could you draw gus with the gay and/or trans pride palette?
[ID: two images, both drawings of Gus Porter from the owl house. The first is a full body drawing of Gus in his outfit from Clouds on the Horizon. He's in an energetic pose, with one hand making a peace sign over his face and the other casting a spell of an illusion of a rainbow ribbon. Various stars are dotted around him, and the text "Gus, my guy" is written over the rainbow. The colour scheme throughout the piece is the same as the trans flag, and including the word "guy". The background is blue. The second image is a cropped version of the first drawing- Gus is coloured normally and is edited over the trans flag. End ID]
If Gus owl house not trans, why trans colours in his outfit? (feel free to use second image as an icon)
pairing. enjin, rudo, zanka, fu (gachiakuta) x f!reader
prompt. you smile and they're so down bad
i hope you missed my gachiakuta works because they are so back, i'm sorry if it's a bit short but i slowly getting back to writing so.....
Enjin
He was a simple man, that was the least you could say about him. He loved pretty things, smoking and drinking. Other things too, of course, but he knew how to be good with simple things. You, on the other hand, weren’t simple at all. You made everything so complicated in his poor mind, he kind of hated it ; but he also adored it if you asked him. You made him want to be better when you corrected him on his bad behaviors. He liked to exhale the smoke of his cigarette in your face every time you told him he should quit. But the worst thing was probably when he made a stupid joke and you laughed. Pure and easy, natural, and it sounded just like you. Oh, he hoped he could just register it to replay it anytime he wanted. But instead he teased you about your nose crinkling and you punched his shoulder. Yeah, he loved simple things but he loved even more how you made them more complicated.
Rudo
Saying that he was bad with relationships was an euphemism at this point. He was starting to get better, slowly but surely, and yet there were some things that he just didn’t know how to handle. Being too close to you was one of those things. Not only were you a girl, but you were a very pretty one and he saw you like you were a treasure hidden among this trashy world. He was sitting at your table now, listening to your voice as you spoke with Follo who was there too. His eyes were on his glass, preventing him from blatantly staring at you without even realizing it. At least, until he heard what was probably the sweetest sound he ever heard in his entire life. He looked up at you and saw you laughing so softly. No dessert he ever ate before was as sweet as what he just heard. He didn’t even try to hide it ; he wouldn’t be able to.
Zanka
He was always proud to call himself the calm and collected one among the people around him. The kind of guy who didn’t get flustered so easily or even less to get scared just like that. Well, he had a few moments showing otherwise but it was a specific case. So when he began to realize how he felt towards you, he was certain that hiding it would be no problem at all. Except when he caught your smile from the side while talking with Guita. He froze mid-sentence and Riyo had to snap her fingers in front of his eyes to wake him up. He always thought you were pretty, but seeing you smile like this? He was close to getting on his knees for you. Thankfully, he had too much pride for that. He looked away before anyone could notice the color of his ears ; but when he saw Riyo glancing at him this way, he knew it was over for him.
Fu
Looking at you in the eyes was something he was completely unable to do. You were way too precious for that and he didn’t deserve to meet your gorgeous eyes just like this. It was a bit weird at first, the way he followed you everywhere and almost worshipped the ground you walked on. But you learned to live with that and it didn’t take long before you realized that he was really a cute and sweet boy who just never felt love. So when after a mission, you praised him with the most gentle smile anyone ever showed him, he felt his heart literally exploding in his chest. He fell to his knees, muttering something you couldn’t quite understand. But when he looked at you, meeting your eyes for once, you realized that he just had so much more to learn ; and you would be here to show him what it was like.
tim drake who's soft spoken even when you are shouting at him. ˚.✦
You've been doom-scrolling TikTok again, watching all those girls playfully "test" their soft boyfriends by getting randomly snappy, and the boys just melt into the sweetest, most pouty versions of themselves. And honestly? You got curious. Because your boyfriend—Tim Drake, 5'8" of lean muscle, endless patience, and literal superhero reflexes—has always been the gentlest giant with you. Since high school he's only ever raised his voice twice, both times because he was terrified you'd get hurt. Otherwise? Pure sweetheart.
So you decide to run the experiment. Just for science. Obviously.
He's in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, already pulling out pans like dinner is his love language. He's humming something off-key and cute, completely relaxed in a way he only gets around you.
You slam the fridge door a little harder than necessary.
Tim glances over, one eyebrow quirking up. "Hey, you good?"
You cross your arms, channeling the meanest energy possible. Voice sharp, playful-mean. "What's for dinner, Tim? God, do I have to wait forever? You're moving like a sloth tonight."
He freezes for half a second, spatula hovering mid-air. Then his whole vibe shifts in the most adorable way possible. Shoulders round just a tiny bit, head tilts forward like a curious puppy who isn't sure what he did. Those big blue eyes go extra soft, lashes fluttering once like he's processing.
"…Sorry," he says quietly, voice all gentle and small. "I didn't know you were that hungry. I can go faster. What do you feel like? Pasta? Stir-fry? I can do whatever—"
You keep going because the results are already gold. "Seriously? You're just gonna apologize? Come on, be a man about it. You're being such a little bitch right now."
The second the word leaves your mouth you almost crack because, oh my god, he literally shrinks. Not dramatically, just… his posture curls in the tiniest bit more, cheeks flush pink, and he looks down at the cutting board like it's suddenly the most fascinating thing in the universe. His fingers fidget with the edge of a dish towel. He looks so soft and small and earnest it should be illegal.
"I—um." His voice is barely above a whisper now, all shy and careful. "I didn't mean to upset you. I can fix it. Just… tell me what I did wrong?"
And that's it. Experiment over. You can't do this anymore because your heart is actually exploding from how cute he is.
You drop the act instantly, stepping right into his space with a huge grin. "Tim. Baby. Oh my god, I'm so sorry, you're the cutest thing I've ever seen."
He blinks up at you, confused but hopeful. "Wait… what?"
"That was a TikTok test. Those dumb videos where girls pretend to be mean to see if their boyfriends stay sweet." You wrap your arms around his neck, laughing into his shoulder. "And you just… melted. Look at you. All small and soft and pouty. I can't handle it."
Tim's ears go bright red. He lets out a tiny, embarrassed huff-laugh, arms slowly coming around your waist like he's still not sure if he's allowed to hug back yet. "You were… testing me?"
"Yup. And you failed spectacularly, in the best way. You're such a sweetheart, baby, don't ever let me talk to you like that."
He buries his face in your neck, voice muffled. "That's not fair. You know I hate when you're mad at me. Even fake-mad."
"I knowww." You pull back just enough to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his warm cheeks. "You're my favorite gentle giant. Never change."
He finally relaxes, that shy little smile breaking through, the one that still makes your stomach flip after all these years. "So… dinner's still on me?"
"Obviously. But now you get bonus cuddles while you cook. And extra kisses for being the softest boy alive."
Tim laughs, soft and bright, already turning back to the stove with you tucked against his side. "Okay. But next time you want to 'test' me, can we just do the one where I have to not melt into the kiss?"
"Done," you promise, pressing one kiss between his brows for good measure.
And just like that, your sweet, muscly, ridiculously kind boyfriend is back to full size. He still lets you keep him tucked close the whole time he cooks, cheeks pink and smile shy, like he secretly loved being your little test subject after all.
🔮 preview. “You don’t have to believe me when I say I want to defile you. I’ll prove it to you soon enough,” Wonwoo’s smirk widens. “You might be an angel, but angels aren’t impervious to sin. After all, demons were angels once, until they stopped lying to themselves and gave in to the carnal pleasures. We’ll get there, don’t worry. I might be a demon, but I can be patient.”
tw/cw. Mentions of porn and bdsm, unprotected sex, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, oral/pussy eating, praise, slight degradation, manhandling, fingering, overstimulation, foreplay, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, baby.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.6k
🍭 aus. Non idol au, angel & demon au, enemies to lovers, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. So think of it kind of like the Disney movie about emotions, Inside Out, where the demon and angel view Mingyu’s world through a viewing station and speak to him through his subconscious to guide him one way or the other. Also, please note: I’m not religious, so my interpretation of angel!y/n warring with herself over temptation is simply an interpretation and a fanfic.
Prologue:
You can remember the day you first saw Mingyu as if it were only this morning. He was the sweetest child, visiting church with his family at age four. There was something so adorable about his all-white outfit, the slacks and button-up with a vest. He looked very devoted and very determined as he stood up and sang the church songs with his whole little chest.
That was the day you asked to be his guardian angel, and for a time, nothing had ever been so easy.
Mingyu is pure of heart in a way most humans can never even dream of being. Some kids have a demon on their shoulder from an early age, a pest to be dealt with and chastised by both angel and parent, but not Mingyu. It was just you and him, for many, many years, and you delighted in the fact that you had one of the best boys you’d ever met as your ward.
Many late-blooming children gain a demon when they enter high school, when they first try marijuana or alcohol against their own better judgment - it’s the work of the demon on their shoulder - but again, not Mingyu.
It wasn’t until your good boy was sixteen that things started to shift. His friends were all having their first sexual encounters, and they began to tease your perfect church baby that he was a virgin. Mingyu tried to pretend their words didn’t hurt, but you knew differently. Although you tried to push him in the direction of spending more time with other church children, Mingyu continued to hang out with these raunchy boys, as they were on his high school basketball team.
He held off valiantly from the compulsions of the deadly sins, but one cold December night, your perfect golden boy finally snapped and gave in to temptation.
The demon known as Wonwoo appeared the moment Mingyu first typed the words ‘porn hub’ into his cellphone, and in the darkness of Mingyu’s room, you met the man who would be your antihero for as long as Mingyu would continue to live.
And Wonwoo is a demon with a reputation. Whereas you like to cherry-pick your wards as the kindhearted humans who are pure of soul, Wonwoo is known for his ability to sniff out those who are easily tempted by sin. His last human was a sexual fiend, and he got addicted to OnlyFans. he lost his relationship and all of his money due to Wonwoo’s coaxing of the addiction. The man died prematurely while drunk driving, which is something of a success story for the demon who collected his soul in the end.
So why was this demon in particular here with you and Mingyu?
What had seemed like an easy task had become more difficult than you ever signed up for, and Wonwoo seemed to relish in the knowledge that he was here to contradict your every musing in Mingyu’s ear.
One:
“I hope you have your popcorn ready, angel,” Wonwoo grins, as the two of you hover in your between-worlds guardian posting. It’s kind of like an apartment, with two sides, the good and the evil, with a massive monitor to watch what Mingyu is doing at any given time. There are speakers for you both to try to persuade him into things, and your voices are what Mingyu might classify as opposing sides of his subconscious.
“Frat parties can be positive,” you insist as you settle next to Wonwoo. “Last time, he saved that girl who blacked out.”
“Yeah, the wild goose chase,” Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “He should have been hitting on girls and slamming jello shots, but instead, you convinced him to track down the girl’s dorm room, carry her all the way home, and make sure she was okay when she woke up hours later. He even held her hair back while she puked. Yuck.”
When Wonwoo knows he’s lost to you, he generally fucks off, goes back into his demon side of the apartment, in his demon room, or leaves altogether to complete other tasks.
Demons don’t need sleep, and technically, angels don’t either, but you’re a self-identifying lazy girl, and you prefer to have rest when Mingyu sleeps, rather than be twenty-four seven working like Wonwoo is. You wonder if his packed schedule is what makes him such a dick, but you also have seen the joy he takes in doing bad deeds, and you can only assume that when he’s not here with you in Mingyu’s head, he’s off pillaging and causing mischief elsewhere.
Wonwoo looks through Mingyu’s eyes, and he leans toward the communicator where he can send his words to your ward. “Get a drink,” Wonwoo insists. “Something fun. Something fruity. Something with way too much alcohol that’s masked with sugar.”
You sigh, also leaning forward. “We should start slow with some water.”
You can sense Mingyu’s inner turmoil as he makes his way to the kitchen, and that’s where he bumps into Hoshi and Seungkwan, both of whom are ruled by their inner demon.
“Hey buddy, want a drink?” Hoshi grins, cheeks pink, eyes clouded with booze.
“Reject him,” you say.
“Accept,” Wonwoo pushes.
“Sure, why not?” Mingyu grins, taking the cup of purple liquid. He downs it easily, and you sigh. So tonight will be a more indulgent evening, and you hate the way Wonwoo sits back with a smile.
“Score one for me, angel,” Wonwoo muses.
“The night is still young,” you huff.
Wonwoo leans forward again. “You know what goes good with alcohol? Cocaine. Or ecstasy. Something fun. Maybe molly.”
You’re flabbergasted. “Mingyu has never-”
“Now is the night to start, he’s at a frat party, with friends, and we know Vernon always has a bong on hand. Maybe weed, something chill.”
You hate him, and you spend the next two hours battling Wonwoo for dominance of Mingyu. Wonwoo wins when it comes to alcohol, but your sweet boy isn’t interested in drugs, no matter how much the demon insists it’s the perfect night to dabble.
And that’s when Mingyu first lays eyes on Kimi.
She’s a year younger than him, someone he’s heard about and seen a few times, but never talked to. She looks gorgeous, in a flowy top and jeans that hug her just right. You can sense Mingyu’s heartbeat quickening, and in his drunkenness, he’s even more susceptible to Wonwoo, who leans forward. “You should fuck her tonight, there’s never a time to be a whore like the present.”
“No sex, you like her!” you argue back. “Talk to her, get her name, look for longevity.”
Wonwoo scoffs. “A one-night stand with a girl like that? Who could think of something better?”
“Uh, maybe a relationship?” you snap.
“We don’t know anything about her!” Wonwoo yells. “And we don’t need to know.”
You lean back from where Mingyu can hear your subconscious pushings, glaring at Wonwoo. “What’s with you and rough, anonymous sex?”
“It’s the best way to have it,” Wonwoo tells you, his grin widening. “I think our Mingyu boy would love to try some of the things he’s seen in the porn I’ve pushed him to watch. You know, bondage, tying a girl up, all the good shit.”
