#either way they are all in the wrong the deeper you go into this story

[nightscythe]

I've been loving your primarch posts! In your opinion, what would make each primarch jealous, and how would they express that jealousy?

(Feel free to get as nsfw as you like.)

i was really stupid and cause i got two asks about jealousy in together, i kinda mixed them. this is pathetic, insecure jealousy. next post will be seething, lust filled nsfw jealousy. thank you btw! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

pre-heresy // the large space men do tend to suffer from human emotions.

lion: his authority was very rarely questioned, but ironically, the first time someone has doubts over his leadership and decision-making skills, it’s in front of, and concerning, you. he’s not fazed by it at first, until he realises the intentions behind it. when he’s quiet and calm, that’s when he’s most dangerous. i’m supposed to be polite, he’d tell the man, an authority under his father’s name, as his eyes narrow, but all of that can be forgotten in a second. when you’re alone later, he doesn’t bring it up to you, but the weight is lingers in his chest. he knew what he was doing, he remarks. you can tell him it meant nothing, that it had nothing to do with you, but he knows better than that. he’d nod anyway, not wanting to drag you into anything. that’s the only reason that man is still alive. 

fulgrim: always hypervigilant, it wouldn’t take long for fulgrim to realise the cuff around your arm wasn’t something he’d given to you. he’d keep quiet about it at first, brooding in a corner until he’s either figured out where to get you a better one or how to deal with his feelings. he’d find you later, wrapping his arms around you from behind, burying his face in your shoulder and peppering your skin with short kisses. i worry that someone will mean more to you than i do, he confesses, holding you just that bit tighter. i know it’s foolish, but i worry. i always worry i’m not enough. that someone will do better for you than me. when you look back at him, his eyes are wide, his lips a deeper red. i love you, maybe too much, and my love makes me feel so powerless with you. but i wouldn’t change it. i can’t help it.

perty: it wasn’t often that he’d care what other people thought, but your opinion had always mattered so much to him. a dinner, nothing special, but he’d spent most of the evening watching your eyes light up at a story someone told. it shouldn’t affect him, yet after the conversation ends, he’s silent. he doesn’t look your way, or anyway, for that matter, barely speaking any more words as he buries himself in the darkness of his own mind. later that evening, you corner him, but he tells you sternly that nothing is wrong. yet he can’t stop thinking of how you laughed and gasped in awe. eventually, in the quiet of the night, he voices his thoughts. it made me feel inadequate. you could tell him over and over that he never was, but he’d detached himself from reality already, lost in imagined inadequacies. you haven’t done anything. but the way you looked? i only want that for me. you are for me. 

khan: infatuation wasn’t even close to describing his feelings for you, and the result was him learning every part of your life before him. it annoys him in some way to know that you had a life without him and makes him irrepressibly jealously to know people existed with you before him. he tries to bear with it, supports you in every way he can, but when he sees someone that he can obviously recognise as having some kind of affection for you, he can’t just ignore it. if i stay, i’ll make things hard for you, he tells you, excusing himself to leave, so uncharacteristically. i don’t want to leave you, but i need space. i may just burn everything i touch if i remain. being away from you knowing you were near to someone like that drives him even more insane though, so he returns later, hand curling around yours as he gets close, breath hot on your ear, i don’t like the thought of sharing you, even in the past. you’re mine. only mine. 

leman: he’d let most things go, but if anyone dared to touch what was his, he’d never let them get away with it. even just another human, someone who shouldn’t matter to him, could have him growling if they were too close to you in his eyes. this guy had told a joke, doubling over and resting their hand on your lower arm without any intention behind it. leman had spotted it across the room, because he’s always watching you when you’re not beside him (just out of admiration, nothing weird), so within seconds, he’s at your side. must think you’re real funny, he comments, eyes burning holes into the guy, we’re not laughing, though. you apologise as the guy moves on, slightly terrified by the man now standing beside you. leman doesn’t leave your side the rest of the evening, always by your side or a step behind. if you try to walk away, he’d pull you straight back. think i have the tolerance to deal with anyone else taking your attention tonight?

dorn: he’d have wrote a book on things to know about you, if he could. so when someone across from you comments on your favourite colour, he confidently tells them what he believed to be your favourite. cue them correcting him with their belief, and you shyly telling him you liked both, but the other person was technically right. it shouldn’t make him spiral, but it does. he finds himself annoyed that someone could know you better, and if they knew you better, that must mean you love them more. he hates that thought. so he’s quiet. spares a passing thought later when the moment has passed you. you looked happy when they answered a question about you. he’s not upset, not angry, but he pain in his voice that’s hard to ignore. he sits beside you, running his fingers up the length of your arm gently. do i make you feel like that, too? he asks, never meeting your eyes. his voice drops to a whisper as his fingers reach your palm. do i make you happy?  

curze: years after knowing him, he almost expects you to become immune to his behaviour. the truth is, he’s intimidating when he wants to be, and sometimes makes it hard to be around him. he didn’t mean to stumble across you in a spare room, beside a lady who carried books in her hands. you smiled so easily, laughed like it was second nature, not afraid to show your emotions without safeguard. he listens for a while, but hearing how comfortable you are sends a fit of silent rage through him. he isolates himself until you seek him out later. his throat is tight, his hands still balled into fists at his side. i’m fine, he declares. he tenses his jaw, balls his fists. i’m fine. he’s trying to convince himself. says it another few times until he final looks at you. am i enough for you? before you can answer, he scoffs. have i ever made you feel truly loved? again, you can’t answer. i’m not fine, he mutters, why do i feel like i’m always losing you? 

sanguinius: you could never do anything wrong in his eyes. he knew your kindness, he knew your inner beauty as much as your outer. others, though? so many are rotting inside. he could see it. perhaps he’s harshest on the people who look at you like he does. he loves you, he knows how someone who wants you looks. he’s still got the sweetest smile on his lips as he muses beside you, they’re lucky i have to be so forgiving. when you ask him what he meant, he hums. you don’t even notice, do you? such a precious thing. unfortunately, the feeling simmers and he finds himself thinking a bit too hard about the thought of someone else wanting you. that night, he’d shield you with his wings as he laid beside you, making sure it was only the two of you. i wish i could hide you from everyone, he’d whisper to you as you slept, stroking your cheeks, what if you see me clearly one day, and decide i’m not enough for you?

ferrus: he’d admired your human nature for so long that he didn’t realise just how much he hated it. you were kind, to everyone, and he often felt others didn’t deserve it. especially others who looked at you in a more than friendly way which you always seemed so oblivious to. the feeling is mostly overlooked by veneration, but sometimes he can’t push it down far enough to be overshadowed. he won’t look at you, constantly messing with his armour and distracting himself from the reality presented in front of him. when you ask him, though, he admits everything. i didn’t like how you spoke with him, he remarks, eyes watching the person he’s referring to the in the distance, seeing you with others… i don’t know what the feeling is. he’d look to you for a moment before sighing. i didn’t like it. he’s hesitant to touch you after that, waiting for you to take the first step. i know you didn’t mean anything by it, but it… hurt. 

