#can i undo whatever i did wrong

[axelaxolotll]

imyimyimyimyimyimyimy

[solastarr]

Both Ain’t Shit- Smoke vers.

Smoke Moore x Black Reader

Genre: Smut with plot

Word count: 6.2k+

Summary: You and Smoke have been having a little fling for a while now. But Smoke pushes you too far. And now it’s time to show him you can play the game just as well as him, and remind him who he’s dealing with.

Warnings: cheating if you squint, p in v, fem receiving oral, use of n word, banter, and cussing

Authors notes: i’m so sorry for making yall wait so long for this. This was very long so i think my next few pieces will be short. I have a lot more ideas to come tho! Enjoy!!

He is not my man.

I mean, yeah he be at my place more than his own. He got a designated space in my closet for his clothes, he sometimes gets packages sent to my address, and my neighbors think he’s my husband…

But Elijah Moore is not my man.

And I wasn’t his woman neither.

Or at least that's what we tell everyone…

Me and Smoke wasn’t nothing but a good time to each other at first. The risky nights, flirty texts, and playing house was fun and all at first. But then I fell too deep into our fake fantasy. 

Smoke has everything I want in a man–drive, ambition, quite confidence and he gave me sex that made me forget my own name. Everything I dreamed of, but he didn’t give me the security, honesty, and title of the relationship I wanted. 

I used to care, I used to ask, I used to cry about the women that approached us in public like I was some homewrecker, the days when he would leave and not talk to me, the late nights where he would up and go handle “business” without putting on proper clothes or packing his work bag. And I say this with my chest because I will never again fall for his games. 

He use to gaslight me so well I thought I was going crazy and made up the entire thing. And I tried to leave, put the mess of a relationship behind me but Smoke can make you feel like you the only one, even when you know for a fact you’re not. 

And I always knew, I always knew.

Between the late replies, dirty stares from women I don’t know in shops giving me dirty stares, and the way his phone magically stayed face down every time he came over.

I’d have to be stupid to not know. 

But now?

I play it cool. Smile in his face, moan in his ear, and act like I’m not being used. Because I know I can run game too. He wants to be a player? Bet you I can play dirty too if not dirtier.

Because even when he’s out chasing whatever new girl that caught his eye, he still ends up in my bed. He might go ghost for a day or two, but he always shows back up with that same sorry ass smirk like he ain’t been doing me wrong. But I know I mean something to him because I’m the one he slips up and calls when he’s drunk, the one he trusts with his silence, his stress, his secrets. I’m not stupid—I know I’m not the only one he touches, but I’m the only one that sees Elijah Moore. They might get Smoke, but I get both. And maybe that makes me just as dumb as them, but at least I’m the one he always runs back to. Even if he pretends like he’s just passing through.

 I don’t return the energy to the same extent—not 'cause I’m loyal, but 'cause none of them other dudes make me feel what Smoke do. They don’t got that pull on me. They don’t got that calm but dangerous aura that make your knees weak and pride nonexistent. And I hate that. I hate that I crave the same man that got me second-guessing my worth, but still got the power to fuck me like I’m the only woman in the world. They couldn’t handle me anyway—not like he can. So I let him think he winning… while I lose my damn mind behind closed doors.

But tonight he did something that was a new low.

I should have know something was off when he showed up to my door with flowers.  

Smoke ain’t ever gave me no fucking flowers. He do give orgasms and headaches. He do “You good?” texts at 2 in the morning. But flowers. Roses? Never .But there he was—standing in the doorway like a fever dream—holding roses like that alone could undo months of hurt. They were fresh too, like he’d actually cared enough to stop and pick the best ones for me. The red looked loud against the cool evening light, too loud for a man who whispered lies in a voice so calm it sounded like love.

That was guilt wrapped in a heart shaped box. With a weak ass smirk. 

“What’s this for?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe of my front door with my arms crossed. Staring at him with confusion and surprise in my voice.

He smirked. “ I can’t do something nice for you?” He says dressed in his typical grey suit with a blue tie, with a caring but deceitful look in his eyes.

He walked past me like he owned the place– even though some days he practically lived here. He dropped the roses in the middle of my dining room table like they meant something to me and then found his way back to me by sliding his arm around my waist. I let him. I always let him. Because I deserve some fun out of this too. 

The night started like our normal routine. Dinner. Jokes. Laying in his chest while telling him about my day. He even started talking to me about how he wants to take me on a getaway trip so he can show me the world. Which should have been red flag number two. But again I just wanted to get the most out of him being with me.

The third flag was what got me though. 

I was looking for one of my heels that I had recently broken on accident in hopes I could get a little money out of him for all the problems that come with him. But while I was looking I saw a little velvet box tucked in the bag he packed to spend the night. 

At first, my heart jumped–thinking that maybe something came over him and knocked him into his senses to commit to me. Thinking maybe it was a promise ring or something stupid like that.

But as I got closer I realized how familiar the box looked. When me and Smoke started messing around he gave me a gold anklet as a little keep me in mind gift. And I still wear it to this day because you cant see it under my clothes in public, it makes him pound me into the mattress when he sees while we fucking, and because I thought it was a genuine gift he was giving me because he cared.(you’re a dummy bitch)

Out of curiosity I kneeled down checking my surroundings to make sure he wasn’t about to come help me look for whatever I came in my room for. I opened the box to see the exact anklet that was on my leg. The box has a note attached to it that read, 

“To J.”

“J… Who the fuck is J?” I thought to myself. My blood immediately started to boil. Vision blurring. But I collected myself to steady my hands as I closed the box and zipped his bag right back up with a smirk on my face. This was my green light to start fucking with him.

I walked back into the living room. I didn’t ask no questions. Didn’t start a fight. Didn’t even make a petty remark. I gave him one more night, one last kiss, and last moan. Letting him think everything was sweet. Made it real good too, gave him my all.

Because tomorrow?

I’m getting my lick back.

Next day 

I woke up like I knew nothing.

Played the same role—sweet, soft, and familiar. I kissed him good morning, made him breakfast, even ironed the shirt he accidentally wrinkled from throwing it in his bag.

He was still in bed by the time I was done, shirtless in only his underwear, stretching like he ain’t just spent the whole night with his tongue in me. The sun crept in through the blinds, laying golden ribbons across his broad muscular back. He looked good—too damn good for someone who didn’t deserve me.

I walked past the bedroom doorway with my coffee in hand, making sure to get all his shit together so he could be on his way. I looked like a woman coming down from a long night—curls falling messily from the makeshift bun, nightgown straps slipping off my shoulders from running round the house. But the second I heard his voice, I paused.

“Damn, you just gon’ walk past me like that?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep and fake concern.

“Didn’t know you were still here,” I replied over my shoulder, taking a slow sip from my mug. “Usually you’d be gone by now.”

He chuckled, that lazy one he does when he thinks he’s charming.

“That how we acting today?”

I kept moving, gathering his keys, wallet, phone charger—placing everything neatly by the door.

“I made breakfast. Even ironed your shirt. What else you want?”

“I thought maybe we could chill for a second.”

I glanced over at him, leaving my bed, half-dressed and stretching. Taking his sweet time like he ain’t planning to meet another girl in a few hours. “I’ve got stuff to do. You got places to be and people to see, don’t you?” I tilt my head, all sweet like honey over broken glass.

He raised an eyebrow, trying to read me.

“You good? I just wanted to make sure my girl was alright after last night.” He grinned—half pervert, half innocent—as if the memory of his mouth on me gave him the right to ask.

“I’m great,” I said with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Got what I needed, didn’t I?”

He laughed, low and amused like he thought I was playing. But I wasn’t.

I brushed past him, slow enough to feel his heat, fast enough to pretend it didn’t burn. Before I left the room, I paused.

“Your shirt’s on the couch, still warm. Coffee on the counter, take it to go.”

I walked toward the hallway mirror, pretending to fix a loose curl, but really, I was watching him through the reflection. Watching him fake like he wasn’t confused.

He moved slow, dragging himself out into the hall, “Damn, you rushing me out?”

I turned, still calm. “Not rushing,” I shrugged. “Just... reminding you that you do have somewhere else to be. I mean, don’t you have brunch plans? I know I’m not the only per—I mean, thing you tend to in your day-to-day.” I offered a soft, fake smile

He smirked. “Why you always doin’ that?” he asked, pulling his shirt over his head, voice dipped in charm and guilt like he didn’t know where he stood.

I turned back to the mirror. “Doing what?”

He walked into the hallway like he owned it—coffee in one hand, confusion in the other. “Throwing lil’ jabs like I ain’t been here every night this week.”

I tilted my head, slow. “And yet somehow, still not doing right.”

That shut him up for a second.

“If you got something to say—”

I cut him off with a soft laugh, eyes still on my reflection. “I don’t. Nothing to say. Nothing new, anyway.”

I walked to the door, held it open like a polite hostess.

“I don’t want to stand between you and your business. They seem to be getting impatient.” I nodded toward his phone lighting up again with a text he didn’t bother hiding.

He looked at it, then back at me. “You really on one today, huh?”

I shrugged. “Not really. Just on schedule.”

He stepped onto the porch, shirt tugged, ego bruised, still confused

“You good though?” he asked again, this time softer. Smaller.

I leaned against the doorframe, cool and casual. 

“Always,” I said.

And then I slammed the door in his face.

Later that day

The silence in the apartment after he left was thick. Like the walls were holding their breath, waiting for me to fall apart.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I ran a hot shower, scrubbed him off my skin, and let the steam cleanse every trace of him from my pores. Then I pulled open my closet and picked the one dress I knew would make someone stare too long and think too hard.

It was satin—deep red, the kind of red that doesn’t beg for attention but demands it. It clung in all the right places and slid over my thighs like water. I slipped on gold hoops, sprayed the perfume he used to compliment before he stopped noticing, and glossed my lips.

I needed to get back at Elijah in a way that would make his blood boil. Elijah used to have a friend named Darius that always showed me a little too much attention when me and Elijah would run into him. Compliments that were too attentive, gifts too expensive, and hugs that were intended to be more than friendly. 

Elijah hated it. Hated him.

Then my phone lit up:

Darius: I’m outside.

I smiled to myself, grabbed my bag, and walked to the door with the same grin smoke gives when he’s fucked me over. 

We walked into Club Eden like we’d done it before. Darius had one hand on the small of my back, the other in his pocket, grinning like we go together. I kept my chin high, every step deliberate, the red satin of my dress catching the lights just right. Heads turned, we looked good, and I knew it. But I wasn’t here for the stares. I was searching for one face in the crowd. Just smiling, slow and sweet, as Darius guided me deeper inside the club I knew too well.

Smoke wasn’t hard to spot.

Even in the low-lit haze of Club Eden, he stood out like sin dressed in success. Black slacks tailored to perfection, button-up open just enough to show that gold chain he never took off, and a gold watch to match catching flashes of light as he leaned back, calm and calculating.

And he wasn’t alone.

She sat next to him, legs crossed, laughing because she didn’t know about our twinning anklets. It shimmered around her ankle like a middle finger straight to my face.

I didn’t react. Couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, I leaned back against Darius, legs draped over his lap like it was second nature. I smiled, slow and sweet, twirling my straw in my drink as if I wasn’t locked in a silent war with the man across the room.

Smoke’s eyes met mine—dark, unreadable, but I knew that look. His jaw was clenched. His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. The girl next to him leaned in to whisper something, and he didn’t flinch, didn’t move. Just kept his gaze on me like I had his whole night wrapped around my finger.

Good.

I tilted my head, let my curls fall over one shoulder, and whispered something in Darius’s ear. Didn’t matter what, I just needed to see Smoke look at me.

He did and I knew I had him right where I wanted him.

“Wanna dance?” I asked Darius, my voice soft but just loud enough. He grinned like he’d been waiting for the invite. “You know I do.”

The second I stood, I felt Elijah’s stare follow every step I took. I didn’t look back. Just led Darius to the dance floor like we owned it. The bass hit heavy, the colorful led lights spun soft, and I let my body move—slow, effortless, sensual. Darius tried to keep up, hands respectful but curious. I didn’t care. I wasn’t dancing with him for him. I was dancing for the man sitting in the corner pretending he didn’t care.

Elijah didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But when I twirled to catch his gaze again—he was gone.

Just like that.

I smirked, satisfied, even as my chest tightened.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Darius, brushing a kiss on his cheek before slipping toward the restroom.

The bathroom was cool and quiet. I touched up my lip gloss, adjusted my dress, and took a deep breath. The game was fun, but it was stressful. And I was starting to feel the heat of it rise to my skin.

I opened the door, and there he was.

Smoke.

Leaning against the wall like. His arms were crossed. His shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to show the tattoos on his forearms, jaw tight, eyes darker than I remembered.

I blinked. “You lost?”

He didn’t smile. “Was about to ask you the same thing.”

I crossed my arms, mirroring him. “Bathroom’s not your usual hangout, is it?”

“I saw you dancing,” he said, voice low and clipped. “Looked like you were real comfortable.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Darius is sweet,” I said, letting the name linger to make sure it burns.

His jaw flexed. “He’s a clown.”

“He’s not you,” I shrugged. “That’s kind of the point.”I look at him with amusement because I know i’m getting under his skin.

“You really brought him here?” he asked, stepping closer. “To my spot?”

“Oh, my bad,” I said with mock concern. “Didn’t realize I needed permission to come to the club. Should I check in next time?”

His tongue dragged across his teeth like he was trying not to snap. “You knew I’d be here.”

I tilted my head. “Did I?”

He scoffed, stepping in just close enough that I could smell his cologne. “You doing all this for what? Huh? To make me jealous?”

I smiled. “Ain’t nobody checkin for you Smoke?”

His hand came up, not touching me—just hovering near my waist like muscle memory. As he towered looking down at me,  “You think I care about Darius? You think I give a fuck about that lame ass nigga?” 

I leaned in, just a breath from his lips. “Well… he was talking real good about having dessert back at my place. So maybe I will leave your “spot”.”I give him a menacing grin.

His whole body tensed.

“You lyin’,” he said, but his voice cracked just enough to expose the panic under the rage.

I laughed. “Am I?”

I stared up at him, not moving. “See, I think you care more than you wanna admit. But I think you should head back to your little date. I wouldn’t want her ankles to get sore waiting on you.”

He flinched. Just a flicker. But I saw it.

“Keep playin’ with me,” he warned, voice almost a whisper. “You forget, I know how to handle you.”

I laughed, low and bitter. “Yeah? If that’s what you want to call your lame ass stroke game.”

His mouth opened—but I started to walk away before he could respond. Because I was definitely lying about his stroke game unfortunately.

“Have fun tonight, Elijah,” I said, brushing past him, the scent of my perfume trailing between us like a dare.

And then I walked away—hips swaying, heels clicking, heart pounding—but head held high.

As the night continued I still felt the heat of Smoke and his date that hes not paying any attention to anymore on me. I continued to dance, flirt, and laugh with Darious to prove that I can play game too. I even let Darious’s hands explore my body a little. Rub my thighs, grip my ass a little while dancing, let his hands run up and down my curves. By the time the lights came on in the club and all the drunks were scrambling out to their rides. I let Darious drive me home. 

The car ride was actually nice. The moon was bright and full, soft R&B music was playing, and the conversation we had was amazing. Darious is a really sweet guy, but I know it would be wrong to drag him into me and Smoke’s mess. Plus I don’t want smoke to kill him…

We made it to my apartment and I knew I wouldn’t have much time until Smoke showed up at my door to interrogate me. Darious wanted to come up, but I knew if he did someone would end up in jail. So I said my goodbyes to Darious and promised him another night out soon as I walked back into my apartment. 

As soon as I walked through the door I took a quick shower, changed into a silk blue night gown with white lace trimming, fluffed my curls, removed my make up and prepped my skin for whatever is going to happen in the next few hours. Lastly I got myself a glass of wine and sat on my couch and read a book as I waited for him. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I needed to be ready nonetheless.

Not even twenty minutes late I hear a loud banging at my door. Three quick, violent knocks. Like the wood itself owed him an answer. I didn’t rush.

I took my time taking a last sip of wine, stood slowly, let my silk nightgown cling to my hips like it was made to tease. I walked barefoot to the door, cool and collected, like I hadn’t been waiting on this exact moment since I walked out of that damn club.

I opened the door just enough so he could see me. And there he was leaning against the door frame using one of arms for leverage.

Pupils dilated with nothing but anger. Jaw tight. Other hand clenched at his sides trying to contain himself.

“Where that nigga at?”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play with me,” he snarled, stepping inside like this was his home. His head was on a swivel. “You let him fuck you?”

I shut the door. Walked right past his rage and sat on the edge of the couch, crossing my legs with purpose.

“Hello to you too Elijah, come one in?” I stated.

“Answer the question,” he snapped.

I smiled, slow and dangerous. “I don’t have to do shit.”

Smoke stepped closer, his whole body on fire with fury.

“You wasn’t gon’ fuck him.”He looked at me like he was challenging me to give him the wrong answer to send him over the edge. 

“Wanna bet?” I raise an eyebrow and give a deceitful smirk.

He snatched the glass from my hand, set it down with a rough thunk, and stepped between my knees. Boiling with anger waiting for me to say the wrong thing to make him explode.

“Say that shit again.”

I looked up at him, lips parted just slightly.

“I was gon’ let him taste every inch of me… then let him sleep right where you do.”

His hand wrapped around my throat in a flash—tight, hot, possessive.

“You gon’ let another man lay where I sleep?” he growled.

I smiled, the tension around my neck turning me on, breath hitching. “I was gon’ let him do more than that.”

He paused. That’s when I stood up. No fear. Just slow, deliberate grace as I walked past him and down the hall.

“You can keep lookin’ for him if you want,” I said over my shoulder, “but if you was really scared I let that man touch me, you’d be too late. He left already.”

I didn’t wait to see if he followed. I went straight to my bedroom, sat at the vanity, touched up my lip gloss with calm hands. Behind me, I heard heavy footsteps pause in the doorway.

His eyes were all over the room. Searching. Burning.

“You think this shit cute?” he asked, voice gravel-thick. His eyes looked me up and down almost in disgust and jealousy.

I met his gaze in the mirror. “No. I think it’s fair.”

He stepped inside, slower now. Confused. Angry. Hurt. “What the fuck mean by that?”

I turned on the stool and faced him, legs crossed again. My night gown starting to rise a bit up my thighs.

“It means I’ve been waiting on you to choose me, Elijah. Or at least grow a pair and tell me that this bullshit we got going on isn’t going nowhere. But you’d rather keep me close, fuck me, then go back to pretending I don’t exist.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His shoulders dropped like the weight of my words finally registered.

“I’ve given you space, time, silence. I’ve let you spin this thing however you wanted, and I stayed. Quiet. Loyal. Patient. But I’m done beggin’ a “grown-ass” man to act like one.”

Smoke’s jaw flexed. His hands were twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to grab me or punch a wall.

“So yeah,” I said softly. “I let him touch me. I let his hands roam a little. Not ‘cause I wanted him. But because I needed you to feel what it’s like to watch the person you believed was yours go play boyfriend to other bitches.”

Smoke’s jaw clenched hard enough to crack bone.

I watched him. Calm on the outside. Heart thudding like a war drum on the inside.

“You really was thinking of letting that nigga touch you?” His voice was low now. Dangerous. “He don’t even know what to do with you.”

I stood up slow, walked toward him like prey that didn’t fear the predator. “He may not know how to handle me,” I said, standing chest to chest. “But at least he acts like he wanted me.”

That landed. Hard. He blinked once—tight, sharp—like the words had cut straight through his ribcage. His hand gripped the back of my neck, and whispered against the shell of my ear.

“I ain’t act like I wanted you, huh? Was that before or after I fucked you outside that club becuase you was letting niggas grind on you and I had you cryin’ and creamin’ on my dick?”

My breath caught.

“Or when I had you bent over your own counter, sayin’ you was mine with a mouth full of my name? Because you like flirting with dudes in front of me. That's not ‘wantin’ you’ either?”

My knees pressed together tight.

“You sayin’ he acted like he wanted you…” he scoffed. “Cool. But did he make you cum in under five minutes on your bedroom floor? Did he eat you ‘til your voice broke because you was hitting up the dudes in your DM’s?”