“Consentually, of course.”
“With you here, it would always have to be consensual,” Wonwoo scoffs.
“You’re despicable.”
“I’m a demon.”
“Even demons have their limits.”
Wonwoo shrugs. “Not really.”
“Well, my Mingyu is a good person. He’d never stoop to your level.”
“Well, he watches the porn I want to watch.”
You click your tongue. Wonwoo convincing Mingyu to watch porn is always the worst, and it’s when you leave the viewing station. The demon can be particularly convincing when it comes to observing sex acts on Mingyu’s phone, but you know your good boy would never go further than simply watching. He’s not the type to ever act on some of the more raunchy ideas Wonwoo forces into his head.
No matter how hard Wonwoo pushes, you know your Mingyu.
And you’re thankful that by the end of the night at the frat party, Mingyu agrees with you that he’s now too drunk, and he retires to bed.
The viewing station goes dark as Mingyu drifts to sleep, and you stand up with a sigh, glaring at Wonwoo.
“You know, one of these days, you’re going to admit that you kind of like the whole bondage sex thing,” Wonwoo sighs.
“What?” you gasp.
“You always leave the room when he and I watch porn.”
“Because I’m a pure being! Because porn and sex go against what I stand for!”
“Porn and lust might be ‘anti-angel’, but sex is natural; it’s God-created. Humans are like any other animal, and they’re meant to have sex, to procreate,” Wonwoo says simply. “I know you’re loose on your whole ‘celibate until marriage’ ideals. When Mingyu lost his virginity, you were happy because it was soft. You might be an angel, but you don’t follow a strict code, no matter how much you try to convince yourself that you follow the bible to the letter. I’m just curious how loose your morals really are. You might think I’m here to test Mingyu, but I’m really here to test you.”
“And who do you think you are to test me?” you glare.
Wonwoo shrugs. “Just a demon who specializes in lust, a demon who took one look at you on Mingyu’s shoulder and decided, ‘you know what, I’d fuck that angel.’”
“As if that’s a compliment.”
“It is, most angels have sticks up their asses the size of the Empire State Building. And don’t get me wrong, you have a stick up yours too, I’m just curious if you’d want something else up inside of you at the same time.”
“I can’t believe you,” you groan, hating the way your body reacts to his sinister smirk, the slight floodyness of his hair, and the regal way he stares at you.
“You don’t have to believe me when I say I want to defile you. I’ll prove it to you soon enough,” Wonwoo’s smirk widens. “You might be an angel, but angels aren’t impervious to sin. After all, demons were angels once, until they stopped lying to themselves and gave in to the carnal pleasures. We’ll get there, don’t worry. I might be a demon, but I can be patient.”
Two:
“Hold it, you’re not going anywhere,” Wonwoo grins, grabbing your arm as you’re about to leave the room, when Mingyu pulls up pornhub with Kimi on his mind.
“I’m not sitting here with you for this; it’s weird,” you insist, pulling yourself away from him, hating the way the cold of his touch lingers on your skin.
“Boys will be boys, let the man find some release,” Wonwoo tells you, his grin widening.
“Boys may be boys, but you were whispering in Mingyu’s ear all day that he should have a jack off session and think about ‘that chick from the frat party.’”
Wonwoo shrugs. “It wasn’t that hard to convince him.”
You let out a deep breath.
“Watch this,” Wonwoo leans forward so Mingyu can hear him. “Look up ‘rope BDSM.’”
“Oh my gosh!” You cover your eyes with your hands as Mingyu quickly follows through with Wonwoo’s suggestion.
“There’s something so sexy about having complete control of another person,” Wonwoo insists, leaning back and staring at you with dark eyes. “Admit it, you liked controlling Mingyu before I showed up.”
“It’s not remotely the same.”
“It is, sort of.” The demon shrugs. “You like control. I know you do. Because every time you don’t get your way, you have a little fit.”
“I do not!”
“Look at you, angel, you’re practically stomping your cute little foot right now.” Wonwoo lets out a chuckle, and you hate how attractive it is. “If you play your cards right, someday, I might let you have a little control over me.”
“What, like tie you up?” you scoff.
Wonwoo’s grin widens. “Does that excite you?”
“In your dreams,” you snap.
“Angel, we both know I don’t sleep. But I do imagine things, things about you…”
Your breath catches.
“I imagine what you sound like, what you taste like. I imagine the look in your eye when I have you immobilized and at my mercy. I imagine making you crack, making you finally admit that pleasure is exactly what it means in the dictionary; the feelings of delight, something you enjoy with every fiber of your being, something you’d beg for me to give you again and again.”
Your skin is heating with embarrassment, and it’s crazy to you that Wonwoo can say everything he just said with a completely straight face. He has zero shame in admitting the things he’s just admitted, and yet, you feel like the dirty one.
“I’m leaving,” you say again, more firmly this time.
“I won’t stop you; you have full control of yourself, and that’s what makes this interesting.” Wonwoo turns his attention back to the screen, where Mingyu is now in the throes of enjoying porn.
“You’re evil,” you snap.
“I’m a demon, it’s part of the job description,” Wonwoo says absentmindedly.
You fight the urge to stomp your foot, and with one last scoff of displeasure, you go back to your quarters, throwing yourself down onto your bed with a muffled scream.
Three:
It’s been a month of chaos. Wonwoo has become somehow even more dirty, and every time he whispers some sexual idea in Mingyu’s ear, his eyes are fixed on you.
You squirm when he mentions bondage, porn, rough sex, and more dirty things that are not for an angel’s ears.
And to make matters worse, you know that Wonwoo is imagining himself doing all of these dirty things to you. To be the object of sin and desire is new to you, and it brings an uncomfortable feeling to the pit of your stomach.
You grapple with yourself every night, unable to get Wonwoo’s voice out of your head.
The word ‘tantalizing’ has never had much merit for you, but now, you understand. Wonwoo oozes sex and intrigue; he makes your mind go to places it's never before visited; dark, lustful places that make your heart race and your skin tingle.
The little smirk that quirks onto his lips when he knows he’s irritated you has become burned into your mind's eye, and you can’t escape the shiny points of his canines, or the flash of black that overtakes his irises when he’s being demonic.
You can feel your resolve to stay true to your morals is slipping, and in its place is a growing need that’s threatening to overtake you, body and soul.
This is the power of a truly strong demon, and it both scares and excites you while you war with yourself.
Four:
After another long day of Wonwoo being raunchy, Mingyu finally goes to sleep. The viewer goes dark, and you stand up with a sigh. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” you muse, “but I’m thankful you didn’t push for more porn.”
“He’s on a streak, you know,” Wonwoo smirks. “But I figured I could let you off the hook for one night.”
“Let my pure boy off the hook, you mean.”
“No, I meant what I said. You’re the one who has a problem with it, not Mingyu. He’s just a hot-blooded man who’s hardly had any good sex in his life. A bit of porn can’t hurt.”
You roll your eyes. “Scientists who study the interaction between porn and erectile dysfunction would beg to differ.”
“Human scientists.” Wonwoo’s smirk widens.
“I’m not having an argument with you, I’m off the clock.”
“Off the clock,” the demon repeats with a chuckle.
“Yes, off the clock, which means I also don’t have to deal with you anymore.”
“You enjoy ‘dealing with me.’” Wonwoo insists.
You scoff loudly. “In what diluted world can you come to that conclusion?”
The demon steps closer to you. “The world where I’m a demon who can read sexual energy, and lately, it’s been wafting off your aura like smoke. And where there’s smoke, well, there’s fire.”
“I think you should get your eyes checked,” you fire at him, your arms crossing over your chest in an effort to keep that ‘sexual energy’ contained.
“You’re such a virgin that it’s almost laughable,” Wonwoo tells you, his voice lowering. “Most angels don’t have the kind of lustful energy you do, virginity and all, but every being that exists is plagued by at least one of the seven deadly sins, angels included. It seems to me that your carnal desire is sex, which isn’t anything to be ashamed of. I’ve worked with angels who are greedy, angels who have a sense of divine wrath, but pride is the main trait I’ve seen. One could argue that all three of those sins are more disgusting on an angel than that of simply wanting to be touched, to experience one’s form to the fullest.”
Your mouth feels dry, and you lick your lips, unsure of what to say.
“Don’t worry, angel, I don’t need a response, not really. But… I would never defile an angel without her wanting it, so when I ask you this next question, I’ll need at least an enthusiastic nod if not a verbal ‘yes.’”
“What do you need to ask me?” you whisper.
Wonwoo is close enough to touch you now, and he reaches for your hand, tracing his thumb against your palm. Your mind is telling you to pull away, but you can’t. His touch is cold, but there’s something so nice about it…
“Can I kiss you?” Wonwoo asks, his words hanging in the air like a heavy smog.
You try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it does little to help, and you stare at the beautiful demon. Your body is screaming yes, but your mind is still plagued with trepidation.
“It’s a sin.”
“A kiss isn’t a sin, and besides, you’re off the clock, remember?” His smirk is just so beautiful, and you have to remind yourself that even though he’s a demon, Wonwoo was crafted by God’s own hands. “I think you can forgive yourself for a small misdemeanor, after all, humans are forgiven for much worse.”
“I…” Your heart is hammering in your rib cage, and never in your long life have you felt a desire like this.
“Or… I could wait,” Wonwoo sighs. “I won’t pressure you. I’m a demon, but I’m not an asshole.”
The idea of waiting even longer makes your skin tingle, and you can feel a frown of dissatisfaction appearing on your face.
“You can kiss me,” you say, and the words feel foreign on your tongue.
“Even though you hate me?” Wonwoo grins, cocking a brow.
“Even though I hate you.”
The demon lets out a laugh, dropping your hand in favour of grabbing your hips. He pulls you toward him, being shockingly gentle for a man who’s so outspoken about his taste for rough sex.
“Nobody has to know about this,” Wonwoo whispers as he leans closer. “Even angels are allowed to have dirty little secrets.”
“Then this will be our little secret,” you breathe, swallowing thickly as your hands instinctively go to his shoulder, tugging the demon even closer.
He meets your gaze as he slowly leans in, giving you all the time in the world to change your mind. But you’re in too deep now, and there’s no going back.
His lips press against yours gently, and your whole body is flooded with what you can only describe as pleasure, like a cool breeze wafting over you on an extremely hot day. You want more, and Wonwoo tugs you closer by your hips, his tongue snaking out to rub your lower lip.
Your mouth opens a little, a whimper escaping you as the kiss deepens. Wonwoo releases a low growl, and butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach from the sound.
Nothing in the world has ever made you feel this way, as if you’re glowing, and all because a dark being is tantalizing you toward sin.
With a gasp, you pull away, breathing heavily.
Wonwoo holds you, not pushing for more; he gives you mental space to analyze what’s just happened, while still keeping you physically close, like a protector.
It’s such an odd notion, the idea that a demon could be any sort of protection for an angel like you.
“I think…” You swallow thickly. “I think I need to have some time alone now.”
“I understand,” Wonwoo nods, his hands slipping away from your hips. “The ball is in your court, angel. Until you decide what you want to do, this is our little secret.”
“Our little secret,” you repeat like a mantra, but the words don’t do anything to help the anxiety building inside of you. It’s as if at any moment you could be struck down for impurity, except, even when you’re alone later, no hand of God comes to smite you.
You think carefully about what Wonwoo’s said, about all living things having their sinful, carnal desires, even angels.
Maybe this is natural, maybe this is okay… maybe.
Five:
You’ve been yearning for Wonwoo in a way you’ve never yearned for anything since your creation. It’s taking every ounce of your self-restraint to keep your distance from him, and Wonwoo’s not making any of it easy.
Every dirty whisper in Mingyu’s ear, every glance at you while he talks about sex, bondage, and porn…
It has your heart racing, your skin heating, and your core throbbing in a way that used to be foreign but is now becoming all too familiar.
“Should I push for more sin tonight?” Wonwoo asks as Mingyu gets ready for bed. “Or have you had enough?”
You groan, knowing that you’re wet from the day you’ve had. “Please.”
“Please, what?” He cocks a brow.
“I’m so tired of all of this.”
“Tired of fighting your own desires, you mean,” Wonwoo corrects, seeing right through you.
You hate that your ‘sexual aura’ is visible to him, hate that no matter how hard you try to fight it, Wonwoo will always know the truth.
And the truth is: you want this demon to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked. You want to get a taste of the sin he has to offer, the sin he claims other angels partake in secretly.
Why are you holding yourself back, holding yourself to a set of standards, if others in your angelic profession don’t?
“What are you thinking about?” Wonwoo asks, watching you carefully.
You release a deep breath. “Everything.”
“Sounds like a lot,” the demon chuckles.
“It is.”
“Too much for a sweet angel like you to carry on her own shoulders.”
You study his face, wondering if he’s being condescending or not.
“Being a demon is much easier. I don’t have to worry about anything,” Wonwoo continues, leaning back in his seat. “No rules, no standards, no fear. Just existence. Freedom.”
“I’m free,” you insist.
“Are you really?” Wonwoo grins. “Could have fooled me.”
“I am free! I’m an angel! I have the most freedom in the world!”
“Freedom to kiss who you want to kiss? To act on the desires that were literally built into you? Why would God have made you with the sin of lust if he did not intend for you to act on it? To torture you for your entire existence?” Wonwoo shakes his head.
“He bestowed temptation so his creations could rise above it and devote themselves to Him,” you insist. “It teaches spiritual strength and perseverance.”
“Whatever you say, little Miss Sunday School.”
You let out a deep sigh. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” Wonwoo grins.
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because it makes me want you even more!” you scream. “For a reason I can not comprehend, I want you. I want you for the teasing, for the chastizing, for this disgusting ego that I would never condone on a human ward. I want it. I want all of you. And it’s killing me!”
