#he's supposed to be smiling on the right but it's not showing up with his beard alas :(((((

[miyaz6ki]

girl dad mydei, who you find sleeping safe and sound in the confines of what they call the living room. all three of his girls in the crooks of his biceps, as well as the youngest sitting on his lap.

Small and big snores erupt the silence as you simply smile at the charming little scenario before your eyes. Your terrifying husband, CEO of one of the biggest business tycoons, boss of the biggest franchises. Yet there he was, nothing more tiring than one, two, three little sheep for the big boss to count...

The TV was still loud, and running a cartoon show all your girls loved. and now, so was their father. You could see visibly from how he held all his girls, that he wouldn't want to wake them.

You know when a cat, or an animal in general, sleeps on you and you don't want to move so they don't wake up? That's exactly how he felt as he clutched all three of them

You could only hum with delight, and take a seat right next to him. You could feel the sofa sink in your weight the more you all rested. Expensive furniture from all his hard work of doing paperwork, exploring collaborations with other companies, all just for you four.

girl dad mydei who you wake up to find him missing from the warmth of your bed. only to find him cooking in the kitchen. his shirtless torso that showed off all his tattoos, covered by a simple apron (saying kiss the cook)

for as much as his appearance can make many cower in fear, and on their knees... he made just as scary...! eggs.. and bacon?

"yay! look what papa made!!" one of your daughters proudly showed the plate of food off to you as you entered the room. "ooh, calm down there, baby. i was supposed to surprise you.." the blonde who quietly snuck an arm around your waist and helped you to a place at the table.

"we made all of this for you." each child put a plate of food onto the dining table, as well as your husband's being your favorite of favorite of meals.

"this.. is for me? what's the occasion, sweetheart?" you gazed up in shock at them, you never felt so loved before. not more than now of course. "papa and us want to thank you!" "yeah, you do so much around the house!" "so.. we made this to make sure you know.."

oh you could cry. right absolutely now.

[thepitlanepress]

UM WHO ARE YOU? –

↳ lando norris + fem!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: something lando while i work on the smau !! also black and white pics of lando>>> a warning tho the sleep deprivation kicked in at about halfway through

your friend was late.

again.

this was the seven hundredth time michael had been late this week alone. seriously, its like he did it on purpose. you had been standing in the restaurant's carpark for the last half an hour waiting on you ride home.

it's late, it's dark, you're cold and tired. boy was the asshole in for it when he showed up. how could he leave a you out here in these conditions? it was practically snowing.

eventually michael's car turns up and slows to a stop in the car park, you think its weird how he keeps rolling a bit while you try and grab the handle but its they way he is, always taking the piss out of you on a daily basis.

he stops shortly after and you yank the door open piling inside and berating him. "seriously dude? you're half an hour late and i have been dying to bed. its almost snowing outside and you just leave...me..."

thats not michael.

sitting in the drivers seat is lando norris? the world famous f1 driver? what is he doing at your restaurant? no no better question, why the hell are you in his car you dumbass?

"um, who are you?" he asks sitting there, a confused and suspicious look on his face, he probably thinks your some crazy fan, which doesn't help the situation you're in.

"oh my god, i am so sorry, i got in the wrong car, this isn't happening. i'm so sorry, i thought you were my friend, gosh im so-" you begin to say but cut yourself off when you start to ramble. instead collecting yourself and bracing for the cold when you open the door.

"wait," lando's voice stops you, your hand on the door, ready to leave. "you can stay in here until your friend arrives," he says smiling, there is still the edge in his voice, and thats understandable, but he's being kind and letting you stay in the warm at least.

"thank you," you smile and sit back in the seat relaxing and closing your eyes basking in the warmth of the car, and the smell of lando's cologne. its not your fault its the only thing that you can smell.

"so can i ask; what were you doing out there? its snowing and you have no coat on, thats not okay," he asks his voice drifting to you.

"my friend michael was supposed to pick me up, but evidently he was late," you answer, opening your tired eyes and sighing. "he's always late these days. this is like the third time this week i've had to wait for him for like an hour after work."

"you're telling me you spend half an hour to an hour waiting for this guy to come pick you up from work? and he's always late?"

you nod not bothering to defend michael right now, he's making you wait with a stranger for over an hour, the last thing he deserves is your defence.

"what a shithead."

an unexpected laugh rumbles from your throat. "that's michael for you."

"thats michael? seriously?" lando's brows furrow and he looks disgusted by even the thought of it. "he's not your friend."

"what?"

"that boy is not your friend. a real friend would be here in the carpark early warming up your seat for you, waiting with a coat. not showing up hours late to a-" he looks out his window. "closed restaurant. god it keeps getting worse."

you sigh quietly and shake your head, "i don't know what to do, i don't have a car and calling an uber is not my favourite thing at this time of night."

"give me your phone," lando says suddenly.

"what?"

"can i borrow your phone please?" he repeats.

"sure?" you say pulling it out of your pocket, unlocking it and handing it over to him.

he types something quickly and smiles before handing it over to you again. you look down and on the screen is a new contact "lando aka your new best friend"

despite the circumstances you laugh, "what's this for?"

"text me when you finish work each shift and i'll come pick you up."

"what?"

"i'll pick you up or have someone trusted pick you up at the end of your shifts," he says simply.

"why?" you ask bewildered by his kindness.

"because i'm your new best friend duh."

you smile and he grins back at you. "come on i'll drive you home," he says putting his seatbelt on and gesturing for you to do the same.

"thank you," you whisper.

the drive home lulls you to sleep. maybe it was the quiet hum of the radio, or the warmth of the car or the company. whatever it was it sent you to sleep quickly, with a smile on your face and your heart full, you made a new friend.

you never did ask lando why he was in the car park that night. and he never did tell you how he had overheard your friend shit talking and complaining about you at a random club before he ran off with some girl.

and he never did tell you about how he very nearly dropped everything to go pick up the mystery girl who was depending on the worlds biggest asshole.

he never told you,

not even when he got down on one knee or when he stood up in front of all of your friends with you in a white dress.

he never told you how he almost fell in love on the spot when you burst into his car and then profusely apologised when you realised you made a mistake.

he never told you.

but he always picked you up, no matter where or when, he was there.

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments, likes and reblogs appreciated !

[killerplink]

Shameless

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Words: 10k

Plot: You're supposed to head straight home after the bar. You really are. But you're drunk, and needy, and desperate for his dick, so now you're in some alley getting fucked stupid against a wall.

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, drunk sex, praise kink, size kink, public sex, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie

The bar is dim and comfortably loud, some old rock song spilling from the jukebox while Jason leans back against the booth, arm draped along the backrest, watching you with a lazy smile. You're already two drinks and some shots deep—which, for you, is a lot—and it shows in the way you're slumped just slightly against his side, giggly and loose, eyes a little glassy under the neon glow.

He knew you needed this. Knew this week had been a fucking nightmare for you. And yeah, maybe getting you tipsy wasn't the most responsible move, but God, you're cute like this, all soft and clingy and running your mouth without a filter.

"Y'know," you slur a little, gesturing wildly with your glass, "that bitch from the subway? The one who kept pushing into me?" Your brows knit together in offended disbelief, like you're personally wounded all over again just thinking about her. "I shoulda knocked her fucking teeth out."

Jason has to bite the inside of his cheek, his grip tightening on his beer bottle as he lifts it to his lips. You're so damn small, and the way you say it, all dramatic and dead serious, makes it even funnier. But you're not joking. You slam your palm against his chest to drive the point home, which, to you, probably feels like a decent smack, but to him, it's barely a tap.

"Right?" you demand, eyes wide and expectant, waiting for him to back you up.

Jason clears his throat, desperately swallowing the grin threatening to break free. "Yeah, baby. Totally. Shoulda knocked her the fuck out."

"Exactly!" you nod so hard your whole body sways, and Jason has to steady you with his free hand to keep you from sliding right off the seat. "No respect. None! Who does that?"

You keep ranting, every slurred complaint punctuated with another dramatic gesture or a wild wave of your drink. Jason just sits there, half-listening, half-savoring how fucking adorable you are like this, all small and feisty, tipsy and dramatic, tucked into his side like you belong there.

He loves you so much it's fucking stupid. And it's only a matter of time before that sweet mouth of yours gets him into trouble tonight—one way or another.

By the time your third drink arrives, your body feels warm and heavy, head swimming in that sweet, fuzzy way that makes everything feel a little softer, a little funnier, and way hornier than it should.

Jason's sitting there next to you, all broad and solid, wearing that black t-shirt that stretches just right over his chest and arms, showing off all that ink. His thighs, thick and spread wide, are right there next to yours, and you can't help yourself—your free hand starts to wander.

You trace slow circles along the inside of his thigh, your fingers sneaking higher each time until your knuckles almost brush the bulge straining against his jeans. Jason tenses just slightly, the muscle under your palm jumping at the touch, but he doesn't stop you right away.

He's used to your drunk grabby hands by now, and hell, it's flattering how fast you get worked up for him. But his dick? His dick's got no chill, thick and half-hard already, and your teasing fingers aren't helping.

"Baby," he murmurs, his free hand curling around your wrist, stopping you gently. "Behave."

You pout instantly, squirming closer until you're practically in his lap, your big, glossy eyes locked on his like you're about to cry over it.

"Jay," you mumble, voice all soft and slurred, "you're so fucking hot."

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he takes another sip of his beer. "Am I?"

You nod. Hard. Like you're trying to convince him of a life-or-death fact. "Hottest guy I ever been with," you say, and Jason's ears go pink at the blunt praise. "Can't believe you chose me."

Jason's brow arches, that soft smile curving his lips. "What do you mean, pretty girl?"

You just shrug, lifting your drink to your mouth again, and miss it entirely—half your sip spills down your chin, sticky and sweet. Jason sighs, amused, and reaches out with his thumb, gently swiping the alcohol off your skin.

That's when your grin turns wicked. Before he can pull his hand away, you catch his wrist, pulling his thumb between your lips. Your tongue flicks against the pad before you suck gently, cleaning off the spill like it's the most natural thing in the world. But your mind? Your drunk, horny mind immediately derails into filth.

You wish it was his cock instead—thick and hot, sliding across your tongue, stretching your lips wide, fucking your throat until you're gagging and drooling and swallowing down every messy drop of his cum.

Your thighs clench under the table, the sudden rush of slick making you squirm, a soft whimper slipping out before you can stop it. Jason's brow furrows, his beer halfway to his mouth.

"Baby," he asks, voice lower now, "you okay?"

You nod too hard again, the world tilting slightly around you as you lean in, your hand landing high on his thigh once more. "Wanna fuck," you whisper, way too loud for how crowded the bar is.

Jason barks out a surprised laugh, shaking his head like he can't believe you. But fuck if it isn't turning him on, how unfiltered and needy you get for him when you're drunk.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, tipping back the rest of his beer in one long swallow before setting the bottle down with a clink. "Okay, pretty girl. Let me pay the tab and we'll go home, yeah?"

You hum happily, already leaning into his side, and Jason's hand settles warm on your thigh, fingers tracing mindless shapes while his other hand fishes his wallet out. You're still thinking about his dick—hot and leaking, sliding into your mouth, fucking your throat open before he bends you over and makes a mess of your pussy. And you've got zero intention of waiting until you're home to get your hands on him.

Before you leave, you decide you need the bathroom, weaving your way through the crowded bar with Jason's hand at the small of your back, his touch warm and steady, guiding you even though you're not exactly steady yourself.

The bathroom is... well, a Gotham bar bathroom—dim, one flickering fluorescent light buzzing overhead, cracked mirror, graffiti covering the stall doors. It smells like vodka, faint piss, and one of those cheap lavender air fresheners, and honestly? You've pissed in worse. You handle your business, wash your hands, and catch your reflection in the smeared mirror.

You look... a little wrecked already. Cheeks flushed, lips glossy and a little swollen from how you've been biting at them all night. Your eyeliner's still holding on, but your hair's a mess from leaning into Jason every time you got touchy—and you always get touchy when you drink. Still, even a little tipsy and sloppy, you grin at yourself, knowing damn well Jason still looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.

You smooth your hands down your skirt, adjust your top, and stumble your way back out, only to immediately see her.

Some too-pretty bitch draping herself all over your man like she doesn't know he's taken, her stupid pink acrylic nails tracing up his arm, leaning way too close into his space like she's got a shot in hell.

And Jason? He looks exactly like you expect—bored out of his fucking mind. He doesn't smile, doesn't lean back, doesn't flirt. His body stays turned toward you, eyes scanning for you even as she talks, and the second you step back into view, his shoulders relax like Thank fuck you're back.

