#and what will they think of her? for having this darkness inside of her. will they think she's like him? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kngrose · 3 days ago

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Could you do yandere head cannons for Caitlyn from arcane?

yandere headcanons: caitlyn, jayce, victor, vander

WARNINGS: implied stalking, implied drugging, infantilization, coercion, general unhealthy behaviors

AN: sooooo many requests for these guys ^^

caitlyn protective type

She wasn’t always this way. It was an accident that caused something in her to change. The bullet had just barely grazed her, a close call, but one that made her realize just how fragile everything could be. It wasn't the pain that lingered in her body, but the sense of terror that gripped her heart when she thought she might never see you again. What if it were you instead– what if the bullet didn’t just graze you? What if it went through you instead?

She was already drawn to you, but after that brush with death, Caitlyn’s feelings became something she couldn’t ignore anymore. The idea of losing you—someone who had become her rock—became a constant, gnawing presence in her mind. She had survived countless dangers before, but the thought of you slipping away was far worse.

It wasn’t long before Caitlyn started showing up more often. She would check in on you regularly, whether you were in the office or just at home, her presence now a familiar yet unspoken thing. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright," she’d say, though you couldn’t recall ever needing to be checked on. At first, it seemed like genuine concern, but soon, you began to notice how her eyes would linger just a little too long, and how her posture seemed tense when you weren’t near.

Her love, while seemingly genuine, would feel smothering at times, as if she can’t let you out of her sight for too long. She might start showing up unexpectedly, always with an excuse, but slowly turning up at your most inconvenient times. Caitlyn might resort to more extreme measures. She might manipulate situations to make you think you're in danger or that you can only trust her. She’d plant lies, create paranoia, and twist things so you decide to seclude yourself more.

Caitlyn can’t just simply be a part of your life—she’d want to control it. She would subtly start dictating where you go and, who you interact with. You’d feel like you have no room to breathe without her approval.

The near-death experience had cracked something inside of her. Caitlyn needed reassurance—not just that you were safe, but that you weren’t going anywhere. She began to ask, almost obsessively, if you were sure you were happy with her, if she was doing enough for you, if you felt as though you were being properly protected. Her doubts about her own ability to protect you made her needier, more insistent on showing that she could keep you safe from the chaos that threatened your world.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” You’d awoken in the middle of the night to her staring down at you in the dark bedroom. It was weird— had she been watching you sleep? Her voice was soft but heavy with something unspoken. The question hung in the air, and you could see the hint of panic in her eyes. She had always been so composed, so controlled, but this new Caitlyn—this Caitlyn who had almost lost you—was breaking down those walls.

Her jealousy would flare when she saw you interacting with others, especially anyone who showed a hint of interest in you. Caitlyn couldn’t help it. Her need to keep you safe extended to wanting to keep others away, ensuring that no one else would get too close to you. Her envy would manifest in small ways—like an extra long hug when you returned to her side, a slightly tighter grip on your hand in public. When someone else laughed with you, Caitlyn would withdraw slightly, her smile turning into something forced. “Don’t get too close to them,” she’d murmur later when you were alone, her tone carrying a mix of fear and a protective sharpness. It was as though her love for you had warped into something far darker.

She’d say things like, “You don’t need to do anything without me. I’m here to help you,” and you’d find it difficult to refuse, because behind her words was a certain pleading—an unspoken desperation for you not to pull away from her.

Her emotional dependence on you grew stronger with each passing day. Caitlyn would assure you that she wasn’t trying to control you, but her actions spoke otherwise. She couldn’t stand the idea of you slipping away from her, of you finding comfort in anyone else. You were hers to protect, and no one would ever take you from her.

On the flip side, Caitlyn's loyalty would be unwavering. If you ever found yourself in danger or in need of help, she’d stop at nothing to make sure you were okay, even if it meant making dangerous choices or going against her moral compass. In her mind, you're hers, and she'll do anything to keep you safe, even if it’s at the expense of others.

The first time she almost lost you, Caitlyn had been ready to tear the world apart to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Now, her obsession had grown to the point where it wasn’t about safety anymore—it was about ownership. You had become her entire world, the one thing that mattered above all else.

The question was no longer how could she keep you safe. It became how could she keep you with her? She couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping through her fingers.

“Promise me you won’t leave me,” she whispered one night, her hand trembling slightly as she held you. Her eyes searched your face, looking for something that would assure her, reassure her, make her believe that you wouldn’t leave her alone in a world that felt far too dangerous without you.

You could see the vulnerability in her gaze, the fear, and the obsession lurking just beneath the surface. Caitlyn had changed. Her love for you had become a tether, a need, a consuming thing that had overtaken every part of her. And now, she needed to make sure you would never walk away.

It wasn’t just about love anymore. It was about control. It was about keeping you close, locked in her world, never letting go.

jayce fixating type

After the breakup, Jayce’s world shattered in a way he had never anticipated. For so long, he had been consumed by his work, his passion for Hextech and its potential to change the world, that he hadn’t noticed the growing distance between him and the one person who had once been his emotional anchor. His heart had been so tied to his inventions, to the pursuit of progress, that he never imagined he could lose the one thing that mattered to him more than anything—her.

When you broke up with him, it felt like the ground beneath his feet had crumbled away. The calm, steady hand that had always guided him through his struggles was suddenly gone. He tried to reason with you at first, to explain that Hextech was not just a project, but a vision—a chance to make the world a better place. But as your eyes turned away from him, he began to realize that it wasn’t just about the work. It was about him. And his focus, his obsession with Hextech, had taken him so far away from you that he had lost sight of what truly mattered.

That realization consumed him. In his mind, he couldn’t accept it—couldn’t accept the idea that it was his own blindness to your needs that had driven you away. He had never truly seen it before, but now that it was gone, he saw it everywhere: your absence, the way his lab felt colder, how every success in his work now felt hollow without you by his side. The weight of your rejection clung to him like a shadow.

And so began his obsession.

Jayce’s need to fix things started as an impulse—a desperate attempt to prove he could balance both the future of Hextech and the future with you. But as days turned to weeks and you remained distant, his obsession grew darker. He started showing up at your door, uninvited, his gaze intense, almost pleading. He would try to convince you that things could be different—that he could change, that he could be there for you. But in truth, it wasn’t about change. It wasn’t about improving himself. It was about keeping you close, where he could protect you, where he could ensure that you never left again.

Jayce had always been a man of intellect, but now, logic and reason had abandoned him. He couldn’t fathom the idea of you being free from him, of you moving on. The thought made him sick, twisting in his gut. He began to manipulate your conversations, pushing boundaries, trying to create situations where you would need him, where you would have no choice but to return. He would remind you of all the moments you had shared, the promises he had made to you, all the things that had once made you believe in him. But none of this was genuine anymore—none of it was the person he used to be. He was no longer trying to rebuild a relationship. Now, he was trying to reclaim you, no matter the cost.

The obsession deepened. He began showing up at places he knew you'd be, lingering in the background, watching you as you went about your life without him. If he couldn’t keep you at his side through words, he would make sure you couldn’t escape through actions. In the quiet moments, Jayce’s mind would race, imagining the worst—what if you found someone else? What if you grew stronger without him? What if, one day, you were truly gone?

His need to keep you close became all-consuming. Jayce started to twist the very things he loved about you into weapons for his obsession. He’d tell himself he was doing this for you, for the future of both of you. He’d tell himself that he wasn’t controlling, that he was just keeping you safe from the world outside. But deep down, he knew the truth. He was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified that his obsession had driven you to a place where the only thing left was distance, and that distance was now a gulf he couldn’t cross.

Jayce had always been a man of vision, but now that vision had warped. He couldn’t see a future without you, and he couldn’t accept the possibility that you had chosen a life without him. His desire to protect, to build a better world, had been replaced by a singular focus—keeping you from slipping away. And with every attempt, every plea, he could feel his grip on you tightening. But what he didn’t realize was that the more he pulled you in, the more he suffocated what little remained of the love you once shared.

In his obsession, Jayce had lost sight of the one thing that could have healed them both: the space to breathe, to be free, to make choices. Instead, he was creating a prison of his own design, and with every day that passed, he was sealing both of your fates in it.

victor savior type

Victor had always been driven by the idea of progress. From the moment he first set foot in Piltover, he had envisioned a future where technology and science could heal the broken, the sick, and the flawed. His dreams were grand—of perfecting the human body, of eradicating weakness and suffering. But after his experiences in the Arcane, that ideal evolved. It wasn’t just about saving others anymore. It became about creating something that could be truly perfect—and, somewhere along the way, you became the focus of that vision.

At first, Victor admired you from afar, intrigued by your brilliance and passion. You were like him—a seeker of knowledge, a person striving for something more. But it wasn’t long before he began to notice the small things about you, things that most people wouldn’t see. The subtle hesitation when you looked at your reflection, the way you seemed to fight against something within yourself that you couldn’t escape. It was there in your eyes, in your posture—this quiet dissatisfaction with who you were. Victor saw it as weakness. A flaw. Something that could be fixed.

In the beginning, it was just a passing thought. A small seed planted in the back of his mind: “What if I could help them?” But as the days passed, that seed grew. Every interaction you had with Victor became tinged with this idea, this possibility that he could take you, just as he had taken his own body and reshaped it, and bring you to a higher form of existence—his vision of perfection.

He became obsessed, not with curing illness or repairing his own mechanical body, but with fixing you. Every glance, every word you spoke, was studied carefully. He began to analyze you, to understand what made you unhappy, what flaws you perceived in yourself. He noticed how you would sigh when looking at your reflection or how you’d become withdrawn after difficult interactions.

And, somewhere deep inside, Victor felt a rush of excitement. I could fix this, he thought. I could make them perfect.

Victor began to put his plans into motion. At first, it was subtle—small changes. He'd offer you assistance, claiming it was for your benefit, your health. Perhaps it was a supplement to help with fatigue, a mechanical adjustment here and there, things that would seem innocuous. But all the while, he was slipping things into your life, gently guiding you toward the idea that something needed to change—something big. He began talking more about his own work, his experiments with biomechanical evolution, how he had perfected his own body through the use of Hextech technology, how he had become better. He spoke of it with such enthusiasm, such conviction, that you couldn’t help but listen.

And you began to listen more closely, to wonder if he was right. Could you truly evolve into something better? Could you become free of the insecurities that haunted you? Victor’s words were so convincing, so filled with promise, that the idea began to take root. But even as you were drawn deeper into his world, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off. His gaze lingered too long, his smile a little too knowing, as if he saw something in you that you didn’t see yourself.

Victor was careful, patient. He needed you to want it, to believe in the perfection he promised, because that was the only way his plans could truly succeed. He began to subtly manipulate your environment, ensuring that you’d be isolated from others, making it more difficult to question his intentions. You would be so wrapped up in his ideas of progress, his vision of perfection, that you wouldn’t even think to resist.

His words became more frequent, more insistent. He’d talk about the benefits of his work, of how it could be applied to you, how much better you could be with his guidance. You’d hear him speak of the “improvements” he could make—subtle at first, but gradually escalating. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself considering the idea, wondering if it could really work.

But in Victor’s mind, this wasn’t just about improving you. It was about control. It was about making you into something that could never reject him again. Something perfect. You’d be his greatest creation—your flaws erased, your body transformed, your mind reshaped. In his mind, he was offering you salvation, even as he slowly ensnared you in his vision. You wouldn’t have a choice in the matter; the idea of perfection, of becoming whole, would consume you entirely. And when the time came, he would reveal his true intentions.

There would be no turning back.

Victor’s obsession grew with every passing day. He watched you carefully, analyzing how you reacted to his suggestions. Every word he spoke was another piece of the puzzle, another step toward his goal. He was a patient man, and he would wait until the perfect moment arrived, when you were so entangled in his vision that you would beg him to make you perfect.

By then, it would be too late to stop him. His arcane technology would transform you, reshape you, into something that could never reject him again. And once you were his creation, the perfect version of yourself, you would belong to him—body, mind, and soul.

vander infantilizing type

Vander was always a protector. He’d spent his life making sure the people of Zaun, especially those close to him, stayed safe from the dangers that loomed over the Undercity. To him, protection was everything—his family, his crew, and you, the person he cherished most in his heart. But over time, something shifted in his mind, a shift so gradual that neither of you noticed it at first.

It started with small acts of kindness. When you were out, Vander would show up unexpectedly, insisting on walking you home, even if it was just down the block. “Zaun can be unpredictable,” he’d say with a smile. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.” It seemed harmless at first, but there was a subtle urgency in his words, a note of unspoken control hidden beneath his seemingly loving gestures. He never directly told you what to do, but you began to feel his presence more and more, often when you least expected it.

At first, it was innocent. He would casually ask about your day, making sure you were staying out of trouble, always with a smile and a reassuring hand on your shoulder. But then the questions became more frequent. “Where were you?” “Who were you with?” “Did you get home okay?” He never seemed satisfied with a simple “I’m fine,” needing the specifics of every encounter, every moment you spent away from him.

Vander never outright said he didn’t trust you, but the way he’d check in felt more like a constant inspection, as though he had to make sure you were always on the right path. He would often show up at places you didn’t expect him to be, seemingly out of nowhere, with that protective smile of his. It wasn’t out of malice, but of love, or so he told himself. The idea that you might stray from his care, even accidentally, made him uneasy.

Vander had always treated you like an equal, someone who could handle themselves in this chaotic world. But slowly, as his protective instinct overpowered his rational thinking, he began to take over more of your responsibilities. At first, it was small things—offering to take care of errands or tasks you could easily do yourself. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he’d say, brushing it off as no trouble at all. You were busy, after all, and Vander was happy to lighten your load.

But as time went on, the things he took over grew bigger—decisions about your personal life, where you went, what you did. “I don’t think you should be hanging around them,” he’d say, and suddenly your plans for the evening were altered without so much as a thought. At first, you were grateful for his care, thinking it was just his way of protecting you. You didn’t realize that it wasn’t about care at all—it was about removing your ability to make your own choices, piece by piece, until you weren’t sure where his influence ended and your own will began.

You had always been capable of making your own decisions. But gradually, Vander began offering advice with a weight that felt more like instruction. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there today. I heard things aren’t safe around that part of town. You’d be better off staying in.” His words weren’t demanding, but they carried a subtle pressure. The more you heard his concerns, the more you started to question your own decisions, second-guessing yourself.

Soon, you found yourself deferring to him more often. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do things your way, but the more he guided you, the more you felt that maybe he was right. That maybe he knew better. His opinions began to overshadow your own, and with each piece of advice, his grip on your autonomy tightened without either of you realizing it.

Vander never directly tried to pull you away from your friends or your life outside of him, but little by little, he began to discourage it. “You know, they don’t always have your best interests at heart,” he’d say with a concerned look when you mentioned spending time with someone else. He’d never speak ill of your friends outright, but his warnings always lingered in your mind.

You began to notice that you didn’t hang out with your friends as much anymore. His presence seemed to always loom, and when you tried to make plans without him, you felt guilty. His protective smile would reappear whenever you suggested a solo outing, and he’d suddenly have a reason why you shouldn’t go. “I just think it’s better if you stick with me for now. Just to be safe.”

Over time, the lines between his care and his control became blurred. You started to spend more time with him, less with others, and you began to depend on him more than you realized.

Vander’s concern turned into something more infantilizing. He would no longer treat you as an equal, but as someone who needed constant guidance. Every decision you made seemed to be followed by him taking over or offering advice that bordered on patronizing.

“You’ve been through a lot today, you should rest. I’ll take care of things,” he’d say, trying to get you to step back from your own responsibilities. He’d make you feel like you didn’t need to handle things on your own, and that, in itself, became his way of asserting control. You began to rely on him more and more for even the smallest of tasks, from taking care of your finances to managing your relationships with others.

He would smile and say, “I’m just looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about these things, I’m here to handle them for you.” At first, it seemed like an act of kindness, but over time, it felt like your independence was slipping away. Your world became smaller, controlled by the boundaries he’d created, and you found yourself feeling like a child, helpless to make decisions without his approval.

Vander’s control was insidious. His intentions were good—he wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harsh world of Zaun—but in doing so, he lost sight of the balance between care and domination. His protection slowly became a cage, and what was once a bond built on mutual respect began to feel more like an overbearing relationship.

“You know I’m only doing this because I love you, right?” he would say, when the tension between the two of you grew. His eyes, full of affection and pride, would hold you in place, as if to remind you that he was the one who knew best. He wanted to protect you, but in his mind, protecting you meant controlling your life, even if you didn’t see it at first.

The more he infantilized you, the more he believed he was doing what was best. After all, he was the one who had been through it all, the one who understood the world better than you ever could. And you, in turn, began to wonder if he might be right, and you started to lose sight of who you were before he came into your life.

Vander had built a world around you—one where you needed him, one where you couldn’t escape. And you began to wonder: had you been protected… or trapped?

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#caitlyn kiramman #jayce #victor #vander #caitlyn arcane #jayce arcane #victor arcane #vander arcane #caitlyn x reader #jayce x reader #victor x reader #vander x reader #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane headcanon #league of legends #yandere #ao3

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thanergetic-hyperlinks · 2 days ago

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Tamsyn Muir's writing beyond The Locked Tomb

Y'all, turns out there's lots of imagery and themes in TLT that Muir was already playing with in her earlier fiction. A lot of it is easily available online, in which case I'll link to it. (The short stories that aren't can also be easily read if googled, to be quite honest—that's how I read The Deepwater Bride and Why the Mermaids Left Boralus). • The House That Made the Sixteen Loops of Time (2011)

5K. Short sort-of-cozy romance (?) with (you guessed it) a time travel loop. Explores a very queer potential relationship. CamPal enjoyers might find a similar sweetness.

• The Magician's Apprentice (2012, Lightspeed Magazine)

5K. This is the one that stopped me dead on my tracks. It features an older, male mentor figure called John (a “very ordinary man” with “dark eyes”) who introduces the young, female main character to magic that has a terrible cost—and to literature such as Lolita. This excellent post by @familyabolisher does an incredible job of analyzing the very deliberate intertextual links between TLT and Lolita.

• The Woman in the Hill (2015, Lightspeed Magazine, originally for Dreams From the Witch House anthology of Lovecraftian horror by women)

4K. Possibly my favorite! It's a straightforward Lovecraftian horror, centered on the image of the woman (is it human though?) trapped in an unnatural pool inside a cursed cave. Chain imagery too. It does something different from Alecto, mind, but you can see links, ways of playing with facets of a strong central image. It's fun to consider how reliable the two narrators are. Here's an analysis and afterthought from Reactor Mag.

• Chew (2013) 4K. Zombie abuse and cannibalistic revenge story ft. an uncanny woman revenant, told from the eyes of a traumatized German boy. I was strongly reminded of Harrow's conversations with the Body. Tamsyn gave an interview on the themes and her intentions. Interesting to read in light of Alecto, I think, although I don't think she's going the same route in TLT: “the idea of post-war rebuilding connecting to rebuilding the body of the zombie; a Frankenstein who once rebuilt doesn’t act as planned or desired. […] I love cannibalism […] it’s innately spiritual […] any afterlife she goes to, he’s going too.”

• Apothecia (2014, published on Tumblr and tapas.io)

Short webcomic where an alien monster tries to corrupt the ruthless human girl who holds it captive. Musings on responsibility and murder, mention of child abuse. The alien's speech patterns remind me of a Resurrection Beast. You get wonderful dialogue like “Murder is a profession. Job. Employment, you tiny leg dog. There you are, walking along. Walk walk walk. Now you are a walker. Good job. Special child. Murder is like this.” Art by Shelby Cragg.

• The Deepwater Bride (2015, Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine)

The opening line is: “In the time of our crawling Night Lord's ascendancy, foretold by exodus of starlight into his sucking astral wounds, I turned sixteen and received Barbie's Dream Car.” Need I say more? Extremely fun. A novelette where a young queer girl from a clairvoyant family struggles with an apocalyptic event while being annoyed by another very plucky girl. Lots of descriptions with nerdy marine zoology terms. Close in tone to Gideon. In the background, someone dies EXACTLY like that one death at the end of Gideon, which makes me wonder what happened to make Tamsyn interested in this particular image. I also liked that Tamsyn is aware of Nightwish. No link, but you'll get a PDF immediately if you Google.

• Union (2015, Clarkesworld Magazine)

5.5K. Very weird, extremely Kiwi story about a town that gets sent lab-grown wives by the government, but they're not made the usual way so they're Weird and people have feelings about it. Fascinating and eerie description of non-human (in some people's eyes, sub-human) women (?) who cannot be observed to have recognizable feelings or thoughts, yet have some sort of inner life. Quite touching, very uncanny.

• Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower (2020)

Short novel (~200 pages). Very funny. I was reminded of Coronabeth because the whole plot is “princess finds herself branching out into decidedly non-princess-like activities”, but other than that—this is a fairytale for adults about people who make eachother worse. No particular links to TLT but a very fun read with some gut punches. Extremely Tamsyn through and through, what with the dubious morality and all.

• Why the Mermaids Left Boralus (2021, in Folk & Fairy Tales of Azeroth by Blizzard Entertainment)

Set in the World of Warcraft universe. Haven't read this one yet, will report back lmao. As with The Deepwater Bride, no link but I easily found a PDF of the entire compilation. It's illustrated!

• Undercover (2022, from Into Shadow, Amazon Original Collection)

Haven't read it either. Will edit once I do.