Wonwoo stands up abruptly, and you mirror him, heart racing in your chest.
You can’t believe you’ve just admitted all of it, all of the deep dark things you’ve been thinking about for weeks.
“An ego can be sexy,” Wonwoo says finally. “Although I’d classify myself as more of a prideful being than an egotistical one.”
“Ugh!” You throw your hands up, hating that his smirk is the most handsome thing you’ve ever seen, hating that he’s right.
“Tell me you want this again,” Wonwoo urges you, stepping closer.
“I want you! You already heard me say it!” Your skin is hot with irritation, both sexual and emotional, and you can hardly think straight.
“No, tell me you want this.” Wonwoo grabs your hand, tugging you to his chest. He looks down at you, his lips almost ghosting over your own.
“I want this,” you whimper, feeling defeated and broken.
You can no longer hold yourself back, and part of you doesn’t want to.
“I’ll be gentle,” the demon promises, bringing his mouth down to your throat, where he presses soft kisses that take your breath away.
“I thought you liked it rough,” you say, releasing a chuckle that brings your anxiety down.
“I also like pleasure. I’m prideful, not a narcissist. Tonight, your pleasure will come first.”
Your skin tingles, and you swallow a lump in your throat. You can feel your fear dissipating. Part of you had imagined he’d want to try bondage with you right away, so it’s a relief that he’s going to meet you at your level, which is… well, nonexistent.
You are a free being. And tonight, you will lose your heavenly virginity of your own volition.
Wonwoo begins to suck on a spot just below your ear, and it makes you moan. You throw your arms around the demon, tugging him closer.
One of Wonwoo’s hands slips down to your bum, squeezing you through your white pants.
God, he feels so good, and you focus on the feeling, pushing aside your racing thoughts.
You draw his lips to yours, and Wonwoo groans with pleasure, tugging you so you’re flush to his body.
Kissing him is like magic, and you get lost in it easily. Your core is wet, and you can feel your panties getting sticky, which is a tantalizing thought.
“Bedroom,” Wonwoo says, breaking the kiss.
Without missing a beat, the demon reaches down and lifts you bridal style. You gasp, clutching onto his shoulders and blinking up at him.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Wonwoo laughs. “As if I was about to take your virginity in a living room.”
He heads toward your side of the apartment, and he pushes the door of your bedroom open.
Your room is all creams and minimalism, a true safe space, and he pauses to look at it for a moment. He’s never been in your room, nor you in his.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
“Nothing, it’s just… very different from my side of the space.”
“No whips and chains hanging on the walls?” you tease.
“How about no black onyx floors or dark colours.”
“Well, I am an angel,” you point out as he gently sets you on the bed.
“Yes, baby, the best angel I’ve ever met.”
“Really?”
“Without a doubt. The most angelic.” Wonwoo climbs on top of you, and your legs spread instinctively as the demon looks down at you. “I’ve never met an angel who has never sinned. It’s endearing.”
“Will you still find me endearing after tonight?” you ask.
“I’ll find you endearing forever,” Wonwoo promises.
“Who knew such sweet words could come from a demon.”
Wonwoo laughs. “If anyone deserves sweet words from me, it’s you.”
“You’re just saying that to get me in bed.”
“We’re already in bed.”
“Good point.” You grab the nape of his neck, tugging his lips down to yours.
This verbal foreplay has become trite, and you’re ready for more, ready for all Wonwoo is about to give you.
For the first time, you taste desperation on his lips, and it excites you. He grinds gently down against you, and it’s the first time there’s been pressure on your core. Tingles of pleasure run through you as you tighten your legs around his hips, willing him to push harder.
Wonwoo groans, following through with your silent plea. He ruts hard as you kiss each other, stimulating your clit through your clothing.
One of his hands reaches up and grabs your breast through your white sweater, massaging you and making you gasp.
“Such pretty sounds,” Wonwoo whispers, biting your earlobe gently. “Can’t wait to hear you screaming my name.”
“Wonwoo,” you whimper, wiggling beneath him, eager for more.
He sits up, and with one tug, Wonwoo removes your sweater, leaving you in a cream bra.
“All white everything, huh?” he laughs.
“I’m an angel.”
“So you keep reminding me. You always wear such loose, modest clothing, but I imagined you’d be gorgeous under all these layers.” He licks his lips, his thumb teasing the lace of your bra. “Should I go slow?”
“Go medium,” you tell him.
Wonwoo lets out another chuckle. “That wasn’t one of the options.”
“Make it one of the options.”
He shakes his head at you, leaning down to press his lips to yours.
You thread your fingers through his raven black hair, mewling as he massages you through your bra. Your nipples are aching already, and there’s a sense of great relief when he finally takes your bra off.
“So pretty,” Wonwoo muses, kissing down from your throat to your breasts, where he captures one of your nipples in his mouth.
You whimper desperately, your entire body on fire with the pleasure.
“And so sensitive too,” the demon groans, gently dragging his teeth over your sensitive bud.
“Please,” you gasp.
“Please, what?” he looks up at you.
You let out a shuddery breath. “More.”
“Your wish is my command, angel,” Wonwoo teases, his hand gliding down your body. Deft fingers slip under the waistband of your pants, but he stays over your panties as he makes contact with your clit.
You writhe against the bedding, eyes clenched shut as foreign ecstasy washes over you.
He continues to suck on your nipple as he toys with your pussy.
“Soaking through your panties,” Wonwoo tuts. “My dirty girl.”
Your heart lurches in your chest, and you’re shocked that you like the way his words feel. It’s a sinful kind of praise, and it makes you dizzy as you watch him, anticipating what he’ll do next.
Wonwoo takes his time as he licks and sucks your nipples, playing with your pussy through drenched fabric.
It’s a relief when he finally tugs your pants down, leaving you in only panties.
Then, Wonwoo sits up, tugging his shirt off with one motion.
Your jaw drops at the view of his bare torso. He’s lean but muscled, and you wish you could trace the lines on his skin, but Wonwoo made it clear that tonight is about you.
“I’m going to eat you out now,” Wonwoo explains, as he sinks to the floor. “Bet you taste like nectar and sunshine.”
Talking about your ‘taste’ makes you shy, and you close your thighs, only for him to gently pry them open.
“Don’t be bashful, baby,” Wonwoo coos, pressing kisses to your skin.
“What if I don’t taste like nectar and sunshine?” you ask.
“I can already smell it on you,” Wonwoo promises, an attempt to be assuring, but now you’re talking about smell, and it makes you even more anxious. “You know what, let’s leave taste and smell out of this for now, okay?”
“Yes, please,” you nod, biting your bottom lip.
Wonwoo hooks his fingers in your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs.
The cool air of the room on your wet core makes you groan, back arching a little as you writhe against the bed.
Cold hands grab your thighs, confidently spreading you open.
“Just breathe,” Wonwoo reminds you as he leans forward and licks the entirety of your core lewdly.
“Shit!” you gasp, thighs quaking.
The demon chuckles. “That’s the first time you’ve ever swore.”
You slap a hand over your mouth, and he shakes his head at you, returning to his task.
Soon, you’re moaning through your fingers, and your other hand reaches down to grab at his hair, keeping his face buried between your thighs.
He eats you out like a starved man, ravaging your pussy with licks and sucks that have your head spinning in the best possible way.
And then Wonwoo begins to growl, and you’ve never heard anything so erotic.
Your own gasps and whimpers are filling the room, and you can feel something getting tighter and tighter in the pit of your stomach.
“Wonwoo,” you pant. “I think… I think I’m going to cum!”
He releases a groan, and the vibration of it on your clit makes your legs shake. All of your muscles are tense, waiting for that final push-
Then you look down, and your eyes lock with his. His pupils are blown, and he looks absolutely demonic, but there’s something so incredibly sexy about this powerful demon worshiping you with his mouth on your core-
You cum like an electric shock, your entire body jolting, muscles releasing only to clench again as the waves surge through you.
You scream, grabbing at the bed sheets like an anchor as your orgasm overtakes you.
Wonwoo is unrelenting on your core, groaning and eating you messily, and it only makes the whole situation more erotic.
You’ve been to Heaven, but nothing has ever felt like this.
“Wonwoo!” you scream when the pleasure begins to feel like it’s too much, like you can’t contain or sustain this type of ecstasy anymore.
The demon pulls away immediately, looking up at you.
“Angel,” he breathes, “you’re glowing.”
“What?”
“You’re glowing,” he repeats. Wonwoo grabs your hand from the bed, lifting it so you can see that your skin is literally aglow.
“Is this normal?” you gasp in panic.
“I’ve never seen it.”
“And you fuck a lot of angels?” you snap.
“Not really,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I find most of you to be too high-strung.”
“I’m high-strung.”
“But it’s endearing on you.” His thumb gently rubs your glit, and you jolt, releasing a gasp. “Glowing can’t be harmful.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure it’s just pent-up energy,” he muses. “Should I give you more?”
You take all of one second to consider his words before nodding. “More.”
Wonwoo nuzzles against your inner thigh with a laugh, and then he teases a digit between your pussy lips, gently sinking it into you.
You groan, your inner walls having never been touched before.
“So warm,” Wonwoo breathes. “So tight.”
He gently finger fucks you, teasing your hole open, and he brings his mouth to your clit again.
His pace is slow, and you know he’s letting you acclimate to the stimulus.
You can feel yourself dripping on his digit, and the slick is making it all too easy for him to work you open. Soon, he adds another finger, and you groan desperately, loving the slight stretch.
“Gonna make you cum on my fingers before I give you the real thing,” Wonwoo explains.
“Okay,” you whimper.
He returns to sucking on your clit, but he’s not being as gentle as he was before.
You can feel that tension building again, and with each slick sound of his fingers fucking into you, you know you’re getting closer to the edge.
Whimpers escape your lips, and you gasp when he crooks his fingers, hitting a spot that has your whole body coming alight with pleasure.
You’ve heard Wonwoo talk about the ‘g-spot’ before, and you’re pretty sure he just found yours.
Your toes are curling, muscles getting incredibly tight as his pace quickens.
“I’m close!” you cry out, grabbing the bed sheets again, your heart racing in your chest.
Wonwoo groans a sound of affirmation, and again, his noise of pleasure is what sends you over the edge.
Just like the first time, he works you through your orgasm, unrelenting, while the pleasure courses through you. You’re a throbbing, whimpering mess by the time Wonwoo pulls away, and you watch with shy delight as he licks his fingers clean, moaning at your taste.
“How did that one feel, angel?” he asks.
“So good,” you whimper.
Wonwoo stands up, looking down at your nude form.
“Ready for the real deal?”
“I’m scared,” you admit, seeing the outline of his cock through his pants.
“That’s natural,” Wonwoo breathes, undoing his belt. “And if you still want to change your mind…”
“No.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “Let’s do this.”
Wonwoo pulls his pants down, and suddenly, his cock is slapping up against his stomach.
Your jaw drops at the sight of him. He’s long… well, you’re pretty sure he’s long, not that you have much to compare it to.
“That’s going to fit inside of me?” you ask.
“Angel, your pussy is wetter than a slip and slide, it won’t be a problem,” Wonwoo laughs.
“Just… go slow.”
“Not medium?” he teases.
“Wonwoo…” you groan.
“I’ll go slow,” he promises, now fully nude as he climbs on top of you. “Don’t worry.”
Wonwoo presses his lips to yours, and you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pouring all of your attention into the meeting of your mouths.
Wonwoo slowly begins to rut, teasing his cock through your wet pussy lips and bumping your clit. The grinding feels phenomenal, and soon you’re a moaning mess beneath him, your core aching to be filled.
As if he can read you, the demon reaches for the base of his cock, lining the tip up with your wet hole. His mouth moves to your throat, giving you space to speak if you need him to pause or slow down, but as his tip slips inside of you, you realize there will be no need for breaks.
Sure, the stretch is new, but it’s not bad.
In fact, your pussy is trying to swallow him up, and with each inch after inch, you feel more and more complete.
Wonwoo truly is your opposite, the yin to your yang, and it feels phenomenal to finally be connected like this.
“You okay?” Wonwoo asks, and you can see his muscles feathering, as if it’s taking every ounce of self-control for him not to let loose and fuck you stupid.
“Feels good,” you groan, wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him further into you.
Wonwoo moans deeply, and a moment later, he’s fully sheathed in your wet core.
You both release sounds of pleasure together, and your lips meet in a fiery kiss.
You love tangling your fingers in his hair, and it makes him kiss you harder. He’s still fully inside of you, unmoving as your walls adjust, but soon, your own hips are rocking, and he takes the cue to begin to thrust.
The first movement is shallow and slow, and you revel in the drag of his cock against your inner walls.
You cry out, throwing your head back, and Wonwoo latches onto your throat, sucking and nibbling.
Your pebbled nipples press against his chest, and each movement toys with them.
You can feel Wonwoo everywhere. He’s completely commanding every one of your senses, and not a single thought is going through your mind except for one word: more.
His pace is increasing, and you get the sense that he’s reacting to your sounds, figuring you out based on your whimpering and whining.
You pull Wonwoo away from your throat by his hair, and you open your eyes, looking up at him.
God, he truly is the most beautiful being you’ve ever seen.
He’s truly a vision, lust-blown pupils and all, his hair a mess from where you’re tugging on it.
You breathe in each other, lips almost meeting but just separate, and the teasing makes everything more seductive.
Wonwoo pulls out of you suddenly, flipping you onto your side. He moves behind you, a cold big spoon as he enters you again. His breath is hot on your shoulders, and he takes the opportunity to gently bite your neck, making you gasp. You reach behind yourself, grabbing his hair again, which earns you a groan of pleasure.
His hand is on your hip, and he fucks into you desperately, adjusting your body ever so slightly, opening your leg a little so he can hit deeper.
“Wonwoo!” you whimper when his hand slips from your hips to your core, his fingers teasing your clit.
“That’s it, scream my name,” he grins, biting your earlobe and making you shiver.
