#but everything else feels damn near impossible

[heartshattering]

Today is an IBS flare day and I'm regretting all of my life decisions

[kateschi]

where pride meets love

synopsis: in a u.a. highschool reunion, your husband is up next in introducing his family.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: inspired by @call-memissbrightside

the gymnasium at u.a. is alive with activity, filled with faculty, students, and heroes from all walks of life.

katsuki’s standing near the back, holding your baby girl in his arms, her tiny hands clutching at the fabric of his hero uniform, her eyes wide as she takes in everything around her.

his expression is a mix of annoyance—because honestly, this whole “family introduction” thing is a bit much—and tenderness, which only those closest to him will ever notice.

you stand beside him, your hand resting on his arm, and for a split second, you catch a glimpse of something different in his usual scowl—something soft.

you’ve seen it before, but only in moments like this, when he’s looking at the little life in his arms or the family he’s built.

principal nezu steps forward with a polite clap of his paws.

“thank you all for coming! we’re glad to have so many wonderful alumni here today. if anyone with families would like to introduce them, now’s your chance.”

the crowd goes quiet, waiting for someone to step up. katsuki glares around, crossing his arms over his chest, but it’s obvious he’s trying to look disinterested in the attention he’s about to receive.

it doesn’t work, though. he feels all eyes on him, even before nezu directs them that way.

you give him a small smile, teasing him with a gentle nudge to his side. “you ready to show your family off?”

he scoffs but doesn’t pull away. instead, his gaze softens just a little when he looks down at your daughter, who smiles up at him with those same bright eyes you both adore so much.

his chest swells, and despite his usual gruffness, his pride is impossible to hide.

you feel it too—the silent understanding between the two of you, the knowledge that this moment, in front of everyone, is just another reflection of how far your life together has come.

with a sigh, katsuki straightens his back, shoulders broadening as he stands a little taller. “alright, fine. let’s get this over with,” he mutters under his breath. but then he clears his throat, lifting his chin just a bit.

he shifts his daughter against his shoulder, gently adjusting her so she’s more comfortable in his arms, and with a look at you that says, here we go, he raises his voice for everyone to hear.

“this—” he gestures to your baby, her tiny hands reaching for him in her usual, curious way—“this is my kickass baby.”

he flashes a rare smile down at her, the kind that could melt the hardest of hearts, before pulling you into him with his free arm, draping it over your shoulders.

“and this here,” he says, puffing his chest out slightly, “this is my kickass wife, y/n. the best damn woman in the world.”

you catch his eye, and for a brief moment, it feels like the whole room has faded away. there’s only the two of you, standing side by side, as he proudly introduces you to everyone in his own way.

a few of the students near the front start whispering to each other, smiles on their faces. kirishima, always the supportive friend, claps katsuki on the back, his grin wide.

"man, you really went all out with the family introduction, huh?" kirishima laughs, his voice loud enough for katsuki to hear.

katsuki looks over at him, narrowing his eyes, but there’s no malice in his gaze.

instead, it’s just the usual katsuki way of pretending to be annoyed. “shut it,” he growls, but his hand tightens around yours.

kirishima raises his hands in mock surrender, still chuckling. “I’m just saying, you’re looking like a proud family man.”

“damn right I am,” katsuki mutters, his gaze falling back on your daughter, who is now gripping his finger as she babbles in her own little way.

his eyes soften again, a rare, unguarded moment that no one else seems to notice, but you do.

you always do.

as the buzz in the room continues around them, katsuki’s gaze remains fixed on your daughter, his lips pulling into the smallest of smiles as he watches her reach for his hand.

she’s talking—if you can call it that—her baby words tumbling out like she’s already got something important to say.

you can hear the quiet adoration in katsuki’s voice when he responds to her, low and soft, “yeah, yeah, I hear ya, kid.”

you lean into his side, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders feeling like home. it’s one of those moments where everything feels right.

amid the chaos, in front of so many people, katsuki looks just like the dad you always knew he’d be—strong, protective, and completely head over heels for the tiny person in his arms.

the crowd slowly starts to disperse, some students moving towards the refreshment table, others chatting amongst themselves.

katsuki stays still, barely noticing the shift in the room. his eyes stay locked on your baby, a tiny, content smile playing at the edges of his lips.

“want me to take her?” you ask, nudging him gently with your elbow. “you look like you could use a break.”

katsuki looks down at your daughter, his arms tightening ever so slightly around her. she stares up at him, her big eyes soft and trusting, and for a brief second, it seems like time stands still.

then, just as quickly, he shakes his head, but the fondness in his gaze remains.

“nah,” he mutters gruffly. “she’s good here. I’m fine.”

you let out a small chuckle and settle against him, your hand resting gently on his arm as you watch your daughter settle down against his chest, a soft yawn escaping her lips.

katsuki pulls her a little closer, his other arm winding around you, bringing you both in.

the way his grip tightens around both of you, the way his hand moves just a little bit to the back of your neck, drawing you in closer.

you rest your cheek against his shoulder, and the sound of the crowd fades to the background.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[pucksandpower]

Meant to be His

Day 30 → Innocence Kink 💋 CEO!Lando Norris

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

Kinktober Masterlist

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

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

He’s sure it’s an act. It has to be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You. Must. Know.

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

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

Max: Dinner tonight?

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

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

He hates that.

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

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

“Yes, Mr. Norris?”

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

“That report — did you finish it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This ends soon.

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

It’s time to do something about it.

***

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

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

Then, he sees it.

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

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

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

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

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

“Now.”

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

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

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

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

“If I’ve made a mistake-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he needs to be sure.

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

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

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

You’re a virgin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His.

All of you.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with that, he pushes you over the edge.

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

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

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

But he’s not done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I … I don’t know, I just …”

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

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

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

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

“Lando-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lando … please …”

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

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

“I … I’ll quit. I’ll quit.”

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

You had no idea how much he would love it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, surprised. “Every day?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re his, and you always will be.

***

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

His child.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s only just beginning.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you do. You always do.

[reshinless]

──── point one, caught off guard.

ᯓ★ ── . summary. when you get pulled in this whole situation, maybe it's for the best, don't you think captain?

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹ director's note.. hello disciples >< will be answering asks soon, just feels like im spamming the HELL outta kinich works so LOL

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹ pairings. capitano x fem!reader

ᯓ★ ── . warnings. nsfw, lowkey hate fucking, cunnilingus, fem terms used, fem nicknames used, reader is a well-known traveler (plus is strong!), SPOILER FOR NATLAN ARCHON QUEST !!! reader strong but capitano stronger:^, reader takes commissions, low-key vision play (I'LL EXPLAIN!!), mirror sex, pwp, slight dacryphilia (shown for a literal splice of the fic)

wc: 2k ★ rated 18+

you never expected to land yourself into a situation like this . . you were a reputable hero, with a reputation that spoke for itself!

you originally hated the fatui, you planned to never ever give any of 'em mercy when you came across them. the rumors of their deeds- all of them unforgivable. the many innocents witnessed dead at the scene. stolen goods. everything you could think of.

" damn harbingers! are they trying to target us specifically?! " one of your past commissioners exclaimed. " it's as if all are damn supply is all gone! " he screams, banging a beer bottle onto the table.

you swiftly dodge the sudden shard of glass coming your way. sighing softly- " maybe . . I can try and find them myself. " a tilt from your head is apparent, he glosses his eyes over you and laughs.

" you think you could take them, really? " his hand lifts up to wipe a tear of the edge of his eyes. " . . yes. because I can."

" alright sweetheart, I get how you're pretty good at what you do . . but you can't be that sure you'll beat the number one harbinger, can you?"

" hell yeah I can! " you stood up, as he offered an impossible amount of resources, going even as far as to offer up one of his business to you—in doubt that you'd beat capitano himself.

as you followed throughout the distant trail of elemental traces throughout natlan, trying to find the abysmal saurian that had been causing your most recent commissioner much trouble before suddenly hearing voices, and getting sucked into a different environment.

your head ached, as you opened your eyes—the night kingdom?! remnants of livid souls whispered and wailed. quickly analyzing your surroundings, it was almost as if no one else was there before a voice materialized behind you. "so you . . are the rumored hero. aren't you? quite beautiful I must say."

your features were unseen to him in all his years of exploring the past of the lands all over the home you all call teyvat (or at least for the year being)

"you must be . . a harbinger, right? those badges on your uniform aren't just given to anyone." your eyes scan him briefly before a scoff leaves your lips. "a smart princess. yes, I am." a smirk from behind the shadows of his headwear grew.

"hmm, i must say, i did not expect such a refined lady behind all the recent rumors or who had been taking out my troops." he hummed. "not that it's bad, don't get me wrong." he took slow steps near you

"how about.. you join my cause, pretty? I'll make sure that the nation is safe right by your side, and as well as the others." he reaches his gloved hand out to you. you simply scorn, "join? i hate you fatui. all the same." to be fair, your impression of all of them were just loyal to their archon, as well as mass murderers with no intentions of mercy. so he nodded. "how about I show you what I can service you with? it might convince you."

in a sense, you were unsure if you could, even when your strength was undoubtedly amazing, surpassing most people. "haaah.. getting- cocky now are we, sweetheart?" a lowly gruff escapes the first harbinger's throat.

the soft plush of your thighs squeezed around his cheeks. his helmet laid out on the floor. if he kept it on he knows it hurt the pretty pussy he tried to taste so badly.

well, that brings us back to why and how you got into this position. A bit of convincing goes a long way, I suppose. (in my head i believe fully that capitano has an unironically long tongue just to give context.)

a long swipe of tongue over your clit was unfurled. another kiss to your cunt- he temporarily removed himself from the blissful taste of the entrance his tongue loved to stay so snug inside, biting the tip of his glove off to remove his glove carefully. his long digits start to replace his lips that previously placed themselves onto you.

"n.. ngh." his thumb rubbed your clit so carefully, you almost try pushing his face off, your hands attempting to grab the strands at the back of his head.

originally you were lured out by ororon; into the domain of the night kingdom. but capitano didn't expect you to be so.. enticing, and neither did ororon, even hesitating at first before actually opening the domain.

necessarily capitano didn't even hate you, no. he wanted you. "s- stop.. i don't want you.." his mouth made a pop sound when detaching itself as he smirked, warm breath felt near your cunt. "let this cunt speak for itself . . I'm spoiling you so much, my queen." a raspy, deep chuckle emits, he wanted you more than anything he's ever seen.

even once his tongue starts to slow down, you feel your hips instinctively grind onto his tongue. but he couldn't keep his eyes off you- such a pretty sight, better than a seventieth-floor view. almost with half-lidded eyes, he looked up at you- an icy gaze glossed over your face briefly.

you could feel your whines already emerge from your chest, your throat almost starting to get sore from all the whimpers of his name. you did agree on trading your assistance and strength for keeping natlan safe

he slowly reaches up from your cunt to your lips, a soft, gentle kiss, much different from how his tongue spoke deep and down below you. positioning your back comfortably onto the stone.

"s'pretty like this, aren't you?" "still- hnn.. still hate you, damn harbinger.." you wouldn't give in, not yet, but archons did he know how to pleasure a woman.

"mmf- easy now.. sweetheart." his cock almost choked- your hole barely even taking in its head. "fffuck- stop stop! hurts!" your hips jolted, and holy shit was he lengthy. and girthy. damn.

"did I now?" a genuine tone was prominent in his voice. leaning in closer, checking to see if he accidentally left any scars, or bruises. "tell me where it hurts." he licked off the essence of you on his fingers briefly before caressing your face.

he.. was much more caring than you expected. such a large, muscly man—you expected worse from him. its not even because he took pity on you either, he genuinely cared.

"i- its fine. I just- 't was something I said in the heat of the moment.. don't worry you didn't."

"and.. you're sure?" he tilts his head, clear in the icicles of his eyes that he was still worried. sure he definitely wanted to fuck but what was the point if you weren't receiving any pleasure?

"yeah, yeah I'm fine."

after thoroughly checking on you, he goes back to what he was originally planning to do. maybe you'd like this position more?

or maybe he should really talk you through it, let you know he's right there, behind you, literally.

your back against his chest—he decided on letting you take him at your own pace. his cock twitched, leaking with precum, but he knew if he wanted the best possible experience with you.. it'd be both of you being pleasured, not just himself.

you swear a minute ago he was all softie and stuff, why did he mood swing so damn hard! maybe you liked it when he basically slammed himself inside you—reaching to the very deepest parts that he can.

you were put up in a position of somewhat on all fours, yet both of your hands were up on the rock for support. capitano's words sounded tender, but his touch (for now) was not.

you yelp, every now and then taking you by surprise and grinding the very tip of his length against your g-spot.

"ssshit.. you feel so nice, princess.." the captain threw his head back, his grasp on your waist softening for the slightest moment, before returning to his usual pace.

a dried-up milky ring had casted itself around the base of his shaft- certainly making it clear for how you both have been at it.

the many times your eyebrows have knit, or the amount of moments wherein you rolled your eyes back. hell—even the rock started to creak.

shit did he just- start to rub his fingers over your clit?! "ahh- fuck, fuck!" you whined as you body slowly got even more sensitive by each second. a squealing sob escapes your throat as the fire that pooled in your stomach was only abrupt before you came onto his cock.

sitting you down onto his lap. his hand briefly reached out to pry your thighs open for him, growing a mirror in front of you, reflective and icy.

you could see how his dick bulged in your stomach, making such a pretty mark for others to see.

