#How to Behave Like a CEO | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solelifauna · 7 months ago

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With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 2)

Hi guys, I’m alive. I’ve just been sick and then found out that my dog’s cancer spread and the surgery costs $3,000 which is insane. Anyways, I’ve been working irl so I completely forgot about this account. Sorry pookies🤕🙏.

If anyone wants to know I’m still taking commissions, and if my price doesn’t work for you I’m sure I can lower it!! Honestly, I’ll write for whatever price I’m lowkey desperate.😭🙏

The next morning, you wake up in panic, shit, you slept in. You rush out the manor forgoing breakfast, almost eating shit on the sidewalk in your rush. You hop onto your bike, pedaling as if death itself was chasing you, huffing and puffing. Thankfully you make it to school on time, if only just on time.

You fall into your seat just as the bell rings, letting the top half of your body crumple over the desk.

“Looks like somebody had a rough morning.” The familiar voice of one of your best friends.

“Fuck off Quinn.” You huff out tiredly.

“Fine, then I guess this extra black coffee I got at Gloria’s is going to waste then.” She said teasingly.

How is it that she always has impeccable intuition about these things?

You groaned sitting up, giving Quinn a tired look.

“Yikes, I was gonna make another smartass joke but you look like you’re about to keel over.” She said worriedly, handing over the extra coffee.

“Ha ha, yeah I feel like I'm about to keel over. Thanks for the coffee by the way.” You said dryly.

“Don’t sweat it girl, but–uh, what the hell happened.”

“Too much dude, too much. It's so much bullshit I don't even know where to start.”

“Im guessing its about–”

“Ding, ding, ding, you got it.”

“Shit…how bad? They’re not gonna… you know…” Quinn stutters off.

“Kill me? Eat me?”

She nodded.

You massage your forehead, a headache forming between your eyebrows. “I'll be so for real right now, I don't even know.”

“Damn, I don't even know what to say to that.” Quinn grimaces.

“It’d be weird if you did.” You joked giving her a sardonic smile.“Well if they’re gonna kill me, I hope they do it before finals.”

“You’ve got issues (Y/n).”

“I’m aware.”

Just then the chatter in the class started to pipe down as your history teacher, Mr. Lechliter, made his way into the room. However, something wasn’t right; his usually neat hair was in disarray and you could smell that he was profusely sweating. He was nervous, which was completely out of character. Sure Mr. Lechliter was awkward at times but he was normally confident and loud around the class, something was going on.

“Good morning, class,” Mr. Lechliter began, but his voice was shaky, not at all the usual booming tone he used to command the room. “I-uh, hope you’re all ready to jump into… um, well, history.” He swallowed hard, glancing around as if searching for something—or someone—outside the door.

You look at Quinn with a raised eyebrow. What the hell is happening right now?

“We, um, actually have two guests who’ll be auditing a couple of classes today so we all want you guys on your best behavior. For our sakes and yours.” He said fidgeting with his paperweight globe, however, it was what he whispered under his breath that had you worried. What the fuck did he mean by that?!

“These guest speakers are one of the school's top sponsors so I truly cannot express the need we have for you all to behave and be on task, understand?” Mr. Lechliter spoke gravely.

The class let out a scattered “Yes” whilst others nodded. Now it was the class's turn to start getting nervous, the energy in the room now becoming quite grim. Seeing the class’s cooperation, Mr. Lechliter let out a shaky smile and nodded back at the class in approval. You sipped your coffee nervously in tandem.

“Good. Now, without further adieu, please welcome the esteemed Bruce Wayne and his son, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.”

And in walked your worst nightmare as you choked on your coffee. A hesitant applause began as a couple of heads turned your way, including the scrutinizing eyes of Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake.

“Jesus Christ (Y/n), are you good?” Quinn whispered, patting your back.

“Does it look like I'm good, Quinn?” You whisper-yell back.

“Sorry, dumb question.”

“I legitimately can't do this right now.” You groan out quietly.

Tim’s sharp, calculating gaze landed on you, and for a split second, his lips twitched upward in what looked disturbingly close to satisfaction. Bruce, however, kept his gaze steady, stoic, making his way to the front of the class like he owned every square inch of the room—and maybe, in a way, he did.

Bruce stepped forward, greeting Mr. Lechliter with a firm handshake before addressing the class. “Good morning,” he said, his voice carrying a smooth authority. “It’s always a pleasure to see the next generation of Gotham’s finest minds, and today, we’re here to discuss some unique opportunities with Wayne Enterprises—partnerships, scholarships, and mentorship programs that may be of interest to you in your future studies.”

Meanwhile, Tim’s gaze remained fixed on you, a silent warning lingering behind his polite smile. You swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact, hoping that blending in might somehow make you invisible. But Tim had no intention of letting you off the hook. He leaned slightly closer to Bruce, murmuring something that made Bruce’s eyes flicker in your direction, his expression unreadable.

Quinn leaned over, her voice barely a whisper. “(Y/n), what the hell is going on? They keep looking at you.”

“Trust me, I wish I knew,” you muttered back, managing to take a sip of coffee without choking this time. “They’re just here to make my life a living nightmare, apparently.”

As Bruce and Tim began their presentation, outlining all the “wonderful opportunities” that a connection to Wayne Enterprises could bring, you couldn’t help but feel trapped. Every line, every subtle glance, seemed like a reminder that escape from their influence was impossible. They were inescapable, even here, in the one place you thought you could breathe.

When they finally wrapped up their presentation, Bruce offered to answer questions, his gaze settling on you for the briefest moment, as if daring you to speak up. You just nervously looked away, its fine, they’ve said their piece and will be leaving soon.

But of course life doesn't ever go the way that you want.

The relief that had started to settle in evaporated as Bruce and Tim made no move to leave. Instead, they took seats at the back of the classroom, settling in with that same poised, assessing presence that dominated every room they entered. Bruce folded his hands in his lap, his gaze steady and inscrutable, while Tim casually crossed his arms, his eyes tracking every student’s reaction, but always coming back to you.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Quinn, who was now just as unsettled as you were. “Are they… staying?” she whispered, her brows knitting together in worry.

“Looks like it,” you muttered, barely moving your lips.

Mr. Lechliter, visibly tense under the weight of their scrutiny, resumed his lesson with all the grace of a man on the edge of a breakdown. Every time he stumbled over his words or glanced nervously at Bruce, the room felt as if it held its breath.

“This, um, particular era in history…” Mr. Lechliter began, stammering slightly as he struggled to keep his usual confident tone. “It’s a time when alliances shifted often, and there was…constant jockeying for power…”

Bruce and Tim watched, expressions neutral, but you knew better than to believe their act. They weren’t here for any genuine interest in educational standards; they were here as a reminder, a warning that the Wayne influence extended beyond the manor walls.

You focused on your notebook, pen tapping anxiously against the paper as you tried to tune them out and take frantic notes. But it was impossible to ignore the cold prickle at the back of your neck. Every glance felt like a needle, each second stretching longer than the last.

Mr. Lechliter’s lecture painstakingly continued on for another thirty minutes before class started coming to an end.

The bell finally rang as you shot up out of your seat and practically sprinted out the door. You head to your locker, feeling the many starters of students and teachers bore into you. Another thing was that everyone kinda knew that the Wayne’s didn't like you, it was very obvious. Which meant the media had a field day, letting the entirety of Gotham know how much the famous pack hated you. So now your business was also aired out to the entire world to know. Wonderful, am I right?

You shove your unneeded books into your (tbh, very cutely) decorated locker, while grabbing the science textbook you needed for your next class, AP Biology. This class was the absolute bane of your existence. Not only was the content hard, the teacher was also absolutely nuts. You walk over to your Bio class, clutching your books like a lifeline. “Please, dont be here too.” You pray to yourself. Thankfully, this class was normal, well, as normal as it could get. The other two classes you have before lunch ended the same way, Wayneless.

As your fourth class comes to an end your stomach starts to growl. You’d be embarrassed, but everyone else in your class was in a similar starved state. When the lunch bell goes off, you’re excitedly grabbing your things and making your way down. Fucking finally it was lunchtime. You made your way to the quickly growing lunchline

Your friends were already sitting at your usual table as you made your way over and slammed your lunch tray on the table.

“Im gonna kill myself.”

“I can't even say anything about that.” One of your other friends Daniel says.

You groaned holding your head in your hands, your headache becoming more prevalent as you turn to look at him.

“Man all I did was ask to leave, and now this shit? I can't even right now.”

“You finally asked to leave, huh? I'm guessing it didn't go well.” Daniel asks.

“Nope, but when does anything ever go right in my life.”

Just as you finish talking, the noisy cafeteria falls abruptly silent. The usual clatter of trays and chatter of students fades, replaced by an almost eerie quiet. You and your friends exchange confused glances before turning to see what—or who—could possibly have silenced a room full of teenagers. But in the pit of your stomach, you already have an idea.

Sure enough, walking through the entrance are Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake-Wayne, looking completely out of place in their immaculate suits and composed expressions. Their powerful, calculating gazes sweep across the crowd, searching for someone, before both of their eyes zero in on you and your table. Instinctively, you tense up, your shoulders hunching as if to make yourself smaller, and you feel the flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks under their scrutiny.

Their focused stares make you flinch, and you quickly look away, facing your friends once more. “See what I mean?” you mutter under your breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s like the universe is out to get me.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and the Waynes, a flicker of worry passing over his face. "What are they doing here? This isn’t normal, right?”

“No, it’s definitely not,” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual even as your heart races. “They’re here to make a point.”

You further slump into the table, arms cradling your head as the cafeteria slowly starts to go back to its normal noise level. Both Tim and Bruce take a seat at a table opposite to where you’re sitting, which gives them a perfect view of your table. Great.

“Guys talk to me. Anything–talk about anything please.” You beg quietly.

Quinn leans in, glancing nervously at the Waynes across the cafeteria. “Uh, did you hear about Chief Keef performing soon? Apparently, he’ll be in Gotham.”

Daniel nods, catching on to your plea for distraction. “Yeah, yeah, I heard he's gonna bring another artist on stage. Mauve Travis or something if we’re lucky?.”

You smile weakly, grateful for the distraction, even if your heart’s still pounding. You try to focus on what they’re saying, but you can feel Tim’s gaze on you like a laser, scrutinizing, watching every movement. You pretend not to notice, grabbing a fry from your tray and nodding along to whatever Daniel and Quinn are saying, forcing yourself to join in with a half-hearted laugh here and there.

Quinn suddenly brings up a story from her last weekend, trying her best to lighten the mood. “Okay, get this—I tried to impress this guy by pretending to know how to skate, but instead, I ended up flat on my face in front of, like, everyone. Mortifying, but he did buy me a smoothie as a consolation prize.”

You chuckle, letting the story pull you out of your anxious thoughts. “I mean, sounds like it kind of worked. You got a free smoothie, right?”

Quinn laughs, rolling her eyes. “Only because he felt bad, but hey, I’ll take pity smoothies.”

The laughter at your table grows, the lighthearted moment almost making you forget the ominous presence of Bruce and Tim nearby. But just as you’re starting to relax, you catch a glimpse of Tim’s amused smirk from the corner of your eye. His eyes don’t leave you, as if he knows exactly how unsettling his presence is and he’s reveling in it.

“I think he liked you,” Daniel teases Quinn, keeping the conversation going to help ease your nerves.

“Liked my bruised ego, maybe,” she snorts. “Anyway, what about you, (Y/n)? Got any secret admirers?”

You shake your head, grateful they’re keeping the focus off your current predicament. “Nope, unless you count the cadaver frog I accidentally dropped on my lab partner. He, uh-didn’t look at me the same after that.”

Your friends burst out laughing, and for a brief, blessed moment, you almost feel normal again. But when you glance back, Bruce’s eyes are still on you, cool and unyielding.

“Here’s to hoping they’re gone after lunch,” Daniel mutters, catching your uneasy glance.

“What good has hoping ever done me?” You sigh, picking at your food.

The tension in the cafeteria never fully fades. Despite the attempts from Quinn and Daniel to keep the conversation going, the presence of Bruce and Tim just continues to overwhelm you. Every so often, your eyes flit toward them, only to find them still seated, still watching, and their expressions betraying nothing of their true intent. It feels like they’re waiting for you to make a move, to react in some way that would justify their unsettling attention.

Lunch drags on in this uncomfortable limbo until, at last, the bell rings, signaling the end of the break. Your friends gather their things, offering small words of encouragement or supportive smiles, though they too look wary of the Waynes’ lingering presence.

“I’ll see you both in Chem. Hopefully Mr. Domzalski isn't still in a bad mood from what happened yesterday.” You say.

“You mean from when you and Daniel set fire to one of his textbooks?” Quinn questions sardonically.

You and Daniel offer her a sheepish, guilty smile.

“Hey–it was an accident!” he exclaims, feigning offense.

“Yeah, what he said! We followed all the instructions to a T!” You defend as well.

“Sure, whatever you both say. I'm just surprised he didn't automatically fail you two.” Quinn says fondly.

“It’s ‘cause we’re somehow his favorites? Don't ask me how or why though.” You respond.

As you and Daniel chuckle, the lightheartedness helps lift some of the weight that had been hanging over your head. The relief is short-lived, though, as you feel a prickle on the back of your neck—a feeling that’s become all too familiar lately.

You glance back to see Bruce and Tim still watching, and for a moment, something in Bruce’s gaze changes. You can’t quite read it, but it feels sharper, like he’s calculating, considering something he hasn’t said. You swallow, gripping your bag tighter as your friends move to head toward class, unaware of the silent tension hanging around you like a cloud.

You head to your APA Algebra II class alone, without the usual buffer of Daniel or Quinn’s lighthearted banter to ease the tension. The classroom is quiet, a different atmosphere from the lively lunch period, and you’re able to slip into your seat undisturbed, hoping that the math problems ahead will give you a welcome distraction.

As the class moves on, you find yourself lost in equations, the numbers and formulas acting as a temporary refuge from everything else. You keep your head down, concentrating on the work, grateful for the momentary peace that academics bring.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of Math, you gather your things and head to APA Chemistry, where you’d finally reunite with Daniel and Quinn. When you arrive in APA Chemistry, the atmosphere is surprisingly relaxed. Mr. Domzalski hasn’t arrived yet, so everyone’s just hanging out, chatting about weekend plans, or joking around. You plop down next to Daniel, who’s already doodling on his notebook, and give Quinn a tired smile. It’s nice to have a few minutes to unwind before the usual controlled chaos of Mr. Domzalski’s class kicks in.

Then, the door swings open, and you freeze as Mr. Domzalski steps in with Tim Drake following close behind. Your stomach twists, and you have to swallow down a groan. Thankfully, Bruce is nowhere to be seen. Small blessings, you suppose; better not to question it too much. You look at your friends, trying to convey your annoyance with a single tired look as Mr. Domzalski beams with a sort of overdone excitement that sets you on edge.

“Everyone, I’d like you to welcome a special guest,” he says, practically brimming with enthusiasm. “Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, is here to observe our class today.”

You sink lower in your chair, stifling a grumble. Great, just great. This whole thing was growing stale fast. You try to ignore the interested murmurs spreading through the class as everyone stares at Tim, who stands there with that same polite, professional smile he’s been flashing all day. You avoid eye contact, focusing instead on the edge of your desk as Mr. Domzalski continues.

“Now,” Mr. Domzalski goes on, shifting his focus to the lab materials, “before we dive into today’s lesson, let’s review what went wrong in yesterday’s lab.”

He shoots a pointed look in your direction, his smile still in place, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not exactly thrilled. “For those who might need a reminder,” he continues, not-so-subtly side-eyeing you and Daniel, “improper handling of materials led to one of my textbooks, which I cherish dearly, being set on fire.”

The class erupts into quiet snickers, and Daniel coughs into his hand, trying to disguise his laughter. You roll your eyes, but a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. Even Tim’s eyes change a bit, as if interested.

Mr. Domzalski clears his throat, regaining the class’s attention. “Let’s aim for a little more caution today, shall we?”

The lab for the day was going to be more complex than usual. Mr. Domzalski, with a edge of nervousness in his tone, began rattling off the new, more complicated instructions. His gaze flicked to you and Daniel more than once, lingering just long enough to make his message clear: Please don’t mess up.

You slouched slightly in your seat, already feeling the weight of the unspoken pressure. It wasn’t lost on you how much was riding on this lab going smoothly—not just for your grade, but for Mr. Domzalski himself. With Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises and a member of one of Gotham’s most powerful packs, observing, any mishap could very well put your teacher’s job on the line.

Next to you, Daniel caught your eye, his lips twitching into a wry smirk. He leaned in, whispering, “Feel like we’re walking on eggshells today, huh?”

“More like a minefield,” you muttered back, eyeing the lab equipment warily. The setup looked far more intricate than usual—beakers and flasks stacked alongside pipettes, Bunsen burners, and an array of unfamiliar chemicals. It was a recipe for disaster, and you had no intention of being the one to set it off.

Tim, seated at the back of the room, watched the proceedings with his usual cool detachment. His presence was like a weight pressing down on the room, amplifying every minor sound and movement. You could practically feel his gaze on you, even when you weren’t looking his way.

“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Domzalski said, clapping his hands to gather the class’s attention. “Remember to follow the instructions precisely as they’re written. This is a delicate experiment, and precision is key. Any deviation could—well, let’s just say we don’t want any surprises today.”

The pointed glance he sent your way at the word “surprises” made you cringe internally. You shot Daniel a look. He seemed to get the message, giving you a small nod before turning his focus to the materials in front of him.

With a deep breath, you adjusted your goggles and got to work, determined not to give anyone—especially Tim—a reason to criticize.

The lab was rough from the very start. No matter how tightly you adjusted your goggles, they kept fogging up, obscuring your vision at the worst possible moments. You constantly had to pause to wipe them off, and each time, you felt Tim's Gaze flicker towards you. Daniel, meanwhile, was no better. He almost tipped over a vial of some unpronounceable chemical twice, and each time, you barely managed to steady it before disaster struck.

“Bro you have to lock in.” you said under your breath.

“I'm trying–fuck. My hands are too shaky.” Daniel whispered back, nervous as he tried held out his hands for you to see. He carefully set the vial down, only for his elbow to nudge another piece of equipment. You caught it just in time, your heart leaping into your throat.

The instructions seemed to come at lightning speed, Mr. Domzalski rattling off steps faster than you could write them down. Each new instruction layered on top of the last until your head was spinning with measurements, temperatures, and reaction times. You were doing your best to keep up—you think you were doing it right—but the constant noise and movement around you made it feel like everything was closing in.

You glanced at the flask on your workstation, bubbling faintly as it was supposed to, and double-checked the temperature. It seemed fine. Probably fine. Hopefully fine. But the nagging thought that you might’ve missed a step wouldn’t go away.

Behind you, Tim’s silent observation was like a shadow, adding another layer of stress to the already chaotic atmosphere. Every time you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye, you swore his expression was unreadable, yet somehow judgmental.

“I think this is right,” you muttered, glancing at the next step in the instructions and adjusting your setup.

“‘Think’ isn’t reassuring, (Y/n),” Daniel replied, he was nervous. “Don’t blow us up, okay?”

“Not funny,” you snapped, though your lips twitched in a half-smile despite the stress. “Just keep stirring before we mess up the timing.”

The rest of the lab dragged on in a haze of nervous energy and frantic adjustments. Your hands trembled slightly as you measured out the final chemical, careful not to let even a drop spill. When you finally completed the experiment, the mixture in the beaker turned the correct pale blue color, and you let out a shaky breath of relief.

“See?” Daniel said, flashing you a grin. “We nailed it.”

You gave him a tired look. “Barely.”

As Mr. Domzalski approached to check your work, you held your breath, praying there wasn’t some detail you’d overlooked. When he gave a curt nod of approval, you finally relaxed, though your nerves still felt frayed. Even then, you could feel Tim’s eyes on you, as if silently appraising every moment of your struggle.

The lab was over, but the stress lingered like a heavy weight on your shoulders. You packed up your materials with shaky hands, grateful to escape the pressure of both the experiment and the unrelenting scrutiny.

As the class wrapped up, Mr. Domzalski passed by your station, his sharp eyes flicking over the completed experiment. The pale blue liquid in the beaker must have been just right because, instead of his usual critical remarks, he gave a subtle nod and a quiet, “Good work.” The words weren’t overly enthusiastic, but coming from him—and especially with Tim Drake watching—it was as close to praise as you could get.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, and you let out a long sigh of relief. You and Daniel exchanged a look, his triumphant grin mirrored by the faintest smile you allowed yourself. You’d passed. Somehow, despite the foggy goggles, Daniel’s near-disasters, and the relentless pressure, you’d made it through the lab unscathed.