But you? Oh, you're seeing red.

"Excuse me?" you shout, voice cutting through the music and bar chatter like a fucking gunshot. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Jason groans under his breath—"Oh, shit." —but it's too late. You're already stomping toward them, small but furious, your heels clacking hard against the floor like you're about to fight for your goddamn life.

The girl barely gets a chance to blink before you're in her face, finger jabbing at her chest, your other hand pointing wildly at Jason like a woman unhinged.

"That's my man, you thirsty fucking skank. Go throw yourself at someone who doesn't have a girlfriend."

Jason stands immediately, his big hand wrapping around your waist, physically lifting you off the floor because you're already reaching for her hair, fully prepared to drag her across the bar.

"Doll," he says, low and firm, voice edged with both amusement and actual concern. "C'mon, pretty girl, let's go."

"No!" you shout, flailing in his grip like a feral little cat. "She—she touched you! You're mine!"

"I know, baby," Jason says, voice softer now, soothing, his lips brushing your ear as he starts hauling you toward the door. "I'm all yours, always yours, pretty girl, you know that."

The girl stares in shock, but Jason doesn't even glance back at her. His only focus is you—his loud, drunk, ridiculously hot girlfriend who's out here ready to commit assault over him, and damn if that doesn't make him feel a little smug.

Outside, the cool night air hits you, and you're still huffy, arms crossed tight, refusing to look at him. Jason tugs you into the nearest alley, far enough from the entrance that you've got a little privacy, and then he tips your chin up gently, making you meet his eyes.

"Baby," he says, soft and serious, "you know I don't give a fuck about anyone else, right? You're it for me. My perfect girl. Nobody else even exists."

You bite your lip, still pouting, but your heart melts, all fuzzy and warm at the edges. "Promise?"

"Swear on my life," Jason says, hand over his heart, even though you both know his heart's been yours since the day you stumbled into his world.

You sigh dramatically, leaning into him, forehead to his chest. "Okay," you mumble. "But if she looks at you again, I'm breaking her nose."

Jason huffs a laugh, arms wrapping tight around you, hiding his smile in your hair. "I know you will, doll."

Then it hits him. Fuck. He walked you both here. No car, no bike. And now he's got to get your tipsy, horny, fight-happy ass home on foot.

"Oh, this is gonna be a long walk," Jason mutters, but even with the impending chaos, all he feels is love.

Wild, messy, absolutely fucking insane love for his feral little girlfriend who'd burn the world down for him if he asked. Jason's big hand reaches for yours, callused fingers curling gently around your smaller ones, and you let him intertwine them, your palm snug against his, so much bigger, so warm, so him.

You look up at him, eyes still wide and pouty, lip poked out just a little, and Jason can't help it. He leans down, catching your mouth with his in a kiss that's meant to be sweet, but fuck, you're drunk and needy and soft under him, and it goes from gentle to hot and sloppy real fast.

You moan against his mouth, pressing up on your toes to get closer, tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting beer and Jason and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. Your free hand slides between you, fingers tracing down the front of his jeans until you find his dick, thick and warm, already stirring to life the second your palm cups him.

"Jesus Christ," Jason mutters against your lips, breaking the kiss with a panting breath. "Baby, you're insatiable."

"Yeah," you giggle, voice all breathy and fucked out already. "I want you so bad, Jay."

He takes a deep breath, trying to get his pulse under control, even though his cock is already hardening under your touch.

"C'mon, baby, let's get going. We'll be home in no time, yeah?"

You shake your head so violently you nearly knock yourself over, and Jason's quick, both hands grabbing your waist to steady you, brows raised in that exasperated, fond way that makes you feel like the most spoiled little brat in the world.

"No?" he asks, amusement curling in his voice. "What do you want, then?"

You pout, full-on drunk girl tantrum loading, tugging at his shirt like a needy little gremlin. "I want your dick, baby."

Jason laughs, head tipping back, the sound echoing off the brick alley walls. "I know, baby. And you'll get it." He cups your face, thumb dragging across your lower lip, eyes warm and full of affection. "Home. I'm not fuckin' you against a dumpster in Crime Alley."

You whine, actually whine, stomping your foot once for good measure. "But I'm so wet, Jay," you mumble, words all slurred and pouty. "My pussy hurts."

"Baby," Jason groans, running a hand down his face like he's in actual physical pain from trying to be a good man right now. "You are killin' me."

"So fuck me," you say, all wide-eyed, like you've cracked the fucking code.

Jason breathes deep through his nose, hands settling firm on your hips, holding you just far enough away from his dick so you can't start rubbing all over him again.

"Baby. Baby. Listen to me."

"No," you cut in, dramatically folding your arms under your tits, cleavage spilling in your too-tight top. "You listen to me. You always wanna fuck me. Why not now?"

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about needing fucking therapy, before he cups your cheeks again, squishing them until your lips pucker.

"Pretty girl, I do always wanna fuck you. But if I fuck you here, in this nasty-ass alley, I will never forgive myself. And you, my sweet, drunk little menace, will complain the whole way home about how your knees hurt or your back hurts or how you got gum in your hair from leanin' against this filthy fuckin' wall."

You blink at him, brain working overtime to process all that, and then you sniff. "Fine."

"Thank fuck," Jason sighs.

"But I'm walking all sexy so you stare at my ass the whole way."

"Baby," Jason groans, sliding a hand down to smack your ass once, hard enough to make you squeal and giggle. "You're a fuckin' nightmare."

"A sexy nightmare," you correct, wagging a finger in his face before you twirl dramatically toward the sidewalk, hips swinging like you're on a runway.

Jason follows, shaking his head, but fuck if he isn't staring at your ass just like you wanted. Even under the dim streetlights, the sway of your hips is hypnotic, that short skirt barely covering you, and all he can think about is getting you home, spreading you out, and ruining you properly.

But first? He's gotta get you both back alive.

His hand settles on the small of your back again, eyes scanning every shadow, every rooftop, every alley you pass, because it's Gotham. And drunk, horny, dramatic as you are, you're still his most precious thing—the only thing he'd throw himself in front of a bullet for without a second thought.

"Stay close, baby," he murmurs, fingers curling in your waistband, keeping you just a little closer as you both make your way down the sidewalk. "Don't need you wanderin' off."

You hum, leaning into him for a second before dancing away, spinning in a circle because you're drunk and happy and feeling yourself, and Jason knows—knows—that if you weren't so fucking adorable, he'd have lost his mind years ago.

His hand stays wrapped around yours, big and warm and strong, fingers interlocked so tight it feels like he's afraid you'll slip away if he lets go. You're not even thinking about the way his grip has a slight edge to it, the way his shoulders stay tense, scanning every shadow you pass, every figure leaning against a wall or sitting on a curb. To you, it's just Jason holding your hand like he always does, but to him, it's the only way to stop himself from grabbing the nearest asshole staring at your tits and slamming their face into a brick wall.

Because yeah, you're loud. Laughing too hard at your own jokes, voice bouncing off every building as you tell him how much you love his biceps, actually grabbing his arm with both hands and smooshing your cheek against it like it's the only pillow you ever want again.

"Baby, I swear to God, I think your arm is bigger than my whole head," you giggle, fingers barely stretching around the thickness of his bicep.

Your cheek stays pressed against him, your lips practically kissing the fabric of his jacket, and Jason just grunts, biting back a smile.

He's trying so fucking hard to stay focused. You're walking through downtown Gotham, and even though you're getting closer to Bristol, you're still technically in territory where he knows half the guys on the sidewalk have at least one weapon on them.

But you? You're bouncing beside him in your cute little skirt, tits pushed up perfectly, heels clicking on the pavement, and every time you laugh, your nipples press against the thin fabric like a filthy little tease.

Jason glances down just once, and fuck, you're not wearing a bra. His jaw clenches so tight his teeth might crack.

"Jay, Jay—hey," you tug at his arm, nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. He catches you before you fall, one strong hand on your hip, the other still holding your hand tight. "I'm okay!" you announce, way too loud, grinning up at him.

"Yeah, I see that," he mutters, tugging you closer so you're practically walking under his arm now. "Maybe let me steer, baby, before you snap one of those pretty ankles."

You just hum, leaning into his side, your arm wrapping around his waist, your cheek back against his ribs this time, and you barely reach his shoulder like this, even with the height boost from your heels.

It's obscene, really, how small you are compared to him, and Jason feels it everywhere. In the way your soft hand barely wraps around his fingers, the way your arm can't even get all the way around his torso, the way your chin tilts up so far just to meet his eyes.

It's making his dick throb again, especially with the way you keep pressing against him like you can't get close enough, your tits practically plastered to his side. And when your hand slips lower, over his hip, fingers skimming his belt? Yeah, his dick definitely stirs again, already half-hard in his jeans.

But Jason grits his teeth, eyes flicking down a side street where a couple of guys lean against a car, watching you both pass with a little too much interest.

He could end them. Real easy. But that means letting go of you for even a second, and in a place like this, that's too much time.

So instead, he focuses on getting you both to Bristol. Once you're there, it's different. Still Gotham, sure, but way less grime, way fewer threats.

"Baby, your biceps," you murmur dreamily, still snuggled into his side. "I wanna live here. Make me a bicep hammock. I could just... take a nap right here."

"Jesus Christ," Jason huffs, half-laughing, half-suffering.

His hand squeezes your hip hard enough to make you gasp softly, and your thighs press together instinctively, slick panties clinging to your skin.

And you know it's bad—for him, for you—because you can already feel how wet you are, panties soaked just from the feel of his hand and the size of his arm and the fact that Jason fucking Todd is all yours.

Every broad inch of him belongs to you, and you want him so badly your nipples ache, hard and sensitive, the cool night air brushing them through your top with every step.

Jason feels it too, the way your body stays glued to his, warm and soft and sweet, all that restless, needy energy radiating off you like heat. And even though his jaw stays tight, his eyes sharp and scanning for trouble, his dick is already thinking about the safety of your shared apartment, where he can fuck you in peace.

But finally, you make it into Bristol, and Jason feels like he can breathe again. Shoulders easing just slightly, the tension that's been coiled in his spine since you left the bar loosens a fraction, though he's still hyper-aware of every footstep behind you, every flickering streetlight, every passing car.

Gotham's quieter here, but it's still Gotham. And no sane person drives a cab through this shithole, especially not after dark, which is exactly why you're stuck walking home. Buses aren't much better—either they're not running at all, or they're full of people Jason would rather not share air with, let alone a seat.

But you? You're not thinking about cabs or buses or safety at all. You're too busy scanning the sidewalks like you're searching for treasure, except the treasure you want is a dark, secluded little alley where your man can fuck you until you're crying.

And you find one.

You stop so suddenly Jason nearly stumbles into you, and you gasp like you just discovered the lost city of gold.

"What now, doll?" he sighs, already bracing for whatever chaos is about to spill from your pretty mouth.

Your grin is downright wicked, that playful, tipsy sparkle in your eyes as you grab his arm with both hands and start walking backwards toward the alley entrance. It's tucked behind some trendy little wine bar, barely lit, and Jason's already shaking his head, planting his feet like a stubborn brick wall.

"Baby," he warns, voice low, but you're having none of it.

"Jay," you pout, stepping back into the shadows, fingers curling around his belt to tug him with you. "Please. Pleasepleaseplease. I can't wait. I'm so fucking wet, I swear it's dripping down my thighs."

"Jesus," he mutters, but his resolve is crumbling fast, especially when you grab his wrist and guide his hand under your skirt, between your thighs, pressing his fingers against the damp lace of your panties.

Jason hisses between his teeth, jaw clenched tight as his fingertips press into the soaked fabric, feeling just how messy you already are. "Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers stroking you through the lace until you're trembling. "You really are dripping."

You nod so hard it's almost comical, hips rocking into his touch, and he curses again, pulling his hand back before he loses whatever sliver of restraint he has left.

"C'mon, Jay," you murmur, voice all sweet and syrupy as you press your body against him. "No one's here. I need you so bad."

He's so fucking weak for you. He always has been. With a low, rumbling sigh, he grabs your hips and lifts you slightly off the ground, keeping your heels from clicking against the damp pavement, his strength so effortless it makes you dizzy.

Your arms loop around his neck, lips grazing his jaw, and you whisper, "Knew you couldn't resist me."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, but there's already a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he carries you further into the alley.

And to both your surprise, it's not that bad. No reeking garbage, no questionable puddles, just a slightly damp brick wall and enough privacy to make this work.

Jason pins you to the wall gently, broad hands spreading your thighs, fingers curling under the hem of your skirt to bunch it up around your hips, and the cool air against your soaked panties makes you shiver.

