#and figure out where/when/how Flick comes in

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae!!! I love your writing and have been a silent supporter for a long time but I was wondering if I could request something with one of the marauders (or all of them) having an oh moment, but not like an “oh I love them,” kinda thing but like an “oh I’ve made it” sorta thing? I don’t really know how to explain it well sorry, but like they didn’t think they’d actually be in this relationship or they didn’t think they’d get this far in life with them? I’m really sorry I’m just babbling on about something that doesn’t make sense but if you could find some way to write this or if I spark any kind of inspiration I would be so grateful!! Thank you for even considering and sorry for such a long request, love you! Can’t wait to see what you’ve got next! (But don’t overwork yourself! eat, drink, and sleep!!!)

Thank you for your lovely request angel! And thank you to @ellecdc for helping me figure out what to do with it :)

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 639 words

James listens as your voice changes, drifting into the kitchen and back out again as you go to toss an old newspaper into the bin. You’re tidying as you talk, telling him about the book you’ve just finished. Not so James will read it, but so he’ll feel like he has. Simply because you like to share things with him. 

You gather envelopes from the dining table between your hands, flicking through them absentmindedly, pausing in your rambling to ask, “Do you need this notice?” 

“No, that’s alright,” he says from the couch. “Bin it.” 

Your table has become a mess. James doesn’t know when it happened. It’s the closest thing to the door when you come in, so it’s accumulated receipts, flyers, and anything else the two of you don’t want to hold onto when you get home. You sort it all into piles, voice a reassuring melody. 

Outside, the sun is going down. Syrupy golden light bathes you in a warm glow, coming in through the window like it was meant to find you. James is honestly unsure how he got so lucky. 

James Potter is no stranger to love. He was brought up to feel with his whole heart, and he knows how fortunate he is to have parents who raised him that way, and friends as good as he has, and a girlfriend so lovely. But this life.

There’s your mail, all mixed together on the dining table. And the meal you’ll likely share there later, maybe with the tall candles you were so happy to find on sale earlier in the week. You could have last night’s leftovers, or James could make you his mother’s pasta, which you love, and lean over the table to kiss sauce off the corners of your lips. Afterwards you’ll probably curl up on the couch to watch one of your shows. James loves that you have shows you watch together, loves that you wait for him to watch new episodes and always say let’s just watch one more when you’re already heavy and yawning against his side. He loves your flat, and your inside jokes, and all the things you don’t need words for. 

He wonders how often people get this lucky. That they just go and make the perfect life with someone without even realizing. 

“Hey, sunshine.” 

You look up at him through the aureate glow. You appear amused at the new endearment, not of James’ usual repertoire. You don’t realize how fitting it is. 

“Could you come here for a moment?” 

“What’s up?” you ask, setting down the stack you’re working on. You sit just where he knows you will, tucked up against his side. James wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in snug like a key fitting to its lock. 

“Nothing,” he says, turning to give you a proper hug. You let him half haul you onto his lap, your hands on his shoulders and his face in your neck. You smell like home. Like your lotion and the bathroom after you shower and lazy Sunday mornings. 

“James.” Your voice is a happy hum by his ear. “What’s this about?” 

“I love you.” He nuzzles underneath your jaw, relishing your surprised laughter. “I love this. I love us.” 

Your fingers burrow into his curls. “I love us, too,” you say, softly. 

“Do you want my mum’s pasta for dinner tonight?” 

“Ooh, yes. Always.” You pull back from him, holding his head still so you can look at him. Your thumb draws a loving semicircle by his temple. “I was thinking I could light those candles I found.” 

James beams. “I thought you might.” 

You give an odd smile back. Bemused, but also horrendously besotted. “You’re being weird.” 

James kisses you sweetly with a smile still on his lips. “Only for you, my love.”

[revelboo]

YOU 🫵 AGAIN HAVE FORSAKENED ME

I went to Walmart and saw THIS and was like, yeah I need that 😭 THEY HAD SO MUCH TF:ONE STUFF TOO?? My bank account is crying already 😭😭

Sorry for shit quality. I was excited 😅

All the figures! 🤣 Do it, do it, do it

Everything Is Alright Pt 104

IDW Starscream x Reader, Megatron x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• “Problem?” Megatron growls, tempted to reach and touch you just to antagonize Starscream, but something about the expression on the Seeker’s face is almost dangerous. Furious and desperate and barely in control. “You should be gentler with your mate,” he says instead as Starscream’s optics narrow. Remembering those ragged sounds of grief you’d made and the way they'd twisted through his spark. You're only human and he shouldn't even care, but those sounds had bothered him. Never wants to hear them again. Sliding off the berth, he towers over the Seeker, ignoring as Starscream flares his wings. “Don’t make our pet cry again or I’ll take it out on you.”

• Gritting his denta as he stands his ground, Megatron shoulders past him, unconcerned with his anger. Not seeing him as a threat. Turning when the door closes behind Megatron, he mass shifts and grabs Soundwave’s shoulder, trying to pull him away. Hissing through his denta when the communications officer loops a possessive arm around you. Refusing to let you go from where he has you in his lap. “You left,” Soundwave growls in warning and his wings droop.

• “I came back,” Starscream mutters, optics sliding to you and expression softening. Kneeling beside Soundwave and offering you his hand. Asking you to come to him willingly. And you're not sure that you want to. Soundwave stayed and he didn't. “I’ll always come back for you.” But he still left you. Again. “Please?” That raspy whisper does you in and you reach for him, let him pull you to him and wrap his arms around you.

• “You keep hurting me,” you whisper and Soundwave’s spark constricts, hearing the unspoken ‘and I keep letting you.’ Knows you love the Seeker and he hates that fact right now. Hates Starscream as the Seeker rests his chin on top of your head, optics shuttering. Because he’s not sure the other mech understands how badly his rejection and denials hurt you. That alone convincing him that he needs Megatron tied to you. Someone that can force Starscream to be better. Because he won’t allow him to hurt you again. He can't. You'll forgive him in time. Realize that this was the only way. That it was all for you, to protect you.

• Grinding his denta at the pain in your voice and that you don’t sound surprised, like you expected him to hurt you. And that hurts him spark deep. Don’t you understand how much you mean to him? That you’re home and now a future? That you're the only spot of warmth and happiness in his life? Wings flicking as he tries to ignore Soundwave watching and listening, he tips your chin up and brushes his mouth against the corner of yours, nudging your forehead with his helm. "I was afraid," he admits, lips brushing yours, hating saying it out loud. Owning up to the fear and insecurity. Little, soft hands touch his face as you brush a kiss against him.

• "You think I'm not?" Because you're terrified and the one person who should have been there, ran away. Again. Really, you're the one in the dark here. Sparklings? You have no idea how this is going to work. Because the thought of actually birthing something like him, metal not soft flesh like you? There are so many questions, but you're half afraid if you ask them, he'll panic and bolt again. He's already so fidgety and uncomfortable. But he still loops his arm around you, holding you close. And you want to believe that he won't abandon you again, but you're not sure that you can anymore. Once is an accident, but twice?

Previous

Next

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter nine: Under Pressure

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10

The afternoon had come and gone quickly, the hours slipping by unnoticed as you focused on the task at hand. Since In-ho had left your quarters earlier to tend to the business of the Games, you had thrown yourself into the design for the VIP room, the thoughts from earlier swirling around in your mind as you worked. The layout was coming together faster than you expected, the ideas you’d envisioned starting to take shape on the screen in front of you.

You had decided on the details for the room—a space inspired by Ancient Greece, with dark marble walls and deep green plants to contrast the heavy architecture. You had even sketched out the placement of the statues, where they’d be posed like ancient figures, their sheer togas whispering against the dark air. You’d chosen minimal gold accents—just enough to catch the light, just enough to hint at opulence without overwhelming the room. It wasn’t much, but you had done what you could to breathe some life into the cold, hollow shell that the VIP room had been before. You wanted something that would feel alive.

When you finished the layout, you felt a moment of relief. It was done. You sat back in the chair, rubbing your eyes tiredly. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been working—time always seemed to disappear when you were lost in the task.

You glanced toward the door, the space now quiet and still without In-ho’s presence. The silence felt heavy, but not the same way it did when he was distant. Now, it felt like there was something waiting to be acknowledged. You didn’t know what it was, but it was there, lingering just beneath the surface.

You took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts aside. There was no point in dwelling on it. You had work to do.

After reviewing the layout one last time, you gathered up the sheets of paper and the digital file on your tablet and made your way down the hall to In-ho’s office. The room was silent when you entered, the heavy wooden doors closing softly behind you. In-ho was sitting at his desk, his eyes focused on the tablet in his hands. He didn’t look up when you entered, but you could feel his attention shift toward you the moment you approached his desk.

“I finished the layout,” you said, holding out the tablet with the digital design for him to see.

In-ho didn’t respond right away. He leaned forward slightly, his masked face unreadable as he studied the layout you’d created. His fingers brushed over the tablet screen, moving slowly as he scrolled through the details. The room was so still you could hear his faint breath. You didn’t know what he was thinking, but you had to trust him to make the final decision.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he looked up at you. His gaze was steady, but you couldn’t tell if he liked the design or if he was just processing it.

“It’s good,” he said simply. “I’ll approve it as is. It’s what we need.”

Relief washed over you, the tension in your shoulders easing as you allowed yourself to breathe. He hadn’t rejected it, hadn’t dismissed the work you’d put in. He approved it.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

He nodded, his gaze briefly flicking back to the design before he set the tablet aside. “Get the contractors on it. We don’t have much time. The VIPs will be here tomorrow.”

You nodded in understanding. The second day of the Games had arrived, and with it, the first wave of VIPs. They’d be descending on the compound tomorrow, and the room had to be ready. There was no room for delay.

You started to leave the office when In-ho’s voice stopped you.

“Wait,” he said, looking up from his desk. “I’ll need you to contact the contractors personally. Have them start immediately. And make sure to check in with the staff to make sure the preparations are in place for tomorrow.”

You turned back toward him, surprised by the sudden responsibility, but it wasn’t unwelcome. The thought of managing everything yourself felt… empowering in a way. It gave you a sense of control, a sense that you weren’t just a piece in this strange, warped game anymore.

“I’ll handle it,” you said, a new sense of confidence rising in your chest. You had something to focus on, something concrete. Something to fight for. “I’ll take care of it.”

He nodded once, his eyes narrowing slightly as if sizing you up, but not in a threatening way. It was more like he was… watching you. It made you feel more aware of the space between you. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling, just… heavy. Like he was silently waiting for something.

“You’ll do well,” he said softly, and though the words were simple, there was a sincerity in his tone that surprised you. “You always do.”

The compliment, however casual it seemed, hit you in a way you hadn’t expected. You weren’t sure what to say in response, so you simply nodded.

“Thank you,” you said, finally turning to leave. Your heart was still pounding from the weight of his words, but you didn’t let it stop you. There was work to do, and you weren’t going to waste any more time.

———————

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. You spent the next few hours making calls, reaching out to the contractors, getting the details sorted for tomorrow. You were quick, efficient, making sure everything was on track for the arrival of the VIPs. There was no room for mistakes. Not with the pressure mounting.

When everything was finally set, you felt like you could breathe again. The room would be ready. The models, the plants, the statues—you had everything in place. You were almost there.

As the evening drew closer, you sat in the quiet of your bedroom. You were exhausted. But there was a strange, quiet pride in the work you’d done.

And as you sat there, feeling the weight of the day’s work, your thoughts wandered again to In-ho. The tension between you both had shifted, hadn’t it? Something had changed this morning after your conversation, something that felt more real. He had spoken to you like you weren’t just a stranger in his life, like you were someone he could trust.

But you still didn’t know where this was heading. You weren’t sure what he felt, or if he was even capable of feeling anything outside of the role he played. You couldn’t get ahead of yourself. You had to focus on what was in front of you. The Games. The room. The VIPs arriving tomorrow.

But when the door to the bedroom creaked open, and In-ho stepped in, mask in his hand, he looked at you with a hint of something. Something that you hadn’t seen before.

“The room is ready,” you said, standing up quickly, the business of the day still lingering in your voice.

In-ho gave a small nod, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing your words. “Good. I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly. But tomorrow… we’ll be back to the Games. Don’t forget that.”

You nodded, but the heaviness of his words lingered in the air.

“I won’t forget,” you said, the quiet promise hanging between you.

And for a moment, you didn’t feel quite so alone.

———————

Chapter nine!! They’re becoming closer! Lemme know what you think! Thank you! :)

Tag list:

@sunny21200

@lucinda-reads

@shakysif

@whoisbriannaa

@allmylovegoestomusic

@swthrtbyeol

@strawberrychita

@hoddystark

@livelaughcelica

@foulbreadpaenut

@write-from-the-heart

@angelofthorr

@sylviavf

@missroro

@siloveyourmoms

@luv1ze

@audrey223

@khaylin27

@gay4hotmilfs

@mimis-u3u

@captainlunaxmen

@cdej6

@ritaaaz07

@chateaumarmontt

@eepgirls

@ushouldhmhas

@fedsvenable

@dahliawarner

@fyodorssimp1

@nanamilkbread

@eveie24

@jackbootedfucks

@maiznamai

@r3va-dwme

[phoenixblaze1412]

Can we get a gn reader x Webtorre scenario with some jealousy and fluff pls?

Also may I be 🦎 anon?

Of course you can, anon^^

It was a rare quiet moment in the chaos of the city. The streets of Snezhnaya were bustling with the usual energy, but you found a brief reprieve in the small café near the edge of the district. You were sitting by the window, a warm drink in hand, glancing through a book, though your attention often drifted to the soft music playing in the background.

You had been coming to this café more often recently, mostly because it gave you a chance to escape the noisy distractions of your day-to-day life and just breathe. It was a peaceful escape, one that didn’t require any thought or heavy work.

But of course, as soon as you’d found your spot today, Webttore had shown up.

He had a knack for knowing where you were, even if you didn’t explicitly tell him. Whether it was a coincidence or him just keeping tabs on you, you didn’t know—but here he was, sitting across from you in a booth, his eyes narrowed with a slight, almost imperceptible frown as he tapped his fingers against the side of his drink.

You smiled at him, the corners of your lips curving up warmly. “What’s up? You look like you’re about to start a war.”

He didn’t immediately respond. Instead, his attention was drawn to the group of people a few tables over, all laughing and chatting, their voices rising above the soft hum of the café. His gaze lingered a little too long, eyes narrowing when one of them—a young man—gestured toward you and winked.

Webttore’s lips twisted into a barely restrained frown. “Is there a reason they’re eyeing you like that?” His voice, normally smooth and collected, was tinged with something a little sharper now, almost protective.

You raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of your drink as you watched him. “Eyeing me? I didn’t even notice,” you replied, trying to play it cool.

But Webttore wasn’t fooled. He leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the table, his sharp gaze never leaving the group. “You’re always so oblivious to things like this.” His tone wasn’t harsh, but the irritation was definitely there. “That guy,” he said, gesturing discreetly to the man who had winked at you earlier, “has been staring at you for the past ten minutes. He’s got no shame.”

You blinked, following Webttore’s line of sight and spotting the man in question. He was definitely glancing your way, but his gaze quickly shifted when he noticed you were looking. You sighed, shaking your head. “You’re imagining things, Webttore. Really, it’s nothing.”

But Webttore wasn’t buying it. His jaw tightened slightly, the usual playful glint in his eyes now replaced with a serious, almost possessive look. “No,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I don’t think it’s nothing.”

There was something almost childlike about the way his frown deepened, like a petulant child upset that someone was getting too close to their favorite toy. You chuckled lightly, trying to defuse the tension. “Webttore, are you… jealous?”

His eyes flicked to you, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m not jealous,” he said firmly, but there was a slight edge to his voice. “I just don’t like people staring at what’s mine.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite figure out how to respond. "What’s yours?" you repeated quietly, your voice more teasing than anything. Was he serious? Or was he just messing with you, as he often did?

Webttore shifted in his seat, his fingers nervously tapping the corner of his cup. He seemed to realize how his words might have come across, but he didn’t retract them. Instead, his expression softened, and he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest with a reluctant sigh. “Okay, maybe I’m a little.. possessive. But it’s not like I’m the only one who notices you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his slightly awkward admission, and the tension that had settled over you both began to ease. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous, you know that?” you teased, a warm smile spreading across your face.

Webttore immediately rolled his eyes, but there was a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I’m not adorable,” he muttered, trying to act unaffected by your teasing. “You’re just making it worse.”

You reached out, gently tapping his hand on the table, your fingers brushing over his. It was a small gesture, but it made Webttore’s breath catch in his throat, the sudden intimacy of it throwing him off balance for a moment.

“Don’t worry,” you said softly, your voice a bit more serious now, “I’m not interested in anyone else. Just you.”

Webttore’s eyes flickered to yours, his sharp, calculating gaze softening for a brief moment. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it was a vulnerability that you only got to see when you were close to him.

“Good,” he said, his voice low but with a subtle warmth. “Because if anyone else tried anything..” He trailed off, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Well, let’s just say they wouldn’t get far.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering in your chest at his protectiveness. It was rare to see this side of him, and though it was a little possessive, it felt comforting. There was something about the way he cared for you without saying much, without making a scene that made you feel special.

“So, you’re telling me I’m yours now?” you teased, unable to resist poking fun at the situation.

Webttore rolled his eyes again, but this time, there was no mistaking the smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t get used to it,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes. “I don’t normally do these things.”

You leaned in closer, your voice softer now. “I like it. I like you.”

And before he could respond, you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, the warmth of your lips lingering for a moment. When you pulled away, Webttore’s cheeks were flushed, and he shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“I-well, uh.. don’t do that again,” he stammered, but his voice was full of affection despite his protests.

You just grinned, happy to see the normally confident Webttore flustered. "You're the one who started it," you teased, reaching for your drink again.

Webttore shook his head, but his gaze lingered on you fondly. "You're lucky I like you, (Y/N)."

"Yeah," you murmured, smiling softly, "I’m really lucky."

And in that quiet moment, you both understood something unspoken: even with his teasing and prideful attitude, Webttore cared for you more than he'd ever admit. And you, in turn, were more than happy to stick by his side, jealousy and all.

[saoirseyun]

━━━━FIGURE IT OUT, MY BAD HABIT.

⸝⸝ x fem!secretary!reader

IN WHICH━━ beast!dazai can't seem to find himself to love you back any further than what you two currently have.

