#its just a coincidence that he showed up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

webism · 5 months ago

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pornstar!choso has a curated look that throws off a lot of his costars. strong build, straight-set face, hands made to choke and tear… most of those he film with don’t expect to be doted on the entire time.

people joke that pornstar!choso falls a little bit in love with every costar he fucks or gets fucked by. that glossy look that always pulls at his face by the time a scene ends, how his lip trembles with a need to be kissed raw when he cums. he says it's just the bliss of his orgasm—that he gets emotional in the moment, but it doesn't mean anything. well, until he meets you.

pornstar!choso who looks you up before his shoot because your name sounded vaguely familiar when it left his agents lips. he could have sworn you'd fucked before, because when he rolls the syllables of your name on his tongue they're nostalgic and taste like the sweat and laboured breaths of a long night between satin sheets. had you shot a scene together before? or had it been a one night stand?

pornstar!choso who realises that no, he hadn't slept with you before. but the familiarity of your name isn't a coincidence—he's fucked his fist to your videos more times than he can count. your name hits him like lightning, he had typed it into his search bar late in the night, cock hard and in need of instant relief. it's almost scary how well he knows you, what sounds you make when you get close to cumming, how you often arch your back and try to run from the overwhelming pleasure, how your eyebrows knit together when you're feeling so good it almost hurts.

pornstar!choso who realises with a now-red face that you probably don't have a clue who he is, and yet he's cum in time with you for months now. he's pretty sure he's drained his wallet at least twice on your cam shows... what if you recognise his name and piece it together with his username that he donates under? he debates cancelling the shoot, faking covid to get some time at home to hate himself endlessly.

but pornstar!choso realises that this is his chance to get to know how you really feel. he's imagined it so many times, as he fucked fake pussies or his closed fist using spit or his own cum as lube. you'd be warmer, undoubtedly tighter... so much prettier. and he wants to know more: would you prefer to take control and turn him into the toys he so often pretends are you? would you lay back all pretty and let him ruin you on his cock? how deep could you take him he knows he's big but you seem so eager, would you take him to the base with ease or would he have to force it in? bully your pretty pussy until it stretches to his shape?

pornstar!choso who hates the fact that your first, and possibly only, time together would be in front of a production crew and under the unsympathetic lights of a porn set. but he'd fuck on a stage in front of thousands if it means a taste of you.

pornstar!choso who makes it to the shoot before you do, comes ten minutes early to settle his anxieties and get a feel for the scene ahead. the director tells him its a simple shoot, that choso is meant to let you ride him for a while until you pull off and suck his cock for a nice close-up facial shot. the way the director speaks so clinically about sex with you makes choso grimace, he feels pathetic for feeling like this. like he'll be a changed man after feeling you around his cock, which is already painfully hard.

pornstar!choso who hates himself for stumbling over his words when he meets you. he wishes he had never looked you up, though he doesn't doubt seeing your pretty face like this would have wrecked his confidence regardless. you're kind, greet him with a shy smile as if he isn't about to slip balls deep inside of you.

pornstar!choso who, once he has you sitting on top of him on that bed—cameras pointed dutifully as you start to play your role and hike your skirt up so you can sink down on his cock—he can't handle the thought of fucking you like it's nothing, like it's not been the crux of his fantasies in the dark hours at night.

pornstar!choso who, probably to the detriment of his career, pushes you backwards onto the bed and connects his lips to yours in a kiss that surpasses every single fantasy he's had in his mind. you taste good, and he wants more. he speaks against your lips, asks whines a question that makes your stomach coil. 'can i eat you out first? please?'

pornstar!choso who is chided by the production team as he gets his head under your skirt and laps at your pussy in the most desperate act of need he thinks he's ever displayed. those that claim he falls in love with each shoot would be wholly correct in this case: he is in love with the taste of you, with the way your legs trap him in and ask for more. he could eat you for hours, run his tongue from your clit to dip it inside of you in reverence of the goddess he believes you to be. and you laugh at the absurdity of his hunger, at the courage it takes to run off script, and the pure need in which he eats you out.

pornstar!choso who only stops once the director threatens to cut the scene entirely. his cock hurts with how hard it is though, and he thinks the redirection of blood has made him lightheaded, because when he's made to sit back and let you sink down onto his length he swears he meets god.

pornstar!choso who can't help his whines as you ride him, an addiction already laying down roots in his brain. he has to try and think of anything less godly than you to hold on to his orgasm though, because the combination of your body and having subconsciously trained himself to associate you with climaxing is all too strong, and he's a hairs breadth away from cumming prematurely and ruining the scene.

pornstar!choso who realises as you continue, however, that your moans arent the same as he's heard them before, though the speakers of his phone. you're more breathy with him, your moans are less honeyed, more raw—as if coming from your chest rather than your throat. he wonders for a moment if he's not good enough, if you're having to fake your pleasure to save face for the cameras. but you're soaked, and even above the sounds of your shared pleasure he can still hear the squelch of his cock rutting in and out of you.

but before pornstar!choso can question himself further, your eyes are widening and you're latching a hand onto his throat as your pace increases. he can feel the way you tighten impossibly around him, the way your hips stutter and your pupils blow out with lust—you're cumming. and of course he remembers his instructions, to let you climb off of him and take his load over your face... but you're not climbing off of him.

pornstar!choso who understands the pointed look you manage to give him, that it's your turn to bypass the scene direction. you want to be greedy, to feel him finish inside of you, even through the confines of a condom. your moans arent fake, they're the first real ones you've let sound on a porn set—and choso is pulling them from your lungs like a choir's conductor.

pornstar!choso who can't last a minute longer, now with the way you lean in and coax him to climax with your voice, the soft praise that leaves your lips is an aphrodisiac and all too powerful. he sees stars when he cums, full blown galaxies too complex to imagine. call it an out-of-body experience or not, but choso is lost in his orgasm for long enough to warrant you bringing him back down with a soft kiss to his lips. he looks sinful: his hairs come loose, messy and stuck to his forehead. his eyes, though, are what's going to be the subject of a few screenshots taken by his fans: he looks totally infatuated.

pornstar!choso who, after taking a few minutes to settle himself after the shoot, watches as you walk over to him, a very pretty smile pulling at the corner of your lips before you lean down and peck his lips goodbye. he assumes it's the last he'll see of you, that there's no way he's worthy of every tasting you again. that night, he's scared to brush his teeth, to lose the way you linger on his tongue.

pornstar!choso who debates fucking his fist to the memory of you in bed that night. he thinks you've ruined masturbation for him, or sex in general: nothing could quite be the same. and as if its a sign from god that he's done enough good in his life to deserve some positive karma, his phone dings.

a photo of you, a pretty vibrator laid over your stomach. your laptop open in the background, his porn playing on the screen.

attached, a message that makes the poor boy cum in his pyjama bottoms. 'lets meet up again. i want to tie you up and film how stupid you get with a vibe strapped to your cock—a movie just for us, though. no audience.'

pt 2 in the works :p

#im sorry this is so much longer than i intended it to be #choso smut #choso x reader #pstarchoso #choso x you #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #choso kamo x you #jjk choso #choso kamo

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haveihitanerve · 9 months ago

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Gotham fucking loves Brucie Wayne

Some nice Brucie Wayne headcanons for you all

Hes an idiot and a dork but he makes social events interesting because who else would fall into the chocolate fountain?