angron: your laugh had echoed through the hall. he’d followed it, obviously, seeking out your usual comforting presence and wishing to be nearby. he stopped himself, though, when he neared the door and heard you laugh again. he watches from a distance for a moment, fingers gripping the doorframe hard enough to leave a dent. he shouldn’t hate it so much, but he thinks you’d never laugh like that with him. he brings you pain, and all you ever do is comfort him. he hates that he can’t provide the same feeling in return (even though he does – he will never accept that), but someone else can. he pushes his way into the conversation, immovable at your side. funny, huh? he asks, smiling, voice scratching the edges of the walls. should i take notes? the other person would leave, sensing his annoying too, leaving him to reach his hands around you and smile, pull you into his warmth and whisper loud enough you’re sure the other person hears. i’d kill anyone who came between us. he would, really, but maybe the wrong time to carry that energy. 

rob: he doesn’t get jealous, not often. but when he’d specifically thought he had some time to spend with you and you so unkindly tell him you actually are meeting a friend, it’s like a shot straight to the chest – even though it’s technically his fault for not telling you he intended to spend that time with you – that he cleared his schedule for you. it’s fine. they’re better company. he’d look away, feigning his disinterest, but his eyes flicker back to you when you don’t answer, craving the confirmation that you still needed him around. when you laugh and promise him that when return, in less than an hour, you’ll be by his side for the rest of the day, he tries to hide the blush on his cheeks. later, he’d pull you into his lap and hold you close – genuinely wishing he never had to let go. the intended consequence of loving you is that i’m scared you’ll love someone else.  

morty: other people made you happy. obviously. but he struggled to accept it. he wanted to be the reason you smiled every time, he wanted to be the reason you found life worth living – because that’s what you were to him. one afternoon, he sees the way you smile when talking to someone else, and it’s the final crack in the foundation. he doesn’t shout, not often, but his voice is raised when he confronts you about it later. how could i not feel jealous? he’d challenge, meters away from you yet his presence overwhelming. they make you happy. they do what i can’t. he stops for a moment, not to process how his words were untrue, but instead for his mind begins to fray at the seams. i wish i could make you feel that way. he looks away. he doesn’t want to yell, but it comes out like a command to one of his men. leave. go. you don’t, knowing that would never have been an option for you. when he notices, his body stiffens. please don’t ever go. please. 

magnus: he doesn’t mean to intrude on your dreams, but sometimes he’s so busy thinking about you it just happens. but his whole body freezes when he sees you sat with someone who isn’t him in your dream, someone that should be him. he knows it’s your unconscious mind, you’ve dreamt about him a thousand times before, but it devastates him. he pulls you into his chest, arms tight around you as he stutters. you… are mine, aren’t you? the uncertainty runs deep through his voice. please don’t ever leave me. not for anyone else. when you start to stir in your sleep, he can’t meet your eyes, opting to rest his head against your shoulder. tell me you love me, please, he pleads, holding you closer. when you ask him what’s wrong, why he’s asking you for that, groggy and unsure from sleep, he grips your clothes and skin like its all that keeps him grounded. just…remind me, please. tell me you love me. 

horus: ironically, his brothers make him the most jealous. nothing and no one else (except maybe his father, but that bridge can be crossed when he finally gets to it). even breathing the same air as you is enough to piss him off. when sanguinius had come to greet you, as any normal person would, horus notices. he shouldn’t want to deck his brother for making you smile (he just said the flowers looked nice), but he certainly takes that as his cue to approach you both. you two having a moment? he asks, jealously disguised behind humour. he looks directly to you like you’d done something wrong. i get it, he’s a pretty guy. so are you. shall i leave you to it? he grins like he’s joking, but never leaves. he locks his arm around you for the rest of the evening. when you try to ask him about it, he laughs. he’s my brother, why would i care? he conveniently avoids the question. lets the thoughts stew in his mind that maybe he wasn’t enough for you. need to prove it to you, horus mentions to you later, that he’d never be better for you than i am. he could be made warmaster in a each universe and still feel second-best to them.  

lorgar: he’s a busy man. never expected you to just sit beside him in quiet obedience so he’d never be without you. of course, if you could do that… he wouldn’t say no, but he’s not unreasonable. but he can smell others on you when you return to him before he’s even finished what he’s doing, wanting to be around when he finally has time to be with you. he hates it, he hates knowing you were with others, that they had their hands on you for whatever reason. if you try to leave his side, even for a second, he pulls you straight back to him, not letting you leave. you’ve only just returned to me. let me feel the blessing of your presence for as long as i can. he’d think about it more, the not knowing aching more than anything. he trusted you, but felt he’d never give you everything you needed. do you go to other people to talk about things? he’d ask, his question not specific on purpose. why don’t you just talk to me, instead? i’m right here. he hates that he sounds desperate, like he wants to isolate you, like he’s truly possessive. i’m yours. that’s what i’m here for. 

vulkan: you’d returned to him with a smile, but your wrist was bandaged. he’s worried beyond anything, but as you tell him the story of the person who stopped to help you, bandaged you up, helped you when you really needed it, his worry turns to relief, then to… envy. he was meant to be there in your time of need, and he wasn’t. he’s grateful to your good samaritan. but… he was right here. you could have gone to him. i could have helped, he voices, i would have done anything you needed me to do. you can reassure him a thousand times, but it doesn’t help how he feels at all. he feels like he’s let you down and he’s, by accident, overthinking the additional person’s role in all of this. it makes me feel like you don’t need me. he avoids your gaze as you crawl into his lap and try to remind him otherwise. he never lets you speak. let me feel like this. even if its wrong. just for a moment. he knows deep down there’s nothing to be jealous over, but it still happens. 

corvus: he shouldn’t care, but he does. he holds your feelings like they’re sacred, and the thought of someone else knowing something he considers an intimate part of your relationship frustrates him to no end. and he knows you mean nothing by it when you tell the person beside you how you’d had a rough couple of weeks, its just a simple response to a kind of simple question. he doesn’t interrupt to pull you away, he just… listens. watching the space around you like it might shatter if he stopped. takes a breath that’s far too long and wonders what makes it so easy to tell them you had a rough couple of weeks. overthinking, and more overthinking, until he’s somehow come to the conclusion they must be important to you, maybe more than him. so, he walks away. you follow, you always do, and when you ask where he’s going, he doesn’t answer. when you ask if he’s okay, he pauses. you’re busy. he meets your eyes finally and realises the weight of his thoughts, and just how untrue they are. you don’t need me. he doesn’t mean it, but in that moment, no truth has ever been clearer. 

alpharius: you look to him for guidance in everything, you let him shape the world around you and don’t spare a second thought to it – it’s natural, and he likes it that way. but on the occasion that you listen to someone else, even about something trivial in his eyes (you know, human feelings and emotions that he doesn’t really comprehend but wants you to trust him on anyway), he becomes aggravated. exasperated. do you think anyone could understand you as i do? he questions, standing across from, presence truly suffocating, you think anyone knows you the way i do? he laughs. too normal to be innocent. like he’s had this conversation a thousand times over in his head. like you weren’t just asking someone for advice on dealing with a sore throat or some stupid shit. every part of you belongs to me, he assures you. anyone who tries to get close to you… he doesn’t finish his thought, you’re too pure in his eyes. not until you’re asleep beside him and it’s all forgotten. anyone who gets between us… dies. simple. 

i'm itching to write smut btw. like little scarabs are taking over me. until next time - have a good bank holiday weekend (if you're awarded such pleasures)

[cyarsk5230]

Don’t date a bad bitch if you can’t handle one

[alladin001]

[serendipityredefined]

People like me don't have people.

We're the people that people have.

[cyarskaren52]

[urdreamydoodles]

"A UNIVERSE WITHOUT YOU" — Mark Variants x Fem!Reader Fanfic

CHAPTER 2 OF ?

