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pitlanepeach · 2 months ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Two

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, negative self-talk, therapy, LandoLOG format, some time skips.

Notes — The championship tension is rising you guys. I’m literally on the beach in a bikini rn btw (not to brag :p)

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

Chapter Twenty-Two (Turkey — Saudi Arabia)

The flight to Istanbul was quiet.

Lando had fallen asleep somewhere over central Europe, curled against the window with his hoodie pulled up over his head. Amelia sat stiffly in her seat, notebook open on her lap, a pen twirling between her fingers. She wasn’t writing anything, though. She was thinking.

About him. About all of it.

Turkey could be a reset, if they let it. She’d witnessed McLaren spend the last week doing damage control after Sochi; shifting the narrative away from Lando’s heartbreak, framing the race as a learning experience instead of a failure.

He’d said all the right things publicly. But privately…

Privately, Lando was still carrying it like a fresh wound.

He hated himself for it. No—no, hated was too strong. Lando didn’t hate himself. Not exactly. But he turned all his sharpest knives inward when something went wrong. A relentless critic, a perfectionist with nowhere to put all that anger but his own reflection.

Amelia had seen it happen before, smaller instances, little mistakes. But Sochi had been the biggest yet. His shot at his first win, taken away by rain and a split-second decision that nobody should have been expected to make in the heat of that moment.

And, of course, he blamed himself for all of it.

She felt a little nauseous as she watched him sleep, peaceful for the first time in days. She let the pen fall to her notebook and turned her head, staring out at the endless stretch of clouds.

Maybe she should have seen this coming. Maybe she should have pushed harder, weeks ago, months ago. Every driver had their pressure points. Their ways of coping. Max raged. Daniel laughed. Fernando withdrew.

But Lando? Lando just punished himself. Quietly. Slowly.

She thought about how he’d been that night in Italy. How he’d tried to smile when she called it a perfect drive. How he’d apologised to her — her, like she was the one who’d lost something — and how it had taken everything in her not to cry when he’d finally let her hold him, sagging against her like he had no energy left to even stand.

It wasn’t sustainable. She knew that. He couldn’t keep treating himself like this.

And maybe it wasn’t her place — he had a sports psychologist, didn’t he? Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be her responsibility as his girlfriend. But… she loved him. And if she couldn’t stop the rain, or change the strategy calls, or rewrite the outcome of Sochi, maybe she could at least help him carry the consequences of it.

She thumbed her phone open, scrolled to her calendar. Her therapist offered virtual sessions and she’d been meaning to book a new one anyway. It would be a bit messy, timing-wise, with the media schedule and free practice, but—

“Whatcha doing, baby?” His voice was rough with sleep. Amelia jumped slightly, and turned to find Lando blinking blearily at her, his hair a mess under the hood.

“Nothing,” she said instinctively, then sighed. “Booking something.”

He leaned over to see her phone, squinting slightly at the brightness. “Therapy?”

She nodded, slipping the phone back into her lap. “Yeah.”

He was silent for a second, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “You alright?”

It was such a Lando thing to ask — genuine concern, even half-asleep, even after everything.

She smiled a little sadly. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s for you.”

He froze, hand half-raised toward his coffee. Slowly, he looked over at her, brow furrowed. “Me?”

“Yes.” She affirmed.

His mouth opened, then shut. He flopped back against the headrest, pulling his hood tighter over his head like he could hide from the conversation.

Amelia didn’t let him. “Lando,” she sighed. “I’m not going to… force you into It or anything. I know you have your own therapist and stuff, but—” She paused, searching for the words. “I think the way that you handle your bad days is really unhealthy.”

Lando just stared at the seat in front of him, jaw tight.

“Obviously, you’re allowed to be upset,” she continued, with a nod. “And you’re allowed to be mad. But you punish yourself for things that are out of your control. That’s not healthy. And according to my therapist, it’s not normal.”

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

“I’m not saying you’re broken. Or that you need fixing. You’re—" she paused again, voice softening. "You’re you. And I love you. Exactly as you are.”

That got his attention. He turned his head slightly, just enough that she could see the faint, startled look in his eyes.

“But loving you also means wanting you to stop hurting yourself every time something goes wrong," she finished.

Silence stretched between them.

Amelia forced herself to sit back, giving him space to think, even if every instinct screamed at her to fill the silence.

After what felt like forever, Lando let out a slow breath. “I don’t need therapy.”

Yeah. She expected that. She didn’t flinch.

“Maybe,” she said. “But you should go anyway.”

He looked at her again, properly this time, and whatever snarky retort he’d been planning died in his throat. He saw it on her face, how serious she was. How scared, even, in that quiet way she tried not to show anyone.

Finally, Lando shifted, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His voice was quieter now. “Would it… make things easier for you? If I went?”

Amelia blinked, surprised by the shift. “This isn’t about me.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “But it is, a bit. Isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached over, covering his hand with hers. “It would help both of us,” she said simply. “I feel anxious because I’m constantly worried that you’re not okay. That’s all.”

He stared at their joined hands for a moment, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.“Alright,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’ll do it. One session.”

Relief flooded through her so fast she had to blink back sudden, unexpected tears.

“Good,” she nodded, trying for lightness. “I would probably have tricked you into it, if you’d said no.”

He huffed a laugh, half-way between exasperated and genuinely amused. “You’re scary when you’re determined, you know that?”

“Hm.” She hummed, with a shrug.

He smiled, a real one this time, soft and a little sheepish, and sat back, closing his eyes again.

Amelia picked up her pen once more and tapped it against her notebook. The seatbelt light pinged above them as they started their descent into Istanbul. Below the clouds, she could see the sprawling city, the Bosphorus shimmering like a ribbon of silver in the afternoon sun.

They had a long weekend ahead of them. FP1, FP2, media obligations, the race itself. More pressure, more chances for things to go wrong.

Amelia tucked her notebook away, fastened her seatbelt, and glanced at Lando.

Already asleep again. Perfect in so many ways — still a little broken in places.

But hers.

—

They landed just after sunrise.

The sky outside was a muted gray, the roads slick with overnight rain. The air smelled wet.

The hotel was clean and quiet, the lobby still half-asleep when Lando’s team pushed their cases inside. Amelia barely remembered the check-in; she stood back and let them handle it, her mind somewhere else entirely. Half on the weekend ahead, half on the looming therapy call they’d scheduled for later that day.

Their room was beautiful, more of a suite.

“You want to go get breakfast, baby?” Lando asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. Before I crawl into bed and sleep for sixteen hours.”

He huffed a soft laugh and then reached out to grab her hand, entwining their fingers together.

They headed down to the hotel restaurant, one of those sterile, modern spaces that looked the same in every city, and found Daniel already there, sitting at a table by the window, sunglasses shoved into his messy curls even though it was still grey outside.

He grinned wide when he spotted them, lifting his coffee in greeting. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Amelia dropped into one of the seats across from him with a sigh. "You're very awake.”

Daniel smirked. Shrugged. "Slept the whole flight. Like a professional sloth."

Lando slid into the seat beside her, slouching low.

Daniel raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. "You two look like you’re about to get executed."

Amelia made a face at him before squinting at the menu. “Why would that happen? We’re not criminals.”

Lando pulled a face, raking a hand through his hair.

Daniel leaned in slightly, his tone dropping to something between a whisper and a bad stage voice. “Are the children grouchy?” He teased.

Neither of them answered, but the silence was confirmation enough. Daniel just nodded. Then he poured them both coffee from the jug without asking and passed the mugs over like offerings.

“Oh. I need sugar,” Amelia told him, but still accepted the cup.

“Of course you do,” Daniel said with a grin, reaching around to grab one of the sugar packets from the table behind them and then flicking it at her.

Amelia made a low, unimpressed sound and ripped her croissant in half. Then she picked up the sugar packet and put it into her coffee — because she was exhausted, and she needed caffeine immediately.

They ordered, pastries, eggs, endless rounds of coffee, and Daniel, kept things light. He told stories about the last media day disaster, about how a cameraman tripped over his own feet trying to get a slow-mo shot of Lando walking.

Amelia let herself laugh, cramming a bite of croissant into her mouth.

At one point, Daniel leaned back in his chair, looked at Lando with a cocked brow. "You reckon the new floor’s gonna hold up? Heard the lads were still tweaking it yesterday."

Lando shifted properly for the first time, straightening a little. "It should. They made the sidepod adjustment less aggressive, apparently. Should give us a bit more stability through Turn 8 than we had on the sim. Hope so, anyway. It was fucking awful.”

Daniel nodded in grim agreement. "Still reckon it’s gonna slide like shit if it rains."

Lando grimaced. "Yeah, well." He shrugged.

Amelia glanced at him, worrying her bottom lip.

Daniel rallied on, looping easily back into real shop talk. They started debating tire pressures for the cooler temperatures forecasted for qualifying, and Amelia sat there, chewing and sipping and letting their voices wash over her. Jumping in every now and then when Lando fumbled a technical term or Daniel started talking about "vibes" instead of tangible data.

"You two are hopeless," she muttered at one point, half under her breath.

Daniel leaned over and bumped her shoulder with his own. “Yeah, but we’re your hopeless idiots, ay?”

She didn’t smile, exactly, too tired for that, but her mouth twitched a little. She liked Daniel. He was fun, easygoing, a genuinely talented driver.

Her mind flickered, unbidden, to Oscar — to all the promises Alpine were making, all the big words about his future. In a way, she hoped they would follow through, give him the seat he deserved and the platform to build something extraordinary.

And in another, more selfish way, she hoped they wouldn’t.

When the breakfast plates were empty and the coffee was long gone, Daniel gave Lando a long look across the table.

"You’ll smash it, mate," he said. No jokes, no grin this time. Just honest, quiet faith.

Amelia felt her chest ache a little at the way Lando ducked his head, like he didn’t believe it yet.

Like he wasn’t sure he deserved to.