#TLT #TLT meta #The Locked Tomb #Tamsyn Muir #TLT analysis #Chew #The Magician's Apprentice #The House That Made the Sixteen Loops of Time #Why the Mermaids Left Boralus #Union #Undercover #Princess Floralinda #Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower #The Deepwater Bride #The Woman in the Hill #Alectopause #Tamsyn #tazmuir #Apothecia

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mapiforpresident · 2 days ago

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35 & 2 Alexia Putellas

Jealousy

Alexia x reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol

~~~

The club was alive with energy. You had been trying to unwind, the weight of the season’s pressure still hanging on you. The team had just wrapped up a game, and tonight was supposed to be a celebration—a chance to let loose with the girls and forget about everything for a few hours.

Alexia was beside you, but there was an undeniable tension between the two of you. You both had been dancing around your feelings for months, pretending like nothing was there. Every stolen glance, every lingering touch, you both ignored it, afraid of what would happen if you gave in. But tonight, it was like the air between you crackled with unsaid words.

As you sipped your drink, chatting with some of the teammates, you couldn’t help but notice the cute girl standing across the room, her eyes catching yours. She smiled, and without thinking, you felt that familiar rush of flirtation. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the heat of the moment, but before you knew it, she was making her way toward you.

“Hey,” she said, her voice warm and inviting. “You look like you’re having a good time. Want to dance?”

You looked at Alexia out of the corner of your eye, but she was deep in conversation with Ingrid, not paying attention. Feeling the alcohol loosen your inhibitions, you agreed, grinning as you stood up. “Sure, why not?”

You were guided to the dance floor, the music thumping in your chest. The girl was close, her body swaying with yours, but it wasn’t just the closeness of the dance that made your stomach flip—it was the way Alexia’s gaze followed you, the tension between the two of you suddenly becoming even more intense.

You didn’t notice it at first, but when you glanced toward the bar, you saw Alexia. Her arms were crossed, her gaze dark, and she was staring at you with an unreadable expression. It hit you like a wave, a sudden understanding of what was happening.

She didn’t like it.

Your stomach twisted as you tried to focus on the girl in front of you, but it was impossible. The way Alexia looked at you made your chest ache, a mixture of guilt and something else, something you had been trying to ignore.

Before you could do anything, Alexia turned and walked out of the club, disappearing through the door. Your heart raced. You should’ve stopped, you should’ve stayed, but something inside you urged you to follow. Without thinking, you broke away from the dance, making your way through the crowd, ignoring the concerned looks from your teammates.

You stepped outside, the cool night air hitting your skin as you searched for her. You found her leaning against the wall, her arms still crossed, her gaze fixed on the ground. Her jaw was clenched, and you could see her chest rise and fall with each breath.

“Alexia,” you said softly, walking toward her. “Alexia, hey, what’s going on?”

She didn’t respond at first, and when she finally looked up, her eyes were filled with frustration. “You don’t get it, do you?”

You tilted your head, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t like the way she looked at you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t like seeing you with her.”

It hit you like a ton of bricks, and in that moment, the world seemed to stop. The alcohol buzz faded as everything clicked into place. Alexia was jealous.

“Alexia, it’s not what you think—” you started, but she shook her head, cutting you off.

“No. You don’t understand,” she said, taking a step toward you. “I don’t want to feel like this. But seeing you with her, dancing with her like that…” She swallowed hard, looking up at you with a mixture of frustration and longing. “I can’t stand it.”

Your breath caught in your throat as the pieces finally fell together. The closeness, the moments you both had shared, the looks, the unspoken words, it was all there. But now, standing in front of her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, you realized that you couldn’t keep denying it anymore.

You took a step closer, reaching for her hand, the tension between you almost unbearable. “Alexia… I didn’t know you felt like that.”

“I’ve been trying to keep it together,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “But it’s hard, Y/N. It’s so fucking hard.”

Without thinking, you moved even closer, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You could feel the heat radiating off her, the closeness between you making everything else fade away. The space between you was too small now, and in a split second, you acted on pure instinct.

You cupped her face, your thumb brushing over her cheek. Her eyes flickered down to your lips before looking back up at you. And in that moment, you both leaned in simultaneously, your lips meeting in a soft, hesitant kiss.

It was everything you had been holding back, every unspoken word, every quiet glance, finally released in that single, breathless kiss. Alexia’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as the world around you seemed to disappear.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested against each other, both of you breathing heavily. You were too stunned to speak, but there was no need for words.

Alexia smiled softly, a mixture of relief and something deeper in her eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

You grinned, still trying to catch your breath. “Yeah? Me too.”

Alexia chuckled, the tension finally leaving her body. “So, no more dancing with other girls?”

You laughed, nodding. “No more dancing with other girls.”

#woso #woso x reader #fcb femení #fcb femení x reader #woso imagine #fc barcelona femeni #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #woso imagines #woso fanfics

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soulrox · 1 day ago

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DPxDC #20

"Hello, Amity Park I am Lance Thunder. Here live in the Infinite Realms for the coronation of High King Phantom. *whispers* I am the weather man how did I end up here." Lance is inside Phantoms Keep, waiting for the ceremony to begin. This is being broadcast to all of Amity Park, it was set up by Tucker and Technus. Amity Parkers aren't allowed to be present for the ceremony, hence the broadcast. (Sam, Tucker, and Jazz are in attendance) Ghosts from all over the Infinite realms have come for this.

Clockwork: Today is a joyous occasion we crown our new king, Daniel James Fenton, Danny Phantom, Great One, Protector of Amity Park, Ancient of Space, the one who defeated Pariah Dark.

Danny walks down the aisle in human form. Danny is only 16. When he reaches the stairs to his thrown he turns around and transforms into ghost form.

Clockwork goes through the ceremonial speech and oaths with Danny. (I do not have the brain power for speeches or oaths)

CW: I now crown you, High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms. The king is dead, Long live the King

All guests in attendance: Long live the King.

Danny: I thank you all for your attendance. I will uphold my oaths and be the protector of the Infinite Realms. (blah blah speech) Now to appoint my court.

CW: Jasmine Fenton, rise and meet your future king.

(I want Jazz to have titles but I can't think of any)

Jazz goes and kneels to Danny.

Danny: Jasmine Fenton *goes through oaths with jazz to be princess*. I now pronounce you Jasmine "Jazz" Fenton-Phantom, my sister, as Princess of the Infinite Realms.

Jazz goes to sit on her thrown.

CW: Danielle Fenton, Halfa, Spirit of Freedom, Mirror Sister, rise and meet your king.

Dani kneels.

Danny: Danielle Fenton *oaths for princess*. I now pronounce you Danielle "Dani" Fenton-Phantom, Halfa, Spirit of Freedom, my mirror sister, as Princess of the Infinite Realms.

Dani goes to her thrown.

CW: Samantha Manson, Keeper of the Green, Protector of Rights, rise and meet your future king.

Sam kneels.

Danny: Samantha Manson *oaths for Duchess* I now pronounce you Samantha "Sam" Manson, Keeper of the Green, Protector of Rights, as Duchess Samantha of the Infinite Realms.

CW: Tucker Foley, reincarnation of Pharoh Duulaman, Future ruler of the Egyptian Zone, rise and meet your future king.

Tucker kneels.

Danny: Tucker Foley *oaths for Duke* I now pronounce you Tucker Foley, reincarnation of Pharoh Duulaman, Future ruler of the Egyptian Zone, as Duke of the Infinite Realms.

Lance Thunder: *whispers, but picked up by the mike*These kids have some big titles. What have they all gone through by themselves?

CW: Jason Todd-Wayne, second Robin, Red Hood, Knight of Lady Gotham, Halfa, rise and meet your king.

Jason kneels. Lady Gotham, where she floats in the crowd has a huge smile on her face.

Danny: Jason Todd-Wayne *Oath for Knight* I now pronounce you Jason Todd-Wayne, Second Robin, Red Hood, Knight of Lady Gotham, Halfa, as my Personal Red Knight, keeper of Soul Shredder. (AKA Dannys' Fright Knight)

Danny: Now that that's all over, let us open the portal so the people of Amity can join us and LETS PARTY LIKE WE'RE DEAD!!!!

What no one realized was this was being broadcast across the world not just Amity, Someone hit a button they weren't supposed to. Magical users would be having a conniption fit cause Pariah Dark got a)let out and b)defeated by this kid, this kid is now king and broadcasting it, he's a halfa.

The JL/JLD would have been trying to locate where they are since the broadcast started. Thinking that this wasn't going to be a good thing for Earth. Probably think because they (accidentally) took over most electronics they are going to declare war or something. When they call Jason up the bats and birds freeze and then start freaking out.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #I do not understand royalty #even looking stuff up I'm confused #I just want the ceremony to be broadcast to the world #like a bunch of kids the oldest Jason & Jazz at 19 #becoming royalty of a whole other dimension #I want lance thunder to interview dannys's rogues #I couldn't really think of what positions to give Tuck or Sam so went duke/duchess #The party would be killer #Gothamits freaking the fuck out because red hood was the dead robin???#danny phantom #sam manson #tucker foley #jazz fenton #jason todd #dani phantom

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yieldtotemptation · 7 hours ago

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ANACHRONISM ft. Mina

mina x male reader smut

part one of strange currencies

14k words

Go ahead, try and pretend like any of this happened by accident.

Like you totally didn’t mean to charm some poor, pretty little thing; dazzle her with the wealth, the fame, the you of it all.

Have her spreading her legs for you, bunching her dress up over her thighs, serving herself up like she’s one of those ludicrously expensive banquets you frequent, pleading—

"God, I need you inside me, like, right this fucking second."

Because here’s the truth of it all, what you’ve come to realise about this woman who has never once in her entire life been reduced to something as pithy as poor or pretty or little; let alone anything short of extraordinary. This wildly successful, elegant to the point of being untouchable, and just really, really fucking gorgeous idol:

Nothing about Myoui Mina is accidental.

Even all this—her idea: showing up at your suite uninvited, leaning against the doorframe, panties hanging off her fingertips. Showing off how ridiculously drenched she is for you and how badly she wants you to do something about it.

If only these walls could talk.

“Hurry up,” she’s gritting out. Deadlocking the door behind her. Still not used to waiting for anything, apparently. “Come on, I need your cum. Anywhere you like. Just inside me. Now.”

You should be more surprised. Instead, you’re laughing. “Patience, darling.”

A step forward, pants hitting the floor, cock in hand. Running the tip of it across her folds, making it shiny with her slick, forcing this sigh from her lips.

You pause, just to make her whine. To make her give you what you really want to hear.

Mina bites her lip.

Squeezes her eyes shut.

She knows the deal.

"Please."

That word, that crack in the composure, the control that Mina is so used to maintaining everywhere else but here. It’s the thrill of it all—the challenge in the attempt. Taking someone like Mina, all perfect posture, sparkling teeth, effortless grace; and bringing her to her knees.

Figuratively speaking, mostly.

Only, her phone lights up.

You look down and see it, left abandoned on the floor somewhere in Mina’s rush to get to you. But now its glow is stark against the dark parquet, beaming with messages by the dozen. All different variations on the same question: where the fuck is she?

Her eyes flicker to the screen, then back up to yours. There's a silent conversation happening there—desire fighting with duty, lust with loyalty.

You make it easy for her.

A push is all it takes, really. Cunt yielding to your will, cock sliding into that ridiculous tightness.

She freezes.

Braces herself.

Whimpers.

“Priorities, Mina,” you grunt through it, breaching in deeper; assaulted by the heat of her cunt around you, choking each inch. “Remember, you asked for this.”

The phone keeps buzzing, panicked vibrations at your feet. Urgent messages becoming calls, flashing faces across the screen. You can see them one-by-one, see Mina’s reaction as they pop up—sighing when she sees her managers name, eyes widening when a rather flirty photo of Chaeyoung comes next, and then her entire body tensing, tightening around you at the next picture:

Her and her boyfriend, arms thrown around each other, both looking all beautiful and famous and so very much in love. The perfect couple; so picturesque it might as well have come right off a billboard.

“God, fuck,” Mina groans out, panting, breathless. “You’d think they’d—ah—just leave me alone for one—single—night—”

“Should we snap some photos? Add them all to a group chat, send them through? Let them see the look on your face and figure it out from there.”

Mischief flashes across her eyes, mouth open to answer back with something that is no doubt clever and suggestive and designed to get you both into far more trouble than you’re already in—but she doesn’t get a word of it out.

You’re slamming into her.

Mina nearly comes apart then and there; eyes snapping shut, neck arching, back banging against the hard, unforgiving wood of the door behind her. Her lips round into this perfect ‘O’ of surprise, and this sweet, sweet needy whine comes slipping out from her throat.

And just like that, she’s all yours again.

It’s not like the phone goes silent—it just stops mattering.

“Asshole,” she’s saying—grinning now, doing that Mina thing where she says one thing but means another, expecting you to read the underneath. Which this time is—touch me, pull me close, pin me and keep me fucking trapped while you fuck the air right out of my lungs.

“Now there’s an idea.” You’re kissing her, tongue past her lips, tasting the rush of the forbidden, the lines she’s crossing just so she can have you filling up her cunt.

And there’s all this noise—the sound of your cock thrusting into her, skin against skin, shaft into wetness; the buzzing of the phone, her cries of your name dying in your mouth.

Oh, you know it’s going to be brutal if anyone was to overhear, if you’re caught and all this gets out. The narratives that will be crafted, the cliché of it all, the sizzling hot headlines that will undoubtedly paint her, as they are wont to do, in a million different unfair ways.

Seductress. Gold-digger. Slut.

But even as you’re fucking her deep, lips marking up her skin, digging your fingers into the meat of her ass and making Mina cum so hard that all she can say is— “please, please, please,”

—you know the facts, no matter who’s begging who under the shine of the outrageously garish chandelier hanging overhead:

You're the one that chased her first.

—

(It’s incredibly fitting that this whole thing started with a celebration.)

—

Taking a step back, to months earlier, at a gala:

Where it’s becoming apparent to you, and seemingly, just you, that Mina’s the only one here that doesn’t look entirely out of place.

Or at least, she’s the only one that seems to fit amongst the grandeur; the imposing pillars and archways, the ornate cornices, the glint of gold and jade beneath the soft glow of paper lanterns, and the shadow of the palace itself, cast over the sprawling garden like a looming guardian.

The anachronism of it all is the concept, or so you’ve been told. The new, the future—your company—against the backdrop of the old, the traditional. A fusion event, meant to celebrate and honour the past right before yanking it to the future; and yet it all somehow feels so…

Boring.

The same faces, the same games; sharks in a sea of corporate sabotage and political machinations. They’ll smile for you, sing your praises to the highest heavens, do everything they can to make you remember their name—right up until the moment you show your back.

All this to say, it’s going to be very hard to last four hours without wanting to punch someone in the face just to make things slightly more interesting.

(Oh come, one and all. Throw yourselves at the feet of Korea’s youngest self-made billionaire, and hope that by some stroke of luck or misplaced charm, you might just catch a crumb from his table.

That’s what this whole exhausting circus feels like to you.)

So, when you’re about done with what seems like the hundredth round of fake laughs and vacuous pleasantries with yet another politician who’s trying to sell you on the importance of family, and coincidentally, his very marriageable daughter, you make your escape.

Something about needing a drink.

Ease out of the circle, let the noise of the gala swallow you up like you were never there, and navigate across the garden to the bar.

Where you find her.

Mina, something of an anachronism herself; looking more at home amongst the pagodas and the cherry blossoms than in the company of suits and ties and plastic smiles. Like she’s been painted onto the scene; rendered in living colour—stark white, midnight black, blue silk. Or cobalt. Maybe azure.

You’ll have to reserve some time later to ask her about the colour of her dress.

What’s important is that she’s alone, which seems like a crime in and of itself, on account of, well, how fucking breathtaking she is. Add that she’s here at all, and it all amounts to some kind of serendipitous miracle.

(An idol, a celebrity, willingly spending her free time in the company of the elitist dregs of society? The world's gone mad.)

You don’t really need an excuse to join her; you know her, technically. Not intimately, but in that same way that everyone in this high society tapestry is threaded together. An award show here, a charity function there—the kind of acquaintance that lets you say hello without raising eyebrows, but not much more.

All this to say it makes some sense to slide yourself onto the barstool to her right, ignoring that the rest are completely unoccupied.

The smile that Mina gives you as you approach is a little sharper than it needs to be, a little too knowing.

“You’re not going to ask if this seat’s taken?”

You return the smile, a mirror image of hers, and lean onto the bar. You don’t even need to look at the bartender; your drink is in your hand, cold and crisp, the second you set it down. “I thought I’d risk it.”

“Neat trick,” Mina says, posting her chin on one hand, watching the sleek liquid slide down your throat. She’s got a flute of champagne in front of her, untouched.

There’s a gravity to her, you’re realising only when you’re this close. Something in the way the moonlight's kissing her skin, a blend of porcelain and peaches, glowing. Maybe that’s why she’s been left alone; the other guests were smart enough not to get swallowed up in it all. Better to appreciate at a distance than to drown in it.

She regards you for a beat, runs a finger around the rim of her glass. "Shouldn't you be off being the centre of attention somewhere? Shaking hands, kissing babies, that whole bag?”

“Nah," you’re dismissive, looking back out to the crowd milling about, lost in their own conversations and power plays. "This whole thing's more for them than it is for me."

Mina scoffs. Raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. You follow her eyes—across the banners, the placards, the giant projection cast onto the palace itself.

A brushstroke circle—the logo you designed—swirling around, stamping itself on what was once a symbol of absolute power, now reduced to just another stage for the rich and the elite and all their insignificant little games.

You feel the need to clarify. “For the company.”

Mina ripostes. “That just so happens to be named after you.”

“Just one of those funny coincidences.”

“Apparently so.”

It does occur to you that it should be somewhat startling how instantly familiar you feel around Mina. Slipping into casual conversation—light jabs, coded compliments; all soaked in insinuation. Just enough edge and implication to keep you on your toes.

There's an ease to her, to how she smiles, how she laughs, how she just sits there, all drop-dead gorgeous and oh, this? Nothing special, just how I always am.

So it’s only natural that somewhere in all this easy banter, between your third drink and her second, her hand lands on your forearm, your knee brushes against hers and you both decide to stop being so subtle.

You pick your moment, as she’s thumbing through a menu of drinks she’s already deciding she doesn’t want, to try to solve the mystery of her. Past the red of her lips, the edge of her jaw, the hollow of her throat. Along the neckline of her dress, where the silk clings like it’s afraid of letting go, and down to where it dips and angles out; the open shoulder, the collarbone, the swell underneath.

It’s the sum of it all, you’re realising. The dress, the look, the woman.

(Accentuate without revealing. Tease without giving away the prize. Show off that flawless ass and dare the world not to look. And yeah, they fucking look. They all do.

You’re just the only one that doesn’t look away when you're caught.)

But now, you could reach out and touch her; unlatch the straps of her heels, run your fingers from her ankle up, up over the smooth expanse of her calf, her knee, the bare skin of her thigh right where her dress decides to daringly split, and underneath, until your hand is filled with the heat of her and all she knows is you.

You could complete her. Or she, you, you think.

Only, there’s a slight misstep in an otherwise immaculate ensemble.

A necklace.

A ridiculous, ugly, tacky thing. Hanging off her like a misplaced jewel on a swan; more ‘costume party’ than ‘refined modern gala’. Fighting the simplicity of her gown, offensively jarring, especially against the serenity of the moonlit garden.

Mina notices you staring. “A gift.”

“Boyfriend,” you realise, doing the math in your head. A careless present, given by someone who doesn’t know (or doesn’t care to know) her. Hoping the flash, the dollars spent overshadows the unfamiliarity.

(It doesn’t.)

“Partner,” Mina confirms. There’s a slight dip at the corner of her mouth, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of something unpleasant. It disappears as soon as it comes, but you caught it. “A little too old to have a boyfriend.”

“Hm.” You click your tongue. Narrow your eyes. You’ve been told that it makes you appear disarming. “And where is this partner?”

Mina’s smile returns. She takes her first sip of champagne. “You tell me. Don’t you sign off on all the invites?”

“Just the important ones.”

“Even so, not like he would have come if he was invited.” Mina leaves you to fill in the gaps. “A tad too public. For the both of us, really.”

“I see.”

And you do. You’ve seen your fair share of these types of arrangements, participated in a few, even. At the beginning, the secret of it all, the cloak and dagger; it’s exhilarating. But that only lasts so long. Eventually, like all things, it fades. Leaving you with someone who you don’t really see, who you don’t even know, and the sinking realisation that maybe the thrill was the only thing that kept it interesting.

“So,” you lean forward, drawing your conclusion. “You’re here. All alone. Stuck in a relationship with someone dumb enough to let you go out looking like that.”

“Careful.”

“It’s just,” you offer, your gaze lingering on her throat, “You don’t strike me as the type to settle for anything less than you deserve, Mina.”

That makes Mina pause. Almost flinch. Imperceptibly if you weren’t looking so closely at her lips. The sound of her name rolling off your tongue, like it's always been there, waiting to escape—it has her reeling.

And yet, somehow, she recovers.

“Because you know me so well.”

So, you switch up, throw a curveball. “Is it the sex?”

To her credit, Mina barely reacts to that provocation, as if she was expecting the follow up. Just takes another sip of her champagne with a grace that seems rehearsed. You’ll have to try harder.

She shrugs a bare shoulder.

"Sex is just sex. It’s not everything."

“So, no sex at all, then.”

Mina’s smile is like a knife’s edge. “Are you always this forward?”

“All I’m saying,” you keep going, somewhat emboldened by the game, by the warmth of the whiskey poisoning your kidneys. “If it was me—”

Mina’s hand slides up your forearm, ending somewhere around your triceps. You’re close. Close enough to inhale her perfume; cinnamon, smoke, darker than anticipated. You’d fill your lungs with it, if you could. “If it was you.”

You take another drink. She watches.

And it clicks into place. What this really is. What she’s really doing here.

The slight tilt of her shoulder, a slip of her dress—just a fraction. A shift in her seat and suddenly, the silk has risen, too high, and there’s a stretch of skin leading up to a flash of lace that’s more moonlit than the night itself.

The suspicion sets in. Was she waiting for you?

Mina laughs.

You ask, “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking,” Mina says, lowly. Grinning, like she’s reading your mind. “How even you’re the same.”

“How so?”

“All you men. How you see me, how you’re looking at me right now.” She reaches up to her neck, taps the clunky stone hovering over her throat. Once. Twice. “Making it about you. You think I need saving.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Open once more to protest—

“That’s what you think.” Mina interrupts, smirks; and your eyes are on her lips, wondering if anyone would be able to pull you off them if you were so lucky enough to taste them. “What you want is to own me.”

“Mina,” you regard her, openly. Honestly. “I could never dream of owning you.”

She nods back towards your logo, emblazoned across the castle walls. “Because you’re clearly not the type of person that likes owning things.”

And there’s a realisation here, as she’s staring into your eyes—a real, actual, bone-deep revelation—that she's been doing the same thing as you this whole time. Reading you, until she's seeing through you.

The silence stretches, thick and sweet , and it’s obvious to see where this is heading. The idea that’s being sparked—lean in, kiss her right here, right now, with all these eyes on you. Kiss that smirk right off her face, steal whatever clever rebuttals she’s composing from her lips, the flirtations that she’s left hanging in the air. Replace them all with your name.

But it’s all hypothetical, for now.

“You’re not even thinking past right now, are you?” Mina asks, amused. "The rumours you've started just by sitting next to me."

"Rumours."

"The kind that ruins careers. That never leave. That would make him want to kill you if he found out."

Another sip, letting it burn down your throat. Think about it. Attack it from every angle—

(Doesn’t it just make sense; the billionaire, and his beautiful celebrity partner? Or even if there was a scandal, just a one-night fling; wouldn’t it be worth it?

You could both live off the thrill alone, it’d reignite whatever embers her boyfriend hasn’t stomped out yet.)

“Maybe I want the rumours.”

