#I fall in love with these titles as I write them damn

[yyprompts]

1# 🌙🩷🩵

The Blackest of the Stars

Intellect's Paradise

Orange Days

Body Worn Through

What's Not Given

I Embrace Everything

The Year We Become Adults

If All Things Were So Lovely

If There's No Summer

Bad Streak

[justwinginglife]

The LADS Men Catch You Masturbating To A Photo Of Them

Yall can read the title but this is mature content. Big thanks to @tbaluver my lovely beta reader who helped me not rip my hair out as I was writing and editing and editing and editing again.

Xavier

Xavier was frustrated again.

He knew it was his own damn fault for sending you a photo of him with his shirt slightly unbuttoned but it was two damn buttons. He didn’t think you’d be so hot and bothered by a single photo of him that you’d hide yourself away in your room and jack off to it. If he’d known you’d neglect him like this, opting to pleasure yourself to a photo of him instead, he never would’ve sent it in the first place. Sure, you hadn’t known he was awake, and sure you hadn’t known he’d been dying to see you, but you could’ve sent him a message saying you were horny. You could’ve asked for help. 

Now he was sulking outside of your bedroom door, listening to you whimper and whine, and it was driving him crazy. Finally, he’d had enough, and without warning, he charged into the room. 

You yelped and reflexively yanked the blanket over yourself. “Xavier! Wh-what are you doing here? I th-thought you were at home asleep.”

“So you figured you’d quietly get off to him and let me continue sleeping, is that it? Do you think I can’t satisfy your needs like he can?” His eyes darkened as he made his way towards you. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Xavier. What do you mean ‘he’? It’s literally you. I’m getting off to you.”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above you, allowing your phone to fall to the side. “No, if you were getting off to me, it would be my cock getting soaked and not your fingers. Wanna try that again?”

You swallowed. “Please… please Xavier. Help me. Please, I wanna come on your cock.”

“That’s much better.” He growled.

He wasted no time at all in yanking down his pants and positioning himself over you. He dragged the tip of his swollen cock along your slicked entrance, allowing your arousal to drizzle down his impressive length. He slapped it against your clit a couple times in a teasing manner, but then finally just jammed himself inside you. Maybe if you’d approached him from the very beginning, asked for his help nicely, he would’ve been gentle with you. Would’ve taken his time to coax you open, would’ve eased his way into your warmth. 

But you hadn’t even considered him as an option and it drove him mad. So he slammed his hips forward and drilled himself deep inside you, thrusting against your tightening walls with a punishing tenacity. When you whined, he silenced you with a devastating kiss, tongue invading you with overwhelming force. You’d remember him next time you were in the mood- that he would make sure of. 

He spent the remainder of the night bullying his way through your pussy until you were cum drunk and sky high, shuddering through multiple orgasms, and slurring the words he made you repeat after him, “I promise I will only come on Xavier’s cock… I promise I will only come on Xavier’s cock… I promise…”

************************************************************************

Sylus

It was almost like Sylus sent you the photo on purpose. 

He was half naked on top of a motorcycle, grease dripping down his toned abs, and smirking like a sinner; what girl wouldn’t come to that?

So when you suddenly found yourself tugging off your soaked panties, and settling into a comfortable position on your bed before beginning to tease circles onto your clit, you felt it was only the most reasonable of ways to respond to his photo. If he didn’t want you to touch yourself, he should’ve been there in person to let you touch him. 

Little did you know, he’d come home early, and had begun to watch you from the doorway, eyes alight with both amusement and arousal. He’d intended for the photo to get a reaction out of you, but he hadn’t intended for the reaction to be quite so… primal. He continued to watch intently as you slid your slicked up fingers in and out of you, lust-filled eyes laser-focused on his photo. You imagined his abs were wet because you’d come all over them and it nearly sent your orgasm crashing into you. You bit your lip to stall its arrival, prolong your pleasure for a moment more. 

Sylus watched as you sunk your teeth into your plush lips and god did he want to sink his teeth right into them next. But he stayed still, he stayed silent. Waited for the opportune moment to show his hand. 

It wasn’t until you moaned, “Fuck- Sylus, I need you,” that he made his entrance, sliding onto the bed beside you. Before you’d even had time to properly be shocked, he was spreading your legs open wider. 

“I think you can do better than that, sweetie.” His fingers guided your fingers deeper inside you, slamming up against your sweet spot.

You gasped and dropped your phone in surprise. 

He watched as it fell to the floor with a smirk. “Looks like you’ll have to rely on me now.”

He spent the next few, agonizing minutes summoning your release with every deliberate stroke of his fingers, only to let it sink back inside you, before bringing it to your forefront again and repeating the cycle over and over. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you throbbed around him, desperate for one, single orgasm.

“Sylus!” You exclaimed in anguish, “Please. Let me come.”

“How badly do you want to come, kitten?” He grinned as he flexed his fingers, flicking them against your eager core once more. 

“Badly.” You groaned.

“Ah, so not that bad then,” He smirked.

You attempted to glare at him but he cut you off with a sharp flick of his fingers. You cried out in pleasure and pain. “PLEASE- Sylus, I wanna come so badly. I NEED to come.”

He nuzzled against your ear, nibbling on your earlobe before purring, “So come for me then. Don’t hold back a single sound.”

A spark of heat flashed through you when you heard his words. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you clenched around both of your fingers, dancing on the edge of ecstasy. Then, your orgasm finally found you. You cried out his name as the warmth spread through your veins. 

When your eyes eventually blinked open again, you were met with the sight of him licking his fingers clean. His wild eyes held your gaze and he smirked. 

“That’s my good girl.”

************************************************************************

Rafayel

“You could’ve just told me you missed me, cutie.” Rafayel smirked as he stood with his arms crossed in the doorway.

Just an hour ago, Rafayel had sent you a photo of him shirtless on the beach and now you’d been caught red handed, masturbating to it. Embarrassing. If pressed, you’d argue that it was simply impossible not to touch yourself when faced with such a photo. You’d noticed he’d taken a dip in the ocean just before taking the shot because a tantalizing trail of water was trickling down his abs, and it was enough to get you dripping as well. Honestly, it was a wonder you hadn’t come already with how furiously you’d fingered yourself after receiving his photo. Anyway, he’d come home from his beach trip earlier than you thought and that led to your current predicament. 

You bit down on your lip, blushing slightly. “I, uh… I missed you. Help me?” 

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

In an instant, he was spreading your legs apart. You’d assumed he’d take over fingering you and were, instead, pleasantly surprised when his head dipped down to lick a stripe up your glistening folds. 

“Raf!” You gasped.

“Sorry… my lips are chapped from all that salt water and I’m just so… thirsty. I was hoping you could give me something to drink, cutie.” He grinned up at you before delving back inside you with his tongue. He wasn’t kidding about being thirsty. You felt him collect every drop of arousal from your quaking walls with each hungry flick of his tongue. You thought he might just drown himself inside you if he continued.

You attempted to pull away slightly, just to allow him air to breathe, to allow him a moment of respite from your suffocating warmth, but he pinned your legs in place before you could get too far. 

“You think the God of the Sea is in need of air?” His voice dropped to a low growl. He looked up at you with dark eyes, as though offended at your underestimation of him. 

“I think Rafayel is in need of air.”

His eyes softened slightly at your concern. Then his lips curled into a smirk. “Lemurians can survive the darkest depths of the ocean; I’m pretty sure I can survive the depths of my love.” He swirled his tongue around your sensitive bud teasingly. “But the real question is- can you survive me?”

He didn’t need your answer. He already had it the moment he buried his tongue back inside you and you responded with choked whimpers. He reveled in the sounds he drew from your mouth with every drag of his tongue here and there but what he relished even more was the moment you were convulsing against his tongue and coming down his throat. As you shuddered through your release, he thought to himself that he could honestly get drunk on the taste of you. One orgasm wasn’t enough. He’d have you emptying all evidence of your arousal into his mouth until he couldn’t taste anything else, until he’d forgotten the taste of anything else. 

************************************************************************

Caleb

You had just sent him the most innocent looking photo of you. You were walking in the park, wearing a white sundress, the sunlight had caught your eyes just right, and your hair was blowing in the wind. You couldn’t have looked more perfect.

But you weren’t wearing a bra.

His first instinct was to look away, ashamed. But then he realized you weren’t here to scold him. So he took another peek. His pants quickly tightened around him as his eyes followed the curves of your breast through your nearly-see-through dress. And when his eyes settled on the peaks of your nipples poking through the sheer fabric, he bit down on his lip to keep the precum from trickling down his pants. He stained them anyway. He couldn’t help himself; he was hard as fuck. 

You were still strolling through the park; he was sure he had time to relieve himself. So he made his way to the bathroom. 

One hand gripped his phone tightly; he didn’t dare to drop it. The other stroked his aching length aggressively. He imagined the way your perky tits would bounce as he drilled himself deeper into you, imagined the way he’d stain your dress with his cum. He was so lost in his thoughts that even after he’d come down the toilet, he didn’t notice that you’d come home and made yourself comfortable in the bedroom. It wasn’t until he opened the bathroom door that he heard just how comfortable you were.

“Caleb!” 

At first, he thought you needed him. He quickly rushed to find the source of your voice, worried you were hurt. Then he realized you were in the bedroom with the door slightly ajar, and his footsteps slowed. 

There it was again. “Caleb!” You moaned.

His recently emptied erection flickered back to life. He thought you were calling his name because you needed him. He didn’t realize you were calling his name because you… needed him. Well, that was an easy fix.

He slipped through the doorway, ready to be at your service. What he was not ready for was just how debilitating the sight of you touching yourself to him would be. You had a shirtless photo of him propped up in one hand, fingers curled inside you with the other, thrumming at your insides with an ever increasing rhythm. Moments ago, he’d been more than prepared to assist, but now all he could do was stand and stare, mouth slightly agape.

“Caleb!” You exclaimed again. But this time, your voice was tinged with embarrassment instead of pleasure. His eyes found yours and he realized you’d caught him staring. 

“Sorry, sorry! Just comin’ in to see if you needed some help.”

Your cheeks burned bright. If you’d had more pride, maybe you would’ve kicked him out. Closed the door in his face, made him promise to forget he ever saw you like this. But you’d been desperately chasing the high that was always just a fingertip out of reach, and you’d begun to get frustrated. “My…” You cleared your throat awkwardly, “My fingers aren’t long enough.”

He took a couple cautious steps towards you. “I…I can help with that.”

You swallowed as he settled onto the bed beside you. Caleb was always helping you. Helping you reach the nice glasses on the top shelf, helping you jumpstart your car when the battery died, helping you set up the wi-fi in your new apartment. You just never imagined he’d be helping you with… this.

You held your breath as he spit on his fingers, and released the breath in a low moan when he slid them inside you. In no time at all, he’d already found the sweet spot you’d been straining to reach. 

“Fuuuuck.” You hissed, eyes rolling back as he caressed your wet heat. 

He tried to focus on pleasuring you, on lavishing his attention on every spot that made you gasp and groan. But as you grew tighter around his fingers, clenching as the ecstasy built up in your core, he felt his pants grow tighter around him again. He bit down on his lip and tried to ignore his own selfish desires.

“You know…I can help with that.” You murmured, voice seeped in lust, as you laid eyes on the bulge in his pants. Your fingers danced around his belt, waiting for his permission. 

He nodded a little too quickly and soon, he was fucking himself into your hand. It almost became competition, the way you’d stroke him faster and he’d finger you deeper. 

He wasn’t sure who came first in the end, but he was sure he’d stained your dress. He’d have to buy you a new one. Maybe he’d stain that one too.

************************************************************************

Zayne

Zayne cleared his throat from the doorway. 

Shit.

“You know…” He stepped closer to your bed, where you’d shrunken under the covers, away from his prying eyes. “When I said physical activity was good for you, I didn’t mean…masturbation.”

You swallowed. “I’m just… blowing off some steam?” You offered weakly. 

If he had any witty remarks to make about your current situation, they quickly stuttered to a stop when he realized that you’d been holding a picture of him in your hand (and to his surprise, it was a picture of him fully clothed, in…surgical gear??) while you touched yourself. Crimson seeped into his cheeks and his ears soon followed. He started to talk but when no words came out, he cleared his throat again, sweat rolling down his Adam's apple.

“Would you…like some help with your… activities?”

Your eyes widened. Here he was, avoiding all eye contact with you like it was the plague, and he was offering to help?

He swallowed when you tugged the blanket off of you and spread your legs in response. “I… I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Yes…I… I want you to touch me, Zayne.”

His lips found yours in an instant. At first, his kisses were soft, tender. Then they grew increasingly more passionate as his fingers found their target. He moaned against your lips, heat enveloping him as you clenched around him. He didn’t dare pull away from your lips, partly because he was happy just to be kissing you, and partly because if he pulled away long enough to watch himself fuck you wide open with his fingers, he might just come all over his pants and his dignity. 

Somehow, touching you was just as arousing for him as being touched himself. Somehow, every time you squeezed or squirmed, he felt your pleasure as if it was his own. Somehow, every torturous trail that his fingers teased into your walls was a torment to him too. Somehow, he needed your release as badly as you did. He needed you to come all over his fingers. He needed you to cry out his name. He needed you to arch your head back and let him devour the length of your neck as you rode out your orgasm. And he needed it like he needed air. 

It was this ravenous tenacity that brought not one but two orgasms flooding through your core in a matter of minutes. Zayne completely missed the first one, still focused on wanting to take care of you, and you were too breathless to tell him you’d already come so he continued vigorously pumping away until you were overwhelmed by your second release of the night. It wasn’t until he began thumbing at your clit that you finally choked out a protest, tears in your eyes.

“Z-Zayne! F-Fuck… I’ve… I’ve already come t-twice… don’t you think you should give me a minute to…to breathe?” You begged in between panted breaths. 

His eyes widened. “Twice?”

You let out an exhausted laugh. “So Doctor Zayne can find the g-spot just fine, but he can’t tell when it’s overloaded? A+ for anatomy, Doc, but maybe like a C for observational skills.”

He blinked at you. “You’re giving me a C? I’ve never gotten a C in my entire life.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” You shook your head, laughing again. “Well, as your professor, I’m afraid I can’t award you anything higher than a C.”

“Surely there’s something I could do to make you… reconsider?” Suddenly Zayne’s slow, agonizing circles resumed on your clit.

You bit back another moan. Oh god, he was at it again. 

************************************************************************

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @minasfwoopyponytail @inkytypewriter

[luludeluluramblings]

Damian Wayne’s Obsession with Smalltown!Reader

A/N: Strictly Platonic, this ain’t no Game of Thrones.

A/N: I’m over halfway done with Part Six, but I need to fluff it up. Life is just exhausting me right now. I feel like my writing is downgrading despite my efforts. But, I’m assuming that’s just the exhaustion.

A/N: Also, how y’all feel about AI art? I have some images of the Smalltown Folks for visualization purposes, but I’ve been keeping them ambiguous in the story. I plan on giving background information on them, so if y’all wanna see ‘em lemme know.

Warning: Slight Obsession and Yandere Themes

Damian is so similar to his father and Tim in the way he sees Reader, his blood sibling. But, only after he realizes his mistake in pushing them away. He is one of the many that refuse to like reader on principle, yet the one of the quickest to fall into the obsession after the realization hits.

Damian has always thought of himself as the blood-son. Though, he’d grown less fanatical than he once was about it. It became his way of reassuring himself whenever he falls short of being Robin, or he can’t seem to live up to his own high standards. He’s the blood son, he is family. Bruce won’t abandon him. He’s worthy. He has a cemented place here.

His training and time with the League of Assassins caused him develop this need to constantly proof himself. Which still influences his behavior despite the family working to pull him from that unhealthy mindset. It’s still there, buried deep, and the fact that he was Bruce’s only biological child helped him keep that mental state at bay.

Finding out about the existence of Reader made that believe falter. Worse yet, Reader coming to join the family ripped that coping mechanism right out of his hands.

Bruce didn’t even know Damian existed until Thalia just dropped him off, and everything he and Bruce had took effort and time and so much work.

Yet, Reader instantly got it all. With no work, no fight, no blood, no sweat, no choking back tears because god forbid he cries. Reader had Bruce first. Reader had what he fought so desperately for.

That’s what stung. Damian was less concerned about being replaced as Robin, he had earned that title. But, he was concerned about being replaced as Bruce’s child. He no longer felt he had that exclusive connection to Bruce.

Damian can’t help but take it out on Reader. Yes, he has grown a lot of a person since coming to live with Bruce. But, Reader was just so fragile and weak and frustrating. It brought back a lot of old negative feeling he had thought he moved past. It didn’t help that Reader seemed to always be trying to squirm their way into his life. What more did they want to take from him? They’re nothing like him, or Bruce. Or anyone in this family. They don’t belong.

It isn’t until that night in the Kitchen, when they offer food the peace-offering to Damian, that he realizes he may have been wrong. That expression, that cold look, that had appeared on Reader’s face had look startlingly like Batman Bruce.

And, when the stopped attempting to talk to him, to wriggle their way into his life, he could shake the wrongness of it. Of course, his pride told him he had won and, for a while, he felt satisfied.

Until that phone call. Reader was always talking on that damn phone. Clinging to it like a lifeline. A weakness.

