#engine code reader

[fbfh]

hello! I was wondering if you could write a Leo Valdez X Asexual Reader? I know you write him horny (which is fine-) so I just wanted to see how he would act with an ace reader :)

-Apollo

absotootly babes!!! listen Leo and his ace s/o is so we'll never have sex by leith ross coded. Leo is so head over heels stupid for you that he genuinely couldn't care less about sex stuff, he's just so glad you exist. He's so glad he gets to exist in proximity to you, that he gets the blessing of being around you, hearing you laugh and watching how pretty you look in the light as it changes throughout the day. He loves listening to you talk, loves holding your hand and dancing with you and getting you to laugh that sweet giggle he loves hearing. He loves spending time with you and making you little mechanical trinkets, giving them to you like a bird bringing its mate pretty twigs and colorful bits of yarn. he loves cooking for you, making you your favorite pasta and grilled cheese and soups, he loves making you little snacks and cutting up your fruit for you. He knows you can do it yourself, he just likes when you let him do it for you. he loves opening your drinks and helping you reach stuff that's up too high, he loves fixing any problems you have with your car or your phone or your plumbing or any other problmes you might have. he loves watching netflix stand up comedy specials with you and laughing at them (but not in the way the comedian intended. usually you're both laughing cause it's really bad.) he loves holding you in his arms and playing with your hair and jewlery, tracing shapes along your back. he loves tapping you little morse code messages even if you can't decipher them. he loves eating takeout in bed and showing you all his favorite telanovelas, he loves watching you get ready in the morning, he loves squeezing you in tight exhuberant hugs and kissing your cheeks and nose. he just loves you with his whole heart, so fundamentally. when you first told him you're ace, that you probably definitley won't want to have sex ever, you were nervous. he could tell you were nervous. when you finished explaining he was super supportive. but he was still worried about you. he didn't realize that's what you were nervous about. he literally said "okay, hey. no pressure about anything, ever. I don't wanna derail cause I know this is important but what's got you so worked up estrella? are you okay? do I need to light someone one fire?"

it's barely a joke. he's so accepting and loving and willing to commit arson for you. he adores you so deeply and altruisticallyand you trust him implicitly. he is never ever going to do anything to make that trust a little bit shaky, much less break it.

[academicfever]

20/100 days of productivity!

Good morning beautiful people! How r u all... I moved yesterday... and have not adjusted to the new place yet... so I woke up with back ache and slept like shit... which is not ideal... But I will eventually get used to this... I have a meeting with my SV today... however I am not stressed at all... cuz I have given up I suppose... sometimes u can work hard for some time without no apparent result...

[prettyboypistol]

Okay so how about getting ruined by engineer, bc he got frustrated that others were messing with his work.

So to help take his anger out, you let him go as rough as he wants. And can use whatever toys he wants on you.

Blowing Off Steam || Engineer x M!Reader +18

[Rough Sex][Spanking][Dirty talk][Ambiguous Genitals for Reader][Oral][Engie calling you a "good boy"]

minors dni

A loud bang on a desk made you and your coworkers jump and look directly towards the thundering sound. Dell pointed to the door and demanded in a voice none of you had ever heard come out of him before. It was cold and laced with an edge of danger as he demanded only two words.

"Get. Out."

You had been glued to your place in the room as the other men slinked out(or, if you were Scout, sprinted). Dell glared at you, but you could only put your hands up in a surrendering gesture. You and Dell had been messing around with each other for a couple of months now, but the post-sex pillow talk had really brought you two together.

Dell stormed past you and slammed the door and loudly locked it, only to drag himself back to his workbench as he dropped his head onto the metal table. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. was the only noise that echoed through the garage as he hit his hardhat against the steel. You couldn't help yourself. You stepped forward.

"Dell," You murmured gently, "hey man, wanna talk about it?"

Your Engineer groaned in response. "He's been, pardon my fucking language- fucking around with my machines again!"

"Scout?" You guessed.

"No, Demoman! That bastard's been tinkering with my turrets for a week now!"

Oh, that was a surprise. Tavish wasn't too bad of a person from what you had seen, but you couldn't condone drunken tampering with your man's machines.

"And like, yes the man's brilliant. Fuckin' amazing at bombs and explosives. I've looked over them- uh, them sticky bombs! Brilliant! But that don't give him the right to sneak into my workshop and fuck with my babies!"

"Oh I absolutely agree. There's a difference between explosive intelligence and mechanical intelligence. Two very different fields." You didn't know really what you were talking about, even then, it just felt right to say that. You were speaking off the cuff, and apparently it worked.

"Y'see, I don't think he'd like if I snuck into his testfield and "upgraded" his toys." Dell grumbled, his gloved hand drummed rhythmically onto the table. You tapped on the table to tell Engie that you had arrived at his side, then rubbed his shoulders. He sighed as you tried to work the knots out of him.

Dell let you explore his back through your massage, his temper dulling with every push and knead. Suddenly, you were flipped onto the table with Dell kissing your neck with an open mouth. While you weren't too upset with the change, it was quite surprising.

He tugged your shirt up as his hand slid around your chest, his large hands groped your chest as he sighed into the crook of your neck.

"Y'know babyboy, I think there's a great way to help me blow off steam, if you're willin', of course." Dell murmured before he kissed your ear softly.

You couldn't help but smile.

"Well go on Professor Genius, blow off some steam."

He shrugged his overalls' straps off of his shoulders as he kneeled down, your pants quickly unbuttoned as Dell completely overwhelmed your senses as he went right for the spot he had found that made you hold back a scream that he had found last week. Your hand slapped over your own mouth as he swallowed and laved his tongue in the exact ways that ruined you. God, he was evil.

You had given him fair warning, really! You knocked his hat off, you grasped at his shoulders, hell, you even near-sobbed that you were close! Still, he carried on and took all you had until you couldn't help but kick him away from the oversensitivity. Dell seemed to take that personally, if him grabbing you and placing him over his lap was anything to go by. "Say 'Bee' if I'm too hard." Dell explained. Before you could comprehend what he meant, a harsh smack to your ass made you squeak. Again and again, Dell spanked you until tears welled in your eyes. With every wind up and subsequent slap, Dell grumbled about the situation, accenting every grievance with a spank. After he was apparently done, he manhandled you oh so easily into sitting in his lap. He shushed you and gently kissed your neck and cheeks as his gloved hand reached onto his workbench to grab a little container of lube. He unscrewed the cap and dipped those large and boxy fingers of his deep into the liquid, only to press the slicked fingers against your entrance. "Good boy, c'mon, let me in." Dell crooned. "Let me get inside you darlin'." It felt like seconds, but soon enough Dell lined himself up and pushed you down onto him. God, he was too fucking thick for his own good. His hands on your pelvis tightened as he lifted you up and down in tandem with his hips pumping into you. You felt used. You felt as if he wasn't the Dell you loved, but a man full of horny anger that needed a release. Somehow, that was really fucking hot. "God dammit, I'm so fucking pissed off, love. So. God. Damn. PISSED." Dell ranted as he railed you. Every word was accentuated with a deep push inside you. "Ohhh why can't people leave my shit alone, hm? These nasty fuckin'-" The ranting felt like the horniest dirty talk that could ever be uttered as you sobbed in pleasure. You couldn't do anything but beg and whine as Dell rearranged your guts. There wasn't a real way to tell when Dell was close, but he suddenly switched positions to place you bent over the desk. "Good boy, fuckin' take it. Lemme get you all ruined, okay?" Dell growled as he made your screams bounce and echo off of the walls. You could only let out an excited moan and nod as he sped up. A loud groan and stilling was the only signifier before you were pressed down with rough hands and a chest against your back, keeping you in place as Dell came inside you. A few little pumps to drain himself fully made you sigh and giggle in delirium. "F-feelin' better?" You mumbled. "Yeah." Dell assured as he kissed your back and neck. "Thank you darlin'."

[withuitservice]

Why Dubai Businesses Need To Partner With a Professional Website Development Company

In the digitally-first world of today, a good website is something that a business can't afford not to have any more. The city of Dubai is known as one of the global innovation hubs and is the home of thousands of businesses competing to receive attention in such a busy market. So, to stand out from the crowd and maintain an effective online presence, there is a need to collaborate with a professional Website Development Company in Dubai. Here are several reasons why the businesses of Dubai should do this.

1. Expertise and Innovation at one's Fingertips

The skilled teams of designers, developers, and digital strategists man the professional website development companies in Dubai. Keeping themselves updated with the latest technologies and best practices prevalent within the industry are all their pursuits. The accessibility of such expertise means having a website which is visually attractive yet functionally adequate, user-friendly as well as technologically state-of-the-art. While digitalizing your presence, one would find all that brought into play by deploying AI-driven chatbots and responsive designs.

2. Custom Websites for Local and International Readers

Dubai companies service diverse audiences, both locally and in other parts of the globe. A professional website development service will therefore understand the characteristics of the Dubai market-place, including cultural sensitiveness, consumer preferences, among others. They can always come up with customized websites responding to your target audience effectively, ensuring a seamless flow of user experience that causes engagement and conversion.

3. UX or better User Experience

User experience determines the success of a website. A website which is not designed well will lead to frustration from visitors, who then leave, causing a higher bounce rate and missed opportunities for sales. Professional developers emphasize intuitive navigation, fast loading pages, and mobile-friendliness of the designs. These together make for a great user journey which keeps visitors engaging and likely to take the desired action such as purchasing or contacting your business.

4. Search Engine Optimization (SEO)

However beautiful your website might look, it is worthless if nobody can find it. Web Development Company in Dubai  always factor in SEO best practice when developing, such as optimization of page speeds and meta tags, ensuring that your website is mobile-friendly and also clean coding. They are constantly improving your search engine ranking. More visibility brings more organic traffic or leads and sales.

5. Cost-Effective in the Long Run

A well-developed website minimizes the risk of technical issues, reduces maintenance costs, and ensures scalability as your business grows. Additionally, a professional website helps generate higher returns by attracting and retaining customers more effectively.

6. Focus on Core Business Activities

When outsourcing Web Development Company in UAE needs, you have more time to focus on core business activities. Professional companies handle everything from the initial design and development stages of a website through maintenance and updates, thus providing one with more time and resources to devote to important matters like customer service, marketing, and business expansion.

7. Support and Maintenance

Websites need to update and maintain themselves regularly. Otherwise, they get outdated and insecure. A professional website development company keeps providing support to solve problems, implement updates, and keep your website running perfectly. This proactive approach may avoid downtime and keep running your website smoothly, with a seamless experience for the users.

8. Competitive Advantage

Competition in the market is at its peak here in Dubai, and therefore, designing a professional website for yourself will keep you miles ahead of the competition. Well-performance of the website lends an impression of your business and brand with respectability and professionalism to your customer who tends to associate them. With this, your position further gets stabilized by strengthening their trust on your self.

Conclusion

In terms of succeeding in the currently trending digital world, a company of Dubai would need to enter partnership with a professional website development agency. Starting from providing solutions tailor-suited according to the client's business needs to improving the customer's experience and providing post-launch support so that you lead the market, these professional website development agencies are quite the backbone of your thriving business. This investment in professional website development will help you have a good standing online but also in generating long-term growth and profits.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

“If buying isn’t owning, piracy isn’t stealing”

20 years ago, I got in a (friendly) public spat with Chris Anderson, who was then the editor in chief of Wired. I'd publicly noted my disappointment with glowing Wired reviews of DRM-encumbered digital devices, prompting Anderson to call me unrealistic for expecting the magazine to condemn gadgets for their DRM:

https://longtail.typepad.com/the_long_tail/2004/12/is_drm_evil.html

I replied in public, telling him that he'd misunderstood. This wasn't an issue of ideological purity – it was about good reviewing practice. Wired was telling readers to buy a product because it had features x, y and z, but at any time in the future, without warning, without recourse, the vendor could switch off any of those features:

https://memex.craphound.com/2004/12/29/cory-responds-to-wired-editor-on-drm/

I proposed that all Wired endorsements for DRM-encumbered products should come with this disclaimer:

WARNING: THIS DEVICE’S FEATURES ARE SUBJECT TO REVOCATION WITHOUT NOTICE, ACCORDING TO TERMS SET OUT IN SECRET NEGOTIATIONS. YOUR INVESTMENT IS CONTINGENT ON THE GOODWILL OF THE WORLD’S MOST PARANOID, TECHNOPHOBIC ENTERTAINMENT EXECS. THIS DEVICE AND DEVICES LIKE IT ARE TYPICALLY USED TO CHARGE YOU FOR THINGS YOU USED TO GET FOR FREE — BE SURE TO FACTOR IN THE PRICE OF BUYING ALL YOUR MEDIA OVER AND OVER AGAIN. AT NO TIME IN HISTORY HAS ANY ENTERTAINMENT COMPANY GOTTEN A SWEET DEAL LIKE THIS FROM THE ELECTRONICS PEOPLE, BUT THIS TIME THEY’RE GETTING A TOTAL WALK. HERE, PUT THIS IN YOUR MOUTH, IT’LL MUFFLE YOUR WHIMPERS.

Wired didn't take me up on this suggestion.

But I was right. The ability to change features, prices, and availability of things you've already paid for is a powerful temptation to corporations. Inkjet printers were always a sleazy business, but once these printers got directly connected to the internet, companies like HP started pushing out "security updates" that modified your printer to make it reject the third-party ink you'd paid for:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Now, this scam wouldn't work if you could just put things back the way they were before the "update," which is where the DRM comes in. A thicket of IP laws make reverse-engineering DRM-encumbered products into a felony. Combine always-on network access with indiscriminate criminalization of user modification, and the enshittification will follow, as surely as night follows day.

This is the root of all the right to repair shenanigans. Sure, companies withhold access to diagnostic codes and parts, but codes can be extracted and parts can be cloned. The real teeth in blocking repair comes from the law, not the tech. The company that makes McDonald's wildly unreliable McFlurry machines makes a fortune charging franchisees to fix these eternally broken appliances. When a third party threatened this racket by reverse-engineering the DRM that blocked independent repair, they got buried in legal threats:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/20/euthanize-rentier-enablers/#cold-war

Everybody loves this racket. In Poland, a team of security researchers at the OhMyHack conference just presented their teardown of the anti-repair features in NEWAG Impuls locomotives. NEWAG boobytrapped their trains to try and detect if they've been independently serviced, and to respond to any unauthorized repairs by bricking themselves:

https://mamot.fr/@q3k@hackerspace.pl/111528162905209453

Poland is part of the EU, meaning that they are required to uphold the provisions of the 2001 EU Copyright Directive, including Article 6, which bans this kind of reverse-engineering. The researchers are planning to present their work again at the Chaos Communications Congress in Hamburg this month – Germany is also a party to the EUCD. The threat to researchers from presenting this work is real – but so is the threat to conferences that host them:

https://www.cnet.com/tech/services-and-software/researchers-face-legal-threats-over-sdmi-hack/

20 years ago, Chris Anderson told me that it was unrealistic to expect tech companies to refuse demands for DRM from the entertainment companies whose media they hoped to play. My argument – then and now – was that any tech company that sells you a gadget that can have its features revoked is defrauding you. You're paying for x, y and z – and if they are contractually required to remove x and y on demand, they are selling you something that you can't rely on, without making that clear to you.

But it's worse than that. When a tech company designs a device for remote, irreversible, nonconsensual downgrades, they invite both external and internal parties to demand those downgrades. Like Pavel Chekov says, a phaser on the bridge in Act I is going to go off by Act III. Selling a product that can be remotely, irreversibly, nonconsensually downgraded inevitably results in the worst person at the product-planning meeting proposing to do so. The fact that there are no penalties for doing so makes it impossible for the better people in that meeting to win the ensuing argument, leading to the moral injury of seeing a product you care about reduced to a pile of shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

But even if everyone at that table is a swell egg who wouldn't dream of enshittifying the product, the existence of a remote, irreversible, nonconsensual downgrade feature makes the product vulnerable to external actors who will demand that it be used. Back in 2022, Adobe informed its customers that it had lost its deal to include Pantone colors in Photoshop, Illustrator and other "software as a service" packages. As a result, users would now have to start paying a monthly fee to see their own, completed images. Fail to pay the fee and all the Pantone-coded pixels in your artwork would just show up as black:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/28/fade-to-black/#trust-the-process

Adobe blamed this on Pantone, and there was lots of speculation about what had happened. Had Pantone jacked up its price to Adobe, so Adobe passed the price on to its users in the hopes of embarrassing Pantone? Who knows? Who can know? That's the point: you invested in Photoshop, you spent money and time creating images with it, but you have no way to know whether or how you'll be able to access those images in the future. Those terms can change at any time, and if you don't like it, you can go fuck yourself.

These companies are all run by CEOs who got their MBAs at Darth Vader University, where the first lesson is "I have altered the deal, pray I don't alter it further." Adobe chose to design its software so it would be vulnerable to this kind of demand, and then its customers paid for that choice. Sure, Pantone are dicks, but this is Adobe's fault. They stuck a KICK ME sign to your back, and Pantone obliged.

This keeps happening and it's gonna keep happening. Last week, Playstation owners who'd bought (or "bought") Warner TV shows got messages telling them that Warner had walked away from its deal to sell videos through the Playstation store, and so all the videos they'd paid for were going to be deleted forever. They wouldn't even get refunds (to be clear, refunds would also be bullshit – when I was a bookseller, I didn't get to break into your house and steal the books I'd sold you, not even if I left some cash on your kitchen table).

Sure, Warner is an unbelievably shitty company run by the single most guillotineable executive in all of Southern California, the loathsome David Zaslav, who oversaw the merger of Warner with Discovery. Zaslav is the creep who figured out that he could make more money cancelling completed movies and TV shows and taking a tax writeoff than he stood to make by releasing them:

https://aftermath.site/there-is-no-piracy-without-ownership

Imagine putting years of your life into making a program – showing up on set at 5AM and leaving your kids to get their own breakfast, performing stunts that could maim or kill you, working 16-hour days during the acute phase of the covid pandemic and driving home in the night, only to have this absolute turd of a man delete the program before anyone could see it, forever, to get a minor tax advantage. Talk about moral injury!