Daniel clapped him on the shoulder, light but firm. "You’ve got this."

They said goodbye, promises to catch up before FP1 tossed into the air between them, and Amelia followed Lando out of the restaurant, the cool hotel air whispering around them.

Upstairs, in the quiet of their hotel room, the nerves started creeping back in. Amelia pulled her laptop out, her fingers steady even as her stomach twisted.

"You okay?" Lando asked, standing awkwardly near the window, arms crossed.

She looked at him, at the tired set of his mouth, the way his eyes flicked to the laptop like it was a threat.

"Yeah," she said.

Because she was tired, but she wasn’t scared.

Not anymore.

"Come here," she added, patting the couch beside her.

He sat down, careful like he thought he might break something.

She touched his cheek, running the tip of her nail across his cheekbone. “I love you.” She promised.

—

The call connected with a faint chime, and the therapist’s calm, smiling face appeared on Amelia’s laptop screen.

Lando shifted beside her on the hotel room couch, visibly tense, one knee bouncing in a restless rhythm. Amelia resisted the urge to pin it down with her hand. She wanted him here because he wanted to be, not because he felt caged. She understood the difference all too well.

"Hi, Amelia. Hi, Lando," the therapist said warmly. "It’s great to see you both."

Amelia gave a small nod. Lando mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'hi,' his hands twisting the hem of his hoodie.

The therapist didn’t even blink. She just carried on, patient and calm, the way she always was, the perfect kind of voice that never tried too hard, never felt fake.

“So, Lando, I know Amelia and I have spoken a few times before," she started, smiling lightly, "but since this is your first session with me, why don't we start simple?"

Lando swallowed, clearly uncomfortable under the attention. Amelia watched him out of the corner of her eye, the set of his shoulders too rigid, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

He had been the one to ask, awkwardly, sheepishly, if she would sit with him during his appointment. "Just for the first one," he’d said in the back of the car, on their way from the airport to the hotel. "It’ll be easier if you’re there, I think.”

Amelia had agreed immediately. Of course she had. He never asked for help, so it would have been ridiculous to deny him when he finally did.

"I guess... yeah," Lando said now, rubbing the back of his neck. "Simple’s good."

The therapist smiled, like she could see exactly how hard he was trying. "Perfect. So, how are you feeling today, Lando?"

There was a beat. Lando’s fingers dug harder into the fabric of his hoodie.

Amelia gave him a sidelong glance, deliberate but light. You can say anything, she thought, and it won’t change anything between us.

"Stupid," Lando muttered finally, voice barely above a whisper. "For… this."

The therapist’s face stayed soft. She shook her head gently. "There’s nothing stupid about needing support. Especially in a profession as demanding as yours."

Amelia’s jaw tensed before she spoke. "And for the record," she added bluntly, "you’re not stupid. You’re stubborn. There’s a difference."

Lando cracked a tiny, unwilling smile at that. His knee stopped bouncing.

"Thanks," he said, his voice rough but real.

The therapist nodded, almost like she’d expected Amelia’s bluntness to land exactly where she intended it to.

"Let’s not worry about being perfect or saying the ‘right’ thing today," she said easily. "This is about learning to notice what’s actually going on in your head, not what you think you're supposed to feel."

Lando seemed to digest that for a moment, eyes lowered.

Amelia leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms. She could feel how tightly wound he was, even from here, but he was trying.

God, he was trying.

"I’m fine at first," Lando said eventually, voice gaining steadiness. “Start of the weekend. I’m excited, full of adrenaline, feel like I can handle anything that’s thrown at me. Then... when I mess up, or when it feels like I’ve messed up, I can’t let go of it. I just keep thinking about it. Over and over." His voice had gone tight around the edges. Shame bleeding out before he could catch it.

Amelia exhaled slowly through her nose. She knew that loop well. It was like picking at a wound because the hurt felt more familiar than the healing.

"You’re allowed to be upset when things go wrong," the therapist said. "What we’re trying to avoid is punishing yourself for being human."

"Feels like weakness," Lando admitted.

Amelia pursed her lips. “It’s not.” She couldn’t help herself, she had to say it, had to be the one to remind him that for what felt like the fiftieth time in a week.

Lando glanced at her. The smallest flicker of something crossed his face, gratitude, maybe. Or just… fondness.

The session continued, the conversation meandering through the tight, uncomfortable spaces of Lando’s self-criticism. He was careful at first, tentative, like every word was being weighed before it could leave his mouth. But he didn’t shut down. He didn’t pull away.

When the therapist wrapped up, reminding them both that progress wasn't linear and perfection wasn’t the goal, Amelia felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.

It was hope. Not the kind she usually reserved for numbers and data sheets and strategy calls. A different kind. Messier. Stronger.

Lando closed the laptop and they sat in silence for a beat.

Then he shifted closer to her, bumping his shoulder into hers.

"Sorry for being such a mess.” He mumbled.

Amelia shuffled into his lap, pressing into him, holding him. Letting him hold her. Feeling him all but melt under the weight of her body on-top of his. “Don’t say sorry. I’m a mess too, just in a different way.”

He pressed his face into her hair. "New race weekend," he said after a while, like he was reminding himself. "Fresh start."

"Fresh start," she nodded. "And if it falls apart again, we deal with it in a healthy way. No more being cruel to yourself. I won’t let it happen.”

Simple. Blunt. True.

Lando just held her tighter.

—

Amelia walked into the garage, eyes scanning the team members packing up, her mind already calculating the race data from the day. The weekend had been hard on everyone; a bitter P2 finish when they had walked into the race with their eyes on another victory.

Max was more than just disappointed. He looked drained, eyes slitted, jaw tight.

She found him in the corner, leaning against the wall. He didn't notice her approach, his mind still somewhere out on the track, lost in his thoughts.

“Hey,” she said, stepping into his line of sight. His eyes lifted to meet hers, but there was nothing but weariness in them. "You okay?”

He scoffed. "No. Not good. You saw it out there." His hands clenched at his sides. "I'm losing this fucking championship, Amelia. There's no way I can catch up now."

“That’s not true. You absolutely can catch up. Look at the numbers. You can still win. The gap isn’t as big as you think." She told him. Then she took a deep breath and started ticking off the facts, breaking it down as methodically as she always did. “We’ve got multiple race weekends left. You’re behind, but the points difference isn’t insurmountable. If you keep executing like you did earlier today, you’ll close the gap. It’s about consistency, and you’ve got that in spades. But if you lose hope now, start being sad instead of angry, you’ll just be handing it over to him.”

“I’m making too many mistakes.” He snapped.

She nodded slowly. “Yes, because you’re pushing the car to the limit. And that’s what makes you better than the rest.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, his eyes still on the floor, processing. But eventually, he let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just... I need to figure it out. I need to get my head straight.”

She nodded.

“Thanks” he said quietly.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Amelia told him. “Become a world championship first. Then you can thank me.”

Max’s lips twitched into a half-smile.

—

LandoLOG #4 | Let’s Do This

Uploaded on 23rd November, 2021

[LANDO POV — United States GP]

The vlog kicks off with a zoom-in of Lando’s car in the McLaren garage—mechanics adjusting the setup, wheels spinning. The camera quickly cuts to Daniel, arms spread wide, shouting, “Yee-haw!” in a loud, exaggerated cowboy voice.

[Cold cut to Amelia]

She’s sitting in McLaren hospitality, not a hint of amusement on her face. Wearing a MV33 bomber jacket and an orange LN4 McLaren cap.

Lando’s voice breaks in.

“Alright, guys, let’s focus. Car’s feeling good. I’m feeling good. Let’s do this.”

The camera flicks to Lando walking toward the garage in his race suit. Amelia’s in the Red Bull pit area, her eyes scanning her iPad. The paddock is alive, cars roaring, crew members buzzing with activity. Amelia briefly looks up, catching Lando’s gaze. He gives a thumbs-up.

[Race Prep - Qualifying]

The camera cuts to the grid. Lando’s helmet’s on now, and the camera stays focused as the mechanics buzz around him. He’s laser-focused, blocking out the noise.

Post-Qualifying

[Cut to Lando walking back to the garage]

He’s clearly frustrated. The camera follows him as he flips it on, his voice flat. “Well, that was... not great. P5. We had the pace, but something didn’t click in that last sector. Not happy, but we move on.”

[Hotel Room - Post-Qualifying]

The scene shifts to the hotel room. Lando paces, clearly agitated, while Amelia sits on the bed, working through her iPad, a stim toy in hand. Her focus is intense, but her voice cuts through as she speaks to him.

“It’s that stupid second sector. Everyone struggled with that last corner exit, even Max.”

Lando sighs, sitting next to her. “Yeah, I know. Just... frustrating.” He leans back, rubbing his face in frustration.

Later, it cuts to them at dinner. Amelia’s holding the camera, directing it at Lando.

“Tell them what you did,” she teases.

Lando groans, rolling his eyes. “Baby…”

“He accidentally ordered fish,” she laughs, shaking the camera slightly.

Lando glares but can’t suppress a soft, grimacing smile.

[Race Highlights - United States GP]

Quick cuts of Lando on the track. His car weaves through traffic, taking tight corners with precision. Amelia’s briefly shown on the pit wall, her concentration clear as she analyses Max's data.

[Post-Race]

The camera cuts back to the McLaren garage. Lando’s sitting with a towel draped over his shoulders, sweat dripping from his face. The garage is slowly clearing out. He looks exhausted but calm now.

“P5. Could’ve been better, but we’ll take it. At least we got points.” His voice lacks excitement.

Amelia walks in, standing beside him. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he smiles at the camera.

Text Overlay: Rest & Recharge

[Home in Monaco]

The video cuts to a scene of them in their Monaco apartment. Lando lounges on the couch, editing footage on his laptop, scrolling through social media. Amelia’s curled up with a blanket beside him, clearly content.