As you finished cleaning up, Mr. Domzalski gave you a brief, silent glance of thanks. It wasn’t much, but you knew what it meant: he was grateful you hadn’t turned today’s experiment into another headline-worthy incident. You nodded subtly back, grateful that the ordeal was over.

With the last of your equipment put away, you grabbed your bag and escaped the lab as quickly as possible, the weight of Tim’s lingering gaze finally lifting as you stepped into the hallway. Quinn was waiting by the door, chatting with Daniel, who was still buzzing with post-lab adrenaline.

“Well, looks like you didn’t burn down the school,” Quinn teased, grinning as she fell into step with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself. “We’re still alive, so I guess that’s a win.”

“Hey give us more credit.” Daniel chimed in, earning a laugh from both you and Quinn.

As the three of you headed for the stairs, you said goodbye to Daniel, who was heading to a different class. “See you later, guys.” he said, waving as he turned down another hallway.

You and Quinn made your way toward the gym for your seventh period, the final class of the day. The familiar chatter and clang of lockers greeted you as you stepped into the changing area. Gym wasn’t exactly your favorite class, but after the stress of the lab, it was almost a relief to have something physical to focus on instead of the constant mental strain.

“Think they’ll leave you alone for the day?” Quinn asked as you pulled on your gym shoes.

“I hope so,” you replied, your voice weary. “I can’t handle any more of this. It’s like they can’t even wait to-to…you know.”

Quinn grimaces. “Yeah, I know.” But she smiles back at you, as if tying to make you perk up. “Well, at least we’re doing dodgeball today, you should blow off some steam.”

You huff, amused. “Mm, maybe nailing Farah in the head with a dodgeball would do me some good.”

“Straight on bitch, that girl needs to be humbled.” Quinn says.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “At this point, I’ll take any excuse to hit something.”

The two of you stepped into the gym, the sound of sneakers squeaking on polished floors and the buzz of students warming up filling the air. It wasn’t the easiest day, but at least the end was finally in sight.

The day finally winds down as you head to the locker rooms to change. The smell of sweat and disinfectant fills the air as you and the other students shuffle to your lockers, exchanging the occasional half-hearted quip about how much of a drill sergeant Coach Walker was today. You change quickly, eager to escape the lingering humidity of the gym, and sling your bag over your shoulder just as the dismissal bell rings.

Joining the tide of students heading toward the front exit, you fall into step with Quinn, chatting idly about homework and plans for the weekend. The sprawling line of cars in the pick-up area is already forming, parents eager to whisk their kids away from the chaos of the school day.

Daniel spots you both as he weaves through the crowd toward his mom’s car, parked conveniently near the front of the line. “Guess that’s my ride,” he calls, swatting your shoulder playfully. “Try not to miss me too much tomorrow, I've got a doc's appointment.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah, you wish asshole.”

“Later!” he shouts, hopping into the passenger seat of his mom’s car as it pulls away. You and Quinn wave after him before continuing toward the pick-up zone.

“Alfred here today?” Quinn asks, glancing around at the cars idling nearby.

“Probably not,” you reply with a shrug. “Haven’t heard from him, so it’s probably just me and the bike today.”

Quinn nods, her attention already shifting to a car pulling up in the distance. “Looks like my dad’s almost here.”

You glance toward the pickup area and spot the familiar vehicle inching closer. “Cool. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yep. Don’t get mugged on the way home,” she jokes, smirking as she adjusts her backpack.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you reply with a laugh. With a quick goodbye, you head toward the bike rack to unlock your trusty two-wheeler.

The quietness of the parking lot is a stark contrast to the noisy chaos of the day. You crouch down, fiddling with the combination lock on your bike, when a hulking shadow falls over you. The sudden shift in light is enough to make your instincts bristle, but you stay focused on the lock, rolling your eyes at the interruption.

“Bro, if you’re lookin’ to mug me,” you say without looking up, your tone flat and unamused, “you should know I’m skint broke. Try some other bitch.”

The air around you seems to thicken with tension, and you feel the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze boring into you. It’s enough to make you pause mid-turn on the lock, your breath catching as a low, familiar voice responds.

“I sure hope you’re not talking to me?” Comes your father, Bruce’s, deep voice.

Your head snaps up, and your breath catches in your throat as you realize it’s not some wannabe punk standing over you.

You pale instantly, the color draining from your face as you meet his icy blue eyes. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his gaze is suffocating. The sheer presence of him—imposing, cold, and unnervingly silent—makes your stomach churn with dread. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scramble for words, your brain tripping over itself in panic.

“Oh—uh, Mr. Wayne—I didn’t—I mean, I thought…” you stammer, trying to cobble together an explanation and an apology all at once. Your hands fumble with the lock on your bike, suddenly feeling clumsy under his scrutiny. “I—um—sorry! I thought—uh—someone else—”

He raises an eyebrow, the tiniest shift in his expression, but it’s enough to make you flinch. You straighten up, clutching your bike for dear life, feeling small and utterly exposed under his towering figure.

“I see,” he says finally, his voice calm but laced with that undercurrent of authority that makes it clear he’s not just seeing. He’s assessing.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” you blurt, trying to salvage what’s left of your dignity. “I thought it was, uh, someone else. Someone trying to—um—mug me?” The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, and you wince inwardly at how ridiculous it must sound.

Bruce’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you make a habit of mouthing off to strangers you assume are threats?” he asks, his tone deceptively mild.

“N-no, sir,” you stammer, shaking your head quickly. “I just—I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s been a long day, and I wasn’t thinking—”

He holds up a hand, cutting off your rambling. “Enough,” he says, “I’m here to pick you up. Alfred’s occupied.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, as you try to process his words. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Bruce might be the one picking you up today. Of course, the thought of him going out of his way to do so hadn’t even crossed your mind, it wasn’t like he ever went out of his way for you before.

“Oh,” you manage after an awkward pause. “Right. Thanks.”

You still have your conversation from the previous day in mind.

“Come on,” he says, turning without another word. “We’re leaving.”

You hastily shove your bike into the back of his sleek black car, your movements hurried and uncoordinated under the pressure of his presence. Sliding into the back seat, you notice Tim sitting in the front passenger seat, looking at you through the rear mirror. You avert your gaze, clasping your hands tightly in your lap, trying not to fidget as the engine purrs to life. The air inside the car is thick with silence, broken only by the occasional click of the turn signal as Bruce maneuvers through traffic.

You steal a glance at him, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever. Despite the tension knotting your stomach, you force yourself to speak. “I—uh, thanks for picking me up,” you mumble, staring out the window.

Bruce doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the road. When he finally speaks, his tone is even but firm. “We’ll talk when we get home.”

Your throat tightens when you see Tim's glee filled smile, as if a cat had just caught a canary. You nod mutely, knowing there’s no point in arguing. Whatever he has to say, it’s not going to be pleasant.

[Hope you guys liked the chapter!! I'm sorry for the delay and the ghosting, more fics will be updated trust!! Also thank you to all the people who were checking on me, I really appreciate it!!]

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chaoticwriting · 7 months ago

Text

THE FATHER

A tall man is walking down a hallway, slowly turning on the lights as he knocks on the door to the rooms along the hallway. Rustles can be heard from each room as Danny moves from room to room. After all rooms have been knocked on, Danny goes down the stairs and goes to the dining room.

He sees the Lunch Lady moving out a whole stack of plates, arranging them on the tables. Danny offers to help but Lunch Lady refuses his offer and he just nods and gives a smile. He sits at the head table as he watches food being placed one by one by her. Soon, children enter the dining room and take their seats waiting until all of the seats is filled.

Children: Thank you for the food!

All the children eat happily while chatting with each other. Danny also eats his food as he is reminiscing about his childhood.

When all the kids finished their food, a woman with green hair enters the room holding a purse.

Kitty: Alright kids, time to go to school. Uncle Johnny is already waiting outside.

The kids reply with yes and cheers as they quickly wash their hands. All of them take their lunch boxes from the top counter and give Danny a hug.

Children: Bye, dad.

Danny: Goodbye, kids. Behaved well at schools and remember to call for me if any of you need help.

Children: Yeeess!

As they reply, Kitty rushes them off outside as they are a little late for school. Danny sends a few blob ghosts after them in case Kitty and Johnny need help sending or watching the kids. After all they are only 2 people compared to the 2 dozen kids they're sending to schools.

Danny goes to his study as Wulf opens a portal and places his paperwork on his table. Danny gives a silent thank you as he busy himself while waiting for the kids to come home.

-6 months ago-

Danny arrives in Gotham after he makes the decision to stay here. After Vlad is healed from his mania courtesy of Jazz and Frostbite, he falls into minor depression at the thought of almost killing his best friend and making his godson go through all those horrible experiences. As a form of repentance, he gives Danny his company as he fully dedicated himself to improving Amity Park and serving the people. He also helps to lobby against the anti ecto act with his few connections. Add in the testimony from Maddie and Jack, the leading scientists in the ectoplasm field.

The act is immediately removed after it is made public and the US government receives a major blow from the feedback. All the personnel that are related to GIW are also captured under the order of the United Nation and the Justice League.

Danny also puts down his mantle as Phantom after the act is removed because by that point, team Phantom can even deal with an Ancient by how liminal some of them are. They are so liminal that they are almost a halfa by this point. They also gained their own powers recently like Sam has Phytokinesis and healing power, Tucker gains Technomancy and Psammokinesis, Val has superhuman physique and can fly and Jazz is now a very powerful psychic. Their combined efforts easily fend off Vortex and Overgrowth last time. Add in that Vlad also helps sometimes, Amity Park is pretty much safe.

So Danny after getting nagged persuaded by Jazz about going to college, decides to further his study into engineering at Gotham. Why? Because not only does Gotham have a high concentration of ectoplasm in their air (not as high as Amity but pretty high compared to any other places except Bludhaven), but it is also because he gained a scholarship there.

Vladco also getting changed in leadership with Danny being the new CEO, giving Tucker and Sam their own position and many top positions to people he knows. Why would he do that someone might ask? Because it is easier to do his work and also college at the same time with his power. Such as learning how to clone himself courtesy of Vlad and opening portal with Wulf's help.

There are also other heroes in the area so he doesn't need to worry about protecting the people in Gotham. Except that's not what happened.

When Danny first arrived at one of the mansions Vlad had bought in Gotham, the place was practically empty. It was cleaned and neat and all but no one was in there. After moving everything in, Danny decides to take a walk outside to take a view of his surroundings.

When Danny arrived at the less unfortunate parts of Gotham, he saw a lot of homeless kids running around. Kids, not teenagers. Danny in his goodwill and screaming core offers the kids to give them shelter. Maybe it is because kids are more sensitive to supernatural elements but it almost seems like they understand him conveying his emotions.

The kids decided to trust him and follow him home and Danny called in Lunch Lady to prepare a meal for them. Lunch Lady, the ever amazing cook, made some fabulous meals for all the kids including Danny as they ate happily.

Danny can see the distrust in their eyes so he didn't insist on them staying until the next morning. He even left the doors and windows unlocked just in case any of them wished to leave early.

He was pleasantly surprised when he saw all the kids in their shared room by morning. He offered to take them in and although the kids were very wary of him, they decided to give him some trust.

And after that, it is pretty much smooth sailing. One after another more and more kids enter the mansion. It's not that Danny goes out to pick them, it is the kids that go out of their way to invite other kids when given permission by Danny.

As for money, it is pretty easy to convert all the items that he stole got from Pariah Dark's haunt. With his multi billion company, he has a lot of power in his hand. Both figuratively and literally. He also sets up a legal foster care center so that he can take in kids easier and get funds legally.

Overall, there are 2 dozen kids that are registered residents of his mansion while there are around 100 more that are not registered either because they technically already have a guardian/parents or they wish to remain unrecorded for some reason.

Unknown to Danny, his reputation has been rising frighteningly fast these past few months. From his kind persona, his amazingly genius intellect and all his charity all the way to how good looking he is, it makes the public go wild on him.

Of course there are some haters that will try to bring down his efforts but those voices are often drowned by thousands of other voices who uplift him.

Of course that is mainly because all of his interactions with people so far have been positive interactions.

That is until the incident happens

-Present Time-

Danny is finishing his homework today as the kids decide to do a little outing to play at the arcade. Danny gives them some money *cough 1000$ cough* and let them go on their own after they beg to not have any adult supervision. Danny knows that is a bad idea but he can't say no to all those cute puppy eyes.

Suddenly, a notification enters his phone. A livestream from Joker's official website (that somehow hasn't been taken down). Danny has a bad feeling about it and opens the livestream to see Joker on live screen laughing as he monologues about his ideals or something.

What really catches his attention is the background of the room. Isn't that the arcade? Shit shit shit shit shit. His kids are there. His kids! HIS KIDS! Danny swears that if his kids are hurt in any way, Joker might need to say his last goodbye even if Batman and his whole spendex army are there. No one hurts his kids and gets away with it. Ask the guy that bullies Ellie when she travels around the world. Well you can't cause the guy is with Dan and no one gets away from Dan.

Danny takes his cane as he goes to his car. This is not any other car. This is a Fenton Car. Turning on the engine sounds like a bomb is going off in his car at the moment. Danny flicks a few switches and the car suddenly changes from the usual sleek black to a white and black with green neon lights coming from some sides.

His father and mother go crazy when they know he is Phantom. Not in the bad way, but in a good way. They apologize heavily but after Danny gets a little uncomfortable with them being so somber around him, he offers to help them build some ghost machines that can help them deal with ghosts without actually hurting them. His parents are ecstatic. This car is also one of the reasons his parents ask him to pursue engineering since he is very good at it. Like super good.

This car is his pet project and so far he hasn't been able to use most of its functions except some space expansion. Well Danny can't say he is excited to try them now since his kids are in danger and he really doesn't care about it anymore.

The black and white car suddenly turns invisible and intangible as Danny flicks on the last few switches and Danny speeds away in his car. 3 seconds. That's how fast he arrives at his destination with the car. When he stops, he flicks off the switches and all the functions are turned off. The polices at the barricade are startled when a car suddenly appears as some of them switch side to point their gun at him.

Danny comes out of the car with a very serious face. No smiles or laughter in his face whatsoever. Danny walks towards the barricade and as he walks, the police officers try to stop him but he just turns intangible and walks through them. When he finally passes the last barricade, a white ring of light appears around him blinding all the onlookers. When they open their eyes, Danny doesn't look like Danny anymore.

The previous Danny had neat black hair, ocean blue eyes, black suit with black ties and a pair of white gloves. Danny now looks like the complete opposite. White wavy hair, toxic green eyes, white tie and suit with black undershirt and a pair of black gloves. Even his cane changes from the woody exterior to a crystal ice sword.

He slowly walks into the area and Joker's goons start shooting at Danny as they think he is just a guy with a weird suit. Oh boy are they wrong.

As soon as the bullets reach a centimeter before Danny, they stop as if space itself prohibits them from moving. The goons become more nervous as any and all types of weapons from bullets, to knives to even grenades, none of them can touch him. The grenades don't even explode after getting stopped by him.

All the goons continue shooting as Danny walks closer slowly when suddenly multiple clicks sound at the same time. The goons realize that they may have spent all their bullets and none of them can touch him so far.

Some of the goons in defiance rush towards Danny with knives in their hand. Danny easily takes them down by swatting them with his ice sword/cane. One by one, all the goons fall to the ground. None of them are unconscious but none of them are able to move. It's like they are paralyzed.

Suddenly, the bullets and grenades that they release earlier start to move. They turn and move and the goons watch in horror as each bullet faces towards them. Danny can hear the police officers screaming about stuff but he honestly doesn't care. Danny releases all the bullets and screams can be heard throughout the alley. None of the goons die, Danny makes sure that death doesn't come easy for them, but if they are left like this for too long, even the deities can't save them.

Danny leaves the alley and walks further inside towards the place where Danny senses his kids are at. Unfortunately, they seem to be separated but that is a given since there are 2 dozen of them. Danny makes clones of himself and sends them to retrieve the kids as fast as possible. The clones turn invisible and fly through the building towards the one with the Joker inside. There is one more of his kids inside and since the Joker is there, he might as well give him a visit.

Danny arrives inside the building sensing his kids are on the 3rd floor. He flies up there and sees the Joker standing in front of the camera, still monologuing while his goons are holding the hostages at gunpoint. He sees his 8 year old daughter trembling while being hugged by his 10 year old son who is putting up a brave face for his little sister.

To say he is angry is an understatement. He is furious. He is livid. How dare they! How dare they touch my sweet children! They will die! ALL OF THEM WILL DIE!

The hostages suddenly panic when their visions turn black for a moment before they hear screams and multiple thud falling on the ground. When their visions return, all they can see is a man in white suit holding an ice cane slowly comforting 2 children.

"You will be fine, my children."

"I am here."

"No one will hurt you."

He repeats as the children cry into his arms and they hug for a long time. The other hostages look around them to see the Joker, standing still like he is chained by something and bloods on the ground without any bodies in sight.

The man lifts his children up and brings them outside the room and just as the hostages are about to follow suit, the man comes back inside but this time without the children.

Danny: Go out. I have cleared the way.

The hostages hesitantly go out of the room and when they see no one is outside, they rush out of the room and return back to the street where they see police officers taking the other hostages from other buildings to safety.

Danny meanwhile is left alone with the Joker in the room. Danny stares at Joker's eyes as he peers into his soul. A rotten one this is. Danny steps in front of the Joker and snaps his finger. Joker releases a deep huff, as if his breath is being held while he is just standing there.

Danny looks at the Joker and holds out his arm to the side. A chair comes flying to him as if being pulled by a rope. Danny puts the chair down and pushes the Joker to sit on it.

Danny: Hello Joker. Usually people say it is nice to meet you but unfortunately our circumstances are not very pleasant.

Danny stops as he makes a stool out of ice and sits on it.

Danny: Now, Joker. Or should I call you Jack? Jack Napier? Or is it Jack Oswald White? It doesn't matter. Now, Jack. Do you know why I'm here?

Danny stalls as he could see the confusion and horror in Jack's eyes.

Danny: I shall assume you don't. You, Jack, have done great harm to my children. I admit. I'm not the old vigilante anymore. I don't protect people and go around punching bad guys. Do you want to know why? Because I have children now. I have a family to take care of. So I don't actually care about what you wish to do. Even if you burn Gotham to the ground, as long as my children are fine, I will not care. But it seems fate decides to get rid of either of us today. So here is what's gonna happen. One, I kill you right here right now.

As Danny says that he points his cane at Jack's chest.

Danny: Or you could experience all the pain and suffering you have inflicted on all your victims right here right now. If you choose the later option, I will release you after you finish your punishment. And we will go our merry way as long as you don't cross paths with me anymore. I will give you 10 seconds to decide.

Danny says as he lowers his cane. He stands up and walks around the Joker. He stomps his cane on the ground every time a single second has passed and as the tenth stomps sound, a voice replies to Danny

Jack: The second one.

Danny: I see.

Danny then walks in front of the Joker and raises his finger. A beam of green light enters his forehead from Danny's finger and Joker's head falls down.

Danny then walks back to his stool as he waits for it to happen.

Screams. Screams that are more horrifying the longer it lasts. Jack's screams sound like something only an eldritch can emit. Danny watches calmly as all of this happens. He waits and waits when suddenly, Jack stops. He stops and releases a big laughter.

Jack: hahahaHaHaHaHaHaHAHAHA...... I did it. I survived. Ahahahahaha.

Danny: Indeed. Congratulations on surviving Jack. And as promised I will let you go.

Jack can feel the restraints that Danny casts on him disappears like it is never there. Jack decides to run towards the door and stays away from this weirdo. If not for the fact that Jack is scared this guy will kill him, he would have fallen unconscious already.

Except the door is locked. He turns to look at Danny warily expecting him to turn back on his words or something.

What he doesn't expect is that Danny is no longer there. What replaced him are multiple ghostly figures that are slowly walking towards him. Jack turns as he bangs on the door. From begging to angry cussing, nothing can help him anymore. All of Jack's victims have come to pay him a visit. And this time, they will bring him with them.

Danny watches as Jack's body falls limp on the ground from the punishment. The last thing Jack saw is actually a hallucination. Something he makes to give Jack the maximum despair he can feel.

Danny releases the restraint on Jack's body as his body falls limp on the chair. He looks around the room and sees a peculiar device with a red light coming from it.

Shit. All of it is recorded isn't it?