CONTENT WARNING━━ angst, emotional hurt no comfort, arguements, fear of commitment, lack of proper communication, manipulative behaviors where both parties may be at fault*, sick and or twisted narrations, unhealthy coping mechanisms, sexual imagery, proceed with caution.

AUTHOR'S NOTE━━ written for a fantastic writer, @moomuzan. definitely check out ella's works every now and then if you got the time to—swear on my life, you wouldn't get hurt :]

WORD COUNT━━ 1.7k words, proofread

—He's implicitly tense tonight.

Maybe much more tense than normal, you'd eventually notice. After how he's hardly safekeeping those stiff emotions in check, his face in itself was becoming all too transparent for the eye's witness; your boss—the leader of Port Mafia himself—Dazai unable to stabilize his own nerves.

Why can't he; why must it have to be now, of all times? A begrudge—horrible look to his expression that blur between such nervous eyebrows and lips, the more you stared, and the longer he hesitates. It dishearten you, of rigid sensations from Dazai's skin in itself despite coming to be used to such sweet specks from those fingers, his hands... Eyes were barely ever on yours either tonight—anxious. And knowing Dazai he isn't a man to subject the tenderness of the heart.... It's inevitable to say that it's foreign to observe, closely, he's failing breaths and tearing his own body apart in that brain. You loosen your own grasp of his hand, the way it trembles shyly little by little.

He pulls away last second from your kiss, the thumb lazing on your delicious lips strokes itself away as Dazai took a step back and stares downward to your pretty face. He's not so confident, where as taking the move without drawled backs or even regretting to take it as his own, sort of confidence. Especially the sudden pause in Dazai's maple eyes and just knowing you'll be too intoxicating for him, he'd think. Was all he ever thinks inching away from you. "Do you still know what you're getting yourself into?" Dazai ensures,

And this? Far too often has this happen, for god's sake. A damn hassle just to get Dazai convinced enough that he does maybe loves you the fullest of his heart.

"...Dazai-san, please, it's obvious enough." Bathed breath evaporates from those shaky, tired lips. Frustration felt against the once comforting closure with Dazai... your brows knit together. "I've already told you about it time after time, why are you reacting this way?"

"I only desire to make sure so."

"...You're my secretary, are you not? I don't know much about you yet."

When you've lean your head to the side and take a couple moments blindly admire his brown eyes. Only, to some degree frizzled with the liberal strands of his brunet hair in the way—oh naturally so, you'd take the sweet time fixing Dazai's unkempt front bangs. He, in himself, maybe can only do very much less as he fixates his watch on you.

"It can't be."

You say, softly, rather defensively. Touch for touch, you felt his body beneath your hand. "You weren't one to act so hesitant." Which can be said towards anything he does. You've come to learn his sweet little mannerisms and etiquette regarding anything. "So what is it, 'samu? What's gotten into your head?"

But asking that is the worst possible thing you could've done imaginable right now. Watch attentively now—the click of his tongue and slipping those fine digits off from yours.

"Listen, we..."Dazai stops himself. A flick of his slim hand off the delicate skin that is your cheeks, a shift to his demeanor. "We've brought this up a couple of times. I'm still sure of that... However, I—"

"—can't have myself falling in love like this. Nor could I even let you."

He'd reminded—ramble on how it's too dangerous for you to be this close this life more than only being his secretary. Strictly. You weren't going to stand right there and listen, were you? You two—you two can make it out! Have it work, it's proven. Time after time, you and Dazai only seems natural to become a couple. How could he say those kinds of words so casually? What kind of sick freak. Frantic to think for some sort of explanation before—

"And why not? It's as difficult enough to make myself come to admit all of... this! My love!" You weren't even anticipating those same insults to blurt out your lips. To the palpable air and terrible, terrible vibe. "Now you're right here in front of me, telling that you're not allowed?" A scoff, "You've kissed my mouth several other times before, held this hand of mine into yours and just keeping each other as close as possible..." ...It scares you to think. To think that, perhaps, nonetheless the times he had mutter delectable, sweet words to your ear in times of need—private rendezvous underneath rain's cover or the safety of his locked office space—Dazai's an all-talk attitude. Albeit having the kind of demeanor of a sicken, lonely freak who's quite the gentleman regardless in reality. You've come to know him deeper by now, delicate, close, genuine, raw. Yet here you stand in the moment—doubting your own head.

...Guessing that it could potentially even be what Dazai wants all along—playing, foolish through your head and loosen the guard of your own senses. And him? He was disappointed with the ignorant faces you're making, unaware. "Please, now, my precious bella. Don't think of me so lowly. I'm not like myself as... much as I would like today. Trust me, have a little faith in me?" For your beloved? Yes, yes. A thousand times—without second thoughts or barely some times to think it thoroughly more. Definitely. Now? What about now? You'd think, not at all. "...Osamu, you're not sugarcoating me into believing that. I hate it when you try sweet talk on me too, y'know!?"

"I'm not trying anything." He'd raise his hands in defense. Headlock a terrifying shiver to the ear and falling to his spine as Dazai frowns at your reaction.

And then, you're tense. Tenser than ever.

Now, he'll ask himself, what has he done wrong? Can't you get it? You agreed to make it casual too, nothing serious—thus nothing more. It harms the heart nevertheless of such nonchalant words and mentally damaging, that's the jist. For some reason you've felt truer affection for the Port Mafia boss.

He's right on the money. You never wanted committment either from the start.

"Just take a look at us! I mean, it's been some time since we've began to privately date one another and I'm coming to realize that maybe I belong with you." It was exactly... naïve-esque much to Dazai's expectations. That desperate almost glint in the reflection of your darling eyes and such insistence. Kind of blissfully unaware which makes it all come crashing down in a major offense. Sorry if it hurts you in a way, surely he would've thought too alongside that in his head.

"That right there... That is one major problem."

A direct slap to your face, is what it all felt him muttering those words coldly with the bare minimum to pause and... Think. Think about you. Of certain love. "You're only getting it in your head! Don't act so cowardly to it."

"...[name], what I'm doing is for your benefit to be safe and sound—out of every fucking mess I get into with Mafia work. Now it won't even be smart and get with me... What's it to you, stubborn woman? You're a mere assistant to me; You shouldn't be explicitly involved."

Must he mistaken you to a underling? Working for a year under the organization's belt, you stood by Dazai's side for more than a single 12 months... You've felt the heart gone to hell and return between conflict after conflict, an unending cycle of relentless violence, blood smudge to the floors and grounds until the building themself stink of death and rotten flesh.

It's vile.

You can't help the words your mouth involuntarily spoke out in rebel to Dazai's repetitive rejection. Perhaps you did, or even not— "We can still be together and have that same level of security!" Is what you argue. Maybe double—or triple is what an unrealistic dream seems to be, but it can't hurt and imagine sometimes towards on that.

It was in the heat of the moment specifically why you won't back down, however.

As much as temptation touches the heart of his in sound of that ideal life, the two of you knew that deep down, it remains as nothing more as an ideal for another life instead. It's dangerous, life-threatening. If he falls for you now, it'll all collapse under a swift gaze of brute enemies dying of bloodthirst. That's all, all he ever knew. Ponder longer and for once the mafioso might be able to snap out of frustration, agony. Pain to what can't be have in his bandaged hands or held even a fraction near his bruised wrists. In shock, Dazai didn't notice the insult your lips blurt out, failure to comprehend after thought. Better yet, why must Dazai wonder about the whole ordeal now—his problematic worries and indescribable hyperbole fears. The man would've overthink and handle the situation at hand with ease... Thus maybe resting another couple of bottles last night was not the brightest.

Without a second to talk back you take in the irritation. "...Actually, y'know what? I don't even know why I agreed to this relationship." But fine, it was fun and scandalous to mess around oh so unprofessional with the man who's status much stands higher than you, wasn't it? Don't lie. Enter the office and share a brief kiss, exchange little gifts every now and then but often suggest a quickie or two on the chair—maybe his desk that you just so happen to enjoy ruining out of pleasure and sadism.

You turn from Dazai. Facing the flat exit in view, only the heel of your feet readying to walk away.

"I'll spell it out, though. I won't get sick for who you are but instead for what."

"I know I'll be in your heart until the end." Dazai observes how furious you would've been, rushing out of the office at once. "...You'll miss me, but don't beg me, babe."

...It is what it is. After that very last time of an encounter holding him as if Dazai was truly nothing but your own, you'll quit; first thing in the morning, and that settles it. Regardless of Dazai's disapproval.

You can't help but wonder if he really did meant well.

postscript: i knew that writing this kind of dynamic could be delicate, complex, and or even complicated to write in a way the [narrator] can't stand on either side; a losing battle where neither are satisfied and feels unhealthy. i guess that's the appeal to stubborn, rehashed arguements particularly anyway. id want the reader make up their own conclusion.

~from south korea with love, 수빈

[themareverine]

Only When It's Right | Logan Howlett x fem!OC

synopsis: "Does it always feel like this?" He chuckles, "Only when it's right, honey," dips low, worships her like every fucker in Alberta only prays to. "Only when it's right."

warnings: X1 Logan, mentions of noncon touch, gunfire, Logan being a little toxic.

a/n: DON'T ASK ME WHERE THIS CAME FROM IT'S JUST HERE, OK YOU'RE WELCOME. I’m going back to DOFP!Logan, now, byeeee.

He finds her underneath the stars. In the shimmer of a trying drizzle, between two headlights milking out a backdrop of what appear to be stacked logs. Sleeping giants in the ghosttown the lumberyard has become, dead with afterhours asystole. Chill in the air shows him his breath, and Logan can see the air through the high lamps on her parked Wrangler.

Guiding his truck along washed out ruts and lumberyard paths better navigated with heavy machinery, he pops the gearshift into park.

Sees her standing between the two milky swaths of light that cut across witchy darkness, legs akimbo. Arms drawn out into a diamond in front of her, hands wrapped around the fat grip of what he thinks is a Glock 43, but won't know until he eyeballs it, close and personal.

Figures she'd be somewhere, off alone. Probably to think. Girls don't claw through incidents like the one he'd witnessed hours before and get out without thoughts spinning their pretty little heads, and — he hasn't known her long, hell no. Doesn't have to. But what he knows of this particular case can be boiled down to two very simple little things.

She's a runner, and she's an overthinker.

He slaps the truck's door closed with a thunk, rattles the whole damn thing as he leans back through the open window to flick on high beams. Slips hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, retrieving a cigarette and his light. Probably mostly pointless, since it's trying to rain, but — Logan's never really cared.

The end of the cigarette smolders to life in a plume of fierce amber as he comes up on her, carefully. She's noticed, of course. Clocked him the second his headlights cut up next to hers, a quick glance over the shoulder. He'd never be able to miss those sapphire eyes for anything, even in the blanket of night.

Pop pop. Two shots, right after the other. Pause, follow through, recollect. Logan can see her take a breath, watches how her shoulder ripple with the muscle movement. Notices the exhale, watches how her wrist flicks with just the tiniest effort to pull the trigger back — click.

Empty. "What are you doing out here, Logan."

It isn't a question as she turns on her heel, pistol coming to her side. Mostly-wet curls hang loose, frizzed from where she's attempted to tie them back under the ballcap. A ratty Wyoming homage that's darkened with rain and wear, she wears it when she doesn't want to muss with hair, which is all the time.

A coveted possession, really, Logan's seen her change it out with others it a handful of times, but it's her favorite.

Girls. "Gotta have a reason?" He shrugs a shoulder and slips into one of the cuts of headlight, following her to the hood of the Jeep where she's got the pistol's case and a box of rounds perched in the wet air, "Just in the neighborhood, kid." Watches her pluck the greasy cleaning rag from the case, skip it over the water pooling along the blued steel.

Her ocean blues cut up to him like they are hot knives, slicing through butter his flash has become — the corner of her mouth ticks up, just so. Cheeks a pleasant red from the snap of cold in the air, a dewy film has risen up on her glasses, glistens as the light catches it at the right angle on the high of her cheekbones.

And she almost looks like creamy starlight, fading in and out of midnight smoke in the air that signals fire.

Logan decides immediately that she is definitely not a kid. The name no longer sticks.

"Ain't really a neighborhood," her hand gestures beyond, a nod of her head following to the darkness beyond the headlights spotlighting them, "but whatever. If you came to talk, don't bother. Heard it all before."

And she thinks she knows. Maybe she does. There's really only a handful of things you could ever say to a soul that's been publicly castrated, humiliated and backed into a corner. He'd seen grown men go weak in the from less, but women — women. They were a different breed. Stand there and let you skin them alive without so much as a flinch, probably smile. Offer you the knife.

She'd simply just stood there, quiet, and managed to gracefully change the subject like some untouchable thing.

Clearly, she isn't as untouchable as she wanted everyone — including him — to think.

"Not here to talk, champ. There a law against checkin' in on people?"

She snorts. "This is Canada, right? Ya'll have more laws than God." It takes work not to smile, and Logan fails, managing a smirk. "And after what just happened in there? Yeah, there is." Her eyes lift to him, icy flash arctic enough to stop his blood. "Don't bother playing dumb with me, Logan, I know you ain't stupid."

"Never with you, darlin'." Pausing, her hand stops mid-air. Logan watches her weigh the weight of the world in her eyes, fighting the urge to look at him. Loses, she does — she sums him up, quickly.

Popping out the magazine, she begins loading. Falls back against the brush guard of the Jeep, booted feet crossed at the ankles as she works bullets with raw, chilled fingers.

"Just further evidence to me that it doesn't matter how hard you work, how much you change, it's never enough for them."

The way her eyes move beyond him, into the ether — he gets it.

Vitriol snakes in and out of her words from her back teeth, which, if clenched any tighter, the bones of her jaw would rake together in a song that would wake the dead. Taking a drag on his cigarette, wishing to God it was a cigar, he nods. Understanding. Because if anyone understood what trying to be different — with living among the unlivable — means, it's him.

Wolverines, after all, don't exactly live in society. "He was an asshole," coming up beside her, he kicks back against the brush guard himself, cigarette hanging low in the corner of his mouth as his hands slip into his pockets, this time his jeans. "Most men are, you probl'y know that."

Snapping the magazine back into place, her head doesn't lift from considering her boots, strewn with mud and water stains from the wet dirt. "Yeah. Just didn't appreciate the way he grabbed me, either."

That was news. How'd you miss that, Logan? "That asshole touched you?"

"Mhm. Hips. It's whatever."

His brow snaps up. "It ain't whatever, sweetheart. It's fuckin' pathetic," the edge of his tone is almost bitter, like the cold blade of a knife. "I would've seen 'im, would've driven him through the fucking floor."

Another long drag on his cigarette does little to soothe the itch in his blood, instead just sends his pulse pistoning between his ears. Kicking his foot over the other, he settles against the Jeep a little harder, feels it sway with his weight.

Color creeps up her neck, her eyes drag away down to the toes of her boots in the mud, playing with a little stone. "Nobody's ever done that for me, Logan," she chuckles, looks beyond the headlights, to the log backdrop before them, "but the thought is nice. Thanks."

Pushing herself from the Jeep, she moves back between the cuts of light, not giving him room to respond. And he isn't sure if he would, should. They're friends, colleagues.

She works the cage, ringmaster and snatching cash from easy-as-candy-from-babies gamblers and the entertained.

He takes the hits. Watches her parade around in her jeans that fit tight and fucking amazing, cowboy boots, and that ratty ass ballcap. All moxie and gusto, she was born for a stage, he thinks. Recall reminds him that she naturally belongs in places he only tolerates, everywhere he's fought tooth and claw to struggle.

Effervescently, she does it with an air that's almost sick. And she's never made a big deal of sexualizing her way in and out of pocketbooks — came with the gig, the cage. Even for an unconventional, curvy little thing like her.

Hammed it up, actually, stuffing money in her tits, in painted-on jean pockets that cut her curves like a damn roadmap. Had become a persona, a sort of calling card — you bet right, you get to choose where your cash came from.

Like some all-curves, sapphire-eyes fucking ATM.

Her alias. It wasn't supposed to work for him.

The guys around the cage had started calling her the Honeybadger — because while she was sweet to look at, sweet to touch, there were teeth. Claws. A ferocity that trembled beneath the surface like spidering ice.

More than once, Logan had seen her shove off over eager hands. Threaten a man within an inch of his dick.

Honeybadger and the Wolverine. Pff.

Sounded fuckin' ridiculous, like some circus sideshow. People liked it, though. Rolled off the tongue good. Made him a shit tonne of cash, she never complained about her cut, either. Her theatricality cocktailed with his unbeatable, unkillable mutation made for one hell of a gig.

Half the time Logan wasn't sure if crowds were betting to see him throw cuffs, or because she was so damn pretty. Ultimately it didn't matter, the circumstances.

What mattered was the way he almost came un-fucking-glued in that damn bar, watching that fuckin' toad make eyes at the sweet little thing he'd been dreaming about for four fuckin' months.

Her, someone who, over their knowingship, had become his friend. An unlikely ally in the fight to outlive this Canadian log town and its phantom populace. Somewhere along the lines of her life, God had taught her to hang the moon and stars, stop the world every time she smiled. And she was a prized student, he knew — divine, probably.

Aphrodite waters of a kind he'd never tasted, but thirsts for. Enough to make his heart stop, his lungs more adamantium than his bones.

Logan didn't usually go for girls like this. Sweethearts. He went for the poisonous, the dangerous. Ladies of the neon, the women who lurked on corners or hung on your arm, drunk and doe-eyed in that fuck me kinda way. Not the soft and sweet honeychilds of the sunkissed morning, who looked good in sundresses and lipstick and challenged the glory of the very stars.

Always a man who could never burn, he didn't mind the taste of the hot and heavy, the pits of the noncommittal.

Liked the quick fucks and heavy makeup of drunken nights and neon, the veil that hid away the person, instead just another nameless, same-face Barbie doll to ease his desires.

Vixens and painted women tasted a kind of good that he'd learned to crave over the long, cold years of outliving. A stable sex diet, for sure. Where there was one, there would be another, and the universe never stopped churnin' out tit.

He'd be fucked before he ever considered anything lasting. With someone worth a shit, any of his tries. Questions if anyone like that even exists on this rock, anymore.

And Logan shouldn't be so pissed at how nonchalant she is about being touched, but he is. Feels his guts fill with that molten hot rage that gets him in trouble, that stokes the fires of his mutation like a damn forge. All he can think about is hammering that fucker through the damn floor, send him to hell in tiny little pieces the devil wouldn't even know how to sort.

Crushing a mental picture of that asshole's hands on her, in all the wrong places that guys know, his jaw tightens. Only a little, only to the point of boneshattering.

