arching your back on top of suguru and nearly nailing him in the face with a reverse headbutt. before the latter can say anything, satoru snatches your hand and intertwines your fingers with his, then pins it down to the bed. he advances forward, his chest now against yours to keep you still.

“ah ah,” he tuts, his nipples hard as they press against yours, “move your damn hand, baby. this is what you wanted, remember?”

“i certainly do,” suguru titters, nipping at your earlobe. “don’t be like that. you can take it, can’t you?”

his words are convincing; he’s got you nodding in acceptance. he’s right, of course. this is what you wanted earlier—you’ve been taking both of their cocks so fucking well. just as you tell yourself you’ll make it through this, satoru’s fingers ghost along the soft skin of your stomach. despite the exhaustion that’s setting into his body, his hips don’t even stutter as he focuses on your swollen clit.

“oh . . oh my god,” the words are torn from your throat, which only grows more sore with all the noise you can’t seem to stop making. a familiar shakiness settles in your voice, and you’re fighting to keep the breath in your lungs, but it escapes you far too easily. “i’m-‘m gonna cum for you, ‘m—”

as you hurtle closer to all encompassing euphoria, the sounds of skin slapping against skin fade out and grow foggy. yet, you manage to hear their voices eagerly spurring you on, the two of them in the same boat as you.

“yeah, ‘s right. fuckin’ cum for us, baby.” satoru’s own orgasm creeps up on him, his head tipping back as your pussy starts to flutter around his cock. of course, suguru can feel the throbbing of his best friend’s cock and the quavering of your needy pussy. he releases your tits, seeing the bruising he’s left before squeezing his eyes shut in concentration.

“ya heard him, honey,” he utters after a long groan, his voice low and husky. “take all of our fucking cum.” you gasp out, nodding your head frantically as you teeter over the edge.

everything happens fast, and all at the same time. satoru cums inside you, his broad shoulders shaking as he rides it out while your pussy practically milks him for more. your cunt spasms, hips jerking upwards from the intensity of it. the movement pushes out suguru, his cum leaking out of your bruised ass and spilling in white puddles on his pelvis.

satoru looks down, biting down on his lower lip as he pulls his cock from you. this is quite the reward, seeing cum pour from both of your spent and twitching holes. your shuddering, sweltering body finally begins to cool after what feels like hours. suguru’s exhausted, but he kindly lifts you and lays you down on the bed beside him. satoru flops down beside you with a heaving sigh, only to lay on the knife from earlier.

“ow, fuck!” he jolts, sitting up and tugging the sharp blade from where it’s tangled in the sheets. he unceremoniously hurls it to the floor, laying back down with a vengeful huff.

you’re too tired to laugh, but a small smile plays on your lips. “do you still wanna kill me?”

“not right now,” suguru throws an arm over his face, gesturing in the direction of the floor. “the knife’s down there, anyway.”

you sit up, craning your neck to take a look. from what you can see, the floor is littered with their dark costumes and two masks, the knife completely out of sight. “i don’t see it.”

“hm, remember we talked about making you scream for us?” satoru speaks up, and in your dizzy haze, you don’t notice that glint in his eyes.

“uh, yeah, i think so? i thought you already did.”

“don’t you watch scary movies?” suguru scoffs, looking at you from beneath his forearm. “you should know what happens next.”

you laugh, rolling your eyes. “yeah, whatever. what happens next, you kill me? very funny. let me convince you again,” and you clear your throat. “no, please don’t kill me, mr. ghostface! i wanna be in the sequel!”

satoru simply shakes his head, and the knife plunges into your back. with a gasp, you sputter out a few garbled words, blood pouring down your bare back as you fall backwards onto the bed. you writhe on the mussed sheets, blood spilling from your lips and trickling down your chin in vermillion rivulets. beside you, the blood covered suguru and satoru let you struggle aimlessly until your body stills; then they slip their masks on again . .

“andddd cut!” the director jumps from his seat with proud claps, and the production assistants rush in from every direction to help clean up the mess.

“satoru, fuck! that knife was so sharp,” you sit up, sending a glare his way as you wipe the fake blood off your skin. despite being a fake knife, the shiny plastic point was rather jagged.

“excellent performances, the three of you! our halloween special is sure to be a hit!” the director is gushing as he praises the three of you.

“yeah, yeah,” suguru says, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “i’ve gotta take a shower. seriously, the corn syrup is so fucking sticky.”

[hoshifighting]

the ''ick's'' seventeen would give

seungcheol: would act tough in front of his friends, and with you would be talking like; pweaseee/otay/i wuv u so much 🥺 like—shutthefuckup

jeonghan: stole your lip gloss. yep, dead serious. you look over, and he’s pulling out your cherry gloss, pouting at himself in his phone camera to check it. then he has the audacity to judge you if it’s not his color. like, “babe, don’t you think this is a bit bright?”

joshua: man has this cringe little habit of saying “no cap” at the worst times, and he’s always wrong. burnt his toast? “no cap, that was the toaster’s fault.” got pulled over? “no cap, that cop’s jealous of my car.” you’re in a horror movie, and this dude would whisper, “no cap, i think we should split up.”

junhui: starts telling a hilarious story about his day but accidentally mixes it up with a story he already told you last week. he’s all “wait, have i told you this before?”

hoshi: eats with so much sound. slurping, groaning, making it a whole event. like, eating ramen? nah, he’s performing ramen, making eye contact, giving each bite a sound effect. and it’s so bad you’re rethinking why you even suggested dinner. you can hear every noodle hitting his mouth. done.

woozi: texts you “wyd” every fifteen minutes. like you’re just supposed to be sitting around waiting for his updates on what you’re doing, right? he’s the kind of guy who’ll FaceTime you just to check if you’re having too much fun without him. and the way he says “wyd?” – every. time.

wonwoo: he’s got a pet name for his gaming console. this boy will sit there, caressing his controller and calling it “baby” while yelling at his avatar. it’s all fun and games until he actually ignores you mid-sentence to mutter sweet nothings to his PS5.

minghao: changes his accent mid-sentence to be "fancy." like, you’re talking normal, but suddenly he’s doing his best British impression for no damn reason. “oh, quite right, love, terribly splendid.” and it’s out of nowhere, totally unprompted, with a smirk like he just did something magical. you’re cringing so hard you’re practically folding into yourself.

mingyu: he’ll be all smooth one minute, but then he gets real comfortable and lets out the loudest, most unholy fart you’ve ever heard, like it was a fart held since WW2.

seokmin: pulls out a super old toy he’s kept since childhood and starts playing with it, getting all emotional about “the good ol’ days.” like, bro, you’re a grown-ass man, and you’re here with a plastic dinosaur, talking about how it “used to roar.”

seungkwan: catches a whiff of something weird in the room and just straight-up sniffs his armpits. he does it casually, like it’s no big deal, then he looks at you dead seriously.

vernon: goes way too hard on his “cool guy” vibes. constantly pulling his hat down low, trying to act all mysterious, but he’s accidentally walked into the wrong bathroom twice just trying to “look chill” or, walking in the room with his backpack wide open (we have proofs). he does this squinting thing like he’s in a music video, but it’s just… nope.

chan: calls himself “alpha.” no, seriously, he’ll be like, “as the alpha, i need to handle this.” and he’s referring to something like taking out the trash. leaving you jaw dropped, wondering why he’s talking like a lost wolf.

[flwrstqr]

✦ ENHYPEN WHEN YOU LEAVE LIPSTICK STAINS

PREC𝓲S ✦ enha x f!reader warnings skinship, petnames && 789wc 𓈃 ♡ fluff, head canons, one shot ─── ˖ 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 ୨୧

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 (이희승)

heeseung chuckles, catching your mischievous smile as he sees the bright lipstick stain on his cheek in the mirror. “baby, you’re marking me up,” he teases, looking over his shoulder with that familiar glint in his eyes, clearly enjoying it more than he’d admit. you just grin and lean closer, brushing your lips across his jaw again, leaving another soft mark. “what? you don’t like my little reminders?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his waist. heeseung pulls you in, his hands warm as they rest on your hips, whispering, “you know i do. now everyone else will know i’m all yours.” he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, mumbling, “but maybe i should leave a few on you too, just to be fair.”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐀𝐘 (박종성)

jay laughs softly, feeling your lips press against his cheek, leaving a rosy mark he catches in the mirror. “princess, you’re making a mess,” he murmurs, voice full of adoration as he turns to pull you closer, his hands settling gently on your waist. you just giggle, trailing another kiss across his jaw, clearly not stopping anytime soon. “so? you don’t like my little touches?” you tease, and he sighs, shaking his head with a smile that’s all love. “you know i do,” he whispers, thumb brushing your cheek softly as if you’re made of glass. “i’d wear a hundred of these if it means everyone knows i’m yours.” and with that, he leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead like you’re the only thing that matters.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 (심재윤)

jake grins as he catches sight of the faint lipstick stain on his jaw, courtesy of your latest shower of kisses. “babe, you’re leaving lipstick stains,” he teases, tilting his head down to look at you, his eyes full of mischief. you just laugh, planting another playful kiss on his cheek. “oops… guess i can’t help myself,” you say with a wink, hands resting on his chest as you pull him closer. he smirks, letting his fingers trail along your waist. “oh, i don’t mind,” he murmurs, voice dropping as he leans down, “but if you keep this up, i’ll have to return the favor.” you gasp, pretending to pull away, but he’s already cupping your face, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “yeah, not getting away that easily, pretty girl.”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 (박성훈)

"baby, look what you did to me," sunghoon murmurs, a teasing smile spreading as he tilts his head, showing off the faint pink smudge at the corner of his mouth. your cheeks warm as he leans closer, his fingers gently tracing your chin. "that was supposed to stay on you, you know," you mumble, trying to wipe it off, but he just chuckles, catching your hand. "nah, i kinda like it," he says, eyes glinting as he pulls you even closer, his hand slipping around your waist. "you mark me up as much as you want, love." he presses a kiss to your temple, leaving a soft whisper against your skin. "now, go on—leave another one. maybe right here?" sunghoon points to his jaw, grinning, "can’t have anyone thinking i’m not completely taken."

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎 (김선우)

“yah, are you trying to make me your canvas or something?” sunoo laughs, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the faint pink stain you left just under his jaw. he gives you a playful glare, but the way he leans closer says otherwise. “don't act like you don’t like it,” you tease, smoothing down the collar of his shirt as you press another kiss right where his cheek curves. he blushes, but his lips curl up, eyes shining. “you’re right… but don’t blame me if people start asking why i’m covered in your lipstick.” he tilts his head, looking down at you with a soft smirk. “i could get used to this, y’know? maybe next time, a little higher up?”

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 (양정원)

"you’re getting lipstick everywhere, you know that, right?" jungwon murmurs, but there's a softness in his eyes that betrays any real protest. his hand rests on your waist, pulling you in closer as you leave another kiss on his cheek, a faint pink mark blooming under your lips. “mm, and you don’t mind one bit, do you, baby?” you tease, your fingers brushing his hair back gently. he chuckles, barely shaking his head, eyes half-closed as he leans into each kiss like he’s savoring them. "never," he whispers, his voice tender. "you can cover me in as many as you want.” his hands find your face, holding you still just so he can press a lingering kiss on your forehead, his smile full of warmth. “as long as they're from you, i’ll wear them all day.”

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 (西村力)

“wow, really going all out, huh?” riki laughs, his fingers brushing over the bright pink lipstick mark you just left on his cheek. he tilts his head, flashing you a playful smirk. “you trying to claim me or something, princess?” he teases, tapping his cheek with a grin, daring you to leave another. you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you lean in, pressing another kiss, this time right near his jaw. “maybe i am,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “any complaints?” he scoffs, pulling you in by the waist, eyes sparkling. “yeah, one big complaint… you’re not putting them everywhere else,” he whispers, leaning down so you’re practically nose-to-nose.