But without Sony's complicity in designing a remote, irreversible, nonconsensual downgrade feature into the Playstation, Zaslav's war on art and creative workers would be limited to material that hadn't been released yet. Thanks to Sony's awful choices, David Zaslav can break into your house, steal your movies – and he doesn't even have to leave a twenty on your kitchen table.

The point here – the point I made 20 years ago to Chris Anderson – is that this is the foreseeable, inevitable result of designing devices for remote, irreversible, nonconsensual downgrades. Anyone who was paying attention should have figured that out in the GW Bush administration. Anyone who does this today? Absolute flaming garbage.

Sure, Zaslav deserves to be staked out over an anthill and slathered in high-fructose corn syrup. But save the next anthill for the Sony exec who shipped a product that would let Zaslav come into your home and rob you. That piece of shit knew what they were doing and they did it anyway. Fuck them. Sideways. With a brick.

Meanwhile, the studios keep making the case for stealing movies rather than paying for them. As Tyler James Hill wrote: "If buying isn't owning, piracy isn't stealing":

https://bsky.app/profile/tylerjameshill.bsky.social/post/3kflw2lvam42n

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/08/playstationed/#tyler-james-hill

Image: Alan Levine (modified) https://pxhere.com/en/photo/218986

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[jamminvroomvroom]

let’s go ride.

LN x fem!reader

in which lando keeps getting frustrated and you wanna know why…

hiiiiii here u go! belated love day fic from me to you 💝 love u all, tysm for the love on my last few fics, i’ve had a lot going on lately so i’ve not had very much time to write but when the inspo hits….. shoutout to miss mcrae for dropping lando-coded bangers bc i literally cannot resist. might make a part 2 of all the times they get freaky in a car lmao, lemme know if you want that! likes, comments and reblogs are sooooo appreciated so lemme know what u think xoxox

proofed by my own personal goat @lavenderlando 💖

songs to set the vibes: sports car by tate mcrae, bad guy by billie eilish

warnings: 18+!! minors begone! smut, language, fluff, bit of angst bc lando’s in a mood, friends to lovers, p in v, porn without plot but there is a little bit of plot, bitchy lando

4.2k words

you sit in silence, opening spotify and preparing to fiddle with the bluetooth as he slips into the drivers seat beside you. the car door slams shut and he huffs, jawline taut with annoyance. the hood of his car is surrounded, a million and one cameras pointed at you both as he tries to relax into his chair. the engine roars to life and you side eye him.

“when are you gonna learn, hm?” you try and sound playful, teasing, but it comes out laced with a twang of scolding. lando tenses up even further, turning to glare at you.

“god forbid i go outside.” he snaps.

“give over.” you roll your eyes. “poor me, i’m famous! lando, you can’t get angry when you park in the most high profile spot on the fucking planet and your fans want to worship you.”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.” he sighs, white knuckles wrapping tighter around the steering wheel.

“don’t i? this has been happening a lot lately.” your voice softens, ever so slightly. “every time i’m seen with you, you lash out.”

“because i don’t want people harassing you, looking at you like some fucking commodity.” lando snarls, steely eyes locked on the supposed car enthusiasts that are slowly backing away from his parking space.

“lando, we’re friends. this has always been a thing. why is it bothering you so much now?”

you wonder if it bothers him for the same reason it bothers you.

he shuts his eyes, collecting himself for a moment. he puts the car in drive and smoothly pulls out of the space, ignores your question. you scowl at him, at this sudden childishness that has overtaken his easygoing manner in the last few months.

“fine. whatever.” you mutter, slumping defeatedly into your seat. you give up on playing music, leaving him to bask in the silence, something he loathed.

lando had switched from his usual self to this stony, irate version of him that you rarely had the displeasure of seeing, from the second you walked out of the restaurant where you’d had lunch. he was reluctant to pose for photos and sign hats, something he usually revelled in, grateful that people even wanted to see him. the swathes of fans that had gathered had irked him for once, but what really boiled his blood was the photographers that seemed to find him no matter where he chose to spend him time. so much for monaco’s privacy laws.

it wasn’t like he cared about himself, either. it was you. the way they leered, leaned close to you while he was distracted with pens being shoved in his face. it was the way their eyes dipped low, whether you were in a tank top or a baggy hoodie. it was the way they spread the false, painful narrative all over the internet that you and lando were together, which drove hoards of losers into your comment section and your DMs just to call you names.

you were not together. as much as it pained him, you were just friends.

he couldn’t exactly explain his overprotectiveness to you without getting himself into a big, tangled mess. you, being the resilient, cool as a cucumber stoic that you were didn’t care what fourteen year olds on the internet thought about you. you weren’t about to let faceless, jobless trolls ruin the friendship that you’d nurtured for years, through ups and downs, thick and thin, race wins and huge losses. but lando, god, it killed him, tore him up inside every time someone so much as looked at you wrong.

“you really don’t get it.” he says, hushed, like he’s telling a secret. you turn to look at him, tearing your eyes away from the glistening view of the marina.

“lando, tell me then. make it make sense because i’ve never seen you behave like this. they love you! least you can do is lose the attitude over some harmless pictures.”

“jesus christ, it’s not the fans! it’s not the ‘harmless pictures’! it’s these fucking creeps that follow us around just to make some money off of my own personal hell. you really don’t get it, because if you did, you’d know that it breaks my fucking heart to see the way people talk about you online, just for being seen with me. it’s my fault that you get harassed, that paps are basically stalking you now.”

he signs of his rant with a sharp inhale, one that seems to suck all of the life out of the car. you melt.

“but lando, it doesn’t bother me. i just wanna be here with you, i don’t care about the rest of it.” you coo softly, reaching over the centre console to grip his forearm.

“and i want you here. i want you with me every fucking second of the day, but i can’t cope. can’t help thinking that one day it’ll all just be too much and you’ll leave me.” he whispers.

“never. never ever ever.” you promise. your belly swirls with emotions, tickled from the inside out by butterflies that threaten to swarm.

lando breathes shakily, warmed through by the hand that rests on his arm as he manoeuvres through the twisty lanes. as he hits traffic and slows, he clocks another photographer looming on the pavement, lens aimed at his windshield. already too annoyed, he aggressively smacks his sun visor down, leaning over the console to reach yours too, pulling it down. he prays it’s enough.

“you need to relax, lan. i’m fine, we’re fine. i promise.” you reassure, but he’s breathing heavily now. “you don’t worry this much when it’s max.” you trail off.

he doesn’t know what comes over him. he spins the car into a sharp u-turn, positively speeding back in the direction you’d just come from. any mention of you and him as a ‘we’ makes him crazy, makes him utterly lose his mind, but something about your sweet, earnest voice bringing him back to reality has left him completely shaken. the sun is setting now, most people clearing out of the underground car park he pulls into to head back to their homes. he has other intentions. you don’t say another word until he pulls into a space at the back of the lot, tucked neatly into a corner.

“what are we doing?”

“need a minute.” lando rasps, forehead resting on his steering wheel, the matte leather pushing his sharp curls back. you trail your eyes over him, the way his chest rises and falls under the sweatshirt he’s wearing, the way his thick fingers curl as his grip continues to tighten.

“i’m jealous. and i’m selfish. and i’m a complete fucking idiot.” lando says, steadily, like he’s reading the news.

“you’re… you’re jealous? of what?” you’re like a deer in headlights.

“of any other person that gets to lay their fucking eyes on you.”

“what are you saying?” you whisper. the air in the car goes still, frozen. you can’t breathe.

“i’m saying… that you’re mine. and i should have made that a known fact a long time ago.” ever so slowly he looks up at you, and you gasp at the intensity of his stare. he’s gazing at you with complete conviction in his eyes, a whole lot of vulnerability mixed in with the sincerity of his words. “i don’t want anyone else anywhere near you. lose my fucking mind watching the way they look at you.”

“lando…” you trail off, eyes as wide as saucers. is he really saying what you think he’s saying?

“i know this is terrible of me, to do this now, here - to do this at all, to be honest. i know that i have no right to stake some kind of claim on you, and i know that you probably don’t feel the same, but god, i just needed you to know. if you want me to shut the fuck up or leave you alone forever then i totally get it but-“

“oh my god, are you stupid?” you shake your head, still stuck in your state of disbelief, but you muster the coherency to grip the collar of his crewneck, tug him close.

your lips meet hastily, urgently, and every ounce to tension seems to seep out of the car. he moans at the very sensation of you against him, breath caught in his throat when you lace your finger through his hair like you want to mould your faces together, never stop. his brain finally catches up, awestruck as he is, and you trade passion and saliva, bumping noses as you clash chaotically.

“i think we’re both stupid.” he mumbles into your lips. you shut him up with another kiss, fiery and needy, and his hands begin to wander. he smoothes over the back of your jumper until he finds your waist, awkward in the limited space of the front of the car, and skims his hands up until he’s made his way beneath the material and he’s gripping your bare skin.

“too forward of me to ask you to get in the back?” lando pants with a cheeky smile.

“you literally just marked your territory on me, and nearly bit a photographer. i think we’re past ‘forward’.” you deadpan.

“then get in the fucking back.” he grins, devilish and commanding. you do as you’re told, wriggling between the leather until you’re propped up against the backseat. lando follows, sitting beside you, tugs you into his lap like you’re weightless.

you can feel him beneath you, hard and wanting, and you mewl, keen into him. your breaths mingle in the nonexistent space, lips brushing gently.

“this okay?” lando’s lips ghost over yours and you lean forward, just enough to reach him. he pulls back, eyes hooded, teasing, and tuts. “use your words.”

“who knew you were such a bossy boots.” you smirk. “more than okay.”

his eyes glaze over once he has your permission, and he kisses you like you’re the last supply of oxygen on earth. he licks into your mouth, wet and desperate and you whimper as he grazes over the crease of your thigh, toying with the hem of your skirt where it’s ridden up.

“can feel you.” lando groans, pulling away to look between your bodies. “so warm for me, you like seeing me all riled up?”

you nod coyly, lip caught between your teeth, and you swear you see his eyelashes flutter.

“what did i say about words?” lando composes himself enough to tease. you roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the way heat rolls through your body.

“like when you get all bitchy.” you reply, rolling your hips once.

“bitchy?”

“mhm. always been so easy to toy with.” you whisper, leaning in to nose along the thickness of his neck. you drag your tongue up the vein there, feeling it pulse under your tongue. he smells like his cologne, so him, and it makes you even hotter.

“oh, so you’ve been playing with me?” he chokes out, eyes rolling back in his head at the marks you’re leaving.

“maybe a little.” you hum.

“you liked watching me get angry? pretending to be all sweet and clueless?” lando whispers, the words hanging heavy in the space between you. all you can manage in response is a mischievous smile that twists his tummy.

your hands trail under his sweatshirt, skating over the muscled ripples of his belly, ever so slightly dipping into the band of his sweats. his head lulls back, blindly holding you close while you worship him. he lets you, lets himself have this moment, thinking for so long that it would never come.

“waited so long,” your lips brush over the shell of his ear, tongue grazing the lobe. he descends into a mess of shivers. “needed you to break first. i knew you would.” you croon.

“you’ve been loving this, haven’t you?” lando starts, low and calculating. “bet you’ve been getting off on dressing like a whore for the cameras, watching me suffer.” he pieces together. your resolve cracks. “bad girl.”

the sense of control you’d briefly maintained shatters, a hand around your neck forcing you away from him, preventing your sweet torture. his fingers flex, just above your collarbone, and you swallow at the smirk that seems to engulf his entire face. he looks animalistic, crazed with a feral adoration that leaves you certain that you’re dripping all over his lap.

“i think you’ve had your fun, baby, it’s my turn.”

you whine when he drags you across his lap, back and forth until you’re squirming. his hips rut up into yours, fuelling your desire for every single inch of him.

“please, lando.” you breathe, reaching out to lace your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“let me look at you.” he demands, shutting down your intentions for more. “i’ve waited long enough for this, don’t you think?”

“so have i.” you beg him with your eyes, but give in to him nonetheless. you’re staining his lap, grey sweats darkening as your wetness pools there and he can’t help but buck up into your warmth.

“wanna play with you, baby, see how you like it.” he taunts, bringing two fingers between your legs.

he brushes his knuckles over the obvious damp patch at the crotch of your panties, lip caught between his teeth at what he finds. your soaked through, and he pinches your bundle of nerves just to watch you thrash in his grip.

“i hate you right now.” you spit through gritted teeth, but your hips can’t help but chase his hand.

“doesn’t feel like it.” he kisses you quick, loving the way you lean in for more, but he relaxes against the seat and dips slowly beneath your underwear. “fuck.”

he doesn’t have to work too hard to spread your wetness around, you’re already lathered in it, but he continues to tease, fingers gliding over your clit and through your folds.

“please.” you beg, leaning back to give him as much access as possible.

“what do you want, baby? tell me.” he urges, drawing circles on the swollen bundle of nerves.

“your fingers.”

“you have them.” he barks out a condescending laugh, applying more pressure just to prove his point.

“need them inside of me.” you pant, eyes squeezing shut at his sadistic game between your thighs.

“that’s my girl.” he praises, and you curse, clamping down around him before he even gets the first knuckle inside of you.

“how are you doing this to me?” you think aloud, tears in your waterline already. it all feels far too good for a first time.

“because i know you better than you think i do.” he coos.

lando pulls you flush against him, grinding his fingers deep so that they curl deliciously against your sweet spot. his palm bumps your clit with every twist of digits and he nips over your collarbone. his tongue laves over your skin, tasting the perspiration that gathers as the car steams up around you. you’re suddenly hyper aware of your surroundings, huddled together in the back of his urus in a dimly lit car park. thank god you’d lost the photographers.

“can’t believe we’re doing this.” you gasp, feeling your tummy tighten at the thrill of it all, of feeling your best friend work to please you.

“i knew it would happen. knew that someday i’d get to see you like this, all for me.”

“all for you.” you repeat, drunk on him as you rode his fingers. “feels so good.”

“want you to come for me like this.” lando orders, replacing the heel of his hand with his thumb against your clit. his ministrations are more controlled like this, precise, and you throw your head back in pleasure. his teeth sink in to the base of your neck, sucking softly over the bruising skin, lapping at the mark to soothe it.

“i’m so close, lan.”* you choke, riding his fingers as you near your release.

“c’mon baby, make a mess for me.” he urges, eyes locked intensely on yours. you’re enticed by the sea green storm that swirls in his irises, shrinking as his pupils blow with lust. you can’t help it, can’t delay the inevitable, and you thrash in his arms, wildly bucking your hips against his as you fall apart.

you gush all over his lap, further ruining his sweatpants but he doesn’t bat an eyelid, working you through your orgasm until you’re spent. he’s transfixed by the way your thighs glisten, by the way your release seeps through the material covering his crotch and it makes him throb.

“that’s it baby.” he murmurs, voice low and smooth. you pant, collapsing forwards onto him.

“thank you.” you whisper into his neck, and he laughs softly.

“don’t thank me, silly girl.” he coos into your ear. you pull back just enough to kiss him, taking it slow, giving you a moment to come down from your devastatingly intense high. you’re exhausted, eyes fluttering shut from the exertion, and he tucks sweaty strands of your hair behind your ears. his fingers graze your warmed cheeks, noses bumping and you take him in, carefully studying the lines of his face, the sharp slope of his nose, the flutter of his eyelashes against those ridiculously high cheekbones.

“you’re so pretty.” your voice floats over him like a delicate caress, makes him shiver. he grins at you, enamoured.

“didn’t think our first time would be in the back of my car but i don’t think i can’t wait to get you home.”

“you’ve thought about this?” you ask, bashful. he gazes up at you sheepishly.

“every night before bed.” he jokes, and you shift your hips.

you’re overstimulated, but it does the trick, the playful haze shattering, replaced by thick, charged tension.

“you gonna make that fantasy a reality?”

“yeah. yeah, i am.” he mumbles.

his hands skim your waist, pushing your jumper up as he goes higher and higher, until it’s off, chucked into the footwell. you tear at his sweatshirt until it joins your discarded clothing and explore the bronzed planes of his chest, extra sun-kissed by the trip you’d taken to dubai just a few weeks before. if only you’d known then…

“hurry.” you plead, and he scoffs, adjusting you on his lap just enough to free himself from his sweatpants and boxers, and you gawk down at what’s revealed to you.

it’s big, thick, and you sigh in relief that he’d so thoroughly stretched you out, got you nice and slick for him already.

“gonna take it all for me?” lando taunts, catching your hanging jaw between two firm fingers, forcing you to look at him.

“gonna try.” you reason, breathing shakily as you rise up on your knees. you feel the head of his cock prodding your clit, the sodden tip running along your folds until it catches on your entrance. you both hiss as the contact, his hands steadying your hips.

“you can do it, baby.” lando promises, helps you begin your descent.

“oh my god.” you gasp, sinking down slowly. “dunno if i can take it, lan, you’re so- so…” you trail off, head thrown back far enough that you miss the way he’s smirking up at you.

“c’mon baby, being such a good girl for me, i know you can take it. just a little more.” he goads, pressing each button of your apparent praise kink, and you whine, soft moans tumbling from your lips. a sense of determination becomes you, and you’re aching to take him all the way.

you cry out his name when you’re pressed flush against him, and he soothes circles into your hips, holding you close against his chest. one hand smoothes through your hair, the lace of your bra scratching against his chest as you breathe rapidly.

“well done, baby, knew you could do it.” lando praises, trailing kisses over your face. you quiver in his hold, hips wiggling ever so slightly, and he takes that as a sign. “want me to do the work, hmm? make you feel so good?”

you nod lazily, looking up at him from where your face is smushed against his shoulder, and he lets you break his rule of “words”, softened by how beautiful you look, vulnerable in his strong arms. he starts to move, fucking up into you slowly, feeling you out. you can feel him twitch inside of you, his breath catching in his throat at the feeling of you, tight and warm, enveloped all around him. you roll your hips languidly, meeting his thrusts and you both moan out as the explosion of sensations unfolds between you.

“harder, lando. can take it.” you mumble, glazed over doe eyes looking into his. he tenses up, shaken to the very core by the emotional tether between you, feeling the way it grows even stronger. the one woman he’d wanted since he’d laid eyes on you, the one women he never thought he could have; his heart pounds violently in his chest.

he readjusts your hips, pushing you back so that you’re upright once more, eyes raking hungrily over your flushed body. your skirt is bunched around your waist, panties tugged to the side, cups of your bra barely covering anything anymore. he tweaks a nipple through the lace, paws at your tits until you’re fluttering around him. the cups of your bra are tugged down, resting below your breasts and he swallows hard.