Damian overhead the conversation Reader was having with their other half-brother. The gentle reassuring tone. The unconditional love and care. Things he had craved. Things he sees other people have that he’ll never admit he wanted.

At first, he assumed it was a lover they were talking to. That love between family members still being a slightly foreign concept to him. But, when Reader confirmed it was their brother, something in him clicked with realization.

He wanted that. And, worse yet, he could’ve had that. But, Reader was now giving him that blank look. One of a stranger. Their walls had come up. They were no longer allowing Damian access to what they had previously offered him. How dare you withhold it? That affection is mine.

Of course, he’s disappointed. In himself and with Reader. He finally realizes that Reader had just been offering that love to him and he’d stubbornly foolishly refused. It’s not his fault, he didn’t know. It’s not his fault.

But, the thing about blood is that there will always be a connection. He has time. He can break those walls back down and bury himself in Reader’s affection. They already had a place for him anyway. He’ll let them cool off a bit before he tries again. In the end he is just taking what he’s owed.

[hrrtshape]

things to do with your s/o in honour of valentine’s day (or: things to script if your s/o is currently trapped in the fabric of space-time like a 1940s soldier in a locket)

kiss in every doorway you walk through. just because.

link pinkies instead of holding hands sometimes. just to keep things interesting.

make up a new anniversary. valentine’s day is amateur hour. find a random date and assign it significance. the day you first locked eyes across a crowded room? the day you both almost got hit by a taxi? make up a fake, elaborate backstory if needed. insist it’s the most important date of the year.

bite their sleeve when your hands are full. bonus points if you make eye contact while doing it.

wear something of theirs. a jacket, a sweater, a ring. something that smells like them, something that makes you feel like you belong to each other.

drag them into a photo booth. don’t give them time to think, just pull them in. later, hide a copy of it in their bag. or tape it to their mirror. or slide it into a book they’re reading. let them find it when they least expect it.

learn an entire obscure skill together. forging documents, deciphering ciphers, folding napkins into extravagant birds. something wholly unnecessary but deeply specific. nothing says ‘i love you’ like a hyperfixation you can share.

love each other like you are the last two people on earth who understand what love is. (because maybe you are.)

make them breakfast. not just toast. i mean ridiculous breakfast. pancakes with their initial spelled in syrup, eggs made exactly how they like them, fresh fruit cut into hearts if you’re feeling insane.

go to a bookstore and pick something for each other. something you think they’d love, or something that reminds you of them, or something with a title so absurd it makes you both laugh in the middle of the aisle.

write each other love letters. not texts, not dms. actual letters. fold them up, pass them under the table, seal them with lipstick like a 1950s socialite sending a telegram to her lover overseas.

slow dance in the living room. play something old, something scratchy and filled with longing. press your face into their shoulder. sway like you have all the time in the world.

light candles at dinner, even if you’re just eating pizza. especially if you’re just eating pizza.

draw on each other’s skin. little hearts on their hands. initials on their wrist. a whole mural on their arm if they’ll sit still long enough.

fall asleep on each other. on the couch, in the car, heads leaning together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

go to a museum and act like the most insufferable art critics alive. invent elaborate meanings behind paintings. whisper things like ‘this piece destroyed me’ in front of tourists.

go somewhere haunted. make up an elaborate backstory for a ghost that definitely does not exist. demand the ghost give you relationship advice.

say ‘i love you’ in new ways. in a different language. in a ridiculous accent. spelled out in alphabet soup. traced onto their back with your finger.

leave them a note somewhere stupid. in their coat pocket, under their pillow, inside the fridge next to the soy milk. something simple. something damning. ("thinking about you." "you are so loved." "i win.")

trace hearts on their arm when they’re talking. act like you’re not doing it.

buy a cheap little ring and put it on their finger like it’s a royal coronation. it could be plastic. it could be candy. what matters is the ceremony of it all.

wear their favourite colour. don’t say anything about it. just let them notice.

[coolshadowtwins]

Shen Brothers where the system puts SY into the role of SJ’s brother (younger or twin, either), and changes the world accordingly. This happens around the time that SY would have come to the world normally (Binghe is 14~)

Ask YQY, and of course he would tell you about Xiao-Yuan, who had been there all their childhood.

Ask LQG, and he will tell you how he absolutely hates SJ, the bastard, but he guesses his brother is ok. He doesn’t like him or anything but.

Ask QHT, and she will angrily tell you about the man who ruined her life, SJ, and how he just pulled his sweet brother into it. How SY was always quiet and withdrawn in the manor and so obviously wouldn’t have helped kill her family.

As NYY or MF, and any of them would tell you about their Shizun’s brother who only comes around sometimes but is really nice to them.

Ask SJ? He will tell you that he has no brother, he has never had a brother and who the hell is this stranger with his face?

The system changed everything, except for the tagged characters- ‘protagonist’ and ‘scum villain’ did not get involved with the world change, and have no idea who SY is. LBH is pretty ok with this. SJ absolutely is not.

SJ- You stay away!

YQY- Shen-Shidi, I don’t think Xiao-Yuan has done anything….?

SJ- Xiao-Yuan? Xiao-Yuan?! Who is he?! We did not grow up with him!!

This does lead into a horrifying idea where, as SY breaks SJ’s walls down and befriends him, SJ becomes less of a ‘scum villain’. And as he loses the title, then he gets more memories of ‘his brother’ back from childhood. Idk, that level of manipulation, especially where they can’t do anything about it, sounds horrific lol

(I did think of a funnier thing as I was writing this where the title of ‘wife’ was also excluded. It wouldn’t change much, because not many wives would have come into contact with SY but that does mean a couple of things.

1) NYY has no idea who all her martial siblings are talking about. Shizun’s nice brother? Since when??? At least A-Luo has also not met him.

2) LMY has no idea when her brother had gotten this crush, but are we sure this guy is even real? Don’t get her wrong, the idea of falling in love with your hated rival’s sibling sounds romantic, but she has never in her life heard LQG talk about this guy before. And apparently they were disciples together! Does her brother just not tell her things, or is he making things up? LQG, on his part, insists he had mentioned SY just last week. Also, he didn’t have a crush on his hated rival’s sibling, thank you very much!

Man’s QHT would only know about SJ. She sees him together and goes… ‘who’s he?’ And SJ is like ‘Thank you! I never want to see you again, but someone else finds this weird!’

And then someone, probably OPM, pulls out a slave contact and goes ‘hmmm… but it says here both Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan were sold to the Qius…?’

QHT:……. That sounds fake, but I’ll go with it for the sake of my accusations.

SJ-Damn it!)

[onwesterlywinds]

I've been thinking a lot again about the implications of the title of "viator" translating to "traveler" (prompted by Writing Things), and while there's been a lot of discussion about its relation/parallels to Azem, I feel like I've seen a lot less, if anything, on how "viator" plays into the overarching narrative of Garlean imperialism as well. For a relatively small detail, it's honestly one of the things I really think Endwalker did really well in its portrayal of Garlemald and Zenos.

Throughout XIV's history, we've been shown countless perspectives for why the Garleans invade and occupy other nations, whether it's [insert Nael's Bahamut tempering], Gaius' claims that peace can only come from a strong leader, the racism we see entrenched in Garlemald's colonial rule in Stormblood, etc. Endwalker, however, doubles down on the role of Corvos in Garlemald's history and elevates it to a founding narrative: the idea that the Garleans are justified in invading other nations because they themselves were driven from their own ancestral land thousands of years ago.* This is by no means the full scope of Garlean history (as just one example, Return to Ivalice posited that many other Garleans are likely descended from the technically-minded people of Goug), but it's still very consistent lore-wise and thematically for Endwalker to present the Garlean people's expulsion from Corvos as a creation myth for their empire, and the way this plays out in 6.0 MSQ lets us see the extent of the damage that that myth has done to those who have made it their worldview.

And introducing the term "viator" at the end of that arc as the name for the Empire's most loathed, reviled, and shunned class - the exile - ties into this idea so well: the greatest punishment the Garleans can give for one of their own is to make them a wanderer - to ensure that person is forever denied the home that they prize so highly in their society. This is a classic example of scapegoating, which has deep connections to empire throughout history and Western literature.

It's also such a fitting conclusion to Zenos' relationship with the Garlean Empire, too! One of the reasons I've loved Zenos as an antagonist since 4.0 is that despite treating the workings of imperialism as beneath him and irrelevant to his true desires ("Ala Mhigo and Doma and Garlemald be damned!"), he has a sense of entitlement to the peoples and lands of Ala Mhigo and Doma - and to you, the Warrior of Light! - that is extremely Garlean. The fact that (to paraphrase Lyse) he did all that just so he could feel something is what makes him such a perfect antagonist for Stormblood in my book. But to the Garlean people, that lack of care for his homeland - be it because (their own) people were tempered/killed from his actions, or the very sexy patricide/regicide, or that he caused the Empire itself to fall into ruin when he "should have" succeeded Varis - was to them the greatest crime he could commit. To put it another way, he probably would not have been named Zenos viator Galvus if he had first been Zenos zos Galvus.

And despite me forever lamenting the fact that the 5.X-era plot thread of Zenos having dreams about Amaurot never actually went anywhere, even that ties into his eventual role as viator: the only place with which he has ever had any real connection is gone forever.

Which makes a grave at the end of the known universe feel almost fitting in its tragedy.

(*On a serious note: While I do think the writers were intentional - and, mostly, thoughtful - around leveraging imperialist rhetoric, the fact that this particular framing is often used to justify an ongoing genocide is one of many reasons why I would be very happy for future Garlemald stories to stay on pause for the next few years.)

[temis-de-leon]

Shy gn!reader confesses to the Demon Brothers

Characters: Mammon, Levi, Satan, Asmo and Beel (x reader, separately)

Main Masterlist

Part 1 , Part 3 , Dateables version

Anon request: Could I request headcanons for Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, and Beelzebub, react to shy gn crush confessing to him nervously?

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A/N: life became hard for 4 full days and writer's block hit me with the power of a thousand suns. Then I went to therapy and I immediately started writing. Here it is, folks, 1899 words.

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Mammon

There’s no doubt that Mammon loves to have fun. Either counting money at casinos or wildly drinking and dancing at various clubs, the sight of him with the occasional fling by his side is not a strange one for the demon folk.

He doesn’t look for it; it’s not like he needs to, anyway. After all, who wouldn’t like to be with The Great Mammon? He’s a catch!

But no, it isn’t something he needs to feel good. His heart beats for one thing and one thing only: money. Gold sparkling on his fingers and coins filling his pockets, what else is there to live for?

His brothers would never understand him. When Beel empties the kitchen it’s cute, but when he steals Levi’s figurines, Asmo’s jewellery and Lucifer’s wallet suddenly it’s a problem.

And what’s his punishment? Taking care of a dumb, weak, boring human.

You better leave him alone, MC! He’s a very important demon and he has very important things to do! Don’t you listen to what his brothers say about him! Listen only to him!

Also, pay him attention and ignore the others! He’s so much better, you know? Can’t you see by now? He wishes you did and he isn’t sure how he feels about it.

The pang in his chest, his reddened cheeks and his avoidant gaze aren’t things he’s used to, but they become the norm once he spends more time with you.

Enduring his brothers’ jokes and taunts is humiliating and he perfectly knows he would act the same if he wasn’t the one involved, but damn MC, why do you have to be the way you are? Why are you so easy to fall in love with?

You have to feel the same, right? With your stammering and your bashfulness, you have to feel the same.

Mammon thanks his Father when you invite him to your room out of the blue and blurt out your feelings. The situation is ridiculous, he’s sweating buckets and your hands won’t stop shaking.

He tries to confess back without directly saying he loves you.

Key word ‘tries’.

Leviathan

Love is not for him, or rather, he’s not made for love.

That’s just who he is. A shut-in who finds companionship in fiction, in the idealization of friendship, romance and loyalty. His expectations are set way to high, near long opening titles and uninterrupted rambles, and he doesn’t expect people to reach them. Is he even worth the effort?

He has internet friends who he met through online gaming and forums and he cherishes them very much, but it makes him feel lonely and insecure sometimes. What type of life do they have when they’re not gaming or role playing or just talking on video calls with him? Do they act like plain old normies, taking their partners out on dates or having lunch with their classmates after class?

He prefers not to think about it.

Your arrival to the Devildom doesn’t change his life at all. He’s curious, sure, but what are the chances of you sharing his interests? Also, you quickly become friends with Mammon, which says enough about yourself.

At least, that’s what he thinks at the beginning. Time passes, as well as the TSL quiz, and he immediately realizes that you’re not who he thought you were.

There’s no judgement in your eyes whenever he rants about the latest piece of media he has consumed, instead filled with curiosity and fascination; and not only you’re the sole person in the house that doesn’t make fun of him, but you also defend him against his brothers.

His romantic feelings for you grow strong and fast, but your friendship is what’s most important for him.

You’re so, so much better than what he initially thought, even when you remind him of himself sometimes.

The glint in your bashful gaze, the doubt in your words in search of the right ones and the everlasting fidgeting with your fingers. You are the perfect romantic interest from the perfect otome game and he can’t believe how lucky he is to be the main character.

When you finally confess to him under the comfort of the blue lights of his aquarium, you’re barely able to finish your sentences while looking at him, which in reality is a blessing, because he can’t bring himself to look at you either when he confesses back.

It’s awkward, but sweet. Kind of like him.

Satan

Romance is for him what a painting is to the viewer. A novel to the reader.

He understands the significance, the words, the colours. What the creator wants to portray and what the consumer interprets. Narrative rules, the significance of flowers, metaphors, history… All of that mixed with the abstract of the mind.

He understands.

He just doesn’t feel it. Not at its full potential, at least.

There had been partners in his life, years ago, and he knows he’d loved them, but he wasn’t in love with them. Whatever line kept him from going forward with his feelings is what made him stop trying alone.

Books and cats and the Anti Lucifer League are enough for him to be occupied. They also make him happy, so his views on romantic love are easily set aside.

He doesn’t think much of you at the beginning, mainly because he doesn’t expect you to last very long, but you quickly show an amount of potential he’s ready to exploit.

Diavolo dreams of unifying the three realms and Lucifer would do anything to not spoil those plans, so what better way to annoy his brother than through you?

It’s selfish and reckless and of course his eagerness screws the whole thing up, but it ultimately helps him realize he shouldn’t have underestimated you.

You are kind, brave and smart. You see him beyond his wrath and his academic knowledge, remembering him even in the smallest of details that surround you. It was such care and affection that made his feelings grow.

For the first time in his very long life he starts to relate to the characters in his books, his heartbeat increasing when the scenarios feel too familiar or when the dialogues replicate exactly what he yearns to say to you.

It’s thanks to his novels that he recognizes your feelings. The shy and endearing romantic interest quietly approaching the main lead, confession learnt by memory.

His first reaction is to be surprised. He doesn’t expect something like this to happen to him, let alone you being the one to reciprocate his feelings. How much luckier could he be?

Asmodeus

What better love exists than the one he feels for himself? He’s beautiful, charming, adorable, addictive and every other compliment in the book. He can’t get enough of them!

He’s obsessed with the idea of being surrounded by people, by their affections and their devotions, touching him, looking at him, singing him praises. Unfortunately for everyone else, his narcissistic tendencies only grow when those that fall under his charm feed into his “delusions”.

That’s how Mammon calls it, at least.

At the time of receiving, he doesn’t distinguish between romantic love and sexual attraction, although it’s more difficult for him to reciprocate the first one.

Deep down, hidden amongst his insecurities, Asmo believes no one would love him for his truest self. That’s why he insists on looking perfect at all times, following a strict sleep schedule and a well-balanced diet, going out to remain in everyone’s minds; always a trending topic, a sensation.

If his outstanding physique and impeccable personality aren’t enough for you to know he’s the best amongst his brothers, then his charm would do the work.

But it doesn’t.

When he purposefully makes eye contact there’s no sign of you falling for his magic and, suddenly, he finds himself at a loss of words.

He doesn’t panic too much, given that he is still a beautiful and powerful demon that could devour you in a second, but knowing that there’s no barrier between the two of you to protect his vulnerability gives him an unpleasant feeling of exposure.

Surprisingly enough, it’s also your resistance to his powers what centers his attention on you. You’re one of the very few people that knows him as he is, even with the ugly parts, and it doesn’t take too long for his affections to become obvious and somewhat desperate.

Asmo is elated when your behaviour around him changes. He recognizes the pattern, since he’s seen it many times in his fans, and he can’t believe that someone who’s seen him at his worst still considers him as beautiful as those who have only seen what he wanted to show.

Although you don’t really need to confess, due to him immediately wanting to be with you, hearing your feelings spoken out loud sends his heart into a frenzy rhythm.

The attention fuels his ego, sure, but it’s the veracity of your words what makes him want to cry out of happiness.

Beelzebub

He’s not really interested in relationships. There is a fling here or there, sure, he still has other type of urges, but he hardly thinks about it.

The feeling of emptiness follows him around like a metal ball and chain and the only consumption that can give him relief, even if temporarily, comes only in the form of food.  

He’s often seen as emotionless or famished and, although he knows he’s popular amongst many students, his height and muscles make him look too intimidating to engage further than necessary.