Lando’s voice is laid-back as he talks to the camera. “I didn’t get any sleep last night. So, today’s all about being lazy. Gonna order food, maybe watch a movie, just rest up a bit.”

Amelia looks at him, smiling over the camera. “We’re couch potatoes today — Lan, did I use that right?”

[LANDO POV — Mexican GP]

Lando’s walking down the pit lane with Daniel. The stadium section is packed with fans, the energy palpable. Lando’s voice comes through, upbeat despite the tension.

“Mexico’s always crazy, but I’m feeling good today. The car’s fast, the atmosphere’s unreal. Let’s see what we can do in qualifying.”

[Race Highlights - Mexican GP]

Cut to race footage; Lando pushing his car, making overtakes, keeping up the fight. In the background, Amelia’s pacing, muttering to herself as she goes over Max's data. When Max crosses the line, she beams, her focus momentarily shifting away. Jon, with the camera, catches the moment and gives her a thumbs-up.

[Post-Race - Mexican GP]

Post-race, Lando and Daniel are standing by their cars. Both are sweaty, but there’s a sense of satisfaction. Lando wipes his face, and speaks to the camera.

“Well, that was solid. P4. Not ideal, but we’re getting closer.”

Amelia walks over. When she sees Lando, she smiles. The couple share a quick, tight hug. She pecks him on the cheek, leaving a smudge of lipgloss.

[LANDO POV — Brazilian GP]

Cut to Lando prepping for the Brazilian GP, checking tire pressures, walking through the garage, the atmosphere high-energy. Lando’s pumped, the mood light.

Back at the hotel, Lando turns the camera to Amelia. “Here’s my girl, she’s got everything under control. Smartest person in the world.” He grins at the camera.

Amelia rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushing with a slight embarrassment. “Stop it.”

[LANDO POV — Qatar GP]

The camera shifts. The vibe’s different now. Lando’s face is tense, his jaw tight. The camera cuts to him on the grid, helmet in hand, his expression serious.

“Pressure’s on for everyone today,” his voice is calm but serious.

Amelia’s voice enters the background. “It’s going to be tricky with this heat.” She sounds calm, steady as always, but her tone holds a layer of underlying tension.

[Race Clips - Qatar GP]

Quick cuts show Lando on track, his car weaving through the desert-like circuit, gaining positions, making calculated moves.

[Post-Race - Qatar GP]

Lando stands in front of his car, towel over his shoulders, his expression hard. “P4. Could’ve been better, but... yeah. Good enough for today.” He’s not unhappy, but it’s clear this was not the result he hoped for.

The camera cuts to Lando and Amelia in their hotel room. Amelia’s curled up on his chest, a soft, intimate moment. There’s a quiet sense of exhaustion between them, but also a quiet understanding.

Text Overlay: Now onto the final stretch.

—

Amelia sat in the strategy room in Saudi Arabia, her posture stiff, hands resting on the table, but her mind was miles away. The hum of the room buzzed around her—the quiet chatter of engineers, the occasional rustle of papers, the sharp clicks of a laptop. Jos sat at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on the data, while the rest of the team worked in focused silence. But Amelia felt herself barely holding it together.

Her fingers curled around her stim toy, hidden just beneath the table. It had become a constant companion lately, grounding her when her thoughts raced and anxiety crept in. Every squeeze calmed her pulse, but it did little to ease the storm inside.

The pressure was building—the championship was coming down to the final two races of the season. Amelia’s focus was entirely on Max. The weight of it all was overwhelming.

Her gaze flicked to him. Max sat a few seats away, leaning back in his chair with an air of calm that seemed unaffected by the chaos around them. When their eyes met, the quiet reassurance in his gaze helped her center herself.

"Amelia," GP’s voice broke through her thoughts, sharp and focused. "We’re ready for your input on strategy. We’ve gone over the options, but I want to hear what you think."

Her heart skipped, but she steadied herself. "Right," she said, her voice firm, though tinged with strain. Her pulse quickened again, the stress creeping up her spine, but she gripped the stim toy harder, focusing on its calming pressure.

Max, noticing the shift in her demeanour, gave her a small, reassuring nod. A silent reminder to breathe. The tension in her chest eased.

She turned back to the board, her mind sharpening. Focus on the data. Focus on Max. He can win this. As she assessed the tire strategies, weather forecasts, and available options, the path forward became clearer. This was the moment to make it count.

"I think we should risk the undercut," Amelia said, her voice steady now. Confidence surged through her. "If Max pushes on the in-lap, we can leapfrog the others. The tire wear will be crucial in the second half, and we need to capitalise on that."

Christian leaned forward, studying the data on the screen. "You’re confident?"

"Yes," Amelia replied without hesitation. "It’s our best shot at maximum points."

Max’s gaze stayed on her, unwavering, as the room hummed with quiet agreement. The strategy was beginning to take shape. Despite the nerves twisting inside her, Amelia’s mind had snapped into focus.

When the meeting wrapped up, Max was the first to approach. He didn’t say anything immediately, just walked up beside her, his presence a quiet comfort.

"You did well," he said quietly, his voice warm. "You’ve been incredible this year. I wouldn’t be this close without you." He nudged her lightly, his smile small but genuine.

Amelia let out a slow breath, leaning into his touch. "I want this for you so badly, Max," she admitted, her voice thick with emotion.

Max’s expression softened. He crouched beside her, his voice dropping to something more intimate, just between the two of them. “Okay. I need to say this. Amelia, if it doesn’t happen, if I somehow mess this up... don’t blame yourself, alright? You’ve given me a championship-winning car. You’ve made me a better driver. That doesn’t change just because I—" He paused, looking for the right words. "—don’t win it."

She shook her head, a firm resolve settling in. "You will win it," she told him, her voice unwavering.

Max smiled at her, though it wasn’t his usual grin. He was just as nervous, just as desperate. "Yeah. Okay. Want to go find Lando?" he asked, his voice soft.

Amelia nodded, grateful for the shift in focus. "Let’s go."

—

Jos slammed his headset onto the table as Max crossed the line in second.

Lewis had beaten him.

But still, the fight wasn’t over.

It was official now — Max and Lewis would enter the final race of the season dead even on points.

Winner takes all.

The garage buzzed with tension, but Amelia sat frozen, the noise around her fading into a dull roar.

She squeezed her stim toy so tightly her knuckles turned white, forcing herself to take five slow, deliberate breaths.

There was no margin for error anymore.

They had one more chance.

NEXT CHAPTER

660 notes · View notes

yan-randomfandom · 8 months ago

Note

yandere viktor with an innocent and naive reader but with magical abilities, where the reader knows how to use simple magic like conjuring plants or controlling water... ((the reader only knows the basics of magic, since no one taught it and this magic would be the only one so far who knows how to do it, and the reader was a little scared of being in a rush or being studied like a lab rat because she has magic, but she confided her secret to Viktor...)) Why do you do that?

Y!Viktor x GN!Mage!Reader

a/n: posting this before act 2 omg, i think i need a rewatch — btw this one only has very light yandere undertones,, ..erm

🫧 ;

"Psst. Hey, want to know a secret?"

Viktor blinked. His eyes followed the moving reflection on the iridescent river. Your figure was mirrored in the water, an unreadable expression on your face.

... He looked up, alarmed. Were you talking to him? Viktor didn't even know you.

You met his amber eyes. For whatever reason, on the edge of the cliff just above the water, you folded your legs against your chest and buried half your face in your arms.

"Well?" you pushed, voice muffled.

His mouth opened, then closed. Viktor nodded wordlessly instead.

" ... Promise me you won't tell anyone."

Without a moment's hesitation, the young boy nodded again.

He watched as you stood up and jumped steadily into the river, splashing him and his mechanical boat. A low, frustrated groan escaped him as water seeped into his clothes.

"Oh, sorry," you said as he tried to wipe the water from his face. "Let me get that for you."

Suddenly, Viktor felt his weight gradually become less unpleasant—almost refreshing, even, as if the water slid across and away from his skin and clothes.

That's when he saw it.

A small blob of water, floating in the air. It moved carefully like it was fragile.

Then came another, and another. Small specks came together until it formed one single bubble.

Abruptly, it dropped in the river. Like nothing ever happened. Viktor's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Cool, right?" you grinned. He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, his jaw gaping. One of your hands was lifted, fingers poised in a manner of delicacy.

"You," Viktor finally spoke, stammering, his breathing ragged. "You did that? Was that... magic?"

You chuckled, settling yourself beside him. He turned to you, scooting over to make room, and met your steady gaze. “I think so. But I was serious when I said never, ever tell anyone.”

He shook his head, utterly appalled. "Is this some sort of trick?"

"I wish—"

“This is not funny,” he snarled, his demeanor shifting completely, catching you off guard. “If you’re just here to get a reaction out of me, I’d advise you and your friends to leave. Please.”

You frowned, standing up with your fists clenched. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m so sorry! And I don’t… even have friends.”

Viktor searched your face.

There's nothing to suggest a lie. He's observant, and he quietly prides himself over it, but this is one of the few cases where he genuinely starts to doubt his judgment.

"But," you sighed, turning away. "I'll leave if that's what you want. Apologies."

...

"... Wait."

— 🌱

The leaves of the seedling barely moved.

"Aw," you chuckled, dropping your arm to your side. Who knew conjuring plant powers could be so draining? "Well, I tried. Let's take a break!"

He let out a choked noise, pausing his writing. "We barely started! How is it that whenever you get to try something new and amazing, you avoid it?”

...

You didn't respond immediately.

Viktor put down his notebook, looking back at you, who was blankly staring at him.

"I guess I'm... scared?" you said, tilting your head. To his surprise, you gently grabbed his hand, running your thumb across his palm.

His face warmed. He physically couldn't say or do anything.