“Shut up,” I breathed, voice shaking.

“Say it,” he taunted, eyes on fire now. “Tell me he could have touched you like I did. Tell me he could have made you forget your own fuckin’ name. When you go out half naked with your girls and come back with ten new numbers in your phone”

“I—” My chest rose and fell too fast. “He didn’t.”

Smoke’s gaze burned through me.

“I didn’t lose you,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Even when you out here pretending like I’m the only one fucking up. You ain’t been right by me either.”

My mouth parted, but I didn’t respond.

“You mine,” he said. “Still mine.”

He stepped forward as I kept moving back, until the backs of my knees hit the bed. Still, he hadn’t laid a single hand on me—but I could feel every word on my skin.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”, I give him a confused but intrigued look. 

“You know what the fuck I’m askin’, ma.”

My mouth opened, but he didn’t wait.

He dropped to his knees and pushed me back on to the bed.

“I should make you beg,” he growled. “After that bullshit you pulled tonight.”

“But I missed this pussy…” he muttered, shoving me back onto the bed, hands pushing my nightgown up slow.

He paused. Smirked. “No panties?”

I smiled, real smug. “Why wear ‘em when I knew you was gonna end up on your knees anyway?”

His eyes darkened. Jaw clenched.

Then his mouth was on my clit immediately. Hot, angry, wild.

He licked me like he was punishing me, tongue stiff and fast, nose buried deep like he needed every drop. He groaned when I whimpered. Flattened his tongue against my clit, then flicked it until my hips jerked.

“Say who it belongs to,” he growled against me.

I gasped. “Fuck—”

He sucked my clit hard enough to pull the words out of me.

“Say it.”

“Fuck you Elija–”

He slapped the inside of my thigh. “Try again.” starting like and suck faster. 

I gave in, my climax was near and continued to build, “It’s yours! It’s your pussy!”

His eyes locked on mine, lips shiny and glistening with me. “Damn right.” He licked me slower now, dragging it out, two fingers slipping inside me, curling just right.

My back arched off the bed.

“Louder,” he whispered. “Let the whole fuckin’ building know who got you cryin’ like this.”I whimpered his name, high and cracked, as he tongue-fucked me like he needed it to breathe.

“Had me stressing bout you letting some other dude in here?” he muttered between licks. “In this pussy?”

“Wanted you to feel it,” I moaned. “Wanted you to know—what it felt like.”

“Never again,” he growled. “You mine. You hear me?”

“Then act like it,” I snapped, as I begin grinding against his face. “Act like I’m yours.” I say as I grab the back of his head to push him further in to me. 

He laughed low, filthy. “Oh I’m ‘bout to show you, baby.”

Then he dove back in, no mercy, dragging me through a climax so hard I shook, hands fisting the sheets, moaning his name like a prayer and a curse all in one.

My thighs were still shaking when he stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he’d just devoured something messy and rare.

He looked down at me—lips glistening, chest rising and falling, jaw tight with hunger.

“You talk too much,” he muttered.

“I was making a point.” I snap back, out of breath.

He grabbed my waist, flipped me over onto my stomach like I weighed nothing.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped. “Make it now.”

I didn’t have time to speak—he yanked my hips back, arching my ass high in the air, pressing my face down into the mattress with one heavy hand on the back of my neck.

“Say that shit again,” he hissed into my ear, breath hot. “Say how he acted like he wanted you.”

“Elijah—”

“Mm-mm.” He pressed harder on my neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to let me know who was in control. “You wanted Daddy’s attention?”

He lined himself up, thick and heavy against my soaked entrance. His other hand gripped my ass, spreading me open.

“Well, you got it now.”

And then—he thrust inside me, deep and fast. No hesitation. No gentleness. Just raw, angry, need.

“Fuck!” I try to muffle my moan as I pushed my face into the mattress.

“Nah, don’t get shy now,” he growled, snapping his hips against me again, again. “You was runnin’ your mouth a minute ago. Where all that shit talk go?”

The slapping of skin echoed through the room, loud and wet. His hips slammed into mine, balls smacking against my clit with each brutal stroke. The bedframe creaked under the force, the mattress giving under the weight of his big, muscular body.

Smoke’s build was all lean muscle and hard edges—wide back, thick arms caging me in as he pounded into me from behind, I could feel the tension radiating off him.

“You wanted to make me jealous? You wanted me mad?” he breathed, chest pressing into my back. “Well, now you got me.”

He drove deeper, grunting, hips rolling in filthy rhythm. “This what you wanted, huh? Daddy stretchin’ you out like this? Say it.”

I whimpered, arching into him, my ass bouncing back against his thrusts.

“Say it.”

“It’s what I wanted,” I moaned into the pillow. “I wanted you—fuck—I needed you.”

He leaned in closer, biting the curve of my shoulder.

“You mine, baby. You don’t gotta play games for me to see you. You all I ever see.”

He fucked me harder then, no mercy. My pussy clenching around him, trying to keep him in with every stroke.

“Look at this pussy suckin’ me in,” he growled, voice thick with possessiveness. “You act up just to get it like this, don’t you?”

His palm came down on my ass, the sting making me cry out.

“You love it when I fuck you back into your place, huh?.”

I could barely respond, the way he was hitting made my thoughts scatter like dust. All I could do was moan and take it.

“You gon’ behave now?” he asked, yanking my hair so I lifted my face off the pillow. “Or you need another round?”

“Give it to me,” I panted. “I can take it.”

That did something to him. His next thrust knocked the wind outta me.

“You do all this talkin’, just to shut the fuck up when this dick in you. That’s your problem.”

The pace got even filthier—fast, relentless, dragging sounds out of both of us that had no place outside of a bedroom.

The air was thick with heat and sweat and desperation.

“Say you mine again,” he ordered, breath ragged. “Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m—fuck— i’m yours, Daddy.”

That sent him over. He slammed into me one last time, deep and hard, filling me up with a loud groan that vibrated against my spine.

I followed right after, walls pulsing around him, toes curling, throat raw from moaning his name.

We collapsed together, breathless and shaking, tangled in the mess we made.

He was still catching his breath, eyes fluttered shut, mouth open like he was trying to gather himself.

I sat there for a second, letting the weight of what just happened settle between us. Sweat slicked my skin, my curls wild and frizzy from all the grinding and grabbing and all that heat. My chest heaved. I watched his body twitch—sensitive, eyes closed, overwhelmed, but still so hard for me.

He didn’t even notice me move.

Until I straddled him again. Hovered over him, lined us up—

And slammed down on his dick.

“Shit—!” he yelped, eyes snapping open like I’d snatched his soul. “Wait—wait—baby—”

I bounce on him hard, grinning down at him like a beast that finally caught its prey.

“You good?” I asked sweetly, breathless.

He gasped barely able to make a sound. “Damn, girl—”

“Thought so.”

I started to move. Slow at first. Just enough to hit him right. His whole body tensed, trying to brace, but he couldn’t. He was too sensitive, and I was overriding his nerves.

“I’m tired of bullshit, Elijah. I want to settle down,” I reminded him, voice low, sultry, taunting. “You going to be better for me, baby?”

“I—I am,” he stammered, jaw tight. “I am, baby—I swear—”

I sped up.

That had him groaning, loud and full in his chest. His hands shot to my thighs, gripping, begging me to slow down—and I didn’t.

“You gon’ answer when I call?” I asked, breath hitching from how deep he was hitting. “No more games?”

“Yes! I got you, baby, just don’t—don’t stop—”

I moved faster.

“Say it again,” I demanded, hips rolling harder, rougher. “Louder.”

“I’m gon’ do right! I swear to God, I’m—fuck—”

He tried to hold my hips, tried to make it last, but he couldn’t keep up. He was shaking, whining, and I loved every second of it.

But so did I.

Every stroke had my moans cracking, turning breathy and sharp, like I was losing the same control I held over him. I started to tremble too, thighs quaking, chest heaving. He was hitting that spot, again and again—stretching me just right.

My hands landed on his chest to steady myself, nails digging in. “You better,” I gasped, voice splintering. “You better fucking do right by me.”

“I will—I swear—baby, please—”

I felt it creeping up on me—my legs tightening, the heat coiling in my belly. “Oh my God—Elijah—”

“Come for me,” he begged, hips bucking under me. “Let go, baby. I got you.”

That did it. I shattered around him with a loud, raw cry, my walls clenching hard, dragging his name out like a prayer. My body folded forward as I pulsed around him, riding every wave, every tremor, until my whole frame shook.

His voice broke under me, hands locking around my hips like he never wanted me to move again. “That’s it, baby… fuck, that’s it.”

Breathless, dazed, I slumped against his chest, heart pounding, sweat glistening on my skin.

“I’m sorry,” I moaned against his neck. “I know I ain’t been fair either.”

His hands slid up my back, holding me tighter.

“I ain’t mean to hurt you,” I whispered. “I just needed to feel wanted too.”

“You got me, ma,” he said hoarsely. “You been had me.”

“I don’t wanna fight no more,” I breathed. “But you gotta do better.”

“I will,” he promised, kissing the side of my face. “You got my word.”

We laid there tangled in silence, both of us wrecked and breathless

~ I hope you liked it! Also send me some asks if you have a request, question, or fic ideas!!

click here to send an ask!!

sola💫

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[undyingdecay]

Mae, dear, now that requests are back, can you write about Bob being with reader who is much smaller than him and how that translates into the bedroom? Please and thank you!

(tw: talks of a specific body type, not necessarily weight could be seen as height difference)

he can’t help it.

he tries—really, he does—but every time you press your smaller frame up against his chest, climb into his lap, curl yourself into him like you belong there, bob just melts. you make him feel like he’s too big. like he’s made wrong. and he loves it.

in the bedroom, it undoes him. makes him soft. breathless. messy. the second you climb on top of him, all his muscles go slack beneath you, thick arms trembling with restraint as he lays flat and lets you do whatever you want. he whines when your hands trail down his chest. blushes when you grind against him. begs—not with words always, sometimes just with the way he looks at you, wide-eyed and desperate, like he wants to sink into the floor from how good you make him feel just by being smaller.

so many positions too! flipping you onto your back with one hand. lifting your hips off the bed to meet his. pressing you against the wall so your feet dangle while he fucks up into you, one arm under your thighs, the other cradling your head so you don’t bump it on the drywall.

he stares when you ride him. stares at the way you struggle to take him and he holds back, hips trembling, tears in his eyes because he knows he’s too much.

“am i hurting you?” he breathes, voice cracking as he tries not to thrust up. “i don’t wanna—please, just tell me if i am, i’ll stop, i swear—”

but you don��t stop him. you hold him there—hands on his chest, thighs trembling as you sink down until you’re full—and he sobs. actually sobs. not loud, not dramatic, just that soft choked sound he makes when he’s trying to be good, when it feels too good, when he doesn’t know how to cope with the way your body wraps around him.

and if you praise him?

call him your good boy, your big boy, tell him how brave he is for taking it so slow?

he loses it.

he doesn’t even thrust—he just lets you use him, lets you ride him while he cries and holds your hips, whispering about how it’s too much, too good, how he can’t believe someone as small and perfect as you could ever want someone like him.

he thinks your body is holy.

he doesn’t know what he did to deserve it—but he’s never letting go.

(lewis pullman is six foot, need him so bad)

[lulualuana]

Balcony Debauchery

idk, needy Leon is a plague

wc: 1277

cw: begging, mild dirty talk, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap that thing yall!), creampie, sneaky sex but not well executed, first time writing correct straight smut in ever pls don't bully me

enjoy?

“C’mon...” Leon complained, egging you on like he had been the entire night. He had a mission to accomplish: get you to be a bit dirtier than you would ever be. “It won’t kill you baby.” 

Together at a friend’s place for dinner, Leon seemed to be in a mood entirely inappropriate for what the setting was. From his hand on your thigh under the table at dinner, to his hand drifting way too far down while standing and mingling. It was obvious what he was after, and you made it even more obvious that you weren’t going to entertain it. 

It had gotten to a point where you had to drag him outside, afraid that he would all but start fucking you right in front of all of your friends without a lick of shame. You brought him out to the balcony of your friend’s place, the area fairly secluded. That was your first mistake. 

“It won’t kill me, you’re right, but it also won’t kill you to wait until we get home,” You returned, which was simply just common sense. If Leon waited until you got back to your place, you’d let him do whatever he wanted. Even butt stuff. 

“Except it will kill me, baby,” He groans, getting close and hugging you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms tight around your waist, pressing himself completely flush against you. “I’ve never wanted you so badly. I can’t wait however long you plan to stay here.” 

He groans lowly against your ear, absolutely adoring the feel of your body against his. The plush of your ass up against his aching cock almost has his head spinning. He’s been hard for far longer than any man should be at this point. “You look so damn pretty tonight too. What’s wrong with wanting to appreciate my baby?” 

You’re about to reply when you feel one hand drifting down from your waist, trailing down your front until his hand is palming at your thigh, far too close to your pussy. That was his real goal. “C’mon…” 

You huff, wanting to say no. It was so damn risky. It’s not like the balcony was completely private. If anyone were to open the door, they’d see you in an instant. But damn did his hand feel good against your thigh, and you’d be lying if you said all his efforts from the night to try and get you in a similar mood did nothing to you. 

“Fine,” You conceded, rolling your eyes. You could sense him perking up behind you, happy to have won you over. You don’t have time to further wallow in your weakness when he’s abruptly slipping his hand under your dress, tugging the panties you were wearing to the side with one hand. You feel his lips against your neck as his other hand works deftly to undo his slacks. He wasted no time.

“Gotta make this quick...” he mumbles under his breath, huffing lightly as he frees his cock, the cool night air ghosting his leaking tip. He presses you up against the balcony railing, bending you over it ever so slightly so he can notch his head against your hole, pushing into you with a low groan. “Fuuuck, I love this pussy.” His words are almost a whine, needy in every sense of the word. 

His words pool heat deep in your stomach, making you clench around him involuntarily with a bitten down moan from you, only pulling more groans from his lips. “Don’t tighten up on me like that, baby. I’ll come in seconds.” His words are followed by an experimental thrust of his hips, one that he seems to find much joy in because he then sets a steady pace. 

He rocks forward smoothly in a short thrust, pushing your hips up against the railing as his pelvis presses against your ass, his cock nudging nice and deep inside of you before he’s pulling back and repeating the motion all over again. 

“Told me you didn’t want it,” he grunts, one hand gripping your waist while the other palms at your ass under your dress. “Told me you wanted to wait until we got home but look how fucking wet you were for me this whole time.” Corroborating his claim, a wet squelching sound followed every time he pulled back and pushed in, your arousal effortlessly coating his cock and making his thrusts even smoother. 

The more he thrusts into you, the less you seem to worry about whether or not someone’s going to catch you, instead you seem a lot more concerned about Leon’s cock and the way it's just barely nudging that sweet spot in your pussy, and how you need it to get there. You’re too deep into it and too impatient to use words, instead pushing your hips back against his when he thrusts in, your eyes rolling back when he hits exactly where you wanted him to. You clench around him again, tighter this time and his hips stutter. 

“Fuck, baby, what did I say? You keep clenching like that, and I won't last,” He groans softly, his grip on your waist tightening as he speeds up his thrusts, seemingly remembering that you were on a time crunch here. There’s no way your friends haven’t noticed you two missing. 

He works with a scary amount of precision, drilling into you with short, deep thrusts that have you clenching rapidly around his cock, sucking him back in every time he pulls back. “Leon-” You don’t have to say anything else for him to know what you mean, for him to know what’s coming. His hand on your ass comes forward, his middle and ring finger finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. 

“C’mon baby, gonna come on my cock for me, right? Gonna give me what I want?” He taunts, coaxing you into coming. He wants it, he wants to feel the way you tighten around him, the way your body stiffens before melting into the bliss of an orgasm. The mere thought of it almost has him coming before you do, but he’s too much of a gentleman to do that. “Come, baby. Need it. Need to feel you come.” 

His words spark your orgasm to life, your body stiffening as your eyes roll back, a high-pitched sound leaving your mouth despite your best efforts to stamp down all your noises. You clench unbelievably tight around him, and he can’t take it anymore, his hips stuttering as he pushes deep into you, his cock twitching and jumping as he spills ropes of hot cum straight into you, burying his face into your hair as he does. “F-fuck, you’re so good for me. Fucking love you. L-love you coming for me.” 

With a few slow rolls of his hips to completely ride out his orgasm and yours he pulls out of you, wincing sharply when he catches a glimpse of his cum dripping down your thigh. He can feel his cock kick again at the sight and he can already feel the scolding he’s going to get later about how his cum leaked all over your panties. “Maybe... We should just go home…” 

You throw him a slightly fucked out glare over your shoulder.

What only made it worse was the look your friends gave you when you and Leon rejoined the group and announced you were leaving early. It wasn't hard to tell from the flushed look on both of your faces what had happened on the balcony. 