[theonottsbxtch]

EL COQUETO | FC43

an: welcome back as we write about my n.1 pookie, i've got some more works planned for him BUT i've just gotten to france so imma be very busy rip, based off of this request

summary: when franco catches feelings for a journalist who is persuaded he doesn't really want her.

wc: 7.6k

The paddock was alive with energy, buzzing with the hum of engines and the chatter of the press as they swarmed around the new driver. She watched him move through the crowd with ease, a slight swagger in his step and a dazzling smile that had already made him the focus of every camera. He was the story of the weekend: Franco Colapinto, the unexpected mid-season replacement, here to shake up the grid with his flashy driving style—and, evidently, his unapologetic charm.

He caught sight of her, raised an eyebrow in recognition, and made a beeline toward her with the confidence of someone who knew he’d be welcome, even if he hadn’t been invited.

“Hola,” he greeted, his voice carrying a thick, rolling Spanish accent that seemed to coat every word in warmth. “You must be my next question of the day. They warned me about the best journalist here—of course, I was told to behave.”

She gave him a practised smile, cool but polite. “Franco, welcome to the team. How are you feeling about joining mid-season?”

His eyes sparkled, unfazed by the businesslike tone. “How am I feeling?” He leaned in just slightly, as though sharing a secret. “Well, right now, very lucky. They said I’d get tough questions, but they didn’t say the interviewer would be… distracting.”

She fought the urge to look away, just barely managing to keep her composure. “So you feel ready for the pressure, then?” she asked, refocusing, though the tiniest hint of a blush warmed her cheeks.

“For the track? Yes, I am prepared to race anyone.” He paused, letting his gaze linger on her a beat too long. “For the interviews? That remains to be seen. Perhaps you can teach me how to handle that part, sí?”

She could sense her colleagues nearby, some watching with open amusement as they caught his flirtatious energy. Franco was as smooth as they came, that much was certain. But she wouldn’t be the one to crack first.

“I’m sure you’ll learn quickly,” she said, tilting her head, her voice steady, though her heart raced. “Now, back to the race. What are your goals for this weekend?”

His grin broadened, but he played along. “Goals for the weekend,” he echoed thoughtfully, shifting back into the question. “Win a few hearts, break a few records—no particular order.” He winked, and she felt a laugh bubble up before she stifled it, opting instead for a brisk nod.

“Right. Well, I hope you’re ready for the competition,” she managed.

He shrugged, eyes glinting with mischief. “With you here, qué competencia?”

She gave him a pointed look, resisting the smile tugging at her lips. “You know, charm doesn’t score you points on the track.”

“Ah, no?” He tilted his head, feigning surprise. “Then I suppose I’ll have to win the hard way.”

Just then, a flash of cameras went off around them, the media eating up every angle of Franco’s arrival. He seemed entirely unfazed, even performing slightly for the flashes. The crowd around them surged with questions about his plans, about what his first practice would look like, about his last season in Formula 2. But Franco’s attention was still locked on her, and he hadn’t missed a beat.

“So,” he said, with that soft smile of his, “do you think I’ll be able to charm Formula One, or will they be immune to my Argentian ways?”

She gave him a dry smile. “You might have your work cut out for you. It’s not a stroll through Argentina, after all.”

He laughed at that, clearly enjoying her wit. “You’re tough,” he said, a touch of admiration sneaking into his voice. “I can see why you’re the best.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Flattery won’t distract me from the questions, Franco.”

“No? Not even if I try very, very hard?” he asked, drawing out the words with a grin. It was ridiculous, really—the way he leaned into every word, the way he seemed to shine in the spotlight. But there was something endearing about it too, something that felt… unexpectedly genuine.

“Not even then,” she replied, her tone light but steady. “Let’s talk strategy. What’s your focus for your first race?”

He sighed, shifting slightly but keeping that glint in his eye. “Fine, I’ll behave,” he said with a sigh, straightening up to answer. “My focus is simple: get the car under me, push it to its limits, and aim for a strong finish. Maybe even a few surprise overtakes. I’ve been itching to get back on the track.”

It was the most serious answer he’d given yet, and she noted the shift in his voice—a hint of intensity breaking through the smooth, easy charm.

“And your teammate?” she pressed, sensing she’d found the thread to pull him out of his flirtatious veneer. “Are you prepared for the rivalry?”

Franco’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment, a flicker of something sharper in his eyes. “My teammate…” He paused, glancing away briefly before meeting her gaze again. “He’s William’s best. I’ll learn from him, give him the respect he deserves. But I didn’t come here to play second.”

She watched as someone next to her scribbled down his answer, though her mind wandered slightly, wondering at the complexity beneath his charm.

“Good to hear,” she said, offering a small nod. “We’ll all be watching to see if you live up to that confidence.”

“I live up to my promises,” he replied smoothly. Then he leaned in one last time, lowering his voice just for her. “One of them being to get at least one smile from you by the end of the weekend. I’ll start with that goal.”

Before she could reply, he gave a casual wave to the crowd, moving on to the next journalist as though he hadn’t just made her heart skip a beat with his easy, disarming confidence. She watched him go, flustered despite herself.

One thing was certain: Franco Colapinto was going to be a story.

When the time came, the race had barely begun, but her eyes were already glued to the screen, following the sleek white-and-blue car with Franco’s number emblazoned on the front. Despite her best efforts to stay neutral, to approach this like any other weekend, there was something magnetic about watching him. Franco Colapinto, the audacious rookie, who’d barely spent a week with the team and had taken to the grid without a single day of training in an F1 car.

From the start, it was clear he was playing it differently. He didn’t charge forward recklessly like other rookies might have, eager to prove themselves. Instead, Franco took a few cautious laps, feeling out the car, testing its responses. She noticed how his style evolved lap by lap, each one more aggressive, his moves sharper. He was adapting, learning the car right there in the thick of the race.

As the race progressed, he began to gain ground. Corner after corner, he squeezed every ounce of performance from his machine, edging closer to the pack with each lap. By mid-race, he was overtaking the backmarkers, slipping past seasoned drivers who had years on him, and the commentators were buzzing.

She caught herself smiling, feeling a strange, almost foolish pride as she watched. The memory of his easy, arrogant grin flashed in her mind, his voice low and teasing: “Do you think I’ll charm Formula One?” She’d laughed it off, but he had something special, didn’t he? That hunger for the track, the sheer nerve to go head-to-head with anyone in his way.

Then, as if her thoughts had summoned trouble, the camera cut to his car—a close-up on his visor as he fought for P12. Her heart caught as he made a daring move, threading his car through a razor-thin gap into the next turn. It was reckless, and yet somehow—somehow—he made it stick.

“P12!” The radio crackled through his team radio, their voice as surprised as she felt. For a rookie with zero F1 experience, it was practically a victory.

She exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The chequered flag fell, and Franco’s car slowed down, his voice breaking through the team radio with a triumphant laugh, half-sighing, half-cheering in disbelief at his own result.

When she saw him back in the paddock, she managed to slip past the swarm of journalists waiting to pounce, positioning herself where he’d inevitably cross her path. She didn’t want to admit how much she wanted to hear his version of the race firsthand, to see if the adrenaline still sparkled in his eyes the way it had behind the visor.

When he finally caught sight of her, his face lit up. “Ah, my toughest questioner returns,” he said, the grin wide as he raked a hand through his hair, still tousled from the helmet. “So? Impressed?”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her expression composed. “Not bad for a first race,” she said, voice calm but betraying the slightest hint of a smile. “Though I have to say, you took some pretty risky moves out there.”

Franco laughed, that low, familiar chuckle that could disarm anyone. “You sound like my engineer. But I had to make it interesting, didn’t I?” His gaze softened slightly, the playfulness ebbing for a moment. “I did better than you expected, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, leaning in just a bit. “I wouldn’t let it go to your head, though.”

He feigned a wince. “Ah, so I’ll have to work harder to impress you, then.”

With that, she couldn’t hold back the smile any longer. “Perhaps,” she said, voice softer. “But you’ve made a start.”

She followed the rest of the press corps into the media pen, her notebook in hand, watching as Franco slipped into his role with practised ease. The other drivers, still catching their breath, answered questions in measured tones, clearly exhausted. But Franco was… well, Franco. He leaned back against the barrier, relaxed, a half-smile playing on his lips as he answered questions, some about his lack of training, others about his shockingly high finish.

She hung back at first, observing him as he effortlessly charmed each journalist in turn, flashing that disarming grin and making even the toughest questions seem like casual conversation. But when his eyes caught hers across the small crowd, he subtly waved her forward, his grin widening.

“Ah, finally,” he said, his tone playful as she approached. “I was starting to think you were hiding from me.” The other journalists shot her curious glances, some smirking at Franco’s obvious interest.

She managed to keep her expression neutral, clearing her throat and lifting her voice to a professional tone. “Franco, congratulations on P12. Quite a debut.”

“Gracias, cariño,” he replied, eyes sparkling. “For a moment, I thought you didn’t think I could do it.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly take the most traditional route,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You had us all on the edge of our seats with those overtakes.”

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice to just above a murmur, his gaze fixed on hers. “I thought about what you said. ‘Charm doesn’t score points.’ So I had to give you something else to smile about.”

She could feel her cheeks warm under his steady gaze, and she fought to keep her expression cool. “Don’t flatter yourself, Franco. I’m just here to report the facts.”

“Hmm,” he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, though a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, the fact is, I went from P20 to P12 on my first day. But somehow, I think I still haven’t impressed the person who matters most.”

“The person who—?” She trailed off, exasperated. “Franco, you were the story today.”

“Was I?” he asked, the innocent tone entirely ruined by the mischief in his eyes. “Because if I’m the story, you’re the reason it’s a good one.”

Before she could protest, he glanced over her shoulder at the next journalist, nodding politely. Then, in a flash, he was back to her, clearly undeterred. “When can we continue our interview?”

She forced herself to keep her composure. “I think you’ve given me more than enough material for one day.”

“A pity.” He shook his head, though his grin was unmistakable. “Then maybe next time, you’ll be a little more impressed.”

She watched him walk away, shoulders loose and steps casual as he moved from one group of reporters to the next, answering their questions with the same easy confidence he’d shown with her. She could still feel the heat of his gaze, the lingering effect of his words making her pulse quicken.

“Wow.” The journalist next to her, a seasoned reporter with a wry smile, gave her a knowing look. “You okay there? He has that effect, doesn’t he?”

She blinked, quickly snapping out of her daze, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “I—yeah, I don’t know what’s going on,” she muttered, shaking her head, trying to compose herself. But she could still hear his words ringing in her ears, his playful teasing, the warmth in his gaze. “The person who matters most.”

“Oh, I think I do.” The other journalist smirked, nodding in Franco’s direction as he laughed and clapped a fellow driver on the shoulder. “It seems Franco over here has a slight crush.”

She scoffed, though it came out more flustered than she’d intended. “Franco has a crush on every woman he talks to. It’s his… thing since he got here.”

The journalist raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Maybe so, but I’ve watched him all day and that was different.”

Her colleague’s words only made her cheeks grow warmer. Was it that obvious? She was used to managing tough interviews, unflappable under pressure, and here she was, thrown off by a driver who hadn’t even been in Formula 1 for a full week. But somehow, Franco’s charm wasn’t just some casual game to him; it felt more… intense. And he’d directed every bit of that intensity straight at her.

The journalist chuckled. “Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the attention—it’s not every day a rookie looks at you like you’re the finish line.”

She glanced away, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. She didn’t want to admit it, not to her colleague, and definitely not to herself, but there was something in the way he’d looked at her, like she was more than just another journalist, more than just one of the many people crowding his spotlight.

“Well, let’s hope he stays focused on the real finish line,” she replied, aiming for a casual tone that didn’t quite land. But she couldn’t deny it—Franco Colapinto was becoming more than just the story of the weekend. He was starting to feel like her story, too.