It isn’t something that bothers him at all. His love goes straight to his family and there’s nothing food can’t fix.

However, when he is told Belphie is the demon chosen for the student exchange program, the hole inside of him grows deeper and deeper. His urges go on a rampage and Lucifer has to give him a pep talk to drill into his brain how important it is that you are to remain uneaten.

It’s not like he’s very interested in you anyways, so leaving you alone doesn’t feel like a draining task.

Of course that changes when you physically put yourself between him and Lucifer. A stupid, idiotic, reckless decision that serves to prove how brave you are.

Your friendship quickly blossoms after that and, unlike many other people, you start seeing him beyond his hunger. That makes him cherish you even further, but it’s your dedication to helping his family what sparks a romantic interest in you.

Since he’s not that experienced in that regard, it feels a little intimidating, but you make it seem easy and effortless. The both of you are equally shy in your affections and there’s a mutual unsaid understanding that helps you build the base of a relationship, so the confession isn’t really necessary.

Still, hearing you say the words makes his heart flutter.

His response is short and blunt, but sweet in nature. He is blushing the whole time, not breaking eye contact with you, and for the first time in many years, he feels completely satisfied.

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Tagged: @darkflowerav

[thatlotuscookie]

Hey hypno! Could you write a My Hero Academia request for Bakugo x Reader? Maybe something where the reader gets hurt during a mission, and Bakugo freaks out because he’s secretly been really protective of them but never admitted his feelings? Thanks in advance! I love your writing already and can’t wait to read what you come up with!

✧･ﾟ: a/n: first ask, yay! I really love this idea! Bakugo trying to hold back his protective feelings is so him. Since you didn’t specify a gender, I’ll make it a gn! reader so everyone can enjoy it. Thanks for the request—can’t wait for you to read it! <3

✧ Title: ✧ Fragile ✧ ✧ Characters: Bakugo Katsuki, Reader (Gender Neutral) ✧ Genre: Angst, Romance ✧ Rating: T (for Teen) ✧ Summary: A mission goes wrong, and you’re severely injured. Bakugo’s reaction exposes feelings he’s kept hidden. ✧ Content Warnings: Injury, blood, mild language, emotional distress ✧ Word Count: 1008 // 5.6k chars

A sharp, searing pain ripped through your side as you stumbled back, clutching your wound. You forced your trembling hand to reach for your comm device. "I... I think I’m hit," you gasped, your voice barely making it through the static.

"Fall back! We’ve got this, don’t push yourself!" Izuku’s concerned voice rang through your earpiece, but it felt distant—everything felt distant. The world around you seemed to dim, your vision blurring as the pain intensified. Your legs gave out beneath you, the ground hard and cold as you collapsed.

Through the haze, you barely registered the sound of hurried footsteps before a familiar figure appeared beside you, kneeling in the dirt. Blonde hair and the unmistakable flash of red eyes came into focus.

"Bakugo?" you whispered, blinking up at him as he loomed over you, his face ashen.

"Shut up," he growled, though his voice wavered. "Don’t talk. Don’t move, idiot. I’m calling for medics." His hands hovered just above your injury, trembling as though he didn’t dare touch you, afraid it would make things worse.

"Bakugo..." you murmured again, feeling the exhaustion wash over you. He looked almost... scared. It was a side of him you had never seen before.

“Why... why the hell did you jump in front of that attack?!” His voice cracked, his usual bite now laced with something deeper. "You could’ve gotten killed, you idiot!" His breath came out ragged, like the thought of losing you was too much for him to bear.

Despite the pain, you managed a weak smile. "Because... that’s what heroes do," you whispered, your words barely audible.

But that only seemed to make him angrier. His eyes flared with something raw—something vulnerable. "I don’t give a damn about that right now!" he snapped, but his voice broke at the end, the bravado slipping just enough for you to notice. "You think I care about that dumb hero crap when it’s you lying here like this?"

His words hung in the air, heavier than any explosion he’d ever created. The weight of them hit you harder than the attack that had taken you down. You stared up at him, heart pounding, butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach despite the pain. "Bakugo... what are you—?"

"I couldn’t��" he stopped himself, shaking his head as if he was fighting some internal battle. His hand finally pressed down on your wound, but it was more than just an effort to stop the bleeding. It was desperate, like if he held on tight enough, he could keep you tethered to him. "I’m not gonna lose you. I won’t."

The words were barely a whisper, but they hit you harder than any of his explosions ever had. Your heart clenched as you looked up at him, his face so close, yet the vulnerability in his eyes made him feel miles away.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, not from the pain but from the overwhelming wave of emotion coursing through you. "Bakugo, I—"

"Don’t say anything," he cut you off, his voice rough, almost pleading. "I’m not good at this. You know I’m not good with feelings, with... with any of this crap. But don’t you dare die on me, got it?" His voice cracked again, and he turned his head, refusing to meet your gaze. "I need you."

Your breath hitched, his words settling in your chest like a spark ready to ignite. You had known Bakugo for a long time, had seen him fight, had seen him angry and fierce, but this? This was something else entirely. This was fear. Fear of losing you.

"Promise me," he said, his voice quieter now, barely above a whisper. "Promise me you’ll stay with me."

You swallowed hard, tears slipping down your cheeks. Your heart was pounding so hard it hurt, but it wasn’t from the injury—it was from him. From the way his hand shook as he pressed it against your side, from the way his eyes, usually so sharp and fiery, were now filled with a raw kind of desperation you had never seen before. "I promise," you whispered, your voice soft but firm.

His shoulders sagged slightly, as though a weight had been lifted, but the tension in his body didn’t ease. He turned his head, yelling for the medics, his voice harsh and commanding. Yet, even as he called for help, his hand never left you, a constant, warm pressure against your side, grounding you, keeping you here with him.

And in that moment, as the chaos of the battle raged on around you, all you could focus on was him. Bakugo Katsuki, the boy who had always been so strong, so determined to push everyone away, now clinging to you like you were his only lifeline.

"I train like hell every day," he muttered, his voice low, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "Not because I wanna be number one... but because I don’t want to lose anyone else."

Your chest tightened as his words sunk in, the full weight of his confession settling over you. He wasn’t just scared of losing you today—he had been scared of losing you all along.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you, idiot," he said, his voice barely a whisper now, filled with a vulnerability that broke your heart and made it soar at the same time.

As the medics finally arrived and began tending to your wound, Bakugo didn’t move. He stayed by your side, his hand still resting over yours, his fiery red eyes never leaving your face.

For the first time, you saw the real Bakugo. Not the explosive, loud-mouthed hero-in-training, but the boy underneath it all—the one who was scared to lose the people he cared about. And your heart ached, not from the injury but from the realization that maybe, just maybe, he had been trying to protect you in his own way all along.

Maybe Bakugo Katsuki wasn’t just made of explosions and fire.

Maybe, deep down, he was fragile, too.

[seungfl0wer]

*Purple*

Seungmin x Reader (Fem)

Although this is shorter than what I normally write, I feel like this needs warnings. Also a note this scenario has been on my mind for awhile and I just needed to write it lol.

Warnings: Seungmin says some harsh things, the sex not feeling good anymore. You have to use the safe word. This has slight smut, angst and a happy ending (of course)

-🩵

Seungmin has had a bad day up and down. He hoped the party after work with his amazing girlfriend would help him relax but- of course it did not. Seeing all the men wanting to talk to you made his blood boil. He knew you would never do anything on purpose you were just so kind and outgoing. However the feeling of today made it seem more- flirtatious?

When you both got into the car seungmin gripped the steering wheel tightly. Not saying one word. You felt your heart racing not knowing why he was upset. Trying to ask him was only met with a ‘I’m fine’. Which was obvious bullshit. Walking up to the apartment as you opened the door you were met with Seungmin grabbing your arm pulling you to your room.

“You think you can just act like a slut and expect things to be fine?” He spat. He practically ripped your clothes off before taking his own off. “Seung I didn’t-“ you started to say before a strong smack to your pussy was connected. “Shut up.” He hissed. All the rage from today came flowing out and before you knew it he had you face down ass up. Face buried into the pillow your noises muffled.

“You’re such a dumb whore you know that?” He says as he’s pounding into you. “I bet if I wasn’t there you’d be sucking face with those guys” he said his words actually digging into you. The feeling of everything was honestly off a bit. It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good but it also kinda didn’t? Seungmin slapped your ass hard “Little slut probably thinking of them railing you right now huh?”

Another smack this time it was harder, it hurt and not in a good way. You felt tears forming in the corners of your eyes, however when you tried to move seungmin just pushed your face down into the bed more. You couldn’t move and then the panic started to set in. ‘Did he really think those things?’ Your chest was starting to tighten as he fucked you. There wasn’t any pleasure anymore and you started to sob.

“Crying because you’re getting punished? Such a fucking baby” he spat taking his hand to smack your ass again. The bright red marks turning a soft purple. Seungmin moved the hand that was on the back of your head to your hips as he fucked you deeper. Finally. You pulled your head up and could only muster up a small “purple.” Your body shutting down as seungmins movements began to slow. “Pur-ple” you stuttered out again. This time seungmins body froze. “Purple?” He repeated eyes going big.

This was the safe word you guys had in place at all times, even when you weren’t being rough it was there just incase. Seungmin quickly wrapped his arms around you pulling you to him. “What do need pup?” He said trying to make his voice as sweet as possible but you could hear how frantic he sounded. When you didn’t reply he titled your head up to him to look at you.

The damn holding back all your tears finally breaking as the flood poured from your eyes. Your body trembled under him as you curled up into a ball in his arms. Head finding cover in his chest where you muffled cries dared to come out. Seungmin felt his heart breaking at the state of you. “Y/n- hey m’sorry- don’t cry” he rubbed your back trying to help you calm down. As the flood started to die down you sniffled a small “do- you hate me”

Seungmin nearly lost it, biting back tears this whole time trying to be there for you. “Love, id never hate you.” He said rubbing the back of your head. “But..” you started to say feeling more tears about to fall “you think I’d really cheat on you?” You said choking those tears back.

“No! Y/n no. I know you’d never do it.. my brain was just putting bad thoughts in my mind. I didn’t mean it in any other way than dirty talk” he said pulling you into him even closer than before. “Y/n I love you with all my heart, I’m so fucking sorry I made you feel that way.” He said kissing your head softly. You nod looking up at the him, he took the opportunity to wipe the tears from your face.

“Want me to run a warm bath? We can soak together would you want that?” He coo’d. You smiled a bit nodding yes. This was always one of your favorite things just in the warm water as seungmin held on to you from behind. “Alright love let me go start the water and we can get in. Do you need anything a drink? Snack?” He asked still worried about you. You shook your head no looking at him again “just need you” you said softly wrapping your arms around him.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

[blimpintime]

warmth azriel x reader

Based on this ask!

this is my first time writing for Azriel!

warnings: past abuse

word count: 840 words

is unedited

Tumbling down the side of the rocky hill, you manage to hit and scrape every part of your small, frail body on the freezing rough ground. Small wings bleeding and bent at odd angles twitch on your back as you finally stop moving. 

You hear laughter above you and making its way towards you. Groaning and spitting out blood and saliva out of your mouth as they reach you. Being ten is one thing in Illyria, being a ten year old bastard daughter in Illyria is another thing.

The boys that shoved you down the hill in the first place are trying to get you to the river to drown you, you have figured that out pretty quickly, but because of having a rough life from the get go you won't be going down without a fight.

It’s a struggle getting back on your feet, your wings being clipped a week prior and now broken and mangled making it hard for you to balance. 

“Look at her, she is pathetic.” One of them snickers, you look at the two standing before you, the tall figures looking hazy under the moonlight. 

“It’s a wonder she’s lasted this long in the first place. Look at how small she is. We are doing her a favor putting her out of her misery.”  

“One day, I will kill you both.” You say with a bloody grin, “It might not be today, or tomorrow but I will do it. With a smile on my face.” You spit blood out at their feet. 

It must have been the look of determination or maybe desperation on your face, but the two boys took a step back, and then laughed. 

“Sure, but you’re dead tonight bastard bitch.” And they start making their way towards you. 

“What did you call her?” A voice appears.

And three figures emerge from the tree line.

You cough a laugh out, and fall to your knees. A comforting warmth appears beside you helping you stand.

“You okay?” And it’s Azriel standing tall and brave before you, even at just twelve years old. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You say with a grin.

Dinner was always loud and fun with the family all together, Cassian and Nesta seeing who could out drink one another. Feyre and Rhysand egging them on and placing bets, and then you and Azriel silently watching them with warmth and humor.

“Oh to the mother you know damn well if any one here can out drink you it's her.” Rhysand says and gestures to you, to which you balk and choke on your drink you were sipping on. 

Azriel’s hand gently rubs your back with a knowing smile on his face. You feel love and mirth through the bond. Everyone has their eyes on you expecting to join in on the bets. 

“Ah, that’s not something I need to prove Cassy.” You say with a wink and he pouts. “Plus, I cannot drink right now.” 

Feyre drops her glass and it breaks. “Shut the fuck up.” She says while launching toward you with a smile, clearly being more tipsy than anyone was expecting. “Nyx is going to have a cousin.” She says with a sob.

“Feyre darling careful-” Rhys winces and tries to get out before she tackles you. Everyone has huge grins on their faces. 

“So? How long have you known?” Nesta asks softly. 

“About three months.” Azriel responds with a warm smile. 

“Well, that brings up one question I have.” Cassian says with a burp, you wince and call him gross. 

“Who is going to be the scary parent?” Cassian asks with a drunkenly serious face. 

“Obviously, y/n.” Nesta and Feyre say. Rhysand rubs his chin in thought and nods. “Yes, that's true.” 

Azriel looks shocked and you hide a grin in his shoulder. 

“Awe, Azzy don’t look so shocked.” Nesta says with a drunken snort. “Your mate is literally a reaper.” And she’s not wrong, you got the nickname centuries ago when you picked up a scythe as the weapon you preferred to fight with. You and Azriel often got the title of the Shadow and Reaper when put on missions together. 

The dinner soon comes to an end when Nesta and Cassian pass out on the couches, Feyre asleep on the table and Rhys coaxing her to get to an actual bed. 

“I love our family.” You whisper to Azriel as he puts your beanie on your head for you. He drags his hands down to your face, squishes your cheeks and kisses your nose. 

“I love you sweets.” He responds to you and then helps you put your shaw on for the cold walk home. You giggle and help him put his gloves on for him. 

You both head home down the path, leaning into one another with the snow lightly falling. But for some reason because of him you only feel warmth. And even though you live together you wish the walk was a little longer, just to enjoy that peaceful quiet love with Azriel.

a/n: YAYYYYY! okay so this is it! please lemme know how y'all feel!

my asks are still open right now!

[worldlxvlys]

collide

matt sturniolo x singer! reader

warnings: smutttt, p in v, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, grinding

a/n: hope you enjoyyyy <33

“thank you guys so much for all the support and coming out here tonight” i said into the microphone.

the audience members replied with deafening applause and cheers.

i laughed into the microphone, still soaking in this unreal experience.

i had gotten about halfway through my set, and now was just taking a quick breather.

“i also wanted to give a huge thank you to my best friends, for always being there for me and constantly showering me with love and support” i said as i glanced over to the triplets.

best friends. well, two of them were my best friends. matt, however, was more than that to me.

we were dating, but we hadn’t told the fans yet, not wanting to deal with the hate that would most likely come with it.

but the fans aren’t dumb.

due to their insane attention to details, they were easily able to pick up on the feelings that matt and i had for one another. they just didn’t know that we’ve acted on them.

once i put out my first album of songs, titled chemistry, the fans quickly realized i was with someone. they had their suspicions, but i never confirmed that it was about matt.

most of the tracks on the album were love songs that i wrote over the years. they weren’t even necessarily for matt, i just wrote them whenever i was overwhelmed by my feelings for him and needed a way to get them out.

song writing helped me to process my feelings, and it just so happens that matt takes up almost every thought in my brain.

“i wouldn’t have made it this far without you guys and i’ll never truly be able to put into words how grateful i am” i said while looking at the boys in the VIP section.

in response, nick smiled and blew kisses while recording the interaction, like a proud mom at their child’s performace; chris did an awkward happy dance and screamed “we love you!” , and matt sat there with a lovesick look on his face and a shit-eating grin.

after a few more, we got to my favorite song on the setlist.

“this next song, literally just came out and is already doing so well, and i thank you for that” i was met with more applause.

after introducing the song, the first few chords played and then stopped, teasing the audience.

they went wild. after a few seconds, the intro really started to play.