CHAPTER 1 HERE

(Mark Variants: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Prisoner Mark, Bald Mark, Goggles Mark, Sheisty Mark, Omni-Mark & Viltrum Mark)

WARNING: Heavy smut, Violence, Emotional and physical abuse, Non-con (at first)

SMUT WITH A PLOT!

SYNOPSIS —

You exist in a world that should have been safe. But safety is an illusion, and so is peace.

They arrive like a plague, tearing through your city with hands built for slaughter, eyes sharpened by obsession. Mark Grayson—many Mark Graysons—each one twisted, each one wrong. They have hunted you across universes, through blood and ruin, through lifetimes lost to grief. And now, they have found you.

Sinister Mark is the first to taste you, the first to carve his claim into your skin, his hunger slow, deliberate—inescapable. But the others will not be denied. Mohawk Mark wants you wild and breathless, a creature of instinct. Hoodvincible, all fury and need, wants to break you into something that belongs only to him. Prison Mark, silent, watching, waits for his turn to unravel you with patient hands. Each of them will take you. Each of them will ruin you. And you—

You will learn what it means to be wanted.

@weaponxgames @martinys-world

If you want to be tagged for this story, comment!

The alley is suffocating.

Your breath comes fast, shallow, but not from exertion. Not from fear, though that, too, coils in your chest like a thing alive. No, it is the weight of him that steals the air from your lungs.

Sinister Mark is close. Too close.

The bricks are cold at your back, unyielding, rough against your palms as you brace yourself. But he is warm—so terribly, unbearably warm. His presence is suffocating, his body caging you in, hands planted on either side of your head. His eyes burn through you, deeper than they ever did before, dark with something far worse than rage.

Possession.

His lips part like he might speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, his breathing sharpens, the rise and fall of his chest ragged, like he's trying to hold himself together with sheer force of will.

Then, finally, he exhales a curse under his breath, something guttural and raw.

"You don’t get to run from me," he says, voice almost gentle. Almost.

A lie of softness wrapped around something razor-sharp.

Your heart pounds, but you meet his gaze, refusing to cower. You should be afraid. You are. But there is something else, something deeper, something that should not exist in the face of such violent devotion.

"You’re not him," you say.

And oh, that does something to him.

His fingers twitch against the brick, his whole body going rigid like he’s just been struck.

"No," he agrees, voice hoarse. "I’m not."

He should be furious. He should rip through the wall behind you in his rage, in his inability to be what you lost. But instead, he lets out something close to a laugh. It’s dry, humorless.

And then, without warning, he kisses you.

It is not a kiss meant to soothe, nor a kiss meant to convince. It is a claim. A demand.

His lips crash against yours with bruising force, fingers digging into the wall like he’s holding himself back from tearing you apart in a way you would not survive. His teeth catch your lower lip, sharp enough to sting, but he does not relent. His hands have yet to touch you, and yet you feel him everywhere—his presence, his heat, his need, pressing into you like gravity itself.

It is the most dangerous thing you have ever felt.

But you do not push him away.

You tilt your chin, just enough to break the kiss, just enough to breathe, and when you speak, your voice is steady, unwavering.

"He would hate you," you murmur. "Everything you are. Everything you've done."

Sinister Mark inhales sharply, his head tipping forward so that his forehead brushes yours.

Then he laughs.

It is low, deep, shaking through him in something close to ecstasy. He exhales against your lips, slow and measured, a ghost of breath against your skin.

"Then it’s a good thing he’s dead."

And the worst part?

You believe him.

The realization sends a tremor through you, but before you can react—before either of you can—another voice cuts through the alley like a blade.

"Well, well."

A slow, amused whistle follows.

"You found her first. That’s cute."

Sinister Mark does not move, but you feel the shift in his body, the slow turn of his head toward the source of the voice.

Mohawk Mark.

He stands at the mouth of the alley, his silhouette cast in flickering streetlight. There is blood on his hands, on his clothes, smeared across his jaw like war paint. His grin is wide, lazy, eyes gleaming with something wicked.

"Was wondering when you’d get tired of playing with your food," he muses, stepping forward.

Sinister Mark is still, his posture unchanged, but something about him feels even more dangerous now, like a predator whose kill has just been threatened.

"You’re in my way," he says, voice void of any warmth it once held.

Mohawk Mark chuckles, rubbing his thumb through the blood on his knuckles.

"You’re so serious," he muses. "Come on. We all came here for the same thing."

His gaze slides to you, and his grin widens.

"And damn, she looks even better up close."

A rush of cold floods your veins, but before Mohawk Mark can take another step, the air shifts.

The wall behind you cracks under Sinister Mark’s grip, a deep, splintering sound that vibrates through the alley. His expression is unreadable, but his intent is clear.

Mohawk Mark tilts his head.

"Don’t be greedy," he teases. "I mean, I could fight you for her, but we both know how that’d end."

Sinister Mark’s jaw tightens.

"You’d lose."

Mohawk Mark’s grin sharpens.

"Maybe."

He steps closer.

"But I’d have fun trying."

The space between them shrinks, and you realize with a sick, sinking feeling that they are not arguing about if you will be theirs.

Only who gets to have you first.

Sinister Mark doesn’t blink, doesn’t so much as twitch.

Then, slowly, he reaches out—grabbing the front of Mohawk Mark’s suit.

And slams him into the opposite wall.

The force cracks the bricks, a spiderweb of fractures blooming outward. Mohawk Mark exhales sharply but laughs, wiping a streak of blood from his temple where the impact cut skin.

"That’s the spirit," he purrs.

Sinister Mark leans in, his voice dropping to something quiet, something lethal.

"You won’t touch her."

Mohawk Mark raises a brow.

"Oh? And what are you gonna do about it?"

Sinister Mark smiles.

A slow, terrifying thing.

"I’ll show you."

The alley goes silent.

For a moment, the only sound is your own breathing, too fast, too uneven.

Then, suddenly—

Mohawk Mark moves.

Faster than you can process, faster than human sight can track. His fist swings for Sinister Mark’s jaw, a hit that would shatter bone—

But Sinister Mark catches it.

The impact is deafening.

For a long, terrible moment, they are locked in place, a silent battle of strength and will.

Then they move.

It happens too fast. One second, Sinister Mark’s grip is crushing Mohawk Mark’s fingers, an unspoken promise of destruction. The next, Mohawk grins, twisting his wrist with practiced ease, slipping free just enough to drive his other fist into Sinister’s ribs. The crack is deafening.

Sinister barely flinches.

Instead, his response is immediate and brutal. He swings Mohawk like a ragdoll, slamming him into the opposite wall with enough force to send debris flying. Mohawk lets out a bark of laughter even as the impact splits his lip, blood smearing his grin.

"You hit like a jealous boyfriend," he taunts.

Sinister doesn’t waste breath on words. He lunges.

Their battle is violent, chaotic. Brick and concrete crumble around them as they tear through the alley, each strike a promise of suffering. Mohawk is fast, laughing between his dodges, jabs sharp and mocking. But Sinister is relentless, every attack carrying the weight of absolute hatred.

And they are distracted.

For the first time since this nightmare began, no hands are holding you down. No cruel voices whispering claims to your body, your existence.

You run.

It is not planned, not graceful. It is instinct. Pure, blinding survival. Your feet slam against the pavement, your breath ragged as you race through the ruined city.

Everything is in ruins.

Buildings are gutted, glass and steel strewn like the organs of a dying beast. Fires burn in the distance, black smoke curling into a bruised sky. The scent of blood is thick in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of destruction.