"You're the only one who knows about this, Vik," you muttered, your eyes fixed on his rough skin. "I sprung this on you when we were kids, which is kind of hilarious, by the way, but I had a reason. In my mind, you were the only one who would understand."

He thought so, too.

Viktor couldn’t stop himself from slipping his fingers between yours. It was a good thing you weren’t looking at him—otherwise, you might’ve seen how red his face had become.

"And you told me no one will believe me," he said, and while the memory was of you giving him a serious warning, his tone was filled with nothing but endearment.

"I still stand by that," you laughed, pulling your hand away from his, much to his disappointment. You still hadn't glance at his face. He mentally scolded himself for almost hoping you would see his expression. "Especially with our age now. They'll just think you're crazy."

"I understand," he chuckled, turning away. "About that break... you want to go to our usual?"

A smile curled your lips. "Yes, please!"

— 💌

Viktor said he has a surprise for you.

Admittedly, you're feeling extremely anxious. He grew up to become a researcher, an inventor—facts that don’t surprise you.

As his best friend, a person able to do magic, while absolutely shitty at it, you know he sees you as someone with massive potential. Literally. No one else in Piltover or Zaun is known to do this. Maybe in a hundred years—who knows? You didn't even have a proper education.

...

Viktor cleared his throat. "I've been offered a position in the University of Piltover."

You froze. The letter in his fingers bore the university’s wax seal in the center, bold and unmistakable.

“Holy shit,” you blurted, your eyes darting between him and the letter. “Holy shit!”

Jumping over to Viktor, you wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace. The biggest, most triumphant smile tugged at your lips. He staggered a little, but you were too wrapped up in your happiness to notice.

"Language," he laughed, hugging you back.

You snickered. "I'm so proud of you! Words can't even begin to express how happy I am for you!"

Pulling back, your hands still rested on his shoulders. Your smile relaxed ever so slightly as your eyes gazed into his softer ones.

"I knew you could do it," you exhaled.

A small pause.

Viktor had a look. Oh, shit. What’s that smirk for?

"...You're not done," you accused, raising an eyebrow.

He lifted the letter in his hand. "I have not accepted yet."

Now, your brows knitted together in utter confusion.

"... Why not—?"

"I said I won't be going unless they let me bring a plus one."

You smile faltered, denial crossing your face. He noticed it. Did he just say what you thought you heard him say?

"Are you saying...?" Your expression shifted into worry; you didn't quite understand his point.

"I want you to come with me," Viktor said, grabbing your hand and placing the letter in your palm. "To Piltover."

Oh, no. You didn't mean to.

You panicked, pulling away, the letter slipping from your hand.

Viktor's brows furrowed. He thought you'd be happier about the news.

Then, he looked around.

It had rained just before he decided to share the news. Some raindrops were still fresh, glistening from the downpour.

And around your figure, small droplets rose into the air. The air is thick with tension.

"Viktor. You're not giving me to them, are you...?"

Defeated. That's how your voice sounded.

"Of course not," he hushed, pushing you onto a chair. "Never. Please calm down. Let me explain."

You obliged, sitting down. He sat beside you.

"I'm sorry," you spoke first, meeting his eyes. "It's not that I don't trust you. Heck, I trust you more than anyone. The thought of going up there... it just makes me anxious."

"I understand," Viktor nodded. He turned his head. "However, I promise you, I won’t let them take you away from me. You’ll be solely under my care. But I do know someone who’s willing to help us."

Viktor. So compassionate and filled with empathy. You admired him for those very reasons, not just for his brilliance. His presence feels like a whole other world to you—someone who could help you understand your abilities. Perhaps the only chance you have to truly learn who, or what you are.

"I'll be a burden."

"No. Of course not. I want you by my side."

You hesitated. Despite your family being clueless about your ability, they were still the people you cared for. You still had a life in the undercity.

"And if I refuse...?"

Viktor took a moment to respond. The thought of leaving you hurt his heart.

"You... I believe you don't have much of a choice."

You couldn't explain why, but you found it in yourself to wholeheartedly believe him.

— 💜

zamn

critique is welcome btw

#yan writes #yandere arcane #viktor arcane #yandere #yandere arcane x reader #viktor x reader #yandere viktor x reader #mage anon

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kitten4sannie · 1 year ago

Text

dolce and gabbana

pairing: san x guest! reader (fem)

genre: pure smut with a tiddlywink of plot

summary: san can’t seem to get you off his mind after sitting next to you during the latest D&G showcase, so he has no choice but to get you on his dick instead.

w.c: 3.3k

warnings: some alcohol use, subby until he’s not! san, dommy mommy who folds instantly when san asserts himself! reader, both reader and san mutually go after one another despite knowing one of them is MARRIED (hoes will be hoes what can i say <3), reader’s husband is a dick ofc, misogyny (from said husband), cheating, seduction, exhibitionism, mommy/daddy kink….. (i’m weak okay,,), teasing, mainly!! praise and pet names, one instance of false praise, [ the following happens inside a crowded room of ppl and possiblyy in front of reader’s husband: groping, fingering, kissing, dry humping, one neck bite, san cums untouched, ] ITS BIG BTW AND CURVED……, oral (giving/receiving), squirting, one singular pussy slap, san puts reader into a mating press on her husband’s side of the bed just for funsies, manhandling, size kink, breeding kink, creampies (sannie cums a lotttt)

a/n: as a pudding since day 1 i am in absolute shambles thanks for asking <3 and YES im very aware i posted yesterday but the fic demons cannot be silenced!!! and just fyi i’m sure san was very grateful and absolutely brimming with excitement to be at the show!! the way i wrote him here does not reflect his actual feelings towards anything,, its just a silly fic and i wrote what i wanted lol. also i wish i could tell you how many times “dolce and gabbana that’s on my titties~” played in my head while i typed this out 😭😭 (also i did not proofread this whatsoever so forgive me if there are errors) but anyways, i hope you enjoy :33

song recs: la romana by bad bunny, rover + peaches + nothing on me by kai, planet goddamn by mac miller

San knew eyes would be on him. Why wouldn’t they be? He was dressed to the nines, his hair slicked back to showcase his alluring, feline-like eyes, his sharp, angular features that could give someone a fatal cut if they looked for too long, and most importantly, he was all decked out in a sleek black custom-made top that perfectly adorned his broad shoulders and chest, one that even cinched securely around his impossibly tiny waist. Of course it did. It had been custom fit and made just for his body. Even the tailor had jokingly mentioned that Michelangelo himself must’ve sculpted him to perfection in the heavens before San was born, but San wasn’t laughing. He perfected his body through his own sheer willpower and determination alone, to be the best that he could be for his own self — and if people just so happened to drool over the results of his hard work, then that was simply a perk.

Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the many camera flashes, he continued to make his way down the walkway, offering many of the starstruck guests a courteous, though charming smile, wondering if their wandering gazes were due to his breathtaking ensemble or what was sitting just below it. The thought tickled him. It continued to amuse him throughout the afternoon, taking picture after picture with eager guests and wealthy tycoons alike, quite pleased with himself when neither man nor woman could seem to control themselves around him, their eyes always drifting downwards to look San up and down like he were next up in an auction, their mouths pressed to their champagne flutes in an effort to quell the thirst they felt, their free hands lingering just a little too long on the small of his back when they bid farewell to him.

San relished the fact that these poor starving individuals could never get a taste of him, no matter how incredibly rich or influential they were. None of them would get a bite of the forbidden fruit without permission from God.

It was then that the show started, various eye-catching models sashaying their way across the aisle to showcase the latest D&G collection, all displaying their own unique set of features and charm. All flawless and angelic in their own right, but they were almost predictable in that way — like mannequins made solely for the rich and beautiful to gawk at. San couldn’t help but look past them, only focusing on the expensive, tailor made clothes that were framing their perfect bodies. And after a while, he almost seemed to grow bored. Of what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the sheer gaudiness of it all, the lack of self awareness for things that really mattered in the modern world, and the almost nauseating amount of figurative autofellatio the beautiful people around him seemed to be fond of doing. San would’ve pondered it more when somebody near him gently patted his thigh, causing him to look down at the small manicured hand, the diamond ring around your finger glinting in the light like a warning sign.

“Are you bored like I am?” you whispered softly into his ear from beside him, giving him a quaint smile when he turned his head to face you.

San blushed, leaning slightly in your direction. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, don’t worry. None of these drones will be able to notice.” You motioned your head to the crowd around you, their phones in hand, all whispering to each other about how revolutionary the new collection was, despite it looking eerily similar to the fall one from the year before. “You could whip your cock out and no one would bat an eye.”

“Oh?” San studied your flirtatious smile, then looked down just to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Yep, the ring was still there — and it probably cost more than a year’s worth of rent. Delighted by your forwardness, San took it upon himself to tease you, reaching down to slowly unbutton his slim-fitted pants. “Well, if that’s the case…”

Your cheeks turning bright red, you reached downwards to shield his crotch from view, looking up at him with wide eyes, your faces now impossibly close. “I-i was fucking with you! Don’t actually take out your dick…”

San’s sharpened eyes flitted from your gaze to your cherry red lips, letting go of his zipper to gently take your hand in his, pressing it firmly down onto his thigh. “Yet…?” he challenged huskily, wondering if you were like all the others and would yank your hand back, scoff in disgust, and pretend as if it had never happened. It was then that San felt you squeeze your warm hand into the meat of his thigh, your fingers just barely pressing into the inseam of his pants.

“You can be a good boy and wait till the after party, can’t you?” you asked in a lower, sultrier tone, pressing your lips to his cheek to leave your mark on him, your hand moving further up his thigh, only pulling away when you felt something hard press into your palm. Smiling sweetly, you leaned in again, this time allowing your lips to brush over his. “Good things come to those who wait.”

And just like that, you turned forward to focus on the models all gathering onto the stage at once along with the designers, clapping along with the rest of the crowd when they all took a bow. You blew a kiss to one of the designers who caught it and pretended to put it in his pocket.