Pretty sure he could rip the brush guard right off this Jeep and eat it for breakfast and not even feel it.

Beyond the reach of headlights, Coke cans and water bottles lay littered along the muddy earth before the backstop of logs, a handful or so still propped up in various places. Challenges. Thinking about her crawling up there to place empty cans and other trash pieces for target practice eases some of the roil in his blood, the rage creeping up in scarlet at the corner of his vision.

It takes her a minute, but she spends another twelve rounds, hot brass kicking to the ground at her feet. Pop pop pop. One by one, shots ring off aluminum cans, crumple plastic bottles. Sends them to the earth in a rain. Others hit the logs, hard thwacks that bury deep.

She ain't a tough shot, by any means. He'd seen a lot of gunfire in his years, fucking centuries, knew men who weren't as precise. Had watched them die.

She sends the magazine out of the grip, back into her hand as she turns around, smiling at him a little crookedly as she looks up over the rim of her glasses, almost coy. As if she's proud of herself.

His brow lifts, amused. Mostly impressed, a little turned on.

She comes back to lean against the Jeep, closer this time. Close enough that he can smell the tinge of sweat lingering under her clothes from a night of work. If he's careful, he can taste the salt he knows skips around her tongue, from a let's do shots, Lo! tequila. Unmissable, that perfume she swears to God never stays around but is triggering every animal instinct he has.

Turning, she gently tosses the pistol back to its case. Flips the lid closed with a flick of her fingers. Crossing her arms over her chest, she props one foot back on the grille of the Wrangler, head angled just enough for Logan to catch sparkling traces of the air's moisture on her cheekbone. It's almost fantastic, he thinks. Fairytale. That shit they put in movies.

It goes straight to his cock.

"I've never been touched like that before, Logan," and it couldn't be more out of nowhere if it materialized right in front of them. Blinking, Logan finishes his cigarette. Outs it on the heel of his boot, flicks the end away as if it's plague. It isn't far removed, but she doesn't seem to care.

It's probably more information than he needs to know. What did they call it? TMI. Yeah, too much information. But somehow such a turned stone leaves him curious, like a cat with a mouse. Could beg at her feet like a slavering dog for more, if she'd be willing.

For months he'd watched her, trailblazing up and down the floorspace of his cage like some kind of goddess, deserving of high worship. Figured it came natural, because for someone like her, it should.

What a fuckin' shame. "Yeah?" God, the things he could do to her.

"Mhm. And now I'm not sure I want to be, if — if that's what it's like."

And all at once, the air is sucked out of the world that's opened up between them. She's quiet and small, shrunk into herself with hunched up shoulders and lowered eyes, like some kind of whipped dog that's done inexcusable wrong.

It so isn't her.

Supposed to burst with life, make him question the cold black void in his chest. She's supposed to sing when the earth sits at her feet, like spring waits for the cold of winter to flatline into a dead carcass of itself. Should light up the room with her all-sunshine, big voice that shakes him all the way down, makes him forget his own fucking name.

Whatever this broken, insecure shadow of a thing she is, it's — it's a crime against the world.

Makes him want to fillet any single soul that would even fucking breathe in his direction.

Brow cutting into a hard line, he reaches between them and takes her chin in his hand. Forces her attention on him.

He's done this before, from place of posturing, hamming up audiences and getting her to simmer the fuck down, doll! when she's too deep into the booze or angry, feasting on souls.

But now, it feels different — his fingers burn with a fire he's never really understood, the stuff they write about. He can feel electricity in her blood, the painful thud thud thud of her heart against the bones in her chest.

But she doesn't make to move away. Doesn't even fucking flinch.

Interestin'.

"That ain't what it feels like," his tone drops to that whiskey dark that tastes good, that rattles up his chest. Echoes off bone, had gotten him more than one fuck in his life. And it works, too. Always has.

Will it work with you, honey?

Swallowing a little breath, "It isn't?" slips off her tongue like wet sin. Compliments the little flutter of her eyes, how she shifts nervously under the weight of his attention.

The long column of her throat constricts on the words, like a serpent squeezing for purchase any sense of the moment, anything to hold. Punches him in the gut something beautiful. And if he were a lesser man, he'd throw her right up against the fucking headlights of this Jeep and show her what he means.

But that would defeat his whole damn point. Easy, Logan. You sick fuck.

But she looks so good, standing there. In comfortable jeans and a sweatshirt and jacket, slick with the attempts of rain hanging in the air. That Wyoming cap that blocks out the night, casts long shadows over her eyes. Somehow darkens the depths of sapphires that already don't have ending.

Lifting his other hand, he rubs a fallen curl between his fingers before the pad of his thumb gently skips over the curve of her bottom lip. Chapped, like his. Plush. Fucking edible.

Managing a chuckle, she shifts on her feet at the low of his tone. Nervous. It's delicious.

Leans in close, and Logan can almost feast on the dew of her skin. And he knows exactly what he's doing, what they like. Whether they're a siren of the night or Sunday morning's pretty skirt in church, women really just all want the same damn thing. To be chased. Desired, lusted for. The hunt.

It's all part of the chase, honey.

"Mhm-mhm," off a chuckle, one that ticks up the corner of his mouth into a keen, quicksilver smirk. "Not when it's right, when you wan' it. Feels good." Drinking in the design of her face, every lash and little thing that makes her her, his head angles just enough. Oh, just enough —

"So fuckin' good, honey." Fuck, he is breathless. That never fuckin' happens.

Logan expects her to pull away. But her pupils dilate to the wide of the moon, drinking in light like thirsting men on the Sahara. He's never seen such visible lust in the face of the opposite sex, hasn't ever felt its jaws snapping the air like hungry wolves.

Pretty sure this is as close to being eye fucked as it came, but he wasn't complaining.

She should walk away, the way he's looking at her. Like her soul is on sale, like she's the last fucking pair of tits the world will ever produce. And Logan would encourage her, any other time, to leave his sorry, lustful ass in the mud and go on with her life. Find someone worthy of everything God's given her. But at his base, he's a selfish man. Greedy. Hungry.

Too busy being split open by her eyes, sapphire knives that cut him between the ribs and drive a stake straight to the heart like the fucking Dracula he is, trying to suck the life out of her.

Waiting for the impact of the moment to lay her out like a stoned Goliath, he doesn't realize his breath comes shallow and heavy. Doesn't bother feeling the snap of cold wind chasing the heat off his skin, how her eyes skate over his features. Or even how she's managed to turn into his touch, how she's pulled to his side like an adrift little thing on cosmic shores.

And if she misses the let me show you pacing the lines of his better judgement, she's got one hell of a poker face to take to Vegas. He can feel the little shifting of her jaw in his fingers. How her tongue skates along her back teeth, her breath catching in the back of her throat. The pulse in her blood spins like a wicked thing, heart jackhammering through her ribs as if it's trying to cut to hell.

She doesn't feel cold, but her eyes snap with a fierce chill he's never seen before. Isn't sure if it's confidence, or fear. But he likes this look on her, this feral little thing so worthy of the name every man this side of Alberta wants to fuck into her.

Honeybadger. It's so ridiculous that he'll fuck the name out of her himself.

Sweet like smooth, golden honey from the vine. Forbidden fruit in the Eden he would move mountains to taste.

And just as damn savage.

For what he assumes is the first time in her life, she doesn't say a word.

Instead, she lifts a hand to snag nails through his facial hair, eyes traveling the planes of his face like he's something to remember. He might be, for the first time in his life. And it feels like white-hot fire, the slip of her skin against his, such perfect fire that he would willingly burning at the stake of her feet without hesitation, fight. Keening into her touch, his hand slips down the column of her throat, to tip her chin up just enough to compliment the angle of his.

Her other hand pulls him closer by the front of his jacket, her melding against him in that perfect way God had in mind when he created Eve straight out of Adam's marrow.

You could stone the crows, she kisses him first. Tentative and slow, like milking starlight out of the hand of God. And he was fucking right how she tastes like salt and tequila and sweat, her scent so overwhelming that he could drown in her and die a happy, fucking thrilled, man.

All the way down to this core he feels her, almost chokes on just how fucking far her tongue shoves down the back of his throat.

And if he could feast on it the rest of his living days, he'd still starve to death.

World spinning by in a haze of color and lust, he isn't thinking clearly when he pins her up against the grille of the Jeep, pelvis to pelvis, every ounce of blood in his body rushing straight to his cock that's already hard enough to drive her to God. Grips the slick cool of the brush guard with all the resolve of the world, absolution a thin veil between right and wrong, black and white and oh my God, how she tastes.

His arms haven't visibly shaken with restraint in any sort of timeframe that he recalls, most certainly not in the arms of a woman.

He'll take back everything when she pulls at his hair, nails all but driving canyons into his scalp.

It comes naturally, his fingers burying into the thick flesh of her thighs. Hauling her up to the hood, the Jeep racks with her weight, headlights swaying as she reaches for him like he's the last hold on the crumbling rock of resolve, of composure.

And the poor thing shakes, hardly breathing — any second now he could expect her to burst, but instead, she takes his face between her hands, nails biting into his facial hair as she leans down to brush foreheads with him, taste him. He lifts his head, brushing hot breath against her racehorse pulse, the nuclear explosion of her lungs battering against his ribs a delightful way to wonder about the grave.

Pulling back enough to look her in the eye, he smiles. Cool, cleancut. Enough to rip her heart out, he sees it. It's balanced and bleeding between his fingers, his own plaything. Wolverines and Honeybadgers — it's laughable, really. If it wasn't so right.

"How's it feel?" It may as well not even be there, almost carried away by the little hitch of her breath when he skates his mouth against her jaw, bites softly at the pulse in her neck. "Feel good, honey?"

Her nose nuzzles his facial hair. "So many feelings, Logan," and it's barely there, a whimper. A hint of an idea. "Does it always feels like this?"

Lacing fingers through hers, he presses a kiss to the heel of her hand, slow and deliberate. Relishes in the faraway taste of steel, bullets. Gun oil and sin. Props a foot up on the Jeep's guard, steps up like it doesn't even matter.

And oh, if she doesn't know what she's doing she'd burn in hell for lying, the way she leans back on her elbows, like a graceful little thing. Staring up at him like he's heaven descended.

A rush of power he can't explain fills his blood, before he drops low and crawls over her. Chases her up the hood until they're both at the windshield's glass, breathless and hazy.

He chuckles, "Only when it's right, honey," dips low, worships her like every fucker in Alberta only prays to. "Only when it's right."

@sidkneeeee

@thevoicefromanotherworld

@misscrissfemmefatale

@eternallyfrustratedwriter

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@laaadygisbooornex3

@itsafullmoon

[morchilluv]

Ghosts From the Past - Cho Hyun-Ju x Kim Young-Mi

Warnings: Angst, hints of drug use, smut!!! pre full transition, blow-job, throat-fucking hehe, cunnilingus

Synopsis: Cho Hyun-Ju and Kim Young-Mi met during the games. After getting out, they both lost touch with each other. But soon found each other once again through a support group for the survivors.

A/N: This was a request that I genuinely enjoyed writing. I wasn’t sure whether to do a pre or post full transition, so I might do both;) but it’s not for sure. Let me know if you would like that!

P.S: Sorry if the beginning seems like a lot.. I got too into it. But I added a line where things start to heat up if you would like to just jump right into it! I tried to make the smut equally as long:)

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Cho Hyun-Ju and Kim Young-Mi hadn’t known the other existed until the games. In the midst of that brutal, unforgiving world, they’d formed a bond—stronger than either of them had expected. But once the chaos was over, they lost touch. It wasn’t because they wanted to, but because they needed to, for their own sanity. In the aftermath, each had chosen to think with their heads instead of their hearts.

Hyun-Ju buried the memories of the games, and above all, she pushed Young-Mi to the back of her mind. There were too many things left unsaid between them, too many words and actions she regretted. Every time the urge to reach out flickered, the weight of their shared past held her back—the lies, the betrayals, the moments they’d never been able to confront. How could she face Young-Mi, knowing everything they had been through, without it all coming crashing down?

Young-Mi had waited. And waited. Weeks passed, but Hyun-Ju’s silence never broke. In the stillness, she began to wonder if maybe she had just been a ghost in Hyun-Ju’s life. Perhaps the other woman had found a way to move on without her, had found peace in leaving the past behind. After all, wasn’t Hyun-Ju always the stronger one? The one who had it together, the one who didn’t need anyone else to survive?

The circle of chairs was small but comforting. Hyun-Ju settled into her seat, forcing herself to focus on the facilitator. She tried to avoid looking around, though she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. The others were speaking—some sharing their feelings, others recounting their daily struggles since they’d escaped the games. But her mind was elsewhere.

The door opened softly, and the quiet shuffle of footsteps cut through her concentration. Hyun-Ju froze, instinctively turning her head. And there, standing in the doorway, was Kim Young-Mi.

Their eyes met for a split second. It was as if time stopped—an overwhelming mixture of surprise, confusion, and the faintest hint of relief washed over Hyun-Ju. Young-Mi looked just as startled, her gaze flicking briefly to the floor before she took a seat across from Hyun-Ju. Neither of them spoke. The room felt smaller.

The facilitator, a woman in her forties with soft eyes and a soothing voice, smiled warmly, her expression not unlike that of a mother. "I know it's hard, but welcome. This is a safe space. We’re all here to listen and support one another. Who would like to share first today?"

Hyun-Ju tried to focus on the group—on the faces of strangers who, like her, had lived through the hell of the games. But her mind kept drifting back to Young-Mi. Back to when she had tried—tried so hard—to help her, only to be pushed away.

After a moment, the facilitator turned to Hyun-Ju, her eyes gentle. "How about you, Cho Hyun-Ju? Would you like to share anything today?"

Hyun-Ju’s throat tightened. It had been so long since she had let herself speak about what had happened. She looked at Young-Mi for a moment, but quickly turned her gaze back down to her lap.

"I’m… I’m still trying to figure out what to say," she said, her voice low and hoarse. "Some days, I feel like I’m drowning in the past. I know I shouldn’t, but I keep thinking about what happened… What we went through. And I feel like I failed. Like I failed to help someone who needed me." She paused, swallowing back the bitterness that surged in her throat. "I tried, you know? I tried so hard to help someone I thought I could save. But they didn’t want my help. And maybe… maybe I should have seen that sooner."

Her eyes flicked briefly toward Young-Mi, who was staring down at the floor, her fingers clenched tightly around the edge of her chair. The silence that followed was deafening.

The facilitator nodded gently, recognizing the unspoken pain. “Sometimes, when we try to help someone, it feels like they don’t want us, or like they’re pushing us away. But the truth is, sometimes it’s not about us. It’s about them, and what they’re going through. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Finally, it was Young-Mi’s turn. Her voice was calm when she spoke, but there was a tremor beneath it, like she was struggling to keep it together.

"I’m… Kim Young-Mi," she began, her gaze flickering to Hyun-Ju for just a moment, before looking down. "I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say. It’s hard for me to talk about the things I’ve done. The choices I made just to stay alive… and the people I left behind. I thought about reaching out after we got out, but I was afraid I’d just make things worse. And I guess… I guess I didn’t want to admit that I still needed help."

The vulnerability in Young-Mi’s voice made Hyun-Ju’s heart ache. She wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—to make her feel less alone. But her throat closed up again, the words stuck inside. The facilitator offered a soft nod. "Thank you, Young-Mi. That’s a powerful admission. It’s not easy to acknowledge how much we need help, even when we think we’re doing okay."

As the meeting came to a close, the facilitator asked everyone to stay if they wanted to talk more, or just to hang around for support. Hyun-Ju stayed seated for a long moment, unsure of whether she was ready to face the ghosts of the past—especially the ones standing so close.

Young-Mi was motionless near the door, her posture stiff as though she were fighting some internal battle of her own. Hyun-Ju could tell she was waiting for something—for Hyun-Ju to leave, for her to approach, or maybe for the world to give them both some space. But whatever it was, Hyun-Ju wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

Hyun-Ju looked up, finding Young-Mi’s gaze for the briefest of moments. That look, that flicker of recognition, was enough to make her blood run cold. But something in it stopped her from leaving. Neither of them were walking away this time.

For a long moment, Hyun-Ju hesitated, torn between walking out and facing what had always been left unsaid. Then, almost reluctantly, she rose to her feet, her movements stiff and careful as if she were preparing for a battle she wasn’t sure she’d win.

The air felt different now, charged and thick with old wounds.

“You wanted to talk?” Hyun-Ju’s voice was raw, quieter than she intended, her breath catching as she spoke. She couldn’t quite look her in the eye just yet, but she knew Young-Mi heard her. There was no hiding anymore.

Young-Mi didn’t answer immediately, but after a long moment of hesitation, she stepped forward, closing the gap between them. “I—" Her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat. She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes flitting nervously around the room as if she could find some escape.

Hyun-Ju's patience was wearing thin. I’m not running from this, she thought, trying to steady herself. “What’s the point of standing here if you don’t even have the words?” she asked, her tone harder now.

Young-Mi flinched at the bite in Hyun-Ju’s voice but didn’t back away. She looked up, meeting Hyun-Ju’s gaze this time, though her eyes were filled with something she couldn’t quite place—regret? Guilt? Fear? It made Young Mi’s chest ache all over again.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Young-Mi whispered, her voice small, vulnerable in a way that felt unfamiliar. “I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.”

The words stung, and Hyun-Ju clenched her jaw. Of course she didn’t want to talk to her. She hadn’t wanted to. But she couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t still hurting.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Hyun-Ju shot back, her voice trembling despite herself. “Because you couldn’t even be honest with me?” The sharpness of her words felt almost like a relief, like the anger and hurt had finally found an outlet. “You pushed me away. Every time I tried to reach out, you were gone. And I—" Her voice cracked, and for a second, she couldn’t continue. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the old pain or because of the truth she hadn’t dared to speak before.

Young-Mi stepped closer, her expression softening slightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she reached out, her hand trembling as if she wasn’t sure if she had the right to touch. The gap between them was barely an inch now, but the silence felt like an ocean.

“Hyun-Ju…” Her voice was broken, as though the walls she had built around herself were starting to crumble, piece by piece. “I didn’t… I didn’t know how to let you in. I was too scared of… of everything I was and everything I wasn’t. After we lost touch, I got sober. I didn't want to lose anyone how I lost you. I didn’t deserve you,” Young-Mi whispered, her words so soft it felt like a confession.