Mina’s eyes widen. It’s the first time she’s dropped her guard.

“If you were mine,” you start, and stop immediately, reining in that last word on the tip of your tongue. “If you were my girlfriend, partner, whatever label you want to put on it. I’d tell the whole damn world. Broadcast it on every channel. Make sure everyone knows exactly who I’m fucking every single morning, afternoon, night.”

You’re hitting the mark of something, you can tell, because Mina’s hand tightens around your arm, and she doesn't seem to mind when yours lands on her thigh. A flash; the thought of spreading them, of seeing her laid bare underneath you. Or flipped over in front of you, crumpling that dress around her waist, so you can take proper purchase of that ass that’s been hinted at all night long.

And all of a sudden, she doesn't seem to be as spoken for as she might have led you to believe.

She bites her lip. Keeps it there for a second, two, before letting it go.

“So, this is what you usually say to all the pretty girls you invite to these parties?”

The alcohol’s loosened your tongue enough to state truths you’re supposed to keep to yourself. “I usually don’t have to say anything at all.”

Mina challenges. “Must be nice, being this rich, cute, and charming.”

“The being rich part does a lot of the hard work.”

“So, the cuteness and the charm?”

“I’ll let you decide,” you finish, watching her smile spread, the corners of her eyes crinkle. It makes your chest tighten.

“I suppose, in your perfect world,” Mina surmises, and now she’s so close that your knee is splitting the difference between her thighs, and you’re already planning the logistics of it all—the where, the how— “this ends with you fucking my brains out behind one of these old houses.”

“I’ve got a few in mind.”

“I bet.” Mina takes one last pull of her drink, empties it, and sets it back down. “And afterwards? After you’ve made me forget my own name and made the entirety of my existence revolve around your cock—what’s your plan then? Who are we—who are you going to be?"

You finish off your own glass, setting it down with the same deliberate clink as hers. “You know, the funny thing about money is," you say, sliding your fingers up her thigh, higher, higher. "It can make you whoever you want to be. So, the real question is—who do you want me to be?"

You’re holding your breath as she answers: “Not some knight in shining armour. I don’t need a saviour. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then what do you need?”

Mina inches, gets close, and now her breath’s a tickle on the shell of your ear. She bites. “Just someone to help me scratch an itch.”

There’s a moment, somewhere before Mina threads her fingers through yours, lets you lead her through the throngs of guests and into the shadows of the palace; where all of this—this want, this need, boils over. Where Mina kisses your cheek and warns:

“You don’t have the time for me.”

Now it’s your turn to grin; reaching up to her throat, slipping that necklace off her, leaving it to clatter onto the granite below never to be spoken of again.

“Maybe. But I can make every second count.”

—

This is how you end up:

Pinning Mina to some ancient wall; the moon’s spotlight spilling over the contours of her body, a hand tangled in her hair, the other pushing her dress higher up her thighs.

You weren’t lying, you did have a place in mind. Namely, by the west gate, where a house that used to be the servant’s quarters stood. It’s a part of the palace that’s been neglected in the reconstruction, and thus, ironically, the most authentic part of this whole sham.

A true hideaway for those not to be seen or heard; a building that’s seen centuries of service, of lives lived in the shadow of royalty, and now it’s going to bear witness to this, to you and Mina, undoing each other with every passing second.

Something a little sacred, a whole lot profane.

She’s smiling against your lips; a smirk, more likely. Because she’s new to this kind of thing—the almost romantic picture the two of you are painting—chaste kisses stolen in quiet corners of royal residences. The kind of thing that could fuel a dozen dramas.

But you both know better.

So, you let her start things off, let her set the pace for this evening's affairs. And Mina, to her credit, is gracious enough to tell you exactly what she wants.

(Kiss me harder, touch me here, please, please, don't let go.)

Twisting the lapels of your jacket in her hand, desperately pulling you closer, even though there's no more room left. Kissing you with longing. Making you believe that she's missed this—missed you—despite the fact that you've only just officially met. And sure, it's a lie, but it's a lie that feels so good, so right, that you’re willing to indulge her.

Indulge yourself.

Your lips veer off the corner of her mouth, ignoring the tongue and teeth that try to keep you there, the hand that kindly urges you to not stop kissing her.

Because you’ve got a ticking clock in the back of your mind, counting down the seconds before someone calls you or her away, or more problematically, catches you and her, a heap of limbs and lust and fucking in the dusty archives of history.

You break away, keep things moving, kiss your way along her neck, feel her heartbeat drum against your lips. Follow her neckline down, down; find this sweet little spot, a darkened freckle right on top of her collarbone that makes her sigh.

“Tell me something, honestly.” Mina finds her voice the same time your fingers meet the promised lace of her underwear, turning her words into these breathless moans. “How often do you do this?”

You tug the fabric pooling at her waist—once, firmly—and Mina’s dress slips from her shoulders, whispering down her arms and leaving her in nothing but flawless white and a strapless bra that matches the silk in hue.

You smile, look up. “This?”

Mina clarifies, "Whisk some innocent girl away into a deserted corner and—"

She’s cut off by the click-clack of her bra releasing behind her back, your fingers slipping beneath the cotton, and you’re filling your hand with the swell of her breast; so soft, so perfect.

The sound when you touch her and she gasps; if only you could capture, keep it forever. You’ll just have to make sure she keeps making it—kneading gently, rolling the pebbled peak of her nipple between your thumb and forefinger, feeling it bead and tighten.

Your lips to her shoulder, you ask, “And what?”

Mina sighs, “fuck her completely, thoroughly senseless,” and you swear there’s something revelatory about how she says it—sinful ideas from saintly lips.

"Honestly?" You pause, your gaze lingering on the goosebumps rising across her skin. "You're the first."

Her laughter's a surprise; it's light, disbelieving. "First?"

"First tonight."

Mina's smile widens, her grip on your jacket tightens. "You're so full of shit," she says, but there's no malice in it. Just the thrill of the hunt. Or, being hunted.

You don’t bother to argue the point; let her think what she wants. Instead, you lean into it (into her), let your other hand snake around her thigh, over the elastic of her panties and lower, until you’re palming the curve of her ass.

Firm, taut, flawless—because of course it is; exactly like the rest of her. She’s so hot under your touch; the softness, the smoothness of it. And you know—without a doubt—you’re going to worship this ass.

A squeeze for good measure—balancing the fine line of respect and greed. Mina yelps—surprise, pleasure.

“God,” Mina shudders, does her best under the assault of your lips on her neck, fingers pinching, tugging, hand squeezing. "You're—oh, you're not so bad at this."

You press a kiss to her throat. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Miss Myoui.”

“Please, not with the government names,” Mina hisses, her cheeks flushing a soft pink that matches the glow of the lanterns outside.

“Apologies.” You chuckle, slipping your hand underneath the band of her panties, and around—down—pressing against her and sinking lower until you’ve got a proper hold of her. Soaking wet and dripping heat onto your fingertips.

A cry from her lips. A shiver. A buck of her hips.

Her hands shoot to your chest.

��Please, kiss me again.”

You oblige—how could you not, with the way she’s begging?

Her nails dig into your shirt, her breath hitches as you push your finger—your index—past her entrance and inside, and just before she can moan your name into the night air, you’re filling her mouth with your tongue, licking inside.

You kiss her like it’s your first kiss, like it’s your last. Like the only way to calm her down is with your mouth and your tongue and your teeth. She’s so wet and tight and pulsing around you, she’s trying to suck you in; and fuck, when you’re knuckle-deep she bites down on your lip so hard she nearly draws blood.

The moans that she's filling your mouth with; this symphony of want sends a jolt of pure, unfiltered desire straight to your cock. You're straining—against your trousers, against her thigh, straining against the urge to rip that dress off her and leave her bare, but you're not there yet.

It's about her, about needing her, making her beg for it. Making her so desperate that she'll do just about anything to get you inside her.

(Because there’s something about her, about Mina, that just makes you want to take your time. To learn the ins and outs of what makes her tick. The secret spots that make her moan into your mouth, the places to touch that make her shiver, the sighs and sounds that only you can coax out of her.

It’s etched into every line of her body; every curve and sharp edge—just pure heat from head to toe; And there’s a beauty so absolute in her perfection, the dash of makeup, the careful draping of her hair, it’s too good not to ruin. To not want to leave your mark on her in some way so that everyone knows she was once yours, if only for a night.)

“You’re just so needy, Mina.” You hum into her jaw, when your lips slip from hers and you struggle to resist the urge to leave these marks on her. Her cheek, her neck, her collarbone. Every part of her that she’s offered to you, every part you’re eager to claim. “Like it’s been ages since someone’s touched you like this.”

“I don’t—please—” is all Mina can manage, because the pad of your thumb is ghosting over her clit, pressing in and circling, and the way her pitch rises and she sighs your name gives you your answer:

It’s been a while.

“I don’t think—gah—” She tries agin, but you torture her with another finger, stretching inside her, sinking in and curling upwards. “I don’t think I’ve ever been touched like this.”

“Good,” you tell her, and she shivers when your voice rumbles through her, when you drop down and your lips go low again, and you take one of her stiff peaks between your teeth. “I don’t settle for second place.”

“Neither do—God—I—” Mina braces herself against the wall behind her, failing to find anything but cold brick to hold onto as you map out the rest of her with your hands and your fingers and your lips.

She’s so, so hot for you; you would’ve never predicted it, not in your wildest estimations. Never thought just how easy it would be to undo someone so poised and put-together like Mina, to render her into this puddle of need.

“So why don’t you show me then,” Mina breathes, voice trembling as much as she is. You suck deep, swirl your tongue, make her arch her back to push more of herself into you. “What all the—oh my—what all the fuss is about."

“As you wish, darling.”

And there’s part of you that’s recognising the awfulness of what you’re doing, taking something—someone—that’s not yours, and having her tell you all these things, finger fucking these words of oblivion from her lips, touch me, please I need it, kiss me harder, more, more, make me feel it, make me feel you.

But even that part of you is so, so small right now, buried deep down with everything that isn’t Mina, with everything that isn’t her pussy clenching around your hand, or the taste of tits on your tongue.

Ignore all thoughts of the after, of what happens when you’ve made her cum again and again, and you’ve wrecked yourself in the pursuit of it all. What happens when you return to the throngs of nobodies, all rumpled and flushed and red, and the whispers start flying, and the glances are no longer just knowing but shamelessly envious.

That’s a problem for future you.

Right now, you’ve nearly stripped her entirely, pressed up against a wall that’s seen more than its fair share of secrets, and your two—now three—fingers are ruining her in a way that has her dancing on that borderline.

“I’m close, so close,” Mina cries, but you already know.

Because you’re already giving it to her; everything she wants and then some. Touching her, fucking her with your fingers, pushing her higher, watching her unravel.

Making her whine against your skin, making her eyes squeeze shut like she’s afraid of what’s happening, afraid of how much she wants this.

“We’re only just getting started, Mina.”

You let her nipple pop out from your mouth, leaving it to bob in the cool night air, sensitive and dying to be back between your teeth. Hand shifts from her hip, sliding up to cradle her jaw, to tip her face back—force those deep, dark eyes to open so you can really look at her.

Panting, pupils blown wide, and the sight of her so undone sends another wave of heat straight to your cock.

“Look at me.” It comes out harsher, more of a firm command than intended. It does its job. “You're going to cum now.”

She nods, frantically, eyes locked on yours as your thumb traces over her bottom lip, feeling it plump and swollen from your kisses. Her tongue darts out, swipes over the pad, tasting herself and you; and you’re thinking about filling that mouth of hers, or maybe that cunt, or if she’s game, that tight, untouched little asshole.

But one thing at a time.

“I’m going to eat your pussy,” you’re saying everything you’ve dreamt of saying to her since you first saw her, first caught sight of that ass daring to wander past your line of sight; and suddenly, every raw, filthy thought you’ve had of her is coming to the surface. “Then I’m going to fuck you. Again and again. Your cunt, your mouth. That ass. I’m going to take it all. And you’re going to let me, aren’t you, darling?”

Mina breathes, nods, signing a verbal contract to let you do whatever the fuck you want with her, promising you all of her, every part of her you’ve so shamelessly craved.

“Good.”

And so, you drop to your knees.

You glance up at her. She looks down at you.

Like she’s been burning for this; like she’ll combust if you make her wait a second longer.

Pushing her dress up until it's around her waist, keeping it up with your hands on her thighs, spreading her legs wider. And you’re seeing her pussy, the darkened, plump flesh—bare, wet, begging—and so, so pretty.

Fuck—what kind of guy could resist this?

(The kind that buys her jewellery without knowing the first thing about her. The kind that leaves her to sit alone at a gala like a trophy on a shelf. The kind that doesn’t get to taste her—doesn’t know how.

The kind that’s not you.

And maybe she was right—you do think you could save her.)

“What are you doing?” Mina huffs, impatient.

You smirk, unable to resist the urge to drag this out, to keep her on edge a little longer. "Just appreciating."

Mina's eyes narrow, but the smile never leaves her lips. "Well, appreciate faster."

You don’t need to be told twice.

Take her by the hips, spin her around, make her inhale—sharp. Force her to look away from you, to face the cold, indifferent wall, to brace herself.

“Wait, why—”

“Hold your dress up for me,” you mumble against her thighs.

Mina’s hands obey, holding the silk out of the way; and now she’s bent over, like a fucking present. Letting your eyes drink in her ass; unable to do anything but just stare.

How the moonlight kisses the curve, makes the shadows play against it. So perfect. So round and tight and full. Fruit so ripe you could pluck it from the tree with your teeth.

You’re leaning in, kissing the top of her thighs, right below where her cheeks spill over. Kissing up, a soft press of your lips to one cheek, the other, and fuck Mina’s trembling; barely holding it together, and you’re just getting started.

You drag your nose up, across the cotton of her panties and inhale her deep. Sweet and musky, a fine wine that’s been left to breathe, and she squirms.

Shivers under your breath.

And when Mina sighs something that sounds suspiciously like a warning—because she’s not the type to let you get away with anything like this so easily—you take the band of her underwear with your teeth, feeling the fabric stretch. Thin, delicate, begging to snap.

The panties fall away, down to her ankles. The sound of her heels tapping the ground as she lifts her legs to let it slide off, leaving her bare, vulnerable, and yours.

Mina goes still.

Hands spread her cheeks, and finally, you dive in, tongue first. Swipe along the crevice of her ass, taste the sweetness of her from bottom to top, forcing this gasp from her lips. You’re not shy about it—no room for anything close to it when your nose is pressed up against her asshole—and Mina’s thighs are trembling, muscles in her legs tightening like she’s trying to run away from what’s coming next.

But she won’t. You’ve got her pinned. You’ve got her right where she wants to be.

You flatten your tongue against her pussy, lick from cunt to asshole in one, long slow drag, make her sigh your name like it’s a prayer.

“I can’t believe—I never—no one’s ever—” She’s talking, trying to keep it together, trying to rationalise how something so filthy is making her fall apart in a million different, tremendous ways. But the words break off into moans, pure music to your ears.

“Like that?” You murmur against her skin, words disappearing into her.

“Oh my god, yes,” Mina cries out, a benediction. Her grip tightens on her dress, holding it up like a veil. A fucked-up kind of thing, marrying her cunt to your lips; arousal so potent you’re drowning it.

Because she’s a wreck, been a wreck since the moment you laid a hand on her. And now you just have to keep her there.

You let your tongue slide up and down her slit, teasing the folds, going lower, spreading her legs to lap up her clit until she’s begging for it—until she’s begging for you to push inside, to fuck her with it, to make her scream.

"Enjoy it, enjoy being so messy for me.”

"Oh—oh my God!" Mina cries out as you delve into her, and the sound echoes down empty corridors, bouncing off the walls, taking a grand tour of the palace. “I can’t believe—can’t fucking believe—"

You can't believe it either. That no one else has had the pleasure of tasting, of licking, of dining on this slice of Eden laid out before you. It's a crime against nature, really. A sin that you're more than happy to rectify.

"Fuck, you're so good," Mina voice is strained, her legs buckling under the weight of her own desire, she needs to post one hand onto the wall to not completely collapse into your mouth.

A dark chuckle escapes your lips. Feeling smug and utterly in control. "It's not rocket science, darling. Just a little bit of appreciation goes a long way."

But you're not just tonguing her ass because it’s there, because it’s what you’re into. You’re doing it because it’s driving her wild, because you know it’s a button that’s been left untouched, unexplored. And there’s something about being the first to do it that makes your cock throb, makes you want to worship not just her ass, but all of her.

Every part of her that's been neglected, overlooked, ignored.

"You have no idea," she breathes, her legs trembling harder now, "How good it feels."

You lean back, just a fraction, looking up at her, the tension coiling up her spine. "Oh, darling," you say, "I do. Believe me, I do."

A kiss into the small of her back, and you slide your finger back into her, once at first. So impossibly wet, stretching so easily for you, welcoming you right back in.

It’s all for you.

And you can’t get enough, so you add another, then another, stretching her even more, making her drench you and moan for you louder and louder.

You’ve figured it out. How to fuck her, lick her, press into her cunt just right. Finding the rhythm, that makes her breath skip and her body tense, that makes her pussy clamp down around your digits.

“Oh, God, oh, oh, oh—yes—right there—right there—” She’s panting, her hips jerking back, meeting every thrust of your fingers and your tongue.

You’re so close to making her cum—so close that you can almost taste it on the air—and she’s begging for it, so sweetly, so desperately.

“Please, please, don’t stop, I’m right there—” Mina’s hand reaches back, tangling in your hair, and she’s pulling you closer, grinding herself against your mouth.

Bury your face between her cheeks, fuck her fast with your fingers. It’s heaven down in the depths of hell; her thighs, her cheeks, her cunt, her ass. So soft, so wet, so very yours.

That whimper, that beautiful sigh that escapes Mina’s lips is her final invitation. You push your tongue inside her, opening it up, feeling the tightness, the warmth. The shock coursing through her as she surrenders to the unspeakable filth and bliss of your mouth on her asshole.

So tight, so clean, so delicious.

You lick and suck and kiss, fucking her with your fingers, pressing into her, exploring the depths of that tight little hole.

"This is, this is—” her voice strains, wonder, desperation, downright heat at what you’re doing to her. "No one’s ever done this to me. Keep eating my ass, please."

It’s her words that keeps you going, and it all becomes a blur of moans and shivers, of the way she tastes, smells, feels. But you don’t stop, you can’t, all you want to do is make that tight ring of muscle yours.

“Please let me cum. Now. Please. I need it—I need you—”

She needs you to never stop.

You take her, right there in the moonlit garden, hidden by the shadows and the foliage and the silk of her dress. You can almost feel the vibrations of her voice in your mouth, against your tongue, like it’s a part of her, like she’s speaking straight into your soul with every moan and gasp and plea.

The squelch of your fingers fucking her. Her cunt griping you, being devoured. Your tongue invading her ass. The way you’re ruining her for everyone else. Her cries.

She’s so loud.

It doesn’t matter.

The whispers of the gala seem so far away, so irrelevant. It’s all about Mina and her ass and your three fingers sawing in and out of her and she’s saying—

“God, fuck, how can you do this, how can you make me—fuck—"

The answer to her unfinished question: it’s because she’s worth it. It’s because of her, how she makes you want to prove yourself. Because of her hips and her thighs and her cunt and her ass and all of her, every single part.

And that’s your name on her breath, that’s your name when she’s close, that’s your name when she finally tips over, when her legs give way and she’s gasping it into the night.

“Oh my—”

Mina cums.

You swallow.

Drink your fill from her cunt, fill up your nose with her scent. Burn the memory of what it’s like to have your face buried in her ass and have her leaking down your chin. It’s a full body spasm that wracks through her, setting her soul on fire. She’s a star, a supernova, a fucking explosion on your tongue.

Her walls pulse around your fingers, squeezing, clenching, and you give it to her, keep fucking her through it, keep licking, because she’s still there, still hovering.

It overwhelms her—she lets it—you feel her body tighten, quiver, then release like a bowstring snapped.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please—yes, like that—right—right there—yes—yes—yes—”

A chant of yeses right before falling off a cliff and into an oh fuck, I’m cumming.

And you’re right there, knees in the dirt, smiling against her cheeks, holding onto her hips, making sure she doesn’t collapse entirely.

And fuck, she goes, and goes and goes.

Until the ground falls beneath her feet.

You’re there to catch her, to ease her down to the ground with you, hold her in your arms until her world stops spinning.

It takes a moment, two.

And she looks up at you, like she’s unsure of how she got there, in this tangle of sighs and limbs and you. But it doesn’t really matter because she pulls you closer, hand still buried in your hair, needing to kiss you just one more time.

Her taste lingers on your tongue—sweet and salty and so uniquely her. She kisses you again, a little less frantic this time. A little more like she means it.

It’s hard not to feel anything but pride.

Mina’s cheek is pressed to your chest, her eyes barely able to focus, her breaths coming in quiet, contented puffs.

And you’re coming to realise what kind of woman Mina is. Even now, when she should be an unrepairable mess—sprawled out on the cool floor with her dress in a puddle around her, her pussy still pulsing and leaking down her thighs—there’s this poise to her that’s downright intimidating.

She breathes, “You’re just a fantasy, aren’t you?” It feels like a warm hand sliding down your spine.

You lean down, kiss her forehead, tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

It’s peaceful. It’s perfect.

And then your emergency line rings.

Mina inclines her head. A spell is broken. “Well, that’s timing for you.”

You instantly regret the next words that come out of your mouth, the rational words that have never sounded more irrational. “I need to go.”

Mina’s far too polite, far too graceful to say what she wants to say, what you’re pleading her in your mind to say. But she knows the game. You both do.

She just nods, rewards herself with a peek at the tent angrily poking underneath your slacks.

“It’s fine,” she says. (It’s not). She reaches up to your lips, running a thumb over the gloss she’s stained you with. “I think I can handle it from here.”

Her other hand slips down to your thigh, gives you a courtesy squeeze as a farewell, and it’s all you can do not to jump. But you can’t, because the phone’s still ringing, because at the end of the day you’re still a billionaire with responsibilities and a reputation to uphold.

She’s kind of enough to give you an out. “You’re supposed to be giving a speech, right?”

Said responsibility and reputation has you answering, “Yeah.”

You’re stupid for it, stupid for even entertaining the idea of letting her go, or leaving her behind. But you’re not completely blameless—it’s near impossible to even think straight when all the blood in your body has gone south for the evening.

“Are you going to be okay with,” Mina blinks down at you. “Your situation?”

It’s painful to even say it. “I guess I’ll have to be.”

Mina sits up, pulls herself off you, untangling her legs with a grace that seems almost otherworldly. Pulls her panties back up, tucks them into place with a little shiver. Smooths her dress down, twisting it back in place.

You’re already regretting letting her leave before she’s even gone.

But the messages have piled up on your phone, and Mina can see it all, the endless frantic texts, the missed calls.

You’re late.

You’re needed.

The world’s waiting.

Mina reads your face, and you can’t tell if she’s impressed or disappointed. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

You stand up, help her to her feet, because that’s what you do—you take care of your own messes. She’s still smiling at you, and you want to tell her how much you wish you could stay.

“It’s okay,” is all she says, as you tuck your shirt back in and slick your hair down.

She’s redoing her own hair, trying to fix it into something presentable. Something less ‘I’ve been fucked raw against a brick wall’ and more ‘gee, quite a strong wind tonight’.

“I knew from the jump you didn’t have the time.”

You’re blurting out, “I can make more.”

“Not even money can buy that.”

Your phone rings again.

Mina’s eyes follow the screen, the glow lighting up her face. Ethereal. Yeah, that's the word for how she looks. You've never been sure of the definition but you're certain it fits.

And when she stands on her toes to kiss your cheek, to bid you farewell, she holds onto your shoulder long enough to whisper her address in your ear. “I’ll be waiting. If you can get away.”

“Why don’t I just come with you now?”

She laughs—but it’s empty, almost a little sad. “Because, you have a job to do, and I have an appearance to keep up. And unlike you, I’m not quite sure I’m ready to broadcast to the whole world who I’m fucking. Or who I’m going to fuck. If he’s not late, that is.”

And with a quiet breath, she’s gone.