Still breathless from your short encounter, San nudged your thigh with his own, biting into his lip and tasting the sweetness of your lipstick. You nudged him back, glancing at him through the corner of yours eyes, licking at your own lips, like a predator would before pouncing on their prey.

San couldn’t believe he had finally met someone like you. There was a serpent in his garden — and he couldn’t wait for it to swallow him up.

The after party was predictable as always — strangers binge drinking and snorting powder off of your previously pristine marble tabletops, others telling embellished stories about their latest trip to their private islands, to various vague acquaintances doing god knows what in your many empty guest rooms. All of that chaos saught to entice you, and you could not, for the life of you, care about what your husband was currently cackling over with his close friends, instead focusing on the crackling wood sitting inside the fireplace you were all huddled near. When you inevitably ran out of champagne, you patted your husband’s leg so that he could remove his arm from your waist.

He looked down at you with indifference. “What is it?”

“I need more champagne, honey. I’m going to get some.”

Your husband’s face scrunched up. “Haven’t you had enough? If you drink any more, you’re going to lose your nice figure.” He looked to his friends for validation who all simply nodded along in agreement.

Your husband’s chauvinistic comments didn’t bother you anymore, just his persistent presence in your life. He was like a mosquito that was always trying to drain you, one that you could never seem to swat away. Well, nothing a little dick couldn’t fix. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall the tailor coming in this morning for an emergency visit to alter a certain suit,” you mentioned, this time pushing your husband’s arm away from you, surveying his now quiet friends with an unbothered look, before wandering off, not registering the insecurity driven ramblings that your husband was sending your way.

Once you made your way into the crowded loft, you searched your surroundings for what you were looking for, humming at the sight of the pretty boy from earlier sitting on the large plush couch in the corner, his cheeks flushed red, haphazardly holding onto a half-empty champagne flute, his attention on one of the models that had walked for your husband’s collection a few hours earlier. He was even more handsome now that you could study his captivating details, your eyes drifting over his bulky frame, from his large arms and shoulders, to his delicate waist, and down to his spread thighs, zeroing in on what was between them, knowing that the beautiful stranger was blessed in more ways than one based off what you had felt earlier.

Without hesitation, you slowly made your way across the room, your stiletto heels digging into the fur carpet below with each concentrated step, licking your red lips when the model placed one of her hands on San’s thighs and squeezed it, his suddenly submissive expression causing more knots to form within your core. You were going to make him yours.

San could barely hear the pretty model’s words over the loud music and the many overlapping voices inside the loft, not knowing what to say when she moved closer to him, clearly going in for the kill. It was then that someone stood over him, their heel nudging into his loafer. He looked up, his once hazy eyes opening wide at the sight of you standing above him with a bottle of champagne in one hand, your other hand already cradling his face. “M-miss…there you are…”

“Here I am,” you purred, running your fingers along his jaw, satisfied with the fact that your lipstick print was still visible on his tan skin.

Just about spilling the rest of his bubbly onto his lap, San gulped, slowly spreading his thighs open wider and patting one of them, giving you a silent invitation to take things further.

Humming, you lowered yourself into his lap, your plush thighs and ass pressing snuggly against his lower half. “Look at you,” you cooed softly into San’s ear, not caring to give the now fuming model any attention, lowering the cold champagne bottle in between your bodies, chuckling at the soft whimper he let out when it pressed into the exposed sections of his skin. “You’re such a good boy, saving a seat for Mommy like this. Aren’t you, baby?”

San’s throat went dry. He must’ve done something truly benevolent in a past life to deserve this. “Y-yes, I am, s-so good for you…”

“Then, be good and open your mouth,” you purred, lifting the almost empty bottle and pouring some into your mouth. San’s jaw slowly dropped, not knowing that he was already beginning to drool. You didn’t mind, clutching the sides of his heated face and pressing your parted lips onto his, transferring the sparkling alcohol to him, but not without running your tongue over his.

San brought his hands up near the sides of your ass, his fingers trembling, not knowing if he was allowed to touch you, whimpering into your mouth when you sucked the alcohol off of his tongue.

“You can touch, baby.” You reached for his wrists and brought his hands underneath the hem of your short dress, gasping when he squeezed the softness of your ass in between his ringed fingers and began to slowly guide your hips, your clothed cunt rubbing back and forth over his stiffening cock. “Mm, someone’s eager, hm? You’re a naughty one, making the main designer’s wife grind on your cock like this in front of everyone.”

“It’s…Mommy’s fault…” San murmured near your ear, rolling his own hips up into yours, making you feel every inch of his trapped throbbing cock each time he ground himself into you, biting into his lip at the sound of your breathless moans, swearing he saw your grimacing husband from over your shoulder.

“My fault, huh? Mommy should make up for it, shouldn’t she?” you sighed back onto his heated skin, pressing kiss after kiss onto his collarbones, dragging your tongue along the constellation of freckles he had on his neck, making him shudder underneath you.

“Uh-huh…” San moaned out, your hand suddenly squeezing into and sliding back and forth over his erection, your thumb repeatedly rubbing over the pronounced tip, knowing he was staining his expensive pants with sticky pre-cum. “F-fuck, I’ll cum if you keep doing that…”

“So sensitive, baby, you’re so cute…but you’re not the only one, you know? Look what you did to Mommy~” You gave his balls a gentle squeeze just to hear him whimper, before letting go, instead reaching for his hand again and leading it between your legs, moving your soaked panties to the side just in time for San to fill you up with two thick fingers.

“You’re so wet…” San groaned, unable to keep himself from adding another digit inside your slick hole, beginning to pump them in and out of you, allowing the both of you to listen to the obscene squelching sounds your cunt made each time he finger-fucked you. Something switched inside of San when you began to whine and whimper, and fuck yourself back on his fingers, your eyebrows screwed upwards, begging him for more with your teary, half-closed eyes. “So fucking wet just for me, huh? Hey, Miss, did you know your husband is standing just across the room? Think he’s hard knowing I just got his pretty little wife wetter than she’s been in her entire life?”

“B-baby, don’t tease me like that,” you whispered, not wanting the control you had over him to slip out of your grasp, grabbing onto his shoulders, accidentally causing pieces of his solid outfit to fall off and land onto the leather couch.

“It’s San, Miss, but you can call me Sannie if you wanna be a good girl for me,” he chuckled, shoving his fingers into you up to the knuckles, rolling your clit around underneath his heavy thumb. “And, I’m not teasing you, my love, he’s really watching us, and he looks like he wants to kill me.”

Just as you looked behind you to catch your husband’s displeased gaze, San began to ram his soaked digits into your spasming cunt, feeling his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck. “O-oh my god, Sannie, oh, fuckkkk…”

Just as your warm arousal began to pour out onto his fingers and lap, San bit down into the area where your neck and collarbone connected, letting out a few stunted groans, his hips jolting up into yours, coating the insides of his designer pants with white.

“Did you just…?” you began, before San stuffed his fingers into your mouth, growing quiet and sucking your arousal off of them. He pulled them out with a pop, but you didn’t even get the chance to continue your question because you were suddenly being lifted up into the air, strong hands clutching your thighs, your legs hooked around San’s waist.

Your defeated, emasculated husband was just a blur when San carried you through the crowded room and up the stairs, not stopping until he got to the largest room at the end of the expansive hallway.

“Which side does your husband sleep on?” San asked, once he stood at the foot of the kingsized bed.

“On the right. Why do you–O-oh,” you gasped as he quickly laid you out on the right side of the bed and lifted your dress up, forcefully spreading your thighs open so that he could bury his face in your cunt, repeatedly lapping at your slit and clit over your soaked panties until he couldn’t take it, reaching up to tear your panties off with ease. “Sannie, baby boy, what’s gotten into you?”

San looked up at you with dark, dilated eyes, reaching up to his broad body to rip off the rest of his outfit, his solid muscles flexing as he closed his fingers around your waist, yanking you lower so that your cunt was closer to his face, looking like he was about to eat you alive. “Daddy’s hungry,” he simply replied, diving back into your cunt to lick and slurp up your juices, tonguing your hole just to feel you clench around him, his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out like a starved man.

Sooner or later, you began to shudder and pant, tugging at the ends of San’s sweaty hair, your thighs pressing into the sides of his head until he forcefully held them down, quickly moving his head up and down as he dragged his tongue roughly over your throbbing clit, his focused eyes never leaving yours. “S-sannie, I’m really, fuck– I’m gonna cum…!”

“Cum for Daddy,” he demanded gruffly, stuffing three fingers into your cunt and pounding them into your g-spot, lifting your ass up with his other hand so that he could catch the stream of arousal that suddenly squirted out of you, some of it inevitably soaking into the satin sheets below you. San licked your juices from his lips, going down to give your puffy cunt one last lick to savor your taste, before standing up from the bed and unbuckling his pants.

“Y-you….Did you get possessed by a demon?” you asked half-jokingly, unable to keep your thighs from trembling, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist.

His cock now directly near your face, San smiled devilishly down at you, his dimples appearing. He lazily ran a closed hand along his curved, dripping length. “And if I did? You’d still let me fuck you, wouldn’t you? Because Mommy’s a good little slut, huh?”

“What do you think?” you mused, just before running your tongue along the underside of San’s heavy cock up to the salty tip, a pleased chuckle vibrating from your throat.

“Yeah, get it wet for me…” he mumbled absentmindedly, pushing his fingers through your hair to move it out of the way. San pressed his thighs tightly against the side of the bed, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, watching fondly as you sucked and licked the beads of pre-cum that leaked from the slit.

Just when San began getting worked up, you pulled yourself off of him and sat up to rid yourself of your useless, disheveled dress. Hearing a distinct groan of approval, you reached up for the handsome stranger, licking the saltiness from your lips. “Now, you come here and show Mommy just how much Daddy wants her.”