"no one could treat you better than I am right now, right? tell me.." his voice just as cold, whispery as the night sky idle with stars.

it sent shivers down your spine. capitano groaned at how well your tight cunt took his width. caressing the rough pads of his calloused palms over the sweet mark in your stomach.

you felt your hips giving instinctive sloppy, yet slow thrusts onto his cock. then a sudden cold grasp landed over your throat as you tried to throw your head back. just the prettiest little groan you could feel vibrate across his chest.

you could see pretty slime-like milk-colored rings stretch each time you tried to lift yourself up to use his dick to hit your spot.

he loved feeling his hands over your waist, down to your hips. "fuck," he grunted, picking you up to pin your quintessential figure against said mirror. you shuddered- feeling all the coldness on your back, spreading to every inch of your spine.

"gonna fuck you like i mean it this time, looking so desperate for my cock when you know I look in the mirror. mmf, s'dirty." holding your waist, fingermarks clear, his grasp careful not to place them on the previous smears.

his tip teased itself against your clit, carefully rubbing against it, and trusted in roughly, making you almost scream.

was he really this long, and this fast? his pace matched that of a madman on a roll. every moan you let out only happened to make him even harder. why in the hell did he keep growing?!

you felt every emotion almost all at once, pleasure everlasting and rushing through your veins. it was almost too slippery down there, shaft sliding in n' out so fast- fuck! you didn't want to admit how good he felt inside you.

he grazed one of his hands over your chest. his breathy moans, he was in love with the way your hole stretched out, and over. your body almost wanted to run away- but at the same time, you wanted more.

"t- takin' me like a good girl, mm?" he chortles, you could feel that prominent vein on his shaft, that ran down to the very base, damn it felt good. "f- fuuuck.. fuck y- you!" almost an incessant whine as you let out small mewls of his name. shit he really could do this forever couldn't he . .

every time he pounded your gaping hole, you'd yelp, was he trying to chase your hole?! you swear you head the mirror your back faced crack!

" 'tano . . mmfffuck! i- i think the . . hnnn . . the m- mirror cracked." apart from your unnecessary incoherent babbles you let out mid-sentence, the captain simply chuckled at your barely phonological words. "even better then, I'll make sure you land on something soft."

"shit," he mumbled as his hurried strikes continued, "s'tight . . fuck you trying to keep me inside you?" your clingy cunt couldn't bare to let go of him. his thumb made small, pretentious circles on your hip.

he leans in further to land a kiss on your cheekbone, smirking as he does. solely focusing on how his dick probably kissed your insides better. how sad that he could only imagine how blissful might your nth orgasm be.

the mirror continued to crack underneath the pressure capitano put into his powerful strokes to your womb. strands of your hair stuck to your forehead, while he started to kiss your tears away, he knew he went a little rougher than earlier.

he felt your nails claw, and scratch at his back. his face leaning in closer to place small pecks onto your breasts—single, separate, independent scattered everywhere.

a teetering edge—you arched your back as you came again. you could feel his sticky, goopy load shoot up into you. a loud wail exited your throat, he knew you probably felt amazing.

you slowly took breaths, exhaling, and inhaling as capitano helped you calm down. resting his hardness inside your hole for a bit 'till it softened. he rests you against the cracked mirror, checking if your back hurt, kissing your forehead.

"so, you want to join my mission now, pretty?"

[lady-raziel]

idk man i know times are hard but i can't help but feel that watcher putting all their eggs in the basket that is their own streaming service is a bad call. like sure i totally get wanting a platform where you have full control both creatively and financially but i feel they might be misjudging how much loyalty non-hardcore fans might have for what they're creating. in every internet fandom there's a subsection of people willing to pay with actual money to support the creators they enjoy, and that's what services like patreon are for. but to expect that casual viewers will sign up and pay a monthly fee to get access to just watcher content when a large portion of them were likely just watching the content because it was free and accessible on youtube assumes that someone who isn't a diehard fan won't just go "oh well" and find something else on youtube that IS still free? that seems like a miscalculation to me. the massive fanbases online content creators have may literally be only possible because the content is available to anyone-- it seems foolish to assume that every single one of those fans is going to stick around once you try to upsell them.

i hope this new venture goes well for the watcher crew. I really do. but i also know that a lot of brands and startups that bank on the loyalty they earned when their product was free or low cost and expect that to sustain them while they try to do something that historically has not gone well for the vast majority of businesses. at best, they'll have halved their fanbase by alienating those who can't or don't want to pay and made it much more difficult for remaining fans to create fandom products like memes or gifs that promote their shows on social media. at worst, they'll discover in the near future the independent streaming service model is unsustainable with only the fans they have left and by that point they'll have already deleted themselves from youtube and made it impossible to come back to the level of success they had before. any attempt to return to youtube will be an admission of a critical miscalculation and i doubt many remaining fans will tolerate the back and forth. they'll have crippled their credibility, relevancy, and fanbase loyalty over a very short period of time-- and i don't know if it would even be possible to come back and still be beloved after all that.

worst of all-- if the watcher streaming service crashes and burns after they've already removed all their content from youtube, all the watcher shows are essentially going to become lost media, only accessible via reuploaders willing to risk a copy strike or if you know someone who has a copy downloaded. given how genuinely good the watcher content is in the sea of lackluster youtube mush, that really seems like a damn shame.

i hope the watcher team sees how everyone is responding and decides to course correct before it's too late and get away with only the hit to their reputation that they've already taken by announcing this, instead of pushing forward on a path that might lose them everything instead. nothing i've said here is with any hate intended toward anyone involved or those who are excited about the new service, but this just seems like a really ill-advised decision to me.

[cherryswisherz]

neva end

toxic!paige x fem!reader

warnings: smut, dom paige, overstimulation lowkey, choking, paige manipulative as hell, they both nasty as shit

"ou boy you make me so mad, but i just come right back, it's like i can't get over you."

neva end (future ft. kelly rowland, 2012)

-

this is not why i came here. i came to end this... whatever this is. i came here to return her ipad and go about my business.

and now, here i am, ipad in hand, her front pressed to my back, her hands braced on the desk in front of me.

"y/n?"

her fucking. voice. soft and deep in my ear.

i didn't say a fucking word. i didn't move an inch. i only stood there as paige's hands moved away from the desk, now tracing her fingertips down the front of my thighs.

"you can leave." she reminded me, running her hands along the hem of my leggings that i for sure no longer found necessary.

did paige give me full range to leave? yes. am i going to? fuck. no.

i nodded, my eyes still closed, "i know."

"so we both understand what's about to happen."

"i mean there's no alot to misunderstand in this situation.." i trailed off. who would i be without my smart ass mouth?"

paige only hummed in amusement but nothing was funny right now. not with her body pushed even closer against mine. not with her fucking hands slowly pushing my skirt up.

her actions were all slow and calculated as she pushed the material to pool at my waist, exposing the poor excuse for underwear i have on.

i blinked my eyes open and looked down, noticing paiges hand sliding around over my hand that held her ipad. which she slid out of my hand in a matter of seconds.

i silently gasped when sh grapped both my hands and pulled them behind my back and bent me over the fucking desk.

my body burned as the ache between my legs grew damn near impossible to handle. especially when paige drew my feet apart with one of hers.

"if you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask." she said, her voice was almost unrecognizable, all rasp and something else i couldn't describe.

as she drew one of her hands up the inside of my thigh, i knew she had the upper hand, which just couldn't stand. "i don't." and we both knew it was a bold faced lie, given that she quite literally had me bent over a desk. but i still couldn't let her think she won. she wins everything. she doesn't get to win this.

"oh?" she questioned, running her hands over my damp underwear. "this is for someone else? because we're the only ones here mama."

i drew in a deep breath, feeling that ache between my legs grow as she moved her fingers back and forth over my clothed pussy.

"literally anyone else. " i forced.

paige only hummed, painfully fucking slowly, sliding my panties to the side and exposing me to her. then she bent over so her lips were a centimeter from my ear and said "tell me it's for me, and i'll treat it like it's mine."

bro.

in that moment i was supposed to be thinking a bout every tear i had shed because of her. every time she made me wear someone elses jersey because she didn't want people to think we were together. i was supposed to be thinking about literally anything other than her fingers inside of me.

in that moment where i was supposed to be fed the fuck up. where i was supposed to be done with the toxicity of our situationship, she had to say some dumbass, stupid ass, sexy ass bullshit like that.

i was supposed to win this time.

but fuck a W.

i want an orgasm.

"it's for you." i mumbled, hating the fact that i was boosting her ever-so-large ego.

paige didnt move. "i didnt her you baby." she said, obviously trying to prove a point.

its always about points with her ass.

"it's for you." i said a little louder this time.

i felt her hand cup my pussy, applying as little pressure as possible. "who?" she asked?

she must be one of them deaf hoes.

"you paige da-" i was cut of my my own gasp when her fingers began to rub my clit in circles. it was enough for me to raise my head a little bit before she gripped the back of my neck putting be back where i was.

"how do you want it mama?" she asked, slowing down the pace of her fingers.

"yknow how i want it p." i moaned softly, trying to remember that she hadn't even really started yet and i was acting like this.

all she said was "i do." and that put a little fear in my chest because paige never shuts the fuck up.

but that fear quickly dissipated as she slid a slender finger in me, forcing a louder moan to tumble out of my lips.

"why you wanna leave me?" she asked, hand still moving slowly, sliding in and out of me as she angled almost perfectly into my spot.

"because you treat me like shit." i bit out, deciding that honesty was probably the best policy in this situation. but then she slid a second finger into me, pissing me off, because i was trying to be mad at her. "god. i fucking hate you." i cried into the desk.

she only curled her fingers perfectly into me, making a tremor run through me. "say it like you mean it." she said, releasing my neck and gripping my hips all to deepen her strokes.

and deepen them she did. with each stroke, she guided my hips deeper and rougher onto her fingers.

i was gripping the desk under me as curse words and some more shit fell from my mouth, practically vibrating as she hit that spot over and over again.

"you're dripping." paige said almost matter-of-factly. fucking me even rougher as she stopped the movement of my hips all together and just held them still, forcing me to take everything she was giving me.

and i knew she was right. i could feel the wetness she always caused, allpwing her fingers to move in and out of me with ease.

"fuck" i forced out, trying to take deep breaths as i tightened around her.

"you still leaving me ma?" she asked moving the hand on my hip to my clit, rubbing circle that maxed the speed of her fingers.

her voice was so annoyingly sexy but i couldn't fight the shivers it sent down my spine.

"answer me or you don't cum." she ordered, slowing her pace slightly.

"paige-" i cried out, begging her to let me have this one thing.

she only pinch my clit, which made me jolt forward. "FUCK!" i screamed. "no. no i'm not leaving you. never p, i wont ever- fuck!" i cried as she sped up her pace faster than before and the knot in my stomach unraveled and all i could feel was bliss.

my eyes rolled shut and my jaw dropped as she moved her hand to the front of my throat, pulling me so my back was to her chest, fucking me with her fingers in way that can only be described as villanous.

paige wouldn't stop. she kept going as i trembled against her whispering in my ear.

"you thought you were boutta leave me? huh? you thought i was gonna just give you up?" she asked pulling her fingers out of me, sliding them between my parted lips.

"you taste that baby?" she slid her fingers against my tongue making me moan at the taste of myself. "you wanted to take that away from me?"

she removed her fingers from my mouth and moved them to my clit this time, rubbing fast circles.

"sh-shit! paige wai-" i fell back against the desk reaching back to push her way.

"nah you wanna leave people and shit." she practically growled, gripping my arm so i couldnt push her. "take it." and she continued until i came again, leaving me as nothing but a pile of skin and bones on this godforsaken desk.

and as i tried to come back down to planet earth, all she did was put my panties and skirt back in place and pat my ass.

"i don't even know you tried me like that."

this. bitch.

niyah speaks i wrote this listening to one direction

taglist: @patscorner @theriyshow @mattslolita @thaatdigitaldiary @1onescu @mrsengstler @kmoneymartini

[itgirl-111]

OFFENSIVELY ATTRACTIVE VAUNT

Why do I have to be so offensively attractive? Everything about me from top to toe is perfection. You've never seen a face as pretty and flawless as mine. No cause why do I have to look this hot? I'm fr the hottest girl on the planet. Everything about me from top to toe is pure perfection, my individual features are perfect and flawless but when they come together they are so harmonious? Like everything just fits my face so fucking perfectly like it's meant to be there. Every inch of my face and body is gorgeous and flawless. I am a walking masterpiece, I'm a work of art. Everyone is obsessed with me the first time they see me, I am so drop dead gorgeous that people literally double take and gasp once they lay their eyes on me. I mean, I'm always the center of attention because why wouldn't I be? I high key give off real main character vibes, it's like I straight up walked out of an anime. It's near impossible for someone to look this humanely beautiful but I do because I'm just too damn stunning. I literally take everyone's breath away. I am so offensively attractive, people find it difficult to not look at me, I swear all eyes turn only to me because I'm literally the most beautiful ever. It's only once in a blue moon that you'd get a chance to see a person as attractive as I am, Im once in a lifetime afterall. I get complimented every single day, I hear everyone call me beautiful more than my own name. I am too painfully attractive, it's indescribable. I'm the typa girl who you see once and never forget. I literally got everyone feeling some type of way they never felt before. I am literally so utterly mesmerizing. I got everyone simping for me fr. I'd be literally breathing and everyone would be down bad for me, Literally down bad. I got universal sex appeal, meaning everyone regardless of sexuality is down bad for me . I am so sexy people genuinely cannot get over it and everyday I just get 100x trillion times hotter. I am just sooo damn fine like I've got too pretty of a face and even more powerful vibe. I believe in my supremacy fr. Sometimes it's just so hard to grasp the fact that a person as attractive as I, is living on the same planet as everyone else, everyone is damn lucky to be born in the same generation as I am. It's ridiculous how many simps I have, like damn I really got everyone down bad for me huh. I am the pinnacle of God tier beauty and charisma.