The dead are everywhere.

Twisted forms litter the streets—civilians, heroes, anyone who dared stand in their way. Some are unrecognizable, bodies reduced to pulp beneath inhuman strength. Others are frozen in their last moments of horror, eyes wide, mouths open in screams that will never end.

This is what they have done.

What they have turned the world into.

And you are next.

A flicker of movement in the distance makes your stomach drop.

At first, he is just a shadow against the firelit horizon, standing amid the carnage like a god surveying his kingdom. Then, as your breath hitches, he turns.

No Goggles Mark sees you.

His head tilts, blood dripping from his fingers, his grin slow and lazy. His eyes gleam with something hungry.

You run faster.

It is useless.

In the blink of an eye, he is gone—vanished from his perch among the corpses. Before you can even scream, a gust of air slams into you, and suddenly—

He is there.

Directly in front of you.

You crash into his chest, the impact sending you stumbling, but his hands catch you, firm and unyielding. He holds you steady, fingers pressing into your shoulders with bruising amusement.

"Well, well," he murmurs. "I was gonna say we should just kill you."

His grin widens.

"But now that I see you?"

He leans in, breath warm against your skin.

"I just wanna taste you."

Your stomach twists violently. His grip tightens, one hand dragging up to brush your jaw, slow and deliberate. His fingers are still wet with blood, smearing against your skin like war paint.

You shove him.

It is like pushing against steel. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even budge, just laughs—a delighted, terrible sound.

"Oh, I like you," he hums. "You're not even crying yet. That's cute."

His hand moves again, fingers tracing the line of your throat.

"You know," he continues, conversational, "Sinister’s gonna be pissed when he finds out you ran. He’s real possessive. Real crazy about you."

His thumb presses against your pulse, feeling the frantic beat beneath your skin.

"But me?" He tilts his head, grinning. "I don’t mind sharing."

Terror flares white-hot in your chest.

You try to twist away, but he moves faster, catching your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his.

"Mm," he muses. "Yeah. I get it now. Why they all want you."

He steps closer, crowding you, his presence overwhelming.

"You’re just so—"

A blur of motion—

And suddenly, he is gone.

One second, he is pressed against you, his breath ghosting over your lips. The next, he is yanked backward with bone-crushing force.

The world spins.

Then you hear it—

A snarl of fury.

A brutal, devastating impact.

And the growled, venom-laced words that follow:

"She. Is. Mine."

Sinister Mark.

You turn just in time to see him drive No Goggles into the pavement with the force of a meteor. The ground shatters beneath the impact, cracks webbing out in every direction.

No Goggles Mark coughs, laughing even as blood drips from his mouth.

"Damn," he wheezes. "Took you long enough."

Sinister looms over him, eyes black with rage.

"You let her run," he seethes.

No Goggles grins, wiping blood from his chin.

"And you almost lost her."

The words are a taunt, a goad. Sinister reacts exactly as expected—by grabbing No Goggles by the throat and slamming him into the nearest wall.

"You don’t get to touch her."

No Goggles laughs, the sound strained from the pressure on his windpipe.

"You gonna fight me for her, too?" he rasps. "Or are you scared you’ll lose?"

Sinister’s fingers tighten.

"You were never a threat."

His free hand moves—too fast to track—gripping No Goggles’ wrist and twisting. The sickening crack of breaking bone fills the air.

No Goggles’ laughter chokes off into a sharp inhale.

And yet—

Even as agony flashes across his face, his grin remains.

He leans in, voice dropping to something almost reverent.

"Then prove it."

For a moment, neither of them move.

A tense breath between destruction.

Then Sinister Mark lunges.

No hesitation. No warning. Just pure, unrelenting violence.

His fist collides with No Goggles Mark’s jaw, sending a ripple of force through the air. The pavement beneath them splinters from the impact. No Goggles barely has time to react before the next blow comes—a brutal uppercut that sends him hurtling through the ruined cityscape, smashing through what remains of a collapsed skyscraper.

Debris rains like a dying god’s final breath.

Sinister doesn’t let up.

He moves faster than thought, a streak of crimson and darkness as he follows No Goggles into the wreckage. A heartbeat later, another impact shakes the ground. Dust billows out in waves, choking the sky. The sounds of their battle are deafening—flesh hitting flesh, bones fracturing, the sickening crunch of destruction.

You do not wait to see the outcome.

You run.

Again.

Your body screams in protest, muscles aching, lungs burning from the effort. But you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when every moment wasted brings you closer to being caught again.

You dart through the ruins, slipping between shattered cars and crumbling buildings, heart hammering in your chest. The world is a graveyard, a smoldering wasteland left in their wake. You do not think about the bodies. You do not think about the blood.

You only think about escape.

But fate—fate is a cruel, laughing thing.

Because before you can even reach the next block—

A shadow looms above you.

A rush of wind.

And then—

You are airborne.

Your scream is stolen by the sky as you are yanked from the ground, lifted with terrifying speed. The city shrinks beneath you, buildings reduced to tiny, smoldering corpses of their former selves. The higher you rise, the more the destruction spreads out like a bleeding wound, stretching to the horizon.

The grip on you is unyielding. Strong. Familiar in its cruelty.

Then, a low, smug voice in your ear—

"Miss me?"

Mohawk Mark.

You twist, struggling against his hold, but his arms are locked around you, iron-clad, caging you against his chest. His laughter vibrates against your back, a pleased, predatory hum.

"Damn, you really don’t wanna be caught, huh?" he muses, effortlessly adjusting his grip as you writhe. "Too bad."

He tilts his head, smirking. His face is bloodied—whether his own or someone else’s, you can’t tell. His grin is sharp, eyes gleaming with something wicked.

"You know," he murmurs, voice dipping, "Sinister’s gonna lose his mind when he finds out I got to you first."

His words send a fresh wave of panic through you.

You jerk against him, desperate, nails digging into his skin. He only grins wider.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts, tightening his grip. "Be nice now."

Then, without warning—

He kisses you.

Rough. Unforgiving.

His mouth crashes against yours with a hunger that is almost painful, teeth scraping, tongue demanding. His grip around your waist tightens as he holds you steady, savoring the way you struggle.

Your reaction is immediate.

You bite him.

Hard.

He jerks back with a sharp inhale, tasting his own blood.

Then—

He laughs.

A delighted, wicked sound, rolling from his throat like a lover’s sigh.

"Shit," he breathes, licking his lip where you broke the skin. "That was hot."

He looks down at you, amusement flickering through his gaze.

"You really got some fight in you," he muses, voice rich with approval. "I like that."

Then—his grip shifts.

Suddenly, he is no longer holding you.

He is dangling you.

The air around you turns colder as he loosens his grasp, just enough for your body to slip a little. The city stretches out beneath you, endless, waiting.

"You know," he murmurs, tilting his head, "I could just drop you."

The words are spoken playfully, casually.

And yet—

There is no doubt that he means them.

Your breath catches.

Mohawk watches your reaction, utterly enthralled.

"You scared, pretty thing?" he teases, voice honeyed with mock sympathy. "You should be. Bet you’d hit the ground real hard. Splat."

He chuckles, fingers flexing around your waist.

"But don’t worry," he purrs, pulling you back in. "I like you too much to waste you like that."

Before you can respond—

Another voice cuts through the wind.

"Well, shit."

Mohawk tenses.

You twist in his grasp—just in time to see another figure hovering in the air, watching the two of you with a lazy, knowing smirk.

Sheisty Mark.

