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logansbaby · 20 hours ago

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DIET PEPSI | Logan Howlett

❥ summary: stuck in a place of unspoken desire and longing, the limousine drives only further ignite the spark between logan howlett and you. months of built up lust and emotions bubble over when you take control.

word count: 8.1k (im unable to write short smut scenes)

pairings: old man logan howlett x fem!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), masturbation, messy kissing, spitting (im so sorry but it’s my weakness), oral (fem!receiving), begging, humping, pussy pronouns (it’s sooooooo) unprotected sex, gagging? it’s just once, car sex, feelings, logan being self destructive, pet names (baby, honey, princess ITS CANON SOOOO) let me know if i missed anything!

❥ a/n: soooooooo…. this took forever im SO sorry! life is absolutely insane and chronic illnesses are not for the weak. anyways think of this as a gift from me to all you sexy people for 2k!!!!!!! thank you so much, i could kiss you all<3 i hope you enjoy, let me know what you think

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‘When we drive in your car, I'm your baby (so sweet)

Losing all my innocence in the back seat

Say you love, say you love, say you love me (love me)

Losing all my innocence in the back seat’

Diet Pepsi - Addison Rae

—˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

TENSION simmers in the air of the limousine as the driver and passenger engage in a silent staring contest through the rearview mirror. The cool air blasting from the air vents does little to dismantle the heat bubbling in the small space.

Though nonchalance is painted on your face, a darker, seductive glint glimmers in your eyes, a challenge settling within them. You tilt your head, tongue slipping out to glisten your lips with saliva.

There's no shame evident in your gaze; your body is thrumming with pure, hot need and you could cry out with how bad you need the man in the driver's seat.

Logan isn't faring much better— fists gripping the steering wheel tight enough that his healing knuckles turn white, a frown etching deep in his features. He’s desperate to hold onto the tiny sliver of control he has left, mind working to come up with anything to keep him away from giving into this, into you.

This thing between you both started the minute you settled in the backseat of his limousine all those months ago and the unspoken desire has only grown since then.

It’s like there’s something tethering you to him— it’s why you keep coming back to him, calling for his car services despite the fact that your car has long since been fixed. You find yourself craving him, unable to think about anything but him in the early hours of the morning. No matter how many times you come thinking about him, the ache and desire for the man only grows. Though, you haven’t even had a taste.

Yet.

You won’t give in first, though. As much as you want to climb over the seat and suck his cock right then and there as he drives, you’ve held back, just barely, for months.

Logan is a man of very few words and he prefers actions to speaking his feelings. He’s shown you he’s softened to you in the way he hums to show you he’s listening to your rambles. He’s shown it in the way he shows up when you both know you don’t need his car anymore. He doesn’t say it, but you know he wants you as much as you want him, and you’ve been waiting for him to finally give in, to make you his.

As soon as you sat down tonight, fresh from the club, you knew something was bound to happen, especially with the way Logan’s been eying you the entire drive.

Which, it’s important to note that your destination leads to nowhere, you just craved to see the man that badly.

You lean back against the seat, eyes speaking a thousand words as they meet his once more. God, he’s so handsome. His pretty hazel eyes, the slope of his nose, the salt and pepper stubble stretching across his cheeks. Oh, how you want to feel the burn against your—

“Stop that.” Logan’s grunt snaps you from your thoughts.

“Stop what?” You go for innocence but really, your tone is saturated in lust and it gives you away entirely.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what, Logan?” You’re challenging him, and though you can’t see it from the backseat, his dress pants get considerably tighter at the defiance in your voice. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Bullshit,” He counters, eyes flickering to yours and you choose then to bite down on your glossy lips. His knuckles flex with the urge to release the claws piercing beneath his skin; is he crazy for being jealous that he’s not the one biting into the plush skin? “You’re staring at me like you want me to fuck you.”

Vermillion warmth spreads from your chest to your cheeks at his bluntness. It’s completely true, but the dirty truth makes you flush, and your panties to dampen at the thought.

“It’s not gonna happen, baby.” His tone is confident, sure and it pisses you off. “It’s not, so knock it off.”

You roll your eyes, turning to stare out the window. You’re not sure when it started raining, but the water droplets hit the glass pane harshly with its momentum. The pitter patter of water should distract you from Logan, but it just sends you further spiraling.

How dare he deny your feelings and then call you baby?

Blah, blah, blah! His reasons for keeping you apart are pathetic. You couldn’t careless for the years he has on you, you’re a grown woman, and fully capable of what you want. You don’t care what kind of a man he was before he met you; your feelings for him defeat any sense of logic your mind can muster.

You remember how it felt the first time you saw him. Wild, untamed butterflies erupted in the pit of your stomach the moment Logan’s eyes met yours. You remember how your name sounded on his lips, a rough voice rendering chills across your skin.

That day had been a shitty one, your boss scolding you for tiny mistakes and everything had seemed to go wrong. Even more so when your car broke down and your then boyfriend refused to pick you up, instead sending you a link to a limousine service. You were sure nothing would get better from that point on.

But when you sat down in his car, Logan’s presence made you feel safe, and it wracked your brain as to why a stranger made you feel so comfortable.

Evidently, you kept calling the limo service (if you silently praised your ex for leading you to Logan, no one had to know).

You remember how you began looking forward to seeing him. You remember how talking with him, rambling on about whatever, felt normal. You remember how being in the vicinity of him felt like taking a breath of crisp, cool air after months of no oxygen.

Logan has picked you up from the bar, carried you up to your apartment door when you were too drunk to do it yourself. Logan has veered off course when your stomach audibly rumbled during a drive to work, insisting you needed to eat. He even grabbed you a milkshake when you told him how you dumped your ex.

He’s been there in every way that counts, but not close enough.

Somewhere along the way, you’ve become love sick, reduced to a yearning mess each time you see him, each time only furthering your feelings. All you want is for Logan to accept this spark between you and let you in, let you ease his troubles and care— because you do, so much.

And, you might want Logan’s dick deep inside you, his strong body hovering over yours as he fucks you dirty, hard, and rough.

“Whatever, Logan.” Huffing, your eyes roll to further showcase your opinion. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs and the action causes the tiny, black dress to slip further up your thighs.

And because Logan has a staring problem where you’re concerned, he sees the roll of your eyes, the expanse of thigh that’s showing. Whenever you’re like this, so unashamed of your need for him, it makes him want to let go of any morals. It makes him want to throw your legs over his shoulders and devour you, lick up the slick he knows is there. He’d like to finally shut your mouth up, finally stop those bratty comments as he fills you up.

Instead, he stays quiet and focuses on the empty road ahead. He can do this, resist your hazy eyes and luscious lips long enough until he gets you to your destination. The radio is switched on then, some pop song filtering through the vehicle in an attempt to lessen the thick, sexual strain permeating the air.

Though, that little action seems to unravel any little bit of control either of you have.

His indifference annoys you; here you are, adorned in a black, lacy dress that does nothing to cover your thighs and grips your curves deliciously. And, you even turned down an attractive man at the club in favor of having Logan pick you up; just the thought of him made you immune to another’s charm.

How embarrassing are you? Staying loyal to a man that has decided the course of your relationship without your input. You would’ve walked away if it were any other person, but you’ve seen the way he eyes you each time you get inside his car, seen the way his fingers go white as he grips the steering wheel, seen the way his cock goes hard at the sight of you.

And that’s when you decide you’re sick of this. Sick of Logan denying you both mind altering pleasure, sick of him pushing you away, sick of him deciding what’s best for you when you can make your own decisions.

A noisy clink! resounds as you unbuckle your seatbelt, and move towards the front of the car. You feel a prickling gaze at the side of your face as you fit yourself over the console, hand reaching to turn off the radio knob. You let your fingertips just barely graze Logan’s arm as you do so, and you’d think he’s unfazed had you not been so close to see the shudder rack through him, to hear the gruff inhale that has a shaky lilt.

In the corner of your eye, you see his mouth part, but before he can scold you, you remove yourself and land back against the cushion. If you’re going to do this, you want his entire attention on you, not some shitty song filtering through the radio station.

You adjust yourself, wiggling until you’re comfortable. Parting your thighs, you feel your confidence soar as you note how Logan’s eyes track your movements.

The dress is bunched up around the tops of your thighs and with the way your legs are open, stretched enough that your ankles lean against the opposite sides of the leather, the lacy thong is on display.

One hand trails down to the spot between your legs, where you’re slick and wet with want. You don’t touch yourself right away, instead petting the supple skin of your inner thighs. The other hand moves to caress your breasts as they threaten to spill from the confines of the dress. You sigh, a shiver racketing through you as nimble fingers brush your most sensitive spots with a mere graze.

“What are you—“ Logan starts, but you cut him off because you’re in charge here, not him.

“Shut up, Logan.” You’re trying to sound stern but with the way you’re softly petting your nipples through the fabric, it’s more breathy than authoritative.

“Fuck,” Logan spits out, trying really hard to not crash but it’s proving to be a bit impossible with the way he can see you teasing yourself. What’s worse is the fact that the intoxicating scent of your pussy is assaulting his senses. He feels high on your smell, on the way he watches through the mirror as you pinch your chest. “Fuck.”

“You know…” You start, but it’s interrupted by a sudden inhale as you finally touch your tender clit through the thin material, pads rubbing softly until that familiar, hot feeling fills your stomach. “I wish I stayed at the club a little longer.”

“Is that right?” If your eyes were open, you’d see how unhinged and feral the man looks. The skin of his knuckles split open as his claws peak out.

A whimper rings loud into Logan’s ears and fuck, that angelic noise will haunt him for the rest of his fucking life. His eyes snap back to see you slowly rolling your hips into your hands, fingers playing with your clit lazily.

“Mhmm, I shouldn’t have called you. Not when you constantly ignore me.” You whine, spreading your legs further apart than before, feeling a rush you’ve never felt before blossom across your entire body at the show you’re putting on. “You pretend there’s nothing here, you pretend you don’t want me, and it pisses me off.”

He’s trying so incredibly hard to force the words ‘knock it off and cover yourself up’ out, but he can’t.

He can’t when it’s the furthest thing from what he actually wants. He can faintly see the wet spot on your underwear, and he wants to scream at you to remove the material all together— he’s that desperate to see your puffy, pretty cunt glisten in all its glory.

“I don’t ignore you, baby.” It’s grunted out, the pain of his claws only aiding in his desire as his cock grows uncomfortably stiff in his pants. “But I can’t give you what you want.”

Another roll of your eyes sends a shiver down Logan’s aching back. Oh, if you don’t knock it off, he’s going to make you cry as he fucks you dumb.

Happy thoughts… Logan thinks.

“There was this guy in the club.” By the tiny smirk on your lips, he knows he shouldn’t take the bait. He knows you’re trying to push him, trying to get him to let go and take what you both desire. He knows he shouldn’t fall for it.

Too bad hes never been good at listening.

“What?”

The lethal, cold depth of his voice has your eyes flying open and you have the audacity to fucking moan. You’re usually not this… bold? Perhaps Logan just turns you into a feral, needy thing.

“Yeah, he was cute too!” You hum, bubbles of laughter tumbling from bitten lips at the way Logan stares at you, at how he gives you a warning look. “He offered to by me a drink, said he wanted to dance.”

“He’s a dick.”

“No, he said I’m pretty.”

“You are pretty.” It’s angry, the way he forces it out, not because it’s untrue, but because the idea of another man trying to make a move on you, his girl, sends anger boiling beneath his skin.

“He was nice, I don’t know why I bothered to turn him down.” It’s through a moan, the way the words are murmured because your fingers are now rubbing circles over your sex in a motion that has your hips jolting, legs shaking, and lips shiny with spit as you bite at them.

“He’s an asshole, only wants one thing from you.”

“I don’t care, what if I want only one thing from him too?”

“Careful.” He practically growls, the limousine swerving slightly before he gets control over the wheel again.

He’s not sure when you’ve become so fucking obscene, but he aches to bend you over the hood of the car and teach you a lesson. He’s so overwhelmed with the turn of events, of how so many feelings jump about beneath his ribcage.

He knows he’s been pushing you away, ignoring the connection you have, but fuck? The knowledge you can slip away from him at any moment makes him feel agonized.

“Jealous?” You taunt, the material of your underwear darker with the slick pooling there and you both know Logan can see it.

“No.”

“I gave him my number, you know.” It's spoken so nonchalantly that a snarl threatens to escape deep from Logan’s throat. “He said to call if I need anything…”

“Watch it,” it’s calmly muttered, but Logan’s anything but. He’s torn between actually focusing on the road and watching your fingers roll your clit in the rear view mirror. That, and anger rolls off him in thick, daunting waves because of a man he doesn’t even know.

You’ve got him wrapped around your pretty finger and he’s a fool to think anything else. He’s a fool to think he’s been successful in the suppression of his feelings.

“Maybe I should call him,” You suggest, your hand slipping beneath the sodden mesh and finally touching your clit properly. “He was hot.”

Logan’s so wrapped up in your euphoric face and honeyed voice that he’s struggling to remember why he’s so riled up.

“Stop tryna piss me off. You’re on my last fuckin’ nerve.” He’s stern, but you just smile wide and slip the pads of your fingers down to swipe up the arousal dripping from your hole, your whiny pants making his spine go rigid.

“I’m not doing anything, Logan.”

“Bullshit. Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not gonna work. This can’t happen.”

He’s trying so hard to convince himself as much as you. His words don’t bother you though, because the smile on your face morphs into a satisfied smirk.

“You don’t want me?” You challenge, and you stare him down as your fingers retreat from your cunt. You lift your hand up to your mouth, never once looking away as you stick them past your lips and suck.

Your body jolts when the car swerves wildly, but instead of fear, blistering lust fills you and burns your cheeks. Logan looks so incredibly distraught with how your lips wrap around your fingers, a soft ‘hmmm’ falling from you at the taste of desire blooming across your tastebuds.

“Shit, honey. Of course I want you. You don’t know how bad I need you.”

“Please.” You cry out, voice high and dripping with want. Your fingers part from your wandering tongue, traveling down the path of your curves to find your pussy again. “Please, please—“

“No.”

“Logan!” You’re so overwhelmed with your blatant need for the man that actual tears pool at your lashes.

“No.”

“And why the fuck not?”

“Don’t give me attitude.” He commands and you must be sick because the stern, finality of his tone has your hole clenching around nothing. “You know why.”

“—oh my god, Logan. Not this again, the ‘I’m not a good guy,’ and ‘I’m too old for you’ is absolute shit! I don’t care, I want you to fuck me.”

You’re so forthright that he can’t be blamed with how his stomach churns with intense hunger.

“You deserve so much more, more than I can give you.”

Logan seems to forget that as much as he’s come to know you, you’ve also picked up on his own habits. So, you know he’s full of shit by the twitch of his hands on the wheel, the tightening of his lips, the way he’s staring at you like a man starved.

“You know what? Fine, that’s fine. I’ll just call Nate and—“

“Who?” The cold note in his words should scare you, but it just sends another wave of slick to seep down your thighs.

“Nate! The guy from the club,” you say, one hand reaching for the phone hidden in your purse, and the other rubbing slow circles on your neglected clit. The mixture of your spit and wetness is noisy as you rub yourself, the sound driving Logan fucking insane.

“I told you, the guy sounds like a dick. The fuck kind of name is that?” Logan’s patience is running out and you both know it, the string tearing with each tug you give. His eyes widen when you wiggle the phone in his eyeline.“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

“Why? At least he was willing to fuck me.”

And, oh.

You’re not sure what causes you to say that, but the atmosphere turns tense, filling with anticipation, something dark and dangerous enough that chills run across your exposed skin.

It’s silent. Astonishingly silent as Logan tears his gaze from you, his eyes only forward now. You don’t back down; you know you’re driving the man crazy and it feels fucking good.

Without tearing your eyes from him, you hit the call button.

The sound of the phone dialing has Logan snapping. The car tires screech loudly as Logan slams on the breaks, yanking the wheel to pull of to the side of the road.

Your hands fly out to catch yourself from the swift, jerky motion. A sense of accomplishment bubbles inside your chest when Logan shuts the car off, his body frantic and quick before he’s out the driver's door.

You’re jittery with nerves, despite the fact you were just rubbing your clit like a madwoman in front of him. You were tempting him, sure. But now that he’s finally snapped, you’re nervous.

You gasp as chilly air hits you in the face when the back door opens. In an instant, he’s in the back with you, slamming the door shut. His presence is so intimidating and powerful that you shiver, arousal licking at your back as he crowds into your space.

He glares at you, and just as about you’re about to speak, a rough, large hand grips your chin tightly. He squeezes your cheeks, thumb pulling at your bottom lip. His other hand yanks the phone from your fingers and chucks the device in the front seat.

“So fucking stubborn and bratty, always fucking pushing me. Never stop talking, do you?”

“I’ll have you kno—“

Logan slams his mouth onto yours then, effectively shutting you the fuck up.

It’s like fireworks are set off in your stomach, a trickle of mind numbing pleasure tingling every inch of you. You’ve imagined this moment for months, wondered how it’d feel, but nothing your imagination conjured up could ever compare to the real thing.

Logan’s kisses are passionate, eager. He lifts your entire body into his lap in one, quick motion. The causal display of his sheer strength causes your body to melt into him. Your choked gasp is swallowed by his lips, his tongue licking at yours and oh, the wetness of it sends a wave of flutters straight to your cunt.

His mouth is harsh, the scruff of his beard scratching at your chin with a tasteful burn. His rough hand leaves your thigh to snake into your hair, wrapping the strands around his fingers until a messy ponytail forms. Without warning, he tugs firmly to pull you from his mouth.

He watches as your eyes fly open, as a string of saliva connects from his lips to yours. He feels pride thrum within his chest as you try to lean in immediately, chasing the taste of him, his kiss, his tongue.

Logan doesn’t allow you though, yanking at your hair to keep you in place.

“Not speaking now, are you?” Logan grunts out, tugging your head back so he can lick a hot, wet stripe up the expanse of your neck. He sucks at the skin there, hips threatening to thrust up at the moans spilling from your open mouth. “Finally found a way to keep you fuckin’ quiet.”

“Logan—“ you start, mind cloudy with the overwhelming feeling of his wet mouth on your skin, but he just smashes his lips on yours again.

And holy fuck, the way he’s kissing you, like he’s been starved of a meal and you’re the only thing edible, like he can’t get enough of your taste, has your panties growing even wetter. You snake your arms around Logan’s neck tightly, hips swiveling down in his lap so you can rub yourself over his bulge.

Your moan tangles with the surprised groan from Logan when your center grinds down on his cock, the feeling indescribable, utterly intoxicating and above all— right. It feels so fucking right.

His hand releases your hair in favor of grabbing handfuls of your ass and squeezing, guiding your hips as he licks at the roof of your mouth.

Its almost embarrassing how riled up you are with just kissing and humping, but you can’t be blamed, not really. Not with the way Logan’s dragging your cunt along his hard cock as he sucks your tongue— it’s so fucking good that his pants are wet with your lust, even through your panties and his pants.

When you finally pull back, it’s with his bottom lip tucked between your teeth, enticing a hiss from the man as you bite down. You lose your hands in his messy hair, tugging until his eyes open and fuck— his pupils are huge, dark with need for you.

Cradling his cheeks, you release and lick at his lip, soothing the sting your teeth left. You startle as Logan thrusts up in reaction, the head of him tapping your clit, and despite the barriers between you, it feels fucking amazing.

Logan catches your lips in a messy, slick embrace. There’s no gentleness, only pure sensuality leading his bruising kisses. You get so wrapped up in the pleasure of Logan’s mouth on yours, his cock rutting into your clothed center so delectably, that time is lost.

When you push Logan’s face away, it’s because your lungs burn with the need for oxygen.

Logan’s unfazed, lips moving down your throat and leaving wet kisses across your neck. You’re sucking in oxygen desperately, hands shaky as they stroke up and down Logan’s back. You want to remember every inch of him, that’s how addicting it is to touch his skin.

“Fuck, I can smell you.” He mutters against your collarbone, rough hands roaming all over your body, as if he needs to memorize the feel of you.

“Yeah?”

You’re a fucking mess— hands wrappped tightly around the back of his neck, leaving scratches that stay for longer than they would’ve decades prior, and you’re still rolling your hips in his lap, trying and failing to ease the ache in your cunt. It only further intensifies the achy throbbing with each grind of restless hips.

“Smells so fuckin’ sweet. Gonna let me have a taste, baby?”

“Yes! Please, Logan, please.” You’re far too gone, too drunk on the feel of his lips on your chest to care how pathetic you sound.

You lean back, grabbing Logan’s face to meet yours, sighing softly as your wet lips melt together once more. He groans, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair, tugging hard as he turns your head any way he pleases, using you. It’s then you realize you’d let him do anything to you.

You’re not sure how much time passes as Logan devours your mouth, it could be mere minutes or hours, but you’ve been too tangled up in his to care. What you do know is that you feel as though you’re going to explode if you don’t relieve the pressure in your pussy soon.

You’re whining, pawing at Logan’s chest and rubbing your wetness on the pant of his thigh, trying to get the man to touch you moremoremore.

But Logan’s too occupied with sucking on your tongue and biting your bottom lip meanly. He uses the grip he has on your hair to keep you there, rendered useless as he messily kisses you breatheless.

“Logan, Logan, Logan.” You moan and even though it’s mumbled into his own lips, he hears you all the same. “Need you. Please.”

And then, it’s like Logan’s realizing the current situation— you, a whimpering mess and rubbing your cunt along his lap as your spit soaked lips mesh with his own in a delicious, salacious embrace. You, who he knows he can’t afford to lose, and if he continues touching you, you’ll fade away like everything else good in his life.

He pushes your face back, but makes no move to remove your weight from his body. A frown settles over your blissed out features, dread replacing the butterflies fluttering about inside you.

“Logan?”

“You don’t want this.” He’s refusing to look at you, his hazel eyes blown out with pleasure wondering around the interior of the limousine as if he hasn’t seen it before.

“I do. I want this. I want you.” You cradle his bearded face in your hands, thumbs caressing the prickly grays scattered across his cheeks. “I do.”

“No, baby. You don’t, you deserve so much better—“

His words are lost in the air as you connect your swollen lips with his. You bully your tongue inside, swiping along his, sighing when his hips buck up at your boldness. The action has his cock rutting your covered clit in such an angle that you could probably come just like that.

“Can’t you feel how badly I want you?” You whisper, peppering sweet kisses along his cheeks, nose, eyelids. Staring into his eyes, so muddled with conflict and something sweeter, you kiss him again.

“Shit,” he groans into your mouth, tongues dancing in a pace that has you dizzy, whimpering inside mouth as your lace covered mound ruts at his thigh. “Can’t baby. You deserve someone better, not some old fucking man who’s done more harm than good.”

“I don’t need better, I need you.” You emphasize the point by grabbing his hand and shoving them down your panties.

A symphony of your shared moans ricochets through the small space; you, at the feel of his rough, thick fingers finally touching your slit. Logan, at the feel of your sweet, sweet arousal soaking your cunt slippery.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to find any excuse as to why he should push you away when kissing you, touching you feels this fucking good. Even as his brain works, his fingers tease your fluttering hole and collect your wetness and dragging it to your clit.

“See? I need you, please. Logan, please.”

You stare up at him, eyes wide with so many feelings that cause his heart to pump faster and his cock to jerk.

He seals his fate then and there— Logan’s sick and tired of all the bad in his life, and he doesn’t know much, but what he does know is that you make him feel like he’s good, like he’s fated for something other than drowning in whiskey. And he’s sick of denying himself of you.

“Fuck it.” He mutters, eyes on your lips before melting into you, lips meshing together wetly.

Your moan is loud and sweet, hands leaving his face in favor of gripping his shoulders, nails digging into the crisp white of the fabric there.

He pulls back, ignoring the need washing over him at the mewl falling from you at the sudden removal of him.

“Shh, baby.” He soothes, a large hand finding purchase on your chin, his fingers teasing your lips and rubbing the saliva there. “Open up.”

The quickness at which you obey him makes him want to impale you with his cock then, but he just barely restrains. Your lips are parted, tongue peaking out and waiting; the picture you paint will be a reoccurring dream for him, forever.

Logan leans over you before spitting onto your tongue, watching as the saliva glistens in your mouth. You gasp, the act so incredibly dirty and carnal that you shiver in his lap.

“Swallow.” He commands, squeezing your cheeks together, nearly getting lost in the dazed, euphoric look in your eyes. And you do, because of course you do. ”Atta girl.”

A sob nearly escapes you at that you’re so turned on beyond belief that you’ll burst into tears if Logan doesn’t fuck you soon.

Almost like he can read your mind, he moves you around until your back hits the cool, chilly leather of the seat. He settles himself on the floor of the limousine before you, ignoring the aches he feels stinging his lower back. The pain lingering in his bones becomes a background noise when he looks at you— as if just one look from you heals wounds deep within him.

Logan runs his hands along your legs slowly, teasingly as he presses a kiss on your upper thigh.

“Been dreaming of this pussy for so long.” He starts, leaning until your covered mound is warm with his breath. You’re trembling, suspense hot in your stomach as you wait for him to do something. “Everytime you get in the car, I can smell you. And everytime, I want to fucking eat you out.”

“Logan, please.” You cry out, his filthy words making you dizzy with desire.

And seeing you, someone who’s so unabashedly themselves and talkative be reduced to a withering mess, has a grin threatening to grace his face.

“I got you, baby. Gonna take care of you.”

And he does.

Logan presses a soft, barely there kiss to your lace covered slit before licking a slow, warm path from your hole to your aching clit.

“Oh my god!” You cry out, thighs trying and failing to clench closed as Logan’s hands keep them spread open. He groans at your taste, the hint of something so entirely you.

He grabs each thigh and wraps them around his neck before pulling the sodden material aside with his thumb to finally expose your pussy to him.

And at the sight of your cunt glistening with slick, with unsuppressed desire, makes him fucking lose it.

“She’s so wet, fucking dripping everywhere,” groans, and it takes your muddled brain a second before realizing he’s talking about your pussy.

A moan falls from you, deep from your chest and full of need and hunger as Logan’s tongue swirls over your slit, dipping into your dripping hole. He’s messy as he eats you out, completely driven by a primal urge to completely devour you in the most intimate sense. His movements are rash, his appetite stronger than anything else.

Logan leans back a bit, eyes flickering to yours to ensure you’re focused on him before he spits directly onto your pussy.

A gasp sounds, your chest heaving at the warmth of his saliva coating your center, and it’s so dirty, so insanely hot that it only causes more slick seeps from you.

Logan leans back, ignoring your whine as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy wide open, your sex bare to him. Its obscene, the way he stares at the mixture of saliva and slick glistening your slit. It’s a sight, your cunt crying for him and clenching around nothing as your hips try to buck at his mouth.

Logan laps it all up, tongue flat as he greedily licks up and down your sex. And you’re losing it— not only is his tongue fucking you, going as deep as he can, but Logan’s nose is also bumping against your clit with each thrust of his mouth. Warmth swarms in your stomach and your thighs shake with a promise of an orgasm in the distance.

“Feels so good!” You manage, your hips thrusting up into his face.

You were right— the beard feels fucking amazing rubbing mean and unforgiving against the sensitive skin of your thighs, against your slit.

“Tastes so good, the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” Logan moans, replacing his tongue with two fingers. His cock hardens even more with the way your cunt swallows his fingers right away, your warm, wet walls squeezing around them.

That familiar burn swelters in your pelvis, pure heat sizzling through your veins and for a moment, you forget to breathe. It gets worse when Logan suddenly wraps his swollen lips around your puffy clit and sucks.

The pleasure of it all is so sudden that it smothers you entirely— your back arches off the leather, your pussy convulsing as Logan’s fingers and tongue work you to an orgasm quicker than you ever have before.

“Logan, Logan.” You pant, hands tugging the graying tufts of hair, and you’re unsure if you’re trying to push him impossibly closer and away at the same time.

He only releases his suction on your clit when tears prickle your eyes, when you shake on his fingers from the stimulation of it all. He gently places a kiss to your clit, smiling when you jolt. His lips travel along your sweaty thighs, hands stroking your calves as you struggle to breathe.

“That’s it, honey. I got you.”

“Come here,” is all you have the strength to muster, needing his lips on yours instead of your trembling thighs.

Logan obliges, because if you asked him to get you the moon, he’d do his damn hardest to get it.

“Hi,” you whisper once he’s level with you, body slotted between your limp one. Your arms move without your knowledge, wrapping comfortably around his nape.

“Hi, baby.” His voice is deeper, almost as if he’s completely blissed out on the taste of your pussy and come.