Part 2

#danny fenton #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #danny phantom #dc joker #Danny is a dad

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nottswitch · 2 months ago

Text

꒰ florist!reader takes initiative with ceo!theo for the first time ꒱

cw: 18+ mdni, p in v, choking, mentions of ovulation, cursing

a/n: finally writing for this pairing, they’re literally my babies <3 decided to start off with something spicy (and i’m totally not ovulating rn)

⋆˚꩜｡

he was simply irresistible. you never realised just how hot your boyfriend was – well, at least not to this extent. but then again, this thought crossed your mind at the very least once a month, and every time it felt new and even more intense.

theo had just come out of the shower and had already slipped into his black, satin pyjamas. his curls were still damp, the shirt was halfway undone, leaving his lean chest on display, a small hint of his abs showing underneath the smooth fabric. he really had been hitting the gym lately – he found it a good way to relieve the stress after his tumultuous work days, filled with endless calls and meetings. and it showed, oh how much it showed…

“…and i think we’re not far off from closing the deal. tomorrow we have another meeting, i think we can do it.”

theo’s voice suddenly jolted you out of your thoughts. to your embarrassment, you weren’t listening – you were too busy ogling his body, your glistening bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you watched his hands move. his knuckles flexed just slightly, but it was enough to drive you insane with desire. unexpectedly, you found yourself wishing they were wrapped around your throat.

“amore? what’s wrong?”

theo’s eyebrows creased as he noticed how distracted you were. usually, you would eagerly listen and ask questions about whatever he was saying, but now… your mind was clearly somewhere else.

“nothing, baby. nothing’s wrong,” you murmured, scooting closer to him, your body moved by some higher force coming from the inside. “you just look so hot…” you whispered as your hand touched his chest, moving up and down over the tanned skin, fingers brushing over theo’s nipples.

a small, hesitant smirk appeared on theo’s lips at your touch. he’d never witnessed this side of you before, but he had to admit, it was the sexiest sight he’d had the pleasure of experiencing in a while. “i do, don’t i?” he murmured back, his hand automatically landing on your hip. “you’re so clingy tonight, principessa. anything you’d like to share?”

“not really. just want you, is all.”

you climbed onto theo’s lap, straddling him, your pussy settling snugly over his already semi-hard cock. his hands were skimming up and down your thighs, riding up your little nightgown, but not quite reaching the place that craved them. normally, you’d be all into the foreplay, but not today. your hormones were raging, and you felt how much it was turning theo on, which made you even hornier in response.

without saying another word, you leaned over to the nightstand, quickly grabbing a condom from the drawer. theo’s eyebrows rose, even more surprised by how proactive you were behaving, and his cock twitched between your legs – he’d always secretly wished you took more initiative, and now that it was happening? he couldn’t resist you. he wouldn’t even if he wanted to.

“oh, cazzo, amore…” theo swore under his breath, followed by a quiet gasp when you shifted on his lap, pulling down his pants and freeing his erection. he was fully hard at that point, and his cock throbbed as you rolled the condom on.

“want you, baby…” you murmured, lifting your hips up and grabbing his cock to line it up with your entrance. theo’s mind, usually busy with whatever godforsaken matter was on it at all times, was now pleasantly turned off. he could only moan when you lowered yourself onto him, your own voice breaking when he filled you up to the very brim. your nails dug into his chest, and it was a sting so pleasant, theo couldn’t hold back a small whimper. he never let sounds like that escape his mouth – but damn, if you weren’t ruining him this very moment.

“choke me.”

theo’s eyes snapped open, the pleasure overridden for a brief moment by the suddenness of your request. “a-are you sure?” he stuttered out, unable to keep his voice steady as you rode him, the slickness of your pussy gliding over his dick creating the most pornographic sounds he thought he’d ever heard.

“yes, please. choke me,” you panted out, taking ahold of his hand and guiding it to your throat. this did it for him. in a split second, you were already laid out on your back, with theo on top of you, his fingers curling around your throat. it wasn’t painful, no – he was still holding back the most primal part of himself, but it was getting harder and harder as he watched your eyes roll back in pleasure.

“you like that, huh?” he whispered, his lips hovering just above yours as he started thrusting into you, hips snapping soundly against yours. “my sweet princess likes it a little rough, yeah? cazzo, you’re about to kill me…”

and you couldn’t deny that even if you tried. as his hand around your throat cut off just enough air to feel a little dizzy, as his cock hit all the right spots over and over again, you realised that maybe it wasn’t just your hormones. maybe you really did like it a little rough sometimes.

au. more.

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cheftsunoda · 29 days ago

Note

dearest wife/cellmate, i’ve been off work for like 3 hours but i took a little nap forgive me. i’ll be submitting this after the race but it’s important to me that you know i wrote it before. as promised, a lando request that was inspired by my job (kinda)

lando is….well lando. he’s a good time. a good driver. very charming, quite the people person. but he’s not serious. he’s not calm. you know who is? reader! she’s the corporate type. boardrooms. meetings. spreadsheets. office chic. zoom calls. and he can’t get enough.

lando x corporate!reader (idk i’m sleep deprived come up with a better !)

now….this is a me request so you have to leave room for things to get messy. maybe they aren’t dating yet. maybe he doesn’t think she makes enough time for him. maybe she doesn’t think he’s serious enough. maybe the public doesn’t think he’s serious enough for her *gasp*. maybe she has a kid *bigger gasp*.

these are all just possibilities. i’ll let you have you fun surprising me. though let’s throw in a little streamer lando, love that guy. as always, love you lots

(after race message) IT HURTS….IT HURTS SO BAD…..that ferrari is so shit in the rain….but we SO CLOSEEEEE….yeah it’s nap time

terms and conditions — ln4

smau + blurbs

lando norris x !ceo reader

you built an empire by twenty seven. ceo. investor. mother. untouchable.

dating a formula 1 driver was never part of the plan — especially not the golden boy of the team your company sponsors. but lando norris doesn’t play by the rules you’ve spent your whole life living by.

he smiles too easily, gets too close, sees too much. and no matter how many times you push him away, he keeps showing up — not for the ceo. for you. you told yourself it was unprofessional. too risky. too soon. but it’s getting harder to remember why you ever said no in the first place.

fc : kendall jenner

(a/n) : hi wifey! hope that you are having a lovely day. the race stabbed me in the gut about 87 times…im not sure how im still living. but i loved this idea and had so much fun and i hope you enjoy it. always love seeing you in my inbox;) love you to the moon and back🦋

also this is like extra extra long so the spacing at the end is fucked up. i was not making this two parts. im simply too lazy<3

—

mclaren

liked by lando, yourusername, oscarpiastri and 2,750,075 others.

mclaren : We’re proud to announce a new era of innovation and excellence as yourcompanyname joins McLaren as an official team sponsor for the 2025 season.

At the heart of this partnership is yourusername, founder and CEO — a leader known for rewriting the rules and raising the bar. As a strategic investor and force to be reckoned with, she brings vision, ambition, and undeniable power to our journey forward.

Let’s make history. 🧡

—

view 252,700 other comments.

zbrownceo : Thrilled to have YN and yourcompanyname on board. A true game changer — on and off the track. Let’s win together. 👊🏼

liked by mclaren and yourusername

↳ yourusername : a true honor to be a part of this amazing team 🧡

liked by mclaren and zbrownceo

username000 : girlboss + mclaren? i’m shaking. this is power.

username777 : investor?? sponsor?? ICON?? i fear she is mother

username15 : we are simply not worthy 🙏

username33 : Lando pls behave around her she is not one of your grid girls

username45 : can’t wait for her to outdress everyone in the paddock

lando : welcome 😇 let me know if you need a paddock tour or… like… a driver to sponsor personally or something

liked by yourusername

↳ mclaren : lando please refrain from…lando-ing

↳ username00 : NOT THE FLIRTING ALREADY 😭

↳ username77 : lando be so serious rn

↳ username55 : she’s going to destroy him and i’ll love every second of it

—

f1gossipgirls

1,189,001 likes.

f1gossipgirls : McLaren investor and tech CEO YN LN was spotted in the paddock today — looking every bit the powerhouse she is. The 27 year old was seen alongside Lando Norris throughout the afternoon, even joining him for a hot lap!

A girlboss on track? We’re obsessed. 🧡🏁

—

view 57,002 other comments.

username000 : if he crashes the car trying to impress her i won’t be surprised

username00 : she’s 27, rich, stunning AND she gets hot laps?? when will it be MY turn

username0 : “boss lady” is right — she walked into that paddock like she owned it (because she kinda does)

username1 : imagine being rich, beautiful, powerful, and also having Lando Norris in love with you?? unfair

username5 : this feels like the start of a fanfic i would obsessively read at 2am

username7 : she’s giving “I don’t date drivers” and he’s giving “I’ll change that”

—

You barely make it five steps into the McLaren garage before people start turning their heads.

It’s not the cameras — though you can feel them, already snapping — or the journalists whispering about the name stitched across your blazer sleeve. It’s not even the massive orange logo of your company stamped across the sidepod. It’s you.

You walk like you belong here. Because technically, you do. Investor. Sponsor. The woman who helped fund their car’s newest upgrades and signed contracts Zak Brown still triple checked.

But even with all that power, you feel just a little out of place — surrounded by fireproof suits and tire compounds instead of boardrooms and business decks.

“Whoa,” a voice says behind you. “No one told me we were having royalty visit today.”

You turn. Lando Norris stands in front of you, all curls and cocky grin, in a fire suit that still smells faintly like rubber and engine oil. He’s flushed from a practice run, hair slightly damp at the temples, and he looks at you like he’s seeing the sun for the first time.

“Nice to meet you, officially,” he says, holding out a hand like you’re not already half the reason his car is on track today.

You shake it — firm, professional — even though his palm is warm and his eyes flicker down to the way your fingers wrap around his. Eyes up, Norris.

“Oscar,” he calls over his shoulder, “Come say hi to our new boss.”

Oscar Piastri wanders over, peeling his gloves off. “Hey,” he says, offering a quieter smile. “Big fan of the branding. It makes the car look fast even when it’s standing still.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what I’m hearing is if you two don’t win, it’s going to be the sponsors fault?”

Oscar smirks. “That’s the official line, yeah.”

Lando laughs, looking at you like you’ve already passed some test. “Ignore him. He’s intimidated.”

“I’m not,” Oscar says. “I’m respectful.”

You glance between them, amused. You’re not new to being around men who get weird about power, but this—this is almost charming. Almost.

“Well,” Lando says, stuffing his gloves into his suit pocket, “since you’re here and technically kind of keeping my car on the track…can I give you the grand tour?”

He says it like it’s casual, but the gleam in his eye is anything but.

You arch a brow. “Is this part of the official McLaren hospitality package?”

“No,” he grins, “this is the exclusive tour.”

Oscar coughs pointedly behind him, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “simp.”

Lando doesn’t even flinch.

You pause — then nod. “Alright. Show me what I’m funding.”

And just like that, he lights up like he’s on pole. You’re in trouble. And you’re starting to think you don’t mind.

—

Lando’s version of a tour is… loosely structured at best. He shows you the hospitality suite and gets distracted offering you an espresso. He tries explaining the simulator setup, then ends up bragging about his best lap time until you jokingly ask how much of that was down to your company’s new telemetry systems. He pouts. You smirk.

You don’t even realize how long you’ve been gone until the two of you are making your way back toward the garage, the low hum of the pit lane growing louder as you approach.

He opens a side gate for you with a little bow, grinning. “After you, boss.”

You give him a look. “Still not your boss, Norris.”

He shrugs. “Could be.”

You shake your head, trying to suppress the smile that tugs at your mouth. It’s not professional. None of this is. But being around him has a way of softening all your sharp edges — and that’s a problem you’re not ready to name yet.

As you step into the garage, the air shifts — louder, more focused. Engineers circle around the car. Oscar’s chatting with his race engineer. People move with purpose.

And then Zak Brown appears, like he’s been waiting for just this moment.

“YN!” he says warmly, stepping forward with his arms out. “The woman of the hour.”

You smile and shake his hand. “Hope I’m not getting in the way.”

“On the contrary,” he says. “We’re glad you’re here. Team’s been buzzing all morning.”

He turns to Lando, then back to you. “Actually… we were talking earlier, and I was wondering — would you be down for a hot lap? With Lando driving, of course.”

Lando perks up like a golden retriever hearing the word walk. “We’ve got the car prepped already,” he adds quickly. “Just say the word.”

You blink. “A hot lap?”

“In the passenger seat,” Zak clarifies. “Helmet, full setup, just a few laps around the track. Nothing crazy. Unless you want it to be.”

You glance at Lando. His eyes are bright, his smile bordering on boyish. Like he’s hoping you’ll say yes, but won’t push if you don’t. You hesitate — not because you’re nervous, but because you can already feel the headlines writing themselves.

But he’s waiting. And you haven’t said yes to something fun in a very long time. So you square your shoulders, just slightly.

“I’m in.”

Lando breaks into a grin that could power the grid. “Let’s get you suited up, then.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart’s racing.

Trouble, indeed.

And you’re still not sure if you’re falling into it—or if you’re already in way too deep.

—

You’ve sat in billion dollar boardrooms. Closed deals that made headlines. Held your own in rooms full of men twice your age and half your intelligence.

But nothing quite prepares you for sitting in a Mclaren on a track, next to Lando Norris.

He’s already strapped in, gloves on, visor pushed up to reveal the kind of grin that’s both reassuring and mildly chaotic. “Nervous?” he teases.

“Should I be?”

“That depends,” he says, eyes twinkling. “How much do you trust me?”

You raise a brow. “You’re literally paid to not crash. I’m assuming that applies today.”

“Mostly,” he says, far too casually.

You snort, but before you can respond, one of the mechanics steps forward and hands you a helmet. Black, sleek, freshly polished — and heavy in your hands.

You hesitate for half a second, trying to figure out where the chin strap latches when Lando leans over the console between you.

“Here,” he says, voice suddenly gentler. “Let me.”

He takes the helmet from you with gloved hands, lifting it carefully like it’s something precious — not carbon fiber and paint, but something closer. He angles it slightly, then leans in as you duck your head.

You feel his fingers brush the side of your jaw as he adjusts it, his knuckles grazing the high collar of your shirt. His hands move with a kind of confident care — deliberate, but not rushed. You can feel your pulse quicken under the strap.

“Too tight?” he asks quietly, looking up at you from under his lashes. He’s close enough now that you can smell the hint of fuel still clinging to him, the faint sweetness of his cologne buried beneath it.

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

His gaze lingers for a beat too long. “You look good in a helmet.”

You narrow your eyes inside the visor. “Try not to kill me and I’ll consider that a compliment.”

He grins. “Deal.”

The engine roars to life beneath you, and it’s like the whole world shifts into another gear. The vibration hums through your chest, and suddenly this doesn’t feel like some publicity stunt. It feels like stepping into his world. On his terms. And then he takes off. Fast doesn’t cover it.

You’re pressed back into the seat as he takes the first corner like he’s chasing something — or maybe running from it. The track blurs, the horizon bends, and every muscle in your body braces even though you know you’re safe. His hands move like second nature, instinct and precision woven into one.

You scream once — just once — out of shock, not fear. He laughs, joyous and unfiltered through the comms in your helmet.

“You okay over there, boss?” he teases.

“I’m fine,” you shout over the wind, adrenaline rushing through your veins like wildfire. “Are you always this reckless?”

“Only with people I really want to impress.”

The words sit there, warm and unsteady between you.

Another corner. Another flash of speed.

And somewhere between the turns, you realize: you’re not thinking about work. About meetings. About expectations or reputations or how this might look.

You’re just feeling.

The car finally pulls back into the pit lane, engine purring down to a growl. As it slows to a stop, the world feels too quiet. Too still. Too slow, without him at full throttle.

Lando unbuckles first, then leans over again. You feel the soft click of your strap being undone, his fingers gentle as ever as he lifts the helmet off.

Your hair’s a mess, your heart’s still racing, and your face is flushed from speed and nerves and something else entirely.

He looks at you like you just did ten laps around him.

“Still alive,” he says, a little breathless.

“Barely,” you say.

And you’re not sure if you mean from the speed — or the way he’s looking at you right now.

—

The champagne has already been popped. There’s orange confetti in your heels, your hair, your handbag — you stopped trying to brush it off twenty minutes ago.

McLaren 1-2. Lando first, Oscar second. The perfect weekend.

The garage is buzzing, the kind of chaos that only comes with success — people laughing, hugging, shouting over blaring music, a thousand hands clapping you on the back for being part of this. Your name’s already trending on Twitter next to McLaren’s.

But your eyes keep drifting bak to him. Lando stands a few feet away, fire suit half unzipped and tied around his waist, curls damp with champagne and sweat. He’s got confetti stuck to his cheek. His medal still hangs around his neck, swaying slightly with every laugh he gives out to the team around him. And then he catches your eye.

He doesn’t smile right away. He just walks toward you — slowly, deliberately — until it’s just the two of you tucked into a quiet corner behind the pit wall, barely out of sight.

“You leaving soon?” he asks, voice softer now that the crowd’s behind him.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Jet’s waiting. Early meetings tomorrow.”

Of course you do. You always do. You have an empire to run.

He swallows, just slightly. “Did you enjoy the weekend?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You mean the part where I got strapped into a death machine and flung around a track at 200 kilometers an hour by a man who openly admitted he was trying to impress me?”

He grins. “So that’s a yes?”

You roll your eyes, but it’s fond. Too fond. “It was… fun,” you admit, and the word feels oddly intimate. “And you drove well today. Really well.”

He shrugs, but you can tell he’s trying not to beam. “Felt good. Clean. Controlled.”

“Fast,” you add, and something in the way you say it makes his eyes flicker.

You glance over your shoulder — the rest of the team is still wrapped up in celebration. No one’s watching.

So you step a little closer.

“Thank you,” you say, quieter now. “For this weekend. For making it feel like… more than business.”

Lando’s gaze softens. “It’s never just business with you.”

You should leave. Say goodbye. Keep it clean. That’s what you’re good at. But instead, your hand lifts — barely — and you brush a piece of confetti from his hair. He catches your wrist before you can pull away. Just holds it there, between you, like he’s memorizing the feeling.

“You know I’m serious about this, right?” he says, almost whispering.

You look at him, heart thudding, voice barely there.

“I know.”

He lets your hand go — slowly — and steps back.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echo, before turning toward the exit, heels echoing against the concrete.

You don’t look back. But you feel it — his eyes on you.

And for the first time in a long time, you think you might want someone to keep watching.

—

yourusername

liked by lando, mclaren, alexandrasaintmleux and 11,700,055 others.

yourusername : manifesting a day where I can sleep in past 6🙏🏻

—

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yourcompanyname : we are manifesting it for you too boss ✨🪄

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : you’re the best❤️

mclaren : manifesting yn at the track again 🗣️🗣️

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : would love that 🧡

liked by lando and mclaren

username000 : two birkins in one post. this is the lifestyle i am manifesting for myself

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : I believe in you💋

liked by username000

↳ username000 : SHEUSUSJ hi queen. almost finished with my engineering degree if you can use another

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : always looking for new talent;)

yourbff : vivi trying to wear chanel already??? she really is your daughter 👑

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : wearing chanel and trying to claim a birkin🙄

liked by yourbff

username007 : lando in the likessss

username8 : that necklace alone could probably pay for my tuition twice…thrice even

alexandrasaintmleux : 😍😍😍

liked by yourusername

lando : manifesting another hot lap, boss?

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : I would but I value my life, Norris.

liked by lando

—

f1gossipgirls

1,700,500 likes.

f1gossipgirls : All eyes were on McLaren investor and tech CEO YN LN as she arrived at last night’s McLaren Gala in a show-stopping, custom orange gown that had the internet collectively losing its mind. YN— known for her signature no-nonsense power suits — shocked fans by leaning into full glamour, complete with an open back, structured bodice, and more elegance than the entire grid combined.

Even more buzzworthy? Lando Norris was seen escorting her down part of the red carpet, offering his arm like a very eager gentleman. The two were spotted laughing, posing, and sharing what could only be described as a look before being joined by Oscar Piastri inside. We’re not saying she owned the night…But she does own part of the team.

—

lando.jpg

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, carlossainz55 and 1,114,008 others.

lando.jpg : lovely night

tagged : yourusername and oscarpiastri

—

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oscarpiastri : severely hungover and found a feather from yn's dress in my shoe

liked by yourusername and lando.jpg

↳ yourusername : keep it for good luck piastri

liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername

username007 : that dress was quite literally insane.

↳ lando.jpg : the shoes were worse. i was already carrying them for her not even 30 minutes into the event.

liked by username007 and yourusername

↳ yourusername : i would do horrible things for the sake of a good look. srry.

↳ lando.jpg : could've showed up in a garbage bag and i'd be drooling.

liked by yourusername

—

You weren’t planning to make a scene. You were planning to show up, smile politely, make your rounds as an investor and sponsor, shake a few hands, maybe pose for a photo or two beside your company’s logo and then disappear before anyone asked personal questions.

But apparently, the universe had other plans.

Because the second your heels hit the carpet, everything slows down. Cameras click faster. Heads turn. And the noise of the gala outside the McLaren venue dulls to a hum beneath the sound of your name being whispered down the press line.