His arms are crossed over his broad chest, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—

His eyes are locked onto you.

And he looks—

Obsessed.

Mohawk exhales, rolling his shoulders.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he drawls, tone half-annoyed, half-amused.

Sheisty’s grin widens.

"Yeah, yeah, took me a second," he shrugs. "Had some fun down below first. Damn, though."

His gaze rakes over you, dark and slow.

"You really are as pretty as I remember."

Your stomach twists.

Mohawk tightens his grip around you, possessive.

"Back off," he warns. "I found her first."

Sheisty raises an eyebrow, floating closer.

"Yeah?" he muses. "And? You really think Sinister’s gonna let that slide?"

Mohawk’s smirk falters—just slightly.

Sheisty chuckles.

"Man’s losing his mind over her," he continues, shaking his head. "Tearing the city apart, wrecking everything in his way. He ain't gonna let you have her just 'cause you got lucky."

Mohawk narrows his eyes.

"Maybe not," he admits. "But I don’t see him here right now, do you?"

Sheisty hums, considering.

Then he grins.

"Guess that means I can cut in."

Before Mohawk can react—

Sheisty is in front of you.

Too fast. Too close.

His hand reaches out, trailing a finger along your jaw, slow and deliberate.

"Been waitin’ a long time to see you, baby," he murmurs, voice like velvet and danger. "And you don’t know how bad I wanna get my hands on you."

His touch is feather-light, teasing, his eyes drinking in every detail of you.

Mohawk growls.

"Touch her again," he warns, "and I'll break you."

Sheisty laughs.

Loud. Careless.

"You wish you could," he taunts. "But let's be real, man."

He smirks, tilting his head.

"You really think any of us get to keep her?"

His words hang heavy in the air.

A reminder.

A promise.

Because this—

This is just the beginning.

[cyarsk5230]

He knows she could walk into any room and have any man she wanted and she’s going home with him. Mature,secure, and loving makes a man sexy AF.

[cyarskaren52]

Thisss

[rafes-slut]

You fuck your beat friends boyfriend

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader (Best Friend of His Girlfriend)

Warnings: (Dark themes, Cheating, Obsession, Sexual tension, Explicit sexual content, Morally gray characters, Emotional manipulation, Gaslighting, Voyeuristic tendencies, Language)

Summary: you were sofias best friend and rafe is her boyfriend. But you noticed how his eyes lingered on you, even how hia dick would get hard when you were around. He started texting you all while he is with her bout how crazy you make him. In the end you fuck him

You were Sofia’s best friend. Have been for years—since high school, sleepovers, inside jokes, and secrets you’d never dare say out loud. You knew everything about her. And, up until recently, you thought you knew everything about her long-time boyfriend too.

Rafe Cameron.

She met him her freshman year at Figure Eight Beach, introduced him to you by week two. Tall, confident, sharp jawline and sharper eyes—he was magnetic in that careless way that only someone like him could get away with. A Kook through and through, spoiled, temperamental, but undeniably captivating.

At first, you didn’t pay much attention to him. Not beyond the polite smiles and laughs shared over drinks at Sofia’s. You were loyal. She was your best friend. Rafe was just… Rafe. Until things started to shift. Until his eyes started lingering.

It was subtle at first. The way he looked at you when Sofia got up to grab another drink. The way his gaze dipped low when you stretched, when you laughed, when you wore those little shorts that hugged your thighs just a little too well. And at first, you thought maybe you were imagining it. Maybe you were the fucked-up one for even noticing.

But then it got obvious. Intentionally obvious.

He didn’t care if he got caught. He wanted to get caught.

You were lounging on the couch one afternoon, legs thrown over the side while Sofia scrolled through her phone beside you. Rafe was across the room, leaning against the doorframe in those tight black jeans he always wore. The ones that left nothing to the imagination when he was hard. And he was hard.

Your eyes dropped before you could stop them—and there it was. Pressed against the denim, straining, pulsing. And his eyes were on you the whole time, daring you to say something. Daring you to break the silence. You nearly choked on your own breath, shifting uncomfortably as heat crawled up your neck.

He smirked. Subtle. Just a ghost of a grin. Like he knew he had you exactly where he wanted you.

Sofia didn’t notice. Or maybe she chose not to.

And then the texts started.

It was late. You were in bed, alone, the buzz of your phone lighting up your nightstand.

You looked good today.

Those shorts are my favorite.

I think about you more than I should.

You didn’t reply. Not once. But he knew you were reading them. He’d time the messages perfectly—right after a story went up on your socials. Right after you posted a mirror pic. He was watching.

You’re not saying anything but you’re not blocking me either.

You like the attention. I can tell.

I get hard just thinking about you sitting on my couch, all innocent.

I wonder if Sofia would still be your friend if she knew how often I dream about fucking you.

Your heart raced every time your phone lit up. You hated it. You hated how it made your thighs clench. How it made you ache. How you started choosing tighter tops around him, just to see what he’d do. It was so wrong. So fucked up. But it made your blood rush, made your thoughts spiral.

You were starting to feel like an accomplice.

-----

Got it. This continuation is going to dive deeper into the twisted obsession, the moral decay, and the dangerous tension. Here's part two of Wrong Eyes, Right Time — if you'd like it to eventually turn into an actual encounter or break point, let me know. For now, we’re still simmering in the sick heat of the buildup.

The texts didn’t stop.

If anything, they got worse.

He was relentless. Morning, night, sometimes in the middle of the afternoon when you were working or out with friends. He never cared about timing or boundaries. And you hated how you kept opening them—how you read them, even when they made your stomach twist and your thighs press together in shame.

It started with pictures. At first, they were just of him. A hand on his jaw. A cocky smirk. Then they got filthier. A shot of him lying in bed, shirtless, blanket low on his hips. Another of his bare chest, sweat-slick and toned. Then his hand, wrapped tight around his hard dick, veins bulging, tip red and glistening.

This is what you do to me.

All it takes is one look at you.

You made me hard during dinner with her.

I had to jerk off in the shower and I still wasn’t satisfied.

And then the voice notes came. Moaning. Panting. Your name leaving his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.

You tried deleting them. But every time you did, your phone would light up again. He knew he had you.

But the thing that broke you—the one that finally made your jaw drop, your stomach lurch, your fingers tremble—was the video.

It came late. 2:14AM. You were just about to silence your phone and finally get some sleep when the notification popped up.

One video. No caption.

Your thumb hovered. You told yourself not to open it.

But you did.

The screen lit up with movement—dimly lit, shaky, breathless.

Sofia was on her back. Rafe on top of her, driving into her with a slow, filthy rhythm, her moans filling the background while his face stayed angled directly at the camera. His smirk was unmissable. So was the way he whispered:

“Should’ve been you, baby. This would feel so much better with you.”

Your mouth went dry. Your stomach flipped. But you didn’t look away.

Because then came the text.

This could be you.

She doesn’t even know I was thinking about you the whole time.

You’re in my head when I cum. Every single time.

You ruined me.

You threw your phone across the room.

For a moment, you just sat there, blank, buzzing with confusion, disgust, arousal, guilt—all of it tangled up in a sick cocktail that made you want to scream and melt and maybe even give in.

Because deep down, under all the layers of right and wrong, something inside you liked it. The power. The obsession. The way he wanted you more than the girl sleeping beside him your best friend.

---

You lasted all of five minutes staring at your phone, heart hammering, body thrumming with something far darker than guilt.

You were done pretending.

Done denying.

Done being the good friend.