It’s then you see how insane he looks— his chin, lips, and the tip of his nose is wet, completely soaked with you. His eyes are wild, hazy with need and his hair is messy from wandering fingers. He looks so incredibly handsome right now, in your arms, covered in you that you can’t be blamed for the moan that escapes.

You tug him close, lips locking in a newly familiar kiss. The taste of you envelopes over your tongue as you lick along his mouth, a satisfied hum vibrating from your lips to his.

What starts as a sweet, lazy kiss turns heated quickly, and though you’ve just come, your sex aches to be filled. It’s a mess of tongues and saliva, teeth clashing as your lips interlock and wrap around one another.

Your hands begin to unbutton his shirt, marveling at the feel of muscle that’s revealed with each pop of a button. You shrug the fabric off and grab at his shoulders, nails digging into the skin and trailing down to the middle of his back.

“Fuck!” Logan groans, biting your bottom lip as you scratch at him.

Instead of responding, you push at his chest until he falls into the seat across yours before throwing yourself in his lap again. You’re crazed, an unsatisfied hunger clinging to every inch of you and threatening to overtake your senses.

“Always so damn bossy.” He’s taunting you, but with the way his dick jolts as you yank your dress off, you know you’ve got him right where you want him.

You gaze at him, guiding his hands from your hips to your chest, urging him to take off your bra.

Logan’s too impatient to actually remove the fabric though, because he simply pulls at the cups until they give way to the pressure and your breasts pool over the band.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” He groans, leaning down and taking a pebbled nipple between his lips. You whine as he sucks, his fingers rubbing and pulling your other nipple. He switches his attention between both for a while and desire pools in your stomach, heat tingles across your skin, and you can’t wait any longer.

With quick hands, you work to undo his buckle before yanking down his boxers and dress pants in one motion, leaving them in a mess at his ankles. Logan releases your chest in favor of watching you nearly drool at his cock.

He’s huge. The tip is flushed, red and swollen, dripping pearly white bubbles from the slit. His shaft is thick with veins leading down to a patch of short, curled hair at the base. Even in the dim light of the limousine, you note how the vein on his lower stomach connects to the ones decorating his cock. Fuck, you suddenly want to feel the heaviness of him on your tongue and you’d ignore your own needs to choke on the entirety of him. You crave his taste, his come, and—

“Next time, baby.” Logan startles you from your filthy thoughts, and you actually whine at his words. “As much as I’d like to fuck your pretty mouth, I need to be inside you.”

And despite the fact that the man has eaten you out and stolen an orgasm already, you flush with warmth.

Logan finds you amusing, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock and yanking you until your hole is kissing his tip. Your hips move forward, and a whole body shiver wracks through you when your clit brushes his shaft.

“C’mon, princess. Show me how bad you want it.” He emphasizes his taunt with a squeeze of your waist, his lips brushing yours. “Not so cocky now, huh?”

With a glare, you push his hand away and wrap yours around his cock, guiding it to your wet, slick hole. Logan merely raises an eyebrow as your other hand grips his shoulder to lift yourself up enough. Without warning, you sink down onto the the tip of him, nails digging into his shoulder at the overwhelming feel bubbling over you.

“Fuck,” Logan growls, head leaning forward onto your shoulder as you squeeze around him purposefully, cunt sucking him down bit by bit as you lower yourself, only stopping when he fills you to the brim.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” You huff, a grin on your flushed face as you repeat his previous words back at him.

Logan doesn’t respond, to focused on not coming immediately— you’re so fucking tight, so wet and warm that he’s struggling.

The stretch is painful, but not unpleasant as you adjust to his size. When the burn fades away and instead comes a delicious thrum, you unleash.

You lift your hips up, enticing a broken moan from Logan as you move up and slam back down in slow, articulated motions.

“Feel so good, baby. So good.”

“Yeah?” You say, hands creeping into his hair to pull each time his tip brushes that spot inside you.

“Yeah.” The kiss he presses to your cheek makes your heart flutter, an act so pure in the midst it all.

You continue your torturous pace, pride warming your chest when Logan’s hands tighten on your hips, urging you to go faster.

You could go faster, but you like the way Logan looks like he’s struggling to suck in oxygen each time his cock returns to your hole.

You catch his mouth in an open, wet kiss. He grunts, and before you can even think, Logan moves his hips upwards and you cry out.

Oh.

Suddenly, Logan’s stripped you of control and thrusts his cock deep inside you in quick, harsh movements. You’re fucking dripping, desire slicking your thighs and Logan’s. He feels so good and he’s so deep and he’s holding you in place so you have no choice but to take it, take the assaulting pace he’s set.

“Shit,” Logan grits out, arms tightly wrapped around your midsection as he fucks you from below. “This is what you wanted?”

You’re so overcome with euphoria, so deeply gone in the waves of pleasure, that you can only nod. Each time he’s fucks up into you, his pubic bone brushes your swollen, pulsing clit in a delicious graze that has tears gathering at your lash line.

“This is what you wanted? For me to fuck you dumb?” He mutters between clenched teeth, his hips moving in a deadly way now. “You just wanted to be fucking full of me, huh?”

“Yes!” You mewl, mouth falling onto his as your tongues messily swirl around, moans and groans mixing with the wet kisses.

The pressure building in your abdomen is almost too much, teasing you each time his cock slams inside. Despite being as close as physically possible, you ache to be closer.

You stop Logan, lifting yourself off him with a hiss. The sudden absence of him leaves you feeling uncomfortably empty and unconsciously, your hole clenches as wetness drips from you and onto the leather seats.

“What’s wro—“ you cut him off by pushing him until he’s laying back on the long seat. Once he’s settled down, as shock paints his expression, you climb shakily back onto his lap.

Sighs of relief echo through the air as your cunt sucks him down and a filthy squelch sounds. With him like this, he’s somehow deeper. You’re so incredibly full, it feels unreal.

The tingling, sweltering sensation in your cunt has you grinding across his lap, the base of his cock rubbing your clit delicately.

“Fuck. Doin so good for me.” Logan bends an arm behind his head so he can watch the way your eyes roll back with each grind, the way your tits jostle with each thrust and hump. “That’s it, baby.”

His praise has you finding a delicious, intoxicating rhythm as you lift up and down, up and down. The ridges and veins of his shaft kiss your walls and your thighs tremble with the feeling. Your hands reach back and grip your asscheeks to pull them apart further, needing his cock to go even deeper.

Logan is enamored by the sight before him— his pretty girl desperately splitting her cunt onto his cock, eyes rolling back with spit-slicked lips resembling an ‘o’.

His hand wraps around your throat tightly, pulling you down until your chest is flush against his. The action has you clumsy, arms swinging out to grip whatever is nearest to steady yourself. He places both hands across your ass and lifts you like you weigh nothing, mimicking your previous thrusts with more force, more speed.

A harmony of ‘uh, uh’s’ filter through his ears as Logan uses you and fucks you down onto his cock. You’re a whining mess, latching onto him tightly as his hips start to thrust upwards, his hands slamming your hips back down.

Suddenly, he wishes that he had his phone close because seeing you like this is a sight he wants to capture forever.

“C’mon, baby. Can feel how close you are.” He grits out between thrusts. One hand leaves your ass to cradle your slackened jaw, gripping tight enough as he forces your eyes on his.

Logan pushes his thumb past your lips and a deep moan falls from him as you suck at his finger. With your gaze never leaving his, you mimic a blowjob as you suck and swirl your tongue along his thumb.

“Mine.” Logan moans, his digit pressing down onto your tongue. He feels a sick sense of pleasure envelope him as you gag at the pressure, eyes glittering with unshed tears. “My fuckin’ girl.”

You nod instantly, a sweet, gooey feeling spreading across your chest at his words, at his voice. You pathetically grind down as Logan fucks upward, spit glistening your lips and his thumb as you messily suck on him.

An overbearing urge to get you to climax surges within him, and he sighs mockingly when you groan as his thumb slips from the confines of your pretty mouth. With a new vigor, Logan fucks you harder, faster, dirtier. He slips a hand between your sweaty bodies and when his fingers swirl over your clit, you explode.

The roughness of his hips, the precision of his fingertips on your clit, and the intensity of the moment catches up with you and you’re coming abruptly. It’s intense, the way a maddening bliss coats your entire body and soul. It leaves you breathless and dizzy as your eyes prickle with spots along your vision.

You’re moaning, words unintelligible against the warmth of Logan’s chest, and your cunt squeezes around him in sharp, sporadic pulses.

Logan’s so close to losing it and you don’t even realize it, too busy trying to inhale oxygen into greedy lungs. Huffs tumble from you, but instead of really trying to breathe, you lift your face to pepper wet, open mouthed kisses across his torso and that does it for him.

“Fuck…” Logan moans, gutteral and rough as he slams your hips down onto his cock, his cock painting your walls with come as euphoria encompasses him entirely. “Fuck, baby.”

Your body feels like it’s on fire— clit throbbing with overstimulation as Logan’s cock continues to fill you to the brim with his orgasm. Tears of pleasure have spilled over the apples of your cheeks, the strands of your hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face.

You continue to gently kiss up his chest and neck before you move to hold Logan’s face. Eyes fill with astonishment as you take in the way his eyes roll with the aftershocks of his peak. Thumbing at his cheeks, you kiss his lips gently before pressing kisses all along his face. His cheeks, the slope of his nose, his chin, forehead, and even the furrow of his brows.

You don’t even notice Logan staring at you with complete adoration until he removes your hand to kiss your palm.

You smile at him, bashful even with his softening cock is still inside you, stuffing you full of his come.

“C’mere.” He says, pulling you close until your lips melt over one another’s in a sweet, passionate kiss.

With a sudden thought, you pull away and fix him with a stern stare. Unfortunately for you, the furrow of your brows and purse of your lips only causes his heart to beat faster beneath the adamantium ribcage. You just look so pretty right now, sitting atop of him breathless and sweaty, a glaze settled over your irises.

“What's that face for?” His brow is raised and a smile is teasing his swollen lips.

“No more pushing me away, Logan.”

His gaze softens then, reminded of his self sabotage and the way he’s been adamant in keeping you at arms length, despite his yearn for more, his need for you.

“No more pushing you away, baby.” His lips meet yours softly, finality in his tone that eases your worries and wandering thoughts.

You lay your head down in the crook of his neck and hug him, intent to never let him go. Logan’s heart clenches with an emotion he’s not quite yet ready to face, so instead he presses a kiss to your hairline as his fingers stroke your back.

The atmosphere is no longer tense, but rather peaceful as every single desire has finally been satiated to the point of calmness. Eventually, he knows he’ll have to pull away from you and actually drive you home (and he will be coming inside, he can’t wait to properly fuck you in your bed), but he wants to stay in your embrace a little longer. It’s a blissful moment, and the serenity of it is something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Logan?” You whisper, tired as you rub your nose along his neck.

“Yeah, honey.”

“I didn’t give that guy my number… I actually told him to fuck off.”

And when you say it with a slightly guilty tone, a laugh rumbles deep from his chest. He doesn’t care, because that little white lie caused him to finally say fuck it and allow you both to have each other, after months of built up tension and horribly hidden feelings.

The feeling you erupt in his chest is foreign and it scares him— but with the weight of you in his arms, he knows he’ll do anything to keep you.

˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚ fin

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett xmen #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you #logan xmen #wolverine x you #x men movies #logan howlett fic #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fanfiction #logan wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fanfic #x men wolverine

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dcxdpdabbles · 2 days ago

Text

DCXDP fanfic idea: You ARE the Father.

Clark Kent gets a call from his old high school situationship. Really, he liked her well enough, but both had agreed they did not want to stay stuck in Smallville forever.

Clark wanted to go to the big city for journalism, and Maddie wanted to go into the sciences - she was unsure if she wanted to do organic chemistry or engineering. His parents supported his dream, Maddie's....not so much.

While she did come from a family of intelligent women, the Paynes believed they should stay on the family farm to support the family. They could not understand why Maddie wanted to be strong and independent woman if all that would bring her was dying alone.

According to them, no man wanted a disobent wife. She argued too much with men and often wouldn't back down from her stance.

Apparently, that made her "unlady" like.

Clark never saw it. Personally, he thought women with backbone, who wouldn't take anyone shit, was insanely attractive. That's why he had approached her at the local science fair where she was steaming by her impressive solar energy powered homemade phone.

Her mother had just finished reminding her that her first place in a small high school fair was nothing to be proud of. It was, after all, only Smallville, and really, there wasn't much competition anyway.

Clark told her that she was likely the smartest person in their entire state and he was in awe by her. Maddie kissed him behind the gym the science fair was being held.

Her family forbade her from dating, which made the kiss somehow more exciting.

They met up regularly to sneak kisses or lend a sympathetic ear. Around their last year of high school, they went a little further then kisses, and really the Kent Barn is not the most comfortable place but it was hidden well enough her family wouldn't know what she was up to and Ma wouldn't question him spending the night there.

All the years of sleeping near the cows to keep them company, since he worried they were lonely, as a child paid off. Despite the numerous times they put Kent barn to work, both knew it was nothing serious.

Maddie needed a break from her family. Clark was more than happy to be her stress relief. He did worry a aweful lot about his powers and the fact he was an alien, so he needed some stress relieving of his own around those years too.

Maddie applied secretly to a big college on the Wayne Scholarship states away, and Clark planned on going to Metropolis as soon as possible for the open intership at the Daily Planet.

They were friends with benefits, but the day graduation came around, they never spoke to each other again. Neither were bitter. They had both known what would be the ending long before it arrived. It would have never worked between them.

Clark wasn't sure what Maddie had wanted after all these years, but being presented a teenage girl- the splitting image of Maddie at that age- who was flouting five feet off the ground was not one of them.

"Jazz, meet Clark Kent, you biological father" Maddie Fenton, for she was married now to the man who had raised Jazz like his own. "Clark, this is Jasmine Fenton...you're daughter"

The man of Steel felt like he's was going to faint.

Or.......

Maddie met Jack in her first semester of college. They get alone really well, and she finds herself with a pregnancy scare before she knows what happened. Sometime between the protrype portal and Jack treating her like an equal, she had found her walls coming down long enough to have a little fun.

The worst part is she is unsure of who the father is, the loveable goof she can see herself spending her life with or the kind gentle famer boy she left behind. It's only two months apart, but it was close enough it could go either way.

She tells Jack the truth, who declares that he doesn't care and gets down on one knee right there and then. Maddie agrees to marry him over the choked tears, blooming happiness and love so strong she feels dizzy from it.

A few months later, she gives birth to her Jazz, and two years later, she has Danny. The Fentons finish school, set up Fenton Works, and raise their family. She never considers telling Clark or getting Jazz tested.

She's Jack Fenton's daughter. That's all there is to it.

Until Jazz one day starts showing signs that Jack is not her father. How does Maddie know? Simple, she recognized the man flying around calling himself Superman, and after hearing of his home planet, and all the little things Clark had been too clumsy to properly cover up back in the day, it clicks.

Her daughter is half Kryptonian and her powers were awakening. Did all Kryptonians unlock thier abilities at the teenage age? Was it a puberty thing for thier kind?

Maddie didn't know, but she couldn't afford to let her daighter go in blind. Metas had tough lives. Who knows what being part alien could do. So she picked up the phone and dialed the man who may have the answers.

Meanwhile, Danny and Jazz are desperately trying to hide the fact that Jazz may have gotten some ghost abilities due to exposure from Phantom's Ghostly Wail and have no idea it's being confused for Kryptonian blood. They were careless in training, and now, similar to that whole fiasco with Spetra and her hospital, Jazz was unable to control her temporary abilities.

Jack is just happy to be there and is unaware of any of his family members' delimas.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #You ARE the Father #Part 1 #Misunderstandings #Clark and Maddie were a situationship #Jazz is being confused for Kryptonian #Is she really his daughter? who knows #Jack Fenton is a good dad

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covenofagatha · 3 days ago

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Okay hear me out Agatha x Reader age gap fic. The reader and Agatha have been together for awhile I was thinking like she used to be your college professor before you graduated, The reader has a monthly night out scheduled with friends from school but Agatha like usual declines in your offer to join you all. Agatha just doesn’t have interest in the “young people bars” and hanging out with old students is strange to her, though it’s a little upsetting you don’t push too much before relenting and going on your way. A little bit into the night despite your efforts in avoiding said persons advances you’re being continuously hit on by either a stranger in the bar or a friend from the group that is your choice! But the resolve would be Agatha showing up cause she felt guilty about always declining, her witnessing and then defusing the situation (jealously obviously). I absolutely love possessive Agatha and love everything you’ve written so far! Whether it ends in smut is also completely up to you!!!

Hope you enjoy and thank you for the very detailed request!! This will be a two-parter and the next part will be based on a request I got about jealous reader x Professor Agatha.

A lesson in jealousy (Part 1)

Agatha gets jealous when she finds you at a bar and a guy is already talking to you.

Word count: 2100

Tags: marking, jealousy, making out, slight thigh grinding

“I was thinking of ordering pizza for tonight?” Agatha muses, already looking at you when you turn your head to face her.

You’re sitting on the couch in her office, nose buried in a book for one of your other classes. Agatha was your professor two years ago and there had been a spark, at least on your end, so you had kept in touch.

It wasn’t until a year ago when you had bridged the gap between a professional relationship and something more when you had kissed her one night after getting drinks at a bar across town.

You had immediately pulled back, apologizing incessantly, but much to your surprise, she had dragged you back in for more.

That night was the first of many that you spent in her bed.

Although she was no longer your teacher, you still attended the college that she worked at, so there was a bit of a gray area. Meaning, you two had to keep it under wraps.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, finally answering Agatha’s question. “I’m going out with my friends tonight. It’s our monthly bar trivia thing that we always do. I think I told you.” She hums and you frown. “What?”

Agatha shrugs. “Seems like we haven’t had a quiet night in awhile, that’s all.”

“You could always come tonight,” you offer hopefully. Her nose wrinkles and she raises an eyebrow and you know why she’s being like this. “You could just happen to show up and I’ll just happen to see you and I’ll invite you to join our team. It’ll be fun!”

And yet you know her answer before she even says it. “That’s not really my scene, baby.” You pout and slouch down further into the couch. She has never once taken you up on an invitation, even though you practically beg her every time. She rolls her eyes exasperatedly. It’s an old game for both of you. “Come on, hon, you know I have no interest in going to a bar with a bunch of college kids on a Friday night where everyone will be drinking and making noise and I taught most of your friends. I just think that it will be weird.”

A flash of anger bubbles up to protect you from the hurt you feel deep down. Would it kill her to do something for you? “I’m also a college kid who will be out drinking and ‘making noise’ and you were my professor two years ago. Is that weird?”

She sighs heavily and pushes her chair back, patting her thighs. She wants you to come over, but you grit your teeth and don’t give in. “Of course not. That’s not what I meant, obviously. Just spending my Friday evening with a bunch of college kids isn’t what I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

You stand up, shoving your books and laptop in your bag and Agatha scoffs and says your name. You meet her eyes, disappointment written all over your face. It kills you to show her how much her rejection hurts, but you’re tired of it.

“Come here, please,” she says softly. You grumble but obey. You slide off your backpack and sit on her laps, tensely putting your arms around her neck. Despite how mad you are, you still fiddle with her strands on her nape that aren’t in her bun. She leans in to kiss your lips but you don’t let it go any further than a press of her mouth against yours. You won’t give in that easily.

“You never come,” you whine.

She tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “I know, sweetheart. I just worry it might be risky for us to be seen out in public like that. Why don’t you come over after and we can have a movie night or something? I’ll take you to a bar tomorrow night, I promise. Just the two of us.”

You can see there’s no use trying to fight her on this. No matter what you say, she won’t come with you and you’d rather not have to open up and tell her how you want to just spend a night with the most important people in your life: Agatha and your best friends. You also feel a little insecure about being so young. She is over twice your age and you worry that sometimes you aren’t enough for her, or that she thinks you’re too immature. “Okay,” you say, voice small.

She squeezes your waist and gives you another peck. “That’s my girl. Don’t come over too late and I’ll make it worth your while.” She winks and you force a smile and climb off her lap.

“I’ll see you later, Agatha.”

“Hon, you don’t have to leave right now,” she calls but you’re already walking to the door. You wave a hand as a goodbye and you moodily walk back to your dorm.

You sulk the rest of the day and debate whether or not you even want to go out to the bar, but ultimately decide that you deserve it. You don’t need Agatha to have a good time, as much as you’d like her.

“There she is! It’s been awhile!” Natasha exclaims when you get to their table and claps a hand on your back. You wince but pull her in for a hug. You’ve been swamped with homework and when you do have free time, it’s spent with Agatha, so you have barely seen your friends in the past month.

“Sorry, I’ve been so busy,” you mumble while greeting Wanda and Maria, also at the table.

“First round is on you for neglecting us!” Wanda says and you laugh and happily go to the bar to order beers for the group.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks when you finally make your way through the crowd.

“Four Pilsners, please,” you almost have to shout. Someone next to you bumps into you roughly and you jump.

“Oh shit, sorry.” A guy about your age turns around, with shaggy dark hair and blue eyes. Something about his features is so familiar.

“You’re good,” you say. “Do I know you?”

He stares intently at your face, trying to place you. He snaps his fingers. “Professor Harkness’s class, freshman year. Something about witchcraft. I sat in the row in front you. You were like the only one who actually knew what they were talking about. I think you were her favorite by a long shot.”

You blush at hearing that someone else picked up on Agatha liking you. “I don’t know if I’d say that,” you say coyly, smiling a little at the thought of the older woman.

“I’m James. So, uh,” the boy says, sliding a hand nonchalantly around your waist. You freeze. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone at a bar?”

“I’m not alone,” you quickly say, stepping back so his hand falls off, and you point to the table with your friends. “We’re here for trivia night.”

His face lights up and he motions toward a different table with a group of guys. “We are too, but they all suck. Can I join your team?”

“Um-” You’re trying to figure out how to let him down gently when the bartender puts down the four beers in front of you. You reach for your wallet but James slaps a $20 on the counter.

“I got it,” he says proudly and then before you can protest, he grabs two of the beers and you follow with the other drinks, dumbfounded, as he walks over to your table. Your friends give you quizzical looks but you just shrug tiredly. You can’t find it in yourself to care that much right now.

The host of the trivia game comes around to each table and hands out the paper for answers and a pen. He asks the first question: when is Taylor Swift’s birthday.

You immediately say the answer and James pats his hand on your shoulder but it turns into more of a rub. Your eyes widen and your friends bite back a smile.

“I’m actually seeing someone,” you say and take his hand off of you. Your friends look even more surprised than he does. Even though you’ve been dating Agatha for close to a year now, you’ve been really secretive and change the topic whenever your love life comes up with them.

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that,” he says, raising his arms like he’s trying to show you that he’s harmless. He moves to touch you again but a hand darts out and grabs his wrist. You turn and your jaw falls open.

It’s Agatha, and she is positively fuming.

“I think she said she’s taken,” she growls and James backs off.

“Professor Harkness,” he stutters. “I wasn’t trying to do anything, we were just having a good time.” He turns to you, eyes pleading. It’s almost funny how scary he still finds the older woman. “Tell her, we were just talking.”

You wish he had said anything but that. Agatha whirls onto you. “Were you?” She hisses and you gulp. She scoffs as you protest and storms out of the bar.

Ignoring the looks from your friends, you chase after her down the alleyway.

“Agatha, wait,” you yell. “He kept hitting on me and I was trying to let him down gently but he kept trying. I told him that I was with someone else! I’m sorry.”

She spins on her heel and advances toward you. You stop like a deer in headlights and she shoves you against the brick wall before you can think. Her hands grab your wrists and pin them to the wall. You struggle futilely.

“Is this your pathetic attempt of getting back at me?” You furrow your brows in confusion and she laughs sardonically. “I was feeling so guilty earlier. You looked so sad when I didn’t want to come and I thought that maybe I could try, for you. I always say no and what a nice surprise it would be for my girlfriend if I showed up. And then what do I find? My pet is flirting with someone else. Not just someone, a sleazy college boy who would probably cum after two pumps because he’s so incompetent.” She’s snarling, her face an inch away from yours, and you hate how turned on you are.

You’ve always liked it when she got possessive over you.

“I didn’t want him,” you say levelly. “I only want you.”

She huffs like it’s a joke. “Sure you don’t want the college fuckboy? Or any of the other people in the bar? They’d never hesitate to join you for trivia night.”

And then it hits you. She’s jealous because she’s insecure. She also worries about the age difference.

Your heart swells and you break free of her grasp to grab her cheeks and pull her in for a long and filthy kiss. You moan into her mouth when her tongue swipes against yours and she fits a thigh between your legs.

“I’m all yours, Agatha,” you groan when she tugs your bottom lip between her teeth and her eyes flash.

“You better be,” she warns and entangles her fingers in your hair so she can tilt your head to the side and sink a bite into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Your hips buck on her thigh and you gasp when she sucks roughly. She trails up your neck, doing the same thing over and over, and you’re quickly reduced to a moaning, desperate mess.

Her other hand trails down to hold onto your hip, just feeling you shakily grind against her, trying to get some relief.

“Should I go back inside and get James to come out and watch this?” She asks against your skin, still marking you up. “So he knows what happens when he touches things that aren’t his?”

You inhale sharply at the thought and wish that she would just drag you back inside and fuck you right there on the table in front of everyone.

“Please,” you beg. She actually giggles and pulls back to admire her handiwork on your neck. She lightly traces over the marks and you shiver under her touch and intense gaze.

Agatha smirks when she meets your eyes again. “That should let everyone know who you belong to. And you, in case you need the reminder.”

You pretend to think for a moment. “Maybe I could use a refresher. Why don’t you show me who owns me?”

Her eyes darken even more as she pulls you back in for a searing kiss that she ends too quickly.

She yanks her thigh from out between yours and grabs your hand, dragging you to the car.

“Oh, I’m going to, baby.”

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha all along

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360iris · 1 day ago

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Feeling as though Rook is secondary to Neve? You shouldn’t, not really at least because Rook is irreplaceable for the same reasons people are holding animosity towards Neve.

‘Neve gets him without doing any of the hard work.’ Rook is the only person alive who could even be able to. That’s the whole point.

Saving Minrathous results in the Inner Demons quest never happening.

Meaning an unhealed Lucanis never makes peace with Spite.

Meaning he goes on to enter a relationship with a woman (to no fault of her own) who could never, and would never, force him to face his fears and give him the unyielding encouragement needed to live without compartmentalizing every important thing to ever happen to him.

Without Rook completing that quest— Lucanis remains chained down by his debilitating fear of disappointing Caterina, the shame of being made into an abomination against his will, the guilt of being the one who got off easier than Neve and the pain and anger Illario’s betrayal brought onto him.

“Thoughts live here. Ideas. Feelings.” Disappointment. Shame. Guilt. Betrayal. All of which Lucanis felt were too big, too messy to face.

Solavellan is Rookanis’ foil. Except Rook is if Lavellan had succeeded in persuading Solas to face his regrets.

And what was the crux of the replacement Fade prison Solas crafted for the Evanuris? It was a prison built on regret, and the only way to leave would be to face them. Which Ghilan’nan and Elgar’nan would never be able to do.

Spite says “Lucanis is here. Behind locked doors. I can’t break through.” But Rook can.

In his mind’s eye, Lucanis makes Caterina, Harding, Neve and Illario his jailers of negative emotions in a prison of his own creation.

And in all that inner turmoil, his idea of Illario says, “Rook, you’re too good to be here.”

Rook isn’t one of his jailers, not because they don’t matter enough compared to the others, but because Lucanis’ thoughts, ideas and feelings for Rook are too good.

Rook opens doors, they’re not a jailer who throws away the key. In Lucanis and Spite’s eyes, Rook is the key. They are a liberator, a hero, the only one he’ll listen to.

Love, understanding, the unwavering promise of companionship (platonic or romantic) despite the risk to themselves sets Lucanis free.

I’ve seen people who are disappointed in his storyline complain that it feels as though ‘Rook strong arms him into a committed relationship’ that he somehow ‘feels obligated to indulge’ and engage in as a result of saving Treviso. I believe these claims just end up ignoring the really good diamonds in the rough we’re given in terms of Rookanis relationship development.

A romanced!Lucanis gives way to lines like “I don’t know what Rook sees in me. I’m happy to just be around them.”

And paralleling scenes like when Caterina chastises a kneeling Illario with “A Dellamorte never kneels.” Only for Lucanis to later walk over to a post-Fade trapped Rook and literally kneel at their feet like they’re the only deity he cares to worship like this is Take Me To Church by Hozier.