Later that evening, she sat in her hotel room, trying to unwind from the chaos of race day. The lights of the city glimmered outside her window, but her mind was still caught on Franco—his effortless charm, that maddening smirk, the way he’d singled her out, even with half the media pen watching. It was absurd, really. She’d covered far bigger stories, spoken with veteran champions, and yet one rookie had managed to leave her feeling more flustered than she’d care to admit.

With a sigh, she scrolled through her phone, halfheartedly catching up on messages, until a notification popped up that made her heart skip.

Francolpainto has sent you a message.

She hesitated, a mix of curiosity and nerves swirling in her stomach as she opened it. The message was simple, casual—like he hadn’t already spent the whole day keeping her off balance.

Franco: Hola! Are you at the hotel?

Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed a quick reply.

Her: Yes, I am.

The response came almost immediately.

Franco: Perfect! I’m downstairs in the lounge. Come have dinner with me?

She stared at the screen, her mind racing. It was tempting—she’d be lying to herself if she said it wasn’t. But she knew his type all too well, didn’t she? The charming new driver who flirted with every journalist, every fan, anyone who would listen. She could already imagine him saying the exact same things to another reporter tomorrow.

No, she couldn’t let herself get pulled in. Not by someone who was probably just looking for a bit of attention.

Her: Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. Long day.

She set the phone down, hoping that would be the end of it, but a new message came through almost instantly.

Franco: Too bad. I was hoping I’d finally get a smile out of you without a hundred cameras around.

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t deny the small flutter his words sent through her. He was persistent, that was for sure.

Her: You’re very determined, Franco. But I have to ask—do you make this invitation to all the journalists?

A pause, just a few seconds longer than his usual quick responses. Then, his reply appeared, simple and direct.

Franco: No, just the one who keeps me on my toes.

Her: Pity, this one isn’t intrested.

She set her phone down after typing that, ignoring the little thrill that shot through her when he messaged her again almost immediately. Franco’s charm was undeniably effective, but she wasn’t about to let herself become just another name on his roster of admirers. He’d have to do a lot more than offer a casual dinner invite if he wanted her attention.

Franco: Really? You’re going to turn me down just like that?

She smirked at the screen. Of course he wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

Her: Really. I’ve seen you in action today, Franco. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to keep you company.

A longer pause this time, as if her words had taken him off-guard. When he replied, his tone was more thoughtful.

Franco: That’s not what I meant. Today was… different. I don’t want to go to dinner with just anyone. I want to go with you.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to stay firm. She typed a quick reply, keeping it casual.

Her: Nice try. But I’ve seen the way you charm everyone you talk to. You’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want me to believe that.

A few minutes passed, and she wondered if maybe he’d let it go. But just as she was about to put her phone down, another message appeared.

Franco: Okay. Fair enough. How about this: tomorrow, after practice, let me show you what a real date looks like. No crowds, no cameras. Just you and me.

She hesitated, feeling the pull of curiosity mingled with doubt. She knew he could be as persistent as he was charming, and there was something intriguing about his willingness to push past her refusal.

Her: Why should I believe this isn’t just a game to you?

His response came quickly this time, almost earnest.

Franco: Because no one else makes me want to try this hard. I’m not playing around here, cariño. Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it.

She smiled, a little thrill rushing through her. For the first time, he seemed genuinely off-balance, unsure, and she couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Her: We’ll see if you mean that. Good luck tomorrow, Franco.

Franco: Gracias. And just so you know… I’m not giving up that easily.

The following week, she found herself in the bustling paddock of the Baku, her eyes catching sight of Franco’s car parked in the paddock. She had to admit, he’d stayed true to his word since their last exchange, staying out of her messages—though his lingering glances and smiles across the paddock hadn’t exactly disappeared. If anything, he seemed more determined, more focused. It was all part of his act, she reminded herself. And yet, there was something undeniably thrilling about it.

She was busy gathering notes when she felt a familiar presence beside her. Franco had sidled up, hands tucked into the pockets of his team jacket, his easygoing grin making her pulse quicken in spite of herself.

“Back to cheer me on, sí?” he asked, eyes bright with that familiar mischief.

She held back a smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “I’m here to cover the race, Franco. Your cheering section is back there.” She nodded to the growing crowd of fans waving his name on signs with Argentinan flags just a few metres away.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich. “They’re great, sure, but I was looking for one particular fan. The one who told me I’d have to work harder if I wanted to impress her.”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping out of earshot of the nearest camera. “Oh, you remember that, do you?”

“Every word,” he said, his gaze steady. “I thought about it all week.”

A small thrill ran through her, though she kept her voice steady and her tone cool. “Well, if you’re serious, you’ll have to do better than last week’s P12. Otherwise, it just looks like more talk.”

His expression shifted, his easy grin giving way to a flash of determination. “If it’s a higher position you want,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “then I’ll get it. Just keep watching.”

She crossed her arms, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be watching, Colapinto. Don’t disappoint me.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering with something that felt genuine, earnest. “I don’t plan to,” he murmured, stepping back with a wink before heading toward his car.

As he disappeared into the garage, her heart raced. Franco Colapinto, the rookie charmer, was setting out to prove himself to her. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she was looking forward to seeing if he could keep his promise.

She sat in the media centre, eyes locked on the screen as the race unfolded. Franco’s car was easy to spot, weaving its way through the pack with a precision she hadn’t expected. He was starting further up this time, P18, but it was still a long shot to even think he’d break into the top ten. Yet as the laps ticked by, he held his ground, pushing, clawing his way forward with a tenacity that had everyone watching in awe.

“Impressive for a rookie,” she overheard another journalist mutter, and she felt a strange pang of pride.

Halfway through the race, Franco made a daring overtake, squeezing past two midfield drivers into P10. She sat forward, barely breathing. He wasn’t just hanging on—he was gaining, going after every single opportunity on the track with a fierceness she hadn’t seen before.

He’d promised her he’d finish higher than last week, and she’d thought it was just talk, maybe a little playful charm. But here he was, proving her wrong lap by lap.

By the time he made it to P9, she was leaning forward in her seat, clutching her notebook tightly. And then, with a bold move on the final few laps, he passed another driver, slipping into P8. Her heart raced as she watched him hold his ground, fending off the competition, determined to keep the position he’d fought so hard for. The chequered flag dropped, and Franco crossed the line in P8.

She exhaled, a rush of surprise and admiration flooding through her. She’d known he was talented, of course—he wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise. But this? Climbing ten positions in a single race, all for a chance to prove himself to her? It was more than she’d expected.

As the race ended, she moved through the paddock, her mind whirling. Franco Colapinto, the charming rookie who flirted with everyone, had just delivered one of the most impressive drives of the day. For her. And she wasn’t sure if she was more impressed with his skill or his determination to keep his word.

She barely had a chance to catch her breath before she was back in the paddock, microphone in hand, ready to take on the post-race interviews. As she waited for Franco, she replayed his climb through the ranks in her mind—his nerve, his timing, the way he’d handled himself on the track. It wasn’t just impressive; it was astonishing. And as much as she tried to shake it off, she couldn’t ignore the small thrill that ran through her at the thought that he’d done it, in part, for her.

Finally, Franco appeared, still in his race suit his face glistening with the sheen of hard work. There was a slight glimmer of triumph in his eyes as he spotted her, a grin spreading across his face. He walked over, ignoring the other cameras and reporters, his gaze focused squarely on her.

She raised her microphone, keeping her expression as neutral as she could. “Franco Colapinto, P8—your second race in Formula 1, and already a massive improvement from last week. Can you walk us through it?”

He took a quick breath, then leaned in, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Well, you know, someone told me I had to get higher than P12 if I wanted to impress them,” he said, his tone light but his gaze steady on hers. “So I did it for them. Great motivation.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she forced herself to stay focused. She could feel the eyes of the other journalists and team members on them, her colleagues probably smirking at his obvious attempt to fluster her, but she managed to hold her ground.

“Impressive,” she said, keeping her voice level. “And this ‘motivation’—I assume it’s the same one who’s kept you on your toes all week?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, unabashed. “Absolutely. Turns out, when someone challenges me, I take it seriously.” He shifted his stance, his gaze softening just a fraction. “And if they ask, I’ll do it again.”

A few people around them chuckled, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. This wasn’t the usual post-race banter, and he didn’t seem interested in giving anyone the typical driver answers. He was speaking to her as if they were alone, and for a brief moment, she almost forgot the cameras.

“Well, whatever you’re doing,” she replied, finally letting a small smile slip, “it seems to be working. P8 is no small feat.”

He tilted his head, as if studying her. “Then maybe next week, you’ll set the bar even higher for me?” His voice was low, just enough for her to hear.

She felt her resolve waver slightly, but managed to maintain her professionalism. “We’ll see, Colapinto. For now, let’s just focus on how you plan to keep this up.”

He chuckled, shifting his grip on his helmet. “Oh, I think I have all the motivation I need right here.” With one last grin and a wink, he turned to greet the other journalists, leaving her to process what was easily the most disarming post-race interview she’d ever conducted.

Later that night, she was back in her hotel room, unwinding with a cup of tea, trying to shake off the lingering thrill of Franco’s performance—and his audacity in the post-race interview. She still couldn’t believe how he’d shamelessly directed half of his answers at her, leaving her just as off-balance as he had on the track. But as much as she tried to dismiss it, her thoughts kept circling back to his determination, his promise that he’d push harder just because she’d challenged him.

Her phone buzzed with a message, and she glanced down to see it was from the William’s Instagram Account.

Team Rep: Hey, what’s your room number?

She frowned for a moment, surprised by the casualness of the message. But teams occasionally followed up with journalists for clarifications or comments, especially after high-profile performances like Franco’s. Assuming they needed to drop off some post-race press notes or team statements, she quickly typed back her room number.

Her: Room 914.

Team Rep: Perfect. Thanks.

Not even a minute later, she heard a quiet knock on her door. She glanced at the time, wondering if the team rep had come by himself. But when she opened the door, the hallway was empty. Instead, resting on the floor in front of her was a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers—vibrant, unruly, and charmingly imperfect, wrapped with a small card slipped between the stems.

Her pulse quickened. She didn’t have to check the note to know exactly who had left them.

Still, curiosity got the best of her, and she crouched down, carefully lifting the bouquet to pull the card free.

“To my motivation: thank you for the push. Let’s raise the stakes again soon. — F.

A soft, reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She felt the warmth creeping up her cheeks, aware that Franco Colapinto had managed to surprise her again. It was a move so bold, so unexpected—and, somehow, more genuine than any casual dinner invitation could have been.

She sighed, shaking her head but unable to fight the smile any longer. As she placed the flowers on the table, their vibrant petals catching the soft light, she couldn’t help but wonder what Franco would pull next to prove himself. Because one thing was certain: he wasn’t giving up. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want him to.

She couldn’t resist. Picking up her phone, she sent a quick message, keeping it light, casual.

Her: Cute.

It didn’t take long for his response to pop up.

Franco: Oh? You find me cute?

She rolled her eyes, though her heart skipped a beat as she typed back.

Her: No, the flowers were a cute move.

A beat passed, and then came his reply, playful but edged with a hint of something more.

Franco: Well, then… would you let the guy behind the cute move take you out for dinner?

She hesitated, fingers hovering over her phone. She knew what this looked like—a line blurred between work and something personal, maybe too personal. And for him, a rookie who’d just broken into the sport, one misstep could easily become a distraction he couldn’t afford. It wasn’t just her reputation, but his too, and the stakes felt higher than either of them probably realised.

Her: I don’t know, Franco. There’s too much on the line.

A pause, longer than his usual quick responses, and for a moment she thought maybe he’d let it go. Then his reply came through, brief and simple.

Franco: Okay.