You barely make it through the first round of flashes when you hear a not-so-subtle voice to your left.

“Jesus Christ.”

You glance over.

Lando Norris is standing ten paces away, halfway through a sentence to Oscar Piastri, mid-laugh — and now entirely frozen. Mouth slightly open. Eyebrows somewhere near his hairline. Staring at you like you just walked out of his dreams and into real life.

Oscar follows his gaze, sees you, then bursts into a laugh. “Dude. Your jaw. Close it.”

“I’m fine,” Lando mumbles, even though he is very clearly not fine.

Zak Brown appears behind them, sipping from a glass of something expensive and amused out of his mind. “Should I give you five minutes to write your vows or…?”

Lando doesn’t even respond. He’s already moving — crossing the carpet toward you like it’s muscle memory, like he’s done this a hundred times in his head and this is just the first time the universe is catching up.You turn at the last second and meet his eyes.

He stops a step away. “Hi.”

His voice is a little breathless. His gaze travels — carefully — from your heels to the way the dress hugs your frame to the shimmer across your collarbone and the slight, amused lift of your brow.

“Hi,” you echo, biting back a smile.

“That’s… orange,” he says, eyes flicking to the gown. “On brand.”

“Thought I’d make the marketing team happy,” you quip.

“They’re going to rename the car after you if you keep looking like that.”

You snort, trying to hide how warm your face feels under the lights.

“You look—” he starts, then stops, exhaling. “Okay, I’m not even gonna pretend. You look unreal.”

“And you,” you say, glancing at the way his suit fits a little too perfectly, “clean up shockingly well.”

“Shocking is kind of my thing.”

From behind him, you hear Oscar call, “Hold hands already!” followed by Zak adding, “Make it a joint investment, for God’s sake!”

Lando turns pink.

You offer your arm, mostly to distract from the heat crawling up your chest. “Walk me down?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Every red carpet from now on, if you let me.”

You don’t answer — but you do let him link his arm through yours, his hand warm against your skin, his steps matching yours like he’s done this before. Like he was meant to walk beside you.

The cameras go wild. Reporters yell your names. Flashbulbs blur your vision as you glide down the carpet — the CEO in orange, the driver at her side, the pair of you too polished and too close to be just business.

Lando leans in slightly as you pose for one last photo. “Everyone’s staring.”

You hum. “Let them.”

And God help you — you think he’s smiling because he wants them to. Not because you’re the sponsor. Not because you’re the investor. But because you’re you. And tonight? You let yourself smile back.

—

Inside the venue, the lights are low, golden. Everything gleams…crystal glasses, polished floors, a sea of designer suits and carefully curated PR smiles.

But Lando? Lando hasn’t left your side once. Not when Zak introduced you to three partners you were supposed to have dinner with next quarter. Not when a swarm of reporters tried to corner you about the hot lap from earlier that weekend. Not even when Oscar made a half hearted attempt to drag him away to the bar for “one drink, please, before you start writing her initials on your helmet.”

He just stayed close — one hand hovering near the small of your back when you walked, his laugh barely a breath away from your shoulder when someone made a joke, his eyes trailing you like you were the only person in the room. And truthfully? You let him.

Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the way the dress hugged you like a second skin. Maybe it was the fact that for once — just once — you didn’t feel like the CEO, the investor, the person everyone wanted something from. You just felt… wanted.

Eventually, when the fifth camera flash makes you flinch and the buzz of voices starts to melt together, you lean toward him and murmur, “Need some air.”

He’s already nodding before you finish the sentence. “Come on.”

He doesn’t ask anyone. Doesn’t wait. Just reaches for your hand — not formally, not publicly, not like something to be photographed. Just… instinctively. Fingers brushing yours as he leads you past the glass doors and onto the quiet balcony overlooking the city skyline.

It’s cooler out here. Quieter. The noise slips away like steam, and you take a deep breath — shoulders relaxing for the first time all night.

Lando leans on the railing beside you. You don’t say anything for a moment.

“You’re the most important person in that room, you know.”

You glance at him. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

“It is,” he says simply. “But you never act like it. You always look like you’re waiting for someone to tell you to leave.”

You go still.

He turns to face you fully now, hands in his pockets. His voice is quieter. “You don’t have to prove anything, you know. Not to anyone in there. Not to Zak. Not to me.”

“I know,” you say softly.

“You don’t act like you do.”

You let the silence hang for a moment. Let the lights of the city stretch out before you like runway lights. Let the cold air cool the heat creeping up your spine from his words.

“It’s hard not to keep waiting for the ground to fall out.”

He nods, like he gets it. Like he really gets it.

“You could fall,” he says. “And I’d still be here.”

You meet his eyes. There’s no teasing in his expression now. No smirk. Just sincerity — warm, steady, completely unguarded. You don’t know what possesses you, but your hand finds his where it rests on the railing. His fingers curl around yours instantly, like they’ve been waiting.

“You’re trouble,” you whisper.

He smiles — soft, not smug. “So are you.”

—

The sunlight is horribly blinding after too much champagne the night before. Soft, golden light spilling through gauzy curtains, brushing across the white sheets tangled around your bare legs. Your body aches in that satisfying, quiet way — not from exhaustion, but from rest. Real, rare rest. And then you feel it. A warm arm slung loosely over your waist. A slow, steady breath against the back of your neck. And a smug smile pressed lazily into your shoulder.

“You’re awake,” Lando mumbles, voice thick with sleep and satisfaction.

“Barely,” you murmur, eyes still closed.

He nuzzles a little closer, shameless. “You stayed the night.”

“You begged.”

“I asked politely.”

You huff a laugh, not bothering to argue. His fingers draw soft, mindless shapes along your skin, and it’s disarming — the ease of it. How natural this all feels. How quiet the world seems with just the two of you in it. No cameras. No contracts. No pressure. Just you and him. And the fact that you didn’t want to leave.

“You’re still wearing my shirt,” he says smugly, peeking at the oversized McLaren tee loosely draped over your frame.

“You took my dress hostage,” you reply, shifting under the sheets.

“Not my fault you showed up looking like a walking problem.”

You roll your eyes and finally open them — only to find him already looking at you. And it’s not the usual flirty look. It’s something softer. Like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real.

You blink, suddenly overwhelmed by how nice it is — to not be the CEO, the boss, the woman who always leaves before sunrise. To just be… this. To wake up with someone who isn’t trying to steal your time or your power. Who just wants you. Then your phone buzzes. You groan and reach for it on the nightstand, squinting at the screen.

Vivi wants to FaceTime...

You freeze.

“Oh,” you mutter under your breath. “Shit.”

Lando props himself up slightly, curious. “Everything okay?”

You sit up, hair tousled, quickly pulling the blanket higher over your chest. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s just—”

The call connects before you can fully finish the thought. And there she is. Your daughter. Three years old. Bedhead curls. Mismatched pajamas. Big brown eyes and a soft voice that makes everything inside you go still.

“Mama!” she chirps, beaming.

You melt instantly. “Hi, baby.”

Lando is frozen beside you, eyes wide, lips parted like he’s just been hit with a bucket of ice water.

“I wanted to say hi,” she says sweetly, “and to show you that I put the sticker you gave me on my lunchbox! Look!”

The nanny adjusts the camera and sure enough, there’s a lopsided glitter unicorn sticker right in the center of a pink lunchbox.

“That’s perfect,” you say, smiling softly. “I love it.”

“I miss you,” she pouts. “Can you come home soon?”

“Tomorrow morning,” you promise. “We’ll make pancakes. I’ll even let you put blueberries and chocolate chips.”

“Yay!!” she cheers, then gasps. “Who’s that?”

You stiffen. Lando immediately lifts his hands, eyes wide in panic.

You try not to laugh as you angle the screen away from him. “Just… a friend. Go finish your breakfast, okay? I love you.”

“Love you more!” she grins, and the screen goes dark.

Silence.

“You have a kid?” Lando says, in a voice that’s not shocked-judgmental — just shocked-in-love.

You turn to him slowly, heart racing, mouth dry.

“I was going to tell you,” you say, quiet. “Eventually. It’s not something I lead with. And it’s not because I’m ashamed of her, she’s—she’s my whole world. I just…”

He nods, eyes still wide but gentle. “You don’t have to explain. That’s… that’s a lot to hold. On your own.”

You blink. No jokes. No teasing. Just softness. Understanding.

“She’s three,” you say, voice quieter now. “She’s smart. And sensitive. And I don’t let many people near her, not unless I know they’ll stay.”

You don’t mean it to sound like a warning. But it lands like one. Lando shifts toward you, eyes steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallow. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I know this… whatever this is, it’s new. And messy. And not exactly part of the PR package.”

He laughs, short and breathless. “YN. I just watched a literal tiny human call you Mama and show you a glitter unicorn sticker. I think I’m already wrecked.”

You blink.

“Can I—” he starts, then hesitates. “Can I meet her? Not now. Not today. Just… someday. If you think she’d like me.”

You study him. He looks nervous. More nervous than he does before a race. But he’s serious. No expectations. Just hope. You nod.

“Yeah,” you say. “Someday.”

And when he leans in to kiss you again — soft, slow, like a promise — you let him. Because maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to do this alone anymore.

—

three months later...

yourusername

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 14,700,300 others.

yourusername : im a mommy. mommy? (been watching love island during my board meeting zooms) (you can also tell im a mom by all the stickers on the RR)

—

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username00 : watching love island on mute while closing million-dollar deals iktr mama

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username77 : not the rolls royce dashboard being a sticker museum 😭 she’s so real for that

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : they are in each of my cars atp. she will grow up to be an artist

username15 : you’re telling me she has a kid, an empire, and a 27-inch waist??? jail

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : manifesting it for you bb

username75 : if that is lando with her child i will scream and cry so cute

↳ username17 : i feel like that is def his arm

oscarpiastri : i, too, enjoy meetings where no one knows i’m watching reality TV. solidarity.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : what ep are you on??

↳ oscarpiastri : txt me rn.

liked by yourusername

↳ username87 : bonding with one of the drivers she sponsors over not paying attention in meetings. im screaming.

lilymhe : you are mother in every possible sense

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alex_albon : stickers on the RR?? elite behavior. i do the same with Lily’s water bottle tbh

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : same creative expression just a different canvas :)

liked by alex_albon

—

flashback - two months ago

You’ve never seen Lando nervous like this. Not pre race jittery. Not press conference twitchy. This is different. He’s pacing back and forth in your living room, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, holding something suspiciously plush shaped behind his back.

“Lando,” you say gently from the kitchen. “You’re not meeting a government official. She’s three.”

“Exactly,” he says, turning to face you. “She has no filter. She could hate me immediately and just say it out loud. What if she thinks I’m weird? What if she throws something at me?”

“She throws things at people she likes,” you reply, sipping your coffee. “It’s a love language.”

He pauses. “That doesn’t help.”

You try not to laugh. “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

But before he can spiral further, you hear the patter of small footsteps from the hallway — the little half run that always signals her waking up from her nap full of energy and ready to interrogate the world. She rounds the corner and stops dead in her tracks, little curls bouncing around her face, thumb still half in her mouth. Her eyes land on Lando. Lando freezes. Your daughter tilts her head. Then takes one slow step forward.

And with that same soft, suspicious curiosity she gives new toys and large dogs, she asks, “Are you the race car man?”

Lando grins instantly. Like it’s the best thing anyone’s ever called him.

“I might be,” he says, crouching to her eye level. “Are you the sticker boss?”

She blinks. “I’m three.”

“Ah. That explains why you’re so powerful.”

You bite back a laugh as she regards him carefully, arms crossed — the same way you do when you’re reading contracts. Genetics are wild.

Then she points to the thing behind his back. “What’s that?”

“This?” he says, slowly pulling it into view. “This is a friend I brought just in case I needed backup.”

It’s a small plush McLaren teddy bear. Custom orange race suit. Her name embroidered in tiny pink letters on the collar. Your heart skips. You didn’t even ask him to do that. Her eyes go wide. She rushes forward and snatches it out of his hands with zero hesitation.

“I like you,” she says.

Lando exhales like he just won a Grand Prix. “I like you too.”

And just like that, it’s on. Within ten minutes, she’s got him sitting cross legged on the rug, surrounded by stuffed animals and half eaten snack packs, making race car noises with toy Hot Wheels while she loudly decides who’s allowed to win.

You sit back on the couch, watching the two of them — her yelling “NO CHEATING” every time he tries to steer Lightning McQueen onto the couch, him pretending to lose dramatic races with Oscar the Grouch, the way he lets her clip sparkly hair barrettes into his curls without flinching.

He doesn’t check his phone. He doesn’t look to you for reassurance. He just shows up. Completely. Patiently. Kindly. Like this isn’t new or scary or overwhelming — just something he was always meant to do.

At one point, she crawls into his lap mid game, sticky hands on his cheeks, and says, “You’re my friend now.”

He smiles at her, genuine and soft. “Best friends?”

She nods seriously. “Forever.”

You swear something tugs in your chest so hard it hurts. Later, when she’s fast asleep in bed and the house is finally quiet again, Lando joins you on the balcony, arms wrapped around your waist from behind, chin resting on your shoulder.

“She’s incredible,” he murmurs.

“She is,” you whisper.

“She’s so you. Fierce. Funny. Bossy.”

“Bossy?”

“In the best way.”

You turn to face him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For… this. For today. For not making it weird.”

He shrugs. “It wasn’t weird. It was easy. I just wanted to make her feel safe. And maybe earn a few sparkly clips.”

“She really liked you.”

He grins. “Yeah?”

You nod. “She doesn’t say that to everyone. Only people she wants to stay.”

He goes quiet for a beat.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And when he leans down and kisses you — soft, steady, one hand cupping your jaw like he’s holding something fragile — you believe him.

—

present day (3.5 months after meeting lando)

You’re on your third meeting of the day when your assistant peeks in with a slightly panicked whisper.

“There’s a… situation in the lobby.”

You glance up, brows furrowed. “What kind of situation?”

She hesitates, then says with a completely unreadable expression, “A small child and a race car driver.”

You’re out of your chair before she finishes the sentence. Racing down the sleek hallway of your company’s downtown office, you don’t even try to pretend you’re not half-concerned. Vivi was with her nanny this morning. You kissed her goodbye, promised her pancakes for dinner, and left her in very responsible hands. Lando had plans — something about sim work and lunch with Oscar. So why—And then you round the corner. There, in the middle of the marble floored lobby of your corporate headquarters, is your daughter. Wearing a tutu. Holding a slightly melted lollipop. And riding on Lando’s shoulders.

“Look, Mama!” she squeals the second she sees you. “We’re tall!”

Lando is grinning like he just won a race. “Surprise!”

You blink. “What— How— Where’s—”

“The nanny’s alive and well,” he promises, gently lowering Vivi to the ground. “I just… borrowed her. For a bit. We had snacks. Did some sticker shopping. She may or may not have tried to get me to buy a pony.”

“You bought her stickers?”

“She has to decorate the outside of your car next,” he says proudly. “Equal sticker opportunity.”

Before you can respond, Vivi runs forward and throws herself at your legs, and you crouch instinctively to scoop her up. She smells like bubblegum and sunshine. Her curls are a little wild. Her smile is everything.

“You weren’t sad today,” she says into your neck, like it’s a victory.

You blink. “What?”

“Lando said you get sad when you have lots of work. So we came to make you happy.”

You glance up at him — at the way he’s holding a bouquet of flowers like he’s not sure if it was too much or not enough, at the way his eyes never quite leave you even when he tries to play it casual.

“I also brought these,” he adds quickly, holding them out. “Don’t worry, I let her pick the ribbon. It’s sparkly.”

You take them — lavender, peonies, soft pink roses — and your heart aches in the best way.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, voice quieter now.

“I know,” he says. “But I wanted to.”

You glance around. Your lobby is buzzing, your employees are definitely eavesdropping, and Vivi is now confidently announcing to your CFO that she’s the boss of the flower team. You sigh. Then smile.

“You want to stay for lunch?” you ask Lando.

He lights up. “With you or the actual boss?”

“She calls all the shots,” you say, kissing the top of Vivi’s head.

“Then yes,” he grins. “As long as she doesn’t fire me mid-meal.”

Vivi climbs out of your arms and grabs his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Can I have pancakes now?”

“Don’t look at me,” he says to you, eyes twinkling. “I’m just the getaway driver.”

You shake your head, heart full, and walk beside them back toward the elevator. Lando with his free hand still holding the flowers. Vivi chattering about syrup and stickers. You watching both of them like you can’t quite believe they’re yours. And for once, you let the work wait. Because sometimes, the best meetings show up in tutus and racing hoodies — and bring you flowers just because they missed you.

—

You’re ten minutes into a very serious Zoom meeting — investor check-in, quarterly projections, the whole corporate circus — when you hear it. Lando. Being Lando. Streaming in the other room. Loudly.

“NOOOO, MATE, YOU CAN’T JUST SEND IT INTO TURN THREE LIKE THAT—”

You close your eyes, breathe in slowly through your nose, and press mute on your mic just as one of the board members frowns and says, “...Was that someone yelling?”

You force a tight smile. “Uh—new neighbor. Very passionate about…sports.”

And before anyone can ask follow-up questions, you push out of your office chair and tiptoe down the hall toward the living room, where Lando is in full Twitch gremlin mode — headset on, controller in hand, legs kicked up, speaking at full volume into the mic like he doesn’t share a wall with a CEO.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Lando.”

He jumps. Then peeks up at you mid-stream with a very sheepish grin. “Uh-oh.”

You point behind you. “Investor call. Multi-million-dollar investor call.”

His eyes go wide. “Shit. Sorry. I’ll be quiet. I promise.”

You raise a brow.

“Swear!” he whispers.

Then, grinning, he blows you a kiss with one hand while keeping the controller steady in the other. “Back to the empire, CEO.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Five more minutes and I’m unplugging your entire setup.”

“You’d never—”

“Oh but I would.”

He gasps, full dramatics. “Betrayal in my own home.”

“Behave,” you warn playfully, turning to leave.

You don’t hear what he says next. But his chat does.

Because the second your door closes, Lando exhales into his mic and goes, “She’s gonna fire me from her life, lads. I live in fear of the Mrs.”

The Twitch chat explodes.

username4384: MRS?????????? username555: DID HE JUST SAY THE MRS username757 : oh we’re IN a domestic arc username800 : wait wait wait who’s the mrs. i need a name. a FACE. a WEDDING DATE. username557: she’s gonna fire me from her life is SO REAL like actually sobbing username000 : soft launch CONFIRMED. he lives in HER house.

Meanwhile, Lando keeps playing like nothing happened. But the corner of his mouth is tugging up in that way it always does when he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Anyway,” he says into the mic, voice casual, “if I mysteriously vanish from the internet later, assume she’s buried me in a boardroom.”

—

f1gossipgirls

5,000,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Lando Norris might’ve accidentally confirmed what fans have been speculating for months — that he’s secretly dating tech mogul and McLaren investor YN LN. 👀

During a recent Twitch stream, Norris was interrupted mid-race by someone off-camera, warning him to keep it down during her Zoom meeting. Minutes later, he told his chat…

“She’s gonna fire me from her life, lads. I live in fear of the Mrs.”

THE. MRS.

Naturally, fans have connected the dots — shared house? Zoom calls? Domestic chaos? That sounds a lot like YN, who just so happens to be a mother and a CEO. Could this be our first real glimpse into the grid’s most powerful secret relationship?

—

lando posted to his story!

seen by yourusername, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and 7,080,004 others.

—

yourusername has added two posts to her story!

seen by lando, oscarpiastri, lilymhe and 15,000,700 others.

—

The hotel room is quiet.

Race weekend always is — filled with media, strategy meetings, debriefs — but the nights are the loneliest. Especially lately. Especially when the two people Lando wants with him most are 1,000 miles away.

At least, that’s what he thinks.

Your phone buzzes with an incoming FaceTime.

You answer immediately, angling the camera down so Vivi’s curled up in your lap, wrapped in her favorite blanket and still clinging to the stuffed McLaren bear Lando gave her.

“Hey,” he says, grinning as soon as you appear. His hair is a little messy, his hoodie slightly rumpled, and his smile the exact kind that makes your chest ache.

“Hi, race car man,” you say, voice soft.

“Hi, Mrs.” he teases, eyes twinkling. “Miss me yet?”

Vivi gasps and throws her hands up at the screen. “HI LANDO!!”

He lights up immediately. “Vivi! My best friend! I thought you were asleep!”

“I’m sneaky,” she whispers proudly, and you roll your eyes.

“She begged to stay up. Said she had to wish you good luck before bed.”

Lando’s expression softens. “Well, now I have no excuse not to win.”

Vivi yawns but props herself up straighter. “Don’t crash.”