“Wonwoo!” you say it louder this time, unable to contain yourself as he works you closer and closer to the edge again.
“Gonna cum on my cock, huh, angel?” he chuckles.
“Yes, I’m so close,” you whimper, pussy tightening around him.
“Not yet.” Wonwoo pulls out of you suddenly, and you whine, only for him to adjust you.
Now you’re sitting on top of him, with Wonwoo propped against the headboard.
“Why am I on top?” you ask, confused.
“Oh angel,” he licks your nipple, “just because you’re on top doesn’t mean you’re the one who is in control.”
His hands are on your hips again, and he lifts you slightly, allowing him to plow up into you.
You cry out from how deep his cock is hitting you, from the way he’s using you like a ragdoll.
You throw your head back, and his mouth latches onto your nipple. Your hands fly to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he fucks you stupid.
Each smack down of your core on his cock has pressure on your clit, and you can feel that orgasm bubbling again.
You feel drunk, or, what you think being drunk would feel like. It’s a pleasurable dizziness, a mind numbing euphoria and a tingling that flutters through your entire body.
Wonwoo growls, and you know it’s a sound of affirmation, a sound to push you toward the edge.
A few more rough thrusts have you tumbling into ecstasy, your entire core clamping down on Wonwoo’s cock. Your head falls forward, your lips making contact with the crown of Wonwoo’s head as he also groans. He pulls off of your nipple, panting desperately as he holds you down, his cock burried in your throbbing pussy.
You know he’s cumming too, and feel his muscles twitching, his shoulders tight with tension.
And his sounds… nothing in Heaven or on Earth sounds the way Wonwoo does when he’s wrapped in pleasure.
Your entire body sings with delight as the two of you hold onto each other, jolting with the aftershocks of your extreme highs.
The two of you hold each other, breathing in one another.
Wonwoo leans his face against your breasts, and you cradle him.
You’ve never felt this close to anyone.
For a moment you can forget that he’s a demon and you’re an angel.
None of that matters right now.
Finally, Wonwoo pulls away with a sigh. “This changes things.”
“It does,” you agree.
“We’re bound together for as long as Mingyu lives, so… you better not decide you hate me tomorrow.”
You laugh. “You irritate me, but I don’t hate you.”
“I’m not going to stop telling Mingyu to pursue his sexual desires.”
“I never expected you to,” you admit with a sigh.
“And you’re… okay with it now?”
“As long as it’s consensual, fine, he can be as dirty as he wants to be.”
Wonwoo laughs, cuddling close to your chest again. “See, in this day and age, some sins like premarital sex are outdated.”
“We could debate that,” you laugh, running your hands through his hair.
“I think I would like that.”
“I feel like it would be a case of unstoppable force meets immovable object.”
Wonwoo chuckles, and you love how beautiful he is when he smiles. “Sounds like us.”
“But we can’t let our sexual escapades get in the way of doing our job for Mingyu,” you declare.
“I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from your work,” Wonwoo groans. “You’d probably bite my cock off if I tried.”
“Consider yourself warned.”
“Consider yourself worshipped.”
“Huh?” you blink down at him.
“You’re still glowing, angel.” Wonwoo plays with a piece of your hair. “It’s been a long time since a demon like me has had anything to look up to.”
“You look up to me?”
“In some ways, but don’t make this more of an embarrassment than it already is.” Wonwoo lets out a sigh. “You’ve reformed me… slightly.”
“Don’t tell me it’s the power of good pussy.”
“Great pussy,” Wonwoo corrects. “And no. If I’m being honest, I think you’ve been changing me for the better for a while, bit by bit.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
Wonwoo smiles. “And I’m just happy.”
“I can live with that.”
☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! this one was fun, it was a little late to be posted because my puppy has a tooth infection and it's been a hell of a week. reminder! Patreon charges on the FIRST of every month, so if you're going to get my Patreon, just be aware of that, or wait until June 2nd :)
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🔮 preview. Your core tingles as you test the bindings on your wrists. There is truly so much he can teach you about the darker side of sex, the pain that turns into pleasure, the freedom of being completely immobilized and at the mercy of someone you trust to take care of you.
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, bdsm themes, wrist bondage, pleasure dom!Wonwoo, oral/pussy eating, wonwoo has powers in this… including a long demon tongue, overstimulation, finger fucking, body/breast worship, squirting, dacryphilia (arousal from tears/crying), dirty talk, praise, multiple reader orgasms, etc… I petnames. (hers) angel.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 140
🌙 starring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader
bonus
To your shock, Wonwoo isn’t pushy with you the way he’s pushy with Mingyu. He hasn’t said a word about the soft sex the two of you have continued to have for months now, and he hasn’t made you feel lesser than him for being vanilla either.
Wonwoo treats you very differently than he treats Mingyu, but you know that every time Wonwoo brings up rough sex in Mingyu’s ear, it’s because Wonwoo himself has an interest in it.
The demon has talked about being a sexual pleaser, and your need to please him has grown too. Can you really hold Wonwoo and yourself back from reaching another level by dabbling with the BDSM themes he’s so fond of?
Can you… condemn him to vanilla sex for as long as the two of you are connected through Mingyu?
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Synopsis~ your boyfriend cut the condom without you noticing?!
Warnings~ smut (mdni 18+), dubcon/noncon in the sense that Heeseung cuts the condom to get reader pregnant without her knowing, creampie, swearing (I can't think of anything else) IN NO WAY AM I ROMANTICISING THIS!!!!!!
Genre~ smut, hard thoughts, fluffy parts
Word count~ roughly 0.5k (short)
Tag list~ @supercalifraiglejakr, @nnhypenn,
@h-eva-n @strxwbloody
Author note~ part one of seven!! One for all of the members after a request! I will bring one out every day 🙂 please don't be a silent reader!! My taglist is open!! As are my requests!! Also I would like some anons!! Also this is lowkey ass but whatever….
Heeseung thrusted deep into you, rocking his hips back and forward as he kissed you desperately. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, you feel so good baby,” he groaned, tongue slipping into your mouth as he pushed his hips forward once more.
“Me too, mmm,” you panted back, hands clutching his strong biceps as heat coils low in your belly. You let out a particularly loud whine as he slid his mouth down your chin to your neck, sucking on the soft flesh there as he fucked into you.
You cummed faster than usual today, which is weird, because it usually doesn’t take barely ten minutes for you to even begin to get to your high. But you didnt focus on it much- too unbothered by it, or maybe it’s just that you were having sex with your perfect boyfriend.
He moaned against your nape, that’s what got you. With a quiet whimper, you cummed, the warm liquid pooled around your thighs and around the condom inside you. He breathed heavily, pulling away from your neck to look at you, “Shit, baby, hold my hand, yeah?”
His fingers slid between yours as he groaned deeply and cummed into the condom- it felt warm… which it shouldn’t have because the liquid should be inside the wrapping.. but you paid no mind to it, already kissing Heeseung once more as he pulls you into his embrace to sleep after the amazing session you both enjoyed together.
You felt pretty nauseous; having been experiencing morning sickness. As a normal person- you would just think you had the flu or something small like that- but no. You have a fairly strong immune system- given that you haven’t been sick in a few years, so why are you just feeling like this now?
It had been going on for a few weeks, you spoke to your boyfriend- Heeseung- and he always looked madly sheepish for a moment before he changed the expression to one of pure concern. He suggested you go see a doctor- so you book an appointment.
You are utterly shocked… Not even about the pregnancy, but about the fact that Heeseung felt so insecure in your relationship to go behind your back and baby trap you. If he had asked for a baby, you would’ve said yes immediately because you love children. The idea of having one of your own- a little boy that looks like Heeseung- takes you over the moon with joy. So why didn’t he just ask?
You had an argument about it when you returned home. About him being childish, you overreacting, and many more ridiculous and unimportant things.
But it ended the same like most arguments do, Heeseung sleeping in the guest room, then returning to your bedroom in the middle of the night and apologising to you in the sweetest way possible. However, with the argument you two had before, it took him a much bigger apology.
It was cute honestly, you both fell asleep at about three in the morning, maybe ten minutes after he said, “I promise I will look after you and our baby. Nothing less, sweetheart." And you had kissed him with much ferocity and passion.
Heeseung did do the wrong thing, you admit that, but he was willing to make it up to you. So you knew, whatever this pregnancy threw at you- he would be there to help you, all the way through it.
Summary: When McLaren noticed their precious golden boy driver was struggling to take his Championship seriously, they decided to hire a new psychologist to "fix" whatever problem he had. Turns out, the problems were about to become even more real.
(I am aware this is unprofessional and no psychologist would ever act in such way, this is purely for writing and entertainment purposes, I don't mean to disrespect anyone's profession or career 💙)
Lando didn’t want to admit it, but he had his knees shaking. As he walked the long corridor towards the room right at the very end, he was certain his legs were going to give out at any point. It wasn’t an unfamiliar path, he has done that for many, many years. But never after stupidly crashing against his teammate during a race in a fit of frustration. Never when he had everything to lose.
Zak Brown’s door was open, inviting him to come in. Lando felt like he was walking into his death sentence. He had no idea what waited beyond that door, maybe a lecture, screaming, someone telling him they would give the priority to Oscar, or that the contract wouldn’t be renovated - all those possibilities terrified his sleep.
However, coming into that minimalistic decorated room, he definitely did not expect to find a girl, sitting on a chair around the glass table, right in front of Andrea and Zak, catching a smile in both men’s faces.
“Well, hello, Lando! Come in!”
Usually, Zak’s fatherly voice would feel like a warm hug, but instead it sent shivers down Lando’s spine. Stepping into that room, he knew that whatever was waiting for him was a worse punishment than all the scenarios his anxiety drew in his mind.
You were sitting legs crossed in that chair, dressed in a fitted pair of jeans and exceptionally boring white t-shirt, a pair of ballet flats covering your feet. You didn’t stand up when the driver walked in, but gave him a polite smile.
“Hi, guys.” He didn’t sit, standing with his hands in his pockets next to your chair. “You wanted to talk?”
His eyes wandered towards you, waiting for you to leave and give the men privacy. But you didn’t move a single muscle.
“Yes, we did, sit down, please.”
Zak’s voice wasn’t scary. He seemed relaxed. Happy, even.
Lando sat on the chair by your side. He didn’t know whether to look at his bosses in front of him or to your cryptic figure.
“How are you, Lando?” Andrea finally directed himself to the driver, smiling like he was family.
“I’m good…” He was going to wait before saying something, but patience wasn’t Lando’s biggest asset. “Who is she?”
“Lando, this is YN.”
Zak introduced. You noticed how nervous the british boy was by your side, shoulders tense, neck rigid as if he slept on top of a hard mattress.
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” You tried to give him your sweetest, most welcoming voice, to get him to relax a bit.
Funny thing is, Lando was sure he knew you from somewhere. Your face was strange, but your name sounded familiar. However, his mind couldn’t place the puzzle together.
“Hi?”
“She’s here to help you.”
And then it clicked. Lando has been complaining about his race engineer since race number two, definitely a bit more after Miami. He hated how bad he was getting screwed up with poor strategies this season, it was something he brought up every single team briefing, shamelessly. Suddenly, the brit gave you a big smile. Surely you must be everything he asked for, smart, intelligent, competent… And cute. It was his dream coming true. Maybe he should mess up a bit more if this was his “punishment”.
“Oh… I see… I feel bad for Will, though. Has he left already? I’d like to say goodbye, thank him for his work.”
“Will?”
Both Andrea and Brow had question marks all over their faces, thinking their driver had gone insane all of the sudden.
“Yeah… She’s my new engineer, right?”
Stella’s lips curled into an awkward smile, but Lando refused to believe he got it wrong.
“Look, boy…” Zak straightened his body to the chair, arms coming over the table, with that serious face Lando hated. “What happened on Sunday finally made Andrea and I sit down and talk. You and I have been together on this journey since 2019, you, more than anybody, know how hard we worked to give you a competitive car…”
Lando was breathing hard, unable to hide his discomfort, chest moving up and down quickly and rapidly.
“And now that you have it, you’re throwing your opportunities away.”
Andrea’s voice cut Zak’s speech with a sharpness that hurt. It was cold, too honest, too real.
“You’re unfocused, Lando. You get so desperate you make mistakes. I know that you want to win without changing yourself. I know that you’re a nice guy and don’t want to act like a douchebag. But right now, your self depreciation and lack of confidence is shoving you down a dark hole.”
Zak continued, finally managing to let out the words he carefully composed. You looked over to the driver on your left side, he was trying his best not to show any emotion, and failing, because you could see the ghost of a tear forming on the inside corner of his eyes, and his hands rubbing his knees with pressure.
“That’s not what I–”
“It’s time to face the harsh truth, Lando. It’s time to wake up.”
He looked from Andrea over to you. Eyes settling without the joy they had before.
“What the fuck is she doing here?”
“I’m your new psychologist, Lando.”
Lando looked over the men across from him and let out a sarcastic chuckle, a dry laugh, dismissive.
“You hired me a twenty year old therapist?”
In Lando’s mind, there was no way you were good at your job. You looked young, too young to have experience. He probably had more years of dealing with anxiety than you had working. There was no way McLaren would put their trust in someone like you.
“YN was working with Ferrari last year, I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”
His mind was clear. He did hear about you. You were a legend in Ferrari, Charles and Carlos always mentioned how sharp and good their team’s “psychologist” was. Lando always thought it was a dumb concept for a team to have a therapist, but no one ever mentioned saying a bad word about you. Until you made Vasseur cry in a meeting after he decided to let go of Carlos Sainz.
You were the golden girl, the genius behind the well being of the team, that was, of course, until you told the boss something he didn’t want to hear, then you were cut like disposable garbage. You didn’t take it to heart, you understood it perfectly. In fact, you didn’t expect a different behavior from the men in this sport.