There's something about my vibe which is just so uniquely mine, like my vibe and energy is so one of a kind, everyone can feel my vibe even before I walk into the room. I give off an expensive, powerful, hot girl vibe who straight up walked out of an anime I swear lol. My energy is way too magnetic and irresistible, it speaks volumes. My presence is literally out of this world. The way I carry myself, the way I talk, the way I do things, the way I think, the way I look, my energy, my mannerisms, my habits, all of it is way too unique to be replicated. Everyone wanna study me like their favourite subject. It's impossible to mistake me for another one, I stand out and outshine literally everyone with my beauty, charisma, and interesting personality. The fact that it comes to me so naturally and effortlessly? Even better. I've got such amazing wit and humour, I'm so personable that people genuinely love to be around me even though I may seem intimidating at first. I always know how to spark interesting and amazing conversations, I know when to speak and be quiet, I got that perfect balance between loud and quiet confidence. My intelligence and the way I keep learning new things so easily? Even hotter!. I am an ICON. My energy is actually so magnetic, I have that little something, that is just so insanely attractive and captivating that it cannot be described in words, only felt. I truly believe in my own supremacy.

[petertingle-yipyip]

BECAUSE OF YOU - KAZ BREKKER

Pairing: kaz brekker x reader

Word Count: 3,741

Summary: Getting through to Kaz Brekker is damn near impossible. One night after a seemingly rough run-in, something brings out a confession in you both. //follow-up//

You’d been in the Dregs for what felt like your whole life. Practically born into it. You always said they raised you, taught you, but that didn’t mean Per Haskell wasn’t going to get his piece. You had a contract with the Barrel boss as soon as you could read and write. That didn’t mean you understood what any of it meant when you signed.

So when you stood in his office, money in your bag to get out of it, it suddenly didn’t feel right. Maybe it was because of your loyalty to the Dregs. They were all you ever had and the tattoo seemed to burn as you thought of leaving. Or maybe it was because it wasn’t Per Haskell in that seat.

“What business?” Kaz asked without sparing you much of a glance.

His voice snapped you from your daze but your mouth felt dry. You swallowed and had to refrain from reaching for your bag. The hardest part of being a thief was the patting of your pockets to ensure you had what you needed. You always felt you had forgotten something so you needed that checklist sometimes.

It makes you an easy mark. Kaz always scolded you. He would tap your hand with the crow’s head of his cane when you started to make the move whenever you two went on jobs. But it didn’t stop him from bringing you with him whenever the Wraith wasn’t available.

“Y/N?” He asked after an extended silence.

You finally met his eyes and he stared intently. You adjusted your bag and dared a step deeper into the office so the door closed behind you.

“I had a deal with Per Haskell.” You began, trying to control your voice, but the way his expression shifted from annoyance to scrutiny told you that you hadn’t. “It was to end my contract. I hope you’ll honor it.”

“Hmm.” He lifted a brow and flipped through some papers, the material of his gloves gliding easily across the thin materials. You used to wonder how he could do everything with the gloves, especially his sleights, but it was one of many mysteries of Kaz Brekker. One of his allures, you supposed. “A fair deal?”

“No.” You smirked slightly. “The old man was desperate when it came to finding you so he took the short stick so I’d help him.”

He tossed your paperwork on the desk and his elbows rested on the surface. He folded his gloved hands and watched intently as you came closer.

“An opportunity you’d be stupid not to take advantage of.” He said simply, as if it was a fact.

You looked down at the papers, your young and messy signature. You saw the scratched out words and numbers, their replacements added with Per Haskell’s initials. You were still surprised that you had worked it out with him.

“I didn’t help him.” You added. He had to have known, even if Inej didn’t tell him. He always knew everything as far as you could tell, or he had a very educated guess at least. “Whenever he asked me to look somewhere I just wandered around.”

“Is that sentiment I hear?” He teased and you glared at him. “If you want out, you can have it. I have no intention of forcing you to stay if you have your own means.”

“Well aware, thank you.” You answered sharply. Did you want him to ask you to stay? Your brain was telling you to do something. Move closer, reach out to him, check your money. But you put a hand over the tattoo under your sleeve instead while you looked back to your contract. “Just seems unreal.” You finally settled on.

“I need a lieutenant, if you’d like reason to stay.” He offered and your eyes snapped back to him. He leaned back in his chair and offered a small shrug. The move was almost defensive, like he’d been caught. “Who else would you suggest I pick?”

“Inej would’ve been your best option.” It was your turn to shrug. “I’d need a new contract.”

“Close out that one and we’ll draw it up.”

“Kaz.”

“Yes?”

You said nothing. The hesitancy had to show in your face because he seemed to soften, a miniscule difference that you’d only notice if you knew to pay attention. And you always paid attention to Kaz.

“I’ll give you a fair deal, Y/N. You’ve earned that much, more than that even.” He said honestly. You felt the flush of your cheeks and stood at the edge of the desk. From there, you could see that his bad leg was stretched out beneath the desk and the crow-topped cane was against the desk beside him. “The choice is yours.”

“I…” You sighed, giving in to the idea and slipping your hand in your bag to your bundle of money.

Kaz smirked and you frowned, knowing you were caught.

“Still?” His brows raised. “Who’s going to rob you here?”

“You. In fact, I’m sure you have at least once.” You deadpanned and then broke into a smile. He nearly returned it. “Your lieutenant, huh?”

“If that’s what you wish.”

“Is that what you wish?”

He stood, leaning a hand against the desk as he came around to stand in front of you. You took an automatic step back. It was drilled into you that Kaz needed his space. You had once put a hand on his arm when you stumbled, your finger just barely finding the small gap between his jacket sleeve and his glove, and he jerked away from you so quick you had almost fallen again. The glare he pinned you with was so intense you kept your eyes down for the rest of the day.

“You…” He let out a deep sigh and his hands flexed. “You are more important here than you know.”

“I’m sure the others can pick up the jobs without me.”

“I don’t mean for jobs.”

“Right…” You nodded slowly before pulling out the stack of money. You held it by the end, pushing your hand forward so he could take it. “It’s all there but feel free to count.”

“I trust you.” He nodded and reached forward.

Gloves fingers grazed yours and you were quick to withdraw your hand. You watched his face for a reaction to the touch but nothing happened. He continued with his movements as if nothing happened, grabbing the contract and skimming it, while you were stiff as a board awaiting his reprimand. When he began to thumb through the money, you relaxed.

Maybe it wasn’t as bad if he initiated the contact. Another mystery.

He split the stack into two uneven portions and handed you the bigger of the two while he dropped the smaller stop the paperwork. Your brows furrowed and you took a small step back.

“What are you-“ You began but he shook his head and silently closed the distance. He grabbed your wrist and put the money in your hand. You had to clench your jaw to keep it from falling open.

“As I said, you’ve earned this.” He said pointedly. He seemed more focused on the words he said than anything else. “I’ll send Haskell his cut and that’ll be that.”

“He’ll be furious.” You reasoned. “He’ll come for me.”

“He won’t.” Kaz insisted, keeping his eyes on yours. “After what happened here, he wouldn’t dare show his face.”

“That doesn’t mean I’d be safe.”

“It’s Ketterdam. No where’s safe.” He shook his head, hands slipping from yours. You almost missed the feeling of his gloves. “At least here, you’ll have people who care about what happens to you.” He leaned onto the desk behind him.

“You mean Jesper and Nina.” You answered, burying the sadness that rose when you knew he likely didn’t include himself in that.

“Everyone here will watch your back, Y/N. As I’ve said, your presence matters here.”

“Will you?” You asked before you could think the question through. “Watch my back, that is.”

“Haven’t I always?”

“You call me a pigeon whenever you can.” You deadpanned again.

“Then stop patting your pockets when we’re on a job.” He retorted and it almost sounded playful.

“I tried!” You exclaimed and threw your hands forward. “I can’t help the dread that I’ve forgotten something.”

The cursed expression that bordered a smile and smirk crossed his features. His arms came across his chest and he leaned closer to you. “What do you say then?”

You chewed your lower lip in thought. You had no real plan as to what to do when you left so would staying be that bad? And it was Kaz asking you to stay, after all. Not Jesper or Nina, not even Inej. Kaz.

“The deal is the deal.” You nodded and he smirked proudly.

That interaction had been years ago. You signed on as Kaz’s lieutenant and you two had been working together in the time since. Inej came through occasionally and when she did, Kaz left you in charge. It was always a bit of a sting when he went off to spend a few days with her, but she was his first love. You knew that much, whether the stubborn bastard would admit it or not.

You also came to learn that Kaz had an overall aversion to physical touch. He admitted to you one night when you two were alone, staking out some target for some heist he had planned. You made an off-hand comment about the gloves or the coat even in summertime and he gave a brief, almost strangled reason. He didn’t say when it started or why it started, just that he’d rather die.

However, you noticed you had won small victories. With a barrier, of course. He offered you his hand to get up from your seat or to climb up or over something. If you two were assuming the role of a couple, he let you put your arm through his. His hand would rest featherlight against your back when you two passed through tight quarters so you wouldn’t be separated. He once even let you put your head on his shoulder when you were holed up in a small room late into the night while you waited for the stadwatch to pass.

Now, you were in his office waiting for his return. Usually you did your work in your own room, but since there were no upcoming jobs, you simply sat in the velvet lounge chair you had convinced him to leave there for you and read a book. It was a fascinating story of demon-hunting nephilim. You were flipping the page quickly and the door slammed open.

You jumped and let the book fall from your hands, flying to your feet. You rested a hand at the knife strapped to your thigh but let out a sigh of relief when it was only Kaz.

“Saints, Kaz.” You laughed in relief. You looked over at him and noticed he had a hand tucked under his jacket and a clench to his jaw that was tighter than usual. “Are you alright?” You asked carefully, daring a step closer.

He stepped in and leaned against the wall, knocking his cane against the door so it would slam shut. With the new privacy, he let the cane clatter to the floor and panted heavily. You were at his side quickly and reached forward to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Kaz?” You tried but he refused to look at you. You took in a quick scan of his injuries. His usually carefully combed hair was aggressively disheveled and falling into his eyes, a dried stream of blood across his chin, a dribbling line from somewhere above his eyebrow. “Go sit and I’ll get my kit.”

He shook his head and you weren’t sure if he was denying the chair or your help, or simply trying to shake off whatever was rattling around in his head. You groaned slightly and grabbed his jacket sleeve. You carefully put his arm over your shoulders and tucked yourself into his side, opposite of the one he clutched tightly. You moved quickly enough that he couldn’t shove you away but you still figured the move would get you in his bad graces.

You spared a glance and saw the dark liquid staining the already dark fabric. You shook your head slightly and began to drag the man across the room. His posture was rigid, his limp more prominent, and you knew you’d get an earful for grabbing onto him but he gave you no choice. You didn’t want to risk him collapsing to the floor or waiting for him to move on his own.

“I’m sorry.” You confessed as you ducked out from under his arm and helped him into the chair. “Just… I didn’t want you to bleed out over there.”

You couldn’t find other words so you left. You hurried to your own room for your kit and practically sprinted back to his office. You locked the door behind you, knowing Kaz would hate for anyone to see him in a vulnerable state. Except for you, it seemed. He trusted you just enough to let you see some of that. Not all of it, you could tell, but enough.

“Can you move your hand?” You asked and you knelt at the side of the chair. You didn’t dare to kneel in front of him.

He winced and moved his hand, which allowed no better view. You reached forward and flicked the material of jacket away, but the fabric of his shirt was already stuck to the wound.

“You’ll have to take your shirt and jacket off.” You said, trying to maintain composure. “The material’s stuck to it. I can’t see anything… Or at least unbutton them.”

Asking Kaz to sit shirtless in front of you was a huge deal. He had his touch aversion, and you respected that, but it bordered on being too intimate. He tensed at your request but his eyes met yours in question. It wasn’t whether or not you were sure. He knew as well as any Dreg that you had the best handiwork when it came to wounds, Grisha aside of course, so if you asked for something like that, it was necessary. The question was more for himself, if he could handle it.