MATT’S POV

i been knowing you for long enough

damn, i need you right now

she looks so good. her outfit was tight, fitting her in all the right places and accentuating her curves.

you can take your time, don’t have to rush

this might take us a while

she sounds incredible live. her voice is smooth as she effortlessly slides through the runs, never missing a note.

i left all the doors unlocked and you said you’re on your way

when you get here don’t you say a word, got no time to play

she might genuinely be a siren, luring me in with her seductive, yet somehow sweet and innocent-sounding voice. her tone is crystal clear and it almost makes me want to cry.

we can go all the time

we can move fast, then rewind

when you put your body on mine

and collide, collide

she starts to sway her hips to the beat, and i genuinely think i might lose it.

wanna see your body on mine

and collide, collide

her skin is coated with a light layer of sweat, making her body glisten under the lights. she looks like a goddess.

baby it’s all yours if you want me,

all yours if you want me

she looked directly at me when she sang this line, and the feeling of the intense eye contact went straight to my dick.

put it down if you want me tonight

she smirked lightly, no doubt enjoying how red my face was turning. she knows what she’s doing.

she made her way through the song, continuing to tease me. she would slowly run a hand down her body or lean forward to sing to the crowd, giving me a perfect view of her breasts.

god, they look like they’re gonna fall out of her top.

when she got to the bridge, i swear the sound of her voice alone almost made my eyes roll back.

i know that this is love when we touch boy

you got my heart

and can’t nobody make me feel like you do

boy like you do

the fact that there was so much tension between us, despite being so far away was driving me crazy.

it could be one of those nights

where we don’t turn off the lights

wanna see your body on mine and collide, collide

i could listen to the sound of her voice for the rest of my life.

i love it when she talks, when she laughs, when she sings, when she moans.

i swear when she hits certain notes, it almost sounds like she’s moaning. but no one else knows that, because i’m the only one who pulls those sounds from her pretty mouth.

those pretty lips, always soft and glossy, perfect for kissing.

by this point, my dick was throbbing as it pressed against my jeans.

said it’s all yours if you want me,

all yours if you want me

put it down if you want me

let’s collide

her head fell back as she finished the last note, basking in the endless amounts of applause she received.

her neck looks so pretty, i need to kiss it.

she looks up at me again, moving her tongue across her teeth.

yeah, she’s definitely doing this on purpose.

the further she got through her setlist, the more turned on i was.

her tits bounced when she jumped around during her upbeat songs.

at one point, she was full-on twerking. she threw her ass in a circle, her skirt riding up the slightest bit. i fully thought i was going to cum in my pants.

after she finished the last song, she began to adjust her skirt while she gave her closing speech. when she moved her hand, i saw the waistband of her panties peek through.

waistband, if you could even call it that. it became evident that she was wearing a g-string under her skirt.

i completely zoned out of what she was saying, too focused on all of the filthy thoughts that began to flood my mind.

before i knew it, there was another round of applause before she walked off of the stage.

suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

READER POV

after a few minutes, i heard a knock on my dressing room door.

i opened the door to reveal matt and i quickly pulled him in before closing and locking the door.

“hi baby” i whispered.

“hi my love” he said before placing a gentle kiss on my lips.

“you did amazing, baby. and you sound better and better every time you sing”

i looked down bashfully, the corner of my lips turning up into a grin. “thanks”

he placed his finger under my chin, pushing it up to look at him.

“ you shy now, baby? didn’t seem like it when you were shaking your ass on that stage”

i glanced at his lips before looking back up at his eyes.

“you liked that, baby?” i asked as i turned around, moving my hair over my shoulder.

i began to grind on him, moving my ass on his hard dick.

“fuck yes, baby. shittt” he groaned as one of his hands wrapped around my waist, the other moving to grab my boob through my top.

the hand that was around my waist moved under my panties, gently rubbing my clit.

“fuckkkk matt” i sighed out, my head pressing against the door.

his breathing got heavy as he rutted his hips against my ass, pushing his face into the crook of my neck.

“talk to me baby, please. gotta here that pretty voice” he choked out as his voice got slightly higher in pitch.

“ yeah baby? like the way my ass feels against your bulge? want me to twerk on you?” before he could answer, i bent over slightly.

my skirt inched up, exposing my ass and making his fully erect cock dig into it.

“fuck! you can’t do that, baby. i’m gonna cum”

“take these off for me” i said, pulling on his jeans.

he quickly complied, unbuckling his belt and pulling them off while i turned around to face him.

he swiftly picked me up, bringing me over to a vanity and placing me down on top of it.

my back was pressed up against the mirror, which was cool against my burning skin.

he brought his lips to mine in a hot, desperate kiss.

his hands crept under my skirt, pulling my panties off without breaking the kiss.

he smoothly pocketed them before collecting my wetness with his finger, using it as a lubricant to push his digit inside of me.

“shit, matt” i moaned out as he fucked me with his finger.

i reached down between us, stroking his length through his boxers.

he added another finger, stretching me out.

“oh my god, matt. so fucking good” my eyebrows furrowed as i leaned my forehead against his.

“gotta make sure my princess is nice and stretched, never wanna hurt you” he spoke between grunts.

i moved my fingers to the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down and watching his dick slap his stomach.

his tip was red and covered in pre-cum.

he removed his fingers from my aching pussy while i pumped him a few times, before guiding him inside of me.

we both groaned at the feeling of my walls squeezing him as i took him inch by inch.

he gave me a minute to adjust before thrusting into me deep and hard.

i screamed his name, probably loud enough for anyone outside of the room to hear.

“yes baby, lemme hear that gorgeous voice. god, i love hearing you say my name”

matt pushed his hips up into mine with full force, his hands on my waist to hold me steady.

“you feel so good wrapped around me like this baby. you’re so good” he whispered.

he pushed me into the mirror with each thrust, producing a loud thud each time it hit the wall.

the vanity shook under me as he kept up his relentless pace.

matt took my legs and hooked them over his shoulder, continuing to ram into me.

i felt my orgasm approaching, and i grabbed onto matt’s biceps, needing something to hold onto.

“matt matt matt, i’m gonna cum!” i yelled frantically.

“me too, give it to me baby. wanna feel you dripping down my cock” his words sent me over the edge.

with a final cry i released all over him, while he filled me up.

he thrusted a few more times, helping us ride out our highs before pulling out.

“god damn” i whispered out as we watched our juices spill out of me.

“you’re so fucking amazing” he said as he cleaned us up.

after we got dressed and made our appearances look somewhat presentable we stepped out of the dressing room.

“where are your brothers?” i asked with furrowed brows.

i pulled out my phone and saw a text from nick.

we’re going outside to wait. we can hear you freaky fucks from across the venue.

matt and i looked at each other and bursted out laughing.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

masterlist

tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sturnspepsi @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @rheaakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @abbie13sworld @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @sturns-posts @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf

[cranberryjuice-posts]

Abby Anderson head-cannons/ relationship HC’s

An: this is like my modern Hc! Only the cannon in game apocalypse version

Tw: nsfw towards the end

Humble about her title in the WLF

Goes to the gym twice a day, once in the morning once at night plus gas break days once or twice a week

High Proteine girly

Knows Damn well that the gay girls at the WLF thirst over her

COUGH lesbian COUGH

Will keep Alice after hours sometimes just because

It’s literally cannon her and manny have competitions for who do what in the apartment

Is a perfectionist

If your in a relationship she’ll take you to the gym and make you try to lift her weights

Actually really likes to cook

If she wasn’t a solider she would of became a medic like her father

Has a shitty green thumb, can not keep a plant alive if her life depended on it

Speaks Spanish to a small degree bc of manny

Once her and manny had hooked up with the same girl — NOT TOGETHER I meant like Abby hooked up with someone THAT FUCKING SCIENTIST first then manny ended up hooking up with the same woman later on down the line.

Makes the worst jokes ever but ppl laugh bc their to scared to offend her

Street smart not book smart

When fall comes around mannys dad still celebrates dia de los Muertos, being that manny and Abby are close manny invited Abby one year to celebrate with them and they made an ofrenda for Abby’s father

Relationship wise she’s actually really caring

You and Abby met most likely in the WLF, whether it’s from you helping her on an assignment, nursing her to health in the infirmary or her helping you with the animals you two just met at the WLF while helping one another

You of-course had heard of Abby multiple times but you.. this was Abby’s first time meeting or hearing abt you and shit she knew she was heads over heels in the first moment you met

Abby spent months deciding over if you were actually into her or not — one night after you two got drunk together Abby confessed and one thing let to another you two decided to plan a date

Abby freaked out like actually leg shaking anxious breath worried if she would fuck up.

She did, the day of the date she had bailed on you due to being put on an imporant assigment by Isaac

After wards she found you had a small argument with you before finally kissing you

That’s how you two ended up together

(I’m writing a fic abt this btw wait for that coming soon 😈🙏🙏🙏🙏)

She’s the type to find you souvenirs while she’s out patrolling

Will make deals with the gardeners to get you a bouquet of flowers

Every Saturday she kicks manny out and sets up the apartment so you two can have a date, doesn’t matter if your fighting and not on speaking terms you two always have the date Abby makes sure, once you Didn’t show up and Abby actually picked you up- threw you over her shoulder and carried you to the apartment

Most ppl when they write smut for Abby is alays like she’s fucking the ever living daylights out of you and calling you names but personally I don’t think Abby would do that (not that’s there’s anything wrong with those fanfics I eat that shit up everytime)

I think Abby is more of a soft lover. She takes her time and whispers sweet nothings, she’ll tell you how perfect you are and how you were blessed by the goddess of love herself

She can get a little rough though, she’s the type to while nuckles deep into you she’ll praise you for how well your doing

She’s a switch, she loves to make you feel good but also wants to be told how much you love her and her body esp her muscles

Abby’s not submissive though it’s just not her style

Went into an abandoned mall once and found a Spencer’s that’s where she managed to find a strap on

She doesn’t really like to use it since in her opinion it takes away from the experience, she doesn’t really like the fact that you want to get off on something that isn’t her

Would never let you use the strap on her tho lmao

Once Owen had drunkly said something to insult you and Abby decked him right then and there mel and manny made her apologize the next day

Insanely protective of you like I said previously she would deck Owen for just insulting you (I also don’t like Owen bc he sucks for cheating on my babe Mel)

If you two argue which is rare Abby’s stubborn but after a while she’ll force you to talk to her. She’s also gonna make you come to an agreement with her and actually communicate how you feel

GODDAMN ABBYS ASS IS FAT sorry I’m watching the remastered version of tlou2 while writing this 😭

Abby’s heavy on communication like she refuses to let one of you go to bed angry

She swears that your the most beautiful person she’s ever met

Abby will go on rants about her dad and tell you silly stories

Your the most important person to Abby and she makes that very clear— if you do patrols she refuses to let you do dangerous patrols only east already cleared areas or only if your with her so she can protect you

Deep down Abby’s scared to loose you like she lost her dad

Every night before she lets you go back to your apartment to sleep or if your sleeping over Abby will give you soft kisses and tell you how much she loves you before letting you go

That’s its 😝

[maaikeatthefullmoon]

Once upon a time, there was a Good Omens fanfiction reader, who swore they didn't like AUs.

They read all the discussions about the 'classics', the 'must reads' and shrugged.

"But it's not canon", they muttered to themself. "They're not human. How on Earth can anyone write these stories about them when they're not actually bloody human? It’s not right."

And then, dear reader, they were persuaded to read just one AU. They were still an angel and a demon, just in a slightly different universe. And then...then they tried a human AU. And then...then they were hooked. Obsessed, one might say.

That reader, dear reader, was me. Of course. Obviously. Well, duh. And I would like to share the obsession in the form of some recommendations.

I have the wonderful @shadesofecclescakes to thank for MANY of these absolute beauties, she is absolutely the QUEEN of recommendations (and medicinal gifs).

So, now, in no particular order, some Highly Recommended AUs:

Or Be Nice by charlottemadison Rated E - A is a bookseller, C is a drummer, they are BOTH petty bitches. They're newly neighbours. C has a CAT and I'm there for it, he also has migraines and I hard relate. It's bitchy and the pranks were DIVINE. It was also deliciously spicy. The loveliness is that the author really captured the flawed nature of humans but also how it can be overcome. Same author as What We Make of It (what was Shotgun Wedding - an absolute GO AU CLASSIC and one of the best things I've ever read)

Not a Mounted Dildo but a Fuck Machine by NaroMoreau & summerofspock Rated E - So very, very E. This one was just filthy. So wonderfully filthy. The authors would like to tell you there was no plot to their porn, but there really was. A meets a girl online, because A is straight. He really is. Honest. But then, oops, lockdown happens. But, it's a good thing, really. For his best homeboy C is there, to help this poor virgin 'learn the ropes' for when lockdown is over and he goes on his first date...with the girl he's so very much into...coz, no homo, yo...;)

The Whole Damned World Seemed Upside Down by WyvernQuill Rated M - An AU in the way that it's still angel/demon but after Crowley makes a wish for things to be 'different', the universe obliges...and he's dumped into a reality which is very, very different to what he knew. He learns some truths and there's a whole lot of drama. Beautifully written with a wonderful plot and great drama. Excellently described and would make for great TV. (Oh, and Death in the new reality is really squeamish - it's brilliant.)

Telling Tall Tales by Siobhans_World Rated E - A sweet pretend relationship fic, where A pretends to be Maggie's boyfriend to help her pass as straight for her family. But he then meets her cousin, C, who he then inevitably (ineffably?) falls for. Miscommunication, angst, fluff, gay panic, it's got everything.

Flawless by @mrghostrat & @chernozemm Rated E - I've decided only to include one fic by each author and boyyy was it hard for ghostrat! But Flawless was, well, flawless. For such a relatively short story, it kept us guessing until the end. The characters were all beautifully written - the flaws (ha.) were DEEP and CRACKED but so fucking perfectly sculpted and presented. It was incredibly real and believable. Extremely maturely written and satisfying. AND THE ART!!!

How To Pull An Angel: A Bunnings DIY Guide by NascentSurrender Rated M - When I first saw the title, I thought it was going to be a silly, irreverent, comedy romp. But it was actually a funny, well written story that will stick in my mind always. Firstly, C watches Bluey - which is now CANON for me. Secondly, having lived in Aus as a child, I've got a soft spot for the country anyway, and I've barely ever seen it come up, so this was lovely. There were some wonderfully humorous bits, but also tender and beautiful moments that I adored.

Montreal Confidential by Maggie_Honeybite Rated E - I learned about Montreal (and Canada & their baked goods), classical music and mafia stuff in this fic. A is a widower. C plays the cello. His cello's name is Bentley. This is one of the only age-gap, mild D/s fics I've actually gotten into. There's fluff AND drama. CW for non-con (not A/C)

Under the Summer Stars by @pannotbread Rated E - an amazing astrophysics/astroecology/astrobiology fic that has pining, slow burn and Only One Telescope (yes, really, and it's everything you'd imagine). It's got beautifully written (erotic) imagery and So Much Science that's been written accessibly but still with amazing detail. It's poetry. It's hot. It's gorgeous. CW for internalised homophobia and self hatred. *Not completed yet*

Oddity by @tsyvia48 Rated E - A museum fic! About David Bowie! A is in charge of collections, C is an actor hired by (highly incompetent) Gabriel to guest curate a new Bowie exhibit. Miscommunication ensues for delicious tension. There's bitchiness, there's a bit of light angst, there's a lotta love. *Not Completed Yet* Poetry Carved In Flesh by @fellandcrow Rated E - I'm obsessed by tattoos. Hence, I am obsessed by this story. I'm planning a(n enormous) GO tattoo once GO3 is out, and this fic has actually helped me with my ideas. London-based A stalks lovingly follows Edinburgh-based tattoo artist C online. They build up a rapport. Well, C likes A. A is SMITTEN with C. C encourages A to get tattoos. Which he does. C designs a tattoo especially for A, the fic has currently left off at the point where C is in London and going to tattoo A. *Not Completed Yet*

There Is A Light & It Never Goes Out by @phoen1xr0se Rated M - A escapes from a disappointing, chaotic life to a remote island for five months to do research on puffins. There he meets lighthouse keeper C. Who also ran away, 20 odd years ago. There is a chaotic, found family on the island, but it is small, and it is lovely. This fic is written with love and passion and the imagery is so beautiful. The author has actually gone to do Actual. Physical. Research. on puffins. So how is THAT for dedication? Cannot wait until it resumes. *Not Completed Yet*

Ok, because I am Bad At Tumblr, I've not tagged the majority of authors, if you are on here - please let me know if you're here and I'll edit!

I should probably add in the following, I suppose. I'm writing an AU.

Free by, well, me. Imposterssyndrome (yes I know it's Imposter Syndrome, but that one already existed) Rated E - A runs a bookshop, C has an unfortunate past as a runaway ex-addict. They meet in an acute mental health ward after both having had a mental health crisis. Eventually A invites C to move in, and they navigate sharing a space, and their lives together. The story starts heavy, and is an emotional roller coaster, but there are moments of fluff and smut mixed in. There is a happy ending, I promise. It's a passion project, heavily researched and has a LOT of lived experience in it. I've gotten to know some amazing people through it who have messaged me and shared their experiences and I'm so glad I wrote it. *Not Completed Yet*

Last thing to say - once I finish Free, I will be teaming up with @shadesofecclescakes to write another human AU which is VERY much in her wheelhouse and I CANNOT FUCKING WAIT. I just know you're all going to LOVE it. The only thing that will make it even better is ART, so we're still on the hunt for someone.