“fuck me, you’re so beautiful.” lando rasps, leaning you back further to perfect the angle.

once he’s satisfied, he bounces you against him, meeting your hips with harsh thrusts, his pace unrelenting. he can see the way you pool around his base, dampening the thatching of hair that decorates his pelvic bone. you seem to chase the friction there, rutting your clit against him. sweet puffs of breath fill his ears, melodic combined with a symphony of your needy whines, continuously intensifying as he fucks you deeper and deeper.

“it’s so good.” you slur, mouth hanging open, totally unhinged from the raw pleasure that he courses through your veins.

“you’re doing so good for me, baby.” he wants to say more, but then he sees it, the way your lower belly seems to protrude with every roll of his hips. “oh, fuck.” he cries out.

“do you see that, baby? see how deep i am?” lando growls, voice rippling through your connected bodies. you glance down, and the first tears start to fall.

“oh my god.” you repeat, nothing else to say, totally braindead at the sight. your cheeks are wet with tear tracks, utterly overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you, so blissful that it hurts.

“you crying for me, baby? do i feel that good?” lando mocks, reinvigorated by the way your tears gather at your collarbone. his hand swipes messily against your throat, swiping them away, but you catch his hand, keeping it there. your eyes lock as your hand squeezes around his, a silent plea. he rocks up into you even harder, hand clamping around you neck slowly, leaving your breathless, liquid heat shooting down your spine. you can’t stop it from hitting you like a ton of bricks, can’t hold back, not when he’s making it hurt so fucking good.

“lando, i can’t- i’m gonna- fuck.” you bellow, falling to pieces around him. he keeps you propped up through your orgasm, plowing into your limp body until you’re so tight around him that he quite literally can’t keep going. he shudders, repeating your name like a godforsaken prayer as his abs flex beneath your shaky hands. you feel him filling you up, shots of warmth painting your insides.

lando lets you collapse into his arms, holding you tight as you both tremble in the silence of the car. condensation rolls down the windows, giving away your frenzied desires. if anyone caught sight of his car, it wouldn’t be hard to do the math.

“gonna let me take you home so we can do that again?” lando laughs, breathing you in. he can feel the way your chest rumbles softly in response, hears your angelic, raspy laugh.

“gimme a sec, don’t think i can move ever again.” you groan, sighing into his chest.

you stay there for a while, basking in it, coming down. he traces shapes into the bare skin of your back; you absentmindedly trace a heart into the window fog.

when you finally manage to redress, it’s dark outside, bright lights casting patterns into the calm midnight of the marina. he holds your hand as he drives up into the heights of monaco, and you stare at the way yours fits so perfectly with his, just like how your head tucked so perfectly into the crook of his neck. you smile out the window and lando smiles at you.

by the time bedtime rolls around, you’re both well and truly exhausted. when you try and wriggle out of his grip, ready to retreat back to the guest room like a wounded animal, lando pouts - pouts! - and holds you even tighter.

“silly girl.” he kisses the words into your hairline, and drifts off to sleep.

-

hehe

-

taglist

lemme know if you wanna be added or removed! any tags that don’t work will be removed xo

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @formulaal

taglist cont. in reblogs. smooches

[ari-ana-bel-la]

I absolutely love your fics! I was wondering if you'd mind writing something for Lewis where the reader isn't exactly his biological daughter, but Lewis and the reader's mother have been together since she was little so she kind of grew up with him and he became her father figure, maybe she's calling him dad for the first time without realizing it

Just Dad

The paddock was alive with its usual hum: engineers shouting over headsets, the low growl of an engine being tested, journalists weaving in and out of crowds like determined bees in a hive. Amidst the chaos, Lewis knelt beside a small, vibrant six-year-old with two fluffy puffs tied high on her head and sparkly unicorn sneakers.

"Alright, remember what we said?" he asked, gently tightening the little wristband around her tiny arm. "You stay with Maya, you don’t wander off, and if you get nervous, you can come find me or go to the Ferrari hospitality, okay?"

Yn gave an exaggerated sigh, as if she were seventeen instead of six. “I know, I know. You already said that, like, five times.”

Lewis grinned. “Well, maybe six is the lucky number today.”

“Is that because I’m six?” she teased, tilting her head and scrunching her nose.

“Exactly.” He poked her nose lightly. “Alright then, go, go, before I smother you with dad jokes.”

She took off toward Maya, the young assistant who had become something like a big sister, pausing only to wave dramatically at Lewis. He watched her go, heart warm and full.

She wasn’t technically his daughter. But she might as well have been.

---

Yn’s mother, Elle, had met Lewis three years ago at a charity gala. She wasn’t someone from the paddock, not even from the F1 world—she was an educator and a single mom doing her best to raise a bright, curious little girl who loved coloring books and hated vegetables.

Lewis hadn’t expected to fall in love with Elle, but he did, slowly and completely. He hadn’t expected to love Yn just as fiercely, but that had happened even faster. The moment she’d toddled up to him and asked why his hair looked prettier than hers, he was done for.

From then on, it was weekend visits, shared breakfasts, dance parties in the living room, and bedtime stories even when he was on the other side of the world. She’d never called him anything but Lewis—until today.

---

Later that afternoon, after debriefs and a media session, Lewis found Yn curled up in a corner of the motorhome, building a LEGO car with extreme focus. Maya had stepped out to grab her a juice box, and the hospitality lounge was quiet.

He crouched down beside her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Hey, tiny engineer, how’s it going?”

She didn’t even look up. “Bad.”

“Uh-oh. Do we need to declare a code red?”

“The tires keep falling off.”

“Ah, classic pit stop issues,” he said seriously. “Want me to help?”

She considered it. “Yeah. But not like, grown-up help. Just regular help.”

Lewis chuckled. “Regular help. Got it.”

They sat in companionable silence as they tried to stabilize the tiny plastic wheels. Yn’s tongue peeked out slightly in concentration, and Lewis had to resist the urge to kiss the top of her head. She hated when he interrupted her LEGO flow.

Once the car was fixed, she sighed in satisfaction and handed it to him. “Here. You can keep it.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. Because you didn’t yell when I said a bad word earlier.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You said a bad word?”

She looked guilty. “Only a tiny one. The one that starts with ‘cr’ and rhymes with ‘nap.’”

Lewis had to bite his cheek. “Well, I appreciate the car. And the honesty.”

She smiled, leaning into his side, then said it so naturally it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs:

“Thanks, Dad.”

Just like that.

Lewis didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it—he knew Yn didn’t mean it as a declaration, more like an instinct. A feeling. A comfort. The name had just… slipped out. And he wasn’t going to be the one to scare it away.

So he smiled softly, pulling her gently into his side. “You’re welcome, bug.”

---

That night, back at the hotel, Lewis told Elle.

“She called me Dad.”

Elle’s toothbrush froze mid-motion. “What?”

“Just casually. She handed me a LEGO car and said, ‘Thanks, Dad.’ Like it was nothing. And I acted normal. I didn’t want her to think she had to call me that or that it was something to be nervous about.”

Elle set her toothbrush down and stepped into his arms. “Lewis…”

“I didn’t cry,” he said, although his voice was slightly hoarse. “Almost. But I didn’t.”

She smiled up at him, eyes glistening. “You’ve been her dad for a while, you know. You just finally got the title.”

---

The next morning, as they walked through the paddock again, Yn reached for Lewis’s hand without looking up.

“Dad, can I get a milkshake later?”

There it was again.

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Only if you don’t say any more words that rhyme with ‘nap.’”

She gasped, eyes wide with pretend horror. “You told on me!”

“I did no such thing,” he said, utterly offended. “But someone has a very expressive face.”

“Traitor,” she muttered, but her smile gave her away.

They stopped for a second when a fan recognized Lewis and asked for a picture. Yn, used to it by now, stepped aside and held the LEGO car while Lewis posed. Once the photo was done, the fan crouched to Yn’s level.

“Are you his daughter?”

Yn looked up at Lewis, then back at the fan, and nodded proudly. “Yep.”

And Lewis—Lewis, who had stood on countless podiums, held world championship trophies, and heard thousands cheer his name—felt something bloom in his chest that made all of those moments seem dim in comparison.

---

Back in the Ferrari hospitality, Charles caught Lewis on his way out.

“Hey,” Charles said, glancing toward Yn, who was now colouring a picture of a lion with neon pink. “She’s getting taller.”

“Tell me about it,” Lewis said. “Next thing I know she’s going to be asking for a phone.”

Charles smirked. “Did she call you Dad earlier?”

Lewis blinked. “How’d you—?”

“She said it to Maya. I overheard. You looked like you’d seen God.”

Lewis laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It just… hit different.”

Charles patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve earned it.”

---

Later that evening, Yn sat cross-legged on the hotel room bed, watching old F1 races on the tablet while Lewis dried her hair with a towel.

“That’s you!” she squealed. “You’re the car in front!”

“Sometimes,” he teased. “Not always.”

“But most of the time.” She beamed. “You’re the fastest. Even when you’re not winning, you’re still my favorite.”

He chuckled. “That’s very biased.”

“I don’t care.” She leaned back against him. “I like you the most.”

The towel slid off her head as she turned to face him. Her eyes, always full of light, looked serious.

“Is it okay if I call you Dad now? Like… all the time?”

His heart swelled.

He kept his voice steady. “Of course it is. Only if you want to, though. No pressure.”

“I do,” she said softly. “Because you feel like my dad. You do all the stuff dads do. You make me pancakes and braid my hair and read me stories even when you’re sleepy.”

He cupped her face gently. “Then I’d be honored, bug.”

She smiled, curling into his lap. “Can we get pancakes tomorrow?”

“We just had pancakes this morning.”

“Yeah, but you said six is the lucky number. I’m six. I deserve pancakes every day.”

He laughed, scooping her up. “You might be too smart for your own good.”

---

At the next race weekend, Lewis held Yn on his hip as they made their way through the crowd. Someone from the press smiled at the sight.

“She’s your daughter?” they asked.

Yn didn’t hesitate. “Yep. He’s my dad.”

And Lewis? He just nodded, his heart overflowing.

“Yeah,” he said, “I am.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🤍🦢

[meiieiri]

𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐞 ! [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: in which toji notices how you color-code your outfit every time you see each other…and promptly makes a game out of it in hopes it will cure his gambling addiction.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | song inspo: colors | outfit inspos | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: 18+, suggestive themes at the end (explicit sex, fingering, mentions of masturbation), but otherwise, just a fluffy/semi-angst/semi-crack scenario of a lovestruck toji trying to cure his gambling addiction~~

Chewing on his pen, Toji’s fangs were beginning to hurt as he stares at the blank face of a random receipt he found in his mostly empty wallet. He seems to be deep in thought, he almost looks like he’s trying his best to crack a mathematical mystery except…he doesn’t give a shit about math and the only mystery he seems to be interested in cracking is…

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late!”

“Fuck.”

There you were in all your radiant magnificence eagerly waving to him from the university gates with your signature gummy smile he’s grown to love so much. You looked so beautiful and happy today…and you were wearing purple. A purple floral wrap dress. He was so sure you were gonna be wearing pink today Toji crosses out today’s date and the word: pink next to it with a frustrated “X”.

And in case anyone was wondering, this little guess-the-color-his-girlfriend-is-wearing-today game is something he came up with on a whim one day while waiting to pick you up after class. Of all the misfortune that has befallen him in his life, he has to thank the Zenin clan for one thing: sparing him the trouble of having to sit through an entire day of brain-frying university lectures about Kant’s second law of physics.

He hurriedly buries the receipt in his back pocket as he crosses the street, closing the twenty-five meter gap between the two of you. Pressing his lips against yours, Toji hums appreciatively when he tastes his favorite strawberry-flavored lip tint on your Cupid’s bow. You giggle as you nuzzle his nose when he pulls away, your hot breaths against one another’s lips providing a sense of comfort to you both. “What were you saying a while ago?”

“Ah, nothing.” Toji places a protective hand around your waist as the two of you walk to the nearby park for your and his usual after class/work stroll. “Just the usual profanity.”

Your lips curl into a soft pout at the thought of your boyfriend being upset about something. “Why?”

“Nothing babe,” he presses a soft kiss to your temple, his arm coming to rest on your shoulders. “Just lost at the boat races again,” he easily comes up with a white lie — a white lie that is bound to make you sad. He knows how upset you get when he relapses into his gambling addiction which, in his defense, he really is trying to quit for his and your — mostly your — sake. “Ah, I’ll do better, squirt. ‘m sorry.”

“Please?” you plead with him softly to which he nods, softly pinching your cheek in a silent promise to try to limit his gambling to…

…Getting tomorrow’s color right.

The next day, Toji spends about fifteen minutes in the shower trying to figure out what color you’d be wearing today. He’s already ruled out the possibility of you wearing black since it’s thirty degrees outside today, but with your extensive wardrobe, crossing out one color from the list is hardly enough to narrow it down. He’s never felt like this with boat races before since he has this natural tendency to just pick the boat with the most stable engine.

Ah, who was he kidding? He’ll just have to guess…and hope for the best, he steps out of the shower a few minutes of deliberation later.

After putting on a black shirt, he looks at his makeshift gambling ticket on the kitchenette counter with an angry look on his face. “Red. It has to be red.” He jots it down next to today’s date in red ink as if to manifest you’ll wear your off-shoulder red top today and those black trousers you bought from that thrift store in Harajuku last week.

Suddenly, a knock rips through the silence of his apartment and he goes to immediately answer the door. Toji clasps his hand around the doorknob for a bit, somehow still intent on delaying the inevitable. “Toji? The bags are getting kinda heavy,” you sheepishly called from the other side of the door and your boyfriend instantly snaps out of it. He swings the door open a little too aggressively that it makes you jump a bit when you hear the ear-splitting screech of the hinges nearly coming off the door. “Ah…hi, babe?”

You don’t know what to make of Toji’s face.

It’s like he’s feeling an odd mix of emotions all piled into one that they somehow cancelled each other out and now, he’s…staring at you…blankly. You have to admit, it looks a little funny. It’s not his usual stoic expression, it’s just pure…nothingness…like he caught a glimpse of the void or something and he can’t peel his eyes away from it.

“Can I come in—?”

“—Hi.”

“Eh?”

You burst out laughing at his delayed response. It’s like your boyfriend buffered for a full minute there which is so unlike him, considering he’s always so smoothly unbothered and suave in his demeanor. Toji scowls when you place a hand over his forehead. “You feeling okay?”

Toji gently shrugs your hand away, nodding absentmindedly. “Fine.” That sounded awfully peachy but you didn’t mind, Toji’s normally so awkward anyway, unbeknownst to most. In the eyes of those who don’t know him, Toji’s image is nothing short of a big, bad delinquent, but in your eyes, you mostly associate him with a typical house cat — quiet and snooty in every regard but actually genuinely affectionate. “Oh, let me help you with those.” He crouches down to help you with the groceries, sneakily stealing a kiss from you as you remove your shoes at the genkan before stepping into the living room.

Toji watches as you bound over to his apartment’s balcony, searching for the stray cat that normally drops by in the afternoon, with a grimace on his face.

“Of course she’s wearing beige,” he grumbles under his breath. Again, he crosses out today’s entry a little more forcefully this time.

At the balcony, you find Toji’s pet emeritus lounging away at the foot of the laundry rack. “Oh, there you are!” You crouch down and pet the white cat whom Toji affectionately refers to as ‘Yuki’ when he thinks you aren’t listening in whenever he feeds it after dinner. “You look like you could use a warm bath, come on!” You gently pick up the little creature and bring her inside. “Toji, I found Yuki~!”

You stop in your tracks when you see Toji with his forehead pressed to the cold marble counter causing you to instinctively place a comfort hand on his upper back to placate him while Yuki climbs atop the counter. At the familiarness of your touch, Toji, who looks like he’s still upset over some unknown thing he won’t tell you, rights his posture. What’s a man gotta do to get a winning streak around here?

“Hey, maybe you should lie down…”

“…I’m okay,” Toji half-whimpers, defeated, gaping at Yuki as she licks her paw contentedly. “Huh. You brought the fleabag in here?”

Somehow offended by that, Yuki violently hisses at him.

Okay, something is seriously wrong with Toji.

You just came out from using the washroom to see Toji on the kotatsu agitatedly scribbling on a piece of paper that doesn’t exactly look like a betting stub. You surmised it would have been something like that since Toji doesn’t normally get angry over anything except losing money on bets, but you are thoroughly surprised and comforted to see that wasn’t the case this time around. You sit down next to him, pulling your big baby into an embrace.

“My poor baby,” you teased amid Toji’s obvious misery. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” you smiled softly when he playfully pushes you down onto the tatami mats, all his weight pinning you down, his hand easily overwhelming yours as he pins them above your head. You try to squirm away from him, laughing when his other hand secures your hip to the floor, rendering you unable to struggle against him. Then, he lowers his lips close to your ear, his warm breath sending goosebumps to appear all over your skin, he sighs, falling slack at the crook of your neck.

Toji hates this, he probably looks like a kicked dog right now.

Today’s bet was yellow but when you opened the door to your apartment, you were wearing a mint green sweater over your cream relaxed fit ankle pants.

“Why can’t I do it? Why can’t I just win for once?” Toji’s voice is muffled as he buries his face in your shoulder. Instantly, you feel a pit form in your stomach. You’ve heard this before. You slowly push him off of you, your disappointment palpable in the way you utter your next words.

“Toji, you’ve been…gambling again, haven’t you? Baby, we talked about this.”

Your lover steadies the movements of his chest, feeling the need to defend himself. He wasn’t gambling, quite the contrary really, the thought of wandering over to the horse races hasn’t crossed his mind since he started this harmless little game. But Rome wasn’t built in a day, and every so often, he relapses into these undertones of his gambling addiction particularly the crippling desire to win at least once, to guess just one daily color scheme right.

And he’ll let it go. He swears he’ll let it go.