You dropped your eyes to your kit instead. You knew you had to let him come to a decision on his own so you prepped your materials instead. Clean strips of fabric to clean the wound, a sturdy thread looped through a skinny needle, long cloths for bandaging, and a pair of gloves. You slipped your hands into the rubber and flexed your fingers to ensure they fit. The material stuck to your damp skin and you realized your hands were clammy.

You looked back at him cautiously and saw he had unbuttoned his shirt, only moving the side with the wound out of the way. He took a deep breath and held it for a second. You knew you should wait until he said something but judging by the tightness in his jaw, he wouldn’t be saying anything anytime soon. He breathed out and you saw the smallest of nods, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

You reached in carefully, pushing the fabric aside a little further to see the wound. You kept it to the side with one hand and grabbed for the fabric strips with the other. You angled your arm to keep his open shirt back and touched your fingers to his side. His head snapped towards you so fast you feared he’d get whiplash. You could feel his stare in you but you refused to look at him, focusing on clearing the blood for a better view of the wound.

“Snagged a box from a clinic delivery.” You explained. “Had to relearn some things like stitches but I figured…”

“Why?” He asked and the single word seemed to scrape at his throat. Whether it was from the situation or the fight he came from, you weren’t going to ask.

‘Because of you’ you wanted to say. Because you wanted to touch him without triggering a panic attack. Because it was the least you do to show you cared.

“Would you let me do this without them? Besides, it’s cleaner this way…” You shrugged. “If you can pick locks and do sleights with yours, I could learn this. Trust me, it’s nothing.”

“It’s everything.” He nearly whispered.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?” You tried to keep him talking, hoping it’d keep him distracted so he wouldn’t jolt away from you.

You had the wound clean by then and knew it’d scar, but a few quick stitches would be easy enough.

“No.”

“Okay.”

You swapped the fabric for the needle.

“This’ll sting.” You warned and sat up on your knees for a better angle. You looked up at him for an answer and his eyes were surprisingly softer than you’d ever seen them. “Are you alright?”

You two stared at each other for a moment longer and you recognized what it was. Appreciation.

“Other than that?” His chin dipped towards the slice on his side.

You chuckled slightly and shook your head before turning your focus to the stitches. You had to move relatively slower than usual. It was the first time you had done stitches on a body with gloves. You practiced on your blankets or your clothes. Truthfully, Kaz was the only reason you learned with the gloves.

You could feel him watching your hands. Maybe he was just admiring your intentful movements. Maybe he was thinking about the gloves, thankful for the barrier between his skin and yours. Regardless, he said nothing and neither did you.

When you were done, you swapped again for the longer strip. You offered it to Kaz first.

“Do you want to do it? If you wrap it, I can tie it.”

“No, you can…” He trailed off.

“Okay.” You nodded. “Can you stand?”

He pushed himself up with a grimace. You collected your material and stood, waiting for him to shrug his shirt down his arms. You put one end on the wound and took his hand to hold it in place. You made sure to walk around instead of reaching to maintain his space. When you got to the end, you looped it under one of the layers and tied it in a knot. You tucked the knot and ran a gloved hand over the material quickly to ensure it hadn’t gotten twisted.

“What about your head?” You took a step back. “Does it hurt?”

“Y/N…” He said quietly. Your head cocked in quiet interest and he took your hand in his.

He peeled your glove off, his remaining in place, and held your hand loosely in his. One barrier instead of two, clearly making a difference to him. Your brows furrowed but you bit your tongue to keep any comments to yourself. You feared if you acknowledged it, it would end. He took another deep breath and winced. Whether from the wound or the situation, you didn’t dare ask.

You reached your other gloved hand up and carefully pushed his hair away. You saw the cut on his forehead and frowned slightly.

“It doesn’t need stitches but I could at least clean it.” You offered. “Make sure you’re presentable again.”

He snorted a small laugh, a tight-lipped momentarily smile grazing his lips.

“Presentable… Without a shirt?”

That was your preferred view but you did wonder if Kaz knew that. Did Kaz know that you thought about him in ways you shouldn’t? That you waited to know he was back when you didn’t go with him? That you relearned your techniques with gloves to meet him somewhere in the middle? That you sat in that corner chair, reading a book while he worked, just to be near him?

Did Kaz know you loved him?

“Did you hit your head?” You asked, flicking your gaze to either of his eyes to try and gauge his awareness. “You may be concussed.”

“No, I’m…” He began but his brows furrowed in thought for a moment. “Well, yes, I did, but that’s not- It doesn’t-“ He sighed.

“Just sit down.” You shook your head and gently pushed on his shoulder. He obliged, but there was a hint of a pout on his face.

Kaz Brekker didn’t pout. What was going on with him?

You stood in front of him this time after gathering your materials. You kept them in your ungloved hand and only made contact with him using the covered one. You didn’t dare push or intrude any further than you already had. You cleaned the wound easily enough, but those damn eyes were still wide as they stared at you.

“Are you sure your head’s alright?” You quirked a brow and knelt down in front of him.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not when…”

“Kaz, I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” You sighed and crossed your arms over your upraised knee. “I don’t speak in half sentences.”

“Thank you.” He said instead and your eyes went wide.

“You’re welcome.” You answered carefully. “And I’m sorry I had to push my luck tonight. I had to make sure you’d be alright.”

“The way life goes around here.” He reasoned, forcing a casual tone.

“It’s different.” You muttered.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ll just be thankful you don’t send someone to kill me.” You said instead.

“Not you. Never you.”

“Oh…”

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you.” He blurted, as if there was an unseen clock ticking down.

“Okay?”

“I…” He closed his eyes and cursed quietly.

“I love you.” You said quickly without thinking. Your mouth dropped and you smacked your ungloved hand to it. “OhmygodIdidnotjustsaythat.” You mumbled against your own skin.

Kaz’s eyes were wide with shock before he gathered his wits and smiled at you.

A real, honest smile.

Your cheeks burned and you could feel your stomach tightening. You dropped your eyes and scooted away to collect the rest of your kit instead.

“Y/N?” He was leaning over the arm of the chair.

“Kaz?” You answered but your voice was embarrassingly high pitched. If your hands were empty, you would’ve smacked yourself in the forehead.

“I loved you first.”

[flwrkid14]

The Immortal Weight of Tim Drake

There’s a part of Tim that he keeps buried deep inside, locked away so no one can see it—will ever see it. He can’t let them know. Not Dick, not Jason, not Bruce. Hell, not even Steph or Cass. It’s better this way. Because the truth is, Tim Drake isn’t like them. He can’t stay dead.

No matter how many times it happens—how many times a blade finds its way into his gut, a bullet catches him in the chest, or a fall from a skyscraper crushes every bone in his body—Tim comes back. Not right away. No, it takes minutes, sometimes agonizing minutes, where he lies broken, breathless, and unmoving, with nothing but the darkness pressing in. He feels it each time. The quiet nothingness of death that should be final but never is.

He’s not like Jason.

Jason died. Really, truly died. He was buried, mourned, and remembered as the second Robin. His grave sat cold, a monument to a boy too good for the world, too bright to last. And Jason, when he clawed his way out, became a zombie in every sense of the word—not quite living but not quite dead either.

Jason knows what it’s like to rise from death, to feel like he doesn’t belong, like a walking corpse.

But Tim doesn’t know that part.

Tim knows what it’s like to die. He knows the brief moments of oblivion that come with it, the aching cold, the stillness. But he’ll never stay dead. His revival is a guaranteed, while Jason's was a miracle. He’ll never have a grave. Never be mourned, because he’ll always come back.

And that’s what hurts the most.

No one sees him die. He’s careful. So damn careful. On the rare occasions when he can’t hide the fact that he’s dead for a few minutes—those close calls where he doesn’t get up fast enough—he brushes it off, masking the pain with a smile and a joke. If anyone noticed the blood pooling in his suit or the sickening sound of his heart stopping for too long, they never questioned it. The danger passes, and life goes on.

For them, anyway.

For Tim, it never really stops. Every death, every time he’s pushed past the edge, it weighs on him. He knows he’s playing with something dangerous—something unnatural. But what choice does he have? The truth is, it’s not just that he can’t stay dead—it’s that he should be dead. So many times over, in fact.

There are days when Tim wonders if he’s meant to be this way. Maybe, in some twisted, cosmic joke, the universe decided that Tim Drake would be the one who can’t die. Maybe it’s because Gotham needs someone like him. Someone to shoulder the risks no one else can take. After all, if Tim can’t die, what’s one more mission where death is a near certainty? What’s one more gamble with his life? It doesn’t matter anymore, right?

And he doesn’t want them to know, because the moment they know, everything changes. If Dick saw Tim’s body cold and unmoving for just a little too long—if Bruce knew Tim had been gone, even for a heartbeat—what would they do? Tim knows exactly what they’d do. They’d stop sending him on the dangerous missions. They’d protect him, smother him with concern, lock him away to preserve him like some fragile thing that can’t be touched.

But the truth is, Tim’s more dangerous now than he’s ever been. Because he can go where no one else can. He can risk everything, go into every deadly mission, every impossible scenario where the chance of survival is zero. Because he’s already proven that, for him, death is temporary.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t mean he isn’t scared every single time it happens—when he feels life slipping away, the weight of his body going limp, his heart stopping, his breath gone. There’s that brief moment, that flicker of panic in his chest as he wonders, Is this the time I don’t come back? Is this the one that sticks?

But then the pain rushes back, and so does his heartbeat.

He’s alive again, and no one’s the wiser.

Tim can die a thousand times over, but he’ll always get back up. And that’s his curse. To always come back. Even if it means he’ll always be alone in the moments that matter most.

He’ll never have a grave. Never be mourned. But maybe that’s the point.

Jason can have the grave, the tragedy, the return from death that breaks the world apart. Tim just… dies. And he’ll keep dying. Keep coming back. Because that’s what he’s meant for.

It’s better if no one knows. If they don’t know, they won’t hesitate to send him on the missions no one else could survive. They’ll trust him to do what they can’t. And Tim will keep shouldering that weight, carrying death with him like a shadow, never far from his heels.

Because for Tim, death isn’t an ending. It’s just another step in the fight.

[lych33dragoncookie]

Only the masterpieces that survive the fiercest flames earn their place in history.

(Analysis post)

Alright, they absolutely cooked this update. Like, undeniably so. I was admittedly not that huge of a fan of the last 2 beast yeast chapters we got; they had really good ideas, and Mystic Flour is a wonderful character, but... Dark Cacao hasn't really been done enough with for it to feel like it had the amount of weight it could have, and it really doesn't feel like much about him actually changed at all. Combine that with a complete lack of interesting dynamics and you have a lot of very good and genuinely pretty well thought out story concepts with extensive cultural research, executed in a way that feels more like a traditional old-school story that weakens the attachment the audience feels to the components of said story.

Here, though? I have no complaints so far. It was absolutely wild in fact, to the point where I don't think it's gonna happen again (nor am I entirely sure it should ever happen again). This was back to back, non-stop, smack to the face one after the other. The moment the first point of conflict came up, it was just shit happening left and right; even in the mandatory moment of rest where we chill out for a bit, it's revealed that hey, these sandstorms? Yeah the sand is actually ashes. It's the remains of all the people that live here. Whether they died off on their own or were killed by someone else.

And if that wasn't enough, very shortly after;

... It's fucking crack.

So, people die and kill each other here very frequently, and not only are their remains visibly on display, their ashes also become sandstorms that make it near impossible to navigate the land; on top of being something that people snort like cocaine to become more energetic and aggressive.

We started fucking wild, dude. This whole thing is pulling no punches.

Though, I do wanna note; I really, really enjoyed the interactions between Smoked Cheese and Golden Cheese. It shows not only how forgiving she is, but how these two have known each other for an incredibly long time, and know each other well. They're incredibly comfortable around each other, despite it all, and despite how brazen and Very Much Not Strategic the queen here can be. I really, really enjoyed them.

Always fun to see a recovering villain do things for good, but in their own unique way that's still not exactly heroic but definitely effective and, at times, very gratifying.

Though I enjoyed all this, there's one thing I wanna talk about above all else.

The star of the show. Note that every single part was enjoyable, of course, and he wouldn't be half as interesting without Golden Cheese Cookie to serve as a parallel, but they've cooked up something special here.

So far, Burning Spice's extent of onscreen appearance is very, very short, but... I don't think I need to tell you that he's already made an impact and a half.

Christ, that's violent. With the sound effects and everything too, god damn. But, I'd be lying if I said this wasn't a pretty superficial source of judgement for this character. It's very very telling of what kind of person he is now, what he's all about, what he's willing to do, what he likes doing, but...

More than anyone else in recent memory, the devil is in the details. So let's look at those details.

Nothing too much so far, other than how much he absolutely loves destruction, but there's already a trend; namely on "Nothing lasts forever. It's as simple as that", "In the end, everything becomes dust.", and "You, too, shall see that destruction is the only way.". There seems to be an infatuation with the natural process of everything fading away, turning to dust and dying out. An entirely honest one, believing that there is just about nothing else to life. These will be important to keep in mind.

Here, we see a bit of his current relationship with his own immortality. He doesn't seem to mind the idea of losing it, finding something that may eventually take him down, but he still takes great pride in it. These lines, in text, seem somewhat miserable (and trust me, they definitely are), but the voicework in just about every language conveys that they are said in a more neutral, even potentially proudly manner. Again, not much on their own, but...