When Zak Brown got caught in this tricky situation between Lando and Oscar, your name was the first one that popped. You were the solution to all his problems. A weapon. And even though you told both team principals that you can’t just fix people, it’s more complicated than that, they still viewed you as the secret to get Lando to focus again. Bring him back to his juvenile confidence and personality that wasn’t depressing or too harsh.
You knew Lando. Not directly, but you, sometimes, got the chance to observe him and draw very shallow conclusions. You didn’t see a boy who was lazy, or fragile, you saw a driver who cared too much and put so much pressure on himself that he lost his passion for the sport. Your goal wasn’t to fix Lando’s attitude, you wanted him to gain his sparkle back, and if that meant he would leave the job or McLaren for good, then so be it. But Zak and Andrea didn’t need to know that last part.
“I’ve heard she was fired from Ferrari, yeah?”
“It was their loss.”
Lando bliked, incredulous.
“I don’t fucking need a therapist, guys. I am just fine. Sure, yeah, I fucked up on Sunday, but I apologized and it’s not going to happen again.” His words were dry and uncaring, Lando was pissed. And then he turned to you, eyes frosty. “You can go make someone cry over Red Bull or Mercedes, I don’t care.”
“This is not a choice, boy. You are going to work with YN until the end of the season. The contract is signed, it’s done. This meeting is just to simply let you know.”
Lando sighed, hands running through his curls in frustration.
“This is a fucking joke.” Being fired would feel better.
“And if you don’t show up to talk to her at least once a week, we’re going to be forced to make Oscar a number 1 driver.”
No one out of the men noticed how you rolled your eyes. This type of behavior was everything you fought against. No one should be forced to talk or go to therapy, it was the opposite of productive. You realized you had a great deal of work ahead of you, not just with Lando, but with everyone on that team.
Lando was speechless, furious, and the smell of your perfume was making things worse.
“Are we done?”
Zak turned his attention to you, who were sitting still, unfazed by the display of feelings by the boy next to you.
“YN, do you want to add something?”
Lando rolled his eyes, refusing to look at you. Yet, you still turned your body towards him.
“I want to make a deal with you, Lando.” He hummed in response, staring at his feet like a child getting lectured by their parents. “Give me a chance for the next two races until summer break. You can meet me tomorrow, here, for our first session. Then, we can see each other every Friday before Free Practice and every Sunday after the race. After summer break I’ll let you choose whenever you want to talk, no forced sessions, I don’t want that. And if you absolutely hate me, I’ll let you kick me out before summer break.”
Lando took a deep breath, eyes closed. He firstly looked at the men in front of him, both physically unaware of your conditions, taken by surprise - which he loved to see. Then, his attention focused on you, with your perfect grin smile. Lando Norris loved a challenge, and he would love to prove to everyone that you were not the next Freud and he didn’t need saving.
“Ok, fine, whatever.”
You smiled, victorious. Zak clapped his hands, getting up from his seat, followed by Lando, who just stormed off the room without saying any proper words.
This one was going to be interesting.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · [next day] · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
He’s late. Deliberately so. You knew it was on purpose, that he would do anything to get you to give up. But you could be as persistent and stubborn as him. There was no apology when the door creaked open, just the confident footsteps that weren't rushed. No guilt, no embarrassment, only sheer arrogance.
Lando Norris walked in like he owned the oxygen in the room, like he was doing you a favor by showing up at all. You didn’t move, didn’t even lift your gaze, keeping your eyes on the wall clock with mechanical indifference.
His eyes scanned the office, and you tracked every shift in his expression. The tiny furrow between his brows at the absence of any art, the twitch at the corners of his mouth when he saw only one chair, leather, black. Minimal. Impersonal. Surgical.
He failed to realize he was being read by the second he stepped in.
“No couch?” he murmured, finally. “Thought shrinks were supposed to have a couch.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who reclines easily.”
That got him a reaction - barely perceptible, though - only the curl of a lip and a faint twitch in his jaw. This was good, you wanted him slightly off balance.
Lando hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he sat, legs sprawled and arms folded, trying with his posture to adopt control. He wasn’t comfortable, he was performing. His breathing was calm, but his jaw was tight, a classic misdirection. He had been coached, media-trained, he knew exactly how to be a mirrorball, how to give people the exact version they needed to see.
Then, nothing. Not from him, not from you. The clock ticked; one second… Two…. Fifteen… Forty. By the time a full minute has passed, Lando started to fidget. Not enough to look restless, just enough to betray that he knew silence was a tactic. You, however, let it stretch a beat longer before speaking.
“They told me your problem was anxiety.” Your voice was smooth, analytical. “But… I just think you’re bored. Am I correct?”
His jaw tightened, eyes flashing to yours. That irritated him, mainly because you didn’t open the file that sat lonely over the table.
“You always diagnose people before they speak?” he shot at you, sharp edged.
“This is not a diagnosis.” You leaned back in your chair, hands folding together neatly in your lap. “I’m just stating what I see. You’re not here to talk, you’re here to check an obligation. Probably resentfully.”
“What, do you want me to cry?”
“Would that be productive for you?” You tilted your head.
“You tell me.”
You watched Lando with that same unnerving calm, enough to catch something charging behind his eyes.
“You like to provoke, Lando. I get it, it’s safer than being honest. That’s fine. Just know it’s not original.”
Lando let out a low, incredulous laugh and ran a hand over his face. He was amused, frustrated and profoundly annoyed.
“I get it…” he started. “You’re clever. Observant. Is that your thing?”
You didn’t answer, unfazed by his arrogance.
Lando shifted, legs drawing slightly closer together. Less performative now, less certain too. He didn’t know why he expected you to be… softer. Maybe the black turtleneck, maybe the voice… It was low, not quite monotone, but measured, like someone who doesn’t waste syllables. He couldn’t read you and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. You didn’t look impressed, not with the name or his status. You weren’t trying to fix him, not even trying to understand him. You were studying him., like a pattern. And fuck, he hated that.
“I’m here,” he said, eventually, shrugging. “Isn’t that the whole thing? I show up, you take notes and I nod when you say something deep.”
You didn’t blink.
“That’s the thing about taking notes, it implies compliance. But you walked in late, challenged the setting, and haven’t said a single word.”
“You haven’t asked a single question.”
You paused. Watched him.
“What do you want people to see when they look at you?”
Lando froze. Not because the question was profound, but because you asked it like you already knew the answer. And he didn’t.
“I don’t care what people see.” he lied.
The lie was in the deflection, the cocked eyebrow, the way his gaze slided to the wall instead of holding yours. Lando cared, desperately. In both the typical and nontypical way. He wanted adoration and control. He lived for the power over how the world digested him.
“You care more than you want to admit.”
Lando was bleeding from wounds he neglected. He wasn’t restless. He was untethered. That was different. He put himself on autopilot and called it ambition. You’ve seen this before, athletes who mistake identity for devotion, who confused success with passion. Lando was burned out and he was empty. And he knew it. But saying it out loud would shatter the version of himself he liked to pretend it was real.
The McLaren driver jerked forward slightly.
“Don’t make this about media or fame or whatever sob story you think I’ve got locked in here.” He tapped his temple like it’s all just noise. “I’m not your pet project.”
“I don’t work with pet projects,” you replied.
“I’m not suffering either,” he muttered.
“I never said you were” You leaned forward, elbows on the desk now, eyes locked with his. “You used to be very active on social media.”
“Is that your diagnosis?” he shot back. “Not chronically online enough for you?”
“No. My diagnosis is that you’re pretending you love a version of your life that doesn’t feed you anymore.”
Lando stood up suddenly. Chair scraping against the floor, loud and sharp.
“This is bullshit.”
You watched the door, but he didn’t walk out. Lando wanted to escape, but not necessarily the room. The problem wasn’t you, it was the implication that someone might see the things he worked so hard to bury.
“You’re not scared of failure,” you continued, voice like velvet draped over a blade. “You’re scared of regretting wasting all your best years for nothing. And you are definitely scared of letting all those people down.”
He opened the door without a word, slamming it a second later. The escape wasn’t convincing.
You let the silence settle again, knowing you’ll have much fun over the next few days.
Hospitality units always smelled like nerves wrapped in espresso. The chill of the air conditioning never quite masked the heat of performance anxiety, or the mechanical rhythm of branding disguised as purpose.
You stood in the far corner. Out of the camera’s eye and journalists, just watching.
Lando moved like a pattern– smooth, repetitive, curated to look casual. But there was nothing casual about the way his fingers wrapped his gloves. Same stretch, same angle. Peel. Rewrap. Tighten. Peel again. His brow furrowed just slightly when the tape didn’t lie flat. Left hand. Right hand. Repeat.
He hadn't spoken to you since the session. But, again, you didn’t expect him to. However, the thing about tension - real, buried, humming tension - was that it always found a leak.
You watched the next cue: pacing. Not frantic, but measured. Four steps forward, pivot, four steps back. Always the same distance, as if he needed to feel in control of something. His headphones were clamped around his ears like they were a shield.
You recognized it. The compulsions, the rituals dressed up as preparation. Superstition repackaged as focus. And you weren’t the only one watching. Oscar stood near him, arms crossed, sipping a bottle of water. Familiar and easy. The kind of closeness that came from years of knowing without having to ask.
“Every ritual becomes a prison if you don’t know why you need it.”
The silence broke like glass.
Oscar blinked, while Lando froze mid-wrap. He pulled his headphones down slowly. Not confusion, calculation. The air changed. The brit looked at you like you’d stuck a finger in a live wire just to see if he’d twitch.
“What did you just say?” he asked, low.
You didn’t repeat it. You just held his gaze. Oscar shifted slightly, as if he could already sense the storm brewing behind Lando’s collar.
Lando took a step toward you. Not aggressive, but he was trying his best to be intimidating, however, keeping it cool for Oscar’s benefit… And for his own.
“You really think it’s okay to psychoanalyze me in front of someone else?”
“I am not psychoanalyzing you.”
“Oh, right,” he said, voice laced with something between a laugh and a threat. “Because everything you say is just an observation, right? Unbiased. Clinical. Above it all.”
“Why are you angry?”
He stepped closer. Close enough that you could see the flare in his nostrils, the slight tremor in his fingers. He hadn’t finished taping his gloves, left one still loose, unfinished.
“You know what I think?” he asked, voice quiet now. “You like watching people suffer. You like peeling them open so you can feel powerful. That’s not therapy, you’re just a sadist with a degree.”
Oscar’s head turned sharply, looking away, he was uncomfortable to be witnessing this private moment.
“You tape your gloves the same way every time, wear your headphones like a shell, repeat the same pattern until it feels like certainty. That’s not preparation. You look like you’re about to enter the Coliseum.”
His face twitched. A flinch disguised as a smirk.
“You’re invasive,” he snapped. “Cold. A fraud.”
There it was. The crack. Small, but enough. And then he was walking away, jaw clenched, headphones swinging from his hand like a weapon he didn’t get to use.
Oscar lingered, gaze flicking between the empty space where Lando stood and you.
“Sorry about that, Oscar.” you said softly, for him and only him.
Oscar didn’t speak for a long moment, until he nodded. Half a shrug, half something softer. Like maybe he understood, or maybe he wanted to say something for a very long time. He followed after Lando. And you stood still, alone in the echo of tension you’d helped create.
Back in his driver room, Lando ripped the glove tape off like it had personally betrayed him. Meanwhile, Oscar leaned against the wall in the lounge, arms folded, a frown just under the surface of his quiet.
“You want to talk about it?”
Lando scoffed. “She thinks she knows everything. Thinks she can just say shit like that.”
“She didn’t say anything wrong.”
“Are you kidding me?” Lando turned, sharp.
“You do that thing with the gloves every single time. If the seam’s off, you start over. Every single time.”
“It’s called routine.” Lando paced, jaw tight.
“It’s called panic management,” Oscar said, soft but steady.
“She’s not a therapist,” Lando muttered.
“She is,” Oscar said. “And a good one.”
“Whose side are you on?”
Oscar didn’t reply. Just looked at him with those calm and familiar brown eyes that earned him a friendship over the years.
Lando exhaled, hard, giving up resistance.
“It’s not about the gloves.”
“I know.” Oscar nodded
And Lando didn’t say anything else. Because the gloves were just the tip of the iceberg, he just didn’t want to know what would happen when his cracks gave away completely.
Later that day, you found yourself in your hotel room, staring at the untouched file open on your laptop. Lando’s name at the top, followed by blank fields.
You could have written paragraphs. Pattern recognition, emotional triggers. But you didn’t. Because the truth was, he wasn’t wrong. You did strike without permission. You did expose him in front of someone he trusted. And you had felt something when he looked at you like that.
But he wasn’t wrong, and neither were you. You weren’t there to be liked, you were there to be honest. Even if it meant pressing a finger to the bruise no one else would touch.
You closed the laptop, silence settling around you, an enormous clue that you had to make things right.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
After the race that weekend, the paddock was nearly empty. Race was over, the press was done, the champagne dried.
You sat in the reserved team debrief room, the one tucked behind closed doors, unbranded, meant for sponsors and strategy meetings. This time the lightning was cold and there were only two chairs.
You didn’t check the time. You already knew he was late. On purpose. He made you wait, and you let him.
When Lando finally walked in, his race suit was peeled to his waist, fireproofs sticking to his skin, curls damp from the helmet. He shut the door behind him like the silence was part of the conversation.
You didn’t move and he didn’t sit.
“You’re early,” he joked, humourless.
“I’m always on time,” you replied.
“Bet that gets lonely.” He scoffed under his breath.
“Still angry?” You tilted your head.
“Nope.” He leaned against the wall instead of taking the seat. Arms crossed in a casual posture, unlike his eyes. “I’m curious… You said last time I was afraid of losing control, of the illusion cracking.”
You didn’t nod. You didn’t confirm. Those weren’t the words you used, it was just his confirmation bias working in your favour.
Lando moved closer.