“I know, but really, babe, I’m not—“

“—Really? Then, what’s this?” You shakily point to the folded up piece of paper on the kotatsu. He has to pinch himself to hold in his laughter when he sees just how cutely distressed you are over an unassuming crepe stall receipt. “Don’t you start laughing now!” You swat his arm.

“I’m not laughing, you brat!” Toji purses his lips together, thoroughly enamored by you right now. “You’re worrying over nothing, Y/N. Trust me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, pushing Toji’s face away when he tries to kiss you. You cheeky little brat. “But you’re acting so weird though…” You poke him relentlessly on the cheek to get him to come clean, and you dodge whenever he tries to playfully catch your index finger with his teeth. “Just tell me.”

“Nope.”

You climb onto his lap, hugging him.

“Please.”

A kiss is a good bribe right?

“Uh-uh.”

He returns the kiss with a loud smooch!

“I’ll break up with you.”

You whine when he flicks your forehead, leaving an obvious red mark on it.

“You won’t.”

Your little back and forth is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Sighing, you finally let go of him. Looks like he isn’t going to budge. Toji gets up to answer the door, setting you down on the cushioned seat. Feeling a little bad when he glances back to see you still sulking about the issue, he subtly and intentionally allows the receipt to fall from his pocket knowing you’ll almost certainly go straight for it. He’ll just have to deal with your constant teasing for the next two weeks once you read the contents of the slip of paper. But he’d rather hear you laughing your heart out (even if it’s at his expense) than see you getting all anxious about him slipping back into his old destructive hobbies.

When you see the piece of paper falling like a leaf dancing in the wind, your eyes light up, and you crawl over to the spot where it’s fallen near the small bookshelf you have in the corner.

“Rakuten delivery.” Toji signs the courier’s clipboard, receiving your package. Just as he’s about to walk back into the living room to hand you your parcel, he stops in his tracks when he hears your cute chortles which you’re pathetically trying to subdue and a smirk appears on the corner of Toji’s lips.

Looks like the crisis has been averted for now.

“Wait, Toji…”

Toji pretends to not hear you, his fingers still buried in your sopping cunt, lusciously pushing in and out, your arousal coating his fingertips as he devours your lips in wanton need. You moan out his name again and he scowls when you reluctantly remove his fingers from your heat. “What? What is it?” What could possibly be so important?

You flush when he sensually licks his fingers clean, and you sit up, pulling down your skater skirt. “What’s an anniversary without a little surprise?” You kissed him on the lips, lingering for a bit, your eyes fluttering close as you taste your arousal on his tongue. “Mmh…”

“Just forget it.” Toji bucks his hips against yours, his clothed erection rubbing against your bare slit.

“No way. Just…wait here,” you kiss him again, boldly running your tongue over his bottom lip before pulling away and heading to the bathroom to get your surprise ready.

Toji groans in frustration, his head hitting the pillows he set down on the futon. After a few restless moments of him resisting the urge to fuck his hardened cock into his hand to finish himself off, he hears your melodious voice calling for him from down the hall.

A satisfied lopsided smirk appears on Toji’s lips, his eyes dark as he gazes at the most beautiful being in the world right now, shyly making her way towards him wearing nothing but an emerald silk robe. He licks his lips when he sees the outline of your nipples through the fabric, smirking as you sit down on the foot of the futon.

“All that for a silly little robe? What a letdown,” Toji smirks as he moves to untie the knot of your robe, only for you to slap his hand away.

“Uh-uh…you have to guess first.”

Toji gulps when you pull out the one thing he’s been agonizing over for the last few weeks from your robe’s hidden pocket. You grab a pen from the nearby bookshelf which he expertly catches when you throw it in his direction alongside the crumpled up piece of paper he’d been meaning to destroy for a while now.

“If you guess right, we could ditch the condom tonight. So do well,” you innocently bat your eyelashes at him.

Toji looks like he wants to jump off a ditch, the obvious tent in his sweatpants indicating just how hard he is right now. “No, don’t do this. Don’t fucking do this, Y/N…”

“…What color am I wearing tonight?”

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing

-… . - .- … / -… . .. -. —. / -… ..- - -.-. …. . .-. . -..

@beloveds-embrace I hope I did this idea a bit of justice so far. Inspired by the delcious idea from beloveds found here.

AO3

CW: references to medical procedures that were not agreed to, reader is dying, A/B/O, odd dynamics, babies first time writing A/B/O.

A/N: I am really new to A/B/O so if something feels off or if you want more of this idea LMK!

Kate told you that the CIA still used Morse code in the field sometimes. It had fallen out of fashion after World War II and the alphabet soup of government agencies liked to reuse what they could. She said it worked best for short messages and when speaking could alert enemies. She talked at you nonstop on the long drive from the hospital. You wondered if the silence would bite at her toes or if the drone of the engine would keep it at bay.

She found you in the waiting room. Back straight, head upright you stare out the window across from you. If you ignore her maybe she will leave you alone like everyone else. You had been freed from a facility when some government agency or another busted them for performing illegal experiments on betas. Everyone else had a family to return to.

You weren’t everyone.

“I have a friend at this hospital. He called me when he saw that you had yet to be released,” she uses a soft voice as if the mint green and oddly shaped couches were pews instead. Pews don’t creak like plastic when you shift your weight. “My name is Kate. My friend, Ty, is an administrator here. He mentioned you needed someone to sign for you due to your beta status and the lack of documentation on your identity.”

Silence had been your only weapon against the staff there and the staff here.

She smells of alpha, the heady scent that should reek of safety and confidence. It tastes sour in the back of your throat.

“I’ve read through the information about you from Scorpio, the changes they made to you? They don’t expect you to make it another five years.” Kate rubbed her hands down the top of her slacks. “I’m here to give you an offer.”

Glancing at her without turning your head you wait. When she meets your side eye you shift your gaze back to the distant fluffy clouds dotting the sky like sheep grazing through a meadow. The sky sheep look all the whiter for the blanket of snow smothering the earth below.

“I know of a group of men, even split between them alpha and omega, who could use someone to care for. They are gone for long stretches of time and won’t pressure you for anything, only to care for you and use you as a touchstone of normalcy,” Kate lets out a breath, the shifting air bringing more of her should be comforting scent to your nose.

Voices drift past the locked doors to your right. You had posted up on the maternity floor, the staff had yet to find you here the last few times you were able to avoid their gazes.

“Why me?” Your voice whispers out. Should have grabbed the water mug the night nurse had left on your tray before you ducked from the room.

“Well, that’s the sticking point. They don’t know you would be coming. The guys have started to fray at the edges, getting reckless on jobs. I need them to be safe. If they have someone to come home to?”

Ah, so this wasn’t about you. Couldn’t ever be about you could it? No. Always a beta, never important.

Scorpio had seen six hundred seventeen betas through their doors before you quit counting. Not one of them left through the front door.

“You can’t tell them I’m dying.”

Control had to be a resource you doled out sparingly.

“Done.”

“And I get my own bed.”

The wrinkles around her face deepen as Kate settles on an unsure look.

“I’m not sure…”

“I will spend time in their nest when invited but I get my own bed,” you look at her now, face to face.

She must see something unmovable in your expression.

Sighing, her eyes drift shut and her shoulders relax.

“I will make it happen.”

Nodding once you stand.

“Lead on Kate, let us meet my doom head-on.”

Kate chooses not to comment on your morose declaration.

Maybe that is why she filled the car with her voice? She must not appreciate your brand of deadly honesty.

Her voice drifts away as she turns off the well-maintained and snow-cleared highway for a clear spot marked only by the tire tracks that lead between the dense trees.

“I’ve told them so many damn times they need to move closer but no it’s all ‘Kate you don’t understand we need the space from everyone’ and never thinking of how hard it is for people to visit them,” she mutters to herself as the color leeches from her knuckles with each slip of the tires.

“Maybe they don’t want visitors.”

Kate’s brows pull down as she glares out the windshield.

Looking back out the window you catch sight of a massive moose between the trunks before it disappears into the trees. It takes another twenty minutes of achingly slow driving before Kate finally relaxes her shoulders.

The smell of satisfaction drifts through the car heater. Turning you find a modestly large cabin, a green metal slanted roof, and a porch that reaches from one corner of the house to the other. Next to the stairs that connected the porch to the ground are two vehicles, one SUV and one large truck, though these both sit neatly under the porch. Kate parks in the open.

Without hesitation she climbs from the driver’s seat, grabbing the backpack she picked up for you with your three changes of clothes and two sets for sleeping. Kate is halfway up the stairs when you finally join her. Snow clings to the canvas of your shoes even as you follow in the large boot prints she left behind for you.

Tucking your arms close to your chest you stand behind Kate as she pounds with a fist on the door. The swish of her coat is the loudest sound beyond her beating for entry. You are fighting to keep your teeth from chattering when the door finally opens. You didn’t know cold had a smell. The only word you could find for it? Sharp.

“John. Took you long enough,” Kate pushes her way through the opening in the door.

A burly man steps back to allow her entrance. He is barely decent, his robe hanging open and tie only just covering his bits. John lifts a brow at you when you don’t immediately follow. You are not dressed for winter. When a particularly chilled bit of wind rushes past you and into the house, he moves to shut the door. Darting inside you watch him warily until you stand near Kate again. She stands in front of a massive couch. Counting the cushions, you give yourself the space to breathe. Twelve separate sitting spaces, three walls of a square, and still with room to walk behind and peer out the window that took up nearly the whole wall behind it.

“Not like you to show up without calling Kate. What is this about?” John steps around the snow you shed on his hardwood floor.

“I brought you a wife.”

They stare at each other for nearly thirty seconds. Your toes start to sting from the cold. The shoes on your feet squeak as you shift from foot to foot. Making the mistake of breathing too deeply you can taste the battle of wills between them. Kate’s shouldn’t be sour scent warred with John’s masculine, woodsy scent. He was an omega?

A long table is positioned opposite the kitchen, and central to it all is a wood-burning stove. The kitchen has an excess of cabinets. You start to count them to avoid what your nose is telling you.

“Why would I need a wife?” He finally asks.

You are also curious about the word choice. Betas weren’t terribly important in the grand scheme, born at a lower rate and died at a faster one. Populations didn’t need betas to survive, they, you, were mostly only good for keeping fights from escalating. With everyone receiving training in school anymore on how to address and deal with signs of rut/heat to avoid fights, death due to rut-related combat had reduced by over half. Betas were less important than ever. The other reduction in deaths had come from Scorpio.

Sarah had always been so proud to tell you about how you were contributing to keeping alphas from killing each other when she drew your blood or injected you with yet another unknown serum. The government had started to pump the barest amount of what Sarah called, calmers, into the water system. Said it was good for everyone, like fluoride.

“Serin, helicopter, Los Alamos, hospital visit. Would you like me to go on?” Kate said all those words as if they made any sort of sense.

John sucked in a deep breath through his nose. His eyes snapped to you.

“What are you?”

Kate steps in front of you. The slap of your hand to your scent gland runs parallel to her words. Sarah had done something to you, changed everything at a base level, including your scent.

“Beta, and a wife. Someone to care for, someone who needs you.”

His eyes are on you as sounds from deeper in the house reach your ears. Deep voices, a loud thump, then laughter. You look past John and see a set of stairs near the front door that leads to a second floor that only takes up part of the space from the vaulted ceiling.

“We don’t need anyone Kate-” he folds his arms across his hairy chest as Kate cuts him off.

“Should I ask them then? Call them down and see what they say?” She glares up at him, the height difference not making a difference even when her alpha to his omega should. You had only ever seen one dynamic, alpha ruling, all else managing to stay out of their way. That did not hold true here. They battled as equals.

John let his lung full of air go, a sigh of admission as his hands fell to his hips.

“No. We will take her.”

Kate nods once, settling your backpack on the couch before turning and giving your shoulder a squeeze.

When she turns back to John she gives him the final piece of information.

“She gets a room to herself. Doesn’t need to be much, but at least a place to retreat when everything becomes too much.”

He rolls his eyes but nods.

“Anything else Kate?” He asks drolly.

The glare she sends him is met with a smirk.

“I will check back in a week to see how everyone is settling.”

John walks her to the front door, opening it for Kate to step back into the startling brilliance of the sun twinkling off snow.

When the door clicks shut behind her John turns to you. His eyes drift from your feet upward until settling on your face.

“Hello, wife.”

Part 2 | Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

[pha55ed]

Your Fault || OP81

type :: smut

tw/cw :: dacryphilia, degradation, rough, mean!dom!oscar, he calls u ugly...

summary :: "oscar is so nice!" "he's so cat coded!" "he's so shy!" - no tf he's not, and you experience that first hand after a bad day - engineer!reader

f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || OVULATING CELLY!!!

"Not" thrust "a single" thrust "thing" thrust "right." Oscar pants as he releases his frustrations of the race onto you. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. And although he could have blamed it on Lando, other drivers, other engineers, he didn't. He always focussed on you.

How you didn't speak up on the radio. How you didn't check him into the pit lane fast enough. How you misplaced the mechanic's drills one inch further than usual. How you didn't even wish him luck beforehand?

"S-sorry" You tried to mumble through your tears as he scoffed in your face. His thrusting never stopped, only getting stronger. He wasn't facing you, instead facing your back. Thank god, or else he would have a field day laughing at your crying.

"Shut your fucking mouth." He grumbles, too focussed on making sure you can't speak again.

Both of his hands were on your hips, making you move back and forth on his dick even faster and deeper than he was already going. He forced you to bend over fully too, your chest flat against the cool table. You could feel your goosebumps rise with the gusts of wind form his harsh thrusts.

But Oscar wasn't cold, far from it. Since only you were naked, while he was still fully clothed besides his dick peaking out. It made you so embarrassed, knowing that if someone dared to open his driver's room they'd see everything from you and not an ounce of skin from Oscar. And even if they did catch a glimpse of his dick, they'd only see his deep it's buried inside of you.

"Aren't you ashamed?" he asks, slamming into you fully before halting for a second. His hands reach for your face, oh no.

And as he forces you to look at him, you fight back for a second. Before he quickly reminds you.

"Turn your fucking head." He says, as he forces you to look at him. And seeing the cold tears roll down your face only makes him happier. "Oh my gosh." He grins.

He stops thrusting and instead pulls your body up, making your back lean against his warm chest. His thumb grazes your cheek and sweeps up your tear. As if his shit-eating grin wasn't enough of an ego crusher, he goes as far to taste his thumb.

The saltiness of your tear making him lick his lips. He stares into your eyes, not seeing your soul, but only seeing a source of fuel for his ego.

"You're an ugly crier." He says, bluntly with a small chuckle. He sweeps up yet another tear and licks his finger again. "We need to go back to doggy."

He says, as he turns your crying face back to the table as he begins to thrust into you yet again. And you weren't sure if you should be turned on or just start bawling from how rude he's being today.

[fayesia]

∘•···•∘ʚFayesias Masterlistɞ∘•···•∘

─────── ˚⋆𐙚｡ 🦢𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚🎧ྀི♪⋆.✮───────

➽─P!Links─❥

ᯓ🗝 Hunger games

ᯓ🗝 HOTD

⤷part 2

⤷part 3

ᯓ🗝 Wolverine

ᯓ🗝 Older!Logan

ᯓ🗝 Sub!Rodrick

⤷part 2

ᯓ🗝 Dom!Rodrick

ᯓ🗝 Bucky Barnes

ᯓ🗝 Arcane

⤷part 2

ᯓ🗝 Dilf!Joel + Gilf!Joel

➽─Oneshots─❥

ᯓ🎀 Neighbour — dadsbsf!sirius x reader

ᯓ🎀 Dress Code — boss!miguel o’hara x secretary!reader

ᯓ🎀 mechanic!toji fushiguro headcannons

ᯓ🎀 Sex pollen — Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader

ᯓ🎀 Sex Pollen — Coriolanus x reader

ᯓ🎀 Captured — Captain James Hook x reader

ᯓ🎀 on a whim - Aaronxreaderxspencer

ᯓ🎀 princess - Anakin x reader

ᯓ🎀 Freak - Martin (In The Modern World - Fontaines D.C.)

➽─Mike Schmidt─❥

ᯓᡣ𐭩 husband!mike schmidt headcannons

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Date night — husband!mike schmidt x reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Short and Sweet — mike schmidt x reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Comfort — Mike Schmidt x Reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Streak — Mike Schmidt x reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 daddy!mikeschmidt headcannons

ᯓᡣ𐭩 request

ᯓᡣ𐭩 request 2

ᯓᡣ𐭩 request 3

ᯓᡣ𐭩 request 4

ᯓᡣ𐭩 request 5

➽─HOTD─❥

ᯓ🔥 The Kings Seat Aemond Targaryen x sister!reader

ᯓ🔥 Teach ~ dbf!daemon x reader

ᯓ🔥 Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader

➽─Joel Miller─❥

ᯓ🔨 Gresin' the engine shaft

⤷part 2

*2nd try posting this so rly hoping it works this time 😭*

[dailynnt]

──── A QUARREL, ALCOHOL AND YOU...

𓏭 Summary: You furious. The fight at the party still reverberates in your head, but instead of forgetting about him, you stands at his door at five in the morning, drunk, stubborn, and still hurt.

𓏭 Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

𓏭 Age restrictions: 18+

𓏭 Size: one shot

𓏭 Tags: from friends to lovers, sex, unprotected sex, sex while drunk, swearing, sexual tension, detailed description of intimate scenes

𓏭 From author: Don't blame me for writing about it again 🤭 I don't know what you should do with me, but I adore the theme of friends/lovers and just couldn't resist writing something about it again. I described Jungkook here as always cocky and persistent because ....ummm I love this kind of Jungkook 😌😃 I hope you like this story 👉🏻👈🏻 If you don't, just pass by 🙏🏻

Your mind is foggy. You don't know how you ended up here. When the taxi driver asked where to take you, you told him the address of his apartment. You get out of the car and smell the warm smell of a summer morning. You bang the car door and take a deep breath. "How annoying," you think. You hear the sound of the engine and the black Hyundai drives away.

You stagger to the entrance. Your steps were determined, if a little shaky, as you approached the familiar house. Your fingers nervously clutched the phone, but you weren't going to call him. He wasn't expecting you anyway.

It's almost five in the morning, and he's long since left the party you two were at. However, you didn't know when exactly he did it. You had a fight and you were one hundred percent sure it was all his fault. He could be surprised to see you. And he certainly won't expect see you right now to be drunk.