Hyun-Ju closed her eyes for a moment, the flood of emotions too much to bear. She wanted to scream, to push her away, but a deeper part of her, one that was still fighting for something she couldn’t quite name, kept her still. “And I didn’t deserve to be lied to, Young-Mi,” she whispered back, her voice cracking. “I wanted to help you. I tried to. But you wouldn’t let me.”

The words hung in the air between them, a bridge to everything unsaid. Hyun-Ju’s heart was racing. There was no going back now.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

As the room cleared out, the silence between them stretched, like they were caught in some invisible web. Hyun-Ju didn't know if it was the vulnerability in Young-Mi's eyes or the depth of the silence between them, but suddenly, she wasn't sure she could stand back anymore.

Without thinking, her hands reached for Young-Mi, pulling her into a kiss—slow at first, hesitant, as they were both afraid that the other might pull away. But it didn't last. Young-Mi's lips moved against hers, deepening the kiss, and at that exact moment, the world around them disappeared.

Hyun-Ju pulled back for a split second, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. Hyun-Ju didn’t want to freak her out or make her uncomfortable. "Are you sure?"

Young-Mi's eyes were wild with desire. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm sure."

The kiss grew harder, fiercer, as Hyun-Ju slid her hands up to grip the back of Young-Mi's neck, pulling her deeper.

"God..." Hyun-Ju muttered, her voice thick with desire. "I've missed you."

Young-Mi didn't reply. Instead, she kissed her with more fierceness that left no room for doubt. She needed her. Young-Mi pulled away for a split second to remove both her and Hyun-Ju's shirt. Quickly pulling back to kiss her once again.

Hyun-Ju's hand wasted no time in unclasping Young-Mi's bra. Her hands massaged Young-Mi's breasts. Pinching and playing with her nipples. Young-Mi's soft moans could be heard throughout the small room.

Young-Mi started trailing kisses down Hyun-Ju's neck. Unclasping her bra as well. Making sure to pay attention to both her breasts as she started trailing down further. Softly leaving kisses all over Hyun-Ju's stomach and stopping right above her pubic bone. Young-Mi looked up at her, silently asking for permission. Hyun-Ju—entranced by the girl kneeling before her—immediately nodded.

Young-Mi quickly unbuttoned Hyun-Ju's jeans and pulled them down along with her undergarments. Her hand flew to the base of her cock, while the other played with her balls. Young-Mi licked a long stripe of Hyun-Ju's cock. Leaving Hyun-Ju with goosebumps and even more desire. Young-Mi sucked on her tip and slowly made her way lower, taking all of Hyun-Ju's dick in her mouth. As she started bobbing her head, Hyun-Ju tangled her hands in Young-Mi's hair and started thrusting into her mouth.

She tried her hardest not to gag as she let Hyun-Ju fuck her throat.

"You look so pretty taking my dick, Yeobo." Hyun-Ju's moans bounced off the walls. She was close to her climax but swiftly pulled Young-Mi away from her and stood her up.

"What are y—," Hyun-Ju cut Young-Mi off with a kiss. Switching roles, Hyun-Ju left trails of small kisses on Young-Mi's body. The only difference was that Hyun-Ju seemed more desperate and was faster to get to the area where Young-Mi wanted her most.

"Can I?" Hyun-Ju questioned. Though she had known the answer by now, she still needed the consent. Young-Mi nodded softly. "Use your words, Young-Mi. Or did I fuck your throat too hard?" Her voice had a darker, cockier tone.

Young-Mi couldn't help but feel nervous at her sudden change in tone. "Yeah," She breathed. "I mean— yeah, you can."

Hyun-Ju smirked as she undressed Young-Mi. After getting her completely naked, Hyun-Ju lifted Young-Mi’s right leg and rested it on her left shoulder, getting a perfect view of her cunt. Young-Min looked down at her, mesmerized.

None of them ever thought they’d be in this position. They’d unquestionably daydreamed about it before, but never truly expected their fantasies to become real. Frankly, it was a dream come true.

Hyun-Ju’s hands gripped Young-Mi’s thighs tightly as she looked at her with an intense, hungry gaze. Without a word, she buried her face between her legs, her tongue delving deep into her pussy, eating her out with a fervor that leaves her gasping and trembling. She continued to devour her pussy. Hyun-Ju’s tongue swirled around her clit as she sucked and licked, driving Young-Mi wild with pleasure.

She pulled her closer to her face as she ate her out even more aggressively. She can feel Young-Mi getting close, so she stops briefly, looking up at her with her face dripping with Young-Mi’s juices.

She lifted Young-Mi up and laid her on a random table, spreading her legs wide as Hyun-Ju stands between them. Her face delved back in between Young-Mi’s legs. Her tongue thrusted deep inside Young-Mi as she sucked hard on her clit. She continued eating her out mercilessly, not stopping until she screamed in ecstasy, her whole body shaking as she came hard on Hyun-Ju’s face.

Hyun Ju stands up. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked down at Young-Mi with a smug grin. Hyun-Ju takes ahold of her red throbbing cock and strokes it a few times before rubbing it up and down her pussy.

“Are you sure?” Hyun-Ju asked one last time. The question didn’t linger in the air for too long before Young-Mi consented.

“I’m sure. But… Can you be gentle at first? Please?” Young-Mi’s soft voice warmed Hyun-Ju’s heart.

Hyun-Ju slowly lowered herself onto Young-Mi, filling her up inch by inch as she looked into her eyes. She started to move gently, her hips rolling into Young-Mi’s as she kissed her softly. "Like this?" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Am I being gentle enough?"

Young-Mi only being able to hum and softly moan Hyun-Ju’s name.

Hyun-Ju continued to kiss her softly as she started to pick up pace, her gentle thrusts turning into a slow and sensual rhythm. She pulled out almost completely before pushing back in, stretching Young-Mi and filling her up in the most delicious way.

"Your pussy feels so good wrapped around my cock.”

Young-Mi was never exactly good at dirty talk. Though she always loved it, she was never able to say the right things. So at this moment, all she was able to do was whimper, moan and squirm beneath Hyun-Ju.

Hyun-Ju’s hands moved to Young-Mi’s breasts, squeezing them gently as she continued her slow pace.

"Your tits feel amazing in my hands...” She kissed her neck softly. "Can you feel how deep I am inside you?” Hyun-Ju whispered against her ear "Your pussy is gripping me so perfectly..."

She started to play with her nipples, rolling them between her fingers as she thrusts into her. "I love how responsive your body is...” She kissed Young-Mi’s collarbone. "The way your tits bounce with each gentle thrust, the way your pussy squeezes my cock... it's all so fucking perfect.” Hyun Ju couldn’t help but let out quiet moans. A sound that was like music to Young-Mi’s ear.

“Your dick feels so good, Hyun-Ju.” Young-Mi said lowly. “Harder. Please, Hyun-Ju. Harder.”

“Goddamn...” Hyun-Ju began moving in controlled, powerful strokes, the desk creaking slightly underneath them.

“Oh fuck.” Young-Mi moaned. “Oh my God.” She gasped. Hyun-Ju’s cock felt so good inside her. Is this what they’ve been missing the whole time?

Hyun-Ju’s eyes rolled back in her head as she fucked her mercilessly, her balls slapping against Young-Mi’s ass with each powerful thrust. She reached between Young-Mi’s legs, her fingers finding her clit once more, rubbing it in fast, rough circles.

Young-Mi’s body arched as the pleasure was starting to become too much for her. Her head was spinning and she was suddenly very desperate for her release.

Feeling her walls tighten around her cock, Hyun-Ju knows Young-Mi’s close. She bites down on her shoulder, sucking hard to leave a mark as she fucked her even harder, her movements becoming erratic and desperate. “Come on, baby. Squeeze my fucking cock.”

Both of them were now a hot moaning mess, desperately chasing the high that had become a long, distant friend.

With one final, brutal thrust, Hyun-Ju buries herself inside Young-Mi, her cock pulsing as she unloads a massive load deep within her pussy.

As soon as Hyun-Ju cums, Young-Mi does as well. Whimpering loudly, she sat up to lean her body against Hyun Ju’s. Hyun-Ju held her in place, her arms wrapped around Young-Mi’s waist as she rode out her orgasm, filling Young-Mi to the brim with her hot seed.

Young-Mi breathed loudly. Her body solemnly rested on Hyun-Ju’s body, as if it completely relied on her for support.

Hyun-Ju stayed buried inside her, her cock twitching with the last few spurts of cum. She peppers soft kisses along Young-Mi’s neck and shoulder, a stark contrast to the rough fucking mere moments ago. Pulling back slightly, she meets Young-Mi’s gaze, her eyes still dark with lingering desire.

Hyun-Ju pulls out slowly, her cum dripping out of Young-Mi’s well-fucked pussy.

“You’re so beautiful. You’re everything to me. I don’t want to lose you again, Hyun-Ju. Please promise me you’ll never leave,” Young-Mi rested her hands on Hyun-Ju’s cheeks, tears starting to form in her eyes.

“I promise, Young-Mi. I’ll never leave you. I wouldn’t want to lose you all over again,” Hyun-Ju’s voice was soft and delicate. It comforted Young-Mi. It made her feel safe. “Let’s get cleaned up,” She smiled.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 3, day 29, just a little bit of work done for today. I'm not sure yet, but I might be getting burnt out a little bit on daily drawing. If I can't get my groove back in the next week or so I'm gonna switch to daily doodles or something else light on the brain power like that. Maybe photo editing since that's a whole different skill set! Idk yet, we'll see.

Anyway, I'm gonna spend the next half hour before bed working on Forspoken fanfiction :P

[toyogamii]

pt.1 pt.2

“i didn’t take you for the sit down restaurant type, ryo,” you bring your drink up to your lips and offer him a teasing smirk. he huffs and pulls at the collar of his black button down.

he doesn’t know how the hell you managed to get him, ryomen sukuna, resident town bad ass; on an actual date. but the way that sweet nickname you’ve taken to calling him rolls of your tongue might have something to do with it.

“hah, I’m usually not… figured you might be though,” he mumbles the last part, his ears turning a slight pink and you grin.

“well i appreciate you trying something new for me,” you look around at the candles and the suits and ties and most importantly at the gorgeous tattooed man in front of you (who looks so awkward in the most adorable way possible).

“however,” you continue, “i’d much rather you be comfortable for our date.”

“yeah?” he asks, giving you a grateful smile.

you nod.

“wanna get outta here?”

he flashes you a charming grin.

“hell yeah… though you might regret asking that, sweetheart.”

mere moments later you’re flying down the road, your heart pounding as you hold tight to sukuna’s waist. he’s graceful and calm as he drives the motorcycle but that does little to slow your breathing.

you’re wearing his helmet, but even through the darkened screen you can still see just how handsome he is. the street lights give him a halo like effect and the wind whips through his pink hair, pushing it out of his face.

“just a couple more minutes, doll!” he hollers over the sound of the wind and you nod, leaning your head on his broad back as best you can.

when he finally comes to a stop and you get off, your legs are still shaking and you take just a minute to gather yourself before looking around.

“takin me to a second location to dump my body off?” you ask, a brow raised.

sukuna gives you a dead pan look and pulls the helmet off your head. he freezes for just a minute as he takes in the way your hair is a mess and your makeup is a bit smudged but your eyes are crinkling and your smile is- god your smile is gonna fucking kill him one of these days.

“not funny,” he replies when he finally moves, flicking your forehead. you scrunch your face into a pout and god he wants to kiss you silly.

“where are we exactly?”

“come on.”

he turns and walks off and you hurry to catch up with him, slipping your hand into his. it takes everything in him not implode. your hand is warm and soft and so much smaller than his.

you’re killing him, he thinks, and yet… he doesn’t really seem to mind it. usually, the sound of someone rambling on and on would annoy the piss out of him. but listening to you chatter as he guides the both of you through the dark and dense patch of trees… if you’re killing him, he could die a happy man.

“we’re here,” he says. you peek around in him and gasp softly. you’re on a hill, overlooking the entirety of your home town. the street lights blare and you can hear the faint sounds of the city but the contrasting of the soft twinkling stars and the warmth of sukuna’s hand in yours has you reeling.

“it’s beautiful,” you murmur.

“i used to take yuuji here… before i had full custody of him. just to get him away from all… that.”

you nod and rest your head on his shoulder, not pushing him any further.

“i’m sure he loved it.”

sukuna chuckles and his arm makes its way around your waist.

“yeah, little brat would cry and cry when we had to leave. he won’t even remember it when he’s older though.”

you look up at him only to see he’s already looking down at you.

“you’ll remember it.”

“… yeah.”

there’s silence, a pause where time stops and suddenly the rest of the world fades away to nothing. it’s just you and him in a little bubble, away from all the craziness of the world.

before you can open your mouth to say anything, sukuna’s lips on yours. the kiss is everything that he isn’t; soft, gentle, hesitant. your arms come up to wrap around his neck and his grip on your waist tightens.

he never wants to stop kissing you. he can’t get enough of the way your tongue feels sliding against his and how your body trembles slightly as he holds you.

yeah… you’re gonna kill him one of these days, he just knows it.

pt. 4

[hoshigray]

Hiiii, I have a request- could you do like jealous or after arguement smex- you can pick any sort of of storyline or any jjk character. (prefferbly a character like sukuna or toji because i feel like they'd be kind mean about it)

Tyy

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: oof, i think after an argument, sex w/kuna would go crazyyy (esp true form! like yikes)

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: true form! Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - size difference - fingering (f! receiving) - impact play (spanking + pussy slaps) - clitoral play (grinds, swipes, and pinches) - biting - pinching - degradation (bitch, whore) - monster-fucking (he got 2 dicks) - double penetration; anal and vaginal - backshots/doggy position - pet names ([little]dove, my wife, pet, woman) - multiple orgasms - mention of drool/spit and blood.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

You dare avoid him? The King of Curses? Did the screws in your brain finally come loose, and now you’ve gone mad?

Ryōmen Sukuna rarely lets things slide. He is considered the top dog of the cursed Jujutsu world – he doesn’t find himself bowing down to things because things are supposed to bow to him. Anything and everything doesn’t go unnoticed under his gaze, as that’s the order of things that are supposed to happen.

And this philosophy doesn’t stop with you — his little dove.

Being engaged to a human spouse already raises flags of inconsistency. It isn’t rare for you and Sukuna to argue; the workers of the fortress where you reside can attest to this. The love is there, but Sukuna expects you to understand your standing in this marriage. You may be what he always keeps by his side. However, even you shouldn’t overstep him so carelessly.

Nonetheless, your humanness continues to poke him; your resilience is a thorn to your giant husband’s side. The more disagreements you clash with him, the bolder you’ve become in your standing, which makes the cursed man proud, albeit prefers it wasn’t directed towards him. 

And now, after he puts his thunderous foot down and shuts you up with your bickering, you decide to be courageous enough to turn your back on him? Him? Your betrothed? He couldn’t believe what he saw; your expression molded to neutrality before you turned on your heel and headed somewhere away from him. And then you don’t respond when he calls out to you — the absolute nerve.

Oh, you knew Sukuna wasn’t the one to be daring with, especially when you think you can get the last laugh. So, it would be best if he corrected your foolishness. 

“—Dahhh! Su’kunaa, stop! Let go—Ohhh!”

“Shut your mouth. Think you’re in any position to order me now, huh?”

He has you pinned to the tatami flooring, his upper hand on your head to keep your cheek printed on the mat despite your cries. The upper right hand has a good hold on your waist while his lower right hand grips your ankle to keep your legs spread. And with the lower left, he uses it to tease and toy with your chasm. The mouth of his chasm laps around your labia to lick the fluids that coat your slit while his middle and ring fingers grind on your sore clitoris.

This is your punishment: your husband reprimanding you as he gesticulates around your body. You can cry and holler all you want, squirm out of his hold when knowing your efforts are futile. He doesn’t care because he knows that he will make this point to you no matter what.

The tongue of his palm easily swallows your essence, pushing the muscle into your cunt to fuck you. You nearly choke on spit, sensing the considerable muscle swirl around your insides and graze your walls. “Mmph! Oh, fuck—Nnnm! Sukuna, no! I just came seconds ag—Oooh!”

“Do I care?” He raises his sole pink brow, four red eyes scanning your figure, writhing because of his touch. “You will cum however many times I say, my wife.” He draws out the last words to your ear, enjoying how small you appear under his massive shape. 

He lives for your shrieks, your pitch going higher and higher with every flick of his tongue. Swiping your clit makes it harder to maintain balance, your resolve slipping through your fingers with every push and pull of the abnormal tongue.

“Hahhh, ahhhshit, shiiiit,” your eyebrows scrunch together, nails purchasing on the tatami mat beneath you, which you’re sure your scratches would cause damage. Again, not that your jerk of a spouse would care; he is probably getting a kick out of you losing your poise because of him. “Ooh, ‘Kunaa, y’re going too fast…Nnnn !”

“Oh? Does the dove think I’m going too fast?” Sukuna licks the helix of your ear tantalizingly slow, and you gasp when he bites it while the mouth of his palm sloppily kisses the entrance of your vagina. “You wish to cum again, woman?”

You nod hurriedly, his chuckle rumbling to the core of your heart. The hand on your waist comes up to smack your ass, denting the skin by piercing his fingertips. You howl in pain, “Yesss, I wanna cum again!” 

“Hmph, no,” he removes his hand from your throbbing folds before slapping it; the abrupt action erupts a choked sob. Screams fly out at the pinch of his fingers on your delicate bud; the pain from your chasm stings, making your head pound. “You’re not some whore who gets to cum when they want; you’re mine, and cumming without my permission will get you into predicaments worse than this. Are we clear, pet?”

You had no choice in the matter, propping your ass up and your face down, forcing you to take his two cocks with both of your holes. 

“Aiishhh, oh Lord, Shhlow down! I’m t’oo full…!” 

“Mmnn, khheh, I bet you are, grippin’ on my cocks like a real bitch in heat…”

His lower hands keep hold of your hips, keeping you glued to his pelvis as he pistons his fat dicks into your ass and vagina. The tip brushes on your inner walls, and you mewl at every push as the girth stretches your caves. His upper hands keep you held down to the floor, submitting you to his robust stature that easily swallows your small frame.

Your face is still on the floor, drool trickling down your lips as ineligible babbles seep out. “Nnmahh, ahhaa…!” God, he puts so much strength on your poor body; the inability to move or move away from him keeps you immovable for him. 

Sukuna’s pace is unforgiving, propelling himself into your leaky wetness with no remorse. The fact that he has you come two times already doesn’t concern him; if anything, it aids him in pushing to and fro from your tight cunt. He bites his lip from how your rear contracts around him—so snug for his dual limbs as if you’d milk him dry.