“You always talk like you’re above it all. But you’re just as invested in being unreadable as the rest of us.”
“That’s not the same as pretending.”
“Isn’t it?” His mouth curled into something that almost looked like a smile, if you tilted your head the right way. “You ever think the reason you see through people is because you’re terrified someone might actually see through you?”
You didn’t answer.
Lando sat, finally. Elbows on knees. Exchanging his gaze between his hands and then back at you.
“You watch everything. Like you’re writing it all down in that head of yours. Every flinch, every tell. You think you’re safe because you’re the observer.”
“Sure, yeah, observation is a form of protection,” you admit, quietly, but unmoved by his attempt to getting you to crack.
“So is control,” he countered. “So is ritual.”
You said nothing, allowing the silence to grow, not giving him anything else. You weren’t the patient here.
He leaned back now, arms draped across the chair, but the tension had coiled itself under his skin. You could see it in the muscle twitch in his jaw, in the faint red line where the helmet had pressed too tight. His foot tapped, tap-tap-tap against the floor before he caught himself.
“I came in sixth,” Lando said it like it meant something different in this room than it did out there.
“I know.”
“I should’ve done better.”
“Why do you think that?”
He gave you a raised eyebrow in response.
“That’s my job? I should do good at my job.” he muttered.
“Is this all racing is for you? A job?”
You noticed how he tried his best to stay in his place instead of getting up and leaving.
“I’ve been thinking, you’ve got all these stories, all this insight. But no one really knows anything about you, do they?” Lando leaned closer. There was heat inside of him now. He was attacking this conversation like a challenge. “So let’s trade…” he started. “Why did Ferrari get rid of you?”
The question dropped like a loaded gun on the table, but your breath stayed steady.
“What have you heard?”
“That you said something about Sainz or Leclerc that made Vasseur cry.”
You slowly leaned into his space, where the tension turned into static, just enough to let your voice’s vibration reach his skin.
“I told Vasseur that replacing Carlos Sainz with Hamilton wasn’t going to fix all Ferrari’s problems.”
“But replacing Leclerc would?”
There was silence, excruciatingly loud. You leaned back and met his eyes. For the first time, the green wasn’t angry, they were searching.
The implication hung between you. You didn’t need to say more, and, frankly, Lando wouldn’t ask. You cracked the door open, and he had to decide whether to walk through or close it forever. But he couldn’t even offer you a smirk. Instead, his voice dropped to something quieter, however, not soft or gentle.
“I don’t know what to do with you.”
“That’s not my problem,” you said. “I’m not here to be done with.”
He stared at you for a long time.
“Your presence is too much,” he stated. Then, after a beat, “But I don’t… hate it.”
It wasn’t a confession, but it was very close. The weight of something unnamed, curling in the silence like smoke.
“Lando, you need to understand that out of everyone in this team, I am the one you can be sure will always stand by your side.” You shot at him, emphasizing the correct words with precision.
He stared at you for a beat too long. Jaw tight. Breathing uneven, as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scream.
“And what if I don’t want anyone to stand by me?”
His voice was sharp, but there was something underneath it, like the truth didn’t sit right in his chest, so he spat it out before it suffocated him.
It stung, but you smiled.
“Well, you still have to endure me for another week.”
He didn’t answer, but this time, when he left the room, he didn’t slam the door. Instead, Lando closed it like he was leaving a secret behind.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·[Silverstone]· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The rain at Silverstone didn’t just fall, it poured. As if the track itself was exhaling all the pressure of the weekend in one weather rebellious event. You watched the storm without blinking, your reflection a ghost on the garage’s monitor screens.
You were soaking wet after getting caught by the storm on your way to the paddock, not like you moved to dry yourself, or brought an extra set of clothes. You stood like you were part of the infrastructure, just another column holding up the roof, head tilted, jacket hugging your body uncomfortably.
And then he found you. Lando. You didn’t look at him, not at first, but you felt the moment he crossed into your atmosphere. That internal barometer dipped. The air tightened.
You were there. Of course you were. Like you anticipated the storm, the delay in free practice, to give you two more time to talk. And when he saw you, soaked through, still as stone, every word he rehearsed to annoy you fell flat. So he said the first true thing that came to mind:
“You don’t look waterproof.”
You arched a brow.
“No shit.”
His lip twitched. He wasn’t expecting a reaction. Not out of this.
He moved closer, not deliberately. But close enough that he could see the rain collecting in the hollow of your throat. See how you hadn’t bothered to wipe the mascara smudge beneath your right eye.
“I thought psychologists would rather stay dry in their boring glass rooms.”
“It’s nice to remind myself that I am not a robot sometimes,” you softened. Lando almost laughed at your stupid joke. “Why are you here?”
“Jesus, woman, does everything need to have a reason for you?”
“Everything usually does.” You looked him dead in the eyes, the green morphing into some kind of grayish-blue. “Especially to you.”
Lando let the tension between your words sit tight and occupy space. You said it clinically, objectively, but he felt a weird weight in it.
“Are all therapists hard to read like you?” he asked, not provoking, just out of curiosity.
“You are aware that I’m a human being, right, Lando?”
Your eyes locked. There were only a few inches between you. The sound of rain was hammering metal. There was so much noise around, the buzz of garage equipment, engineers in motion. However, the stillness between you was louder than anything.
He reached up, adjusting the strap on his fireproofs. It was a pointless gesture, something to do with his hands. You caught the tell.
“Does it help?” you asked.
“What?”
“The fidgeting.”
“Does watching me do it turns you on or something?” He chuckled.
“No,” you said softly. “That would be unprofessional, wouldn’t it?”
You weren’t sure when his hand brushed against yours. It wasn’t incidental. You could pretend it was, but that wouldn’t explain the way his knuckles lingered, warm and damp from the rain, grazing yours with the kind of reverence that didn’t belong in a place like this. In a garage that smelled like rubber and nerves and burnt ambition.
No. That touch was intentional in denial, criminal in restraint. The backs of your fingers barely touched, it wouldn’t even register on a thermal camera, but it set your blood to boil. You didn’t move away. Neither did he. His pinky curled ever so slightly and now the side of his hand was flush against yours. The contact was so small it could be dismissed, but so intimate it felt indecent.
Lando tilted his head, just a little, like he was trying to read a language only your body spoke.
“You always this quiet when someone touches you?” he murmured.
His voice was lower than it should’ve been. Close. Not quite a whisper, nor quite a dare.
“Depends on who’s doing the touching.”
That made something flicker behind his eyes. Something feral and curious. Something he hadn’t quite decided to like or hate yet.
Lando didn’t move away. His breath was shallow now. Your hand still against his. Your shoulder close enough to his chest that you could feel the residual heat radiating off his suit. You could’ve said a thousand things. You could’ve asked him to step back. You could’ve told him this was a line you shouldn’t cross. But instead you said:
“You’re not angry anymore.”
He laughed, a bit shy.
“No. Just…” He paused, then swallowed hard.“…tired of pretending I am not intrigued by you.”
Your throat went dry. And for a moment — just one charged, godless second — you thought he might do it. Close the inch. Close the lie that this was being professional.
You leaned in by a breath. He did the same.
“Lando?”
The engineer’s voice sliced through the air like a barbed wire. The moment collapsed in on itself. You both jerked back — too fast. Like teenagers. Like something shameful had almost happened.
Lando cleared his throat, then ran a hand through his damp curls.
“Yeah?” His voice cracked. He didn’t fix it.
“They need you in sim.”
He nodded. Didn’t look at you again — not right away. But when he finally did, it wasn’t angry. Or smug. It was longing.
You watched him go and told yourself it didn’t mean anything. But your hand still burned where he touched it. And his did too.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·[post-race session]· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The air in the room felt heavier after the race. Dense, like it had gathered the weight of everything unspoken between you and the british driver. This was the final session, the last one before summer break, the last time you’d see him. You had both been counting down to it. Dreading it, maybe. But for different reasons.
The clock on the wall ticked too loud. The afternoon light couldn’t reach the inside of the room. You had set everything up like always: notebook open, pen placed carefully on top, two glasses of water. Predictable. Safe.
And then the door opened. Early. You looked up only to find Lando. No easy smile, no cocky quip. Just him. Quiet, raw in the edges, like something tender had been scraped open beneath the skin. His hair was still slightly damp, curling loosely at the ends. He wasn’t wearing the usual team hoodie, just a soft, thick gray hoodie, too oversized to his frame. His eyes found you and didn’t move away this time.
“Hey,” his voice was lower than usual, rougher.
“Hi.” Your voice came out thinner than you intended.
He walked in slowly, almost like he was afraid of startling you. Sat down on the carefully pulled chair, closer than usual. The chair creaked. His knee almost brushed yours under the small table. He didn’t lean back like he usually did. No forced posture of indifference. He just sat there and folded into himself, hands clasped in front of him.
You studied his face — the subtle tension in his jaw, the faint dark circles under his eyes, the way his thumb kept rubbing over his knuckle. You recognized it. The exhaustion of someone who’s been carrying too much for too long.
“I didn’t sleep last night,” Lando finally said, barely above a whisper. “Kept thinking.”
You stayed quiet. You knew better than to fill the space.
His eyes darted to you briefly, then back to his hands.
“I’m tired of pretending it’s fun all the time,” he exhaled. “Like, I know everyone wants the show, the jokes, the stupid fucking memes, the smiling… But sometimes I wake up and I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to… entertain.”
Your throat tightened.
He kept going, words spilling now.
“I used to love it. Racing, I mean. Not the circus. The driving, the feeling of… flying. But lately I —” His voice broke for half a second. “— I keep wondering if I’m losing it. If it’s slipping. Like, are these my good years or do I have none? Because, Oscar is fucking thriving out here, winning every damn race, and I feel so-”
He stopped himself. Looked away. You didn’t move. Not yet. You could feel the sharp edges under his words. The fear sitting behind the frustration.
“Average?” you completed, softly.
Lando flinched, just slightly. But there was relief in the honesty of it. He nodded once, eyes still averted.
You exhaled slowly. Let the moment hang.
“Lando...” Your voice was steady, almost a whisper, but firm. “Who you are is not measured by what Oscar wins. And it’s not measured by what they say about you, either.”
You watched him closely. His jaw tightened. His shoulders pulled inward, like he was bracing for the familiar storm.
“The public, the comments, the headlines, the noise… They turn every race into a ranking of your worth. They decide who’s rising and who’s falling. Who’s beloved and who’s mocked. But that narrative isn’t truth, Lando. It’s projection. It’s temporary.”
He blinked, hard. His hands rubbed over each other, fingers fidgeting.
“When you start believing that every mistake confirms what they say… that you’re not good enough, that you’re falling behind, that you’re a disappointment, you hand your identity over to people who don’t even know you. Oscar isn’t your measuring stick. And neither are they. You’re not broken because you care about how they see you… But you’ll break yourself trying to make them love you. They don’t get to decide your value. You do.”
His breathing slowed, as though the words were unraveling something tight inside his chest.
“You’re allowed to want more, Lando. You’re allowed to feel frustrated. But you’re not failing because someone else is thriving. That’s not how worth works.”
Lando gathered the courage to look over you. The look in his eyes was as if something had collapsed and bloomed all at once.
“I care too much,” he whispered. “I know I do. About what people think. About what it means. About being enough. And I fucking hate that I care.”
You swallowed hard.
You felt your own walls shift then. The carefully cultivated distance bending under the weight of his vulnerability. Then, very slowly, almost before you realized you were doing it, your hand lifted. You reached across the small space between you and your fingers found his, resting lightly at first, like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to touch him. His knuckles were warm under your skin.
The contact was small, professional enough that you could pretend — if you wanted — that it meant nothing. But it lingered. Longer than it should have.
His head lowered slightly, almost imperceptibly leaning into your hand, like he was starving for that single point of contact. Like it anchored him.
The room was thick with something neither of you named. And for the first time since this had begun, you felt a door opening.
“I didn’t want anyone to see me like this,” he murmured. “Weak.”
“You’re not weak.” Your thumb moved, the tiniest stroke against his knuckle, deliberate now.
His eyes closed for a second. You watched his lashes flutter, his breathing slowing, deepening like he was grounding himself in your touch.
“I don’t want this to end,” he said quietly, barely audible.
You should have pulled your hand back. You didn’t. Instead, his fingers intertwined yours, fitting perfectly in between, charging your touch with heat. And you realized you didn’t want it to end either.
The door closed behind him and you sat there for a long moment breathing into the silence trying to collect yourself but your pulse kept rising, your fingertips still tingling from where you touched him as if his warmth had branded your skin and maybe it had. Maybe that was the problem.
You stood slowly. Your legs unsteady like you had walked too close to something dangerous and inhaled too much of it. The weight of the session still clinging to your bones, but there was something else now, something heavier, hotter, curling at the base of your spine
You went immediately back to your hotel. The elevator was quiet. The hallway even quieter. The muted beige carpet, the soft overhead lights, the stillness of expensive sterility, and, yet, your head felt loud, like static roaring under your skin.
You walked faster, as if outrunning the friction inside you. Then you heard it behind you. Your name. Not loud, but enough to stop you, like gravity, like an invisible hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you backwards. You closed your eyes once, briefly, because you already knew it was him.
You turned slowly. Lando stood a few steps behind. Hands in the pockets of that same thick hoodie. His hair a little more unruly now. His eyes locked on you, not playful, not teasing, just burning quietly, as if something inside him had finally slipped free and he couldn’t put it back.
“You shouldn’t be here” your voice came out low barely steady “This isn’t appropriate.”
Lando didn’t answer at first, he just stared and in that stare was everything you weren’t supposed to acknowledge. The unraveling threads, the slow smoldering pull that had been tightening between you for weeks, maybe from the very start. And you felt it humming under your skin, tightening your throat.
“I know.” he said, voice rougher than you had ever heard it, like sandpaper. “I know it’s not”
And still he didn’t move, didn’t leave, didn’t let you breathe.