At any social event where kids are invited as well he can most definitely be found with the kids, talking to them like they are adults

He never treats anyone as inferior unless they're dicks

He once punched riddler in the face because he interrupted a girls birthday party

He has an entire fashion line that is dedicated to giving people actually comfortable practical clothes

Hes an absolute unit in bed. For both men and women. (either top or bottom)

He once held a man upside down by his ankles and shook him until everything had fallen out of his pockets because he had used to be a bully and was now a dick

Can and will walk teenagers home if its late at night.

Always tips very generously

He was once in line at a batburger and there was a karen yelling at the poor 16 year old cashier and he walked to the front and just started sticking 100 dollar bills into the tip jar with the nastiest smile aimed at the karen. ‘The more you yell the more i tip.’ (the cashier was, coincidently stephanie brown, and she high fived him)

He has a social media but never uses it unless its to draw awareness to a certain cause or to show off his children.

He also posts beautiful pictures of gotham, or of mundane everyday things, showcasing the beauty in life

(Is canonically a feminist)

Will protect waiters/servers/janitors from creeps or gotham elite who think theyre better than them

He stopped adopting kids but still pays for as many college tuitions as he can

Funded a city wide disability infrastructure plan so people with wheelchairs could go places too

He once rocked three guys with guns’s shit because they were attempting to molest these little boys

Punched a teacher in the face for making a student cry

Will at any time drop everything the second one of his kids asks him to

There is an entire instagram account dedicated to pictures of him helping old people cross the street

Once a month he visits inmates at the prison and offers them jobs

Genuinely cares for his workers and buys them houses and cars if they need it

Literally created gothams public transportation system and made sure it was free

Teamed up with poison ivy to make public gardens for everyone to enjoy

Funds clean energy research

Any celebrity fan mail he receives he answers personally

One time a little girl asked him to come to her birthday party and he did and brought presents

Taught an entire school basic self defense

Brucie Wayne may be an idiotic little shit but he is the Prince of Gotham and Gothamites would lay down their lives for him more willingly than they would for Batman.

#just some headcanons #some might be tru #some not #idk #i just wanted some good bruce wayne #not batman #but bruce wayne #brucie wayne #batfam #batman #good guy bruce wayne

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flwrkid14 · 2 months ago

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The Curious Case of Phantom

It starts during patrol.

At first, Tim barely notices the small, white blur with eerily green eyes trailing behind him as he scales rooftops and darts through alleys. Gotham’s stray population is no joke, so he figures it’s just another cat—until it keeps happening. Night after night, the same cat follows him like a shadow, no matter how far or fast he goes.

He tries to lose it, but somehow, it always finds him. And soon, he realizes the cat isn’t just following him—it’s helping.

One night, the cat leaps from a rooftop and claws a mugger who’s sneaking up behind Tim. Another night, it leads him to a drug deal in progress, meowing insistently until Tim follows.

It’s eerie how good the cat is at finding trouble, but it’s also undeniably useful. Tim names it Phantom, mostly because of its hauntingly white fur and the way it moves like a ghost in the shadows.

He’s not ready to admit that he’s started looking for the cat on patrol, waiting for it to show up like some unofficial partner.

———

Then Phantom starts showing up at Tim’s apartment.

The first time, Tim finds the cat sitting on his fire escape, staring at him through the window. He brushes it off as coincidence. But then it happens again. And again. Every night, Phantom is there, waiting.

Tim tries ignoring it, but Phantom doesn’t scratch or meow—it just stares, patient and expectant.

Eventually, Tim gives in and lets the cat inside. Phantom struts in like he owns the place, jumps onto Tim’s desk, and curls up right on top of his notes.

“Guess I have a cat now,” Tim mutters, scratching behind Phantom’s ears.

Phantom quickly becomes a fixture in Tim’s life.

He lounges on Tim’s lap during stakeouts, naps on his keyboard, and somehow always knows when Tim needs a break. Phantom is weird, though. His movements are too precise, too deliberate, and sometimes Tim swears he’s glowing faintly green.

But Tim doesn’t question it too much. Phantom’s good company, and Gotham’s seen stranger things.

———

The family eventually notices Phantom soon enough.

“You adopted a stray?” Dick asks when he visits Tim’s apartment. He crouches to pet the cat, who immediately swats at him. Dick recoils, laughing. “Okay, wow. Even the cat thinks I’m beneath him.”

“He doesn't seem to like new people,” Tim mutters, watching Phantom hop onto his desk like nothing happened.

Steph is obsessed. “He’s adorable! Can I post him?” she asks, taking a hundred photos of Phantom lounging on Tim’s keyboard. “He’s like your spooky little sidekick.”

Jason, on the other hand, has a reaction.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” Jason yells the first time he sees Phantom.

Tim frowns. “It’s a cat, Jason. Calm down.”

“No, it’s not! That thing is glowing green, Tim! It’s haunted or radioactive or something!”

Tim rolls his eyes. “He’s just a cat.”

Jason isn’t convinced, but Phantom doesn’t care. He just glares at Jason like he’s the dumbest person in the room and stretches out on the couch.

Damian, though, reacts... differently.

The second Damian sees Phantom, he freezes.

“This cat,” Damian says, voice trembling with reverence, “is extraordinary.”

Tim barely has time to blink before Damian has his hands full of silk-lined cat beds, imported food, and custom collars engraved with “Phantom, the Great.”

“He’s my cat, Damian,” Tim says when Damian tries to scold him for not brushing Phantom’s fur properly.

“You are unworthy of him, Drake,” Damian snaps. “This is a creature of unmatched perfection, and you’re treating him like a common house pet.”

Tim sighs, but Phantom climbs into his lap and starts purring loudly. Damian looks betrayed.

“Traitor,” Damian mutters at Phantom, who clearly doesn’t care.

———

But Phantom isn’t just a cat.

Danny Fenton—currently stuck in his ghost form as a cat and unable to shift back—has been following Tim for weeks, hoping the smartest Bat could help him figure out how to fix his situation.

At first, it was desperation. Danny didn’t know how to communicate with Tim or explain what had happened to him. But then Tim let him in, fed him, and started treating him with such quiet care that Danny couldn’t bring himself to reveal the truth.

Phantom became his escape. For the first time in ages, Danny didn’t have to fight or run or worry about anyone discovering his secrets. He could just... exist.

And, okay, messing with the family was a bonus.

Danny knew he couldn’t stay a cat forever, but with the way Tim scratched behind his ears and muttered soft compliments, he thought, Maybe I can stay like this for a little longer.

Or maybe a lot longer. Phantom had a good thing going, after all.