“Fsshoo, ohhmy Go—Daah!” A hand finds its way to the left wrist on your shoulder. “Ohh, ‘Kunaa!”

Your wails are broken when he bends down; the added weight is so lethal that you might end up being pressed and being one with the tatami mat. “Hmm? What is it, woman?”

“—Ahhck! Fuuuhuck, pleaseee, can I pwease cu–Uhhmm?!”

You make him snicker, pulling back his rhythm to implement slow yet harsh ruts to your openings while throwing a slap to your asscheek. “Why should I let you?” 

A tear rolls down your hot cheek. “Pleasee, forg’ve me! I shouldn’t have…turned my back on you...”

Crimson eyes narrow while observing the way your ass quakes from his powerful pounds. Sukuna then comes to your shoulder to bite on your shoulder, and of course, you yelp bitterly. The sight of his canines drawing blood from his mark dials his excitement. “Say it properly, pet,” he purrs as he licks the wound on your shoulder.

“Mmmm! Suk’naa, my Lord…”

“Hmm?” He cups and squeezes your cheeks with his upper left for access to kiss your neck, and the lower left snakes down to play with your clit again. You gasp from the sensation of the tongue of his stomach licking your back, the colossal muscle having you arch like a cat.

Rubs on your pearl have you squeaking for him and eyes rolling upward— all desperate and aching for your release that you could break any moment. “Forgive me for stepping out of line...Hooooh, I wanna cum on yer cocks,” you admit while swaying your hips. “Please allow me to cum.”

“Depends,” you gulp at his quick answer. “This will be your only kind warning for this; if you dare do it again, don’t ever think of asking me.” Sukuna licks your cheek before he chews on the flesh, your breath halting at the graze of his fangs. “Understand?”

Your brave side takes over to turn to him meekly, watery eyes meeting his fierce red ones – a good move on your part. “Yess, my husband…”

And he sneers. “There you go, little dove.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[hemipenal-system]

working on a farm and going to a secondhand equipment auction to try to find a part you need replaced on one of your machines, and some guy has a combat drone all folded up in the back of his truck

it's powered off, of course. the guy says he doesn't even know how to fix it, says it just crashed in his backyard during the war, what, 40-odd years ago? and he just threw it in storage and hasn't touched it since, and his wife says he has to get rid of it, so he'll sell it for cheap if you're interested.

you figure, what the hell, you need a side project, and it might be interesting to refurbish it or whatever, so you buy it, lugging the heavy fucker into your own vehicle

you throw it up on a hoist and manage to power it on, half scared it'll try to kill you, but it just hangs there, limp except for its head turning to create a 3d model of your face to recognize you by. it looks almost... human, in a way. its head is a mess of sensors where its face should be, all wired down to its torso where it keeps its processor, and the stabilizers on its feet that prevent recoil from a heavy weapon knocking it over resemble claws, but it otherwise resembles a tall, lanky human to an eerie degree. it doesn't speak. you figure something in it must be busted. it doesn't move at all as you take it off the hoist and lay it down on the ground.

you leave it in the barn when you go to bed. it'd be preposterous for a machine to sleep in the house, even if it is a moderately human-shaped one. it'll be fine out there.

when you come back the next morning, you're surprised to see it curled up, not sleeping but emulating it, in a pile of hay it must have brought down from the loft. strange, since it shouldn't have any necessity for more comfort than the cold concrete floor would provide. it powers on when you approach, turning to look at you but otherwise not moving.

it doesn't talk for a week.

when it does, it's one word. you have it open on a workbench, arm buried deep in its mechanical guts. its speakers crackle to life just for the one word and then shut off again, startling you enough that you jump and then swear as your hand slams into the metal frame, cutting a knuckle open - then you process what it just said.

it was a name.

you ask if she wants to sleep in the house after that. she doesn't answer, but follows obediently like a trained dog, up the stairs and into your bedroom, mimicking your motions as you lay down in bed and she lays down next to you. you flick the light off, worried about the non-zero possibility that you've fucked up and her programming will reset when she wakes up and immediately target you as a threat. then you fall asleep.

you wake up with the combat drone pressed into you, cool metal arms wrapped around your torso, sensor array pressed into your shoulder. she doesn't snore, but her cooling system whirs quietly and you realize your body is warming her own.

you don't know what makes you kiss her forehead. you just sort of do it. but she makes a cute humming noise so maybe it was an okay thing to do.

[luna0713hunter]

"oh my gosh! you're unbelievable!i cant believe you actually did that-"

Sukuna follows you lazily as you stomp inside your shared apartment;high heels clicking angrily on the titled floor. He flicks the lights on and rolls his eyes when you throw your purse on the couch and turn toward him with your hands resting on your hips.

"what?"

"what?!" You ask, bewildered, "you have the tendency to ask what?!"

You throw your hands up in the air when he childishly crosses his arms around his chest and raises his brow at you.

"you fucking broke that guy's nose,Ryu!!!"

"so what,huh?" He says,voice deep and bored;it makes your eye twitch, "he was flirting with you."

"he was not!"

"oh,yes he was baby," and suddenly,his voice takes an angry turn, "did you seriously not realize how he was looking at you when i was right there?"

"I should've broken his fucking neck instead."

And you take a minute to calm down;after all, knowing your husband,he would take all night just to prove you he was right. So you just sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.

"just..." You wave your hand, suddenly feeling exhausted, "let's stop. We both know nothing good will come from us arguing."

And Sukuna, without another word,walks past you to vanish inside the kitchen. You sigh again and open the bathroom door; turning on the water and staring at your weary form in the mirror.

Just as you're wondering how the fucking you're going to wipe your make up,the door opens and your husband walks in. He rests a glass of water by the sink and gestures to it by his chin.

"drink it. You'll get a headache later if you dont."

And silently,you comply while watching him rummage throw the cabinets and pulling out your makeup wipes. You tilt your head when he instructions you to,and as he gently starts cleaning your eyes,you swallow thickly. Which doesn't go unnoticed by your husband

"what is it now?"

You only shrug,and his face softens at you defeated expression . So he just cleans your face,and when you're done,he pulls you to his chest and rests his chin on top of your head

"sorry i got so angry earlier," you mumble against his chest and sigh.

There's a pause where Sukuna breaks it with a grunt.

"and I'm.." he huffs, "not sorry for punching that guy."

You giggle sleepily and nuzzle in his arms

"figures."

"i will punch more guys if they check you out too."

"fine fine," you huff and wrap your own arms around his neck, "can we go to sleep now?"

And without replying, Sukuna is swooping you up in his arms;and goes to your bedroom. As he lays down by your side,you immediately nuzzle close to his chest and let out a content sigh

"so you've forgiven me now?"

And you smile sleepily without opening your eyes.

"I'll decide when you make me breakfast tomorrow."

[anantaru]

GENSHIN + BREAK UP, MAKE UP

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — you fuck your ex boyfriend and shocker, you love it ᰔ

— ꒰ including ꒱ — alhaitham, ayato, heizou, wriothesley x fem! reader

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — ex boyfriend trope, slightly toxic & mean boys, bratty! reader ??? dirty talk, oral (male! receiving), fingering, cowgirl position, cumming inside, lots of cum lol, dom characters

— ꒰ ALHAITHAM ꒱

"hey, don't insult me now," alhaitham looks at you with a prized confusion in his eyes— while also taking care of your bodies needs and desires, his cock pressing deeply in you. "what's with the attitude i hear?" his voice was clearly hinting at a hazed tone as he pants against your wet cheek, your tits flushed against his solid chest.

you gasp at him, curving your fingers into his hair to pull it, "w-what attitude?" your hips involuntarily buck into his cock so he would hopefully get the hint and continue to move, more so stop being so annoying for once in his life.

"you're hiding it from me," he whispers cruelly, "don't act stupid now, aren't you so smart?" as his hips begin to grind through your tight hole, a warm press slowly distending in your cunt and swelling in your belly.

"you hide your moans from me, fuck, you brat, you know what that does to me," under the cover of a shaken exhale, he shoves you into the mattress even further— no mercy, no signs of previous affection, only a raw and pleasuring handle.

archons, how much you loathed the way he always had you figured out this quickly.

how, just how.

but well, it's not like you were a couple anymore, correct? so why would you give him the pleasure of hearing you? knowing full on well he finds it to be the best part whenever he fucked you.

just so he could pride himself again? scrap that, he doesn't deserve it, nor to indulge into every drop of desire you give him.

"hah, you're so weak alhaitham," you bite back a whimper, "still so weak for me," as your hole clenches, throbs and milks against his awfully hard cock before you look at him through a wet expression, his hair soused and messy sticking all over his forehead, pressed into the light sheen of sweat across his face, "or maybe you aren't doing a good job,"

it's dangerous— playing that game with your ex. but it's also worth the gamble.

— ꒰ AYATO ꒱

like a puppy, you preciously kneel between ayato's legs, slightly leaning against one of his muscular thighs— one hand proudly holding his cock in your grasp to stroke him, your wet tongue circulating over the leaking slit just how he liked it.

but that familiar infatuation from months ago, when you were still considering yourself a team, that disgustingly known taste of your tongue on his cock made the yashiro commissioner twitch in your hand— is it desperation in his movements? or longing?

it reminds him all too much on how things used to be.

when you were in a relationship, of course, "in love", and where fucking you wasn't just fucking to neither of you, it was making love.

a longing that filled the whole breast with its mad virus.

it was much, much. he could never argue against the fact that you were the only one who could make him fall to his knees.

you flick the tip of your tongue back and forth over the inflamed head, teasing the slit and making him shudder, finding it more and more satisfying to have someone within such position under your grasp, the constant press of need and attention on your cunt only coming second.

"y-your mouth feels so fucking good," he heaves and embarrassingly coughs out right after— well, it's not that deep? because hey, a commissioner doesn't curse now, does he? but he did it for you, always.

how were you able to always coax that out of him?

your hand tightens around his erection, adding shallow yet precise pumps over his shaft as you cup his balls roughly, massaging them in your palm and wetting them with your saliva.

he's already wet of both his pre and your spit, yet you do not waste any chance to spit on his tip again, again and again until your cheeks and chin where littered with filth, finding it rather enchanting whenever ayato moans disgustingly hot.

chest rising, falling again, groans hitching at the feeling of your saliva sliding down his tip.

"i want to touch you too, come on now, don't you want me to touch you?" he begins to whimper, stroking over your head affectionately as you look up at him, flexing your throat, grabbing at his shaft more firmly.

he continues, although it gets harder to breathe, "don't you want my fucking hands on you, come on, admit it," fuck, ayato was so pent up— from work? from going through a messy break up? from being alone?

archons who was he fooling besides himself? it's due to how much he has missed you, missed this, missed your scent all around him.

— ꒰ HEIZOU ꒱

"oh your so wet, well look at this, look at this all over my hand,"

"some things never change, hm?" heizou moans softly and parades his glistening fingers to your blinking eyes as you whined out, trying to shift from his body hovering on top.

it's futile— not because you actually want him to stop, but because you really wanted this, despite him being so embarrassing and blunt about it.

what little movement you managed to coax from your hips merely aroused you further as heizou stuck his fingers back into your cunt— two slippery digits scissoring you hard, reaching deeper and floating inside you like inside water before rubbing his thumb back and forth your clit.

your thoughts were sluggish, and you found yourself overwhelmed due to the fact that your body enjoyed it, and so did your mind.

you knew this was wrong, this shouldn't happen, this wouldn't make it easier for either of you in the long run. but you couldn't think beyond that when all you thought about was his next touch and buck of his hands thrusting into your cunt.

your skin tingles, ever hot as he presses and rubs and strokes until every inch of your being was shivering in need and regretting ever breaking up with him.

no matter how often you try to act like he isn't setting a fire along the slopes of your skin, the detective will never stop seeking you out for this, conquering your sinful spots until you're fucked out of your mind, only then he will get close to your ear and ask you to say that you regret ever letting him go.

— ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱

"do you still fucking hate me?" there was a rumble emitting from wriothesley's chest, and for one long moment, he was consumed by nothing more other than your tight cunt riding him fiercely, "do you still refuse to admit that you secretly like this?"

if only he could shut up for just a damn second, just one.

"do you?" your eyes flew open to him in anger, your gaze aggravated in its entire embrace, how dare he mock this— but an expanding shock of his hips bucking into you forced a new bodily reaction from your shuddering frame, enough to override the otherwise enticing anger you were about to spit like venom into his proud face.

your back arches as you shoot him a dangerous glare— one that could easily get confused with a please please do fuck me harder, instead of hold your tongue you asshole.

because you see, don't act out on anger, instead luxuriate in the crushing weight of his cock between your legs, hard and heavy throbbing as you ride him, pleasure and fuck him hard— still pondering about how difficult it always had been to fit his entire length inside of you.

you let your legs shift apart more as your tits bounce in combination with your movements, your back arching as your pussy began to milk him fiercely, squelch and squelch as the deep, bloating throbs of his shaft scrub over the bends of your walls, until reaching your swelling belly.

you turn sensitive, he knows it, the duke can feel it.

"oh, come on now baby," pride gushes from his mouth as he tilts his head, tightly holding your waist before thrusting up. you wouldn't let him bath inside his confidence any longer as you lightly punch his chest upon hearing him use a damn petname.

"oh? you don't want me to call you that?"

"obviously not," you shake your head, wetting your lips, despite that, he could hear the arousal in your voice, "why are you clenching when i say it then? baby~" as he maintains his ardour, refusing to allow you to control your little get together as he mercilessly thrusts up into you, thick and heavy cock slipping in and out, your arousal running down his balls.

your moans are a little more breathless now, shaken as the pumping motions of his erection slapping against your pussy only grew needier.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[tender-rosiey]

MOOOOOOREE SUKUNA WITH HIS SHY DAUGHTER🙏🙏🙏🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

lull — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: this idea holds a special place in my heart (also am i back? who knows)

your daughter squirms restlessly in her futon, her tiny hands clutching the edges of her blanket.

she’s been unusually fussy tonight, her soft murmurs rising each time you try to ease her into slumber.

you sit beside her, brushing a hand through her fine hair. “d/n,” you murmur gently, “it’s time to sleep.”

she shakes her head, her lips trembling in that way that precedes a fit of tears. “mama stay,” she whispers, her wide eyes glistening.

you sigh, glancing toward the doorway where sukuna leans, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the room.

his usual scowl is firmly in place, his arms crossed as he watches the scene unfold with thinly veiled impatience.

“she won’t settle,” you say softly, your voice carrying a tinge of exasperation. “it’s been almost an hour.”

sukuna raises an eyebrow, his sharp gaze flicking between you and the tiny, restless figure on the futon. “she’s three,” he grunts. “just tell her to sleep.”

“oh, yes, because commanding a toddler works so well,” you reply dryly, shooting him a look. “why don’t you try?”

his eyes narrow. “me?”

“yes, you.” you stand, brushing off your kimono. “she’s your daughter too, isn’t she?”

sukuna clicks his tongue, clearly displeased, but he doesn’t protest further. he steps into the room, his presence overwhelming the small space.

your daughter freezes, her wide eyes locking onto him as she clutches her blanket tighter. she’s always been shy around him, despite—or perhaps because of—his imposing nature.

you stifle a smile as you watch the scene unfold, stepping back to lean against the doorway.

“go on,” you urge, folding your arms. “show me how the mighty king of curses handles bedtime.”

he glares at you but kneels beside your daughter’s futon.

she stares up at him, her small frame looking even tinier next to his broad shoulders. for a moment, neither of them moves, the silence stretching taut between them.

sukuna finally exhales through his nose, his expression softening—just barely. “d/n,” he says, his deep voice unusually gentle, “it’s time to sleep.”

she blinks at him, her grip on the blanket loosening slightly. “not sleepy,” she mumbles, her voice barely audible.

sukuna frowns, glancing over his shoulder at you.

you shrug, clearly enjoying his discomfort. he turns back to your daughter, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and awkwardness.

“close your eyes,” he tries again, his tone more commanding this time.

her bottom lip wobbles. “no…”

you bite back a laugh, and sukuna shoots you a murderous glare. he sits back on his heels, clearly at a loss. then, as if remembering something, his gaze flicks to you again.

“she likes when you sing to her,” you offer helpfully, knowing full well how he’ll react.

his scowl deepens. “I don’t sing.”

“well, tonight you do,” you reply, your grin widening. “come on, sukuna. you’re her father. she’ll fall asleep in no time.”

he looks like he’d rather fight a dozen curses barehanded than follow your suggestion, but your daughter’s soft, expectant gaze leaves him with little choice.

he sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair before turning back to the little girl.

“what do you want me to sing?” he asks gruffly, his voice low.

she hesitates, her tiny fingers playing with the edge of her blanket. “lullaby?” she whispers, her eyes darting to you for reassurance.

you nod encouragingly at her, then at sukuna. “go on,” you urge. “she’s waiting.”

he grumbles under his breath but clears his throat.

the sound is awkward, hesitant—so unlike the confident and domineering man you know. your daughter watches him intently, her wide eyes filled with curiosity.

he begins, his deep voice rough at first, as if the act of singing is foreign to him. but as he continues, his tone evens out, and the melody flows smoother.

it’s a simple tune, one you’ve hummed countless times to your daughter, but hearing it from sukuna feels different.

your daughter’s eyelids begin to droop, her small body relaxing under the soothing tone of his voice. her hand rests on his knee, gripping it ever so slightly.

you can’t help but smile, your heart swelling at the sight of sukuna—fearsome, unyielding sukuna—softened by the presence of your child.

as the lullaby comes to an end, sukuna’s voice trails off, and the room falls silent. your daughter is fast asleep, her breathing slow and steady.

sukuna watches her for a moment, his crimson eyes unreadable. then, almost hesitantly, he reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from her face.

“she’s asleep,” he mutters, his voice quiet.

you step forward, kneeling beside him. “see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

his eyes flit up to yours as he glares at you. “you won’t speak of this ever again, you hear?”