**Last-last thing to say. I’ve missed off a few Biggies. There are some super popular AUs, mostly written around 2019. Most people will have read them. I’ve tried to focus on the perhaps lesser-known & WIP ones. Although I know many people don’t read WIPs, hopefully you’ll (book)mark them for future!**

[fxrmuladaydreams]

drunken bets (cs55)

carlos x mclaren social media!reader

summary: carlos makes a bet with a few other drivers, claiming that he can get you, a new (introverted) mclaren employee, to fall for him

notes: what can i say? i love writing driver x mclaren worker apparently 😂 i think it’s because she can be bffs with lando and oscar and that makes me soft. someone had to be the villian/bad influence so i’m sorry drunk pierre/lance. i hope you guys like the “she fell first, he fell harder” trope

next part

The music in the club blasts through the speakers. Drinks are thrown back as warm bodies dance, or more so grind, against each other to the beat.

Carlos feels the buzz from the alcohol coursing through him. He takes drink after drink. He deserves to relax after this race weekend, hangover be damned. He’s approached countless times by girls looking to spend some time with him, all to which he brushes off, choosing to go home alone at the end of the night.

“C’mon man, what’s up?” Lance asks as Carlos sends another breathtaking girl away. “You’re just not in the mood?”

“I don’t think he can do it. I think he needs his “smooth operator” title revoked.” Pierre drunkenly laughs.

Carlos scoffs, pushing Pierre away by his shoulder. “I could get any girl I wanted. Try me.”

Pierre grins and nods. “Alright,” he looks around the club and nods to a blonde at the bar. “How about her?”

Lance shakes his head. “No, that’s too easy. She’s been staring at him all night.”

Pierre points out a few more girls, all of whom have already expressed some kind of interest in the Spanish driver, until an idea pops into his head.

“What about that new McLaren girl?”

Carlos knew who he was talking about almost instantly. You were a newer part of McLaren’s marketing team. While most others from the team could be found creating content with the boys, you tended to keep yourself behind a computer. Lando said you were hired to do things like edit videos or photos, more behind the scenes stuff.

Others had taken an interest in you when you had shown up. A few engineers or pit crew from other teams attempted to get closer with you, all while you turned them down with a quick no. Hell, even Pierre tried to shoot his shot, but you very quickly shut him down.

You tended to stick closer to Lando and Oscar, both boys somehow able to get you to open up to them.

“You mean Y/n? She won’t date anyone.” Lance shrugs.

“Yeah, so I don’t think Mr. Smooth Operator could get her to date him.” Pierre smirks.

“I could.” Carlos is quick to defend. “Easy.”

“Alright then, let’s make this interesting. You get Y/n to have actual romantic feelings for you, and I’ll give you one hundred euros.”

Carlos reaches his hand out for Pierre to shake. “Deal.”

Carlos wakes up with a pounding headache the next morning, the sun streaming in way too bright through his hotel window. He drags himself out of bed and into the shower, attempting to feel a little more like a human before he actually has to go outside and face the world.

He eats a simple breakfast, something that doesn’t make him feel like he’s about to puke his guts all over his plate. Then he finally starts to pack his suitcase for his trip back home.

He checks his phone before pushing it into his pocket. He sees a few message notifications from Pierre and Lance.

From Lance

Insane night last night. I never want to drink again.

From Pierre

I honestly don’t remember much from last night, but I do remember a bet, and I can’t wait to be 100 euros richer

Carlos groans as he remembers the bet he made the previous night. There’s no way they’re going to let this go, they’ll make sure it hangs over his head until the end of time.

A selfish part of him wants to go on with the bet, to prove that even though he’s had some time being single for a while, he’s still a hot ticket item in the dating world. It wouldn’t hurt his image either, he thinks. If he’s seen pursuing and dating someone who isn’t a model it could make him look like he’s matured, like he’s ready to settle down instead of spending his nights in different beds wherever they travel.

From Carlos

I think you mean 100 euros poorer

The next race weekend he makes it a point to hang around the McLaren garage. No one’s surprised to see him there, given his close friendship with Lando, so the striking Ferrari red practically goes unnoticed in the sea of papaya.

He keeps an eye out for you as he sits with Lando, excusing himself when he spots you making your way towards them. You’ve got a set of headphones on over your ears, clearly enthralled by whatever you’ve got playing on the tablet you’re holding.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts walking in your direction, scrolling through whatever social media app he happened to quickly open. He walks until his shoulder bumps into yours, a little too rough, nearly knocking the tablet out of your hands.

Carlos wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you upright, and manages to catch the tablet with his other hand.

“Are you alright?” He asks, flashing you a smile.

You nod and take a step back from him. “I’m okay, are you?”

He swipes a hand through his hair, then holds your tablet out for you to take. “I’m good. It’s Y/n, right?”

“Yeah, I’m at McLaren.” You tilt your head towards the McLaren garage.

“Yeah, I can see that.” He laughs, glancing down at your papaya team kit.

“Right, sorry.” You laugh. “I should probably go, filming and editing to do and what not.”

Carlos gives you a smile and a nod followed by a quick goodbye. He brushes his arm against yours as he walks away. He has to keep himself from looking back at you to see your reaction, but gets a text from Lando later in the day that gives him the satisfaction he was looking for.

From Lando

What did you do to my editor?

The next time Carlos sees you, he recreates your first meeting, bumping into you just so he can wrap his arms around you again.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” He laughs, holding you.

You laugh with him and shake your head. Your hands rest against his chest from attempting to catch yourself. “We really do.”

He smiles as he lets go of you, but keeps himself planted where he’s standing, giving you his undivided attention.

“I saw the recent McLaren video, it was really good. It kind of makes me wish you worked here when I was with McLaren.” He says tilting his head up teasingly.

“It’s mostly my coworkers, I pretty much just make it look good after it’s filmed.” You tell him, you duck your head down to avoid his gaze.

“Still.” He shrugs.

He’s pulled away by Charles after that, who gives you a quick hello before dragging Carlos back to Ferrari’s garage.

You see Carlos a lot more now around McLaren. You chalk it up to his friendship with Lando, but you begin to notice his seeking you out. He shares meals with you now, even if he ends up sitting with you while you’re focus is locked on your laptop.

Carlos is surprised to find that he’s started to genuinely enjoy your company, that he actually looks forward to seeing you every race weekend. He shakes away the feeling that blossoms in his chest whenever he sees you, afraid of becoming too attached.

That all flies out the window when he’s headed back to his hotel one day though. Dark clouds covered the sky, turning it almost black as rain poured down. You could hear thunder rumbling in the distance, likely headed towards the track.

Carlos sees you standing under the awning of McLaren hospitality, looking up at the sky. You’ve got your phone in your hand and a disgruntled look on your face.

He lifts his bright red umbrella up over his head and dashes over to the McLaren building. He puts his umbrella back down once he’s standing next to you, shaking the drops of water off.

“Did you forget an umbrella?” He asks.

You turn away from your phone to look up at him. He’s got a teasing smile on his face. The humidity in the air has made his hair impossibly fluffier, but somehow still picture perfect. He’s bundled up in a Ferrari windbreaker, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah. And I walked here from the hotel today, so I can either try to get a taxi or I can wait until the weather clears up.” Just as you finish explaining your problem thunder booms above you.

Carlos shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I’m not letting you walk out in this.” He gestures to the sky.

“Well the other option is find a taxi.”

“I’ll drive you.” He says it as if it’s an obvious solution. Before you can respond he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him so that you’re both under his umbrella, then starts walking towards the parking lot.

You try to keep up with his pace, occasionally bumping into him, but he makes sure to hold the umbrella over the both of you. He leads you to his car, and holds the umbrella over you as you climb into the passenger side.

You notice how water clings to his hair, drops falling down his coat on his right side, evidence of him prioritizing keeping you dry over himself.

“Carlos, you could get sick, and it’d be my fault.” You scold him.

He shrugs and gives you a smile. “Then you’ll just have to nurse me back to health.”

He parks at the entrance to the hotel McLaren had booked, and walks you into the building. When you expect him to leave, he places a hand on your lower back guiding you to the elevator. He walks you all the way to your door, and leaves you with a “goodnight” and a soft squeeze of your hand.

You get a text from him later that night.

From Carlos

Lando gave me your number. What time should I pick you up tomorrow?

From Y/n

You don’t have to, that’s okay

From Carlos

That’s not an answer cariño

You feel yourself start to smile at the message on your screen and text him what time you usually leave.

He picks you up the next morning, driving you to the track with him. You make conversation about little things like how you slept and what you had for breakfast. He’s quick to run over to your side of the car to open the door for you, and keeps himself close to you as you enter the paddock.

He meets you at the end of the day as well to drive you back to the hotel. He keeps up this new routine each race weekend following. He enjoys your company, and you seem to enjoy his. After a few weekends you could say you have a new chauffeur in the form of a Ferrari driver.

With this new closeness to Carlos comes a wave of media attention you should have expected. Photos are posted over social media of the two of you walking together, you looking up at Carlos with bright eyes, or him looking down at you with his doe eyes.

It’s easy to tell that all of the new attention makes you uncomfortable, but you don’t want to lose your friendship with Carlos so you stick it out. You’re grateful when you see a clip of an interview with Carlos where he’s asked about you, and he sets the record straight.

“There’s nothing going on, we just like to hang out together. We’re just friends.” He smiles.

Although you’re glad he’s put an end to the speculation, you can’t help but feel like your recent hangouts have been only barely platonic. After the nights you’ve claimed are “movie nights” that have turned into falling asleep in each other’s arms, it’s hard to put a platonic label on your relationship.

The first time it happens, it’s you who wakes up first. His chest is warm beneath your head, and his arms lock you against his body. You tilt your head up to look at him. His hair is unkempt, yet still looks effortlessly good. You reach up and brush a few strands away from his face. You watch him for a few minutes, wondering how you were so lucky to be spending your time with someone so beautiful. You rest your head back on his chest and let sleep wash over you again, listening to the soft beats of his heart.

Carlos wakes up not long after you’ve gone back to sleep, lifting an arm to run a hand through his hair. He can feel the little puffs of air from your breathing against his chest, his heart melts when you subconsciously nuzzle your face deeper into him to get more comfortable. You look so sweet, so soft, and a part of him hates himself for it. He let himself accept that stupid bet, and he let himself fall for you. He wishes he’d never let his friends talk him into making that bet, but he also decides he’d never trade the time he’s spent with you for anything.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when you slowly lift yourself up off of him. He misses your warmth as soon as he can’t feel it anymore.

The two of you continue spending your evenings together, wanting nothing more than to keep falling asleep wrapped up in one another.

He finds himself searching for you in the crowd at parties and events, even those he knows you won’t be at, just so he can spend more time with you. He texts you everyday you’re apart to make sure that you’ve eaten and gotten enough sleep.

Carlos can’t bear the thought of being away from you for more than a week between races. He casually mentions that he’s going back to Spain for the small break, and asks if you want to join him.

You laugh and scoff shaking your head. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, it could be fun. You could relax a little bit. I could take you on my boat. C’mon.” He persuades you.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time off.”

“You’re not. I want you there, I promise. Please?” He takes your hands in his, swinging them back and forth. He gives you his best puppy dog eyes and bats his eyelashes at you.

“Alright, I’ll go with you.” You sigh, but can’t stop the smile from spreading over your face.

It’s different, sharing a space with Carlos outside of the four-walled hotel rooms you’ve stayed in for work. It feels intimate being with him in his home country. He books a private villa to stay in on the beach.

The trip quickly feels more romantic than friendly, what with him cooking your dinner for you, and your evenings in either the hot tub or curled up together on the couch.

You spend your days with Carlos on his boat. You reading a book you brought with you, and Carlos laying out in the sun to tan.

It’s hard not to stare at him, his tanned toned chest on display, while his swim trunks hang low on his hips. He has just as much trouble keeping his eyes away from you as well, he can’t help but watch you as you scamper around the boat in a different little bikini everyday.

Occasionally he convinces you to hop in the water with him, to which you reluctantly agree. You keep your arms locked around him when you feel something brush against your leg in the water. Carlos keeps a firm hold on your waist as he can’t stop laughing at your distress.

Eventually you get back on his boat and sit side by side on the edge, with your feet dangling in the water. You stare down at the crystal blue sea, looking for any creatures swimming around.

Carlos looks back out to the shore. The smile that’s been plastered on his face for the last few days falls when he sees a figure on the beach. They’re far enough away that he can’t really tell who it is, but close enough that he can see the camera in their hands.

He leans back and grabs a towel, laying it over your shoulders, covering up the skin you had on display. He wraps a protective arm around you and pulls you closer to his chest, in hopes that the photos he knows will be everywhere in a few days won’t be clear enough to reveal you in them.

That night he decides to cook on the boat, which turns out to be a little more chaotic than he’d originally planned. He struggles to keep everything straight, but finds it all worth it in the end when he gets to see you surrounded by the sunset. You look breathtaking, looking out into the sea. The soft breezes wisps your hair away from your face. The sinking sun casts a gold light to wash over you.

He wants to tell you how he feels, but he knows he needs to come clean. Maybe you’ll forgive him, he hopes you will. He needs to put this in the past so that he can love you publicly and wholeheartedly.

You quietly share your meal, then break the silence simultaneously.

“I have something I need to tell you.”

“Carlos-”

“You first.” He nods.

You take a deep breath. “Carlos, I want to thank you for bringing me here, and really for spending all this time with me. I’m glad you bumped into me at the paddock because I’ve gained a new friend from it. You’re one of the best men I know, and I really appreciate you taking care of me.”

“Thank you.” He feels his chest tighten at your words.

“The truth is, I’ve come to care about you a lot more than I thought I would. A few of the other drivers tried to ask me out when I was first hired, but I told them no. I was happy when you didn’t try to make a move on me, and instead wanted to pursue a friendship with me.” You look down at your hands, and fiddle with your fingers. “But if you did try to make a move on me now… I don’t think I’d mind it…” Your last sentence comes out quieter than the others.

“Really?” Carlos asks, a soft smile growing on his face.

You clear your throat. “What were you going to say?”

He can’t tell you now. He can’t poison this perfect moment, after you’ve confessed your feelings to him.

“I was going to say that I feel the same way.”

[chellestrash]

Please, Mr. Ghost Face

Frank Castle x F!Reader Halloween Special (18+)

Warnings: explicit language, explicit smut, semi-public, unprotected sex, roughy sex, brat! reader, frank being kinda bitchy, oral (f!receiving) knife play, mention of blood play, teasing.

Summary: look at the title, look at the warnings, you know what it is, enjoy!!

Word count: 7.2k

AN: Oh my god okay, thank you @chelseasdagger and @suitsofwo3 for getting me to actually finish writing this (i literally felt like i was loosing my god damn mind trying to push through). I dont know why it turned out so long I dont normaly write things that are over 3k so this...yeah I really hope at least some of you will enjoy. I love reading your thoughs and feedback on my fic so please, feel free to share them. Reblogs are very appriciated as always :) HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

You're not sure how Frank managed to get his entire Halloween costume ready before you finished the few quick fixes to your makeup. Even considering the fact that it took you around an hour to get the whole look together, and he repeatedly told you no matter when he started getting ready, he'd still be finished before you. He was right. Was it annoying? Slightly, yes, but for once, him being right was actually a good thing since you were already late to a house party one of your friends decided to throw at the end of the week once most of you were finally done with work.

You fix up your lipstick and try the fake fangs on one more time before messing with your hair a bit and taking a couple steps back to check the outfit out in the mirror. Nothing too creative, just a simple well-fitted black dress, slightly shorter than what you'd usually wear, a couple of bright red details and some silver jewelry. A last minute vampire, sure, it'll do.

You straighten up the fabric and look up and down at your reflection one more time.

“Right, I think I'm ready!”

You raise your voice, making sure he’d hear you, before grabbing the last few things and turning to the door.

“So, what did you decide to go as?”

You shout again, curious about how much effort he decided to put into the whole thing this year. Halloween wasn't necessarily a holiday Frank enjoyed, but he'd do this and that occasionally just to make you happy.

“Did you figure it out?”

Another question since he didn't answer the previous one. You step out of the room, digging through your small bag in search of your phone before you walk directly into your boyfriend’s chest.

“Shit, sorry.”

You mumble and Frank grabs your arm, helping you regain the balance before you end up with your ass on the wooden floor.

“Christ, easy, 'you okay?”

Frank’s deep, groggy voice rumbles through your body, and you take a moment to fix up the dress before finally tracing your eyes up his body. You bite the inside of your cheek and it feels like the words get stuck in your throat before you can answer him.

Frank stands in front of you with his usual outfit on. Combat boots, the ones you rarely see him out of, one of the dark gray, now slightly worn off jeans, and a black tank top, his heavy, deep navy blue jacket already in his hand. The reason for your reaction doesn't have anything to do with his exceptionally ordinary choice of clothing, but rather with a thing you're not used to seeing on him.

The basic Ghost Face mask from Scream covering his face makes it rather difficult to focus on… really anything else. The loose black cloth falls onto his exposed shoulders, covering part of his neck, and you catch yourself staring at him and his body for probably slightly longer than necessary.

“Oh, fuck.”

You finally manage to get out a couple of words, and Frank lets go of your arm.

“Think it'll do?”

You catch his question this time but keep your eyes fixed on the mask as his voice flows from underneath the fabric.

“Shit, yeah, yeah it’ll do alright.”

You lean back on the nearest wall, looking over his figure from head to toe once again.

“Shit, Frank, where did you even find that?”

“Corner shop.”