A ghost in the moonlight, slipping away like she’s been painted out of existence, leaving you with the memory of her on your mouth and the ache she’s leaving in your cock.

You turn back to the gala.

The air feels somewhat colder.

—

The rest of the evening goes far, far too slowly for your liking.

While your absence has been noted, the whispers and glances are more curious than concerned. They don't know where you've been, and one of your assistants is kind enough to fetch you a new shirt to replace the one that's smudged with lipstick and makeup and Mina, before any real juicy rumours can start.

You try, and fail, to get things moving as quickly as possible:

(A business rival pulls you aside to congratulate you on the recent product launch—You're just thinking about Mina's ass.

A board member sings your praises about last quarter’s earnings, how you're really sticking it to those idiots that forecasted a downturn—You're only thinking about sticking it between Mina's thighs.

A reporter that sneaked in wants to know if you're planning another acquisition so soon after the last one—Yes, you're going to acquire Mina; find somewhere far away from here with another wall to pin her against and make her scream and ache all over for you.)

Thankfully, your assistant is at the ready before you can really make a scene, dragging you over to the stage and pulling you out of this shit show.

‘Just stepped away for some air’ is what you had assured her when she took the shirt off your hands, but really, there's no point trying to hide it.

She's seen that look before, that glow that you can't quite wipe off.

But she's loyal, she doesn't ask questions. Just tells you that you’re on in five, and that in the meantime, she’ll make sure the driver is ready for a quick exit.

So, you force yourself to smile, address the faces that meld together into a wall of teeth.

Make a speech that’s just a rush of words that you've recited countless times before. Innovation and growth, the future of the company, the same spiel from the annual report wrapped up in a shiny new bow.

But none of it matters. You're not even hearing yourself speak. You're hearing the echoes of Mina's moans, feeling the tremble of her thighs as you devoured her, replaying her orgasm in your mind again and again.

You can't wait to get off this fucking stage.

The second the applause dies down, you're off like a shot. The podium forgotten; the spotlight cold on your back. You grab your phone and slip out of the garden, dodging the eager hands that reach out for just a second of your time.

You find your driver waiting, just as instructed; Mina's address already punched in the navigation.

Just go, drop me off. Don't stick around. I'll call you to pick me up in the morning.

—

“It was cerulean,” is Mina’s amused answer to your admittedly idiotic question.

Not your best moment, to be fair. You raced up to her apartment so quickly that you really didn’t have anything more intelligent to say than ‘what happened to your dress?’ and ‘I wanted to know what colour it was’.

But still, show you the person living or dead that could have said anything coherent when being greeted by Mina, opening the door to her apartment—so unashamedly smug, and so very naked.

So what if you just stood there and stared?

Stared at the curves and dips, the way her hair cascades over her shoulders in inky waves, damp from a shower; making it cling to her skin, drape over her collarbone, her breasts. The nipples peeking straight at you, dusky, pointed, waiting the return of your tongue. Her pussy winking between her thighs, a treasure hidden in a sea of smooth flesh.

You don’t know whether to apologise for your lack of eloquence or thank her for being so incredibly distracting.

You kind of want to request that she turn around.

Mina laughs at what is certainly a stupid expression colouring your face; folds her arms across her chest, crosses one leg over the other. "Waiting for me to offer you a drink?"

You blink. “Thought you already gave me one.”

She scrunches her nose, answers, “I was only being polite.”

“I think we’re well past that.”

There’s that gravity again; shifting around Mina, tilting the world towards her until she’s pulling you into her apartment and you’re kicking the door closed behind you.

“Then hurry up and take me upstairs.”

—

There’s a part of you that feels like you should warn Mina when she tells you:

“Look, you’ve kept me waiting too fucking long. I need your cock, your cum inside of me. Right now. Before it’s too late and I change my mind. So, just please, please, please—”

But those kind of thoughts are lost halfway up the staircase; when you both decide that you just can't wait anymore, and your hands are back on her hips and your tongue is pushing into her throat.

Her fault, really.

Stripping you down the hallway, leaving a trail of your clothes through her kitchen; taking you by the cock. Firm, confident pumps as she leads you through her penthouse, refusing to give you a moment to breathe.

Because she’s obsessed with it. Obsessed with how it fills her hand, how it jumps at her touch, how it throbs when she squeezes it, strokes it.

“So big for me," Mina's says—to you, to herself, to your cock. "So perfectly, impossibly, big for me."

You’re never going to make it to the top.

Pressing her up against the banister, kissing her, hard. Deep, bruising kisses, because now that you’re out of the garden you don’t give a fuck if you’re leaving marks.

You just want her to remember this night, to feel it in every pulse and every breath.

Make her think of you when she’s with him, if she can even go back to him after this. Because you’ll both know that she’s yours even when she’s not.

“You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

You look into Mina’s eyes. You can see it all, how the rest of the night will play out. You and Mina, tangled in her apartment. You and Mina, on top of the kitchen island. You and Mina, against the shower walls, on the living room floor, maybe even on the balcony.

You and Mina, until the sun rises.

You kiss her harder. “Is that a request?”

“Of course it is.”

Because now you actually have the time to appreciate her, to let your hands wander.

They glide over her body, mapping it out again, but slower this time. You've had your fill of the frantic touches, the greedy need. This is something else. This is savouring.

You start with your thumb at her navel, tracing the line down to her hips, then back up against to the base of her ribcage. It’s the feel of the muscles in her stomach tensing and relaxing as you touch her, the inhale and the exhale. How ridiculously tiny her waist feels in your hand, how your palm fits so perfectly into the curve of her side that you swear she’s been tailored for you.

Mina chokes on her breath as she tells you, “You’re going to have to stop, or we’re not going to make it to the bedroom.”

You don’t even slow down. You just don’t care.

Your hand rises, higher, finds her breasts again; cupping it in your palm. A thumb rolls over her nipple.

You pinch. She gasps.

You smile into her neck. “So, so, sensitive.”

Mina’s so willing, so keen to give herself over to you, to your touch. You’ve proven yourself to her already, made her cum with just your fingers and tongue. Now it’s just a matter of doing it all over again—but slower, better, more thorough.

You palm her breasts, rolling and pinching them until they’ve been given the attention they deserve, until she’s panting through your teases and caresses. Kneading the soft flesh beneath your hand and making her arch into your touch.

“You’re really going to take your time, aren’t you?” Mina mewls, half-sigh, half-plead. Grinding herself into you, making a shimmering mess on your waist. “Going to torture me until I can’t breathe.”

“It is your fantasy.”

Pull her closer, take a handful of that perfect ass once again. It hasn’t really been that long since you last had it in your hands but it’s all you’ve had on your mind. What it looks like under proper lighting, what it feels like without the dress in the way. What kind of noises will she make when you grope, and she doesn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing.

Press and squeeze, dig your fingers into her flesh. Not rough, but firm. Leaving little spots of red that will be gone by the morning.

Slide your finger down, down between her cheeks, and deeper, pressing into the sweet heat of her ass.

And then you feel it.

Her asshole. Wet and slick. Prepared.

A wink. A laugh. "Not my fault you're predictable."

You can’t fucking wait anymore.

She’ll just have to settle for the staircase.

Grab her by the hips—her ass, and pull her down with you onto the steps, her legs straddling you as you sit down.

Take her in—all of her. The curve of her, the line of her spine, the fucking paradise that’s her cheeks. Unbelievable.

You kiss into her back, follow down that trail right to where it swells, feeling the heat of her skin against your lips. You’re going to ruin this ass; permanently plant your flag there, mark it as property of you and your cock until she can’t take a seat without cursing your name.

Mina's shoulders tense when you pause, and she looks back over to you. There's a flash of nerves in her eyes, a gasp of "Here?" that's so faint you almost don't catch it.

Another kiss into her skin, you murmur, “Here’s perfect, Mina,” and she sighs when your finger presses against that puckered ring, cold with lubricant, made as ready as she’s ever going to be.

It’s the preparation that gets you; the idea of her in anticipation for you, for this, making sure she’s nice and primed. Mina at the store, still wearing that dress, fresh from her orgasm, buying lube. Mina in her bathroom, stripping herself bare, toying with her asshole, making it perfect for you.

And Mina, now, eyes clenched shut, breaths heavy as your digit is pushing through, slipping into her, and she’s so fucking tight around it.

“Oh my god,” she hisses through her teeth, a quiver in her legs as you push deeper into her tight channel.

Your hands shoot to her thighs to steady her, a reassuring anchor to keep her from toppling over as your finger fills her completely, twisting and turning, slowly but surely easing her into the idea of being taken.

It’s the moans that get you, the sighs as you intrude inside her. She’s so responsive, her breaths skipping and her pussy already starting to gush, coating your finger, your thighs, the steps below.

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah—yes,” Mina stutters, her footing slips just so, but she catches herself on the banister. “It’s—it’s intense. So intense. But don’t stop, I can take it. I want—I want more. I need this. I need this now, before—before I take all of you inside of me."

“You want more?” You repeat her words, before giving her what she needs—adding a second finger, pressing them in deep, making sure she’s good and open. The lube helps, but it’s the eagerness that gets her most of the way there; it’s that trust that she has in you, her willingness to let you take her here, in this way.

“Yes, please,” Mina cries, doing everything she can to not collapse on top of you, to not come completely apart.

You’re merciless, adding a third finger, stretching her until she’s panting, until she’s crying out, making this noise, this hushed whimper that takes the shape of your name.

“Please, please, please,” Mina whispers to herself, pushing back against you, starting to rock back onto your hand, taking your fingers into her ass.

“Not yet, Mina, not yet,” you tell her, because even though she’s close, even though she’s begging, you want her to be absolutely fucking desperate for your cock when the moment comes.

You reach around her with your other hand, finding that button, already swollen and begging for attention. Playing with it, gently at first, a soft pressure to help her let go, to allow herself to let her voice echo up the staircase and through the penthouse.

God, how is she this sensitive, reactive to every little touch, to every exploration of her cunt, her ass, her body.

It’s the ceremony of it all; this lurid, obscene ritual that you’re walking her through. Making her ass bounce on your hand in this hypnotic movement, making her stretch around your fingers, making her repeat your name over and over until she’s convinced herself that all of her belongs to you.

These perfect, near-silent sighs. This unbelievable tightness. Mina’s body, turning itself into a fucking playground for your touch; to do with it as you will. Even if it means ruining her.

And it’s when you have her creaming all over you; down her thighs, making a mess of herself with these pushes and pulls, these declarations of how ready she is for you, that her body shakes with one last, long shiver.

She cums.

Softly, soundlessly, another cry of your name dying on her lips. A hand to your wrist to stop you abruptly, panting.

Tiny, tiny shivers, twitches in her thighs, around your fingers, leaving her barely there, barely with you. Head hanging low, chest heaving, catching her breath, putting herself back together again.

Time stretches before she's cognisant again, and she turns back, looking over her shoulder and straight at you. Eyes half-lidded, hazy, dripping with lust, anticipation, burning with need.

Deep, heavy breaths. And then Mina says the most devastating thing:

“I’m ready. Fuck my ass. Now. Please.”

A gunshot in the quiet of her home, rumbling through your bones.

Your fingers leave her ass, her cunt with a wet pop, forcing a whine from her throat at the sudden emptiness. A look at her asshole, how it clenches and unclenches, beckoning for you to fill it, to claim it as your own.

“Good girl.”

Holding her by the hips, lining her ass with your cock, nudging her opening with your tip and making her shiver. You don’t go in immediately; you hover, giving her one last out, to really see if she’s absolutely certain.

Mina trembles. Nods. That’s all the invitation you need.

“God, I—”

You push in, slow and steady, eyes on her ass as she takes you. So fucking tight, so intense, you can feel every part of her squeezing, accommodating you, moulding itself around your girth and swallowing you whole.

“Take it slow, darling, take it slow,” you whisper into her skin, guiding her down, telling her how good she’s doing, how good she is for you, how much you love her tightness, her trust.

It seems impossible at first, the grip she has on you, like you’ll never get in. But inch by agonising inch, she takes you, and it’s nothing short of total heaven.

Mina, so fucking beautiful in this moment of raw vulnerability; all sharp inhales and strained quivers wrecking through her, voice shaky as she tells you, “I’ve never felt anything like this, I never thought—fuck—I never thought I could take anything like this.”

“You’re doing so good,” you kiss your words into her, wrapping your arms around her, holding her.

“I can—I can do better,” she gasps, and you believe her.

But you still go slow, so painfully slow, even though every fibre of your being is screaming at you to just dig into her hips and slam into that glorious fucking ass and never look back.

“I can take it,” Mina breathes, “Do it, I can take it. I want all of you. In my ass. I can handle it.”

Mina nods, clenches her ass, her cheeks firming up around your throbbing cock.

“I want it to hurt so good.”

No more convincing required. You push in deeper, make her back stiffen, her muscles contract, making her cry.

It’s a dance, a delicate ballet of bodies, of breath and touch, of your cock inside Mina’s ass. Lost in it, in the feel of skin on skin, the sound of wet, needy noises that she’s making, her shudders in your arms.

Until finally, with a strangled gasp, she’s fully seated. You’re buried in her tight, hot ass, basking in the warmth of her, leaving you both winded and struggling for air.

Stillness overrides the moment, because it’s too perfect, too overwhelming, and the feeling. You need to get used to the feeling.

You break the silence first. “Mina?”

“I know. I know.”

A kiss against her neck, scraping the soft skin there. A whisper in her ear, your breath hot and ragged.

“I’m going to fuck your ass now.”

You always keep your promises.

Mina answers by leaning back into you, her hand finding yours, her nails running along your fingers as if to say, “Yes, please, now.”

Moving, so slow it’s almost painful. The drag of her ass around your cock like nothing you’ve ever felt before—like you’re sliding through warm, velvet-covered steel.

“Fuck, yes, please,” with every inch you pull out, and “Too much, so good, too fucking much,” when you push back in, deeper and deeper still.

It builds and builds, this sweet agony, each pass in her ass faster, harder, turning Mina’s cries and wails into moans of pure bliss. It takes time and long, hard fucking for her body to relax into this rhythm, letting you take her, own her.

A vision above you, sweat glistening on her back, hair matted and sticking to her shoulders, and Mina’s ass, a snug ring around your cock. You watch as your cock slides out of her, the way her ass clenches around the head, holding on for just a second before pushing all the way back down.

You can’t help but groan, “Christ,” as she moves on top of you like that. So gracefully, so beautifully, so fucking obscenely on your cock.

“Thank you—God—thank you, thank you, thank you.” Mina’s moans are pure music to your ears, she’s babbling, talking through the pain, through the pleasure. “So, so good, filling me like—fuck—never been filled up like this.”

And as you push on, push further and further until your cock is melting inside her, burning her up in every way she's ever dared to dream, you can see the smile curling onto Mina’s face. It’s pride, you’re realising. Proud of herself, proud of how she can take you, how she can handle this kind of depraved ecstasy.

“It feels so deep.”

Tearing her open. Revealing the tender, delicate core beneath the glamour, the lights, the unreal beauty that is Mina. Leaving her sobbing, pleading, whining for more, more, more.

Bouncing on you now, each more assured than the last, cries of nothing but need. Opening up to accept you fully, completely, her ass a tight fucking sleeve for you, coming down and wrapping itself around you like a searing hot second skin.

You know the truth, but you still want to hear it.

“How many?”

Mina has her answer ready: “You’re the—you’re the first.”

You grin. A smug, triumphant baring of teeth that spreads from ear to ear. “I have no fucking idea how that’s possible. How nothing has ever been up this tight, perfect little asshole.”

“Oh, there's been toys,” Mina moans, strained and shaky as you pump into her, “But you’re just the first that's real.”

“Then your boyfriend is a fucking idiot,” you growl into her ear, your hand moving to her throat, gently clasping, making her gasp, making her eyes go wide with shock, with excitement. “He doesn’t know what he has.”

“Enough about my boyfriend,” Mina's quick to answer, snapping, her head thrown back, eyes screwed shut. “Even though—even if—he wouldn’t, couldn’t dream of filling me like this. Filling me up so much that it hurts, so much that—fuck, it feels so right, so fucking right—”

“You love this, don’t you, Mina?” You ask, but all Mina can do is nod vigorously, too overrun by the fucking to form words. “Underneath it all, you’re just a dirty slut for it, aren’t you? Letting me use this pretty, tight ass like this.”

“I—” she stutters, right before confessing, “I love it.”

She slams her hips down on you, the stairs groaning with each thrust, not built to withstand this kind of punishment.

“I love that it’s you, love that you’re the first. I can’t believe it—just—I need it. I need your cock in me, so deep—I need you, I need you, I need you—so please don't stop.”

“I would never dream of stopping.”

Never.

Not when she’s begging like this, her voice hoarse and her body quaking. When she sighs and shivers every time you fuck a little faster, push a little harder, testing just how much she can take.

Tits jiggling with every thrust, cunt leaking all the way down your thighs, ass puckering and loosening.

Her whole body, yours.

Yours for the taking. Mina’s divine body, in all its sharp planes and ridged muscles, squeezing and coiling at every juncture, every penetration setting her alight.

You declare it, even though it doesn't need to be said. “Made for me.”

“Yes,” she’s nodding. Or rather, letting her head fall into one. “God yes.”

“Just been waiting for me for so long, haven’t you? Been waiting for the right cock to come along and split you in half.” You’re saying these things, these stinging words that you fuck into Mina, send shooting through her like sparks. She’s a live-wire, a fucking blackout waiting to happen.

Weeping down her thighs, choking out every whine, “Yes,” she whispers, “yes, yes, yes, been needing to be ruined. Needing it, needing you. So much, so much, so—fucking—right—”

“Fucking criminal that you had to wait,” you’re saying, loving this, so enraptured by all of it. “But I’m here now.”

Mina shivers, pussy clenches, and she just can’t stop saying, “Yours, yours, yours—”

Completely, totally yours, now.

You know it. She knows it.

It’s written in the way she takes your cock, in the way she loses herself to you, loses all semblance of composure and decorum, peels back all the carefully curated layers that make her Mina, until all there is to see and touch is the raw, unfiltered need that you’ve unleashed from underneath.

"Touch me, fuck me, take me, take my ass, I need more—"

Again, your fingers find her folds, sticky and swollen and waiting.

You touch her, press down on her clit. Circling it with the same rhythm as your hips. Striking a match in a dark room, lighting up her body in this blaze.

The noises that it all makes; the slosh of your fingers at her cunt, the squelch of your cock invading her ass, so fucking explicit, so fucking filthy.

She’s erratic, breath catching, throat pulsing against your fingers, and she somehow, impossibly, clenches even more around you, suffocating your cock with just her tight, tight ass.

You keep that same tempo. That desperate, fucking unyielding beat that’s going to make her come, going to turn this idol, this mystery, this drop-dead fucking gorgeous woman who should belong to someone else but is now screaming proudly just how much she’s yours, into nothing but a trembling mess of whimpers and whines.

“More, fuck—oh my god, oh my fucking god—it’s so fucking good—so good—so fucking good—”

She’s reaching her peak—her voice, her body, her cunt, her ass—all of her reaching that perfect crescendo of pleasure that you’ve been orchestrating, that you’ve been waiting for.

“I’ve never—no one’s ever—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Sinking into her, making her feel like she’s being torn apart and remade with every stroke, making her feel nothing like she’s ever felt before, making her feel like nothing but your fucking whore.

So, so close, barrelling towards it now, all these tears running down her cheeks, these filthy words slipping from her lips. Coming apart in your arms, because she’s never been this filled, this complete.

“Going to—going to cum—fuck me, harder, harder—going to cum all over your cock—” Mina tells you, a warning, the last one you get before she screams, “Too good—filling me—so good—give it to me—God—I can never go back—”

She shatters. Monumentally.

Into a million tiny pieces of pleasure, each one more brilliant than the last.

Her body spasms, her ass squeezes so fucking tight around your cock that you can feel the orgasm ripping through her, up her spine, through her throat, until she’s crying out and it’s hitting your ears—

“Oh my God, I'm going to—just, say my name—please, say my name when I—”

“Mina,” you say, and she cums.

“Mina,” you repeat when her pussy floods over your hand, ass smothers your cock.

“Mina,” again when it ripples across her skin, leaves her in fits, uncontrollable quakes, consumed by pure, unfiltered joy.

You watch the whole thing—watch her scream your name, watch her shake and quiver and fall apart, right there on your cock; and you're fucking her through it all, fucking her well past it, chanting “Mina” over and over again.

You'll never forget this, never forget this sight—this woman, this star, built up and broken down just for you.

“Mine,” you bite into her ear, because now, it’s true.

Mina’s barely there, eyes glassy, hand cradling your face. But she’s able to say it, because it’s branded into every bone of her body: “Yours.”

It’s a complete disaster.

And now you're cumming.

Brand new sensations, devastation in full measure—your soul ripped from your chest, until all that’s left is this impulsive, overwhelming need to give her your all, your everything—to fill her entire existence with just you.

You drive your cock into her once more, impaling her deep, and let go.

It floods her, rushes inside her, spills and spills.

Mina can't do anything but feel it—every pulse, every spurt. She throws her head back, her mouth open in this silent plea, satisfaction painted across her face as your heat surges inside her. Her ass milks you, needy for every drop, so, so thirsty for it.

“It's—cumming inside my ass—so, so nice, keep cumming for me.”

You hold onto her, throb inside her, pump ropes into her, and there's a kiss—hot and clumsy—somewhere in the midst of it all, your mouths colliding and tongues wrapping around each other in a futile attempt to last just that little bit longer.

Getting all dizzy and spellbound, floating back down to the ground as the last waves of your climaxes start to subside, until one of you says, “Thank you,” and the other echoes it back.

You stay like that, swallowed up inside her, dripping out of her ass. Lowering one hand from her throat, rising the other from her pussy, pulling her into an embrace, keeping her as close as you can while you both try to put yourselves back together.

It’s sex that soaks the air, fills the penthouse—sweat, lube, the musk of all the evidence you're leaving behind. Intoxicating, breathing it in, setting your nerves alight, rousing your cock inside her all over again.

But Mina, she’s a stunning catastrophe, torn asunder in all the best ways. Perfection not marred, but made better. Completed. Looking up at you with wonder, with gratitude, with a smile.

You look down at her and admit it, “Perfect.”

Mina laughs out loud, “Disastrously perfect.”

“This is going to be a problem, isn’t it?”

You kiss her once more.

Mina kisses you back.

“Only if we make it one.”

—

You think you can read her mind.

And she, yours.

It’s the only way any of this makes sense—how perfect you fit together, how well you read each other; fill each other’s needs without use of any words outside of curses and names and strangled pleas.

Printed onto your DNA, carved into your bones, these exact pathways you shape through her home and into her skin.

You do make it to the bedroom, somehow.

And then, exactly as predicted:

The shower, where Mina takes you into her mouth, gags herself around you, covers herself in your cum before letting the water wash it all away.

Then the kitchen, polishing off a bottle of wine, slurring promises into Mina’s cunt, having her rake the back of your scalp and scream the same promises back into your ears.

And finally, the living room, folding her over the couch, tumbling onto the floor with Mina, riding you so hard the neighbours below start banging on their ceiling in protest.

It's only the balcony that goes untouched.

Maybe another time.

But that’s where it ends: sprawled across a lush rug, sticky with sweat and cum and wine, naked and bare. Ignoring the watchful eyes of the photos that line the walls and shelves—family, friends, her boyfriend. Just living in this bubble where the sun will never rise and the world outside ceases to exist.

Getting to know each other in ways few people ever do.

Tracing patterns into the small of her back, asking these questions. Is this what you always imagined you would be doing? How you thought your life would be? Does it ever actually feel enough?

Mina pokes and prods back, her nails lightly scraping against your chest, leaving half-moons in her wake. Do you think you could ever be happy? Do you ever wonder why it’s so hard for other people to keep up? Are you fucked up in all the same ways as me?

And it’s so easy to answer truthfully, to be honest, because you’re both still maintaining the façade of this just being a simple fling; a blip along the timeline of your lives.

The yours and mine of it all, all those promises you were spilling. Just callous words tossed in the throes of passion.

They didn’t mean anything real.