And what is Rookanis as a ship, if not Rook teaching him it’s okay to assert himself, which leads to Lucanis reclaiming his humanity through an act of love? Just saying. Given time, and love, he turns into a Gomez Addams sort of romantic figure.

If Rook were associated as any feeling to Lucanis then they’d be love. Affection. A state of understanding. Purpose? Freedom?

Better yet, Rook could be determination. After all, Rook’s defining characteristic is that they ‘just can’t seem to quit’— in the face of the man they care about saying ‘give up on me, i’m damaged goods’ why wouldn’t they win him over in the end?

#dragon age veilguard spoilers #lucanis dellamorte #dragon age rook #solavellan #rookanis #solas x female lavellan #lucanis x rook

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feeder86 · 3 days ago

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Guy Again and Again

Hyde Park was incredible during the Fall. Guy couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else when the leaves started changing colour. He’d lived in London for three years now and had happily started to put down roots. Like any major city, he’d paid an absolute fortune for his house, but it had been necessary to set himself up and enjoy all that the city had to offer. There was always something happening, always new folks to meet and beautiful people to seduce. When he’d been offered a role back home for even more money, he’d declined it, using it as leverage instead to climb even higher up in his company and then side-step into yet another high paying position at another firm. His ambition was celebrated here and Guy earned himself the cringe-worthy reputation of being one of the city’s most eligible bachelors.

“Guy, won’t you come and meet my young lad?” called Sheridan, as Guy was strolling through to his large office.

Guy sighed and glanced quickly over at the others in the space, knowing that they were all feeling exactly the same way. Whilst this was an incredible company to work for, the nepotism involved in the majority shareholder inserting his twenty-two year old son into such a major position, straight out of university, had frustrated them all.

Following the company’s owner into his office, Guy plastered a happy enough smile onto his face and held out his hand to shake the young man’s hand. He’d seen pictures of Robert in the past, on his father’s yacht and throughout the tabloids as he dated London’s latest ‘It Girl’ setting all the fashion trends. They’d also briefly crossed paths the summer before last, when using Robert’s family’s private box at Wembley Stadium. Soccer was a huge game over here and Guy had found himself quite captivated by it.

“Nice to see you again,” Guy offered, shaking the handsome boy’s hand.

“Robert is very keen to get started!” his pompous father announced happily. “I’m sure he’s just what this company needs: a bit of fresh energy injected into it.”

Guy nodded, despite feeling that Robert was going to be nothing more than dead wood for them all to carry. “We’re all delighted to have you here!” he lied.

“My father says you’re the absolute best,” Robert chimed in. “I think he seriously believes you’re going to rule the world one day! I’m definitely looking forward to learning from you this week.”

Guy knew he had been stitched up straight away. “Let me guess. You’re shadowing me this week?” he asked tentatively.

“That’s the plan!” Sheridan nodded, already grabbing his jacket to leave for his golf match at ten.

Guy looked outside into the corridor to see all the sly, grinning faces of his colleagues. They’d all known he was about to be saddled with the new boy, even before he did. Leading the way down the corridor, he noticed an additional computer had been set up at his enormous desk, with space for Robert to work alongside him; typical Sheridan making ridiculous calls yet again.

Robert was generally pretty intelligent and seemed to pick up on what Guy was saying with little effort on his part. Professionally, he appeared no different to the genuinely ambitious young interns they had on the floors below. But, in reality, he was so far removed from them, starting a job at the same level that had taken Guy ten years to even qualify for; not to mention all the incredible hard work and many, many promotions and job changes to get where he was. Indeed, Robert’s privilege was obvious by the way he talked about his travelling and the numerous powerful people he had known ever since he was small. Perhaps, in some ways, that did make him better suited to fly up the ranks early. Robert wasn’t daunted by the bigger clients and there was a sharpness to his mind that was sometimes quite surprising.

“How’s the babysitting going?” asked Angela slyly during the brief time Guy was on his own.

Guy smiled back. He wanted to joke and tell her off for not giving him the heads-up about being stuck with Robert this week. But, to be fair, everything was going fine. “No complaints from me!” he replied, reminding himself that complaining about something that couldn’t be changed was a fruitless exercise at work.

They both stopped talking, watching as handsome Robert emerged from the bathroom looking as sharp as ever: the beautiful hair, the eyes, the strong jawline. Behind him, the female staff couldn’t help but get a peek at those tight glutes and imagine being the lucky lady who would one day get to marry such a fine, well-bred specimen as him. “Are we ready?” he asked Guy, pleased to be heading out to meet clients again; knowing that this was where he could excel.

Getting around London could be a nightmare at times. Occasionally, it was genuinely faster to walk; exactly what ended up happening after roadworks had made it likely for them to be late otherwise. The client was a man called Mr Geoge Evans, owner of an events space that the company wanted to acquire. He was tall and broad, with an immense, solid and rounded gut pushing against the large shirt painted across his torso. It was the feature that most people noticed first about him and the one thing Robert couldn’t seem to stop staring at the moment they started their meeting.

Guy remembered feeling embarrassed and wanting to kick Robert hard for the way he was looking across at the gaping buttons on George’s shirt. After everything he had said about being okay with having this young upstart shadowing him that week, the boy had to ruin it almost instantly. Guy thought on his feet, finding a reason for Robert to need to leave the room and contact the office. Then Guy quickly rounded the whole thing up as fast as he could.

“What the fuck was that?” Guy grumbled as soon as they were walking to the tube station, given that their car had still not been able to reach them.

“What?” Robert asked, trying his best to keep up as Guy stormed on. He didn’t lack self-awareness; he knew exactly what he had done and why Guy had felt the need to remove him from the meeting. “I wasn’t expecting him to be so…”

“Fat?” Guy finished for him. “That’s so ridiculous! You know that right?”

“I was just a little surprised, that’s all. When we spoke on the phone…”

“This is business!” Guy began lecturing him. “You can’t fall to pieces just because some guy doesn’t fit into your perfect world-view of what everyone should look like. You need to get your head out of those glossy magazines you and your girlfriend seem to spend so much time in!”

“Look, I’m not like that!” Robert tried to counter his mentor. “That’s not why I got a bit flustered.”

“Whatever,” Guy sighed, racing down the steps to the tube station. Ultimately, he wouldn’t be able to hang onto this misstep. Robert’s family were the majority shareholders and, no doubt, the twenty-two year old would one day take the reins of the entire company. “Look… there’s no harm done. Just… just don’t ever let that happen again, alright?”

Robert nodded, tapping his card to head down to the Central Line. “I promise!”

Guy didn’t mention the staring incident to anyone when he got back. Robert had been exemplary the rest of the time and it was clear that he had a talent to make it far; especially given his Oxford education. As the weeks progressed, he began to shine more and Guy learned to genuinely appreciate his insight into certain things. Sometimes British etiquette eluded Guy, especially with the types of folks who had been born into extreme wealth, like Robert had.

Likewise, Robert appeared to be impressed with Guy’s talents in return. “You’re pretty smooth when it comes to the ladies,” he laughed as they came out of one meeting.

“Plenty of experience!” Guy joked back.

“I’m guessing that’s why you work out so much?” the pretty boy asked. “It’s not as easy to sweet talk a female client when you have a giant gut spreading into your lap,” Robert chuckled; not realising that his joke would fall so flat.

Guy tried to bite his tongue. It had been the second time Robert had been casually sizeist. “Actually,” he shot back, “some of the most successful business leaders feel being larger gives them more presence to take charge of things.”

“That’s not what my father says,” Robert replied.

“Well, your dad doesn’t know everything,” Guy grumbled back, deciding to shut down the conversation before he started getting annoyed.

At the end of that first month, Robert had offered Guy to come along and watch the international football match in the private box at Wembley Stadium. He would be there with his girlfriend, of course, but Guy was also welcome to bring along a date as well. Martha had been Guy’s instinctive choice. She was loud, greedy and extremely overweight: the perfect choice to annoy someone so superficial and quick to judge others for their weight. Guy called her up, pleased with his plan, but was disappointed to hear that she was back home in Glasgow that weekend. He needed to find someone else - fast!

Ben had been the next choice for Guy. Somewhat smaller and more reserved, but always fun to be around. They had met at a club night for bears about two years earlier, when Guy had been intrigued by the little chub’s confidence to stoll about shirtless through the crowds. Happily, still single, Ben agreed to the date and Guy was delighted to find the man looking so much heavier by the time he went to pick him up. “Look at you!” he marvelled, getting out of his sports car to open the door for the large man waiting outside his apartment block. “Someone has been eating well!”

Ben blushed a little. He knew that for many chub-lovers, seeing someone they had slept with getting even bigger was bound to be a turn on, and he patted his large tummy proudly on the vast shelf that had developed. “I’m pleased that you approve,” he smiled, knowing that he was always in for a fun night whenever Guy asked him out.

The young couples’ faces had been a picture when Guy strolled in with such a large bear as Ben. It struck him that perhaps Robert hadn’t realised Guy’s bisexuality, making it a rather more educational experience for the boy that he had perhaps expected. Ben played his part well, naturally gorging himself and failing to notice his belly peeking out of the bottom of his shirt as he got up and down to cheer at the performance on the pitch. As such, Guy lavished him with attention, proudly driving him back home for his reward. He’d more than made his point, hopefully putting an end to the way Robert would try to casually fat-shame others around him.

Back at work, Robert’s new office had been decked out just as he had requested, shunting Angela down to the floor below. Despite the slow start last month, even Guy winced at how much the new recruit was taking on.

“Wendy has come to me asking to negotiate her pay,” Robert explained, walking into Guy’s office and closing the door. “I’ve been told pay reviews only happen in April?”

“That’s bullshit,” Guy replied, trying to get on with his own analysis work. “That’s just a standard line that is thrown out to try and delay these types of things.”

“Well, either way,” Robert continued, sitting himself down in front of Guy’s desk. “Paying her more is going to dent the progress towards the quarterly profits.”

“Then what does your gut tell you to do?” Guy asked, determined not to spoon feed Robert out of these awkward situations.

Robert paused for a second. “I think we need to give it to her.”

Guy looked up and smiled. It was the call he had never expected Robert to make. “Exactly right,” he nodded. “Wendy is an asset. I know Wendy. She deserves it. And, if you didn’t give it to her, she’d be straight off to another company. Finding a replacement for someone with her responsibilities is time-consuming and costly.”

“I knew you’d view it the same way as me,” Robert smiled. “You always see the bigger picture. Sometimes I feel like my father can’t.”

Guy nodded gently, not wanting to commit to badmouthing the major shareholder in front of his son, despite all the many things he could have said.

“You see people for who they are. And you have the sort of relationships around here that most bosses would kill for. They all respect you and want to work hard because you inspire them.”

Guy almost felt embarrassed at the open compliments and he wriggled in his seat. “Thanks,” he shot back quickly. But there was something in Robert’s eyes; a look, or a feeling. Was the boy developing a little crush on him? All the signs were there and Guy had been in this situation many, many times in the past. He watched Robert walking away, unable to stop himself from checking out the handsome glutes and allowing his mind to imagine what it might be like to fuck the guy. He wasn’t above Robert in seniority around here; there was no major conflict to overcome; especially since he only saw himself staying for another year at the very most. But could he really go there?

It came as no surprise that Robert’s relationship with his girlfriend came to a sudden end very quickly after that. He’d been complaining for some time about the toxic ideals of social media and the constant requirement to be ‘seen’ out in public as often as possible in order to boost her career. “She’s more suited to some actor, or someone who does publicity for a living,” Robert had explained as he shook his head over the fact that their break-up had made it into the middle sections of the national tabloids.

“You’re young, free and single now!” Guy had smiled. “You can take some time for yourself instead.” He hadn’t meant to sound flirtatious, but he didn’t seem to be able to help himself once he knew someone was into him. It was the way he had always been, and he didn’t suppose he would ever change.

“What can I get you gentlemen?” asked the attendant, heading over to their table in the small cafe where they were debriefing after a client meeting. The man was large and broad, with a giant stomach that pressed out of his shirt in a way a lot of the men from Guy’s past would have loved.

“Just a mineral water for me,” Guy answered first. He looked across at Robert and sighed in frustration as the boy stared rudely at that large gut.

This time, Guy didn’t waste any time, giving Robert a quick kick under the table.

“A latte!” Robert shot out, realising immediately that he’d been gawping. “And, uh… have you got any of those brownies left?”

“What the fuck is up with you?” Guy asked the moment they were alone again.

Robert shrugged as if he genuinely failed to understand why he fell to pieces around such obese men. “What do you think it’s like, carrying all that weight around?” Robert asked, still transfixed as the guy headed behind the counter. He glanced back at Guy who was dumbfounded by the question. “Oh, come on…” he sighed. “I saw you with that big guy that time. You must have asked him what it feels like to be so heavy?”

“It’s not something I think about,” Guy replied, seeing that Robert looked unlikely to drop the question unless he gave a more considered answer. “But, I guess I wouldn’t date someone unless they liked their body.”

“Really?” Robert asked. “You date people who actually like being overweight?”

Guy didn’t mind discussing his sex life, but it felt strange to do so with someone from work; someone he wasn’t completely sure he could trust just yet. Back in the early days of his career, it had been slyly advantageous to impress other guys with tales of his sexual conquests. However, as he rose up the ranks, he’d learned to keep these stories to himself, knowing that the expectations were very different up at the top. Now he shrugged, taking his time to reply and only say what he needed to. “There’s nothing sexy about dating someone who hates their body. When I’m with larger folks, it’s usually because they want to be that way. They get off on it.”

Robert sat up a bit and leaned in closer, stimulated by the conversation. “There are people who get off on being fat?”

Guy chuckled. “Of course there are!” There was still so much he could tell Robert; about the gainer boys he had fallen for in the past, and the multiple kinky encounters he had had with guys who were actively trying to fatten themselves up.

The water, and Robert’s brownie arrived at the table and the server promised to follow with the latte shortly. “How do they do it?” Robert asked, eyeing his freshly delivered treat. “How do they let themselves go like that?”

Guy frowned slightly. “Well, what you may see as someone ‘letting-go’ may actually be them building something better for themselves: a body that feels right for them and turns them on. It’s actually very empowering if you think about it.”

“And you think that’s sexy?” Robert asked earnestly; a sweet innocence shining through his bright eyes.

“Of course!” Guy nodded. “Someone loving the skin they’re in - there’s nothing sexier!”

Life at the office suddenly became a lot more relaxed as Sheridan started to take even more of a step back. Guy found himself with a lot more power to persuade the board without the older man’s old fashioned points of view tainting things. It also helped that Robert was so much more in-tune with him; they could present a united front and, although most of the others on the team still grumbled about Robert’s injection into the senior management team, they had to admit that things were running a lot smoother with him around.

Guy had seen so much more of the world since he had moved to work in the UK. It seemed like nothing to pop over to Italy to secure a contract, or fly over to Dubai to capitalise on a lucrative opportunity. Six months after Robert began at the company, the pair found themselves in Sweden, leading part of a business conference. At first, Guy had been frustrated to have Robert coming along, given that it was such a good opportunity to network and find his next career jump. However, it had also been easier having him to share the workload with.

“I didn’t know you were coming down here,” Guy smiled as he saw Robert arriving in the spa changing room just as he himself was dressed only in his tight speedos and pushing the last of his things into the locker. He saw Robert check him out and smiled sweetly to himself. He’d known for a couple of months now that if something was ever going to happen between them, then it probably already would have happened by now. As it was, Robert was very much in the friend-zone. “Are you here to use the pool?” he asked.

Robert shook his head. “I just wanted to try out the sauna,” he replied.

Guy scowled a little as Robert turned his back to start getting changed. In the last few weeks, he’d noticed a little softening of the guy’s jawline and, although it wasn’t always easy to tell under a shirt and dress pants, it did appear as though Robert had gained a few pounds since he’d started full time work. Guy should know, he’d seen more than enough pictures of Robert’s body in the celebrity gossip columns, back when he was dating socialites. So when Robert removed his shirt, Guy could immediately see that his suspicions had been spot on.

It was most obvious when Robert leaned forward to strip his pants; the way his stomach rolled up with fresh fat. He had love handles coming in, clear to see once he turned his back. And those glutes… well, they seemed a little more full that the pert buns Guy had admired when Robert first started at the company. Guy had to say something. He’d been staring too long. He reached out a finger and poked Robert in his stomach. “What’s all this?” he playfully teased.

Robert chuckled nervously and shrank away, turning back around to put his stuff into the locker.

“No, seriously,” Guy pressed on, poking both index fingers into the softness at Robert’s sides now. “Where’s all this come from?”

“I’ve just… not had much time for the gym lately,” Robert replied, stacking his clothes up.

Guy looked at Robert’s butt from behind and nodded in agreement. “Well, that’s pretty obvious!” he agreed. He’d seen lots of guys at the gym start to pack on a few pounds over the years. Often, all they needed was a reality check to get them back on the right path. “I think you need to start doing a little more cardio, buddy,” he declared, turning to walk out and into the pool area.

After a few decent laps, Guy pulled himself out of the water and headed into the sauna, finding Robert still in there, alone. His skin had turned glossy and oily, shimmering as his little roll of stomach fat started to peek over the waistband of his undersized swim shorts.

Guy knew how imposing his own body was: his large frame and well-trained, muscular physique. Even in his early thirties, there wasn’t an inch of fat to spoil his enticing abs and, if anything, he’d only become stronger as the years went by. He flopped down opposite Robert, unable to take his eyes off how chubby the pretty boy looked without his shirt on.

“So, when did all this start happening?” Guy asked, knowing that he needed to address what he was seeing.

Robert wriggled awkwardly and pulled his rolled up towel to cover his crotch and lower half of his softer midsection. “A few months,” he mumbled. “I’ve just been enjoying my food a little more.”

“No kidding!” Guy chuckled, surprised now by how much he could see the extra weight, even in Robert’s chest. “What’re you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Robert shrugged. “I don’t have the time to go to the gym now I’m working so much.”

Guy smirked at this and shook his head. “You mean you don’t want to make time for it?” he asked.

Robert flushed with a little embarrassment. “I’m okay with how I look,” he replied. His attention seemed to turn to Guy’s body instead, given how much scrutiny his own had been under. “Frankly, I had no idea you were so extremely toned,” he nodded at Guy’s torso. “Obviously, I knew you were super fit, but…”

“You’ve never seen me without my shirt on before?” Guy asked, intrigued and surprised at how aroused he was suddenly feeling to be gazed upon by Robert. He sat up straighter and leaned on one arm, posing slightly. There was something so sexy about this dynamic, making Guy feel more powerful and dominant. “How come we’ve never fucked?” he asked, knowing that it was always best to be blunt with the boys who were a little more shy.

Robert’s eyes widened and he stuttered awkwardly, like the overeducated, pompous boy he could very often be. Guy had always loved Robert’s upper class, bumbling English accent and the uptight manners that had been trained into him. It made it all the more fun to tease and flirt with him so blatantly. But with a larger company openly trying to poach him at the moment, Guy knew there wouldn’t be many opportunities like this left to have some fun with the boy. After all, the full benefits package was going to be presented to him as early as next week. He could be gone by the end of next month.

“Well?” Guy asked, pretending to be impatient for an answer. “Do you want to fuck?”

Within ten minutes, the pair were upstairs in Guy’s hotel room, kissing and undressing each other once more. Now that the barriers had been smashed down, Guy was surprised at how keenly Robert’s hands wanted to rub up against and stroke Guy’s erection. The moment the pants were down, the cute boy sank to his knees and took as much of it into his mouth as he could.

Guy exhaled in delight. It was always apparent when someone was genuinely into giving the best blow job they could. It was obvious now just how much he had underestimated Robert’s quiet attraction to him all these months. Like a tightly wound spring, the boy had energetically set to getting them both off the moment the bedroom door had closed, lustfully thrilled by how thick and heavy Guy’s hardness was.

The pair fooled around some more, Guy enjoying the reflections in the large mirror as the pair kissed in front of it. Those doughy little glutes of Robert’s looked so good, Guy knew he needed to take them as soon as he could, squirting lubricant into his hand and sliding it up between Robert’s butt cheeks. He spun the boy around in front of the mirror and gently inserted himself. He knew Robert wouldn’t be fully ready to take him today. It was a gift and a curse being so well endowed, with lovers needing at least two or three sessions to be properly broken in. Instead, Guy contented himself by getting as much in as he could and holding it there, training the hole to stretch. Submissive Robert appeared to love every second as he was held there, in front of the mirror.

“Does this feel nice?” Guy asked the boy, reaching around Robert’s hip to stroke his concrete erection; Robert watching himself getting taken by the older jock in the mirror.

Robert moaned back, his G-spot stimulated, sending his arousal into overdrive.

“Look at us…” Guy whispered, nodding towards their reflections in the mirror.

“I’m so chubby compared to you!” Robert quipped back, making a huge surge of blood pump through his boner, held firmly in Guy’s hand.

Suddenly, it all felt so very familiar to Guy. Robert’s fixation with larger guys had never been about looking down on them. Yet again, had the universe delivered another kinky fat-lover? Guy pressed his oversized erection in deeper, making Robert’s knees almost buckle underneath him. With one hand working Robert’s hardness, Guy used the other in a more experimental way, wrapping his fingers around as much of the fresh blubber in the boy’s stomach as he could, then whispering “It’s a good job you know I like fucking fatties, huh?” he teased. “You’re going to make such a cute chub…”

However close Robert had been before, a surge of pleasure seemed to rip through him. Great jets erupted from between his legs, making Guy chuckle at just how much of it there was and how forcefully it was being expelled from his body. He could always tell when he had just given someone the best orgasm of their life. And, for the first time ever, Guy felt that he didn’t need to climax himself in order to feel completely satisfied.

It was sweet how Robert fell asleep next to him afterwards. Sometimes when the sex was too good, Guy found that whoever it was would tend to imprint on him and become a little possessive. Usually, this was a warning signal for Guy to detach himself as fast as possible. However there was something too intriguing about Robert to give him up just yet. At 5am, he woke Robert with a kiss to let him know he was going down to the hotel gym and promised to meet him for breakfast at 6.30.

“No wonder that ass is so fuckable!” Guy teased, gazing at the plate of fattening meats and carbs Robert returned to their table with. He slipped his hand under the table, rubbing Robert’s knee. His intentions were clear: they were going to go back up to the room before the first session that day. He watched the greedy boy eating, wanting nothing more than to stick his hardness into the salivating mouth. For the first time, he found himself almost captivated by it; the act of eating. Robert definitely had some little hidden kinks when it came to the diet that had added a few pounds to his frame, yet it wasn’t yet clear how conscious he was of them.

Back in Guy’s bedroom, it was obvious how much Robert had overeaten and bloated up his stomach. Despite wanting to get rough and dominant with him, Guy took it slow and made it sensual, noticing how much Robert seemed to love it whenever Guy’s hand drifted onto his rounded middle. The eventual climax was as good as it got, ensuring that Guy broke all his own rules and brought Robert back to his bedroom a further three times before the end of the conference.

Robert’s butt was becoming quite the distraction back in the office. With the guy’s pants getting so tight, the swollen glutes pressed with devastating allure to the material: wider, under-exercised, softening and expanding - was there a more fuckable butt than this in the entire world? Guy knew he was in trouble when Robert bought concert tickets for them both for that weekend. They were slowly morphing into a ‘couple’ despite the secrecy that surrounded everything. It was the point when Guy typically made his excuses and cut things off. Yet something kept him from doing this. When Guy’s job offer came in, he convinced himself that it wasn’t a big enough deal to leave London for; getting his teeth stuck into another major project that would see him wanting to remain in his current job for at least another six months.

“What’re you all laughing about?” Guy asked, diverting into the little kitchen area whilst he was seeing someone on the floor below.

A small group of six people suddenly looked alarmed and stared at him nervously. Guy had had to accept that his seniority in the company meant he would never again be invited along to nights out with the other staff, or be included in the way he had been when he was just starting out. It was just the way these things seemed to work; those nervous eyes looking up at him whenever he ventured out of his lavish office on the top floor.

“Nothing,” shrugged one of them, who seemed to be in the middle of it all.

“Oh, come on!” Guy smiled back. “I could do with a laugh today.”

There was a sigh. “Alright,” the lady shrugged, stepping closer and holding out her cell phone so that Guy could see the screen. “It’s an article about that jumped-up little Oxford graduate upstairs,” she grumbled, referencing Robert; the nepotism of his hiring still failing to impress those lower down in the food chain; those who had to work for everything they achieved.

Guy stepped in to see as she scrolled down a celebrity-obsessed tabloid webpage that Guy had never paid much attention to. He scanned the text briefly, but it was obvious that the pictures were the main focus. There was Robert of one year earlier, looking toned and athletic as he shirtlessly strolled about on his father’s yacht. However, it was the pictures from only last night that provided the entertainment. Robert had been attending a socialite party with some friends, dressed in an unwisely tight shirt that failed to stretch with the addition of a couple of bloating beers. His pants had been a poor fit too, pinching in at his hips and accentuating new love handles that looked particularly unflattering from the angles they had taken. The double chin on Robert also came under scrutiny, with a close up shot from a low angle making it seem more developed than it actually was.

“I didn’t think fat-shaming articles like this still existed,” Guy exhaled in frustration.

“That’s the British press for you,” one of them chuckled; another American, like him. “Fucking ruthless!”

Guy scowled. He wasn’t laughing. He raced back up the stairs and tapped on the window of Robert’s office, beckoning for him to follow. Once inside, he rolled down the blinds and immediately jumped on his computer. “There’s something you need to see,” he declared to a bemused Robert. Once uploaded, he rolled his chair back and allowed Robert to step in front and see the screen for himself.

“What a bitch!” Robert laughed, recognising the name of the journalist. Everyone seemed to know everyone else in Robert’s world. “This is one of the most vicious things I’ve ever read about myself,” he smirked.

“Aren’t you pissed about it?” Guy asked, feeling exasperated at Robert’s laid back attitude. “We can send it to the legal team; see if there’s anything we can do to have it taken down.”

“And then sue them? For what exactly?” Robert asked back. “There’s nothing that’s not true in there. I really have gained about 50lbs since last year,” he pointed at the text on screen.

Guy sat back, staring at Robert’s chubby butt as the boy continued to lean down at his computer right in front of him. Having initiated a ‘hands-off’ policy at work, Guy was finding it hard to resist touching that big, bloated butt that had been captured so magnificently in the pictures. Robert was smelling great and his fresh love handles seemed to be pushing out even more than Guy had seen them before. He was turned on. For the first time in his life, he felt aroused in a way that he was unable to put into words. Despite his outrage at seeing the cruel article on Robert, he couldn’t deny the fact that it had turned him on. It was a feeling he disliked in himself and he had wanted to push it away. Sure, he had dated guys in the past who would have enjoyed the very much public disapproval of their weight gain, but how was he to know that Robert would appreciate any of that? Had dating those gainers warped Guy’s brain into finding all that public humiliation irresistibly arousing?

“At least the firm got a mention,” Robert smiled, stepping away from the screen at last. Was that a bulge he was trying to conceal? “You know what they say: all publicity is good publicity!”

Guy stood up and placed his hands on Robert’s rounder butt, pulling him into him. Fuck the self-imposed rules about not kissing in work; he was horny and so was his cute little chub. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Guy whispered seductively, safe in the knowledge that the blinds were closed.

“Even though the whole of London is laughing at me?” Robert teased back.

“Fuck everyone else!” Guy shot back. “You know I’d never ask you to diet,” he whispered alongside another kiss. “In fact, why don’t you let me take you out for dinner tonight; someplace with the lovely, greasy, high-carb junk food you can’t get enough of…”

Robert cooed with interest, allowing Guy to kiss him over and over again. “And I can eat as much as I want?” he asked, continuing the flirtation.

Guy smiled proudly and bounced the doughy glutes he was going to pound later on. “You bet!” he nodded. “You won’t hear any complaints from me!”

Guy wondered how much longer it would be until the all important conversation with Robert would happen. It had been almost five months since they’d hooked up on the business trip and, despite the secrecy around their relationship, neither of them was seeing anyone else. For Guy, it was a huge deal to have committed to sleeping with only one person in that whole time, yet it had all happened quite naturally. Sexually, it seemed that the pair of them were very compatible. Guy would swiftly move from a romantic, nurturing lover, into one with the fitness and stamina to fuck Robert all night long. In return, Robert liked to be seduced and tempted. There was a submissive side to him and he enjoyed being pampered and taken care of. Since getting together, it was obvious that his weight gain was speeding up and he’d pushed out quite the beginner-belly in that time. It was sitting, round and tempting in his shirts, making Guy appreciate how lucky he was that Robert felt so comfortable with him to just…let his appetite go like he had. The extra pounds felt like their own, quiet love language, despite the fact that it was clearly symptomatic of something much more erotic.