You made damn sure that Leon paid for that when you got home.

~~~

can't tell if this feels rushed or not, the horny started taking over

[strawberrykidneystone]

lend an arm

summary: you’re a mechanic who sevika refused to work with until one day she comes back with her arm ripped off

a/n: idk if the title makes sense but it’s a play on lend a hand but yk,,, she lost her whole arm😋

tags: fluff, banter, mention of hooking up, less spicy than i thought it was gonna be whoops, smoking

ty anon for the request!!!

ao3 version

when you were hired as silco’s handyman, you imagined you would be working with sevika a lot to add upgrades to her arm, fix her arm after combat, etc. etc.

nope.

quite the opposite. you were met with the cold shoulder every time, a gruff out ‘i can do it myself’ before she stomps off to the corner of silco’s office to tinker with her arm. you’re sure there’s a masturbation joke there somewhere, but you haven’t quite thought of a clever enough one to say aloud.

did you hook up with her a few times? yes. was it your proudest moment? no, but damn was it good.

given that, most of your time was spent with jinx, albeit sometimes more than you’d like. you love the girl to bits, but sometimes she can be a bit… much. still, you liked her music taste and you got on well enough, not to mention her inventions were quite clever, not that you’d ever say it to her; she's already got quite the ego.

still, the blue haired girl was still family or whatever you’d call it. you knew she was still sneaking into her lab and pretended to be none the wiser, but you’re pretty sure that she knew you knew.

although sevika refused your help, you couldn’t help but notice how she’d glance up every time she tweaked something on her arm, as if she were searching for approval from you. you’d make eye contact with her and glance down at what she’d fixed, giving an approving nod or shaking your head depending on what she did. each time you nodded, you’d swear you saw a blush creep up her ears. if you shook your head though, she’d scowl and vigorously undo her work and redo it until either she was satisfied with it or look to get your approval again. it was a cute little game you two would play, but you knew you’d be able to make the fixes about 10x faster if she would only let you.

and the silco died.

with nowhere else to go and determined not going to join any side in the turf war for the lanes, that left you the last drop where you’d been sleeping on the couch in his old office. damn, you still couldn’t believe that he was gone. sure he was an asshole most of the time, but he was one of the people and at least tried to keep give shithole of the undercity some sort of organization.

whatever, at least his couch was comfy.

you were tinkering with one of jinx’s old chompers in silco’s office when sevika came barreling in. you jumped a bit from the slam of the door and looked at the panting figure in the doorway. she had her poncho covering the front of her body, but the lumpiness under the cloth alarmed you that something was wrong. she wordlessly walked past you and threw her poncho off to the side, revealing her flesh arm holding her mechanical arm under her armpit. the gears sticking out of the stump of her mechanical arm told you that someone had ripped it out, and she was pissed.

she slammed her arm on the table and grumbled to herself, grabbing a flathead screwdriver from the table of her former boss’ desk. she stabbed the head in and cursed under her breath, muttering something about a ‘pink haired brat’ as she attempted to fix her mechanical limb. she spent a good 10 minutes trying to fix the arm with her one good hand. you minded your business and kept your eyes on your book, studying about the latest technology in the upper city, hextech.

until you heard it. she sighed and turned around, leaning her back against the table, saying something quietly in your direction. you lifted your head and tilted it questioningly to the side, “what was that?”

sevika huffed and dragged her hand down her face, “can you fix my arm?”

a small grin crept up your lips, oh you were gonna have fun with this, “what’s the magic word?”

sevika deadpanned at you and rolled her eyes, but was too tired to argue, “…please.”

you clapped your hands together and happily stood up, “yes! i’ve been waiting for this!”

you basically pushed her aside as you quickly got to work on her arm, trying to undo as much damage as you could. after about an hour, you were able to restore basic function in the arm, but one good punch could make the whole thing fall apart all over again. you straightened up and looked around the room to see where she had gone, you really fell into your own world as you worked. looking around, you saw her on the couch fixated down, the same area where your ass had been only moments before. you cleared your throat which seemed to snap her out of her trance, her head snapping up to meet your eyes.

you held her arm up and gestured for her to come over. she scrambled up to meet you at your side, holding her arm out expectantly. brushing past her, you attached her arm back on with a satisfying ‘click’ at it latched into place. you took a step back to let her adjust to it again. she clenched her hand into a fist and turned her hand over, admiring your handiwork. she hummed in approval and looked down at you with a glint of respect in her eyes that you’d never seen before.

“that should do for now, but you’ll probably need a new arm if you don’t want to get your ass beat,” you smirked as you dusted off your hands off on your pants.

“thought that you fixed it?,” she said with a raised eyebrow. her tone was meant not in an attacking manner, but more curiosity on the actual damage of her arm.

“i’m a mechanic, not a miracle worker,” you chided, crossing your arms over your chest.

sevika raised her arms in relinquishment, a half smirk gracing her lips, “easy princess, ‘meant no offense to your skills.”

“uh huh,” you responded sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you patted her shoulder.

she sighed and looked down, glancing back up at you in reluctance, “what i meant was… thank you.”

you raised your eyebrows in surprise, but smiled at the sentiment, “you’re welcome, i just wish i could’ve helped more earlier.”

“earlier?” she asked in a neutral tone, taking a cigarette out of her pocket and putting it in the corner of her mouth, lighting it with one hand while she cupped around her mouth with the other. she took a quick drag and blew the smoke away from you, letting the cigarette rest lazily between her fingers.

“y’know, before silco died. if you had let me work on your arm and upgrade it, it probably wouldn’t have broken in the first place,” you said matter-of-factly, plucking the cigarette from her fingers and taking a puff, purposefully blowing it towards her.

“my arm was fine, it was just this one time,” she responded gruffly, taking another drag from the cigarette. you shrugged and glanced over her arm, subconsciously making sure that every part was working as it should.

“…where the hell should i get a new arm?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could, but a little more waiver of worry still came through in her voice.

you looked up at her and grinned, pointing up, “the answer is closer than you think.”

she looked up and jumped a little seeing the blue haired girl, “jesus jinx.”

nothing made sevika jump, she must’ve really been on edge with silco’s death.

jinx giggled and shook her head, “fine, but i want complete creative control.”

sevika sighed defeatedly and looked at you for any sort of help, which of course you gave none.

“fine.”

[stargirlygirl]

I really love your smut gone wrong with lads boys fics! I read all of them and I only main Caleb! I saw your inbox was open and my that I hope you mean you're taking requests. If not, feel free to ignore this and my apologies! Imagine sex with Caleb but reader's very sensitive to the different stimuli. reader asks Caleb to have sex with him outdoors or in the car, basically in a new environment but keeps changing her mind because it wasn't as fun as she'd imagined.

star girl's initial words: thank you so much for requesting!! i love this idea, and it makes me really happy that like my embarrassing/gone wrong moments series so far. i did get a bit carried away, so thanks for your patience! i hope you like this one.

first time car sex with caleb

contains: nsfw, protected sex, p in v, caleb is insistent on consent, 3.3k words

reference p-link ⟶ because of the reference, reader is shy, petite and (somewhat) implied skinny so SORRY my tall girlies

note on watching the p-link: it's on twitter so you need to be logged in to view it

You’ve had the perfect date.

Caleb took you to the local park for a picnic. He made you close your eyes as he guided you to the setup blanket and goodies beneath a cherry blossom tree. The fresh flowers were so fragrant, petals blowing in the breeze and dropping into your food. It made you giggle, picking pink petals out of your boyfie’s braised chicken wings. After you were well-fed, you and Caleb walked around the park, holding hands and talking about whatever came up.

With the sun drawing nearer to the horizon, you two decided to pack up and head home.

The dying sun’s rays illuminate your figures walking to Caleb’s Lamborghini, picnic basket and blanket in arms. Dumping them in the trunk, you head over to the passenger’s side while your lover climbs into the driver’s seat. He’s about to start the engine when you place a hand on his knee and call his name.

You’ve always been sensitive to your surroundings. It made you anxious when it was too loud or if the lights were too intense. Space as well, whether your surroundings were very open or particularly cramped, could trigger your discomfort. It’s something that developed when you were a teenager and became instilled as you matured.

Growing up with Caleb, he knew before you did and has accommodated for your needs since. If you’re at a shopping mall and the incessant music and chatting are getting on your nerves, he’ll pop your earplugs in and regularly ask if you’re feeling better. At events, he’s the first to notice when you become overstimulated and takes you out of the situation, suggesting a short walk or driving you home. He had dimming lights installed in his Skyhaven apartment, so you can choose the light’s brightness whenever you come over. Your boyfriend also avoids long car rides with you because he knows how suffocating the tight space can make you feel.

Caleb gazes at you with slightly raised brows and parted lips, which quickly morph into a warm smile.

“What is it, honey?” He asks lovingly. You squeeze his knee, your teeth pulling at your lower lip.

You’ve just gotten this crazy idea. Something you never thought would come to mind, let alone be considered.

Seeing your hesitation, your pilot pulls the key out of the ignition and tosses it on the dash. He undoes his seatbelt, the fastener clinking as it hits the car’s interior. Shifting in his seat, Caleb takes hold of your hand on his knee and brings it to his lips.

Pressing a light kiss to your knuckles, he murmurs, “You can tell me, pips. I want to hear whatever you have to say.”

Averting your eyes to the hem of your floral minidress, you mumble, “You’ll think I’m weird.”

“No, I won’t, baby,” he reassures you, his grip on your hand tightening momentarily.

Glancing up, you whisper, “I wanna try something new.” Caleb leans over, his head turned to the side so his ear is near your mouth.

“Whaddya wanna try?” He grins boyishly.

Inching closer, your lips brush his ear as you ask tentatively, “Do you wanna do it here?” Your boyfriend just blinks, his mind racing with thoughts of hallucinations.

“What?” He finally mutters, drawing back to gaze at you. His brows are pinched, and you start mentally berating yourself for being a little too freaky with him (as if you could be, but okay).

“We don’t have to, babe! Sorry, I just—”

“No, that’s not it, honey. I’m, uh, confused. What exactly do you want to do in here?” Caleb asks, letting go of your hand to exchange it for tucking a stray lock behind your ear. Your nerves ramp up to a hundred, tingles dispersing across your skin from the contact between his fingertips and the shell of your ear.

Gnawing on your lip, you ramble, “I was just thinking that, you know, like if you wanted to, we could, you know, like—”

“I don’t know, pips. So I need you to tell me what you want,” he cuts you off. “Just take a deep breath and try again, okay?” His tone is gentle, as is the look in his amethyst eyes. You hum in agreement before inhaling fully.

Since you can remember, sometimes you find it difficult to articulate your thoughts. You don’t want to leave a bad impression or step on anyone’s toes. But Caleb’s always been patient with you and prompted you to keep going even when words seem to fail you.

You exhale, “I want to try having sex with you in here.” You add shyly, “Like right now.” It’s quiet for a few seconds, the cricket’s buzz from outside the only sound penetrating the silence. Until Caleb starts laughing at you. His body shudders as he guffaws, his forehead resting on your shoulder.

You pout, “It’s not funny!”

He manages to say through his laughter, “It’s pretty funny.” Wiping his tears away, your lover lifts his head and brings his face to yours. Cupping your cheeks, he nuzzles your nose with his own.

“Why don’t you think about it and get back to me?” He suggests, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

You shake your head slightly and insist, “I want to, baby. I really do.” Pulling back, you tilt your head and kiss his cheek lightly.

Caleb sighs, “Right now?” You nod and peck his jaw.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit cramped, honey?” He offers. That stops you in your tracks, urging you to shift back and meet his bright eyes.

You mumble, “If you don’t want to, you can just say so. You don’t have to be nice about it, babe.” Your boyfriend shakes his head, his brow creasing once more.

“I’m not being nice, pips. I need to make sure this is what you really want before we go any further,” he mutters, his jaw visibly tightening. You lean in and place another kiss there, helping to alleviate some of the tension.

You murmur, “I do. I wanna try this with you, Caleb. I know you’ll take good care of me. I trust you.” He nods, eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. One of his hands shifts to your nape, his fingers toasty and putting you at ease. Satisfied with his analysis, your pilot closes the gap between your lips.

His kiss is slow and passionate, eliciting a sigh from you. Angling your head, Caleb glides his tongue across your lower lip, already hungry to taste you. Granting him access, you two sample each other’s mouths like the finest wine. You’re drunk on the sweet apple pie lingering on his taste buds— the apple pie you made for your afternoon together.

Moaning into him, your hands roam to his shoulders and trail down his firm torso through the white jumper he’s got on. You pull it out of his black trousers, bunching up the hem in your fists. Your lover nibbles on your lip, making you gasp. His lips trace your jaw and the length of your neck, his callused palms pushing your smaller frame into him.

“Caleb,” you mewl softly, your delicate skin caught between his teeth.

Placing a sloppy kiss on your collarbone, he murmurs, “C’mere, honey.” With one muscular arm around your waist and the other looped beneath your knees (fuck the seatbelt), Caleb lifts you over the console and sits you on his lap. All the while, you squeal and hold his neck for support.

His rough hands slide up your bare thighs, their texture leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your dress is pushed up, and your panties are swiftly pulled off and tossed in the back for later. The sudden exposure makes you gasp and bite your kiss-swollen lip. Concern darts across Caleb’s handsome face, his hands gripping your bare hips.

He checks in with you, “Is this okay, pips? Am I moving too fast?”

You shake your head, but he’s not continuing until you mumble, “I’m okay. I want to keep going.” He hums softly, the sound resonating in his throat as he captures your lips in a loving kiss. His fingertips stroke your thigh, drawing circles before sliding across your pelvis. He lingers above your heat, cautious.

“Yes,” you pant, your thighs clenching with need. Caleb palms your cunt; his hand is so warm it makes you melt. His long fingers slip into your wet slit, teasing your hole before circling your clit. You moan salaciously near his ear, your arm draped over his broad shoulders and holding on like your life depends on it. Your thighs tense as he sets a pleasurable rhythm over your swollen bud.

Dropping his head, your lover licks your cleavage, teeth nipping at the fat of your breasts as you buck into his hand. One of your hands shifts to his hair, fingers tangling in his silky locks and tugging. Your ah-ahs are so quiet and sweet, like they’re reserved for Caleb’s ears only (they are; if they weren’t, the colonel might skin someone alive).

Your lover’s fingers slip down your folds and prod at your dripping hole.

He asks drunkenly, “Can I, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you hum breathily.

“How many?” He murmurs, tipping his head back to gaze up at you. His cheeks and the tips of his ears are all red, his sunset eyes hazy with lust.

You whisper, “Just one.” And one loooooong finger it is easing into your sopping pussy. His finger curls and presses against your ridged walls, making your back contort into a beautiful half-moon. Your tits are inevitably thrust into Caleb’s face, and he buries his nose in the valley between them. Breathing you in, your lover repeatedly slides his fingertip against your walls, ripping guttural moans from his otherwise shy girlfriend.

Pressure builds in the pit of your tummy, bringing you closer to the edge of your orgasm. Your thighs clamp around his hand as you squeeze your eyes shut.

You choke out, “F-fuck,” as his thumb rolls over your clit, his middle finger still deep inside of you. Caleb groans into your chest, obsessed with how only he gets to see you like this. Losing composure, on the brink of your climax, biting your lip and trying not to babble out a dictionary of curse words. Pulling back for air, his nose ghosts yours as you seize up around his hand.

You squirt uncontrollably, the clear liquid spurting into his palm and making a mess of your thighs, him, and his leather car seat. Gasps and mewls tumble from your lips, forehead flush against Caleb’s as your body trembles. The pleasure in blinding; it’s like you’ve been dipped into a cauldron, this heat sparking on your skin and seeping into your bones.

“C-Caleb!” You squeak, your clit far too sensitive for the way he’s still circling it.

Knowing passes through you two, and he stops his movements. Slowly, your boyfriend’s finger slips out, and his soaking wet hand retreats from your clenched thighs. Your arousal drips into your skin as the final tremors course through you, making you shake and whine.

He groans, “Fuck, baby.” Your forehead rests against his scalp, eyes half-lidded and unprepared for what Caleb does next.

Raising his damp hand, he licks up from his wrist to his fingertip, tasting your release. He moans; your flavour is his absolute favourite. Your lover sucks on his slender fingers, making you mewl and your cheeks become even redder.

“Caleb,” you pant. His other arm is still tight around your waist, and he squishes you into his solid torso momentarily.

Your boyfriend rasps out, “You alright, baby? Everything okay so far?”

“Mhmm,” you hum quietly while nodding. Once Caleb’s lucky hand is thoroughly cleansed of your delicious juices, he squeezes your knee with it.

Tilting his head back, he beams up at you, “You wanna keep going?”

“Yes,” you whisper. As soon as the affirmation escapes your lips, Caleb bundles you up in his arms and sets you back down in the passenger seat.

“Baby, what’re you—” Your own squeal cuts you off as your pilot pulls the lever underneath the seat and slides you back. You watch as he kicks off his shoes and yanks off his long sleeve before throwing them haphazardly in the back seat. Climbing over the console, Caleb braces himself with one hand on the headrest while the other unbuckles his belt.

He smirks, “A little help, pips?” Nodding, you undo his pants and shimmy them down his thighs. Next, you pull down his trunks, your lover’s erection springing free. You nibble on your lip, eyeing the pre-cum leaking from his flushed tip.

Gazing up, you ask, “Do you have a condom?” He tilts his head to the side.

“In the console.” Turning slightly, you flip open the console and fish around for the little golden packet. You catch it between your fingers and tear through the foil hurriedly. Sliding it down his length, you spit on your hand and pump him a few times.

Groaning, Caleb grabs your chin and tips your head back. You feel so small compared to him, his buff body encasing yours and shielding you from the outside world. His eyes reflect the dusk enveloping the park outside.

He instructs, “Bend your knees up into your chest.” You do as you’re told, grabbing your knees and holding them close.

Caleb mumbles, “Just stay like that, baby,” before adjusting the seat back a bit more.

Getting down on his knees, he strokes himself before dragging his covered tip up your still sensitive slit. You mewl softly, staring at him with the prettiest doe eyes your boyfriend’s ever seen.

Encircling your shoulders with his meaty arm, he murmurs into your hair, “Is it alright if I—”

“Yes!” You moan, the head of his cock dipping in slightly.

You can hear his smirk as he says cockily, “Alright, honey.” Caleb takes his time sliding into you, letting you adjust to his girth before diving in further. When he bottoms out, you feel so full. You always feel so full whenever he’s inside of you.

Your boyfriend just stays there, still, for a minute until you give him the go-ahead, “’M okay. Please. Please move.” Your voice broke a little on the first “please”. He hums before drawing out and sliding back into you. His arm around your shoulders shifts so that his hand grasps your head, fingers threading through your hair. His other hand grips the car seat above you.

Caleb’s thrusts are controlled, but you whimper breathily nonetheless. His current angle is deep, every tap of his balls against your ass forcing the air out your lungs.

Quickly, you notice how cramped it is, between the leather seat with the contrast stitching digging into your plush flesh, to the mountain of man rutting into you. He’s everywhere, his scent singeing your nostrils and body heat bleeding into your muscles.

“Caleb,” you whine, letting go of your knees and palming his chest. He stops immediately.

“What’s wrong, honey?” He asks worriedly, frantic eyes searching for the source of your discomfort. You release your bitten bottom lip and meet his concerned gaze.

You mumble, “It’s really cramped.”

His shoulders slump as he sighs, “Told you it would be, pips.”

“Mhmm, I know.” Pressing on his chest, you try to get more comfortable by shifting down in the seat, your ass now at the edge. Caleb groans as you move, your walls tightening around his length.

“Sorry,” you whisper. Brushing your hair back with one hand, he leans down and kisses your temple.

“S’fine, honey. Do you want me to pull out?” He asks tenderly.

“No! No, it’s okay. I’m okay now,” you insist.

Drawing back, your boyfriend places both hands on either side of you. He thrusts into you at the same leisurely pace, focusing on depth rather than speed. Your back arches as you moan, his tip nudging the perfect spot nestled deep within your drooling pussy.

You keep your knees tucked into your chest, your eyes rolling back with how good he feels inside of you. A high-pitched whimper falls from your lips as his pelvis nudges your clit. Caleb smirks and does it again, intoxicated by the sound of your pleasure.

Your hands splay over his pecs for stability as he starts rutting into you faster. Stuttered moans are forced out of your chest, intermingling with your boyfriend’s low whines. The air is charged with sweat and sex, suddenly stifling. You really wish you two had let a window down before pouncing on each other.

Caleb fucks you even rougher now, turning you into a trembling mess of mewls and whimpers. You can barely breathe with how you’re folded right now. And add to that your lover’s enthusiasm.

Turning your head to the side to avoid his panting on your face, you notice how dark it’s gotten outside. Violet blends with coral and paints the sky. It’s beautiful. And then it’s obscured by your boyfriend’s massive bicep.