“Yeah? I’ll show you…” San wasted no time climbing back onto the bed and folding you up into a mating press, leaning back to send a few wads of spit onto your cunt, smacking his hand against the wetness for good measure, before he plunged himself deep inside you. “In fact, I’ll make sure you never forget, baby.”

You just about screamed, not ready for San’s unusual size and shape, the curve of his cock rubbing deliciously along your tightening walls each time he pounded himself into you. “S–ann–ie…! It’s so big, fuck– so good!”

“Aww, poor baby’s never had a big cock stretching out her pretty pussy before, huh?” San cooed into your ear, pulling all the way out, just to slam himself back in, hitting your g-spot dead on, making you cry out deliriously. “You’ll never be able to go back to your husband after this. You’re gonna be begging for me to take care of you from now on….” San pressed his lips against yours, sucking on your tongue as you moaned out for him. “Want you to cum for me again, baby…Squirt on my cock, okay?”

“S-Sannie, it’s too much,” you whined out, dragging your nails down his broad back, your toes curling just as San punched your next orgasm out of you when his curved cock once again came in contact with your g-spot.

As you began to cry from the overwhelming pleasure, San licked your tears away, gently pressing his lips into your cheek and jaw, shushing you. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s here for you.” He clutched you close, holding still inside you, as his cock began to twitch. “Here it comes, princess, just for you.” A hot, creamy stream of cum began to shoot out into you, completely drenching your insides with his load.

You could hardly speak at this point in time, solely concentrated on the pleasure that still had a hold on your sore body and the warmth that was filling you up to the brim, suddenly realizing that your husband really wasn’t going to be happy with you. “Y-you shouldn’t have…nnnngh….”

San continued to roll his hips into you, his eyelids fluttering, groans spilling from his throat, your cunt still milking his pulsing cock for all it had, which was a lot, to say the least. Once there was nothing left to give you, San leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your lips, not caring that you had left your lipstick all over him. “Can I ask you something, baby?”

“Y-yes, San?”

San smiled, his glossy brown eyes glistening in the light. “When you have my baby, will you have the heart to tell your poor husband that it’s actually mine?”

Panting heavily and trying to process what the handsome stranger just said, you finally came to the realization that you let someone who didn’t even know your name possibly impregnate you. Well, at least you had something to talk about over breakfast with your husband, rather than hear him go on and on about his latest collection.

“I’m not sure about that one…”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“Hm?”

“Should I name our baby Dolce or Gabbana?”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

#cultofdionysusnet #cromernet #ateez #ateez smut #ateez san #choi san #san smut #san x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #kpop smut

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dollishmehrayan · 7 months ago

Text

BATBOYS GIVING AND RECEIVING LOVE LANGUAGES ── .✦

A/n: this is a request by anon (here) and also I’ve need to get to my requests omg, and lowkey btw I’m thinking of expanding from only batboys to yk different hcs and fics too??

(Tags: batboys x reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

GIVING:

Physical Touch: Constant hugs, hand-holding, casual touches on your back or waist—he thrives on affection.

Words of Affirmation: He’s always telling you how amazing you are, how much he loves you, and how proud he is.

Quality Time: He’ll clear his schedule just to spend uninterrupted time with you, even if it’s doing nothing.

Acts of Service: He loves doing little things for you, like bringing you coffee, fixing things, or running errands.

RECEIVING:

Physical Touch: He feels loved when you run your fingers through his hair or cuddle up close.

Words of Affirmation: Tell him how much he means to you—he lives for those sweet, genuine compliments.

Quality Time: Just being with you, no matter what you’re doing, makes him feel deeply connected.

Acts of Service: Small gestures like cooking him dinner or helping him with a task show him love.

JASON TODD ── .✦

GIVING:

Acts of Service: He’ll fix your car, build you something, or do anything practical to make your life easier.

Gift Giving: He has a knack for giving thoughtful, meaningful gifts that show he’s paying attention.

Quality Time: He values quiet, private moments where it’s just the two of you away from the chaos.

Physical Touch: Though subtle, he loves a hand on your back or curling up on the couch together.

RECEIVING:

Acts of Service: He feels loved when you do something thoughtful like patching him up after patrol.

Quality Time: He just wants to be around you—no distractions, just your undivided attention.

Words of Affirmation: Though he may act like he doesn’t need it, hearing how much you care melts him.

Physical Touch: He appreciates soft touches, like brushing his hair back or holding his hand, even if he pretends not to.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

GIVING:

Words of Affirmation: He constantly tells you how much he appreciates and admires you.

Gift Giving: Expect random little gifts like your favorite snack or a rare book you mentioned once.

Acts of Service: He’s always offering to help, whether it’s research, fixing something, or running errands.

Quality Time: Even if he’s busy, he’ll make time for movie marathons or coffee dates.

RECEIVING:

Quality Time: He feels loved when you sit with him, even if you’re both doing different things.

Words of Affirmation: Hearing you tell him you’re proud or that you love him means the world.

Acts of Service: Bringing him food when he’s overworked or helping with tasks touches his heart.

Physical Touch: Soft touches like shoulder rubs or holding hands make him feel at ease.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

GIVING:

Acts of Service: He’ll quietly take care of things for you, like handling a task before you even ask.

Gift Giving: He gives thoughtful, often handmade or rare gifts that show deep thought.

Quality Time: He prefers quiet, meaningful moments like walks or reading together.

Words of Affirmation: Though rare, he gives sincere compliments that carry a lot of weight.

RECEIVING:

Quality Time: He values time spent together without distractions, where he can relax around you.

Acts of Service: He appreciates small gestures, like helping with his animals or preparing tea.

Words of Affirmation: He won’t admit it, but he cherishes your compliments and encouragement.

Physical Touch: Though reserved, he secretly loves when you initiate soft touches like hugs or brushing your fingers against his.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

GIVING:

Acts of Service: He shows love by taking care of you in practical ways, like ensuring your safety or fixing problems.

Gift Giving: His gifts are luxurious and thoughtful, reflecting his attentiveness to what you love.

Quality Time: He prioritizes spending time with you, even if it’s rare, ensuring it’s meaningful when it happens.

Words of Affirmation: Though sparing with words, when he says “I love you,” it’s deeply heartfelt.

RECEIVING:

Quality Time: He feels most connected when you spend quiet, uninterrupted time together.

Acts of Service: He deeply appreciates thoughtful gestures, like making sure he takes a break.

Words of Affirmation: He treasures sincere compliments, especially when they reassure him he’s doing well.

Physical Touch: Soft, subtle touches—like resting your head on his shoulder—bring him quiet comfort.

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yourstrulynobody · 1 month ago

Text

Trying to write "Eclipse's Eclipse Twins", but Im hyperfixating on this instead so have a continuation I guess??

"Monty and Roxanne FIND OUT!" (fake EAPS ep and thumbnail)

(storyline under cut)

(btw: Im horrible at interpreting personalities, so I do apologize if theyre out of character! Please do correct me by all means ty :D!!!)

(Montessa is EAPS Monty :) )

Two pairs of footsteps make their way to theatre, one thudding so loudly it muted the other who squeaked against the tiles. Along it were two female voices belonging to Roxanne and Montessa, accompanying the repetitive noise with a disagreement on their current situation.

Roxanne moves her hands in an exaggerated manner, trying to emphasize her words physically. "..all Im saying is that one of those three couldve taken him, especially Afton." She speaks in a tone that dismisses Montessa's theory, making the other pout as she continues. "Theres just no way he ran. Not in a time like this."

A soft sound mimicking an exhale escapes pass Montessa's lips before they purse. "He couldnt...—they couldnt have just taken him like that. Not one of them can make it pass any of the entrances without setting off an alarm we all wouldve heard.

"It just doesn't make sense..." She continues, her fingers curling around her snout as her thoughts rage on. "He went somewhere. I know so. Hes been... hes been stressed lately and I think we've done nothing but intensify that."

"What? Trying to get him a social life?" Roxanne's step causes the shutters of the theatre to rise, allowing their entrance. "We all agreed he needed one."

"Yes, but—" Montessa sucks her teeth, sighing as she realized the argument was futile. "Lets just ask Solar Flare. I mean, hes always around the guy, so he must know something, right?"

Golden eyes lock onto the back room behind the counter, and Roxanne's ears lower while her anxiety raises. "He has been quiet... too quiet. So I guess I wouldnt be surprised if he knew something..." She trails off, her ears perking up in sudden interest.

Narrowing her eyes, Roxanne spots a bright neon glow reflecting off the metal beams of the shelves from the back room. Her enhanced audio pickup sending her feedbacks of a hushed conversation, though unable to know what was said, the voices were recognized as Solar Flare's alongside Andy's, Jake's and Andrew's.

Roxanne allows her body to act intinstively; rushing to jump over the counter and slide into the back room just as Andy and Jake jump into a blue light—a portal. Retracting her claws that slowed her momentum, she stands up straight, staring in disbelief.

"Whats happening?" Roxanne demands though her voice dropped to nothing but a whisper.

Solar Flare's eyes narrow, covering Andrew with his body while his arm extends to shield the child further. "Classified." He speaks in a low voice, nearly growling. To Andrew, however, his tone softened. "Andrew, get in. Do not let them wait."

Andrew takes one last look at the room before slipping into the portal as well, only allowing Montessa to get a glimpse of the bright source before it disappears in a flash, making her optics reset for a brief moment.

"Fuck! What the—" Montessa's fist knocks against her temple, forcing her vision to repair itself quick. Still, she did not need to see it all to know what it was. "That was a portal. What was..."

"The kids—Eclipse's kids jumped into that thing," Roxanne would summarize, shaking her surprise off as he regains her confidence. "And Solar Flare allowed it to happen."

Solar Flare raises his head high as if his height wasnt enough. "I was simply told to." He defends himself, but Roxanne wasnt gonna allow him to continue doing so.