“Quit staring!” Guy laughed as a fat guy waddled into the restaurant behind his similarly obese wife. In the past, he’d found it embarrassing how much Robert would ogle; his fascination towards those extreme bodies getting the better of him.

“Sorry!” Robert replied, trying to refocus on his menu. Freshly shaven, his new double chin always looked so adorable when his head was in that position. Only a few minutes earlier, they’d bumped into a few friends of Robert’s ex; all of them staring disapprovingly at the little pot belly that was starting to make itself very well known.

Guy reached his giant hand under the table and stroked Robert’s knee, not quite knowing what was going through his head. “Order as much food as you like, okay?” he smiled sweetly.

Robert nodded and didn’t disappoint.

“You’re doing it again,” Guy laughed later on, as the pair of them were sitting in a bar near Soho, enjoying the buzz of the evening. “I’ll have to take you home to the US sometime. We have some of the fattest guys around, especially where I’m from, in West Virginia.”

Robert shook his head as if he was trying to restart his brain, apologising once more. “I don’t know why I do it,” he sighed. “I just…” he began, before sighing with frustration at being unable to put it into words.

“You just need to know what it feels like,” Guy finished for him.

Robert turned his head to look at Guy properly. “Yeah, that’s exactly it,” he nodded, seemingly delighted that his lover knew him so well.

Guy slipped his hand onto Robert’s little pot belly, rubbing it back and forth. “I saw the little boner you got, reading that mean article about yourself,” he teased.

Robert looked around, checking that no one else could see them. He smiled, turning back to Guy and allowing himself to be seduced; Guy’s lips getting aching close to his own. “Oh, yeah?” he whispered excitedly back.

“I’ve known for a long time,” Guy smiled, slipping his fingers under the slight overhang of belly fat and jiggling. “You want to be a real fat boy, don’t you?” His voice was almost cracking with arousal. He loved kinks in all their different forms, having experienced so many with the great variety of sexual partners he had had over the years. But this weight gain kink seemed like so much more; the physical transformation, the contrast; the confidence, combined with humiliation and submission. It ticked so many boxes for him. Best of all, Guy had had the time of his life these last few months, trying to gently tease it out of Robert. “It’s the reason why I’m taking you for more food after we leave here,” he smiled. “I know that you need to experience what it’s like to carry a much larger gut than this.”

Like putty in Guy’s hand, Robert kissed him. “I can’t believe you’re willing to put up with this,” he chuckled, lifting his arms higher so that Guy could jiggle his stomach even more. “Most people would just think I’m a freak!”

Guy smiled back. “Maybe I’m enjoying it,” he teased, grabbing a full wedge of Robert’s belly fat and just holding it still for them both to see. “Maybe I’m a freak too...”

Robert grinned with lust. “I ate so much before at the restaurant!”

“You did,” Guy smiled. He’d never particularly enjoyed waiting around as his lovers overate to satisfy these types of kinks. However, he at least understood how it all tied in with the erotic process of gaining weight; the greed, the gluttony, the deliberate bloating with calories. “...And you’re going to eat even more shortly,” he whispered back.

Robert raised his eyebrows. Was Guy really serious about that?

“You’re a gainer,” he stated frankly to Robert. “You do realise that, yeah?”

Robert looked around once more, checking that they were still unobserved. Somehow, putting a label on all this had suddenly solidified everything in both their minds.

“I’ve seen all this before. You need to keep pushing; keep overeating, again and again. Otherwise your weight will plateau and your belly will stop expanding.” He looked at his lover seriously. “And you don’t want that, do you?”

The chubby boy stared back with absolute lust. He shook his head, picked up his beer and drained the remainder of his pint. “Come on then!” he grinned. “What are we waiting for?”

The prospect of moving in with a lover was something Guy had never believed was right for him. Yet, there he was, unloading all his things into Robert’s city apartment, whilst the rest of his stuff had gone into long-term storage. It had been quite the gamble, releasing the equity in his home to further invest in the start-up AI company he had sunk a vast amount of cash into three years earlier. However, it was now or never if they were to corner the market like they needed to. Robert had agreed and been the one to suggest the cohabiting solution; his business advice being the one Guy trusted more than any other, having worked so closely for months now. As a couple, they worked well. They understood the joy they both got from their work and shared a similar mindset when it came to almost all other things. Stil, moving it had made Guy nervous, and it had taken him longer than his rational business brain normally operated in order to make a decisiona bout it. However, in return, Guy now had a majority 62% share in his own company, and had found that he could live more than happily alongside his doughy lover in North London.

With Guy around, Robert had seemed to double down on his weight goals and recommit in a way he had never allowed himself to before. Just like Guy was pouring protein shakes into himself after the gym, Robert was doing much the same with his own fattening concoctions; his kinks developing in all new ways. Within a couple of days, they had fucked in every room; Guy being unable to resist the fresh, plump broadness of Robert’s once toned and slender butt cheeks.

Now that Robert could be so open about his desires to gain weight, he actively enjoyed listening to Guy’s past experiences. Unlike most people, who didn’t want to hear about their partners’ previous lovers, Robert wanted to hear tales of Mikey and Dillon over and over again, and how Guy had sat back, excitedly watching them growing fatter and fatter.

“I don’t know what my parents are going to think about us being together,” Robert fretted, knowing that his family were soon returning for the holidays from their villa in Italy.

“Why?” Guy asked. “Because I’m the first man you’ve dated?”

“No,” Robert smirked cheekily back. “Because you’re an American!” he teased.

The pair laughed and Guy launched into tickling him for his playful rudeness. “Seriously, though. Your dad loves me. Before he stepped back from the business, we used to get on great.”

Robert nodded, but there was a worry in his eyes that didn’t abate as the big day arrived. Guy should have been aware that something was wrong the moment Robert slipped on the giant sweater that morning; the one with the huge roll-up neck. Black and loose fitting, it was clear that the man was trying to conceal the extent to which he had fattened up in the last twelve months. But in so doing, what he actually became was a dark, thick, shapeless block, with chubby thighs that strained against the smart pants he wore below.

Guy had had relatively little to do with Robert’s family since they had started dating. The pair had both had the sense that their relationship wasn’t being taken all that seriously. Robert had not long turned twenty-four and his dad had openly referred to his son’s romantic attachment as a ‘phase’ that Robert was going through. As such, Guy dressed smartly, cancelled all his plans for Christmas Day, prepared suitably expensive Christmas gifts and drove himself and Robert to the family home in Kent; a lavish country manner, handed down over generations.

Despite everything Guy had anticipated, he hadn’t been the focus of the day whatsoever. Gasps and horrified looks greeted them as Robert strolled in and removed his large winter jacket. The comments hit hard and fast. They were harsh, fatphobic and unjustified, setting Guy at odds with the family each time he called them out, unprepared to let their prejudices slide.

“I thought you guys video called every week?” Guy whispered to Robert the moment they had a second alone.

Robert seemed drained and exhausted from it all. “I may have told them my camera has been broken these last few months,” he replied.

Guy exhaled, now realising the absolute shock everyone must have felt. Despite the relatively good job the sweater was doing at masking a lot of the blubber, since September, Robert’s cheeks had been blowing up in a way that had altered the entire shape of his face. The gains had been further documented in a second critical article about his appearance back in October, however Guy suspected that such garbage hadn’t reached the family, safely tucked away in Italy, upon the shores of Lake Como.

“Mum and Dad are going to remove me from the company,” Robert fretted on the way home. “Especially now you’re leaving.”

“No they’re not!” Guy replied, trying to calm his boyfriend’s melodrama. “Even your dad can’t argue with the share price since you started running things. He’s just pissed and lashing out.”

“Dad doesn’t want ‘a fat guy’ to be in charge,” Robert grumbled next, quoting his father’s words exactly. “I was hoping today would be about them getting to know you properly, but…”

Guy sighed. The day had been disastrous. He could tell that he was going to be at odds with Robert’s family until he agreed to do what they wanted and insist that Robert dieted. They both felt flat for the remainder of the evening, making Guy wish he had cancelled his flight home to see his folks that week.

Upon his return, a very different Robert greeted him. A new personal trainer had been appointed and, together, the pair of them had cleared away anything in the cupboards that she felt was contributing to Robert’s ‘weight problems’.

“You’re not cross, are you?” Robert asked.

“Cross?” Guy echoed. “Why would I be cross?” he chuckled, hugging the man he had fallen so deeply for. “Gaining is your thing, not mine. If you want to quit, I’ll support you however I can.” In truth, he had never expected Robert’s gains to last forever. Sure, the man had caught the gainer bug, but it wasn’t quite as extreme or important to him as it had been for someone like Mikey, in Guy’s past.

Robert hugged him sweetly back, having made up his mind that a new year demanded a fresh start. He began eating better and taking Guy’s advice on nutrition; even joining him for a round or two at the gym. Robert was soon pulling out his older clothes from the back of his closet, replacing the large winter sweaters with more fitted t-shirts in time for the Spring. Yet, two cute and stubborn love handles remained at his sides; a testament to the kinky fun that he had once enjoyed so much.

Guy had never enjoyed work so much since he’d left Robert’s family firm to head up the AI company he had invested so heavily in. Now he was no longer just making money for other people, he could work hard, put the work in, and reap the rewards tenfold. There was so much potential with the technology, and he had been working closely with the British Ministry of Defence to showcase how they could use some of their adapted systems. It was exciting, that buzz of adrenaline from making things work, capitalising on successes and carving out new opportunities for an increasingly valuable and influential company.

Robert was busy with his work too. With his father and Guy out of the way, things actually became easier to manage and there was a clear leadership structure in place.

“Off out for lunch with clients again?” Guy teased him, looking over Robert’s shoulder and seeing the calendar on his cell phone screen. “Careful! You’ll be getting all chunky again!” he joked, sliding his hands over Robert’s chest and down to the small, remaining store of belly fat that refused to budge.

A bulge in Robert’s pants jumped to attention whenever Guy joked about his yo-yoing weight. Now that Robert had relaxed a little, he’d wanted Guy to start the kinky talk in the bedroom once more, telling him how fat he could be and the things he would do to his body once he was round and blubbery. This was the thing Guy liked best about dating those with kinks; it was just so easy to turn them on and have them pumped up and ready for some sexy action. There were trigger actions and words that could flip any boring situation into something exciting and arousing, all with so little effort. And, once again, Robert was nursing quite the erection.

“For my birthday next week, I want to try pouring double cream down your throat,” Guy whispered to him. “Like we used to in the old days.”

Robert moaned in pleasure at the thought, clearly replaying those kinky memories from the past.

“You’d forget about your diet for one day, wouldn’t you?” Guy asked, sliding his meaty hand over Robert’s crotch.

Robert nodded submissively. The old habits were creeping back in; the longing to feel his body holding more weight again. The instances where he was willing to forgo his strict exercise regime were increasing. Guy knew that it was only a matter of time before the gains began anew. Perhaps it would be a fun life, this continuous cycle of weight gain and loss.

Taking Robert over to visit Guy’s family had been considerably less stressful than the Christmas in Kent. Guy’s mother had long accepted that her handsome son was a law unto himself, living a whirlwind existence that she could hardly comprehend. She liked Robert, thinking him handsome and much like the typical romantic, bumbling Englishmen of the many movies she had watched over the years. Guy’s aunts had agreed, never noticing once how much Robert was overeating the entire trip.

Surrounded by tempting, tasty foods around every corner, as well as fascinating specimens of obesity in Charleston, Guy’s home city, Robert had carried a lust about him the entire week. For Guy, it reminded him why he loved dating gainers so much. As Robert gorged himself on take-out in the hotel room, Guy could hold the man’s impossibly hard shaft, playing with it as gently and delicately as he could, for fear that it could, and would, explode at any second.

“I want to be a fat boy!” a horny Robert would exclaim, right before climaxing, time and time again.

Guy would then chuckle, nodding his head in agreement. “I know you do!” he’d shoot back, his eyes dancing with delight; the greatest of all pleasures seeing his boyfriend overtaken by his own lust. In truth, it would be easy. Robert had already fucked up his metabolism last time. The pounds failed to shift like they should in a normal, athletic, mid-twenties male and they packed back on with shocking speed. But when Guy told him that, there was no stopping the sudden surge from Robert’s groin, and the complete mess that was made all over the bed as jets flew in every direction. A simple week away had spiked Robert’s weight by an incredible fifteen pounds.

“You look so fucking sexy!” Guy growled, admiring the large butt that had reappeared on his lover, filling his work pants right back up again.

Robert twisted his hips in the mirror to get a good look, smiling proudly. “I wish you were a proper feeder,” he sighed. “I know I would go so much further if I knew you were going to get off on making me gorge myself.”

Guy tried not to show how cut up he felt. He remembered how he had lost previous lovers for the exact same reason. They wanted more from him than he felt capable of giving. Sure, he loved bringing Robert to the absolute heights of lust, but he wasn’t in the habit of devising a food schedule, nor engaging in endless calorie counting; the true nuts and bolts of gaining. Guy considered how best to remedy this. No longer having an office to travel to each morning, he used the time to stock up the cupboards with all the things he knew Robert liked to feast upon when he was horny. And boy, during this most recent gainer phase, those fresh pounds certainly caused Robert to be horny! It was like a self-propelling cycle of lust, overeating and pleasure. In the time since Robert had last gained, Guy had developed a better knowledge of the kinky little pet names his lover enjoyed: Piggy, Fat Boy and Porker. He could throw them in whenever he wanted, and enjoyed messaging Robert at work to ensure he was wound up and horny by the time he got home, ready to eat.

The results were inevitable. Sexy, undiluted fat slid back onto Robert’s body with ease. His butt blew back up even more, but he was undoubtedly carrying more on his belly this time, making even his largest shirts requiring upgrades.

“Are these new trousers?” asked Robert one morning as he trotted about to get ready.

Guy, who had already returned from an hour-long session at the gym, smirked and nodded his head. “With a little extra growing room for my Fat Boy!” he whispered teasingly back. In truth, he knew that the same thing would eventually happen as last time: Robert would get put off and start his diet all over again, making himself miserable in the process. What he needed was a lover who would ease him into the changes smoothly and be there to show him how sexy his swelling body could be; similar to how a true feeder would; the ones who consumed Robert’s fantasies as he watched his body swelling up.

Now that Robert had been at his family’s firm for over two years, he didn’t worry about suddenly being replaced by his disapproving family. They needed him, as well as his sharp business brain, to keep bringing in the flow of wealth. Likewise for Guy, things had continued to go from strength to strength and there had been some decent press coverage of the technology his company was developing. They’d bought premises in North London and were expanding into the north with further development centers. The success was intoxicating, and when Guy felt happy, he certainly became hornier and hornier.

“Head back!” Guy ordered his boyfriend as he held the pot of cream aloft. He smirked, looking at how insanely hard his blubbery boyfriend got whenever Guy treated him to a feeding like this; never failing to explode at the prospect of greater amounts of deliberately fattening calories.

Down they all went, time and time again; the fat building into his waist, puffing up his arms and broadening out the glutes; each pound making Robert hungrier for more. Hitting 270lbs had been a huge thing for him, but Guy wasn’t sure the boy could make it to the full three hundred. Already, he had started to complain about how much he was sweating and a couple of his friends had dropped him from their groups. He now looked so contrasting in appearance to Guy. Whilst this was thrilling and exciting on good days; bad days, he felt self-conscious and low.

Guy had been thinking about it for some time as he set his computer up in his hotel room. Being so far away from Robert for six weeks had been challenging, but the business opportunities in California were unrivalled. Guy could see how much further ahead his own company’s technology was to any other. Of late, all they had to do when encountering issues was to question the technology itself, leading to massive creative growth, developing at a faster pace than any of them had ever anticipated. It was the whole reason why he knew it wouldn’t fail him with Robert that evening. The computer knew the objective: getting Robert as horny as possible by making him eat the most calories that it could.

The deep-fake version of Guy came on the screen. It really was remarkable seeing Guy’s own mannerisms and voice reproduced so flawlessly. “Are you ready to eat for me, Fat Boy?” it asked.

Immediately, Guy could see the naive Robert responding. He began to eat to the gentle teasing of the software. As Robert replied to it, the computer seemed to learn more and more about him, soon branching off-script and generating its own responses that it knew its target would better appreciate. In a matter of minutes, it was speaking to Robert as if it had an even more in-depth knowledge of the man’s kinks than Guy had acquired in the last three years. And just look at Robert go! He was gorging himself like an absolute pig, rubbing his fattening belly and jiggling it in a way that Guy had never witnessed him doing before. He didn’t need to track the calories that Robert was eating, the computer was scoring it all at the bottom of his screen; the number steadily increasing towards the target. “Come on, Fatso!” the software teased, prompting whenever required. “Get it all down for me!”

By the time Guy got home, he knew that Robert’s pants were going to be completely busted. There was no way the man could cope with encouragement like this every evening and not pack on a staggering amount of fat. How exciting it would be, knowing that his lover was about to be a lot softer the next time he touched him…

Looking at the data from these sessions, Guy picked up a lot of tips by the time he made it home. He reconfigured the software, generating full reports and connected up the bathroom scales into the system so that he could gather even more information. It was clear that the trial was making a huge impact, especially when it started messaging Robert at work, reminding him of the importance to eat; using the trigger words it knew to be the most effective. When Robert’s watch would feed into the system that he was feeling stressed or low, the software would generate further kinky messages and even purchase food to be delivered that it knew would spike Robert’s dopamine. But in the monitoring of what Robert ate, the computer soon learned which foods promoted Robert’s weight gain the most. Unlike many fatties, heavy carbs, like pasta, failed to have the impact that meats and cheeses appeared to generate.

With such immediate effects, Robert had rapidly surpassed his previous high weight, entering into all new, blubbery territory. For Guy, it was incomprehensibly erotic to be able to touch or grab any part of his lover’s body and have the man turned on to such a wild extent. Using buzz words or phrases from the software reports made Robert instantly hard. Wafting a sugary treat under his nose, or commenting on the disastrous fit of the man’s clothes created a sexual arousal like nothing Guy had seen before. It was as if Robert’s entire sex drive had been trained to activate upon even the gentlest jiggle of his fleshier body. In Robert’s own words, the system had been ‘the best gift’ he had ever received. Even as he surpassed 300lbs, all thoughts of dieting appeared to be completely off the table.

“That’s Rachel Rivero,” Robert pointed out a few weeks later as he and Guy attended a charity event in The City.

“So, that’s her!” Guy smirked, gazing upon the journalist who had written all the critical articles about Robert’s weight gain. The most recent piece, only last week, had been the most savage of all as she even chased up quotes from members of Robert’s family to comment on how significantly obese he had become. “She’s hardly slim herself!” Guy grunted disapprovingly at the middle aged woman sipping champagne by the large ice sculpture.

Guy bided his time, leaving Robert with some mutual friends before he slipped back to find the journalist in question. He had the instinct to try and protect his lover, wanting nothing more than this fatphobic, judgemental woman to simply back off from picking on Robert.

“My name is…” Guy began, holding out his hand the moment there was an opening to introduce himself to her.

“I know who you are,” the lady sighed back, as if she already knew everything Guy was going to say. “The answer is ‘no’. I get good numbers on my articles about your little boyfriend.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Although, maybe the real story is why such a handsome man as yourself would even go after someone who struggles so much with his weight?” She eyed his powerful body up and down. “You are quite the specimen!” she smirked, as if smelling a potential story.

“Or, maybe the headline should be about you,” Guy stated, smiling confidently. “Picking on Robert by writing mean articles about him, simply because you'd ended your secret, extra-marital affair with his father… it doesn’t exactly smack of professional integrity, does it?”

Rachel stiffened, sensing a challenger. “Darling, no one’s going to believe that!” she smirked, starting to walk away.

“They will with all the evidence I have saved on here,” Guy returned with an equally condescending smile as he lifted his cell phone. “Pictures, documents, receipts, CCTV footage,” he nodded. “It’s amazing the things you can dig up when you set your mind to it…”

The woman glared, understanding that this was no bluff. Ten minutes was all it had taken for Guy to access the software to complete a deep dive into everything about this woman. What would have taken a personal investigator five years to amass had been automatically downloaded onto Guy’s cell phone, all whilst having a glass of mineral water at the bar.

“You don’t want to start something with me,” Rachel warned, retreating nonetheless.

“I’m sure I won’t need to,” Guy threw back, smiling victoriously. “Just leave Robert alone!”

Pleased with himself, Guy walked back over to Robert, gazing upon that thick, chubby ass with pride. Ever since he’d introduced the virtual feeder tool, Robert had been piling on the blubber like never before; those soft, squishy glutes showcasing every last calorie that had been desperately consumed. Robert never would have worn pants so snug to come to an event like this before; having also chosen a shirt that stretched so unflattering across his love handles. To Guy, it seemed so thrilling; like Robert’s kinkiness was being harvested and controlled; he desired food and sex in equal measures and had become more submissive to his lust for Guy than ever before. When he held the fat boy's little dick in his hand, it was so devastatingly hard, and always pathetically easy to bring keep it teetering on the very edge of an extreme orgasm.

Guy snuck up behind him and rested his strong arm over his lover’s shoulders, turning and seeing Rachel eyeing him coldy from afar. She really had been a hateful presence these last couple of years. Although the AI software had recently seemed to find a way to make Robert enjoy the humiliating content and pictures in those articles, letting her know that she couldn’t push them around had still felt every bit as satisfying as Guy had hoped. Now they could at last live their lives in peace.

“Oh my goodness!” Guy exclaimed four weeks later, seeing the article the moment he woke up, having had it sent to him by three different people in his circle. He could feel the dread consuming him as each paragraph made for more and more damning reading. Not only was this new article providing the most extreme pictures of Robert’s over 360lb body to date, but that disgusting journalist had clearly set out to ruin Guy himself. There he was, being outed as: ‘The world’s most prolific feeder.’

For the first time in years, Guy’s first love, Mikey, was staring up from the screen at him; comparison pictures of them both from when they’d started college, alongside a recent picture of Mikey with an additional four hundred pounds filling up his body. There were quotes from people Guy had known in college, twisted to back-up the case that Guy had fed and ‘destroyed’ a promising young academic with his devious kink.

Quite a few paragraphs were devoted to Dillon too. That bastard had even provided Rachel with quotes, speaking openly about how much Guy had enjoyed his greedy appetite and lust for his expanding body. “Without him, I never would have ended up at 500lbs,” he’d stated, right before the article went on to detail, in quite devastating detail, the timeline of Robert’s own transformation; gaining weight pretty much as soon as he had met Guy and started dating him.

It didn’t take a genius to work out that Guy’s reputation was in tatters. The comments section alone was enough to show just how cleverly Rachel Riverto had twisted all those little facts to make him seem like the most evil being to have ever walked the Earth. The timing couldn’t have been more disastrous. It had been a sting operation, ensuring that the Ministry of Defence would pull out of the major deal they were about to sign with Guy’s company that very afternoon, destroying years of work that had led up to this moment. Guy felt sick to his stomach. In his whole career, he’d never experienced such a personal, calculated attack.

It was ironic; in all those years, Guy had never considered himself a feeder. He’d simply enjoyed sharing in these guys’ kinks and admired their confidence as their bodies expanded in ways that most of society disapproved of. There was no crime in that; was there?

Having built up more and more shares over the years, Guy was able to refuse the wishes of those in his company who wished for him to step down; though he had to fight hard and argue well for that privilege. With every setback came a further opportunity, Guy had decided, looking at his enormous, lardy boyfriend getting hard by reading all the comments on the new pictures of his 360lb body. With the complete shit storm that had consumed Guy’s life, it was cute how Robert seemed to care so little, and how incredibly hot he appeared to find it all instead. The Robert of old would have run a mile the second a scandal like this broke out. Now, it was all part of the erotic play that was his life.

“So, what are you going to do now?” Robert asked, feasting upon a large pizza and stroking his giant, fat-filled stomach in front of the TV, much like he did every evening.

Guy smiled, feeling, in a strange sense, like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. There was no way he could have watched Robert grow like he had in the last six months and not realise that there was a serious business opportunity in all this. However, he never would have had the confidence to go for it had his name not been dragged through the mud like it had been that week. He rubbed his finger proudly across his lover’s enormous double chin. The AI had prompted Robert to keep it well shaved and it really had helped to make him look more obese than ever before.

“I may not be a feeder,” Guy began. “But I’ve somehow created the most effective motivation tool in the world,” he smiled. “And I imagine that’s not the only thing this technology could do,” he nodded, enthused by the untapped potential of what he had developed. “I believe that there are billions of people with other fun, playful kinks; just like this, too embarrassed to share it with another human being.”

Robert pulled a sceptical face, like he hadn’t even realised how much his own behaviours and physical appearance had been transformed by the technology that had been brought into his life by Guy.

Guy grabbed a giant wedge of Robert’s belly fat as he continued to make his point. “The technology was already good, but you realise you’ve packed on almost 40lbs since we introduced your brain scan data into the system six weeks ago? You wake up in the night to eat ice cream, you can’t seem to get off unless you’re stuffed! You’ve turned into this great big, fat ball of kink!” he nodded proudly. “If I market this slowly, collect more neural data…” he explained, more to himself than anyone else. “I could get better at mapping these kinks; all the different fetishes out there! Then I could provide people with the most erotic experiences of their lives; unlock desires they never even knew they had!”

“It’s still only a face on a screen,” Robert replied, seeming to cautiously accept some potential in what Guy was saying.

“Then we take it off the screen!” Guy smiled. “We put it in ear-pieces for bored husbands and wives, wanting to spice up their love lives. We use it to create bespoke AI erotic movies for folks to enjoy. We develop androids that can pleasure their targets like nothing else on the planet. By the eightieth generation of this software, the possibilities will be limitless!”

Robert stacked another two slices of pizzas and bit down on them both, nodding. “Alright,” he nodded. “It’s a pretty lucrative idea,” he agreed.

Guy smiled proudly and kissed his fattening lover, admiring the vast contrast between their bodies as they made love later that evening.

“Do you think this is going to happen to more folks then?” Robert asked as he pinched his belly fat. “Your AI systems have learned so much about my fat kinks, it’ll uncover it in more people?”

“Without a doubt!” Guy grinned back, taking hold of Robert’s fat himself and jiggling it joyfully. “Hundred of them. Thousands. Maybe even millions! Delicious, kinky little fuckers, growing their bellies out, just like you!”

“That journalist was right,” Robert smiled, feeling himself starting to climax at the touch. “I really am in way over my head!”

“You think so, Fatty?” Guy asked, having learned from the neural data how much Robert’s arousal spiked at that name.

Robert nodded, his eyes rolling back into his head. “...I really am dating the world’s most prolific feeder.”

Guy smiled, watching as Robert could hold back his orgasm no longer. He was about to bring this pleasure to everyone, across the entire world. Again and Again. After all these years, perhaps he was feeder after all…

#gainerstory #gayfeeder #gainerfic #gayfeedee #gainer stories #gainer story #gay feedee #gainerstories #gainer fiction #gainer fic

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vaguely-concerned · 3 days ago

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illario 'am I my cousin's keeper' dellamorte. you bash your brother's head in with a rock and now he's sitting across from you at the family dinner table asking you to pass the bread basket like nothing happened, blood running from your hands and down his face as you hand it to him and between you the tablecloth is slowly going from white to arterial red. still everyone keeps eating their lamb stew and talking around you. you killed abel and he just got back up again with a glare of mild annoyance and reproach and the only real curse laid upon you at the end of it all, after everything you did, is of the despite everything it's still you (derogatory) variety. you committed the indelible sin of kinslaying and the furies didn't even check their fucking phones over it because no one has ever taken you seriously a day in their lives before and they're certainly never going to start now with the absolute clown show you just put on lmao. this guy is living a his face all red situation entirely of his own creation except it's somehow also an absurdist comedy at the same time. it's what he deserves (affectionate). but hey I guess in this life we don't get what we deserve we get what we get. you're sheltered and contained by your brother's love whether you want it or not: the guy. ("he's ours". yeah you are you little shit. you're not getting off that easy.) the horror of being forgiven, and with that forgiveness, once more completely drearily irrelevant. the maddening helplessness of mercy. he grew that beard you both joked about. it kind of suits him. you still don't know if it's really him, but the ghost speaks with his voice. hey cousin can you reach the olives from there. yeah. thanks.