#tim drake #danny phantom #batfam #dc x dp #jason todd #damian wayne #dick grayson #stephanie brown #danny phantom got himself turned into a cat #only jason can see dannys full green glow because of the pits #everyone else only sees glimpses in the light

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ganondoodle · 1 year ago

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hello, post sleep clarity ganon here

i also dont mean to make demise into uwu soft bean who has done no wrong either- but i want to give him more character than he gets in canon (which isnt really ... anything) which was my main motivation from the start (aside from the spite i felt after seeing hylias design in some of those mangas) bc i like to ask the question "what would need to happen to bring a character to this point" and "maybe what you are told by the only as true and good portrayed people isnt the truth"

and in general im not a fan of a villain being a villain bc "evil" and that being the only explanation you are supposed to need, give me a reason to hate them otherwise i will always ask "why", and if you only ever TELL me that hes done evil stuff without ever showing it? .. well here i am asking "why?"

like at the start of skyward sword they tell you how some evil monster army showed up from ... out of the earth and threatened the perfect peace and everything and i cant help but ask "ok but is this actually true though?" you never get to see it and are just told about it, and why does the evil guy hate the gods, want the triforce (which is a thing of .. the gods?) and to cloak this world in darkness? you dont hate someone for no reason? or at least i think its pretty boring in a story

the whole idea for all the worldbuilding and story of my comic is .. what if demise is a deity just like hylia but fallen from grace? what if the gods had been wanting the story of skyward sword to play out before but their toys failed to play their part? what if the reason he hates the gods is bc they made his own world die a slow and agonizing death and made him watch it bc he failed to play the part the gods wanted him to play, all while knowing and trying to surpress the knowledge that it wasnt JUST them but also himself killing his home in an effort to protect it, now being once again played with but in a new world that was allowed to live while his own died, and he is the monster now, but unlike himself, hylia immediately sees something is off about how the gods had told her things would go and the reality of it- and it all spirals into a desperate struggle against forces hard to even comprehend that ultimately fails AND from that paints the entirety of skyward sword into a completely different context-

... sorry i didnt mean to ramble, im not trying to justify my writing, but its been a while since i talked about the premise of the story in itself so im not gonna delete this part even if its gone off the rails a little

(also this is unconnected to any fandom discussion, it came up randomly when i was talking to a friend yesterday and only later saw that other people had talked about sth similar right then too.. )

utterly random late night panic thoughts but

if you read my zelda comic and like it i love and appreciate you but i really do need to be upfront about it being very much a self indulgent enemies to lovers story with a villain at the center that has done bad but isnt bad at his core and is struggeling to come to terms with the fact that he doesnt actually want to be the evil beast he and almost everyone else believes he should be

yes im one of those people ... fake villain fans or something ... i think .. i dont know the rules to that ... q-q

#ganondoodles talks #i swear this was a coincidence #my point is #when theres a villain that is just evil for the sake of evil with no actual reason i either make stuff up or doubt everything i am told #like are you telling me its more impactful to you when a villain is literally a villain for no reason #do you never question the narrative when you are being told things over and over with no actual proof #and extremely one sided #espeically when its not about a one off character like demise who never shows again #but ganondorf?#idk the psot anymore but i saw someone say that a reason they dont tell you anything about gan in totk #could be bc they expect you to already know hes the villain and evil #so they dont need to give you a reason to not like him and expect you to just go along with it #and that makes sense in a bad way #but also gan is an estblished complicated character #reducing him to essentially another demise is just so disrespectful #as is making him good bc hes aligned himself with hyrule now so hes a good bean uwu #theres alot more to talk about for ganondorf sicne hes much more of a character than demise but i wont get into it in these tags lmao

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chaos-bringer-13 · 10 months ago

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Vlad, Dan and Dani move across dimensions to Gotham because of some bad stuff happening in their own dimension. Vlad has a lot of his money with him in cash, and they quickly get themselves fake id's as father and his two children. Vlad's plan is to keep low profile, wait it out and then return. Dan and Dani don't care about Vlad's plan.

Vlad is shady, Dan and Dani are causing shenanigans, and a bunch of coincidences leads to people believing that they're some sort of mafia family.

Some idiots try to rob Dani and she blurts out "Do you know who my dad is?". Dan emerges from the shadows, sends Dani off and makes extremely specific and detailed threats of slow and painful death to the would-be robbers. He finishes the speech by adding that they would be wishing for him to do all of that if his and Dani's father found out about the robbery.

Then Dan accidentally recruits a group of goons by beating up their boss and feeling kinda responsible for the henchmen.

Then Dani steals the talons.

Dan has a fight over territory with one of the smaller rogues.

Dani steals Scarecrow's chemicals.

All the while they keep convincing people that this is all a part of some bigger plan of Masters family. First it's just a misunderstanding, then they keep doing it to annoy Vlad. Some people think that Masters is just a surname, some think that Master is a rogue's name. After a while everyone knows that there's an up-and-coming crime family.

Vlad is entirely oblivious. He doesn't know shit. He ends up making a small organisation (restaurant? car repair shop?) to hire people who keep coming to him. He's not sure why his children tell all these people that he can help but they are in trouble, so he helps. And then helps again, and again. All the places he opens look like crime fronts.

Vlad is still unaware that he's a mob boss.

Maybe at some point Dan and Dani think that Vlad figured this out (because its obvious) but doesn't say anything because the police has bugged their house or because he wants plausible deniability.

Obviously all of this ends with the Bats deciding to confront Masters. It's also the perfect moment for Danny to enter.

Here, have a shitty meme showing the moment.

Danny: I left you here fOR ONE MONTH

Vlad: It's not my fault!

Danny: I figured. Dani, if I give you a candy, will you tell me what the hell you've done?

Dani: What kind of candy?

Danny, handing out a Yellow Lantern ring: A Ring Pop.

Dani, snatching it: We accidentally started a mob family :D

#prompt #actually this is like a whole fanfic plot #this got away from me #the initial idea was “Dan and Dani live with Vlad and accidentally convince everyone that they're a crime family”#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #redeemed!Dan #redeemed!Vlad #Dan and Dani are Vlad's kids #they're also chaos gremlins

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fortunapre · 23 days ago

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𝐖𝐡at Happens 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐬… | 𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢

SUMMARY★ the internet gets suspicious after Oscar Piastri’s childhood best friend shows up to the USA GP after swearing off races a year ago…

(multiple face claims)

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y/nusername home sweet home *read in southern mama accent*

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oscarpiastri: hey! no way i’m going to be there too what a coincidence!

➜ y/nusername: its not a coincidence im stalking you

➜ oscarpiastri: 😀 what.

y/nbff: tell me you’re joking

➜ y/nusername: lemme tell you something... LEMME TELL YOU SUMTHING!

user1234: why does @y/nbff sound mad? Did she not tell her bsf or something?

➜ user999: don’t quote me on this but i’m pretty sure it has to do with the drama about y/n and her ex.

➜ user 1234: wait what?!? Im new what is that???

➜ f1updatesfans: well like i think 2 years ago y/n was seen around with this guy while she was in Austin (her home town) for the USA race.

➜ f1updatesfans: Then suddenly he like disappeared and y/n didn’t go to another race since. but now apparently she’s going to this one??? it’s all very speculative but yeah.

➜ user1234: ok but what does y/n have to do with formula one? Wait was she dating a driver?

➜ f1updatesfans: No! I dont think so... And shes Oscar’s friend I think. Best friend.

imessages- y/n's POV

Once y/n got off of the plane and through the gate, she stood waiting for Oscar. Considering he was already in town for the race, he had no problem coming to get her. They were best friends after all.

y/n had a hand on her suitcase and leaned against a pillar. She looked worn out and utterly tired. Her eye bags could practically be called carry-on luggage. She rested her head on the wall and scrolled through her contacts before choosing Oscar's name.

Her phone only rang once before Oscar's voice answered from the other side.

"Hey, y/n." He said in his signature sweet tone that always made y/n smile. The corner of her mouth lifted at his voice while she closed her eyes. Maybe tired was an understatement.

She was exhausted. Usually she just sleeps on planes, but for the whole 6-hour trip she never dozed off. The closest she got was simply closing her eyes.