She stared at the word, an unexpected pang of disappointment catching her off guard. Franco, usually so persistent, so bold, had accepted her hesitation without a fight. But as much as she wanted to push away her own reservations, she knew she was right. Still, the thought of him backing off now left her feeling… unbalanced.

Setting the phone down, she let out a sigh, glancing over at the flowers resting on her table. A small part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, she’d made the wrong choice.

Four weeks later, they were back at the track, Austin, the usual energy humming through the paddock as teams and drivers prepared for the weekend ahead. She found herself scanning the garages, a little spark of nerves in her chest that had nothing to do with work. Franco had kept his distance over the past few weeks—well, as much distance as someone like him could manage. He was still his playful, charismatic self with the press, charming everyone in sight, but there was something different. He hadn’t followed up on his dinner invitation, hadn’t tried to push beyond her boundaries. She told herself it was for the best. Still, a small part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been too cautious.

Just then, she spotted him near the team’s garage, leaning against the wall in his race suit around his hips, deep in conversation with one of his engineers. When he looked up and saw her, his face lit up, a grin breaking across his face as if no time had passed. She felt a little of that old thrill in her chest as he walked over.

“Hola, stranger,” he greeted, hands tucked into his pockets of his team jacket, his voice as warm and casual as ever. “Miss me?”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “You were just here four weeks ago, Colapinto. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, giving her that familiar, playful look. “Four weeks is a long time, don’t you think?”

She shook her head, feeling a bit of the tension from the past month melt away. Whatever her own doubts, Franco hadn’t let her brush-off change him—he was still here, as charming and persistent as ever. And somehow, that lifted a weight off her shoulders.

“Have you been behaving?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Or should I be prepared for more unexpected flower deliveries?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, his eyes flashing with that spark she was growing dangerously used to. “Depends. You miss them?”

She laughed softly, looking down to avoid letting him see her smile. “I’d hardly admit that if I did.”

He leaned in just slightly, his voice lowering. “Good thing I’m a patient man, then. Because I’m not done yet.” There was a softness to his tone, a hint of something genuine beneath his usual confidence, and it made her heart skip a beat.

Despite herself, she found comfort in his persistence, in his way of toeing the line between serious and playful without putting any pressure on her. For all his charm, he hadn’t crossed any lines. He was waiting, leaving the door open if she ever wanted to step through.

As he turned to head back toward his car, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her a wink. “You know where to find me if you change your mind, cariño. I’ll be around.”

And with that, he disappeared into the garage, leaving her standing there with a soft smile, feeling just a little lighter, a little braver.

She found herself glued to the screen as the race unfolded, Franco’s car darting through the pack with all the finesse and raw determination she’d come to recognise in him. Starting from P17, he had a long climb ahead of him, and as the laps ticked down, he kept gaining ground, his timing sharp, his decisions bold. He was relentless, working his way through the grid with an intensity that kept her at the edge of her seat.

By the halfway mark, he was already up to P12, and she could feel the anticipation building among the journalists and crew around her. Franco wasn’t just driving; he was fighting for every single position, taking advantage of each moment with an almost calculated risk. And he was doing it with the confidence that had both frustrated and charmed her from the start.

Then, in the final laps, with a daring overtake on the inside line, he claimed P10. A top ten finish. It was almost too perfect—his words from the last race echoing in her mind as he crossed the line: “If they ask, I’ll do it again.”

The paddock was buzzing with excitement as she made her way toward the media pen, preparing herself for the post-race interview. She tried to tamp down the flutter of nerves, reminding herself that he’d been charming his way through interviews with her for weeks now. But there was something different this time, a spark of pride mingled with her excitement, and she couldn’t wait to see him walk in.

When he finally appeared, the smile on his face was brighter than she’d ever seen. Still in his race suit, a towel on his head, he strode over to her with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. She raised her microphone, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Franco Colapinto,” she began, her own smile betraying just a hint of the thrill she felt. “P10 from P17—congratulations. Tell us, how did you manage such an impressive climb?”

He grinned, leaning casually into the microphone. “Well, you know me. I like a good challenge,” he said, his gaze holding hers for a second longer than necessary. “And I couldn’t let down the one person who told me I had to keep improving.”

The implication wasn’t lost on anyone listening, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She rolled her eyes slightly, playing it off as best she could. “Seems like you’re making a habit of climbing positions to impress,” she replied, keeping her tone light.

Franco’s smile softened, turning almost genuine. “For some things,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “it’s worth the effort.”

She swallowed, momentarily at a loss for words, but managed to pull herself together, keeping the interview rolling. “Well, you’ve certainly earned that P10. What’s the plan for next time? Any more surprise performances in store?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replied, flashing her a grin. “But let’s say I’ll aim higher than P10 next time. If someone out there is willing to set a new challenge for me, I’ll be ready.” His words hung in the air, a subtle invitation that made her heart skip a beat.

She couldn’t hold back her smile as she wrapped up the interview, his gaze lingering on her with that same unspoken promise. And as she watched him walk away, her heart raced with the thrill of what might come next, realising that maybe—just maybe—she was ready to see where this challenge would lead.

As Franco walked away, she felt the lingering warmth of his gaze, that same thrill coursing through her that she’d tried so hard to brush off. But now, it seemed, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. The interview had felt like more than just a casual exchange; his words, his look—there was something real beneath the flirtation, something she found herself wanting to chase.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of post-race coverage and media duties, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him, to the way his eyes had held hers, steady and genuine, as he’d promised to aim even higher. It was only when she caught herself looking around the paddock, almost instinctively, that she realised she was seeking him out. By then, her professional caution had faded, replaced by something far less reasonable but far more enticing.

She knew she was violating so many unspoken rules as she made her way around the paddock, ducking out of the more crowded paths and slipping past the occasional lingering crew member. A pang of guilt buzzed at the back of her mind, but it was no match for the magnetic pull drawing her toward his driver’s room.

She stopped outside the door, exhaling a shaky breath as her pulse raced with a mix of nerves and anticipation. The hallway was quiet, the sounds of the bustling paddock fading away. Before she could second-guess herself, she raised her hand and knocked softly.

The door opened, and there he was, in a grey tracksuit and plain black top, his expression shifting from surprise to that warm, familiar smile that had always managed to disarm her.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “I didn’t expect my motivation to show up in person.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding her smile. “I figured I’d come to make sure you’re planning to keep your word. That climb to P10 wasn’t exactly a small feat.”

His smile softened, and he stepped aside, wordlessly inviting her in. As the door clicked shut behind them, the noise and pressures of the paddock slipped away, leaving just the two of them. The look he gave her—warm, unguarded, and almost vulnerable—made her heart skip a beat.

She’d broken so many of her own rules just to get here, but in this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single one.

Taking a moment to look around, she noticed his bags were packed and ready for the triple header and that there was nowhere to sit.

She sat on the edge of his bed, trying to look at ease despite the heat rising in her cheeks. Franco stood in front of her, close enough that her knees brushed his legs. The room felt charged with his presence, the quiet intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he murmured, leaning down a bit. The way his dark eyes lingered on her, sweeping over her face and holding her gaze, sent a rush of warmth through her.

She felt a smile tugging at her lips, trying to keep her voice steady. “Figured I’d make sure you’re holding up after all that hard work.”

He chuckled, his voice low, with just a hint of playfulness. “Oh, I’m holding up just fine.” He reached out, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek, letting his thumb linger just a moment too long against her skin. “In fact, I think I’m doing better than fine.”

Her cheeks flushed even deeper, but she held his gaze, determined not to let him throw her off-balance—at least not completely. “You know,” she said, trying to match his tone, “you don’t have to turn everything into a line, Colapinto.”

Franco tilted his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Only with you, cariño.”

She let out a soft laugh, her heartbeat picking up as he moved closer, until he was standing right between her legs. She felt his fingers trace gently along her jawline, his thumb tilting her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes.

“Not used to being flirted with, cariño?” he asked softly, his voice smooth and teasing.

She swallowed, feeling her blush deepen as her usual composure slipped. “No… not like this.”

“Shame,” he murmured, his thumb grazing her cheek as his eyes searched hers, warm and intent. His voice softened, and the playfulness gave way to something more genuine. “Because I’m just getting started.”

She felt her breath hitch, her pulse racing as his words sank in, leaving her both disarmed and impossibly drawn in. And in that moment, she realised that every wall she’d put up around him was slipping away, piece by piece.

For a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, the air between them thick with anticipation. Then, she noticed the small silver chain dangling from his neck, glinting faintly against the fabric of his black top, and without thinking, she reached up, wrapping her fingers around it gently.

Franco’s gaze flickered in surprise, his breath catching as she tugged on the chain, pulling him just close enough that their faces were inches apart. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, and the intensity of his gaze sent a thrill through her that made her heart pound. His hands settled on either side of her hips as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the charged silence.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first, soft and exploratory, but the warmth in his response was immediate. His hand slid up her back, pulling her closer, and she felt his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his touch gentle yet confident.

She didn’t realise how tightly she was gripping his chain until she felt his hand cover hers, his thumb tracing lightly over her knuckles as if to say, I’m here.

When they finally parted, both of them slightly breathless, Franco looked at her, hand caressing her cheek, his smile soft and real, devoid of his usual playfulness. He looked at her with a quiet intensity that made her stomach flip.

“You know," he started, his voice dipping into that smooth, charming tone, “I thought I never had a chance with you. You made me work for every single look, every smile…” He shook his head, his hand still resting against her cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath her jaw. “I was convinced you’d never actually let me get this close.”

She felt a warm, amused smile tugging at her lips as she listened to him, his words genuine but tinged with that familiar, playful charm. Watching him, her heart surged with an undeniable impulse, one she didn’t want to ignore any longer. In one fluid motion, she slid her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down, pressing her lips to his again with a fierce, unrestrained intensity that sent sparks through her.

Franco’s surprise melted instantly, his hands slipping from her cheek to either side of her hips, matching her passion. The kiss deepened, turning slower, almost reverent, as if neither of them wanted the moment to end. She could feel his pulse racing under her hands, his warmth overwhelming in the most exhilarating way.

Without breaking the kiss, she leaned back, drawing him down with her onto the bed. She felt his weight settle gently over her, his hands bracing on either side of her as he kissed her with a hunger that felt both new and inevitable. When he finally pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering over hers, his voice was breathless, a bit dazed.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his fingers tracing down her arm as he held her gaze, a vulnerable softness there she hadn’t seen before.

“Good,” she whispered back, her own voice unsteady, feeling as though her walls were completely gone now. “Because I don’t plan on making it easy for you.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned down, his mouth finding hers again with an eagerness that left them both completely lost in each other, as if the rest of the world had faded away.

Maybe he was worth the wait.

the end.

[dollfacefantasy]

PRETTY AS A PRINCESS ♡

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you and logan have to work on halloween, but on the bright side, that means you get to dress up. and even better, you get to give him a little preview of the costume you've chosen.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, ddlg, slight dumbification

wc: 3.2k

a/n: reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <33

kinktober slot: day 29 - ddlg

"You sure you don't need my help in there?" Logan calls to you.

"I got it. Just gimme a second," your voice responds, slightly muffled from the walk-in closet door separating the two of you, "So impatient."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, a smile rising to his lips. Normally, that comment would get you a small swat on the ass, but he decides to let it go for now.  You were in a particularly good mood today. The two of you had been assigned a mission next week that fell on Halloween. At first, you'd been unhappy about that, but then the professor informed you that it meant you were going undercover at a Halloween party - which meant you got to dress up.

For the past couple weeks, you'd been thinking about this costume choice as if it was the most important decision you'll ever make in your life. There were just so many options as you'd put it. So many colors and cuts. 

He knew you, so he knew it'd be something cute. But thus far, you hadn't actually shown him what you picked. Today it arrived in the mail, which is why tonight, you made a big deal of revealing it to him.