You didn’t even reply. You just grabbed your keys, threw on a hoodie with nothing underneath, and left your house barefoot in your slides. The air was thick and humid, midnight pressing down on your skin as you drove through the quiet streets, your hands shaking on the steering wheel, headlights slicing through the dark like the path of no return.

You didn’t even think. You just went.

And when you pulled into Rafe’s driveway, tires crunching the gravel, you didn’t pause to check your reflection, didn’t take a breath. You stormed up to the front door like you were possessed and knocked hard. Once. Twice. Then again.

A beat passed before the porch light flicked on.

The door opened, creaking slow, and there he was—half-asleep, shirtless, sweats hanging low on his hips, hair messy from the pillow. His expression cracked the second he saw you. Like reality shattered in front of him.

“...What the fuck,” he breathed.

You didn’t give him time to speak.

You shoved him backward with both hands on his bare chest, walking him into the house like you owned it, eyes locked, heart pounding.

“Let’s see if you fuck as good as you run your mouth.”

That was it. That broke him.

His jaw clenched, his eyes went black with lust, and he snapped.

His hands were on you instantly, greedy, possessive, like he’d been waiting a lifetime. Your hoodie hit the floor in seconds. He groaned like he was in pain at the sight of your bare skin, your nipples already hard, your thighs trembling.

“You really came,” he muttered, dragging his mouth over your collarbone. “You fucking came.”

“Shut up,” you whispered, tugging his sweats down. “Do something about it.”

And he did.

Rafe practically tore your clothes off, hands gripping too tight, like he was scared you'd vanish if he blinked. He tried to go slow at first, kissing down your stomach, teasing, whispering things like "Been thinking about this for months", but you were past teasing.

“I want you,” you said, eyes wild. “Raw.”

He moaned like you’d just given him a death sentence and a fantasy at once.

You dragged him down onto the couch, pulled him between your legs, and wrapped them around his waist as he lined himself up—thick, veiny, twitching with anticipation.

The first push made you gasp.

He went slow, inch by torturous inch, watching your face twist, letting you feel all of him, stretch around him, take him raw just like you asked. His teeth clenched, his jaw locking as he sank deeper.

“Fuck,” he whispered, “you feel better than I imagined. So warm. So fucking tight.”

And then he moved.

He fucked. Like he meant it. Like he needed it. Rough, fast, too far gone to care about anything else. The couch creaked beneath you, your skin slapped against his, and the room filled with sounds that would haunt your conscience later—your moans, his groans, the filthy, wet sound of your bodies colliding.

It was overwhelming. Hot. Dirty. Perfect.

But it was over too fast.

Rafe buried his face in your neck, whispered your name like a broken man, and then he shuddered, hips stuttering, breath catching—he came.

Hard. Deep. Pulsing inside you with a noise that made your toes curl.

He went still for a moment, forehead against your shoulder, his whole body trembling from the high.

"...Fuck," he breathed, "I didn’t mean to—"

You laughed. Out loud. A little breathless, a lot cocky.

“Seriously? That fast?”

“Don’t—” he started, but you were already smirking, brushing your fingers through his hair, smug.

“You talk all that shit and that’s how long you last?”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he growled, eyes dark, determined. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

He dropped to his knees, gripped your thighs, and buried two fingers inside you without hesitation—crooked just right, finding that spot like he owned your body.

“Not until you cum for me,” he said, voice thick, “and you're gonna scream when you do.”

You did. Eventually. Loud. Shaking. Biting your hand to muffle it while he fucked you on his fingers until your body arched off the couch, soaking his palm.

He collapsed beside you after, chest rising and falling, hand still on your thigh, both of you silent.

No one said anything for a long moment.

Because what could you say

You fucked your best friend’s boyfriend.

[hanshenrykcd]

“I’ll be back,” Henry told his lord, even though he barely believed it himself. Hans didn’t seem convinced either. He didn’t meet his gaze, just sighed and turned his face away. And Henry couldn’t stand seeing him like that: sad, worried—defeated.

He needed Hans to believe him, to hold onto hope, and not to end up like Gelehaut in the story. Even if Henry wouldn’t make it himself, he needed Hans to escape the siege unscathed and to claim what was rightfully his. He needed him to survive and have a great life—with or without him.

So Henry placed his hand on top of Hans’s to get his attention, to perhaps assure him, to comfort him. “I promise you,” he said, managing to sound a bit more earnest this time.

It worked, because Hans turned to look at him, and the corners of his lips curled into a smile. It wasn’t his big grin with flashing teeth or polite, practiced noble smile. It was his rare smile, the one he saved for special occasions, the one that traveled all the way up to his eyes and made something stir in the pit of Henry’s stomach. And he couldn’t look at it for one more second, because if he did, he would crumble.

“And everything will be alright,” he added, as he retracted his hand and rose from the bed. He paused long enough to see the way Hans’s smile had twisted into a defeated sadness once more, and it was too much to bear. He needed to leave before the image burned itself into his mind as the last memory he would have of their goodbye.

“I’ll bring the reinforcements…” He started walking toward the door, but suddenly there was a hand closing around his wrist, pulling him around.

Before his mind could register, Hans’s lips were on his. Desperate, frantic, surprisingly soft, warm. For a moment, Henry got lost in it. It felt like when he attempted to swim and was pulled down under. Helpless. Fueled by fear.

And for a second—just a second—he let himself sink.

But then reality came crashing back, throwing him up on shore right on time. He pulled away with a grunt, his brain slowly catching up with what had just happened.

He almost unconsciously backed away from Hans, his thoughts reeling and heart hammering, refusing to settle down, almost like it wanted to tell him something. But instead he turned away fully, trying to make sense of what had happened, why it had happened. He cared for Hans more than he had ever thought possible. These past few weeks had made him realize that. He was obligated to protect Hans, but even if he hadn’t been, he would do anything for him.

Hans was apologizing in the background, but Henry could barely hear him over the thrumming of his own blood. What they shared was deeper than friendship, beyond mere companionship. Hans’s presence—his laughter, his scent, that sharp tongue of his, even his spoiled little pout—sometimes made Henry’s pulse spike. But he had never imagined anything to actually happen, because Hans would go on and on about wenches.

And because it was a sin. Anything else but a husband and wife was unnatural, wrong, condemned. Henry stopped by the door, knowing full well he should leave. But the taste of Hans was still lingering on his lips, making it impossible. It didn’t make sense for it to be wrong, when it had felt the complete opposite, when it had set something alight inside him. This could be the last time they saw each other. He couldn’t leave like that. Not after getting a taste, not after knowing what it felt like to kiss Hans Capon.

It’s a sin—sodomy.

And yet he locked the door, ignoring everything he had been taught to believe. Because whatever he felt for Hans was stronger than his fear of hell and punishment.

Without a word, Henry walked up to him standing by the fireplace, holding onto some wood. He grabbed Hans by his arm, turning him around, the wood falling to the floor with a clattering sound. Henry then caught him by the waist, pulling him closer, their lips meeting in a kiss. The kiss felt different this time, because everything Henry was incapable of saying out loud was poured into it—and Hans responded immediately, wrapping his arms around him like he understood every word. And for a moment, the crucial task Henry had before him was all but forgotten.

It was just the two of them. 

[cyarskaren52]

[norrisjpg]

only angel - ʟɴ⁴

the one where she hits it off one of his driver friends, and meets a new version of lando in the very same night.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten

contains; fluff, dom!lando, nsfw, smut; manhandling, oral (m & f), slit-fucking?, fingering, orgasm denial, kinda voyeurism?, squirting, crying, degradation kink, praise kink; talks of loss of virginity, swearing.