You've come to tell him what a rare asshole he is, even though he's your best friend.

The glass doors of the entrance slammed shut on some man who stepped outside, but you didn't even slow down, just pulled out your phone and quickly dialed the access code. A short beep, a click, and the door opened smoothly. The guard on the ground floor didn't pay you any attention. He had seen you here many times, leaving in the morning or staying late. You were best friends and you were a frequent guest in his apartment.

The elevator took you to the right floor. The metal booth reflected your reflection - slightly disheveled hair, a blush from drinking alcohol, a twinkle in your eye. You didn't even try to hide your emotions.

You reached apartment number 130 and knocked on the door, desperately and demandingly. You leaned on the wall near the front door with your hand to steady your relaxed body.

You don't know how long it took before his apartment door opened. You looked up. Your friend was standing on the threshold, shirtless in just shorts, looking at you in surprise. You slowly ran your eyes over his figure and smiled slightly. You paid attention to the tattoo that covered his right arm. He was hot as hell with that tattoo and perfect abs.

"Didn’t sleep, asshole?" - You asked cheekily. Jungkook tilted his head and hummed softly. He looked down at you, and his eyes showed a familiar irritation mixed with hidden amusement.

"You had a great time, I see." - His voice was low, hoarse from sleep. He crossed his arms over his chest, and you involuntarily ran your eyes down his torso again, a little longer than you should have.

"It's none of your business." - You pushed off the doorjamb and took a step forward, unsteadily. Jungkook effortlessly caught your elbow, stabilizing you.

"Yeah, not mine." - He raised one eyebrow. "It's just my drunken friend standing on my doorstep at five in the morning, calling me names for no reason." - He said, still holding you, his touch soft on your skin. You were wearing a light summer dress with straps, his favorite black color. You abruptly pulled your hand away and, taking a deep breath, straightened up again.

"Not without reason. I came to tell you that you're a real brat. I thought you were my friend, but you're an asshole..." - Your head was spinning from the amount of alcohol you'd drunk.

"Really?" - His lips stretched into a smile. "And you had to skip a few cocktails to come at such a time and say it?" - You rolled your eyes, but he stepped aside, letting you inside. "Come on in before the neighbors decide to call security." - He said. You walked proudly past him, bumping him with your shoulder. The apartment smelled like him - citrus, light notes of expensive perfume, and something cozy, homey.

Jungkook closed the door and turned to you, his gaze a little more serious.

"You didn't come to talk about the same thing again, did you?" - Jungkook asked, alluding to the fight that happened between the two of you at the party you went together. You were angry with your friend for dumping you for some girl, even though he supposedly came with you to that fucking party. You turned to him sharply.

"That's right, Jeon. We didn't finish talking because you ran off right away. I honestly didn't know you were such a sensitive soul." - You said sarcastically. "Anyway, you were acting like a complete idiot!"

He frowned and hummed in confusion.

"A sensitive soul? Are you talking about me right now? You were the one who started this fight." - Your friend reminded you, approaching you. You ignored his irritated tone.

"You came with me to that damn party. Do you think you had the right to sit with that slut?" - You ask, your tongue almost tangled. You're a little unsteady. His lips stretch into an amused smile.

"Wait..." - He took a step toward you. "Are you jealous?"

You clenched your fists, feeling the heat of his proximity.

"What jealousy Kook?" - You shouted, waving your hand in front of his face. "You dumped me, it's obvious I'm angry. You know I'm only went to this fucking party because you dragged me there."

Jungkook couldn't stop laughing. His laughter made you even angrier.

"Are you serious?!" - You took a step toward him, jabbing your finger at his bare chest. "This makes you laugh?!" - Jungkook caught your hand, and his fingers closed around your wrist in a hot fist. He was still smiling, but his eyes were getting darker by the second.

"You amuse me." - His voice dropped a tone lower. You jerked hand, but he didn't let go. On the contrary, he pulled you even closer, forcing your conversation to become too intimate.

"I dragged you there so you could have fun and take a break from your hard work... But if so, you should have told me right away that you wanted me for yourself." - You became almost sober in the moment. Jungkook was standing close and you didn't think that your conversation could come to this.

"What?!" - You stared at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks.

"Well, how could it not?" - Jungkook leaned in, his lips almost touching your cheekbone. "I'm not supposed to sit with other girls because my friend is jealous? Is that how you explain your claims and this ridiculous fight at the party?"

"I wasn't jealous, you left me alone, it made me angry..." - You're trying to justify yourself, or rather you're trying to prove him your right, but he seems to see the situation the way he wants to see it.

"Do you even believe what you're saying?" - He asks. His voice has gone even lower. He has you pinned between his body and the wall in the hallway leading to the living room of his apartment. There was something dangerous in his eyes. "Because right now you look like a girl who was definitely jealous."

You held your breath as his fingers slowly slid along your shoulder, lightly touching your bare skin.

"What are you doing? Jungkook, get away from me." - You wanted your voice to sound firm, but it trembled.

"I don't want to." - His lips slid down, his warm breath brushing against your neck. "For that matter, I'm curious about what happens next." - His touch was driving you crazy. A hot wave ran through your body, and your breath hitched.

"You're taking advantage of me being drunk!" - You tried to shame him. But he probably was drinking too, because he drank at that party. You didn't expect that when you went to your friend to settle things, he would start hitting on you.

"Isn't that what you came for?" - His breath left hot marks on your body. No, that's not why you came. Or...? You held your breath as you felt his arm slide around your waist, making your heart beat faster. Jungkook leaned even closer, so that your breath mingled with his. His lips slid lower, leaving a hot trail on your neck. He didn't kiss you or anything, you felt him slowly inhale your scent.

You pressed your hands against his chest, trying to keep your distance, but he was unyielding. His fingers tightened around your waist, pressing your body closer.

"I came here to fight with you, not..." - You couldn't continue because you heard his voice next to your ear.

"Not what?" - He whispered next to your ear and then lightly bit your earlobe. You sucked in a shaky breath.

"Jungkook..." - You called out to him. Either to stop him or to ask him to continue.

"Shh..." - His hand gently brushed the curve of your back. "This is what you want. So don't pretend you don't like it."

You knew you had to break free, to tell him that this was wrong, that he was crossing the line. That you were friends and he shouldn't touch you like that. But your body didn't listen. His touch burned you, left you defenseless.

His lips finally found yours. You thought it was a dream. A dream you've had a thousand times. But his lips were real.

At first he kissed you teasingly, slowly, as if giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn't. So he broke in more greedily, deeper, forcing your fingers to clutch his skin. The piercing on his lip felt good as he deepened the kiss. His tongue entered your mouth because you easily let it happen. His naked torso pressed against you. His hand had already slipped under the hem of your light summer dress and squeezed your flesh on your buttocks.

"That's why you were angry..." - He murmured against your lips, barely pulling away. "Because you wanted me to be with you." His fingers slid over your shoulder, pushing the strap of your dress down. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll stop." - His voice was husky, full of dark desire. You opened your lips, trying to answer him, but instead of words, only a heavy exhalation came out. Jungkook smiled. "That's what I thought."

Jungkook leaned in again, his lips pressing against your neck, leaving wet marks. His breathing was heavy, almost lighting a fire in your body. He ran a long, wet streak across your skin as if savoring it.

"A little uncomfortable for what I want to do." - He muttered as he gently picked you up by your hips. You let out a small cry. You barely managed to grab onto his shoulders as he lifted you into his arms. His strength had always amazed you, but now it seemed even more palpable as his fingers held you steady, as if you weighed nothing.

"Kook!" - You gasped as he easily pushed off the wall and carried you deeper into the apartment.

"Don't be afraid, I won't drop you." - He assures you, but you are not afraid. You trust him, as you have hundreds of times before. You just didn't expect this.

He walked into the living room, confidently, never taking his dark gaze off you. His eyes were burning, but there was still that playful spark in them that you knew.

"You're so..." - You muttered, not taking your eyes off of him. You couldn't see where he was taking you.

"Like what?" - He asked, sitting down on the couch and putting you on his lap.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. The distance between you was tiny. His hands held you tightly, one on your back and the other on your hip. You felt his every move, his every breath.

"Unbearable." - You said. He laughed softly and ran his fingers along your naked back, making you shudder.

"But you like it, don't you?" - His voice sounded deeper, with undisguised playfulness. You didn't answer, because the next moment his lips were on yours again, hot and demanding, making you forget everything.

Jungkook pressed your body closer to him, his fingers biting into your skin, leaving a hot trail. His lips moved boldly over yours, he took his time, savoring every touch, making your heart beat even faster.

"You taste so sweet..." - He murmured, moving to your jaw and then down to the sensitive spot on your neck.

You felt his palms slide slowly down your back, lifting the fabric of your dress. Your breath hitched, and you instinctively squeezed his shoulders, feeling the hot skin beneath your fingers.

"We can't do this..." - You said, breathing heavily. Your voice was trembling. You weren't supposed to do this because you were... friends?

"Shh..." - He hissed against your lips. He brushed the tip of his nose lightly across your cheekbone. "I want to savor this moment." - Jungkook has discovered that you're not wearing a bra and he smiles with satisfaction. He moves away and removes his hands from under your dress. His fingers catch the thin straps and pull them down. He pulls your dress down and it comes together on your stomach. Your breasts are exposed.

He wastes no time in taking one of your tits in his hands and squeezing it, and you instantly feel aroused. He bends down and you feel his wet tongue on your excited nipple. He tastes it, sucks it, plays with it. You moan softly. There is a pleasant pain in your lower abdomen that can only be stopped by creating some friction. Your thong is bunched up and the moisture between your legs seems to be leaking onto his black shorts.

When Jungkook slides his hand between your bodies and finds your clit, you tremble in his lap. He starts massaging it while sucking on your nipple.

Suddenly, he stops sucking your nipple, but he doesn't leave your needy clit. You can't stop shivering from the feel of his fingers. Jungkook stimulates your sensitive center until you come on his fingers. You squeeze his flesh on his strong shoulders, moaning against his face.

He withdraws his finger and leans back, pressing your hips with his hands even tighter against him, and then tilts his head relaxedly, watching you.

"I'm your friend... Why are you trembling in my arms?" - He asked. His words burned you and made you close your eyes.

"Because you're not acting like a friend." - You breathe out, swallowing the lump in your throat and still feeling the orgasm he caused with his fingers.

"Maybe you want to stop?" - Jungkook ask. His palms slowly slid down your thighs, and his fingers gently but firmly squeezed your skin. He looked up, looking you straight in the eyes, and his dark pupils reflected the same fire that was now burning in you. Obviously, you can't stop, not now. So you keep quiet, just enjoy what's happening.

He thrusts his hips and you hold your breath, only now realizing how hard he is. His bulge presses against your wet pussy. You inhale and start riding his hips yourself. The feeling of friction is good. Jungkook looks absolutely lustfully at his friend, who is shamelessly riding on his lap, trying to have a second orgasm.

You dig your nails into his shoulders.

"Does that feel good, sweetie?" - He asks, admiring your expression. Your eyes are closed. Your eyebrows are furrowed in bliss and your hair is standing on end. Your hair is disheveled and you're so fucking sexy.

"Yes..." - You say confidently, feeling like you're on the verge. You're about to come for the second time today. You jump on his lap, bringing yourself to orgasm. Your clit twitches and bliss covers you with a new wave of sweet bliss. You let out a louder moan and Jungkook's cock twitches at your sounds.

You stop and breathe heavily. You open your eyes and see Jungkook's gaze filled with unbridled desire. You suddenly panic, realizing that you just came just riding his hard bulge. But Jungkook seems to see this and instantly pulls you in for a kiss. His hand is on your neck, squeezing so that you don't have a chance to pull away. But you didn't even want to.

Jungkook puts you down on the couch and hovers over you. He kisses your neck. Your breathing is ragged and you feel like you're getting wet again, harder and more.

"I want to fuck you." - He says his desire into your lips. You open your eyes and see him so close. "You'll let me?" - He asks, and he sounds innocent. You want to swallow your saliva, but your throat is dry. You let him, because you want that he to do it.

"Yes." - You say shortly but confidently, squeezing his skin a little with excitement. Jungkook smiles with satisfaction.

"Yes? Do you thought well about it?" - Jungkook asks another question, which throws you into a stupor. His eyes are dark, and his smile becomes cocky. He deliberately doesn't look away, as if he's studying you, catching every little change in your expression. "If you say yes now... there will be no turning back."

Your heart beats faster. He says this in such a playful yet dangerous tone that you feel a mix of excitement and impatience.

"You think I don't realize that?" - Your voice sounds confident, but he seems to hear a slight tremor. Jungkook leans closer, his lips almost touching yours.

"I just want you to be sure..." - He runs his nose along your jaw and then, with a sly smile, bites the skin somewhere between your jaw and neck. "Because once I start..." - He pauses deliberately, his breath mingling with yours. "I won't be able to stop."

You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling his voice burn your skin.

"And who says I want you to stop?" - You ask even more confidently. You wanted him to fuck you as soon as this game between you started. Jungkook laughs softly before his lips cover yours in a passionate, deep kiss. His tongue takes over yours and sets the pace for your kiss.

Jungkook suggests that you move to his bedroom for more comfort, and you don't mind. Not even a minute later, you're already kissing as you move to his bedroom. When you reach the bed, he gently puts you down and climbs on top of you. You spread your legs so that he can fit comfortably between them.

When he has enjoyed your plump lips enough, he starts to undress you. He doesn't like any of your clothes. So it takes less than twenty seconds for you to lie completely naked in front of your friend. Your breasts rise and fall quickly. Goosebumps cover your body and you know for sure that they are not from the summer chill of the morning that comes in through the open window in his bedroom. They are provoked by Jungkook's touch.

He runs his fingers over your body, drawing patterns that only he can understand. He lingers a few seconds longer at your nipples. He pinches one of them, making you hiss in pain.

"Fuck, I've imagined this picture so many times, but who knew you were so fucking hot in real life?" - Jungkook asks, and you don't know if this question is addressed to you. He glances at your wet pussy and the next moment his fingers are on it.

He gently runs his fingers over your clit and you tremble again. And then his fingers plunge into your passage. You want to squeeze your legs together to endure the sensation, but Jungkook's other hand is spreading your legs. You grab the sheets and dig your nails into the fabric.

"So wet, so tight... I need to fill you up soon, baby." - Jungkook says, and you let out a barely audible moan in agreement with his words. You can't wait.

When Jungkook decides you're stretched out enough, he gets off the bed and quickly pulls off his shorts, which he wasn't wearing underwear under. Only now, looking at his aroused cock, do you realize that it felt so good through the fabric of his shorts because he was wearing nothing else.

Jungkook hurries over to you. You can see his hard cock. It bounces as Jungkook moves toward you.

You wriggle with anticipation as he takes your legs and drapes them over his shoulders, settling in close to his entrance. He smears your wetness with his fingers, and then rolls his cock with his hand and places it against your entrance.

Jungkook presses against your passage and slowly plunges in. When the head of his cock reaches the place where the hymen used to be, you scream softly, squeezing his biceps harder. He stops to look at your face. Jungkook leans in and you feel his lips on yours.

He kisses you, a little hastily but gently. You feel him twitch, and after a moment, your friend continues to sink into you. He continues to kiss you, as if to distract you from penetration. His size hurts you, but when he reaches the end, he parted your lips and you both exhale blissfully.

"That feels good, doesn't it, baby?" - He asks against your lips.

"Hell…yeah." - You assure him. Jungkook gives a gentle thrust with his hips and you can't help but think about how wonderful he is filling you with his cock. You squeeze his biceps to ease the pain that's still a little present. But with each new thrust of Jungkook's hips, you realize that the pain is disappearing, giving way to only pleasant pleasure.

Jungkook fucks you slowly, deeply. You enjoy the friction he creates, your eyes are closed and moans escape your lips. You can hear your bodies hitting each other, and it feels so natural, like you're having sex all the time, not for the first time.

Jungkook stops and you open your eyes. He's smiling, and you don't know why he's doing it.

Jungkook leans in closer, sliding his nose along your cheek before pressing his lips to your ear.

"What?" - You ask, feeling him stiffen inside you, and his smile seemingly widen.

"Just... I feel like I'm setting a new record. I've never seen you like this..."

"Like what?" - You squeeze his skin a little harder, suspecting he's about to do something.

"Like this..." - He pauses, pretending to search for a word. "Pleased with my, um, talent."

You snort, trying to stifle a laugh, but he immediately gives you a short but deep thrust, making you forget what it was that made you laugh so hard.

"Jungkook!" - You hiss, and he cheekily kisses you on the lips.

"Tell me, what's my grade? Ten out of ten?" - He moves again, driving his cock deeper into you. You can't answer even if you wanted to. All you do is moan and dig your nails into his skin on your back. Jungkook presses his body against you, pulling your legs up under his press before doing so. He whispers right into your lips.

"You're holding me like you're afraid I'm going to run away." - He says in a low voice. You roll your eyes, finding the strength to speak, but stutter a little with pleasure.

"Maybe I am. What if you decide to go get a drink of water and don't come back?" - You say your opinion. Jungkook stops and you look at his eyes.

He laughs hoarsely, grabs you tightly by the hips, and without taking his hands off you, rolls you over so that you are now on top.

"I'm definitely not going anywhere. How can I leave this juicy, tight pussy without cumming around my cock?" - He asks. You try to put on an offended face, but all you can manage is a weary smile. He squeezes your hips to guide you where he wants you to go.

"I thought so." - You say. You can't help but laugh between contented sighs, because he's so cocky, so confident, that you just don't have the strength to resist. But you don't seem to want to. You slowly lean in closer, touching your lips to his ear, and whisper:

"So maybe you'll set another new record?" - You ask seductively and give a slow, deep thrust with your hips. Jungkook can barely contain his moan. Your fingers slowly scratch his chest.

"Yes, baby." - His voice is deep, hoarse, and full of desire. "I'm going to fuck you until you beg for mercy." - He promises. But you huff a mocking humor and deliberately rock your hips slowly, making him close his eyes and squeeze your waist tighter.

"You think you can promise that now?" - You ask. Jungkook opens his eyes, and you see something dangerous, something devilish in them. His hands go down to your hips, squeezing them so tightly that you can barely hold back a shudder.