He shrugs and takes a step in your direction after a moment. You feel your back pushing against the door frame, a familiar warm feeling growing between your legs when his frame grows bigger in your field of view. His shoulders and chest, slightly exposed by the tight tank top, the fabric clearly struggling some right above his sternum. You catch the corner of your lips pulling up in a confident smirk once you finally take in the whole picture.

The dark, empty eyes of the mask pierce through your own for a moment and you cross your legs nonchalantly before Frank finally reaches up to get rid of the cheap Halloween costume.

Quickly grabbing his wrist, you stop him before he’s able to pull the mask off of his face. His head tilts to the side slightly, his sudden confusion expressed by the pose.

“What?”

The question, slightly muffled by the dark fabric, only amplifies the smirk already present on your face. You grin happily at the Ghost Face character right in front of you, somehow feeling like he already knows the answer to his question.

“Don’t fucking tell me you’re into that.”

Shaking his head, he tries again but you interrupt the action one more time.

“Oh boohoo, and what if I was?”

You tease. Your impatient hands linger over his body, fingers rubbing over the fabric of both his shirt and jeans. Hooking your hand over the waistband of the jeans, you pull yourself up, pushing off of the wall and leaning forward towards him, rubbing your leg up his own slowly. The fabric of the dress slides off of you slightly, exposing a decent amount of skin. Guiding Frank's hand to the back of your body, you arch your back slightly, pushing your ass into his palm, humming satisfied once you feel his tight grip through the dress. Frank's chest expands with a loud sigh, the space between your bodies closing almost completely now. He watches you carefully; every move, every tease, every little movement you plan out carefully, seemingly only to get a desired reaction out of him.

“What if I was, Mister Ghost Face?”

Your purr, biting down on your lower lip, your hand now pressed against his chest as you gently drag your nails over the fabric. Frank grunts, the harsher touch clearly getting to him now, and you fight back some smart ass comment your brain so kindly decided to equip you with. Instead, you drop your hand to your thigh under the slit at the side of the skirt. Pulling the fabric back, you let a glimpse of the bright red underwear peek from underneath the costume. Frank finally breaks once you glare up at him suggestively.

“Mmmmm, fuck.”

He groans from behind the mask, gripping your ass firmly before pulling you onto himself, your leg hooked loosely behind his. Slipping his hand under the fabric of the dress, he digs his fingers into your flesh and you part your lips, letting out a satisfied moan in return.

“‘M not fucking you with the mask on, kid.”

Way to kill the mood. You think, but bite your tongue just in time, not willing to give up on the idea just yet. You can't help it. To be completely honest, it feels like his fault. You didn’t make him look this good in the costume, well, part of it, you never anticipated he’d pick out this exact one either. The fact that it was able to get these reactions from you and your body? Yeah, seems like you’re innocent. Gliding your hand between his legs, you drag your nails over the bulge before spreading your fingers apart, cupping the whole of it in your palm.

Frank grunts and the previously present smirk makes its way back onto your face, you don’t even try to act innocent anymore.

Listening to his now heavier breathing, despite his not so thrilled demeanor, his heart picks up the pace slightly, the blood rushing down between his legs.

A faint twitch under the jean fabric corresponding with his fingers digging deeper into your thigh and you know he's focused now. He's listening.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

You push the weight of your body against his groin, and his hand finds its way up to your hair. Fingers tangle into your hair before he tugs on it firmly. Your head tilts up, and the Ghost Face mask finally comes off once you cannot delay the inevitable any longer.

He leans in closer, his warm breath brushes over your lips, and you fight back the cocky smirk, not entirely sure which one of you wanted to feel the other more at this moment.

His stern expression only strengthens once you reach your hand behind him. Your fingers brush over his ass and you watch how his jaw tightens, his eyes closing.

“Oh, there he is.”

You tease, and he almost snaps this time, inhaling deeply through his nose in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“You try that shit one more time-”

He starts. Leaning closer to your ear, his lips brushing over your neck.

“And we're gonna have a big problem, kid.”

“Oh.”

You whisper, grinding into his thigh slowly.

“Oh, are we? We gonna have a problem, Mister Ghost Face?”

Your lips almost brush over his now. Frank opens his mouth to talk back, ready to have you bent over and waiting for him, ready to make both of you feel good or, most importantly, ready to have you apologize for the whole god-damn mask thing.

You breathe out a quiet laugh at the frustrated expression on his face once the sound of your phone successfully distracts you from his attempts to intimidate you.

With his hand still under your dress, the other in your hair, his leg between yours and his body leaning down over you, you answer the phone. Speaking as if it was the most casual situation possible.

“Yeah? Oh, yeah, we're on our way, we'll be there in a bit. Yeah.”

Frank watches, flabbergasted, as you make up a little story about why the two haven't joined the rest yet. You smack his shoulder a couple of times, pushing away from him and taking a few steps into the direction of the front door.

“What?”

You ask once the phone call is over.

“You're the one who said it's not happening.”

***

You arrive at the party a good while after it began. The house feels pretty crowded, the music is way louder than necessary, and you're pretty certain you're able to pick up the smell of both alcohol and cigarettes from the other side of the street. It honestly feels like one of those weekend college parties that used to always leave you with a two day long hangover a couple of years back. You shiver from a gust of the cold night wind and look over at your boyfriend while pulling the jacket close around your body. Frank looks unimpressed with that really significant frown on his face, not looking forward to spending the rest of the night in a small, crowded place with a bunch of people he didn't want to have to deal with.

“Oh, you’ll be fineee.”

Your oh so encouraging words earn you a stern look from him before he shakes his head with a deep sigh.

“Just go.”

You laugh and with his hand resting against your lower back, he pushes you towards the door, slipping on the movie accurate mask with a look of disapproval as you climb up the steps together.

“I’m throwing this thing out tomorrow.”

The muffled sound of his voice humors you, but you bite your tongue.

“Whatever you say, Frankie.”

***

This wasn’t Frank's idea, of course it wasn’t. He agreed to go to the party knowing how much you’d enjoy yourself but that was the only reason. The costumes weren’t even in the picture when you first asked him to join you, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to run around to different stores frantically trying to assemble a Halloween outfit. The mask was the first thing he saw after stepping into that corner store earlier in the day. He didn’t pay it much thought earlier, but now? After you made it blatantly obvious how much you enjoyed the whole thing, well… he struggled to get through one conversation without his thoughts slipping back to what happened before you two left your place.

You weren’t any better. Even when you split to catch up with different groups of friends after you stepped into the house, you found yourself constantly scanning the room in search of either his face, the mask, or his back. Catching his glance from across the room, you smile, raising the bottle of beer in your hand up. He does the same, but the gentle smile on his lips wears off the second you gesture for him to pull the mask back down. Frank rolls his eyes, shaking his head, before continuing his conversation with some guy you managed to interrupt.

You could try to focus on other things, on the drinks, the music, the stories shared between your friends. You could…but you can’t. There’s no use in trying when your eyes keep searching for Frank every other moment and your mind keeps slipping into places you’d rather not discuss in a room full of people.

With that in mind, you make it your mission to tease Frank through the evening and really see how hard you can make this get to him.

It starts slow: some gentle touches as you pass him by here and there, pushing your fingers through the hair on the back of his head as you two try to hold a conversation with another person, sitting in his lap when some of the people move to sit outside, and most importantly encouraging him to keep the mask on. It’s a costume party, after all.

He catches on when you two are in the kitchen and you obnoxiously brush your ass against his cock while squeezing past him to grab another beer from the fridge.

He grunts, his fingers quickly wrapping around your arm, and he glares into your eyes, silently warning you, possibly hoping it would somehow get you to behave. It doesn’t. You shoot him a quick smirk, waving at one of your friends wearing an angel costume when she walks into the kitchen.

“We’re doing a group photo in the living room!”

She announces excitedly, and you grin, immediately matching her energy.

“Are we showing our costumes off?”

Frank's fingers loosen the grip around you, and you step away from him without hesitation, taking your friend's hand while she answers your question.

“Yeah! We're trying to get everyone in!”

“Oh, fun!”

Walking by her side, you step out of the kitchen, turning back for just a moment.

“You heard that, Frankie? Costumes!!”

***

Back in the living room, you all gather together to attempt the impossible task of fitting every single person at the party into one photo together. Frank joins everyone a bit after you, walking in your direction as you all begin to take your somewhat assigned places.

“Hi.”

You start innocently, standing on your toes, to press a quick kiss to the side of his face. Frank nods in response, cautious of your tricks. Standing behind you to make you more visible in the photo, he wraps his arm around your chest, and you quickly grab onto his forearm. Glancing back over your shoulder, you quickly point out the obvious.

“You gotta put the mask on.”

“Mind your business, yeah?”

He murmurs, and you breathe out a quiet laugh, not looking away even for a second while he pulls the dark fabric and white mask over his face. You take a deep breath in, and the corner of your lips pull up in a satisfied smirk.

“Frankie-“

You start, the gentle heat between your legs returning since he put the mask on for the first time, now more prominent as he stares down at you once again.

“Leave it.”

He orders in a harsh whisper and with his hand on the back of your neck, he makes you face the camera. Your body takes over your brain and when everyone poses for the photo and his hand slides to your lower back, you push your ass out and press it against his bulge. His grunt, muffled by the mask and the constant noise of the party, slips from under the mask and his hands find your hips faster than you realize it was happening. His fingers dig into your thighs, so hard you know it'll leave bruises. He holds you still, knowing god-damn well if he lets go you'll repeat exactly what you just did.

There's a flash of the phone, and once the photo is taken he lets go of your body immediately. You make up your mind, deciding to risk it. Pushing past a few groups of people that begin to form around the living room, you excuse yourself, glancing back at Frank to make sure he's watching before you disappear behind the corner. You make your way to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You don't lock it. You know he won't let that whole thing slip. No more than five minutes pass before he decides to join you.

“Took you long enough.”

You point out and push yourself off the edge of the bathtub, standing up before taking a couple steps in his direction. Frank shuts the door closed and turns back to face you.

“Oh, you wanted me to just walk after you, huh? Make it real obvious?”

He takes a step closer to you, his chest almost rubbing against yours when he looks down.

“No one would give a shit, Frank, everyone's drunk. We could fuck with the door wide open and they wouldn't notice.”

“Stop.”

His voice harsh with the warning.

“Why?”

You push without hesitation or any intention of stopping.

“That get you too much, huh? Bet you'd like that, Frankie, hmm?”

Frank's body tenses up at your attempt to tease him. He stands up straighter, taller, and his shoulders stiffen, his chest rising when he breathes heavily under the mask. His hand balls up into a tight fist as he pushes back the frustration, trying not to hand you exactly what you want from him out on a plate.

“You just don't ever shut up, do you?”

You breathe out a quiet laugh, shaking your head slowly before you stand up on your tiptoes. Staying at eye level with the mask now, you squint, trying to see through the sheer fabric in the eyeholes.

“Oh I do. I can shut up but you don't like that, do you?”

You whisper. The muscles in his neck tensing when his jaw tightens and he shakes his head slowly.

“Yeah, okay, how ‘bout you try for once. Might do you some good.”

“Yeah?”

You whisper again, your hand now rubbing over the center of his chest, feeling the heat under his shirt.

“Make me.”

The words slip past the big smirk on your face and you decide now is the time. Sliding your hand down his body, you brush over the bulge in his jeans. Not giving him time to react, you grip his cock tightly through the thick fabric. With that, you watch whatever was left of Frank's composure crumble away.

There's a moment of silence where his fingers wrap around your wrist. His grip is tight and he holds it in place. You glance down, watching his hand for a moment, before squeezing him once again.

“F-”

He grunts, yanking your hand away with so much force you couldn't possibly even try to fight it back.

“That's it.”

Immediately, you feel his body pushing into yours once he shoves you back against the bathroom counter. Your lips part but you keep the moan back, wrapping your arms around his neck and biting into his exposed shoulder once you feel the porcelain digging into your lower body.

Breathing heavier under the plastic mask, he reaches down to the high slit on the side of your dress. His fingers push into your skin and drag up your thigh. Your breath rushes and your chest rises and falls faster now, the only indication, besides the elaborate banter and the teasing, of how much you've been thinking of this since getting to the party.

You hum loudly once his fingers brush over the hem of your underwear. Your hips push forward slightly in need of his touch once he tugs on the fabric to pull it down. You reach towards him, hands working the buckle of his belt open once the lace of your panties brushes down your calf. Frank reaches up, hand gripping the mask to finally pull it off, but you grab his wrist, stooping him once again.

There's a moment of silence when you both wait for the other to talk, the heat of your bodies radiating through the small bathroom. The pure lust for one another allows this to last only a few seconds.

“Keep it on.”

You request, knowing deep down that you can push him enough to actually have him fuck you with it on.

“Jesus fucking-”

Frank scoffs, pulling the mask off and looking away from you. He shakes his head, disapproving of whatever the hell you've been trying to get him involved in since the night started. He turns back to face you, his eyebrows pulled together, face in a frustrated frown.

“Seriously, this shit again?”

You roll your eyes with a frustrated sigh, hand on his chest as you push against his body, creating some distance between both of you.

“Could you just do one fucking thing without bitching about it so much? Like, is that too hard or?”

You push one more time, both the tone of your voice and the choice of words a lot harsher than before. You keep your gaze on his eyes, confidently staring him down after your annoyed statement, not letting go of this whole thing, not now, not with knowing how close you were.

Frank stands tall in front of you, jaw tight, teeth grinding against each other, and his chest pushes out with the breath he's been holding in his lungs. His eye twitches slightly before he looks off to the side. The bridge of his nose scrunches up when he inhales quickly, nodding once he finally turns back to face you again.

“Alright.”

He slowly pulls the mask back on.

“Your fucking call, sweetheart.”

Before there's time to react, he grabs your arm and shoves you against the sink, turning your body around in one swift motion, bending you over the counter and wrapping his fingers around your upper thigh.

“Your fucking call.”

His words travel down your body and between your legs, the excitement of getting what you wanted, followed by the thrill of the entire situation. The warmth between your legs grows once Frank pulls your ass back, kicking your legs open with his foot. You glance up, focusing on his reflection in the mirror in front of you.

The man towers over you, his shoulders broad and heavy, his chest in the dark tank top, his arm flexing when he holds your lower back down against the wood. The mask, fuck, the mask exposing the tense muscles in his neck, the whole sight taking over your senses, your mind and body.

His heavy hand rubs over your back, up and down a couple of times, before he pushes his palm under the fabric of your dress. Bunching it up, he pulls it over your ass and you can't help but push it out some more in search of his touch.

There's a loud scoff, and you see him shaking his head in the mirror.

“You know, you talk a lot of shit for how wet you are right now, sweetheart.”

He mocks you, pulling the black fabric up before pushing his fingers between your legs.

You whine out loud, closing your legs at the sudden touch but pull them apart again almost instantly.

“Yeah, s’ what I thought. You got a big mouth for-”

“Oh, shut up.”

You cut into his words and feel his fingers on the back of your neck. The grip tightens and he pulls you up, back into an upright position, your body now pressed against his chest. The reflection in the mirror makes your mouth part, but you bite into your lower lip, fighting back another moan. His figure looms over you, the mask ways up above your shoulder, his hand moving to the front of your neck. You feel yourself react to the sight in front of you, to the feeling of his fingers wrapping tighter around your neck, the warmth of his body so close behind you.

“What, you think I'm gonna say make me? Hmm?"

Pushing you back down on the counter, Frank steps closer to your body, his clearly hard cock pressing against your ass.

“Nah, that's your part. I don't do that shit.”

Taking your chance, you perk your ass up some, brushing over the warm spot between his legs. Frank grunts, closing his eyes for a moment before reaching down, pushing his pants open and then down slightly, pulling himself out of the black boxers.

Unable to win with your body this time, you slip up, letting out a moan once his cock springs out from under the dark fabric, stretched out over the large bulge up until this point.

There's a low chuckle from under the Ghost Face mask.

“That shit really gets you that bad?”

One of Frank's hands digs into your thigh, holding you close, the other wrapped tightly around his length.

You nod, making sure he catches the still confident expression on your face in the bathroom mirror.

“Oh, you've got no idea.”

You tease again and Frank moves his hand up to your shoulder blades. Pushing your body down against the counter, he clears his throat.

“Think I got some.”

He lines himself up, getting a few pumps in over his length before spreading you open with his free hand. He pushes inside slower than you'd have liked, pausing after the tip the second he feels how truly ready you are.

“You get off on these things, huh?”

He continues the questing, beginning to thrust into you, and you feel your body stretching to fit him in with every push. Your lips part as your mouth falls open before you bite into your lip, trying to muffle the sounds you're sure would otherwise fill the space of the small bathroom. You try to keep your head up, focusing on Frank's reflection. His body takes up most of your view. You focus on the mask, the low grunts coming from behind it, the feeling of his cock dragging inside of you, out of you and then pushing right back inside, and the feeling of him stretching you out that never goes away entirely.

“You want it fucking scary? Hmm? That'll do it for you?”

He keeps up the teasing, quick to point out every single reaction your body presents him with, and you finally decide to bite back.

You reach behind your back, hand on the front of his hip, tapping your palm against his body to get his attention. Pausing his movements for a moment, Frank watches your face in the mirror, giving you space to talk.

“Yeah, you got me.”