"Are you ready?" you finally ask.

"I've been ready. Let's see it."

The closet door creaks open. Before you exit, you peak your head out, flashing him a quick smile. Your excitement oozes from every pore on your body, flooding the room as you finally step out from behind the mahogany.

His prediction had been right - you look very cute. You strut out to him in what seems to be a princess costume. A tight corset wraps around your waist while frills and lace compliments your bust. The skirt goes down to your mid thigh, flowy and sweet while teasing enough flesh to be seductive. A sparkling tiara rests atop your head, and long, smooth gloves cover you fingertip to elbow. 

Skipping over, you stop in front of him. "So... what do you think?" you ask with a coy cock of your head.

His eyes scan you up and down, but of course, his mind has been made.

"Do you really have to ask?" he teases, "You look beautiful."

A bright smile spreads over your face when the inevitable answer hits your ears.

He chuckles at the reaction and reaches out to grab your waist. He really does adore this little get-up. It suits you just right, and on top of that, he can already tell how it makes you feel.

From the beginning of your relationship, Logan had a suspicion you'd be into this kind of thing. The whole princess thing. And along with that, the whole daddy thing. 

While you could be fierce in the field, sharp and quick, there was another side to you. A side that liked things soft and gentle, that yearned to be taken care of. It was the same part of you that came out when he sat you on his lap, running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. The part that made your head go fuzzy and your eyes glossy when he'd speak in a lower tone or call you a sweet name.

Over the course of knowing you, he'd found there were more triggers than delicate touches and tender words though. It was easier for you to slip into this dreamier headspace when you were tired or sad. You also liked when he took over simple tasks for you. But another one was definitely when you felt pretty. That always seemed to bring the d-word out from between those plush lips.

He found it a little odd at first, but he loved you. He could roll with you calling him daddy if that's what you wanted. And after a while, it didn't seem so strange anymore. He found himself craving your voice ringing out those two syllables, calling for only him when you felt your most vulnerable.

He spins you around between his thighs and kisses the warm back of your neck. The zipper on your dress hadn't been pulled all the way up. His fingers find the small metal piece to tug, pulling on it a little to tease before fixing the garment.

"Were you gonna wear it like this to the party, babydoll?" he asks, voice slipping into that lovingly condescending tone, "Give everybody there a nice show?"

A giggle bursts from you. Vibrates up your sternum through your throat and from your mouth. With how close he is to you, he can feel each bit.

"No," you say as if it's obvious. From your cadence alone, he can tell his set of suspicions was correct. You're starting to slip.

"So you need daddy's help then?" he mocks, dropping his voice. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, tugging a little and beckoning more laughter from you.

"I guess..."

"You could've just said that then. I know my little girl can't be expected to do everything on her own."

You hum with petulant agreement. Your head tilts back to rest on his shoulder at the same time the back of your dress closes up. He kisses up your spine, the metal teeth chasing his lips.

"There we go," he says with a small pat to your hip.

You turn around to face him again. The fabric of your skirt flies up a little with the mini twirl. He smooths it back down for you before gazing at those eyes glimmering with admiration.

"Could you help me with my socks and shoes too? I accidentally forgot them out here."

"Did you now?" he smirks. He knows your games. If he doesn't offer to do things for you, then you make sure to create a situation in which the chances of that happening increase.

"Mhm," you say, nodding up and down in big bobs.

"Well go get them, and bring 'em here."

Obeying the command like it's a second nature, you pad over to the chair by the closet and dig inside the package to get the matching pieces to this outfit. He watches you pull out ivory thigh highs with little bows at the meshy hems and a pair of dainty heels. 

The items swing back and forth at your sides as you waltz to him. He takes them from you and sets them on the mattress. Standing up, his form rises above your own. He guides you so that your positions are reversed. Your thighs press against the blankets before he guides you down to sit.

"Be a good girl and sit still for me now. We'll get you all dolled up," he directs.

In a move no one else besides you ever sees, he crouches down before you. He gets on his knee and grabs one of the socks off the bed. The material stretches under his careful fingers as he prepares it for you. One of his hands takes your ankle, boosting your leg up.

The thin, white fabric slides over your foot first. Just as he did with the zipper, he kisses your ankle, then your calve, your knee and then your thigh. He feels your pupils lock on him. He doesn't even have to look up. His mind knows the way they’re dilating while set upon him.

He shimmies the sleeve around your leg, making sure the little bow sits at the front. "That look right?" Now his eyes look up at your own.

The two small spheres look as he'd imagined, blown-out and ultra-focused on him. Your bottom lip is between your teeth too. "Mhm. Thank you, daddy," you answer softly.

"No problem, baby."

Now, he moves to your other limb. He repeats the process. Smooches land on your skin, flowing along the path the sock follows. That one gets put in the proper place too. He pushes your legs together, looking at the pair next to each other. The bows sit there staring back at him. He didn't know how he was supposed to focus on whatever you were actually going to this halloween party for when you looked like this.

"Cute, huh?" he asks.

You nod and smile.

After seeing your legs closed, the only natural next move would be to spread them apart. His thumbs hook against your inner thighs, the rest of his digits curling over the rest of the doughy flesh. He pushes them away from each other. The growing distance causes the silky skirt to ride up and allows him to see what you wear beneath your pretty dress.

Matching panties. The same kind of lace that framed your collar fans across your pelvis. It's fashioned in the same style and color as the rest of what you're wearing. He can feel heat pooling between his legs just from a quick glance.

"Are these new too?" he asks, tugging you to the edge of the mattress and pushing your skirt away.

"Yeah... Do you like them?" you check.

"You're smarter than that, baby," he says. He leans in and presses a kiss to your cunt over the fabric. The gesture's so chaste, but you feel your tummy flutter with the first beat of arousal.

"I just wanna make sure since I got them for you," you tell him.

"All for me? Never knew you could be so thoughtful, sweetheart."

You scoff and pout at him from above. "Yes you did."

He laughs softly at that and pecks your inner thigh a few times as penance. "Maybe. I guess you can be sweet when you wanna."

His tongue flicks out to lick back up to the new panties. The scent of your desire grows more prevalent. He knows you're getting wet for him. Bringing one finger up, he traces over the cloth, from where your slit is to your cute little clit. He does that a few times before hooking around the entire section and pulling it aside. Like he expected, your folds glisten for him.

"Poor baby. Is daddy getting you all messy?" he coos with a smug look.

"Yeah," you whimper. The shudder you'd been repressing washes over your body.

"It's only right I clean my pretty princess up then, hm?" he asks, still mocking you with his eyes.

You nod again, your confirmation wordless this time.

He brings his face to your center and lays a more passionate kiss upon the slick skin. His lips engulf your sex, his tongue dancing against your clit teasingly. Instantly, you whine and dig your gloved fingers into the sheets. Your legs find their places on his shoulders, convincing him to lean deeper into the junction of your thighs.

His tongue flattens, lapping your pussy with a nearly feral lust. It's no secret that Logan loves your taste. Not a drop of you goes to waste if he can spare it. He feels your thighs quivering against each side of his head and brings his free hand to rest on top of one. The security of him holding you there settles you slightly. But the position also gives him leverage to keep you close.

He sucks on your clit and then fucks his tongue into you. You try to writhe. Your hips buck at the onslaught of pleasure flaring up at your core, but he has an inhumane grip on you. You haven't cum yet, but you're gushing onto his face all the same.

"Daddy," you mewl, barely able to get the word out, "You're gonna ruin the underwear."

He's rock hard now at the whiny sound of your voice. You always get that way when you're near the edge. Your lip starts to wobble. Your voice gets pitchy as your demands grow needy. The look in your eyes just makes everything you say sound like begging.

Not one to normally be interrupted, he twirls the tip of his tongue around your bundle of nerves. But the words you spoke begin to register in his brain, and he reluctantly pulls back. His eyelids droop down with lust. Your fluids coat his chin and make some of his facial hair shimmer from the wetness.

"That's true, baby. Can't get these all soaked and destroyed before the party."

He rises to his feet again, pulling your panties all the way off simultaneously. Then his hands drop to his pants. He rids himself of his belt and undoes his fly.

"Plus, I think I have another way I can show you how much I like this new dress."

Taking his cock out, he tugs on it a few times. A few pearls of precum bead at the tip. His favorite part about getting his dick out is watching your reaction to it. No matter how many times you've seen it, you still seem so in awe. You marvel at the size and the way it flushes. Your eyes track the veins sprawling over it and sneak a glance at the heavy set of balls hanging below his shaft. He doesn't think you could look any more longing if you tried.

You're already soaked, so all he has to do is line up and slide in. Whining as he pounds himself into the hilt, your eyes start to go starry. He gets a firm grip on the swell of your hips in order to drag himself back and then pump himself forward again.

"Daddy... slow down," you pout, "s'too big."

He chuckles at your performance and slams in again just as hard. "No, no. C'mon, baby. Daddy needs this. He's gotta show you what you do to him in this little dress. And I know you can take it."

His hips continue to bump your ass as he thrusts back and forth. It's easy for him to find the rhythm you like. He settles into it and rocks in and out of your tight cunt. It feels like pure, concentrated bliss for him; always does. Your velvety walls, spasming and sucking on his cock. Silently crying 'more more more.'

"Pretty girl... we're gonna be doing this at the party too if you're not careful," he grunts.

You babble and squirm on the bed, lazily nodding at the sound of his voice. It's so cute, he thinks. The way you go dumb so quick and easy.

"Mhm. You're gonna drive me crazy. Might have to pull you into one of the bathrooms and bend you over the counter. See how cute this outfit looks from the back," he continues.

Your back arches off the plush surface. A physical stamp of approval on his plan.

"Gonna have you screaming so loud everyone there hears and knows what a good girl you are for your daddy," he breathes.

Leaning down, he removes a hand from your hip and brings it to cup your jaw. The pads of his fingers dig into your fleshy cheeks. Your lips puff out a little, begging for a kiss. He gives you a quick peck but never stops the ricocheting of his pelvis.

"You're so precious," he murmurs against your skin.

Meanwhile, his hips seem like their mission is to obliterate you down below. They ram forward and back, jostling your body on the bed. You can barely find the will to choke out "Daddy, daddy, daddy. Can I cum? Please."

Your voice is wrecked, even pitchier than before. He bobbles your head into a little nod with his hand. Your glassy eyes stay on him the whole time though. 

"Yeah, you can," he agrees.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," you babble and fling your arms around him to keep him close. Not that he was going anywhere. He stays balls deep in you through the sensation of you tightening up and gushing all over him. Your walls flutter and squeeze. You writhe like you're possessed, and your eyes give that same impression as they roll back. Half-words spill from your lips begging, "Da- Plea- oh fuck-"

"Language, baby," he chides mockingly, his own tone growing strained.

You respond with total sincerity though. "'m sorry, daddy. Just- hnnngh- just feels so good."

"I know it does. Too much for you to handle, hm?"

You shake your head but the motion is so wild, it barely comes across as a declaration of disagreement.

"Use your big girl words, sweetheart," he coos. His desire tightens between his hips. He feels the familiar pressure and the way his balls draw up with the need to spill inside you.

"I can do it- ah!" you squeal, "I can take it. Just want daddy to finish inside."

His face falls down to rest in the crook of your neck. "If that's what you want, princess."

They're the last words he gets out before a groan rumbles in his chest. His release fires out with fervor. Spills into you in strong ropes. You sigh, eyes rolling back as warm satisfaction fizzles in your belly. The sensation melts you down from the whiny mess you had been into a boneless, whimpering puddle.

He pants against your skin. Hot puffs of air hit your neck as he starts coming down. Slowly, his cock slides out of you, popping out with a squelch. Two thick fingers find your hole and fuck the cum that was leaking out of you back in. You whimper at the intrusion to your sensitive cunt, but he smirks at you.