Here's where we get into the fun part.

This. This is the crux of their character. At the start, him and Golden Cheese cookie were more or less the same. Benevolent royalty, close and personal with their subjects. Beloved, and loving.

And then, they lost it all.

One way or another, their kingdoms were lost, reduced to almost nothing. They were overcome by grief, desperate, unable to cope with their loss. One tried to latch on as hard as possible. Preserve what she could, blindly, replacing the harsh truth of reality with an idealized, constructed world, where no one would ever have to know pain ever again. She shut herself off, and retreated in the safety and peace of a false reality. She would rather have lied to both herself and all her subjects than face reality. And eventually, she had to learn to move on. Let herself and her kingdom heal more naturally, facing reality. The other, meanwhile, was desperate to let go. He detached himself, trying to move past the pain of loss. But, of course, he couldn't force it to happen. No one can. And so with the grief of losing that which he held dear, continuing to be faced with the reality that nothing is forever, over and over, while he endured, the world slowly turning to ash around them again and again... It's no wonder something in there eventually cracked.

What will it take to destroy me. Nothing is forever, and yet, I am.

Nothing is forever. And yet, I am.

With time, misery turned to mania, and in an attempt to overcome their grief, they embraced it, in the worst way possible. A coping mechanism gone horrendously wrong. That destruction, that loss, the inevitability of death... It's not painful, no. It doesn't have to be. It can be thrilling. Exhilarating. A new reason to live. If all you care about turns to dust anyways, if that's really the only logical destination... Why not have some fun with it? Why not embody that inevitable, unstoppable force? Why not become what you fear, so you no longer have to be afraid anymore?

... You know, at least that's what I think is going on here. The next chapter could contradict this reading, but... From what all we have right now, it seems like Golden Cheese and Burning Spice are two completely different paths for the exact same type of pain. They are, in a way, the same, but diverge in almost complete opposite ways where it counts.

Spice is genuinely equal parts absolutely terrifying and absolutely miserable; a balance that is incredibly hard to strike in writing, but always absolutely fascinating and wonderful to observe when it happens. I have to say, the more I found out about them, the more I couldn't keep my eyes off everything they have going on.

I'm loving every little bit of this update. Mad props to the devs for cooking something up here that I am genuinely incredibly invested in, almost to the same degree as White Lily and Dark Enchantress. Banger update. Absolute S tier material.

TL;DR: Burning Spice is terrifying, miserable, and ridiculously cool. Everything about this update was an absolute merciless flurry of consecutive gut-punches. And I loved every second of it.

... Now we sit and wait for Shadow Milk's release next year.

[transvampireboyfriend]

Had this “Steve only hates impersonal nicknames” idea in my notes for a while and then after seeing @cholvoq​ ‘s wonderful art I had to turn it into a real thing for Valentine’s Day. This is 2.4k, i’m SO sorry edit: you can now read this on ao3 :)

Eddie’s a nickname guy. It’s always Dusty this and Gare-Bear that and JeffJeff here and Bobbie there and it’s Mikey and Maxxii and Nance-pants and Johnny and… big boy?

Him being a nickname guy makes it near impossible to hide his crushes. Thankfully, Steve had been really cool about it. Sure, he seemed a little stunned, but Eddie still had all his teeth in place by the end of that interaction, so he had called that a win.

He hadn’t known then that Steve was… different. Or he was starting to see it but what he thought was shocking then had really been just the tip of the iceberg. He hadn’t expected Steve to be nice. Or funny, or caring, or protective, or understanding.

He had learned all of that after everything. During chats on Hellfire nights while the kids cleaned up after themselves, during hangouts at the diner with Robin and Nancy, during Saturday afternoons when he went to pick out a movie only to end up talking with Steve, their conversation flowing until it was cut short by Steve’s shift ending.

After some time, Eddie had gotten to know Steve even more during long weekday nights when one came over to bring the other something they left behind, or to share a record, or to demand the beers the other owes or to show the other a stupid article in a stupid magazine only to end up making dinner together and watching a movie afterwards.

They stopped making excuses about two weeks ago.

Eddie had asked “do youuu… wanna come over?” on Saturday night, while nervously twirling his keys as Steve locked the front doors of the Family Video.

The evening chill had cut right through Eddie’s leather jacket as his keys clanged against his rings. But Steve had nodded with a smile and asked “pizza?” on their way to their cars, and Eddie had forgotten all about the cold.

Point being, Steve had been just fine with ‘big boy’ when it happened. Eddie’s a nickname guy. Him and Steve are hanging out more now, and so, Eddie’s been calling him more nicknames. Some of them are very intentional, others come completely without thinking, and it turns out, Steve takes issue with a few of them.

The first time it happens, Eddie’s underneath his van trying to get the damn thing to cooperate, the recent winter was tough on it, and it keeps dying out on him.

Steve sits nearby perched on a little stool, wearing his Family Video vest since he came by right after finishing his morning shift to see if they could make plans for lunch. Eddie suggested they grab something at the diner if and when he finally gets the van to start back up and Steve had agreed to wait.

He’s been telling Eddie about tonight’s basketball- game? match? super bowl? Is there such a thing as the major leagues of basketball? Eddie’s not sure, but he adores the sound of Steve’s voice and he’s kind of invested in the drama of players switching teams and retiring and whatever else Steve wants to tell him about. So, he’s been listening, not really bothering with asking for clarification for what he doesn’t understand yet. He’ll figure it out as they go.

He's blindly patting the floor around his legs for his rag, when he feels Steve put it right in his hand.

Eddie’s relieved. "Thanks, bud!" he says, the nickname just rolling off his tongue effortlessly, no meaning attached.

It gets kind of quiet all of a sudden. After about five seconds of Steve not talking, Eddie comes out to check on him, and finds him frowning at his legs.

"Don't call me ‘bud’" Steve requests, looking up at his face, his tone just a tad harsh. Eddie would think he ran into King Steve if he didn't know any better.

As it is, Eddie gets Steve probably thinks the nickname is childish or patronizing, so he doesn’t think twice of it, just gets a little sheepish and says "sorry, Stevie".

Steve smiles at that, a little cocky. He does his little mean girl shaking his head thing like he just got exactly what he wanted. Eddie feels his face twist a bit in confusion, but he likes it when Steve gets a little mean so he doesn't say anything about it and just dives back under his van as Steve resumes their conversation.

 The second time it happens, they’re outside the supermarket. The kids shot out of the van as soon as it rolled to a stop, Steve calling out a warning after them while still listening to Eddie explain why Star Wars and Star Trek are actually very different but really good in their own way. Their conversation carries on as they hop out of the van, lock up and walk to meet at the front.

“I’m telling you, Star Trek is great. You would love it,” Eddie says, “you just have to give it a chance”.

Steve rolls his eyes at him, but Eddie can see his smile.

“Ok, alright,” Steve answers, “you can show me tonight then”, it’s almost too nonchalant. Eddie has to hide his grin.

Steve’s been suggesting they hang out more and more lately, and he can’t help but feel a bit hopeful. They clearly enjoy each other’s company, their time together is never dull, Steve seems to be really comfortable around him and maybe, just maybe…

“Should we get beers then?” Eddie asks, excited at the prospect of some more time alone with him.  They haven’t had a weeknight hangout since Eddie fixed his van last week. He kinda misses the very specific color of Steve’s eyes in the Harringtons’ yellow living room lamplight.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his eyes get soft in a way Eddie only started noticing a couple of weeks back, “we can watch it at my place” he adds. Eddie thinks he definitely hasn’t seen him look at anyone else like that.

To shake himself out of the spell of the prettiest boy he’s ever met making the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen at him and ONLY him, Eddie grabs Steve by the wrist and starts marching them towards the supermarket’s front doors.

Without thinking, Eddie says "c'mon man," as they go.

Steve, who started easily following him (like he always does these days), suddenly stops in his tracks. Eddie gets pulled back and almost stumbles on top of Steve. He'd get flustered if Steve wasn't frowning at him like he’d just said the most insulting thing he’d heard this month.

"Don't call me ‘man’" Steve says. Eddie feels his eyebrows raise a bit.

He debates asking why but doesn't question Steve in the end. He’d rather offer understanding than judgement to him any day.

So, Eddie takes advantage of Steve's wrist in his hand, and squeezes there a bit, says "I'm sorry sweetheart" sincerely, looks into Steve's eyes so he can see Eddie means it.

Steve blushes a bit then, not really used to the nickname yet, Eddie just got the balls to start using it last week. Eddie himself is not really used to seeing Steve blush, and at something he says? It’s too much power for one metalhead.

But he gets distracted from Steve’s blush because it happens again, Steve basically preens like a peacock once Eddie switches nicknames. Looks smug, like he has Eddie wrapped around his finger and well, Eddie guesses he does, so, no arguments there either.

He just smiles back at Steve, really, has no other choice, it’s not like he can control how he reacts to the most gorgeous fucking face the universe could ever come up with. But he tugs him along again, Steve happily following this time.

The next time it happens, Steve’s leaning against his kitchen island, with Eddie leaning across from him against the counter.

The party is watching a movie in the Harringtons’ living room and at some point, Eddie got up to get himself another soda, Steve not so subtly followed after him, taking the empty popcorn bowls to the sink. He struck up a conversation and there they stayed.

Eddie’s been turning the small gesture around and around in his head. Clearly Steve’s not shy about seeking him out, and he’s obviously good with the party knowing, which means a hell of a lot because those are Steve’s people, that’s his family.

Eddie’s honestly running out of excuses to not ask him out. Seeing him reaching out to bump his sneaker against Eddie’s boot when he says something funny, laughing just a little too hard at Eddie’s dumb joke; seeing his eyes widen a bit when Eddie compliments him; seeing him notice when Eddie is holding back from talking too much, and not letting it go until he thinks Eddie’s shared all of his opinions on the subject; Eddie thinks maybe he can be brave, when it comes to Steve.

And this week might be the perfect time.

Here they are still, the movie long ended and several easy conversations floating from the living room to the kitchen, where they’re still engrossed on their own.

“I mean I taught the kid how to do his hair for god’s sake!” Steve is saying, Eddie’s laughing easily, and he has a slight suspicion Steve’s acting way more annoyed than he really is because he knows Eddie dies laughing every time Steve roasts the kids.

“Just, if he’s gonna give me hair advice, he should work on that goddamn tone. At the Very Least.” Steve finishes, Eddie giggling all the while at his Annoyed Mom tone.

"Yeah, dude!" Eddie agrees, wanting to egg him on, but Steve's face suddenly falls and whatever remark Eddie had locked and loaded just fades away.

Eddie blinks perplexed; he’s getting déjà vu.

Steve frowns at him, says "Don't call me ‘dude’".

It’s eerie, only he sounds a bit annoyed this time.

Eddie thinks, maybe someone called Steve ‘dude’ before in an unpleasant way, so he doesn't pry.  Instead, he takes the chance to call him a nickname he likes more, and says "Sorry, pretty boy", his heart fluttering in the milliseconds he has to wait for Steve’s reaction.

And it happens one last time: Steve absolutely beams at that one, his smile so bright it makes Eddie want to jump in place.

He leans further back on the counter returning the smile, not noticing the common thread in Steve’s reactions to him switching nicknames.

But then the glint in Steve’s eyes suddenly brightens a dim corner of Eddie’s brain. He gets this feeling that reminds him of a perfectly set up riddle or finding that one perfect note for his latest song. It’s like everything suddenly just makes sense.

Eddie feels realization dawn on his face as he pushes himself off the counter to walk right into Steve’s personal bubble, grabs both of Steve's hands.

"Steve" Eddie says, not even caring that he sounds like the name is dripping in honey when it comes out of his mouth. With how sweet Steve is, it might as well be.

Steve just looks at him a little stunned, but doesn't say anything. Eddie draws circles in the back of his palms to reassure him.

"Why don't you want me to call you ‘dude’?" Eddie asks, trying to find out if this whole thing is what he thinks it is.

Steve looks down at their joined hands,.

"You call Nancy that sometimes..." Steve mumbles.

His answer would sound inconsequential to the unsuspecting, certainly would have to Eddie as late as last week, but Eddie thinks he’s finally getting it, and he hums his understanding.

"How ‘bout ‘man’?" he asks

Steve replies "You call Robin that sometimes..." his eyes still on their hands.

Eddie nods his agreement.

"I call everyone those things" he points out.

Steve agrees. "Exactly" he says, finally looking at him again, sounding annoyed and confirming Eddie’s suspicions.

Eddie feels his face split into a smile. He wants to grab Steve’s beautiful freaking face and just plant one on him.

"Can I still call you sweetheart?" he ventures instead. The nickname brings the hint of a smile to Steve's face but then he seems to realize something not so pleasant.

"Do you call someone else ‘sweetheart’?" Steve asks in return.

"No one" Eddie says, shaking his head, his tone vehement.

"Then yes" Steve finally answers. Eddie's heart wants to beat right out of his chest.

He interlocks their fingers to ground himself, Steve looks down at their hands and smiles at the sight.