…

…

‘glamour on the grid’, they called it.

“it’ll be fun!” keegan exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders. “come on, lando.”

the four were sat in a sports bar somewhere in austin — the group being lando, lily, keegan, and max. lando wasn’t quite sure why they’d gone to a bar, when only two of the four would be drinking — max and keegan — but he’d agreed nonetheless after lily said she wouldn’t drink if he couldn’t.

“and it’d be good for PR,” max added, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows. “come on, bob.”

“yeah, do it for the team!” the younger boy nodded enthusiastically.

lando sighed and flitted his gaze over to the girl beside him, “you’re going, right?”

“i mean, i have an invite.” she shrugged. “but i don’t have anyone to go with, it’s a pairs kind of thing.”

“go with me?” he asked softly, “i don’t wanna be on my own.”

keegan went to speak, probably to say something like ‘you’ll have us!’, but max kicked him under the table as to say — ‘shut up, they’re having a moment.’

“yeah, of course.” she smiled softly, the subtlest of blushes spreading across her cheeks when he kissed her forehead briefly — going unnoticed by all but max.

“so, that’s settled, and you need a suit, mate.” max nodded. “do you need a dress, lala?”

lala.

that stupid nickname max had for her — only the quadrant crew called her that. it was her initials, ria had written them down wrong one day, (they were three letters how did she even get that wrong?) and thus ‘lala’ was born.

“yeah, i do, i’ll just ask dior or something,” she shrugged, almost laughing at the nickname. “do you want me to get you a suit too, lan?”

“yes please, you know my sizes and stuff — i’ll just match you.”

max was sat there, watching the two talk, and something was different. the way lando’s gaze lingered a little more than it usually would, how his voice was soft and low, the look in his eyes that made her seem like she’d hung the stars in the sky.

and even keegan noticed it too. the way lily would blush a little deeper than usual for her, the way she was either constantly touching or looking at him in some way, and her inability to have anything but a smile on her face gave her away completely.

maybe they were dating? no, surely they’d have told them by now.

maybe they were…? the boys basically had no idea what was going on there, but they were going to find out.

-

lily wasn’t impressed, whatsoever.

it wasn’t the fact that he wasn’t with her, it was the fact he was with her, of all girls, of the girl he was having sex with for gods sake!

lando and callie had been chatting all night, and it was pissing lily off — she was very aware of her jealousy and she couldn’t give a fuck.

she was this beautiful blonde girl, tanned with the prettiest eyes lily had ever seen, and the most contagious laugh ever recorded — shit, lily would have taken her out herself if she wasn’t madly in love with the boy she currently had her hand on the arm of.

“you look fucked off,” max pointed out as the two laughed about something.

“i’m not,” she snapped, before sighing and realising that maybe max would be able to see through her lie. “okay, maybe i am, but that’s none of your business.”

“just go and flirt with someone else,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “lando’ll hate that, he almost— actually, that’s a story for another day. just go and find someone else to piss him off with.”

“i don’t want to piss him off though.” she sighed.

“oh, so there is something going on with you and bob then?” max caught her, smiling widely.

she had given herself away.

lily could have made up a lie about why she was annoyed — her time of the month, her dress was itchy, it was too hot — but no, she just let the truth fall from her lips.

in all honesty, everything was perfect, but she wanted her boyfriend— no, best friend to be by her side like he usually was.

“just don’t say anything, okay?” lily huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i’ve only told lex and i don’t know who he’s told, carlos maybe.”

“i won’t, secret is safe with me, as long as this ends in a relationship.” max teased.

she rolled her eyes, before picking up her lemonade and heading off to find her new man for the evening.

-

“no way, i worked with them not too long ago,” he said, crossing his leg over the other as they sat in the quiet corner.

“yeah, i asked them to send me this for tonight last minute,” lily smiled, gesturing to the white sparkly dress clinging to her body. “and well, if this is last minute i really need to up my standards.”

he laughed in response, the adorable gap between his front teeth showing — and no, it wasn’t lando.

lily ainsley was sat with, and had been for the past hour, sir lewis hamilton… talking about fashion of all things.

“we should set up a collab or something,” lewis added, lily nodding as he reached for his drink.

unfortunately, lewis’ hand brushed hard enough against lily’s full glass to send it flying off of the table, somehow not breaking it, but getting lemonade all over the floor and a bit on the bottom of her dress.

“oh my god,” he gasped, clapping his hand to his mouth. “i am so sorry, lily, is it on your dress?”

“only a little bit, don’t worry.” she shook her head with smile, “it’s warm out, it’ll dry.”

she couldn’t help but laugh as lewis’ panicked eyes stared at her nonchalance about the situation — lando had spilled many of drinks quite literally down her top when he was drunk on nights out — so this was pretty minor.

“let me buy you another drink, please?” lewis said, clasping his hands together as he chewed on his lower lip.

“okay, yeah.” she shrugged, a free beverage of any kind was something lily never turned down.

they reached the edge of the busy bar together, and lewis saw the slightly anxious look in her eye, so he simply held his arm out for her to link through.

she mouthed a kind, ‘thankyou’ to him, before they made their way through the swarm of bodies together.

“dude, where’s lily?” keegan asked lando, tapping his arm, while he held up a piece of fabric that had come off of his designer jacket. “i wanna ask her where the fuck this goes.”

“i’m pretty sure that’s your pocket…” lando furrowed his eyebrows. “she’s around here somewhere.”

“what, she’s not with you?” keegan asked, looking at him confused — those two were usually a package deal.

“no—”

“oh there she is!” the australian exclaimed. “oh, fuck nah, she’s with lewis… i’ll go over later.”

“she’s with lewis?” lando’s head snapped up, searching for lily’s familiar face in the foreign crowd. “as in— what the fuck?”

there she was, in all of her angelic glory, laughing softly with one of his childhood heroes — well that was a sight he thought he’d never see.

lewis’ hand was loosely around her waist, mostly to stop her being swept away by the bustling atmosphere of the crowd.

to lando, it was a declaration of war.

-

the uber home was filled with a tense silence, the lingering scent of annoyance and jealousy tainting the air. neither of them spoke, either too stubborn or too pissed off with the night’s antics to talk.

her phone lit up, max fewtrell.

max fewtrell: let me know how it goes with sunshine. he was real pissed earlier. worse than when i broke his gaming chair. good luck!

“lewis?” lando spoke up roughly.

“what?” she looked up from her phone after she’d unlocked it.

“too busy talking to him to listen to what i’m saying, wow.” he huffed, god was this boy dramatic.

“sorry, i thought you were too busy with callie to acknowledge my existence.” she shot back, rolling her eyes as she replied to max.

‘he’s in such a piss. i should have just left it be. i hate your ideas, fuck you!’

“oh please, you were all over lewis! he’s double your fucking age, lily!” lando snapped, raising his voice at her — something he never did.

“well maybe that’s because you were too busy being a slut to acknowledge my existence!” she shot back.

he laughed, he fucking laughed.

the rest of the ride was silent, it wasn’t even tense — something was looming, lando was planning something, she could tell.

the uber was paid and tipped gratefully, and the two took the elevator back to their hotel room. his hands weren’t on her, which worried her a little — either she had upset him, or he was saving it for once they were behind closed doors (she hoped it was the latter of the two.)

the door closed behind them, and it was like a switch flipped inside of the brit.