She couldn't sleep. Not when she was so worried about what would happen once she landed.

"Yeah, hey Oscar." she murmured, and let out a long yawn. "My gate is A6." She held her phone between her shoulder and cheek while she tried to fish out her wallet from her purse.

"You good? You sound tired. Or sad. I can't really tell over the phone." Oscar spoke through the speaker pressed up against her ear.

"Yes, I'm fine..." Once she found her wallet, she pulled out cash to buy something to drink at the mini market across from her gate.

"Oh, I see you! Stop walking I'm coming to your right now." Oscar said quickly. Y/n looked around her, trying to find him. Eventually, she spotted his familiar smile.

They both hung up the phone as Oscar got closer. He was smiling at her, almost smirking really. When he stood next to her, he took a moment to look at her state, no doubt remembering it to make fun of later.

Y/n smiled back and then continued walking to the minimarket, with Oscar alongside her.

Once she got her water, they both started walking towards the exit.

"Here, I can take this." Oscar stopped y/n and put his hand on top of her hand which was holding her suitcase. His touch felt familiar and warm. His hands always felt rougher than they looked, but y/n felt comfort in knowing it was Oscar. At first, she didn't speak.

She was too busy staring at their hands because something different was happening.

She felt different. Suddenly, she wanted his hand to never leave. She wanted his hand to grab hers and lace their fingers. She wanted his hand to touch her more.

She shook her head and looked away from their hands. She must be really tired, and sleep deprived.

Instead of agreeing verbally, y/n just let go, suddenly conscious of Oscar's burning touch, and nodded, letting him take her suitcase.

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ynusername airport fit check

photo credits: lando norris’s teammate, i think?

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oscarpiastri shut up

landonorris *my future boyfriend

➜ ynusername LANDO WHAT! is this a hard launch for you two???? wdym your bf

➜ landonorris WAIT HAHA NO I MEANT MY AS IT YOURS

➜ landonorris I WAS CORRECTING YOU AS YOU

➜ landonorris WAIT DONT

➜ landonorris i’m deleting this.

comment and thread deleted

comments on this post are limited

imessages- oscar's POV

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imessage- oscar's POV

"Who are you texting?" Y/n asked casually, wanting to start conversation. She sat comfortable in a sofa across from him. Originally, they were both laying down on the sofa's facing each other, a table in the middle.

But once Oscar got the first message, he sat up quickly.

At one point y/n caught him looking at her, with the most confused face she's seen on him, but he just went back to typing.

"What?" His head shot up from his phone, and his eyes got wide.

"I asked who you were texting." She replied. Y/n sat up slowly, matching him and then leaned in, with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped together.

"Oh. um. no one. Just Lando"

"Oh ok." This conversation was just making her more bored, and she wanted to talk to Oscar. There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. "What about?"

"Hmm?" Oscar seemed extremely distracted.

"What about?"

Instead of answering, he ran a hand through his hair and looked down. Y/n was going to ask what was wrong but he suddenly stood up and walked around the sofa.

He was still silent, and he changed positions to now stand behind the sofa and leaned on back, arm folded, facing away from her.

"Osc-" Y/n was going to ask why he was so distracted, but he cut her off.

He turned around, now looking her in the eye. "y/n can I ask you something?"

Now y/n was worried, because what could be on his mind that he needed to ask her about.

"Of course, Osc"

Oscar looked at her as she waited for his question. Like really looked at her. She was wearing Mclaren merch with his number on the back of course. She looked gorgeous. The realization made Oscar run a hand through his hair again, no doubt messing it up this time.

"It's kind of personal, y/n. I understand why you haven't said anything about it before. It's your personal life and I want you to know that i understand."

"Oscar what-"

"Is your ex in Austin?"

Y/n was surprised to say the least. She knew that questions about her past relationship would come up, but Oscar asking was surprising. She told him last year about how her ex broke up with her.

She was devastated. He had broken up with her over the phone, on the way back from last year's Austin Grand Prix. His reasons were stupid, and his apologies sounded incredibly forced.

She immediately called Oscar and told him everything. Well, everything except from his name. Oscar can be protective when it comes to y/n, so she kept her ex's name secret. It sounds stupid now that she thinks about it because even if Oscar did get mad, he would never do anything Y/n didn't like.

"Yeah. He's here, in Austin, but I haven't talked to him at all. You know what he did, and I want nothing to do with him." Y/n didn't know why she was trying to explain herself so much. She felt like she needed to make it known that there was nothing between her and her ex anymore. What this had to do with Oscar? she didn't know.

He nodded and walked towards her. They both sat next to each other on the small sofa while Oscar overthought everything.

"You want nothing to do with him? like at all? because Lando was making me think that you were possibly here to get back together with him..." He needed to know for sure.

"What? Oscar not of course. Why would Lando think that?"

"I don't know." he was going to run a hand through his hair for the third time, but y/n grabbed his wrist instead. She held his hand softly and intertwined their fingers.

Oscar felt relieved. Y/n was probably wondering why Oscar had so many sudden questions about her love life, but neither of them brought up the suddenness of the conversation. They instead sat close together; hands intertwined, hoping that the other couldn't tell how fast their heart is beating at the they're simple touch.

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ynusername cool now I have another shirt i can steal

➜ oscarpiastri get your own! https://mclaren.com

➜ oscarpiastri hope this helps!

➜ ynusername you're going to give it to me anyways I know it

➜ oscarpiastri probably...

landonorris @.ynusername where have you beeeeeen I haven't seen you all weekend

➜ ynusername clearing my calendar for you right now!

➜ landonorris tell oscar to stop keeping you to himself!!!

➜ oscarpiastri no go away

➜ landonorris *cough* jealous *cough*

➜ oscarpiastri 😐 that’s enough

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2 days later, and neither Y/n nor Oscar had made any progress on acknowledging their feelings. Even the internet and gossip columns knew more about it then each other.

a/n:

just a small smau i wanted to try. i’ve never done one of these types of stories, so sorry if its bad or confusing!

not sure if i’ll do a part 2…do we like?

#f1 #formula 1 #fanfiction #writing #f1 x reader #formula one #f1 imagine #oscarpiastri #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #osc #oscar piastri

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pandapetals · 2 months ago

Text

Pony

You go to the strip club for a friend's bachelotte party and become flustered by one of the performers.

stripper!logan howlett x fem!reader - smut, steamy, logan is a stripper, cocky logan, slight reader description, no y/n used, strip club, reader is at a friend’s bachelotte party, handjob, fingering, p in v sex, riding, sexual tension, teasing banter, inspired by the song pony by ginuwine

a/n: everyone knows i struggle writing smut but here we are again... Inspired by the song pony…also dedicating this to @she-loves-wolvie. are we surprised, no. she is a genius.

divider credit: @adornedwithlight

This was a mistake—a terrible idea.

You sat rooted to your spot in the front row, your thighs pressing together under the tiny cocktail dress you’d reluctantly chosen for the bachelorette party. The bass of the music thumped through the club, vibrating up through the soles of your heels and into your chest, but it wasn’t the beat that had your pulse racing. No, it was him.

He strode onto the stage as if he owned it, broad shoulders rolling under the sharp cut of a half-open firefighter’s jacket, the dark suspenders tugged low on his hips. His grin was the kind of slow, wicked thing that curled your toes and promised trouble. Even from across the room, you could see the faint sheen of sweat on his chest catching the light, highlighting every hard ridge of muscle.