“of course,” you say, though the smile tugging at your lips suggests otherwise.

sukuna rises to his feet, his towering form casting a shadow over the futon.

he looks down at your daughter, his expression softening in a way that you have become used to whenever it involved your daughter.

without a word, he turns and strides toward the door, pausing only to glance back at you. “you coming?” he asks.

you gently pet your daughter’s head before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. you look at him and smile, “yeah.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss@pompompurin1028@scul-pted@requiem626k@nameless-shrimp@sonder-paradise@jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author

@libbyistired @anon1412@maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1@sad-darksoul@ko-fi-heart@pumpkindudeishere@suyaaachin@babyqueen17@chaosguy352@murakami-kotone@sukun4ryomen@yumieis@hearts4itoshi@sleepyxxhead@dunixxd@sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08@spacebaby1@arabellatreaty@viscade @washeduphasbeen @janbannan @sugurubabe @enidths @mwtsxri @peppersapro @uranosbaaee @lifeisadumpie @guacam011y @kurooandkenmasslut @callmemirro @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @dindjarins1ut @candy-s72 @lulumi1u

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will sneeze in your face

check out my buy me a coffee!

[trashytracktales]

Hey! Please do a lando x ex!reader. They break up after a lot of arguments due to being away from each other so much and then they meet a few months later and hook up. Like angst in the beginning then lots of smut.

If it's meant to fall apart | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I was actually planning to write something similar for so long. Thank you for the request and I hope you like it 🤍

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── Surprisingly, months apart haven’t dulled the connection between them. After a night of passion and honesty on both sides, maybe there is a future where they can make all the right decisions, after all.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x ex!reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, lots of angst & back-and-forth, fluff & smut, teasing, praising, explicit language, unprotected sex, mention of alcohol and drinking, swearing, not the healthiest relationship I've ever written tbh (the toxicity is implicit tho), overstimulation, pussy-drunk Lando, Max F. & Ethan aka FEEFA cameo.

𐙚 word count ──── 10.6k (Thank you to everyone who voted on this poll I posted the other day, I didn’t expect to see so many 🥺).

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 27, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Guys, look. I know it's A LOT 🥴 I kinda let myself run with this one because I haven't posted anything in like a week or so. I still have 2 requests I'm working on, so don't give up on me yet 🤞🏻

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

SHE'S NOT ENTIRELY sure how long they’ve been dancing, but she hasn't finished her drink yet. Time feels like an illusion, blurring the edges of her vision with every new rhythm of the night. For the first time in months, she feels a little lighter, her friends’ energy pulling her out of her own head — and apartment, where she locked herself in after the break-up.

The club is packed tonight, bodies pressed together in a sea of drunken, sweaty chaos. Neon lights bounce off every surface, painting the room in vivid purples, blues, and pinks. It's not usually her style — not anymore — but she figured it won't hurt to let lose for a couple of hours.

It’s only when she steps away from the dance floor, her feet hurting and her head buzzing, that she spots him.

Why tonight, of all nights?

Why here, of all places?

Why him, of all people?

He’s leaning casually against the bar, a glass in hand, chatting with a few familiar faces. Faces that she can't help but miss.

She stopped talking to Max — well, Max stopped talking to her after ending things with Lando, too upset that she toyed with his best friend's heart for ‘no apparent reason’. Their friendship dissolved under pressure, fragile as a cheap plastic cup in the grip of sulfuric acid. But Max wasn't the only one who took it personally. That's why she needed to cut ties with everyone from her past. She needed new friends — her own friends —, she needed a new place and new clothes, and to rebrand herself from scratch. Which she did.

She thought she had made it through, but the past has its twisted ways of coming back when you least expect it.

Now, the sight of him, so vivid and real, makes her chest tighten.

She stops in place, hoping he doesn’t notice her, but then his eyes flick in her direction and, for a brief moment, neither of them blinks, the noise around them fading into a dull murmur.

He straightens slightly, his relaxed posture gone as his brows knit together. There’s something unreadable in his body language — surprise? Excitement? Confusion? Pain? She doesn’t know, but it mirrors the knot twisting in her stomach.

Her friends call out to her, pulling her attention briefly, and when she looks back, he’s still staring. Except now, he’s moving, weaving his way through the crowd toward her.

Oh, hell no.

Her heart starts to race, a mix of adrenaline and something far more complicated than fear, as she rushes to walk away; she's fought for far too long, and now her instinct is to fly as soon as she senses danger.

Unfortunately, she's not quick enough.

“Hey,” says Lando when he gets closer, his voice low but audible over the music.

Hearing him gives her goosebumps, hating the way her body is betraying her. It’s been months since she’s heard his voice, but it still hits her the same way: sharp and unrelenting.

She turns around, forcing a smile, “Hi, Lando,” she manages, her voice steadier than she feels, thinking she should try acting if she makes it out alive from this encounter.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his tone careful, yet extremely suggestive.

It makes her stomach twist again.

He used that line the very first night they met, his boyish grin lit by the dim, flickering lights of another club, in another city. Potentially another life, she's not sure. She remembers the way he had leaned in, so full of confidence and asked the same exact question with a mischievous glint in his eye.

It feels too deliberate now, too heavy with the weight of their past for her to ignore.

“All set,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended, as she raises her half-full glass in her hand. “Thanks.”

For a moment, it feels like they’re strangers meeting for the first time. Except they’re not, and their history is hanging heavily in the air between them.

Lando nods, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “How about this, let me join you for that drink?”

She takes a look to where her friends are dancing, then she turns back to him, “I'm here with my friends.”

It's a pathetic excuse, she knows that. But she has no time to think of something else. Not when her brain is suddenly all scrambled and can't form a single coherent thought.

Lando frowns, disappointed, but not willing to give up that easy. “Come on, just a quick catch-up and then you can go back to your friends. Mine won't mind,” he shrugs, pointing at the bar, where the others are following their every move like a bunch of curious minions.

She catches Max lifting his glass in her direction, and Ethan, waving frantically.

Against her better judgment, she nods.

“Okay,” she murmurs, “Let's catch up,” she spits the words, sounding a bit too sarcastic. Still, it makes Lando smile.

His shoulders relax slightly, relief softening the tension in his body. He gestures toward a quieter corner of the club, away from the pounding bass and the sea of bodies. His first instinct was to take her hand in his, but since that's over the line, Lando keeps looking back, making sure she follows him. And she does. Like a naive, lost puppy that hasn't learned a single thing in the past five months, apparently.

The crowd surges around them, chaotic and loud, and before she can react, someone stumbles into her, their elbow catching her arm. As a result, she's thrown off balance, her feet slipping on the slick floor. Gasping, she's bracing for the inevitable fall that… never comes.

Lando’s hand shoots out, catching her waist and pulling her upright. His grip is firm, grounding, and suddenly she’s pressed against him, her chest brushing his.

“Careful,” says Lando, his lips close enough to her ear for the voice to cut through the noise.

The spot where he's touching her is burning her skin. She looks up, speaking with a hesitant smile, “Thanks, I'm good.”

The club around them fades away, and all she can feel is the warmth of his hand on her waist and the familiar scent of his cologne — a smell she used to know so well. It is almost intoxicating, and it makes her mouth water. She realizes that's what she was missing the most.

Lando smiles faintly, his hand slipping away as if he’s reluctant to let go. “Always got you.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, sensing the double meaning behind his affirmation. So, she nods and lets him guide her the rest of the way.

They find a small, semi-private booth near the exit, far enough from the main dance floor that the music dulls to a manageable volume. He gestures for her to sit first, then slides in across from her.

She fiddles with the edge of her glass, feeling his eyes on her.

“So,” she starts, leaning back against the booth, “You're here.”

Here, as in back home.

“For a week or so, yeah. Got a bit of a break between Brazil and Vegas.”

She nods, emptying the rest of her drink in one go, “How’ve you been?”

Lando shrugs slowly, “Alright. Busy with work and everything,” he trails off, his gaze dropping to her lips for a brief moment. “It’s not the same,” he continues, his smile fading away. “What about you, what have you been up to?”

She needs superhuman powers to stop herself from scoffing in his pretty face. It’s such a simple question, yet it feels loaded, heavy with all the things they haven’t said to each other in almost half a year.

“It's been… peaceful. I moved to another neighborhood. Kept busy, distracted.”

Lando hums, his expression unreadable for some reason. “Yeah, I get that. You look great, by the way,” he states it as a fact, his voice soft but unwavering.

She hesitates, then looks up at him, really looks at him. His face is the same and yet… not really. The boyishness is still there, but there’s a weariness in his eyes that's somehow new. Plus some facial hair she always begged him to try out. It tugs at something inside her, something she’s not sure she’s ready to face. Because it hurts. Because it annoys her. Because, after everything, she's still not over it.

“Cheers,” she replies, hoping he won't catch the blush in her cheeks. “I kind of hoped you would look like shit when I saw you again,” she admits. “You know, I'm talking no front teeth and severely balding. But, oh well. You too.”

Lando's smile widens, making everything infinitely worse for her.

He wears a black shirt that clings to his frame in a way that highlights the muscles in his arms. His black cap is pulled low, worn backwards in that signature way he always did, giving him that effortlessly cool vibe. His eyes are still the same, though. Dark, piercing, the same ones that could make her heart beat faster even after everything that’s happened.

“I thought about you a lot over these months, you know,” Lando finds himself saying, chewing on his lower lip.

She shoots him a surprised look.

As if, she thinks. His Instagram feed would say otherwise.

“You did?” she ends up asking, curiosity getting the best of her.

A hint of vulnerability creeps into his voice, “Of course. I've missed you.”

She laughs dryly, “But it's been good for us, right? We just established we both look great, no constant fighting, no slamming doors, no smashed phones…” she says, looking at him intently.

He can't sustain that for long, so he looks down at his shoes, slightly ashamed, remembering how bad it used to get when the distance between them felt too much to handle. He remembers the frustration, and the helplessness he felt when he couldn’t reach her, because he couldn’t make things right. He did smash his phone once, in a fit of anger, because he couldn’t get ahold of her for hours — not his proudest moment, that's for sure.

Lando swallows hard, “Yeah, it has been nice to have some distance. I guess it makes the heart grow fonder, right?”

“Hmm,” she hums, letting her eyes travel across the room, scanning random faces and wondering how life would be if she were someone else, “I don't know about that.”

She knows, in fact. But the words pause in her throat, too tangled up in memories. When he finally looks up, she's holding his gaze for just a beat longer than she should, and she wonders if he can feel it too — that familiar pull, like gravity, drawing them back together once again.

“I know—” Lando begins, not sure from which angle to approach. “I know it was the right choice at the time, but I can't help but wonder what things could have been if I'd fought harder for you.”

“Come on, Lando,” she laughs, unamused, giving her head a shake, “We would've ended up in another vicious circle, no matter what. It's always like that with us, isn't it?”

A part of him knows she's right. Still, “We'll never know.”

“Well, maybe it's better that way,” she manages, her voice lacking conviction.

“Or maybe it’s not,” he contradicts her, his words carrying a weight that presses on both of them. “You never think about us?”

Another sharp, dry laugh — it's either this, or she'll start crying. “I am actively trying not to,” she admits, her tone tinged with exasperation. “What’s the point, Lan? Thinking about what could’ve been won’t change what happened. You were always gone, and I couldn't spend my life following you around like a headless chicken. We had a good time, but it was never going to last,” she says the last part mostly as a reminder for herself. “Not in those circumstances.”

His jaw tightens. “You think it was easy for me? That it didn’t tear me up knowing I couldn’t be there for you the way you wanted me to?”

“I didn't say that,” her eyes snap to his, “We simply weren't working. We were too good at breaking each other.”

Lando leans back in his chair, frustration visible on his face. He hates that she's right, but it doesn’t stop the ache in his chest.

His jaw clenches, “I just… I don’t want to believe that’s all we were. Breaking each other.”

Her expression softens a little at his words, “Not all. But enough to make us miserable.”

For a while, the air between them feels heavier, the noise fading into the background. He wants to say something, anything, to counter her point, but all he can do is look at her and ask himself if they were, indeed, playing a losing game back then.

“Did you meet someone?” his question flies out of nowhere.

Lando looks at her with anticipation, sensing the hesitation.

“I did,” she replies, nodding slowly.

“And?”

She meets his eyes for a split second before looking away again, fixing her gaze somewhere on the table. “And we're happily married with twins on the way. What do you think? I just. Couldn’t.”

Lando's stomach drops, trying his best to remain calm, his hands clenching into fists. “You couldn’t what? Be with them?”

She shakes her head, her movements slow and deliberate, as if choosing her words carefully. “It was too soon.”

Her answer only leaves him with more questions. “So, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know what it means,” she rushes to say, her tone tinged with irritation. It’s clear she’s as unsure as he is, but that only makes it harder for Lando to process her reaction.

He runs a hand over his face, his exasperation bubbling to the surface. “I’m just trying to understand,” he says, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Because I've also tried.”

She looks directly at him now, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And?” she challenges in the same manner, her tone carrying just a hint of defiance.

“They weren't you,” says Lando, the truth of his statement hanging between them like a heavy anchor.

They remain silent after that.

She wants to ask him why — why he still cares, and why it hurts so much to be in the same space again after all they’ve been through. Nothing comes out, though; she already has the answer to that. They didn't break up because they stopped loving each other. They had both been too caught up in their own worlds to find any kind of balance. That broke them up.

He wants her to speak. He needs to hear her speak. To react. But when she says nothing in return, there is a brief second when he feels like giving up for good; he can't do anything if she's already made a decision. He knows how stubborn she is.

Lando nods to himself while getting up and start walking toward the exit, his thoughts all over the place.

The night air greets them with a quiet, cooling embrace as they step out of the club. Of course she follows, and she hates herself for that. But she can't help it — it's instinct. Like a magnetic force he's always had over her.

On the other hand, it's how they always communicated, through gestures and actions rather than words.

The soft click of her heels against the pavement gives Lando hope. He slows down so she can catch up, and then they walk side by side, without talking. The background noise of the city keeps them company, and by the time she decides to break the silence, he stops abruptly.

His voice sounds so small now, like a child asking his parents why can't he eat his chocolate bar before dinner.

“I know it feels so silly looking back,” says Lando, as though afraid to shatter the superficial peace between them. “We did so many things wrong, but I think we also did a lot of things right.”

She hesitates, her eyes dropping to the ground where a patch of light from a distant street light catches the edge of her shoe. Her arms fold tightly across her chest, while trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Yeah, breaking up was one of the right things,” she says thoughtfully, though her voice has a trace of bitterness behind it. “Before that, we tried so hard to make it work that we ended up burning each other alive.”

It's crazy how simple words can cause physical pain so quickly.

“Yet we're still here,” he reminds her. “Knowing what we know now, maybe we wouldn’t burn so fast this time. And isn’t it worth it, even if it only lasts for a little while? We were so happy at the start.”

That’s what he clings to. The laughter, the stolen moments, the way they fit together so effortlessly ��� she can’t argue with that. Their beginning was a beautiful dream, but it’s the nightmare that followed that keeps her guarded now, even though all she wants is to crack his ribcage open and slip inside him so they will never be apart again.

Her voice shakes as she tries her best to make him see her side, the memories spilling out like water breaking through a dam. “I had to put myself back together, Lando. Piece by piece. And I was all alone.” She forces herself to meet his gaze, finally, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Turns out, our friends were actually your friends, and I had to go through the worst breakup of my life with no one by my side. I had to move, I had to build an entire life from pretty much nothing. And I had to do everything alone, because I didn’t just lose you. I lost everything the moment I made you the center of my universe.”

Her words knock the air out of his lungs, guilt clawing at his insides. “Look, I know I should have been there,” says Lando, his voice barely steady. “Fuck me. I wasn’t supposed to let you go in the first place, alright? I should’ve been a better boyfriend, and I should’ve fought harder to make it work, using what we had then. But you did fuck with my head, and I thought being away would help.”

The first tear spills down her cheek, and she wipes it away hastily, as if she could erase the vulnerability altogether.

“It did help,” she agrees. “I know I can live without it now.”

Lando freezes for a split second, then stepping dangerously closer to her. “So, you’ll be fine if we stay broken up?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

She nods, but it’s shaky. And when she takes a step back, trying to put distance between them, Lando decides he gave her enough space. Fuck that. He's not thinking anymore, not with his brain, at least. He closes the distance again, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close in one swift motion.

It’s impulsive, desperate even. But he doesn’t care. The moment he feels her presence in his personal space, the fire he’s tried to smother for months, roars back to life, more powerful than ever. And just like that, everything it's right again. The way her body fits against his, the familiarity of it all, makes his heart race in his chest.

“Stop being so fucking stubborn, baby,” he murmurs into her hair, his voice cracking under the weight of his own desperation. “Why can’t we at least try, hm? You told me it was too soon for someone else. Maybe it’s because it’s supposed to be me.”

Her breath catches at the sudden closeness, at the rawness of his voice. She's unsure of what to do with her hands, until they hover awkwardly by his shoulders.

“You're not fair,” she whispers, her voice slightly trembling. “You can’t just accidentally waltz back into my life and say things like that.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about being fair,” he says, his voice firm. “I just want us back. Simple as that.”

Her tears blur the edges of Lando's face when she tries to push him away, but his grip won't let her. Not this time.

“It's not that simple, and you know it,” she says. “We’ll only end up hurting each other again.”

“Then we hurt, so what?” he counters, his voice soft but sure. “At least we’ll know we tried until there wasn't anything worth fighting for. I'm not done with you, baby. Are you?”

Her hands finally move, trembling as they brush against his cheeks. They're not as soft as they use to be, his little facial hair scratching slightly at the pads of her fingers. The connection sends a jolt through them both as her touch lingers, trailing up to his hair. She pulls at his cap with both hands, placing it on her own head with a weak smile.

“It’s longer than you used to wear it,” she notices, her tears catching the street lights.

Lando’s heart clenches, managing to shoot a small smile in return, “I thought maybe I’d try growing it out. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she admits as she tries to messily style his hair with her fingers. “It suits you.”

For a little while, they’re trapped in their own bubble. Her touch feels like home, and all Lando can think of is that he can't lose it again.

“I’m not asking you to decide now,” he finally says, his thumbs tracing soft circles on her waist. “I just need to know I’m not the only one still holding on.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they're stumbling into her apartment. She knows it's reckless, and she's basically throwing away five months of progress, but it wasn't going to last, anyway.

Addictions are very hard to keep under control, especially when they have curly, dark hair and give you bed eyes.

“This way,” she says, her lips swollen from kissing all the way to her door.

Lando doesn’t have time to adjust, his head already spinning with hundreds of scenarios that fly tirelessly through his mind. However, the only thing that captivates him at the moment is her, and the way her fingers curl into the waistband of his jeans. She tugs him closer, her lips crashing onto his once again, their breaths blending in a frantic exchange of need and uncertainty.

He watches her fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, her movements clumsy but determined. His heart reaches his throat, swallowing hard, as his hands move from her waist to his belt, blindly unbuckling it before tossing it carelessly aside. The sound of leather hitting the floor barely registers over the erratic, overlapping rhythm of them kissing.