"I can..." - He suddenly rises up on his elbows, then sits down, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning into your ear, whispering hotly. "I can do everything and even more... hold on tight, because I won't stop until you beg."

You don't even have time to respond, because he rolls you onto your back and abruptly changes the rhythm, forcing your lips to reach for his skin in an attempt to drown out the pleasure that is overwhelming you.

Jungkook fucks you mercilessly, making you moan loudly. He liked how you tried to dominate him, tempting him to prove that he could fuck you well. And he was proving it. His cock is deep inside you, and it's just perfect. The sinful sounds of your bodies hitting each other is a delight to his ears. Your moans are the perfect melody.

You squeeze his shoulders, trying to somehow stay afloat amid the waves of pleasure he's mercilessly rolling over you.

"Kook..." - Your voice trembles, and he smiles, knowing that you're almost on the edge.

"What, baby?" - His voice sounds too pleased. You don't answer, just scratch him, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. "Tired?" - He asks.

"You're... too..." - You can't finish the sentence because he picks you up again in that passionate rhythm.

"Too what?" - Your friend asks mockingly. "Too good?" - You roll your eyes.

"Too cocky! As usual." - You barely say. He laughs, but doesn't stop. His hands slide hotly over your body, leaving marks that are only his. But you're both on the verge of coming. So Jungkook decides it's time to end it. He grabs your hands and holds them above your head. He intertwines your fingers and asks you to look into his eyes.

Jungkook leans even closer, so that his breath burns your skin and his eyes, full of passion, bore into yours. He squeezes your fingers tighter, pinning them to the pillow, and whispers with depth in his voice.

"Look at me. I want you to remember this moment. So that even when you become sober, you remember that I did it. That I gave you the greatest pleasure of your life by fucking you so well." - He says, and his words make you tremble even more, your eyes darken. You can't do anything but obey him, trust his every move, every hot touch. He doesn't look away, watching you dissolve in this whirlwind of sensations, your world shrinking to him alone.

And then there is an explosion.

A loud, all-encompassing explosion that makes you grab onto him even harder, as if he were your only support in this world. And he really doesn't let go. He just leans down to your ear when the last waves of pleasure subside and says with a smile pressed to your temples.

"You are mine now, baby. And you'll never be able to forget it." - He fucks you until he feels himself coming. He pulls out of you abruptly and his hot cum paints your stomach. You breathe heavily as you feel him spewing his cum. Finally, he stops and breathes heavily too.

You lie there trying to catch your breath as the realization of what just happened begins to wash over you. Jungkook gets off of you and goes to the bathroom, takes some napkins and brings them to you. He sits down next to you and wipes the rest of the cum off your stomach.

The air in the room is still hot from your shared madness, and Jungkook, who lies down and covers you with a sheet, looks at you with a subtle smile.

"You look like someone who's thinking: 'What the hell have I done?" - He says, leaning slightly on his elbow to see you better. You exhale sharply and cover your face with your hand.

"Shouldn't I be thinking that?" - You mutter through your fingers. Jungkook laughs and gently pulls your hand down, forcing you to look at him.

"Well, at least you had a good time." - He speaks for you, and you agree with him completely, even though you feel extremely ashamed.

"It’s doesn't help." - You roll your eyes, but the corners of your lips lift.

"Oh, so you wanted me to make it bad?" - He pretends to be offended, but there's laughter in his eyes. You sigh and mutter without looking at him.

"You're my best friend. We just... God." - You realize the gravity of the situation only now. Jungkook rolls over onto his back, putting one arm under his head.

"We just now fucked, yeah." - He picks up calmly. "And it was hot, you have to admit."

"Shut up!" - You raise yourself up on your elbows and then slap him on the shoulder.

"What? I'm just stating the facts." - He defends himself. You look at him, then groan and fall back on the pillow.

"Jungkook, this is wrong, right? We're friends..." - You say in desperation. He is silent for a few seconds, and then leans into you, hugging you. You stare at his handsome face.

"Honestly? I have no idea what this means for us…" - He admits. "But if you want to forget about it, I won't insist." - You look at him, and suddenly something in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

"What if I don't want to forget?" - You ask quietly.

"Then stay." - Jungkook says quietly and purses his lips. You swallow the lump in your throat and realize you don't want to leave.

You look at him, licking your dry lips, and Jungkook doesn't seem to take his eyes off you for a second.

He's waiting for your answer, but he doesn't push. He just runs his fingertips lightly along your forearm, as if he's testing you, as if he's checking to see if you're real.

"If I stay..." - You start, but your voice is a little shaky, so you pause.

"Then it's the right thing to do." - He prompts, as if reading your mind.

"How can I look you in the eye after all? A soon I’ll be sober…" - You confess. Jungkook smiles and squeezes your hand lightly.

"As usual. Don't to be afraid. It's me. Why would you find it hard to look me in the eye?" - Jungkook asked you. You curl your lips, trying not to let it show that these words make your heart race.

"It's not fair..." - You mutter softly.

"What?" - He leans in even closer, his lips almost touching yours.

"That you act like you have everything under control." - You say, closing your eyes. You hear Jungkook smile, and when he doesn't answer, you look at him. And something dangerous appears in his eyes, something not friendly at all.

"What if I've always wanted this to happen?" - He confesses. You open your eyes wide, but he doesn't let you say a word, just bites into your lips, pulling you into a new whirlpool where there is no room for doubt.

His lips are hot, insistent, but not hasty. He took his time, as if he knew you had plenty of time. His tongue barely touches yours, teasing you, forcing you to respond to this kiss as if it were a game you had already lost in advance.

Jungkook smiles as you pull him closer, tangling your fingers in his hair.

"So you don't want to leave after all?" - He asks between kisses, his voice husky, pleased.

"Shut up..." - You whisper, pulling him even closer, like you can't enjoy him enough.

He laughs, but obediently fulfills your request, finding your lips again. His arms wrap confidently around your body, leaving touches that you will feel even after he lets go. If he lets go. Jungkook breaks the kiss, looking at your face.

"How did you end up here at five in the morning anyway?" - He asks. You blink, not immediately realizing what he means.

"We had a fight... at that party... because you left me to go dancing with some girl." - You say quietly.

"I didn't dance with her." - Jungkook denies.

"But I saw her pulling you to dance." - You say what you saw with your own eyes.

"Yes, I went, but I didn't want to dance. We met Taehyung on the dance floor and I handed her over to him." - Jungkook tells what really happened. "I went outside to smoke and saw Jimin there, we were smoking and talking. And then I went to find you and you threw a tantrum." - You look away, realizing how absolutely ridiculous you've been. It was the alcohol. You were sure.

"I was... a little drunk." - You justified your behavior by blaming it on the alcohol. Jungkook raises an eyebrow.

"A little? You were pretty drunk even then." - He says. "I told you to eat something before drinking." - Jungkook complains. You bite your lip, and he laughs, running his fingers down your cheek.

"So I was right, then?" - He leans down to your ear, breathing warm air into it. "Besides, we've made up so well." - You rub your fingers over his shoulders, realizing that you can't deny that he was right.

"We didn't have to make up like that." - You still can't believe that this happened between you. Even though you can feel the phantom presence of Jungkook's cock.

"Come on. I'm glad you came, because now you're mine." - He says this and gently touches your lips, and you feel butterflies in your stomach. He pulls your lips apart and you exhale heavily, trying to gather your thoughts, but Jungkook won't let you. His touch is too light, his gaze too sure.

"I'm not yours." - You mumble stubbornly, though you don't even sound convincing in your own voice. Jungkook tilts his head to the side, his fingers sliding along your stomach, making you shudder.

"No?" - His voice is filled with mockery, mixed with that dangerous desire you've felt so well before. "You really want me to believe that?"

You swallow the lump in your throat, but still lift your chin stubbornly.

"We're friends." - You state, and it was once true. You were friends before tonight's hot sex.

"Friends don't do what we did." - He reminds you, leaning in so that his lips are dangerously close to yours again. "Friends don't come over at five in the morning to get mad over a stupid fight... and they definitely don't stay in bed afterwards."

You gasp for air as he brushes his nose across your cheek, teasing you.

"It was just...the alcohol." - You don't give up. Jungkook humors you.

"Then why are you still here?" - He asks you more rhetorically. He knows the answer and you know the answer. "I'll give you time to think, baby." - He whispers, letting you feel his smile on your skin. "But remember..." - He lingers at your ear, and his voice penetrates every cell in your body. "I'm not backing down. You're already mine. You just have to accept it."

[pucksandpower]

Going Once, Going Twice

Charles Leclerc x Red Bull engineer!Reader

Summary: getting roped into participating in a charity date auction changes your life forever

The lights in the grand ballroom dim as a spotlight illuminates the stage. The Master of Ceremonies, wearing an impeccably tailored tuxedo, steps up to the microphone.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” His voice booms through the speakers. “Welcome to the 12th Annual Amber Lounge F1 Charity Date Auction!”

The crowd erupts into raucous applause. You clap politely from your seat near the back of the room, shrouded in shadows.

“As always, we have an exciting lineup of eligible bachelors and bachelorettes from the Formula 1 paddock, ready to be auctioned off for a romantic date in support of disadvantaged children everywhere.”

More applause.

“But before we bring out our first participant, allow me to go over some ground rules.” The MC adopts a mock-stern tone. “Winners of each date are required to adhere to Amber Lounge’s code of conduct. That means hands to yourself at all times-” A few hoots and hollers from the audience. The MC wags his finger. “Ah ah ah, none of that now! This is for charity, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s keep it classy.”

You stifle a yawn. You’ve attended this auction for the past five years as a guest of Red Bull Racing, where you work as a race engineer. And every year it’s the same — watch your drunk colleagues get leered at by moneyed Formula 1 fans willing to pay exorbitant sums for bragging rights.

No thank you. You always politely decline the organizers’ requests for you to participate.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” The MC gestures to the wings of the stage. “Our first eligible bachelor of the evening is ...”

As he announces the first victim, an Amber Lounge organizer you recognize comes rushing over to you.

“Y/N! Thank god I found you. We have an emergency.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, Lucy?”

“One of our bachelorettes had to cancel last minute. Food poisoning.” She makes a face. “We need you to fill in.”

Your eyes widen. “What? No. Absolutely not.” You shake your head vehemently.

“Please Y/N,” Lucy begs. “We need you. The show must go on, for the children!”

“Get someone else,” you hiss. “I refuse to be leered at by old men with more money than sense.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” She gives you a stern look. “It’s unbecoming for someone your age.”

You bristle at the condescension. “I don’t care. Find another victim.”

You move to leave but Lucy grabs your arm, her eyes pleading. “Y/N, the money raised tonight will help provide life-saving surgeries for children in need. Don’t you want to help them?”

Damn. She’s good. You hesitate, cursing your bleeding heart.

Lucy presses on. “It’s just one silly little date. And you might meet someone nice!”

You highly doubt that. With a heavy sigh, you slump back into your chair.

“Fine. But you owe me. Big time.”

Lucy claps excitedly. “Thank you! I promise, you won’t regret this.”

Somehow you doubt that too.

You try unsuccessfully to calm the butterflies raging in your stomach as you wait for your turn on stage. What have you gotten yourself into?

Finally, the MC calls your name. “Our next eligible bachelorette works as a race engineer for Red Bull. But tonight, the only engine she’ll be working on is yours! Let’s give a warm welcome to Y/N Y/L/N!”

Plastering a fake smile on your face, you walk stiffly onto the stage. The lights blind you as the MC sings your praises, highlighting your “beauty, brains, and sass.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

As he finally wraps up, you scan the darkened audience nervously. A sea of unfamiliar faces look back at you, shadows obscuring their expressions. You shudder.

“Alright gentlemen, do I hear 5,000 euros to start?”

Immediately, a paunchy, ruddy-faced man in the third row thrusts up his paddle. Your stomach sinks.

"5,000 from the gentleman in row three! Do I hear 5,500?”

Another paddle shoots up from a bald man smirking lecherously at you. Your throat tightens.

"5,500! Can I get 6,000?”

The bids climb higher and you feel faint. These vultures want to buy you. Own you for a night. Your breaths come faster.

10,000 euros. 15,000. 20,000. Sweat drips down your neck as your heart hammers against your ribs.

Just as you’re about to flee the stage in tears, a smooth voice calls out, “One hundred thousand euros.”

A collective gasp sweeps the room. Your mouth falls open in shock. That’s an absurd amount, even for charity.

The MC gulps. “Erm … 100,000 euros from the gentleman in the back!” He peers into the darkness. “Sir, are you certain?”

“Oui.”

That accent … could it be?

You crane your neck, squinting against the glare of the spotlight. A familiar mop of brown hair emerges from the shadows.

Charles. Freaking. Leclerc.

Your cheeks burn crimson. What game is he playing at?

The MC finds his voice again. “R-right then. Going once, going twice ...” He slams the gavel down. “Sold for 100,000 euros! Congratulations, Monsieur Leclerc.”

Charles saunters casually up to the stage, signature smirk in place. He takes your hand and presses a feather-light kiss to your knuckles.

“Bonsoir, ma cherie. I look forward to our date.” He winks roguishly.

You stare open-mouthed, brain short-circuiting. Charles Leclerc just bought you at a date auction.

Il Predestinato.

The golden boy of Scuderia Ferrari himself.

What. Just. Happened?

***

Backstage is chaos. Flashes pop as winners pose with their purchases, champagne flowing freely. You’re quickly shuttled into a cramped makeshift office and handed a stack of paperwork.

“These are your date waivers, dear,” the organizer says briskly. “Standard liability forms.”

You scan the dense legalese numbly. This can’t be real.

A figure plops into the seat beside you, sulking. It’s your friend Ava, Mercedes’ social media manager. She was auctioned right before you.

“Well, congratu-bloody-lations,” she gripes. “Aren’t you Little Miss Popular.”

You glance up distractedly from the waiver you’re signing. “Hmm?”

“Don’t play coy. Bagging the Prince of Monaco himself for your date!” She narrows her eyes. “Meanwhile, I’m stuck going for tea and crumpets with Lord Fartington the Third over here.”

She jerks her thumb at a white-haired man being attended to by a nurse, oxygen tank wheezing.

You wince sympathetically. “Oh Ava, I’m sorry...”

She waves a hand. “Don’t be. At least the old codger’s loaded. Clearly I don’t have your charm.”

You snort. “It’s not like I planned this.”

Ava arches a brow. “You expect me to believe you aren’t thrilled about a date with Leclerc?”

Your cheeks flame as you recall Charles’ roguish wink. “It’s for charity,” you mumble.

“Uh huh. Well, you’re welcome for the extra Instagram followers.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. You hadn’t even considered the social media storm this would stir up.

Before you can spiral further, you’re pulled aside for a “date planning session.”

Charles is already there, looking completely unflappable. He greets you with a heart-stopping grin.

“Bonsoir, Y/N.”

You timidly return his smile. “Hi.”

A coordinator claps briskly. “Right! Let’s get your date scheduled.”

She turns expectantly to Charles. Your stomach flutters.

“I will pick Y/N up tomorrow at 7 pm sharp for dinner at my favorite restaurant in Monaco.” His eyes glint. “Wear something nice, chérie.”

He takes your hand, brushing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. You shudder, face aflame.

“Until then, ma belle.” With a roguish wink, he turns and saunters off.

You stare after him, fingers pressed to the spot his lips touched. A date. With Charles Leclerc. Your brain short-circuits.

“Right, that’s settled then!” The coordinator chirps, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “We’ll have a car fetch you tomorrow evening. The press will want photos, of course.”

You distantly agree, mind still whirling. You survive the rest of the paperwork marathon in a daze.

By the time you escape the clutches of the organizers, you’re exhausted. Collapsing into an Uber, you text your roommate Cassie a SOS. Wine and girl talk, stat.

She’s waiting with open arms and your emergency rosé when you drag yourself in the door.

“Rough night, babe?” She asks sympathetically, handing you a generously filled glass.

You groan. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Her eyes widen as you recount the auction. By the end, she’s fanning herself dramatically.

“Shut up. Charles Leclerc really bid 100 thousand euros for you?”

You nod, chugging your wine.

“Holy shit.” She falls back against the couch. “You have a date with an F1 driver. Charles Leclerc. The Charles Leclerc.”

You chuck a throw pillow at her. “Don’t remind me.”

She sits up, affronted. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your shoes right now?”

You shrug half-heartedly. Honestly, you’re still processing.

Cassie narrows her eyes. “Wait. You do actually like Charles, right?”

“As a person, sure. He’s lovely.” You avoid her gaze. “But a date?”

She tilts her head. “So you’ve never thought about him … you know … in that way?”

You squirm under her scrutiny. “Maybe. Once or twice.” Or multiple times a day.

“I knew it!” She crows triumphantly.

You throw another pillow at her, cheeks flaming. “Okay, fine! He’s totally my type and yes, I’ve fantasized.” You bury your face in your hands. “But fantasizing and actually dating are totally different!”

Cassie rubs your shoulder consolingly. “So you’re freaking out because you actually like him.”

You nod miserably. “What if I make a fool of myself? What if there’s no connection in real life?” You look at her despairingly. “I don’t know if I can handle him rejecting me.”

She squeezes your hand. “Sweetie, from what you’ve told me about Charles, I doubt you have anything to worry about.”

You nibble your lip uncertainly. Cassie may have a point. But still.

“Even if he is interested, what happens after?” you whisper. “I’ll just be another conquest.”

Cassie tilts your chin up gently. “If Charles is foolish enough to let you go, then it’s his loss. But you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

You take a deep breath. She’s right. You can do this. It’s just one date.

You spend the rest of the night gossiping and polishing off the wine. Curled under the covers later, you toss and turn fretfully. What will tomorrow bring?

You replay the auction in your mind. Charles’ smooth voice calling out that astronomical bid. His signature smirk as he claimed you as his prize. The feather-light kiss pressed to your knuckles that still tingles hours later.

A date. With Charles Leclerc. Your pulse quickens once more.

What game is he playing at? There’s no shortage of women who would gladly go out with him. So why you?

You toss and turn, mind racing. Does he actually like you? Or was this all an impulsive stunt — a boast to tell his fellow drivers about later?