"We're doing this fast," he murmurs, voice dark and low as he towers over you, his body heat sinking into your skin. "Then I'm carrying your ass home and fucking you proper, got it?"

You just nod, biting your lip as your hips wiggle, trying to press against him. Before you can fully grind up against him, Jason pulls you off the wall like you weigh nothing, his big hand splayed across your back, holding you up effortlessly with just one arm.

"Hold still, baby," he murmurs, though there's a flicker of fond amusement in his voice.

You cling to him, hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, legs dangling slightly until he sets you down just long enough to shrug out of his leather jacket. Then he drapes it over your shoulders, the worn leather heavy and warm from his body heat, swallowing you whole.

"Don't want you all scratched up," he says, fingers brushing your cheek before he lifts you up and pins you back to the wall, his body following, pressing tight against yours.

The kiss that follows is messy, almost desperate, like neither of you has any patience left, his mouth slanting over yours, tongue licking deep between your parted lips. You taste like alcohol and sweetness, like the cocktails you couldn't stop sipping, and Jason tastes like beer and heat and him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against your mouth, and he rolls his hips into you, grinding his thick cock against your sopping cunt through your panties, the rough denim dragging against the soaked lace until you whimper into his mouth.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, forehead pressed to yours. "You're so fuckin' wet. I can feel it through my jeans."

"Then stop teasing," you pout, hips canting against him again, your thighs trembling from the sheer ache of needing him inside you.

"Oh, baby," Jason grins, all teeth, his hand sliding between you to push your panties aside, fingers dipping low to swipe through your slick folds, making you jerk. "Teasing's my favorite part."

"Jay," you whine, voice high and thin, your hips trying to chase his fingers as they stroke along your slit, purposefully avoiding your clit. "Please. Don't—don't tease, I'm so wet, I need you, please."

"Yeah?" He drags his fingers lower, tracing around your entrance, gathering up your slick, rubbing it slow over your throbbing clit until your whole body jerks again. "You need me that bad, baby?"

"Yes," you cry, voice pitchy and desperate, hands fisting in his shirt. "Need your dick, need you to fuck me, pleasepleaseplease—"

Jason hums low in his throat, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he watches you come undone right in front of him. "Greedy little thing," he teases, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clit until you're trembling against him. "So fuckin' needy."

"Because you made me like this," you snap, drunk enough that you barely have a filter, every single thought spilling from your lips. "You and your stupid big dick and your stupid perfect hands and your stupid hot face—"

Jason barks a laugh, cutting you off by sinking two fingers deep into your cunt with a filthy squelch that echoes through the alley, your protests melting into a soft, helpless moan.

"There we go," he murmurs, voice low and rough as his fingers pump in and out, stretching you open, slick dripping down to coat his knuckles. "Gotta open you up, baby. You know you can't take me if I don't stretch this sweet little pussy first."

You just whimper, hips rocking down onto his hand, your fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, your drunk little brain so overwhelmed by how good his fingers feel, how deep they reach, already curling to press against that soft, spongy spot inside you.

"Always so fuckin' tight," Jason mutters, thumb circling your clit as his fingers fuck into you, slow and deliberate.

You nod frantically, too far gone to do anything else, all your focus narrowed down to the way his fingers stretch and fill you, the slick sound of it obscene in the quiet alley.

"Think you can behave if I fuck you right here?" he asks, lips brushing your ear, fingers never slowing. "Or are you gonna be a noisy little brat and get us caught?"

Jason's fingers work your cunt like it's his job, those thick digits scissoring inside you, spreading you wide, your walls clenching down hard every time he drags them out only to push them back in knuckle-deep.

You're soaked, dripping all over his hand, slick and messy and obscene, and he fucking loves it. Loves the way you always need a little stretching, loves how no matter how many times he's fucked this pussy, you still go all tight and greedy on him like you're brand new every single time.

His thumb circles your clit, slow and deliberate, just enough to keep you right on the edge of frustration, never quite enough to let you fall over, and you whine—a long, high-pitched sound that makes him smirk.

"Jay," you slur, lips dragging over his jaw, sticky and soft, your fingers clawing at his back through his shirt, hips squirming helplessly against his hand. "Want your dick, baby, please."

"Shhh," Jason hums against your mouth, voice rough, fingers still fucking into you, that relentless rhythm making your thighs shake. "I've got you, baby. Let me make you cum first, yeah? Can't have you all tight and needy like this. You'll hurt yourself tryin' to take me."

"Don't care," you pout, sucking a mark into his neck, messy and wet, your tongue flicking over the spot before you nip at it, making him grunt softly. "Wanna be full, Jay, wanna feel you stretch me out, wanna feel you fuck me so deep, baby, please—"

"Jesus," Jason mutters, but there's no heat to it, just low, throaty amusement, like he can't believe how fucking desperate you get when you're drunk and horny like this.

He shifts his hand, fingers crooking inside you just right, dragging over that spot that makes you jolt, and you whimper, thighs clenching around his waist.

"Look at you," he breathes, eyes dark and hooded as he watches your face twist in pleasure, mouth all pouty and glossy, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to your temples from how hot you've gotten. "So fucking pretty when you're like this, baby. All fucked out and desperate for me."

"Because I love you," you slur, fingers fisting in his hair, tugging him down into a kiss that's all tongue and teeth, messy and clumsy and so fucking hot he groans into it. "Love your dick, love your hands, love your stupid face—"

Jason swallows your rambling with another kiss, his fingers never stopping, his thumb rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit until you're trembling, back arching, your whole body pressing into his like you're trying to crawl inside his skin.

"C'mon, baby," he whispers against your lips, voice low and dark and sweet like sin. "Cum for me. Make a mess all over my fingers, show me how bad you want me."

You sob—a high, helpless sound—as your cunt clenches down hard, your orgasm hitting you like a fucking freight train, your hips stuttering against his hand, slick gushing over his fingers and dripping down to his wrist.

"Good girl," Jason praises, kissing you through it, swallowing every little moan and whimper as his fingers keep pumping, working you through the aftershocks until you're twitching, trying to squirm away from the overstimulation.

"Too much," you mumble, slurring against his mouth, but he just hums, grinning against your lips.

"Fuck," Jason mutters, pulling his fingers from your spent pussy, shiny and dripping, your slick coating his knuckles and glistening under the dim alley light. He holds his hand up, spreading his fingers just to watch the strings of your arousal stretch between them, his lip curling into a dark little smirk. "Look at this messy little pussy, baby. You really are my perfect fuckin' girl, aren't you?"

You whimper, squirming against the wall, thighs trembling where they wrap around his waist, and Jason's grin only widens. "Can't get enough of me, can you? Drippin' just from my fingers. Fuck, baby, I'm gonna ruin you."

"Please," you mumble, words all breathless and slurred, your glossy eyes locked on his mouth like you're starving for him. "Kiss me, Jay."

He doesn't need to be told twice—his mouth crashes into yours, hot and hungry, all tongue and teeth and filthy little moans that make your head spin. You taste like your cocktails and him, and you drink down his groans like they're your favorite liquor, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging hard just to feel him grunt against your tongue.

His kiss is messy, wet, his teeth catching your bottom lip, tugging until you whine before soothing the sting with his tongue. His hand stays firm on your ass, keeping you pinned, while his other works at his belt with practiced ease, the jingle making your pussy clench down hard around nothing. Your thighs squeeze his waist, your needy body rocking against him like you're trying to catch his dick the second it's free.

"Desperate," Jason teases, voice thick with amusement, but his own breath stutters when his jeans finally slide down just enough to let his dick spring free, hot and heavy, the flushed tip already smeared with precum.

He grunts softly as he fists himself, dragging his slick thumb over the head before he ruts against your messy cunt, grinding his cock between your folds until his length is coated in your slick, sliding so easily against your soaked, swollen clit.

"Baby," you moan, head lolling back against the brick, your eyes going half-lidded, all glassy and drunk on him. "Want you so bad. Please, Jay."

"Fuck, you're so needy," he groans, angling his hips just right so the thick head of his cock notches at your entrance, pushing in just a little, stretching you open slow. "Always so tight for me, baby. So fuckin' perfect."

You whimper, hands scrabbling at his shoulders, his back, his neck—anywhere you can hold onto as he starts to push deeper, the stretch making your mouth drop open, your eyes going wide as your cunt struggles to take him, even as slick as you are.

"Every time," Jason mutters, almost to himself, watching your face, your body, your perfect pussy swallowing him inch by inch. "Every fuckin' time this pussy fights me at first. Like you forget how big my dick is until I'm stuffin' you full again."

He doesn't even bother bottoming out at first, just fucking into you shallow and rough, enough to make your body bounce against the wall, enough to make you cry out soft and sweet with every thrust.

"Jay—" you whimper, too loud, but he slaps a big hand over your mouth, muffling you, his own jaw tight as he glares down at you.

"We're still in public, baby," he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly harsh thrust, finally bottoming out in one stroke that makes your eyes roll back. "Behave. I don't wanna spend the night in jail 'cause my girl couldn't keep her pretty mouth shut."

You whimper against his palm, nodding hard, eyes still wide and glassy, and he kisses your forehead like you're not split open on his dick in the middle of a fucking alley.

"That's my good girl," he purrs, letting his hand slide down to grip your waist, both hands anchoring you now as he starts to move.

And fuck, he moves—lifting you up like you weigh nothing, only to slam you back down onto his cock, impaling you over and over, your messy little cunt squelching loud and obscene every time he bottoms out. Your slick coats his dick, smearing down his thighs, dripping onto the pavement, and he's fucking feral for it, teeth gritted, sweat beading at his temples from how tight you are.

"Fuck, baby, this pussy's made for me," he groans, his grip bruising at your hips, his cock grinding so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. "So fuckin' tight—so wet for me. Look at you, baby, takin' me so good. My perfect little slut."

"Yours," you slur, hands scrabbling at his shoulders, your head dropping back against the wall, throat exposed and begging for his mouth. "Love your dick, Jay. Love you. Love you so much."

"Love you too, baby," he grunts, barely coherent as your walls flutter around him, your cunt sucking him in so tight he can barely pull back without you chasing him. "Love this messy little pussy. Gonna fuck you stupid right here, doll. Gonna make you cum on my dick, and then I'm gonna stuff you full of cum. Even if it gets me arrested."

The words shoot straight to your core, making your pussy clamp down around him so sweet and snug that Jason has to grit his teeth, his hips stuttering just for a second as heat flashes down his spine.

"Fuck—just like that, baby," he breathes, voice low, vibrating against your neck. "Keep squeezin' me like that, doll, you're gonna milk me dry."

The sound of your cunt taking him is fucking obscene, a slick, messy squelch every time he pulls out, followed by a wet, filthy slap as he fucks back in, balls-deep. It echoes off the brick walls, mixing with his ragged grunts and your soft, breathless moans, and it's so fucking dirty it makes his cock twitch inside you.

His hands cup your ass, those big, strong hands lifting and spreading you, kneading your soft flesh as he works you up and down his cock like you're weightless, his fingers sinking deep enough to leave bruises tomorrow.

The sweet scent of your arousal fills his nose, thick and heady in the cool night air, and Jason can't help himself—he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling deep like he's getting high off the smell of your pussy.

"Always so fuckin' sweet for me," he murmurs against your skin.

His tongue flicks out to taste the sweat beading there before he sucks at your neck, hard and messy, leaving dark bruises like a brand. He soothes the sting with his tongue, a lazy, possessive stroke that makes you whimper and tighten your grip in his hair, tugging at the strands like you're trying to keep him exactly where he is.

He doesn't give a fuck if you pull every single strand out, doesn't give a shit if you ruin his scalp, because all that matters is the way your pussy feels—so fucking soft, so hot, clenching around him like you were made to take his dick. His thighs burn from the angle, his back sticky under his shirt, but none of it registers because all he can think about is how fucking good you feel, how perfectly you fit around him.

Jason knows, deep down, that this is fucking insane. He's not supposed to be fucking you in an alley in Bristol. Usually, he's the one talking you down when you're drunk and horny, steering you home with that cocky little grin, promising to fuck you into the mattress the second you walk through the door. But tonight, reason flew out the window the second you dragged him into the shadows, panties already soaked, begging for his dick like a needy little slut.

And fuck, how's he supposed to resist you when you look at him like that? When you sound like this? All soft, breathless little moans, spilling past your kiss-swollen lips as you clutch at him like you'll die if he stops? When your body trembles in his hands, your slick running down his balls, every ragged little breath carrying his name?