The heat that swept through you had nothing to do with the club’s packed bodies or the tequila shots still buzzing in your veins. It had everything to do with the way he moved. The man didn’t just dance—he prowled. Each step was deliberate, hips swaying in time with the music, every ripple of his abs purposeful. He dropped to a crouch, rolling his body with a liquid ease that made your breath hitch.

“Holy hell,” you muttered, trying not to stare but failing miserably. Your fingers clenched around the stem of your drink like it might keep you anchored, but your mind was already slipping. All you could think about was how his low-slung pants clung to him—like a second skin—and the dangerous gleam in his eyes when he glanced your way.

Wait.

Your heart stuttered.

He was looking at you.

You tried to convince yourself it was just a coincidence, that his smirk was part of the act, but the weight of his gaze burned through the flashing club lights like a brand. His grin deepened as he leaned back against the fireman’s pole, gripping it with one hand and spinning lazily like he had all the time in the world to tease. The other hand slid down his chest, his fingers brushing over the waistband of his pants before his thumb hooked just under the edge.

The air caught in your throat as his eyes locked on yours, and suddenly, the rest of the club might as well have disappeared. It was just him and you, and the unspoken dare crackling between you like static electricity. He must’ve seen how your breath quickened because his smirk turned downright sinful, and he tilted his head as if silently asking, Are you enjoying the show?

Oh, you were. Too much.

Your cheeks burned as he sauntered closer to the edge of the stage, those lazy hips drawing him near like a magnet. The crowd around you was a blur of cheers and hollers, but all you could focus on was the heat pooling low in your stomach and how your knees pressed tighter together. His fingers trailed along the stage’s edge as he bent forward slightly, giving you an unobstructed view of his abs—and something told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Having fun?” he mouthed, and the words hit you harder than any shout over the music.

You swallowed hard, trying to summon a shred of composure, but all you could manage was a shaky nod.

Big mistake. His smile widened like a predator spotting its prey, and as the song shifted, his movements grew slower, sultrier. His body rolled in time with the sultry beat, every motion designed to drive you wild. By the time he reached for the clasp of the suspenders and snapped them loose, letting them dangle at his sides, you weren’t sure whether you wanted to cheer or melt into the floor.

“This was supposed to be fun,” you muttered, but even you couldn’t deny the truth. Fun didn’t feel like this—like your entire body was a live wire, buzzing with a heat that had you squirming in your seat. He wasn’t just dancing; he was playing with you. And judging by the way his eyes lingered on you longer than anyone else in the crowd, he knew it.

And God help you, you didn’t want him to stop.

Eventually, his turn ended, and another dancer came out, but you barely noticed. The crowd erupted into cheers for the newcomer, but your eyes were glued to the empty stage, and the afterimage of him—of that man—burned into your mind. You let out a shaky breath, pressing your damp palms against your thighs in an attempt to ground yourself.

“You look flustered.”

Kimberly’s voice cut through the thudding bass, and you turned to find her smirking at you, one perfectly arched brow raised in amusement. She didn’t look even slightly affected by the show, her posture relaxed as she sipped her cocktail like she’d been attending strip clubs every Friday night of her life.

“I’m fine,” you lied, straightening your spine and forcing a casual shrug. “It’s just the alcohol.”

Kimberly snorted, clearly not buying it. She tilted her head toward the other girls at the table, who were laughing and shouting at the next dancer. “Right. The alcohol. Sure. You looked like you were about to combust when he looked at you.”

You rolled your eyes, willing the heat rising in your cheeks to go unnoticed. “I’m fine, Kimberly.”

“Uh-huh.” She grinned knowingly and turned back to the group, leaving you to stew in your flustered state.

The air suddenly felt suffocating, the pounding music and the crush of bodies too much to handle. You needed space—or a drink stronger than whatever sad cocktail Kimberly had ordered for you earlier. Pushing back your chair, you muttered something about going to the bar and wove through the crowd, ignoring the pulsing beat of the music and the occasional brush of someone’s shoulder against yours.

By the time you reached the bar, your heart was still hammering in your chest. You pressed your hands against the cool countertop, letting the chill seep into your skin as you sucked in a steadying breath. The bartender caught your eye, and you raised a finger. “Tequila. Straight.”

He nodded, sliding a shot glass toward you in record time. You knocked it back in one swift motion, the liquid burning its way down your throat. It helped. A little. At least now you could convince yourself the heat pooling low in your stomach was from the alcohol and not the way that stranger on stage had looked at you like he wanted to ruin you.

Or maybe you were failing miserably at that.

“Another?” the bartender asked, his tone neutral, and professional.

You were about to nod when you felt it—warmth at your back. Not the impersonal heat of the crowd, but something deliberate, focused. Someone was standing close enough that you could feel the faintest brush of their breath against your neck.

“You seem thirsty,” a low, teasing voice murmured behind you, and your body froze.

The voice was smooth as silk, with the faintest rasp sending a shiver skittering down your spine. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it belonged to. Him.

Your breath hitched, and you turned your head just enough to catch his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He was leaning casually against the counter, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Up close, he was even more devastating. The sharp line of his jaw, the mess of dark hair, the piercing eyes that seemed to see right through you—all of it was unfairly attractive.

“I—uh…” You swallowed, grasping for something, anything coherent to say, but your brain was still lagging behind your body, which had gone hot and traitorously aware of how close he was.

His smirk deepened, and he straightened slightly, his gaze dropping to the empty shot glass in your hand. “Tequila, huh? Bold choice. Does it help?”

“Help with what?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

He chuckled a low sound that you felt more than heard. “With cooling off.”

Your fingers tightened around the glass, and you turned to face him fully, determined to regain some semblance of control. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice firm this time.

“Are you?” His eyes flicked down, taking in the flush creeping up your neck, the way you were still gripping the shot glass like a lifeline. He raised an eyebrow. “Because you don’t look fine.”

Your stomach flipped, a mix of embarrassment and something far more dangerous. “Look, I don’t know who you are—”

“Logan.” He interrupted smoothly, holding out a hand as if this was a perfectly normal introduction and not a moment charged with enough tension to short-circuit your brain.

You stared at his outstretched hand for a moment before shaking it, his fingers warm and slightly rough against yours. “Okay, Logan,” you said, pulling your hand back quickly before your brain decided to do something stupid like notice how good he smelled—like clean sweat and cedar, with a hint of something spicy. “What do you want?”

He leaned in just enough that his voice was low, meant for you and you alone. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you were enjoying the show.”

The teasing edge in his tone sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you resisted the urge to press your thighs together. “It was… fine,” you said, aiming for casual but landing somewhere closer to breathless.

“Just fine?” His grin widened, and the cocky tilt of his head made you want to throttle him—or kiss him. You weren’t entirely sure which. “Because from where I was standing, you looked like you were having a very good time.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a big ego, don’t you?”

“Only when I’m right.” His gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest second before returning to your eyes, and your pulse spiked. “But if I’m wrong, feel free to correct me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. His proximity, the heat of his body, the sheer audacity of his smirk—it was all too much.

Logan leaned back just enough to let a sliver of air slip between you, though it did nothing to cool the heat crawling up your spine. His lips curved into a lazy, maddening smirk that belonged to a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, his voice low and velvet-smooth, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, sharp and unrelenting.