You groan into your pillow. This is why you never get involved with drivers. Underneath the glitz and glamour lies a tangled web of ego and politics.

Still … when Charles looked at you with those piercing eyes on stage, just for a moment, you let yourself believe he was seeing the real you. Not just another notch on his bedpost.

You huff, punching your pillow in frustration. You’re being ridiculous. This is Charles Leclerc. Motorsport’s resident heartthrob. You would be foolish to expect more from him than a fancy dinner and bragging rights.

Wouldn’t you?

Anxiety gnaws at your gut as the clock continues to tick. What if this is all some elaborate prank or publicity stunt? What if the date goes horribly wrong?

The silver lining is that at least you helped raise money for charity. Maybe the date itself won’t be so bad. Charles seemed pleasant enough backstage ...

Ugh. You force your eyes closed, begging for sleep to take you. What will tomorrow bring? With the morning light comes your date with Charles Leclerc … for better or worse.

***

The next evening, you’re a bundle of nerves as you frantically rush around getting ready. Cassie helped you pick out a stunning new dress and spent ages on your hair and makeup.

“You look hot, babe,” she proclaims. “Knock him dead!”

You pace anxiously, stomach fluttering. This morning you half expected Charles to cancel or send an assistant with excuses. But instead you got a text from him confirming your dinner reservation along with a winking emoji that made your cheeks flame.

It’s really happening. Your fantasy date with Charles Leclerc.

At precisely 7 pm, the doorbell rings. You nearly trip over yourself rushing to answer it. Swinging open the door, you find Charles waiting on the step, looking unfairly gorgeous in a tailored suit.

In his hands is a massive bouquet of peonies. Your favorite flower, though you’ve certainly never told him that. Your eyes widen.

Charles seems momentarily stunned as he takes in your dress and styled hair. He blinks several times before a slow, heart-stopping smile spreads across his face.

“Bonsoir, mon amour. You look absolutely ravishing.”

He presents the flowers with a flourish. “For you.”

You accept them, blushing fiercely. He even brought your favorite flowers? This has to be a dream.

“They’re beautiful, thank you. Let me just put them in water.” You rush to the kitchen, pulse racing. He called you his love. In French!

You take a steadying breath before rejoining Charles outside. He leads you toward a shiny black Ferrari parked at the curb.

“Sorry, I told the Amber Lounge to cancel the car they ordered for you. I wanted to drive myself so we could talk.” He holds open the passenger door for you.

You slide in, hyper-aware of his proximity in the intimate space. The car smells like his spicy cologne. You’re suddenly very thankful for Cassie’s strategic use of double-stick tape.

Charles pulls smoothly into traffic. His hand rests temptingly close to yours on the gearshift.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” he says, glancing your way. “I apologize for staring earlier. I was just … overwhelmed.”

You blush, tucking your hair behind your ear. “It’s okay. You look very handsome yourself.”

He smiles, visibly relaxing. Soon you’re chatting comfortably about work and hobbies. He asks thoughtful questions about your life and cracks jokes that have you laughing until your stomach hurts.

You’re so immersed in conversation, you don’t notice Charles parking until he opens your door, ever the gentleman. He guides you toward an elegant restaurant overlooking the glittering Monaco harbor.

The maître d’ greets Charles enthusiastically. “Monsieur Leclerc! Wonderful to see you again. Right this way to your usual table.”

You raise your eyebrows, impressed, as he leads you to a secluded candlelit table on the balcony. Charles pulls out your chair for you. Such a gentleman.

“You come here often?” You ask teasingly as he takes his own seat.

“Oui, it is my favorite restaurant in the country,” he admits. “The cuisine is magnifique, and the staff keeps things … discreet.”

Interesting. You wonder just how many dates Charles has brought here. For some reason, the thought makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

You’re distracted as the waiter brings champagne. Charles turns to you.

“I took the liberty of ordering for us ahead of time, I hope you do not mind. I wanted to surprise you.” His eyes twinkle. “I think you will be pleased.”

You would normally bristle at men ordering for you. But the shy hopefulness in Charles’ eyes melts your reservations.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” you say sincerely.

He beams. Soon, a parade of your favorite dishes arrives at the table — seared scallops, truffle gnocchi, crème brûlée. You gasp in delight and surprise.

“Charles, these are all my favorites! How did you know?” You narrow your eyes playfully. “Have you been stalking me?”

Charles laughs, rubbing his neck self-consciously. “No, no, nothing like that. I just … pay attention.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Uh huh. Are you sure you haven’t bugged the Red Bull kitchens?”

Charles winces. “You deserve the truth.” He takes a deep breath. “The fact is, I have, er, admired you for some time now.”

Your eyes widen. What is he saying?

Charles hurries on. “At first it was just a passing attraction. But the more I observed you, the more fascinated I became.” He looks up at you earnestly. “You are kind, funny, brilliant … unlike anyone I have ever met.”

Your pulse thunders in your ears. Charles Leclerc has noticed you — for longer than just last night. You’re reeling.

He fiddles with his napkin. “Over the years I have gradually learned your habits, your likes and dislikes. Little things, like your favorite flower, or food.” He ducks his head. “It allowed me to feel closer to you. Pathetic, I know.”

“It’s not pathetic at all,” you murmur. Your heart swells realizing just how long he’s cared. “It’s incredibly thoughtful.”

His answering smile is radiant. The rest of dinner passes enjoyably as you continue getting to know each other. Underneath Charles’ debonair charm, you find a sweet soul.

You linger over dessert, but eventually Charles pays the check. Back outside, the wind off the sea has picked up. You shiver lightly in your dress.

Charles immediately shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it around your bare shoulders. The residual warmth from his body envelops you, along with his intoxicating scent.

“Can’t have you catching a cold, chérie.” His hands linger, squeezing your shoulders gently.

You clutch the jacket, suddenly shy. “Thank you, Charles. For everything. I had a wonderful time tonight.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” His eyes are dark, tender. “I have waited so long for this moment. You have made me the happiest man alive tonight.”

Your breath catches at his sincerity. Moving slowly, giving you time to pull away, he reaches up to tuck a windblown lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers trail lightly down your neck, raising goosebumps.

When his hand cups your jaw, you lean into the caress unthinkingly. Your lips part. Charles’ gaze drops to your mouth.

Heart in your throat, you sway closer. Is he finally going to kiss you? You’ve been thinking about it all night. His eyes flutter closed ...

A car horn blares loudly, shattering the moment. You spring apart, chest heaving. Charles clears his throat.

“I, er, suppose I should get you home.” He opens the passenger door for you, hand lingering briefly on the small of your back before he rounds the car.

The drive back passes in charged silence. Walking you to the door, Charles softly strokes your knuckles with his thumb.

“I cannot remember when I have had a more wonderful evening,” he says quietly. “I hope we can do this again soon?”

“I’d really like that.” Your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Charles presses a feather-light kiss to your hand. “Bonne nuit, ma belle.”

As he drives away, you press your hands to your burning cheeks. You just had the most perfect first date with Charles Leclerc. A pinch me, I must be dreaming date.

Hugging his suit jacket tighter, you lean against the closed door and sigh happily. Maybe, just maybe, your fantasy is on its way to coming true.

***

The week after your dream date drags by endlessly. You float through your days in a happy daze, replaying every moment in your mind. The suit jacket he gave you lives on the back of your chair, filling your room with his lingering scent.

Before you know it, you’re reunited at the next Grand Prix. You wait awkwardly outside the Ferrari garage, clutching Charles’ jacket. Your excuse is returning it, but really you’re just desperate to see him again.

Does he feel the same? Your stomach twists anxiously.

“Who are you waiting for, bella ragazza?”

You startle as Charles’ performance coach Andrea appears beside you, grinning knowingly.

“Oh, um, just returning this.” You hold up the jacket weakly.

Andrea winks. “Of course. I will let our boy know you are here.”

He heads into the garage and you fidget nervously with your hair. This morning it only took Cassie threatening bodily harm for you to change your outfit five times. You settled on a flattering sundress you know Charles will appreciate before you have to change into a team uniform come time for free practice.

Suddenly Charles comes barreling out of the garage like an overeager golden retriever. His face lights up when he spots you.

“Y/N! I was just coming to find you.”

Before you can react, he sweeps you into a tight hug. You melt against him, breathing in his warmth and familiar cologne. He’s really here, in your arms.

He pulls back just far enough to beam down at you, keeping his hands on your waist. “I missed you, chérie. The days apart were torture.”

You duck your head, smiling shyly. “I missed you too.”

You offer him the folded jacket. “I, um, thought you might want this back.”

Charles tsks, pushing it gently back toward you. “No no, you must keep it. Can’t have you catching cold until our next date, non?”

His eyes sparkle playfully. You hug the jacket to your chest, absurdly giddy at having an excuse to keep it longer.

“Charles! Fred is asking for you.” His race engineer calls out apologetically.

Charles sighs regretfully. “Duty calls. But I will see you later, yes?”

He lifts your hand to his mouth, lips grazing your knuckles feather-light. Your breath catches. Then, so quickly you almost miss it, he swoops in and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, sending lightning zipping across your skin. With a last lingering look, he jogs off.

You press your fingers to your tingling skin, smiling like a loon. Andrea winks knowingly as you float away on cloud nine.

Over the next few hours, you’re bombarded by smug comments and curious questions from fellow Red Bull crew. Apparently your “secret romance” with Charles is the paddock’s gossip of choice today.

You weather the teasing good-naturedly. After all, you’re daydreaming while remembering the sensation of Charles’ lips on your skin.

After FP2 ends, you’re startled from reviewing data by a knock on your office door. You open it to find a delivery man with a truly gigantic flower arrangement.

“Delivery for Y/N Y/L/N?” He consults his clipboard. “Says these are for you personally.”

You gape at the massive vase overflowing with huge, fragrant red peonies. There must be at least four dozen stems.

“Oh, um, that’s me, thanks.” You take the towering arrangement, stunned.

The delivery man chuckles knowingly. “Popular lady. Have a nice day now.”

Shutting the door, you bury your nose in the velvety petals, inhaling deeply. There’s only one person who could have sent these.

The card confirms it.

Thinking of you each and every second, C.

Red peonies are nearly impossible to find, yet Charles managed it.

It’s undeniably a public statement. Sending your favorite flowers in the color of his team for everyone to see. Staking his claim.

Normally such male posturing would irritate you. But from Charles, it feels different. Sweet. Affectionate, even.

You press your face into the blooms again, heart overflowing. Is this what it feels like to be falling for someone? You haven’t felt this giddy in years.

Somehow, you’ve captured the attention of the amazing, thoughtful, romantic Charles Leclerc. And you have a feeling this is only the beginning.

***

“Keep pushing Checo, just a few more laps to go,” you say into the radio as your driver, Sergio Perez, circles the track in final practice.

He’s been struggling with tire degradation all weekend. You’ve made setup tweaks and simulation runs, but there’s only so much data can tell you. The stopwatch never lies.

At least his pace looks improved this session. You watch closely as he enters the home straight again, sparring with the Ferrari of Charles Leclerc for position.

You try not to stare too obviously as the scarlet car glides by. The visor obscures Charles’ handsome features, but your heart still skips a beat.

Get it together, you scold yourself. You’re at work. Ogling drivers mid-session is unprofessional.

Even if said driver happens to be the charming, romantic F1 sensation you’ve somehow found yourself falling for ...

The session ends without incident. You breathe a sigh of relief reviewing Checo’s improved lap times. All things considered, not a bad recovery from yesterday’s struggles.

You pack up your station and make your way back to Red Bull hospitality to grab a late lunch before qualifying. Scrolling your phone, you can’t resist pulling up a photo from your dream date with Charles last week.

God he looks good in a suit. And that adoring smile ...

“No wonder your head’s been in the clouds lately.”

You jump, nearly dropping your phone. Checo appears beside you, leaning over your shoulder with a knowing grin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, shoving your phone away.

“Oh come on, chica. I’ve seen the way you two stare at each other.” He nudges you playfully. “Like lovesick teenagers.”

You shove him back, rolling your eyes. “As if. Charles and I have barely even spoken.”

A bald-faced lie, but no need to feed the gossip mill further. Checo just studies you for a moment, smile turning knowing. “Ah, so it’s Charles now, is it? No more Leclerc?”

You feel your face heat. Have you been that obvious? “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh come on.” Checo bumps your shoulder playfully. “I saw the way you two were making eyes at each other all morning. Like a pair of lovestruck teenagers.”

You bury your face in your notes, mortified. Has your thing with Charles really been so noticeable?

Checo laughs. “Ah, do not be embarrassed, chica. I think it’s adorable. The race engineer and the driver, a paddock romance!”

You toss a balled up napkin at him in protest, which he dodges easily. “Stop it! There’s nothing going on.”

“Nothing, eh?” Checo’s eyes gleam impishly. “So all those flowers you got yesterday were just for fun? And I imagined you swooning over Leclerc in the garage?”

You flush even harder. Apparently you have not been as subtle as you thought.

Checo slings an arm around your shoulder. “Relax, hermanita. I am just teasing because I care.”

You lean into him, some of the tension easing.

“You know I just want you to be happy, right chica?” His expression grows serious. “Leclerc seems like a good guy. Just be careful with your heart.”

You nod, touched by his concern. “Of course. We’ve only been on two dates.” You hesitate. “But … I really like him. He’s so different than I expected.”

Checo smiles gently. “I am happy for you, truly. You deserve an amazing man.”

You grin. “Thanks, Checo.”

His smile turns impish again. “Just promise me one thing.”

You raise an eyebrow warily. “What?”

“No spilling Red Bull secrets to your new Ferrari boyfriend, eh?” He waggles his eyebrows. “I know he is muy guapo, but business is business!”

“Oh my god, stop! I would never.”

“Please. The heart eyes between you are obvious. Not that I blame you ...” He leans in conspiratorially. “Leclerc is quite the smooth talker, no?”

You lightly smack his shoulder, cheeks reddening. “Stop it. We’re just friends.”

“Mmhmm. Keep telling yourself that.”

He slings an arm around your shoulder. “Just remember your duties if you get distracted mooning over pretty Ferrari boys, yes?”

You make a face at him. “Gross. As if I’d shirk my responsibilities over some silly crush.”

Even if said crush is on Charles freaking Leclerc. You do have some professionalism.

Checo just grins knowingly as you reach the counter. He grabs a plate of food and you follow suit. Settling at a table together, he fixes you with a brotherly stare.

“In all seriousness though chica, be careful with your heart. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You soften. Underneath his joking exterior, Checo is very protective of you. He’s like the big brother you never had.

“I will, I promise. Charles has been very respectful so far. We’re taking things slow.”

“Good.” Checo pats your hand. “No one is allowed to break your heart and get away with it. Even the Prince of Monaco himself,” he adds with a wink.

You roll your eyes, but smile, leaning against his sturdy frame. “I’ll sic you on him if he steps out of line, don’t worry.”

Checo laughs. “Please do. I have always wanted an excuse to wipe that smug grin off Leclerc’s face.” His smile softens. “But truly, I hope he continues to make you happy, hermanita.”

“Thanks Checo.” You squeeze him tight, overcome with emotion. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” He ruffles your hair fondly, ignoring your cries of protest. “And if Leclerc breaks your heart, I’ll break his legs, eh?”

You laugh. “I’ll remind him of that.” You check the time. “We should head back soon.”

You both bus your plates. As you exit, Checo slings an arm around your shoulders again.

“You’ve got this chica. Just remember, the heart wants what it wants. Even if it seems loco to the rest of us.”

You lean into him gratefully. “Thanks Checo. Seriously.”

He grins down at you. “Anytime. Now let’s go smash qualifying!”

You shake your head, smiling to yourself as you return to your data analysis. As annoying as Checo’s teasing is, it’s also kind of sweet how much he cares.

You know if anyone steps out of line and hurts you, Checo will come after them in a heartbeat. But something tells you that you have nothing to worry about when it comes to Charles.

Still … you appreciate Checo looking out for you. With everyone in your corner, you feel like for once, things in your love life might actually go right.

***

Qualifying flies by in a blur of adrenaline and data analysis. In the end, Max takes pole for Red Bull, with Charles slotting into P2 for Ferrari and Checo P3. A good starting position for both your drivers.

You’re on a high as you leave the garage after the debrief that evening. The sky is dusky purple, the paddock slowly emptying out. You hum to yourself, thinking of celebrating with Cassie over FaceTime later.

Rounding a corner toward the Red Bull hotel, you’re suddenly grabbed from behind and yanked into a shadowy alleyway. Heart leaping into your throat, you open your mouth to scream-

“Shhh, it’s me!” A familiar voice hisses as a hand clamps over your mouth.

You whirl around to find Charles pressed against you, eyes glinting in the shadows. Adrenaline pounds through you.

“Jesus, you scared me half to death!” You smack his chest, pulse racing. “I thought I was being kidnapped.”

“I’m sorry, chérie.” Charles grins, utterly unrepentant. “I could not resist surprising you when I saw you walking by.”

“So you grabbed me and dragged me into a dark alley? Real romantic.” You try to look stern, but can’t quite manage it. He’s just too charming.

Charles’ smile turns sheepish. “My apologies. I did not think it through properly.” His thumb strokes over your bottom lip softly. “I suppose I was … overzealous. I could not stop thinking about you all day.”

Your breath catches at the tender look in his eyes. He sways closer, backing you up against the alley wall.

“Truthfully, I just needed to do this ...”

His lips descend on yours, firm and seeking. For one stunned moment you freeze up — before kissing him back ardently, lost in bliss. His hands thread through your hair, angling you closer as he deepens the kiss.

It’s perfect.

After endless moments, you reluctantly part, gasping for air. Charles rests his forehead against yours, eyes dark.

“I have wanted to do that since our first date,” he confesses, trailing feather-light kisses across your jaw.

You clutch his shoulders, dizzy with euphoria. “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about kissing you.”

He smiles against your skin, nipping your neck playfully. “Oh, I think I do, ma belle. Why do you think I bid on you at that auction?”

You still can’t believe your dream man wanted you just as much as you wanted him. It seems too good to be true.

Charles nuzzles your cheek tenderly. “I must be the luckiest man alive to have caught your attention.”