"Jason," you whisper, so soft and sweet it fucking kills him, your voice all wrecked from the way he's been fucking you open. "So big, baby. Feels so good."

"Yeah?" His voice drops, rough and husky, fingers digging into your ass just a little harder as he fucks you deeper, cock grinding against that soft spot inside you that makes you tremble all over. "This dick's yours, doll. Made to stretch this sweet little pussy. You're perfect, baby—fuck, you're perfect for me."

Your nails rake down his back, short little scrapes through his shirt that make his abs flex, and Jason growls low in his throat, biting at your neck, at your shoulder, anywhere he can sink his teeth into.

"So good, doll. So fuckin' tight. My messy little slut, all drunk and desperate for my dick. Gonna fuck you until you can't even stand, baby."

Your walls pulse around him like you're already close, your breath hitching in soft, uneven moans, and Jason groans against your skin, fucking you harder, faster, losing any semblance of control. His hips slap against yours, your slick painting his skin, his cock so soaked it glides into you with filthy ease.

"C'mon, doll," he whispers against your ear, voice dark and sweet, dripping filth like honey. "Be my good girl and cum for me, yeah? Let me feel you soak my dick. Let me ruin this pretty little pussy."

Jason's grip shifts, just slightly, and the angle hits different—deeper, somehow rougher, but the real kicker is how his hips grind up against your clit every time he bottoms out, his skin rubbing over that swollen little bundle of nerves.

It's not even intentional at first, just the natural press of his body against yours in this position, but once he hears the choked little moan you make, he fucking locks onto it like a bloodhound, making sure to grind against you every time his cock stretches you open.

Your head falls back, clunking lightly against the brick, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in closer, deeper. "Gonna cum," you gasp, voice thin, whiny and so fucking needy Jason feels his cock twitch inside you. "Jay—gonna cum, baby, please—"

"Yeah, you are," he rasps, kissing you quick and filthy, all tongue and teeth, biting at your lower lip before pulling back to look at you, all fucked-out and perfect. "Cum on my dick, baby. Make a mess all over me."

His thrusts turn deep and shallow, grinding against your clit with every stroke, the fat head of his cock dragging over that sweet little spot inside you until your legs start to shake. Your whole body tenses, back arching off the wall as your cunt pulses around him, gushing so hard it drips down his cock, slicking up his thighs and the inside of yours, messy and obscene and so fucking good.

"OhmyfuckingGod," you gasp, the words running together into a high-pitched moan, your body trembling in his hands. You're loud—too loud, and Jason clamps his hand over your mouth again, shushing you in that low, dangerous tone that always makes your cunt clench.

"Shhh, doll. You wanna get us caught?" he murmurs, right against your ear. "I'll stop. I fuckin' will. I'll pull out and leave you drippin', you keep bein' so fuckin' loud."

You shake your head wildly, wide, desperate eyes looking up at him, your hands clutching at his shoulders like your life depends on it. You can't stop now—you need his cum, need him to fuck it into you so deep it sticks, so deep you feel him for days.

Jason knows. Of course he knows—knows how much you love it when he pumps you full, knows how fucked-out and blissed you get when you feel him leak out of you, warm and thick and messy.

He's just about to give you what you want when—

The flash of red and blue lights paints the alley in sharp neon. You both freeze.

Jason's heart fucking stops, then kicks up so hard he can feel it in his teeth, every muscle in his body going taut like a wire ready to snap. Your eyes go wide, mouth opening in a silent gasp, fingers digging into his back hard enough to leave crescent marks through his shirt.

"Shhh, baby," he whispers again, this time more soothing than stern, his hand smoothing over your hip like that's gonna calm either of you down. "If you're quiet, they're not even gonna know we're here."

You nod fast, lip caught between your teeth, eyes darting to the mouth of the alley where the cop car slows, brake lights flaring red through the shadows.

Jason's heart pounds, his cock still buried balls-deep in your cunt, and this might actually be the stupidest, most reckless shit he's ever done—which is really saying something, considering his track record.

The car idles there for a beat too long, and you start to panic for real, breath coming too fast, your fingers clutching at him, but Jason dips down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his voice low and calm.

"Hey. It's okay, baby. They're just bored. Ain't got shit to do out here. They'll move."

And they do—after what feels like a fucking lifetime, the car finally rolls past the alley, the glow of the lights fading into the night.

"See, baby? Told you. We're good."

He grins, kissing you again, slow and sweet at first, until you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him deeper, the kiss turning sloppy and filthy all over again. Tongues sliding together, your moans humming right into his mouth, his cock twitching inside you.

"Now," Jason mutters between kisses, "where the fuck were we?"

He starts moving again, lifting you in his arms like you weigh nothing, slamming you back down onto his cock, the force of it making your whole body bounce, your slick cunt taking him so easy now after you came all over him.

Jason fucks you hard—not fast, not hurried, but with deep, brutal strokes, splitting you open every time, grinding against your clit at the end of each thrust until your breath stutters and your eyes flutter shut, head lolling back against the wall.

"Fuck, baby," Jason groans, forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged, hands locked around your waist, holding you tight like you might slip through his fingers. "You're so fuckin' tight. You feel that, doll? Feel how perfect this little pussy fits around my dick?"

You moan, soft and breathless, nails raking down his back, and Jason fucking loves it—loves how wild you get for him, how no matter how many times he's fucked you, you're still so damn tight around him.

"Love this pussy, baby," he mutters, voice thick and low, "love ruinin' you. My messy little slut, all drunk and dripping for me. Fuckin' perfect."

He can't stop kissing you, can't stop tasting your lips, your tongue, the little whimpers you feed him between kisses, his hips never slowing, driving into you over and over, fucking you so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat.

He knows you need to get the fuck out of here before the cops come back, before some nosey old lady comes out of that wine bar and catches you. But your pussy's too good, too sweet and snug, and if he doesn't cum soon, he might actually lose his mind.

Jason's pace shifts—rougher now, driven by that primal need to fill you up, to mark you inside and out, to make sure no one could even think about touching you after this. His thrusts slam into you with brutal precision, the thick length of his cock dragging along every slick, swollen inch of your cunt, stretching you wide around him, splitting you open over and over until your pussy feels raw and tender and so fucking full it's like you can't take a breath without feeling him buried deep inside you.

He knows you can feel every vein, every ridge, the blunt head of his cock grinding right against your cervix, and fuck, you're so wet—dripping all over him, down his thighs, pooling between you, every thrust making a filthy squelch echo down the alley. If anyone walked past right now, there wouldn't be a doubt what's happening here.

Not with the way your slick coats his cock, makes every thrust slippery and obscene, not with the way your breathy little moans hitch every time he bottoms out, not with the way his hips slap against yours, skin sticky with sweat and arousal.

Your thoughts are a fucking mess—the only things running through your drunk, fucked-out brain are Jason, dick, cum, more. You can't think past the way his cock stretches you, how perfect it feels to be pinned up like this, taken apart by him like you're nothing but a toy, his strong arms the only thing keeping you up. You swear you can feel him everywhere, like he's inside your bones, like the next time you take a step you'll still feel the heavy weight of him between your legs.

He kisses you again, messy and desperate, tongues sliding together, teeth clashing, spit slicking up your chin, but neither of you give a fuck. Your fingers knot in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt into your mouth, and he swears he could cum from just this—from the taste of you, the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the soft little whimpers you spill into his mouth every time his cock hits that sweet spot.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, forehead pressed to yours, sweat beading at his temple, "this pussy's so fuckin' messy. So fuckin' tight. Can barely move, you're clenching so hard. You gonna cum again for me, doll? Gonna make a mess all over my dick?"

You nod, whining, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes because it's too much—too good, too deep, too full—but you don't want him to stop. "Please, Jay—wanna cum with you, wanna feel you fill me up."

"Yeah?" His thrusts speed up, hips snapping into you hard and fast, dragging you down onto him like a ragdoll. "Wanna feel me cum inside this needy little pussy? Stuff you so full it leaks out of you? You fuckin' love it, don't you?"

You whimper, nails biting into his skin, legs tightening around his waist, and you're so fucking close—right on the edge, your whole body buzzing, heat coiling low in your belly, until one perfect grind of his cock against your clit sends you over, your cunt fluttering around him, sucking him in so deep.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," you chant, head falling back against the wall, eyes rolling back, body shaking in his grip as you gush all over him, slick dripping down his cock, onto the pavement, messy and obscene.

"Fuck—there you go, baby. Fuckin' soak me," Jason groans, his rhythm stuttering, hips jerking, grip bruising around your waist. "That's my good fuckin' girl."

And then he's right behind you, cock throbbing, thick ropes of cum spilling into you, hot and heavy, pumping against your cervix until you can feel it everywhere, until you swear it's gonna leak out of your mouth.

His head drops to your shoulder, mouth open against your skin, breath ragged as his hips keep moving, slow, deep thrusts fucking his cum deeper into you, even though it's already dripping down his dick, slicking up your inner thighs.

But he's not done—not yet.

You barely catch your breath before he starts moving again, overstimulated and tender, but his dick's still hard, still hungry, and he loves you like this—drunk on him, too dumb to think about anything except the way he fills you up, the way he uses you like his personal fucktoy.

"Jason," you slur, clinging to him, nails digging into his scalp, his back, anywhere you can reach, "too much—too much—"

"You can take it, baby," he purrs, kissing you again, softer now, but still deep, still filthy. "Know you can take it for me. One more, yeah? Be my good girl."

And fuck, of course you're his good girl. Of course you'll give him one more.

He pounds into you harder, faster, sloppy and desperate, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the wet squelch of your cunt, the sweet scent of your arousal thick in the air, his nose buried in your neck, sucking messy bruises into your skin as his fingers grip your ass, kneading and spreading you, watching the way his cock disappears inside you over and over again.

Your thoughts are gone—totally fucked out, only able to focus on the way he fills you, the way his cum squelches out around his cock every time he thrusts back in.

And Jason? Jason's fucking feral—eyes locked on the sight of his cock splitting you open, cunt so swollen and puffy, all slicked up with both of you, and all he can think about is how fucking perfect you are.

"Look at you, baby," he whispers, voice low and reverent, fingers sliding between your bodies to rub your clit, even though you're already so sensitive you're trembling. "My perfect little pussy. Made to take me. Made to get fucked dumb, stuffed full of my cum. My sweet girl."

And that's all it takes—one more twist of his fingers, one more deep thrust, and you're cumming again, body jerking in his hands, cunt milking him for every last drop.

Jason kisses you through it, drinking down your whimpers, your soft little cries, soothing you with his tongue even as his hips finally slow, his cock still thick and heavy inside you, keeping every messy drop right where it belongs.

"Good girl," he breathes against your lips, forehead resting against yours, hands smoothing over your hips, "my perfect, messy girl."

Your body is deadweight in his arms, completely boneless and blissed out, every limb heavy with exhaustion and the sweet, drugged haze of post-fuck bliss. You're still trembling, but not just from the aftershocks—the cool night air prickles at your exposed skin, goosebumps pebbling over your arms, your thighs, the still-damp mess between your legs.

Jason feels it immediately, the way your soft, bare skin shivers against his, and it sends a twist of guilt through his gut—fucking you into a fucking alley like some horny teenager. But truth be told, it was your idea.

But before he can even say anything, your hands cup his face, small fingers curled around the rough edges of his jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and you kiss him. It's slow this time—messy, sure, still tasting like beer and sweat and something sweet that's all you—but it lingers, softer, deeper, your tongue curling into his mouth, tracing along his teeth, savoring him like you need to commit the taste of him to memory.

You're still trembling, but the heat between your bodies eases it just a little, your fingers combing through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp as you melt into him, the kiss lasting long enough that his dick gives a lazy twitch inside you again, still hard even after he just filled you to the brim.

Finally, you pull back, lips red and swollen, your face glowing with the kind of fucked-out bliss that makes his chest ache with pride.

He smirks down at you, brushing a strand of hair off your face as he mutters, "You're fuckin' insane, pretty girl."

You giggle, that sweet little drunken giggle that makes his cock twitch again, and your head tilts back against the wall. "I thought I was gonna die without your dick, baby."

He groans, shaking his head, but there's no real exasperation there—just affection under the rasp of his voice. "Yeah, like I said. Fuckin' insane."

But you're already nuzzling into his neck, soft lips brushing his skin, your breath warm and sleepy against his throat. You smell like sweat and sex, all wrapped up in that sweet scent that's all you, and his arms tighten around you without thinking.

His lips press to the side of your head, lingering there as he murmurs, "C'mon, we need to get you home, yeah?"

You pout, face still buried in his neck. "Can't move. "M tired. And cold."