Unsure of what to do, you tug on his dog tags. The sudden pull catches your pilot off guard, sending him forward before he grasps the headrest. He doesn’t know whether you meant to play or wanted to stop, but he’s confident that you wanted his attention.

“You okay?” He pants, drawing back and rolling into you with lazy hips. You shake your head, causing Caleb to immediately pull out. His length slaps his abdomen as he cages you in beneath him.

He asks gently, “Was it something I did, honey?” Again, you shake your head.

Reaching up, you hold his freckled cheeks and murmur, “I just feel really overwhelmed right now.” Your boyfriend nods slowly, processing your words with a gulp.

“Alright. Tell me about it, baby.”

You gaze down at the slim space between your bodies, explaining shyly, “It’s just… you’re so big, and the car is so small. I feel like I can’t breathe.” Caleb nods and kisses your forehead before tugging his trunks up. Your eyes snap up in panic, your hands grabbing his as he zips up his trousers.

“I don’t wanna stop,” you blurt out. He stares at you with eyes comparable to saucers.

Then, he sighs, “Honey, what do you mean you don’t want to stop? You’re clearly uncomfortable. You don’t need to force yourself to keep going for my sake.”

You try to reassure him, “I’m not! I’m not, I… I don’t know. I-I mean you’re right, I am uncomfortable, but this feels really good.” However, in doing so, you’re left even more confused about how you want to proceed. Caleb shrugs your hands off and fastens his belt.

“Caleb,” you pout. He shakes his head and leans over, chastely kissing your cheek.

Pulling back, he says sternly, “I don’t know doesn’t mean yes, honey. And I won’t keep going if you aren’t 100% sure about what you want.” Grabbing your knees, he pushes them down so the back of your thighs hit the smooth leather.

“Now,” he exhales. “I’m gonna get your panties out of the back and we’re gonna go home, okay?” You nod, your heart still racing from the adrenaline of your bodies being intertwined moments prior.

Caleb does as he said he would, flinging your pretty lace panties into the front and returning to the driver’s seat with his jumper and shoes back on. He even slides your seat back to where it was before switching on the engine and reversing out of the empty car park.

Hitting the main road, you ask him nervously, “Caleb, can we continue when we get home?”

Palming the steering wheel to turn a corner, he grins, “If you want to, pips.”

You nod energetically as renewed heat pools in your damp panties, “I do, baby. I 100% do.”

embarrassing/gone wrong sex moments m.list

star girl's final words: random lore drop of the day is that i'm 4'9. yep. 145cm tall (cries in short). and wish i was writing from experience (one chance caleb pls on my knees)😔

[revelboo]

goooodddss, i know megs is gonna be absolutely Insufferable™️ as a carrier.. he's gonna be so much more cranky than normal, blaming his human for turning the tables on him unexpectedly like that, but then probably also end up being the most clingy now because he's like "oh shoot, now i Need to have you around more than ever"

(sorry if this is a duplicate ask or similar to another ask sent earlier, tumblr is being tumblr as always 🤪)

I think I remember seeing a similar one, but it’s cool. It’s probably lost in all that ⬆️ the hilarious part is I emptied the inbox completely in January. Four months ago. I’m at 893 total because the drafts? Yeah, those are also asks. 🤣 I started moving them there so I wouldn’t lose ones for new story prompts and that’s backfired at this point because neither folder has a search option. I’m just watching the number click up in horrified fascination at this point because I’m pretty sure I only managed to keep up with the asks for a week tops last time 🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Broken Arrow Pt 21

TFP Megatron x Reader

• Breathing raggedly as he meticulously straightens your stupid harness, you close your eyes. You’ve tried to break that ridiculously fine chain more than once just to be petty and it’s stupidly strong whatever it is. And after you’d kept undoing the clasp to take it off, he’d pinched the closure shut between his servos where you can’t take it off anymore. You’d tried to squirm out of it once and he’d found you with your arm pinned awkwardly against your body, because while it’s loose on you, it’s not loose enough to squirm out of. “Alright. You’re going to make me ask. What’s a sparkling?” Because you have a guess based on what he’d said and you’d better be wrong.

• “Cybertronian young,” he growls, optics narrowing when your expression becomes panicked. You really didn’t know, didn’t understand and it’s infuriating. Venting in aggravation, he runs a claw tip over your bottom lip and down the line of your throat, his spike stirring again as he straddles you. “Though I was trying to spark you and you somehow sparked me, you little brat.”

• “So, I knocked you up?” You blurt as his optics narrow, and you get momentarily distracted by a bead of pinkish purple slick beading at the head of his spike and slowly trailing down his length. And he’s baring his denta even as you start laughing. Because honestly? It serves him right. “Better you than me,” you add, aware that you’re playing with fire teasing him, but this means the jerk had tried to knock you up without asking.

• “Is that so?” He growls, plucking at your harness and you smack his hand. Wonders if you really think he doesn’t realize you’ve been trying to break his lovely work? He might not have made the fine weave of chains, but that metal is a part of him, damaged sections of his plating salvaged and melted down to make something to adorn you. “You should apologize on your knees.”

• “You did that to yourself,” you mutter, trying very hard not to think of the fact that you’re having a half alien kid with him. What if it’s an awful mini him with those sharky denta? What if the kid is worse? It’s bad enough with one of them biting you, but you can just imagine his kid clinging to your leg and gnawing like a rabid animal. And that uncertainty spills into the worry that he’s going to lose interest now. That he won’t have any reason to keep you around or alive now that he has what he wants. “Are you going to let me go now?” Preferably not via chucking you out of the ship mid flight.

• Staring at you, he growls. Because you really understand nothing. “We’re bonded,” he says, lip curling. “For life.” And your eyes go wide. ‘Oh, fuck me,’ you manage and his optics narrow as he lifts up and flips you onto your belly, covering you. ‘Not literally, you bastard,’ you snap as he hooks an arm under you to get your hips up and sheaths himself, hips pumping. Taking out his frustration and outrage with the wet heat of your tight body. You accepted him, bonded him and he’s keeping you even if you did somehow misunderstand all of it. You’re his to breed, to claim. His mate even if you didn’t choose him.

Previous

Next

Found an old doodle and started inking and coloring before realizing I only have like five markers. I’d make enamel pins if it wasn’t so expensive 🤣

[coldilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

Part 6

This had like a huge timeskip

___________________________

It's been 3 months Since you decided to stay at camp

It's been so good, the camp is quiet, since it's school year right now, it's currently October, the weather outside doesn't really affect the camp but it's chilly, the good kind

Percy and Annabeth have been sending you photographs of their schools, since you can't go to school anymore

Because you're "dead"

Still even if you're not studying, no way you're gonna let them get ahead of you, so you spent an entire day carving an Athena statue

You got a bunch of food from the Cornucopia as offerings

Then you pray "Lady Athena, may you please guide me, I need books on grade 6 studies.... Please?"

For good measure you decided to place a drachma on the statue

"I- I want to study... And uhhh, I've never really prayed to a god before- I mean what kind of god would - okay going off topic, I want to learn because I don't want to feel helpless anymore, I've been there, never again, so if- you could help me... I'd appreciate it, but you don't have to if you don't want- sooo... Yeah I guess, do I say amen? Um bye"

"didn't think a child of Aphrodite would ever be interested in learning"

"AH!" You yelp as a voice appears behind you

" 'Thena can you not sneak up on children, that's fucking creepy"

You tilt your head "Mr. D???"

"kid next time you want to study just bother Chiron, there's legal procedures to this kinds of things" he groaned

You were about to apologize but then Athena spoke up for you "Nonsense, if she wants an education is it not reasonable to get it from the best?"

She turns to you "kid, what do you want to know about?"

With great determination you say "I want to know everything I can manage to learn"

"really?" She smirked

"Yes. Whatever you can teach me, how to use an abacus, what body part do you stab someone to kill them in an instant, how to crochet, whatever you can teach"

"yeah while you two are at it can you teach her how to undo my punishment" Mr D opens another new diet coke

______________________________

"Gods- Wait crap" you collapse on the floor

4 fucking hours now, she's been training you for four hours, Mr D had finished 55 diet cokes watching and laughing at you

Out of every fight, she wins, of course she does, out of every train, sparring, archery and everything she made you try

"new rule, all you have to do is make sure this cloth touches me, whether it be a momentary graze or wrap it around me, it just needs to make contact, and I will try to push you out of bounds" she says pulling out a blue cloth and a bunch of rocks and twigs form a square

You didn't think it'd be easy, at all, she'd dodge and dodge and dodge

You lunge at her and change direction to where she's going, but she flies instead

The sun is going down, and Athena flies down and kicks you near the bounds

"AHHH! ow! Shit!" Your form looks disfigured, your arm is under your body and it doesn't look good

You cry, tears coming out as you try to not scream "I fell the wrong way, I-" you sob on the ground

"Shit, Thena what did you do?!?" Mr D stands up

"I'm sorry- I didn't, help please...." You scream in pain

Athena teleports to you and kneels, she turns to Mr D "I'll call on Apollo to heal her arm and-" she stops talking

She stops talking as she feels a silky texture on her cheeck

With wide eyes she looks at you, and your smug smile, that stupid smile

"I finally won against you" you stand up and dust yourself off

You can't beat the goddess of wisdom, but- you can trick her

"huh..." She says

Mr D spikes his diet coke on the ground "(name) go fuck yourself"

___________________________

I'm about to take a test rn, it's mathematics 😀

Anyways enjoy the chapter:3

@delias-stuff @sadslasher13 @ellaprime7 @wpdarlingpan @mountvesuvu @chinxinsomnia @nathaly36 @vanessa-boo @bat1212 @ceramic-raven

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part thirty-nine: you've been made

word count: 7.0k-ish

warnings: this chapter contains themes of violence and manipulation. reader discretion is advised.

thirty-eight | thirty-nine | forty

“…Who's Lando?”

His heart stopped.

She didn’t yell. She didn’t demand. She didn’t throw the phone at him or scream at him or accuse him of lying. Somehow, that made it so much worse, because she asked it like she already knew the answer, like it physically hurt her to even say it out loud.

Everything about her body language, every fine detail of her expression was paused, stilled like she didn’t want to believe it.

Lando stayed frozen.

Be very careful, Norris.

“Angel, what are you–”

“I picked up your phone,” she started, her voice trembling now. “Just to tell him you were resting. I was just– I wasn’t snooping or anything, okay? I was just– just trying to be nice, I promise.”

She began to ramble, the words tumbling out of her faster than she could keep up. “But then before I could say anything, he just started– I didn’t know he was going to start yelling about disappearing and jobs and going dark—”

“Okay,” he murmured softly, trying to calm her. “Okay. Just breathe—”

“Don’t,” she said sharply, practically hissing the word – though whether that was in pain or anger, he couldn’t tell. But he knew this wasn’t her usual voice – certainly not the one she used when she teased him or comforted him or even argued with him.

This was raw, wounded.

She shook her head. “Don’t do that. Don’t— don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. I’m– I’m not, okay? I know what I heard.”

He stood very still. Every muscle in his body was tense, as if ready to fight whatever tangible or intangible threat had dared to bring tears to her eyes. He’d promised to protect her, after all.

But he wasn’t quite sure he could protect her from this.

She watched carefully as everything about him softened — his shoulders, his eyes, the lines of his face. But it was not the kind of soft that came from tenderness.

It was resignation.

No. You’re supposed to tell me I’m wrong. This isn’t how this was supposed to go.

Tell me I’m wrong.

Please.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” he admitted quietly.

“...So it’s true?” Y/N asked, her voice smaller than he’d ever heard it. Each of her words were still slow, wary, like her mind couldn’t wrap itself around this fracture of her reality. Each syllable was another chance from her for him to tell her otherwise, but he didn’t speak.

He didn’t deny it.

“And this?” She gestured vaguely between them. He couldn’t help but notice the way her hand trembled ever so slightly as she did. “You— you sleeping here, holding me like—”

She had to pause to swallow down the feeling that rose in the back of her throat, threatening to choke her. Her voice was much quieter this time when she spoke.

“...Was that fake too?”

“No,” he answered immediately. His tone was firm, unshakeable. Lando needed her to know that there was never even a chance that it could have been true. “That was never fake.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and something in her expression twisted.

“How can I believe you? I don’t even know who you are.”

Lando opened his mouth before he closed it again. Because what the fuck could he say?

He wanted to tell her that Liam was real — that he was Liam, at least in all the ways that mattered. He wanted to tell her that the man who kissed her knuckles and slept on her couch and drank too much sugar in his coffee, that man wasn’t fake. He wanted to tell her that she had made him feel more like himself than anything else in his entire twisted empire of blood and bones.

But right now, all she saw was the lie. 

How was he supposed to undo that?

She looked at him like she didn’t recognize him — like maybe she was seeing him for the first time. Her voice, when it came, was thin and high and impossibly quiet.

“I can’t–” Her hands were shaking now, just a little. “I can’t do this.”

Those words had his heart racing, his mind instantly flashing with the image of a life where she couldn’t even look him in the eye. 

No. That’s impossible.

I can fix this.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then exhaled through his nose. “Hey,” he tried gently, stepping forward. “Listen—”

“Don’t.” Her voice cracked, but she stood firm. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down or explain or lie again. Just tell me the truth. Who the hell are you?”

He was quiet.

Then, after thinking for a moment, he added, “…I’m still me.”

But the damage was already done. The space between them was cavernous now. 

As she looked at him with confusion swirling in those beautiful eyes, all he could do was stare. The name “Lando” now sat between them like a loaded gun on the table — impossible to ignore, impossible to take back.

“Lando’s my real name.”

That was as a good a place to start as any, right?

Y/N didn’t move. In fact, she wasn’t sure she was even breathing. The silence stretched — thick, brittle, about to snap.

He finally stepped forward, cautiously, as if approaching a wild animal that might bolt or bite. Then, Lando spoke, his voice low.

“I didn’t lie to hurt you.”

“Oh, well then,” she scoffed dryly. “Guess it’s fine.”

“I never wanted to lie to you,” he quickly corrected, shaking his head as he stepped forward again, hands up in a form of surrender. “But that first night, after the shooting — I thought if anyone came looking, I didn’t want them knowing your name. Or mine. I didn’t want you tied to it.”

For a moment, she seemed to consider his words, mulling them over in her mind.

“So you gave me the wrong name,” she tried cautiously, testing the words for their truth. “To protect yourself?”

“That’s not—” He stopped himself, before he tried again. “It was a precaution. I was scared too.

She narrowed her eyes, dubious. “Were you? You didn’t seem scared. You seemed… calm.”

“I didn’t know what we were caught up in,” he replied, making sure each word is low and even. He needed her to believe him. “I didn’t want t’ make it worse. So yeah, when I saw you again… I said my name was Liam. I thought maybe I’d walk away after that. Just, like, disappear.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” he repeated, his eyes locking with hers. “I couldn’t.”

And he meant it. There was something soft in the way he said it, something that almost made her want to believe him again.

For a while, there was only silence.

It makes sense, Y/N thought to herself. 

Some part of her certainly wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe him so badly. Maybe it was because he looked tired, or because he looked remorseful. 

Or maybe it was because he looked like the man who held her through the night like she was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

He looked away, brow furrowing, like the memory genuinely haunted him.

“Y/N,” he started, a rare use of her real name instead of any of the petnames she’d started to become accustomed to. “You have to believe me. I thought using my real name would’a put you in danger.”

Her lip quivered, just barely. “So… you were protecting me?”

He nodded, his eyes searching hers, begging for belief. “From the beginning.”

She scanned his face, looking for cracks, for lies. Something that said run.

But when she met his gaze, she found that he looked like the same man who kissed her forehead goodnight. The same man who ran his fingers through her hair while they watched Hallmark movies and made dumb bets over grocery lists.

With her gaze piercing those hazel green eyes, he held his breath as she seemed to search for any reason not to believe him.

He was still familiar.

So she nodded once, shakily. The gesture caught him off guard. As soon as he noticed it in his periphery, his head snapped up.

She wore a small, tentative smile on her face. Some of the tension seemed to have begun leaving her body, the trembling beginning to lessen.

Finally, the tension in her chest loosened.

Maybe she was wrong.

Maybe he wasn’t some psycho monster.

She nodded slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she breathed finally, the words tasting foreign in her mouth. Lando let his eyes slip closed momentarily in relief, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in a hint of a smile. 

“...Yeah? We’re… We’re good?”

“Okay,” she nodded, confirming. “Okay. I believe you.”

“Mint.”

On instinct, he moved closer to her, whether it was to reassure her or embrace her or something else, even he didn’t know. All Lando knew was that she believed him, that things could be okay, that he wasn’t going to lose her today.

Sure, he’d lied to her. But he’d done it to protect them, hadn’t he?

Soon enough, his arms wrapped around her, the warmth of him both comfortable and familiar. With her head tucked under his chin, her face was settled comfortably in the crook of his neck, the tip of her nose tickling him as it gently grazed the skin of his pulse point.

There was probably some scientific explanation for it, but she was beginning to think that there was something calming about the mere proximity to him, as if the steady beat of his heart is what guided her own.

It’s okay.

He’s still here.

It’s gonna be okay.

As her heart finally started to settle, she continued to turn over his words in her mind. She thought back to that night, that harrowing sight engraved in her memory when she’d seen the life leave a man’s body in an instant.

She remembered the way her heart had hammered in her ears afterward, the persistent ringing, the unshakeable feeling that in some crazy way, she was going to be next. She also remembered when warm, strong hands gently came to rest on her shoulders, a kind voice asking if she was okay. She remembered how patient he was with her, how he’d made sure she was alright, and had made sure to walk her home so she’d feel safe.

There was a kindness in his eyes that she’d felt uniquely drawn to even then, the way it made her feel as warm as the cup of tea did that night.

“Hey,” she whispered, barely bothering move from her clearly very comfortable spot.

“Hey there,” he greeted in return, cooing softly.

The affection in his voice, even after Y/N had treated him like some kind of crazy person only made her feel worse. The pit of guilt in her stomach only grew heavier.

“M’sorry. That was a lot. I didn’t mean to freak out. I just–”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, “None of that, angel. You got nothin’ to say sorry for, yeah?”

“But I–”

“Uh uh,” he tutted mischievously, mirth dancing in his eyes as he leaned back to look at her. He liked them like this, soft and sweet. Having her so close to him made his heart preform dangerous tricks, but he didn’t mind it as long as she’d keep looking at him like that.

If Y/N always looked at him like that, Lando wouldn’t mind holding her like this for the rest of their lives.

“M’ serious,” he pretends to scold her. His tone may have been mocking, but he really did mean it. “No ‘sorry’s. None of ‘em.”

“None of ‘em?” she smiled playfully, raising her brow. “But what if–”

“I'll bite you.”

“Liam! I mean– shit, sorry–”

He shot her an amused look.

“Lando,” she finally managed to get out. “Sorry,” she added as well, just for good measure.

He smirked. “You can practice saying that all you want, sweetheart. And what’d I just say about sayin’ sorry, hm? Looks like I’ll just have to—”

Lando cut himself off to playfully bite at the skin of her neck, just a gentle, barely-there graze of his teeth against one of the places he happened to know she was more sensitive.

“Woah there,” she giggled, her heart skipping a beat. “Easy there tiger.”

“You’re no fun,” he pouted, but the smile he wore was devilish. “I thought girls liked that sort of thing.”

He looks way too proud of himself for that comment.

Blood rushed to her cheeks, tinging them pink. Y/N was learning that she had a strong, love-hate relationship with how often Lando was able to do that to her. 

“You’re always so dirty,” she laughed, pushing herself out of his hold. What she didn’t see was the joy on Lando’s face, the sheer relief he felt after he’d come so close to losing whatever this was between them.

He’d given up many things in his life, but he was beginning to seriously doubt that there was ever a world where he could give up her.

“I don’t know about you,” she called over her shoulder, walking away towards the kitchen “But I’m gonna put for some tea. You want any?”

And just like that, Lando could finally breathe again.

A comfortable silence fell over the apartment, the only sounds coming from the quiet metal clinking of the kettle being placed on the stove. Even feeling the warmth emanating from the stove did something to settle her nerves, to help dissolve what remained of the earlier adrenaline.

Even still, something didn’t sit right with her. Something whispered at the edges of her mind, refusing to let go.

I’m still me.

Lando’s my real name.

I never wanted to lie to you.

It was a precaution.

Clearly, he was good at lying. Y’N would be lying if she said that didn’t make her uncomfortable, especially if she thought about how long he’d lied to her for. There’d been so many chances since then – so many drives and lunches and movie nights and coffee runs where he had the chance to tell her the truth, to make this whole thing go away.

But he didn’t. He’d lied.

And for months, she’d been none the wiser.

The uncomfortable feeling persisted, stubborn in its objective of making her think about all the non-existent reasons he had of keeping the truth from her. It annoyed her, nagging at the back of her mind like a word stuck on the tip of her tongue or a memory just out of reach.

While the water began to heat, she glanced over at where Li– Lando was busy putting on the next episode of The Good Place for them to watch. Distantly, she could hear the vague sound of the Brit going on about something or the other, maybe even his own recap of last episode’s events.