"Shh, shh, shh. It's ok, baby. We don't want any of this getting on your pretty dress, do we? Can't make a mess of it yet."

Your head bobbles in lazy agreement. He continues pumping his fingers into your soaked entrance while placing gentle kisses all over your face. 

When he finishes, he pulls your panties and his pants back up and then recedes to his knees again. He takes the heels from the bed and slides your feet into them. Taking care to make sure the strap is in place, he fastens the buckle on each and then lets them fall to the floor.

"Think you can walk in those still? Or did daddy get you too dizzy?" he asks.

"I can," you huff.

Pushing yourself off the bed, your legs wobble like those of a baby deer. You move across the bedroom, swaying a little but not enough to topple over and crash to the ground. He can tell you're waddling slightly, probably from the cum slowly seeping out of you again.

The costume looks gorgeous as ever with all the pieces put together. You readjust the tiara on your head and do a little spin for him before heading back over to the chair you initially pulled this dress from. You fish out what seems to be a basic wolf mask and show it to him.

"I got this for you," you beam.

His eyebrows raise incredulously. "I'm not wearing that."

You give him a look of your own, seconds away from stamping your foot. "Yes you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"Am not."

"Are too! You have to dress up, Charles already said!" you insist and bring the mask to him, "Plus don't you wanna match? It's like beauty and the beast."

He barks out a laugh. "Is that what I am to you? A beast?" he teases, pulling you close again.

"Well yeah, but in a good way," you grin.

"Hm. We'll see. I'll think about it," he says.

You're about to whine out a please, but he stops you with a kiss. He knows he'll be hearing tons of that for the next few weeks.

[sushiyuzu]

fainted

warning: fluff + comfort — soft!sylus taking care of you after you fainted 💫🫶🏻 [ x mc，x reader ]

a/n: thank you for the lovely request, anon! are you feeling better now? i’m concerned :c pls take care of yourself, okay? <3

anon’s request / link: click here

- second acc: @blushpawss

“you know… i don’t think i’ve ever seen a night like this,” you said softly, looking up at the stars shining in the dark sky.

the air was cool and fresh, wrapping around you like a gentle breeze as you and sylus walked down the almost empty street. it was quiet, with only the distant sound of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves.

you and sylus had discussed and planned this night out a few days ago, even though he lived far away in a place called onychinus. it was a big dangerous city far from linkon, where you lived. getting to linkon from onychinus took him hours, but he didn’t seem to mind.

never to him at all, when it comes to you.

“distance isn’t a problem,” he had told you over the phone, his voice calm and steady. “i’ll be there. all you have to do is say yes.”

of course, you had agreed. the thought of him driving all that way just to spend time with you made your heart race. you could almost hear him smile through the phone when you said yes.

“then it’s a plan,” he replied, as if the long drive was nothing.

now, as you strolled outside together under the night sky, you felt grateful. he had come all this way just to be with you. when he arrived, you felt a thrill seeing him step out of his sleek black car, his eyes finding yours as he walked toward you.

sylus looked at you from the side, his expression hard to read as always, but there was a slight smile at the corner of his mouth. “guess it’s not often you’re out this late,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with a bit of his usual confidence. even though he was usually serious, you had learned to see the small ways he showed his softer side—mostly when he was with you.

and you find that adorable, however.

“maybe not,” you replied, a lighthearted tone in your voice. “but i like it… it’s peaceful.”

you had been walking together for a while, enjoying the cool night air. he had suggested this place earlier—a quiet little park just outside the city, away from the bright lights and noise. with the moon low in the sky, shining soft silver light on the path, it felt like a different world, one where time slowed down, and it was just the two of you.

you felt a small warmth in your chest that grew stronger when you were with him. the way he walked a bit closer to you tonight, his hand sometimes brushing against yours, made your heart beat a little faster. there was something calm and charming about him that made you feel safe, even when you felt a strange dizziness you couldn’t shake off. you had been feeling a bit off since earlier, but the moment felt too perfect to ruin with your worries. maybe it was nothing—a little tiredness or a chill in the air.

maybe.

“are you sure you’re alright?” he asked suddenly, his eyes focused on you as he noticed you swaying a bit. sylus had a way of noticing things that others might miss, and his attention to detail was almost surprising.

“yeah… i’m good, really,” you assured him, managing a small smile. “just a little lightheaded.” you laughed softly, trying to brush it off, though you could feel his gaze linger, a crease forming on his brow.

he didn’t buy it; you could tell by how he slowed his steps and focused completely on you. “we don’t have to keep walking,” he said, stopping and looking down at you with a mix of concern and determination. “we can go back to the car if you need to rest for a bit.”

“no, no… i’m fine, really,” you insisted, trying to sound convincing, but even to yourself, it felt weak. you wanted to stay and enjoy just a few more moments of this rare peace with him.

but that’s when it happened.

you felt the world tilt, the stars above becoming blurry and slipping away. your knees felt weak, and your vision faded to a soft blur. before you realized it, the ground seemed to disappear beneath you.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

when you opened your eyes, everything felt different. the cool night air was still there, but it felt warmer now, and you understood why—it was sylus. he was holding you in his arms, his strong grip supporting you. his expression was unusually soft, showing a rare vulnerability in his normally steady gaze. his voice was quiet, but it felt like a warm blanket around you.

“hey… you’re awake,” he said, relief laced in his tone. “just take it easy.”

you blinked, still feeling a bit confused, trying to understand what was happening. “what… what happened?” you asked softly, your voice shaking. it was a strange feeling to be so vulnerable, and the look in his eyes—something like worry—made it feel even more real.

“you fainted,” he said, his voice softer than you had ever heard. one of his hands was gently on your back, holding you close, while his other hand held yours, making you feel secure. “just breathe, okay? you’re safe.”

a wave of embarrassment washed over you as you realized what had happened. “i… i’m sorry,” you mumbled, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks. “i didn’t mean to scare you…”

“don’t apologize,” he said, his voice strong but soft with unexpected kindness. “it’s not your fault. if anything, i should have noticed sooner.” he changed his grip a little, gently brushing his thumb along your shoulder in a way that felt almost unreal.

you took a shaky breath, feeling a little more steady, but still shaken by everything that happened. fainting was something you had never experienced before, and how sudden it was made you feel vulnerable, like you were on unsteady ground. “it… it’s never happened before,” you whispered, looking up at him, trying to hide the fear still in your eyes. “i didn’t know what to do…”

his gaze softened even more, which was rare to see. “you don’t have to know what to do. that’s what i’m here for,” he said quietly, his fingers tracing gentle circles on your shoulder, his touch comforting. “it’s okay to lean on me, you know? you don’t always have to be so strong.”

his words wrapped around you, calming the panic in your chest. sylus was always a loving presence, and even in moments like this, his affection shone through. every gentle touch and soft word felt like a promise that he would always be there for you. he helped you sit up, keeping his arm around your shoulders to steady you, his grip strong and reassuring.

“still dizzy?” he asked, his voice soft but full of quiet concern that made your heart ache in a good way.

“just a little,” you admitted, feeling a bit more stable now but still grateful for the warmth of his arm around you. “thank you, sylus… really. i don’t know what i would have done without you.”

he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head a little. “you think i’d let you faint without doing something?” his lips turned up into a small smile, a hint of his usual bold confidence coming back. “besides, if it’s you who needs me, i don’t mind being a little less… myself.”

his words made your heart skip a beat, and their meaning settled over you. for someone like sylus, who was so confident and calm, it meant a lot to know he would let his guard down just for you. he wasn’t just saying it—he was showing it with every careful movement and every gentle touch.

after a while, he helped you get back up, guiding you carefully to a nearby bench under the trees, where the moonlight filtered softly through the leaves. you both sat there in comfortable silence, your small hand still held tightly in his large hands, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin.

“just promise me something,” he murmured, breaking the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

“anything,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

“next time, don’t hide it. i’d rather know you’re not okay than find out like this,” he said, his eyes serious and filled with so much unspoken care.

you nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “i promise.” then, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting the quietness of the night surround you both. you knew that as long as he was beside you, you’d never have to face anything alone again. as you sat there, sylus kept his arm draped around your shoulders, steadying you with every gentle movement. he didn’t let go, as if to reassure you that he wasn’t going anywhere. a soft breeze rustled through the trees, bringing the scent of night-blooming flowers. even though the air felt cool against your skin, his presence kept you warm.

“let’s get you some water,” he said, his voice a smooth murmur, laced with concern. “i parked a little ways back. can you stand?”

you nodded slowly, still feeling a bit shaky, but his hand on your back gave you strength. he helped you rise from the bench, his touch careful yet firm. as you swayed slightly, he immediately moved closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “easy now,” he said, his voice low but steady. “i’ll take you.”

with surprising ease, he lifted you off the ground, cradling you against him. the warmth of his body enveloped you, and you instinctively relaxed in his hold. it felt both comforting and safe, easing the fear that had been building in your chest. you caught the glances of a few passersby, but in that moment, all you could focus on was sylus.

“hold on tight,” he said with a hint of a smirk, though you could hear the seriousness beneath it. “i promise i won’t drop you.”

as he carried you toward his car, the world around you began to blur, the sounds of the night fading into the background. the soft crunch of gravel beneath his shoes was the only noise as he approached the sleek vehicle parked a few meters away. when you reached the car, he gently opened the passenger door and carefully placed you inside.

“there you go,” he said, his tone lightening as he made sure you were settled in comfortably. “now, just relax for a moment. i’ll be right back.”

you watched him as he closed the door and walked toward a nearby convenience store. he moved with a smoothness that always caught your attention, even in a rush. his broad shoulders were strong and made his waist look smaller. you could see his biceps flexing slightly as he walked, showing off the muscles under his fitted shirt. his abs were well-defined, tightening a little with each step he took.

when he turned to look back at you, the streetlights lit up his strong jaw and the light stubble on his face, making him look even more charming. you leaned back in the soft leather seat, still feeling a bit dizzy but thankful he was there. the cool air from the car’s air conditioning felt nice against your skin.

as he went into the store, you admired how he carried himself, a mix of confidence and grace. it was always nice to see him move like that, reminding you how strong and supportive he was, especially in moments like this. you felt warmth inside, not just from his presence but from how much he cared for you.

after a few moments, you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering light-headedness. sylus returned quickly, a water bottle in one hand and a small bag in the other. he climbed back into the car, his expression a mix of relief and determination.

“i got you water and some snacks,” he said, handing you the bottle first. “you need to stay hydrated.”

you unscrewed the cap, taking a few small sips, the coolness refreshing against your dry throat. sylus watched you carefully, his gaze never leaving your face as if he was making sure you were okay. once you finished drinking, he handed you a small pack of crackers.

“here, eat these,” he urged, his voice low and steady. “it’ll help with your energy.” you took a cracker, nibbling at it while he kept his eyes on you, his presence calming you.

“thank you for coming back so quickly,” you said, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his care.

“wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone after that,” he replied, his tone casual yet sincere. “not a chance.” he settled back in his seat, his body angled toward you, ready to offer support at a moment’s notice.

as you continued to nibble on the crackers, he leaned closer, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining in a comforting grip. “you scared me, you know,” he admitted quietly. “when i saw you sway like that, it felt like the world stopped for a moment. i just... i couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

the weight of his words settled between you, his usual confident facade dropping just enough for you to see the worry behind it. you felt a swell of emotion in your chest, and you squeezed his hand tighter.

“i’m sorry,” you said softly, feeling guilty for causing him concern. “i thought i could handle it.”

“it doesn’t matter,” he replied, shaking his head slightly. “just promise me that if you ever feel off again, you’ll tell me right away. no hiding it.” his voice held a firm yet gentle tone, as though he was reminding you once more, giving you a silent promise that he would always be there to help.