"I know, baby," he soothes, one big hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "I know. I'll carry you."

You scoff weakly, lifting your head just enough to squint up at him. "We're far from home."

"So?" he shrugs, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't act like you weigh a ton of fuckin' bricks."

You giggle again, arms going slack around his neck as you settle more comfortably into his hold, cheek squished against his shoulder. Jason's hands ease under your thighs, holding you up as gently as he can while he slowly pulls out, your slick warmth clinging to his cock, your messy cunt fluttering around nothing as his cum immediately starts to drip down.

You whimper softly at the loss, fingers curling into his shirt, but before you can complain, he's already reaching down, sliding your panties back up over your swollen cunt. Not to keep you modest—no, that ship sailed about four orgasms ago—but just to keep as much of his cum inside you as possible. He watches the way the lace darkens immediately, soaked through from the mess he made of you, and his cock twitches again in the cool air.

He sets you down carefully, but your knees buckle instantly, legs still shaking too hard to hold you up. "Jesus, baby," he chuckles, steadying you with one arm as he tucks his cock back into his jeans, adjusting them like he didn't just ruin you against an alley wall. "Gonna have to work on your stamina."

"Don't be mean," you pout, swaying a little as he smooths your skirt back down over your thighs—not that it covers much, but at least it's an attempt at decency.

Then he grabs his jacket from your shoulders, wrapping it around you properly this time, tugging your arms through the sleeves before zipping it all the way up. It's way too big, swallowing your smaller frame whole, and the sight makes him laugh—your fucked-out face peeking up at him from inside the oversized jacket, makeup smeared, mascara smudged under your eyes, lips still swollen and shiny with spit and his kisses.

You pout harder at his laugh, but it only makes him grin wider. "Shut up."

"Never," he says, scooping you back into his arms like you weigh nothing at all. You try to protest weakly, but he shushes you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Just let me take care of you, baby. Bet those pretty little feet already hurt in those heels."

And you can't even argue because he's fucking right, and honestly? Being carried sounds pretty nice right now.

Jason's grip adjusts as he walks, arms cradling you tighter to his chest, your body boneless and pliant in his hold. You're so out of it, head resting against his shoulder, lips slightly parted, soft breath warming his skin every few seconds. His jacket drowns you, the sleeves hanging past your hands, and he can feel the damp heat between your thighs seeping into the fabric where you're curled against him.

You're a mess—hair sticking to your forehead, skin sticky with sweat, makeup smudged in every direction, and his cum still leaking slowly down your thigh, leaving shiny streaks against your skin. But fuck if you aren't the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

He carries you easily, years of strength training making your weight feel like nothing. His feet move on autopilot, familiar with the route home, but his mind? That's a fucking mess.

Because Jason Todd doesn't do this. Doesn't fuck his girl drunk in a dirty alley with the risk of cops busting them. He's the one who's usually dragging your ass home before you get yourself into trouble, lecturing you about safety, tucking you into bed with water and painkillers. But tonight?

Tonight you begged so sweetly, moaned so filthy, kissed him so needy that all his common sense evaporated. And now he's here, hauling your wrecked body home, knowing you're gonna be sore as hell tomorrow—all his fault. And he can't even bring himself to regret it.

The door creaks softly when he shoulders it open, the apartment dim and quiet, and by the time he crosses the threshold, you're completely asleep against him. Your breath is soft and steady, face smushed into his neck, lips still a little wet from those sloppy kisses you couldn't stop giving him.

He sighs, kissing the top of your head before carrying you straight to the bathroom, flicking the light on with his elbow. The bright light makes you stir, a soft whimper leaving your throat, but you don't wake until he starts peppering little kisses across your face. Your nose first, then your forehead, then your cheeks—until your lashes flutter, and you blink up at him, all confused and sleepy and perfect.

"We're home, baby," he murmurs, voice soft.

You look around, eyes squinting at the light, brow furrowing as you take in the bathroom. "Huh?"

It's so adorably confused, so genuine, that Jason can't help but laugh.

"Yeah, doll," he grins, setting you down on wobbly feet. "We made it."

You sway a little, legs still weak, and he steadies you with one hand while the other shrugs his jacket off your shoulders, tossing it over the counter. Then he sinks to his knees, big hands cupping your ankles as he carefully unbuckles your heels, sliding them off one by one.

His palms rub over your skin, easing the ache, and he leans in to press a kiss to your calf before standing again. "Feet hurt?"

You nod sleepily, arms looping lazily around his neck, and he smiles. "Told you."

He gets the water running, warm but not too hot, and undresses you like you're made of glass—peeling the sweat-damp top and skirt from your skin, sliding your panties down those shaky legs, until you're bare and glowing under the bright bathroom light.

His own clothes come off fast, jeans and t-shirt kicked into the corner, and then he's guiding you under the spray, his big body crowding in behind you, keeping you steady.

You whine, soft and pitiful, as the water hits your oversensitive skin. "So tired," you mumble, cheek pressed to his chest.

"I know, baby," he soothes, hands moving quickly—gentle but efficient, washing away your makeup, the sweat and cum and alley grime, fingers gliding between your legs, over your thighs, along your back.

Every protest, every sleepy complaint, gets kissed away—a kiss to your shoulder, your temple, your lips. By the time he's rinsed you off, you're barely awake, your body slumping against him as he wraps you in a towel and carries you straight to bed.

You hit the mattress face-first, towel half hanging off, and you're out like a light in under five seconds.

Jason watches you for a second, shaking his head with a fond smile. "Hopeless."

He tries—he really does—to dress you at least in one of his shirts, but you don't even budge, and honestly? If you wanna sleep naked, who the fuck is he to stop you? Less work for him in the morning. He tosses the towels back into the bathroom, pulls on a pair of boxers, and slides into bed beside you.

The second his body heat hits you, you roll into him, face pressed to his chest, soft thigh hitching over his hip like you can't stand to have any space between you. His arm curls around your waist automatically, palm sliding up the curve of your ass, along your back, tracing lazy patterns across your bare skin.

He's still thinking—about you, about tonight, about how the fuck you've got him wrapped around your little finger so tightly that one pout can ruin every ounce of self-control he's got. And it should piss him off. Should make him wanna teach you a lesson. But instead, it just makes him want to ruin you again, until you forget your own fucking name.

"Insane," he mutters into your hair, mouth curling into a grin.

But you're his insane, and that's all that fucking matters.

[writingwithgeoffrey]

It was all fun and games, always. you would have your silly little monologues, they would chase you around your little town—his slice of happiness, as you called it—you would push back, they would catch you … the usual routine for a Monday morning.

They knew you never caused any real harm. Mostly, you used your telekinesis to pluck a feather from a chicken or tickle a cow’s nose. Occasionally, you’d pull out something really devilish and paint someone’s entire house after they’d asked for it—the wrong color, obviously, just to make them mad.

Your laughter could often be heard filling the streets, a mix of pure enjoyment and mischievous debauchery. People would smile and wave, and often look the other way, just because, admittedly, your antics brought them joy, as well.

Not the superheroes. They always deemed you a waste of time, a nuisance that needed just one more day behind bars to stop you antics. They always scolded you, told you to stay out of trouble.

Really, though, on their days off, you were friends. It wasn’t ever a surprise to see you sitting outside a little diner with one of the superheroes, just chatting it up and enjoying your morning coffee. The superheroes always seemed to be fond of the more vegetarian options, opting for a “save as much life as possible” mindset. You ate meat because you thought bacon was delicious, nothing more.

It was an idyllic life, and you would’ve been content to continue well into your golden years. You should’ve known it was too good.

It started as a soft rumble through the ground underfoot, but you could feel it as clearly as if you were on a boat in the ocean. It rocked you, silenced you in your daily breakfast with a superhero, and drove you to stand. The superhero asked what was wrong. You silenced them.

A moment later, the town square erupted in a burst of magma, spewing molten lava across the cobblestones—cobblestones you’d helped shave and place as part of the renovations.

From within the fire emerged a single figure, one whom you recognized as a villain. Not a small-town villain like you, but a true-blue, willing-to-kill, supervillain. You stood, nervous, watching as the villain raised their hand, and your breath caught. In the villain’s grasp hung one of the local superheroes. Even from a distance, you could see they weren’t breathing.

“N-no …” You took a staggering step backward. You were supposed to have lunch with them tomorrow.

“God, these superheroes are annoying.” The villain tossed the body aside. You watched it roll to an unceremonious stop. “I thought there’d be less of them out in the countryside.”

“Stay here,” the superhero told you, and in a rush of wind, they flew toward the villain.

You could only watch as the superhero was caught by a hand through their stomach, coughing up blood onto the villain’s already crimson coat. Your breath hitched as you collapsed against the table.

“Hmph. A waste of my time, honestly. If I’d have known you would be this easy to dispatch, I would’ve just built my base already.”

A flick of the wrist was all it took for the superhero to be tossed aside. They landed at your feet, bleeding out, with no way to help them. Before you knew it, they were gone.

“Hmm. You there.”

You lifted your gaze to meet the villain’s. His eyes were full of boredom, with only the vaguest hint of intrigue. Yours was full of hatred, and rage, and a thirst for vengeance. This was your town, and the villain would pay.

“Ooh, I like that fire in your eyes. Why don’t you become my henchman?”

You raised your hand. Your powers rose to their fullest potential. You swore you’d never do this again, but now, you had no choice. He had decided to mess with the town you called home. The town that you loved and that loved you right back. You would show him just how wrong he was.

“What, you think I’m scared of a little person like you? Did you not see what I just did?”

You didn’t honor him with a verbal response. All you did was grab onto his limbs with your power, focus it, narrow your gaze, and in an instant, he was gone, compressed into a ball of nothingness less than a micrometer across. Whatever matter he may have once been turned into energy, but even that was contained by your power.

It didn’t matter, though. You dropped to your knees beside the superhero, brushed the hair from their lifeless eyes, tried your hardest to smile through the pain, and failed. Your tears still came. Nothing would ever stop them. Not even a return to the life you had once loved.

All because some fool thought they could intrude on your turf.

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At most, you annoy the local supers, but your crimes never hurt anyone. To you it's all good fun. Things change when a truly sadistic supervillain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[munsonsmixtapes]

I Never Got to Say Goodbye

ex boyfriend!eddie x reader

You see Eddie over a year after your break up and you both realize that you never stopped loving each other

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex, hurt/comfort, angst, a guy gets handsy with reader

You sit at your vanity in your room, dreading to get ready. You don’t even want to go out, but you feel like you have no choice. Your friends are trying to get you to meet someone new but how can you when you’re still not over your ex? 

You’re not even sure why you broke up anymore and you’re wondering if he feels the same. If he lies awake playing your breakup over and over, wishing that you would have just stayed together. But you suppose it was just a “right person, wrong time” sort of thing, that it was more the situation than anything that led to your relationship ending. 

You put on your makeup and get dressed as you put on the mixtape that one of your roommates had made for you. You’re dancing around as get ready, loving every song that’s been put onto it. She knows you so well, knows exactly what you like. But then you freeze when the familiar guitar riff floats through your ears. 

“I can’t dance,” you tell Eddie as he guides you around your living room. He’s trying and failing to teach you how to dance but he’s just so determined to show you how. 

“Sure you can,” he says, turning up the volume of the stereo before taking your hands in his. He steps forward and you step back as he guides you through the moves, being so gentle with you like always. “Eyes on me, okay?” 

You nod and keep your eyes on his pretty brown ones as he slowly shows you the steps. You’re not even sure how he learned this but you love seeing the fluid steps and wonder how he does it so well. There’s just so much about him that you want to know and you hope you’re together long enough to find out every single thing about him.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your flashback and you’re quick to turn off the music before hurrying to answer it. Janet is on the other side, a bright smile plastered on her face like always. You know she’s waiting on your to finish so you all can leave and you’re actually kind of pissed at her for not at least letting you finish your flashback. 

You’ve been having a lot of those lately. It’s like your brain is trying to torture you with all of the memories because it knows just how much you’ve been missing Eddie. You miss him so much that it actually hurts. It’s to the point where it’s gotten so painful to think about but you don’t want the memories to stop.

You grab your purse and follow Janet and the other girls out the door. Luckily, the club is just down the street so you don’t have to hail a cab to get there. They’re all talking about finding someone to hook up with but of course, all you’re thinking about is your ex and how much he would have hated a place like this.

Being in that close proximity to strangers-drunk strangers at that-was his worst nightmare and the loud music was so overstimulating which you totally understood. It was something that he would always push through for you because of how much you loved it and now you know you’re going to miss having him by your side, whispering silly things into your ear and staring down any man who even looked at you. 