Then, he sees it. The spark in her eyes she used to have when she looked at him — it catches him off guard, giving him hope. He follows her as she moves slowly, her back toward the bed, her movements precise, like a cat's. She lies down, propping herself up on her elbows, while he takes cautious steps closer, his shirt hanging open to reveal his chest and toned abs.

But just as he leans forward, her high heel presses lightly against his chest, stopping him.

Lando freezes, his hands bracing on either side of her foot, tracing his palm up and down her leg, as his eyes dart up to meet hers.

“You can look,” she says, catching a glimpse of confusion in his eyes. “But for now, no touching.”

He frowns, clenching his jaw at her request. It would make sense for her to bring him to her place only to torture him, but she can't be that heartless. Right? The sight of her, stretched out on the bed with her foot holding him at bay, is almost too much to handle already.

“You're not fair,” he mutters under his breath, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I don't give a flying fuck about being fair,” she repeats his words from earlier, her foot staying firm against his chest.

The power is in her hands, and she's planning on using them properly tonight.

“No touching,” she repeats, determined.

Lando's hands fall at his sides.

Slowly, she slides her foot down, letting it drag across his chest, making a quick stop on his lower abdomen before settling on the bed. Her gaze locks onto his, a daring glint in her eyes as she spreads her legs, revealing the black lace panties. The dress she's wearing lifts up her thighs of its own accord, leaving Lando chocking on air for a brief moment. His lips part as she trails her fingers down her own body, teasing herself the way she’s done countless nights before.

Nights when he wasn’t there.

Nights when she was alone, chasing a high only his touch could give her.

“Wanna see how I got through five months without you?” she asks, her hands traveling way down, hooking her fingers to pull at the soft material.

His breath hitches, the sight of her undressing before him so painfully slowly making his chest ache with longing and guilt.

“I thought of you,” she continues, letting a small whimper out when the soft lace peels off with a little resistance from her already soaked pussy. “Your hands, your mouth… the way you sound when you're turned on,” she discards the panties at the foot of the bed, her breath catching in her throat as she glances at him through her lashes. “Such a delicious combination between your sleepy voice and that low octave you hit when you're drunk.”

Lando’s mouth goes dry, his hands twitching at his sides, itching to lean over and collect the material off the floor to stuff it into his pocket as a souvenir. He’s never felt so powerless and yet so utterly consumed by someone before.

“Will you let me?” she asks, her lips curving into a smile that’s equally wicked and vulnerable, “Show you?”

Her name leaves Lando’s lips in a protest while he takes an instinctive step forward, but she stops him with her foot once again. It’s a punishment, and he knows it. She’s showing him exactly what he missed, and exactly how she wanted him for so long.

Lando's breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling as he watches her. Helpless. His every nerve is tuned to her, eyes following how her fingers slide so easily between her folds, spreading the wetness as she teases her hole. Of course she’s taking her time with it, only to make sure he registers every tiny detail, just in case he forgot.

Her head tilts to the side with a quiet gasp when she pushes slowly inside. The sound of her wet entrance is enough to make his knees weak, still, his body turns to stone.

On the other hand, his heart is a mess of pride and frustration — pride that she still feels comfortable to be this vulnerable and open in front of him, frustration that he has to see her like this, untouchable. That's why he's not even blinking, too afraid he'll miss a thing.

She starts to gently rock her hips against the bed, fucking her fingers in and out, her body trembling as her whimpers fill the room. It's too much for Lando, but luckily, she didn't say anything about moving. His legs finally give out, and he falls to his knees, the sound of his breath ragged and uneven as he gets closer to her.

Yes, she's in charge — for now, at least — but he can't stop his words slipping out. Quiet, yet demanding.

“Slower,” he says, fixing his eyes on the way her fingers slide over her clit. “Don't rush it, please. I want to see all of you.”

Her gaze meets his, and for a moment, neither of them says anything else. She sees the vulnerability etched into his features, the way his body betrays him, shaking with restraint, completely at her mercy.

He looks like a man unmoored, defeated. So beautiful.

“Lando…” she breaths heavily, her back arching against her own hand, that flattered slightly at his words, a blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

She hates how much he still affects her, obeying him without questioning his ways. Like no time has passed whatsoever.

When they make eye contact again, it's like they silently agree to go with it; whatever tonight will bring.

“That's is,” says Lando with satisfaction as she resumes her movements. “You gorgeous little thing. So beautiful when you listen, yeah?”

She nods, feeling him leaning forward just slightly, close enough that she can feel his warmth on her skin, without him touching her in any way. The air feels electric, her breath stuttering as she keeps fucking up her fingers under Lando's careful guidance. He watches every motion, his jaw tightening, ignoring the ache in his boxers the moment she finds her sweet spot, crying at how good it feels. She tries to muffle the moan, but Lando catches the hesitation, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

“No, let me hear you. Please, let me hear you,” he implores, exhaling sharply. “God, you're perfect. I could watch you forever.”

Lando can't help but notice how receptive she becomes at his words, her body tightening at the way he's praising her. As a result, she presses her fingers harder onto her clit, feeling the pressure building inside.

“Mhm, Lan…”

“I'm with you, baby. Keep going,” he encourages her, his gaze fixating on the slickness dripping between her legs. “Fucking hell. You're already so close, aren't you?”

It's like every word gets caught in her throat, and the only way she can reply to him is with a pathetic, desperate whimper.

In hindsight, she's never came from her fingers so quickly before, but the wave that’s hitting her from every direction right now is too intense to process right away.

It happens too fast, and the next thing she's aware of is Lando's voice, bringing her back.

“Please,” she hears him beg, managing to give him a slight nod of her head in return.

In that moment, the lights go out. Even so, Lando wants to be patient, as his index finger lightly brushes against her warmth. She exhales, giving up control, her gaze locked on him as if he is the only one that ever knew her. Meticulous, Lando traces his long, rough finger through her wetness, causing a shock to run through her whole body as it moves up and down her clit.

She thought she already crossed her limit, but then he leans down to press his mouth on her — deliberately, unapologetically, thirsty.

Lando lets out a deep, guttural groan that reverberates against her, causing her hips to twitch slightly. His tongue is wet and warm on her pulsating clit, leaving her breathless while he tastes her like it's the last time.

“My sweet, sweet baby,” he whispers, his voice intimate and personal, the words enveloping her in layers and layers of honey.

Feeling his warm breath on her center causes a surge of tension within her, making her walls tighten as his tongue explores within. He can't help but smile just as she leans into him, her body responding naturally, and he grips her thighs, closing the remaining gap between them. At that, she instantly buries her fingers in his curls, her hips mimicking his head movements.

“Oh, fuck,” she exhales abruptly.

The rest is pure bliss — his tongue licking in deep strokes, his muffled moans between her thighs, and the way he can’t seem to let go of her, gripping her tightly because he’s been deprived of her taste for so long.

Just for a brief second, Lando raises his head and, as his gaze remains fixed on her eyes, his mouth sucks gently at her clit. She's never seen him so desperate before, the sight of him owning her like that covering her entire body in chills.

Gradually, his kisses become way too powerful, which forces her to quickly grab his messy curls and pull him closer, unable to control herself anymore.

Without any warning, she screams his name as her climax hits her like a tidal wave for the second time in a row.

His growling makes her thighs quiver in his grasp, the vibrations intensifying her pleasure as her body convulses with each new sensation, while Lando’s tongue continues licking her during every heartbeat and shiver.

Next time she looks at him, his lips shine, his cheeks are red, and his gaze so intense that it causes her heart to skip a beat, creating a connection that seems more profound than any physical sensation she's just experienced.

He didn’t try to give her the best she’s ever had, but attempt to remind her how well he knows her body — to show her she still belongs to him.

“You’re so pretty,” says Lando, keeping his eyes on her, while he presses one finger back inside her cunt to test how thight she is after her second orgasm.

“Lando,” she spits his name at the unexpected touch, still too sensitive, “What… are you doing?” she gasps softly, a mixture between a sigh and a moan, when Lando's finger pulls out and glides across her wet, delicate clit once again.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Lando murmurs against her thigh, his voice low and reverent.

He grins in her direction, while his thumb circles her clit with precise intention, like a wheel gripping the perfect racing line. Sure of himself, Lando continues his movements, realizing how overstimulated she is, as he gets up to hover above her. Her hips buck instinctively into his hand, a jolt of reaction she can’t control.

Seeing Lando on top makes her react on instinct, wrapping one arm around his neck, while the other hand travels down his chest. The heat pooling in her stomach rises fast, an apex she didn’t expect to reach so soon. It’s intoxicating, her body spiraling as her mind blanks out the world beyond him.

“Lan—” she gasps, her back arching as if trying to escape, though every fiber of her betrays that she wants more.

“Come on, baby,” he says, increasing the pace. “You can give me one more. You're doing so well, I know you can,” his voice is a blend of dominance and desire, while his fingers press into her, knowing exactly where to go and how to bend, “Like that, see? So easy for me to read you. I could fuck my fingers into your pretty hole all night long and you'd still come for me every single time, wouldn't you, baby?”

Shaking, she clings to his neck, crying out his name in spasms. He loops his free arm around her, gently kissing her cheek — a gesture so tender and innocent that makes her heart grow ten times in size.

She grips his shoulder with one hand, her eyes closing in pleasure. “I can’t—” she chokes, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths.

In an attempt to get her power back, she tries to push at his wrist, but his arm steadies her, determined.

“Of course you can, love,” says Lando, his voice a gentle command, the firmness in his tone like a driver refusing to lift his foot off the pedal, curious to see how far he can take it.

Her hand clenches around his arm as his thumb presses against her clit with ruthless precision. She reacts on instinct, muscles coiling tight as she bucks against his hand, not sure what controls her body anymore, since her brain got disconnected long ago. The slik rhythm of Lando's fingers becomes too much, and she knows she's close when he starts curling them inside at the perfect angle.

“La— Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” her voice is a high-pitched cry now, laced with desperation. “I’m going—”

“I know, baby. So pretty. Look at you, making such a mess for me,” he urges, leaning in to kiss her neck.

Her body tightens as pleasure explodes within her, blinding and all-consumming — a full-throttle sensation, unrelenting in its intensity. She sobs his name as liquid warmth spills from her pussy, coating Lando’s fingers. He doesn’t stop there, though, his hand continuing its pace, coaxing every last wave of her climax as his arm holds her securely against him.

“God, I've missed you.”

When her breathing slows down, he falls down on top of her, burying his head in the crook of her neck. Her legs shake slightly, and her fingers curl weakly into his bare chest as he cradles her close.

Lando presses a tender kiss against her temple, his voice filling the quiet. “It wasn’t acciedntal,” he confesses.

She blinks rapidly, tilting her head to look at him, confused, “What?”

“Earlier,” Lando clarifies, “You said I was accidentally waltzing back into your life — it wasn’t accidental,” he repeats.

“What do you mean?”

Lando places a few more kisses on the heated skin of her neck, sucking in a couple of bruises, the gesture meant to buy himself more time for the storm raging in his head to stop.

“Lando,” she pulls him out of it.

“Been trying to figure out how to do this for a while. I just… couldn’t stay away from you anymore,” he admits, looking up at her, his eyes pleading. “I had Max playing detective while I was away.”

She pushes him off her to sit up on the bed, pulling at the edges of her dress. “Seriously, what?” her tone is not defensive — at least not yet — but there’s a sharpness to it that cuts into him.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he rushes to explain, “Look, I didn’t stalk you or anything. Nor Max,” he continues, getting up to stand next to her. “I didn’t even know where you lived until you brought me here. I swear.”

She wraps her arms around her own body, needing something to ground herself, “What did you do, Lando?” the girl asks, her voice quieter now.

He swallows, “I just asked him to check in on you. To see if you were okay.”

“And how did he do that?”

“He saw you tagged in a pic on this girl's account, and then did some research on the people you were with, paid some dudes to find out if their records were clean—” he starts chuckling when her fist hits his shoulder, playfully, but still with intent.

“Don’t be a dick,” she warns, her smile giving away the fact that she’s still amused by his immature sense of humor.

“I just… didn’t want to simply appear out of nowhere if you were happy. If you’d moved on,” Lando continues, his tone more serious now. “But when he told me you seemed like you hadn’t, I couldn’t keep pretending like I was fine. I'm really not.”

His honesty was always a breath of fresh air, but now it's suffocating. Hearing him admitting he's not okay, implying that she's the reason why, is simply heartbreaking.

Her arms drop slowly to her sides, her fingers gripping the edge of the bed, “Why now, Lando? And why not text or call?”

He scoffs, “Can you look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you would have picked up if I called? Especially given how we left things?”

She cups Lando’s chin in the palm of her hand, forcing him to look at her, “I'll always pick up if it's you.”

The admission makes his chest tighten.

Lando shakes his head, “I promise I’ve tried,” he says, “God, I’ve fucking tried. I threw myself into everything, and nothing worked. Racing, training, sim sessions, going out with the guys — no matter what I did, I was constantly thinking of you. Every night out felt wrong because I wasn’t coming home to you. And I know home is such a vague word for me, because I’m mostly away, but you made every single place feel like home, and that's why it didn't matter where I was at the time. I just needed… need you in ways I can't nor want to explain.”

His confession makes her head spin. The breakup had been difficult for her, but she hadn’t considered how Lando had handled the past five months. All along, she had assumed he wouldn’t miss her — that his life, always on the road and consumed by his own pursuits, was too busy to notice the absence of one small, insignificant detail: her.

She's now realizing how wrong she had been to think that way.

“So…?” she finally asks. “Do you think a few orgasms later can mend what was broken five months ago?”

“What? No, of course not,” he says firmly, leaning forward, his elbows digging into his thighs. “I swear, all I wanted to do tonight was talking to you. I didn’t plan on getting to this point, but I can’t say I’m mad about it,” says Lando, taking her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You still want me,” she shoots Lando a rapid look, studying his face, “Just like I want you. I see it, I feel it. Baby, I know it.”

Her heart pounds in her chest, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her defenses like a hot knife through butter. She wants to be angry, to accuse him of being selfish, but the truth is, she isn’t. Maybe it’s foolish to believe him, but one thing Lando never did was lie to her. He did worse, yes, but he never lied.

“Lando...” she starts, but her voice trails off, wishing her head would stop spinning so she could think.

“I know I hurt you,” he continues, his voice softer now, “You hurt me. We hurt each other. But we're too good together not to find a way to make it work.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her mind racing with memories of their past — the good, especially the bad, and everything else in between. Her fingers toy with the fabric of her dress, her eyes flickering between his face and the floor. The room is heavy with silence and, just for a moment, she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find each other again.

Otherwise, if it's meant to fall apart, then let it happen with them gasping for air, tangled together, connected in every way imaginable.

THE MORNING SUN filters shyly through the curtains, soft and golden, spilling across the bed where Lando stirs awake. He’s all alone, the sheets around him rumpled from where she had slept. He blinks up at the ceiling, a little disoriented. Then, he hears the faint sound of running water and realizes she’s in the shower. It makes him feel like everything went back to normal, but he can't be sure of what's going to happen next. He can only speculate and hope, but nothing more than that.

The quiet is interrupted by the persistent buzz of his phone on the nightstand. He reaches for it, still groggy from sleep, scrolling through a handful of texts from last night — banter in the group chat, some Instagram notifications, a few missed calls; nothing too important to catch his eye. He places the phone back on the smooth surface carelessly, and his hand knocks over something solid in the process.

Frowning, he sits up to put it back in its place, and that’s when he sees it — a framed picture of them, taken during a rare quiet weekend in Monaco over a year ago, right at the beginning of their relationship. She looked so happy back then, caught mid-laugh as Lando was gazing at her with an expression so tender that it makes his chest ache now. The weight of the memory hits him harder than he expects, pulling him fully awake.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes him turn, and he puts the frame back quickly. However, it's enough for her to catch his sudden movement, her eyes flicking to the photo and back to him.

Her cheeks flush a deep pink. “I meant to put that away,” she rushes to say, pulling the towel tighter around her body like it might shield her from the embarrassment.

“Carlos took this one,” his voice is soft, as his eyes shift back to the frame. He picks it up again, turning it in his hands. “You asked me why didn't I call, but… why didn't you call?”

She laughs dryly, crossing the space to take the frame from his hand and placing it face down on the nightstand. She sits down next to him, shrugging.

“And tell you what, Lando? That I couldn’t stop thinking about you even though you broke my heart?” she asks, shaking her head, the embarrassment turning into something closer to frustration. “It’s just a stupid picture, anyway. We barely knew each other when it was taken.”

“It’s not stupid,” he contradicts her vehemently. His hand reaches out tentatively, brushing against her soft forearm. “It's nice to know I wasn’t completely crazy for hoping you felt the same.”

Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no words come out. The towel slips slightly, and she clutches it tighter, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his hungry eyes.

“Lando…”

“Leave it there, yeah?” he says, pointing at the picture. “Facing your side of the bed, preferably.”

Seeing her suddenly deep in thought, Lando grabs her wrist and gently pulls her onto his lap, his thumb lightly brushing against her silky skin.

She looks at him, her emotions warring on her face. “If it makes me look less pathetic, it was face down most of the time.”

Lando laughs, his hands finding her waist, then her hips, steadying her on his lap, “I love you,” he says it casually, but it still freezing the blood in her veins.

Her fingers fly towards his mouth to cover his lips, “Don't,” she warns.

“You know I do. I was serious last night. You don't have to decide anything right now, but I'm not going anywhere. It sucks we needed to hurt for a while, we're both at fault, but I never stopped loving you,” he repeats.

“You're so unfair.”

“Don't care, say it back,” he teases, digging his fingers into her skin to tickle her sides.

She starts giggling, “Don't you dare.”

His grin widens, “Or what?” he asks playfully as her hands fly to his, trying to fend him off.

“Lando, I'm serious. Stop it,” her laughter blends with his while he leans in closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“I need to hear it, baby. Please. Just say it back.”

“It back,” she chuckles, feeling his fingers tickling her so mercilessly that tears form in her eyes. Their laughter bubbles over, loud and uninhibited, until she collapses against him. “Okay, fine. Fine,” her breathy voice stops him in place, catching his attention. “I love you, Lando.”

A simple confession; he asked for it. But none of them expected it to hang that heavily between them. It's not a lie — not in the slightest — and Lando knows it.

“Enough to give us a second chance?” he asks.

Her breath catches at the sudden shift in his tone, and before she can reply, his thumb traces her cheek gently.