You grunt, cursing under your breath, once he decides to move his palm between your legs.

“You got me but-”

“Gotta speak up, sweetheart.”

He thinks he has you now.

“The mask isn't scary, It's just hot. You should try harder to reeeally get me."

The feeling of his fingers rubbing over your clit disappears immediately after you finish the sentence. He starts up again from behind, and you feel yourself clench around his cock once he moves inside you. You hum loudly, and Frank wraps his big hands around the sides of your body. Panting loudly with his cock still inside you, he tries to focus on your words, knowing, and being almost completely sure, of what you were asking for.

“You know what would help?”

You purr quietly, watching him in the mirror. Your confidence flows back to you once you notice him slightly stunted. The mask moves in the reflection, his eyes focus on your face from underneath the fabric, and you know he's now thinking about it too.

“Yeeeaah, I know you have it, Frankie.”

His grip on you tightens with your words.

“You don't leave the house without it. ‘Just in case’? Your words.”

It takes a moment, but after that moment he reaches behind his body without a word. There's hesitation and he pauses. The bathroom falls quiet and the only sound between your panting is the muffled noise of the party outside the bathroom door.

Slowly, Frank pulls out his black, military grade knife you've seen on him so many times before. The one he always insists on carrying with him, the one you knew he didn't leave at the house tonight.

“Ohhh that's it, Frankie, look at that.”

You whisper in a condescending tone, bumping your odds of actually getting hurt up just a bit higher. He doesn't say a word, but the knuckles of his hand turning white with the strength of the grip speak volumes.

“This what you fucking want?”

He asks, pushing his hand into your hair before tugging to pull your head up. He pushes the blade harder against your skin. The sting of the sharp edge gliding over the inside of your thigh makes you push your hips back again. Once you make sure his eyes focus on your reflection, you smirk, bigger than before, and bite into your lower lip with a quiet whine. With a grunt, Frank holds you down in place, not allowing you to move further back on him,

“You're fucking sick, you know that?”

He points out, and you feel the win in your bones. Making yourself clench around him, you murmur quietly in the most innocent voice.

“Oh yeah, but you like it, Frankie.”

He breaks. His cock twitches inside you and he shoves your chest into the bathroom counter. Thrusting inside you, he follows his every move with a grunt. You grip onto the edge of the sink, now letting the sweet sounds of pleasure slip past your lips with no restrictions. Your breath hitches, the pounding in your head rushes once Frank leans over your body. With his chest pressed against your back, he presses the knife back into the inside of your thigh. You instinctively spread your legs open a bit more as he mumbles something about the knife again. The edge of the blade nicks your skin with the next thrust and you groan at the feeling. Rolling your eyes back, you let your head fall forward, fully aware of the fact Frank just felt how good that felt for you.

“God d-“

He starts in his raspy voice. His big hand holds your lower back in place once he pulls back, the drag of his cock slipping out of your body makes you curl your toes.

Lifting your head back up, you watch him in the mirror, seeing him kneel behind you quickly. You glance back at him confused, not sure of what to expect next.

You gasp, louder than you’ve liked it, but you can’t help it, it’s not your fault. You’d be lying if you said you were expecting him to do his. Kneeling on one knee, Frank pulls you closer by your thighs before pulling the mask up and he presses his tongue flat against the cut. It stings and you jump forward but he pulls you back to him before dropping his right hand to his cock, the knife still in his other hand while he strokes over his length a couple of times.

“So your cock’s fucking throbbing and I’m the sick one?”

You throw the question into the air and it’s like a slap across his face. He pauses, immediately standing up to shove you back down against the wood.

“You gonna act like you don’t like it?”

He spits out, not even expecting an answer, as he lines himself up with your entrance again. Adjusting his grip for a moment, he pulls you back on him instead of thrusting forward, and you struggle to regain balance for a moment as he pushes deeper and deeper inside you.

Out of your control at this point, your thighs press against each other, squeezing him tighter than before. He bends in half, grunting what seems like louder than the actual music playing outside the bathroom. You part your lips ready to deliver another smart ass comment but the force of his hips pushing against your ass, his dick hitting that stop deep inside right under your stomach? It knocks the wind out of you and turns your words into one loud moan.

“Fuck.”

You grunt, feeling your body dancing on the edge now. You prop yourself up, watching his body flex in the mirror as he fills you up, what feels like better than anyone has before.

You move on top of the counter, move with his body when he slips his hands between your bodies to finally push you over the edge. Making him drop the knife, you grab onto that hand and bring it up to cover your mouth with his big palm, muffling the sounds of your pleasured body as he works it even deeper inside you.

“Just needed it to hurt a bit, huh?”

Frank teases, pointing out how your body gives away how close you are now, how you’re unable to keep up the bratty demeanor anymore.

“The knife got you this close?”

You whine quietly through his fingers when he holds your back against his chest. His voice turns slightly softer when he fully takes in the state of you.

With your body shaking, your chest moving faster than he’s ever seen it before, your eyes watering and your hands clinging onto his arm, you let him make the call.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Hmm?”

You grunt, frustrated with the slightly condescending tone, but still nodding your head quickly.

“Attagirl, you calmed down a bit?”

And another nod, his fingers roughing over your clit, his cock twitching deep inside you.

“Yeah, that’s it, c’mon. C’mon you got it.”

He mumbles quietly, helping you lean over the counter one last time. His hands rest on your sides and as he pushes inside you again, you whine. Then again you cry out, pushing your legs together. He only manages half a thrust after pushing his fingers hard against your clit, rubbing over the most sensitive spot. You feel your body tensing up with both pain and pleasure as you reach back to hold onto his arm.

“Attagirl, you got it, that’s it”

Your nails dig into his skin while he works over you, letting your body squeeze around his cock once it finally hits you. The overwhelming pleasure floods your body, and you feel the heat from the top of your head down to the very tips of your toes. Winning out his name, you make it pretty obvious he managed it once again. With your muscles tense around him, Frank grunts loudly, pushing into you one more time before he follows with his own climax.

“Fuuuuuuuck-“

He groans, his cock aching for release once he finally reaches it. He gives a few final thrusts when he fills you up before taking a step back to pull his cock out.

Taking a deep breath in, he reaches up, pulling the mask off of his face while watching you attempt to collect yourself.

You try to catch your breath, pushing yourself up before you feel Frank's hand on your arm. He helps you up, turning you around to have you face him now and you notice his loud breathing slowly beginning to mirror your own.

You lean forward and so does he, both of you taking a moment to calm down. Your forehead rests against his as you close your eyes and attempt to steady your breathing.

“Shit.”

You glance down quickly, feeling his cum drip down the side of your leg. Frank's eyes follow, the mask tilts down when he watches the drop slide down over your skin. His hands move to your waist, and he helps you up onto the counter with a grunt. You sit right at the edge, getting comfortable and spreading your legs apart while he slowly gets on his knees right in front of you. You hold up the mask, resting it on top of his head, focusing on his face. You smile at the red hues in his skin.

“Oh, Frankie, I almost forgot how pretty you look.”

You tease and he follows up with a scoff.

“Yeah okay, c'mere.”

He pulls you forward, slightly closer to him, before helping you pull the dress up one more time. His warm breath fans your skin for a moment before he licks over his lips. They press against your skin now, right above the knee. Another kiss follows but higher up your leg and then once more. You push your legs apart more to make it easier for him.

“Attagirl.”

He mumbles against your skin, his hand rubbing over your calf softly while he works his lips over your skin for another moment.

“See? You can be nice sometimes.”

He whispers, and you hum impatiently, pushing your fingers through his exposed hair before tugging at them slightly. He scoffs, and you feel the quick breath on your center.

The second his tongue brushes over your folds, you shut your eyes completely. Still sensitive from the previous orgasm, you let your body lead this time and your head falls back, resting against the mirror while Frank takes care of you.

You moan out his name, not even attempting to fight it back, and he picks up the pace. The warm and wet sensation quickly works you up more than you're actually willing to admit. Relaxing into the feeling, you push your legs open further and Frank chuckles against your body. Your core rumbles with the sound and your thighs quickly press together, closing around his head. He groans, tongue slipping inside you while the pressure around his face tightens. Tilting his head up, he nudges the tip of his nose against your clit and your hips buck forward, a motion accompanied by another loud moan of his name.

You cover your mouth, but only for a second, failing to keep the sounds in once he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot. Sucking your clit into his mouth, Frank successfully pushes you into an impatient state where you know if he won't get you to finish soon, you'll do it without his help. Your back arches and you mumble his name in an attempt to get his attention.

“Frank.”

You start and your body twitches. Feeling another long stroke of his tongue.

“Mhhh.”

He hums deep into you. Reaching for your legs, he throws them both over his shoulders and digs his fingers into your ass, quickly tugging you closer to him.

“Frank-”

Your breath hitches and you gasp quietly, whining his name out one more time. You feel yourself getting closer, the sounds of the party seem so distant now you almost forget where you are. Almost, because as you feel yourself getting close to your second climax, when his touch becomes so much more intense, when your legs tremble with the feeling, right at that very moment you realize. You never locked the door.

Hearing the sound of the doorknob turning, you press your foot against Frank's shoulder in a desperate attempt to push him away, but before you can do it, with his head still between your legs, Frank leans to the side quickly. With a loud grunt, he shoves the door closed with his shoulder without pulling away from you. He reaches up blindly, feeling the door for the lock, before you reach your hand over his head and finish for him.

He hums into your body, satisfied, and you feel yourself relaxing back into the feeling.

“Shit, Frankie...”

You whisper, pushing your hips forward against his face slightly. There’s a low, raspy chuckle that leaves his chest and you close your eyes, titling your head back to rest it against the mirror while he works on the second round.

You come shortly after and with your body so severely overstimulated, the soft, warm sensation of his tongue works better than he’d expect. He makes sure to take a mental note of it as he looks up from between your legs, watching when the second wave finally pushes you over the edge.

You rest, leaning against the mirror as he stands up in front of you, hand rubbing over your legs gently, his eyes fixed on yours.

“You okay?”

He asks. His soft, quiet question contrasts with whatever the hell the two of you just did in the small space of the bathroom. You lift your hand up, gesturing for him to stop talking and he chuckles quietly.

“Fair.”

He mumbles before turning his attention to his reflection. You watch as he cleans himself up a bit, washing the wet shine off his face and drying himself with the hem of his shirt.

Reaching over to the other side of the counter, he leans down, grabbing his knife off the floor and putting it away before handing the plastic mask over to you.

“Imagine if I didn't go out and pick this shit up.”

You snort, exhausted, enjoying how he literally managed to fuck the frustration out of himself.

“I don’t wanna think about that.”

You whisper, and he scoffs loudly, looking down and shaking his head before glancing back up at you.

“Yeah I bet.”

He helps you collect yourself, staying close by when you clean yourself up and straighten the fabric of your dress before handing you the previously abandoned underwear as you both get ready to leave the bathroom.

He offers you his hand, helping you off of the counter, and you lean on him while stepping down from it.

“Can you walk?”

He asks, and you look up at him, unimpressed with the not-so-subtle tease.

“Shut up.”

You mumble, hoping and praying your legs wouldn't just give out on you and give him something else to tease you about.

“Oh yeah, sorry.”

He grabs the mask and pulls it back on his face, then turns to you.

“Can you walk?”

He repeats the question, clearly enjoying this more than he should.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. I saw how hard you got.”

“Okay, that’s it. Out.”

He gestures to the door, pulling it open to let you out of the room. You hold onto his hand, letting him lead. You ditch your shoes and he carries them for you as you both make your way towards the front door, glancing back in the direction of the party before turning back to face each other again.

“You wanna get the hell out of here?”

“Yeah.”

You nod.

“We gotta get all the use out of that mask before you toss it tomorrow.”

You point out, pulling the door open, and hear his laugh over your shoulder.

“You don’t think maybe you’ve had enough now?”

His voice cuts through the night, and you turn around with a playful smirk, feeling the cold, crispy autumn air fill your lungs.

“No, no, I don’t think so. Besides...”

You slowly pull the mask onto your face staring him down.

“I don’t think you’ve had enough either.”

[pasukiyo]

Hey! I really love your Riddle fics :)

Could we maybe get one where reader is in a relationship but has an attraction to Tom that she keeps under wraps? Like she tries to hide her crush on him but gets caught staring at him in class & etc- So he decides to do something about it.

It can be a little angsty too!

Hope it doesn't sound dumb, the idea just randomly came to me and I really like how you write for his character.

THIS CARNAL TETHER

tom riddle x f!ravenclaw!reader word count; 4,695 warnings; cheating!, fingering, smut! notes; vincent welch is not in canon, he is just an oc i made up for this particular fic! summary; you should've been over this crush years ago. but it's hard when tom riddle plagues your every thought and your boyfriend falls flat in the places you just knew tom wouldn't...

 All is quiet in the Ravenclaw common room, save for the scratching of her quill against her parchment and the fire crackling in the hearth in the room’s center. It’s well past curfew and many are already in bed, but she stays awake, lounging on one of the many sofas, her Charms homework in her lap. Moonlight spills into the common room through the many windows and her parchment is illuminated solely by the lamp at her side. 

 Sleep weighs heavily on her eyelids and she pauses her scribbling to dig her knuckles into them, mouth parting to make way for a yawn. She stretches out her weary muscles, rolling her neck around in her shoulders just as footsteps permeate the once silent common room and she blinks through her tired vision as Vincent Welch marches towards her, a scowl twisting his lips. 

 She raises an eyebrow as he plops down onto the space on the sofa beside her with a huff, lolling his head back until it hits the top of the seat. His eyes flutter closed and she grants him this small moment of peace until her curiosity can no longer be tamed. 

 “Is everything alright?” She asks and he sighs, threading his fingers through his locks of golden brown, pushing them away from his face. He doesn’t reply at first, but his lids peel back open and he locks his fingers over his stomach, blinking up at the stars glimmering on the ceiling. 

 “That damn Tom Riddle is going to be the death of me,” Vincent mutters, his clipped tone dripping with venom. She stiffens at the name and clears her throat, carefully placing her quill down onto the parchment in her lap. “Oh,” she simply says, casting her gaze down to the floor, unable to meet her boyfriend’s eye. 

 She can feel Vincent hastily move beside her and she wrings her hands together, willing the blood biting at her cheeks to dwindle. 

 “Ran into him earlier in the prefects’ bathroom and do you know what he said?” He asks and she presses her lips together, humming, prompting him to continue. “He thinks that I am not adequate enough to be a prefect. He thinks Dippet made a mistake in giving me the title,” Vincent scoffs and she can see the shaking of his head through her periphery. 

 Still, she does not yet turn to fully see him. 

 “I think the mistake Dippet made was making him Head Boy,” Vincent continues, leaning back into the sofa again. “It certainly didn’t aid in reducing his ego, don’t you agree?”

 She tries, really tries, to not let visions, even thoughts of Tom Riddle into her head, especially not with Vincent sitting right beside her. It’s entirely inappropriate, as well as it is unethical to think of another man when already committed to another. 

 And yet, she still cannot help the way her heart skips a beat when she thinks of the Head Boy like she’s a silly little first-year again, giddy and enthralled with her first crush. She’s crossed this bridge many times before but still, she teeters in the middle because no matter how hard she tries to continue pushing forward, to finally forget Tom once and for all, there’s still a part of her that desires to look back, to run back, even. 

 And how foolish this crush has made her, since Tom never so much as acknowledges her. In all her seven years at Hogwarts, she could only picture a handful of times where Tom has so much as glanced her way, and still, she finds herself plagued by wicked thoughts of betraying Vincent, of sullying whatever reputation she may or may not have had to indulge herself in these fantasies. 

 She feels sweat collect on her hairline and suddenly, everything is too much. The fire crackling in the hearth is too much, the velvet cushions of the sofa is too much, Vincent’s presence at her side is too much, these nefarious thoughts of Tom Riddle are too much, and all she really longs for is her bed, for sleep to overcome her so that she may escape her own mind for even just a moment. 

 She suddenly rises from her seat, clumsily hugging her parchment to her chest and Vincent stares up at her curiously, a hint of concern in the mossy green of his eyes. “Are you alright?” He asks and she notices his hand rise, reaching for hers and she moves away, albeit non-discreetly. 

 “I’m going to bed,” she announces and she has to swallow the lump in her throat, taking in a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m just… feeling really tired,” she murmurs, which isn’t exactly a lie. “I’ve been working on this for a while, I think it’s starting to make my head ache a bit,” she adds, breathing an awkward laugh. 

 Vincent blinks, his lips twisting in pity and he reaches for her hand again, grabbing it before she’s able to step away again. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t think he notices as he stands, leaning in to press a chaste peck to her lips. 

 “I hope you didn’t stay up for me,” he mutters, a guilty look creeping upon his face as his thumb soothes over the back of her hand. 

 She didn’t, but she appreciates that sentiment all the same. 

 She nods and forces a tight-lipped grin, ineptly pulling away from him and backing away. 

 “No, no, I just… well…” she trails off, cursing herself beneath her breath for being so ungraceful with her escape. “…well. Goodnight!”

 She hastily turns, making her way towards the staircase and not picking up her pace until she’s certain she’s out of his sight. 