#can you tell I finished murder of crows and the Thoughts and Feelings are slowly percolating through my brain fhdsakj #dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #dragon age spoilers #illario dellamorte #lucanis dellamorte #he sucks so bad and it fascinates me. like. what. what is going on with this man #I am spinning him around in my head with enough force and brutality to power an atomic reactor

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chiyana · 12 hours ago

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what a veritable pile-up of emotions

because on the one hand, a lot of YJ missions are wacky and insane and so much fun to tell stories about

but on the other hand, oh my god some of those were so fucking dangerous and these kids had no business being the ones handling them

and that's not really something you fully internalize until you're older and looking back and it kind of hits you that like "oh. wow. yeah that really almost killed us and we should not have been in that situation, huh".

so you have the team reminiscing, telling the fun parts and having a good time, laughing and joking and using J'onn or the Lasso of Truth to prove they're really telling the truth, until someone, either an adult or Jon (possibly Damian) actually asks about it like "hey, when you say you were tortured on Apokalips, what does that mean?"

and because they're holding the Lasso of Truth let's say, they just... tell them. the whole truth, about what it was like and what they experienced (and how terrified they were).

and from there it's a slow spiral down to how they weren't taken seriously and thought to be lying so they stopped telling anyone, how even after they were proven to be telling the truth they still weren't given the guidance or supervision they needed, how they did exactly what they were supposed to in trying to help people who needed it and couldn't get it from anyone else, how it blew up in their face despite all their best efforts, how they bore a lot of the brunt of bad press without support or guidance, the weight of trying to do good against impossible odds, and all the shit piled on them over time until their team fell apart.

and yeah they fucked up in a lot of ways, but they were kids. yes they were mid to late teenagers, but that's not a group particularly well-known for being good at handling interpersonal issues and friction without someone with more experience helping them work through it (or being listened to by authority figures), of course there were issues within the team that made it hard to work together

and Jon and Damian have been watching this whole thing, with Young Justice talking about it and even as adults being dismissed as lying and needing to hold onto the lasso of truth to 'prove' they're not lying, despite the fact that they were proven to be telling the truth about the missions before (they just stopped telling people about them after being accused of lying AGAIN), despite the fact that by this point they've had YEARS of being trusted heroes in the community, why are they believed about missions and reports now without issue yet dismissed or accused of lying about what happened to them as kids? what does that say for them, who have had their own fuck-ups and interpersonal drama with teammates and other heroes, who are still kid heroes?

and the rest of the Justice League have been watching this too and realizing just how many times these kids (and others, there were other members of Young Justice who stopped being heroes all together because they didn't have the support of Justice League members and it became too dangerous/difficult for them to continue) came close to dying, and the Justice League probably wouldn't have noticed they died until it was far and away too late. they wouldn't have even know how it happened, because they never believed YJ about their missions so YJ just stopped telling them about them.

I fully believe that yj98 doesn’t tell ANYONE about their missions anymore.

they probably did in the past with their early ones, but after the 7th lie detector test, and 3rd time they had to get Jon and/or Wonder Woman’s lasso involved to prove they were telling the truth, they just stopped.

After you’ve heard one mission people usually think they’re lying and stop asking questions. All YJ have to say is ‘it was a Classic yj mission, do you really want to hear about it?’ and all other inquiries would be dropped. YJ themselves won’t bring it up, and you won’t believe them anyways, so what’s the point?

So you won’t believe what this leads to when Damian and Jon after being curious for a while, decided to answer “yes, we do wanna know” to them

now YJ has to deal with two teens and the justice league, who finally decides to look at them (and what they’ve done) for the first time…

#yj98 #young justice #anyway I'm sure it'd go great!

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v6quewrlds · 2 days ago

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❝ kiss me, m. mount. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: being friends with mason mount means being there with takeout and open ears after his breakups. with his latest locker room bet, he has a lot of time to think about why he's so bad at relationships. and the reason might be you.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: loved writing this, so so cute <3 day eleven of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, friends to lovers.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mason mount x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.6k.

You sat cross-legged on Mason's couch. The room smelled faintly of your favorite takeout, a mix of jerk chicken and rice and peas that filled your stomachs and warmed the air. Despite the comfort of your shared laughter, you could feel the tension coiled in Mason's demeanor, the result of a tough match and an even tougher breakup.

“So, what happened?” you asked, your voice gentle and curious.

Mason sighed, running a hand through his buzzed hair. “It was like pulling teeth. She didn't get why I had to end it. Kept saying we could work through it.”

“But you've both been miserable for weeks,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing in concern. “I thought she'd be relieved.”

Mason's eyes darted around the room before landing on his phone. “I don't know, she just... didn't take it well.”

You leaned over and plucked the phone from his hand. “Come on, spill it. What did she say?”

Mason's cheeks flushed as he recounted the teary conversation. “She said I'd never find someone who loves me like she does. It was all a bit dramatic, really.”

You rolled your eyes. “Classic breakup line.”

Mason snorted, a half-hearted smile playing on his lips. “I know, right? But it still stings a bit 'cause I know I'm the problem, not her.”

You put down your takeout container, leaning closer to him. “Mase, what do you mean?”

Mason rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I guess I'm not ready to be in a real relationship, you know? Just something I've gotta work on.”

You studied him, your brown eyes searching his. “You're not giving yourself enough credit. You're a catch, Mason. A bit of a knobhead at times,” she teased, “but you've got a heart of gold.”

Mason chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Cheers, love. Breakup came at a good time though, 'cause I've got this bet with the United lads.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow. “What bet?”

Mason's grin grew shy. “No Nut November. You know, the challenge where you don't... you know.”

Your eyes narrowed in disbelief, then you burst into laughter. “You're actually doing that?”

Mason nodded, his cheeks darkening. “Yeah, for a bit of a laugh, you know? See how long we can last without... indulging.”

You couldn't help but smirk. “So, what, you're all just walking around like a bunch of pent-up teenagers?”

“Pretty much,” Mason admitted, his smile turning into a grimace. “It's a good thing, really. Keeps my head in the game.”

You nodded, your amusement clear. “And your hands out of your pants,” you quipped.

Mason playfully slapped your arm. “You're one to talk, Miss ‘I've been single since forever’.”

Zara laughed, shrugging. “At least I'm not making bets about it!”

Mason rolled his eyes. “By the end of the month, I'll be the most zen person you know,” he said, puffing his chest at the thought, a boyish grin pulling at his lips.

“Mm-hmm,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what do you get if you win this challenge?”

Mason shrugged. “Bragging rights, I guess. Works for me.”

The rest of November rolled by with you keeping a close eye on Mason's mood swings. His frustration grew palpable as the days ticked away, his jokes about the challenge turned from light-hearted to desperate. Every time you saw him, you made sure to ask about his progress, enjoying the way his face contorted in an attempt to hide his growing irritation.

“How's the zen life treating you?” you teased, your eyes gleaming with amusement.

Mason groaned dramatically. “Don't even start, Zee.”

You couldn't hold back your laughter. “Seriously, though, you've got to be close to breaking point by now?”

Mason's brown eyes narrowed playfully. “Why're you so eager to see me fail? You're supposed to be supportive.”

You leaned back, your hand on your chest. “Me? I'm just an innocent bystander, observing the madness that is No Nut November.”

Mason threw a pillow at you, which you deftly caught. “You're a sadist, you know that?”

“Just keeping it real, Mase,” you said, tossing the pillow back.

The last week of November was the hardest for Mason. You noticed he'd become quieter, his laughter less frequent. It was as if he was deep in thought whenever he was off the pitch. The banter between the two of you took on an edge of tension, his jokes a little less playful, his responses a little more curt. Worried, you sent a text to Declan, who had only told you that Mason had reached an “epiphany” during their most recent chat a few nights back.

On the final day of the month, you were at your flat, expecting a typical evening of binge-watching reality TV shows and scrolling through social media. But when your doorbell rang, you were surprised to find Mason standing there, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Mason?” you asked, taking in his slightly nervous expression.

He held out the flowers, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “I know it's random, but I had to tell you something, and I figured flowers might help ease the blow if you decide to laugh in my face.”

You took the bouquet, feeling the weight of the moment. You stepped aside, inviting him in with a tilt of your head. “Alright, come in, I guess. What's going on?”

Mason shuffled his feet, his gaze darting around the room before settling on you. “I had a chat with Declan and Lauren, about, you know, relationships and stuff. And they got me thinking about what I really want.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you played it cool. “Oh?”

Mason nodded, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah, and I realized something. Every time I'm with someone, I can't help but picture you there instead. It's like you're this standard in my head, and no one ever measures up to what I think it would be like to be with you.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, your grip tightening on the flowers. You didn't know what to say, your mind racing with a mix of excitement and disbelief. Before you could respond, Mason took a step closer.

“I know it's weird,” he continued, his voice low and earnest. “And I know you probably think I'm out of my mind. But I can't stop thinking about it. I've never felt this way about anyone else, not even close.”

Your throat went dry as you stared at him, the words you wanted to hear for so long finally hanging in the air between you. You parted your lips to respond, but left unable to answer, you simply closed the gap and kissed him instead.

The kiss was gentle, a soft press of your lips that grew more urgent with every passing second. Mason's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as your hand found its way to the back of his neck. The flowers fell to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Mason's breath was warm against your skin as you broke apart, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or rejection. But all he saw was the same longing that mirrored his own.

“Was that okay?” he whispered, his voice ragged with emotion.

You nodded, your heart hammering in your chest. “More than okay.” You stepped closer to him, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I don't think I realized how much I've been waiting for this either,” you admitted.

Mason's eyes widened, and then he was kissing you again, more urgently this time. You stumbled backward, your bodies colliding with the wall of your hallway, your hands exploring each other with a newfound hunger. The tension of the past few weeks dissolved into pure passion, the air between the two of you crackling with the electricity of a year's worth of unspoken desires.

You didn't speak as you made your way to the bedroom, your kisses speaking volumes. The room was dimly lit by the flickering of the TV, casting shadows across your faces as you shed your clothes. Mason paused, his eyes raking over your body, his gaze lingering on the curves he had only ever seen hidden beneath baggy sweatshirts and jeans, except for the occasional glimpse at the pool or beach.

You felt a shy warmth up your neck, but you held his gaze, your own desire matching his. You fell onto the bed, your kisses becoming more heated as your bodies entwined. Mason's touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he explored you with his hands, his thumbs brushing over your hips and ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Your breath hitched as Mason's lips found your neck, kissing a path down to your collarbone. His hands were firm but tender as he unclipped your bra, and you felt the coolness of the room against your bare skin. You reached out to trace the tattoos scattered along his arms and the one at the nape of his neck, the one you had been surprised he got in the first place. His muscles tensed under your touch, and he let out a soft groan.

Your kisses grew more urgent as you moved together on the bed, the mattress squeaking gently beneath you. You felt your heart racing, your body responding to every touch, every caress. Mason's fingers danced over your skin, igniting a fire you had long ago convinced yourself you didn't feel. But here it was, burning bright and uncontrollable.

“Sensitive?” you teased, the words spoken softly against Mason's mouth as your fingers traced the ink on his ribs.

Mason chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Only for you, love.”

Your laughter melded into a passionate kiss as you rolled over, you now on top of him. You felt powerful and alive, every inch of your skin tingling with the anticipation of what was to come. Mason's hands slid up your back, his fingertips tracing the contours of your body as you moved against him.

You felt a sudden jolt of nerves. This was it, the moment you didn't know you longed for so much. You had always been the quiet, reserved one, content to watch from the sidelines. But here you were, the star of the show, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

Mason must have noticed, because he gently cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “We can stop if you want to. I just had to tell you how I feel.”

But you were beyond the point of no return. You leaned down, your eyes searching his, and whispered, “Don't you dare stop, Mason. I want this. More than you know.”

Mason's eyes lit up, the nervousness dissipating as he rolled you two over, taking control with a gentle force. His kisses grew more demanding, his hands more insistent, and you found yourself lost in the sensation. The months of friendship had built a bond between you, and now, as you finally gave in to your desires, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Your movements grew more frantic, your breaths mingling as you raced towards something you hadn't dared hope for. You could feel the tension in Mason's body, the same tension that had been building in him all month, and you reveled in the power you had over him.

As you reached your climax, it was as if a dam had broken, releasing a flood of emotions and years of unspoken feelings. The two of you clung to each other, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating in sync.

Afterwards, you lay tangled in the mess of your passion, hands still roaming, hearts still racing. The silence was comfortable, filled with the quiet whispers of your breathing and the occasional giggle when a limb got tangled. You felt a warmth spread through you that was unlike anything you had ever felt before, a sense of belonging that you hadn't realized you had been missing. His chest, firm and warm, made a perfect pillow for your cheek, and you listened to the steady thump of his heart as it slowly returned to normal.

Mason finally broke the silence, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. “So, I guess I failed No Nut November, huh?”

You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with warmth. “Epic fail, Mount. But totally worth it, if you ask me.”

Mason chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I guess that's one way to look at it. I'm just relieved it's over, to be honest. Made my head all fuzzy sometimes.”

You traced your finger along the line of his jaw, feeling the neatly groomed hair against your fingertip. “Well, you've got thirty days of freedom coming your way. What are you going to do with it?”

Mason's smile was soft, his eyes still on yours. “I'm thinking of spending it with you, if that's alright?”

You giggled softly and nodded, your heart racing. “Yeah, I think I could manage that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “What was that chat with Declan and Lauren about, though?”

Mason leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “Remember when I said I needed to sort myself out before I could be in a good relationship? They just pointed out the obvious. That there was something holding me back, something I hadn't faced. Like I was holding on to some... I don't know, hope maybe?”

You felt his words resonate deep within you. You had often wondered if Mason had felt the same way you did but had been too scared to admit it. You took a deep breath, your heart racing. “And what did you tell them?”

Mason's eyes searched yours, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. “That I always hoped that I'd eventually end up with you. That every girl I've been with, it was like I was just filling the time until you and I were ready for more.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart swelling in your chest. You had felt the same way but had never had the courage to voice it. The two of you lay there, your hearts beating in time, basking in the reality of your confessions. Years' worth of tension had led you to this moment, a culmination of unspoken feelings and hidden glances.

“You know,” you began, your voice shaky as you suppressed a giggle, “I wondered if we'd ever just give up on dating and just be together. We've both been horrid partners.”

Mason chuckled, his eyes shimmering with affection. “Yeah, but I think we've found our match in each other. Besides, I've had enough drama for a lifetime with the other ones. You're the one who's always been there for me, no matter what.”

You leaned your head on his chest again, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “And I always will be,” you murmured.

Mason's hand found yours, lacing your fingers together. “My mum always said that when you know, you know. And I think I've known for a while now. I just didn't know how to tell you without messing up our friendship.”

You squeezed his hand. “I don't think much will change between us, honestly. We'll just be a bit more... affectionate in public, I guess?”

Mason nodded, his smile growing. “And I get to kiss you wherever I want,” he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, “whenever I want,” he kissed your nose, “without worrying if it's too soon or if it'll ruin the friendship.” His lips found yours again.

You sighed contentedly against his mouth. “You're a really good kisser, you know that?”

Mason grinned. “Years of practice.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed your amusement. “Gross, you've been kissing a bunch of other girls to get good at kissing me?”

Mason's expression turned playfully offended. “Hey, I've been preparing for this moment my whole life. I promise it's all been worth it, though. You're officially the best kiss I've ever had.”

You giggled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I'll take it I guess.”

#&. cassie writes.#mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fluff #mason mount smut #man united #footballer imagine #football imagine #football #manchester united #footballer x reader #footballer fanfic #black fem reader #x black reader #black!reader #black reader #x black fem reader

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 days ago

Note

You would hit BELIEVE how happy I am that you’re writing fics for Declan O’Hara he’s my new DILF obsession!!! Also it was so well-written and in-character, oh my goodness!

I was wondering if I could request a fic where Declan and female!reader are having an affair, and she’s super nervous because she’s Taggie’s best friend. She meets Declan one night in his car, and he calms her down and, obviously, they have car sex.

Ending this with a huge I LOVE YOUR WORK

Shut Up and Drive.

It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The one person who riles you up the most is also the only person that can calm you down.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. age gap. cheating. declan and his dirty mouth. one use of the c word. overuse of the nickname sweetheart.

word count - 3k

authors note - the minute he put that baby blue t shirt on… I was suddenly on my knees. funny how that happens. can’t and won’t stop with the fics for this man. I am riding the rivals train to the ends of the earth, baby. thanks for being so sweet, anon <3

masterlist. inbox.

The phone is shaking in your trembling hand, cord all tangled where you keep twisting it around your finger nervously.

“Hello?”

You almost drop the receiver at the sound of that familiar Irish accent, despite the fact that you were the one that rang him. It has your stomach churning, in a different way than usual.

“H-hi,” you barely whisper, before clearing your throat and trying again. “Hi. It’s me.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he breathes, as if it’s the first time he’s taken a lungful of air all day.

“I, um… I’m sorry to call you on the house phone. I know it’s not how we do things usually.”

“It’s alright. What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just, uh… I called to say that I can’t do this anymore.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I would have told you in person, but I didn’t know when I was going to see you next, so.”

“Can we-” he begins, before lowering his voice so as not to be overheard, “-can we talk about this properly? Please?”

“We can’t. I can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“Sweetheart, I’m beggin’ ya. One conversation. You’re not ending this in a quick phone call on a Wednesday night, you hear me?”

You inhale deeply, biting at your lips. There’s pure anxiety radiating through your body, prickly and unrelenting.

“I hear you,” you murmur down the receiver. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he sighs in relief. “I’m gonna come and get ya - we’ll go for a drive, alright?”

“Sorry you have to lie,” you whisper, guilt colouring your tone.

“I’d lie for you a thousand times over.”

His words shouldn’t make you feel as giddy as they do, but alas. Here you are.

“I’ll put some shoes on.”

“And a coat. It’s cold as fuck tonight.”

You half laugh, half snort at him down the phone, dreamily imagining the grin he most likely has painted on his face listening to you.

“Yes sir,” you tease, giggling. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll drive up without my headlights on. Look out for me, yeah?”

“I will.”

I always do, you think to yourself. I always do.

The line goes dead abruptly, the buzzing vibrating straight into your temples. You slip your shoes on, quickly fixing your hair and touching up your makeup in the mirror in the hallway while you’re there. You shrug your arms into your coat at Declan’s orders, knowing he’d tell you off if you turned up without it on.

You’ve almost forgotten the entire reason you called in the first place was to break things off with him.

Almost.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

True to his word, Declan drives up your road without his headlights on, slowly and with practised precision.

You’re waiting at the window for him, patiently anticipating the sight of that stupid yellow car. You’re out of the door in seconds as soon as you see him, bounding towards the passenger side and slipping in before anyone notices. He drives off quickly, not taking any time to say hello before he’s taking off out of the town and towards the rolling countryside.

You drive for a good fifteen minutes, to a spot the two of you frequent on your drives. It’s a dirt track, leading to nothing but fields for miles on end. Declan pulls the car around the bend and out of sight from the busier road, knowing that it has more than enough privacy. You’ve never been caught here before, and you don’t plan to start.

Finally turning off the engine, he turns to face you, taking in how the moonlight illuminates your features in the lowlight of the car.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

You’re refusing to look at him, knowing that if you do, you’ll surge over and kiss him until you’re both dizzy. You can feel his gaze on you, though, intense and unwavering. As it always is.

His thumb and pointer finger hook under your chin, forcing you to stare straight into his determined brown eyes. You’re willing yourself not to crumble, but you can feel your resolve starting to slip already.

“I missed you,” he whispers, careful not to spook you.

“I missed you too,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Shit.”

He chuckles, and the low timbre of it settles right in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s all this about then, hmm? The phone call?”

“What did you tell Taggie? Where did you say you were going?”

It’s your least favourite part about all of this, the lying. Lying to Taggie, to Patrick, to Caitlin, to Rupert, to your friends, to your family. Coming up with excuses has become second nature - something you hate about yourself now. You hate how it comes so naturally to both of you these days.

“Told her I was going to meet someone about some potential research for a show. She had evening plans anyway, she’s off out to Lizzie’s.”

You’re fiddling with your fingers, picking at your nails in a nervous habit as you chew your bottom lip. If anxiety was personified, it’d be you.

“You avoided my question. We need to talk about what you said on the phone, sweetheart.”

Taking a deep breath, you turn in your seat to face him properly, going over the speech you’ve practised in your head dozens of times.

“Okay. I’m… I’m not sure we should do this anymore. I- I just… I feel guilty. For lying to Taggie, mainly. And because you’re technically still married, but mainly for lying to Tag. She’s the closest friend I have, and I’m sleeping with her father. It makes me a terrible person, Declan. I have to put a stop to it.”

He processes your words for a moment, looking at you intently.

“Do ya want to?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to? Put a stop to things? Or do you just feel like you should? For other people.”

You want to lie, tell him exactly what you had planned out, feed him what you know will work. But you can’t. You can lie to everyone… except Declan.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper. “But I should. We should.”

“Why now? Did something happen? Did someone say something?”

“No, no. I just… Taggie said something really sweet the other day about how she was glad that she had me, because making friends here hasn’t been easy for her. And it should have made me happy, and instead, it broke my heart.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Declan cradles your face in his rough hands, resting his forehead against yours. It’s like the whole world melts away for a moment, leaving just the two of you in the tiny yellow car.

“I’m a horrible person,” you mumble. “And a horrible friend.”

“You’re speaking as if it’s just you. And it’s not, you know. There’s two of us in this affair - I’m just as guilty as you are.”

“Fine then. We’re both horrible people.”

He chuckles, breath tickling your face, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. His lips are brushing yours every time he speaks, meaning you can practically taste the cigarette smoke and spearmint on his tongue.

“I never claimed otherwise,” he retorts, still smiling.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit as his thumbs sweep back and forth across your cheekbones. “It’s weighing down my conscience, and I don’t want to hurt Tag. But… I can’t give you up, Declan. I need you. I need you more than anything.”

“You make me crazy. God, I think about you night and day, sweetheart. My thoughts revolve around if I’ve seen you and when I’m going to see you next.”

“So what do we do? I can’t quit this. I can’t quit you, I can’t quit us. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. I wish I had the answers… I wish I could make all your worries go away. But I can’t.”

“I don’t expect you to. I just… I thought that I could do it in one clean sweep. Get it out the way, you know? Call you, end things, be done. And then the minute I heard your voice over the phone… I knew I couldn’t do it. Because deep down, I didn’t want to.”

He leans in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, desperate to be close to you.

“Declan.”

“If I could fix it all for you, I would,” he murmurs against your skin. “You know I would.”

You pull back to put some distance in between you, watching him carefully for his reaction to what you say next.

“You should break things off.”

He flinches as if you’ve punched him in the stomach.

“What?”

“You should. I clearly can’t, so you have to be the one to do it. Do it, Declan. End things with me right here, right now. Please.”

Your tone is weak and unconvincing, as if you can’t even bring yourself to say the words with any conviction.

“I can’t,” he confesses, voice breaking on the last word. “I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling it slowly as if he’s buying himself some time. You wait patiently for him to continue, nerves frayed at the edges.

“Because I love you.”

Now it’s your turn to flinch, his admission smacking you across the face violently.

“You-”

“Yes. I love you, sweetheart. It’s taken me a while to figure all of this out, but I know it now. That’s why I’ve never been able to end this. Because it’s not just incredible sex… it’s something more. Something real.”

There are tears welling in your eyes as you look at him, watching the way he lays his heart on his sleeve in the moonlight just for you.

“I’m scared,” you confess. “I love you too and it scares me.”

You don’t miss the way his face lights up as you say it, but he’s trying to keep a careful lid on his emotions for now.

“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to ya. You know that.”

All you can do is nod in response, digesting everything that has happened in the last five minutes. You do know that. He’s proven time and time again that you’re not just some fleeting fling to him.

“Declan?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Now he grins like an idiot, eyes alive with adrenaline and hope.

“That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard ya say.”

You tuck some hair behind his ear before leaning in to gently press your lips to his, wanting to seal the moment. He kisses you back sweetly at first, before taking control with more force, slipping his tongue into your mouth cheekily. You happily let him take the lead, sighing in contentment as you melt into him.

“C’mere.”

Climbing over onto his lap, you hinge your legs on either side of his in the drivers seat, straddling his hips. You try to straighten up but end up hitting your head on the roof of the car, which makes you both wheeze with laughter.

“This car is too fucking small,” you grumble, rubbing the spot that you smacked.

“Y’alright? Want me to kiss it better?”

You hate the way the teasing tone in his voice shoots right to your core, shaking your head in defiance.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Patronising bastard.”

“I like it when you get your claws out,” he chuckles, tracing patterns on your thighs over your jeans. “S’hot.”

You kiss him again to shut him up, biting at his bottom lip in punishment. He groans all low and slow, which makes you grind your hips into his, despite the multiple layers of clothing separating you.

“Backseat,” he whispers, pushing you off of him gently. “More room.”

You splay yourself across the wide back seat, opening your legs so Declan can slot in between them.

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” he prompts as he shrugs off his own jacket and undoes his belt.

You can’t help but chuckle at his impatience, happily taking off your coat and jumper and unbuttoning your jeans. Your breath catches in your throat when you look back up at him - he’s wearing the Venturer t shirt that hugs his biceps just right, accentuating every delicious muscle he has to offer you.

“Wore it for you,” he mutters against your lips. “Know you like me in a t shirt.”

You roll your eyes but kiss him with determination anyway, all teeth and tongue and clashing bodies. You’re clawing at his clothed shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist to buck your hips into his.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “Lying awake at night thinking about your thighs, your tits, your cunt.”

All you can do is sigh, fingers digging into his biceps in desperation.

“Wish I could take my time with you like you deserve. These quick fucks just aren’t the same.”

He sounds almost upset about it, voice staying deep and low.

“Remember that time I stayed the night? And you couldn’t walk in the morning?”

You laugh breathily, thinking back fondly to that night a few months ago. You’d both orchestrated it so carefully, crafting cautious lies and fabricated stories to snatch a good sixteen hours of time together.

“Need that again soon. Might have to start sneaking ya into my house in the dark, make you climb the gutters like we’re in a film. Although, it is a bit hard to keep you quiet.”

You try valiantly to ignore the heat that flushes across your chest as he teases you, knowing that he’s right.

“Declan?”

“Yeah, baby?”

You grab his hand and shove it down your underwear, jeans trapped around your thighs. There’s very minimal room in this tiny car, but you’re both determined to make it work. He groans when he feels how wet you are, swiping through your core.

“Fuck me. Have you been like this the entire time?”

“Since this afternoon,” you whimper, trying to grind down onto his fingers. “Couldn’t stop thinking about when you ate me out on my kitchen worktop last week. My legs were shaking for two days afterwards.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, slipping a finger into you as he drops his head onto your shoulder. “I got myself off thinking about that yesterday. I swear if I concentrate, I can still taste you on my tongue.”

All you can do is whimper, desperate to have him in any way you can. The fact that you have the same effect on him that he does on you makes your head spin, dizzy with want.

“Don’t make me wait,” you beg, cradling his face so he has to look you in the eye. “Fuck me, please. Please, Declan.”

“Okay, pretty girl. I’ll give ya anything you want. Anything.”

He shuffles around so he’s sat back on his knees, pushing his jeans and underwear down just enough to free himself. You spread your legs as wide as you can, trying to give him as much room as possible. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself in this position in this car with him - and it won’t be the last.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs as he leans down to kiss you, licking across your teeth with his tongue. “Most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”

He slides into you with ease, both of you gasping at the familiar sensation. Your nails are digging into his shoulders as he holds your hips in a bruising grip, pads of his fingertips biting into your flesh.

Declan doesn’t waste any time, setting a relentless pace that has you bouncing across the seat. The car is shaking like crazy, all the windows fogged up - anyone who passes will know exactly what’s happening inside.

The man above you can read you like a book and play you like a fiddle. He knows the exact angles of his hips that’ll have you keening, the certain spots to focus on that’ll have you seeing stars. He knows you better than anyone, in more ways than one.

“That’s it,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Atta girl. Taking it like you were made for me.”

“Maybe I was,” you breathe, tipping your head back to give him access to your neck. “Just for you.”

He groans all melted and golden like molten honey, the vibrato of it rumbling through your bones. You’re holding onto him for dear life, as if he’s the only thing tethering you to this reality. When his thumb finds your clit to rub firm, slow circles, you’re convinced you’re floating on another plane of existence.

The only word you can seem to formulate is Declan, which only pushes him closer to the finish line. He’s determined to get you there first, angling his hips upward to hit that one spot that has you gasping. When he moves one hand to your throat and gently squeezes, you fall apart instantly, taking him with you.

“I love you,” he breathes as he comes, forehead resting on yours. “My girl.”

You’re shuddering and shaking as you lie underneath him, panting like you’ve just ran ten miles. Declan collapses on top of you, laying his head on your chest comfortably. Your fingers rake through his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp like you’ve done so many times before.