As the four of you get in line, Violet slips some condoms into your purse that you’re sure you’re not even going to need but you let her anyway. It’s easier not to put up a fight, especially when they’re all just trying to help. 

The club is newer and allegedly very hard to get into and as you look up at the name, you notice that it sounds very familiar, something you’ve heard a billion times but you’re sure that it’s not actually what you’re thinking of. 

“Ed’s?” You ask with a laugh. “That’s the name of a bar, Eddie, not a club. And why do you want to own a club anyway? That’s not exactly your scene.” 

“For you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world before pressing a kiss to your lips. “I want you to have a place you can call your own, where you can make the decisions. You always complain about the music and the prices and now you’d be able to have whatever you want.” 

“You’re doing this for me?” You feel tears welling up in your eyes at the gesture, wondering how you got so lucky to have someone who cares that much about you. That pays that much attention and is willing to drop a bunch of money just so you could be happy. 

“I’d do anything for you, you know that,” he winks and your heart flutters. 

“Ed’s,” you nod, having a newfound love for the name. “I like it.” You lay your head on Eddie’s chest while he runs his fingers through your hair, your favorite lullaby. 

“I thought you might.” 

You’re thrown back into real life to the bouncer outside the club asking for your ID. When did you get to the front of the line? Did you really zone out of that long? 

You shake the thought away and pull your wallet out of your purse, retrieving your ID and handing it to him. Once he sees that you’re of age, he hands it back and you head inside. As you walk through the doors and take in everything, you still think about how familiar everything looks, almost as if you’ve seen it before. But it can’t be what you think it is…can it?

Your friends have separated from you yet again so you head to the bar for a much needed drink. As soon as you sit at the bar, you look around and see just how busy it is. The bartenders are working hard to stay on top of their orders and as much as you really want a drink, you’re willing to wait as long as you need to. 

You pick up the menu and look at the drinks, the deja vu coming over you again as the names all sound familiar. They’re based on metal songs, songs that you’ve heard so many times you could sing them from memory. 

They would all play so loudly in Eddie’s car as you’d drive around town, screaming the lyrics as loud as you could through giggles because you were just so happy to be around each other. 

You haven’t even been able to listen to any of them since the breakup because it just hurts too much. At first, you were only listening to them because of Eddie, but over time, you really grew to appreciate the genre and even started listening to them on your own. 

Eventually, one of the bartenders comes over to take your order and your mouth falls open as you make eye contact with him. You definitely must be hallucinating because he looks so much like Eddie. As you stare at him, taking in his features, his longer hair, his beard, and nose ring, his own eyes widen which causes you to believe that he is in fact real. 

The last you heard, he was in Chicago. What was he doing back in New York? And why hadn’t he told you? Oh, that’s right. He probably doesn’t have your number anymore and considering that you haven’t kept in contact, you don’t really deserve to know what’s going on in his life anymore. 

And that just kills you. You wonder how much about him has changed besides his appearance. He obviously still opened the club even though you aren’t together anymore. And it seems to be doing really well so you can’t help but feel your heart swell with pride. He got everything he ever wanted. And the stab to the chest is that he didn’t even need your help to do it. 

“What can I get for you?” He asks and now you don’t even want a drink. You want him to sit next to you while you tell each other everything that’s happened over the past year. You want to tell him just how much you fucking miss him. 

“Rum and Coke,” you reply and he smiles, loving to see that you’re still ordering the same drink. 

“You got it,” he nods and moves around the bar, fixing the drink. You watch him, staring at his back, wishing you could hug him from behind like you always used to do. He’d just laugh and turn around , wrapping his arms around you and giving you a squeeze. You miss everything about him, but you’re pretty sure you miss his hugs the most. They were always so tight and long, his favorite way to show you just how much he loved you. 

Loved. As in, past tense. You never stopped loving him but you’re not sure if he still loves you. Considering how he’s been treating you like every other customer, you don’t think he does. You almost want to just get up and leave but he sets your drink on the bar in front of you. 

“One rum and coke,” he says, wiping his hands off on a towel and you can’t even look him in the eye. It’s just too painful. 

Eddie can’t fucking believe that you’re here. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you broke up, well, more specifically, that day and how much he regrets the whole thing. It still plays in his head on a loop, torturing him. What he would give to go back in time and beg you to stay.

“So what are you saying?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Surely you’re not suggesting what he thinks you are. No way are you breaking up with him. You just can’t be. You’ve been through far too much to just give up on each other.

“I’m saying that what’s the point of even being together if we can’t be together? We’re both always busy and we see each other once every few weeks. That’s not a relationship Eddie.” He knows your right, but he’s sure that you just need to push through and you’ll get through it just like the two of you have every time you’ve had something you needed to work through.

“So you want to break up?” He almost looks like he’s going to cry and you just can’t bear to look at him if he does. You don’t need this to be any harder than it already is.

“I didn’t say that…but I don’t see any other choice.” You’re both crying now and the whole thing is just pitiful, the two of you looking at each other with tears streaming down your faces, having a conversation you never thought you would. 

“No. No, we can make this work.” He’s taking your hands in his and as much as you love that he’s fighting for you, you know you just can’t keep going like this.

“How?” You ask and he reaches up and wipes your tears, resting his hands on your cheeks. This is one thing he just can’t fix and that breaks you.

“I don’t know. I guess maybe it’s for the best,” he shrugs, finally seeing it from your perspective. He feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest and he’s not entirely sure what he should do about it. You’re always there to fix things for him and the one time he really needs you, you’re not going to be there.

“I guess so,” you sniff, the two of you now breaking into sobs, knowing that things between the two of you will never be the same. 

You moved your stuff out of his apartment that week and you both cried the whole time, the pain all consuming as he helped you pack up your stuff, being his sweet self which just added salt to the wound. You broke up with him and he still helped you move your stuff, being nothing but a gentleman about the whole thing. 

He didn’t even beg you to stay or anything like you thought he would. He just silently helped you pack stuff into boxes then put it all in the truck you rented. All he did was cry, not even uttering a single word to you as he did so. 

He hasn’t seen you since that day and he has no idea how you got even more beautiful since then. You’re wearing a pretty silver dress and the biggest standout is that you’ve cut your hair. The short style looks good on you, but Eddie thinks that everything looks good on you. 

He doesn’t know how he ever let you slip through his fingers, who he let you move your stuff out of his apartment, why he even went as far as helping you pack everything up. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do but he felt like it was the right thing for both of you. 

But now that you’re here tonight, he’s wondering if it’s fate giving him a second chance. God, if he’s offered one, he’s going to take it. Just thinking about it, he feels the weight on his chest lifting, like everything finally makes sense again. 

You’re sipping on your drink so elegantly, giggling with a man who’s now occupying the stool to the left of you. You seem to be having a good time and now you’re holding Eddie’s heart in your hand, squeezing it as you continue to giggle with the man and he can feel it, his chest aching as he watches you slip through his fingers once again. 

But as he’s turning his back to help the other customers, he sees the man’s hand sliding up your thigh and something about watching this happen is making his skin crawl. Just thinking about this guy touching you like that makes him want to break every single one of his fingers, especially because of how uncomfortable you look. 

You’re trying to scoot away but don’t have the strength, the guy grabbing hold of your arm and holding you there so you’re unable to move. Even from your profile, he can see the fear in your eyes as you try to push him off. 

 Eddie’s had enough of this and rounds the bar, grabbing hold of the guy and pulling him off the stool. As soon as he looks the guy in the eyes, seeing that he’s not even phased tells Eddie that he does this a lot and that doesn’t sit right with him. He’s seen red now as he holds the guy by his shirt and he knows he really shouldn’t but before he can stop himself, he raises his fist and punches him square in the face before letting security take care of him. 

He shakes his fist afterwards because of the tingly feeling just as you’re throwing yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you bury your face into it. He doesn’t exactly know what’s going on, pretty sure that you’re trying to thank him, but he doesn’t need it. He did it because it was the right thing and honestly would have done it for anyone. 

You pull away and Eddie feels every part of him ache when he sees that you’re crying. He notices your face change, your eyes widen as you slip your arms from him, almost as if you think that you’ve made a mistake.  

“I’m sorry,” you tell him as you step away, quickly adjusting your dress before wiping your tears from your cheeks. There was a time where that was Eddie’s job but being chronically single since the breakup, you’ve learned to do it for yourself again 

“For what?” He asks, tilting his head to the side as he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans to prevent from reaching out for you. 

“For hugging you,” you reply as if it’s obvious, but clearly it’s not since he’s still looking at you like a confused puppy. Has he always been this adorable? 

“Baby-” he cuts himself off, the nickname coming so naturally like it hasn't been months since he’s called you that. “You can hug me anytime you want. Especially after that.” 

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “This is just weird for me, I guess. I-I wasn’t expecting to see you here and I guess old feelings are just flooding back.” You’re chuckling awkwardly like you shouldn’t be saying it, but it’s honestly music to Eddie's ears.

Eddie’s brain short circuits as you finish speaking. Old feelings? So you don’t still love him. You don’t feel the same way as he does and that absolutely kills him. This whole thing has just become torture but he can’t get himself to walk away because he’s still wrapped around your goddamn finger. Some things just never change. 

“Well, I um-” you cut yourself off, now feeling flustered. “I should get back to my friends,” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder and Eddie couldn’t be more disappointed. He really wishes he had more time with you, realizing just how much he missed you now that you’re leaving again. If he doesn’t say something now, he’s going to be kicking himself for the rest of his life. 

“Wait,” he calls after you and you turn around, clearly caught off guard by him still having something to say. “I get off in about an hour. Do you want to…go somewhere?” 

“Eddie…” You look hesitant, almost caught off guard and now he’s trying to think of how he can backtrack since he’s clearly made you uncomfortable. 

“I just want to talk.” You think about it and Eddie can practically see the gears turning in your head. You want to, you really do, but there’s so much that you want to say that you probably shouldn’t. 

You want to tell him how much you miss him, how you miss being wrapped up in his arms, the way he’d squeeze you tight before the two of you fell asleep. You miss the humming that he did or the tv constantly playing on low volume in the background because he hates silence. 

You miss his kisses and even though it’s been over a year since your last one, you still vividly remember what his lips felt like. They were almost always chapped and he often tasted like the mint gum he chewed to cover up the tobacco for you. 

“Okay, yeah,” you nod, craving to be in his presence so badly. Being here with him now, all of that anxiety and dread you’ve been carrying around with you is gone, replaced with warmth that’s spreading throughout your body, the calm that always coursed through you when you were around him. For the first time in so long, you finally feel like you’re home. 

-

Eddie’s feeling clammy as he stands outside the club. He’s smoking a cigarette to help ease his anxiety but it’s not working. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to talk to you. Maybe because there’s so much uncertainty. There’s so much he wants to say and he’s unsure how you’re going to take it all. He wants to tell you just how much he misses you, how much he still loves you. It’s fucking breaking him being apart from you and when you left, he felt like he lost his purpose, his passion for everything gone with you in the moving truck. 

And the thing is, he doesn’t even blame you for leaving because what else were you supposed to do? That’s what happens when people break up. He just wishes he had gotten the chance to say goodbye since you made the decision to leave while he was at work. He got home and all of your stuff was gone, those cute little mugs you had collected over the years gone from the kitchen cabinet, your books that you would read to him every night before bed disappeared from his bookshelf along with everything else that you owned. 

Seeing you tonight made his feelings for you even stronger and now he can’t even fight them off like he usually does. They have to make themselves known, wanting Eddie to not deny them anymore. He guesses he can’t now and he honestly has no idea what he’s going to say to you without looking like a lovesick fool. 

So he just continues to smoke his cigarette until it’s gone, then reaches for his pack to get another one when you exit the club, giggling with your friends before saying goodbye to them and heading over to him. You’ve gotten even more beautiful since he last saw you a couple hours ago and it hurts so bad knowing that he can’t have you. After getting your closure, the two of you will go your separate ways and Eddie will go home to a bottle of tequila and put on the mixtape he made for you while he drinks until he cries himself to sleep. 

He’s pathetic and he knows it. He’s imagining you telling him that you miss him too then sharing a kiss that’s filled with fireworks. He really needs to get a grip and stop wishing for something that will never happen.

“So,” you speak up, standing there awkwardly as you fiddle with the strap of your purse in your hands. “Where are we going?” Eddie completely forgot to come up with a spot and now he’s panicking, saying the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Dina’s,” he says as he takes one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out underneath his boot. Your eyes widen at the name, memories flooding your mind of sitting in your favorite booth, the two of you giggling over pancakes and a milkshake with two straws. 