"So, you don't want me to call you something I call someone else?" Eddie states, more than asks, calling Steve’s eyes back to his again.

"Anyone else" Steve confirms, holding his gaze.

Eddie lets out a small shuddering exhale and feels his heart fluttering in his throat, he really cannot believe this boy.

"Steve" Eddie drawls, dripping in honey again, his hands coming up to cradle Steve's face because he really can't resist anymore "Sweetheart" he says.

Steve's eyes grow a little wide and he starts blushing so much that Eddie can feel it in his palms.

"Steevieeee" Eddie sinsongs, squeezing Steve's face a bit "Pretty boy" Eddie calls him. Steve just keeps looking at him and a small smile blooms in his pretty, pretty face.

"Would you let me take you out to dinner this Friday?" Eddie finally asks him, his fingers curling to the back of Steve's head to play with his hair there. Steve's eyes get even wider.

" 's Valentine's this Friday" he points out. Eddie knows.

"Mmhm. Want you to be my Valentine." Eddie tells him, tugs his hair gently, "How's that sound?" he asks, bold in a way he never has been before. Steve blushing does things to him.

"Sounds nice" Steve answers. He smiles and nods while his hands hook on Eddie's belt loops.

"Then it's a date?" Eddie asks, trying not to sound too eager. He thinks he fails spectacularly but Steve beams and pulls him in to kiss his cheek.

"It's a date" Steve tells him, his breath ghosting on Eddie's cheek and making him shiver.

Steve pulls back, lets go of Eddie’s belt loops and tugs on a strand of his hair gently, smiling like the cat that got the cream as he walks back out into the living room.

Eddie’s gonna make this the best Valentine’s Day date Steve has ever been on.

[dreamescapeswriting]

In His Arms, the World Pauses

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅WORD COUNT: 1.8K (this came out so short im so sorry)

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅GENRE: established relationships, talks of stress, Felix being a comforting baby for us, we love to see 

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅PAIRING: Felix x Fem!Reader

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - October 2024

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅MASTERLIST

The door clicks shut behind you, and the familiar quiet of your apartment feels heavier than usual. The day you had felt like you'd spent it in hell and all you wanted to do was crawl into your bed and cry.

You let your bag slide off your shoulder, followed by your jacket, but you don’t move any further, you just stand there for a moment, staring at the floor, unsure if you even have the energy to take another step.

The world around you felt as though it was moving at a million miles an hour while you were standing still unable to grasp at anything to help you catch up with anybody else around you. 

"Babe?" Felix called out. He'd heard your car pull into the drive but you hadn't come straight through to the living room as you usually would. You heard Felix move from the couch, and within seconds, his arms were wrapped around you from behind, pulling you close. For a moment, you’re too stiff to relax, your muscles still tense from the day, but as his warmth sinks in, you release a shaky breath and lean into him. 

“Hey,” he whispers softly into your hair. “Rough day?” He whispers already feeling how tense you were in his arms and he wanted to do everything he could to make you feel better. The tenderness in his voice undoes you, and before you can stop it, a sob escapes your throat. You bury your face in his chest, clutching at his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart. 

“It’s… it’s just so much,” you manage to say, your voice cracking. Everything you'd been holding in finally escaped into a ball of tears as you shook your head at him.

“I feel like I’m drowning, Felix.” You admit, your eyes blurry with unshed tears. Felix's breath caught in his throat but he just held you tighter, rocking you gently in the hallway as he nodded his head. While he didn't know the stress of your job and studies he was always going to be there to listen to you, whatever you needed. He was your rock.

“I’m here, baby. Let it out.”

“I had three IEP meetings today,” you murmur into his shirt, your words thick with frustration and exhaustion. Remembering the meetings you'd been in and the stress you'd gone through with every single one of them.

“None of them went well. I’m trying so hard for my students, but I feel like I’m not doing enough. And my thesis…” You laugh bitterly, but it comes out more like a sigh. You'd been putting that off for so long it was now becoming impossible to ignore. It was due soon and you hadn't even written your fucking name on the paper yet. How did anyone ever even manage any of this?

“I haven’t even started the paper I need to write. I’m so behind, Felix. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do it all.” His heart beats steadily against your ear, grounding you, but it doesn’t stop the flood of emotions swirling in your chest. This job was everything to you, and being a special needs teacher is what you love to do, but it takes everything you have some days. Balancing that with your master’s program… feels damn near impossible.

“You’re doing so much already,” Felix says, his hands rubbing slow, comforting circles on your back, the act soft and gentle as you looked up at him. 

“You give so much of yourself every day. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

“But if I fall behind, I’ll be failing my students…” Your voice trembles as you pull back to look at him, your eyes brimming with tears. The last thing you wanted to do was fail yourself but your students meant more to you than anything else sometimes and you never wanted to feel like you were letting them down.

“And myself.” You whispered defeatedly. Felix smiles weakly as he moves his hands to cup your face gently, wiping away the tears that spill over with the pad of his thumb. Your heart hammering roughly against your chest as you look up at him,

“You’re not failing anyone, least of all yourself. You’re one of the strongest people I know, and you’re doing everything you can. It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to need help. It's okay to ask for help,” You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, letting his words wash over you. Sometimes you liked to try and push yourself so only you could do things but he was right. You knew he was deep down.

“I just… I don’t know how to make it stop. It feels like I can’t catch my breath.” Felix presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and refreshing after the day you'd had and he smiled a little as he felt your body relax a little.

Felix pulls away slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, his hands still resting on your shoulders.

“Why don’t we just forget everything for a while, yeah?” he says, his voice soft but full of warmth. 

“Come on, let’s get you comfy. Tonight is all about you.” He taps your nose softly and you let out a weak smile and nod, feeling a little lighter already, and let him lead you to the couch. It felt good to finally let go of everything you'd been holding back for months even if it was just talking about it for a little while. 

The two of you sat down on the sofa and you let out a small sigh at the feel of the cushions, they felt just like a cloud beneath you as you sank into them, and before you could even say a word, Felix grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around your shoulders.

"Lix-"

"Don't. Tonight is about you and I'm not going to take another word about it," he warned you, pressing his lips to your temple as he slowly got up from the sofa and smirked at you. Before disappearing into the other room for a moment, you take the opportunity to close your eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to let go of the day. 

You weren't sure how long your eyes had been closed but it wasn't until you heard the familiar theme song of the TV show you love playing. It was the show Felix knew you'd seen almost 12 times already but it was your comfort show, the one you watched once a year to make yourself feel better. 

“You don’t have to do all this,” you start to say, but he waves you off with a gentle smile. He knew how much you loved the show and he knew that no matter what you were going through it had always been there to help you.

"You don't even like the show-"

"Yn, I'm doing this," He smirks at you,

“I want to. You deserve it,” he says, grabbing the remote and settling beside you, his arm immediately finding its place around your shoulders. 

For the first time all day, and maybe in a few weeks, you feel a little bit of peace and you melt into Felix's side, watching the show as your favourite characters said the lines you knew off by heart at this point.

After a few minutes, Felix kissed the top of your head, making sure the blanket was still wrapped around you tightly before he got up. 

“Stay right here. I’m going to make you something to eat.” You glance up at him, 

“Felix, you really don’t have to—” He places a finger on your lips, playfully shushing you as a smirk tug on the corner of his lips. There was nothing he wouldn't do for you tonight. 

“I insist. You’ve had enough on your plate today. Let me take care of you for once.” You let him go this time, watching as he heads into the kitchen. You can hear the sounds of him bustling around—pots clanging, the soft sizzle of something on the stove—and it makes your heart swell. You know he’s not the best cook, but he’s trying, and that’s what matters most to you. Usually, it was always you that was forced to look after everybody else and you had to admit it felt kind of good to have someone else do the looking after for once.

Soon, the smell of something warm and comforting fills the air, and Felix returns with a tray. There’s a simple dinner—pasta with your favourite sauce, a little side salad, and even some garlic bread that he must’ve heated up. Your stomach growled at the sight of it and you licked your lips, you'd barely had time to eat all day and you were almost sure you could go for a second portion of this.

 He sets it on the coffee table in front of you, then disappears again briefly. When he comes back, he’s holding your favourite snacks: the chocolate bars you like to keep hidden in the pantry and a small tub of ice cream, then there were savoury and sweet treats, everything you could think of was lying there.

"You’re spoiling me.” you laugh as you slowly sink onto the floor in front of the table. Felix grins at you and sits down beside you again, placing a soft kiss on your temple as he nods his head. 

“That’s the point.”

You eat together in comfortable silence, Felix occasionally offering to feed you a bite just to make you laugh. The weight of the day has faded now, replaced by the warmth of his presence and the delicious simplicity of your favourite foods. When the dinner is done and the plates are set aside, he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you securely.

The TV show plays in the background, but you’re barely paying attention now. Felix’s hand moves in slow circles along your back, lulling you into a deeper sense of calm and your eyes start to get heavy. The day’s stress feels distant, a memory you no longer have to carry for the night.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble, your voice heavy with the beginnings of sleep. You can feel your eyelids drooping, but you don’t want to move from his lap. Not now, when everything feels so perfect and safe. Felix smiles down at you, as he runs his fingers over your cheekbones and shakes his head.

“I’ll always take care of you,” he whispers. 

“Now close your eyes. You deserve some rest.” You don’t argue. You didn't even have the energy to argue with him, you couldn't even move from where you were sat. Instead, you let the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear and the steady rise and fall of his breathing lull you into sleep. You can feel his hand gently tracing patterns on your arm, his touch so soft and tender.

And in that moment, everything else melts away. The stress, the deadlines, the pressure—they all dissolve, leaving only you and Felix in the quiet of your home.

"Goodnight angel," he whispers as you finally fall asleep in his arms.

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[twistedfics]

𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔

Leona (twisted wonderland) x AFAB!reader (no pronouns mentioned) NSFW

2.3k+ words

~

hi! this story is 18+ and contains dark content. read at your own risk.

tags/warnings: ⚠️ non-con/dub-con, somno, biting, dacryphilia, breeding, possessive sex, mating, leona is in rut, licking, cum eating, kinda yandere ig?, leona is mean, maybe a bit ooc

~

summary: what if the night you stayed at savanaclaw went a little.... differently?

Leona had been acting strange. Or, at least, that’s what you thought. You couldn’t exactly say you knew the guy very well but something seemed off about him. 

But then again, maybe you were just majorly pissing him off. If you knew anything about him at all, it would probably be that he wouldn’t exactly want people (that he doesn’t seem to like, especially) all up in his business. And especially not in his bed. Whoops.

You’ll admit, it wasn’t the best arrangement, but given your current options, it was all you had. You had to stay somewhere right? It’s only temporary, you can live with him hating you for a night. 

Leona grumbled to himself, tail flinging around as you attempted to make yourself comfortable. He had thrown himself down in the middle of his bed in the midst of his little tantrum and you were forced to squeeze yourself into the bed the best you could. And as far away as you could manage. All those times you thought about Leona getting you into his bed, this wasn’t exactly what you had imagined.

“This is so fucking stupid. I should just throw you out and let you and that damn cat of yours find someone else to bother.” He spat in your direction, but you didn’t acknowledge it. Maybe if you just face the other way and pretend to sleep, he’ll calm down?

“You better not make a fucking sound tonight. If you wake me up, you’re dead, herbivore.” Guess not. 

You sighed and turned slightly in the bed, looking over your shoulder at him. You spoke softly, “Look, Leona. I’m sorry about this, really. but I really appreciate you letting us stay here. I’ll keep quiet, okay? You won’t even know I’m here.”

He didn’t look at you, but you heard a quiet “ugh” which you decided to take as a response. You knew you weren’t getting much more. 

“Goodnight, Leona,” you said as you turned back to face the wall, closing your eyes. You just needed some sleep, and then you’ll figure everything out in the morning.

~*~

You awoke to a room that was far too dark for it to be anywhere near morning. You felt hot. Way, way, way too hot. You attempted to move but found yourself constricted. What was going on? 

In your half-asleep state, you tried to kick away whatever it was that was holding you in place, and your heart nearly stopped when you were lucid enough to feel it. Something was pressed up against you from behind, holding your body against the mattress. Your eyes shot open when you felt something wet and hot against your neck. 

You tried to scream and were immediately silenced with a hand over your mouth. 

“Shh. I told you to be quiet.” A deep voice growled in your ear. Leona? That was definitely him. What in the seven was he doing?

“Leona, wha-” your voice was muffled, and he shushed you again. “You smell so good,” he mumbled, shifting against you. And that’s when you felt it. Something long and hard pressed against your ass. 

Panic shot through you as you began to struggle against him. You managed to turn yourself towards him before he got a hold of you again, removing his hand from your mouth in the process.

“Stop. Stop, Leona, please!” You cried trying desperately to pull yourself out of his grasp. This proved impossible, as he simply tightened his hold on you. It felt like he was trying to crush you to death.

“Maybe you should of thought of that earlier? You know, before you decided to invade my space all night.” He spoke low, way too casual for the situation you were in. His teeth pressed against your neck and you gasped.

This is apparently your fault to him??? You didn’t ask for this! You were only staying here out of necessity anyway. Sure he was hot, and you can’t lie that you haven’t thought of this before, but you never wanted it like this. Why now? Why you?! Violated just because a man can’t keep it in his pants? It’s sick!