Because it’s not like you’re going to see each other again, not like there’s going to be a mess of emotions and consequences that will have to be dealt with in the morning after.

Eventually though, the light does slip through the curtains, the clothes come back on, and you’re kissing Mina against the doorway and thinking of a million reasons why you should stay.

"So, how long are we going to pretend that this is normal?" You broach, and it immediately feels like you’re breaking some unspoken rule.

Mina’s keeping herself busy, hands at your shirt, buttoning it back into place, one by one. Hiding away evidence that her mouth, her lips, her teeth were ever on you.

She looks up at you. Smirks. “Fucking ‘til the break of dawn, giving each other orgasms that never quite end? Flooding each one of my holes with your cum?”

You tilt your head.

“I don’t know. This whole thing is… unique. Uncharted territory and all.”

“It goes without saying, but, yeah. Same for me.” You echo, “Unique.”

You reach for her, smoothing her hair back. The early morning light makes it shine like a crown of jewels.

“Do you want it to stay that way?”

Mina considers. Leans into your hand. “You think we should make a habit out of this? I didn’t pin you for the type.”

“Neither did I, but it didn’t seem so bad when you were riding me on that couch,” you tease. “And in the shower, and on the staircase, and in the kitchen…”

She blushes, lips caught between her teeth, looking like she’s struggling to hold in a laugh. There’s this glint in her eye as her hand wanders up to your cheek, thumb hovering just shy of your mouth. For a second, you think she’s going to kiss you again.

But instead, she just looks at you.

Eyes you with something close to fascination, something that makes your heart stop. And you're reading each other’s minds again, knowing you're both going to lie, going to pretend like this was just a one-night thing. Something the two of you can easily wipe your hands with and walk away from like it never even happened.

Because this really is the first time—you’ve never done anything like this before. Sure you’ve dipped your toe in the pool of commitment, paddled around in the shallow end, but you’ve never fallen for someone proper.

Never worried about what someone's going to be doing when you’re not there, never thought about whether you’d be better off sticking around to find out.

But you have a job. A company to run.

And Mina, a career. A boyfriend. A life.

So, you don’t make plans.

You don’t even ask for her number.

You don't need to.

Deep down inside you know you’ll find her again.

For now though, you spin your bullshit: “It’s probably for the best if we don’t, though.”

“Probably.” Mina agrees, but she can hear the same ticking clock as you.

The timer that’s already started, counting down to when she’ll inevitably be undoing the same buttons, redrawing the same patchwork of red and pink across your chest, and pulling you into her home and into her; fucking her pussy, her ass, her mouth, in all the ways she needs, until you’re spilling out of her all over again.

“Definitely.” Mina unlocks the front door. “For the best.”

#kpop smut #mina smut #twice smut #male reader

356 notes · View notes

shomatoriashi · 17 hours ago

Text

11/26/24; 10:00pm

sylus x fem.reader (non mc)

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

notes: once a sylus girly, always a sylus girly…

admittedly, your first meeting with sylus occurred in a more… unorthodox manner.

that night, you had just gotten off a late shift at work, feeling the cool air cause slight shivers to course through you. you hug your coat tighter to your form all while taking in your surroundings.

as you kept walking, you became aware of a suspicious pair of footsteps that seemed to follow your every move.

when you stopped, the same lingering steps would stop as well.

each time you would turn a corner or dash to the other side of the street-

you swore you could feel the hairs raising at the back of your neck at the strange sensation of being watched and followed.

not wishing to lead this bastard straight to your apartment, your eyes take in the sight of the neon lights that flash above you, reading the name of the bar as you entered crow’s haven for the first time.

the bar was dimly lit with a surprising number of patrons all scattered throughout the area. as your eyes take in the lavish furniture and the expensive alcohol everyone was consuming, you slowly began to realize just how out of place you were while in this high class bar.

the sounds of doors opening makes you stiffen, with you looking back to see an unfamiliar man walk in, dark eyes scanning the bar before landing on your frozen form. letting out a string of curses, you turn away from the entrance and began heading deeper inside of the bar, your gaze finally landing on a tall man with silver locks of hair.

you take in the sight of his pristine, black and red suit and make a beeline toward him. your hands reach out to grab at the ends of the expensive fabric, earning you a momentary look of disdain from the man as he acknowledges you with a narrowed, crimson gaze.

“what’s this? has a kitten gotten lost and found her way into a crow’s lair?”

shivers were felt running down your spine at the sound of his rich voice felt reverberating in your ear. “s-sorry, but, i need your help. can you pretend to be my boyfriend, at least until that fucker backs off?”

the man immediately straightens his posture, towering over you as he stood well past 6 feet in height. he places a hand on your shoulder, already seeing the unknown man making his way toward you.

“didn’t i tell you how dangerous it is to talk to strangers, sweetie?” you allow him to take a protective stance in front of you, gazing at the man who stalked you with a bored expression.

“hey man, i don’t mean no harm, just wanted to talk to that pretty lady over there.” the man gestures at you, yet before he can take another step a sudden click was heard, causing your stalker’s eyes to go wide when he was suddenly faced with a barrel of a gun.

“she’s mine.” those final words rang with such finality that you nearly fell to your knees. have you ever met a man that exuded such confidence before in your life? a man who’s beauty could rival that of gods themselves-

no, absolutely not.

the man backs away while stuttering out excuses, and to add insult to injury, your savior merely snaps his fingers as several men surrounded your potential stalker before physically escorting him out of the club.

relief courses through you, and you watch as your savior returns his gun back into the confines of his suit. the bartender already tends to him, refilling his shot glass of whiskey. as you take a moment to calm down your rapidly beating heart, you carefully step aside, “ah, thank you… for helping me back there. i should… probably head home-“

he stops you from moving forward by gently gripping at your wrist, “i don’t think that’s a good idea, kitten. after all, if you leave my safety, then there’s a chance that he’s standing out there, waiting for you.” crimson eyes now shone with amusement while he downs his shot of whiskey in a single gulp, not even fazed by the burn of the alcohol, “and i’ve already told him that you’re mine, kitten.”

unable to speak, you watch as he leans forward to take your hand in his, pressing a kiss at the back of it before telling you, “the name’s sylus… and i don’t mind keeping you under my protection until things settle down. what do you say?”

truthfully, you would be a fool not to take him up on his offer.

which lead you to where you are now, where sylus has been your “fake boyfriend” for close to two years now.

and that fact made you feel so giddy and stupidly in love with him.

sunlight streams through the window, painting your shared bedroom in brilliant hues. too happy to sleep in, you had woken up first to prepare some breakfast in bed for sylus in celebration of your anniversary. with several breakfast items on the tray, you tiptoe into the room, your smile breaking into a grin upon seeing sylus sleeping on his chest.

setting off your tray of breakfast to the side, you crept closer to the bed, wishing to tease your beloved a bit this morning. doing a countdown in your head, you land against sylus’s back, earning a grunt from him as you littered his skin with a plethora of kisses.

“hehe, morning sysy…”

sylus lets out a series of grumbles, slowly turning around so that he was lying back in bed while taking you within his embrace. “hmph… you’re up early. and you’re hyper, too.”

you gasp, “i am not hyper! i’m just incredibly happy today… and you know what today is, so don’t even pretend.”

a rich chuckle fills your ears, making you shiver once more in response. despite the millions of times you have basked in his voice, you couldn’t seem to get used to it, as it still sent pleasant sensations to course through you.

“truly… thinking back on that night when we first met- i was scared. i didn’t want some creep to know where i lived-“

“and so the lost kitten made her way inside a crow’s lair, seeking shelter.” a devilish grin spreads across sylus’s lips when he presses a quick kiss against your lips, “and the crow took pity on her and made a promise to keep her safe.”

“yeah…” you trail off and smile at the memory. deep down, you knew you were drawn to sylus and could sense that he was more than capable of protecting you.

you didn’t regret meeting him at all.

shaking your head, you break out of your reveries and smile back at sylus, “that’s why, i really wanted to celebrate our two year anniversary together. i decided to start off by making some breakfast in bed for you.”

you gesture towards the desk, earning a pleased hum from sylus. “i must say, that’s very thoughtful of you, kitten. however… i hope you won’t be too upset when i tell you that the type of hunger i have cannot be satiated by something as simple as food.” he frames at your face, smirk seeming to widen when he captures a lock of your hair and twirls it against his fingertips, “in fact, what i crave for is something far more decadent.”

“huh? what do you mean?”

sylus simply shakes his head, “instead of answering with words, why don’t i show you with my actions?”

“oh… okay…?”

you trail off, feeling your lips turn dry when sylus moves down your body, settling himself between your legs as he pushes up the fabric of your oversized shirt. his crimson gaze focuses solely on you while he breathes in your scent, settling his lips against your inner thigh. keeping his eyes shut, he basks in your scent before using one of his hands to grip at the waistband of your panties.

already, you felt the moisture beginning to pool between your legs, your breathing slowly turning labored when sylus pulls your panties down the rest of the way using his teeth alone. amusement and desire paints his gaze as he meets your slicked core, taking in the scent of your honeyed arousal before delving into your walls with his tongue.

the wet muscles was felt pushing inside of you, giving you such a hedonistic friction that had to be sinful with how good it felt. your hands automatically go into his hair, and you found yourself pressing your aching sex even deeper against him. sylus was relentless when it came to tasting you, drinking up all you had to offer as he made sure that not even a single drop of your arousal fell against the sheets.

playing your body with a familiar expertise, your back arches against the mattress as your climax rushes out of you in waves, your gasps quickly morphing into broken moans of his name, earning a pleased grunt from the onychinus leader.

your mind was in a daze after such an intense release, yet you remained in such a muddled state even as sylus pulled you closer to him by your ankles. rapid movements were felt below you, and when you blearily looked to the side, you felt your walls clench in response to sylus rapidly stroking his cock to full hardness before he presses his mushroom tip against your entrance.

“you drive me crazy, kitten. ever since the moment i laid eyes on you, you were truly mine.” he completes his statement by fully thrusting into you, bottoming out while setting a rapid pace. your legs wrap around his waist as you felt a newfound urgency at reaching your completion with him. the squelching sounds of your lovemaking echoes throughout the room while sylus continues to press lingering kisses against your damp skin all while hotly whispering into your ear-

“happy anniversary, sweetie… let’s celebrate by never leaving this bed.”

end notes: an unedited thirst post that needs to be written for all of the sylus girlies out there (⺣◡⺣)♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#sylus smut #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #my goal is to feed all of the sylus girlies tonight #lads smut #lnds smut #lnds x reader #lads x reader

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carbonfiction · 2 days ago

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Dark Desires

older, best friends dad!Logan x reader

summary: a week ago you found yourself drunk texting your best friends dad; something that should've been a mistake, but you were sure in that drunken moment that Logan would know everything you'd kept from him all those years. You'd been thinking about it for longer than you'd care to admit; adding to the fantasy. so what happens when logan finally indulges you..

warnings: Swearing, dirty talk, F!Receiving oral, PIV smut, prone bone and missionary, Somnophilla (technically??), daddy kink, roleplay?? pussy sniffing?? Kind of voyeurism? But the person is very much asleep. Also tagging this for dubcon but it’s more pre established consent/free use and slight CNC vibes depending on how you view it? Tagged this the best i believe i can but ultimately you are responsible for your media consumption.

A/N: i don't know where this came from, other than i had a glass of wine and a naughty thought. i tried real hard on this and its a little darker than i usually write- not to mention longer- but i hope yall enjoy a filth filled piece of my intoxicated brain anyway. Et voilà.

Masterlist Words: little over 4k (oop- longest thing ive ever written.. i got carried away..)

Your heart is hammering away inside of your chest so insistently that it feels like your ribs are bruised and your breasts are trying to punch their way out of your dress.

You're still wearing the stupid thing and Laura is drinking another mimosa. Part of you is grateful for that. Yet while you want her drunk and snoring tonight, part of you can't help trying to stop her.

You make eye contact, give her the look. Tell her to slow down because you two have been down this road before. She gets wild, has fun for half an hour, and then spends the rest of the night dizzy in a bathroom asking deep philosophical questions like why do my eyes hurt? And why do guys suck? And do i still have puke in my hair?

But if she's drunk tonight, just enough to sleep like the dead, then what?

You set your own drink aside to check your phone for what feels like the hundredth time this hour and lift a shaky thumb to your texts.

You've read the thread again and again and again, and still you don't quite believe it. The party swirls around you. A hurricane of sound and the smell of cocktails is sour in your nose. You feel the heat of your friends, your fellow graduates. one day lawyers, doctors, professors, professionals in their field; and yet here you are reading over the texts again.

You feel like a little girl and yet simultaneously the most grown of women because you have a secret, a dirty little secret.

You were nearly as drunk as Laura is now when you sent the first text a week ago. You were celebrating the end of finals and you were curled up in bed after a long night out.

One of your other friends had flirted with the bartender. You'd told the girl to stop and Laura had reached from her stool and pinched your leg. Asking if you'd ever needed something so badly that you actually made a bad decision.

Everyone had laughed, all except you.

You know she was teasing and complimenting in the same breath. You're a good girl and everybody knows it. Reliable, honest and never involved with the wrong kind of guys.. Always a reason to why you were too busy to bother. You were studying, too busy hanging out with Laura. Too busy prepping for school, internships and the next two decades of your life.

You're no angel, although of course, no one was. You've had your share of regrettable hookups and disappointing boyfriends, but nothing that set your world alight. Nothing worth risking anything for.

But maybe what Laura had said thread under your skin more than you'd like to admit. Maybe you were just drunk enough to ignore the obvious risk.. Or was it that you'd been thinking about him for an indecently long amount of time?

So with finals over, diploma practically in hand. There was nothing preventing years of pent up lust from sending a jolt down between your legs, setting a crackling fire in your heart and making you sweat. Dripping down your neck, stomach, that spot on your lower back, they all tingled as you crouched on the corner of your bed and wrote a single text.

You: I need something.

You sent it. Had forced yourself to before you chickened out and immediately regretted it. You thought you'd worded it in such a way that you could play it off, pretend it didn't happen.

But you were sure in that drunken moment that Logan would read those three words and know everything you'd kept from him all those years. Every dirty thought, every horny fantasy, everything.

It was all right there in the text. 2am on a Thursday night and truly it could only mean one thing. You put the phone down, tried to make yourself go to sleep.

Logan was an older man with a life. A job, house and a child- your best friend- and you were sure he wouldn't even see the stupid thing until the morning when you could say you meant to message Laura. Not him, not her father. But then you picked up the phone again, half panicked and ready to change your mind, when you'd saw those little dots.

That meant he was writing something back, at 2am on a Thursday night, either in bed or his limo.

Logan: You need to go to sleep

Of course.. Responsible. That was the responsible thing to do. And you would do just that. But first you'd just write a quick text to apologize. Say it was the wrong number and sleep this off; pretend it didn't happen for the rest of your lives.

But.. what if, for once in your life, it could be easy? What if Logan did know everything? What if.. There was something else? Because that was how this all started, hadn't it?

You'd always felt something more, saw something different in his worn eyes, his gruff demeanor. Heard something he was saying when he really wasn't saying anything at all.

Or.. Was it all in your head? Was this only ever a one way infatuation? A young woman's crush, a dark fantasy that only grew darker with each new kink you discovered in yourself? Losing all confidence, you texted back.

You: sorry. Wrong number.

And that was that- or it should've been that- If it was only ever a one way street. You put the phone down, tried desperately to keep your eyes closed, but the moment you heard the phone buzz again you peek.

Logan: Is that true sweetheart?

Oh no, no. it wasn't true at all. You knew he knew exactly who'd texted and why; what you wanted him to do. You'd been thinking about it for years. Adding to the fantasy. Soaking your sheets in the middle of the night when you couldn't sleep, all that brought a temporary relief. If only for a little while; So, you text back.

You: No

Just that. A simple No.

Logan: You telling a lie?

You: Not exactly

Logan: So you wanted my attention then?

You: Wanted? No Logan.. Need.

And yes, you know need is a very strong word.

Logan: You feel very strongly about that huh? Strong feelings can be dangerous sweetheart.

You: what if i want something dangerous.

You answered back with the most honest thing you could say. And then there was a pause, a very long pause, in which you could see no dots, and even started to wonder if he'd abandoned you. Left you on read.

A thousand images erupted in your mind, different versions of him sitting and staring at your number- your words. Those cheap reading glasses perched on his nose as he wondered if this was some kind of game.

But if it was a game.. Logan was ready to play and after a few minutes your phone dings again.

Logan: you're being a real bad girl tonight, aren't you?

And then it wasn't your best friend's father you were texting. Well, it very much was- that was the crux of it, wasn't it? But now it was also the man. The man on the other side of the phone who was paying close attention.

You: Yes, daddy. very, very bad.

Now, In the darkness of his daughter's room, You imagine colors swirling on her ceiling. Your heart restless like a caged animal and there is a knot in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter by the second.

You don't know how long you've been lying here. 5 minutes or 5 hours. But you know you can't possibly wait another moment... But then you do, because you have to.

You haven't heard from Logan all day and that makes you afraid. Really genuinely afraid that He's forgotten or changed his mind.

Because, well, it's just you and Laura in here, isn't it? You're lying on the floor, a lumpy pillow under your head, and a spare, slightly musty blanket folded under your breasts.

Laura is snoring away in her bed, her limbs tangled with a stuffed animal almost the size of her- one you'd won her from a carnival. It was like old times, she slurred drunkenly. The three of you huddled together in her bed, giggling and watching some crappy reality show.

She'd tried to get you to join her and the animal in the bed, but you'd said no. Insisted that it was too hot tonight. That you'd rather be able to spread out on the floor. Fortunately, by the time you made it up to Laura's room, she was too far gone to argue.

Unfortunately, now though, there's a very drunk girl in her bed beside you, a possible witness to your depravity. And so you lie there, staring at the ceiling and forcing yourself not to text. Not to call. To just ignore the nagging doubt in your gut.

And yet again, you still find yourself opening the text thread. Reading through the things you told him, the things he'd told you. A formed plan and line after line of you promising things. All of the 'Yes, daddy I want this' the 'Please do that to me' The repetitive 'ill be a good girl, Promise' And then, at the very bottom, a safe word. It was when you'd agreed on the safe word that you knew this was for real. Not a fiction in a book or a fantasy playing out in a movie.

The word. Kitty. An inside joke from years ago. The word proof that all the little confidences and conversations held an attraction you were both willing to hide for the sake of decency

But.. you don't want to be decent anymore. You'd confided your fantasy, one that you had dreamt so many nights. Wished for it in the hot, comfortable haven of Laura's bed every time you'd stayed over. The thought of her older, attractively gruff father coming to you in the night and making you submit to his secret lust.

Of him pulling your panties to the side while Laura slept untroubled. Logan ravishing you while you whispered and mewled 'please, daddy, make me your filthy slut'

You've always been his filthy slut, haven't you? Deep In your heart. The thought is turning the wet spot between your legs into a soggen menace. You've been horny before, You've been needy before, but never like this- because you've never tried something like this.

Never wanted something badly enough to ask for it; or even beg for it. This was a dream, a dirty desire, a secret yearning never to be true.

Then you'd drunk texted. You told him and he'd responded, not with shock or disgust, but enthusiasm, cautious enthusiasm. But it was still only text messages. You haven't spoken to him yet, not properly at least. Even when you saw him walk in at the party, or in the limo on the way back to Laura's. You couldn't bring yourself to say a word. Your mouth was so dry, cheeks so hot. Laura had laughed and said you were flushed in the backseat- a lightweight to end all lightweights- when in fact you haven't had a drop to drink tonight.

You're going to throw your phone at the wall, you swear it. But No, that would probably wake her up. Instead, you conclude that you're going to find your pants, and you're going to leave this house and never come back. You love Laura but you can't bear it, can't believe you trusted him with this. You can't lie here and torment yourself about your decisions a minute longer about your need.

Then, your heart leaps into your throat. phone dropping onto your chest with a soft thud. Quickly you brush it off and turn onto your stomach. Your head hitting the pillow, eyes squeezed shut and pulse racing like you've run a marathon.

Through your closed eyelids, you see the glow of the hall light from the open door, only for it to vanish moments later. Either the door has closed or the light's been turned off, but you're not sure which because blood is racing so loudly in your ears. Breath escaping in overwhelming gasps.

Do you hear calculated heavy footsteps or is that your imagination? You struggle to listen for Laura. Is she awake or still sleeping? The tension so tight in your chest that you begin to feel dizzy, almost nauseous. Then comes the creak of the floor at the foot of your makeshift bed, the unmistakable presence of another person in the room, their eyes on you.

You can't stop your body from trembling slightly as the sheet is softly yanked away. Adrenaline courses through your veins, making your body buzz with anticipation.

Your legs are bare the cool air of Laura's bedroom. You're laying on your stomach. Face pushed into the pillow, eyes clenched shut as if you're locked into a deep, drunken sleep- like you should be.

Your legs are splayed out, dark lacey panties riding up the crevice of your ass. One of your ass cheek's indecently exposed... then a rough touch caresses over the swell of that exposed cheek, two big exploring hands, gliding over you.

You hear the grunt of a man, and you know it can only be Logan. He's the only other person home.

Your heart is beating so hard you're afraid you're going to pass out. Laura is on the bed, sleeping mere feet away, and her father is groping you in your supposed sleep.

So the question becomes: are you dreaming now? or are you praying this is as far as he'll go?

when Logan pull's the fabric of your panties to the side, you know he's willing to go much further. He's quiet in the darkness around you, but he's big and the house is old; the floor creaking and groaning as he readjust's his heavy weight.

Your panties are roughly hiked over one cheek of your ass, the sound of ripping lace filling your ears. Logan's hot breath roll's over your ass and the tremble in your limbs becomes a full shiver.

You can feel his scruffy face so close to your body, Feel his nose against the crevice of your ass as he roves lower. Dipping further until his mouth- his nose - is pressed into the folds of your bared cunt.

You hear how he inhales deeply, toes curling in response. Your fingers lay over Laura's spare pillow, the case tight in your grip. He's smelling you, nuzzling against your dampening skin not once, but many times. Lewdly breathing in your scent like a dog that's found something it likes.

His calloused hands spread you open so he can breathe deeper still and when hes as deep into your cunt as his face will allow, his wet tongue slides out to lick at you. You cannot stifle your moan at the feeling, immediately biting your lip to keep from growing any louder.

But with this the culmination of so many fevered late night fantasies, you dont know if you are dreaming.

His wide tongue laps at your swollen clit, swiping open the seam of your pussy and to the point just shy of your tighter hole. You hear logan growl into your wet slit like a monster unleashed from beneath the bed. Feeling how how his licks grow stronger, longer and twice as ravenous as he steadily turn your pussy into a drooling, dripping mess.

He laps at you in the quiet darkness of Laura's room, calculated and experienced as you fight to not to cry out. The pressure of an impending orgasm building so tight in your body that it feels time you woke up.

And so you take a deep breath, a rough gasped sound falling out too. Your fingers claw at the pillow as you flex your lower half.

"Hmm?"You grumble, pretending to bat away the cobwebs of sleep. "Wha-whats happening, What are you doing?" You ask, voice thick with mock confusion.