 Needless to say, she’s still plagued with thoughts of Tom Riddle when she wakes the following morning. She feels awful for it and it even makes her feel sick to her stomach, so much that she skips breakfast altogether. She hurriedly scribbles down the rest of the answers to her Charms homework before she breaks for class, although the entire walk makes her feel even worse, considering this is a class she knows Tom Riddle will be in. 

 Her heart pounds against her chest as she climbs the steps down, leading to the Charms classroom. The majority of the class has already arrived, but she keeps her head ducked as she makes her way towards her seat, for she knows Tom Riddle is just on the other side of the room. Vincent sits next to her and he grins at her arrival, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek as he bids her good morning. 

 Her heart should flutter, her stomach should be doing somersaults, she should want to kiss him back. But her body was reacting to all the wrong reasons— because she could see Tom Riddle just from the top of her vision. Her heart should beat for Vincent, her stomach should do flips for Vincent, she should want to kiss Vincent. 

 The warmth in her cheeks should be for Vincent, but instead, they warm for the boy who does not care for her, for a boy who has never even blinked twice at her. 

 “Morning,” she replies, trying to smile but turning away before he realizes she’s not. The professor enters and she’s saved from further conversation with Vincent for the time being but still, she fights a battle to keep her eyes away from Tom. 

 She tries, she really does. But it’s so hard when she envisions the pinkness of his lips, the dark, inviting obsidian irises that seem to absorb the pupils in his eyes, the stony expression that seems to always be on his face, the one where his brows are knit and his jaw is set. It’s hard when she thinks of his hands and how his fingers look curled around his quill, how they move when he writes, how the veins on the back of them protrude when he stretches them a certain way. 

 Surely one look would not hurt, right?

 Just a swift glance, a fleet of the eyes, nothing more. Her gaze would not linger, only graze, and it would be for only the smallest of seconds, so nobody would notice. 

 Even as she tries rationalizing it, a small voice in the back of her mind protests, reminding her it is unwise, foolish even. She pushes the thought away and blinks up across the room to where Tom Riddle sits anyways, and she’s mesmerized. 

 He’s completely focused on the professor, transfixed on whatever lesson he was currently teaching (she hadn’t been paying attention, so she wouldn’t now.) His hands are just as she imagined them moments before— his fingers are wrapped around his quill, veins jutting from the skin on the back of his hand. 

 His lips are as pink as she remembers them, although they glisten now, as if he’d been swiping his tongue between them. And his eyes— they are as black as night, as bewitching as any spell in the book. She stares at them now and wonders how lost she might get in them, when—

 “Ahem.”

 She blinks herself out of her trance and finds that her professor now stands before her, a brow raised expectantly. 

 “Yes, Professor?” Her voice is small with embarrassment and the evidence comes in the form of blood biting her cheeks as she sinks down into her seat. “Your homework?” The professor asks and she clears her throat, dipping her chin as she rummages through her bag, fishing out the piece of parchment. “I apologize,” she says, handing over the scroll. The professor simply huffs, stalking away. 

 When he moves, she finds that Tom Riddle’s eyes are set on her, and those pink lips that were so tightly pressed in a firm, thin line before were now quirked to one side. His eyes, dark as they are, illuminate with something she can’t quite place— curiosity? Amusement? Humor?

 No matter the case, mortification seeps through her skin and she sinks further down into her seat. She feels Vincent lean into her shoulder, his breath fanning over her ear. 

 “Are you alright?” He asks in a whisper and she grumbles, pressing her lips together as she avoids looking across the room at Tom altogether. She settles on the wooden desktop before her and she reaches out to fiddle with the feather of her quill. “I’m fine,” she clips. “Just tired.”

 Vincent doesn’t attempt to question her further, more due to the fact that the professor was talking again rather than because of her behavior. She tries to still the beating of her heart as images of Tom looking at her flood her mind— it was driving her mental that she couldn’t quite decipher what that gleam in his eyes meant. 

 It was all she could ponder, and she was grateful that class ended before the professor had a chance to call her out again. 

 Vincent speaks beside her but she doesn’t hear a single thing he says as she swiftly gathers her things, tossing the strap of her bag over her shoulder, making her hasty exit. She cannot be in a room with Tom Riddle any longer— the mere presence of him had her acting foolish. 

 She makes a sharp right as soon as she leaves the classroom and begins her descent down the short staircase there, but she freezes where she stands almost as soon as she rounds the corner. 

 Tom Riddle lurks in the shadows of the staircase, arms crossed over his chest, back pressed to the wall. She presses her lips harder together to stifle any sounds that may emit as she turns, fully prepared to walk back up the stairs and find another route to her next class. 

 That is, until he speaks.

 Her name drips like oil from his lips and she feels like she’s been set ablaze. She’s never heard him say her name before, never even heard him fully acknowledge her before. It’s like a symphony and a cacophony to her ears all the same and she’s uncertain whether her heart skips beats out of fear or in delight. 

 Her mouth opens and closes and she feels stuck to the very ground she stands on as words try but inevitably fail to escape from her lips. She settles on shakily saying, “Tom,” feeling her very bones rattle as if just speaking his name caused some sort of internal earthquake. 

 Her arms drop to her sides and she brings her hands together to thread her fingers through one another. Tom stalks closer and the lingering fear in the back of her head that someone— that Vincent— could see them now has her shaking, but she’s incapable of moving. So, she allows him to draw near, even if it feels like with every step he takes, she comes closer to bursting. 

 “Is everything alright?” He asks, his voice dropping one sultry octave, and she thinks to herself if she had a galleon for every time someone has asked her the very question over the past twenty-four hours, she would be rich. 

 Her throat constricts around words she tries to speak and her mouth suddenly feels like a desert, so she settles on nodding her head in reply. Tom Riddle clicks his tongue as he finally comes close enough that he towers over her, like the moon in an eclipse. She tries to still the quivering of her jaw, but she’s certain her efforts come to no fruition, for those eyes as black as coal scour her face, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement. 

 “You seemed awfully distracted in class today,” he continues, speaking so matter-of-factly, she almost forgets she’s being interrogated. “It is unlike you, you know. To be so… sidetracked.”

 Her chest begins to rise and fall as she tries to will herself to breathe, and words muster on the tip of her tongue. This time, she finally speaks. 

 “Forgive me, Tom,” she says as steadily as she can manage. “But I fail to see how my performance in class today is any of your concern.”

 She’s just as surprised at herself as he is when she says it. His brows raise ever so slightly and she thinks: this could be her chance to escape, to rush down the last remaining steps and be rid of the nightmare. She makes her attempt to step away from him and she even manages to make it past him before a hand clasps around her wrist, his grip so tight, she’s nearly knocked to her bum. 

 “I don’t think that’s any way to speak to someone who is showing you concern,” he practically hisses, and his words feel like thorns slicing into her skin. “Or your superior, may I remind you.”

 She rolls her lips together and makes a feeble attempt to break away from his grip, but to no avail. “Forgive me, Tom,” she basically pleads, rounding her eyes in what she hopes is an expression soft enough, he’d spare some mercy on her. “I’m just… I’m just tired, is all.”

 “Tired?” He repeats and she nods. The corner of his lips curve, “yes, I suppose it must be exhausting trying not to think about me when your boyfriend is around, hm?”

 Weaves of horror thread through her cheeks like spider silk at the creeping realization that Tom Riddle knows she’s been staring at him, that she’s been plagued by thoughts of him. She isn’t sure how he knows of course, but at that moment, the answer didn’t matter. All she cares about now is fleeing, to find a moment alone where she can collect herself. 

 She breaks free from his grip at last and breaks down the rest of the stairs, turning the corner into the girls’ restroom, kneeling over to chase air back into her lungs once she’s alone. She feels impossibly hot, as if she were a volcano close to eruption. 

 After more than a few minutes have passed, she finally believes she can breathe, that she’s collected, that she’s calm, cool. She’s entirely late for Transfiguration, but Professor Dumbledore adores her; it shouldn’t be a problem if she’s a little tardy. She takes a deep breath as she approaches one of the bathroom mirrors, switching on the faucet and leaning over the sink, cupping water into her hands to splash them onto her cheeks. The cool water sends shivers slithering down her spine but it is refreshing— she feels better. 

 All that’s left to do now is leave and never run into Tom Riddle again. Simple. Easy. 

 She stands and wipes at her face with the sleeves of her robe, switching off the faucet and when she opens her eyes, she finds that she is no longer alone. 

 Tom Riddle stands behind her figure in the mirror and with a gasp, she turns, backing into the sink. She’s not sure whether to cry or run away or just let her desire take over her now, but what’s for certain is that all the work she made to calm herself has completely flown out the window. 

 “You’re so easy to read, you know,” he speaks as if they never stopped talking, slyly slithering back into conversation with great facility. Purely true snakelike fashion. “I always thought you Ravenclaws were supposed to be clever, but that boyfriend of yours is as dim as they come.”

 Tom stalks closer and again, she’s unable to move, left to simply watch as he caves in on her, his hands on either side of the sink she’s backed up into, caging her. In a matter of seconds, she’s whisked into his game of cat and mouse, prey and predator. The only problem is, she’s not sure if she wants to run. 

 Not when he’s so close she can smell him, that she can feel his breath on her face, his arms brush against hers, his legs subtly weaving their way between hers. 

 “How he cannot see that you do not desire him the way you desire this…” Either of their gazes drop to her lap as Tom’s fingers slither up her knee where her robe parts, the tips pushing her skirt up and up until his hand rests on the soft, pillowy flesh of her thigh. 

 Gooseflesh creeps down her arms, all the way down to her legs as she tries to comprehend that this is reality and she is not dreaming. Her bottom lip quivers and that irritating flutter in her heart is back, inspiring a tingle low in her belly. 

 “…how he cannot see that he’s not enough for you, that what you want is risk, is beyond me,” he whispers near her ear and his hand finds her center, a ghostly touch above her panties and she gasps, instinctively locking her fingers around his wrist. Her eyes find his and for a moment the world stills and there is no more Hogwarts, no more girls’ bathroom, no more classes and homework and professors, and no more Vincent. 

 Her world is solely Tom Riddle, a sea of oblivion she loses herself endlessly in. She’s sucked into his abyss and she is forever falling, forever damned to be lost in his void. But there is a rush that comes with being tethered to Tom Riddle in this twisted, carnal bind. There is a certain warmth that draws her in, that makes her feel at ease, like a moth to a flame. 

 She realizes that perhaps he is right. Being with Vincent was always too safe, too simple, too plain. Vincent is just too good, too docile, too nice. Tom Riddle may seem duteous on the outside, yes, but he is also authoritative, dominant. There’s something so appealing about risk, about danger. 

 Even just being here alone with Tom Riddle in the girls’ bathroom was more of a risk than Vincent ever even dreamed of taking. The faster the realization that she isn’t satisfied with Vincent creeps in, the more she realizes that Tom was even better than she initially imagined. The ache deep in her belly blossoms and she glances down to his lips before peering back up into that endless ocean of obsidian in his eyes. 

 “It seems that you’re only now coming to terms with what you want,” he speaks again and she swears his face is closer now to hers than it was before. She holds her breath, waiting for him to continue. “You see it now, don’t you? That you want this, that you’ve been craving this.”

 The hand on her underwear begins to move again and she exhales, gasping for breath as his fingertips reach the waistband, slowly inching beneath the fabric. His brows draw together and his fingertips halt just above her mound and it feels like her body is kicking, screaming for him to keep going. Her hips squirm but he holds them down with his free hand, never once breaking their gaze. 

 “I think I’d like to hear you say it,” he says, and her brows knit. She shakes her head, “what?” She sputters, trying to subtly rock her hips again but to no avail. His grip tightens on her flesh and she whimpers as he leans closer until their noses almost touch. His gaze darkens and suddenly, she’s under his trance, frozen by the crease between his brows. 

 “Say that you want me,” he whispers and his voice drips with derision, pulling her deeper into the murky waters of his black ocean, further into submission. “Then you can have what you so desire.”

 Fear stops her heart, but her libido resuscitates it. 

 Her mouth parts and she closes it again, recollecting herself before she tries again. 

 “I…” her voice is unsteady and she swallows, starting again. “…I want this. I want you, Tom.”

 Tom inhales sharply and for a moment, all is still again. She wonders if maybe he’s changed his mind, if he doesn’t actually want to do this, if the thought suddenly disgusts him, even. She feels so hot, like she could melt into a puddle of magma any moment now. She waits though, because how could she walk away now?

 The world is still one moment and it’s spinning out of control the next. 

 Tom Riddle’s lips crash into hers like lightning striking the earth and her ground rocks, but his hand finds the side of her neck and she’s stable again. Their tongues are in a war that Tom will eventually win, and when he does, she’s malleable. The hand partly inside her underwear sinks further down until the pads of his fingers trace a stripe from her nub to her core and back up, a relentless pattern that leaves her mind spinning. 

 She whimpers against his mouth as he finds her clit again, his fingers rubbing small, tight circles against it as if to vex her. She lolls her head back to the mirror as his mouth breaks away from hers to venture lower towards her neck. She pants as he finds a delicate patch of skin, suckling it between his teeth as he applies more pressure to her aching center. Her legs twitch and her knees begin to wobble, prompting Tom to use his unoccupied hand to lift her up onto the sink so that she now sits. 

 She yelps and clasps a hand over her mouth to suppress any louder noises that may emit when he sinks his teeth into her neck, pulling away to admire his work. His fingers swirl around her clit before trailing down to her sopping cunt, using his middle and forefinger to work her open with a scissoring motion. 

 Her eyelids flutter close and she’s seeing stars, much like the ones on the ceiling of the Ravenclaw common room. She imagines she is one of those stars, a little ball of gas that burns brighter and brighter with each pump of his fingers, each kiss his lips grace upon her skin. 

 Tom swirls his tongue over the tender mark on her neck, already bruising, no doubt. His mouth leaves trails of kisses all the way up her chin to her mouth again, his free hand making its way to the back of her head to fist a handful of her hair, and she opens her eyes again. She feels small beneath his gaze, but it’s not because of how he stares at her, it’s how he stares into her, like he’s a spider crawling into her mind, a vine twisting around her brain. 

 He’s got her completely under his control between his gaze and his fingers pumping inside of her and she’s never once been so utterly someone’s before until this moment. A line forms between her brows as he works a third finger into the mix and it feels like he’s practically digging her orgasm out of her. 

 She pants and reaches out for him, for anything on his body she can hold onto.  She settles for his elbow, the one on the same arm as the hand he has woven through her hair, her opposite hand falling to the side of the sink, her fingernails scratching the white surface. 

 “Tom, I’m…” she pants as he curls his fingers inside of her, using the pad of his thumb to circle her clit again. Her back is arching off of the mirror and somewhere in the back of her mind, she thanks Merlin that miraculously, nobody has walked into the bathroom yet. “…I’m going to… I’m…!”

 “Do it,” he encourages beside her ear, his breath like smoke on her skin. “Poor things’ been so neglected, hasn’t been fucked enough. You must’ve been waiting so long for me to come save you and give you an orgasm, hm?”

 She nods, feeling the salty bite of tears in her eyes. It’s all simply too much, being stuffed full of Tom’s fingers, his thumb on her clit, his fingers in her hair, his body so close to hers, his voice telling her such wicked things. To think that none of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t been caught staring at him earlier. That it took her dating someone whom Tom loathes such as Vincent to get her where she is now. 

 “Then do it,” he hisses again. “Come all over my fingers. Show me how neglected this poor cunt has been.”

 Such a dirty thing for him to say and yet, it’s exactly what she needs to send her over the edge. His fingers hook inside of her heat and her body spasms when she comes undone, her toes curling while her lips fall in a silent scream. Tom gathers her mouth to seal them in a kiss once more as she rides her orgasm out on his fingers, and she moans against his lips, allowing his tongue to swirl over hers. 

 It feels like she’s been falling forever, but Tom eventually pulls his fingers away, eyes spilling into hers as he brings them to his lips. She feels like she could have another orgasm just watching him taste her on his fingers. 

 She reaches forward to cup the back of his head, pulling his mouth down onto hers, tasting a mix of his spit and her cum on his lips. It’s all very obscene, but it makes it all the more gratifying all the same. 

 Tom eventually pulls away, his lips prettily pink and glistening with spit, and he backs away, dusting off his robes. She feels the crease form in her forehead as he begins making for the door and she tilts her head, mustering the energy to call after him. 

 “Where are you going?” She asks and he turns only to peer over his shoulder. She can see his raised eyebrow and she suddenly feels stupid for asking the question. “To class,” he replies and then, the corner of his mouth curls into a nefarious grin. It’s enough to even send shivers slithering down her spine— how wicked he looks, grinning like a devil with remnants of her release on his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you and your boyfriend in Defense Against the Dark Arts later.”

a/n; whew. i'm honestly surprised i got this one done LMFAO. anyways, THIS REQUEST HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY INBOX FOR MOST LIKELY OVER A YEAR AND I'M SO SORRY TO THE ANON FOR TAKING SO LONG TO WRITE THIS 😭 i still hope that if you are reading, you enjoy it! i hope this is angsty enough 😭

anyways, i hope everyone who reads this enjoys it! i absolutely love writing for tom and this is the most fun i've had writing for him since probably wrapped around your finger and its sequel :)

🪄 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! 🫶

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