Once Y/N was sure his back was turned, she slid her phone out from her pocket and clicked it on, her blood thrumming with anxiety as the letters appeared in the search bar.

Search: lando monte carlo 

The results punched the very air out of her lungs.

Beyond Forgery and Fraud: Reaper's Circle's Drug Empire Rises

Interpol Report: Norris Suspected in Multiple International Offenses

Lando Norris Suspected in Over a Dozen Murders. No Convictions.

Y/N stared at the screen, frozen. The sentences began to blend together, a whirlwind of the same words over and over again.

Mob boss.

Murderer.

Lando. 

Him.

No. No, this couldn’t—

Article after article appeared, an endless collection of headlines tying that name, tying Lando Norris, tying him to all sorts of crimes — racketeering, arms deals, disappearances, executions masked as robberies.

A memory rang in her ear, a snippet of the evening news playing on the radio in the car.

“Authorities have not yet identified the leader of the Reaper’s Circle, but rumors suggest it's someone with deep ties in Monaco’s elite—someone like Lando Norris, who has been involved in several high-profile events in recent months…”

“–The Reaper’s Circle, an organized criminal syndicate suspected of controlling various illicit activities across Monaco and beyond…”

He’d frozen, for that split second, before the mask had slipped back into place. Even then, sitting right beside her, it’d been so fucking easy for him to lie to her.

Despite the wave of nausea, her thumb automatically scrolled faster, her heartbeat louder than the boiling kettle. Everything felt far away, like the chaos of her mind had separated itself entirely from whatever she was meant to feel in her body.

Everything was numb.

As she scrolled, photos of him appeared, joining the digital mix. It was the same face she recognized, but also different at the same time. These photos were nothing like the ones in her phone, weren’t anything like the hidden snapshots of his occasional smile or the time she’d smudged a dab of toothpaste across his cheek, his hair mussed by sleep.

The photos she saw now caused a sinking feeling in her gut. The girl scrolled through mugshots, with their striped backgrounds and prisoner numbers. She scrolled through the paparazzi pictures, stolen photos taken by those who were trying to capture a glimpse of the force known as Lando Norris.

There was a clip of his face in black and white security footage. Y/N almost didn’t recognize the sharpness of his jaw, the clean-cut suits, the cold, unreadable expression. 

Why would she?

That wasn’t her Liam. That wasn’t the man who sipped cappuccinos in her café and fixed the bent sign above her door.

That man, it seemed, didn’t exist at all.

Her grip on the phone faltered, before the weight of it slipped from her loosened grasp. She caught it mid-fall, fingers clumsy, heart sprinting, vision blurred.

Behind her, the kettle began to scream.

Back in the living room, Lando was staring at the TV, flicking between episodes as the screen cast a soft, harmless glow across his face.

She stared at him from the kitchen doorway. His profile was calm, his silhouette familiar. 

He was still her Liam, just with a different name.

No.

He was a killer.

Her stomach churned. Her throat burned. She blinked, and when she looked at him again, he looked like a stranger now.

The kettle was still screaming on the stove when she turned it off. The tea sat untouched on the counter, steam curling up into the stale, too-quiet air.

Y/N stared at the screen of her phone one last time — headlines burned into her vision, images of blood and bodies flashing behind her eyes, her own reflection warped in the darkened black of the glass.

Lando Norris.

Her heartbeat thundered. Her limbs shook, but her grip tightened.

She reached for the drawer near the sink — the one with dull steak knives, takeout menus, and forgotten batteries. Her fingers closed around the handle of the sharpest one she had. It wasn’t a real pocket knife, but it would have to do. Y/N didn’t even remember what it looked like. All she remembered was the weight of it: cold, foreign, and damning.

Her hands trembled like leaves in a storm, but she didn't stop.

Not that she felt brave. If anything, she felt sick.

But still, she stepped forward.

The hallway between the kitchen and living room felt impossibly long — like her apartment had grown into a tunnel. Every footstep felt like it echoed louder than the last. The knife clutched in her hand quivered against her thigh.

She stood just out of his sight, one hand braced against the counter’s edge, the other gripping a knife with white-knuckled desperation. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, so loud it almost drowned out his words from the next room.

Lando’s voice carried from the couch, casual and unbothered. “–Or we could just order somethin’ in,” he continued, fingers drumming lazily on his thigh. “I mean, we’d have to see what’s open right now—”

Lando’s voice trailed off when she stepped back into the room. He had turned to look at her, half-expecting to see her usual soft expression, maybe that tired but warm little smile she gave when she was just happy he was here.

Instead, Y/N stood in the doorway, the kitchen light casting a halo behind her. Her eyes were wide and glossy, her face pale and her hands shaking. A knife gleamed in her grasp, and for a second, it didn’t even look real — like something out of a movie she never wanted to be part of.

It shook faintly in her hand – not from lack of conviction, but because her body was trembling under the weight of the fear she’d kept locked behind her ribs for the past ten minutes.

Lando’s brow furrowed. “Y/N?” he asked, slowly standing. “What are you doing?”

His voice was calm — gentle, like he didn’t quite understand.

Maybe he didn’t, because he took a step forward, and she flinched.

That’s when it happened.

That’s when Lando saw it — the flicker of something in her eyes. It wasn’t the soft worry she used to carry when he came in late, or the teasing suspicion when he dodged questions.

No.

This was pure, unadulterated fear.

He stopped in his tracks, something raw and unspoken painting his expression. “Wait—wait, sweetheart, what’s going on?” His voice cracked, barely holding itself together. “Put that down. You’re shaking.”

“Don’t come any closer.”

“What?”

“Get out. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Lando’s face froze.

His spine straightened. His entire world narrowed to the silver blade in her hand and the way her eyes wouldn’t meet his.

“Y/N?” he asked quietly, standing slowly from the couch. “What are you doing?”

She flinched.

Lando stood slowly from the couch like he was trying not to startle her. It was never good form to startle someone pointing a knife at your chest. 

“You’re shaking,” he noted, almost more to himself than to her. “Let’s put that down, sweetheart. Please. Let’s talk. We can— can we just talk? What’s goin’ on?”

“Don’t call me that.” Her voice cracked on the end of it, shattering the illusion like glass. “Stop it.”

He stopped moving, and her eyes finally met his.

“I looked you up,” she whispered. “Your real name. Lando Norris.”

She took a step back, and that’s when it happened.

His worst fear.

For the first time since they’d met on that rainy, bloodstained night in the alley, she looked at him like she didn't know him.

For the first time, Y/N looked at him like she was afraid of him.

There were no words that felt like they could describe the apprehension that emanated from her in waved.

In an instant, everything had changed. Where they had been laughing and flirting before, now there was an endless chasm separating them. Where moments ago there had been fondness and affection, now there was something else entirely.

His throat bobbed. “Listen, whatever you think you know—”

“I know enough,” she snapped, voice high with panic. 

Images flashed through her mind like a broken film reel. 

The blood on the pavement that night — dark, fresh, sticky. The faint smear of red on his shoe as he stood beside her, before he moved it out of her line of sight.His long fingers, wrapped around the handle of that gun — the same ones she’d recognize anywhere after hours of watching him tracing lazy, tender shapes on her arms as they watched TV together, skin against skin.

Her breath hitched. 

He wasn’t a witness.

Lando Norris was the shooter.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice cracking down the middle. “It was you. It was you, that night.”

She took another staggering step back, the distance between them growing even greater.

“You killed him. It was you, standing in that alley. And you lied! You looked me in the face and told me you just heard the gunshots.”

There was silence, heavy and suffocating. She shook her head, as if trying to erase the image of him sitting in her kitchen, making tea for a woman he nearly silenced forever.

“You walked me home, got inside my apartment, made me think you were trying to help me. But you weren’t. You were– You were just cleaning up your mess! You were tying up a loose end.”

Still he said nothing. Instead,  the man just stared at her like she’d peeled the skin off him and was staring at whatever ugly thing lay beneath.

“Say something,” Y/N snapped. “Fucking say something!”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he started to explain, and it sounded so hollow it made her stomach twist. “I didn’t— I didn’t know you. You were just—someone who saw something. I didn’t plan to get involved, Y/N. But then I did. I did. And I tried to keep you out of it.”

“No,” she gritted, her voice crumbling now, falling apart one word at a time. “You lied to me. You let me fall for you. You made me think you were just— You made me think you were my friend. You made me care about you. You… You made me trust you.”

Lando looked like she’d just stabbed him in the chest instead.

“I am that person,” he said quietly. “I didn’t fake that. I never faked any of it.”

The blade in her hand glinted in the twilight that leaked through the slivers of space between her curtains, the moon light pouring through. The metal of it glistened menacingly as its sharp point hovered just above where his heart was supposed to be.

He wasn’t sure he had one anymore.

There was nothing she’d said tonight that wasn’t true. His hand reached for hers, unexpectedly tender as it reached for where her fingers were wrapped around the hilt, urging it closer.

I deserve this.

If I died at her hands tonight, I would be okay with that, he thought. If it meant she wouldn’t look at him like this, he’d happily take whatever punishment she’d give him. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered reassuringly, smiling sadly. “S’alright.”

Her voice cracked completely. “Stop. Please, just stop.”

Tears slid freely down her cheeks now, hot and bitter. Then, a truth finally spilled out of her too, unbidden.

“I can’t believe you let me fall in love with you.”

Lando couldn’t breathe. 

Hearing those words was a punch to the gut, stealing all the oxygen from his lungs, wounding the softest, rawest part of him. His head spun, his stomach twisting with a gutteral ache.

“No,” his face twisted, some mix of horrified and devastated. “Please. Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” she whispered. “Because you know you don’t deserve it?”

He looked away, his face hot with shame.

“I let you into my home. I let you into my life. And the whole time… ” Her hand trembled harder around the knife. “You were Lando fucking Norris. Mob boss of Monaco. You’ve killed people. You– You probably had Margot killed. You probably—”

“I didn’t.” The words escaped like a snarl. “Don’t put that on me.”

“But you could have,” she breathed. “And that’s the problem.”

He flinched like she’d hit him.

She exhaled shakily, holding the knife tighter, like it was the only thing keeping her from collapsing. “You need to leave.”

“Y/N—”

He hesitated.

For just a second, Lando stood there — face wrecked, hands useless, eyes pleading for something he couldn’t ask for anymore. He opened his mouth again to explain, to lie, to beg, but she cut him off before he could even try.

“Don’t! Don’t say another word. I don’t wanna hear your voice.”

She might as well have slapped him right across the fucking face. 

It took whatever dwindling willpower she had left not to look at the wounded expression on Lando’s face. 

It was already hard to see him through her rapidly blurring vision, until it suddenly cleared. She swiped at a tear she only realized had fallen once it was streaming down her cheek, the knife still trembling in her grip. Her voice was tighter now, choked and disbelieving.

“You made me feel safe! You made me tea! You held me like I was— like I was yours,” she hissed, whispering the last word like it was dirty, a dream turned rotten. 

“And the whole time, you were just making sure I couldn’t talk? Making sure I’d forget?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.

What could he say?

She shook her head slowly, the betrayal sinking deeper into her chest like the slow spread of a toxin.

“Was any of it real?” she asked, the tears falling freely now. “Any of it? The coffee, the late-night walks, the books you pretended to like? The way you looked at me?”

There was a pause as she forced herself to take a shuddering breath. 

“Was that all fake too?”

“No,” Lando blurted out, his eyes wide. He’d stood here without complaint as every word from her mouth and every tear from her eyes fractured something in his chest into a thousand tiny, splintering shards of glass, but he couldn’t let her think that. “God, no.”

Even though he hadn’t dared to hope otherwise, it was clear to Lando now that the time for apologies had long since expired. Any question she asked now was empty, because even he knew that there was no answer that he could give her now that would forgive a years worth of lies. The truth had started to settle in: there was no logical way for him to explain this away.

There was no way to hope for the precious gift of Y/N’s forgiveness just one more time.

But for better or for worse, Lando’s heart had never been particularly good at listening to reason. All Lando could think about was the way her eyes were rimmed with red, glistening with the aftermath of his betrayal.

Y/N laughed then – a bitter, hollow thing. “You know what? Forget it. Please. Just go. Just fucking go.”

Against all sense of reason, Lando took a small step forward, the tip of her blade now barely centimeters from his chest. The movement was slow and easy, laced with a sense of acceptance. Still, he looked at her with a sense of sad curiosity.

She raised the knife higher, crying outright now, her heart thudding like it was trying to escape her chest.

“Are you even listening to me? I said, get out!” she spat. “If you come any closer to me, I swear to God, I will scream. I’ll— I’ll call the cops. I’ll tell them everything.”

Lando’s face crumpled not with rage or frustration, but with grief.

“You’re scared of me,” he breathed, the words barely audible. “You really are.”

The shine of his eyes mirrored hers now, the weight on his chest pressing down until his voice broke. He took a half-step forward, desperate. “I didn’t want this. I swear to God, I never wanted this—”

“Get. Out!”

She was crying now — tears streaming freely, silently, like she didn’t even notice. Her whole body shook.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please get out before I call the cops.”

Lando stared at her, his mouth parted, eyes unreadable — but behind the storm in them was something small, something shattered.

She wasn’t bluffing. She wasn’t just scared. She was done.

That hurt worse than any bullet ever could.

So he did the one thing he didn’t know how to do.

He stepped back.

The silence that followed felt like the final breath before a storm, the quiet before the tidal wave of a tsunami.

Lando didn’t try to explain anything else after that. He nodded once, just once.

It nearly killed him.

Lando turned toward the door. He moved slowly then, like he was walking through water. Each step sounded like a funeral drum, final and echoing.

He didn’t say goodbye.

He reached for the door, his fingers shaking — not because of the threat of the knife he could tell was still pointed at him, but because of her.

Lando Norris had outsmarted enemies, evaded authorities, and cheated death itself. Yet in this moment, he didn’t fight back. He didn’t try to convince her of his innocence, or prove himself worthy of her forgiveness. 

For all his brilliance, even Lando Norris knew that he couldn’t shoot, couldn’t outsmart, couldn’t trick his way out of this. Even he knew that now, there were no more illusions.

Now, it was just him, losing the one thing he never wanted to lose.

When he reached the door, confronted with its familiar sight far too soon, Lando glanced back, one last time. 

He looked for her, for any bit of the girl he once knew. There, instead of seeing the heartbreak spilling down her cheeks or the trembling of her hands, he saw only the same determination and ferocity he’d fallen in love with. 

In that moment, he wished he could spend an eternity standing there, if not to admire her then to memorize her face, suddenly confronted with the fear of forgetting even the smallest thing about her. 

In those last moments before he granted her final wish by leaving, Lando stood frozen, eyes darting over her face like he was trying to memorize it — like this was the last time he’d be allowed to look at her. He wanted to see her, really see her.

Just one more minute.

But Y/N didn’t meet his eyes.

She couldn’t.

God, it killed her enough to watch the man she loved standing there, looking wrecked and helpless, like he was the one being torn apart.

But she couldn’t afford to care, couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eyes as he left.

He didn’t beg.

He didn’t try to stay.

He opened the door with slow, deliberate movements — like even that, even leaving, was hard.

Before he stepped out, Lando turned.

“…I’m sorry you found out like this.”

The door shut behind him, and then all that was left was silence.

The door shut like the slam of a coffin.

Y/N stood in the center of her kitchen, the silence roaring in her ears. Her hands were still suspended in front of her, useless and twitching as her breath came in sharp, shallow bursts. The silence in the apartment pressed in around her — thick, oppressive, empty.

And then the knife hit the floor.

She crumpled a second later.

Right there, in the middle of her kitchen tile, knees hitting hard and breath stolen like a rug yanked out from under her. Her hand found the counter to brace herself, but it wasn’t enough.

Nothing was enough.

She hit the ground with a soft thud, curling inward like her ribs were caving around her heart — like her body was trying to protect her from something it was too late to stop.

The first sob came out sharp, crooked. It wasn’t graceful or cinematic — just raw.

She dragged herself backwards until her spine hit the cabinet and she stayed there, slumped on the cold tile like it might somehow anchor her. Like it might remind her what was real.

The headlines were still on her phone screen. She reached for it with trembling fingers, locked it, then shoved it across the floor like it burned her.

Because it did.

Her head hit the cabinet behind her with a quiet thunk.

She squeezed her eyes. Her hands pressed against her chest like she could hold her heart in.

She couldn’t.

She’d been holding it all in like a dam — fear, anger, disbelief — but now the cracks had given way, and it all came rushing out.

Finally, she sobbed freely.

They were guttural, shuddering, animalistic cries. The kind that clawed their way out of her chest and echoed in the hollow of her apartment like ghosts. Her fingers curled into her sleeves, like if she held herself tightly enough, she could disappear back into the life she thought she had.

But there was no going back.

She pressed her forehead to the cold cabinet door, hot tears dripping down her nose. She could still smell him in the air — cologne and city rain and something warm that had always reminded her of home.

Except it never was.

None of it had been real.

Her chest tightened so violently she thought she might throw up. Her stomach churned, her head a kaleidoscope of memory and betrayal.

The way he used to tuck her hair behind her ear.

The night he stayed just to hear her read.

Her breath came out in short, gasping bursts — not quite crying, not quite breathing either. Just this horrible, shaking in-between where she couldn’t make sense of anything. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t feel anything except the acid curling in her chest.

She wasn’t just heartbroken.

She felt violated. Deceived. Used. She had slept beside a murderer. Laughed with him. Kissed him. Loved him.

The pain hit her in waves — disbelief, nausea, betrayal, grief. She wanted to scream. To sob. To undo it all.

But she just sat there, shaking, arms wrapped tight around her knees, forehead pressed to the floor. She curled tighter, hands tangled in her own shirt, as if she could squeeze the memory of him out of her skin. But it was still there — the phantom of his touch, the echo of his voice.

She had loved him.

Or at least… she had loved who she thought he was, a version of him that apparently didn’t even exist.

The thought only made her feel even more sick.

She buried her face in her knees and cried — for herself, for her stupid, naive heart, for the man she never really knew.

And the man who’d fooled her so well, she’d wanted to build a life around him.

The second the door shut behind him, Lando staggered down the stairs like a man far drunker than he was. He reached the bottom of her building and stopped beside his car, hands braced on the roof like he couldn’t stand up straight anymore.

He didn’t get in.

He didn’t light a cigarette.

He just stood there, letting it hit him.

An image flashed before his eyes, a memory of the look on her face — like he was something to be afraid of. Something that didn’t belong in her world anymore.

Each moment was permanently engraved in his memory now. His mind played a loop of it on repeat, the way she told him to get the fuck out, that he wasn’t safe, that he wasn’t welcome here anymore.

And the worst part?

She was right.

He stared up at the window of her apartment, but he couldn’t see inside. Right now, Lando had no way of knowing if she was crying or curled up on the floor or already dialing 911.

He wouldn’t blame her. She should. He certainly deserved it.

As stupid, as it may have seemed, he just wanted to know if she was okay. With no way of reaching her, he had no way of reassuring her, comforting her, telling her it’d be okay. There was nothing he wouldn’t have given up just for the chance to say he was sorry, and to tell her that none of this was her fault.

But the silence made it worse, made it real.

He whispered her name like a spell — like perhaps if he said it softly enough, it’d somehow turn back the hands of time until she was back in his arms.

But of course, no such thing happened.

She had looked at him like he was a monster.

He’d seen fear before — real fear. Hell, he caused it. But never in her. Never like that. Not from the one person who made him believe, even for a second, that he was something more than a broken man with blood on his hands.

And now?

That look was all he’d see when he closed his eyes.

Everything she said, every word, looped in his head like punishment. Like penance. And for once, there was no lie clever enough to silence them.

He slammed a fist against the roof of his car with a grunt, as if would somehow release the knot in his chest. But with the anger at himself gone, there was only heartbreak that remained.

He had killed people. Broken bones. Set fires. Crushed men under his heel like ants.

But this? This was the worst pain he’d ever felt.

It’s your own damn fault.

He should’ve told her. Should’ve left her alone the moment he saw her face that night. Should’ve walked away the first time she smiled at him like he was safe.

He wondered if it felt like this for everyone, wondered if heartbreak was supposed to make you feel like your insides had been scooped out until there was no you actually left anymore. Until you were so empty you could barely stand.

Before he could do something stupid like cry, Lando slowly got into the car and closed the door. He gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands, but he made no move to start the engine.

The air in the car felt so thick it was suffocating, yet still he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