“Working on it,” he says seriously. “Think you can send me your good luck dance?”

She immediately stands up in your lap, wobbly and dramatic, and does what can only be described as a freestyle hop-sway-flop situation while you try not to laugh.

He claps. “Perfect. That’ll carry me straight to pole.”

You gently tug Vivi back into your lap, brushing a few curls from her eyes as she blinks sleepily.

“Alright, lucky charm,” you murmur. “Time for bed.”

Vivi pouts dramatically. “But—but I want to—can I tell him—”

Your eyes widen. “Tell him what, Viviana?”

She freezes like she’s been caught red-handed, then very obviously zips her lips with her fingers and plops her head onto your chest.

Lando narrows his eyes. “Tell me what, huh?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, smoothing Vivi’s hair. “She’s three. Her secrets are mostly about crayons and stealing cookies.”

“I don’t buy that for a second,” he says, smiling suspiciously.

“Good,” you say lightly, “because you’ll need all the focus you can get tomorrow.”

Vivi mumbles into your shirt, “Go fast.”

He softens again immediately. “Always do when I’ve got you two cheering.”

You glance at him through the screen, and your heart aches a little at how much you miss him.

“Good luck tomorrow,” you say, quieter now. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

“I will,” he says. Then adds, looking just a little too fond, “Wish I was there with you.”

You shift the camera just enough so he can see you kiss Vivi’s forehead.

“Soon,” you promise.

He smiles like he doesn’t know he’s about to see you both in less than twelve hours.

“Goodnight, my girls.”

“Night, Lando,” you say.

Vivi lifts one tiny hand. “Bye, Lando. Don’t forget your gloves again.”

He groans. “One time!”

The call ends. You glance down at your daughter, who’s now half-asleep in your lap.

“Close one,” you whisper.

She giggles sleepily. “I almost told.”

You kiss the top of her head. “Tomorrow’s going to be a big surprise.”

And it is. He just doesn’t know it yet.

—

You arrive at the paddock early — sun barely above the grandstands, the quiet hum of race morning still building in the background.

Vivi is on your hip in her tiny Lando hoodie, hair tied in two slightly crooked buns she insisted on doing herself. She’s yawning into your shoulder but buzzing underneath, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Do you think he’ll cry?” she whispers.

You smile. “If he does, it’s only because he missed you so much.”

She grins and hides her face in your neck, and together you sneak in through the side gate — Zak’s doing, of course. He was in on the surprise the second he saw Vivi’s sticker covered carry on in the group chat.

You're barely ten steps into the paddock when you hear him. Not Lando — Zak.

“Alright, don’t kill him,” he whispers conspiratorially as he meets you halfway and gestures toward the McLaren hospitality tent. “He’s caffeinated, hyped, and absolutely convinced you’re still at home. He’s going to implode.”

You nod seriously. “We’re emotionally prepared.”

Vivi raises one hand. “I brought him a sticker for bravery.”

Zak beams. “You’re the real MVP.”

And then— You see him.

He’s standing near the garage entrance, already in his race suit, curls slightly flattened from his balaclava, talking to one of the engineers — totally unaware. Totally unprepared.

You set Vivi down. “Go.”

She’s off like a rocket. And the second Lando hears the tiny patter of her sneakers, he turns— Freezes. Then absolutely lights up.

“Vivi?!”

She barrels into his legs like a missile and he scoops her up instantly, spinning once in a circle as she laughs into his neck.

“What are you doing here?!”

“We came to surprise you!” she squeals. “Mama said you missed us!”

Lando blinks rapidly and turns — and that’s when he sees you, standing just a few steps behind, smiling softly. His whole face changes.

The adrenaline of race morning disappears in an instant. The tension in his shoulders, gone. He doesn’t hesitate. Still holding Vivi, he crosses to you in two strides, leans in, and kisses you. Right there in the middle of the paddock. Slow, certain, and so full of relief it nearly knocks the breath out of you.

“I missed you,” he murmurs into your temple.

You press your hand to his cheek. “We missed you more.”

He looks back and forth between the two of you — you, glowing and soft in the morning sun, and Vivi, now contentedly inspecting the zipper on his suit like she owns him.

“You’re both here?” he whispers, like he’s still afraid it’s a dream.

“Surprise,” you say, shrugging.

Before he can respond, another voice cuts in, warm and curious.

“Lando?” A woman’s voice. Familiar. Softly accented. “Who’s this little one?”

You turn — and there they are. Lando’s parents. Smiling, polite, and clearly trying to piece it all together.

Lando shifts Vivi in his arms and looks over his shoulder. “Mum, Dad—this is Viviana. And this—” he turns fully to you, pride all over his face “—is YN.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then his mum steps forward and says gently, “Oh, this is the little girl we’ve heard so much about?”

Vivi beams. “I gave Lando a sticker for bravery.”

His mum melts. “I think I’m going to need one too.”

Lando carefully sets her down so she can offer a shy hug, which she does without hesitation. His mum bends to her level immediately, asking how the flight was, if she likes racing, how many stickers she has in her collection.

His dad claps a hand on Lando’s shoulder with a knowing look. “She’s brilliant.”

“She is,” Lando says, eyes on you.

You’re still trying to process it all — how natural it feels, how easy — when Lando steps beside you again and takes your hand.

“They’re both brilliant,” he says quietly, just for you.

You glance up at him. “You okay?”

He grins. “I’ve never been better.”

—

Later, just before the race starts, you and Vivi are sitting up in the McLaren viewing box. She’s glued to the screen, clutching her bear and kicking her feet with excitement.

Lando’s name flashes across the grid lineup. She turns to you and whispers,

“Do you think he’ll win?” Vivi whispers, eyes locked on the screen.

You smooth a hand over her curls and smile. “I think he already did.”

She turns back to the feed, still clutching her McLaren bear, feet swinging in rhythm with the race countdown as the formation lap begins.

Beside you, Lando’s parents settle into their seats in the McLaren suite — positioned just behind the glass, high enough to watch both the pit lane and every turn on the screen. It’s a quiet kind of excitement, the calm before the chaos, but it hums around you. Warm. Familiar. A kind of family you didn’t expect to fall into so easily.

Adam leans toward you after a moment. “She’s well behaved for three.”

You laugh softly. “She’s lulling you into a false sense of security. Give her twenty minutes and a sugar packet.”

Cisca chuckles from your other side. “She’s absolutely charming. When she came in this morning and offered to trade me a sticker for a biscuit, I nearly gave her the whole tin.”

“She’s been running an underground sticker economy since she turned two,” you say proudly.

Adam smiles, and there’s something curious in his eyes when he adds, “She’s clearly got her mother’s brains.”

You raise a brow, pleasantly surprised. “She’s got her own. I just give her snacks and let her build empires.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward — just thoughtful. Then Cisca leans over slightly.

“You’re impressive, you know,” she says, her tone soft but certain. “Running a company, raising a daughter, investing in this mad world of racing… It’s not easy, but you do it like you’ve always belonged.”

You blink, a little caught off guard by the kindness. “That means a lot. Really.”

“She talks like you,” Adam says with a small smile. “You can hear it in the way she chooses her words. There’s a quiet sort of certainty in her. Confidence without arrogance.”

You glance over at Vivi, who is now dramatically gasping at a slow-motion replay of Lando’s onboard camera.

“She gets that from him, too,” you admit. “He gives her the kind of attention you can’t fake. He never talks down to her. Like she’s always been part of his world.”

Cisca hums. “She’s lucky.”

You nod. “So is he.”

Halfway through the race, after a particularly tense battle for the lead, Vivi climbs into Cisca’s lap without hesitation — blanket in one hand, bear in the other — and snuggles in like it’s second nature.

“Oh,” Cisca whispers, delighted. “Is this a VIP seat?”

Vivi nod solemnly. “You like orange team. I like orange team. Friends.”

Cisca laughs, pressing a hand over her heart. “My loyalty is yours, little one.”

You watch the two of them — your daughter, completely at ease in the arms of Lando’s mother, chattering about tire degradation and “go-fast buttons,” and you feel something unfamiliar bloom in your chest. Peace. Safety. The kind of belonging you never dared to hope for.

By lap 50, Lando is out in front — commanding, cool, focused. Vivi is narrating his every move like she’s got direct radio contact. And when he crosses the finish line in first, the entire suite erupts.

Vivi screams. Cisca claps wildly. Adam stands, fist in the air.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Vivi jumps back into your lap and yells, “HE DID IT, MAMA!”

You press your lips to her hair and whisper, “Yeah, baby. He really did.”

And when the celebration begins — when Lando climbs out of the car, throws his arms into the air, and looks straight up toward the McLaren suite — you swear, even from this far away, he sees you first.

—

The race was over, and the whole team, along with Vivi, you, and Lando’s parents, were gathered around the big screen, eyes glued to the live feed from the podium. Lando stood proud, a wide grin stretched across his face as the cheers from the crowd washed over him.

Vivi clutched her bear tightly, bouncing on her toes with excitement, while Lando’s parents exchanged proud smiles. You squeezed Vivi’s hand, heart swelling with pride for the man you loved.

Then, just as the anthem played and confetti rained down, Lando suddenly stepped off the podium and made his way through the crowd—right toward you. The cameras caught it all: his confident strides, the knowing smile playing on his lips.

He stopped just in front of you, reached out, and pulled you into a tender, public kiss—right there in front of everyone. The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles, flashes exploding from every camera.

Lando pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, and whispered, “That’s for you—my number one.”

Vivi giggled and threw her arms around his neck, shouting, “I told you he’d win!”

Lando laughed, lifting Vivi up again, his eyes shining with love and pride. Around you, the team and fans buzzed with excitement, but all you could see was him—your champion on and off the track.

—

lando

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lando : my girls. forever.

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sweetstrawberryys · 3 months ago

Text

"Spoiled Rotten"

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A fun, flirty, domestic day with Sugar Daddy!Price x Reader

Rating: Spicy with fluff and humor

Warnings: Light dom/sub energy, playful use of “Daddy,” suggestive scenes, rich people problems, and way too many shopping bags.

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It was 11:00 AM, and you were still in his shirt — silk, navy blue, unbuttoned far too low for decency, but perfect for lounging across his penthouse couch like a cat in heat. John Price — Captain, CEO, sugar daddy extraordinaire — stood in the kitchen in nothing but his boxers and a mug that said “World’s Best Daddy” in bold red letters. You bought it ironically. He used it unironically.

“Sweetheart,” he called, sipping his coffee, “Did you really order six pairs of shoes last night?” You popped your head up from the couch with a grin. “I was emotionally vulnerable. Nordstrom had a sale. What was I supposed to do?” He gave you the Look. The one that said “I spoil you and this is how you treat me?” with the tiniest smirk.

You sauntered over, mugging for a kiss. “You like when I’m expensive.” “I like when you behave.” “Where’s the fun in that, Daddy?” He groaned, but his hands were already on your waist. “You're lucky you're cute.”

A little while later. He took you shopping. He said it was just to pick up the watch he ordered. You knew better. By 12:30 PM, you had four boutique bags in hand, a fresh iced latte, and were wearing a backless red dress he insisted you try on “just for fun.” You didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched when the male sales clerk gave you a little too long of a look.

“Like what you see?” you teased, spinning in the mirror. He leaned close behind you, lips brushing your ear. “You're wearing that to lunch? You trying to get us kicked out again?” “I like when you're possessive.” He grunted. “You like when I take you into the Bentley and make a mess of that pretty mouth.” You sipped your coffee with a grin. “Is that a threat or a promise, Daddy?” He didn’t answer. Just guided you out with his hand very low on your back.

You almost made it through lunch like normal people. Fancy place. Linen napkins. Price was halfway through a scotch. You leaned over, whispering against his ear: “I’m not wearing panties.” He nearly choked. “You’re a menace,” he muttered, gripping your thigh under the table. You smiled sweetly. “You’re the one who bought me the lingerie. I thought you liked seeing it disappear.” He paid the bill very quickly.

You didn’t even make it to the bedroom. He had you pressed against the door, dress halfway off, voice low and dangerous. “You tease me all damn day, and then expect to get away with it?” “I hope not,” you breathed, grinning like a devil. He growled into your neck. “Say it.” “…Daddy.” "Louder." “Daddy.” "Good girl."

Later, you were in one of his hoodies again, curled up on his chest while he rubbed your back. “Still mad about the shoes?” you murmured sleepily. “Not if you model them later,” he muttered. “Want me to wear just the heels?” “You read my damn mind.” He kissed your forehead, his hand resting over your hip, possessive and warm. “I’ll spoil you till I’m broke,” he said quietly. You laughed. “You could never be broke, Daddy.” “No, but I would rob a bank for you.” You grinned, snuggled closer, and whispered: “That’s why you’re my favorite investment.”

---

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bluebirdsfeathers · 5 months ago

Text

Her Office

──────･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Relationship: Ceo!Wanda X Butch!Loser!Reader

Summary: Wanda tried to get to know you a bit better before you start working together but an innocent question bring out painful memories.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: age gap relationship (R is early 20s, W is like 40), Past verbal and physical abuse, Slight hinted at homophobia, Mommy issues bc i have them too, power imbalance?

A/N: sorry this took so long. uni is really kicking my butt right now and just when i thought i'd have time to write my research supervisor gives me a 400+ page book to read.

Inspiration

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

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“I can’t believe you’re abandoning me… and for my sister!” Pietro joked as he helped you clear out your desk. You’d made yourself at home over the past few months working for him. You were sad to be leaving but excited to be working for Wanda, also incredibly nervous, like throw up into the recycling bin near the printer nervous. Not that that had happened of course.

“But seriously, we are going to miss you down here. Don’t go forgetting about us.” He patted you on the back handing you the last of your stuff.

“How could I forget you? I’ll be down here like every other day wont I? Wanda visits all the time.” you reply with slight confusion. Wanda was always coming down to check on things, like she must do with all the departments. You assumed most of your job would be to accompany her many visits around the building. Staying close and taking notes on what she says like you’d seen Theo do.

“Yeah, she definitely was just coming down here for routine check-ins.” Pietro mumbled with the faintest air of smugness of someone who knows something you don’t has. Before you could register what he said, the doors on the far side of the room swung open and in came Wanda.

Her stride exuded confidence as she made her way over to you and your now empty desk. Her hair was slightly messy, shirt untucked, and instead of her usual high heels she wore flats.

“Got everything?” She sounded short of breath, like she had just been running. “The elevator to my office is being inspected so we’ll have to take the stairs.” Without another word, Wanda started walking back towards the door pausing to look behind her when she sensed you hadn’t moved. “Come on those 15 floors won’t climb themselves.” Suddenly her slightly dishevelled appearance made sense. You took a deep breath and gave one last look at Pietro, who seemed to be going to great lengths to not laugh at his sister, before following Wanda.

The stair well was in stark contrast to the rest of the building. Tall grey brick walls and bright white lighting. It seemed to also double as extra storage space judging by the stacks of boxes and pallets back here. You only seen them briefly while getting your monthly fire safety talks from a very unenthusiastic Dr. Banner, who once again felt the need to remind the group he had much more important things to be doing than this. As much as you found the man funny, he’s short temper made him a little scary at times.

People yelling had always been something you weren’t fond of. Your mom had always been so angry with you for not behaving like she wanted. The constant being told to sit, speak, and act ‘like a lady’ throughout your childhood had led to so many arguments. Femininity was just something you never had an interest in and the pressure to fit in from your family only made you reject it harder.

This never made the yelling easier, instead it had only made you desperate to avoid that sort of conflict. Wanda yelling the other day had scared you in a way you hadn’t felt since you were a child, and you were now desperate to make sure you were never on the receiving of her rage.

“Y/n, careful.” You had been so lost in thought you’d missed a step and stumbled forward. Wanda who had been talking non-stop about how inconvenient the elevator maintenance was stopped to help you pick up some pens that had fallen from the box you were carrying. “Do you need some help with that? It looks heavy.”

You saw this a challenge.

“No I’m fine, I’m very strong.” Wanda gave you a smile as she placed the pens back into the box touching your hand as she pulled away before turning around to continue climbing the stairs. Your face immediately flushed red.

“Only 4 more flights to go.” Her voice echoed off the bare walls was she turned another corner. You let out a sigh, the box was actually really heavy.

Once in her office you placed the box on an empty desk in the corner of the room. It was pushed up to the window and gave you an amazing view of New York. It was only then you realised how high up you were.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Wanda came up behind you making you jump slightly, all this achieved was making the red head chuckle slightly. “You’re so jumpy you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” You gave a small smile. Being alone with Wanda was terrifying and exciting all at once. The reality of the situation hadn’t really sunk in till just now. It was going to be the two of you, alone, very often from here out.

“Can I ask you something?” You nervously asked fiddling with the hem of your shirt not daring to look Wanda in the eyes. Her beautiful green eyes.

“Of course you can, darling.” Her final word rattled about in your brain momentarily making you forget what you even wanted in the first place.

“What you said, before,” Finally a coherent thought, “about wanting me, from the start. Was that true?”

“Yes, why would I lie.” Wanda raised an eyebrow giving you a no-nonsense look that you couldn’t if it was fully serious or not.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I just, why didn’t you? You know, pick me the first time?” It was definitely a word salad that came out your mouth, thank God you were better at writing than speaking. “I’m sorry I don’t mean to pry…” you added after Wanda took a second to respond.

“No, no, don’t apologies…” She took a deep breath as if debating what to say. “That first day, I thought you had potential,” she began, clearly choosing her words carefully, “I just wanted to, see if you had what it takes to you know, be mine.”

“Be… yours.” The words caught in your throat as swallowed hard, struggling to speak.

“Be my intern, my assistant.” Wanda rushed to clarify but something inside you felt like her previous words were more honest. Not that you would dare push her on it. “And being my intern comes with a lot of responsibility, so I hope you are ready.”

“Yes ma’am.” You say saluting the older woman, who found the action quite amusing. “What do you need me to do first?”

Turns out Wanda didn’t want you to do anything just yet. Instead the two of you sat across from each other in the strange living room area of her office. Wanda lent back into a large leather armchair while you sat on the edge of the couch, almost velvety, black sofa.

She offered you a tea or coffee but instead you opted for the remnants of the energy drink you had tried to chug on the train this morning. Your choice in beverage clearly wasn’t approved by Wanda but she did little to stop you besides remind you of their negative health effects.

She asked you questions about yourself, clearly wanting to get to know you better but you held back from answering her questions too honestly, scared of being fired or disappointing her which was somehow worse in your head. They were all basic questions, and you asked some back at her.

She wanted to know about your favourite meal, how to you travel to work, where are you staying, and when you were going to get some proper work shoes. Your real answer being when they made comfortable ones but instead you opted to say when you get your next paycheck.

Then she asked something that caught you completely off guard. “How is your relationship with your family?”

“My family?” You repeat to make sure you were hearing things right.

“Yes, your family, you are one of the only interns not from a known family in the city, you mentioned you aren’t from New York originally, they must be proud of you?” Wanda spoke with a warm smile.

You hadn’t noticed but during the conversation you had leant back into the couch. It was like she had given you permission to relax for a change. You didn’t understand why but talking with Wanda made you feel comfortable, almost too comfortable at times making you need to remind yourself she was your boss.

“They umm,” your mind went to the argument you’d had with your father when you told him you were going to university miles away, almost across the entire country, “can we talk about something else.” Your voice shook slightly at the memory.

How angry he’d been, how angry he always was. The same with your mother, always so resentful, never protecting you from him. You spent your first semester coach surfing with a black eye till you had enough money to afford to rent a shitty little apartment.

“Sweetie, it’s okay.” Wanda had seemingly caught on that something was wrong and moved to sit next to you on the couch. She placed her arm around you and pulled you into a side hug that made your whole body tense. “For what it’s worth, I’ve seen your grades and watched how hard you work. I’m proud of you y/n.” Her voice had the same warmth as earlier, it was sickeningly genuine to you.

All you wanted to do was melt into her arms, but you couldn’t this was your boss. She was just being nice, there was no way she would let you get that close to her under regular circumstances. You told yourself you wouldn’t let yourself get attached. You’d seen how ruthless she could be, and it terrified you to think of being on the receiving end. Catching feelings would just make your eventual fuck up ever worse.

Besides there was no way in hell CEO Wanda Maximoff, multimillionaire Wanda Maximoff, Old enough to be your mother Wanda Maximoff would ever have feelings for you in return.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” You stood up as quickly as Wanda grip on you allowed. “Sorry.” You hurried to the small bathroom in the corner of the room, locking the door behind you before allowing yourself a moment to cry.

Cruel words from you parents fought the gentle reassurance Wanda had given you. You took a moment to collect yourself. Taking several deep breaths and trying to get rid of the redness in your eyes with a little cold water from the tab.