Your pulse jumped. “No, it’s a no—” you snapped.

“Really?” His grin deepened, and he tilted his head, studying you in a way that made you feel entirely exposed. “Because I could’ve sworn I saw you earlier. Front row. All flustered, mouth slightly parted, thighs rubbing together—”

Your stomach dropped. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me, gorgeous.” He stepped closer again, just enough for his presence to wash over you like a wave. He leaned in, his lips hovering by your ear, and the rasp in his voice was enough to send a shiver racing down your neck. “I could feel it from the stage. How you looked at me—like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to run or let me ruin you.”

Your breath hitched. He wasn’t wrong, and you hated how easily he read you. The heat pooling low in your belly flared again, and you found yourself gripping the edge of the bar for balance.

“Cocky much?” you shot back, hoping the bite in your tone would mask how unsteady you felt.

“Not cocky. Just observant.” Logan’s eyes dipped down your body, slow and deliberate, before meeting yours again. “And right.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry despite the tequila you’d just downed. The worst part was how your body betrayed you. The way your skin prickled, how your knees felt weak, the way your chest rose and fell just a little too quickly—he saw all of it, and he was enjoying every second.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone casual but the gleam in his eyes anything but, “if I’m making you this uncomfortable, you could just walk away.”

Your pride flared at the challenge in his voice, and you narrowed your eyes. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“No?” He leaned in again, his hand brushing the bar beside you as he boxed you in. “Because you’re looking at me like you’re trying to decide if kissing me would be a bad idea.”

Your heart stuttered. “I’m not—”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he interrupted, his lips quirking as he pulled back just enough to watch your reaction. “I’m not saying you should.” He let the moment hang, thick with tension, before his smirk turned devilish. “Just that you could.”

The words hung between you like a dare, and it was suddenly too much—the heat, the proximity, the way he seemed to unravel you with every glance. Your head spun as you tried to think of a retort, but the alcohol and the sheer intensity of him had your brain working at half speed.

And somehow, that was how you ended up letting him lead you toward one of the private rooms tucked at the back of the club.

The hallway was dimly lit, the music from the main floor muffled as Logan’s hand rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you past closed curtains and cracked open doors. Your heels clicked against the floor, but even that sound was drowned out by the thrum of blood rushing in your ears.

“Where are we going?” you managed, your voice breathy, almost unrecognizable to your own ears.

He glanced over his shoulder, his grin still firmly in place. “Somewhere quieter.”

“That’s not an answer,” you muttered, though your legs betrayed you by continuing to follow him.

“It’s the only one you’re getting,” he shot back with a wink, and damn it, why did that wink have to make your stomach flip?

Finally, he stopped outside a heavy curtain, pulling it aside to reveal a small room bathed in low, crimson light. A single plush armchair sat in the center of the space, plush and wide, clearly designed for what the club had advertised—lap dances. But as the curtain fell closed behind you, the air shifted, crackling with a tension that had nothing to do with performance and everything to do with the two of you.

You hovered by the doorway, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you were alone with him, your body still humming from the tequila and his proximity. “I don’t… I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

Logan turned, his gaze dark and unreadable as he closed the distance between you. His hand came up, fingertips brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, and the simple touch sent a spark racing down your spine.

“No?” he asked softly, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “Because you came with me anyway.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. He was close again, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough that the scent of him—earthy and spiced—wrapped around you like a drug.

“I think,” he murmured, his other hand skimming the curve of your waist before settling on your hip, “you’re just scared of how much you want this.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, and you hated—hated—how right he was.

Logan’s gaze stayed locked on you, dark and daring, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was about to deliver another smug remark that would have your blood boiling. Maybe that’s why you did it.

Or maybe it was the way his hand lingered on your hip, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against the fabric of your dress. Or the way the air between you was crackling, charged, begging for something to snap.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Before he could say another word, you grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him toward you, closing the gap in an instant. Your lips crashed against his, and whatever smartass thing he was about to say was swallowed in the kiss.

Logan made a low sound in the back of his throat, startled for only a second before he recovered, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulled you closer. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for it all night, his lips skilled and confident, claiming yours with a fervor that made your head spin.

Your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging at the dark strands just hard enough to draw a sharp inhale from him. He groaned against your lips, and the sound sent a thrill racing through you, lighting up every nerve ending like fireworks.

“Bold move, gorgeous,” he muttered between kisses, his lips curving against yours.

“Shut up,” you breathed, tangling your fingers tighter in his hair and pulling him back into you.

Logan obliged, his mouth slanting against yours with a roughness that matched your own. His hands roamed your sides, fingers grazing the curve of your ribs, the dip of your waist, the small of your back—exploring but never pushing too far. He let you set the pace, and you weren’t about to hold back.

The crimson glow of the room bathed his sharp features as you broke the kiss just long enough to catch your breath, your lips tingling and swollen. Logan’s chest heaved, his pupils blown wide as he looked at you, his smirk now replaced with something darker.

But you weren’t done.

Without giving him time to recover, you shoved at his chest firmly enough to send him stumbling backward into the plush armchair. He sank into it with a grunt, his legs spread wide as he caught himself on the arms of the chair. For once, Logan looked momentarily caught off guard, and the sight of it sent a surge of confidence through you.

“Damn,” he murmured, his lips quirking upward, though his voice was rougher now, the teasing edge tempered by something deeper. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You ignored him.

Instead, you stepped forward, your hands bracing on the back of the chair as you swung a leg over his lap. His eyes darkened as you straddled him, your knees sinking into the plush cushion on either side of his thighs. You leaned in, close enough that your breath mingled with his, and the predatory gleam in his eyes sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Still think I’m flustered?” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear just enough to feel him stiffen beneath you.

Logan’s hands found your hips, gripping them firmly as he leaned back into the chair, his smirk returning, though this time it was edged with heat. “Oh, I know you are,” he rasped. “But I’m not complaining.”

His words sent a spark of frustration—and desire—coursing through you, and you didn’t hesitate before crashing your mouth against his again. This time, it was rougher, hungrier, teeth and tongue clashing in a way that had you both gasping for air.

Logan’s hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer until you were flush against him, his body solid and warm beneath you. You could feel the tension coiled in him, his fingers gripping you like he was barely holding himself back, and the restraint only fueled the fire building inside you.

Your fingers trailed down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. When you reached the hem, you tugged it upward, your nails grazing his skin in a way that made him hiss against your lips.

“Fuck,” Logan muttered, his voice rough with both surprise and amusement. “You waste no time, huh?”

His smugness was back, written all over the lopsided grin tugging at his swollen lips. That grin—the same one that had both infuriated and ignited you from the second he walked into your orbit—made your stomach flip and your blood burn in equal measure. Now, you weren’t interested in sparring with words. You wanted to make him eat that cocky grin, to wipe it clean off his face until he couldn’t do anything but feel.

“Why would I take it slow?” you shot back, your voice low, almost a purr, as your fingers trailed down his chest. You felt him tense beneath your touch, the muscles of his torso rippling as you worked your way lower, each inch of his body more deliciously solid than the last.

Logan let out a breathy laugh, though it broke halfway through as your hand hovered just over the waistband of his pants. “Damn,” he rasped, his voice dipping lower. “You really aren’t shy, are you?”

You didn’t answer, and you didn’t need to. Words weren’t what either of you needed right now. Instead, you kept your eyes locked on his as you reached for the button of his pants, your fingers working with a confidence you didn’t know you had.