You should have walked away. You should have shut it down. You were trained to. But you didn’t. Instead, you stood frozen, watching him watching you, and it felt like standing in the middle of a fuse burning too close to the detonation.
“Lando” you said again softer now, but there was a fracture in your voice, one you couldn’t quite control “Don’t do this.”
He stepped closer, not enough to touch, but enough that you could feel the heat of him radiating in the small sterile space between you. And you hated yourself for not stepping back. Because part of you wanted to lose the grip you kept white-knuckled for so long.
“I’m not the only one doing something.” he whispered, “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.”
You opened your mouth to argue, to deny, to push him away with words, but nothing came out. Because the truth was bleeding too loudly under your skin. You wanted him. God, you wanted him more than you wanted to keep control, more than you wanted to stay professional, more than you wanted to stay safe.
Lando saw it in your silence and that was when he moved the last inch between you. His mouth crashed into yours, like something inevitable. Brutal, desperate. His hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish, like he was anchoring himself. And you answered it with a sharp intake of breath. Until you were kissing him back, hard, urgent, teeth and tongues clashing. It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t tender, it was weeks of restraint collapsing in the smallest space possible.
It lasted seconds, or minutes, you couldn’t tell. But when you finally broke apart, you were both breathless, chests heavy, wide-eyed, like neither of you fully believed you had actually crossed the line.
“This shouldn’t have happened. This was a mistake.” you managed to say, but your voice shook when it left. And the way he looked at you made your stomach turn into knots, because he didn’t believe you.
“It’s only a mistake if you want it to be.” Lando stated quietly. Daring you to pretend and go against your urges.
You stared at him. Your back against the hotel door. Your heartbeat thundering in your throat. You wanted to pull him in and you wanted to slam the door shut on this whole thing. Both impulses fighting like wild animals inside you.
Instead you turned the handle, opened the door behind you, letting the warm dim light spill out into the hallway.
“If you walk in here,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “I stop being your psychologist.”
Lando didn’t move for a second but his eyes never left yours, sharp, unflinching, full of something dangerous and hungry.
“I never planned for you to be my psychologist after summer break, either way.”
And for a moment the world hung perfectly still between you.
You didn’t know who moved first, or if you even had time to decide, because suddenly he was in the room and the door clicked shut behind him. The space shrank around you like the air had been sucked out, and all you could feel was him standing too close, too warm, too dangerous.
Lando was watching you like you were something fragile about to break, but his hands found your hips anyway. It was like being pulled into a current too strong to resist, like your whole body had been waiting for this to happen no matter how many times your mind said no.
Your back hit the wall softly, but it was enough to make you gasp, and that sound broke him. Whatever thin thread of patience he had left, it snapped. His mouth was on yours again, hungrier, rougher, his teeth grazing your lower lip, and you let him, because you were tired of controlling everything, tired of carrying the weight of being careful and detached and safe.
Lando’s hands slid up under your blouse, fingertips skating over your ribs as if memorizing every line of you, like he didn’t want to waste a single inch. Your skin burned under his touch. You arched into him without meaning to, and you felt him groan, low in his throat, against your mouth.
“Fuck, you’re driving me insane,” he whispered, lips brushing yours, his breath hot and uneven. “I tried to be good. I really fucking tried.”
You didn’t answer, because your hands were already tugging at the hem of his hoodie, pulling it over his head in one desperate motion. When it was gone, you stared for a beat at the way his chest rose and fell, his skin flushed with heat, the sharp lines of muscle under soft light. And then he was pulling your blouse over your head too, fingers quick and frantic.
“But you look so perfect for me,” he whispered almost reverently, hands sliding down your sides, thumbs grazing the soft curve of your waist. “Need to make you mine.”
The moment your skin met his fully, it was like setting fire to something too dry, too starved to survive. Lando pressed his body against yours, pinning you against the wall, one hand threading into your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss down your throat. Slow at first, tasting you like he wanted to savor every pulse beneath your skin.
Your nails dug into his shoulders as his mouth reached your collarbone and lower, teeth grazing the swell of your breast. You hissed softly, feeling your control unraveling into ribbons falling at your feet.
“Lan…”
“Say it,” he rasped against your skin, his voice hoarse, possessive. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“I want you to fuck me, Lando. Right here.” You barely recognized your own voice when it came out, breathless and shaking.
He groaned at that, like the words shattered something inside him.
“I knew it,” he whispered, voice sharp with need. “I fucking knew you wanted this. Tell me to stop.”
He whispered again, voice raw. But you couldn’t, because you didn’t want him to stop. You never wanted him to stop.
Instead, you pulled him closer, fingers curling into his hair, guiding him lower. Lando followed gladly, dropping to his knees like he belonged there, like he had been waiting for this moment as long as you had. His hands gripped your thighs firm enough to bruise, and then his mouth was on you, hot and wet and perfect.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.” he groaned, voice muffled against your heat. “All this because of me, baby?”
Your head fell back against the wall, a moan escaping before you could catch it, and his tongue worked you open with deliberate strokes, patient at first and then increasingly greedy. You bucked into him, your legs trembling under the weight of it all.
“God, yes… just like that,” you gasped, one hand slamming against the wall behind you, the other tangled tight in his curls, holding him there like an anchor, like you needed him to keep you from falling apart completely.
“Look at you falling apart for me,” he murmured, pulling back just slightly to meet your gaze. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”
He groaned into you, the vibrations making you cry out again, and his fingers joined his mouth, two of them sliding inside you easily, curling up to find the spot that made your knees buckle.
“Lan… Please, I’m so close…”
His tongue flicked relentlessly against your clit, sending you spiraling faster and faster until you came hard against him, shaking, breathless, the world splintering at the edges.
“There she is. That’s it, baby. Give it to me.”
But he didn’t stop, not really. Even as your body trembled, he kissed his way back up your stomach, your ribs, your throat, catching your mouth again like he couldn’t stand not touching you for even a second. You tasted yourself on his tongue as he pressed you harder into the wall.
“I need you,” he rasped against your lips, and you nodded, because so did you. “You think I’m done with you? We’re only getting started.”
You barely made it to the bed, his hands on your waist guiding you backwards, his pupils blown wide, his breathing ragged as he stripped out of the rest of his clothes. You followed, shedding everything like armor, until there was nothing left between you except raw need.
He hovered over you for a moment, one hand cupping your cheek, thumb tracing your lips like he was trying to memorize you one last time before you both crossed the line completely.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, voice shaking. “So messy. So perfect. Gonna save me, pretty girl?”
You didn’t give him a chance to hesitate. You reached for him, pulling him down until his body was flush with yours, skin to skin, heat radiating between you.
“You act so cold in that little office, and now you’re begging for my cock.”
You guided him to you slowly, his cock pressing against your entrance and then sliding in, deep, inch by aching inch, until he was fully inside you, and you both gasped at the sensation of finally, finally being exactly where you both wanted.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned into your ear, his voice ragged, desperate. “So fucking tight for me.”
He held still for a moment, forehead resting against yours as you both adjusted to the overwhelming intensity of it all. Then he started moving, slow, deep thrusts that made your breath hitch with every roll of his hips, filling you so completely it bordered on unbearable.
You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back as his pace quickened, desperation bleeding into every movement, into every sound, into every gasp that filled the space between you.
“Tell me how much you need me,” he panted. “Say it. I want to hear you say it.”
“Please… fill me up, Lan. I want to feel you everywhere.”
The hotel room around you disappeared — the walls, the ceiling, the world itself — nothing existed except this, except him, except the impossible friction building higher and higher until you were both on the edge again.
“This pretty little cunt was made for me, yeah?” he growled, his voice dark, his thrusts rougher now.
“Yes,” you moaned, your voice breaking apart as the coil inside you tightened. “Fuck… ruin me. I want you to ruin me.”
“Is that what you want? To get ruined? To be treated, finally, like you’re not above anyone?” You nodded your head frenetically, unable to hold back the sighs escaping your lips. “You shouldn’t be treated like a superior when you look this good underneath me.”
He whispered your name over and over, like a prayer, like an apology, like he couldn’t believe you were real, his voice broken and raw as his pace grew erratic, hips snapping into you with reckless desperation.
“Fuck, you’re perfect… you feel so perfect… so fucking tight around me,” he groaned, the words rasping against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Taking me so fucking well, baby. God, I can't… you make me lose my fucking mind.”
You clung to him with everything you had, nails digging into his slick back as the coil inside you tightened to a breaking point. His hand slid between you, fingers finding your clit without hesitation, circling it with frantic precision.
“Come for me,” he begged, voice strangled. “Please. I want to feel you lose it around me. I need it.”
The pressure snapped, beautifully, violently. Your orgasm crashed through you like a wave you couldn’t control. You cried out his name, arching into him, your whole body trembling beneath the force of it, and it pulled him over the edge with you.
“Fuck, yes, that’s it. That’s my girl,” he groaned, burying himself deep one final time, his whole body shuddering as he came undone inside you. “You’re mine. You’re fucking mine.”
For a long time, neither of you moved, both panting, limbs tangled, hearts racing in sync, your skin damp with sweat, your bodies heavy against each other. His head fell into the crook of your neck as he tried to catch his breath, as though even now he couldn’t let you go.
You could still feel him pulsing inside you, the heat of him deep, claiming you in a way words never could. It was reckless. It was dangerous. It was everything you had told yourself you wouldn’t do. And still. You didn’t regret it.
But even as your breathing started to steady, you felt him twitch inside you, still hard, still desperate. His hands gripped your hips tighter, like he wasn’t done, like stopping now would destroy him completely.
“Lando…?” you whispered, breathless, but he didn’t answer.
Instead, Lando pulled out slowly, just enough to make you whimper at the loss, before slamming back into you in one ruthless, unforgiving thrust that made your back arch and your breath catch in your throat.
“Shh,” he rasped against your ear, voice darker now, something raw and cracked leaking into his words. “I’m not fucking done with you.”
You gasped, clutching at his shoulders, your entire body already overstimulated and trembling, but you couldn’t stop him — didn’t want to stop him.
Lando started fucking into you hard, fast, the bed creaking beneath you as his frustrations bled into every violent snap of his hips.
“You think you can drive me crazy like this and I’ll just stop after one round?” he gritted out, his jaw tight. “I’ve been losing my fucking mind over you.”
He cut himself off with a brutal thrust that punched the air from your lungs.
“It’s too much– I can’t–”
“No, baby, you can. I know you can, come on. Be a good girl for me.”
You choked out, dizzy, overwhelmed, your head thrown back into the mattress. His hands grabbed you from under your knees, forcing your legs up, folding you open for him completely as he pounded into you even deeper, rougher, like he needed to break you apart just to put you back together again.
“Look at you,” he snarled, his face flushed, sweat dripping from his hairline, eyes wild. “You’re so fucking desperate for me now. Such a good little mess under me.”
He growled deep in his throat, bending forward to bite into the soft skin of your shoulder, marking you as his. His thrusts became animalistic, grunts tearing from his chest as he fucked you like this was his only way to survive.
“Fuck…yes…take it. Take all of me,” he groaned into your skin. “You make me so fucking crazy, baby. You make me lose my fucking mind.”
You could feel yourself tipping again, that sharp edge pulling tighter with every brutal stroke, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every hard thrust. His dirty words filled your head, flooding your senses until you couldn’t think anymore. You were nothing but sensation, nothing but him.
“You’re gonna come again for me, aren’t you?” he demanded, voice strained. “Gonna milk my cock like the filthy girl you are.”
“Yes, yes. Fuck, I can’t—” you cried, barely able to form words anymore as the second orgasm slammed into you, harder than the first, your whole body convulsing around him.
He cursed under his breath, losing all rhythm as your spasming walls dragged him over the edge with you. His hips stuttered, cock pulsing deep inside you again, filling you until you felt the hot, wet rush of him coating your walls.
Lando hissed through gritted teeth, hands gripping you like he was terrified you might vanish beneath him.
The driver collapsed on top of you, panting, trembling, both of you soaked in sweat and flushed beyond repair. The world spun around you, but all you could feel was him. Still inside you. Still holding you like his entire sanity was hanging by a thread.
For a long time, all you could hear was your combined breathing, sharp and uneven, hearts still racing wildly against each other’s chests. His lips brushed your temple, softer now, but no less desperate.
His lips brushed your temple, softer now, but no less desperate.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he whispered, voice cracked and raw. “I don’t want to.”
But even as the words left his mouth, you felt him harden inside you again, impossibly fast, his cock still buried deep, twitching with need.
You barely had time to catch your breath before his hips started to move once more, slow at first, a deep, grinding roll that made you gasp.
“You feel that?” he murmured darkly, his lips dragging along your jaw, voice thick with obsession. “Still so fucking tight. Still squeezing me like you’re begging me to fill you again.”
Your body was beyond exhausted, every nerve ending raw and oversensitive, but the feel of him, the low growl in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were his entire world, it set you on fire all over again.
“Lando… I–”
“Shh.” His hand wrapped around your throat gently but firm, forcing your eyes on him. “No more thinking. Just take it. Let me fucking use you, baby. You need this just as much as I do.”
His thrusts turned brutal again, sharp, unrelenting, his frustration bleeding out with every savage snap of his hips. The bed groaned beneath you, headboard slamming softly against the wall in rhythm with his movements.
“Fucking hell… All this time I’ve been losing my mind watching you act untouchable,” he growled, the words pouring out like venom as he fucked deeper, harder. “Provoking me like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. Wearing those tight little skirts, standing so fucking close… you knew, didn’t you?”
You whimpered, completely wrecked under him, your hands gripping his biceps like they were your only anchor.
“Say it,” he demanded through clenched teeth, voice shaking. “You knew what you were doing to me.”
“I…I knew,” you sobbed, your voice high and broken. “I wanted you to want me like this.”
“You wanted me fucking obsessed,” he snapped, hand tightening around your throat just enough to make you dizzy, his eyes dark with something dangerous. “Well, congratulations, baby, you got me. You fucking got me.”