Tight fists grab Solar Flare by his collar as the fabric tears because of the extracted claws, dragging him down to the wolf animatronic's height. She would snarl as her teeth bares, showing a daring bite she was willing to pull if any defiant moves were made—too violent. Montessa quickly seperates them upon realization, going between the two to avoid more physical confrontation.

Montessa looks back at Solar Flare, unable to form her thoughts orderly at the revelation. "How... why—who ordered you to do that?"

"Requested." Solar Flare corrects, dusting the hem of his shirt off. "But that is none of your concern as it is classified."

"Solar Flare!" Roxanne tries to push forward, but Montessa holds her back. She claws with now numb fingers on Montessa's arms, though still possibly denting the metal skin lightly under the pressure. "Who told you to do that?! And why would you listen?!"

Solar Flare stands his ground, unphased by the reaction as he merely repeats his words. "It is classified—"

"I DONT CARE IF ITS CLASSIFIED!" Roxanne snaps, her claws threatening to go out. Her eyes flicker to a bright purple before it disappears, and she growls as though in raging hunger. "You took them somewhere that could be dangerous without Eclipse's permission at all—! The guy is missing and you take his kids away like that! What is wrong with you?!"

Profanities and scolding escape Roxanne's mouth, but Montessa blocks it all out once she and Solar Flare lock eyes, a look of knowing coming from Solar Flare suggesting...

..that Montessa was right.

She nearly lets go of Roxanne due to it, but she returns her hold in a tighter grip as Solar Flare dismisses himself, leaving the duo alone with their thoughts.

"Montessa!" Roxanne pushes herself away, stumbling backwards but she caught her footing. She hisses when the purple in her eyes return, but she shakes her head and its golden color returns. "Why bother holding me back—?!"

"He left us." Montessa mutters in a tone just as questioning as Roxanne's.

Roxanne sighs in frustration, the purple hue rising in her eyes once more. "Yeah, because you didnt let me go! You held me—"

"Eclipse left us." Montessa breaths out, her eyes shaking as they met Roxanne's. "Eclipse left."

Roxanne's eyes widen as they return to their original color, her ears lowering just as much as her tail had.

She wants to argue—to tell Montessa she was wrong and that Eclipse hadnt because it wasnt the time to leave, not when all of this was still happening, but Montessa's voice full of disbelief told Roxanne enough: even Montessa didnt wanna believe what she knew.

They stood in silence. A silence loud enough to deafen the air conditioner running, to make even white noises muted, to silence the voice whispering for them to destroy everyone in their way. Now, they were left with an unwanted responsibility:

How would they tell the others?

How do they tell the others to stop looking for a man who tore down his own missing posters?

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bodysnatch3r · 5 months ago

Text

what this post has given me the change to talk about, and i think what people struggle with (myself included! this is a good thing, if even months or years later i enjoy grappling with the moral and ethical questions a narrative poses!) is that the veil is the source of, and cause of, untold harm in the modern day: possession as inherently traumatic, the dehumanisaton of spirits, southern mage incarceration (and all of its associated horrors), the fall of the elvhen empire and the rise of tevinter, the fall of the dales, etc. etc. all of it, and so much more, can be brought back to the veil.

this got, very long. so the rest is under a read more.

so, in a way, what solas seems to bring to the table is a "get out of jail free" card, a mechanism that would remove something (perceived as) incredibly harmful and destructive, the root cause of untold modern horrors, in a way that also rains down retribution on those who enacted the wrongs in the first place.

many in the fandom think who wouldn't want to watch the once-more-immortal elves destroy the tevinter empire? or the southern chantry eat its own (ugly, ugly) hat when everyone becomes attuned to magic to an extent? the fall of the veil will be catastrophic–but wouldn't it be worth it, if it means things will change? aren't all revolutions painful, but worth it, in the end? wouldn't the flowers grow again? the state/police/status quo/capitalism/chantry/magisterium/etc. has decided for so long what violence even looks like. shouldn't elves and mages get to decide what that looks like, now? (i am still early game, and am curious to see how the dwarves feature within this)

and this question is one that has animated anarchism and leftism for ever and ever and ever. it's even a meme amongst many anarchists:

Q: who does the dishes after the revolution? [ie, who will make sure people are taken care of; have their needs met; have access to the basic necessities necessary to live life with dignity and respect, now that the normative system of the capitalist state is gone?] A: we do our own dishes now. we'll do our own dishes then. [ie, we will. we have always taken care of our own, and we will always take care of our own (this is often debated when it comes to disability justice etc)

now. the thing i appreciate with bioware is that they are not, flat-out, saying that a world without the veil would be an unmitigated disaster, barring the initial chaos of the veil collapsing ("as the world burned in the raw chaos," as solas himself said in trespasser: he was always aware that "this" world had to die to achieve it). in fact, they show time and time again how there is a future where the fade and the waking world can coexist, as they are now with the veil: with the avvar's theories of possession; with cole; with lucanis and spite; with the rivaini seers; with the genocide of the dairsmuid annulment. that world is possible. and in a just world, it would be, without question or chaos or thousands of deaths across thedas.

but the statement veilguard is making–is that there is no just way of approaching this. i'm currently drafting a longer, referenced post on dragon age, the veil and concepts such as restorative vs retributive vs punitive justice, acceleratonism and the fall of the veil, what nostalgia means in both leftist and far right environments, because (as i've said in my post on grief in veilguard) i think that is the question the game is trying to answer. is bloody, destructive revolution worth it, when there are ways to do good and make good right now that, though will not result in any deep societal change, can still alleviate pain in the face of the great horror? and i don't think veilguard is giving as clear-cut an answer as people think, either in favour of the veil coming down or against it, especially when taken in concert with the previous games.

and this is what, to me, makes veilguard feel so human. there is no easy answer. we wouldn't all be arguing about it if there was. anders' gambit ultimately worked: regardless of what divine choice you go with, mages in the south enjoy increased freedom and privileges, though it takes a very different shape depending on who sits on the sunburst throne. but anders' gambit also destroyed an entire city and condemned him (and, potentially, his lover) to infamy and a life on the run, as well as the anger of many of his loved ones. the decision was made and it was a terrible choice but it still did good in the long run, even if at a terrible cost, and the narrative seems to confirm that.

i know many people feel that veilguard is saying, flat out, that the veil coming down is bad because the heroes are opposed to it coming down, and that this was a retcon from earlier installments that were hinting and foreshadowing at the veil coming down at the end–mythal's reckoning, sandal's prophecy, the veil thinning with each blight–but i don't know if that is what is happening, overall. a full deconstruction of this will be for the longer post(s) (particularly in relation to overwhelming trends in western media where the villains are so often the revolutionaries).

what i'm trying to say is that i think veilguard is actually tying to grapple with the many complicated feelings that we can have, as left-aligned people, with the concepts of revolution and struggle vis-a-vis the reality of what revolution would entail. i still don't know if i'm satisfied with the answer it gives, or the answer i can come to. what i do know is that it is making me think of these questions to begin with, and that makes it worthwhile in and of itself. i do still think sometimes it misses the tree for the forest–understanding that the best way to tell stories about systems is through characters, but then at times fails to take the systems back into account–but it is still saying meaningful things, worthy of analysis even when they fail. it is not always black and white.

Holy shit I found a wild one

Do people need an NPC to look into the camera and explain in detail how the demons will kill most of Thedas population. Do you play Silent Hill 3 and side completely with Claudia because the game doesn't explicitly tell you why the cult achieving its goals would be horrific. Do you watch Lord of The Rings and find the writing bad because Tolkien didn't have a 45 minute monologue as to why Sauron is evil. What is happening. Am I going insane. How is this legit game criticism to some. Fuck.

#crow.txt #f: you are required to do nothing; least of all believe #i don't know what the answer is! i don't know if i think the answer veilguard gives is a good one! but it's one i've struggled with myself.#and that at least for me is a satisfying answer in and of itself.#sorry for approaching dragon age as a worthy text open to moral and philosophical reflection. it will happen again btw #i used to think it didn't have much to say. but if nothing else it has echoed many of my own personal moral and ethical dilemmas #im sorry op for the paragraphs. i am not disagreeing with you just processing thoughts this game has made me have.#veilguard positive #<- using this tag as i treat veilguard here as a narrative that is saying something worthwhile and worth analysing and reflecting on.

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bisexual-horror-fan · 2 months ago

Note

saw ur multi may request post and just HAD to request this. Poly Billy x Stu with a breeding kink? Preferably fem or gn reader. I've been itching to read some new Poly Ghostface fics

Ay! Great, great, request! I don’t write breeding kink often, but it is a really fun one to do, and I took this one a bit of a darker route, hope everyone loves this one, second entry into Multi-May, and it was a really fun one to do. I am still accepting requests for Multi-May btw, so anyone who wants to get theirs in, please do! Your fic might be the next one I write!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.3K. Poly!Ghostface, Billy Loomis X Stu Macher X FEM!Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: DARK FIC. Dub-Con. Tampering With Birth Control. Breeding Kink. Creampie. Rough Sex. Threesome. Vaginal Sex. Vaginal Fingering. Sloppy Seconds. Messy Sex. Cum Play. Dirty Talk. Banter. Begging. Multiple Orgasms. Overstimulation.

—

Over And Over.

—

You love them coming inside.

The biological drive behind it all cannot be understated, thousands of years of hard-wired feelings to want, to crave, to need a thick cock cumming inside your wet and willing cunt. Sure, a facial or a shot in the mouth still has some appeal, but nothing compares to getting it right where nature tells you it should go.

They have a deep desire that matches yours to receive perfectly, they want to give, they want to provide and fill you up over and over, with the idea that it will, hopefully, eventually take root and then the evidence will be undeniable by you becoming pregnant. At least that is what the dirty talk and idea behind the kink implies, actually getting you knocked up isn’t the ultimate goal, the real reason is simply a shared love of it and finding it hot as fuck, using it as a vehicle to wring as much pleasure as possible from the act.