Eddie suggesting that place is like a stab to the gut, too painful to go there and try to relive the good memories of your failed relationship, but you think that maybe it won’t be too bad. 

“Dina’s, wow, I haven’t been there since-” you cut yourself off, wondering if this is even a good idea, talking things over with your ex, bringing up the past as you both mourn what could have been. You’re just not sure if you should be doing this. Maybe it’s not too late to catch a cab and go home.

“Since our anniversary,” Eddie finishes, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, seeing that you’re not wearing one, your shoulders bare, your arms wrapping tighter around your body to try and warm yourself up but it’s not working. It’s taking everything in him not to give you the jacket right off his back but he knows you won’t take it, too stubborn like always. 

“Right,” you nod, knowing that this will be nothing like that. It will just be an awkward and painful conversation that you really wished you hadn’t agreed to. You have tried so hard not to think about Eddie, pushing out every single thought you’ve had but there is always going to be little pieces of him sprinkled into your life. Whether you like it or not, there’s always going to be something that reminds you of him, taking you back to that painful place where you left him as you moved out that day. 

Eddie leads you to his van and you can’t help but feel like this is a date. You wish it was, though. Maybe you’ll be able to turn everything around and he’ll be your boyfriend again. Or your friend at the very least. 

He opens the passenger door like he always used to and helps you into the van and it’s just like old times. You look around the van as he rounds the hood and it looks exactly the same, the stickers that have been on the dash since you’ve known him are still there, even the ones you gave him. 

They’re curling up at the edges, the adhesive wearing off, but that only means that he’s loved them so much that they’ve been there a while. You run your fingers over them as Eddie gets into the driver’s seat, watching you from where he’s sitting with a smile that’s filled with admiration. 

He starts up the van and catches you singing along to the next song on the tape he’s got in. It’s the last one you made for him that he plays in a loop because apparently he loves to torture himself. It’s got his name written across it in your handwriting with sloppily drawn hearts all over it. 

He can’t keep that stupid smile off of his face and joins you, both of you laughing through your duet as if no time has passed. Things are so different now but one thing you at least know for sure is that Eddie still loves ABBA. 

You sing the rest of the song, your laughter fading away as another one starts and now it’s just awkward silence. Neither of you know what to say even though you unknowingly still love each other. If only the two of you could get over your anxiety and just say it already. 

But you can’t. You won’t. You already hurt him once and you’re not going to do it again. He’s doing so well and you’re not going to stumble into his life and claim your have feelings for him when he’s definitely over you. 

If only you could see how lovesick Eddie still is. If only you could get back all the cobwebs that have gathered in your past and see the future that’s right in front of you. Eddie is still as head over heels for you as he’s always been. He never stopped loving you even when everything went to shit. He’s tried, god, he’s tried. He’s wanted to forget you, but you’re always still there, stuck in his mind forever. 

He pulls up to the restaurant and you’re thrown back in time again, another flashback that you can’t seem to escape as much as you want to. You remember the tender touches of your hands across the table and the loving stares and now you’re just sitting across from each other like two people on a blind date. 

You hate that you still remember your exact orders even though you haven’t even thought about this place since the last time you sat in this very booth. His hand is resting on the table as he looks at the menus and god, you just want to reach for it, to know if they’re as rough as you remember. You hope he still uses that lotion you always used to buy him. 

He’s sitting there, looking so pretty with his hair tucked behind one ear, moving an unlit cigarette between his fingers that’s always been a nervous habit. You hate that he’s nervous but you completely understand why. This is uncharted territory. You’re completely different people now and this whole thing was completely unplanned. 

You mimic him and look at your own menu but you’re not even hungry. You’re actually feeling sick thinking about why you’re actually here. You’re nervous as shit to have this conversation. You just know he’s going to break your heart and you suppose you can’t even be upset with him since you deserve it for leaving him all that time ago without even so much a goodbye. But the thing is, you actually actually left because you were terrified to see the look on his face so you fled to avoid the pain of seeing how heartbroken he was. 

“So,” he says, taking a deep sigh as he sets his menu on the table, looking you in the eyes as he does so. 

“So,” you repeat in the same fashion and furrow your eyebrows when he brings his hands up to cover his face, scrubbing at his eyes. He then slaps his hands onto the table which startles you, looking at you with that fire that you’ve missed the entire night. 

“I’ve gotta be honest,” he says, his gaze still burning into yours. “I’ve missed you. Like, so much that I can’t even stand it.” He knows that it’s rushed and that he probably sounds crazy and eyes widen at his confession, he’s terrified that he’s scaring you away. God, he’s driving you away again, fucking up one more time before you leave his life for good. He just can’t seem to get it right. 

Before he can even finish his speech that he’s been writing in his head for months because in the blink of an eye, you’re sitting right next to him, a goofy but adorable grin on your face. He has no idea what’s going on but he sure as hell isn’t going to deny you being in such close proximity to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies, nervous all over again because even though you’re smiling at him, he can’t help but feel iscared that you’re going to slip through his fingers. “I-I don’t know why I said that. I just-”

“Eddie,” you cut him off, your hands cradling his cheeks like they used to and his eyes widen as he stares at you, wondering what you’re going to do next. 

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice small for the first time tonight. 

“Will you please just shut up?” You ask before pressing your lips to his, pouring out all of your repressed emotions for the past year pouring into it and you don’t even care that you’re crying. You just need this and apparently Eddie does too because his arms are wrapped tightly around you, his own tears trailing down his cheeks as he involuntarily whimpers against your lips. 

This is the best way he’s ever been shut up in his life and it’s crazy to him just quickly you’re both able to do this after so long, picking it up like it’s nothing. It gets progressively more hungry and as you’re sticking your tongue into his mouth, you suddenly realize where you are, deciding that you can’t exactly do what you’re doing here. So you stand from the table and offer him your hand which he gladly takes. 

You’re both out the door in a flash and as soon as you’re heading down the alley between the diner and the other building, you’re pulling Eddie into the dark, pressing yourself to the wall as your lips find his again, somehow even more hungry than before. You’re both crying again but you’re too caught up in your need for each other to be embarrassed. 

His hands are sliding up your dress as he kisses down to your, nipping at whatever skin he’s able to get his teeth on as he goes. It starts off as gentle kisses as he murmurs the words “I missed you” against your skin but it gets progressively more intense as he begins to suck on your skin, making your brain feel fuzzy. 

“I missed you too,” you moan as he pushes you gently against the wall. He’s pulling down your thong and you let him despite being so out of practice that you’ve felt so nervous about sleeping with anyone else. Being with Eddie, though, just feels so right. 

You unbutton his jeans and pull them down with his underwear, so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t even notice that he’s slid himself inside you, both of you grunting at the tight fit.  

He’s moving slowly at first but progressively gets faster, missing the feeling of being inside you, missing the way you moan, the way you grab onto him, scratching up any part of him you can get your hands on, missing you. God has he missed you. It feels so right being here with you now.

He’s moving so fast, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pumps and pumps, his lips finding yours again, biting down on your bottom lip as another moan slips past your lips. It’s loud and he’s eating it up, wondering how much more he can get out of you before you’re absolutely spent. 

You’re close already but to see how long you can hold out. You’ve gone so long without him between your legs that it doesn’t take much for you to orgasm, to completely undone as he bottoms out inside you. He’s still going as you whine his name, pumping in and out, in and out until he reaches his own orgasm, moaning so loudly that you’re almost concerned that someone is going to hear him. 

The words “I love you” fall from his lips and you melt when you hear them, so happy that he still feels the same way, that the love you have for each other has never faded. You’re both smiling now as you pull him into another kiss, mumbling the words back to him against his lips. A laugh escapes his lips as he pulls away and he picks you up and spins you around. He’s the happiest he’s been in so long. 

“C’mon, angel,” he says, grabbing hold of your hand and leading you back to his van that’s around the corner. “Let’s go home.”

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Dancing with a Stranger

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: T (Teen)

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Word Count: ~2.5k

Summary: she’s got you dancing with a stranger and she’s not liking it one bit

🏷️: @yailtsv , @paxaz535 , @sitawita , @authentic-girl03 , @vamptizm

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

The club pulsed with bass, neon lights casting streaks of color across the crowded dance floor. Bodies moved against each other, heat rising in the air like static before a storm. I hadn’t even planned on going out tonight. But sitting alone in my apartment, staring at my phone, waiting for a text from Paige that wasn’t coming? That was unbearable.

So here I was.

With someone else.

A stranger’s hands rested on my waist, pulling me in closer as we swayed to the music. I barely caught his name when he introduced himself, not that it mattered. He was a distraction, a temporary fix for the ache in my chest. My fingers toyed with the rim of my glass before I drained the rest of my drink, the burn of liquor doing little to numb the feeling I was trying to shake.

Paige and I were done.

At least, that’s what she had said.

“I don’t think this is working anymore.”

The words replayed in my mind, cutting deeper every time. I hadn’t even fought her on it. I had too much pride for that, even though every part of me had wanted to beg her to stay. Instead, I had let her go. And now, I was here, dancing with someone who wasn’t her.

The stranger leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “You good?”

I forced a smile, nodding, even though I wasn’t. “Yeah. Just in my head.”

His hands squeezed my waist in reassurance, but it wasn’t comforting. His touch wasn’t right. His body didn’t move like hers. His scent wasn’t the one that used to cling to my hoodie after late-night drives with Paige.

I closed my eyes, trying to let go, to disappear into the music.

But then, my stomach twisted.

A feeling—no, a presence.

I turned my head slightly, and there she was.

Paige.

Standing by the bar, eyes locked on me, her jaw clenched tight.

Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun, strands falling around her face. A fitted crop top and jeans hugged her frame, and if I weren’t so bitter, I might have admitted she looked good. Too good.

But her expression?

That was a different story.

She was pissed.

Her grip tightened around the glass in her hand, knuckles white as she watched me. My body tensed, every nerve hyper-aware of the weight of her gaze.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Or maybe, I wasn’t supposed to be here.

Dancing with someone else.

Her lips parted slightly like she was about to say something, but she didn’t move.

Fine. If she wanted to watch, I’d give her a show.

I turned back to the stranger, letting my hands slide up his chest as I leaned in close. I didn’t care about him—I barely even saw him. But I wanted her to see. To feel what I felt when she walked away so easily.

Her chair scraped against the floor, and I knew she was coming before I even looked.

A second later, she was there, grabbing my wrist, yanking me back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I ripped my hand away, heart hammering. “What does it look like?”

Paige’s eyes darkened, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “You’re seriously out here with him?”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

The guy beside me cleared his throat. “Uh, do you two need a minute—”

Paige’s glare shut him up instantly. “Yeah. We do.”

I rolled my eyes, stepping away from both of them. “You don’t get to do this, Paige.”

She followed me as I pushed through the crowd, the heat of her presence burning into my back.

“Do what?” she shot back.

“Act like you care.”

“I do care.”

I whirled on her the second we reached a quieter corner, away from prying eyes. “Then why did you leave?” My voice cracked, and I hated myself for it.

Paige sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

I laughed bitterly. “Bullshit. You made that decision all on your own.”

She exhaled sharply. “I was scared, alright?”

“Of what?”

She hesitated.

“Of us?” I pressed. “Of actually trying? Because you’re really good at running, Paige. Really fucking good at shutting people out when things get real.”

She flinched, guilt flickering in her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out.”

“Well, congratulations. You did anyway.”

A tense silence settled between us.

The music pulsed in the background, distant, muffled.

Paige took a step closer, voice softer now. “I shouldn’t have left.”

I didn’t move. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

She swallowed hard. “And I sure as hell shouldn’t have let you think I didn’t want you.”

My breath hitched.

Because that was the thing—Paige had always wanted me. But she had never been good at showing it.

She reached out, hesitating for a second before her fingers brushed against mine. “I miss you.”

I closed my eyes. “Paige—”

“I miss everything. Us. You. Your stupid movie nights where you force me to watch rom-coms. The way you steal my hoodies even though you have your own. The way you—” She exhaled shakily, shaking her head. “I miss the way you love me.”

I looked away, blinking back the sting in my eyes. “You don’t get to say that now.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not fair.”

Paige reached for my hand fully this time, lacing her fingers with mine. “I don’t wanna be alone tonight,” she murmured, echoing the song playing in the background.

I sighed, leaning my head back against the wall. “I don’t either.”

Her thumb brushed against my palm, gentle, hesitant. “Come home with me.”

I exhaled sharply. “Paige—”

“I know I don’t deserve it,” she admitted. “I know I fucked up. But let me fix it.”

I studied her, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But all I saw was sincerity.