He slammed into you mercilessly, raw and possessive, sweat dripping from his brow, his teeth gritted as he chased another high like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
“You’re mine,” he hissed. “Every fucking part of you. This perfect cunt? Mine. These sounds you make? Mine. That sweet face when you’re about to break? Fucking mine.”
Tears blurred your vision, from pleasure, from overstimulation, from the overwhelming weight of his voice, his body, his claim. You felt like you were floating somewhere between pain and ecstasy, the brutal rhythm pulling you under again.
“Touch yourself for me,” he ordered, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “Come on. Rub that little clit while I ruin you.”
Your hand shook as you obeyed, fingers finding the swollen bud, barely able to keep a rhythm with the way his cock was splitting you open with every relentless thrust.
“That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he praised, voice breaking, filthy and loving all at once. “Look at you, taking me like you were made for it. You’re fucking perfect, you hear me? I don’t care what anyone says. Never letting you go.”
The pressure coiled fast, too fast, your entire body a live wire beneath him.
“Lan…I…Fuck, I’m gonna—”
“Come again,” he demanded, snapping his hips harder. “Fucking soak my cock while I fill you up one more time.”
You shattered with a scream, your body convulsing violently, walls clenching around him so tight it dragged him over the edge with you instantly. His thrusts grew erratic, desperate, hips grinding deep as he emptied himself inside you once more, his growl low and primal as he spilled every last drop.
“Fuck yes, baby, take all of me.” his voice cracked into a moan, breath ragged as he collapsed on top of you, trembling.
For a moment, it was pure chaos, shaking limbs, wet skin, breathless sobs, broken words whispered into flushed skin. His fingers tangled into your hair, forehead pressed to yours like he was trying to crawl inside your body, like even this wasn’t close enough.
“You’re never leaving me,” he whispered, voice hoarse and soft, trembling from exhaustion and raw obsession. “You hear me? I’ll fucking lose my mind if you ever leave me.”
You couldn’t speak. You could only nod, clinging to him with what little strength you had left, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.
When your bodies finally stilled, the room was drenched in sweat and shadows, the silence punctuated only by the harsh rhythm of your breathing. His chest rose and fell against your back as he held you, like if he let go, you’d vanish into the night.
Neither of you spoke. Words felt dangerous now. Fragile. Useless.
Lando’s fingers traced slow, reverent circles on your thigh, his touch softer than it had been all night, almost childlike in its tenderness. But beneath it, you felt the storm still simmering inside him, wild and unresolved, because this hadn’t been just sex. Not for him. Not anymore.
His voice finally broke through the quiet, low and hoarse, as if it physically hurt him to speak.
“You’re not going to leave, are you?” You swallowed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. He shifted behind you, his grip tightening. “Don’t do that,” he whispered. “Don’t go silent on me. Not after this.” His lips brushed your shoulder. “Please.”
The desperation bled through his voice in ways he couldn’t control — the thin veneer of control he always wore around everyone else completely shattered now. You were seeing him entirely raw, entirely exposed. No podium smiles. No charming interviews. Just Lando, young, reckless, obsessive, scared.
You turned your head slowly to meet his eyes. They were wide, feverish, and almost glassy. He already knew.
“I don’t know if I can stay,” you whispered. The truth tasted bitter in your mouth. “We crossed too many lines tonight.”
His brows knitted together, the panic blooming fast beneath his carefully masked expression.
“But you wanted this,” he rasped. “You wanted me. You want me.”
Your throat tightened.
“That doesn’t mean it’s right.”
“I don’t fucking care if it’s right,” the boy snapped, voice rising for the first time, raw emotion cracking beneath it. “I care about you. About us. Don’t hide behind your rules now. You think I can just go back to pretending after this? After finally touching you, tasting you, having you?”
You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling sharply, trying to hold yourself together as his words cut into you. Lando was right. You had wanted him. You still did. Every fiber of your body screamed for him. But that only made it worse.
“Lando… it’s not that simple.”
His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as frustration burned in his chest. He sat up abruptly, scrubbing his hand through his damp hair, pacing at the edge of the bed. The sheets slipped down your bare body as you watched him, your pulse pounding.
“You’re scared,” he said bitterly. “You’re fucking terrified.”
“Of course I am!” The words tore out of you louder than intended. “I’m your psychologist, Lando. I have a professional obligation—”
He spun toward you, eyes sharp and dark.
“Not anymore.” The air went still. You blinked. He softened almost immediately, his chest heaving. “Don’t make this the end. Don’t let tonight be… nothing.” His voice broke. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll never tell a fucking soul. Just don’t walk away.”
The weight of his desperation suffocated you. His words, his eyes, his entire body language screamed one thing louder than anything else: I need you.
But your mind was already pulling away, because you saw the inevitable consequences spiraling ahead like some cruel domino effect that neither of you could stop once it started.
Lando reached for your hand, gripping it like a man gripping a lifeline.
“You don’t have to fix me anymore. Just stay.”
You let him hold your hand, let him believe — for one more fleeting second — that this could somehow work. That this night could exist safely outside the world you both belonged to. But deep inside, you already knew.
You squeezed his hand softly, your voice barely a whisper.
“I need time.”
His face fell, just slightly. He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, nodding like he understood. But you saw the panic still swirling under his skin, fighting for breath.
Later, while the early dawn crept through the thin hotel curtains, casting pale blue shadows over his sleeping face, you stood at the edge of the bed and watched him. Peaceful for once. Quiet. Unaware. His curls messy across the pillow, his bare chest rising and falling with slow, vulnerable breaths.
You memorized him like that.
By noon, the letter sat on the office desk.
“Effective immediately. Due to personal and ethical conflicts, I resign my position.”
You didn’t check your phone. You couldn’t.
You disappeared into summer break like a ghost slipping through the cracks of a world that had grown too dangerous. Away from paddocks. Away from McLaren. Away from him.
And yet, as the days stretched long and silent, as you stared out at unfamiliar skies in unfamiliar cities, you knew his hands still lingered on your skin, his words echoing like a heartbeat beneath your ribs.
💭 short headcanons of you and aerion in a relationship & him trying to do everything he possibly can to deserve being your boyfriend. pure fluff <3
☆: “i only want him if he says it first to me!”♫♪
(❀) shamelessly treats you better than anyone else around him, making his favoritism toward you very very clear. aerion can be cruel to others, openly mocking them without a second thought, but with you he is the most considerate boy.
(lately though his behavior has been improving. he does not want you to see him as a monster, and besides… he would like to be a better man, to feel worthy of a love like yours)
(❀) even so he always softens his voice when he talks to you and only you. always holding your jaw so you look him in the eyes.
“… what happened now, hm? tell me.” he asks in the sweetest tone he has ever tried to use.
“it’s fine.” you shake your head, trying to avoid talking about it.
“tell me. trust me, i will get it.” he assures you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.
you nod your head, a gesture he mirrors, encouraging you to speak.
(❀) at first he might seem spoiled and overly sheltered by his privileged upbringing, however if you let him he grows attached to you quickly, choosing you as his date for any activity. aerion always wants you there because he never has as much fun as when you are the one beside him.
(❀) aerion is always taking candid pictures of absolutely everything. he has an entire album dedicated to you on his phone.
(❀) completely in love with you, he was the one who said i love you first.
(❀) he seeks his father’s approval and… yours too. he adores when you listen to him talk, even more when you ask questions about it. and it goes both ways!! if it is something you are interested in, he will listen to you for as long as you want, and he is very good at asking questions to dig deeper into whatever you are talking about.
(❀) more than once he has told you that you are his favorite person.
(❀) you always put aerion in his place. you are not afraid of him at all… (he is a little afraid of you, and maybe a little turned on by it too) even if he is a total brat, you never hesitate to call him out !! if you roll your eyes at him in annoyance, he is immediately right behind you, apologizing and begging you to kiss him.
(❀) far too confident in his looks (how could he not be) he loves catching you staring when his shirt lifts just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. he absolutely does it on purpose !!
(❀) passenger princess!! yeah… maekar does not let him anywhere near the wheel after he crashed the family car. so aerion sits in the passenger seat with one hand resting on your thigh and the other changing the music.
(❀) he loves to tease you, messing up your hair, tugging at or pulling it up into a makeshift ponytail with whatever he has. aerion is always there just to bother you !!
(❀) aerion is so so respectful with you. if you order hands where you can see them, then he will lift them in surrender, only to chase your mouth and earn a quick peck on his lips. he always smiles completely smitten every time you kiss, even if it is brief.
(❀) you like teasing him too, joking that you have a boyfriend when he starts getting clingy, kissing every inch of your skin.
“aerion… stop, god, i have a boyfriend.” you mumble just to annoy him, feeling him suck at the skin of your neck.
“… so? he does not have to find out.” he replies simply, far too focused on his masterpiece. “i promise”.
you roll your eyes and tilt your head back to give him more access.
(❀) he would hate to ever hurt you, physically or verbally, so he is always the gentlest with you. more than once he has confessed that dyanna would have loved to meet you, that his mother would have adored you.
(❀) aerion love to spend time outdoors. picnic dates, camping, teaching you how to fish the way he used to with daeron as a child. he is especially smiley on those days, a mix of nostalgia, gratitude and… love.
(❀) he laughs more with you than with anyone else. the two of you have plenty of inside jokes and genuinely enjoy each other’s company.
(❀) aerion is your sweet boy and you are his favorite girl !! <3
Drooling over the concept of young Pantalone in Liyue Harbor, right? He’s in his early 20’s, working here and making connections there, trying to claw himself out of poverty and finally get the ball rolling with his wealth. He lives in a cramped attic room in the home of the family whose food stall he’s employed at. It’s not much at all, but it’s his. And there’s also you, who walked by every day with a big smile and another flirty comment to leave him fanning his face. With that in mind, I’m thinking about fucking passionately in that little room of his and trying to keep it down.
MDNI , I was sleepy writing this so have mercy
~~~~
You don’t really know how it happened. He was a pretty boy running a food stall near your own place of employment, and you couldn’t help the urge to flirt a little bit! He looked too uptight for the job he was working, for one. How couldn’t you poke a bit of fun? But as you got to know him better, you found that he was the sweetest soul you’d ever crossed paths with.
He offered to take you out one night, but you insisted you didn’t want him to make things harder on himself financially for the sake of one fun night out. He did not listen.
You explored the harbor together, running between cargo boxes on the docks and sharing a treat from a confection stand. You honestly weren’t sure before the date if you were actually going to enjoy his company, but you were pleasantly surprised to find that he was one of the most kind and down to earth people you’d ever met.
The kissing started innocently. Really, it did. He cupped your jaw and pressed his lips to yours in the evening’s crescendo, letting the night sky bathe you in a romantic starlight that seemed to embolden his confidence.
His lips were warm and his embrace felt safe, so you let yourself fall into it.
Things grew heated with your reluctance to pull away, and you were soon making out in a quiet alleyway, obstructed from the view of guards and passers by. The moment your top started sliding down your shoulders, you both knew you had to go somewhere more private.
He carried you all the way back to the small family home of his employers, stifling laughter with you as he crept through the old house and up the stairs to his little room.
Clothes came off between slow kisses, and you both found yourselves growing ever impatient. Pantalone didn’t like to rush things, but he was burning to feel you against him.
He made you cum on his fingers once, wanting your body to grow used to his presence. Even so, you swore he enjoyed it more than you did by the way he was stifling groans just watching you fall apart for him, a bead of sweat glistening on his forehead.
The old floorboards groaned and creaked beneath you with your shifting bodies, and every few seconds, Pantalone listened for the sounds of movement around the house. He’d traumatize his poor employer and family if they knew what he was up to.
Your body was on fire, craving his touch with the desperation of being led about all this time. The moment his hands steadied on your hips, your vision near blurred.
He looked so fucking good on top of you, shadows casting beautiful scenes across his skin as he shifted, pulling you closer and lining himself up with your entrance.
Your combined moans were pure, filthy sin as he pushed in. The sound nearly came out as a sob from his lips, his forehead lowering to press against yours.
You both needed this carnally. Desperately. You no longer cared for how debauched and wanton your display appeared, not when he was making you fall deep in love in real time like this.
He didn’t mean to get rough, but the way you clenched around him, the way your body fit against his like a puzzle piece, he lost himself in it. His hips rolled with an increasing vigor to make you feel good, letting his moans absorb into the pillow beside you as he held you close.
It was all so incredibly intimate, just how close the two of you were. His fingers intertwined with yours, face grazing the curve of your shoulder and pressing soft kisses to your skin.
His tip repeatedly hit your cervix, prompting you to bring your intertwined hands to your lips to stifle the screams that threatened to tumble out.
Even though you both knew the risk, you couldn’t stop. Every shift, movement, and sound could alert someone downstairs, but there was absolutely nothing that could make you part in this moment. Your legs wrapped righty around his waist, digging the balls of your heels into his back to pull him impossibly deeper.
For a man so uptight in presence, it was a pleasant change of pace to watch him whimper and groan into the sheets while he fucked you stupid. At this point, he was fucking himself stupid in you.
His cries of impending orgasm had him tugging his hips back, but you remained locked around him. The action made him nearly cry, and his whole body shuddered as he came inside of you, eyes rolling back as you met your own climax with him.
His first instinct was to apologize profusely, pushing himself up on wobbling arms to check on you. You honestly found it endearing just how clueless he could be.
Once you had both settled, though, the rest of the night was nothing short of serene and blissful. He held you close in his little bed, and the both of you watched the quiet streets of the harbor out of his open window until you both fell asleep.
In the morning, you snuck away before anyone could see you. Your thighs burned and trembled with every step.
Pantalone was relieved that he’d gotten away with it. As he was setting up at the food stall, though, his employer casually mentioned the neighborhood receiving a noise complaint late last night, appearing offended that people thought it was coming from his house.