“a slut, huh?” lando chuckled lowly, grabbing lily and throwing her over his shoulder roughly.

“lando— put me down, lando!” she hit his back, with no real force — but she didn’t want to seem desperate.

“shut up.” he grumbled, putting her down on the floor so she was stood up.

“thank—”

his hands were on her hips, spinning her away from him. lando’s large hands managed to undo the zip on the back of the dress with ease, before he pulled it down and pushed the item off of her body.

he smirked to himself as she let him, not protesting as he spun her back around to face him.

“on your knees,” he nodded, unbuttoning his shirt.

she looked up at him, dazed and very turned on by this new version of lando she was met with.

“are you deaf?” he snapped “i said on your knees.”

lily got her knees gently, the cold tiles of the floor making the position a little uncomfortable.

he nodded, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek — she knew what he meant, wordlessly telling her to get to work.

his belt was undone by her slender fingers, and to her surprise, he wasn’t fully hard, meaning she was actually going to have to—

no, the first brush of lily’s fingers on his shaft sent it upward, slapping up against his abdomen. the thought of teasing him swirled around her mind briefly, but the look in lando’s eye told her to think otherwise.

a warm splatter of saliva dripped onto the tip of his cock, lubing the tip as she then took it in her mouth. her lips expertly wrapped around him, taking him deep down her throat straight away, swirling her tongue around every part she could reach. he groaned, clenching his jaw as he began to thrust slowly into her mouth.

she bobbed her head to meet his thrusts, tears welling in her eyes as he crammed his cock into her mouth.

“so much more polite with my dick in your mouth, aren’t you, angel?” he said, almost sweetly.

she made a muffled sound around him, not daring to pull off until his seed was deep in her throat.

her jaw was starting to lock, and the tears spilled down her face.

lily could feel him twitching inside of her mouth, and she was about to speed her movements up, when he pulled his cock out of her mouth.

loosely wrapping a hand around her throat, he pulled her gently, getting her to stand up, before pushing her onto the bed.

“ass up,” he commanded, helping her a little as she buried her face in the pillow.

he gazed down at her white underwear, clearly soaked and most likely ruined. one clean swipe rendered them (and her) useless, her panties tossed across the room with any dignity she had left.

“don’t even deserve to be fucked,” he muttered, taking his cock and pushing it though her folds, notching at her entrance.

he positioned his cock so it sat snugly in her puffy folds, bumping up against her clit every time he pushed forward.

“you think lewis could make you feel like this, baby?” he spoke cockily as she shuddered, thighs clenching as he pushed down her slit agonisingly slowly — holding back his own moan.

“n-no,” she choked out, moaning as her lower tummy fizzed with need.

“then why were you with him?” he pried, knowing the real reason — he’d spoken to max.

“tryna’ make—” she moaned softly as he brought his thumb forward to toy at her needy entrance. “get your attention, didn’t like seeing you with her.”

“so you were whoring yourself out with my rival?” he questioned lowly. “you could have just told me you were a pathetic mess for me, you know?”

her body was so hungry for him, pushing back against his slow thrusts into her slit — that the tears from earlier in their escapades resurfaced, streaming down her face.

he knew she was crying, but until there was an apology for calling him a slut, there wouldn’t be any letting up on her.

lando continued to thrust forward, her whimpers quiet and low. so, in aid of not being able to hear her, he slipped two fingers inside of her weeping entrance — pumping them hard and deep with no warning.

her slick was dripping onto his dick, coating it in a warmth as it slid back and forth though her folds. the previous stimulation of being buried deep inside of her throat helped him get close quickly, and he could tell she was close by the way her hips jerked when he scissored his fingers apart.

but he was closer than she was, and a sick though passed through his head and into his movements.

the brit pulled his fingers from her, grabbing his cock and pumping it on top of her ass. he let out a guttural groan, shooting thick webs of cum over her perfect ass and picturesque back — “fuck, stay there.”

she sobbed and whined out as his fingers left her hole, feeling empty without his digits stuffed deep inside of her.

he leaned down off of the bed and fished his phone out of his pants pocket, before repositioning himself as before.

“let me take a photo, yeah, baby?” lando asked roughly. “look so fucking pretty like this.”

she hummed, pushing her ass up toward him. flicking to the camera, he placed his hand on her lower ribcage, pulling her marked body back toward him, and snapped a photo.

“lando,” lily whimpered, thighs shaking a little at the loss of her much needed high.

“i’m sorry, what was that, lils?” he asked condescendingly, flipping her from her tummy onto her back. “wanna repeat that?”

“lan,” she murmured, lower lip caught between her teeth.

“oh, pretty baby,” lando teased, leaning over her so their faces met. “shoulda’ though ‘bout what you wanted before you decided to be a bitch.”

“i’m sorry,” she murmured. “didn’t mean it, promise, ‘m so sorry, lan.”

“there she is,” lando switched, his whole mentality flipped based on a few words. “there’s my pretty girl.”

“‘m sorry,” she repeated, tears streaming down her face.

“i know you are, i know you didn’t mean it.” he reassured her, pressing soft kisses to the tear stains on her cheeks. “tell me what you need, and i’ll give it to you, angel.”

the addition of the please popped on the end sealed the deal for him, and he nodded, gently connecting their lips as to say — sorry for being a prick.

“mouth, need your mouth.” she nodded quickly, “please.”

“mhm, there’s my good girl.” he praised, nodding at her as he gazed into her soul.

lando pressed kisses down from her throat, through the valley of her breasts, over her tummy, and softly began his mission to bring his girlfriend— no, best friend into a world of mind-bending pleasure.

“open up for me baby,” he asked softly, placing his hands on her inner thighs.

she spread her legs shakily, letting him have full access to her slick pussy.

lando flattened his tongue against her pussy, groaning against her as he lapped up her juices. he circled her clit, pressing his thumb into her entrance to tease her.

she clenched around him, moaning softly as he closed his lips around her clit, gently sucking it as he replaced his thumb with two thick fingers, sliding into her tight heat with a little resistance. lily whined, clenching around his digits as he set the same pace he had previously kept.

“lan…” she let out a guttural groan, eyes rolling back. “fuck— gonna cum…”

it was embarrassing how quickly she came, inner walls convulsing around his fingers, legs shaking, liquid gushing from her and a large portion of it spraying into his mouth.

he whined into her pussy pathetically, drinking her up without hesitation. “so pretty,” he murmured, toying with her clit as her hips bucked away from him.

“my pretty girl.”

-

the morning drew in, and the tanned arms around her body stayed here, tightening every now and again.

“morning.” he said groggily, lifting his head from the crook of her neck.

“good morning.” she yawned softly.

“i’m um… sorry, about yesterday.” lando began softly, “just um… i just didn’t like you and lewis, and i went the wrong way about it completely, i‘m sorry,” he sighed, blinking at the girl. “i shouldn’t have been with callie, i went there with you, not her.”

“it’s okay, lan, really, i overreacted — but i promise you, nothing is there with me and lewis, he’s just a friend i promise.” lily reassured him, gently carding her fingers through his soft curls.

“i know, i was being a twat.” he pursed his lips. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay, i promise.” she nodded softly, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“why don’t we make an agreement?” lando suggested. “while we’re doing this, there’s no one else. we’re like… exclusive to each other.”

a soft blush spread across her face, and she smiled at the boy wrapped around her.

“yeah, yeah that sounds good.”

-

god this one was actually so hard to write i almost died — more coming soon!