“i promise,” you said, feeling reassured by his care. the way he was looking at you made you feel safe, like nothing could hurt you as long as he was by your side.

after a while, you started to feel more like yourself, the snack helping to ease the light-headedness. as you leaned back in your seat, you took a moment to appreciate the night sky outside the window, the stars twinkling brightly against the dark backdrop.

“do you want to stay here for a little while longer?” he asked, noticing your gaze. “i can turn the car on for a bit if it gets too warm.”

“i think i’d like that,” you replied, feeling a sense of calm wash over you.

he nodded and turned on the car, filling the interior with a soft hum. he shifted in his seat to face you fully, resting his arm casually against the back of the passenger seat. “tell me more about what you want to do when you feel better,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. “i’m all ears. and i’ll always be right by your side, even if it means facing any challenges.”

as his warm words wrapped around you, you realized that what happened earlier was behind you. in this moment, with sylus next to you and the stars shining bright above, everything felt right again.

[starkeyisthelastname]

Drew sometimes just needs to be inside you. 😵‍💫

“C’mere. Been fucking hours since I’ve got to touch you.” Drew’s low voice vibrated against the smooth skin of your neck as his large hands squeezed your waist. It didn’t take long for him to have the both of you naked, his blue eyes boring down into yours as he buried his thick cock into you until you were stuffed full.

“That’s my g-good fucking girl. Wanted to be inside your pretty pussy all night.” His tone gruff as he began thrusting into you at hard pace. With Drew liking to keep your relationship private and seeing the way you looked at the Outer Banks season 4 premiere that evening had him feral. He couldn’t touch you the way he really wanted to and as soon as he got you back to the hotel he had you folded in half in no time.

“Drew baby… fuck me.” You mumbled, your manicured nails digging into his thick biceps as he pounded your poor hole out. He had looked so good tonight and you were so proud of him. Him being inside you was just a plus to end the amazing night. Your cunt was leaking around his fat length, your sweetness making his cock shine each time he slid out. You reached up with one hand to yank at the back of his growing mullet, a low growl escaping between his lips as you seemed to pull him impossibly closer.

“Don’t you worry baby. Gonna be fucking your tight little holes all night. You’ll have no problem sleeping on that flight tomorrow after I’m done with you.” He teased, pulling his cock all the way out only to slam it back in full force to make your toes curl and cunt gush.

[splendidfemalelegs]

So dam hot and a great capture 😻🥰😍

[blondeheaven]

Come back to bed and sit on my face babe 😋😻

[servicpop]

kinktober extra — mutual masturbation adrien ( deliquent oc ) x bttm m reader

ⓘ dick piercing , kind of short / rushed T T

▸ wanna skip class tdy? read 12:21 PM

The text message was ludicrous, did he seriously ask the student president to skip class? You peered at your phone from underneath the table with a small scowl before shutting it off, turning your attention back to the lesson.

▸ need to show you something ▸ if ur not skipping I'll just come over to urs ;) read 12:25 PM

More buzzes come from your phone and you finally decide to turn off your notifications and silence your phone — it didn't matter if Adrien asked, he would just come over anyways.

But his message plagued your mind; Adrien didn't usually tell you he needed to show you something without telling you what it actually was. A surprise? A present? The thoughts swirled in your mind like a whirlpool, coming up with a multitude of possibilities that Adrien could show. What if it was tickets to a week long vacation? Or maybe a coupon he found off the side of the road.

You would have to see when you got home

The walk back home was nothing short of furrowed eyebrows and confusion. You slide your phone out from your pocket and glance at your lockscreen to see no new notifications from the deliquent. By now Adrien would've popped up from nowhere to escort you back home but there was no sign of him. You braced yourself while turning every corner, expecting Adrien to jump out and scare you like he always did — he's memorised your exact route to get home.

But he wasn't there.

The moment you reach your house, you push open the front door and step in quietly, slipping your shoes off and heading straight to your room. As you turn the doorknob you hear one of your drawers slam close and the moment the door creaks open you're met with a slightly flustered Adrien.

“What were you doing?” You ask him suspectingly, narrowing your eyes at him before glancing around your room to see everything is still intact.

“Just— um, organising your stuff,” He plays it off with an awkward whistle, stepping aside so you could walk into your room. He watches you place your bag down on the floor and grab some comfortable clothes to change into.

A small, proud smirk makes its way to his face when you don't even ask him to turn around, changing on the spot with your back facing him. He's realised how comfortable you've gotten with him and he can't help but feel a warm flutter in his chest.

“So, what's the suprize?” You wriggle your shirt on, tugging on the flimsy fabric a few times before turning to face Adrien again.

“Mm... I think we need to sit on the bed for this one,” He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You feel almost uneasy, hesitant as you slowly take a seat on your sheets. The way he worded the sentence sent a queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, but in all truth you weren't sure whether you were expecting something bad or not.

As if sensing your uncomfort, Adrien sits beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight as he spreads his legs, letting his elbows rest on his knees.

“You're sitting with straight posture prez,” he snorts, leaning over to pull your legs up from the floor, onto the bed and tangled with his.

You're both in a weird pretzel shaped pose, your legs over his, his legs under yours, pulling you closer so your chests would only be a few inches apart.

“Loosen up,” he chuckles in a lower, hushed tone, gripping your shoulder a tad bit tighter before smoothing out the fabric of your shirt. His hands move down to pull off his belt and you instinctively lean away, shielding your eyes with the palm of your hand.

“Adrien what the hell?”

From the cracks of your fingers you can see Adrien glance up at you briefly with a sly smirk, successfully slinking off his belt. You hear the faint pops of his pant buttons followed by the sound of the zipper being pulled down. You groan and try to turn your head away before Adrien grips your wrist, peeling your hand from your eyes.

“Just look baby,” His laughs were light, airy and soft like a fur blanket encasing you in warmth. But that small flutter in your chest died down the moment your gaze was pulled to the metal piercing.

A prince albert piercing.

You don't know whether to look away, ask if it hurt, or ask if you could touch it. The piercing looked painful and you felt an ache within your groin — whether that was a feeling from the thought of your own being pierced or something entirely different. It seems fully healed with only a slight dust of red circling the metal; Adrien would've gotten it awhile ago but waited until it was healed to show you.

“Quit starin' so hard prez, you're making me insecure,” Adrien moves his hand from your shoulder to rest behind him on the bed, leaning back so you could fully take it in.

After a bit of silence you choose option b: ask if it hurt.

“Does it— hurt?” Your words are more shaky and quiet than you would've liked it to come out like. You would look at Adrien right now but your eyes seem trained on the metal ball on the underside of Adrien's tip. It suits him, which is the worst part of it all.

Your eyes finally manage to peel away from the piercing, slowly meeting Adrien's gaze. He gives you a small nod in the downwards direction, raising his eyebrows before giving you a freakishly sweet smile. He's inviting you to feel it for yourself. Your fingers twitch as you slowly reach out for his cock, delicately wrapping your fingers around the length but letting your thumb press gently on the piercing stud.

Adrien leans his head back slightly and a groan slips from his lips.

“It hurt for a bit when I got it— fuck, but now it's just overly sensitive.” His smirk was wiped off his face, replaced by the furrow of his dark eyebrows and the small bite on his bottom lip. In your peripherals you can see his fingers dig into your sheets, curling the fabric up into his fists as you gently rub the metal.

“Wanna try something, prince?” He chuckles through clenched teeth.

Adrien leans back up, pulling you closer as he undoes the buttons of your trousers, unzipping them and pushing them down to your thighs. He takes a second to untangle your legs before gently pulling off your pants, discarding them in a random corner of your room.

Adrien hooks his fingers under the elastic of your waistband, tugging it down enough for your dick to spring out. Grabbing your ankles, Adrien pulls you even closer to him, making sure that your bodies and flushed together in a messy knot.

“C'mon, put your hand over like this,” His voice seems breathless as he guides your hand to wrap around your own and his tip. “Hold it a bit tighter, just trust me.”

Adrien's hands move to the base, stretching his fingers to press the underside of your cock against his. The metal presses right against the underside of your tip, the cold feeling of the piercing against your heated skin makes you squirm but its undeniably a good feeling.

You clench your hand harder, rocking your hips up against Adrien, chasing friction. The feeling of the piercing dragging up and down your dick sends waves of shiver through your body, forcing small whimpers out your lips. Your palm shifts to brush over the very tip, slipping your fingers through the slits which earns a throaty groan from the both if you.

“You're such a damn tease” Adrien bites his tongue as he pumps his hand, jerking the both of you off.

Skin to skin, all you feel his Adrien's heat and the small break of cold everytime his piercing rubs against you. Pre-cum is seeping out from your urethra, creating a sticky mess that rubs off on Adrien.

“You're really liking this huh, prez?”

“Shut up.”

You yelp slightly when Adrien pushes you onto your back, climbing ontop of you as he angles himself so he can properly rut into you. He still holds your dick against his, making a circle with his hands as he thrusts against his palm, grunting everytime you throbbed against him.

“Fuck yes,” He exhales, pushing himself to meet the flesh of your fingers brushing against his tip.

The slick sound of both of your arousal fills the room and the sticky liquid starts to accumulate on your fingers. Your free hand is resting on Adrien's shoulder, sinking your nails down everytime he rolled his hips against you.

“Adrien... I'm gonna cum,” you whine, pushing your hips up to meet his thrusts. All you can think about is the cold metal trace along your veins.

“Go ahead.” Adrien stopped thrusting and leans down to press a light kiss to your collarbone, letting his hand push you both over the edge.

With a shaky groan, Adrien spurts white all over your hand and you follow shortly with a whiny moan.

You're both heavily breathing with Adrien hovering ontop of you. He keeps his head down before he lifts it to look down at you.

“So... what are your thoughts on my new piercing?”

[bwskj]

NSFW MDI | jjk x reader

- jjk characters reacting to u asking them on call for a moaning audio -

chars: gojo, nanami, megumi, sukuna, yuuji, inumaki

notes: (text) are you; bulleted + written

tags: honestly just a lot of nsfw stuff, pls x away if ur a minor or uncomfy

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

gojo

— “baby what?”, he laughs amused, “did you just say you want me to send a moaning audio?”

— you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “ah baby, well i could do that… just not for free. give me something to look at and i’ll make it, how about that?”

output: bro sends a hand held video of him jacking off while sitting on the living room couch. a part of his laptop sitting on the coffee table with your photo/video on it is shown in the upper half of the video, behind the main character that is his thick hard cock. satoru likes talking as if you’re there kneeling in front of him, pretending he’s got your face to tap his dick on before he fully wraps his hand around the girth and starts pumping. he often groans low with the occasional sharp inhales through gritted teeth. eventually, he gets to the point wherein he’s leaking so much pre-cum it’s enough to help him make big smooth strokes over his length. his camera angle ends up wonky sometimes because he’s too zoned in jerking off to you. “fuckkk baby, god you’re so—hot” and “shit… that’s mine, that fucking pussy belongs to me.” he sure loves his dirty talk, “bet you wanna ride this huh, baby? want your tight pussy walls sucking up my cock.” when he finally cums, you can tell he’s trying his best to not hold in his moans (cause ofc that’s what you’re looking for). his thighs tense, spreading apart as his cum shoots up high, loud groans with every shot that spatters all over his bare stomach. he aims the camera down at his messy torso, laying his dick on it as he swipes it across the mess around and on his happy trail. “you better lick this clean off, baby.”

nanami

—“excuse me? a what?” (you repeat yourself)

—hunched over his desk at work, he says, “honey i… don’t do that,” he sounds concerned that you would ask for such thing, “do you need it for… something?” you can imagine the stitch in his brow when he asks this.