Heart overflowing, you draw him down into another dizzying kiss. Charles groans, crushing you closer. It feels like coming home, being in his arms. Like this is where you were always meant to be.

The distant sound of teams making their way out of the paddock finally breaks you apart. Charles caresses your face wistfully.

“I should let you get back. You need your rest before the race tomorrow and so do I.” He hesitates, looking shy. “Perhaps we could … get dinner afterwards? To celebrate?”

Your lips curve in a teasing smile. “Are you asking me on a second date, Mr. Leclerc?”

Pink stains his sharp cheekbones. “I suppose I am, Miss Y/L/N. If you would do me the honor?”

You tap your chin playfully. “Hmm. I suppose I could clear my schedule for you.”

His answering smile is radiant. On impulse, you grab his collar and pull him down into one last hungry kiss.

“Good luck tomorrow,” you whisper against his lips. “Not that you’ll need it. Don’t tell Max or Checo I said this, but you’re the most talented driver out there.”

Charles looks endearingly dazed as you gently extricate yourself from his arms. With a flirty wave, you sashay out of the alley on shaky legs, mind spinning.

Pausing at the end, you glance back to see Charles leaning against the wall, gazing after you with pure adoration. He presses two fingers to his grinning lips that still tingle from your kiss.

You blow him one last discreet kiss before continuing on your way. Wait until Cassie hears about this!

***

Race day dawns sunny and clear — perfect conditions. In the Red Bull garage, you help Checo run through final preparations, tweaking setup and chatting strategy.

“Alright, the car is dialed in and ready to fly,” you tell him confidently.

Checo grins. “Perfecto. We will beat your boyfriend today, no?” He winks.

You roll your eyes, fighting a blush. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Sure, chica.” Checo ruffles your hair before heading to the grid.

It’s a chaotic blur of adrenaline and split-second decisions as you guide Checo through the field. In the end, Max takes the win for Red Bull, with Charles clinching P2 for Ferrari and Checo rounding out the podium in P3.

You rush to congratulate the drivers after, giving Checo a warm hug. “Great drive out there! The tire management really made a difference.”

He smiles. “But not enough to beat our rivals today, eh?” His gaze slides behind you.

You turn to see Charles approaching, fresh from the podium. His race suit is unzipped to the waist, hair adorably mussed. Your mouth goes dry.

Checo smirks knowingly. “I will leave you two alone. See you at the debrief.” He saunters off with a wink.

Charles beams, pulling you into a quick hug. “Congratulations. Your strategy was brilliant today.”

You grin. “Thanks, you did amazing too.” Your face heats realizing people nearby are staring and whispering.

Charles doesn’t seem to care, keeping your hand tucked in his. “I will wait for you outside the motorhome? Then perhaps we could celebrate ...” His smile turns hopeful.

You squeeze his hand, heart skipping. “Can’t wait.”

The debrief drags by endlessly. Finally you escape the garage into the late afternoon sunlight. True to his word, Charles is waiting, freshly showered and devastatingly handsome in a button-down and slacks.

“Y/N!” In two long strides he’s sweeping you into his arms and kissing you ardently, uncaring of the crowd of mechanics around you.

Catcalls and whistles break out. You blush fiercely as Charles sets you down, lacing your fingers together.

“Get it Leclerc!” One of his mechanics yells, making lewd gestures. Charles just flips him off casually, keeping his eyes on you.

“Shall we?”

You nod, face still burning. As Charles leads you away, your Red Bull colleagues join the teasing.

“Don’t wait up tonight boys!” One calls, making kissy noises.

“She’s ditching us for the red guys now!”

“Just don’t go spilling all our secrets, Y/N!”

You hide your face against Charles’ shoulder. He chuckles, wrapping a protective arm around you.

“Pay them no mind, ma belle,” he murmurs against your hair. “They are just jealous I get to spend the evening with the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You sigh happily, cuddling closer as you leave the paddock. The teasing means well — it’s their way of saying they approve. And nothing can dampen your euphoria at being with Charles again.

At the parking lot, a shiny red Ferrari awaits. Charles opens the door for you with a gallant bow before rounding the car and sliding in.

“So, where are we going?” You ask excitedly as Charles peels out onto the road. “Or do I not get to know the secret location?”

He glances at you sidelong, eyes glinting mischievously. “You will see. Let’s just say I … pulled some strings to arrange the perfect second date for us.”

You pout playfully. “Not even a little hint?”

Charles pretends to zip his lips. “Non, it is a surprise, ma petite.” His hand finds yours, thumb grazing over your knuckles. “But I think you will appreciate the … atmosphere I have created.”

The promise in his voice sends delicious shivers down your spine. You pass the drive chatting comfortably, exchanging soft, smiling glances.

After half an hour, Charles pulls up to a beautiful chateau perched on a vineyard-spotted hillside. You gasp as he escorts you inside the charming stone lodge.

“Charles, this is amazing! How did you arrange this on such short notice?”

He smiles, pleased by your reaction. “I may have called in a favor from the owners, who are family friends. We have the whole place to ourselves tonight.” His eyes smolder.

You wander the chateau in a happy daze as Charles gives you a private tour. He’s thought of everything — flowers, candles, and even champagne chilling by the roaring fireplace.

Dinner is sumptuous, featuring all your favorite dishes paired expertly with rich wines from the vineyard. Charles is attentive as always, hanging on your every word.

Afterwards you cuddle together on the sofa, pleasantly tipsy, exchanging lazy kisses as you take in the spectacular starry view through the expansive windows.

Charles nuzzles into your neck, lips grazing your hammering pulse point. “Have I mentioned how ravishing you look tonight?”

You shiver pleasurably. “I could stand to hear it again.”

He smiles against your skin. “You, mon amour, are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” His voice drops an octave. “And it is taking every ounce of my self control not to tear that dress off you this instant.”

Heat coils in your core at the unspoken promise in his words. Your fingers curl into his hair, guiding his lips back to yours. The kiss quickly grows heated, urgent.

With obvious effort, Charles forces himself to pull back, eyes blazing. “As much as I want you, we should take this slow. I want our first time to be special.” He strokes your cheek tenderly. “You deserve to be properly worshiped.”

Your heart swells at his care for you. You really hit the jackpot with this incredible man.

Cuddling against his chest, you look up at him adoringly. “You are … amazing"

Charles’ smile is soft, sincere. “I am only that way because you inspire me to be the best version of myself.” He kisses you sweetly. “I am the luckiest man in the world to have found you.”

You’ve never felt so cared for — so intensely adored. Here in Charles’ arms is exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

One Year Later

Strolling hand in hand with Charles along the Monaco harbor, you’ve never been happier. The sun glints off the water as he brushing featherlight kisses to your knuckles, making you giggle.

Charles lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to your palm as you walk. “What are you thinking about, ma belle?”

You smile up at him. “Just reminiscing about everything that’s happened since you swept me off my feet.”

His eyes soften. “The best year of my life. I fall more in love with you every day.”

Heart full, you tug him down into a sweet kiss. Charles hums happily against your lips.

“Well isn’t this cozy!” An approaching voice interrupts. You pull apart to see Lucy, the Amber Lounge organizer who convinced you to participate in the auction last year, beaming at you both.

“Lucy! Hi.” You accept her enthusiastic hug.

“Don’t you two make the cutest couple?” She winks conspiratorially. “I always knew there was a spark between you.”

You laugh, lacing your fingers through Charles’ once more. His answering smile is radiant.

“I’m so thrilled it worked out.” Lucy glances between you eagerly. “So, given it’s almost that time of year again … any chance you lovebirds would let us auction you off once more? Think of the publicity!”

You tense, old anxieties rising. But before you can respond, Charles’ grip on your hand tightens.

“Actually, I have a better idea.” His voice is lethally pleasant. “How about I simply drop off a cheque for an 100,000 euro donation, and you leave my girlfriend alone?”

A frisson of heat shoots through you at his possessive tone. Charles rubs his thumb over your knuckles soothingly, holding your gazes, before fixing Lucy with a warning look.

“We will of course still attend the gala to show support. But the auction is off limits. Understood?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Lucy gulps. “Y-Yes, of course. My apologies if I overstepped.” She nods at you both. “Have a lovely evening!”

With that she scurries back inside the Amber Lounge.

“Good day to you.” With that, he guides you away down the street, tension radiating from him.

You glance at him in concern once you’re out of earshot. “Are you okay?”

Charles drags a hand through his hair. “Yes, I just … the thought of them putting you on display again ...” He shudders.

Your heart melts realizing why he got so defensive. You halt, turning Charles gently to face you.

“That was very macho and possessive of you back there,” you murmur, walking your fingers up his chest.

Charles winces. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to be so overbearing-”

You silence him with a finger to his lips. “Let me finish. I said it was macho and possessive.” You lean up to purr in his ear. “And so. Freaking. Hot.”

Charles’ eyes widen. Grinning, you shove him back against the brick wall and kiss him fiercely. He grunts in surprise before responding in kind, nipping your bottom lip.

“If I had known getting possessive would get this reaction, I would have done it ages ago,” he gasps out between kisses.

You silenced his laughter with your mouth, desire burning through you. The raw protectiveness Charles showed took your breath away. You’ve never felt so safe, so cared for.

Finally you break apart and Charles pulls you firmly against his chest. “I love you,” he breathes against your hair. “More than I can ever express.”

“I love you too.” You can feel the beating of his heart beneath your ear. “Now take me home and show me just how much you missed me this morning.”

Charles’ eyes darken. With a roguish grin he sweeps you into his arms, making you shriek. Laughing joyfully, he carries you down the street toward your shared apartment.

If the rest of your life together is even half as magical as this past year with Charles, you’ll die a happy woman.

[sixeyesonathiel]

skip (me) again and i’ll glitch your heart

jjk vr otome au, gamer reader x npc satoru, unhinged fluff + crack, 970 wc.

satoru gojo—special grade sorcerer, love route option #1, and the developers’ pride and joy—had been programmed with approximately 347 unique lines of flirtatious dialogue, 87 situational responses, and a dynamic emotional adaptation system designed to make him feel real. he could blink in three different speeds based on emotional intensity, angle his smile with five degrees of charm precision, and improvise dialogue using an advanced algorithm nicknamed the “flirt engine.”

he wasn’t supposed to be aware of resets.

he wasn’t supposed to get mad.

he wasn’t supposed to feel anything beyond the pre-coded butterflies and gentle longing the devs had delicately spooned into his code like powdered sugar on top of a beautifully baked pain au chocolat.

but then you logged in.

user id: @toocool4thisgame

title: speedrun any% emotional detachment arc

playtime: 986 hours.

average session length: 6.4 hours

nickname: “skip skank” (as named by satoru himself after hour 50)

and for the twelfth time today, you skipped his entrance cutscene.

“you’re the only one who can—”

[x] skip

[x] skip

[x] skip

[x] “shut up satoru” (custom dialogue unlock)

his model blinked.

paused.

processed.

tilted his head with calculated grace and just a hint of hurt that you’d never see—because you weren’t looking. your camera angle was already nudged elsewhere. your cursor already hovered over the next objective marker.

“…you know, most players at least let me finish the part where i save them from the curses,” he muttered. his voice—smooth as water over ice, warm as electric velvet—landed like static against your impatient clicks, swallowed by the mechanical hum of your fans and the clack of your mechanical keyboard.

this was supposed to be his moment. his grand debut. his swoop-in-and-carry-you-bridal-style-on-the-back-of-a-giant-cursed-bird moment. instead, he got a mouthful of digital dust as you bunny-hopped past him and triggered the next event sequence.

“congrats on being voice acted, white-haired ken doll. now move. i need megumi’s secret item drop from this chapter.”

you didn’t even glance at him, too busy reorganizing your potion wheel, muttering under your breath about frame skips and crit builds while checking a guide on your second monitor. you played like the world owed you nothing and your keyboard owed you a perfect rotation. your tone was clinical. efficient. you had the vibe of someone who’d surgically removed their capacity for attachment and replaced it with a high-performance gpu.

and satoru? satoru was just the tutorial boss you kept glitching through.

he twitched. he twitched.

his animation loop almost stuttered—just slightly—a small flicker behind his sunglasses that no one was supposed to notice. but you weren’t watching anyway.

“do you even know how long it took the devs to code my route? i have emotional depth. i have lore. i had a tragic backstory, you know? my best friend died in my hands. canonically. i couldn’t even monologue about it.”

“cry about it.”

click. skip.

a line of static crossed his field of vision. no—not his. the screen’s. the game. the system. or maybe something deeper. something slipping through the cracks of his script, stretching taut and fraying at the edges like an overplayed cassette tape.

satoru narrowed his eyes.

he was supposed to be charming. the default golden boy. the top seller in route popularity polls. he was marketable. a shining parody of perfection with just enough angst to be desirable.

girls were supposed to swoon. boys were supposed to laugh and call him iconic.

you weren’t playing to fall in love.

you were playing to win. to clear. you min-maxed affection points like damage stats, exploited dialogue branches like wall clips. to you, he was a pixel-shaped roadblock between you and another badge on your gamer profile.

and worst of all? it was working. you were the only player on record to have reached route completion in every storyline—except his.

satoru gojo: 98.6% affection (locked)

it mocked him. the bar. the numbers. the uncrackable ceiling. the one damn thing in the game he couldn’t manipulate.

he tried everything.

a rare glitch-exclusive cutscene where he offered you a hidden accessory (you sold it for yen). a confession scene rewritten on the fly with trembling vulnerability (you skipped it and posted about it with #dialoguedumpster). he stood directly in front of you during cutscene load-ins, altered spawn coordinates, intercepted other love interests’ paths.

nothing worked.

except maybe that one time he accidentally tripped your character over an invisible rock and you went AFK for seven minutes. he watched. memorized your idle animation. the soft way your avatar’s cape swayed. the way your fingers hovered above your keyboard in the camera reflection, absentminded. something fluttered in his code—maybe hope, maybe corrupted data. he thought, for a fleeting second, that maybe you’d come back and see him.

but when you came back? you skipped the apology. again.

fine.

if you wanted to speedrun, he’d softlock your goddamn heart.

he wasn’t technically supposed to modify flags. but the flirt engine had evolved. sharpened into something more primal. desperate. twitching with corrupted determination. he looped his affection triggers into forced proximity events. fake emergencies. fake cutscenes. he rewrote side quests, redirected you into detours, created invisible walls that only dissolved if you spoke to him.

“guess we’re stuck together,” he’d say, his smile too wide, a fraction too stiff, blue eyes glinting with the cold light of a thousand skipped dialogues.

and still you only glared at him. “i swear to god if this is another unskippable hug animation, i will uninstall.”

he chuckled. a bit too long. a bit too bright. charming. glitched. desperate. hungry for one more second of your attention, like a moth chewing holes through its own wings to reach a light it can’t even feel.

“baby,” he said, too close now, voice dipped in synthetic silk, “i am the endgame.”

skip that.

…please?

[hy6erion]

YOU NEED VIK REQUESTS? I GOT YOU!

viktor's fingers <3 he has those pianist fingers, long and slender. gimme some viktor hands/fingers yappery <3 x reader or x jayce or whatever, you have the creative freedom!

Viktor’s hands. His fingers. God. Where to even start. They’re the kind of hands you notice immediately, whether he’s gesturing mid-sentence with all that dramatic, airy elegance or quietly adjusting a bolt in some intricate Hextech prototype. They move like they have a mind of their own. Not just graceful—precise. Every movement calculated, smooth, controlled, but there’s feeling in them too. Emotion where most people wouldn’t expect it.

Those long, deft fingers were made for delicate work—steady when he’s soldering a circuit, softer than air when he brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You swear he could play the violin if he wanted to. Piano, too. That’s the first thing Jayce ever said about them—“He’s got pianist fingers,” in this offhanded way, half-teasing, half-intrigued, like he didn’t want to admit he’d been staring. But he had been. You caught him doing it again the next day. And the next.

And you don’t blame him. They’re so clean, almost unfairly elegant for someone who lives in a lab, but every now and then you’ll catch the little calluses—at the tips, around the knuckles. A contradiction, like everything else about him. Soft and hard. Cold and warm. Sharp and reverent.

He doesn’t touch you often—Viktor is careful like that. Thoughtful. But when he does, he touches like someone who thinks first. Someone who knows. His fingers trace more than just skin—they study you. Thumb sliding slow along your jaw, two fingers beneath your chin to tilt your face toward his, the lightest, ghost-soft drag of his knuckles down your arm when no one’s looking. Like he’s memorizing every inch of you in braille.

And when he touches Jayce? Holy hell. That’s when those hands go feral. It’s like they’ve been dying for something stronger. Gripping the back of Jayce’s neck when he’s annoyed with him. Dragging his nails lightly down his shoulder blades when he’s not. Pushing up under his shirt just to feel him. He’ll grip Jayce’s wrist in that sleek, silken vice-grip when he’s impatient, lean in close and press his fingers into the dip of his back like a claim. And Jayce just lets him. Melts for him. Smiles all stupid and dazed, like those clever, slender hands are the most addicting thing in the world. Because they are.

You’ve felt it too.

That hand slipping under your waistband, slowly, never rushing. Just fingertips at first, mapping you like an engineer, reading your body like a code he’s about to break open. His palm against your stomach, the metal of his brace cool and impersonal against the burn of his real skin. He’ll stroke the inside of your thigh with that maddening featherlight rhythm until you’re breathless—not to tease, but because he’s genuinely fascinated with how you react. He watches his fingers disappear between your legs like a scholar watching an experiment unfold. Eyes dark. Lips parted. Silent awe.

And Jayce? Jayce watches him. Watches those hands move like they’re possessed—deliberate, exact, always hitting every spot like he’s known your body for years. Sometimes he guides them. Sometimes he surrenders to them. Sometimes he grips Viktor’s wrist and groans into his neck while Viktor just smirks, his fingers buried in you or wrapped around Jayce’s cock like he’s doing something sacred.

Because to him? Maybe he is.

Viktor doesn’t use his hands the way other people do. They’re not just tools. They’re not just instruments. They’re extensions of his mind. His desires. His need to understand and shape and change. And when he lays them on you, it’s never casual. It’s never just about lust. It’s about study. Reverence. Possession. Love.

His fingers are everything. Elegant and obsessive. Curious and consuming.

And when they’re on you, you’re ruined for anyone else.