Within moments you feel Logan's tongue retreat from your pussy, a weight so much heavier than your own crawl over your half naked body. You feel him pressed tight against you, still clothed if the scratchy fabric tells you anything, but an unmistakable bulge is hidden inside. Hard and large against your ass you feel Logan's arm rub against your shoulder. A big hand sliding over your mouth.

"Quiet, sweetheart" he growls in your ear. "Daddy's had enough of your teasing"

Another large hand slides beneath your sleep shirt to cup your tender tits, The nipples diamond hard against Logan's palm. You cant help but moan into his hand as you plead.

"Please. Didn't mean to tease" its a wine, petulant in tone.

"Course you didnt.. Shame S' Too late now" he whispers against your ear, teeth biting into your earlobe. The hand on your breast trails down. Right the way down to his slacks.

"B-but Laura" You warn him in a whispered panic, hearing the sound of a zipper sliding down. you struggle teasingly, hips bucking back against him. Its not enough to cause a scene or enough to wake your sleeping friend- his sleeping daughter- but just enough to make him pin your body down. Enough for you to feel a fraction of his real strength.

Logan's muscles bulge from the effort of caging you against the floor and spreading your legs.

"Nuh uh, Stay still. Stay right where ive got you" he murmurs darkly in your ear, voice a low rumble. the words fire through you like liquid lightning as you bite into his palm, not to fight but to restrain a high pitched moan that you fear could wake the neighbors- not just Laura.

"nothing you can do now sweetheart, just gotta take it" Logan says and you hear the mocking smile in the words, feel the throb of his thick cock as it emerges from the confines of his pants. "Kept telling me you were a good girl, so show me"

With your stomach flat against the ground, legs spread wide beneath him, you can do nothing but tremble as his cock slips between your legs. The cock belonging to your best friend's father sliding deliciously across that little bundle of nerves that sparks a whimper of pleasure.

Your eyes roll back as Logans hips buck, cock brushing your clit again, running up and down your slit torturously slow. "fuuuck, you feel that? How hard you've got my cock?"

You're kicking your legs now, moving your hips. It could be viewed as a struggle but its not, not really, you're just so desperately excited you can't keep still.

"Don't need to fight me baby. Just let daddy in hm? let it happen sweetheart."

And then he's pushing inside your body in one heavy thrust; slow and impossibly deep. The weight of him inside your cunt making you mewl against his palm. All the years of secret yearning, wet fantasies and subtle flirtations have all led to this moment.

It doesn't take many thrusts before your tongue is rolling out of your mouth, licking wetly against his palm like a grateful dog- a bitch in heat. You try to use it to muffle the moan that follows, a pitiful sound mixed with pleasure, like you're ashamed to be in the situation.

Used and humiliated around logans cock.

Its push followed by retreat, a half thrust and then withdrawal over and over. "So fucking tight" Logan growls as you wiggle your ass, not certain if your trying to squirm further in to his grip or out.

He's stretching your walls apart, the burn of his size delicious with each heavy he offers. Each bringing a pulsing throb on your clit. "Yeaaaa, that's it, take it like a good girl.." he groans. "S' what you wanted isn't it."

Logans right, this is exactly what you wanted and more. His body trembles atop yours from the exertion, balls squeezed against your ass, his hand on and off clenching around your breast. His thrusts picking up in pace as you struggle and squirm to keep quiet even under his palm

"L-logan" you whimper as he pushes particularly deep, pussy squelching lewdly from your arousal, his hand barley muffling the word. He knows your close before you do, can feel your cunt clenching desperately.

"Getting fucked so good your gonna cum sweetheart?" he rasps in your ear, panting into it. "C'mon, tell daddy how good his cock feels."

"S-so good.. F-fuck yes daddy, please"

You whine and It is a struggle to pry his strong hand off your mouth to get the words out.

"Go on sweetheart. Cum, coat my fuckin cock. Show me this cute little pussy is mine"

and then his big hand clamps back over your lips as he begins to fuck you into the floor. Your orgasm crashes over you in burning waves. Every stroke becoming an ecstatic agony, overstimulation starting to buzz over your bones. Its a constant struggle to hold your moans and neither of you can move properly for the risk of waking Laura .

But Logans hips remain unrelenting, Fucking you prone on your friends floor. His balls swinging, swatting unbearably at your clit with every entry. The heat of him and being trapped against the floor is almost unbearable, but so is having to keep your whimpers quiet. sweat beads hot on your brow

you can hear his own desperate attempts at staying quiet. Broken only by muffled groans, grunts of exertion, and primal chesty growls as your cunt clenches wetly around him.

Yet the discomfort of overstimulation is no match for the absolute bliss of your submission. Your toes curling so hard you're on the verge of a cramp.

The friction between your clit, Logan's cock and the floor builds to an intolerable pressure. Something must give way. The temptation to lose all control and scream his name too great. Now that possibility of you blacking out is too dangerous to ignore. So you say it the word.

"Kitty!"

Not because you want to, but because in this moment you have to. Almost as soon as the word leaves your lips and sinks into the pillow, wet from saliva and tears, you feel his body shudder. muscles seizing while a heavy groan sounding out into the skin of your neck.

"you okay?" he pants softly worry creasing his brow. "Was it too much?"

Your wordless and it worries him. Making him pull back, cock slipping free with a hushed hiss as he helps you shift onto your back, so he can look at you properly.

Your hands rise, fingers caressing his scruffy cheeks. "M'okay" you pant, eyes on him. "wasn't too much. Promise."

No, in fact, It was just right- before it all overwhelmed you that is. Now? now you just want to hold him, make love to him. Hold onto something- someone that isn't really yours. Eye to eye, your mouth slides back over his, legs spread back open, ready to welcome his length back inside. Without a word you buck your hips down, beckoning him to fuck you again.

Things are much quieter this time. Pace slowed to deep grinds rather than shallow thrusts, pleasure once again coiling in your gut as you lean up to watch his cock disappear inside.

"Feel so good sweetheart, my good girl" he coos, lips against yours as his hand slips back to cup your breast. "My good girl with a fuckin perfect body"

You keep your eyes on logan, blissful smile across your face, and for this moment he's not your best friends father. Not with the way he's gazing down at you with a mixture of lust and long held affection. "always wanted you" he whispers, hand moving back from your breast to cup your cheek. "But I would have kept that secret forever.."

You squeeze him to your chest, heart stuttering at the admission as you lock your arms behind his neck, legs tight around logans waist. You whimper back his name, a plea on your tongue.

"Want you to cum logan.. Please, need to feel it"

You want it more than anything, to feel his cum pushed inside you; for it to drip out later as a downright filthy reminder. You kiss his neck, then cheek, and finally his lips. You want Logan to claim you right here on the floor, right under her nose and you know it makes you a bad friend. Your eyes roll back, hands clawing down his chest as you feel yourself giving up all thought to the rush that flows down the center of your body. The one that begins and ends in the wet, sticky place between your legs, Where the sensitive bud of your clit pulses like a dying star.

it's then he growls much too loud, and you respond back in a whimper, lips pressing tight as you cum together in panted kisses. Him pumping hot heady ropes of cum inside your cunt without reservation or regret as you clench in a vice grip around him.

Tomorrow you will be sore, you know it for a fact. But Tonight.. Tonight You can revel in a fantasy made flesh, your flesh and Logans wrapped around each tight. You drag weak fingers down through his damp hair, then his back, feeling the way his shirt is soaked through with sweat.

Logans panting has subsided by now, breaths no longer crackling besides your ear. He plants mouthy kisses at the juncture of your neck, ever so gently, like a sated wolf nuzzling at the muzzle of his mate. You giggle quietly as those kisses grow fiercer, teeth nipping at your neck.

"my good, great, naughty girl" he murmurs against your skin, voice soft. "you feeling okay sweetheart? sure it wasn't too much?"

You nod and he can feel the enthusiasm seep from the move as you grasp his face again. "Mhm, better than okay. Was perfect" you hum sleeplily, content in his hold, in the scent of him. Your eyes flutter, lashes tickling his cheeks as you kiss him long and deep, until the rub of his beard hurts your face and sleep begins to take you under.

You both know tonight was the culmination of so many fevered dreams. The breaking point of lust and its power that can't be fully expressed in words. So he holds you close- just as you do him in your rest- for a little while longer, until light begins to filter soft through the curtains and the reality of what you'd both done really begins to set in.

thats it!! lemme know what you thought anddddd yea! asks are always open to shoot the shit, drabbles and more! <333

#carbonsfics #old man logan #logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #dark logan howlett #dark wolverine #oldman logan howlett #logan 2017 #logan x reader

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lixiemissexotic · 2 days ago

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𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝗼𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐭.𝐑𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐭𝗼𝐬𝐡𝐢

Rin Itoshi who’s known for his nonchalant demeanor, his piercing blue eyes and dark hair adding to his handsome features. as a star football player, his commanding presence and sharp, dismissive attitude make him impossible to ignore. it would be almost impossible for anyone to see through his facade.

having rin’s hands tied to your bed relentlessly bouncing on his cock in front of a mirror wasn’t exactly how you pictured the night going. but you’re definitely not complaining. his pretty lust filled eyes rolled to the back of head because his pretty little slut can’t keep her pussy off him. shit, she wasn’t complaining either.

“fuckk.. just like that pretty girl” rin whispered in your ear as he trailed wet kisses all over your neck.

rin’s cock felt so good inside you, and god does he look hot. both your feet were planted to his sides and you were sat right on his pretty dick that curved so perfectly inside your pussy never failing to make you moan.

with every bounce you could feel his cock driving even deeper into your sloppy pussy. your hands wrapped around his neck as you kept whining yourself on his cock.

“this dick is all mine, ffuckk… you feel so good baby” you babbled, to cock drunk to even comprehend what was leaving your mouth.

“that’s a g-good slut, c’mon let me hear those pretty moans p-please baby” he spoke trying to contain his moans.

he lived for when you rode his cock like this, he could feel your nails digging into his shoulders, the tears running down your cheeks when your head was buried in the crock of his neck, and not to mention the way your ass jiggled with every bounce.

your pussy was squeezing him so tight, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it together before he pained you insides white.

“s-slow down princess m’gonna cum if you keep this up”

at this point both your legs were shaking but you just couldn’t stop riding him, not when he felt so good. even with teary eyes and shakey legs all you could think about was how fuuking good his cock felt inside of you, how every moan that left his mouth made your pussy hotter, how he hit that one spot your fingers could never reach, and how much you know he’s gonna cum inside you.

“rin,rin,rin, i-i’m gonna cum”

“cum for me baby, cum on your dick princess s’all yours pretty”

your movements started getting sloppier and more shakey as you approached your high, “gonna be a good girl and make us cum mhm”? Rin spoke before he kissed you.

and with that both of you came. as you then rested your head on his chest.

“you did so good baby, now untie me let me fuck all this cum right back into my pussy”

#lixie’sparadise🌺#rin itoshi #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #rin itoshi smut #blue lock smut #blue lock #blue block rin itoshi #blue lock x female reader #rin itoshi x fem reader #Lix

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wonyowonyo · 2 days ago

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Whispers Through Time (P. Hanni X M! Reader)

Guess who's back, it's none other than your ghosting author wonyo! Firstly, I'd like to apologize for my very long absence as life have just been too much of a bitch for me to have the time write. I can't certainly promise to update more in the future as I only have a week break right now, which is why I was able to write a new fic. This one's about 9k words, my longest? yet, so as always I hope you all enjoy this one and I'll see yall when I see ya.

The day had started like any other. Hanni strolled through the historic district, earbuds in, a soft breeze carrying the scent of aged stone and street vendors' offerings. She wasn’t quite sure what drew her into the small, dusty museum on the corner. Something about the old sign, its letters faded with time, beckoned her inside.

As she wandered past glass cases filled with relics—muskets, uniforms, yellowed parchments—her eyes landed on an antique pendant, its silver surface engraved with intricate symbols. She leaned closer, feeling an inexplicable pull.

“That belonged to an unknown revolutionary,” said an elderly curator, appearing beside her. His voice was soft, almost reverent. “No one knows his name, but legend has it he wore this during the final days of the rebellion.”

Hanni reached out, almost without thinking. Her fingertips brushed the glass, and a sudden rush of energy surged through her. The room seemed to spin, the walls melting into a blur of light and shadow. She gasped, stumbling backward—

And then, everything went dark.

————————————————————

When Hanni’s eyes fluttered open, the air was thick with smoke. Shouts echoed around her, mingling with the sharp crack of musket fire. She coughed, struggling to her feet, her heart pounding.

She wasn’t in the museum anymore.

Cobblestone streets stretched before her, lined with ramshackle buildings. People in period clothing—mud-smeared skirts, patched waistcoats—ran past, their faces twisted in fear or fury.

“This can’t be real,” she whispered, but the acrid sting of gunpowder in her nostrils said otherwise.

Suddenly, rough hands grabbed her arm. She spun around to find a young man, his dark eyes fierce beneath a tricorn hat. “You there! What are you doing out in the open?” he hissed, pulling her into a shadowy alley.

“I—I don’t know,” Hanni stammered, heart racing. “Where am I?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not from around here, are you? This is no place for a lost soul.” His voice softened slightly, though the urgency remained. “Come. We need to get off the streets. The Redcoats are out in force.”

Hanni followed him deeper into the alley, her mind a whirlwind. The dim passage was narrow, the sounds of chaos fading as they moved.

“What’s your name?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced back, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You can call me Y/n.”

————————————————————

Hanni followed Y/n through a maze of twisting alleys, her heart hammering in her chest. Every echo of musket fire or distant shout sent shivers down her spine. The air was thick with tension, the kind of fear and resolve that seemed to hang over the entire city.

Finally, Y/n stopped in front of a nondescript wooden door, its surface worn and weathered. He knocked three times in a specific rhythm. After a moment, the door creaked open, and a pair of wary eyes peered out.

"Another stray?" the man behind the door muttered, his voice gruff. He was older, with a scar running down one side of his face.

"She was wandering in the streets," Y/n replied, pushing the door open further. "We couldn't leave her out there."

The man sighed but stepped aside, letting them in. Hanni followed Y/n into the dimly lit room. It was small and crowded, with a handful of people huddled around a makeshift table, their faces lined with exhaustion. Maps and documents were spread out before them, illuminated by the flickering light of a single candle.

"Stay here," Y/n whispered, guiding her to a corner. "Don't draw attention to yourself."

Hanni nodded, sinking onto a tattered blanket. The reality of her situation was starting to sink in. This wasn't a dream. She had somehow been transported back in time, into the heart of a revolution. She watched as Y/n joined the others at the table, his expression serious as they spoke in hushed tones.

For a moment, she just observed him. There was a quiet intensity about him, a determination that seemed to burn beneath the surface. His clothes were worn, his face smudged with dirt, but his eyes—deep and fierce—were filled with a kind of resolve she'd never seen before.

————————————————————

After what felt like hours, Y/n returned to her corner, sinking down beside her. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but his eyes were sharp and watchful.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice soft but edged with tension.

Hanni nodded. "I... think so. I still don't understand how I got here."

Y/n studied her for a long moment, his gaze narrowing. "You keep saying that. What do you mean you don't know?" His tone was laced with suspicion now.

She hesitated. "It's... complicated. I come from a different time. A different world."

His eyes widened, and he leaned back slightly, as if she might be dangerous. "What are you talking about? Is this some kind of trick?" His voice rose slightly, drawing the attention of a few others in the room.

"No!" she whispered urgently, glancing around. "I know it sounds impossible, but it’s the truth. I was... in a museum, looking at an old artifact, and then... I woke up here."

Y/n's brow furrowed, his jaw clenched. "A museum? What kind of nonsense is that? You expect me to believe you came from... the future?"

Hanni swallowed hard. "Yes. I know how it sounds, but I swear, it’s true."

For a moment, he just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then he laughed bitterly. "People are risking their lives out there, and you think this is a game? Some story to entertain us?"

"It’s not a story!" Hanni insisted, her voice breaking. "I don’t know how or why, but I was pulled here. Into your time. I don’t belong here."

Y/n shook his head, his eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and anger. "I’ve seen men lose their minds in this war. Desperation makes people say all kinds of things. But this...?" He stood abruptly, pacing. "You expect me to believe you’re some kind of... time traveler?"

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "I don’t know why I’m here, but... I think maybe it’s to help. To change something. Maybe even to help you."

He stopped, his gaze fixed on her. "Help me? How could you possibly help?" His voice was low, almost a whisper now, but the doubt was clear.

"Because I’ve seen how history unfolds," she said, her voice trembling. "I know what revolutions can become. What people like you can achieve."

For a moment, Y/n just stared at her, his eyes searching hers. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft. "If you’re lying... it could cost lives."

"I’m not," she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Please. Just trust me."

The room was silent, the weight of her words hanging between them. Y/n's expression was still guarded, but there was something else now—a flicker of uncertainty, of hope.

"Then prove it," he said finally. "Show me something. Anything that could make me believe you."

Hanni’s heart raced. She had no idea how to prove what she was saying. But she knew one thing for certain: she had to make him believe.

————————————————————

Hanni’s mind raced, searching for something—anything—that would convince Y/n she was telling the truth. She opened her bag, still miraculously slung across her shoulder, and rifled through its contents. Amidst old receipts and a water bottle, she pulled out her smartphone.

Y/n's eyes narrowed. "What's that?" His voice was tight, wary.

"It’s… a device from my time," Hanni said, holding it out cautiously. She pressed the power button, but nothing happened—the battery had died. Her heart sank.

"It doesn’t even work," Y/n muttered, his voice dripping with skepticism. He turned away, his shoulders rigid with frustration. "You’re wasting our time."

"Wait!" Hanni pleaded. "Even if it doesn’t work now, it’s real. Look at it—it’s made of materials you don’t have here. It has no seams, no screws. I can’t explain everything, but… you have to believe me."

Y/n hesitated, reaching out to touch the device. His fingers traced the smooth glass screen, his brow furrowing. "It’s… unlike anything I’ve seen," he admitted, his voice softer now, tinged with curiosity. "But that doesn’t mean you’re from another time."

Hanni’s eyes filled with tears of frustration. "What will it take, Y/n? I didn’t choose this. I’m scared, just like you."

The raw emotion in her voice seemed to reach him. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, the doubt wavered. "If what you say is true," he said slowly, "then why are you here? Why now?"

Hanni shook her head. "I don’t know. Maybe… maybe to help you. Maybe to change something."

Y/n’s eyes darkened. "Change what? We’re fighting a losing battle, Hanni. Every day, we lose more people. Hope is a dangerous thing here."

"But it’s all you have," she whispered, stepping closer. "You have to believe there’s a future worth fighting for."

For a moment, their eyes locked, and the tension between them shifted. The room seemed to shrink around them, the sounds of the rebellion fading into the background.

"You speak like someone who knows what we’re fighting for," Y/n said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you don't know our pain."

"I know courage," Hanni replied, her voice steady. "I see it in you. In all of you. And I know that what you’re doing matters."

Y/n’s expression softened, the walls he had built around himself beginning to crack. "You really believe that?"

"I do," she whispered.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Y/n nodded, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. "I don’t know if I believe your story," he said finally, his voice low. "But I believe in you."

Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them—a fragile connection forged in the chaos of war.

————————————————————

The days passed like they were suspended in time, quiet moments broken only by the distant sounds of musket fire or the hushed whispers of rebels making plans. Hanni found herself swept deeper into the daily life of the revolution, but it wasn’t just the work that kept her there. It was the people. The people, and him—Y/n.

At first, it was the small things. He would catch her eye across the room and offer a slight nod of acknowledgment. There were moments when he would pause, as if considering saying something, but would always retreat back into himself, slipping into the shadows like he had before.

But each time, Hanni noticed. And slowly, his distant manner softened, though she could never quite understand why.

Her days were spent helping wherever she could. She learned how to prepare simple meals with the limited supplies they had—using techniques she never thought she’d need to know. When rebels returned from the front lines, bloodied and tired, she assisted in patching wounds and soothing the pain as best as she could with the little medicine they had. The acts were small, but the trust the rebels placed in her gave her a sense of purpose she hadn't expected.

Y/n, too, would linger on the outskirts, watching her in quiet contemplation. He would never ask her to do anything, but there was a silent appreciation in the way he observed her, a sense of something building just beneath the surface. Sometimes, he would glance her way, his expression unreadable, as though he was trying to piece something together.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching her, not just with his eyes but with something deeper, something more searching.

And yet, every time she saw him, Hanni was reminded of the truth she had buried deep in her mind. This wasn’t her world. These weren’t her people. And no matter how strong her connection with Y/n felt in the moment, it was all doomed to end the second she returned to her time.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care for him—it was the opposite. The more she saw of him, the more she understood his burdens, the more she felt for him, the more she realized how dangerous it was to get involved with someone in this time. How could she love someone who would never truly know her, who would never understand the world she came from?

Y/n’s life was a war. His fight was for something that might never be realized, something that could be extinguished by the very forces he fought against. What could she give him, knowing she didn’t belong here, knowing that every action she took would only alter their fate?

Her thoughts were spiraling when she found herself once again standing alone by the window of the safe house, staring out into the dark, wondering about the future.

She wasn’t even sure if she could call it "home" anymore. The longer she stayed, the more she learned, and the more she felt like she was betraying the very people who had taken her in. And Y/n—Y/n made everything feel more complicated.

It wasn’t fair to him. She was a ghost in his world, and she couldn’t even promise him a future. She’d always known she’d have to leave—whether she figured out how to go home or simply faded out of their history entirely. But the longer she stayed, the harder it would be to leave. It was only a matter of time.

Y/n found her there, his footsteps quiet on the stone floor. He said nothing at first, simply stood beside her, gazing out at the same starry sky that stretched endlessly above them.

Finally, it was Hanni who broke the silence. "You’re always so quiet," she said, her voice soft but carrying the weight of the question. "Don’t you ever get tired of keeping everything inside?"

Y/n’s eyes shifted to her, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he masked it with that same distant expression. He didn’t speak at first. Instead, he looked down at his hands, turning them over in his lap, as if weighing her words carefully.

"It’s easier that way," he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. "If you don’t say anything, they can’t use it against you. If you don’t let anyone in..." His words trailed off, and he fell into silence again.

Hanni wanted to say something, to offer some comfort, but she found herself too tangled in her own thoughts. There was something about him, something in his sadness that mirrored her own confusion. She wanted to understand him, to help him bear his burden, but the more she understood, the more complicated it became.

"Is it... that bad?" she asked softly, stepping closer to him. "The fighting, I mean. The way you’re always running, always looking over your shoulder?"

Y/n’s jaw clenched at her question, and for a moment, it seemed like he might shut down completely. But instead, he spoke again, though it was with a far-off look in his eyes—a look that seemed to carry years of loss, of moments he couldn’t forget.

"It’s not just the fighting," he said, his voice tinged with a quiet sorrow. "It’s the loss. It’s losing people, watching them fall one by one and knowing you couldn’t do enough. And it’s the guilt." His eyes met hers for the first time in what felt like forever, and there was a vulnerability there, raw and painful. "That’s what it is. The guilt. Because you can never do enough."