The cabin was silent except for the faint static of the air vents and the occasional sound of a passing car outside.

Lando was still. He had never felt stillness like this, not even after a kill.

He just sat there, hands gripping the wheel, heart beating too loudly in the hollow space her absence had left behind. In the black car window, his reflection stared back at him with cold eyes, pale skin, jaw clenched, hands shaking.

Not a man.

Not even a liar.

He didn’t even know what he was anymore. 

Instead of trying to figure it out, Lando just sat there, his forehead against the wheel, trying to remember what it had felt like to be Liam. To be the version of himself she had loved.

But there was no going back to that now.

Only Lando was left.

And for the first time in a long time, he hated the name more than anyone else ever could.

a/n: i'm so sorry for letting you guys and not posting when i said i would. please believe me when i say i tried, it's just that my personal life decides to bin it at the most inopportune times. i may or may not have channelled that into this chapter lol

but also thank you all so much for all your lovely reactions to the last chapter!! i would love to hear what you thought of this one...

[boypied]

MY ETERNAL SUNSHINE.

pairings: tim laughlin (skippy) x top!male reader

summary: skippy wants to prove that he is your boy and yours only. so he decides that he will give you the greatest sex that you will ever know.

requested by: anonymous / me

word count: 1,863

warnings: smut, passionate love making, fingering, cum facial, dirty talk, choking, slight praising, ass spanking, oral sex (r!receiving), nipple play.

"The president is going to issue an EO... whatever that is." he says in an excitable tone as he takes off his blazer that compliments his figure so well. You sit down on the small but comfy chair opposite him as you watch him in his flustered, frustrated state as you wipe your face slightly. "Executive Order," you say to him as you watch how he throws his blazer to the full sized couch. You put your cigarette down and gently tap your thigh. "Come here," you say in your low ruffly tone, Tim obeys you as usual and sits down on your lap, but doesn't stop his informative rant. "...and they're worried that Eisenhowar is trying to undermind that project." Tim says in a full breath, stopping for a moment to catch it.

Tim leans closer against your body, wrapping one arm around your neck. Your hand immediately darts up and begins undoing his top button, "by taking the lead on an anti communist crusade?" Your voice raises slightly as you ask him this pressing question about his rant, "I think so." Tim mutters out as he turns to face you, completely letting you manhandle him like a doll on his lap. "Senator McCarthy wants to ignore it, but Roy thinks that they -" before he can finish you butt in after the mention of Roy. "Roy?!" You say, trying to hide your jealous tone as your hand slips into his unbuttoned shirt and caressing his body softly. "You on a first name basis?" You say in a soft but domineering tone.

You gently pinch his nipple causing his to sharply groan and smirk slightly as he playfully pushes your shoulder, "Mr Comb thinks it's the smarter move to expose those who are behind the order" he says in a more professional tone. "Which will force Heisenhowar to do the right thing!" Tim says as his professionalism slips away, "Any idea on what the Executive Order is about?" You say wanting to get more information out of him because you're a very noisy man. "No... I'm sorry," Tim says softly to you as you continue caressing his chest. "What are you going to do with this information? ... share it with Senator Smith?" He asks you with a curious look, coating his face.

"Only if I have to." You reply truthfully to him as your eyes travel up from his exposed chest to meet his soft eyes. "I try to protect the Senator from his own worse impulses," you say to him with an honest look on your face as your eyes meet with his as you face each other. You lean up and grip the back of Tim's head, getting closer to him and placing a big kiss against his forehead and pulling away, watching his slightly flustered face. You help him adjust his black framed glasses. "I have to get dressed," you say to him as you begin to shuffle up until Tim gently places his hand on your stomach, pushing you down showing that he doesn't want you to move.

Tim's hand presses against you with more support, pushing you down a bit more while staring at you, "I wanna go to the party" he confesses to you in a tone that says he will be going. "The Cromwells? ... don't get me wrong, he'd cling onto you like a jellyfish-" before you can even finish what you were going to say Tim cuts you off like you did to him not long before "then take me" he says while his tone has some underlying annoyance. I take a deep breath that turns into a sigh, "You're not even dressed for it and you don't have a date." You say honestly to him trying not to crush his wishes to hard, "I'll be with you!" Tim says his tone becoming more excited as his fingers gently play with your earlobe.

Your hand gently caresses his face, and your eyes change slightly into more caring, "this is the real world..skippy," you say to him, bursting his bubble. Skippy leans closer to you, closing the inches between your face, his breath hitting your face as he begins speaking, "I'm your boy.. right?" He asks you in a soft manner. Skippy begins to manoeuvre off your lap, hovering above you slightly as he slowly travels down your body onto his knees on the floor "well well well." You say in a seductive whisper as you watch him get down on his knees. "..and your boy wants to go to the party," Skippy adds in as his eyes never leave yours. "How much does he want to go?" You ask him as both your eyes stare into eachothers hungry orbs.

Skippy leans down, his face in between your legs as he pulls your cock out of the slit at the front of your pants, his eyes widen in shock. Skippy's seen your cock a handful of times before it's even been buried in his ass countless times but it always takes his breath away the moment he sees it for the first time after a while. He nibbles at his lip softly as his eyes dart up from your cock to meet with your perfect eyes looking down at him, he doesn't break the sexual eye fucking as he leans forward and takes your tip in his mouth, Skippy swirls his tongue around your pre-cum coated tip.

"That's a good boy." You groan out in a breathy moan as your hands grip the scruff of hair at the back of his head forcing the rest of your cock down his slick wet throat. He choked slightly, but it doesn't take long for him to get use to the feeling of your cock being buried where it belongs. The sensational feeling of pleasure runs through his body anytime you take control and your dominance drips off of you. Your hands grip either side of Skippy's head, a small smirk forming on his lips as you begin to slowly fuck his throat, bucking your hips up and down. He moans in pleasure, and his eyes ever so slightly flutter back as you begin to speed up.

After a while of Skippy choking, moaning and spluttering all over your cock you pull your cock away from his mouth, hearing him let out a deep breath and also a small "awh" noise as he misses the contact. Skippy gets up and strips off naked, revealing his hairy chest and hot toned body that you love all so much. You stand up and pull down your plaid boxers as your cock springs freely, you gently sway your cock side to side adding some comedy into this deep sexual tension moment. You softly bite your lip as Tim climbs against the chair, his arms going back to open up his juicy asscheeks revealing his soft bubble gum pink hole to you.

You bite your lip, and a huge smirk grows on your face. You have no choice but to dive straight in. You get in the same position he was in as he was sucking your cock, your tongue coming into contact with his hole that is pulsating and begging for attention. Your soft tongue pushes past his muscle ring and into his warm hole, your tongue dips in and out feeling the way his walls clench around your tongue wanting you more and more. You don't eat him out for to long as you can tell how desperate he his for your cock.

You pull away and watch how his small hole clenches around nothing and how it glistens against the light. You smirk as Skippy flips himself round, slouching down against the chair pulling his legs up giving you the perfect opportunity to slide your cock right in and you didn't want to waste that opportunity. You lean your knees either side of his body and down against the pillowy couch chair, you rub your glisteningly wet tip against his hole and slowly but surely pushing yourself inside him.

Skippy's mouth makes an 'O' shape as he takes the entirety of your cock and everything you have to give him. You lean down, your face now inches away from his as you feel his hot breath against your face. Both faces painted with blush as you slowly pull out just to immediately thrust back into his clenched tight hole. He holds his legs open for you, allowing you to freely destroy him. "Good boy!" You groan out in agonising pleasure as his asshole's grip on you is to die for, "I'm your boy, I'm your good boy!" Skippy whimpers out as with each thrust his rock hard cock bounces.

"Y/N!" I gasps out in pleasure as Skippy's hands grip onto your shoulders pulling you closer to him, both your naked bodies pressed against eachother as you thrust into him. You piston fuck him which he loves when you do it, the feeling of his walls closing around you as he nears his release as he jerks himself off faster and faster. You pull away slightly and you wrap your hand around his neck, tighten slightly. As you choke him in a loving manner his walls clench around you until with one final pump of his hand around his own cock he shoots his own load all over his hairy chest.

"DADDY!" Skippy moans out in an agonising amount of pleasure, causing his eyes to roll back and his body to shudder. You fuck him through his entire orgasm. You buck your hips into him a couple more times until you pull out, "I wanna shoot it on your face" you say as you're out of breath. You smirk as Skippy is down on his knees, his own cum dripping off his chest as he smirks up at you. You pump your cock quicker in your hand looking at his face, you begin to feel overstimulated causing you to shoot your load all over Skippy's face.

"F-FUCK!" You groan out in pleasure as you begin to shoot your thick ropes of cum all over his face, painting it white with your semen. You throw your head back as you pump the last shot of cum out onto his face, you drop down to your knees to come eye level with Skippy. Your eyes meet with his once again, as you both chuckle slightly and breath heavily. "My boy" You whisper to him as you wipe some of his cum from his chest and bring it up to your mouth tasting him.

You suck on your thumb, tasting every single essence of him you watch Skippy do the same with the facial you just gave him. "So party time now" Tim says excitedly as he stands up and practically runs off into the bedroom and then into the connected unsuite. You follow along after him not wanting to miss out on shower time together, "Skippy! Wait up!" You shout out to him as you chase after him. You both end up having a make out session in the shower before the party that Skippy was dying to go to with you.

taglist ~ @starboye @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronasluvr @irlsamcarpenter @lucerothings1 @gaefaeyae @dqrkhold

[fawnhunter]

benjicot blackwood aka. mr attitude adjustment.

(a drabble about what benji is like when he reaches his limit with his pretty little wife.)

angry sex with benjicot. idk i just think he's the creator of the attitude adjustment. he married you because you were the love of his life, and also because when ever he showed his true brutish blackwood nature you would look at him with shining stars in your eyes. it also means that bcus he married a woman of fire and blood, he must also expect for her to argue like what she's made of. the argument between you two get hot, almost excitingly so. its almost like whatever you give to him he can give it right back to you ten fold. on some days its like his attitude is truly worse than yours. on the dl he loves the fact that you feel comfortable enough to really argue with him, to not back down submissively as he steps into ur space. He is truly lucky to not have married a "yes woman" who would gladly look him in his face and tell him when he was wrong. but sometimes.. instead of indulging in the arguing, he just wanted to fuck the attitude right out of you. [smutty below the cut]

god you were already so close to his face, on ur tippy toes, looking up and yelling at him like he wasn't as much of a lord like you were a princess. like he couldn't just bend you over the nearest flat surface and take you the way he wanted to. like he couldn't back you into the nearest wall with just his body pushing into you alone, pressing your body into the wall until to get the hint and start to pipe down and hear him out. or maybe he's feeling truly fed up with you, trying to stay calm in the face of his love for as long as he can before he's sweeping you off ur feet and up over his shoulder. continuing to argue while thrown over his shoulder bcus you know it'll just make it that much worse [better] for you.

walking through the halls of his family home, one he now has total control over, with his pretty little wife who just doesn't know when to stop. striding inside of your shared chambers and tossing on top of the bed, staring down at you with low eyes, the kind you see from him when you just know you're in trouble. slowly undoing the ties of his tunic while staring down at you, slapping ur hand away when you reach for ur own laces, as it starts to set in just how much trouble ur in.

now excuse me while i project for a moment but i think angry sex with him would maybe be the best dick of your life. I think any other time he would treat you like the treasure you are, fucking you tenderly but with passion. But now, when all he sees is red, his only goal is to make you fell so much pleasure you forget what upset you in the first place. his body is hot and pressed tight against yours, his warm breath huffing in ur ear and against ur neck. Lowly mummering taunts in ur ear as the tip of his cock slowly reaches places you rarely feel with him.

"where did your fight go my lady? what happened to the ferocious woman who was yelling in my face not but an hour ago? there's no way its the same woman who's under me now, about to be fucked full of my blackwood seed? could it?"

sigh... i need a little bit of hate sex in my life that would fix everything i think

hi!! requests are currently open for HOTD

[dracosprettygirl]

۶ৎ this godforsaken mess that you made me.

pairing: deatheater!draco x reader word count: 4.9k words summary: You swore you’d stay away. He swore he didn’t care. But somewhere between bruised lips and bruised hearts, the lines blurred. He’s unraveling. So are you. And it was never supposed to feel like this. Not love. Not safety. Not need. Just fire. And it’s burning you both alive. warnings: 18+; mdni; deatheater!draco; dark!draco; implied slytherin!reader; ANGST (in all caps), secret relationship, emotional manipulation, rough intimacy, bruises, unresolved tension, canon-compliant darkness, toxic comfort, Slytherin-level denial theo makes an appearance; set in hogwarts; plot-heavy; mentions of violence & injury; mentions of blood; not proofread. let me know if i missed anything! A/N: it's 5 A.M. this was a direct result of playing folklore on loop while studying for law school finals. i'm TIRED. see ya'll after finals okay bye love you guys. massive thanks to @heavenlybodies333 for inspiring this and just being the sweetest EVER. go read their fic i'll be a good girl in hell RIGHT NOW.

♫ illicit affairs by taylor swift. | the night we met by lord huron.

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

The first time you kissed Draco Malfoy, it wasn’t romantic.

In fact the thought of romance, and with Draco of all people at that—it almost made you sick to your stomach. No, this thing you had with Draco, whatever it was, was anything but romantic.

It was reckless, almost violent, a clashing of tongue and teeth in the back of an abandoned classroom on the third floor, inkpots and parchment crashing to the floor as his fingers gripped your waist, lifting your feet off the ground and pressing your back into the wall. Your legs hooked themselves around his waist, your fingers frantically undoing the buttons of his shirt.

You didn’t know what you were doing—and you didn’t think he did, either. 

Neither of you had thought this through, but it didn’t stop you—you didn’t care.

Not when his grip shifted to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh punishingly hard. Not when his mouth burned its path down the column of your throat. Not even when he guided himself into you with that delicious burn, groaning your name like sin.

Because the truth was, you were tired of being numb. 

And with Draco, you felt everything.

Every inch of him as he rolled his hips into yours, one hand gripping your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his, his voice a deep rasp in your ear. “That’s it. Take it all—I know you can do it.” 

Your fingernails trailed scratches down his chest, his shoulders, his back, trying to keep from making a sound. 

“What’s wrong, pretty girl?” he asked, a cocky smirk tipping the corner of his mouth as he slowed down to an agonizing pace, making you whine in frustration. “Nothing coming out of that smart mouth today?”

“Shut up,” was all you could muster, acting like he wasn’t about to drive you insane right then and there. 

Because you knew giving into Draco was dangerous—you knew you’d never recover.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not like this, in this quiet, borrowed moment with him pressed against you and the door locked behind.

Sixth year was already filled to the brim with secrets. The kind that weren’t meant to be spoken aloud. The kind that tasted like blood and fire and ash.

Everyone knew something was happening to Draco Malfoy. He was thinner. Paler. His smile had vanished somewhere in the summer, gone with the July warmth.

But you—you knew.

You’d seen the Mark on his forearm in the shadows of the Common Room, late one night when he’d reached for your wrist to stop you from leaving. He’d looked at you with tired, empty eyes, and you knew—in that moment, you knew what he was.

And you kissed him anyway, until your breath caught in your lungs and his fingers crept up the hem of your skirt, until you were sure you’d made him forget—just for a little while.

It wasn’t love. Not at first.

It was desperation. It was needing to feel something again. It was the way your name cracked apart in his mouth when you touched him like he wasn’t broken. Like he wasn’t damned.

You weren’t brave. You weren’t noble. You were a Slytherin through and through—ambitious, self-preserving, and drawn to danger like a moth to flame.

And Draco was the fire that would eventually burn you alive.

You just didn’t care.

The shower was supposed to make you feel better.

Steam billowed around you, the hot water pouring down your back, but it did nothing to erase the marks Draco had left on you—dark bruises trailing down your throat and collarbones, lingering at the curve of your breasts. You cursed softly under your breath, fingers digging into the sore spots in a half-hearted attempt to rub them away. You needed to cover this up before anyone saw—especially Draco. 

You needed to rid yourself of the marks he’d left on your body, but you couldn’t figure out how to erase the ones he was leaving on your heart.

In the Great Hall, Draco sat stiffly, barely listening to Theo and Blaise argue over something or the other—but his mind kept drifting elsewhere.

Specifically?

You.

The way you felt under him. The way you had responded to his every touch. The soft gasp that parted your lips when he touched you in just the right spot.

Draco clenched his jaw so hard he almost cracked a tooth. The Mark on his forearm burned—a constant reminder of what he was, of what he had to do. 

He couldn’t afford any distractions. And that’s all you were—a beautiful, disastrous distraction.

Draco couldn’t afford to lose focus. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Theo, who grinned at him from across the table. “You clearly had some fun last night, mate.”

Draco’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. Theo’s eyes flicked toward Draco’s collar, the barest hint of a smirk creeping onto his face. 

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Must've been some girl if you’re not even bragging about it." 

“None of your bloody business, Nott,” Draco snapped. His grip on his fork tightened until his knuckles were white.

And then—like a cruel twist of fate—you walked in.

You were late, as usual, hair still damp from your shower, lips flushed, collar hiked up just enough to conceal the marks that no one seemed to notice. Well, almost no one.

“Well, well,” Theo drawled. “Looks like someone had a long night.”

Draco could see you swallow, refusing to meet his eyes as you slipped into the seat next to Pansy. It was for the best, he supposed, that you didn’t even glance at him. Draco knew Theo, and he knew it wouldn’t take his friend long to put two and two together. 

“I overslept,” you said simply, pouring yourself some tea. 

Theo quirked an eyebrow. When he spoke, his words were directed at you, but his eyes were on Draco. “I don’t know, y/n. I think you hardly slept at all.”

It had rules, this illicit affair of yours. You made them. He followed them. 

1. Make sure nobody saw you leave.

2. Leave no trace behind.

3. No one could know.

4. It meant nothing.

5. You wouldn’t talk about it outside these walls.

6. You’d end it before it ruined you.

But the rules crumbled as quickly as they were written.

Because he started adding to the stacks of books on your bedside table, notes scrawled on the title pages in careful, neat handwriting that said things like “Saw this and thought of you.”

Because you started drawing the curve of his mouth in the margins of your parchment during Charms.

Because the way he looked at you after you’d kissed made you forget why it had to be a secret at all.

And worst of all?

Because it started to mean everything.

You met in hidden places: the Room of Requirement, empty classrooms, disused corridors behind tapestry-covered walls.

He never smiled anymore, except when he was with you.

You saw the worst parts of him. The bloodied knuckles after hours in the Room with cursed cabinets. The panic in his voice when he told you he didn’t think he could do it—whatever it was. The nightmares that left him gasping in the night, shaking in your arms.

You held him. You listened.

You never asked for promises. He never gave any.

Because this wasn’t supposed to be love.

It was supposed to be survival.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said one night, forehead pressed against yours.

“You always say that,” you whispered. “But I’m here anyway.”

His hand cupped your cheek like he was trying to memorize it. Like he knew this couldn’t last.

“I don’t want to be this person anymore,” he said. “But I don’t know how to stop.”

“You don’t have to stop,” you replied. “Not with me.”

And for a while, that lie was enough.

He kissed you like an apology he could never say out loud.

Like he wanted to carve himself into your bones so you’d remember him even when he was gone.

Because he would be gone. That much you both knew. Maybe not in body—but in every way that mattered.

You let him touch you like you were the only thing in the world still soft. Still sacred. Still human. And when his mouth found yours in the quiet dark, when he whispered “please” like a broken prayer against your skin, you gave in. Every time.

Because it was easier than saying the truth out loud.

Because you couldn’t stop.

Not even when you should have.

You weren’t foolish enough to believe it would last.

You noticed the changes—the way he flinched when you asked what he was doing at night. The way his hands lingered too long over that damn cabinet in the Room of Requirement. The way he stared at Dumbledore during dinner like he was memorizing him.

And the mark on his arm—it started to bleed through his skin in other ways.

He looked older now. Harder.

And you? You still kept his secrets like they were your own. You told no one. Not even your friends. Especially not your friends.

Because to love Draco Malfoy—whatever this twisted version of love was—was to be complicit.

And you were.

You knew it.

And still, you stayed.