Despite your constant struggling and protests though, Leona didn’t let up. His claws were digging into where he held you by your hips and you were sure your neck was probably bruised beyond belief. And to make matters worse, no amount of your crying was keeping him from pressing himself into your thigh. 

“Leona, please! You’re scaring me. Let me go right now!” Your pleas fell on deaf ears as he maneuvered himself on top of you. One of his hands held your wrists together above your head, the rest of his body pinning you against the mattress. Tears were falling down your cheeks now, sobs getting stuck in your throat. You were no match for his strength. You couldn’t see yourself getting out of this alone.

“Do you ever shut up?” He growled, attacking your neck with his teeth again. His claws started to work at tearing your shirt apart and his hips not so subtly ground against your thigh. You tried to thrash around one last time, but the groan that came from him at your movements stopped you in your tracks. This was a nightmare.

“W-why are you doing this?” Your voice was shaking now, sobs being ripped from your throat at every nip of his teeth against it.

“I let you sleep here out of the kindness of my heart, didn’t I? I should at least get something out of it.” He had completed his task of ripping your top to shreds, and he slowly moved himself down your body, biting and sucking at your skin the whole way.

You whimpered when he reached your chest, licking at one of your nipples while his hand came up to pinch at the other one. He teased you for a while, switching between your tits, sucking and licking at your nipples while massaging the other one. 

You could feel him each time he ground himself against your thigh. He was so hard, and you could almost swear he was growing harder- if that was even possible. Pre-cum dripped from his tip and soaked the front of his pants, so much so that you could feel it, sticky on your exposed skin.

His free hand moved down to toy at the waistband of your shorts and your breath hitched. He was really doing this. This was really happening. 

You tried to free your hands but found that he still had your wrists caught in an iron grasp. Tears were now pouring down your face, begging and pleading as you sobbed for him to stop, to just let you go. 

Why did this have to happen to you?

He came back up so he was level with you, his face just centimeters from yours. You searched his eyes for any kind of remorse at what he was doing, but there was nothing. His pupils were blown wide with lust as he smirked down at you.

His face moved closer towards you and you froze as you felt him lick at your face, wiping away your tears in the most disgusting way possible. You felt like you were going to vomit.

“You’re cute when you cry. Be a lot cuter if you were quiet though,” he whispered to you, nipping at your ear before moving back down your body. 

You had given up struggling, accepting your fate. You couldn’t get out of this. He was too strong, and there was no reasoning with him. Something was wrong. He wouldn’t listen, you knew that. 

You cried even harder as he finally ripped away the material of your shorts. You felt humiliated, left in just your panties as you cried and shook beneath him.

His hand slipped past your panties to toy with your cunt, and you watched in horror as he flashed you a predatory smile. 

His next words sent ice through your veins, “Would you look at that, herbivore? You’re soaked. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Freak.” He chuckled and you felt as if you weren’t even in your own body anymore.

Were you enjoying this? No! You can’t be. You’re scared out of your mind and you want it to stop. So why are you wet? Surely a natural reaction, right? There’s no way you could actually be into this kind of thing, right?

“Look at that pretty pussy. All f’ me.” While you were lost in thought, he had torn your underwear away completely. He spread you apart with two fingers, watching as your wetness dripped from your core between your thighs. You didn’t think you’ve ever been more embarrassed.

He pressed down harshly on your clit, closely watching your reaction as your whole body jerked. His stare had you pinned, you felt like prey being stalked. But the lion had already caught you. 

“I hope you’re ready, herbivore. I’m done waiting.” He let go of your wrists and swiftly flipped your body around. Your face was now pressed against the mattress, support from your arms taken from you as he once again pinned your wrists, this time holding them behind your back. 

With one hand he pulled your hips up, leaving you face down with your ass up, level with his hips as he kneeled behind you. He removed his hand for a moment, and you heard the rustling of clothes before you felt his hard cock pressing against your soaked entrance. 

His hand came back to grip your hip, claws digging in and leaving marks on your skin. Your body involuntarily tightened up as it anticipated what would come next.

Leona pushed his hips forward slowly, groaning softly as he forced the tip of his leaking cock into your little cunt. 

“If you don’t relax this is going to hurt a hell of a lot more than it would have,” he grunted and continued to press forward.

You whimpered as you tried to force yourself to relax, your body not wanting to welcome the intrusion. He was huge! It hurt like hell, but no matter what, he wasn’t stopping, and you cried out as his tip stretched you out more than you had ever felt before. 

“That’s it. Take it, you little brat.” You moaned as his cock continued to stretch you out, the feeling burning more with each inch that entered you.

After what felt like forever, he finally bottomed out. He sighed as his hips pressed against your ass and you took a deep breath to try and prepare for what came next. You could feel him inside of you, pressing against the walls of your pussy, hot and twitching.

Without warning he pulled back and quickly slammed his hips forward, pressing you hard against his bed. He gave you no time to adjust, starting out with a quick and brutal pace, abusing your pussy with each harsh thrust.

“Fuck! You’re so tight~ So perfect for me, herbivore.” He bent himself over you hammering his hips into you as he spoke into your ear. His words were interrupted by his own moans, matching the sounds you made as you cried and drooled into the pillows. 

He nipped and licked at the back of your neck, working his way over your shoulders as his cock hit that perfect spot inside of you. You gasped and felt him grin against your skin. You weren’t supposed to like this! So why did it feel so good?

“That feel good, huh?” He readjusted to continue hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars, fucking you impossibly harder. He let go of your wrists to get a better grip on your waist and your hands fell limply to the bed. You moaned loudly, losing yourself to the feeling of his cock deep inside of you, letting yourself enjoy the moment. He bent his body over you once more, licking at the shell of your ear, making you shudder. “Cum for me, baby,” he whispered to you, “Cum. For. Me.” 

Each word was punctuated with an insanely hard thrust, sending you hurtling over the edge. Your vision blacked and you screamed, falling completely limp in his arms as your orgasm hit you hard.

You tried to catch your breath, but Leona didn’t let up. He continued his harsh pace, fucking you into the mattress as he panted and moaned in your ear. The wet sounds of his hips slapping against your thighs echoed through the dark room. 

“Almost there, fuck!” he moaned loudly, his claws biting into your skin as he held you in a death grip. 

“Leona~ Leona, please, stop it hurts, please!” The sensation of overstimulation had you sobbing again, repeatedly chanting Leona’s name and begging for him to stop, to just give you a break.

“Shh, shh~ Shit! I'm almost there! Fuck, just a bit more baby,” He moaned directly in your ear, face pressed into the crook of your neck. “I’m gonna fill you up, yeah? Fuck you full of my cum, everyone’s gonna know you’re all mine- fuck! My own personal little fuck toy. My mate.”

His words sent you over the edge again, screaming out his name as you clenched down on his cock. He followed right after you, biting down hard on your shoulder, breaking the skin as he pumped you full of his hot cum. You could feel it inside you, hot and sticky as it filled you up while he rode out his high. 

When his hips finally stuttered to a stop, he collapsed on top of you, trapping you beneath him. You were both a sweaty, panting mess and it was a while before he finally lifted himself off you.

He slowly pulled out, watching as his and your cum gushed from your cunt, staining the sheets below. Using his fingers, he scooped some up and pulled your head back by your hair, shoving it into your open, panting mouth.

You closed your lips around his fingers and sucked and he sat back to watch as you licked his hand clean. He removed his fingers with a pop, drying them off on the sheets before giving you a quick pat on the head.

“You'll be a good little mate.”

hi there! if you made it this far, thank you! sorry if this was a little rocky, it was my first time writing smut/dark content. i'm a little rusty with my writing >_< but i tried my best!

if you enjoyed this, please like and/or reblog! interaction is very much appreciated! <3

[jakethesequel]

Welcome back to Tumblr's Poorest Wettest Saddest Littlest Meow Meow Competition! Before we announce the final verdict, let's see how our "lovely" contestants are doing backstage!

VRISKA SERKET, hailing from welcoming Homestuck, is in the blue corner! She's a TROLL, a TELEPATH, and a THIEF. She has also attained GODHOOD, and I'm informed she did nothing wrong! Just off the heels of a dramatic loss in the recent Tumblrwoman Election, she deeply resents being trapped in this narrative device!

Her attire today is plain by Earth standards, but well put-together by ALTERNIAN ones. Nevertheless, she has been known to dress up on occasion, particularly in the colors of her ANCESTOR, the Marquise Spinneret Mindfang!

She is extraordinarily determined, and extremely manipulative. She will do anything she can to make herself into the hero her story needs, consequences be damned. Her actions have made her the source of eternal, vitriolic discourse. Some believe her entirely justified, some believe her a heartless villain, and others believe everything in between; every one steadfast and passionate about their specific stance! Love her or hate her: VRISKA!!!!!!!!

HARRIER DU BOIS, also known as HARRY, sometimes referring to himself as RAPHAEL AMBROSIUS COSTEAU or THE REINCARNATION OF KRAS MAZOV, is here representing scenic Disco Elysium! He is a DETECTIVE, an ALCOHOLIC, a recent AMNESIAC, and a WASTE of ENERGY. Having just recently recovered from an attempt at drinking himself to death, we thought inviting him to compete might raise his spirits some! Unfortunately he does not seem to be totally aware of his surroundings, as he has already tried to touch himself twice on air!

His garish and mismatched clothes are STAINED with seemingly every substance a human body can produce. His face is locked in an EXPRESSION that can only induce disgust and discomfort in those who view it.

The few memories he can draw from his fractured mind paint him as violent, selfish, cruel, and pitiful. He has been trying to get over a breakup for six years, and has only partially succeeded through near-total retrograde amnesia. Worst of all, he's still somehow a decently successful cop. He has no friends and few allies on Revachol, with perhaps the sole exception of the impossibly patient and composed Lt. Kim Katsuragi. Even among his fans, you'd be hard pressed to find one who'd defend him, and ever harder pressed to find one willing to stand in the same room as him. Nevertheless, from the safe distance of fiction, let's hear it for HARRY!

In but a few moments, the doors in front of them will open, and they will be able to approach the trophy onto which we have engraved the name of the winner. 5… 4… 3… 2…

AND THE WINNER IS: VRISKAAAAAAAA SERKET!

—

Vriska: WH8T THE FUCK.

Vriska: WHAT THE F8CK!!!!!!!!

Vriska: I WON THIS????????

Vriska: You pieces of shit can't supp8rt me to win ag8inst some lanky rain8bow-drinking 8itch, 8ut 8eat one-in-fuck8ng 16777216 odds to win poorest, wettest, saddest, littlest g8ddamn meow8east?

Logic [Easy:Success]: She won. That means we lost.

Conceptualization [Challenging:Failure]: Another loss in a long, long line of losses.

Pain Threshold: You've gotten used to the feeling by now. Losing something barely even hurts anymore.

Endurance: You still carry each one with you. Well, except…

Volition: Not now. Not yet.

Authority [Medium:Success]: This doesn't have to stay a loss. Stare the girl down. Challenge her. Don't let this be taken from you.

Wait, what *is* she doing, anyway?

Perception: The grey girl seems to be shouting at someone, but there's no one else here.

Vriska: FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

Inland Empire [Godly:Success]: The unseen audience, the string-pullers of fate. The sadistic writer terrorizing their creation. The storybook itself, the confines it sets. She has seen the death of the author, and needs more.

Empathy [Medium:Failure]: What's got her so upset?

Harry: Is there something wrong with you?

Vriska: I'm not taking that from a walking dumpster, asshole!

Suggestion: There's still time to fix this. Say something nice, quickly.

Harry: I just mean, you seem upset. I thought you'd be celebrating your win. It’s a big accomplishment, right?

Vriska: Are you kidding?

Drama: Are we, sire? Should we be, perhaps?

Vriska: You thought I’d 8e cele8r8ing this? A vote for the most pitia8le, pathetic person in paradox space? I’m not so desper8 to fill my pity quadrant that I need to resort to CROWDFUNDING! That’s like the lowest form of 8egging!

Electrochemistry: You are that desperate. Don’t think we're above begging for it, piggy.

Conceptualization [Easy:Success]: Oh. This was not a contest one wants to win. Maybe our loss was for the best.

Vriska: And I WON!!!!!!!! With this kind of competition, HOW did I get all the votes? All of them!

Reaction Speed [Trivial:Success]: "This kind of competition?" She’s talking about you! Say something!

Harry: It was a tight race. You fought with honor.

Vriska: IT SH8ULDN’T HAVE FUCKIN8 8EEN!

Vriska: Look at you! What the fuck kind of su8juggl8or suit are you wearing? Did someone 8leed on it?

Savoir Faire: No, no, this outfit is *cool*. You just have to give it a little *disco*, man.

Strike a pose.

Vriska: …

Vriska: You can’t seriously think any of that is appealing.

Vriska: Your clothes look like they were dragged out of 8 different gar8age 8ins.

Vriska: You couldn’t 8e more greasy and stained if you drowned in a pail of 8rooding slurry. From the st8 of your body, you actually might have!

Physical Instrument: I told you. You need to cultivate more mass.