“I'm so scared,” she admits, leaning into his touch.

Lando sighs, understanding too well where she's coming from, “I know, baby. But I'm even more afraid of losing us again. Losing this…”

His hand slides down her chest, tracing the curve of her breasts. With a gentle movement, he tugs at the corner of her towel, letting it drip smoothly down her body. Patiently, he runs his hands down her waist, moving back up to her chest as they leave goosebumps in their wake. Hungry, his hands rest on her breasts, squeezing them lightly until he feels her nipples in his palms, and she drops her head on his shoulder, whimpering softly.

Memories of last night make her body shudder, feeling the heat between her legs intensifying. Following his lead, her fingers start tugging at the waistband of his boxers, until they slip low on his hips.

Lando moves one hand around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. He groans against her mouth, his breath hot and ragged, before breaking their connection long enough to kick the boxers aside.

Skin on skin, their bodies align like two puzzle pieces.

She hovers over him, his hands on either side of her, “I wanna take care of you,” he speaks softly, closing his eyes when her forehead rests against his. “Please, let me take care of you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone that twists something deep inside her. She's just learned how to be independent again. She can't throw all of it away. She can't let herself slip.

She can't.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.

Her answer is all that Lando needs to hear. His lips crash back onto hers as he swaps their positions, lowering her onto the bed, his body pressing against hers, warm and solid. And so very real. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word feels like a promise, a vow that he won’t let her slip through his fingers again.

And then, Lando takes control — not the type of dominance he's used to when he steers his car. It's more like devotion; his hands map her body all over again, like a driver learning every twist and turn of a new circuit, his lips following the trail his fingers blaze.

She arches into his touch, responding to him in ways she thought she’d forgotten.

But the body remembers.

And the remembering is, oh, so good.

Last night was just the warm-up, she reckons — an act meant to remind both of them how well they fit together. Lando was gentle, kind, and patient. But now, she sees the shift in him.

His eyes are darker, filled with lust, his touch greedier. She can't help but smile when she realizes that the Lando she knows all too well — the one who’s needy, insatiable, and unrelenting in his desire for her — is still there, and so ready to show off.

Her skin tingles in anticipation as she watches him, knowing exactly what he wants. And for once, she wants it just as much. Maybe even more, considering how her body is acting independently from her brain.

She wants him to give her everything, to burn through her until she’s left gasping and wet and ruined, and she’s ready to meet his hunger with her own.

But before that, “We're not done talking,” she tells him, breathing heavily against his mouth.

“Yeah, we'll talk. Stay with me and we'll talk all you want, baby.”

She wants to protest, but her air gets knocked out of her lungs and her fingernails sink into his shoulders when Lando nudges the head of his cock up and down her slit to collect the wetness. With a gentle kiss on her jaw, she closes her eyes, tracing her fingers down his arms as he pushes inside.

They both exhale, relieved that they're back where they belong.

Talking can wait.

Lando's hands grip her waist just as he pulls out, only to push back in, all the way to the hilt in one slow, but hard thrust. The feeling is almost too much for her, which is ridiculous since he just started moving. But she feels so full, and the sounds he lets out only make her open up for him even more.

“Wait, wait,” she can barely recognize her own voice, stopping Lando when their hips touch together.

She can't explain it, but she needs it.

“What's wrong?”

She looks down between their bodies, confusing Lando even more. “I…,” she begins, but she's not sure how she's supposed to voice her need.

“It's okay, you can tell me,” he assures her, bringing his hand to cup her face in his palm, tracing his thumb over her cheek.

“I—need a second to feel you,” she explains, pushing his hand away only to trace her palms over her face.

Lando chuckles, “Baby, don't hide from me. You're driving me fucking mad when you're blushing.”

“I'm not blushing,” she contradicts him, raising her hips against his, her walls hugging him tighter with every move.

“No?” whispers Lando roughly as if he lost his voice. “God, you're perfect. So good, so fucking sweet and perfect around me, baby.”

Her legs tighten around his waist, keeping him inside, while one hand moves to his lower back to push him against her even more. There is no physical space left between them, but she still wants more. It only makes Lando's cock throb inside her pussy, giving her a few more seconds to adjust to his length before he pulls all the way out and slides back, searching for the perfect pace.

“Fuck, Lando,” she whines, burying her fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots.

“Yes, I know,” agrees Lando, his eyes flicking over her face. His insides tighten at the sight of her parting her lips in pleasure, her breathing hot and irregular. “You're so beautiful from this angle.”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off, which makes Lando chuckle again.

“Why would I?” he asks, leaning closer to her ear, while thrusting a couple more times before pausing. “You look like a fucking goddess taking my cock so well.”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the sound of his voice, low and raspy, rocking her hips to find that sweet friction against her walls again.

“Keep,” she whines, “Keep going, then. Let me have it.”

Lando presses his lips on hers at the same time he resumes his movements, his hands roaming all over her body.

“You can have my cock, baby,” he groans into her hair. “All yours.”

She nods, wrapping her fingers around his biceps, “Yeah?”

“Promise you,” says Lando.

After that, he picks up pace, both falling into an agonizing rhythm. All this time, she had thought that familiarity might dull the edge of being with Lando, that knowing his moves would make it predictable and boring, maybe even ordinary.

Somehow, it’s the exact opposite.

It’s because she knows him, and he knows her so well, that every touch feels ecstatic, every kiss charged with meaning. He doesn’t need to guess what she likes; he already knows how to unravel her, how to leave her trembling and breathless. And she knows exactly what will make his breath hitch, how to draw out that low, desperate groan that ignites her own fire.

In a way, every time feels like the first, but it's always much better, because they know how to make each other fall apart like no one else can.

“Please,” she gasps, breathing wetly in his shoulder. “Harder.”

One thing about Lando, he's always been good at listening. Without thinking twice, he tightens his grip on her hips, fucking his cock inside her harder and faster than before. In an instant, her ears are blessed with the way his moans sound.

“God, I've missed fucking my pretty girl like this,” says Lando, his hands moving on her thighs to spread her more so he can slide in faster. “It's never like this, baby, fuck.”

Being with Lando is chaos, the kind of beautiful, consuming chaos that leaves everything around them in shambles. They are loud and messy, and everything is sweaty and wet and sticky. He kisses her like he’s starving, touches her like he’s desperate to memorize every inch of her skin, and she matches his fervor, meeting him with the same wild energy that pulls them under. Together.

“Lando,” she spits his name out of her mouth in short spasms. “Lando, Lan… Lando.”

It's almost like a cry for help, but she doesn't need saving. Not when he's fucking her so good, slamming against her over and over again, until the outside world fades away and all she remembers is his name.

“Lando,” she whimpers again.

“Keep me in, love. Like that,” she can barely hear him over the sound of skin slapping on skin. “Fuck. You're taking me so well, I won't stop fucking you, baby. I won't—”

She sucks in a breath of air, her body buzzing with pleasure. Wrapping her arms around his torso, she can feel how hot and sweaty his chest is. She moves with him for a couple more thrusts before she lets go, the sound of Lando fucking in and out of her while she comes so obscene that it makes her eyes roll.

“I'll never get tired of seeing you coming like that,” says Lando, pinning her to the bed, his cock feeling so fucking good inside of her that it makes him see stars. “So fucking hot, baby.”

Her nails scratch the skin of his back as her pussy clenches around his length, forcing another hiss out of Lando's mouth.

“Don't stop,” she manages to say, even though she feels her throat raw.

“Ah, look at you, now. Being so good for me,” says Lando with a smirk, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Letting me have my way with you when you're sore and spent. And so wet, baby, you're dripping all around my cock. Fucking hell.”

Lando's jaw clenches, a visible battle playing out in his face as his breath hitches. She feels him moving deeper, hitting the sweet spot inside her, sending ripples of pleasure through her body with every thrust.

“Yes—fuck. Don't stop,” she repeats.

His eyes widen as he tries to hold on for as long as he can, but it's hard when he flashes his eyes in her direction and catches her already looking. It doesn't take long for him to realize there's a replica to her first orgasm. He nods, without saying anything else, bringing his hand up to her neck. She places hers on top of his, not to push it away, but to let it rest there as a sign that it's fine to claim her if that's what Lando needs.

And that's enough for him to lose it.

“Baby,” he breaths out, fucking her slopply, any sense of order dissolving under the weight of their eye contact.

She arches into him, her fingers trembling as they rise to cup his face.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she demands, her voice a desperate need.

She pictured that face thousands of times in the past months, but nothing compares to this. Lando groans at the command, his hooded gaze staying on hers. The intensity of his expression nearly undoes her again — his pupils blown wide, lips parted as he lets out s string of cuss words.

“That's it, pretty boy,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over his cheek as he moves inside her, his pace faltering for just a moment before he snaps back into thay sloppy rhythm, chasing his release. “Want to see you when you let go.”

She barely finishes her sentence when his orgasm crashes over him like a tsunami; no one would be able to even tell where she begins and where he ends.

Lando looks so beautiful and wrecked, and she drinks in every second of his surrender.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

When his features soften, she sees how vulnerable he is, and it leaves her breathless.

Satisfied and content, her fingers still trace his face, wanting to remember the exact way he looks in this moment, when he is completely hers.

Unable to support his weight, Lando collapses on top of her, feeling his body as light as a feather, which is so far from the truth. But she doesn't mind; she loves the feeling, actually. She loves the heaviness, and the way he keeps his cock tucked deep inside her, wet and softening slowly, not allowing his cum to leak out of her.

Descending back down from their high, the only sounds in the room are their slowing breaths and the soft rustle of the sheets. It's hard not to notice the weight of reality when it begins to creep in around the edges.

She lies beneath him, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his back, but her mind is miles away.

“When are you leaving?” she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando tenses for a moment, then shifts to lie beside her, propping his head on his hand to look at her. The vulnerability in her eyes twists something deep inside him.

She swallows hard, suddenly flooded by all the reasons they had fought, all the late nights filled with misunderstandings and misaligned priorities. She remembers all the reasons why they broke up, and thinking how bad of an idea this has been. Because, how can she let go of him again, without feeling like she'll be losing both her head and heart in the process.

“On Tuesday,” says Lando softly. “But not how you think.”

Her brow furrows in confusion as she turns to face him. “What do you mean?”

Lando leans over, his hand caressing her cheek as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about us for months. Since you left, actually,” he begins, his voice low and deliberate. “I had a lot of time, and I managed to figure out why it didn’t work before, why I couldn’t give you what you deserved. So… I’ve talked to the team.”

She almost stops breathing, her eyes widening in his direction while she waits for him to continue. Months ago, she would've die to have this conversation, and now that it happens, she doesn't know how to behave.

“I'm working on a schedule. To have more time for us,” Lando explains.

Her heart skips a beat. “You’d do that?”

“For us,” he repeats, his voice firm. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay without you. I don't want to be okay without you, it's stupid. And I don’t want to keep coming back here, hoping for a second chance, only to mess it up again. I want to get it right this time.”

She stares at him, not knowing what to do with that information. This is not the Lando she knows. The recklessness and impulsivity got replaced by caution and planning the steps ahead. It's new, and exciting, and it makes her tear up.

“And what if it still doesn’t work?” she asks, her voice small.

He leans closer, his forehead touching hers. “It will.”

His tone is so definitive that she can't say anything else, letting the silence stretch between them as she searches Lando's face for any sign of hesitation.

There’s none.

“How... did you actually know where to find me last night?”

Lando smirks, studying her face with half-closed eyes, bringing his hand to her jaw. “That friend of yours posted on her story. Honestly, I didn’t know you were going to be there. But I hoped.”

She shakes her head, scoffing, “Stalker behavior.”

Lando shrugs nonchallantly, “I just happened to be nearby,” he chuckles.

“Lucky me,” she says, tracing the contour of his nose with her finger, stopping on his jaw.

“Lucky us,” he corrects, pulling her in for another kiss.

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[brokenmenswhore]

idk if this is crazy but poly!maruraders x reader where r is blindfolded and she has to guess which of her bfs is fucking her

😃😃🥲🥲😞😞

oh it’s crazy but OH did you come to the right place for that

guess | poly!marauders

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader (james, remus, and sirius)

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+)

a/n: you wanna guess the color of my underwear you wanna know what i got goin on down there

────── ☾ ──────

“You just tell us if anything becomes too much, alright?” James said, tying the silk fabric behind your head tight enough that it fully enveloped your eyes in darkness.

“Okay,” you said.

Remus bent forward in front of you, and you could feel his presence, but you weren’t sure exactly where he was.

“Can you see me?” he asked.

You nodded your head no. “Can’t see a thing.”

“Perfect,” Remus smiled, and you could hear the satisfaction in his voice, even if you couldn’t see him, “now remember the rules. If you guess who’s fucking you correctly, you get to come. Now, Sirius,” Remus turned toward his friend, “start it.”

Sirius lowered the needle onto the outer edge of the record, allowing the music to fill your ears to further deafen your senses.

You made yourself comfortable on the bed, laying back against the pillows as you breathed heavy in anticipation.

One of your boyfriends began to softly run his hands up your legs, stopping when he got to the tops of your thighs. They all wore gloves to eliminate the possibility of you recognizing their touch, and the cloth felt soothing against your skin.

You felt the bed dip between your legs as he wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding them open as he placed kisses on top of your folds.

You shuddered, instinctively trying to grab at his hair, but your unoccupied boyfriends held an arm each to ensure you wouldn’t get lost in the pleasure and slip up. If you could feel their hair, you would be able to tell exactly who it was.

He parted your folds with his tongue, gently circling your clit as you shifted your hips to silently beg for more.

The boy between your legs moved an arm to hold down your stomach as he picked up the pace, flicking your bud and sucking at your clit quickly.

“Fuck,” you sighed, lips parting as you couldn’t help but moan.

Just as he began to get you worked up, he slowed down again, intentionally throwing you off with his pacing so as not to give away which boyfriend of yours he was. They all had their specific techniques, and he didn’t want to risk giving himself away.

You were unable to move your hips underneath is tight grip, so you just whined in anticipation. Each time he quickened his pace, you began to whimper and moan as you got closer and closer to your climax, and right when the coil in your lower stomach began to tighten, he slowed back down and left you wet and needy again.

You felt a tap on your shoulder, signaling you to take your guess if you wanted to come.

One of your boyfriends stayed between your legs, tasting you excruciatingly slowly. You tried to rack your brain for how you felt, and which one of them could make you feel like this.

You figured it wasn’t James- he could hold you down much harder, and his eating out technique was not something he could easily hide. With respect to your other boyfriends, if this was James, you’d have come already.

It was a genuine 50/50 guess between Remus and Sirius.

“I- fuck, Remus?” you guessed.

The boy between your legs disconnected his lips from you, and you felt him leave the bed, your body shivering from the sudden cold air on your core.

“Not me, baby,” Remus said from next to you, dropping your wrists, “better luck next time.”

You wiggled your hips and pouted, “come on, this is no fair.”

“What’s no fair is you don’t appreciate the head I give you,” James chuckled.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, but it wasn’t like they could see it much. “That was you?” you asked.

“Mhm. You taste sweet today, baby.”

“But- but you-“

“Couldn’t give you the same head I always do, now could I? This game would be no fun,” James whispered, leaning down next to your ear and placing a kiss on your cheek.

James stood up, and you heard faint, distant whispering, but you couldn’t make out what anyone was saying.

You obnoxiously cleared your throat to remind the three boys that you were ready and waiting and anxious to come.

“Alright, angel, you want more?” James teased, and you nodded your head furiously as you felt one of the boys spread your legs open and settle down on the bed between them.

They all fell silent again, intent on not giving away who was about to fuck you.

The boy between your legs leaned over you, and you felt the bed dip next to your head where he placed his arm for leverage. He lined the tip of his cock up with your entrance, pushing only a little in before pulling back out and watching in amusement as you moaned in anticipation.

“Please,” you nearly whispered.

He so desperately wanted to make you suffer, wanted to taunt you, wanted to make you ask for what you wanted- but he couldn’t speak or you would immediately know who it was.

Instead, he just pushed the tip in again, stilling for a brief moment before pulling back out.

You writhed beneath him, nearly crying from need as you clenched around air.

The boy took pity on you, slamming his entire length into you and immediately fucking in and out of you. He knew that if he stilled his entire length inside of you, you may be able to identify him.

He wanted to take it slow and torture you, but he had to move fast enough that it wasn’t obvious who he was. Your three boyfriends were all different, and your body adjusted and reacted differently to each of them.

Your back arched as he continued to fuck into you, moans freely slipping from your lips as your body squeezed his cock in appreciation for the stimulation.

You tried not to lose yourself in the pleasure, but you were desperate to come. You knew the trouble you would be in if you did so without guessing correctly who was fucking you, so you tried your best to focus on figuring it out.

Each thrust of his hips hit your cervix, and though he was rough, he wasn’t fucking you so ridiculously hard that he had to put in any extra effort to hit your sweet spot. He could without trying.

Your thoughts went cloudy as he pounded into you harder, losing his self control as he fucked into you faster and faster. He was close to losing this game for you.

He wrapped his arm around your back, his gloved hand gripping your hip as he snapped his hips into you, the new lifted position causing him to bump your clit with each thrust.

You threw your head back as he became selfish, nearly forgetting about maintaining anonymity.

You felt the tap on your shoulder, and you couldn’t bring yourself to think about it. You said what felt right.

“S- Sirius,” you moaned.

Sirius leaned down, allowing his hair to fall in front of his face as he whispered in your ear, “good girl.”

The praise sent you over the edge, as did the confirmation that you had guessed correctly. You came hard, squeezing Sirius’s cock as your thighs shook around him.

He continued to fuck you through your high, chasing his own as you cried out at the overstimulation.

He groaned on your ear, leaning over you as he held your hips against his. With a final few harsh snaps of his hips, he came inside of you, moaning so low that only you could hear. The noises were meant for you and only you.

Sirius caught his breathing before guiding his cock out of you and gently placing your hips back down onto the mattress.

Remus, from beside you, untied your blindfold and removed it from your face. You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the unfamiliarity of the light.

“You have fun?” James teased.

“Mhm,” you vocalized, stretching your body out before leaning onto your side, “it was hot, but Remmy didn’t get a turn.”

Remus giggled at your pouting, “you rest for a little, and then I’ll take my turn, hm?”

You smiled as he placed a kiss on your nose, whispering, “except you’ll know it’s me, everyone will when they hear you.”

You playfully gasped as he smiled at you, standing tall and holding his hand out to you. “Let’s get you cleaned up before that though, yeah?”