At least that is what you thought.

They have a different view of it, what you said was in part true, sure it felt good and made the sex better, but the pair had decided a long time ago that they wanted you forever, didn’t want you going anywhere. What better way to tie themselves to you permanently than to get you pregnant? They are positive, if it takes, that you’ll keep it and by extension, them. So they do some work on their end to ensure it, you don’t exactly hide your birth control, tampering with it is laughably easy, then the fun part, fucking you over and over while what is in your system runs its course until the inevitable happens, they aren’t in a rush.

Naturally some further precautions are taken, and you go along with your hips being propped up to help the large amounts of cum pool against your cervix, with them fingering the mess back into your loosened hole. The times you can’t rest are when the plug comes out, a thick and wide thing to keep the cum in and prevent it from spilling into your underwear, it can’t keep it all locked in but holds the majority, when the toy comes out the rush of slickness that follows is immense.

Again for you, the thought of questioning any of this never occurs because you are confident you are safe, you think it is just to elevate the kink and scenes, all the while you are blissfully ignorant to them fucking with your pills, unaware that with their intervention it is taking your normal 99% protection with perfect use down several notches every single day.

Most people don’t know what days will change their lives forever, going through it normally, only upon reflection can they point and say, “There, that’s when it happened.” This is one of those days you will think back on and see the whole picture.

Tonight is for the three of you, this week has been busy, trying to get your schedules to line up has been tricky, but it’s your collective Friday, a few days off, so this is extremely needed.

You are pinned down on the couch by Stu is sitting over your head, his hands on your shoulders, your own hands circling his wrists, grip tight, nails biting into skin, as he watches with rapt interest.

Billy has his hands tucked right behind your knees, forcing them to your chest, folding you effectively in half while he fucks into you deeply, his hips slamming into the backs of your thighs, before pulling out nearly completely before diving in again. You cannot help the sounds that slip out, pathetic moans and gasps are torn from your mouth with every loud smack ringing out with your body and his meeting.

You can tell that Billy is getting close, the sweat on his brow as his grip under your knees tightens, the rhythm he had set earlier getting uneven, the pace getting faster while curses stain his tongue. Stu notices, he is talking him through it, “Fuck, come on, do it man, pour it in her, nice and deep.”

“God yes, gonna-” He doesn’t get the full words out before his sentence breaks off with a groan, and he does just that, his hips flush with your body, buried completely inside as he unloads. You feel the pulses, accompanied by that delicious warmth spreading, your breathing as laboured as you lay there, waiting for Billy to collect himself enough to pull out and for Stu’s inevitable turn. Billy leans down, more of his weight pressed to you, a soft kiss to your lips that you return momentarily before he pulls back, his hands release you and your knees go slack, no longer held tight to your chest. You watch as he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and Stu asks, “Good one?”

He hums in the affirmative, and holds his hand out, a gesture as he points, “Pillow.”

Stu lifts his hands from your shoulders, and you stop gripping his wrists, he turns and picks up the pillow and passes it over. You are adjusted, and you know what they want, your arm hooks under your own knees, the pillow is slid underneath so it keeps your hips in their current upward position, as opposed to Billy doing it, allowing him to move freely. He gets up and asks casually, “Water?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Stu comes over to sit in the space where Billy had just left, you call, “Yes please.”

Stu licks his fingers before his hand falls between your thighs, he says simply, “Keep holding those legs up.”

You nod once and inhale sharply when his fingers get to work, slipping over your clit, your head falls back against the couch cushion. If one cums in you, the other usually gets you off before fucking you to add to the mess, the idea is that it increases the chances of getting pregnant, you don’t know how true that is, but you aren’t going to complain about enthusiasm for your enjoyment.

You are already very warmed up, so Stu’s touch isn’t gentle nor rough, just firm, consistent pressure, exactly where you need it, tight circles drawn that draws a nearly dreamy moan from you. Billy comes back promptly, water bottle in hand, he holds it out and Stu takes it, he drinks deeply, his hand between your legs not stopping.

Billy’s eyes are on your form, how you twitch and tense, sigh in pleasure, he poses a question, “How’s she doing?”

Pulling the bottle away and handing it back, Stu responds, “Good, she’s kept all the mess inside, so far anyway.”

You cut in as you breathlessly say, “You could always ask me yourself, I’m right here.”

“I could, true.” He kneels on the floor next to you, his gaze locked on your face as he asks, “So how are you doing?”

You open your mouth to respond and Stu, in that way only he can, presses down harder and speeds his fingers up, causing the words to die on your tongue, replaced with a choked moan instead. Billy smirks and raises his eyebrows, responding as if you actually spoke a coherent sentence, “Really? You don’t say.”

Stu is snickering, and you try to bite out, but with how out of breath you sound, on top of it being cracked around the edges with your moans, it falls flat, “Fuh-fuck yo-you.”

“Hurry up and cum so I can.” Stu teases, and you can feel it building already, you’d gotten halfway there when Billy was fucking you, getting back to the edge is not a challenge. “Gimmie ahh, minute-” You moan and Billy reminds, “Tall ask. You know how impatient Stu can be.”

You are in fact well acquainted with how impatient Stu can be, you doubt you could ever forget it, even still, you don’t leave him waiting long. It is one of those orgasms that creeps up on you, the build starts slow and seemingly gets faster, like a train picking up speed, until the moment turn from, “I think I’m getting close.” to, “I’m on the edge!” and finally, thrown suddenly clear off and into, “I’m cumming-”

He works you through the bliss until it bleeds into painful overstimulation, leading to you batting at his hand, begging, “St-stop it.”

“Alright, alright.” He lifts his hands away, and you exhale at the relief you feel. You are offered the water, you lift yourself only slightly and drink your fill, soon as you have swallowed the last mouthful Stu is getting ready to fuck you. There is no position change, the name of the game is keeping all the cum inside, and thus far you haven’t spilled a drop, if never stays that way.

It isn’t like Stu always has to go second, but he seems to prefer it, the extra messy nature of sloppy seconds appeals to him, seems to make him fuck you harder. He has his hands pressed to the backs of your thighs, his thumbs spread your slick lips open and he presses the hot and flushed tip of his dick to your hole.

“Been dreamin’ of this-” He presses his hips and begins to slide inside, a weak groan breaks off when his head is enveloped by you, “-haven’t cum all week, been saving it for you.”

God, you know that isn’t a small feat, even during a busy week Stu always finds time to take care of himself, holding back so he can really fill you, it serves the exact purpose he wants, it makes a fresh wash of arousal soak your brain. He doesn’t stop his forward momentum until he is totally inside, once he is, a shared moan spills forth.

He lingers for a moment, Billy still on his knees has his eyes on the point you are both locked together, he doesn’t look away when Stu starts to move. He fucks in and out at an easy pace, halfway out and then back in, grinding down on that perfect spot on every thrust in, making your cunt ripple in response. Billy can’t stay out of it, the same way Stu never can, he leans down and kisses you, a filthy moan into his mouth from how it immediately lights up your nervous system. Getting kissed while getting fucked is one of the best feelings possible, you cannot get enough of it.

It is never stays easy, it turns rough quickly, and you take it gratefully, the kiss breaks, head falling back to the couch again as the pace is increased. You are thankful the walls of your place are thick because you are not quiet, moaning, crying out, panting and the sound of skin on skin, and soon, Billy talking.

Speaking up, he says to Stu, “I think this’ll be the one man.”

A deep groan in response, “You think?”

“Oh yeah, no doubt, it has to be. She’s going to get pregnant this time for sure.” Fingers push some of your sweaty hair back off your forehead, and he prompts you, “You want it, right?”

With a shaky nod, your tongue flicks over your dry lips, uttering over the sound of sex, “Yeah, yeah, I do-”

“Say it then.” He urges, and you do, with a small shiver you indulge in your shared kink, playing into it, “I want it, I want it so much.”

“Not to me, to him, beg him for it.” Billy directs, and you look up at Stu, you can see how much he is becoming effected too, keep in mind he hasn’t cum in over a week, he won’t be lasting much longer, “Fu-fuck, Stu, please, cum in me. I-I want it bad, M’ dyin’ without it.”

It is more than working for both of you, feeling that familiar curling pleasure deep, the throbbing of your straining clit, the tenseness of your body over all as he slams in harder, “C’mon please, please, get me pregnant-”

It is as if those last three words moaned longingly yanks Stu to the edge, sudden and unexpected as he breathes out, “Shit-” His hips stutter to a harsh stop as he starts to cum and that is when you start to really overflow, with how rough he is, how wet you are and the both of their more than ample loads it is bound to happen. As soon as he is collected enough he pulls out and still panting he starts to finger the mess back into you, Billy reaches out to help, he can tell how close you were and how Stu came before you could again, his fingers rub your clit to help get you there.

You always cum so quickly at this point, two thick fingers pushing the slippery cum back inside and pressing against that sweet spot every single time they enter you and the perfect friction and stimulation on the outside does you in rapidly. Body shuddering and sweat slick as you are gripped by the peak of your orgasm, it is drawn out until you are thoroughly spent and exhausted. Soon the hands lift one last time, leaving your swollen and stuffed cunt alone, and you are glad for the hard-earned break. Your arm released from behind your knees, you are so comfortable you could fall asleep right here, and you just might. You can hear the boys talking about what a good time that was and about you getting knocked up and you, all happy and sleepy are, of course, agreeing with a light laugh, “Yeah, I sure hope it happens this time.”

Again, it’s fun! This is all in the name of insane orgasms and engaging in kink, you play along happily.

Until the test comes back positive a few weeks later, and you are able to trace it back to this night.

#Multi-May #Multi-May 2025 #Poly!Ghostface x reader #Billy Loomis x reader #Stu Macher x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #YEAHHH #ENJOY IT #slasher x you #slasher x reader

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