— (you reply with a vague and teasing “maybe”) kento lightly huffs, seeming slightly bothered (?)“well, i’m busy right now… just… wait until i get home.”

output: no audio but what did you expect he was at work! not like he would do it though if he wasn’t. instead, on the way home, he’s got one thing on his mind. the thought keeps bubbling up in excitement, making him tap his foot in impatience as he rides the elevator up to your shared apartment. when you hear the jangle of his keys in the doorknob, you spring up from where you’ve been rotting. a smile immediately appears on your face when you see your boyfriend looking even more dashing with the appearance of a man who’s worked hard all day at work. “you’re home, i—“ you’re about to tell him you’ve missed him but he cuts you off when he closes the distance, leaning in and catching your lips with his. he drops his work bag on the floor as the big palm of his hand slides onto your back. he pulls you close, not giving you the chance to speak anymore as his deep hungry kiss keeps your mouth busy. you manage to make at least the sound of, “mphh.. Kento!” when his lips pull back a bit. you can tell he’s trying to hold himself back, his jaw and shoulders feeling rigid when your hands feel over them. “couldn’t wait to get home,” he mumbles when his mouth detaches for a second — basically, yea, he fucks you pretty much the whole night or until you can’t take any more. everything he does is meant to please you; he thrives on giving you, his pretty princess, what you want, feeling fulfilled when he knows he can keep you more than satisfied.

sukuna

— “the fuck? a moaning audio? why would i do that?

— he stretches his jaw, the eyes on his cheeks fluttering a little eye roll. he speaks into the mic at a low volume, “baby if you miss being dicked down just say so…”

— “uhuh yea, keep pretending you don’t want it til you’ve got this cock in your mouth, right? stay put. i’m coming over”

output: no moaning audio. he gets to your place in 10 minutes (how the fuck he got there that quick you’ll never know). when you greet him at the door, mouth ajar in surprise, you can’t stop yourself from cheekily saying, “well, isn’t somebody excited?”

“i wanna know what the bitch who’s asking for an audio sounds like when she gets what she actually wants,” he cockily spits out as he looms over you by the still open door frame.

your eyes widen at his response but you can only stutter before his hand is suddenly holding you by your throat. he welcomes himself in, shutting the door behind him while you almost stumble back into your hallway. your hands instinctively reach to grab at the back of his hand around your neck. not even a second later and his other hand grabs one of yours, tugging it and placing it over the tent in his pants. his fingers sandwiched around your neck begins to squeeze and you accidentally sound out a moan. you can feel his sharp nails pricking your nape. his hand holding yours guides you into palming him. a dark smirk is on his face. “i’m fucking hard. do something about it.”

long story short: he rails you (on your bed, in front of the mirror, doggy style or just backshots in general— he loves pinning your wrists behind you and watching your tits bounce everytime he pounds into you. when you’re on top, he doesn’t even give you the chance to ride him on your own). “how you liking this, huh? sweet little slut. you like this fat cock fucking your stomach? isn’t this better than some shit tease through the phone?”

megumi

— his cheeks warm when he hears the words through the phone, “what’s that?” He asks though he knows full well what you mean (i think megumi would be a secret tumblr user).

— you carefully explain it to him. there’s hesitation in his voice when he says, “oh, i see…”

— alarmed by the way his voice trailed off, you reassure him that he doesn’t have to do it if he doesn’t want to.

— he replies with a slightly stammered okay and the call eventually awkwardly ends with exchanged ‘i love you’s and ‘talk to you later’s

— you feel slightly embarrassed for voicing your request but it’s not long before you forget about it. it was worth a shot.

— that night, while you’re snuggled up in your cozy blanket, you receive a single voice note from megumi with no message attached

— megumi blushes as he stares at the file he just sent, wondering if he did it okay. you don’t know that he jack offed and recorded not even five minutes after your call ended.

output: when you press play you’re immediately met with the semi-distant sounds of megumi’s shaky gasps and breathy low moans. it looks like he sent you a recording of the most interesting part of his session wherein wet stroking sounds are being picked up by his phone. there’s oftentimes soft whimpers that slip through, the noise of his bed covers shifting on his skin almost overpowering it when he gets more and more into fucking his hand (or whatever he’s slotting his dick through). you have to replay it a couple times to make sure you heard right—pride blooming within you when you’re certain he’s whimpering and mumbling out your name. his moans rise in pitch and grow more rugged the closer he gets to his climax. “a-ah… mm—hah.. gonna c-cum,” you can hear the strokes getting faster and the sheets being gripped tight. when he cums, he gets even louder, noisy staggering moans falling out his mouth. you just know his throbbing dick is thrusting up while chasing his high. when it dies down, you can hear soft panting and then the sound of his phone being picked up. there’s a silent pause before his voice comes through low and crisp, “i… hope you liked that.”

yuuji

— “a what audio??”, he laughs, “you’re kidding!” His laugh fades when he realises you aren’t.

— “wait seriously, you’re into that? like those audios on reddit or something?”

— (“… you know those?” you ask curiously.)

— yuuji gets flustered, he stutters, “i-i don’t—I accidentally came across them once. kinda freaked me out, ngl…”

— (“freaked you out?”)

— “yea, i dunno, never imagined guys to be doing that for a living. and i didn’t know there were girls who especially liked that.”

— (“really… well a lot of girls actually like that. but yea, i guess you wouldn’t really know, cuz you know,” you lightly tease.)

— yuuji rubs a hand over his blushing cheek, “you don’t have to keep reminding me that you’re my first…”

— (he always reacts like this and so you remind him again [you love reminding him], “sorry my yuuji, but you know, i love being your first, especially knowing that my competition is literally THE jennifer lawrence.”)

— you can hear the smile yuuji is trying to keep down, “and your 100x better than her,” (honestly, you just tease him to hear him say this again)

— (“so what about that audio?”)

— “hm?” yuuji didn’t even realize it until now that he’s got a hand over the boner jutting through his boxers

— you quickly reassure him that he can say no if he doesn’t want to. there’s a silence that hangs for a moment in the call, and when you’re about to say something again to dismiss the topic, he starts, “could you… maybe, talk me through it?”

output: you piece together that yuuji’s turned on. “are you… hard rn?” your voice comes gentle through the phone and yuuji grabs his dick stronger through the cloth, pushing his palm against it. he shudders, “m-maybe.” your voice sounds so good.

“are you…” you trail off, but yuuji knows what you mean. he quickly replies, “is this okay? you can tell me if it’s not, i-i’ll stop.” yuuji doesn’t want to stop but he’s stiffened his hand on his dick to try to stop himself from touching further without your consent.

there’s another short pause before you say, “mm, it’s okay, yuuji… you need help?”

“mhm,” he hums, instantly resuming his hand movement. there’s slight guilt when he clears his throat and says, “s-sorry our call kind of—went in another direction, it’s okay if you don’t want to. I can—“

your laugh cuts him off, “sweetie it’s okay. i’d like to help. we’ll hit two birds with one stone since i wanted an audio anyway.”

yuuji blushes even harder. “I… I’ll try to not… hold it in.”

you grin, biting at your lip as you lay in your bed with your phone planted on your ear. “Good… you’ll give me what i want hm?”

Yuuji’s breaths are beginning to tremble as he continues to rub himself to the sound of your voice. “y-yea, for you… i’ll do what you want.”

it gets more serious when yuuji finally takes his dick out his boxers and starts pumping it up and down; it’s almost fully hard. he loves it when you ask him what he’s doing, what he’s thinking about. his moans start off quiet but when you tell him you wanna hear him, his voice breaks and he lets a louder sound come out his throat. “can you imagine your hand as my hand, or my mouth?” you ask him. at this point your thighs are squeezed together and you can feel the wetness pool in your panties. this makes yuuji moan even louder.

after a couple minutes of this teasing dirty talk, yuuji can’t take it anymore and the needy words, “fuh… i… i want to see you. c-can i?” slip out of his mouth.

it turns into a video call after the both of you move to transfer to your laptops. you can see yuuji’s tip peeking from the bottom edge of the screen. his shirt is on and it’s lightly sticking to his skin, likely because he’s starting to sweat. when you turn on your camera, your pretty face comes into view and you’re in the usual clothes you wear at home: loose shirt, no bra, panties. you can instantly tell yuuji’s back to jerking himself, though you can’t see his whole hand or his face at all.

“let me see you, sweetie,” you say, hand digging between your sticking thighs and going over your clothed crotch.

his movement slows, “shit, you wanna see me?” he sounds embarrassed. you nod. yuuji is obviously reluctant, but he listens, repositioning his laptop further so it captures his face and dick in hand. you feel yourself throb at the sight.

it isn’t long before you’re touching your bare pussy in front of the camera, tits out on display. you’re lewd and so is yuuji, now more confidently moaning as he pleases himself to you. between your own sounds, you softly say, “gosh my pretty baby. you’re doing so well,” knowing how your boyfriend is secretly a sucker for praise. yuuji groans, body jerking as his face flushes even redder. “will you come for me?” you say. you’ve got him in the palm of your hand.

yuuji’s a moaning needy mess, the hand not on his dick pinning the hem of his shirt high up. “fuugh… y-yes… yes for you. I’ll come… i’m about to—about… agh—“

yuuji’s hand pumps the tip fast and he cums strongly, head bowing as his hips thrust up and he shoots white. “Ah~ oh~,” he’s shaky and noisy all the way through his high. when he finally lifts his head up to look at you, you’re sweetly smiling (you came watching him cum but he missed it ://). you stare at one another for a moment before the both of you let out (somewhat nervous) laughter.

yuuji pats sweat off his forehead with the back of his clean hand, careful not to have the other covered in his own cum go near his bed sheets. “gosh, you’re good. i’m so lucky to have you.”

you beam. “and i’m so lucky to have such a pretty, handsome boyfriend. you did great.”

he shyly looks away, biting on his lip to suppress a smile, “thank you.”

inumaki

— you text him asking for a moaning audio (unless u want inumaki to go tuna tuna at u on call lmao)

— “?”

— “how do i make that?”

— you send him a voice note explaining what kind of audio it is, making sure to tell him he doesnt have to do it if he doesnt want to

— “…”

— “okay…”

— “i totally thought you wanted to hear me in pain and i was… concerned.”

— (“??? baby pls no?!)

— “thank god”

— there’s a pause in the chat

— “i would send if i could.”

— (“wdym? if you don’t feel comfortable about it it’s okay maki”)

— “no… um”

—(“?”)

— “i don’t really get hard unless ur here.”

— (you stare at his message before sending an “oh !”)

— “yea… nothing else does it for me. sorry.”

— (you’re both blushing and stricken by his response. “no baby don’t be sorry TT you don’t need to do this. i can always hear you in person.”)

— “sure?”

— (“yes for sure TT”)

— “:p i’ll make those sounds for you next time if you really like them.”

output: next time you see each other, it starts off as usual. a casual date outside before going back to his place for nightly cuddles and eventually… that. it’s clear inumaki remembers you’re conversation without you having to bring it up. he’s nervous at first (he’s always been pretty quiet mostly because he’s mindful of using his voice), and you see it in his eyes. “just let it out okay? it’s just me here,”

you whisper when you softly kiss under his neck, a little shy as well. soon, when you’re kissing, touching, and sucking him all over, his moans are tiny sharp inhales and whimpers rising up his throat; they come out somewhat muffled because of his closed mouth. since he can’t really risk saying anything, he’ll tell you that he feels good with a hand combing through your hair or a thumb caressing your skin. he’ll buck up into your throat when he cums, his mouth accidentally opening to sound out a breathier vocal moan. when you pull up, wiping your mouth after swallowing, he doesn’t hesitate to pull your face close, kissing you sweetly. you know it’s his way of saying ‘thank you. i love you.”

—— <3

a/n: wrote smth diff today (context: i usually write leon kennedy stuff) these are just my headcanons so i’d love to hear what u guys think! xoxo i had sm fun writing this hehe

also, can u guess who my fav char is? (it’s not the one with the longest part— mb that some are longer than others, idk how to stop smtms)