You both allow yourselves to close your eyes for a minute, recovering and attempting to catch your breath. You’re convinced, for a moment, that you’ll never feel more peaceful than you do right now. You breathe each other in, satiated and content.

You finally open your eyes, expecting to see nothing but fogged windows and starlit darkness. Instead, you see a man bending down, looking straight at you. Arguably the worst possible person that could see the two of you in the position you’re in.

Rupert Campbell Black.

He’s grinning like an idiot, shaking his head in disbelief.

You’re about to warn the man in your arms when Rupert opens the car door, slipping himself into the drivers seat and spinning so he’s facing you. Declan has jumped out of his skin, jolting upwards to cover you as best he can.

Rupert smirks all dirty and knowing, eyes dancing over your half naked forms.

“Well, well, well. Secrets out, lovers.”

@graceflorence @dionysus-drabbles

as aaaaaaaalways… reblogs are golden!! they’re the currency of tumblr, my loves. you reblog, and your favourite writers will write you more fics. simple as that. mwah. <3

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minnies-puppydoll · 2 days ago

Text

{ Kinkmas Day 1: }

❄️ .*•snow bitten•*. ❄️

pairing: bangchan x reader

summary: you beg chan to play in the snow with you, but who knew it would be that cold? but don’t worry, he’ll always be there to warm up his favorite little girl.

warnings: daddy kink, caretaker roles, praise, comfort, manhandling, degradation, pussy eating, size kink/mentions of being smaller than chan, slapping, nipple play, let me know if i missed any!!

the snow fell peacefully on your face as you watched the white, foggy sky. days like these with chan are always the best.

you thoroughly insisted on coming outside to play in the snow, despite chan telling you its too cold and to wait for the thermal coats he bought to come in the mail. but, he knows his girl, always so impatient.

so you throw on a sweater and a thin jacket, obviously not enough to be let outside by chan, so you slowly open the cold doorknob and let your boots hit the snow.

you step around slowly, taking in how the ice cascades along the ground, covering all the the plush, green grass that once was. you scoop some up with your hands, the little crystals bite at your hands warmth, you forgot mittens.

despite your impatient disobedience, chan was an amazing caretaker to you. it’s like he knows everything about you. your fears, insecurities, and doubts, they’re all his now. always have been. chan enjoys having someone to take care of, he loves feeling needed, you both were made for eachother it seems.

you and chan have been dating for half a year now, yet sex was still a fresh topic. sure, you wanted to many times, but chan wants you to wait. you thought it was because he didn’t want you, but he quickly made sure to correct that.

“no no, sweet girl. of course i want you, but i want you to learn to feel safe and secure without feeling like you need to have sex with me, i don’t want you to do it for reassurance. can you wait for me? daddy wants you very much, little angel.”

waiting is hard. he’s evil using that nickname then telling you to wait. you know he’s right, but progress is nothing when you run your hands along yourself, pretending he finally decided to have you.

its easy to worry about things when you’re surrounded by such peace and silence, alone with your thoughts while chan isn’t there to take them all away like usual.

what if he abandons you? or maybe you’re just holding him back? what if always having to take care of you is a nuisance to him?

chan always said they were useless thoughts, and that he’ll always love you, but its hard to not overthink with everything that happened with the men in your life growing up.

..what if you’re dissapointing him right now by sneaking out into the yard? tears start to fill up your eyes.

“i’m sorry, chan.”

you mutter under your cold, visible breath to the image you made of him standing over you, his arms crossed with a fed up expression. but, when you turn around, you bump into something, no, someone warm with firm shoulders wrapped in a thick sweater.

chan greets your eyes with a smile when you open them, one that makes you melt despite the unforgiving snow, one that fills up that empty core inside yourself with safety and security, one that shows you no signs of irritance or resent, just pure, unconditional love. nothing like the chan your insecurities made in your head.

“enjoying the snow, my little angel? warm enough?”

the nickname washes your fears away, healing your upset mind. you can only look up at him innocently through your lashes, nodding your head and playing with the button on his coat.

“mhm. sorry i left. um..chan?”

“hm?”

“..you would tell me if i was too clingy? or just annoying sometimes, right? i know it’s a hassle to always take care of me or..stuff like that.”

you say avoiding his gaze and pouting, chan pets your hair, caressing his hand down to the back of your neck to cup your cheek softly with his big, firm hands. all of a sudden you don’t wanna play anymore, you wanna be with him.

“sweet girl..i know. im not upset with you at all. nothing you can do or say could ever stop me from loving you, remember?”

all of the feelings you wished you could’ve felt back then as a little girl poured into your head and spilled from your eyes and into chans chest as you pressed closer to him, nuzzling into his comforting scent and dependable chest.

he knows how vulnerable you can get when you feel like this suddenly, so chan holds you, placing his hand on the back of your head so you feel safe. when you pull away to look at him, he takes your small hand in his, stroking your skin with his thumbs. but, he stops when he notices you shivering. the snow soaked your clothes and left you wet and cold in his arms.

“..daddy?”

“hm?”

“i want to tell you something else..but i don’t want you to get mad at me.”

you say, chewing on your nail. chan smiles fondly at you.

“what is it? you know you i love you. more than anything in the entire world.”

“..i want..to start having sex with you. not for selfish reasons anymore, just need to feel you. is that okay?”

for a moment chan is silent, its a painful silence for you. please, say something. anything. then, chan starts giggling.

“..daddy?”

“im so proud of you. using your words for me, hm? need me inside you? need to feel my heart closer to you, baby? god, i think if i loved you anymore i might really explode.”

you hide your face in his chest again, burning with shyness. you didn’t think it be this easy, now you just wish he would stop teasing and fuck you already.

“feel better? come here. lets go inside and get you warmed up, silly girl.”

i guess there is a god.

chan sits you down on the large bed with thick, winter comforters cushioning you softly.

gently, but without delay, he begins to unbutton your coat. he gazes into your eyes with every soft clasp, as if you and him are the only ones in the universe..it hums an intimate fuzzing in your head, and an un-wholesome reaction between your thighs.

your coat is smoothly brisked off of your shoulders and discarded onto the floor somewhere, not that you really care about the details right now, as he quickly learns the hard way that you weren’t wearing much under that coat.

chan doesn’t seem that suprised, he simply takes notice of the pink, lacy bra you thought it was a good idea to wear outside and looks back at you with narrowed eyes..

“this is why you were so cold, huh? my dumb, baby..im suprised you didn’t freeze to death.”

you bite your lip when his warm hands roam around your cold breasts, circling his thumbs along the frills of the bra and your sensitive nipples just below them. he knows what he’s doing.

he teases you by leaving it on, running his hands down to your inner thighs, crouching down in between them.

“lay back for me, angel.”

he coos softly with a tender smile. he tucks his thumbs under your waistband, pressing your legs up and hastily peeling your thick, thermal pants off of your legs, revealing a matching set of pink lacy panties and fuzzy, winter thigh highs.

you hid your face as chan stripped you like a doll, then you giggled a bit as he smirks and sighs at your cold weather fashion choices.

“really, sweetheart? maybe you planned this , huh? thought about me stripping that pretty body? ..what am i going to do with you? such a little slut, even in winter.”

his firm hands caress your plush hips, before landing a smack to your thigh. you yelp and squirm in his overpowering grasp, before hes sticking his thumbs in the sides of your cute panties and slowly pulls them down, revealing your soft pussy with a string of arousal connecting to your underwear.

chan parts his lips and lets out a soft noise at the sight, biting his lip and pulling them off your legs. his hand is large over your tummy, the skin is rough in contrast you yours as his strokes his thumb over you sweetly.

“sweet thing. gonna let me take you? i’ll treat this pretty pussy so well as long as you go dumb for me.”

he brings his thumb up to your mouth, you suck on it lightly and bat your lashes at him.

“whore.”

his head is perched between your thighs, pressing soft kisses on your sweet skin.

when your eyes meet his, your stomach flips. just the visual of his mouth so close to where you need him most makes you whine and grind your hips up into nothing.

you have no choice. his arms are trapping your legs open, with his hands securely holding your hips in place. you try to squirm out of his grasp, and the feeling is delicious. you can’t move an inch.

“hm? can’t move, huh? that’s right. daddy’s got you.”

he coos, with a hungry tone in his voice. like he’s been waiting for this, for the moment he has his little girl all vulnrable and desperate for his body. his kisses to your thigh reach the lowest part of you, he comes to a halt and raises his head.

chan looks at you for a second, admiring and savoring the look of you before he gives you what you want. he bites his lip and smiles, revealing his sharp canines pressing on his plush lips.

he lowers his head closer to your twitching cunt, letting his breath tease you first. your red, puffy clit throbs at the denial of his sweet mouth wrapped around it.

“ahn- channiechannie please! can’t take it anymore. i’ll do anything just pleaseplease-“

“who?”

“fuck..daddy? daddy please.”

chan ignores you. he thinks your begs and cries are so adorable, but he already knows what he’s gonna do.

the first touch of his tongue sliding against your pussy feels like suffocating magic. but it doesn’t take long before your squirming and grinding your hips for more stimulation as the tip of his tongue circles just around your tortured little clit.

but you can’t move. and he won’t stop teasing you.

“ah! stopstop stop teasing please! jus’ wanna cum- wanna cum in your mouth, daddy-“

chan shuts you up quickly by wrapping his pretty lips around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue along it, sloppily making out with your pussy like he really means it.

your back immediately arches off the bed, tossing your head back along with it. in between your legs feels like heaven, blanketing your mind with silky, glowing white as you let out an absolutely fucked out scream.

you hear a squeaky chuckle between your legs from chan, he cups your ass with his hands and pulls you in closer to his greedy mouth. his eyes meet yours again, there’s a haze of darkness that passes through his before he bites a little nip on your pussy.

you yelp and jolt up, trying to plead him to stop, but chan is quick to sooth your tortured cunt with two talented fingers working their way into his pretty dolly’s hole.

his fingering is fast paced, has you gripping his hands and squirting all over them in minutes. chan handles his girl so roughly, but he looks down at you so carefully and attentive, as if you’re really made of fragile porcelain. his gaze is full of love and adoration, letting out sweet little giggles at your reactions. he can’t help it, you’re just so cute to him!

chan crooks his fingers up to thrust into your g-spot, you already can’t take it, but you die a little bit when his idle thumb presses into your clit, thrusting in sync with the rest. the added stimulation sends soaring stars of pleasure up your squirming body, chan’s veins on his arms show as he fucks his fingers up into you harder, manhandling an orgasm out of your poor little pussy.

“g’nna cum, yeah? that’s all the dumb little dolly is good for, right? serving daddy?”

“daddy! daddydaddyfuck..! gonna cum-“

“ah, what do we say, pretty girl?”

“can- can i cum? please? ahn..gonna cum so good - ah! on your fingers, daddy…”

“such a smart girl. go ahead and cum, pup. daddy’s got you, hm?”

it only takes those words for the harsh orgasm you were holding back to burst free, soaking chan’s abs and hands. you pathetically wail as he continues the abuse your pussy, fucking you through your wet little orgasm, but you feel so safe. you know chan’ll always hold you safe and tiny in his arms in such a vulnerable headspace.

when you finally start to come down, he strokes your tummy, up to your cute breasts, and finally to your cheeks, where he plants a soft kiss to remind you he loves you.

chan stands up and wipes his mouth. you notice how he’s still completely dressed and you’re only in your slutty thigh highs. it’s a hot situation, but it won’t do for now.

you slide your foot along his belt buckle, pulling and tugging at while whining at him, wordlessly begging for him to finally fill you up.

“what do you want, pretty girl? tell me and i’ll give it to you.”

you don’t respond, you just blink up at him, going a bit non-verbal and fuzzy already, and it’s worse when chan leans down to grab your face.

“hey. you want daddy to fuck you? want daddy’s cock pressing into your tummy, baby?”

“mhm..”

“then use. your. words.”

chan almost growls in your ear, you feel the texture of denim grinding at your overstimulated clit, he’s frotting his hard cock against your pussy from the fabric, urging you to say what he ordered you to say.

“mm’fuck! chan yes!”

a harsh slap stings your cheek.

“you know my name, stupid slut. is that pretty head just for decoration, or can you actually use it?”

“m’sorry, so sorry..fuck. daddy, please fuck me? please? ill be such a good girl, such a good hole for you please-“

the more you talk the bigger the smile lights up on his face, you’re just the most adorable thing in his eyes.

“aw, who’s my good girl? is it you? fuck..that’s right, angel.”

chan takes your little fuzzy-socked foot in his hand and brings it up from his belt to his face, planting a kiss above your heel.

he places your foot over his shoulder and begins to undo his belt with hypnotizing metal clicks. you’re finally getting what you’ve wanted since you started dating chan.

his belt and pants come undone, and you finally get a view of his big, red cock. it throbs in the air just by looking at the reaction on your face, suddenly he’s a little shy, just like the channie you know. he let’s out a squeaky giggle and avoids your eyes as he pumps his cock lazily.

“you want it, hm? it’s leaking for you and those pretty hips.”

he says now biting his lip and spreading your legs back, trapping you in a mating press. his face rests near your collarbone, whispering filth desperately as far as you can hear it.

“fuck..can’t hold it anymore, need to sink into you..tight fucking pussy- need it squeezing me.”

with that, he’s spreading your folds and forcing his cock in with tiny little thrusts. the stretch is overwelming, but it’s pressing on the front of your g-spot perfectly.

when your pussy is filled all the way, he wastes no time at all continuing his pace with larger and more forceful thrusts inside you, one’s that have you breathlessly screaming.

you really can’t take it, it feels too good you don’t know what to do with yourself. you need him to slow down.

you can’t form sentences right now, so you try planting your hands on his abdomen to brace yourself, but chan swipes them up instantly, gripping your wrists together to use as leverage to pull you back down on his cock.

“fucking take it. stay still, you said you would be good, hm? this pussy’s too little to fit me?”

you’re going braindead you swear, his cock is mind-numbingly thick, it soaks your g-spot, while also being long enough to fuck spots you’re sure no dildo has ever reached before.

chan bounces you like that for a bit before taking one of your legs and lifting it up, holding it against his chest while he rolls his hips in your cunt. he’s lost in it, closing his eyes and placing plush kisses along your sock.

he brings his hand down to thumb at your clit messily, slapping it occasionally to get you there closer. he feels himself faltering in your pussy, groaning louder and leaning his head back at the feeling of you sucking him in.

“fffuck..good fucking girl..gonna make daddy cum? yeah? want me to spill inside this greedy cunt?”

“mn..mhm!”

he hears your meek response. chan places his hand on the side of your head, forcing you to hear him as he brings his face to the crook of your neck.

you don’t like this. you love the feeling of him fucking you more than anything, it makes you feel taken care of and safe, and closer to your boyfriend. but what you really need right now is his cum, and he isn’t cumming fast enough for you.

“gonna cum, yeah? look at what you’re doing to me- ah!”

chan tenses as you pull up his shirt to pinch at his nipples, rolling them in your fingers. his arms shake around you as he writhes, but he isn’t thrusting anymore.

“please..don’t stop, channie..you’re almost there, need your cum..”

he starts thrusting again, fucking you closer with him, the feeling of his cock inside you and your hands on his nipples has him throwing his head back, sending electric sparks of pleasure to his cock.

“mm’fuck can’t take it- oh fuck, cumming!”

you feel chan spraying warm cum deep inside your already messy cunt. the feeling of his warmth flooding inside you is what sends you over with him, his twitching cock still prodding at your g-spot desperately.

your orgasm is strong, you close your legs shut while cumming shakily around his cock till he softly pulls it out. you both rest for a second after cumming so hard, but chan’s shy laugh breaks the silence, covering his red face.

“oh my gosh..i cannot believe i just came from that!”

you can’t believe that this is the same man that just called you his whore unprovoked. you pull him down to lay on you, resting your face in his shoulder and wrapping your legs around him. chan instantly relaxes in your arms.

“…all warmed up now?”

“mhm..chan?”

“anything, sweet girl.”

“i love you. love you so much..thank you for doing this. i know taking care of me can be alot and-“

“ah, ah. i told you to stop saying that. never. it’s never a burden to make you happy. thank you for trusting me to give you what you need. i loved you then, i love you now, and ill love you forever. if you forget, then ill always be here to remind you, ill say it over and over again each time.”

his soft, lovely words paired with your exhaustion seems to be the perfect recipe for you to fall asleep in his arms. chan just hums and strokes your hair, he loves his girl.

“goodnight, sweet girl. ill be right here when you wake up too.”

tags!!

@estella-novella @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @theresstardustinmyblood @annafeebou @pancake-freckle @elizalabs3 @minniesverse @loxgirl2004 @mintymintmint251 @y-ur--i

#skz smut #18+ mdni #skz x reader #bangchan x reader #bangchan smut #kinkmas #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #chan x reader #chan smut

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jacensolodjo · 2 days ago

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Soviet block housing was also famously cold as a witch's tit. They NEVER promised a home for every person because then they'd have to give one to those icky 'undesirables'. Do you know how many thousands died in the fucking streets? The images of food lines going for multiple city blocks aren't just 'capitalist propaganda'. More often than not, you had women sitting in the cold waiting for food they were never gonna fucking get because they were not high enough in the party or early enough. Or just too fucking not-russian.

There are multiple stories of people just dying in their shacks because they didn't get the food they were promised. The USSR famously STARVED millions. Why anyone wants to idolize the USSR despite millions of eastern europeans/east asians staring at them like they grew two more heads is beyond me.

It's kinda like being all 'when the revolution comes--" when the revolution came you would be either dead or completely catatonic because it doesn't go the way you've dreamed of. Note dreamed of. Never planned. That's why the revolution is coming but never actually here. You got all these commie shitheels dreaming of 'the revolution'. That, by the way, would kill the vulnerable first because they don't know the right people.

I wonder what happens to a disabled person who can't work? The best many could hope for was 'assisted suicide' (read: executed) for being a 'drain on resources'. Compare that to the lives disabled people live now in former Soviet bloc countries. Mainly... they live.

But no one talks about that. I wonder why?

poor unemployed minority with no family who's been couch surfing for 2 years: god I wish the ussr wasn't illegally dissolved. it's so hard for me to imagine a society that prioritizes housing everyone, can we bring that back please

person who grew up in a 3-story single family house with a fully paid off mortgage: ummmm you actually don't want to live in brutalist soviet block housing. the conditions were miserable. they didn't even have jacuzzis in the master bathroom :/

#anti communism

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halfmoonaria · 7 hours ago

Text

ignorant

pairing: cairo sweet & reader

summary: you are the next victim for the evil of cairo sweet, but this time it’s not planned.

word count: 6k

author’s note: somebody asked for more cairo sweet and i’ll deliver

Cairo Sweet was toxic.

Everybody at school knew it, whispered it, even feared it. It wasn't because she'd ever laid a finger on anyone—Cairo didn't need to.

She had a way of ruining people without touching them, a kind of quiet, deliberate destruction that made her dangerous in ways no one wanted to test.

Her manipulation was an art form, her lies sharp enough to shred reputations into confetti. A few well-placed rumors, a convincing performance, and she could have someone blacklisted.

Jobs, scholarships, futures—they all crumbled under the weight of her fabrications. Being on Cairo's bad side was like being branded: the stain followed you wherever you went.

People had seen it happen before. Just last year, Mr. Miller had been the unfortunate target. A teacher with a spotless reputation, gone in an instant.

A single accusation from Cairo had shattered his career. The truth? It didn't matter. Cairo's version of the story had been louder, more convincing.

Even when whispers of her exaggerations began to circulate, it was too late for him. By then, she'd moved on, leaving destruction in her wake like it was nothing.

You'd heard it all, of course. Everyone had.

The looks she got in the halls said enough—half awe, half terror. But what you could never figure out, no matter how much you watched her, was whether she enjoyed it.

Did she like that people were scared of her? Did it give her some twisted sense of power? Or did she just not care? Maybe, in some corner of her mind, she felt guilty. But if she did, you'd never know it.

And yet, despite everything you knew—despite all the warnings, the stories, the very real possibility that she could ruin you too—you found yourself getting pulled in. If that's even what you'd call it.

It all started one afternoon after English class. You'd been shoving your notebook into your bag when Cairo appeared beside your desk, casual as if it wasn't the first time she'd ever spoken to you directly.

"Hey, you mind if I grab a picture of your notes? I missed a few things."

The request wasn't surprising—everyone in English class talked to each other, especially when it came to assignments or study guides.

You'd even exchanged a word or two with her before, though only ever about coursework. She wasn't unapproachable, not exactly. Just... untouchable. Like someone you didn't dare get too close to for fear of the inevitable fallout.

"Sure," you said, slipping the notebook out again and holding it toward her.

She gave you a brief, unreadable smile, one corner of her mouth tugging upward as she pulled out her phone and started snapping pictures.

"Thanks," she murmured, her tone flat but not unfriendly. She didn't walk away immediately, though. Instead, she lingered, flipping through the pages like she was checking for anything she might've missed.

"You always this neat?" she asked suddenly, her eyes flicking to you.

You blinked, caught off guard by what sounded almost like a compliment. "Uh, I guess."

"You should see mine," she said with a dry laugh, tucking her phone back into her pocket. "It's a miracle I can even read them."

You knew that wasn’t true.

It wasn't much, but it was the first real conversation you'd had with her that wasn't about group projects or exam prep.

Cairo had a way of making even the smallest interactions feel like something bigger, like a spark catching on dry leaves. It was enough to leave you wondering as you walked out of class that day why she'd bothered talking to you at all.

After that, it was little things. A nod of acknowledgment when you passed in the halls.

A quick "Hey" when she slid into the seat beside you before class started. And then, somehow, it became more. She'd catch you after school, asking about homework or offering a ride home if it was raining. You told yourself it was nothing—she was just being nice, or at least her version of it.

But the truth was, you couldn't help noticing the way her attention made you feel.

Like she saw something in you that no one else had. It wasn't long before those fleeting interactions turned into something else entirely: Cairo waiting for you after class with that same unreadable smirk, Cairo texting you late at night asking if you were up, Cairo pulling you into her orbit in a way that felt effortless.

You told yourself you should've known better. You'd heard all the stories, seen the aftermath of what she could do.

But every time you thought about walking away, you'd hear her voice in your head, low and teasing, or see the way she leaned a little closer than she needed to when she talked to you.

And then it went further.

It had started slowly. Cairo had begun finding reasons to linger after English class, asking about your interpretations of certain texts or how you'd structured your notes.

She hadn't needed the input—she was one of the best students in the subject, her essays always marked with the highest grades and her name consistently praised in class discussions.

At first, you had assumed it was just convenience; you were one of the only people who matched her level of effort. But the excuses had become more frequent, her attention more focused, until her presence became a constant thread in your life, woven in so seamlessly that you didn't even notice when it tightened.

The night she showed up at your door had felt inevitable, though you wouldn't have admitted it then.

Cairo had mentioned offhandedly how she preferred studying with someone else for perspective, and at the time, you'd barely registered it. But when she appeared, backpack slung over her shoulder, her expression calm and unbothered, it hadn't been a surprise.

There was no preamble, no hesitation. She had walked into your room with a confidence that felt natural, claiming space without even asking.

At first, it had been nothing out of the ordinary. Books and notes spread across your bed, Cairo sitting cross-legged across from you as the two of you discussed the upcoming exam.

Her questions were sharp, her observations even sharper. She had a way of speaking that made you feel like she already knew the answer but wanted to hear what you had to say anyway. You'd spent hours like that, trading ideas and bouncing thoughts back and forth, her handwriting neat and methodical as she jotted down lines in her notebook.

But at some point, the conversation had drifted. It wasn't abrupt, just a natural shift, like a tide rolling in without warning.

She'd asked about the books you read outside of class, about your favorite authors, your least favorite, and before you knew it, the two of you were sitting closer, your legs brushing as you talked. Her voice had softened, her gaze lingering on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

It had felt harmless at first. Cairo had always had a way of commanding attention, of drawing you in even when you knew better.

But when her hand brushed against yours, the air shifted. It was so subtle you almost convinced yourself it was accidental, but then her fingers lingered, trailing against your skin just enough to leave you breathless.

By the time she leaned in, it didn't feel sudden at all. Her lips had met yours with a deliberateness that left no room for hesitation, her hand sliding to the back of your neck as she deepened the kiss.

You'd known then that there was no going back, that this wasn't just another moment to file away under casual study sessions. Cairo had a way of making everything feel inevitable, like it was all a part of her plan from the beginning.

The hours after that had passed in a haze. The notes and textbooks had been forgotten, your conversations abandoned as Cairo pulled you closer, her body pressed against yours in a way that made you forget everything you'd ever heard about her.

She had been as deliberate as ever, her touch calculated but intoxicating, like she knew exactly how to make you fall apart and was savoring every second of it.

When it was over, the room had felt heavier, the silence punctuated only by the faint hum of your desk lamp. Cairo had stretched out beside you, her head resting on your pillow, her expression unreadable.

She hadn't said much, only reaching for her phone to check the time before pulling her shirt back on with the same calm, unbothered demeanor she always carried.

And just like that, she had left, her notebook tucked under her arm, her goodbye nothing more than a casual "See you tomorrow." As if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't just turned your entire world upside down and walked away without a second thought.

That was when it all started.

The whole rollercoaster.

One day, it was like you were the only person in her world—her texts coming in rapid bursts, her presence at your side like she couldn't bear to be away from you.

The next day, she'd barely say a word, her gaze sliding past you in the halls as if you were just another face in the crowd. Cairo had always been unpredictable, but now, it felt personal.

One moment, she'd pull you into a corner after class, her touch lingering on your wrist as she whispered something that made your chest tighten, and the next, she'd laugh with her friends right in front of you, not even sparing you a glance.

The day after you'd slept together, she had acted like it never happened. She'd sat next to you in English like always, her notebook open and her handwriting as neat as ever, answering the teacher's questions with her usual confidence.

But there had been no acknowledgment of the night before—no sly glance, no shared moment of understanding. Nothing.

You'd tried not to let it bother you. Cairo wasn't the type to wear her emotions on her sleeve, and maybe you'd expected too much.

But then, just when you thought you'd misread everything, she'd catch your eye in the hallway, her lips curling into a smirk that sent your thoughts spiraling. She'd brush against you in passing, her hand grazing your arm, leaving you wondering if it had been intentional or just a coincidence.

The cycle was maddening. Some days, she'd text you late at night, her messages full of inside jokes and clever observations that made you feel like you were the only person who truly understood her.

Other days, your phone would stay silent, and when you saw her at school, she'd talk to you like nothing had changed, her tone casual, her demeanor almost cold.

You'd tell yourself you wouldn't let it get to you, but it always did. Cairo had a way of pulling you in, her charm disarming even when you knew better.

She could make you feel special with a single glance, only to leave you questioning everything with her silence the next day. It was a push and pull, a constant tug-of-war that left you breathless and exhausted all at once.

There were moments when you thought she might care—when she'd show up at your door unannounced, her face softer than usual, asking if you wanted to go for a drive or watch something with her.

Those nights, she'd talk about things she rarely shared, her voice quiet as she told you about her childhood or the pressure she felt to always be in control. She'd lean her head on your shoulder, her fingers brushing against yours, and for a little while, it felt real. It felt like maybe she needed you as much as you needed her.

But then morning would come, and she'd slip back into the version of herself that kept everyone at arm's length. She'd thank you for letting her crash or for the coffee you'd made her, her tone light and detached, and by the time she walked out the door, it was like none of it had ever happened.

The inconsistency was suffocating, yet you couldn't bring yourself to let go. Every time she pulled away, you told yourself it was the last time, that you wouldn't let her back in. But then she'd flash you that crooked smile, or send you a text that made you laugh despite yourself, and all your resolve would crumble.

It wasn't just about the moments she was kind—it was the way she made you feel when she was. Like you were the exception, the one person who could get past the walls she'd built. It was intoxicating, even when it hurt, even when you knew you were only setting yourself up for disappointment.

Cairo never apologized, not really.

When she pulled you close again after days of silence, it wasn't with words but with gestures—a hand on your knee during class, a smirk as she slid into the seat beside you, a text at midnight that said nothing but still made you stay up just in case she sent another.

You told yourself you could handle it. That the highs were worth the lows, that maybe someday, she'd stop running, stop retreating into herself. But deep down, you knew the truth. Cairo was who she was—beautiful, magnetic, and devastatingly out of reach.

And yet, you stayed.

Some nights, the loneliness settled over you like a second skin, cold and suffocating. You'd sit with your phone in your hand, staring at the screen, waiting for her name to light up. It became a ritual—hoping, waiting, trying not to check the time too often because every glance at the clock only reminded you of how long it had been since you'd last heard from her.