The weight of his words hit Hanni harder than she anticipated. She hadn’t been prepared for this side of him, the one he kept hidden beneath the steely resolve. There was so much pain, so much history she could never fully understand, no matter how hard she tried.

Her heart ached at the thought of the sacrifices he’d made, the endless battles he fought, and the people he had lost. But it wasn’t just sympathy she felt. It was a connection—a longing to help him, to take away some of that burden.

She stepped closer to him, her hand gently resting on his arm. "You don’t have to carry all of this alone," she murmured, her voice tender. "I’m here. I know it’s not much, but I’ll be here for you. If you need to talk, or just... have someone listen."

Y/n looked at her, his eyes softening for a brief moment. She could see the hesitation in him, as if he were unsure whether to accept her offer or push her away. But in the end, he didn’t pull back. He let her hand stay there.

Hanni didn’t know what else to say, so she simply stood there with him, offering him the silent support he didn’t know he needed. She wasn’t sure what would come next—whether he would open up or retreat even further into himself—but for now, she was content to simply be there, offering whatever comfort she could.

After a long pause, Y/n finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Hanni. I... I didn’t expect this. But it means more than I can say."

She gave him a small smile, her heart feeling lighter. "It’s nothing. You’ve been through so much, and I... I don’t know how to help, but I want to try."

For a long while, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the quiet hum of the night around them. And in that silence, they shared something unspoken—a brief moment of understanding, of connection, where the world outside seemed to fade away.

Y/n stood up slowly, as if considering his next words carefully. He didn’t speak, but there was a softness in his gaze as he looked down at her. Without saying anything more, he reached out, giving her a gentle, reassuring touch on the shoulder before turning back toward the door.

"Rest," he said quietly. "We have a long road ahead."

As he left, Hanni lingered by the window, looking out at the stars, a quiet ache in her chest. She wasn’t sure what the future held for her, for them, but in that moment, she knew one thing—she would stand by him, no matter what came next.

————————————————————

The safe house was quiet, save for the soft rustling of fabric as rebels settled in for the night. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, the warm glow offering a sense of fragile peace in a world that had long forgotten calm.

Hanni sat alone in the corner, her knees tucked up to her chest, gazing into the dying flames of the hearth. Thoughts swirled in her mind, all tangled up in the confusing mess of her emotions. The more time she spent with Y/n, the harder it became to ignore the deepening bond between them.

She couldn’t lie to herself. She cared for him—perhaps more than she was willing to admit. But that didn’t change the fact that she was from the future, a stranger in this time. How could she possibly belong here, in a world she didn’t understand, with someone who could never understand her?

And yet, in moments like these—when the world outside was chaos and the people around her were fighting for survival—Hanni found herself leaning into something she hadn’t expected: connection.

Y/n had become something more than just a revolutionary leader to her. He was a person—a person with fears and dreams, someone who wore his pain on his sleeve when no one was looking. There was so much she wanted to ask him, to know about his past, his life before the rebellion. But she also understood that there were things he could never say. Some scars went too deep to be shared so easily.

The sound of soft footsteps broke through her thoughts, and she looked up to find Y/n standing in the doorway, his figure silhouetted against the darkness beyond.

"You’re still awake," he said, his voice low and steady, though there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.

Hanni nodded, offering him a small, uncertain smile. "Just thinking," she said quietly. "It’s hard to sleep sometimes, with everything that’s going on."

Y/n didn’t reply immediately, stepping further into the room and sitting across from her. His gaze was soft but intense, studying her as though trying to read the thoughts behind her guarded expression.

"You’re still thinking about everything, aren’t you?" His words weren’t accusatory. They were simply a statement of fact.

Hanni hesitated, then sighed, pulling her knees closer. "I don’t know how to stop. This place, this time... it feels like I’m caught between two worlds. One that I don’t belong to anymore, and one that I can’t quite seem to find my way into."

There was a long pause before Y/n spoke again, his voice quiet but warm, as if he understood the weight of her words in a way that no one else could. "I know how you feel. Being stuck between two places. Torn between your past and your future."

Hanni’s heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure if he meant it in the way she thought, or if it was just a way to connect. Either way, it felt like an opening—an invitation to say more, to let him in.

"I didn’t think it would be like this," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t think I’d get attached. To you, to all of this. But I have. I��ve seen how you lead, how you fight. How much you care. And I’ve started caring, too. But I can’t..." She faltered, shaking her head, as if the words weren’t enough to express the conflicting emotions inside of her. "I can’t be the person you need, not when I’m from a world you can never know."

Y/n’s expression shifted then, his gaze softening with understanding. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes not leaving hers. "I don’t need you to be anything but yourself," he said, his voice sincere, as if the weight of his words carried more than just a comforting gesture. "I’ve been through a lot, Hanni. And I know what it’s like to feel like you're an outsider. But here, with us... you’ve already become part of something bigger. Part of the fight. And no matter where you came from, that means something."

Hanni’s chest tightened at his words. The weight of them settled over her like a warm blanket, but it also felt heavy, because she knew that soon, she would have to leave. Her time here, however much it felt like home, was not real. It couldn’t be real. Not in the way she wanted it to be.

And yet, she couldn’t help but feel an undeniable pull toward him. Y/n had been her anchor in this strange world, offering her moments of comfort when all she could do was stand on the sidelines and watch as history unfolded around her.

"Thank you," Hanni said softly, her voice almost cracking. "For saying that. It means more than you know."

Y/n’s eyes met hers, and for the briefest of moments, the room seemed to fall away. There were no sounds of rebellion, no distant gunshots, no whispering fears about the future. There was only this—this quiet moment where they both understood what was unsaid.

Y/n’s hand reached out then, resting lightly on hers. It was a simple gesture, but to Hanni, it felt like an unspoken promise. She didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know if she’d ever see him again once she left, but in that moment, with the quiet hum of the world around them, she allowed herself to be present. To be there for him. And to let him be there for her.

They sat in silence for a while, the tension between them slowly easing. As the night deepened, Y/n stood up and extended his hand toward her, a small, wry smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"You’ve been working hard. You deserve a rest."

Hanni looked up at him, her eyes still heavy with unspoken words. But she nodded, accepting his gesture without hesitation. She didn’t need to say anything. They didn’t need words to understand each other right now.

Instead, they stepped outside into the cool night air, where the stars hung like tiny pinpricks of light in the vast expanse of the sky. The quiet of the world felt different here—softer, as if the very earth itself was holding its breath.

Y/n’s hand brushed against hers as they walked side by side, an unspoken understanding passing between them. They stopped for a moment, standing under the canopy of stars, each of them lost in their thoughts, but also somehow connected in that quiet solitude.

"This is freedom, isn’t it?" Hanni asked, her voice barely audible, but steady. "The kind you’re fighting for."

Y/n looked up at the stars for a long moment, his eyes reflecting the distant light. "Maybe," he murmured. "Freedom isn’t always about what’s out there—it’s about what we can hold onto, what we believe in, even when everything seems impossible."

Hanni nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle in her chest. It was something she had been struggling to understand for days, ever since she arrived. Freedom wasn’t just about returning to her time, to her world—it was about what she could give in the here and now, even if it meant staying with him, with them, for as long as she could.

Y/n turned to her then, his eyes softer than they had been before. "We’ll get through this. Together."

And for the first time since arriving in this strange, violent era, Hanni allowed herself to believe him. Not because she was sure of the outcome—but because, right then, in that moment, it felt true.

They stood there for a while longer, side by side, under the vast, starry sky. The night was still, but the air between them was charged—full of the unspoken things they both needed but hadn’t yet found the words to express.

For a moment, Hanni forgot the distance between their worlds. She only knew the quiet comfort of his presence, and the strange but undeniable peace of the moment they were sharing.

————————————————————

The days seemed to stretch into one another, a mix of quiet moments and heavy responsibilities. Time, it seemed, was a constant weight pressing down on Hanni. Each passing day brought them closer to an inevitable confrontation with the colonial authorities, and Y/n’s position within the movement was more precarious than ever.

Hanni had long known that Y/n was a target for the regime. His intellect, his strategies, his speeches—everything about him made him a threat. The more she became involved with the rebels, the more she realized just how dangerous it was for him. But she never anticipated how deeply his fate would intertwine with her own, nor how much she would come to care for him.

Still, she couldn’t allow herself to be consumed by these feelings—not when she was from the future. She had seen the records, she had lived with the knowledge of how it all played out. Y/n’s rebellion, the bloodshed, the eventual collapse—she had witnessed it from afar in her own time. She knew his future in a way that no one else could.

And the thing was, she wasn’t sure how much of it she could change.

It was late one evening, after a long day of tending to the wounded and helping prepare supplies for the next battle, that Y/n found her alone in the corner of the safe house. She had been trying to make sense of everything—the war, the lives at stake, and her own internal conflict.

He stood silently for a moment before speaking, his voice low but clear. "We’re running out of time, Hanni."

Her heart sank. She had known this conversation was coming. She had felt it in the air, in the way everyone seemed to move more urgently, more carefully, as if aware that danger was circling them.

"I know," she said, looking up at him. She forced a calmness into her voice, but inside, her heart was beating faster than ever. "What are you planning?"

Y/n sat down across from her, his expression hard, but with a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "We can’t wait any longer. The authorities are closing in. The others are preparing to flee the city, but I can’t just leave the cause behind." His words were filled with resolve, but Hanni could hear the strain in his voice. He was worn down, his mind heavy with the weight of leadership and the knowledge that his own death was becoming inevitable.

Her throat tightened. She already knew what he was planning—he was going to make himself a target, sacrifice himself for the cause. He had been so sure of it, even before she’d come into his life, even before they’d shared the quiet moments they now had. He had already made peace with the idea of dying for freedom, for the revolution.

And that was the problem.

Hanni had spent days, weeks, torn between what she knew of the future and what she wanted to do to save him. She couldn’t let him die. She couldn’t. Not when she knew the kind of impact he would have, the hope he would inspire, the lives that could be changed if he just survived a little longer.

But changing history wasn’t as simple as saving one person. The future—her future—was fragile. She had seen what happened when people interfered with time. The consequences were often unpredictable, violent. What if changing Y/n’s fate meant altering everything she knew, everything that had shaped the future she came from?

She struggled to keep the doubt out of her voice. "You’re not making this decision alone, Y/n. If you leave now, if you go alone, you’re not just risking your life—you’re risking everything we’ve fought for."

"I know," he said quietly. "But I don’t have a choice anymore. If we keep waiting, they’ll find us. We’ll all be dead."

Hanni’s heart twisted. She wanted to say something, to convince him to reconsider, but she couldn’t find the words. She couldn’t even tell him the truth—she couldn’t tell him that she knew how it would end. How he would end.

She had known for a long time now, ever since she’d arrived in this time and begun piecing together the fragments of history, that Y/n was going to die in a few months. The specifics were unclear—there were no exact dates in the records—but there were enough details to know his fate was sealed. His death would be a turning point for the revolution, a martyrdom that would galvanize the people and push them toward victory. But for all her knowledge, for all her understanding of the future, it felt cruel to just stand by and let him die.

He looked at her then, his gaze steady, as if he could read her conflicted thoughts. "I know you’re struggling with this, Hanni," he said softly. "I know you want to change things. You’ve always had that look in your eyes, like you’re waiting for the right moment to fix it all."

Hanni felt her breath catch in her throat. It was true—she had never fully accepted her place in the timeline. She had always wondered if there was something she could do, some way she could alter the future to save the people she had come to care for. But this was different. Y/n was different.

"I can’t just let you die," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I know it’s supposed to happen—I know it’s part of the history, part of the plan—but I can’t stand by and watch it happen. I’ve seen what you’ll do for this cause, Y/n. I’ve seen how much you’ll give. But you can’t die. You can’t—"

"Hanni," Y/n cut her off gently, his hand reaching across the table to grasp hers. His touch was warm, grounding her. "You’ve seen the future. You know that nothing stays the same. But what I do—what we do—still matters. Whether I’m here or not, we have to keep fighting. I’ve made my peace with this. But you have to make your peace, too."

Hanni’s eyes filled with tears, though she struggled to keep them back. She had never wanted to hurt him. She didn’t want to change everything. But how could she let him die, knowing there was still time to save him? Could she really live with that choice?

"I don’t want to lose you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But I don’t know if I can change things. I don’t know if it’s right to change anything at all."

Y/n squeezed her hand, his gaze softening. "Hanni, no matter what happens, we’ve done something. We’ve given everything for this cause. The people will carry it forward. You’ve already changed the future in ways you don’t even realize. Just by being here, just by standing with us, you’ve already made a difference."

Hanni closed her eyes, feeling the weight of his words. It wasn’t just about saving him, it was about the bigger picture—the revolution, the fight for freedom, the lives of countless others. But how could she stand by and let him die?

A painful silence stretched between them, heavy with the impossible decision she had to make. Would she try to change history? Could she? Or would she accept that some things were beyond her control, that sometimes the greatest acts of love were letting go?

She didn’t have an answer yet. Not right then.

But one thing was clear—she couldn’t keep running from the future forever.

————————————————————

The days that followed were tense, as the weight of Hanni's decision pressed heavily on her chest. Each conversation she had with Y/n seemed to deepen the growing conflict inside her. She wanted to believe in the cause, to stand by him, and yet, every time she looked into his eyes, the same thought haunted her: What if I could save him?

The safe house, once a refuge, had become a place of quiet desperation. The others were preparing to leave the city, to scatter and take their fight to the countryside, where they hoped to continue their struggle in the shadows. But Y/n refused to run—not when he was the beating heart of their movement, not when he had come so far.

Hanni spent her days helping with preparations, cooking, tending to the wounded, and even assisting with organizing supplies. But at night, when the others went to sleep, she would sit in the corner, staring at the wall, her mind racing. The future was so clear in her mind—his future—and yet she felt powerless to change it. Every instinct screamed at her to act, to save him. But the question still lingered: Should she?

It was late one evening when Y/n found her again, standing alone in the dim-lit courtyard of the safe house. The sky was dark, the stars hidden behind a blanket of clouds. A cold breeze swept through the alley, making her shiver as she pulled her cloak tighter around herself.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Y/n said, his voice low and careful, as if sensing the heavy burden she was carrying.

Hanni turned to face him, offering a weak smile. “I’m not avoiding you. I’ve just been... thinking.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Thinking about what?”

She hesitated, then sighed. “About everything. About what comes next. About the choices I’ve made—and the ones I still have to make.”

The tension between them grew, thick and palpable. Y/n moved closer, his presence both comforting and overwhelming. His gaze softened as he spoke, a rare vulnerability in his eyes. “You’re not the only one carrying a heavy load, you know.”

Hanni looked up at him, her heart aching at the raw honesty in his voice. “I know. I’ve seen the way you’re torn, Y/n. I know you’ve accepted what’s coming, but... it’s hard for me to do the same.”

He took a step closer, now just inches away from her, his hand reaching out to rest gently on her arm. “I know you care about me, Hanni. And I care about you, too. But you can’t carry this burden alone.”

A flicker of warmth spread through her chest at his words, but it was quickly overshadowed by the heavy weight of the decision she still had to make. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come. How could she explain everything to him without revealing the truth of where she came from? How could she admit that she knew his future, his sacrifice, and yet still felt torn between letting history unfold as it was meant to—or changing it?

Y/n seemed to sense her internal struggle. “I’ve made peace with it, Hanni. I’ve fought for this cause, and I will die for it if I must. But that doesn’t mean I want to leave this world without knowing that you understand... what this all means. What it means to truly fight for something.”

Hanni’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to scream that she couldn’t let him die, that she couldn’t just stand by and watch it happen. But that would change everything—everything she had come to know. The future, the world she knew, depended on certain things remaining in place.

“I do understand,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But... I don’t want you to die.”

Y/n’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his hand gently cupping her cheek. “I know you don’t. But sometimes, we don’t get to choose our fate. Sometimes, the fight for freedom demands sacrifices we’re not ready to make. And when it comes down to it, I can’t regret that choice.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his conviction. Hanni closed her eyes, feeling the heat of his touch on her skin, grounding her in the present moment. His hand lingered there, warm and steady.

“I’m not asking you to accept it,” he continued. “I’m just asking you to be here. With me. Until the end.”

Her heart pounded in her chest as she met his eyes, her own filled with unshed tears. She wanted to argue, to beg him to leave, to fight another day. But the reality was clear. He was already committed. The revolution needed him. And she couldn’t change his path, no matter how much she wanted to.

The moment hung between them, fragile and delicate. Then, as if to break the silence, Y/n spoke again. “I know you want to change things, Hanni. But some things are bigger than us. The revolution... it will live on, with or without me.”

Hanni felt a surge of emotion at his words. She wanted to deny them, to argue that there was still time, that she could still save him. But the truth was, she didn’t know how to change what was already set in motion.

They stood there for a long time, neither of them speaking, just existing in the silence, sharing the weight of the future between them. Eventually, Hanni spoke, her voice barely a whisper.

“What if I can’t let you go?”

Y/n’s hand slid down to hers, and he squeezed it gently. “You don’t have to. Just promise me that you’ll remember what we’re fighting for, Hanni. Not just the cause, but the people—the ones who will carry this fight forward. They’ll need you. The world will need you.”

The finality in his voice made her heart ache. But she nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I promise.”

Y/n gave her a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, as if he knew the weight of the promise she had just made. “Then, let’s make the most of the time we have left.”

With that, he pulled her into an embrace, holding her tightly as if the moment could last forever. Hanni closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, the steady beat of his heart that she had come to depend on. She didn’t know what the future held. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do, but for now, all that mattered was the present.

————————————————————

The night was quiet, but it carried an electric tension, like the calm before a storm. Hanni and Y/n spent the evening together, talking in the soft light of the safe house, sharing stories of their lives, of the world they came from. For a brief moment, the war seemed distant. For just a little while, they were not enemies, rebels, or future and past—they were simply two people, trying to hold on to something real.

Y/n took Hanni’s hand in his, squeezing it lightly. "Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know that you’ve made a difference in my life. And in the lives of the others. You’ve given us hope."

Hanni’s eyes shimmered with emotion, but she nodded, unable to speak the words she wanted to. Instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder, content in the moment. She wasn’t sure what the future would bring, but for tonight, she was with him—and that, for now, was enough.

————————————————————

The early morning light crept through the cracks in the safe house walls, casting long shadows across the floor. Hanni had hardly slept, her mind a tangled mess of regrets and what-ifs. She watched as the rebels moved quickly, preparing for their final stand. It was no surprise that the colonial forces were on their way—she had known it was coming, but knowing something in advance didn’t make it any easier.

Y/n moved among the rebels, his presence as steady and commanding as ever. He issued orders, encouraging those around him, all while maintaining a calm demeanor that belied the tension thick in the air. Hanni watched him closely from across the room. In his every movement, she saw the gravity of the choices they were all facing. And, for the briefest of moments, their eyes met.

A fleeting glance. But in it, Hanni saw everything that had brought them together, everything that would be lost, and everything she had yet to say. The things she should have said long before this moment.

Suddenly, the sound of distant explosions broke the morning silence, followed by a sharp, nerve-wracking crackle of gunfire. The colonial forces were moving in earlier than anticipated. Panic erupted in the safe house. The rebels scrambled, gathering their weapons and preparing to defend the position.

But Y/n was steady in the chaos. His voice was firm and unshaken as he directed everyone to their positions.

"Hanni," he called, motioning her over. His tone was different now, focused, but still carrying the same warmth that had drawn her to him since the beginning. When she approached him, he pressed something into her hand—a small, leather-bound journal, its edges worn from years of use.

"Keep this safe," he said, his voice low. "It contains everything—our plans, our hopes, our dreams for the future. Make sure it reaches the right people. They’ll need it when the time comes."

Hanni’s breath caught in her throat as she held the journal. It wasn’t just a record of their efforts; it was his legacy, a testament to everything he had fought for. Her fingers closed around it, but the weight of it felt like a burden, heavier than she ever imagined.

“Y/n,” she whispered, almost desperate. “Please, there has to be another way. This doesn’t have to happen.”

He met her gaze with an almost imperceptible smile, but it was tinged with sadness. The flicker of pain in his eyes only made her heart ache more.

"You know there isn't," he said softly, the finality in his voice cutting through her protests. "But you've given me something I never expected to find in all of this chaos. A reason to believe that the future will be better than the present."

The sounds of fighting grew closer, the outside world closing in on them. The air was thick with urgency.

"You need to go," Y/n said firmly, pushing her gently toward the back exit. “The others will make sure you get to safety.”

Hanni froze. Every part of her screamed to stay. To fight alongside him. To change the course of history. She had always thought she could do that, thought she could somehow fix it all. But now, in this moment, she knew the truth. This was how history had to unfold.

“I won’t forget,” she said, her voice trembling as tears filled her eyes. “I won’t let anyone forget what you fought for.”

Y/n stepped closer, pulling her into a tight embrace. His arms were warm, protective, but in that moment, it felt like he was offering her his last piece of peace. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a soft, lingering kiss.

But then, almost instinctively, Hanni tilted her head upward, and Y/n's lips met hers in a kiss that was both gentle and desperate. It was a kiss filled with the weight of everything they had been through, everything they would never have, and everything they could never say aloud.

For that brief moment, the chaos of the world around them faded. The sound of explosions, the gunfire, the inevitable future—all of it disappeared as they held on to one another. The kiss was their way of defying fate, of letting the world know that, despite everything, they had each other for just a few seconds longer.

When they finally pulled apart, the sadness in their eyes spoke volumes. There were no words left between them. Just the quiet understanding that this was it.

“Live, Hanni,” Y/n whispered, his breath warm against her cheek. “Live and make sure our fight wasn’t in vain.”

The door burst open then, rebels rushing in with news of the advancing enemy forces. Y/n’s expression hardened, and he turned to face his destiny, his posture resolute.