The bathroom, like everything in Wanda’s office screamed sophistication. The mostly white tiles with the smallest hint of red complemented the plush red hand towels, and several well looked after plants littered a shelf above the toilet. Most surprisingly was the shower and clawfoot tub in the room. Did she actually use them? Or where they just there because they could be?

Finally you were ready to leave the bathroom, stepping out you saw Wanda quickly look away from your direction. Had she been watching the door the whole time?

“Y/n, feeling better?” you gave a weak nod. “Good, right back to business then, first order is sorting out… this.” She pointed towards you clothing. Since Pietro had never required you to dress professionally, you had never updated your wardrobe. You wore the same baggy, teen boy esc clothing you always did.

“Yeah, I thought that would be a problem, sorry about the way I dress. I just…”

“No I like the way you dress.” Wanda cut you off. “I mean, you dress fine, it’s just not… appropriate if you are going to be accompanying me to important meetings and such.” You couldn’t tell if you were imagining it, but you could have sworn you saw a small blush creep onto the older woman’s face.

“Right, there should be a measuring tape in the third draw of the left cabinet in my office. I have some work to get on with you can’t help with.” Wanda began quickly pressing the button of the, hopefully, now working lift.

“I want you to measure yourself and note it down. I’ll sort you out some more work appropriate clothing.” Before you could ask any other follow up questions the doors to the lift opened and she rushed inside, disappearing almost immediately.

Walking into Wanda’s office you looked out at the city, everything seemed so quiet, so still from all the way up here. Grabbing the measuring tape you sat down at your desk, getting your phone out to look up exactly what measurement you need to give her. You’d never had to think about measurements when buying clothes before. Your face flushed a bit think about the idea of Wanda choosing you some clothes. Hopefully she wouldn’t put you in a pencil skirt, or God forbid heels.

──────･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Tag list: @wandaslittlehorns @starfire1008 @mirage018 @viosblog112 @nebthetautora @ciaoooooo111 @cowboy-hunter @htinha157 @the-falling-avenger @reginassecretlover @canyonyodeler @mrsromanovaa @loneliestafterparty @imawandasimp @caramelcat123 @marvelwomen-simp @reginassweetheart @unadulteratedballoonduck @kei034 @coollemonsaresour

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stlllle · 19 days ago

Text

"Big Bang NSFW Preferences"

_____

Notes:I’ve been wanting to write something about Big bang for a while, so I finally decided to do it.

And yes, I know Taeyang is married buuuuut I’m totally in love with this man, so please don’t judge me 😔

My main list:

Masterlist"

Headcanons: T.O.P's Sexual Preferences (Choi Seung-hyun)

Sexual Personality

T.O.P is a master of restraint and intensity. He doesn't act on impulse — he waits, studies, and when he moves, it’s with absolute confidence.

There’s a quiet dominance in him. He speaks softly, almost teasingly, but his tone alone can make your knees weak.

Extremely private. He doesn’t just give himself to anyone. If he chooses you, it’s because he craves more than just pleasure — he wants to own your mind, body, and soul.

In bed, he's commanding but graceful. He worships elegance, even in lust.

Favorite Positions

Missionary with full eye contact: He holds your hands above your head, whispers things in your ear, and makes you feel completely his.

Over the edge: Bending you over a table or counter — he loves watching you grip the surface while he thrusts slowly but deeply.

You on your knees: Power dynamics are everything to him. He loves when you're obedient, looking up at him while pleasing him.

Lying face down (prone bone): Deep, full-body connection. He presses his chest to your back and breathes against your neck.

Against the wall: Lifts you up and fucks you while keeping full control. He loves your moans in his ear while your legs wrap around his waist.

Kinks & Desires

Control & power play: He loves obedience, rituals, and routines. Tells you what to wear under your clothes, when to touch yourself, how to behave.

Vocal submission: Wants to hear you beg, say his name, ask for permission. He feeds on your desperation.

Restraints: Leather cuffs, ropes, metal spreaders — he enjoys seeing you completely vulnerable.

Temperature play: Ice cubes on your skin, warm massage oil, the contrast drives him crazy.

Impact play: He has a collection of paddles, crops, and floggers. But he uses them with calculated precision and intense aftercare.

Oral fixation: Loves watching your mouth — kissing, sucking, moaning. Eye contact during oral drives him wild.

Mirror sex: Like G-Dragon, he enjoys watching — but more to control what you see of yourself.

Public teasing: Whispering filthy things in your ear at fancy events, fingers under the table, but never fully giving in until you're both desperate.

Possessiveness kink: Marking you with hickeys, bite marks, and cum. You’re his, and he makes sure you never forget.

Face fucking: Rough, commanding, but always with intense eye contact and praise after.

Aesthetic & Ambiance

Dim lighting, vintage jazz or classical music playing softly, and red wine by the bed.

He prepares the room like a scene: silk sheets, antique furniture, designer lingerie laid out for you.

His cologne lingers on the pillows, his voice echoes even after he’s silent. It’s an experience, not just sex.

Emotional Layer

He doesn’t say “I love you” easily — but shows it in how he holds you after, how he touches your face like you’re precious.

Will write poetry or philosophical notes about you, leave them tucked in your things without signing.

Protective to the point of obsession. If someone flirts with you, expect him to remind you later who you belong to — with his mouth, hands, and cock.

Roleplay & Scenarios

CEO x Secretary: You’re his perfect assistant, always at his mercy after hours.

Museum heist: You’re caught stealing art. He’s the enigmatic collector who punishes you privately.

Masked ball: He finds you in the crowd, dances with you once, then fucks you in the shadows behind the curtains.

Aftercare & Obsession

Cleans you up himself with warm towels. Dresses you in his shirt, pours you wine, runs you a bath.

Hums softly while brushing your hair. Kisses your temple over and over.

The next day, you’ll find flowers, jewelry, or a handwritten letter waiting for you.

Headcanons: G-Dragon's Sexual Preferences (Kwon Ji-yong)

Sexual Personality

G-Dragon is naturally sensual. Everything about him has a provocative air, from the way he looks at you to how he whispers in your ear. But at the same time, he has a mysterious, quiet side that hides very intense desires.

He's the type to observe before acting. He likes to analyze your tastes, your limits, your reactions... until you're completely surrendered.

He has a dominant aura, but elegant. He doesn’t need to shout, hit, or force. His control is subtle — a firm gaze, a calmly spoken command, a touch to your chin.

He’s not 100% dominant. He loves to tease, but he also loves being teased. If you can switch roles with style, he’ll melt for you.

Favorite Positions

Sideways (spooning): Loves feeling you close, gripping your waist and kissing your neck while thrusting slowly. His moans are whispered right in your ear.

Doggy style: Obsessed with this view — your back arched, your hair falling. He grabs your hips tight and goes deep.

You on top (cowgirl/reverse cowgirl): Finds it sexy to watch you in control. His hands on your thighs, biting his lips, watching you ride like art.

On different surfaces: Loves taking you on sinks, tables, dressing rooms, behind the stage. The more spontaneous and risky, the hotter.

Mirror sex: Gets off on watching you while he’s inside you. Makes you look at yourself and calls you his masterpiece.

Kinks & Fantasies

Praise kink: He LOVES to praise you. Whispers, "just like that, my girl... doing so good for me..." while fucking you slow.

Sensory control: Likes to blindfold you, use headphones with soft music, leaving you completely at his mercy.

Dirty talk + Korean: Whispers filthy things in Korean while you moan. His voice alone ruins you.

Exhibitionism / risk of getting caught: Gets turned on knowing someone could hear. Sex in green rooms, bathrooms, backstage is pure adrenaline.

Luxury toys: Owns a collection of fancy sex toys — remote-controlled vibrators, jeweled butt plugs, velvet cuffs.

Bondage: Likes tying you up with silk scarves or his own neckties.

Receiving oral: He moans a lot, grabs your hair, bites his lip. Loves cumming in your mouth and watching you swallow.

Giving oral with full focus: Will spend forever eating you out. Loves making you cum several times before even taking his clothes off.

Light spanking: Spanks your ass while you ride him. Loves watching your skin turn red.

Body worship: Obsessed with licking and kissing your neck, thighs, and inner arms.

Music during sex: Always plays a sexy playlist (usually R&B or unreleased songs he produced).

Atmosphere & Vibes

Dim lighting, woody cologne, black silk sheets.

Candles lit, soft music, and a perfectly prepared environment. He’s a perfectionist.

Makes you feel like a goddess in a movie: expensive lingerie, champagne by the bed, everything designed to spoil and fuck you.

Romantic-Hot Fantasies

Trip to a remote resort: Locks you up in a luxury suite just to spend the whole weekend fucking you.

Masquerade party: You go to a masked event and he pulls you into the bathroom, fucks you against the wall while you wear a long dress.

Filming you both: Has a fantasy of private sex tapes. Records you riding him and keeps it as his secret treasure.

Aftercare & Soft Side

After sex, he cuddles you, kisses your shoulder, strokes your hair, and hums softly.

Sometimes writes lyrics inspired by you after a steamy night.

Takes care of you: warm bath, soft robe, thigh massage, your favorite food in bed.

Emotionally-Charged Sex

For him, sex isn’t just physical. He stares into your eyes, craves connection, needs to see you feel it.

Loves when you cry from pleasure. Wipes your tears with his thumb and kisses you gently.

Says you inspire the rawest and most honest version of himself.

Headcanons: Taeyang's Sexual Preferences (Dong Young-bae)

Sexual Personality

Taeyang is romantic to the core. He’s the type that looks into your eyes during the entire act and makes love like it’s a song — slow, emotional, and deeply connected.

But don’t mistake softness for lack of intensity — when the lights go out, he becomes a man of deep hunger and instinct.

Faithful and focused. He’s the type that wants to worship only one person, and he’ll learn every inch of your body with dedication.

He’s naturally dominant in a loving way, with gentle hands and a firm voice. Never cruel — but always in control.

Favorite Positions

Missionary with hands intertwined: Loves kissing you deeply, moaning into your mouth, bodies perfectly in sync.

You on top (slow grind): Loves watching you take your time, seeing the expressions on your face as you move.

Against the wall (especially post-shower): The heat, the steam, the tension — he’ll lift you effortlessly and press kisses all over.

Face-to-face spooning: After a long day, slow and emotional. Foreheads touching, eyes fluttering, soft praise between thrusts.

On the floor, surrounded by candles/music: He likes creating an atmosphere. Sex with Taeyang feels sacred.

Kinks & Fantasies

Body worship: He kisses every inch of you, talks to your body like it’s a treasure.

Praise kink: “So beautiful... so perfect... I could stay inside you forever.” He makes you cry from how tender his words are.

Music kink: Likes slow R&B or even gospel-inspired tracks during sex. Has definitely written songs after nights with you.

Oral obsession: He takes his time with his mouth. Loves feeling you shiver under his tongue.

Edging: He will tease you until you're begging. “Just a little more, baby,” he says, voice velvet-smooth.

After-shower sex: He dries you off with a towel, kisses your shoulders, then fucks you slowly on the bathroom counter.

Lingerie kink: Soft lace, warm tones, pastel sets — he appreciates the beauty, and takes his time undressing you.

Marking: Hickeys where only he can see. Slight scratches on your back. Possessive, but never aggressive.

Spiritual energy play: Deep eye contact, meditative breathing, sex that feels like a soul-merge.

Atmosphere & Rituals

Low lights, soft music, warm blankets. He preps the bed like it’s a temple.

Always makes sure you’re emotionally and physically ready. He reads your body language like poetry.

Lights candles, whispers a blessing (or small prayer), then kisses your forehead before starting.

Emotional Connection

Sex is part of love for him. He’ll cry with you, hold you through it, smile into your kisses.

Afterwards, he thanks you. Literally. “Thank you for trusting me... for being mine.”

Loves being cuddled and giving forehead kisses while playing with your fingers.

Fantasies & Scenarios

Private concert: He sings a song just for you... then makes love to you slowly while still whispering lyrics.

Wedding night energy: Lights, silk sheets, soft champagne kisses. He’s deeply traditional in love.

Rainy night: You dance barefoot in the living room, then he slowly undresses you, leads you to the couch, and makes love to you with the sound of rain behind.

Aftercare & Devotion

Brings water, a warm towel, and pulls you onto his chest.

Stays up talking with you, stroking your hair, listening to your heartbeat.

Leaves post-it notes the next morning: “Last night was everything.”

Headcanons: Daesung's Sexual Preferences (Kang Daesung)

Sexual Personality

Daesung is charming, sweet, and always laughing… but behind closed doors, he’s surprisingly intense.

He’s the type that starts playful — tickling, teasing, making you laugh — but slowly becomes more serious, his voice lowering, touches deepening.

Very attentive. His biggest turn-on is seeing you happy, satisfied, and glowing from his touch.

He switches easily: sometimes goofy and clingy, other times dominant and focused.

Favorite Positions

Missionary with playful kisses: Starts with laughter, ends in slow, deep strokes and forehead kisses.

Doggy style with hair pulling: Loves when you arch your back and let him take control. Pulls your hair gently, just to hear your gasp.

Seated sex (on a chair, couch, etc.): He sits down and pulls you onto his lap — full-body contact, deep eye contact, lots of kissing.

On the edge of the bed: He kneels in front of you first for oral, then stands and enters you while gripping your thighs.

Standing up in the shower: Playful wet kisses, slippery bodies, water running down while he lifts you and presses you against the wall.

Kinks & Playful Sins

Laughter + teasing: He loves when you giggle during foreplay. Tickling your thighs, whispering silly things to make you squirm.

Praise & affection: Calls you beautiful constantly. “Look at you… so pretty like this… mine.”

Oral giving (enthusiastic): He worships your body with his mouth. Moans while going down on you. Holds your thighs and dives in.

Being watched: Lowkey exhibitionist. Loves the idea of being filmed, or of people suspecting what’s going on behind closed doors.

Hair pulling + neck kissing: Can’t resist kissing, biting and sucking your neck while gripping your hair gently.

Mutual masturbation: Loves watching you touch yourself, especially when he’s right there, stroking himself in sync.

Role reversal: Sometimes lets you be in control. Loves when you ride him and tell him how good he is.

Public teasing: Whispered jokes and subtle touches in public — always playful but with hidden fire.

Emotional & Safe Energy

Always checks in. “Too much? Want to stop? Are you okay?”

Will laugh and kiss you all over if something awkward happens — makes everything feel comfortable.

Sex with him feels like joy, connection, and release. It’s fun, hot, and full of trust.

Scenarios & Fantasies

Birthday surprise: You’re blindfolded, and he gives you a slow striptease while music plays. “Tonight’s all about you, baby.”

Vacation hotel: Balcony sex at sunrise, his hands under your robe, both of you trying not to moan too loud.

Dance practice room: He locks the door, turns the lights low, and says, “I wanna see how flexible you are.”

Aftercare & Silly Cuddles

Immediately pulls you into his arms. “You okay? You were amazing.”

Brings snacks and water, makes stupid jokes to make you laugh again.

Loves falling asleep with you wrapped around him, your head on his chest, his hand tracing lazy circles on your back.

#bigbang x reader #choi seunghyun x reader #top x reader #top x you #reader x kpop #jiyong x reader #kwon jiyong x reader #bigbang #daesung x reader #kang daesung x reader #taeyang #headacanon #fans headcanon #headcanon smut #g dragon x reader #gdragon x reader #gdragon

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realcube · 3 days ago

Note

what’s ur thoughts on kenma with a cosplayer partner??

a/n ;; omg thank you anon for planting this seed in my mind.. i have so much to say about this

tws + tags ;; nsfw minors dni. mentions of sexual harassment (?). vaginal fingering. anal. slight daddy kink. him just being weird.

KENMA X COSPLAYER! READER

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ he is and will always be your #1 fan

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ he loves seeing you get all dolled up in your costumes and hearing how excited you get when you are gushing to him over the next cosplay you're planning to execute

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ and ofc he'll do everything he can to support you: from helping you pay for 3D printed props, to being your model while you style wigs, or even just giving you ideas and suggestions on how to elevate a look

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ additionaly, if you are one of those people who like to post their cosplays on your social medias, he'll repost your looks to his story like clockwork. since he's a pro-gamer and ceo, he's got a sizeable audience so ofc he's going to summon them to hype you up.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ BUT truthfully, sometimes the way he behaves gives you the impression that he's not fond of your hobby. and that's not true at all, he loves seeing you do whatever makes you happy, no matter what. but he'd be lying if he said the male attention you got from doing it didn't irk him a little.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ often strangers would approach you at cons, claiming to be a fan of yours, then ask for a pic. this act alone didn't provoke kenma. however, an annoying amount of time, the 'fan' asking for a pic would be a grown man — who would disregard kenma's presence entirely and fail to even acknowledge his existence — and during the photo-op, they'd try to get ludicrously close to you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ that's when you'd assert you'd boundaries (or kenma would interrupt) and most of the time they'd back off but kenma loathed the way these men thought they could get away with that shit in the first place. i mean, kenma was also a self-proclaimed virgin loser before he met you but god damn. even he always knew how to treat a woman with basic respect.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ besides that, sometimes when kenma was feeling especially lovey-dovey he'd scroll through your accounts, admiring the gallery of photos of his gorgeous partner. he had a lot of photos in his own phone of you (with far less clothes on), but he still liked the ones on your social media because those were usually professionally done and you resemble a model in them.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ also there's pictures on there from before he even met you

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ he enjoyed going through the images and seeing how much you've grown as a cosplayer. the way your props would become progressively more detailed and your clothed were increasingly intricate. it reminds him that you're not just a pretty face but also extremely talented and passionate too.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ oh, but you are a pretty face. there was no denying that. he'd stare at your pictures for hours on end just aghast at how fucking perfect you looked in every last costume. your cute features highlighted by your extravagant makeup, and your curves accentuated by the more form-fitting outfits.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ sometimes his finger would slip and he'd end up in the hellish pit that is your comment section, then curiosity would take over and he couldn't help but doom scroll. it make him sick to witness all the bots and pervs saying such lecherous things about you. they seriously don't have any shame and that is revolting. and it never failed to enrage kenma.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ like, yes you have a tight pussy underneath all that armour, he's seen it + used it several times, but what does that have to do with them? they have no right to be commenting shit like that.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ eventually he gets tired of all the fanboys fawning over you and walking all over him, so he starts dressing up with you to go to conventions, and of course you're elated bc he's always super cute when he cosplays!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ you'll probably go as many famous pairs like batman / robin, link / zelda, mario / peach etc. but the thing is, although he likes the satisfying part of cosplay that is getting to look like his favourite characters, he hates taking photos. so in all your pics together, you'll be posing romantically / in-character, while he just stands there like this "✌😐"

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ oh! also he has this illness where whenever he sees you in a cosplay he finds especially titillating, he'll start acting like a deranged fanboy too. this is especially true if this is an AU where you were a famous cosplayer online before y'all met and he was already a follower of yours. like his inner stan starts to come out.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ less so in public, but certainly when you're in private, he'll have his hands all over you, feeling up and grabbing onto whatever exposed strips of skin he can. his lips will be permanently locked to your general collarbone area, littering kisses all over your supple skin, and refusing to stop even when you whine about how his hickeys are going to ruin your photos (you don't want him to stop..)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ while in public, he likes putting his hands on your waist and shuffling after you where ever you go. like your his prettiest most prized, cherished doll that he just can't let go of.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ however, when you're in private, his touches are far more risque. he'll allow his hands to adventure between your legs, and his slender fingers will either stroke your puffy folds through your silk panties, or poke at your pert asshole. he's just a freak..

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ and what makes it worse is that he doesn't really mind fingering you or not. in fact, he slightly prefers just teasing you and not going the full way because he likes to hear you whine and beg so lovingly. it reminds him that he's the only man who can make you feel like this. he also gets off at watching you writhe and squirm with frustration in his arms.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ and the little shit will whisper such demeaning things in your ears. like when he hushes you gently and says, "shh. don't be like that, cutie. you know daddy's got you. i'm right here.." and he'll say that, while knowing full well that he is the one teasing your dripping entrance with the tips of his fingers. literally the source of your angst.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ew why is he like this :(

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ he's probably not got a full-on daddy kink; he just utters some strange, depraved shit when he's horny for you. cos he loves you. <3

#haikyuu smut #kenma smut #kenma x reader #kenma kozume #kenma x you #kenma x y/n #kenma fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #👾nsfw

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covenofagatha · 7 months ago

Note

hiiii <33

Could you write something about Agatha being a little insecure about being older than the reader?

Maybe they're at a party and someone the reader's age is going to talk to her and Agatha feels jealous and a little insecure, but pretend not to feel anything?