You found him in the hallway near the prefect’s bathroom, his tie loose, his shirt collar stained with something that looked too much like blood to be dismissed as ink.

He didn't flinch when he saw you. He never did.

Instead, he stared—like he’s waiting to see what version of you he’s going to get tonight. The soft one who whispers comfort into his shoulder, or the cruel one who dares to name the truth before he’s ready to hear it.

Tonight, you’re tired. Just tired. Of the sneaking around, of the looks exchanged across the Slytherin table, of the aching silence that stretches wider than the Black Lake.

“I was looking for you,” you said.

He looked back down the hallway. No one else. Just the two of you, cloaked in shadows and ancient stone.

“Found me,” he said, voice dry.

You took a step closer. He didn't move away, but he didn’t lean in either. There was a line drawn between you—one neither of you would name, but both of you toed.

“You missed rounds. Again.”

“I was busy.”

You folded your arms. “Doing what?”

He met your eyes for a fraction of a second too long.

“Nothing,” he said. And there it was—the first lie of the night.

You didn’t call him on it. Not yet.

Instead, you brushed past him, your shoulder grazing his as you unlocked the door behind you with a murmured password. The prefect’s bathroom, gilded in moonlight.

He followed.

He always did.

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound too loud in the hush of the bathroom, where moonlight spilled across the marble floor and steam curled lazily from an already drawn bath.

You didn’t plan to run it. Maybe the castle did it for you. Or maybe some part of you, the part that always hoped despite everything, did it on instinct.

He didn’t ask.

You didn’t offer.

Instead, you walked to the edge of the water, your reflection blurring in the gentle ripples. Behind you, Draco lingered by the door like he wasn’t sure he belonged there anymore—like the floor might vanish beneath him if he took one more step.

“I didn’t know where you’d gone,” you said softly, fingers trailing along the rim of the tub. “I thought maybe… maybe this time you wouldn’t come back.”

He exhaled, a sharp breath through his nose. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You turned to face him, leaning back against the tiled wall, your arms folded again—this time across your chest like armor. “You keep disappearing, and I keep pretending not to notice.”

He didn’t move. Just stood there, the dim light catching the smear of blood near his collarbone.

Your gaze flickered to it. “That’s not nothing, Draco.”

He looked down, like he’d just remembered it was there. “It’s not mine.”

“Whose is it?”

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t.

You pushed off the wall and took a step toward him. “You think I don’t notice the bruises you try to hide? The way you flinch when someone slams a book too loud or walks too fast behind you?”

“Drop it,” he muttered, jaw tight.

“No,” you said, and there it was—the cruel version of you, the one he dreaded and craved in equal measure. “I’m tired of pretending we’re just... tired.”

Draco's jaw clenched, and his eyes finally met yours. There was something feral in them tonight. Desperate. On edge.

“You want the truth?” he bit out. “Fine. I was with Mattheo. And Montague. And someone else I didn’t recognize. They needed something done. I didn’t ask why. I just—did it.”

Your chest tightened. “Did what?”

He shook his head. “Don’t ask me that.”

“I’m asking anyway.”

He stepped forward, close now, his voice low and hoarse. “Something awful, alright? Something I can’t unsee and I sure as hell can’t tell you about because if I do, it makes it real.”

You looked at him then—not the Slytherin boy with quick wit and lazy smirks, but the one beneath it all. The one who kept trading pieces of himself for a loyalty he didn’t even believe in anymore.

You reached up, fingers brushing the bloodstain on his collar.

His breath caught.

“I don’t need you to tell me everything,” you whispered. “But don’t lie to me, Draco. Not when it’s killing you.”

His hands hovered in the space between you—hesitating, shaking slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold you tonight. You saved him the trouble, stepping into his orbit and pressing your forehead to his chest.

He exhaled slowly, and his arms wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he held too tight.

You stayed like that—wrapped in steam and silence, cloaked in something heavier than longing.

And for once, neither of you moved first.

The next morning, the Great Hall was full of its usual chaos—owls swooping overhead, toast burning at the edges, Ravenclaws buried in essays even as they ate.

You sat in your usual spot at the Slytherin table, posture straight, tie neat. The picture of control. No one would guess you spent the night wrapped around someone who refused to name what you were to each other.

Except maybe her.

Pansy.

She slid into the seat across from you like she owned the entire table—because, in many ways, she did. There was something dangerous in the way her eyes flicked over you, like she was cataloging all the tiny fractures in your mask.

“You look like hell,” she said sweetly, stirring sugar into her tea without looking up.

You didn’t rise to the bait. “So do you.”

She smiled like you just proved her point. “Didn’t sleep well?”

You glanced down at your plate. Toast. Jam. Untouched.

“I slept fine.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “Funny. Draco didn’t show up for breakfast either.”

That got your attention. You looked up—too quickly.

She noticed.

You schooled your expression, forced a shrug. “He probably overslept.”

Pansy leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “You know, for someone who claims not to care, you sure keep track of him like a hawk.”

You said nothing.

She tilted her head, watching you the way a cat watched a wounded bird. “Whatever it is you’re doing with him… it’s not going to end well.”

Your jaw tightened. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Of course not.” Her smile was all venom and velvet. “But just in case you forgot—he’s broken. And broken things don’t love back.”

You stared at her for a long moment.

Then you stood, collecting your bag without a word. Your breakfast remained untouched.

Behind you, Pansy called out, “I’m just trying to help!”

You didn’t look back.

Because you knew she wasn’t wrong.

You found Draco in the Astronomy Tower twenty minutes later, sitting on the floor with a cigarette between his fingers and a Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook open in his lap, unread.

His tie was missing. His eyes were rimmed red. You didn’t ask if he slept.

“Pansy’s poking around,” you said, lowering yourself beside him. “She knows something’s off.”

He flicked ash out the window. “She always knows. That’s her thing.”

You paused. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m not.”

He glanced at you then, smoke curling between his lips.

“They’re going to find out,” you murmured. “All of it. Us.”

His eyes darkened. “There is no us.”

You flinched. It hurt more than it should.

You nodded slowly, biting back whatever ache was clawing its way up your throat. “Right. Of course.”

You started to stand—but he grabbed your wrist, grip firm.

There was a war in his eyes. Something unspoken. Something half-alive.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said hoarsely. “I just… I don’t know how to do this.”

You kneeled again, closer now. “Then learn.”

He looked at you like you were sunlight filtering through prison bars—warm, unreachable, unwanted only because he didn’t think he deserved it.

And still, his fingers didn’t let go of yours.

Not yet.

You didn’t know the exact day things broke.

Maybe it was when he stopped meeting your eyes in the

hallway. Maybe it was when the letters stopped coming. Maybe it was the night you woke up to silence and realized he wasn’t there anymore.

But by the time the whispers stopped and the looks faded, you knew one thing for certain.

The storm was coming.

And this time, you weren’t running.

It started with a whisper.

The next morning, the halls hummed with it—like static before a storm. A name, passed from mouth to mouth with all the poison of a curse.

Yours.

You didn’t understand at first, not until you caught sight of the Gryffindor Prefect across the Great Hall, frowning down at a crumpled piece of parchment. Not until a Hufflepuff second-year flinched when you walked by. Not until Professor Sinistra looked at you a second too long before continuing her roll call.

And then, in the corridor outside Arithmancy, Pansy Parkinson slinked up behind you, voice sugary and sharp.

“Careful, darling. People were saying you’d been spending time with traitors.”

You turned slowly. “What people?”

She shrugged, her smile as vicious as ever. “Does it matter? You might want to tell your little shadow prince to stop making enemies unless he wanted to take you down with him.”

You didn’t respond. You just walked away, pulse roaring in your ears.

You found Draco where he always was when things went to hell—leaning against the back of the Owlery tower, alone, hood pulled low like he was trying to become a shadow.

He saw you coming.

“They know,” you said. “About you. About me.”

Theo didn’t look surprised. “I heard.”

“There was a rumor you cursed Mulciber.”

“Not a rumor.”

Your breath caught. “Draco—”

“I told you. I don't regret it.”

“That isn't the point!” Your voice cracked. “They're coming after you. And if they thought I was helping you—”

He met your eyes. For the first time, he looked tired. No masks. No wit. Just a boy pressed too close to the edge.

“I don't expect you to stay.”

You flinched. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this noble.”

“I’m not,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to protect you.”

You stepped closer, close enough to smell the cold on his robes. “You think I care about protecting myself if it means letting you face this alone?”

“I think you were smarter than me,” he said. “And I think you still had a future here.”

You stared at him. Then, voice low, you said:

“Not if it doesn't have you in it.”

That was what broke him.

Not the blood. Not the fights. Not the names on the list or the looming threat of exposure.

It was you.

You, choosing him when no one else would.

He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just stood there, eyes shining in a way you’d never seen before.

“I don't know how this ends,” he said.

You took his hand anyway. “Then we’d find out together.”

It was late when you found him again.

This time, he wasn’t waiting in the hallway or tucked behind a staircase like some dark secret. He was in the Astronomy Tower, lying flat on his back across the cold stone, robes spread like wings.

The stars blinked faint above him, the sky smeared with cloud and memory.

You hesitated in the doorway.

“You aren't supposed to be here,” he said, without looking.

“I never am.”

That earned a faint smile. Barely there. Barely him.

You stepped closer. Your footsteps echoed in the silence, soft as regret. He didn’t move when you sat beside him, knees drawn to your chest.

Minutes passed.

Then he said, “Do you think I'm a bad person?”

The question shouldn’t have surprised you. But it did.

You glanced at him. His eyes were still fixed on the sky, like he was afraid of what he’d see if he looked at you instead.

“No,” you said.

He didn’t respond.

“You’ve done bad things,” you added. “But you… Draco, you're just a boy. You are just a boy. And no one ever gave you a chance to be that.”

At that, he turned. Slowly. Like the words were painful to hear.

His voice was quieter than before. Rougher. “I was ten the first time I lied to save someone else. Twelve the first time I didn’t.”

You said nothing. You didn’t ask who. You didn’t ask why.

You just reached out and took his hand.

His fingers twitched under yours, as if unsure how to accept the softness. But then they curled around you—tightly, almost desperately.

“I kept thinking… maybe if I was different, better, you wouldn’t be in danger.”

“Maybe,” you said, “but then I wouldn’t be in love either.”

That silenced him.

He looked at you fully now, the shield in his eyes cracked wide open. And you saw it: the guilt, the fear, the ache that lived under his skin.

“You love me?” he asked, like he was afraid to believe it.

You nodded.

And he cracked.

Not in the way he did when angry or scared—but in the quiet way people did when something too kind finally found them.

He shifted then, pulled you against him, burying his face into your shoulder. His breath was warm against your neck. Unsteady.

You wrapped your arms around him, one hand threading through his hair, the other pressed to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

Neither of you spoke.

Not because there was nothing to say.

But because, finally, you didn’t need to.

The last time you were together, it wasn’t soft.

It was desperate. Angry. Bitter.

You were yelling before the door had even finished closing behind you.

“You’re shutting me out!”

“You don’t want to be part of this!”

“I want you!”

“I’m not yours to want!”

You stared at each other, chests heaving.

And then—he kissed you.

You bit his lip. He tugged at your shirt. You clawed at him like you wanted to tear the truth out of his chest. And when he pressed you into the desk, when he buried himself inside you like he was drowning, you both knew this wasn’t about love.

It was a goodbye you couldn’t bear to speak.

And when it was over, he didn’t say a word.

Neither did you.

You just buttoned your shirt with shaking fingers and walked away without looking back.

The next morning, you felt it—the tension curling in your chest like a wound slowly tightening. The air was thick with it, thick enough to taste in the back of your throat.

You’d never felt this nervous before.

And you hated it.

The sun filtered through the windows of the Great Hall, bathing the tables in pale gold. But everything felt too bright, too loud. You couldn’t focus on the chatter around you, the clinking of cutlery, the soft rustle of robes. Your gaze kept slipping to the far end of the table, where he sat, stiff and silent, eyes focused on his plate.

Draco was rarely ever still. But today, he was nothing but.

You tried to shake off the nagging feeling in your gut, but it only tightened when you saw it—the parchment folded neatly by his elbow, the one that wasn’t his. The one you’d seen before, the one that had mentioned your name in the scribbled ink.

Your heart raced. A low hum built in your ears, and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe. You knew that thing—the thing that had always been beneath everything between you—was about to surface.

“You're leaving,” you said, the words barely a whisper.

His gaze flicked to you. No surprise, no apology. Just a cold, hard certainty.

“I don't have a choice,” he said, voice flat.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to shake him, demand that he see you, see the us you’d fought so hard for.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“Why?” you asked, your voice barely steady. “What's more important than this?”

What's more important than us?

He didn’t answer. His hands gripped the edges of the parchment like a lifeline, fingers trembling, and in that moment, you knew.

He’d been protecting you by staying away. By keeping you out of whatever this was—whatever danger he was walking into.

“Draco—”

“I swore I would protect you,” he said, cutting you off. His voice cracked on the last word. “That was all I can do. The rest…” He shook his head, eyes flickering briefly to meet yours. “The rest is something I have to face alone.”

Your chest ached, an ache so deep, so unbearable, it almost hurt to breathe.

“So you're choosing this over me,” you whispered, the words raw and cutting.

He faltered. For a brief second, you saw the confusion, the guilt flit across his face, but then it was gone, hidden behind a mask that was even colder than before.

“I'm choosing you,” he said, voice low but firm. “This is the only way I can keep you safe.”

“By leaving?” The laugh that left your lips sounded bitter, empty. “You think this'll keep me safe?”

Draco's hands clenched at his sides, and you could see the way his entire body was wound tight, coiled like a spring ready to snap.

“You don't understand,” he said, and you heard the rawness in his voice now—the crack, the crack you’d been waiting for. “If I stay here—if I stay close to you—I’d just bring more danger, more hurt. It's better this way.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” you snapped, pushing back from the table. The sound of the chair scraping across the stone felt too loud in the tense quiet that hung between you.

“You don't get to make that choice for me,” you continued, voice shaking with the weight of everything unsaid. “You don't get to decide that for me. I'm not some helpless damsel, Draco. You thought I need to be protected? I don't. I never did.”

His eyes flickered to yours, too intense, too raw. And for a heartbeat, just one, you saw the real struggle behind his mask.

“You deserve better than this,” he said, softer now, more to himself than to you.

You couldn’t stop yourself from taking a step closer. “I don't want better. I want you.”

His breath caught in his throat.

“Draco…” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Stay. Don’t leave me.”

For the first time in days, Draco seemed to crack. The walls he’d built between you crumbled, and you saw the pain, the helplessness, the love that he’d tried so hard to bury.

“I can't promise you that,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I swear to you, I’ll come back.”

You wanted to believe him.

But with every part of you, you knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

“I'm asking for promises,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “I'm asking for you to stay now. To stay here—with me—so I can fight beside you.”

He closed his eyes for a second, and when they opened again, there was something different in them. A decision.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I'm not strong enough to keep you safe and be with you. Not like this.”

But you knew the truth now—the one he wouldn’t admit.

He was too strong. That was the problem.

Because Draco Malfoy didn’t know how to let anyone in without breaking.

After that, things spiraled.

The night Dumbledore died, you were in the Astronomy Tower, watching the stars.

You heard the screams. The shouts. The footsteps.

You heard his name whispered like a curse.

And when you ran—ran—down the corridors, heart pounding, lungs burning—you were already too late.

You saw the blood. The wand. The look in his eyes.

And you knew.

He was gone.

Not dead. But gone all the same.

He didn’t say goodbye.

You didn’t expect him to.

But Merlin, you hoped.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you still feel him. In the weight of a hand that isn’t there. In the silence between breaths.

You told yourself you were fine.

You lied.

Because the thing about illicit affairs is—they leave something behind.

Always.

You remember the smell of him on your sheets. The way he said your name like it tasted sweet on his tongue. The way he looked at you like he wanted to be better. For you.

But he wasn’t.

He never would be.

And you—stupid girl—you loved him anyway.

taglist !

© dracosprettygirl.tumblr 2025. do not copy, translate or claim any of my works as your own. reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated & motivating!

[rafessecret]

can you do a kidnapped reader rafe and Barry, where she gets in trouble with Barry and seeks reassurance from rafe. Like a good cop bad cop kinda thing or something like that.

⋆˚࿔ precious¡ reader && rafe cameron with barry

YOU DIDN'T DESERVE THAT PRECIOUS.

Barry's rage never used to scare you. Not like this.

It’s a vicious, snarling thing now—something sharp-edged and unforgiving, pacing just beneath his skin. You’d wandered off at the gas station, taken too long, maybe looked at someone too long. He’d been watching, always watching. And whatever you did—it set him off.

The motel door slams hard enough to rattle the walls. The light overhead buzzes, sickly yellow, flickering like it’s afraid of him too. The room reeks of smoke and motor oil. Barry stands in the centre of it, radiating fury, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, jaw twitching.

❝You think you’re fuckin’ slick?❞ he growls, stalking toward you. ❝Think I don’t see you playing dumb little games? Looking around like you’re hot shit.❞ His hand cracks across your face before you can answer. Your head jerks to the side, cheek flaming. You gasp, more from shock than pain. ❝Stupid little bitch,❞ he spits, grabbing you by the hair, dragging you toward the bed. ❝Need a goddamn leash. Maybe then you'd learn how to behave.❞

You stumble, trying to stay upright, but he shoves you hard. Your knees hit the edge of the mattress, and you collapse forward, breath knocked out of you. His voice is acid in your ears, venom laced with something darker. ❝Begging for attention everywhere we go. You like being watched, don’t you? Like people thinking you're free.❞ You don’t respond. You’re too busy trying not to cry, not to breathe too loud. Your lip trembles anyway. He notices. He loves that.

He spits—literally spits—and it hits your cheek. Your eyes squeeze shut. His boot presses to your thigh, deliberate, unrelenting. ❝I should leave you right here. Let you cry it out like the needy little slut you are.❞ When he storms out, he leaves the door open like an insult. You sit there, skin burning, shaking like a kicked dog. And then, like smoke drifting in after the fire, Rafe arrives.

He doesn't speak at first. Just watches from the doorway, jaw tight, ocean eyes burning beneath his lashes. The door creaks shut behind him, and he crosses the room in a few silent steps. Kneels. ❝Hey.❞ His voice is low, restrained. Controlled. But it simmers beneath—like he’s swallowing a storm. ❝Sweetheart.❞

He brushes a hand over your knee. Featherlight. You flinch, and he stops—hands hovering, careful. His eyes flick over your face, tracking every bruise, every tear. His throat works around something unsaid. ❝You okay?❞ he murmurs, but he already knows the answer.

His thumb catches a tear, his other hand ghosting up your arm. He’s gentle, but tense—coiled, barely holding himself back. You fall into him anyway. Crumple into his lap with a shuddering sob, and he pulls you close without hesitation. His arms wrap around you tight and secure, one hand pressed flat between your shoulder blades.

❝You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t do anything wrong, precious.❞ You cry harder at the sound of it—precious—because it sounds like kindness, like something fragile you forgot you were allowed to have. His hand cups the back of your neck, grounding you.

❝He shouldn’t touch you like that,❞ Rafe says, quieter, but darker. Like it costs him to keep his voice down. Like it’s taking everything in him not to chase Barry down right now and make him regret it. He presses his lips to your temple, breath heavy. ❝You’re not dirty. You’re not his to break. You hear me?❞ You nod into his neck, and he kisses your jaw. Soft, reverent. His touch sweeps over your back, your hair, and your shaking thighs. Every motion is deliberate. He’s trying to memorise what Barry hurt—so he can undo it.

He helps you to the bathroom. Wipes your cheek clean with a warm towel. Makes you sit on the closed toilet while he brings you water. He watches you drink it, jaw still tight. When you’re back on the bed, curled beneath the blanket, he sits beside you. The silence stretches. Until—

❝He won’t touch you again.❞ You glance at him. Rafe’s eyes are glassy, cold, still burning. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t offer false comfort. Just a promise. And when Barry returns later, stomping back into the room like a monster in a bad dream, Rafe stands. Calm. Still. But lethal. ❝Touch her again, and I’ll make sure you never use your hands for anything again.❞ His voice is steel. And Barry—Barry actually pauses. You don’t know what will happen next. But for the first time in hours, your lungs remember how to breathe.

Because Rafe’s here.

And Rafe is yours.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : ahhh, love writing for this! thanks @mcnns love you !

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf @folksriddle @loverliner @delicatelyquiet @rafeysbrat

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[yearsbecomingcool]

nice guys finish last | daniel markowitz 18+

donate to gaza here | masterlist | part 1

pairing | daniel markowitz x f!reader

synopsis | you see how long danny can really last.