The moment the fabric loosened under your touch, Logan’s breath hitched, his smirk faltering as the heat between you flared, molten and undeniable. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as you tugged the zipper down, the sound almost deafening in the small, crimson-lit room.

“Shit,” he muttered, his head tipping back against the chair, though his gaze flicked back to you quickly as if he couldn’t bear to look away for too long. “You’re gonna kill me, gorgeous.”

“Good,” you murmured, your lips curving into a wicked grin of your own.

With a deliberate slowness that had his entire body tensing beneath you, you slid your hand beneath the fabric, your fingers brushing against heated skin. Logan groaned, low and rough, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as you wrapped your hand around him.

The sound he made was sinful, the kind of sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine and made your pulse pound harder in your ears. His head tipped back again, exposing the sharp line of his jaw, and you couldn’t resist leaning forward to press your lips against it. The scrape of his stubble against your mouth was delicious, and you let your teeth graze his skin lightly, earning another low, guttural groan from him.

His hands slid higher, fingers skimming the bare skin of your thighs, his touch just shy of where you wanted it most. It was infuriating how good he was at this—how he could be falling apart under your touch and still dare to tease you.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice a strained mix of pleasure and frustration as you moved your hand, slow and steady, testing what he liked. His hips jerked upward slightly, and his fingers dug into your thighs, his control slipping.

“You talk too much,” you teased, leaning close enough that your breath brushed against his ear.

Logan let out a strangled laugh, his voice raw. “And you’re full of surprises.” His hands flexed against your legs, his thumbs brushing over your inner thighs in a way that made your breath hitch. “Dangerous ones.”

You didn’t respond; you were too focused on how his body reacted to you. His groans deepened, his breaths coming faster, his muscles tensing beneath you. Every sound, every shift, every reaction was a victory, and you could feel his restraint unraveling with each passing second.

“You’re enjoying this,” he rasped, his voice barely audible, his tone between amusement and surrender.

“Obviously,” you replied, your lips grazing the shell of his ear as you spoke.

Logan’s laugh was short and broken, and when he finally tipped his head forward, his gaze met yours. His eyes were dark and blown with desire, his smirk long gone, replaced by something raw and desperate.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that,” Logan muttered, his voice dark and teasing, just before his hand came down on your ass with a sharp smack. The sting was quick, but the warmth that bloomed in its wake sent a shiver racing through you. Your movements froze, your hand pausing mid-stroke against him, caught off guard by the sudden jolt of sensation.

“Did I say you could stop?” he rasped, his tone low, commanding, and dripping with heat.

The words alone sent a spark surging through you, your stomach tightening as heat pooled low in your core. You bit your lip, trying to stay composed, but the tiniest flicker of hesitation must have shown in your expression.

Because Logan smirked and then his palm met your ass again, harder this time, the sound sharp in the small room.

Your breath hitched, your pulse thundering in your ears as you let out a soft gasp. “Go on,” he said, his voice a rough, gravelly edge that made your thighs press together instinctively. “Don’t stop now.”

Your fingers wrapped around him again, and you began to move, slow and deliberate, testing his control. The low groan that escaped his throat was more than enough encouragement to keep going.

Logan’s hands didn’t stay idle. One of them was still gripping your hip, keeping you steady in his lap, his fingers digging into your skin with just the right amount of pressure. But the other—the other drifted lower, his touch firm but unhurried as it slid along the curve of your thigh.

Your breath caught as his hand moved higher, his fingertips skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before finding the edge of your panties. His movements were teasing, maddeningly slow, as though he had all the time in the world to undo you.

When his fingers finally dipped beneath the fabric, brushing against you, your head fell forward, a strangled moan slipping past your lips.

“Mmm,” Logan murmured, his voice like velvet, his breath hot against your ear. “Already so wet.”

The smugness in his tone should have annoyed you, but instead, it only stoked the fire burning in your core. Your hand tightened around him in retaliation, your grip firm as you stroked him, earning another low, guttural groan that vibrated through his chest and into yours.

“Just like that, pretty girl,” he hissed, his forehead briefly pressing against your shoulder as his fingers moved, slow and deliberate, teasing you in a way that made it impossible to think straight. His thumb brushed against just the right spot, and your hips jerked involuntarily, pressing yourself harder against his hand.

Logan chuckled, low and dark, the sound rumbling against your skin. “Someone’s impatient,” he murmured, his lips brushing the side of your neck.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, too focused on the push and pull of sensation—the way his fingers slid against you, coaxing sounds from you that you couldn’t have held back if you tried. The combination of your movements around him and the way his hand worked you was overwhelming, your body teetering on the edge of losing control entirely.

“You feel so fucking good,” he muttered, his voice thick with restraint, his breathing uneven as your hand continued to move, drawing sharp, broken groans from him.

His other hand slid up your back, tangling in your hair and gently pulling your head back until your eyes met his. Logan’s gaze was molten, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he drank you in. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he growled, his tone dripping with hunger.

“Good,” you breathed, your voice shaky but bold as you pressed your forehead against his, letting your lips brush his in a teasing, fleeting touch.

Logan’s fingers pressed deeper, his movements skilled and deliberate, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, dissolving into a whimper as his thumb found just the right spot, circling with maddening precision. Your body arched against him, your breathing ragged and shallow, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge.

“Look at you,” Logan rasped, his voice rough and frayed like he was barely holding himself together. His forehead brushed yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. “You gonna cum for me?”

The words hit you like a lightning strike, a fresh wave of heat crashing through you. Your stomach clenched, and your thighs trembled, but instead of answering, you tightened your grip around him, stroking him harder, faster, desperate to drive him over the same edge he was so skillfully pushing you toward.

Logan groaned, the sound low and guttural, his hips jerking upward into your hand as his control faltered. His fingers curled inside you, hitting a spot that had your head tipping back, a broken moan spilling from your lips before you could stop it.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice a strained growl as his free hand slid up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. His lips brushed your jaw and then neck, his stubble scraping against your skin in a way that only added to the overwhelming heat pooling low in your stomach.

You tried to hold on, to stay grounded, but the feverish, escalating rhythm between you was too much. His fingers worked you mercilessly, every movement driving you higher, tighter until you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel.

“Logan,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips, your voice trembling with the weight of it.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your skin, his lips ghosting over your collarbone, his voice rough and dripping with hunger. “Let go for me. I want to feel you.”

The coil in your core snapped, and you came undone, your body clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you. Your vision blurred, your head tipping forward to bury against his shoulder as a ragged, desperate moan escaped your lips. Logan groaned in response, his hand steadying you, guiding you through it, his fingers still moving as aftershocks rippled through you.

But you weren’t the only one losing control.

Your hand on him didn’t falter, your movements picking up speed even as your body shook in his lap. You could feel him straining against your grip, his breaths coming fast and shallow, each exhale warm against your skin.

“Fuck, you’re gonna—” His words broke off into a strangled groan, his head tipping back against the chair, exposing the strong line of his throat as he unraveled beneath you. His hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging into your skin as his body tensed.

You watched him fall apart, every sound, every shuddering breath sending a fresh thrill racing through you. His lips parted, his jaw clenched, and then he let go, his body jerking beneath yours as his release spilled over your hand, hot and sticky, marking both of you.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of your mingled breathing, both of you trembling, chests rising and falling in sync as the tension slowly ebbed away.