Then they go home and the reader shows Agatha that she loves her more than anything :)

If it's not too much to ask, the reader could have an obsession with Agatha's breasts and... really like eating her out? (like, a *really* big obsession) (sorry, Mrs Fletcher is on my mind a lot lately)

sorry for the details, lol, this came to me in the middle of the night

and by the way, I love your writing <33 you write very well

and I'm looking forward to the but you are my stepmother update :D

kisseess <3

I may have changed the setting a little bit (I've been watching Succession and was influenced lol) but hopefully you like! Also, Mrs. Fletcher literally changed my life so I completely understand

I combined this one with another request for being obsessed with Agatha’s breasts

Happy New Year to everyone!

Glitter on the floor

When Agatha gets jealous at the company New Year's Eve party, you remind her that she has nothing to worry about

Word count: 4300

Warnings: oral sex, oral fixation, breast fixation, marking

“Do you think anyone would notice if we just leave before the party even starts?” You ask, throwing a stress ball up in the air and catching it without even looking.

You’re laying on your back on the couch in Agatha’s office and she snorts from her seat at her desk.

Unlike you, when Agatha said she was going up to her office to quickly read over a contract before the company New Year’s Eve party, she meant it. You had just followed her up here to see if she was willing to get up to any funny business.

“You don’t think they would notice that the CEO and General Counsel of the company aren’t at the company party?” Agatha asks amusedly, sarcasm dripping from her tone.

Spellbound Network is a multi-billion dollar news conglomerate that Agatha Harkness is the Chief Executive Officer of. She’s absolutely ruthless and doesn’t hesitate before tearing anybody and everybody down. Nothing will stand in her way of world domination.

As General Counsel, you’re a little less important, but you know that Agatha is right. The last thing you need is people speculating.

The two of you have been involved in a more than professional relationship for seven months now. It all started when you offered to stay late to help her finish up with some end-of-quarterly reviews before the deadline and the two of you had ended up going out for drinks when you had finally finished. Agatha had let her hair down and told you just how stressed she was, and you had stupidly told her that you could help her relieve some of that stress.

She had raised an eyebrow and you had taken it as a challenge. The next thing you knew, she was calling a car and the two of you were making out in the backseat on the way to her penthouse.

It had grown into a relationship, a relationship that no one else in the office knew about. Things were getting pretty serious, and Agatha had even brought up you moving in with her.

But you roll your eyes anyway. “It’ll be boring,” you drag out the last word slowly, sitting up to face her. “Wouldn’t you rather go back to your place, or even just stay up here?” You give her an impish grin and a wink.

It’s a lost cause. Agatha has never let you touch her nor has she touched you in the office.

She fixes you with a glare. “If you’re not going to behave, you can go downstairs and help set up for the party.”

You hum in acquiescence and you’re about to resume your position on your back when Agatha leans forward and props herself up on her elbows, pushing her visible cleavage together.

Your mouth runs dry. She’s wearing a long black dress with a low neckline that puts her breasts — that you may or may not be obsessed with — very much on display. You wouldn’t be surprised if she did it to tease you.

“Agatha,” you whine, trying to sound pathetic so she’ll take pity on you. You can practically taste her skin with how badly you want her.

She knows what you’re thinking, as always. “Stop,” she says without even looking up from her desk. “You aren’t going to goad me into touching you. Hasn’t worked any other time, isn’t going to work now.”

You pout. “What are you talking about? I’ve never tried to.” It’s a bold-faced lie and you both know it.

“Oh yeah?” She asks, at last looking up at you. “So when you got me that vibrator for the Secret Santa at the Christmas party, ‘not realizing that it was a public gift swap’; that wasn’t an attempt to work me up? Or when you just happen to come in here almost every day and knock over my pens so you have to bend down and shake your ass in my face?”

You can’t help but chuckle at the reminders of your brazenness. To be fair, you had genuinely thought that the Secret Santa swap would be done in a group but then the gifts would be opened alone. And much to your surprise, you were wrong and when Rio Vidal, the head of Human Resources, had announced that it was time for everyone to open their gifts, you had quickly dragged Agatha upstairs, making some excuse about a phone call about a breaking news story.

She had been furious at almost having to open your gift in front of the entire staff, and instead of having a very Merry Christmas Eve, courtesy of your generous gift and a well-placed bribe to the person who had actually drawn Agatha in the swap, she hadn’t touched you at all that night.

But Christmas Day was much better, when she had put you on your knees for almost an hour and you made her cum four times with just your mouth.

“You’re not letting those go anytime soon, are you?” You mutter.

She throws a paper clip at you. “Go downstairs and stop bothering me,” she orders, fondness still in her voice.

You huff a big sigh, one that tells her that just because you’re obeying doesn’t mean you’re happy about it, and walk over to place the paper clip and stress ball back on her desk. You straighten out your own dress, a long maroon one, and lean over to press a chaste kiss to her lips.

To your surprise, she lets you do it and she even deepens it, flicking her tongue against the entrance to your mouth. When she pulls away, her eyes are dark and you’re about to ask her to reconsider, but she ushers you away with her hand and turns back to the contract.

There’s not very many people in the lobby where the party is taking place, so you stand alone at a table and accept a glass of champagne from a waitress. It’s only ten pm and you know most of the staff won’t get here until closer to midnight, which would’ve been smart.

If only Agatha hadn’t insisted that you and her come in for the entire day and get ahead of all the stuff that’s coming up in the new year. She didn’t even let you go back to your apartment once you both had finished, instead letting you shower in her private adjoining bathroom.

And she wonders why you’re already so bored; you’ve been at the office for fourteen hours.

Still at least two more to go.

You take another glass of champagne and set it down next to your already half-empty glass. You’re going to need it once more people start showing up.

It’s not that you don’t like them, it’s just that…if the building was on fire, you’d only really think or care about saving Agatha.

“Hey there, General Counsel,” Rio says, slinking up to you.

You smile. She’s an oddball, but her wry sense of humor sometimes is the only thing that gets you through business trips. Besides Agatha, of course.

And it’s not exactly a secret that she has a bit of a crush on you. On paper, it would make more sense than you and Agatha. Rio is your age, and for all intents and purposes, doesn’t have any power over you, nor you her.

But you’re in love with Agatha, and older women have always been more your type anyway. You’re perfectly happy with being friends with Rio, and it seems that Rio is content with your relationship now too.

“Hey, Rio,” you greet, lifting your glass in a silent toast to her. She lifts up the other one and smoothly downs it in one gulp.

And then the elevator dings and Agatha steps out and you forget all about Rio and everyone else. Your eyes follow her as she glides through the lobby, not even looking at you once, and she picks up a plate of caviar while the Chief Financial Officer, Jimmy, goes to talk to her.

Rio taps her fingers to the rim of the empty glass. “So, I heard Harkness is thinking about acquiring Hex Industries for better tech.”

“Water cooler gossip,” you say dismissively, not wanting to talk anymore business for the day. You’ve done enough with that with Agatha. And then you lower your voice conspiratorially. “But I did hear that Jimmy got divorced again?”

It sends Rio into a fit of giggles and the two of you swap the details you’ve heard from various people and try to piece together what really happened. It does make the party go by faster and before you know it, there’s only about an hour before midnight.

You cannot wait to go home with Agatha and forget all about work and this party and just focus on her. Ever since she changed into the dress she’s wearing tonight, you haven’t been able to focus with how delicious her breasts look in it.

Some might call it an oral fixation, some might call it mommy issues, but there’s no denying how much you love to suck on her nipples. And to eat her out.

Fuck. You can’t be thinking about that. Rio is saying something, something now about Tony, the Chief Operating Officer, and you’re shifting your weight thinking about the sounds Agatha makes when you get your mouth on her.

You look around the room and you find her, standing alone, nursing her own glass of champagne. But what startles you is that she’s already watching you with a strange look on her face. You give her a small smile, your heart filling with adoration for the older woman, but she looks away.

“Will you excuse me for a second?” You say to Rio, who nods. You walk over to Agatha and slide up next to her, your hand brushing against her lower back. “You okay?” You murmur into her ear.

Agatha clears her throat and rolls her shoulders back and you have to make a pointed effort not to stare at her boobs that get pushed forward. “Just ready for this party to be over,” she says, voice clipped.

“Oh yeah?” You whisper, cocking an eyebrow. “What do you have planned for when we get home?”

She looks at you, finally looks at you, and you can see a guarded look in her eye. “We’ve had a long day, and this party won’t be done until after midnight. I’ll probably turn in.”

“Oh, Mommy, your age is showing,” you tease mockingly in a hush, wearing a dramatic pout, another joke about how much older she is that she usually rolls her eyes at and then makes a comment about how much you like it.

But she stiffens today. “Well, you’re more than welcome to go home with Rio if you want someone your own age.” The retort hits you like a punch in the gut and you’re left dumbfounded as she walks away, heels clacking on the floor.

Is she…jealous? Surely Agatha can’t be, she knows how much you want her and love her. She knows how willing you are to show her.

And maybe, just maybe, she’ll let you remind her right now.

You check your watch. Forty-five minutes until midnight. You can feel her gaze from across the room, but when you try to make eye contact, she pretends like she isn’t looking at you, and you make the executive decision to try something that will probably backfire.

Pulling out your phone, you pretend to take a call. You can feel her air shift; she knows that if someone’s calling you this late, it must be something urgent. You nod like you’re listening and then after a minute or two, you put your phone down.

You meet her eyes and tilt your head toward the elevator, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. This could backfire. She could get so mad at you.

But you have to try.

Agatha excuses herself from the small group of people that have congregated around her table and she follows you into the elevator.

“Who was that? What’s wrong?” She demands, and you almost feel bad for making her this panicked.

You shake your head. “Just wait until we get to your office.” You think it should be a hint, but she doesn’t pick up on it. Instead, Agatha chews on her bottom lip and tosses her hair back over her shoulders.

The doors ding open on the sixtieth floor and Agatha trails behind you, hot on your heels, as you take her to her office. You tell her to get on the couch while you draw the blinds to the glass windows facing the interior of the building, just in case anyone should happen to walk by. The television is on outside in the hallway and you can faintly hear the sounds of the New York Ball Drop show. A little over thirty minutes left.

“What is going on?” Agatha asks again, clearly exasperated by you dragging this out.

You turn around and almost moan at the sight of her sitting with her knees pulled up under her and her elbow propped up on the couch. This time, you really can’t help your gaze from darting down to her breasts and she snaps her fingers to get you to focus. “Rio’s just a friend,” you say bluntly, and Agatha scoffs.

“What does this have to do with anything?”

You slowly walk over and kneel down in front of her, pulling her legs out so that her feet are on the floor and you rest your chin on her knee and look up at her through your eyelashes. “There wasn’t a call,” you confess, already wincing on the inside at how she’s going to react. Her face remains stoic. “You were bothered by Rio and I talking.” It’s a statement, not a question.

But Agatha jeers. “Is this your excellent counsel that I pay you so much for? That I’m bothered? Don’t think I don’t know about the little crush she has on you.”

“So what if she has a crush? I don��t like her like that. You know I only have eyes for you,” you say, slowly inching the hem of her dress up her legs, waiting to be rejected.

Her hand slides up your head and fastens into your hair, tilting you back so you can look straight at her. “Oh yeah?” She asks, daring, challenging you to go further.

You swallow hard. “Let me show you?” You offer timidly, praying it’s the right answer and you’re not reading this wrong.

Agatha growls, a guttural noise deep in her throat, and she yanks you up and kisses you, nipping at your bottom lip. Her tongue forces its way into your mouth and you moan at the feeling, settling into her lap with your legs on either side of hers. She tugs at your hair and the sting makes you keen, only making you need her more.

You can’t even wait, you’ve been on edge for too long, and you trail your lips down her neck, scrape your teeth against her collarbone, and then she helps you take the straps of her dress off.

The second her breasts are free, you’re on them like you’re starving and they’re your salvation. You cup both of them with your hands, feeling the sturdy weight of them, and you knead softly, running your thumbs over both nipples. The dusky rose color stands out against her pale skin and you watch with fascination as her nipples harden under your gentle touch. Part of you still can’t believe she’s letting you touch her in the office.

Not that you’re complaining.

You swoop down and take one into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the little bud, and Agatha’s back arches off the couch as her fingers dig into your hair to keep you there. You’ve never felt more content in your life than like this, and you happily suck on her as the most delicious sounding noises fall out of her mouth.

Her free hand finds your hip just as your fingers tug at her nipple that isn’t being occupied by your mouth and you can make out what she wants. Without moving away from her, you shift and place a leg in-between hers, able to feel the heat radiating from her pussy through her underwear and dress.

“Fuck,” you mutter brokenly when she grinds up against your knee and you can feel just how wet she is.

Agatha huffs out a chuckle. “You love sucking on Mommy’s tits so much, don’t you?” She asks and you switch sides and hum against her skin. “Mommy loves it, too.”

You groan and take a break from directly stimulating her, instead, opting to lightly bite at the skin around her nipples, taking extra care to mark the curvature under them. She’s especially sensitive there, and her little gasps only spur you on.

After you’ve left sufficient proof that you were there, you pull back and admire your work and you sharply inhale. Her breasts are absolutely painted with red marks that will surely fade into bruises by tomorrow and her chest heaves, a ragged look in her eyes. Agatha is still undulating against your leg and you can visibly tell how turned on she is.

“Am I convincing you yet?” You ask, your voice coming out a little hoarse, and Agatha barks out a laugh.

Her wicked grin has a thrill running inside you and she shifts underneath you until you figure out what she is trying to do. It’s a bit awkward, but she manages to turn her body so that her legs are on the couch horizontally but you’re still on top of her.

She hums thoughtfully. “Think I might need a little more. If you’re willing, that is.”

Only too willing. You can’t help yourself from leaning down and giving her a hard kiss, pulling away and sucking one nipple and then the other roughly until she moans, and then you move down her body and bunch up her dress at her hips. You put your hands on her shins and guide her legs up so they’re bent, her heels on the couch.

And then you settle between her open legs and mouth at her sopping cunt through her underwear. A groan tears out of you before you can stop it at tasting the wet fabric, thick with her scent which you’ve become addicted to. You suck on her underwear, pulling the moisture out of it, and Agatha jerks underneath you.

“We don’t have all day, pet,” she says tightly and you can hear the television outside saying there’s fifteen minutes left until New Year’s Day.

You chuckle at her impatience and finally pull down her underwear. You wish your dress had pockets so you could store it for later, but you made do for just throwing it somewhere in her office.

And then you drag your tongue up her slit and absolutely lose yourself in the taste. There’s something so indistinguishable and indescribable about it, and you lazily explore her pussy, getting as much of her wetness as you can into your mouth. You vaguely realize that she’s wrapped a leg over your shoulder and her heel is digging in, the sting only turning you on more.

Small gasps are pulled out of Agatha’s mouth and her hips buck, trying to get more stimulation, but to no avail as you are completely focused on just licking her slowly. You moan into her and the vibrations make her whimper, but you almost don’t even hear it. This is your favorite place on earth, between her legs, and you don’t want to ever leave. She’s so warm and wet and responsive against your tongue and you fucking love it. Love getting her wetness all over your face, love feeling her clench around your tongue, love the taste and smell and how she reacts when you lap at her clit.

You do that now, and her thighs tighten around your head and she sighs like she’s finally getting some of the relief that she needs.

“I love your pussy,” you say, but the words are garbled. She lets out a muffled sound and you look up through hooded eyes to see her head strewn back in pleasure, dark hair fanned out beneath her, bottom lip between her teeth, and her fingers tweaking her raw nipples. The sight makes you moan against her again and her hips jump.

She looks down to meet your gaze and you feel the fire inside you only being stoked more when you realize that almost all the blue in her eyes is gone, entirely swallowed up by dark desire. “Please,” she begs, sounding more needy than she ever has since you’ve started sleeping with her. “Mommy needs this so bad.”

And the only thing you love more than tasting her with your mouth is making her cum with your mouth.

So you oblige, thrusting your tongue inside her and almost losing all composure when her walls flutter around it. She lets out a loud whine when your nose brushes against her clit and you keep doing that, curling your tongue inside her and moving your head up and down so she can get some desperately needed stimulation to her clit.

“Fuck, baby, your mouth is so good,” she practically sobs, and you can feel her throb. She never takes long, which is almost a shame because you’d stay between her legs forever if you could. Building her up, feeling her legs tremble around you, that’s half the fun right there.

But she needs it, and you can hear that it’s getting closer to midnight. Only a few minutes left.

You double the intensity, dragging your tongue over her clit again and again, feeling it pulse. You slip a hand between your own legs and groan at the wetness you find, fingers strumming at your own clit through your dress and soaked panties. Nothing gets you more turned on than Agatha’s pussy in your mouth, absolutely coating your face.

She’s pinching her nipples now and you almost lose your rhythm from wishing you were the one doing that to her, but you don’t falter. Wetness is dripping out of her cunt onto the couch below and you almost smirk at the thought of seeing the stain tomorrow.

Agatha better let you fuck her in her office more often. You clench at the thought of being under her desk, eating her out while she’s going through contracts or in a meeting or having lunch. Anytime you can.

“Fuck, fuck, baby,” she chants and you can hear the minute countdown start. You lick and suck and nip and her hips are moving furiously, grinding on your face and you can’t breathe but you don’t even care because she tastes so fucking good.

“Five…four…” You shove your tongue inside her and curl it up, stroking against the spongy spot that makes her gasp. “Three..two…” You scrape your teeth against her clit and she keens. “One…Happy New Year!”

You suck her clit into your mouth hard and that does it. She goes flying over the edge, wetness gushing out onto your face, and you blissfully lick her through her orgasm, not even realizing that she’s too sensitive until she’s tugging at your hair, pulling you away from her.

She brings you in for a kiss, a tradition when the clock strikes midnight on January First, but also something she always does when you eat her out, moaning at the taste of herself on your lips, and you don’t even care that you haven’t cum yet. You clasp her cheeks and your tongue sweeps into her mouth until you finally have to break apart to breathe.

“What a way to start the new year,” you joke and she laughs and fluffs her hair. She looks like a thoroughly-fucked mess, but also the hottest you’ve ever seen. You soften and press a gentle kiss to her lips. “You know I love you, right? I don’t care about how old you are, you know I fucking love that. You don’t have to worry about Rio, or anyone else, no matter if they’re my age or not. I want you and only you.”

Agatha smiles and kisses you again, and then kisses your nose. “I want all your midnight kisses, baby. I love you too.” It’s the most romantic thing she’s ever said.

And of course you immediately have to ruin it with a joke. “Office sex isn’t that bad, hm?” She pokes your side and you giggle.

“Let’s get back downstairs before anyone notices that we’ve been gone for so long,” she says.

You whine but reluctantly get off her when she pats your hips and she finds her underwear that was thrown to the ground. You both fix your make-up in the mirror and then you’re back in the elevator, descending the sixty floors. If anyone asks, you’ll say it was an emergency with an acquisition. But you doubt anyone will. The champagne is flowing and it’s a party.

Before the doors open, Agatha takes your hand, squeezes it three times as if to say I love you and then there’s a ding and it’s back to reality.

But she gives you a wink meant only for you when she toasts to the company and all the good things yet to come and a warm feeling fills you.

What a way to start the new year, indeed.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha all along #covsfics #glitter on the floor

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strawberriesncigars · 26 days ago

Text

fucked my way up to the top (2) | h.s

part 1 is here. pairing: ceo!harry styles x bratty!reader summary: harry is a businessman stuck in a marriage of convenience, and the girlfriend he’s fucking behind closed doors isn’t exactly making things easier for him. word count: 5k

warnings: nsfw, smut, oral (f rec), unprotected sex, marriage of convenience, cheating-adjacent, morally grey dynamics, power play, creampie, semi-public tension, possessiveness.

author's note: hi againn!! this part took me a while to write because i started a few different versions and none of them felt quite right, until i landed on this one and actually liked it. i hope you guys enjoy it too. whatever your thoughts are, i’d love to hear them, anon or not. it means so much especially when you’re new to writing like i am because finding motivation can be tough sometimes. i'm open to requests as well, or we can just chat… i’m here! hope you enjoy reading, and thank you so much for 300 notes on the first part <3

It had been exactly two years since Y/N had come to understand Harry’s tastes. She’d only been 21 when they met, nothing more than an inexperienced, naive girl. He had healed her clumsy little world and handed her a garden just beginning to bloom.

What she had with Harry wasn’t just about creating a life full of luxury, comfort, and indulgence. He was the only person who made her feel truly alive, made the world feel vibrant and thrilling. What they had was too powerful to be simple, too unique to be ordinary, and too uncertain to be called serious.

And she was fine with that. Or at least, she’d gotten really good at convincing herself she was. Y/N and Harry didn’t often sit down to talk about where they stood. She loved him. And she knew he loved her too.

Still, neither of them had ever really been the kind of people who dealt with things like love, commitment, promises, or responsibilities in any serious way.