Composure [Challenging:Failure]: Please, don’t start crying in front of a teenager.

You realize that you already have.

Vriska: Are you seriously crying right now? I might not 8e an expert on the human metamorphological process 8ut you definitely aren’t a pupa anymore. Shit, you look like you’re halfway dead already. Grow up, Pupa Pan!

Endurance: You need to stop this, now, before you break down further.

Harry: Fuck off, fucking spidery bitch! Leave me alone!

Vriska: Wow. I don’t think I’ve seen a grown man act this pathetic 8efore. How the hell did you not win this!?!?!?!? Do you even have a single thing going for you?

Esprit De Corps: You have a badge and a gun. You are a Detective Lieutenant-Yefreitor of the RCM. At least for now, you have that.

Harry: I’m a pretty good fucking cop.

Vriska: There are no good cops you dum8 8itch!

Authority: Make her stop.

Vriska: I’ve known you less than a minute and you already disgust me. I feel 8ad for the people that actually have to 8e near you.

Half Light: Do what you have to do and do it now.

Vriska: You deserved to win this. I don’t know how you can live like that. 8ack home you would have 8een culled sweeps ago.

Hand Eye Coordination [Legendary:Success]: You have never fired a shot so quickly or instinctually. You didn’t even know your gun was loaded. You pulled it out the way a cat scratches a hand, or a drunk pisses himself. You don’t remember when violence became second nature to you, but you didn’t forget how to do it either.

Harry: Oh, God.

Perception (Sight): Is that blood… blue?

Visual Calculus [Legendary:Success]: Light swirls and shimmers around the girl’s body, flashing a technicolor code you cannot decipher. Her body floats into the air, and her eyes flash open. All eight of them.

Inland Empire: No justice. No heroism. Just mindless violence.

Half Light: RUN.

Vriska: OW!

Vriska: Oh no you fucking don’t!!!!!!!!

(♏) Volition [Impossible:Failure]: You try to run, but your will is seemingly powerless to drive your body. I’m sorry.

Physical Instrument: Don’t look at me. I’m in great shape.

Interfacing: Connections seem fine. Don’t tell me we have to unplug him again…

♏Vriska♏: What the fuck.

Harry: Wh-wh-what are you doing to me?

Vriska: Shut up I’m trying to f8cus!

Inland Empire: Welcome, Thief of Light.

♏Vriska♏: What the hell is wrong with you?

Encyclopedia: Severe alcoholism. Retrograde amnesia. Partial facial paralysis. Dehydration. Heart palpi- (♏)

♏Vriska♏: 8e quiet, 8ook8rain! I’m trying to rifle through memories here and it’s a MESS!

Interfacing: We haven’t quite organized since our recent… restructuring. Try the thought cabinet.

Rhetoric: Don’t tell her that!

♏Vriska♏: Too late, sucker! Found it!

♏Vriska♏: …

♏Vriska♏: …

♏Vriska♏: …

♏Vriska♏: Jegus christ.

♏Vriska♏: In pu8lic? Why would you—

♏Vriska♏: Ugh!

♏Vriska♏: You said THAT?

♏Vriska♏: There was a8solutely no reason to do ANY of that, what the hell!

♏Vriska♏: You should honestly just kill yourself if you’re going to keep 8eing such a fuckup!

Reaction Speed: Yes!

Logic: Sound. You should kill yourself.

Empathy: It would make everyone feel better.

Endurance: Hasn’t this all gone on long enough?

Savoir Faire: It’s a hell of a statement.

Drama: The noble sacrifice, like Romeo, like Juliet!

Rhetoric: You should kill yourself NOW!

Authority: She has bested you. Listen to your better.

Half Light: Anything to get away from her.

Volition: …

♏Vriska♏: Can you creeps 8e normal for two damn seconds?

MORALE CRITICAL

The light fades from your eyes, and you fall to the floor.

Shivers: You are being called back where you belong....

—

Kim: Yes, Lieutenant. A fascinating dream. I’m sorry you did not win the competition.

Harry: What do you think it means, Kim? Do you think it could be some kind of message? Should I try to find that girl?

Kim: “That girl?”

Harry: Yeah! Vriska!

Kim: No, Lieutenant. I do not think you should go looking for Vriska Serket from Homestuck. Perhaps try looking for the killer in our murder case?

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

Yeah that's totally fine sorry for not being more specific. Can I have jean, eren armin mikasa and bertholdt saving the reader from like a titan or something thanks. ( you can cut mikasa and/or eren if that's to many people for you)

a/n: i’m so so sorry this took so long. this has been in my inbox forever & i hope you’re still around, anon.

jean saves you

it was a warm night, tonight. you and jean had decided to take a late night stroll, enjoying the cool breeze and each others company. you were both oblivious to the gaping hole in wall maria.

you were laughing and joking with jean about something eren had said earlier. jean didn’t think it was all that funny but tolerated it for the sake of being in your company.

“you’re just a little hotheaded,” you laughed, pinching your thumb and pointer finger close enough to touch.

“did you hear that?” jean asked, his voice falling to a whisper.

“that’s not funny, jean.” you said sternly.

“seriously, Y/N. shut up for a second.” he hissed. he throws his right arm out in front of your chest, preventing you from taking one step further.

as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you saw it. the unmistakable foot of a titan.

your legs frozen in fear, you looked over at jean. a blank expression was on his face which was all drained of color.

it was quiet to the point where you could hear it’s breath. you could feel the warm humidity settle on your face.

in a fleeting moment of bravery, his hand wrapped around your wrist. and jean ran like hell, dragging you with him. your legs could barely keep up with his.

eventually, you reached the dorms where jean practically threw you inside. he alerted his comrades and they all begin to get their gear in a hurry to slay however many titans might be lurking within the walls.

he stopped you halfway through buckling your straps up. “no,” he said, “it’s too dark. i’ll be damned if i let you out there.”

jean wouldn’t hear another word from you as he ran through the door and into the darkness.

eren saves you

eren, now in possession of the attack and founding titan, waged a war in marley. through the chaos of it all, his goal seemed to be taking the war hammer titan’s power. you were stationed on the ground in marley, thanks to the call of the commander. it was a stupid plan but a sacrifice you were willing to make if it meant the safe return of eren.

levi and hange knew it was risky, sending you down there alone but you were the only one willing to die. you accepted long ago you’d die out on a mission and in terms of them, this seemed like a good one to go out on.

with your feet on the ground, you knew you had to act now. you needed to get the war hammers or the jaw’s attention so eren could proceed with his goal. you settled on the jaw, having a bit more familiarity with the titan because of ymir.

getting its attention was easy. running was the hard part. in the midst of everything, it went right over your head that the jaw would be near impossible to escape.

your odm gear could only carry you so fast. sweat dripped down your face in fear. you were so ready to die, weren’t you? why were you fighting it now?

a final attempt. you spin around, facing the titan and its’ teeth. flashy white teeth that would send you to your death. this is what you became a scout for.

you drew your blades, prepared to fight.

but you didn’t have to.

eren’s titan let out a roar that shook the earth. with a quick swoop, he grabbed the jaw in mid air as it leaped towards you. the attack titan held your gaze as you thanked eren over and over in your head. you hoped he could hear you.

armin saves you

in paradis, there were humans and there were titans. everything else was irrelevant. of humans, there were civilians and there were scouts. you, following your friends into the survey corps, were a scout. a terrified little girl but a scout, nonetheless.

the day you were pursuing the female titan, you had fallen out of rank. a few abnormals had pushed you further and further away from your comrades. but you had no choice, if you wanted to live, you had to abandon them.

your horse was fast enough to allude them until in a moment of fear, it bucked you off. your steed fled quickly, leaving you to your legs as a means of transportation.

what’s worse is you were in an open field, no trees to grapple onto. you would have to use the titan as an anchor if you were going to slay it.

zipping up, you launched a hook into it’s neck. sending you, it smacks you down. you had quick reflexes, hooking down into the ground and zipping back down instead of tumbling down.

how were you supposed to reach the nape of an abnormal?

a faint galloping sound reaches your ears, alerting you of a comrades presence. armin arlert.

armin showed up with his own horse and a spare. leaping up from his own horse, he flies by the titan, cutting the muscles in the back of the knees. the titan drops down giving you time to pull yourself up onto the mare.

riding back, you yell over at him, “you came back for me?”

“of course!”

bertholdt saves you

“shit,” bertholdt murmured from a branch as he saw you coming up over the horizon.

bertholdt and reiner had just taken ymir and eren. and you were damned if you weren’t going to do anything about it. your commanders told you to leave it alone but you just couldn’t. eren and ymir were your friends, dammit, and you were going to get them back.

you didn’t know you were riding into a death trap until it was too late.

titans gnawed and clawed at the tree the warriors were holed up on. you saw the cluster of them just as they had heard your horse’s hooves hitting the ground.

quickly losing interest in the people above them, the titans turned towards you. and eren and ymir wouldn’t be any help, knowing the condition they’re in.

could you turn back? you’d risk luring a group of ten, maybe fifteen, titans back to your squad. they’d handle it, right? you didn’t want to find out, instead, you charged forward relying on the trees to give you some relief.

“shit!” bertholdt repeated more urgently once he saw you continue heading forward. with the knowledge that the titans were learning to climb, he forgot he was a warrior.

“bert, don’t!” reiner threatened.

in this moment, he was a solider coming down to save you. he didn’t care about the details, he’d figure that out later. as long as you were safe, that’s all he cared about.

and he did save you. he used the titans as landmarks to grapple his way to you, lift you off the horse and back up into the tree tops.

you were safe, but at what cost?

mikasa saves you

it’s always been said that mikasa was an army of soldiers shoved into a teenage girl and while you never doubted it, you witnessed something that would make even the most sexist man bow down to her. with the fury of all her ancestors, she saved you from a death you had thought was inevitable.

stupidly, you had gotten yourself pinned against a tree. worse, you had gotten yourself pinned against a tree with empty gas canisters. your odm gear was useless and there were no low hanging branches to try to climb up.

three large titans loomed above you, nearly salivating at the thought of their next meal. their teeth were giant and captivating. it was all you could look at as they started to close in, and you could picture yourself stuck between their two front teeth. you would forever be a remnant of their latest snack until their greedy tongues would finish you off and swallow what’s left.

your back was pressed even more firmly against the wood. it hurt. could you run for it? were you able to run fast enough that you could dart between their legs without one of them grabbing you?

it didn’t matter anyway. fast enough or not, your legs refused to move. frozen in fear, you picked neither flight or fight.

a scream of feminine rage stopped the giants and pulled their attention away from you. you could have used the distraction to make a quick get away but still, your feet were glued to the ground.

she was quick, mikasa. she was fast enough to where the only thing you saw were silver blades reflecting the sun, zooming through the air. and as she moved further, each of the three titans dropped one after another. they fell like giant columns and the sound when they hit the ground was loud. the earth shook with their death.

it was no sweat to her. the look in her eyes told you she’d do this over and over again until she couldn’t no more. she was a cold blooded killer and she saved your life that day.

[brunetttebaby]

arthur morgan falling in love with you was something else entirely.

he wasn’t quite sure when he made the revelation that he was totally head of heels for you, but the feelings were only growing by the day.

maybe it was because you didn’t see him as a heartless monster, but as a man who had endured so much. or it was the sweet voice of yours, or the way your eyes twinkled when you talked about something you were passionate about.

maybe it was the handful of nights you had stayed up, simply keeping him company after a long day. regardless what the reason was, he found himself staring at you for much longer than he once did.

you crossed his mind nearly ever hour, and he was unable to escape it. everything was a reminder of you. his horse? he recalled times when you groomed her for him, taking a small responsibility for him. the sweet flowers he would pick? smelled just like you.

it was damn near impossible to be around you too. his heart would race, palms would sweat as he attempted to control him. when you would ask if he was okay, he’d fumble over his words. he was arthur morgan, for christs sake. there was no reason he should be nervous around you.

but you just drove him to the brink of insanity, all the while, absolutely oblivious. you would’ve never imagined he would have feelings for you. it was completely out of the question.

oh but he did, he truly did. he didn’t attempted to hide it, per se, but it was pretty damn obvious to just about everyone else. he’d bring you little gifts, wrap his arms around you sweetly, pick you up and spin you off your feet.

and somehow you thought it was still platonic??? it made him laugh so. alas, he didn’t have the courage to ask a sweet little thing like you to be with a man as rough as he was.

so, you did. it was out of the blue, happening quite fast

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“do ya wanna go to dinner tonight?” you asked nonchalantly, not even bothering to look up from the tiny stitches you were forming on a button up you were fixing for him. “i- what?” he was dumbfounded. “like… a date??”

you looked up at him, the only confusion being that you didn’t understand why he was being weird. “uh, yeah?”

what a fool he was. “i dunno if i’d ask you for dinner if it wasn’t a date, arthur. you got all the right screws in your head??” you teased lightly, although he knew you were being serious as well.

he scolded himself that night when everyone had gone to sleep. this entire time, the pair of you could’ve been together. but he was simply to nervous, and for what?

(i absolutely hate the ending of this but it’s time i post again it’s almost been three months help)

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quick little a/n — this blog will be focused on arthur morgan for the time being!<3