Logan was the first to break the silence, a low, breathless laugh rumbling in his chest. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice hoarse but laced with amusement. His hands slid up your back, holding you against him as he pressed his forehead to yours. “You don’t play fair, do you?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your release. But you weren’t done.

“No,” you whispered, your voice still uneven but laced with determination.

Logan’s brows lifted slightly, his lips parting as if to say something, but before he could get a word out, your hands were already moving. You slid your panties to the side again with deliberate ease. Logan’s gaze dropped, his hazel eyes tracking every movement, his chest still rising and falling heavily.

“Wait a second,” he started, his voice a rasp of amusement mixed with surprise.

But you didn’t wait. Instead, you lifted yourself slightly, your hand wrapping around him, positioning him at your entrance. The feel of him, hot and hard against you, sent a fresh wave of heat racing through your body. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, daring him to stop you.

Logan’s smirk faltered, his jaw tightening as he looked up at you, the faintest hint of a challenge lingering in his gaze. “Damn, gorgeous,” he hissed as you began to sink down onto him, slow and deliberate, your walls stretching around him inch by inch. His head tipped back against the chair, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. “Take it easy.”

“Why?” you shot back, your voice low and breathy, though your lips curled into a wicked smile. “Can’t handle it?”

That wiped away the last trace of his cocky grin. His hands flexed against your hips, his gaze snapping back to you, sharp and burning with intensity. “Oh, I can handle it,” he growled, his voice rough and edged with need. “The question is, can you?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you pressed your palms against his chest for leverage, your nails grazing over the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt as you sank down fully, taking him to the hilt.

The sound that tore from Logan’s throat was raw, almost guttural, his hips jerking up into you as his head tipped back once again. His control—so cool and smug just moments ago—was starting to crack, and the sight of it sent a surge of satisfaction coursing through you.

You started to move, slow and purposeful at first, testing the rhythm, testing him. Logan’s groans deepened, his fingers sliding down to grip your thighs as his hips bucked slightly in time with your movements.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice barely more than a growl. “You’re killing me.”

You leaned forward, letting your lips brush the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Yeah?”

That single word seemed to undo him further. His grip on your thighs tightened, his hips moving more insistently beneath you, but you weren’t about to let him take control. Not this time.

You straightened up, pressing your hands firmly against his chest to hold him down as you picked up your pace, your movements rougher now, needier. The friction, the heat, the way he filled you—it was all-consuming, overwhelming, and yet you wanted more.

“You feel so good. Just like that,” Logan groaned, his voice strained, his hands sliding back to your hips to guide you even though it was clear you didn’t need the help.

“You talk too much,” you shot back, a playful edge in your tone even as your breaths came faster, your body tightening, coiling, building toward something inevitable.

Logan let out a breathless laugh, though it quickly dissolved into a moan as you rolled your hips, the movement pulling another low groan from deep in his chest. His head fell forward slightly, his lips grazing your collarbone, your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he muttered, “Yeah but you like it.”

“Maybe,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your pace quickening as you chased that edge, your body burning with the need to prove him wrong.

The tension in your body reached a breaking point, your thighs trembling as the pleasure surged higher and higher. Logan’s hands clutched at you, his breathing harsh, his voice barely audible as he rasped your name like a prayer.

And then you shattered.

The release ripped through you, your walls clenching tightly around him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Your head tipped back, a broken moan spilling from your lips as your body bucked against his. Logan groaned beneath you, his grip on your hips faltering as he felt you fall apart, his own control slipping further.

His head fell back against the chair, his jaw tight, his lips parted as he let out a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through both of you. His hands clenched at your skin, holding you in place as his hips jerked beneath you, his release hitting hard and fast, his composure completely obliterated.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the heat of your bodies tangled together as you both came down from the high. Your chest heaved, your hands still pressed against his chest as you steadied yourself, your legs shaking slightly from the effort.

Logan looked up at you then, his face flushed, his eyes dark and dazed. That smug grin of his? Gone. Replaced by something softer like he wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened.

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a slow, languid kiss, savoring the way his body relaxed beneath you, the way his hands still rested on your hips like he didn’t want to let you go.

“Guess you were wrong,” you murmured against his lips, your voice soft but dripping with triumph, a smug smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Logan let out a breathless laugh, his chest still heaving beneath your palms. His head rested against the chair, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his skin under the dim red glow of the room. He shook his head slightly, the movement slow and lazy, as if he were still catching his breath. His hands slid up your back in a way that made you shiver, the pressure steady and possessive.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice hoarse and low, roughened by everything you’d just put him through. “But I’m not even mad.”

You smirked at that, your satisfaction blooming at the sight of him—disheveled, flushed, and for once completely stripped of his cocky confidence. His hair was an unruly mess, his lips red and swollen from your kisses. You’d done that to him, and you couldn’t help the rush of pride that followed.

Still, the teasing glint in his eye told you he wasn’t quite ready to give you the last word.

Feeling his weight still beneath you, the lingering heat between your bodies, you pushed against his chest to get up. Your legs were a little shaky, but your resolve was firm.

But Logan’s hands tightened on your hips, holding you in place with an effortless strength that sent a jolt of something thrilling through you. His fingers flexed against your skin to let you know he wasn’t ready to let go.

“Where you going, gorgeous?” he asked, his voice lazy but dripping with heat. His gaze lifted to meet yours, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief despite the exhaustion etched into his features.

“I had my fun,” you replied, tilting your head slightly as you gave him your best smirk.

His brow shot up, a single, questioning arch that made your stomach flip. “You had your fun?”

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging as nonchalantly as you could while straddling him, your hands still braced on his chest. “Mission accomplished. You’re wrecked. I’m satisfied. Seems fair to me.”

Logan chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating beneath your palms. “Satisfied, huh?” he repeated, his tone laced with playful skepticism. “You sure about that?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly at his challenge, but before you could fire back, Logan shifted beneath you, his hands sliding from your hips to the curve of your waist. The movement was slow, deliberate, and far too smooth for someone who should’ve been as wrecked as he looked. His thumbs brushed over the sensitive skin just beneath your ribs, a touch so light it felt like he was testing you.

“Because I don’t think you are,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a faint smirk as his eyes flicked down to where your bodies were still pressed together. “Not really.”

You rolled your eyes, even as your pulse betrayed you, thrumming harder at the weight of his hands on your skin. “I think I know when I’m satisfied, Logan.”

“Do you, though?” he countered, his smirk growing as his gaze climbed back up to yours. “Because if this is you satisfied, gorgeous, I can’t wait to see what you’re like when you’re really having fun.”

You stared at him, your lips parting as his words sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you. And damn him, he saw it—saw the way your breath hitched, the way your eyes flickered just slightly, betraying the lingering hunger that even you hadn’t realized was still there.

Logan’s grin softened, losing some of its sharpness as his hands slid back down to your hips, holding you there. “Stay,” he said softly, though his tone still had an edge of playfulness. “Unless you’re scared I’ll prove you wrong again.”

You narrowed your eyes, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed the composure you tried to maintain. “Scared?” you scoffed, leaning forward slightly, your hands trailing up his chest. “Not a chance.”

“Good,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, his grip on you tightening slightly. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

“Guess I’ll have to stick around,” you said finally, your voice light but your heart pounding.

Logan grinned, leaning forward just enough to brush his lips against yours. “Damn right, you will.”