They’d spent a long time together, and Y/N, simply put, knew Harry better than anyone else. She knew what he wanted and when he wanted it, what he hated, what he secretly craved and most importantly, how to handle him.

So the moment she stepped into her single-level suite, she tossed her keys aside and ran straight to the bathroom for a hot shower. Judging by her guess, it would take Harry at least half an hour to wrap up that damned dinner party, and at least another fifteen minutes to get home. That meant she had nearly an hour to prepare herself.

And as always —thanks to years of practiced timing— Y/N was perfectly ready one hour later. She’d showered, pampered herself with lotions and perfumes and slipped into a white silk robe that fell to her ankles, the sash loosely tied at her waist. Her hair, still a little damp, fell in soft strands around her shoulders.

She sank into her bed, now covered with fresh sheets, and let her hand drift beneath the loosened robe. A few precise strokes over her clit, combined with the lavish fantasies blooming in her head, were enough to make her wet. When she slowly pushed two fingers inside herself, she was trying not to come before he even arrived.

And she would’ve managed — if Harry hadn’t appeared at the bedroom doorway, hair tousled and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

The moment she saw him, she closed her eyes and threw her head back. Just the way he stood there, watching her, made her want to cry.

Harry was the first to speak. “I was hoping you’d behave.”

Y/N smiled inwardly. She knew he didn’t want her to behave. Still, she played along. “Since when have I ever given you what you hoped for?” she asked, breathless.

There was something about lying half-naked and needy in front of him that brought Y/N into line. And she knew —she knew— this was Harry’s favorite. The way his green eyes devoured her with quiet satisfaction was a reward all on its own.

“And when have I ever not given you exactly what you wanted?”

Fuck, she was close. So close. He hadn’t even touched her and she was on the verge of leaking onto the sheets. She closed her eyes, fighting to stay in control. She could last longer than four seconds. She could.

“Tell me this time won’t be any different,” she whispered, breathless.

Through half-lidded eyes, she saw the corner of Harry’s lips twitch. He tossed the jacket off his shoulder onto the white wooden dresser, then dropped lazily onto the single-seater at the foot of the bed.

Y/N had to twist her neck into an awkward angle just to look at him. She frowned. “Please tell me you’re not going to sit there all night.”

“Not all night,” Harry said, stroking the scruff along his jaw.

“You almost made me cry last time you did this.”

“No, you did cry that night.”

She had. Even though he’d been sitting across the room, everything he’d said, the way his hands had gripped the armrests while his entire attention remained locked on her — had pulled her into a cloud so intense, she’d come harder than she ever had in her life.

And yes, with tears in her eyes.

She heard Harry let out a deep breath. “Sorry,” he said. “Got a little speechless at the view.”

“You know... a little help—” Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to push her fingers in deeper with a bit more hope than skill. She couldn’t do it. “—wouldn’t hurt.”

“Can’t reach, huh?” Harry asked with a teasing lilt. “Well, this isn’t really for your pleasure, is it, darling? You’re just getting yourself ready for me.”

Y/N didn’t answer, not because she didn’t have one, but because she couldn’t find the strength to speak. She must have pushed Harry further than she thought tonight. She knew he wouldn’t touch her for a while now and the most she could get would be a look drenched in blame.

Despite the uncomfortable numbness, Y/N spread her fingers apart inside herself, her head falling back when her eyes rolled in pleasure. The sash of her robe had come undone. She needed this too badly. She always got too caught up, always hovered too close to the edge.

But she couldn’t come. Not without Harry saying she could. Even if she was just one breath away.

“Got any cognac?” He asked suddenly.

Y/N visibly paused. “What?”

“I said, do you have any cognac?”

“I heard you,” Y/N replied in a near-whimper. Watching him stay that calm while she was practically coming apart just a few feet away made her jealous, made her closer. “There should be a bottle right under the dresser.”

After the soft rustle of the chair and a few quiet movements, Y/N heard the clink of glass and turned her head to see Harry pouring the amber liquid into a glass, then taking a sip as he watched her through the mirror.

“Sorry,” he said, conversationally. “Didn’t really have time to drink something real today after all that sweet champagne.” He lifted the glass in mock toast. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you. Please — carry on.”

Y/N took a deep breath and moved her fingers again. “Harry…” she started but he was already back in the armchair. She couldn’t believe he could just sit there like that, sipping cognac like he was watching a boring documentary. God. She was going to cry. Again.

“I-I think I’m ready,” Y/N murmured, but she didn’t hear any confirmation. “Harry?”

A long breath. “Come here.”

Thank God. She slid her wet fingers out and wiped them against the white sheets before letting her trembling legs dangle off the bed. Harry hadn’t moved. Still seated comfortably, sipping from the glass. Y/N felt faint just from the calm, commanding presence he radiated. He could turn any chair into a throne. He was rich, powerful, respected —and tonight, aside from the rare occasions when he granted her a bit of control— he was completely, unmistakably in charge.

Biting her inner lip and walked toward him. Her eyes met his and didn’t stray, not even for a second, as she climbed into the armchair and placed her knees on either side of his spread legs.

Harry still wasn’t touching her. His face was hard, lips closed, jaw sharp. Being this close to him felt like a scene out of a movie. Like if he spoke, she might hear music swell in the background.

She pressed her lips together and trying to predict his next move. He’d told her to come over. Fine. Until further instruction, she wouldn’t make a move. But when Harry took another sip of his drink and swallowed loudly, it made it nearly impossible for Y/N to hold back. She wanted to touch him. Needed to. Like her life depended on it.

And just as her thoughts were spiraling, Harry leaned in closer. Reflexively, Y/N tilted her chin toward him. He pulled back slightly, sending a chill across her skin as he brought his lips from her jawline to her ear.

“Tell me what you want.”

That made Y/N pause. “I thought this wasn’t supposed to be about me,” she said hesitantly.

His lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “It’s not. I’m only asking so I know what I won’t be giving you tonight.”

“Harry—”

“What?” he cut her off. “Did you really think I ran all the way over here just to give my sweet little angel everything she wanted?” Harry reached into his pocket, pulling out a scrap of delicate lace. “Was that your idea? That stuffing a cum-soaked pair of panties into my pocket would get me moving faster?”

Y/N’s whole body was burning. She couldn’t tell if it was from shame or arousal. Probably both. The closer his face got to hers, the more it felt like her blood had turned to static.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N finally whispered. “I shouldn’t have acted like that… not in front of everyone. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Almost as if to accept her apology, Harry slid one hand inside her open robe and let it settle at the curve of her waist. He tilted his head and pressed his lips against her jaw again. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“A little.”

She reached up with hesitant fingers, gliding them over the fabric of his shirt to the back of his neck, then into his hair. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Y/N saw the expression in his green eyes soften for just a brief moment. “You know you can’t get over this that quickly, right?”

Harry took a deep breath, placing his other hand on her waist, gently gripping her hips and pulling her closer. His nose brushed against her neck, his lips resting on her collarbone. “You have no idea what you did to me,” he said, his husky voice brushing against Y/N’s skin.

“When you sat beside me for what I’m sure was over an hour tonight, shamelessly whispering dirty things into my ear, do you know what I wanted to do? I wanted to press you against a wall in front of everyone and touch you right there, make all our friends see how you walk around like you own everything, but in reality, you’ve been begging for my touch for hours. How good you are for me and—”

Harry pushed the robe loosely clinging to her shoulders with both hands, letting it fall and leaving Y/N completely bare.

She still felt one of his fingers tracing over her slick folds.

“You should’ve,” Y/N said before she could stop herself.

Because she knew she should be quiet — this wasn’t their first time. There were rules, do’s and don’ts, limits and boundaries. But none of that could stop her from pushing herself toward his finger.

“You should’ve pinned me to that bar and shown everyone who I belong to. To all your friends, to Aaron, who kept hitting on me all night, to David—” She paused and dug her nails into Harry’s nape. “Your wife.”

She didn’t even notice the slap on her hip until she heard the sharp sound. But then, the mix of pain and electricity it sent through her body tingled all the way to her fingertips.

Y/N looked up at Harry’s stern face through clenched teeth, letting out a low, muffled moan. Avoiding the gaze she was so used to —the one that usually hid behind curtains in his green eyes, revealing his true feelings whenever she gave the slightest negative response— sent a different kind of electricity through her body.

She knew those curtains well. She’d seen him pull them down when provoked and that gave her a strange sense of security. But now, there were no curtains in his eyes. Everything was out in the open. He was truly angry.

And Y/N was getting wetter.

“Would you have let him?” Harry finally asked after a long pause.

She swallowed hard.

His hand met her hip once again.

Closing her eyes, Y/N gripped his shoulders. Each passing second heightened the tension, pushing her closer to the edge.

“Answer,” He demanded again.

“To whom?” She whispered, her eyes burning.

She was sure her face was flushed, her hips even redder, and her hair completely messy — but she didn’t have the strength to care. All she wanted was to hold onto Harry and take everything he was offering perfectly.

“To Aaron Ashford. Would you have given him permission to see you like this? To do these things to you?”

“Never.”

The unwavering certainty in her voice made Harry look at her deeply for a few endless seconds before closing his eyes and pulling down the curtains she was so familiar with. Something like exhaustion.

Y/N snapped out of the short daydream when she felt his hand gently caress her hip.

“Give me a color.”

Y/N should kiss him. She had to kiss him. She needed to open those curtains in his eyes and kiss him until he saw the truth behind them.

Even though her answer was green, she said hurriedly, “Yellow.”

Because every time she said that, Harry would stop immediately, press a tight kiss to her and ask what was wrong.

Harry withdrew his hand from her hip and softly wiped the dampness off her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

She placed her hands from his neck to his chin, covered in rough stubble. “A k-kiss.”

Harry smiled slightly, as if he had known she would say that, and brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Are you sure everything’s okay? I’m not doing something wrong—”

“I just need you to kiss me, H.”

His green eyes dropped to her lips and his hands firmly cupped her face. His lips met hers, his mouth moving slowly beneath hers. Harry’s nimble tongue traced hers, sharing the sharp essence of cognac with her.

With a small, unassuming kiss, she let everything slip away, throwing her priorities out the window — which wasn’t healthy. Her lungs burned, her head spun from desire, but in that moment, even if the room was on fire, she feared she wouldn’t find the strength to stop kissing him.

It was as if inside her was a poison no one dared to suck out and Harry was the only one who could.

Y/N tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him with everything she had.

When Harry slowly pulled away, his green eyes were wide open, staring at her with pure curiosity. “YN?” His hand found her cheek again, gently tracing it. “Love? Are you okay?”

The worry in his voice made Y/N feel even worse. God, she must have looked like such an idiot. Not long ago, she’d been trembling with desire and now she was shaking to keep from crying. “I-I’m sorry, it’s okay, I just—”

“Kiss?”

“No, Harry. It’s nothing.”

Harry grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “I can’t read your mind,” He said, pushing a stray hair away from her face. “So you have to tell me what you’re thinking. We promised to trust each other, remember?”

Y/N sniffled and nodded.

It was a little strange, sitting naked and wet in his lap — his legs were probably numb, and she was sure he must be sweating from not changing out of his clothes — but she didn’t care. Not when he was looking at her with that curious gaze.

“I just… I mean, someone else... It wouldn’t happen. I wouldn’t really let him. Not Aaron, or anyone.” She sniffled again. “I know sometimes I act like a stubborn little bitch but—”

Harry chuckled quietly.

“I wouldn’t trust any of them. Like I trust you.”

Damn it, Y/N was worse than she thought. She didn’t know what she was saying but somehow she hoped Harry understood.

“I’m sorry,” she continued when Harry didn’t respond. “What I did was reckless, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way—”

Harry cut her off stubbornly. “How?”

She wanted to hit him. “W-well, I don’t know, you looked like so much,” she hesitated when their eyes met, surprised to find his expression trying not to laugh.

“How did I look, baby?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh from his throat. “Say it.”

His hand slid from her back down to her hips. “I want you to say it.”

Y/N forced herself not to roll her eyes. “You looked tired and fed up, Harry,” she said all at once. “And I didn’t want you to look like that. Because I didn’t want you to be tired, and there could never be a reason for you to be fed up. Damn it, I didn’t take my eyes off you. I’m always watching you, wanting to be by your side. I think about you all day and then you throw a party at your house, and there’s a woman wearing your ring next to you.” She sniffled again. “Every second I see your attention on someone else feels like torture. I only want to deserve you, but you — you’re like a star everyone adores, always shining, and I can’t show anyone that I’m a part of that star too.” She swallowed to keep her voice steady. “This is awful.”

Harry studied her face for what felt like an eternity. His green orbs traced every inch of her expression, making each passing second harder for her. Would it kill him to say something? She felt like a sack of ruined figs. What was she even saying? If Harry left her now, she’d understand.

“Y/N, baby,” Harry finally spoke, his voice softer and more tender than she’d ever heard before. She felt something inside her melt. “You already have me. I don’t know how you didn’t see it, but I’m wrapped around your little finger, and whether we want it or not, everyone knows it.”

Y/N bit her lower lip. Harry pressed his thumb against her chin, making her release her teeth.

“I know you want us to be more comfortable around each other in front of them, and I want that at least as much as you do, but we have to be patient. We talked about this, remember?”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know I’m yours. I don’t want you thinking anything else. I’m sorry, I was bottling it up—”

Harry brushed his nose against hers, silencing her. “Is your color still yellow?”

YN smiled hesitantly. “It was never yellow.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Are you sure it’s green? Really, really green?”

She nodded. “Really, really green.”

Wrapping his arms around her body one last time, pressing a brief kiss to her lips, Harry slowly pulled away. “Now go to your bed, and don’t do anything until I say so. Can you do that?”

Y/N nodded quickly, obediently and headed to her bed.

Before Harry went to the bathroom, he caught her with a swift move, kissed her quickly, then winked before disappearing.

Y/N stood in the middle of her room for a long while, sucking on her lip.

God, she had hit hard and now Harry knew it too.

“Are you okay?”

Y/N wiggled her wrists a bit, testing the softness of the fabric that bound them. It was tight enough to hurt but not so much that she couldn’t move her hands at all. “Perfect.”

Harry pulled the fabric tied to the headboard once more, checking the tension, then sat back down on the bed, satisfied. After a moment of inspecting his work, he told her to wait and went to the closet.

Opening the white wooden doors, he rifled through her drawers. When he finally found what he was looking for, he made a sound of approval and returned to the bed, holding one of the patterned scarves Y/N sometimes wrapped around her neck.

“Tilt your head forward a bit.”

She obeyed quickly. With careful hands, Harry wrapped the scarf around her eyes, making sure not to trap any of her hair, then tied and adjusted it gently.

Her heart pounded inside her chest as her head touched the pillow again. Y/N had been tied up before, but never had Harry blindfolded her.

She bit her lip unconsciously and felt Harry’s finger on her chin.

“Stop that.”

Y/N hurriedly released her lip.

There was nothing in front of her but darkness. Normally, that would bother her but somehow it only fanned the fire that had started burning in her stomach. Hesitantly, she called out, “Harry?”

She wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel that he was still there but then remembered her hands were tied. God, she was completely knocked out — her only option was to listen to Harry’s breathing and hope he would touch her.

The answer she needed came to her lips. Harry’s full lips moved slowly over hers, whispering that he was still there. The kiss ended and the darkness swallowed her again.

Y/N was stunned but managed a weak nod.

His lips first brushed her jawline, then trailed down to the curve of her neck. His warm breath set her skin on fire.

“How much, my love? How much do you trust me?”

Y/N swallowed. “V-very, very much.”

At that, Harry’s hands found her hips and pressed her down onto the bed with his weight. “You’ll show me, won’t you, baby? How much you trust me, how much you need me,” He said, biting and gently tugging her lower lip between his teeth.

“I’ll be good for you.” Y/N licked her lips, chasing the taste Harry had left. “Anything you want,” she whispered softly.

Harry hummed happily. His hand gently cupped her chin as he lifted her head. “Angel,” his beard brushed against her neck and then her chest, “tell me who you belong to.”

Though her eyes were covered, she squeezed them shut. Harry’s hand stayed on her chin while his tongue slowly traced her nipple.

Her first instinct was to push him away, but remembering her tied hands, she arched her back like a bow.

Harry slowly bit down. “Say it, Y/N,” he said in a firm tone.

She tensed her body further and let out a loud moan. “Yours,” she said, breathless. “Only yours.”

Harry, pleased with her answer, moved down slowly, his tongue traveling from her stomach to her pelvis.

Reflexively, Y/N pushed against him. “Fuck.”

Harry grabbed her chin firmly and brought his middle and index fingers to her lips. “Control your tongue.”

Shaking with the tone in his voice, Y/N turned her head and put her fingers between her lips, pressing and sucking her tongue hard.

Harry mumbled something like “Well done,” but was too busy leaving a dark purple bruise on her pelvis to hear it properly.

He used his hands to spread her hips, pressing his tongue to the most sensitive places. Y/N clung tightly to the fabric binding her hands, making the headboard shake.

Harry didn’t care and pushed his tongue deeper, making Y/N gasp for air and her hips chafe against his stubble. He was giving her what she wanted but it wasn’t enough.

He loved chasing her, making her tremble with desire until all she could do was whisper his name over and over.

Y/N wanted to scream. She was suffocating under the intense tension that had been building for the last half hour and pushing her limits. Every breath was a struggle. “Harry…” she begged, fingers gripping the fabric desperately, “Please.”

She didn’t even know what she wanted anymore, but she was sure Harry would.

She felt the weight on her hips lift slowly, and Harry stopped all contact.

Y/N frowned.

“What—”

Harry silenced her with a brief kiss. “I’m just taking off my shirt.”

Y/N listened carefully to the quiet sounds of his movements.

The shirt fell to the floor, the belt came off, and the zipper of his pants was undone. Then she felt Harry on top of her again. This time, instead of fabric against her skin, it was Harry’s warm flesh.

YN braced herself, ready for his touch. But Harry only whispered in her ear, “Since you’re so good, I’m going to give you a reward. Want it?”

She nodded excitedly, Harry kissed her temple. “Your eyes or your hands?”

If she chose her eyes, she’d know he was there, see his hair falling on hiz forehead, see his green eyes holding everything she could dare imagine. But she wouldn’t be able to touch him.

She chose her hands.

Harry pressed his smile to her cheek, then stood and untied her hands tightly bound. Kissing the slight redness on her wrists, he freed her. “What’s your color, love?”

“Green.”

Now with free hands, as Harry leaned over her again, he grabbed his shoulders and the back of his neck, still unsure as her hands moved, but Harry kissed each hands, praising her. “You were so good, baby. So, so good.”

A small smile spread over Y/N’s reddening face. She ran her fingers over his face, which she knew by heart, feeling the curl of his lips.

When Harry pressed his pelvis against hers, she pulled her knees up toward him. One second, his cock was pressing against her hips; the next, he was inside her.

Y/N felt her eyes roll back and gripped Harry’s shoulders with all her strength.

Harry stayed still for a moment, letting her adjust, then sped up, matching a rhythm their hips could follow together. Y/N adjusted quickly. After a few uncomfortable minutes, Harry finally hit exactly the right spot, making her break her silence with a moan.

As she arched her body, Harry put his hand in the hollow of her back and supported her movement, making sure each thrust landed in the same steady place.

YN opened her mouth, biting her lip to stop herself from screaming, reminding herself not to do it. “H-Harry,” she held onto his hair at the nape of her neck, “I’m so close.”

Harry rubbed his nose against hers. Without saying anything, he pulled his hand from her waist and moved it toward the spot where her clitoris was. After rubbing it roughly a few times, she came before she could say another word. Y/N’s nails dug into him and she whispered his name breathlessly.

Harry followed soon after, her tightened pussy gripping his penis as he emptied himself inside her. He held her close without breaking their connection.

His lips pressed against her chest as he whispered things Y/N couldn’t fully hear. Her hands were tangled in his hair at the nape of her neck.

“Y/N?” His fingers tangled in her hair, gently grabbing the scarf, slowly removing it from her head. “Are you okay?”

Y/N slowly opened her tired eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the light. She managed to focus on Harry and nodded.

“Harry?” Her hands gently found his shoulders.

“I’m here, baby.”

She pushed herself toward him. Harry understood the message and curled his arms around her. Y/N let out a happy sound and nestled against his neck. He stroked her hair and ran his fingers through her curls until she calmed down, brought his hands to her wrists and gently touched the still-red marks.

Y/N’s eyelashes fell on her cheeks as their breathing found a rhythmic pattern under the sheet Harry pulled over them. She fell asleep.

“We’re going to Tuscany. You and me.” Harry whispered, unsure if she was asleep or not.

Her sleepy eyes opened, and her lips curled in satisfaction. “I love you.”

Harry buried his smile in her hair. “Love you more.”

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