It was always the same. Cairo's excuses blurred together over time, a monotonous loop that left you questioning why you still held on. They came hours later, always casual, laced with just enough indifference to remind you where you stood.

Sorry, I was showering.

That one had been her go-to more than once. You could still remember the times you waited, your phone always within reach, even when you shouldn't have been so eager.

Multiple times, you'd been in the shower yourself, the water cascading down your back as you heard the buzz of your phone over the noise. You'd reached out instinctively, nearly dropping it as you wiped your hand on a towel to see her message. The words stared back at you, plain and detached. You replied as always, that it was fine.

It wasn't. But what else was there to say?

Sorry, I had no battery on my phone.

That excuse always came with a hint of carelessness, as if she hadn't even noticed the hours you spent waiting for her reply.

You'd been sitting on the floor that time, your back against the bedframe, knees pulled to your chest. The outlet was too far from your bed, so you stayed there, tethered to the wall like some desperate, foolish thing.

The charger stretched just enough for your phone to stay on, its faint glow illuminating your face. Her message arrived eventually, and you'd stared at it for a long moment, the words twisting something inside you. Still, you'd typed your response. It's fine.

Sorry, I was out with Winnie.

She always mentioned Winnie like she were some unspoken priority, a reminder that you were never really part of her world.

That particular excuse had come while you were in the back seat of a car, squished between your friends as they shouted along to your favorite song.

Their joy felt distant, like a muffled sound through thick glass. You'd glanced at your phone, your heart sinking as you read her words. It didn't matter that you were surrounded by people who cared about you—it only mattered that Cairo didn't. Your reply had been quick, almost automatic. It's fine. But the lump in your throat told a different story.

Sorry, I had class.

That one had come during History once, during a class you'd only chosen because she was in it too. Your phone had vibrated on your desk, and you'd snatched it up quickly, your pulse quickening at the sight of her name.

But the message itself had been underwhelming, just another half-hearted apology. You'd barely had time to respond before the teacher's shadow loomed over you, her hand outstretched to confiscate your phone. You typed back the same words as always, It's fine, even as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. It wasn't fine. It never was.

Sorry, I fell asleep.

That one might have been the worst.

You'd waited three hours that night, staring at your phone until the screen dimmed and the battery warning flashed. It felt pathetic, even in the moment, but you couldn't stop yourself from hoping.

When her message finally came, you almost wished it hadn't. The words felt like a punch to the chest, so casual and uncaring, as if she hadn't realized how long you'd been waiting—or worse, as if she had and simply didn't care. Your response had been the same as always, but this time, your hands had trembled as you typed.

These weren't one-off moments. They were patterns—predictable, painful, and yet impossible to walk away from. Every excuse carried the same weight, a reminder that you were never her priority, never the one she truly cared about. But somehow, even after all of it, you stayed. You replied. You waited.

Because part of you couldn't help but hope that one day, she might mean it when she said she was sorry.

Your friends had tried to tell you before. So many times, actually. They had spoken to you in their patient, understanding tones at first, as if easing you into a truth you already knew but couldn't bring yourself to face.

Cairo isn't good for you. You deserve better. She doesn't care about you the way you care about her.

The words had echoed in your mind, even as you'd brushed them off. You'd nodded, said you'd think about it, maybe even pretended to agree.

But the truth was, their concern had always bounced off the walls you'd built around Cairo. It wasn't their business, you'd told yourself. They didn't see the side of her you did—the glimpses of vulnerability, the rare moments when she made you feel like you were the only one who mattered.

But those moments had grown fewer and farther between. Lately, they felt like distant memories, the kind you cling to out of desperation rather than hope.

You couldn't pinpoint exactly when it shifted. Maybe it was the hundredth time she'd left your messages unread, or the way she only texted back when it was convenient for her.

Maybe it was the excuses that started to sound more like indifference than apologies. Or maybe it was the way you realized, slowly and painfully, that you couldn't remember the last time Cairo had truly asked about you—your day, your feelings, your life beyond what you could do for her.

And then there were your friends. They hadn't stopped trying, even when it became clear you weren't ready to listen.

Their voices grew sharper, less patient, but not unkind. You're breaking your own heart, they'd said once. She's not worth it. And for the first time, those words didn't feel like a slap; they felt like the truth.

It wasn't just the words, though. It was the way they looked at you—really looked at you.

Not with judgment, but with something softer, something sad. You'd seen it in their eyes when they caught you checking your phone, hoping for a reply that never came. You'd felt it in the way they lingered after conversations, hesitant to leave you alone with your thoughts.

And maybe that's what finally cracked the foundation you'd built for her—the realization that the people who truly cared about you were right there, offering you more love and patience than Cairo ever had.

You started to notice the things you'd ignored before: the weight in your chest when her name popped up on your screen, the exhaustion that came from trying to decipher her mixed signals, the way her words always seemed to twist just enough to make you feel like the unreasonable one.

It wasn't a sudden epiphany. It wasn't some grand, dramatic moment where you declared that enough was enough. It was quieter than that, slower. Like a tide receding, pulling back layer by layer, until you could finally see the damage left behind.

It happened one night when you were with your friends. They'd said something—maybe a joke, maybe just a passing comment about Cairo—and instead of defending her, you'd stayed silent. It wasn't because you were angry or hurt; it was because, for the first time, you couldn't find a reason to argue.

That silence was heavier than anything you'd ever felt. It wasn't the kind that begged to be filled with excuses or justifications. It was the kind that felt like acceptance.

And that's when you knew. You didn't need Cairo to apologize again, to make another excuse, to promise she'd do better and then fall back into the same patterns. You didn't need anything from her anymore.

For the first time, you realized the person you needed to save was yourself.

Which was why you decided to pull away.

It wasn't an easy decision. Cairo had a way of pulling you back in, of making it hard to let go of the idea of her, even when she'd done nothing to deserve your loyalty. But you'd had enough of being her secret. Enough of being good enough only when it suited her.

English with Mr. Solace was where it started.

Cairo slid into the chair beside you like it was hers by default, like she hadn't spent days treating you as if you barely existed. She gave you that soft smile, the one that always felt a little too rehearsed, before it shifted into something sharper—teasing, flirty. The smirk that had once made your heart race now only irritated you.

You kept your eyes on your notebook, pen moving in deliberate strokes. You weren't writing anything meaningful, but it didn't matter. The point was to ignore her, to refuse her the attention she always seemed to expect.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her watching you. She didn't like being ignored. You could feel her presence, her attempts to draw you in, like a weight pressing down on your shoulders.

She leaned back in her chair, her bag sliding off her shoulder and onto the floor with a soft thud. Her arm brushed yours briefly as she adjusted herself, and you knew it wasn't accidental.

But you didn't move. You didn't flinch, didn't look, didn't react the way you might have just weeks ago.

Mr. Solace’s voice filled the room as he began his lecture, his words blending into a low hum in the background. You were just starting to think you'd get through the class without an incident when you felt it—her fingers brushing against your thigh.

It was subtle at first, just the barest hint of contact, like she was testing the waters. Then her touch grew bolder, her palm hovering before she let it settle lightly against your leg.

Your heart didn't race this time. Instead, it sank.

This was Cairo, wasn't it? Always acting like you belonged to her when no one was watching, when it was convenient. Always making sure her actions stayed hidden, as if she couldn't bear for anyone else to know what you meant to her—if you even meant anything at all.

For a moment, you froze. The old you would've let it slide, let her hand stay there, and hoped it meant something more than it ever did. But not this time.

This time, you pulled away.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you shifted back, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of Mr. Solace’s lecture. A few heads turned, but you didn't care.

You felt Cairo's hand drop away immediately, her fingers curling into her palm as if she'd been burned. For a moment, you didn't dare look at her. Your focus stayed locked on your notebook, your pen frozen mid-stroke as you tried to steady your breathing.

But the silence beside you was deafening.

Finally, you glanced sideways, just briefly, and what you saw caught you off guard. Cairo wasn't wearing her usual mask of indifference. Her brow was furrowed, her lips slightly parted like she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Her eyes darted toward you, then away, as if she was trying to figure out what had just happened. She looked confused, maybe even hurt—but there was something else too. Anger. That familiar glint of frustration she got whenever something didn't go her way.

You forced yourself to look away before she could meet your gaze fully.

The rest of the lesson dragged on, but the tension between you didn't fade. Cairo sat rigid in her seat, her hands resting stiffly on her desk. She didn't try to touch you again, but you could feel her presence, heavy and unrelenting, like she was willing you to look at her.

You didn't.

When the bell rang, you stood quickly, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder in one smooth motion. Cairo hesitated, her movements slower, almost hesitant, like she wasn't sure what to do next.

You didn't wait to find out. You walked out of the room without a backward glance, your heart pounding in your chest.

The hallway was a blur of noise and motion as you pushed your way through the crowd, your bag slung over one shoulder and your gaze fixed straight ahead.

You didn't want to linger. You didn't want to give her the chance to catch up, to say anything that might make you second-guess the boundaries you were finally starting to set.

You weaved around groups of students loitering by the lockers, dodging the occasional stray elbow or careless backpack.

The dull roar of conversations and laughter filled the air, but it all felt distant, muffled by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Your locker wasn't far now—just a few feet away. If you could make it there, if you could grab your things and blend into the crowd again, you might be able to avoid her altogether.

But then you heard it.

"Y/N!"

Her voice cut through the chaos, not loud enough to draw attention from anyone else but clear enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You pretended not to hear. You kept walking, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag as if holding on to something solid could keep you from looking back.

The distance and the noise of the hallway worked in your favor for now, her voice fading slightly as another group of students spilled out of a nearby classroom, blocking her path.

For a moment, you thought you might actually make it.

But you should've known better. Cairo never let things go.

Her footsteps were quick and purposeful, cutting through the crowd with an ease that only someone like her could manage.

You felt the shift in the air before you even saw her—felt her presence, familiar and inescapable, closing in on you like a shadow.

"Y/N!" This time, her voice was closer, sharper, laced with an edge of frustration.

You didn't stop, didn't slow, even though the knot in your stomach tightened with every step. You could feel her catching up, her determination practically radiating off her like heat.

And then her hand was on your wrist.

The contact was sudden, firm, and you had no choice but to stop as she turned you around to face her.

Cairo stood there, her chest rising and falling slightly from the effort of chasing you down. Her hand stayed wrapped around your wrist, not tight enough to hurt but strong enough to keep you from pulling away.

Her expression was unreadable at first, a mix of emotions flickering across her face so quickly that you couldn't pin any of them down.

Her lips parted, like she was about to say something, but for a moment, she didn't. She just looked at you, her brows furrowed and her jaw tense, as if she were trying to piece together what had just happened.

The noise of the hallway felt like it faded away, the two of you caught in a strange, charged silence.

You pulled your wrist from her grasp, the movement sharp and deliberate, and took a small step back, putting space between you.

Cairo stayed where she was, rooted to the spot as if the act of you pulling away had left her momentarily stunned. Her hand fell to her side, and she tilted her head, her gaze fixed on your face, searching for something she couldn't seem to find.

Confusion flickered across her features, quickly giving way to something sharper—something almost hurt.

Her lips parted, but when she spoke, it wasn't vulnerability that came through. Instead, there was an edge, a hint of attitude in her voice that sharpened every syllable.

"What was that all about?" she asked, her accent thick, the natural rasp of her tone cutting through the air between you. Normally, it was the kind of thing you would've found endearing, even attractive. But not now. Not after everything.

You crossed your arms, schooling your features into indifference. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Cairo blinked, caught off guard for a split second before she let out a low, almost mocking laugh. She leaned slightly toward you, her cocky demeanor sliding effortlessly back into place.

"Oh, come on," she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear over the hum of the hallway. "I tried to touch you, and you freak out?" Her lips curled into a smirk, the kind she always used when she thought she had you right where she wanted you.

Her eyes narrowed, teasing, self-assured, as she added, "Am I that intimidating?"

She said it like it was a compliment, like it was supposed to make your heart skip a beat the way it always used to. It was a flirt, the kind of thing that once would've left you fumbling for words or glancing away to hide the flush on your cheeks.

But not now.

You didn't falter. You didn't give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you met her gaze with a calm, steady look that made her smirk falter, the corners of her mouth twitching downward as uncertainty crept into her expression.

"No," you said simply, your voice firm. "I just don't want to do this anymore."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

Cairo's brows knit together, her lips parting in surprise as she stared at you like you'd just spoken a foreign language. Then, her expression shifted—confusion morphing into something sharper, almost disgusted, as though she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.

"What?" she said, her voice laced with attitude, the word drawn out like she was challenging you to explain yourself. Her tone was a mix of disbelief and defiance, as if the very idea of you pulling away from her was both shocking and offensive.

You couldn't tell if she genuinely didn't understand or if she was playing dumb, but part of you suspected the latter. Maybe she hadn't considered this possibility—hadn't imagined a world where you would be the one to step back, to say no.

If she did understand, she was probably thinking about how this wasn't supposed to happen to her. People didn't end things with Cairo Sweet. She ended things with them.

But this wasn't even an ending, was it? It wasn't a breakup, because this wasn't a relationship. Not really.

Whatever it was, though, it was over. You weren't going to let her keep playing you like this.

The silence stretched between you, the tension palpable. Cairo's gaze darted over your face, searching for any hint of hesitation, but you didn't waver. For once, you were sure of yourself.

And it was clear, for the first time, that she didn't know what to do about it.

"Look, Cairo." Your voice came out steadier than you expected, even with the weight of what you were about to say pressing down on your chest. "I don't know what this is," you continued, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, "but I want it to be over."

Cairo's head jerked back like you'd slapped her, her brows knitting together in a sharp furrow as her lips parted slightly. For a moment, she just stared at you, blinking like she couldn't quite process the words you'd just said.

Her mouth twisted into something unreadable, almost like disgust, but you knew better. It wasn't disgust. It was shock. Maybe even hurt, though you weren't sure if it was for the right reasons.

"What?" she finally said, her voice low and almost breathless, like she'd forgotten how to breathe properly.

You could've stopped there. Maybe you should've. But there was too much left unsaid, too much that had been building up for far too long.

"I'm tired, Cairo," you said, the words simple but cutting.

Her expression shifted, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing her face before she quickly masked it with that familiar attitude, the one that had kept you hooked for far too long. But she didn't say anything, didn't interrupt, so you kept going.

"You treat me like I'm supposed to be grateful for the scraps you throw my way," you said, your voice low but firm, the words landing like a stone in the pit of your stomach. "But I'm done. I'm not waiting anymore."

Cairo's jaw tightened, her arms crossing over her chest defensively as she stared at you. There was no cocky smirk now, no teasing glint in her eye. For once, she didn't look like she had all the answers.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said finally, her tone sharp, almost dismissive, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. "Yeah, you do. You just don't like hearing it."

Her brows furrowed even deeper, her mouth opening like she was about to argue, but she hesitated, the words catching in her throat. For the first time, Cairo Sweet looked uncertain.

And it was oddly freeing, seeing her like that, knowing that for once, you weren't the one left doubting everything. You were done playing this game.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you looked at her one last time. She still hadn't said anything, her mouth slightly open as if the words were stuck somewhere between her throat and her pride. Her arms were still crossed, but you could see the cracks in her armor now—confusion, maybe even hurt, flickering across her face in ways she couldn't quite hide.

But it wasn't enough to stop you.

"Maybe you should find someone else to play with," you said evenly, your voice low but sharp enough to cut through the tension between you. You didn't say it with malice or anger, just a quiet, undeniable finality.

Her lips parted further, her eyes narrowing as if to mask the shock that was written all over her face. She didn't respond, and you didn't wait for her to.

Instead, you turned and walked away, your footsteps firm and deliberate, even as the noise of the crowded hallway swallowed the moment whole. You didn't look back, didn't let yourself wonder what her expression looked like now or if she was still standing there, watching you leave.

Because this time, you weren't leaving to get her attention.

#jenna ortega x reader #mabel x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter #ask #sam carpenter x reader

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landopoet · 1 day ago

Text

crave.

pairing teammate!lando x sainz!reader

warnings smut, mentions of alcohol

playlist obsessive - chase atlantic / is there someone else? - the weeknd / 2 hands - tate mcrae / sex money feelings die - lykke li / favourite - isabel larosa

synopsis what happens when the person you hate stays over for the weekend?

part one of a two part series

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Y/N, come down. Lando’s here.”

Your home in Monaco has always been your comfort place. It’s always quiet, always peaceful, it helps you detach from the harsh reality of having a bitchy teammate who, despite being your brother's best friend, hates you.

So, when you hear Carlos call for you from the hallway, you’re rolling your eyes at the feeling of peace being torn from you by the mere mention of your rival’s name.

You jog down the stairs and watch as Lando glances at you from the kitchen, the tiniest look of irritation on his face. Carlos is making him a cup of tea and you sit down on the island beside the sink.

“You didn’t tell me Lando would be coming over.” You watch as your brother’s eyes lock onto yours.

“I didn’t.” He shrugs. “But it’s my home, so who I invite shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Our home.”You roll your eyes. “It’s not, unless you’re inviting Lando.”

Lando clears his throat from right behind you, finding a seat at the other side of the island. “I’m right here, by the way.”

“I wish you weren’t.” You mumble, hopping off the island and getting ready to go back to your room. Carlos calls your name before you can make it up the first step of the staircase. “What?” You ask, annoyed.

“The season starts next week, I assume you’ve been informed about the celebratory party tomorrow evening?”

“I have.” You lean against the railing of the stairs. “Why?”

“Lando’s joining us.” Carlos states, placing the warm cup of tea in front of Lando. Your eyes examine the look on his face and you can’t help to notice that your brother is completely serious. Lando seems to have that same conclusion when his mouth parts to retaliate.

“No, I’m not.”

A sigh slips past Carlos’ lips, his head tilting back and eyes closed, irritation painting every single one of his sharp features. “Yes, you are.”

“That’s unfair. I’m not going.” You declare, arms crossed over your chest. Lando’s eyes glanced at you for a moment, gaze lingering on the way your tits looked cute pushed up like that. He shakes his head, as if to rid it of that thought. Nice attempt, considering it didn’t work.

“Me neither.” Lando says, agreeing with you for once.

Carlos pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly irritated. “Both of you are so childish. It’s a work party, not something random you can skip.”

“But-“ You sigh, not getting into more arguments. The parties are usually hosted at clubs big enough to get lost in, so even if you did go, there’s a low chance you’d interact with Lando throughout the night. That thought alone calms you down, distracting you from the fact that the man in question will be staying at your home for a few days. “Fine.”

Carlos smiles at you with a pleasant look on his face and you roll your eyes at both of the men before jogging back up the stairs. You can hear their voices fading into the background as you shut your bedroom door behind yourself, going back to whatever you were doing earlier.

There’s at least another three hours of uninterrupted peace, before you hear footsteps making their way up the stairs. It wouldn’t make sense for Carlos to be up here, since his bedroom is on the first floor, which means that the loud footsteps you’re hearing belong to none other than Lando himself. You can’t help but roll your eyes at that. He can’t seem to do anything peacefully, in race or not.

You peel your eyes away from the book in your lap and focus your attention on Lando’s noises in the hallway. He steps closer and closer to your bedroom door, and you can tell he’s about to barge in, but he notices the light coming from under the door and steps away.

Lando runs a hand down his face as he tries his best to navigate his way through your house. He opens the door that’s right beside your room and finds out that it’s the bathroom. The next door he opens is a walk-in closet and he groans in frustration. “The fuck do they need so many rooms for.” He mumbles under his breath.

His home back in England isn’t anything short of fancy, but it’s surely not a maze. He opens the next door and, to his surprise, it’s yet another bathroom.

“It’s the door in front of my room.” Your head poked out through your bedroom door and Lando turned around to face you, his eyes turning darker with a coldness to them.

Lando walks to the door you were aiming your finger at. His fingers grip the handle and when the door swings open, he sees that it is, in fact, his room. He notices the small smirk on your lips. “I knew that.”

You can’t help but laugh at him trying to play it off cool. “Of course you did.”

⟡

The kitchen tiles are cold beneath your bare feet.

You’re rummaging your fridge for something to eat. Having Lando in the house means you’re locked away in your own room, avoiding him at all costs. Which also meant that you denied dinner, saying you weren’t hungry even when your brother persisted.

There was no way in hell you’d eat dinner at the same table as Lando Norris. Not in your own home, at least.

You grabbed an armful of ingredients and set them down on the cupboard beside the stove. Bowls and utensils messily scatter the kitchen island and you’re close to finished with your dinner when a creak of the stairs pulls you out of your peacefulness. Once again, Lando’s the culprit.

“What’re you doing?” He cocks his head to the side at the sight of messy dishes and the sound of jazz quietly playing through the kitchen.

You roll your eyes as you plate your food. “Making dinner.”

“At eleven p.m.?” He slips his phone back in his pocket after checking the time.

“Are you judging me, Norris?”

Lando shrugs. “No, just curious. Carlos made food a few hours ago, but you were too stuck up to join us. And I bet it’s because of me.”

You hate how right he is and you curse yourself for your surprised face, giving away that he was right. His lips curl up at the sides and form into a small smirk. “And? I think it’s obvious I don’t like having you here.”

“I’d say I don’t like being here, but Carlos has been nice to me, so I’m actually enjoying my stay.” Lando’s eyes follow you as you take a seat at the dining table, him choosing to sit opposite of you. After a moment of silence— which you wished would last for as long as Lando’s staying with you— he spoke. “Y’know, I never understood you.”

You can tell he’s taunting you, yet still you choose to look up from your plate with a raised brow. The shape of his toned biceps bulging as his arms cross over his chest and he sits back in the chair distracts you from the small smirk on his face.

“You’ve always had something against me. Ever since karting days.” He muses, eyes interrogating and narrowed on your confused face. “Carlos never told me anything about it, so I assumed it must’ve been a family secret. Maybe the Sainz just hated my family name.”

You snort at the conclusion. “My dad barely knows who you are, don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m not.” He’s quick to defend himself, his voice monochrome and calm. “I think the only reason you hate me is because you feel inferior to me. Which, if I must say, is completely understandable, given that I am better than you in any way, shape or form.”

You stare at him with disbelief. Was he being serious or was this his way of trying to befriend you? He’s making a complete fool of himself with that little rant of his, and you weren’t even sure what it was about. Half of that was complete nonsense, considering you are the one winning races left, right and centre. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He sneers, leaning closer to you across the table. You feel his gaze on your face, studying and focused, as if he was trying to get under your skin. But to no avail.

You finish up your food and pick your plate up, getting ready to walk away. “You’re delusional, Norris. Last time I checked, you hated me first and for no reason, so there’s no need for you to try and study my behaviour. Maybe you should reflect on yours.”

And with that, you walk back to the kitchen, leaving Lando sitting alone in the dining room, a small smirk plastered on his face.

⟡

The blasting music of the club, paired with the luminescent lights and LEDs lining the ceiling made you that much more excited to get drunk.

The atmosphere of the building was unlike any other place you had attended F1 parties at. It was less formal, therefore more crowded and cosy. The bar caught your eye immediately upon arrival, and you made a beeline to it.

You had every intention to swallow more alcohol than you know can handle, to feel the aching bitterness in the back of your throat from the shots you know you’ll do, to feel your brain get dizzy with your drunkenness.

Ordering a round of shots for you and some other drivers, you made your way to the table your brother chose to occupy. You gently placed the tray with twelve shot glasses on the table, before placing yourself between Max and Daniel.

Each man picks up a shot glass, raising it up in the air with a small salute, before downing it all without a chaser. You put your glass back and noticed one of them untouched.

“Lando, mate.” Charles calls for him, seemingly able to pull the Brit out of his focus on his phone. “You didn’t do a shot.”

Lando shook his brown head of curls. “Don’t wanna.”

Your brother simply shrugged when you made brief eye contact, raising your eyebrows in surprise. Then, you grabbed Lando's shot glass and downed it, bringing it to your lips in a "cheers."

Daniel grinned widely as you placed the glass back, his arm around the back of the sofa as he told you how Lando stopped drinking alcohol a few months ago, after some epiphany about drinking.

You knew that was wrong, because Lando downed each bottle of champagne he had after winning second place to you, especially the race he nearly won in Abu Dhabi right before the break. It felt silly whenever he’d be on the podium with you, because that’s the only time you could really feel his deep hatred for you.

With spurts of champagne escaping his bottle, Lando would spray anyone but you.

It’s not that big of a deal, honestly. You prefer it that way, as your suit doesn’t soak in as much of the smell as it would if Lando contributed to drowning you as a celebration.

Your eyes scan the room, watching all the other drivers having a fun time on the dance floor. Daniel sprung to his feet upon hearing his name fall from your lips, watching as you extended a hand and he took it almost instantly. You turn around and down your third shot before dragging Daniel into the crowd of strangers and drivers, limbs in the air as they dance to the music.

The lack of space on the dance floor forced you to dance a little closer to Daniel. You were intoxicated but not enough to ignore the way his fingers snaked around your waist. Daniel's hands wrapping around you melted your insides to mush, blood pouring to your cheeks and staining them crimson.

The view of you two made Lando’s blood boil.

He hated it. Hated every bit of watching you dance against his ex-teammate, as if it’s some sort of tactic to make Lando pissed. He notices the glimmer in your eye when you look at Daniel and briefly look back at Lando, some feeling of jealousy planting itself in the pit of his stomach. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.

Lando’s eyebrows sit low on his forehead, crease in the middle of them as he tries his best not to look at you two. He can’t help it, though. You’re in his peripheral vision and his eyes seem to follow you everywhere, seeming to have a mind of their own.

“Oh, fuck no.” Carlos’s Spanish accent rings in Lando’s ears as he watches his best friend stand up and make his way to the dance floor. A small smirk paints itself across Lando’s features, seeing Carlos practically pull Daniel away from you.

Daniel comes back to the table with his tail between his legs, shoulders slumped and head hung low in faux guilt. He downs his second shot before sitting down beside Max.

“Didn’t work?” Max asks, accepting Daniel’s offering of going outside for some air. “I told you he wouldn’t let you.”

Lando hears their conversation as they walk away. Daniel says he’s still got the whole night to convince Carlos that he’s good enough for you, and that thought alone pierces Lando’s chest, for whatever reason.

You notice the absence of Daniel and Max at the table, finally left alone by your older brother. Carlos is protective of you and it’s sweet, but it gets too much. There was no chance you were sleeping with Daniel, but having a little fun doesn’t hurt, right?

Carlos is convinced it does hurt, he’s convinced every guy you’ve ever spoken to wants to hurt you by being so sweet. Maybe that’s why he’s not so adamant you stay away from Lando. He knows Lando seems like he’d do anything to hurt you, but through the eight years of their friendship, Lando hasn’t laid a single hand on you.

Not since karting days, anyway.

You and Lando were wild as children. Evil grins decorating your lips as you got ready to tease each other by pushing one another into the barricades of the track. Karting was fun and took little effort, now that you look back on it, but you were small and it took a toll on you every time Lando would get in your way.

It got so annoying that, one time, you got out of your kart and jumped onto his, strangling him in the process as you tried to sabotage whatever he would have achieved that day.

You learnt not to do that if you wanted to keep your seat in the team. That’s when Lando began having his fun, knowing you couldn’t do anything physically to him anymore. He started poking fun at you, making sure to really get under your skin to the point where your fists were held so tightly your knuckles turned white, but you wouldn’t lunge at him like you used to.

Everyone thought it was something you’ll grow out of, but Lando kept having his fun even after both of you got into Formula One.

You thought he’d mature, but as he once told your brother, he’s happy where he is and seems to have no intention of changing his behaviour with you.

Recently, he’s been reconsidering it.

He thinks about you more than he’d like to admit. Hell, he could never admit it out loud, even if he wanted to. Lando feels as though he’s ruined any chance of you seeing him as anything other than a rival. He doubts you’d want to know him beyond what’s said on his Wikipedia page, anyway.

Not that he’s read yours, or anything. He doesn’t need to. Lando’s known you for enough time to remember the small details. And your brother rambling about you surely added onto the mental notes Lando kept of you.

All it took was to observe you to fall in love.

Lando shakes that thought out of his head, watching as his two friends come back from getting fresh air. Carlos has been talking to Charles, and to Lando, about something to do with the new car for Ferrari, but Lando was far too busy watching the way the skirt of your dress caressed your thighs as your fingers slowly lifted it up in sync to the lyrics of whatever song was playing.

There was no reason for Lando to get up as fast as he did. The other guys at the table looked unamused as Lando made his way to the DJs table, asking if he could play around for a bit. The DJ, clearly shocked that Lando Norris was speaking to him, immediately agreed and let him take over.