Hanni’s heart shattered as she was pulled away by another rebel, her eyes never leaving Y/n until the very last moment. She wanted to scream, to rush back to him, but she knew it was too late.

She fled through the dark alleys, clutching the journal to her chest, her mind a blur of grief and guilt. The sound of gunfire echoed in the distance, growing louder. She could already see the outcome, hear the cries of victory and defeat. She had read about this moment in history—she knew what would happen.

And, sure enough, it was only hours later that the news reached her. Y/n had made his last stand against the colonial authorities. He had fought with everything he had, holding the line long enough for others to escape. But he was gone now. A martyr. A hero. And yet, to Hanni, it felt like the world had just lost someone who still had so much more to give.

————————————————————

Hours passed. The safe house she had been led to was empty, save for a few other survivors. But Hanni couldn’t rest. Her fingers trembled as she opened Y/n’s journal, her heart racing as she began to read.

The pages were filled with his thoughts, his hopes, his dreams for the future. The pages chronicled not just the rebellion but the man he had been. He spoke of the reasons he fought—of his memories of his family, his longing for justice. He had written about her, too, about the unexpected presence she had brought into his life. Hanni’s heart stuttered as she read his words, feeling the weight of what he had shared with her.

“I never thought I would find someone like you in the midst of all this,” one line read. “But now, in these final moments, I know I’m not fighting just for the cause. I’m fighting for something more. For the people I care about. For the future we dream of.”

The realization hit Hanni with the force of a tidal wave. Despite everything, despite her best efforts, she had failed to save him. And yet—she was determined now. Y/n’s memory, his fight, would not be lost.

Hanni wiped her tears away and stood, holding the journal close. The mission wasn’t over. The cause wasn’t over. She would make sure of that.

————————————————————

Hanni’s resolve only grew stronger as she helped the remaining rebels organize. She used the knowledge from the future to guide them, helping them evade capture and stay one step ahead of the colonial forces. The sense of urgency never left her. Each day, the walls seemed to close in tighter. But the more she worked with the rebels, the more she saw the spark of something she hadn’t expected to find—hope. She saw the people who had once been fractured, now united, pushing forward toward freedom.

Despite the growing danger, Hanni remained close to Y/n’s former comrades, trying to ensure that his memory lived on in every small victory they achieved.

But eventually, it was clear that history would not be denied. Y/n’s death had set a course that Hanni couldn’t alter. No matter how many lives she saved, no matter how much she fought to change the outcome, there was no escaping the truth.

Y/n’s last stand had come. It had been brutal and tragic, but it had been the catalyst for the revolution to ignite across the country. Though Hanni’s heart shattered, she came to understand that some events, no matter how much we want to change them, were simply meant to unfold as they did. She had tried to rewrite history, but there were forces beyond her control—forces of sacrifice, of fate—that could not be avoided.

————————————————————

In the end, the country achieved its independence, though it came at an unimaginable cost. Hanni returned to her own time, forever altered by the journey she had taken. She had seen the complexities of history, felt the weight of decisions that shaped the future, and understood the sacrifices made by those who fought for freedom.

As she reflected on everything that had happened, Hanni realized that she had learned one of the most difficult lessons of all. The past, for all its tragedy, could never be fully rewritten. And yet, it had taught her something about the power of memory and legacy. Y/n’s fight had not been in vain. His ideals, his vision for a better world, would live on, even if he was gone.

The revolution had succeeded. And in the end, that was all he had ever wanted.

The country, though scarred, had risen from the ashes of conflict to begin anew. It was a fragile peace, but a peace nonetheless. Hanni, now back in her own time, stood at the edge of a quiet city park, gazing at the horizon as the sun dipped below the skyline.

In her hands, she still held Y/n's journal, worn and weathered by the years, but treasured more than any other possession she had. The ink had faded in places, but the words—the hope, the passion, the love for a future he would never see—remained vibrant, echoing in her heart like the pulse of a song she couldn’t forget.

Her eyes wandered to a statue in the distance, a figure standing tall, gazing forward as if daring the world to challenge it. It was a monument dedicated to the revolutionary leader who had sparked a movement that changed everything. His name was etched into the base, and while she knew it was not her place to add her own, she thought of Y/n every time she passed it.

She remembered the kiss they had shared in those final moments, the quiet promise she made to him—to live, to fight for the future he had dreamed of. She hadn’t been able to change history, but she had witnessed the change he had ignited, and that, in its own way, had been enough.

As Hanni turned to leave, the faintest sound of a melody reached her ears. It was soft, carried by the breeze—an old song, one she had heard countless times in the rebellion’s safe houses. She smiled softly to herself, knowing the song was still alive, still being sung by those who had inherited the dream Y/n and so many others had fought for.

She walked towards the source of the music, finding a small group of people gathered near the park’s center. There, under the shade of an ancient oak tree, a young couple danced. Their movements were slow and tender, as if the world had slowed just for them. A feeling of nostalgia tugged at Hanni's heart.

One of the dancers caught her eye, and the smile that spread across his face brought a lump to her throat. He was holding a violin, playing the melody that had so often comforted them in their darkest days. And there, standing beside him, was a woman who resembled someone she had once known. The woman’s eyes, shining with tears and joy, were filled with the same hopeful spirit that had driven Y/n all those years ago.

The music swelled, and the couple danced with abandon, as if the past had finally given them room to breathe. Hanni closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sound of the violin and the warmth of the evening wrap around her like a blanket.

In that moment, everything felt right. Her journey had not been in vain. She had seen the ripples of history that were shaped by the sacrifices of those who had gone before. And while she could never undo the pain of Y/n’s loss, she knew that his fight had planted the seeds for something greater than himself.

The world had continued. His world had continued. And with that thought, Hanni finally felt a peace she hadn’t known she was capable of.

As the dance finished, the couple shared a soft, lingering kiss, and Hanni found herself smiling through her tears, knowing that Y/n’s legacy was alive in every new life, every small victory, and every dream that carried the flame of freedom forward.

She stood for a moment longer, watching the stars begin to twinkle overhead. She couldn’t change the past. She couldn’t bring Y/n back. But in this moment, she was sure of one thing:

The fight he had started was far from over.

And it would live on, in every heart that remembered the cost of freedom.

#kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #kpop imagines #kpop girls #newjeans x reader #newjeans imagines #newjeans fanfic #newjeans #newjeans hanni #hanni pham #hanni x reader #hanni #pham hanni #hanni newjeans

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mclacedes · 2 days ago

Text

Shameless (LN4 SMAU)

1. something awful

warnings: nothing, but there might be suggestive content

summary: in which people suspect the singer Y/N Stella left the Miami GP after party earlier because of Lando

pairing: lando norris x fem!singer!stella!reader

face claim: camila cabello / kendall jenner

WC: 3.3k

✧ next up

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . MAY. 　⁺ 　 . ✦

INSTAGRAM

paddockgirl

❤️ by user1, ynfan2, landonorris and more

paddockgirl: Spotted: the ever-dazzling Y/N Stella, slipping away from Miami’s hottest ticket—Lando Norris' maiden F1 victory after-party—way earlier than expected. Draped in designer and with her usual charm, the pop starlet didn’t stay to bask in the post-win glow. Instead, she was seen hurrying off alongside Bella Hadid and Y/BFF, each departing in separate cars.

Was the night too electric, or was something more simmering beneath the surface? With those hurried steps and that unbothered demeanor, it seems Y/N was in a rush to leave the celebrations behind. No word yet on what—or who—might have prompted her sudden exit, but in the world of fast cars and even faster whispers, one thing’s for sure: the story doesn’t end here.

You know you love this,

XOXO, the paddock girl

click here to open comment section

user5: ok is it just me or she looks disturbed?

user3: ok what is going on

landofan4: WJAT IS THE MIAMI GP WINNER DOING IN THE LIKES???????? WTF

ynfan8: lando liking this means something.... right?

ynfan10: add fire to fuel lando!!! we love to see it

landofan3: god what is happening???

ynfan8: some fans (like myself) think they have a relationship

ynfan15: yeah sure if they're dating why would she leave her boyfriend's VERY FIRST F1 victory after prty tho??

landofan7: lando like this if you're going after her ❤️ by landonorris

landofan11: SHUT UP HE DID NOT

TWITTER

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

it was long past midnight on May 6th, the night after Lando’s maiden victory.

the party had been good—electric energy, laughter, your father in his element, proud beyond measure—but you couldn’t stay in that stuffy, cramped place for another second, so you slipped away quietly, not warning anyone other than andrea amd zak to step into the cool night air outside the club.

the city’s hum was faint, the night, chilly. you looked at your phone screen to check the time: 1:12am.

you quickly ordered an uber, the car arriving minutes later. as you slid into the backseat, you felt the weight of the night sinking in. your mind wandered back to Lando—his smile, the way his eyes sparkled when he took off the helmet, how he looked so free and so alive, how you hadn’t been able to pull your gaze away from him all evening. there was something about him, something that made you feel all the things you didn’t want to feel, and it was getting harder to ignore.

Lando always made you feel like he completed something inside of you, like you could sit and listen to him talk for hours, just staring and memorizing his perfectly crafted features just so you could have the chance to do it all again in your dreams—the sweet ones and the wild.

you let all your armor fall near him, you let him see you and in return he… existed; he didn't have to do much to satisfy you. and he had no idea that his "baby boss" was falling more and more in love with the person he was every day.

the uber ride was quiet, the streets almost empty at this hour, and your mind couldn’t focus on anything else except the way Lando’s laugh had filled the room earlier, how effortless he made everything seem. as the car stopped in front of the hotel, you paid the driver and stepped out, feeling the chill of the night air hit your skin.

you didn’t want to go back inside. not yet. not when the night felt like it was still unfolding. so you found your way to the hotel’s poolside, the water reflecting the soft light from the overhead lamps. you leaned against the edge, arms folded, gazing up at the dark sky, the stars scattered like whispers above you.

it was quiet here. peaceful. no one else around.

so you just took the moment in: you let out a soft breath, trying to calm the flutter in your chest.

how was it that he could make everything inside you feel so real? it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you shouldn’t be feeling like this. but every time you looked at him, every time your eyes met his, you could feel it—something more than just friendship, more than the playful teasing. it was becoming harder to hide, harder to pretend it wasn’t there.

you stayed there laid and thinking for about an hour, letting the cool air settle around you, trying to push all the thoughts of him aside, but they kept circling back. it wasn’t just the way he looked at you or how he made you laugh, it was something deeper. something you didn’t know how to handle yet. but you didn’t want to fight it either.

you were at peace until a stepping noise caught your attention.

you blinked, slightly startled, as Lando dipped his feet in the water next to you, his gaze locking onto yours with that signature mischievous grin. his hair was tousled, his shirt untucked, and there was a casual swagger to his movements, even in his slightly drunken state.

“what are you doing here, norris?”

“shouldn't i ask you that, Cinderella?” he smirked, his voice teasing yet warm, the kind of charm that was both effortless and infuriating.

you rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed the fact that you were glad he showed up. “don’t call me that, Lando.”

“why not?” he leaned back, getting comfortable. “you ran off after midnight! it's the perfect nickname actually, if you stop and think.”

“no it's not,” you shot back, the corners of your mouth twitching in amusement.

“should i stick with baby boss then?” he asked, a playful glint in his eyes as he glanced over at you, waiting for your reaction.

your heart skipped. baby boss. he always said it so casually, yet it carried a weight to it that you couldn’t quite shake off.

"it's not baby boss," you sighed, trying to ignore the way your stomach fluttered. "but whatever, I’m sure you’ll call me something equally ridiculous anyway."

Lando just shrugged, unfazed by your resistance. “it’s either that or Cinderella. take your pick.”

you shook your head, but the warmth spreading in your chest told you that, somehow, it didn’t really matter what he called you. the sound of his voice, the way he spoke to you like no one else did—like you were someone important to him—was enough to make you feel something you couldn’t name.

"you’ve really got no filter, do you?" you muttered, feeling the tension between you start to shift. there was something about him that made it impossible to stay distant, something that kept pulling you in, even though you weren’t sure what to do with it.

“why would i?” Lando grinned, unabashed. “filters are overrated.”

he turned to look at you again, his gaze locking onto yours with that effortlessly charming look that made your heart race.

you two were there, under the midnight sky, staring into the universe's infinite darkness, the soft hum of distant waves mingling with the steady beat of your pulse. the quiet was almost deafening, the only sound the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze.

and yet, even in this peaceful, still moment, there was a strange intensity in the air between you and him. it wasn’t the alcohol or the high of the night’s events; it was something more—a quiet understanding, a shared breath.

“filters exist so we don't sound stupid, or insensitive. it's made so we know what to say and when to say it. they're not overrated,” you explain.

Lando’s lips quirked up, his eyes never leaving yours. “oh, c'mon, baby boss,” he laughed, rolling his green eyes, glistening with amusement. “there's gotta be a small bit of you that's like... shameless or something.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool, but deep down, the way he looked at you made it hard to stay detached. you took a breath, the night suddenly feeling a little heavier than before.

“maybe,” you admitted, staring out at the water.

Lando shifted slightly on the beside you to get a better look at you. the warm glow of the pool lights danced across his face, softening the sharp lines of his jaw and the mischievous glint in his green eyes. he was so close now, his arm resting lazily on the edge of the lounger, his gaze steady on yours.

“then, quick, quick. tell me something awful,” he urged again, his tone playful but low, as though he was sharing a secret with you.

you hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress. you wanted to match his energy, to keep it light, but the weight of the night and his persistent gaze made it impossible to hold back. before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out.

“lost my virginity with a guy who only did me because he felt sorry for me.”

the moment the words left your lips, you regretted them. the air seemed to shift, the playful spark dimming as Lando went still. he didn’t laugh, didn’t smirk or tease like you expected. instead, his brows furrowed slightly, and he looked at you like he was trying to piece together how anyone could make you feel that way.

“shit,” he muttered under his breath, breaking the silence. “i didn’t—”

“it’s fine,” you cut him off quickly, not wanting the moment to linger in the rawness of your confession. your eyes dropped to the shimmering pool water, the ripples almost hypnotic. “really. it’s... a long time ago.”

there was a pause, the kind that made the air between you feel heavier. Lando didn’t move, didn’t look away. when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, softer, like he was sharing something equally intimate.

“you deserve so much better than that,” he said, his words careful but full of conviction. “i mean... i wouldn’t do that to you.”

your eyes flicked back to his, and the sincerity there caught you off guard. Lando wasn’t teasing now, wasn’t trying to be charming. he meant it.

you let out a soft laugh, trying to defuse the moment, but it sounded more like a sigh. “thanks, i guess,” you murmured, your voice almost getting lost in the gentle rustle of the breeze.

Lando tilted his head, studying you for a moment longer. “no, i mean it,” he said firmly, leaning in just slightly. “you’re... all due respect, hot as hell.”

his words hit you harder than you expected. it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he said it, like he was genuinely baffled that anyone could treat you as anything less than extraordinary. you swallowed, your chest tightening in a way that made you feel vulnerable but also... safe.

“you’re full of surprises,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood again, but your voice wavered just enough to betray the emotion building inside you.

“just being honest,” he shrugged, that familiar grin tugging at his lips again, though his eyes stayed soft. “besides, you know me, Cinderella—no filter. shameless.”

you smiled despite yourself, your fingers brushing over the cool metal of the marble floor.

“what's your big secret, Norris? your awful thing,” you asked, prompting yourself on one of your sides so you could have a better look at him under the midnight hours.

did he look handsome? as usual.

his tousled hair framed his face just right, the perfect mix of messy and deliberate, matching the black dress shirt, wrinkled and unbuttoned, as if it naturally rebelled against perfection.

the soft glow from the pool lights danced over his features, catching in his green eyes and making them look impossibly vivid, like they were lit from within. his cheekbones looked sharper in the low light, and the subtle curve of his lips held that ever-present smirk, the one that seemed to say he knew exactly the effect he had on you.

“oh, so now you want my dirty laundry?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

“fair trade, i guess,” you shot back, the corners of your lips twitching into a smile.

for a second, his expression shifted—something darker, something more intent flickered across his face. before you could fully register it, he leaned closer to you, barely blinking as he moved toward you.

“what are you doing?” you asked, your voice soft but curious as your heart began to pick up its pace.

he didn’t answer. instead, he stopped once you could feel his breath against your face, his eyes locked on yours. his beautiful face was so close now that you could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw and the way his lips parted slightly as he breathed.

your breath caught with how he looked at you, his gaze intense but not unkind, the teasing smirk replaced by something that felt... heavier. his voice was low when he finally spoke, almost a whisper but laced with unmistakable intent.

“i know i’m drunk and you're my boss' daughter but... god, i wanna take you upstairs so bad. take that dress out of your body… you do things to me, y/n, do you have any idea of that?”

the world around you seemed to fade into the background, the gentle ripple of the pool and the faint hum of the city swallowed by the intensity of the moment. Lando’s words hung in the air, heavy and electrifying, as if the universe itself had paused to watch what you’d do next.

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. his proximity was dizzying, his scent—a mix of cologne, champagne, and something uniquely him—invading your senses. you tried to find your voice, but the way his green eyes bored into yours made it nearly impossible to think straight.

“Lando...” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

he didn’t move, didn’t blink, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. his gaze flickered to your lips for the briefest of moments before returning to your eyes, and you felt your stomach flip.

you blinked, trying to process the raw honesty in his words. the Lando you knew—the easygoing, cheeky driver who always had a joke ready—was nowhere to be found. In his place was someone far more vulnerable, someone baring his soul without hesitation.

“you're drunk,” you managed to say, though your voice wavered. “you don't mean that.”

he shook his head, a small, almost bitter laugh escaping his lips. “maybe i am. but i’ll still mean it tomorrow. and the day after that.”

his voice still low, intimate. his eyes searched yours, daring you to look away. “you think i haven't been biting my tongue for months? pretending you don’t make me feel like i’m losing my mind every time you walk into a room?”

your breath hitched. you wanted to say something—anything—but the truth was, part of you wanted him to say it again. part of you wanted him to act on it, consequences be damned. and that terrified you.

“i—” you broke off, shaking your head as you sat up straighter, trying to put some space between the two of you. “Lando, we can’t.”

the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smirk, but his eyes stayed serious. “why not?” he asked, his tone calm but challenging. “because you’re andrea's daughter? because i drive for mclaren? or because you’re scared?”

the question caught you off guard, and you felt your defenses crumble just a little. “i’m not scared,” you lied, your voice trembling slightly.

“liar,” he said softly, his lips curving into a knowing smile. but there was no malice in his tone, just a quiet understanding that made your chest tighten.

you looked away, your gaze falling to the water, the reflections rippling like your thoughts. “this... whatever this is—it’s complicated. it’s not supposed to happen.”

“maybe not,” he admitted, his voice steady. “but that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut, and His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the moment. you wanted to argue, to tell him he was being reckless, that nothing good could come from this. but the truth was, part of you didn’t want to stop him.

the carefully constructed walls you had built to keep your feelings for him at bay were crumbling, and you weren’t sure if you had the strength to stop it.

“lando…” you began, but he cut you off, leaning in again, his voice urgent now.

“tell me you don’t feel it too,” he said, his green eyes boring into yours, his vulnerability laid bare. “tell me i’m imagining this, and i’ll stop. i’ll walk away right now.”

you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. you couldn’t tell him that, because it wasn’t the truth. you felt it—the pull, the tension, the way his presence made everything else fade away. and now, under the soft glow of the pool lights, with his gaze locked on yours, it was impossible to deny it.

“at least admit it’s there. admit i’m not crazy.”

you looked at him, really looked at him, and in that moment, you couldn’t lie.

“you’re not crazy,” you said softly, your chest tightening as the words left your lips. “it’s there.”

a silence fell between you, heavy and loaded with everything left unsaid. for a moment, neither of you moved, the world around you suspended in the weight of the confession.

then lando let out a shaky chuckle, a mix of relief and maybe something deeper.

just as you felt his lips brushing against yours, the moment was shattered by the sound of footsteps approaching.

“there you are!” oscar’s voice called out, his tone light and oblivious.

you and lando froze, barely inches apart, before turning to see oscar standing in the doorway to the pool area, clad in a matching pajama set and a sheepish expression.

“fuck’s sake,” lando breathed under his breath, so quiet only you could hear it.

oscar’s eyes flicked between the two of you, slowly piecing together the tension in the air. “oh… uh, sorry to disturb your peace,” he said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “but… your father told me to look for you, y/n. he is worried because you weren’t in your room.”

lando ran a hand down his face, muttering something incomprehensible before glancing at you, his expression unreadable now. you swallowed hard, the weight of what had almost happened still lingering between you as you nodded at oscar.

“right,” you said, your voice a little shaky as you smiled. “thanks, oscar. i’ll, um, be there in a second.”

oscar nodded, casting one last curious glance at lando before turning and disappearing back into the hotel.

“great timing,” he muttered, his tone half-joking but tinged with disappointment.

you bit your lip, unsure what to say. the moment was gone, but the tension wasn’t. and you knew it wouldn’t be so easy to push it aside.

“umm… maybe we can do it again, some time?” he joked, his tone light but his eyes searching yours as he got up.

he extended his hand to you, his fingers lingering in the air, waiting.

you hesitated for a moment before reaching out, your hand slipping into his. the warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you as he pulled you to your feet effortlessly.

“yeah, yeah,” you replied, attempting to match his casual tone. “maybe when you’re not drunk?”

lando chuckled softly, the sound low and almost self-deprecating. “fair enough,” he said, his gaze flicking to yours briefly before darting away.

the air between you was still thick with unspoken words, but his attempt to lighten the mood was enough to ease some of the tension. even so, as you let go of his hand, you couldn’t ignore the lingering spark that stayed long after.

“i might need to get some air before i go inside... today was one of those days,” he smiled faintly, his hands slipping into his pockets.

“sure, yeah. congrats on the race, again. i’m proud of you,” you said, your voice soft but sincere.

his eyes lit up at your words, a genuine smile breaking through the fatigue. “thank you, y/n. it’s good when baby boss is proud,” he teased, a playful glint in his eye.

you rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “good night, lando.”

“good night,” he replied, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before you turned and walked away, leaving him to the quiet of the night.

as you stepped inside, your shoes on your hand, the cool air of the hall wrapped around you, but it did little to chase away the warmth his smile had left behind.

it wasn’t just his words or the way his eyes lingered—it was the quiet understanding in his voice, the unspoken connection that hummed between you. even as the door clicked shut behind you, you knew this moment would follow you, echoing in the corners of your mind long after the night had faded.

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