warnings | f!reader, sexual context, mentions of premature ejaculation, subby!danny, dom!reader, handjobs, degradation, titty worship, nipple play, & edging.

word count | 1.6k

a/n | if writing submissive men is wrong i don't want to be right. this was so fun to work on, it's been a long time since i've written any smut involving men so this was a bit of a challenge, but a fun one nonetheless. i'm trying to figure out which other character's of fred's i want to write for so if y'all have any requests pls share, i am a deeply indecisive person. also!! if you'd like to be on my taglist for future fics let me know!!

You’re sitting on Danny’s lap as he hangs his head in embarrassment. He can’t believe he just came in his pants from making out and grinding. He feels like a teenager again in the worst way possible. He gathers himself enough to speak, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

You cut him off, cupping his face in your hands, “Hey. It’s okay, I’m not upset.”

“It’s just…it’s so fucking humiliating,” he whines. 

“Why? Danny…it was hot.”

He looks up at you, a bit confused. “What? I came in my fucking pants like- like a teenager. That’s embarrassing!”

“To you maybe. I don’t know…I liked it. It’s cute, I didn’t know I got you worked up like that,” you giggle, playing with his hair. 

“Cute? You’re messing with me, there’s no way you thought that was cute.”

You shake your head, “Some girls are into it y’know, I am at least. Makes me feel good to know that all I had to do was kiss you and dry hump you. Makes me think about how you’d react if I actually got my hands on you.”

“You want to touch me?” He asks it as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“Did you think I was grinding on you for shits and giggles?”

He blushes bright red, “I just…didn’t want to assume anything. I-I don’t know.”

“You’re fucking adorable, truly.” 

You cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “Danny, let me make this clear. I want to touch you, I think you’re attractive, I’ve been into you for years. Fuck whatever insecure thoughts are running through that head of yours, okay? It’s hot that you just came in your pants like that, I wanna see how long you’d last if I touched you for real if you’d let me.” 

He wets his lower lip with his tongue and nods his head. “Please…” It comes out small and pathetic. He winces as he hears it leave his lips. 

“Please what? Tell me what you want me to do, Danny.” You straddle his lap again, thighs on either side of him. Your hand goes down to his belt. “I can’t give you what you need if you don’t ask for it.” 

He throws his back against the couch, whining pathetically, his hips rolling up against yours. You reach down to pin his hips to the couch, “Be a good boy and use your words.” 

“God…you’re really gonna make me?” He asks breathlessly. 

“I mean unless you want to go off into my bathroom and try to get yourself off, then yeah, you’re gonna ask for it.” He’s only seen this side of you a couple times in his life and every single time he’s crumbled beneath your feet, ready to do whatever you ask of him. With other girls he’s been the one to take charge, but as you order him around he can’t help but melt and bend to your will. 

He closes his eyes and sighs, “Please…please touch me. I need it so bad.” 

His pleas are music to your ears. You smile down at his lap and start to undo his belt, pulling it off and throwing it to the side. You lean forward and start to kiss his neck while you undo his pants. You don’t pull his cock out immediately, you’re gonna tease him first.

“Let’s make a deal, yeah? You hold off on coming till I give you permission and I’ll let you suck my tits. How does that sound to you?” 

He opens his eyes, glancing down at you hungrily. “I-I just have to hold it till you say?”

“Mhm, that’s all I need from you, pretty boy.”

“Fuck it, yeah, deal.”

You chuckle against his neck, your hand trailing down to his crotch. You begin to palm him through his underwear, whimpers falling from his lips almost instantly. “I knew that would work, fucking perv. Did you think I’d forget every time you’d look at my tits in my bikinis? You looked at me like you wanted to eat me, just wanted to bury your face in ‘em, hm?”

“Oh fuck me…” He mutters, his hips bucking up towards your palm, desperate for something more. “You noticed?”

“Danny, you’re as subtle as a brick through a window. You could’ve burned holes through them if you tried hard enough,” you laugh. You squeeze him through his underwear and his eyes shoot open like he was just given a shot of adrenaline. He whines so pathetically that you can’t help but smirk, “So sensitive…” 

“I can’t help it…I haven’t been with anyone since Allie,” he mumbles. 

“Forget about her, okay? I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. Promise.”

You tug his briefs down, his cock springing free. “You were hiding this from me this whole time? Allie was a lucky girl,” you chuckle, biting your lip as you look down at it. You hold your palm up to his mouth, “Spit.” 

“You want me to spit on it, shouldn’t you do that?”

“Sorry, should I just dip your dick in your Dr. Pepper?” You ask sarcastically.

“Please don’t.” He leans forward and spits into your palm obediently. 

“Atta boy.” You wrap your hand around his cock, pumping it at a slow teasing pace.

He mewls at your touch, his head falling forward against your neck. He places soft kisses starting at your ear, trailing down to your collarbone. He keeps his hands to himself as best he can, gripping your waist. “Can’t believe this is real…” He mumbles against your skin. 

“How many times did you touch yourself thinking of me, Danny?” 

He whines, “So many times. I felt so guilty every time, just couldn’t get you out of my head. Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He begins suckling marks into your delicate skin, you whine as you get him off. 

You pick up the pace, watching how his body reacts to your touch. Part of you is shocked he’s held it this long after how quickly he came before. “Pervy boy…getting off to your best friend like that, should fucking punish you for it. Do you even deserve to cum again tonight?” You’re teasing, of course you’ll let him cum, you’re not cruel. It’s just way more fun to watch him squirm. 

“Please, please, I’m sorry! I-I just…you-”

“Hm, shut up. Fuck the deal, gonna give you what you need.” You tug your shirt down with one hand, your bra exposed. “Don’t make me do all the work here, it’s not gonna suck itself.”

He reaches forward to tug your bra down as well, he starts to kiss down from your collarbone to your breasts. He leaves marks every now and then, leaving a dark trail you know will leave you wearing turtlenecks for at least a week. He spends his time marking you up, he’s wanted to do it for years. He reaches up for your nipple, rolling it between his fingers, eliciting a whine from you. He smirks as if he’s won, you squeeze his cock softly to remind him who’s in charge. He lets out a strangled yelp and bucks up into your hand. He takes your nipple into his mouth, suckling at it as he moves his hand to tweak the other. You pick up your pace, muttering a mix of praise and degradation.

“Pretty fucking boy, you’re so good for me. Bet you spent so much time fucking your hand imagining doing this to me, hm? Bet you felt so guilty seeing me after, poor baby couldn’t get me out of his head. You’re doing better than I thought, didn’t know you could handle a pretty girl's hand around your cock. Could barely handle a kiss before.” You laugh as he suckles at you.

He’s practically fucking your hand at this point, bucking his hips pathetically. You squeeze your hand around his cock, stroking him and keeping the pace of his thrusts. His eyes squeeze shut and he moves his mouth to your other nipple, whining against your skin as he feels himself getting closer. He suckles harder, causing you to wince at the slight pain. You tangle a hand in his hair, pulling his face flush against your breast. He lets out a strangle moan and spills his seed against your lap and into your palm. As he comes down he suckles at your breast as if he’s soothing himself. 

He finally pulls away, breathing heavily. You bring your fingers to his mouth, “Clean ‘em up for me?” I ask. He brings your fingers into his mouth, sucking till they’re clean. You pull them from his mouth, wiping them against his t-shirt. You grab his chin and lift his head, you smile at the sight of his flushed cheeks and messy hair. “You’re so fucking hot.”

He grins bashfully, leaning his head back against the couch. “I didn’t know you could be so mean…or that I’d like it so much.” He lifts his hand, trailing his fingers over the marks he left on you. He looks proud of them.

“You owe me a turtleneck for these y’know, we’re lucky it’s winter.” 

“Hm you could just show ‘em off instead. Let everyone know I left ‘em there,” he numbles.

“Who knew you could be so possessive,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. 

“Look at you, if I don’t leave a mark I’ll never get another chance.” He sounds sad.

“You’re going to get many other chances, the night’s still young, I haven’t come yet…and tomorrow I might wanna wake up with a pretty boy between my thighs,” you tease, stroking his hair gently. 

“Fuck…I feel like I need to clean you up instead. Another round in the bath maybe? Your hot water got fixed, right?”

You chuckle, “Yeah, fucking finally. C’mon, I think you owe me an orgasm or two.”

[angstywaifu]

Fourth Wing Boys - Comfort

Request - head canons for they boys about how they act when they had a bad day and just need some comfort

A/N: There are slight spoilers for Onyx Storm in here. Do not read if you don't wish to have some things spoiled or eluded to.

Masterlist | Links |

Garrick

Initially this man would be so grumpy. He’d have been dealing with a bunch of first years who thought they knew everything now they’d bonded dragons, and had to do a supply run the night before as well. So between both of those and the little sleep he’d gotten, he’d just be over it.

You’d see him storming off after barely eating any food at dinner. Something that was very unlike him. He’d eat nearly ten times the amount you did. But when he’d barely finished one plate of food, you knew something was wrong.

You’d go after him, heading to the gym where you knew he’d go to left off some steam from whatever was bothering him. But not before grabbing some extra food for him and water before heading there.

You walk in on him unleashing his anger on one of the punching bags. His punches echoing around the room from how hard he’s hitting it.

You wait off to the side, knowing he can tell you’re there. But you know better than to interfere with him. It’s better to leave him be till he wears himself out. Which doesn’t take long. After about 10 minutes he grasps the bag to stop it from swinging around before walking over to you.

As he walks over you undo the top of the water bottle you'd grabbed, and hold out the apple you'd grabbed for him. After draining the water and devouring the apple he picks you up and sits you down on a pile of mats, stepping between your legs as he rests his hands on your hips and leans his forehead against yours.

After a while you convince him to go take a shower before dragging him into bed, laying his head in your lap as your run your fingers through his curly hair, watching as his body slowly relaxes before he lightly starts snoring.

Xaden

You know instantly he’s had a bad day. Hard not to notice with how restless as the shadows are. He may not be nearby, but you’ve always noticed how the shadows in Basgiath react to his mood regardless of where he is.

You find him in his usual spot, leaning up against the exterior walls of Basgiath as he smokes churam. Something he only did when Sgaeyl and Tairn didn’t block him out, or when he’d had a bad day. But it was easy to tell this was from a bad day. Despite the way he leaned up against the wall, his body was tense and rigid.

He doesn’t look at you as you join him against the wall, but you know he knows you’re there. You know better than to try talk to him till he’s ready. It was better to let him start the conversation when he was in one of these moods, otherwise it just made it worse.

Eventually he finishes the Churam he’s smoking, turning his head to look down at you. “That obvious I was in a bad mood?” he asks. You nod up at him, trying to hide you’re smile. “Yeah, just a bit. Which is why I brought you this.”

You reach into your pack you’d brought with you to carry what you’d grabbed from the kitchen. Chocolate cake. His favourite. Instantly a relaxed smile forms on his lips at the sight of the little brown box in your hands. He knows instantly what it is, because you always do this for him.

And just like you always do, you sit down against the wall, chocolate cake on the ground between you two as you sit in a comfortable silence and eat it.

Bodhi

It wasn’t hard to see the way Xaden was getting to Bodhi. Everytime you saw them talking together, you could see how frustrated Bodhi was getting every single time. You had no clue what it was about as he hadn’t brought it up with you, and you didn’t want to bring it up and cause him more stress.

But one night when he isn’t at dinner or at his room, you know you need to find him and talk to him or do something to make him feel better. After searching the entire college, you finally head to the flight field. And sitting on the ground next to a Cuir is Bodhi.

Cuir lifts their head as you approach, watching you as you slowly approach Bodhi. You’d never approached Cuir, but when they lay their head back down on the ground, you know they don’t mind your presence. You sit next to Bodhi, reaching out and grasping his hand to stop him from picking at the grass.

It’s clear how annoyed he is as you take him in. He’d done a good job of hiding it up until now. His body was stiff and rigid and brow furrowed as he kept his eyes downcast to the ground in front of you. After a few minutes he finally relaxes, leaning his head against your shoulder as he grasps your hand in his.

Eventually he stands, pulling you up with him before leading you back to the college and dragging you to his room where he pulls you to his bed, and insisting he gets to be little spoon as you cuddle him to sleep.

Aaric

Since the appearance of Halden, you had noticed a change in Aaric. It was small at first. Just slight changes in behaviour on the day he was around the college. The days where Aaric had to be more careful of where he went so Halden didn’t see him.

But you noticed a big shift once Halden knew he was in the Rider’s Quadrant. Especially today when he’d been pulled from a class, summoned by his brother and father. Once he had returned he was notably pissed off. Everyone else avoiding being around him. You could almost see the anger rolling off him.

You’d decided to let him be after you’d tried talking to him and he’d just grunted in reply. Pushing it would have just made him worse. He would come to you when he was ready. Which he did. Storming into the gym after dinner and heading right for you. Everyone else immediately moves out of his way, not wanting to get in his way. And you couldn’t blame them with how pissed off he looked.

You open your mouth to say something to him, but it turns into a yelp as he literally scoops you up into his arms and turns around. Despite how he turns and storms from the room, you can feel the way he relaxed as soon as he had you in his arms.

He carries you the entire way back to his room, even after you tell him you can walk. He kicks the door closed behind him before sitting down on the bed, cradling you in his lap as he holds you against him, resting his head atop yours as you bury it in his neck.

Dain

You walk into his room to Dain pacing back and forth, nearly pulling his hair out as he grumbles to himself. Clearly something had him worked up today. Something you’d definitely not been there for.

“Do I want to know what happened?” You ask, Dain startling as if he didn’t realise you’d walked in.

He starts pacing and rambling about first years and how they aren’t training the way they should, and how they’re going to be under prepared if they don’t start strengthening their signets. But insists that after what he went through with Violet he would not be coddling first years any more.

Despite his comment about not wanting to coddle them, you can see as a Wingleader he wants to do something. But he’s just not sure as to what. Which for him is a first. But since everything got turned upside down at the start of our third year, he’s been more unsure of himself than usual.

You reach out and grab his hand, stopping him before he wears a hole in the floor from how how much he’s pacing back and forth. You swear you can already see wear marks from the path he’s been walking. You reach out and grab his towel and shower things, shoving them into his hands.

“Now is not the time for showering.” He goes to exclaim before you start pushing him towards the door.

“Trust me it is. Not only do you need a shower to clear your mind, you also stink from being at said training with first years who don’t need coddling. So unless you want me to start coddling you, go shower.”

Dain just stands there and looks at you in shock, clearly not expecting you to come back like that. “How about cuddling instead of coddling?” He finally asks.

“Shower first, then cuddling.”

Ridoc

Ridoc was always making jokes, or making light of a situation. But there was something different about his jokes this evening. A different edge to them that just didn’t seem quite like Ridoc. His jokes had a more self deprecating tone to them than normal

When the others went to get more food, you stayed behind. Something he noticed as he locked eyes with you across the table. He knew you had seen right through him. Knew you’d picked up on his slight change in behaviour the others hadn’t. All it takes is a raised eyebrow before he tells you.

“Aotrom saw right through my prank.” He admits with a huff of annoyance.

You knew he’d been so excited about this prank. Had been going on about it for weeks. Clearly he must have slipped with his shields and Aotrom had seen it coming and foiled his plans.

“Well I guess you’re just going to have come up with an even better prank then.” You say excitedly, hoping it will peak his interest.

Ridoc just sighs and hangs his head. “But this one took weeks to plan and it was amazing. I don’t know if I can top it.”

“Well good thing you have me to help you plan this one then isn’t it.” You tell him

Instantly Ridoc lights up with excitement. Usually you try to stay out of his pranks, even when he begged and pleaded for your input. So you knew you offering to help him would make his day instantly better. And it does. Ridoc practically jumps over the table to sit next to you and start formulating his next prank.

Sawyer

Sawyer wasn’t the loudest of the group, but he certainly wasn’t the quietest. But since challenge’s halfway through the day you’d noticed him getting quieter and quieter. Watched has he’d zone out to the point you’d had to shove his shoulder when Kaori had asked him a question and had just stared blankly at the front of the classroom like he hadn’t heard him.

You’d wanted to grab him after class but Rhi had pulled you aside to talk about some training she wanted to do together the next day seeing as we were still unable to fly due to the colder weather. And when you’d turned around, he was gone. And then at dinner, his chair remained empty.

While the others were lost in their own conversation you left, heading up to his room. You could see the flicker of light under his door, knowing he was inside. You knocked on the door, only to be met with silence. Thirty seconds later you tried again, and yet again no response.

“I know you’re in there Sawyer. I’m not leaving till you open the door.” You call out as you rest your hand against the door.

Finally after a few moments the door swings open, revealing a very withdrawn Sawyer who turns and walks into his room before sitting on the edge of the bed and burying his head in his hands. You close the door behind you, walking over and sitting next to him as you place a hand on his back. You feel him tense up, but he quickly relaxes into your touch.

You didn’t need to ask what was wrong. Because you already knew. He’d lost his challenge. Watched him fumble over a manoeuvre he knew well. And it had cost him the win. And you knew he was kicking himself for it. Knew with the weight of what happened last year he didn’t feel like he was good enough to be here.

“I know what you’re thinking. And one mistake doesn’t mean you’re not good enough to be here, to be a rider. We all make mistakes.” You tell him. He lifts his head, lips parting to argue back. But you cut him off. “No. I’m not letting you do this. You are enough Sawyer. You bonded a dragon this year. Hell, you repeated a year when most people wouldn’t. You deserve your spot here. Don’t ever doubt that.”

After a few seconds he smiles softly at you, his usual spark back in his eyes. “Gods you’re too good for me. I love you.” He says as he takes your hands in his. “Love you to Sawyer.”

Liam

It’s late at night when someone knocks at your door. A first you freeze, not sure if you should answer the door. Who the hell would be knocking at your door this late at night. You’re tempted to pretend you’re asleep when they knock again, this time followed by a familiar voice.

“I know you’re in there reading Y/N. Open the door. Please.”

The way he says please has you throwing the book down on the bed, rushing across the room and pulling open the door to a very exhausted looking Liam. Liam who looks like he’s about two seconds away from dropping dead from exhaustion.

You grasp his hand, pulling him into your room before closing the door and pulling him over to your bed. You hadn’t expected to see him tonight. He was meant to be out on a supply run. Wasn’t due back till far later in the evening. But it’s clear he never made it on the supply run. The usual smell that came from riding a dragon was absent.

You knew from the look on his face what was up. He missed his sister. And he only got like this when an important date around his family came up. And clearly today was one of them. A day where he needed his sister, but couldn’t. Just a few more months and he’d have her back.

You start to push off his flight jacket, undoing the laces on his boots before he kicks them off and pulling down his pants and removing his shirt. Pushing back the covers, you usher him into your bed before sliding in next to him.

Instantly his arms wrap around you as he cuddles up to you, resting his head against your chest as you play with his hair. Both of you enjoying each others company in blissful silence.

[thewertsearch]

Only dreams now.

Karkat, oh my god. Are you actually trying to talk him down?

Buddy, we are far, far past the point where this was a realistic option. Gamzee crossed the point of no return when he choked Equius to death with his own bowstrings - and whatever he did to Nepeta, I think we didn't see it for a reason.

You can't integrate this guy back into the group, and you don't really have the resources to keep him contained. Maybe in the long-term, there might be a way to undo the effects of his Cal-induced breakdown, and help him come down from whatever deranged mental state he's currently in - but right now? Forget about it.

If you let your guard down around Gamzee, he will kill you. Full stop.

...so why the hell am I actually seeing results?

This cannot be all it takes. If it was, then why couldn't Nepeta and Equius stop him from killing them?

Karkat already tried to calm Gamzee down. That was the first thing he did! And Gamzee completely ignored it!

Now that's more like what I was expecting. You can't just press the 'make Gamzee sane again' button. That wouldn't make any-

...what?

WHAT!?

Well you were completely on the money, Karkat. I, an idiot human, have absolutely no idea what just happened.

And yes, I know what a moirail is. I recognize that Karkat is taking on the even-tempered role here, endeavoring to calm down his violent partner, and that this is something completely normal for all trolls.

What I don't know is why all it took was a hug. I mean, when the narration explained that a moirail can ‘pacify’ you, I assumed that it would be a little more involved than this. I thought words would be exchanged, that the even-tempered partner would use their emotional intelligence to emphasize with their moirail's mental state, and gradually improve their temperament through communication and mutual understanding.

But no, apparently not, because it took Karkat zero words and sixty seconds to completely shut Gamzee down. Now, don't get me wrong, that's incredibly impressive - but what did he actually do?