First thing Lando did? Change the fucking song.

He couldn’t bear seeing you reveal the tender skin of your thighs to every stranger in this god damned room. He felt as if he deserved to be the only one to see it, even though he wasn’t. Let a boy dream.

Your eyes scanned the room to find the DJs table, confused as to why the song was changed, and when you found it, they rolled to the back of your head. Of course Lando would be behind your ruined fun. When your eyes meet his, you get even more irritated by the dumb smirk on his face. You have half a mind to go wipe it off his face, either with your fist or with your lips. Both would work.

Lando’s eyes follow your figure as he messes around with the songs, his only focus being you and the glimpse of the back of your legs as you sit at the bar. He watches as you order a drink, the bartender winking at you as he places the glass in front of you. Lando rolls his eyes, going back to entertaining the people on the dance floor.

You feel a chill run down your spine, feeling uncomfortable with the conversation going on between you and the bartender. Carlos, as if he had a feeling, comes up from behind you and pulls you away by your arm. This was one of the rare moments you were thankful for his interruption.

He brings you back to the table and you sit between Max and Daniel again, watching as they down another round of shots they ordered. You quickly finished your margarita, joining the men and taking a shot glass into your hands.

“Slow down,” Carlos warns, a hint of worry tainting his stern voice. You look right at him as you press the glass to your lips before throwing your head back and downing it. Carlos rolls his eyes before doing the same.

It's another hour of you sitting by the table and talking to them about whatever topics you decided to dissect. It started off with Daniel asking about your last season, Max continuing and somehow talking about his cats, Charles started rambling about his interest in piano and you rambled about Carlos’ inability to cook pasta without leaving it rock solid (to which Charles could relate.)

“You wanna get some fresh air?” Daniel nudges you with his elbow, your eyes following Max and him as they get up. You rise to your feet and Carlos is too drunk to mind you leaving with his two friends, so you quickly swivel between the drunk strangers and outside through the backdoor. You’re sure that’s not allowed, but Max opened it for you and you couldn’t resist.

Daniel leans back against the brick wall of the neighbouring building while Max stands by the door, his foot keeping it open so you’re not locked out. You squat down and copy Danny, leaning back against the wall with your head raised high.

Max is the first to break the silence. “Why’s Carlos so protective of you?”

“Dunno.” You shrug, the too-many shots finally getting to your head. “He’s just… I don’t know. I guess it’s what a big brother does.”

“Right.” Daniel nods, yet his head still cocks to the side. “Why doesn’t he do that with Lando?”

You snort at the question. “Does Lando dance with me or wrap his arms around my waist in a crowd of strangers?”

“Well, no. But he looks at you like he’s in love, or something.” Max points out. You can’t tell if it’s his drunken state that’s causing him to speak such nonsense, so once again, you can’t help but giggle at that.

“Right.”

A new silence settles in and you’re enjoying the fresh air, feeling how the coldness of winter is slowly creeping away and the warmth of spring replaces it.

The door is pushed open and Max nearly falls on you when Lando bursts outside. He looks at Daniel, then Max, and when his frantic eyes finally land on you, his gaze softens. “Get up.”

Your mouth opens to reply with denial, but the look on Lando’s face as he holds the door open for you makes you immediately rise to your feet. When you approach him, he softly grabs your arm and pulls you inside, while Daniel and Max give each other a knowing look.

“Where are we going?” You yell for Lando to hear over the loud music. He leads you both to the table where he hands you your purse and continues to pull you with him. “Lando!”

“Home.” Is all he says, and he’s dragging you outside through the front entrance, making his way to his car. You don’t protest, intrigued with the igniting feeling of his touch on your skin. It sends sparks through your body, making you more dizzy than the alcohol did.

He opens the passenger seat door for you and helps you in. You’re about to reach for the seatbelt when you feel Lando reach over and buckle you up, his chest at eye-level and you can’t help but catch a peek of his bare chest through his unbuttoned shirt. Lando notices your eyes soak in the view of him, your eyebrows raising just a tad before you look away.

When Lando gets into the driver's seat, he turns to you as if he wanted to say anything, but when he notices you looking out the window, seemingly upset, he drops it and starts the car.

The car ride is quiet for the first five minutes, before he breaks the silence. “You shouldn’t have drank so much.”

Your already annoyed self turns to face him. “You dragged me home early and now you’re parenting me?”

Lando sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not parenting you. I’m just… looking out for you.” The look on his face wants to seem like he’s kidding or teasing, but shades of his genuine feelings shine through.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” You ask, trying your best to hold back a laugh. “You’re so set on ruining any fun I have, yet you’re looking out for me.”

Lando feels his chest tighten, so he makes up an excuse. “Your brother asked me to.”

“Of course he did.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie. Carlos did ask Lando to drive you home before you even got to the club, that’s why Lando wasn’t drinking. He bullshitted some excuse to Daniel about how he realised drinking is not his thing, knowing damn well he wanted to get wasted the second he saw you carrying back those shots with a little sway in your hips. But he figured getting drunk by looking at your body was better than alcohol, anyway.

Carlos didn’t ask Lando to look out for you. His request was to drive you home, so Lando’s not sure why he’s helping you out of the car or opening the front door for you, or why he’s following you into your room.

“You can tell Carlos I’m capable of getting into bed myself, he didn’t need to ask you to tuck me in.” You roll your eyes, pulling off your jacket and dropping it on the armchair. Lando stands in the doorway watching you get into bed.

“He cares about you.” Lando points out, slowly making his way into your room and leaning back against your desk, standing right in front of your bed. “Maybe start to appreciate that.”

“Oh, please.” You plop back against your pillows. “Did Carlos also ask you to lecture me?”

“No,” Lando shrugs, your eyes following his rising shoulders and gazing lower to the unbuttoned shirt. “I’m just saying.”

“You could try shutting up once in a while.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head. If he keeps talking, you’re sure you’ll either punch him or yourself. Being in the same room with the person you hate yet crave is so unbearable. Especially when the person in question is Lando.

“Don’t wanna.”

Lando’s gaze burned into you as he stood there, his eyes challenging and lips pulled into a teasing smirk. Your eyes held contact with his, the pit in your stomach growing with each second. The air felt like it suddenly disappeared from your room and you could tell Lando felt it, too.

“You should.” You finally say. “You’d look smarter.”

Lando’s mouth opens with a quiet chuckle, his Adam’s apple rising and falling, and hypnotising you. The pit in your stomach grows as your eyes continue exploring his facial features. His jaw is so sharp, yet so delicate, and the way it pairs with his fierce eyes makes you weak in the knees.

Your eyes are focused on his lips when they part. “If it bothers you so much, why don’t you come over here and shut me up yourself?”

Lando finds it amusing how your pretty little lips part in surprise after the words leave his mouth. It’s interesting to him how much you want him, despite making it so clear that he’s the last person you wanna be talking to.

Lando’s enjoying this, meanwhile you have no idea how to feel.

There’s a weird feeling in your chest, apart from your rapidly beating heart. The sudden change in Lando’s eyes after he says those words makes you that much more nervous. You’re not even sure why you’re nervous. Maybe it’s the piercing gaze of his that burns into your skin, or maybe it’s the fact that your legs seem to have a mind of their own, as you stand up.

His eyes follow your figure as you approach him, mainly focused on that sway in your hips that he’s been addicted to since the start of the night. He thinks it should be criminal to look that good in your little black dress, only so he could be the one to punish you for it.

When you’ve stopped two steps in front of Lando, his calloused hands find your waist and he pulls you against him. You feel the warmth seeping in through his button-up and it clashes so perfectly with the chills he’s sent down your spine.

Lando watches as you lean in, closer and closer, your faces mere inches apart. And when he expects you to kiss him, you look him dead in the eyes and say, “get out of my room.”

The shocked look on his face sends satisfaction through your body and the way it slowly falls into disappointment makes you wonder what he expected of you.

His hands slowly slip away from your waist and he pulls himself away from you, not sparing a glance your way as he closes the door behind himself.

⟡

The next morning is everything you expected it to be— awkward, silent, uncomfortable.

Your place in the kitchen and Lando’s place in the living room seem to be so separate, yet it feels like all your thoughts are floating around in a bubble above your heads. You keep stealing glances of Lando, hiding your gaze from him, and he keeps watching you shamelessly.

He doesn’t care anymore about your rivalry. It bothers him that he had you right there, practically in his hands, yet he managed to somehow lose that. And he’ll do whatever it takes to make you his.

“When is Carlos coming back?” He yells from the couch in front of the TV. Your eyes rise from your cereal bowl and lock onto his.

Both your shoulders rise with a shrug. “Dunno. I think he went to Charles’ for the weekend.”

Lando turns back to the TV, a new thought brewing in his mind and his hypothetical bubble pops with the idea. He has a whole weekend with you and that’s enough time, he reckons.

Lando turns his head back to you when you speak. “When are you leaving?”

It comes out an awful lot more rude than you intended it to be, but it’s just the way you’re used to talking to Lando.

He repeats your action and shrugs. “Sunday, maybe.”

“Cool.”

His green eyes watch as you get up off of the dining chair and make your way to the kitchen sink, that addicting sway of your hips turning his mind into mush. His legs work faster than his mind and next thing he knows, he’s in the kitchen with you.

You see from the corner of your eye him opening the fridge and taking a can of diet coke out, and when he walks past you, he makes sure to gently touch your waist as if he was softly guiding you out of his way. “Sorry.”

Lando wished he could’ve seen the look on your face when his hips softly brushed past your behind, his fingers barely gripping your waist, yet the feeling of his warm touch managed to send a million bolts of heat through your body.

You stand there, wide eyed, your slightly panicked gaze following Lando’s figure as he walks away and back to his spot on the couch. He doesn't seem affected by that at all and you choose to ignore the flutter in your chest when he looks back at you again.

⟡

The sky had changed colours by the time you got out of the shower. The subtle shades of pink and orange turned into black, slowly disrupting the peace of turquoise that you loved to watch.

Lando noticed the change too, beginning to miss your anxious presence in the living room. He shuts off the television and places the remote on the coffee table, leaving all of his other stuff scattered along the glass surface.

His heavy footsteps weigh on the stairs, but you’re far too focused on your skincare to hear anything other than the soft music playing from your phone.

You’re trying your best to focus on anything but Lando.

He’s the only thing on your mind ever since he came here. You’d like to say that you’ve only thought of him romantically since the thing that happened in your bedroom last night, but you’d be lying to yourself. Lando has been on your mind in the romantic way since you both were sixteen, the one time you both got a podium and he gave you a toothy smile, the look on his face enough to make you forget about your rivalry.

And his stay here, as much as you can tolerate it, is slowly making you lose your sanity.

He’s been touching you gently all day, playing it off as if you were in his way, when there was clearly enough room for him to step by. And not to mention the use of petnames. Hearing ‘darling’ fall from his lips made your knees buckle each time.

You decided to shower after he scooted closer to you on the couch, his thigh brushing up against yours, the fabric of your satin shorts riding up just enough to make Lando’s mind reel.

The shower was good enough of a distraction, as you began to focus more on yourself than the man in the house.

And just as you settle in with the fact that this is your new life for the next few days, the bathroom door swings open and Lando peeps in. The sound of a slap echoes through the room as his palm finds his eyes. “I am so sorry.”

“Lando, what the fuck! Get out!” You throw a random towel at him, the white fabric perfectly landing to cover his head.

The curly haired man quickly scrambles to close the door, yelling sincere apologies because, despite seeming like it, this wasn’t another one of his teases. He’s still so lost around your house and he thought this was his bathroom, but turns out that’s far from it.

Despite that being horribly embarrassing for the both of you, Lando couldn’t rid his mind of the image— your hair falling so beautifully on your shoulders, your back dripping with the last few drops of water, the white towel hugging your body so nicely, leaving little to the imagination as it tightly wrapped around your ass.

And the image of your breasts, once again pushed up and so visible in the reflection of the mirror, suddenly made all the blood in his body target one specific location.

It takes Lando two doors to find his bedroom, and he locks the door the second he steps inside. He doesn’t waste time unbuttoning his shorts, his hands quickly pushing them down to his thighs. Lando’s back rests against the pillows on his bed, eyes squinting shut to try and preserve the vibrant image of your body as his hand tugs down his pre-cum soaked boxers.

His slender fingers wrap around his length as his mind completely warps the whole event that just happened.

Lando imagines himself stumbling into the bathroom, you standing there and looking at yourself in the mirror. Instead of you rushing him to leave, you grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bathroom. Instinctively, his hands wrapped around your waist, but you softly guided his left hand down to your entrance.

Lando can’t help but whimper as he imagines how wet you’d be for him. His hand slowly pumps his cock, applying pressure from time to time, eyes still glued shut.

He imagines you peeling the towel off— agonisingly slow just like the tease you are— to reveal those beautiful breasts he’s been dreaming of seeing. He feels a shock go through his body as his hand speeds up, an orgasm soon to flood his mind.

So he makes the most of it.

Lando imagines himself pulling you in and kissing your lips, fingers still softly touching you down there. Multiple moans and whimpers leave his mouth as he imagines all he’d do to you, and everything he’d let you do to him. He doesn’t hold back at all, your name falling from his lips without any fear of you hearing him.

And you do.

You hear every single moan and whimper, and the sounds of him masturbating to the image of you. For the past eight minutes, your ear has been pressed to the surface of your wooden door, trying to hear every sound he makes, no matter how loud or quiet.

With the final pump of his hand, Lando comes undone, strings of his cum coating the surface of his abdomen and hands.

You hear a deep, throaty groan leave his mouth and the deep breaths that follow after, and you can only imagine how pretty he must look with his curls stuck to his forehead, eyes closed shut and mouth parted in pleasure.

That image alone was enough to make your knees buckle and a certain warmth fill your belly.

It takes you another twenty minutes to gather the courage and walk downstairs. You decide to distract yourself and go grab a bottle of water from the fridge, in an attempt to calm yourself.

The clock on the wall shows 2:43am.

You didn’t realise you spent nearly four hours in the shower, going to such drastic lengths to avoid being in the same room as Lando. And even that didn't work.

Somehow, whether on purpose or by accident, Lando is always where you are.

As you grab yourself a cold bottle of water, you remember when, back in your karting days, Lando got incredibly upset about his DNF. He was stomping around in his racer room and you heard all of it through the thin drywall separating you.

Next thing you knew, Lando had swung your door open, entered your room and slammed the door shut. All he did for the following twenty minutes was sit in your chair, staring at the floor with his eyebrows halfway down his face. You had never seen him so upset, so naturally that made you worry.

He ignored you asking if he was okay and simply sat there, looking at one spot as if it had been at fault for his crash into turn six.

That moment felt like it was a change.

After that, you spent more time together. Just in silence. And it reminded you of earlier today, Lando sitting on the couch when you sat down next to him and both of you watched the TV, just in silence.

Heavy footsteps cut you off from your train of thought, a gulp of water getting caught in your throat when you feel Lando walk through the kitchen.

“Can’t sleep?”

You’re not sure what this new feeling is, but there’s a warmth that fills your body at the sound of his low and raspy voice. You turn towards him, your eyes slightly wider than usual. It doesn’t help that he’s shirtless.

You watch his bare chest flex as he leans on the kitchen island, watching you with piercing green eyes. Quickly blinking, you turn your gaze to anywhere but him. “Yeah. You?”

His burning eyes watch you standing there, the bottle of water still in your hands. You feel yourself growing more nervous at the intense stare he holds on you, your hand slightly trembling.

Lando nods, his thick neck constricting in some parts, making your mouth run dry with how badly you want to kiss it. “Same.”

“Do you want a drink?” You ask, motioning to the water bottle in your hand. Lando briefly nods, his amused eyes still focused on the crimson shade that’s infiltrating your cheeks.

You turn around, your back facing him so you don’t show how red you got from his green eyes boring into you. You grab a glass from the highest cupboard, your shirt lifting enough to reveal your black, silk sleeping shorts that are a bit too short, causing Lando’s eyes to wander, as if he hadn’t already checked you out multiple times today.

With a trembling hand, you give him the glass and he smirks at your nervousness. He takes it from you, his fingers lingering for an extra moment before letting go. His eyes stayed on you as he took a few gulps of the water before finally looking away. You caught yourself watching the way the muscles on his arms swelled as he moved, almost hypnotising you.

Lando catches your fixated gaze again, but you’re too busy ogling at his biceps to notice how intensely he looks at you. Not that you hadn’t noticed it before.

“Thank you.” He says, handing you the glass and watching your fingers wrap around it, his mind travelling back to what he was thinking of upstairs.

You nod as if to say ‘no problem’, a tight-lipped smile on your lips. You stand there for an extra few seconds, your eyes stuck on Lando’s as you bite the inside of your cheek. After realising how weird that was, you turn around and place the glass in the sink. Lando expects you turn back around, but his eyebrows knit together when you stand with your back to him for a bit too long.

You just can’t bring yourself to turn back around, knowing you’d break under the weight of only his gaze. It’s already been too long of a moment with him in the kitchen, and you should have gone upstairs the second you heard him come downstairs, because whatever he came here for isn’t the only thing he’ll be leaving with.

Lando watches you, so still and so nervous. He can practically feel the anxiety bouncing off your skin and that excites him. He feels his voice rumbling in his throat before he even thinks to say anything. “Turn around.”

The stern tone to his unusually deep voice made you shiver, so you almost immediately turned around, eyes on the ground. Lando makes his way around the kitchen island to stand in front of you. You see his black Nike socks come into view and the flutter in your chest multiplies by a million.

Lando places his pointer finger under your chin, slowly raising your face to look at him. When your eyes finally lock onto his, you feel the palm of his hand cup your cheek and his thumb softly caresses it. His other hand softly wraps around your waist and pulls you in closer, your arms subconsciously wrapping around his neck.

You don’t notice how both of you start leaning in, little by little, the distance between your faces growing smaller. There’s an uncertainty in your chest, but Lando makes it go away when his lips part and he stops moving closer.

“Why haven’t you told me to stop?”

You look up at him, noticing the genuine look on his face. You lean in closer, your breath warming Lando’s lips as he anticipates your next move. He feels the soft pressure of your lips on his and then you pull away.

“Maybe I want you to kiss me.”

“I won’t be able to stop if I do, baby.”

You push back a few of the curls that are sticking to his forehead. “Then don’t.”

Lando only needed to hear the confirmation of what he already knew, and his lips immediately clashed with yours again. He feels your fingers softly tangle in his hair, your mouth parting enough for his tongue to slip in.

His fingers dig into your hips, his head moving to the side and deepening the kiss. His teeth softly pull on your bottom lip, earning a quiet whimper to escape your mouth.

“Feel me,” he mumbles against your lips, still sloppily making out with you in the kitchen of you and your brother’s shared home. Fuck. Carlos would kill Lando if he knew what was happening right now.

When you don’t touch him, he grabs one of your hands and slowly traces it down his chest. “Feel how hard I am.”

You bring your hand down, gentle fingers wrapping around his clothed dick. He’s practically throbbing in your hand. When you softly add pressure, he moans.

“Don’t do that, baby.”

You smirk against his lips. “And what if I do?”

When you palm him again, Lando grabs your wrist and tears it away from himself. “Don’t.”

The tone of his voice was enough to make your insides turn to mush. So aggressive, so mean, so hungry. Hunger, that’s what it was.

Lando was hungry for you, for the taste of you, feel of you. Ever since he saw you in that little dress, hips swaying and all. He felt himself twitch again just at the memory of it.

“What if I want to?” You push him further, your hand now resting on his abs, slowly tracing the faint happy trail down to his waistband. “What if I want to touch you?”

Lando’s hand came to cup your face while the other stayed on your hip. He softly snaked his hand around your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back. Softly enough as to not hurt you, aggressively enough to make your knees buckle.

A mischievous smile painted itself across your lips. Lando kissed you harshly again. “Are you really this eager for my dick?”

The only answer you gave was your lips on his neck. The skin was warm under your mouth, tongue swirling on the tan before softly sucking on it. You kissed your way down his chest, earning approval from Lando just by the sounds he made. He was so vocal and so loud.

When you reach the waistband of his boxers, the Calvin Klein sticking out above his sweatpants, Lando thinks you’ll stop. But you prove him so wrong when you pull down his sweatpants, fingers tucking themselves behind the waistband of his boxers. You look at him from beneath your lashes, the look alone making him drip pre-cum before you’ve even properly touched him.

“Don’t tease me, baby.” He orders and you follow. You tug down his boxers, his erection flinging up and hitting his happy trail. He groans at the feeling when your fingers wrap around him, stroking his shaft a bit before you start kissing back down his stomach.

You look up at the heaving mess of a man above you, his hands braced on the kitchen island as he tries his best not to show how desperately he needs you, but failing miserably.

“Is this okay?” You ask, hand still softly pumping his throbbing dick.

The curly haired man rapidly nods. “That’s perfect, baby, go ahead.”

Lando swears he’s never felt so fucking turned on as the moment when you started licking up from the base of his cock, ending at the tip and taking him into your mouth.

You start moving your head, taking as much of him as you can into your mouth and pumping the rest of his length with your hand. Lando feels his tip hitting the back of your throat, adding a tinge of extra pleasure to your warm and wet mouth’s feel.

You felt him twitch in your mouth as your tongue and lips worked their magic in making the dominant man squirm at the touch of you. “Ah, fuck.” He moans, his hand coming down to wrap around your hair. “Just like that, darling.”

The nickname makes you let out a soft moan of your own, the vibration sending a sort of shock down Lando’s dick. You felt yourself getting wetter, your thighs trying to rub together and ease the tension between your legs.

“I’ll take care of you,” Lando heaved, tightening his grip on your hair as he subconsciously started thrusting into your mouth. You feel tears prick your eyes as you gag at the feeling of his dick deep-throating you. “You’re being so fucking good for me, baby– fuck.”

Your whimpers vibrate through his dick and you feel his hips hitching, telling you that he’s close. But you don’t pull away and Lando notices. A smirk grows on his face when you let him continue to face-fuck you, his high soon to paint your throat.

A loud and strained moan leaves Lando’s lips, you felt a warmth fill your mouth. Lando looks down at you as he pulls out and you bat your eyelashes at him, mouth full of the sweetest man you’ve ever tasted.

“Swallow,” he orders, his fingers harshly hooking under your chin. You swallow and he intensely looks at you, his eyes holding a strict glare at you. “All of it.”

Fuck. If you said that’s not one of the hottest things you’ve heard him say, you’d be lying.

When you do as told, he cups your face and pulls you up with his other arm. He doesn’t hesitate closing the gap between your mouths, feeling the taste of himself mixed with your saliva makes his head reel.

The moment is spoiled by a ringing phone in the living room. Lando groans against your mouth when he realises that it’s his.

“Go to my room and wait for me,” he mumbles. A whine leaves your lips as he pulls you away and you watch as Lando tucks himself back into his boxers before picking up the phone call.

You make your way up the stairs as quietly as possible and when you enter Lando’s room, it’s not exactly what you had imagined it to be— you expected it to be messy, clothes scattered on the floor and bed unmade. It shocked you to see his clothes nicely folded on his chair and his bed neat.

The duvet is soft against your thighs as you plop down and lean back against the pillows. The same pillows he was sat against when you heard him earlier, the same pillows your face will be nuzzled into as he–

The door opens as soon as you think of him. Lando walks in, his curls messily sticking to his forehead as a reminder of how hot and bothered you had him downstairs.

“Who was that?” You tilt your head to the side when Lando walks closer to you, putting his phone down onto the nightstand.

He lays down next to you and pulls you to sit on his thighs. “Doesn’t matter.”

You had begun to miss the taste of his lips against yours. You watched as Lando’s eyes trace your features, lingering on your lips, green eyes following the dip in your cupid's bow before he kisses you again.

Lando’s lips taste better the second time you kiss him, and the third, and the fourth, and the many more times that make you end up with your back against the mattress and Lando’s face between your thighs.

You closed your eyes shut when Lando’s lips made contact with your clit, softly sucking on it and nipping at it with his teeth. His tongue swirled around it, sending shocks through your body.

Stars twinkle on the inside of your eyelids and you arch your back when Lando teases your hole with his finger, before pushing it in agonisingly slow. He fingers you with a pace that brings you closer to your high, and when you’re about to fall apart under his touch, Lando pulls away.

All that pleasant feeling is suddenly gone from your body and you lean up on your elbows to look at Lando. “What the fuck?”

Lando laughs at your disappointment as he licks his fingers clean. “You didn’t think I’d let you cum not on my cock?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “Thought you’re nicer than that.”

Lando helps you put your clothes back on before plopping down to lay beside you and pull you into a tight cuddle. “Then you must not know me at all.”

⟡

Early morning sunshine beamed through the gap of the closed curtain and it blinded you the second you opened your eyes.

The first thing you remember feeling was warm. Overwhelmingly warm. You never sleep with thick sheets or anything that could make you wake up uncomfortably hot, so this was unusual.

The second thing you noticed was a curly head of hair on your chest.

You were annoyed at first, him being the source of the annoying heat. But then, as your fingers softly played with his curls, you grew a smile on your face.

His hair was soft. It felt like the softest thing in the world.

Lando still seemed fast asleep, so you decided to try and sleep some more, too. The second you closed your eyes, Lando switched positions and ended up spooning you again.

His lips pressed up against the back of your neck as he said, “morning, baby.”

You put your arms on his, him tightly hugging your waist, and smile a bit. “Morning, Lan.” You feel him nuzzle his head into your neck and hold you tight, planning to stay in this bed all day.

That is, until you hear the front door open and Carlos shuffling around in the kitchen. Lando freezes when Carlos’ spanish accent echoes through the room. “Y/N?”

You turn around and pull your lips into a tight line with an apologetic look on your face, before kissing him on the lips. Lando chases after you when you pull away and brings you in for a few more kisses. His arms still wrap around you and he pulls you into his chest. “Don’t go.”

“I have to.” You kiss one of the moles on his bare chest, softly tracing his side with your fingers. “I’d stay if I could.”

“I know.” He kisses the top of your head. It’s such a gentle action that it makes your stomach twist with the notion that this is probably the last moment you’ll have with him like this, before going back to hating each other.

Lando’s arms pull away from your back, yet his biceps still hold you caged in his embrace. You feel him fumbling with the bracelets he likes to wear. He takes one off— a McLaren one he got gifted by a fan, with his racer number neatly carved into the brown, wooden bead that’s in the middle of the orange beads— and flips you to your side.

You turn around to watch as he loosens the bracelet before softly slipping it around your wrist and tightening it, his fingers gripping your wrist in a way that makes your insides turn.

“So you remember me. And this.” He explains.

You smile. “I could never forget this. Or you.”

Lando laughs. His chest vibrates with a laughter that you feel in your spine. “Sappy, much?”

You roll your eyes, playfully. “Fuck you.”

And you’re back to normal— the banter, the eye-rolls, the annoying presence of Lando. It all comes rushing back.

When you go downstairs, you greet Carlos with a tight hug and pray he can’t smell the lingering scent of Lando’s cologne that’s managed to soak into your clothes.

“Morning.” You say. Carlos nods his head before turning back around to make himself some food. “How was it at Charles’?”

“Boring,” he rolled his eyes playfully, obviously joking. “I’m surprised you didn’t wreck the house by being alone with Lando for a day.”

You shrug, seated on the island in the very same spot Lando was leaning against in the early hours of the morning. “I didn’t even notice he was here, honestly.”

You couldn’t be more of a liar in that moment. And Carlos knew that. He noticed the bracelet on your wrist, but more importantly — the faint hickeys halfway hiding behind the collar of your shirt.

Your brother’s lucky his back was to you, so you didn’t notice the slight smirk on his face. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” You look down at your feet, trying to come up with literally anything else to talk about.

Carlos shrugs. “That’s nice.”

Lando’s footsteps echo through the kitchen as he makes his way through the room. He doesn’t spare a glance at you, but gently squeezes your knee as he walks past and when Carlos isn’t watching.

“Are we leaving tonight?” He asks, plopping himself on one of the dining room chairs.

Carlos plates the scrambled eggs and toast he just made. “Yeah. I assume you’ve already packed your bags?”

Lando gives you a look and you look at him, a small smirk on your face. Lando can’t help but bite his lip to hide the smile creeping up on his face. “Yeah, of course.”

“I have a few more things to pack up, but I’m mostly done.” You lie, watching as Carlos brings his breakfast to the living room.

The rest of the day is spent frantically packing, Lando sneaking in a few small kisses when Carlos isn’t looking, and trying to hide it as best as possible from him.

Little did you two know, Carlos was in on the secret.

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