I wanted to be mad.

I was mad.

But I also wanted her.

Always had.

So, I made a choice.

I sighed, squeezing her hand. “You’re lucky I’m still stupidly in love with you.”

Paige let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

A slow smile spread across her lips as she pulled me closer. “Then let’s get out of here.”

I let her lead me out of the club, the stranger long forgotten.

Because at the end of the day, no matter how hard I tried—

Paige was the only one I ever wanted to dance with.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[mrsfancyferrari]

JUST READ LOSE MY MIND, CHASE ATLANTIC INSPIRED???? FOAMING AT THE MOUTH FUCK YESS, WE NEED MORE CHASE ATLANTIC APPRECIATION

Don't Stop

Summary: MV1 + "The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

Song: Church · Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: @dozyisdead thank you for your comment and your wish is my command! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 3.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the engines was a symphony to some, an unbearable cacophony to others. For you, it was a constant hum, a background track to a life lived in the shadow of Formula 1.

Your father, a team principal with a fiery temper and an even fierier competitive spirit, had instilled in you a love for the sport, albeit one laced with a very specific kind of hatred.

That hatred was reserved for one man: Jos Verstappen. And consequently, for his son, Max.

The feud between your father and Jos was legendary, a well-documented saga of on-track collisions, boardroom betrayals, and accusations flung like grenades across the paddock. It was an old wound, festering and never allowed to heal.

You’d grown up hearing stories of Jos’s ruthlessness, his aggression, and the way he supposedly cheated your father out of a championship win years ago. You were raised to believe that the Verstappen name was synonymous with treachery and malice.

So, logically, you were supposed to hate Max Verstappen. It was expected.

But logic, as you were increasingly discovering, had a way of malfunctioning around the young Dutch driver.

You worked as a data analyst for your father's team, a role that kept you close to the action but slightly removed from the blatant animosity.

You excelled at your job, your sharp mind able to dissect telemetry readings and identify fractions of a second that could make the difference between victory and defeat.

It was during a pre-season testing session in Barcelona that Max first entered your orbit in a truly disconcerting way.

You were hunched over your laptop in the garage, the air thick with the smell of gasoline and burning rubber, when you felt a presence beside you.

"Looking busy," a voice drawled, laced with a Dutch accent that sent a shiver down your spine.

You looked up, your heart skipping a beat despite your best efforts to control it. Max Verstappen. He was leaning against the workbench, his eyes – those intensely blue eyes that seemed to see right through you – fixed on your face.

He was even more striking in person than on television.

"Just doing my job," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I've heard you're good at it," he said, pushing off the workbench and taking a step closer. "Your father keeps a tight ship."

"He expects the best," you retorted, your defenses instantly up.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the air. "And you wouldn't want to disappoint him, would you?"

The unspoken question hung in the air, loaded with the weight of your fathers' rivalry. You met his gaze, refusing to back down. "No," you said firmly. "I wouldn't."

He smiled then, a genuine smile that transformed his face and made him look almost… vulnerable. "Good. Because I have a feeling you're capable of a lot more than just crunching numbers."

That was the beginning.

Over the next few months, their paths kept crossing. Brief encounters in the paddock, shared glances across crowded press conferences, and even the occasional, accidental bumping into in hotel lobbies.

Each interaction chipped away at your carefully constructed wall of animosity. You found yourself noticing the way he focused on the track, the quick wit he displayed in interviews, and the surprising kindness he showed to his mechanics.

He was… charming. Dangerous charming.

And he knew it.

He started seeking you out. A quick word in the hospitality tents, a shared elevator ride, a casual inquiry about your work. He was persistent, but never pushy. He was subtle, but undeniably present.

You tried to deny it, to rationalize it, to attribute it to simple curiosity or a harmless flirtation. But deep down, you knew the truth. You were drawn to him.

The tension between you grew thicker with each passing race weekend. It crackled in the air whenever you were near each other, a silent electricity that threatened to ignite into something explosive.

The Italian Grand Prix in Monza was the breaking point.

You were in the team's garage after a frustrating qualifying session, your father's angry voice echoing in the air. Max had just secured pole position, a fact that only added fuel to your father's fire.

You were trying to focus on the data, but your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

He found you in the back of the garage, away from the noise and chaos. He leaned against a stack of tires, his expression serious.

"You look troubled," he said softly, his eyes searching yours.

"Just a bad day at the office," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"More than that," he insisted, taking a step closer. "I can see it in your eyes."

You finally looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "What do you want, Max?"

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to your lips. When he looked back up, his eyes were filled with a raw intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

"I want you to stop pretending," he said, his voice low and husky. "I want you to stop acting like you don't feel it too."

"Feel what?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He closed the distance between you, his hand gently reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "This," he said, his voice barely audible. "This connection, this… pull."

You stood frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the electricity crackling between you.

"You know it's there," he continued, his gaze locked on yours. "You've known it for weeks."

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. "My father…" you began, but he cut you off.

"I don't care about your father," he said fiercely. "Or mine. This is about us."

He took another step closer, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. Your mind was screaming at you to run, to push him away, to remind yourself of the years of hatred and animosity.

But your body betrayed you, remaining rooted to the spot, yearning for something you knew you shouldn't want.

He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above yours. "The problem is," he murmured, his voice laced with a dangerous promise, "if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

The world seemed to shrink, the roar of the engines fading into a distant hum. All that existed was him, his eyes, his touch, the intoxicating possibility of something forbidden.

You wanted him. God, you wanted him more than you'd ever admitted to yourself.

But the weight of your father's expectations, the years of ingrained animosity, the potential fallout… it was all too much.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, and forced yourself to step back.

"Don't," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Just… don't."

He stared at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and disappointment. He hadn’t expected you to deny him.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Because it's wrong," you said, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "Because it would destroy everything."

He shook his head, his eyes filled with a sadness that pierced your heart. "You're choosing him over me?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't.

He took a step back, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I understand," he said, his voice flat. "You made your choice."

He turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in the back of the garage, the weight of your decision crushing you.

The next few weeks were torturous. You avoided Max at all costs, burying yourself in your work, trying to convince yourself that you'd done the right thing.

But every time you saw him on the track, every time you heard his voice, every time you caught his eye, the memory of that moment in Monza would come flooding back, a painful reminder of what you had denied yourself.

He, in turn, became distant. Acknowledging you with a curt nod whenever your paths crossed, his blue eyes now devoid of the warmth you had briefly glimpsed. He became the Max Verstappen the world knew - the ruthless, focused driver, untouchable and unapproachable.

It was as if he was deliberately burying the flicker of vulnerability you had witnessed, replacing it with an impenetrable wall.

One evening, after a particularly grueling race, your father called you into his office. He looked tired, the lines on his face etched deeper than usual.

"I know about you and Verstappen," he said, his voice heavy.

Your heart sank. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Don't play coy with me. I've seen the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him."

You remained silent, refusing to confirm or deny anything.

"I won't allow it," he said, his voice hardening. "I won't have you fraternizing with the enemy."

"He's not the enemy," you argued, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Your father slammed his fist on the desk, making you jump. "He is the enemy! He's a Verstappen! Don't you understand what that means?"

You looked at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of anger and disappointment. "Yes, I understand. I understand that you're letting a decades-old grudge dictate my life."

"I'm protecting you," he insisted, his voice softening slightly. "He'll only break your heart."

"And you won't?" you countered, the words laced with a pain you had kept hidden for years.

He looked at you, his expression softening, and you knew you had struck a nerve. He knew that, in his own way, he had already broken your heart, countless times.

You stood up, your body trembling with a mixture of anger and grief. "I can't do this anymore," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I can't live my life according to your rules."

You turned and walked out of his office, leaving him sitting alone in the silence.

You knew you couldn't stay. You couldn't continue to live a life dictated by other people's hatred.

That night, you packed a bag and left.

You didn't know where you were going, or what you were going to do. All you knew was that you needed to escape, to find a place where you could be free from the weight of your father's expectations and the shadow of the Verstappen rivalry.

You drove for hours, until you reached a small coastal town, far away from the noise and glamour of Formula 1. You found a cheap motel and checked in, collapsing onto the bed, exhaustion finally claiming you.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of the ocean. You walked down to the beach, the cool sand between your toes, the salty air filling your lungs. You sat down on a rock, watching the waves crash against the shore, and finally allowed yourself to cry.

You cried for your father, for the years of missed opportunities and unspoken words. You cried for Max, for the connection you had denied, for the love you had let slip away. And you cried for yourself, for the life you had been living, a life that wasn't truly your own.

As the sun began to set, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. You didn't know what the future held, but you knew that you were finally free.

A few days later, while you were having coffee at a small cafe, you saw a familiar figure walking down the street.

Max.

Your heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here? How had he found you?

He saw you too, his eyes widening in surprise. He hesitated for a moment, then walked towards you, his expression unreadable.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I needed a break," he said, his gaze fixed on the ground. "And I thought I might find you here."

You stared at him, your mind racing. "Why?"

He looked up then, his blue eyes meeting yours. "Because," he said softly, "I couldn't let you go."

A denial trembled on your lips. This is a mistake. It can't work. The feud, your father, everything stands in our way. But the words wouldn't come. Your heart, traitorous thing that it was, soared at his words, desperate to believe in the impossible.

"Max…" you began, but he cut you off, stepping closer, his presence filling the small space between you.

"Don't," he pleaded, his voice raw. "Don't tell me it's a bad idea. Don't tell me we can't. Just… just let me be here. With you."

The intensity in his eyes was almost overwhelming. You looked away, breaking the connection, needing to gather your thoughts, to reign in the emotions that threatened to consume you.

"You shouldn't have come," you said, the words sounding harsher than you intended. "It's not… it's complicated."

He sighed, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "I know it's complicated. I'm not stupid. But I don't care about complicated. I care about you."

He pulled out a chair and sat down, his gaze unwavering. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. You knew you should tell him to leave, to go back to his life, to the expectations and pressures that defined him.

But you couldn’t. The yearning in his eyes, the vulnerability he showed, mirrored the longing that had been buried deep within you for so long.

"My father knows," you blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush. "He knows about… us. And he’s not happy."

Max's jaw tightened. "I figured as much." A muscle twitched in his cheek. "Does he know how long 'us' has been going on?"

You looked down at your hands. "He doesn’t know there is an 'us'."

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound. "Right. Well, that's what you're afraid of. And that's the least of your worries. I'm sure he threatened you. He knows my father as well as anyone, and he'll have made it clear that he wants nothing to do with us."

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "He… he said I couldn't see you. He called you the enemy."

"And you listened?" There was a challenge in his voice, a flicker of the competitive fire that burned so brightly on the track.

You finally looked up, meeting his intense gaze. "No," you said, your voice stronger this time. "I didn't. That's why I'm here."

A slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features. The weariness seemed to lift, replaced by a glimmer of hope. "Good," he said, his voice softer now. "Because I don't think I could have handled it if you had."

He’d sought you out, finding you holed up in this anonymous corner of a city far removed from the glitz and glamour of Monaco. A city where you hoped to disappear, to catch your breath after the fallout.

But Max, with his unwavering determination, had a knack for finding you.

“This is crazy, you know,” you said, the small smile on your lips trembling slightly. It was crazy. Everything about this was insane. The clandestine meetings, the stolen moments, the constant fear of discovery. And now, the open defiance of your father’s wishes.

“What’s crazy is you living by yourself this whole time,” Max replied, his voice serious, devoid of the playful banter that usually characterized your interactions.

“Yeah, I’ve been living in a small hotel, a big change from Monaco, right?” you joked, pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. But Max remained unsmiling, his focus unwavering.

“Has anyone tried to do something to you?” he asked, a furrow appearing between his brows. The intensity in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. The concern was real.

“Nope, nothing I couldn’t take care of before,” you answered, offering a reassuring smile. “You’re overprotective for someone who is supposed to be my enemy,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice low, insistent. “This whole situation… your father… it’s not safe. You shouldn’t be alone.”

You sighed, stirring your lukewarm latte with unnecessary force. “I know, I know. But what choice do I have? Staying in Monaco was… unbearable.”

The unspoken words hung heavy between you – the suffocating atmosphere, the judgmental eyes, the constant reminders of the chasm between your world and Max’s. Or, more accurately, between your fathers' worlds.

Silence descended, a pregnant pause filled with unspoken anxieties and desires. Then, Max broke it, his voice a quiet rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

“You could stay with me.”

The words hung in the air, simple yet earth-shattering. You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. Stay with him? Live with him? It was a leap of faith so profound, so reckless, it took your breath away.

“Max…” you began, but he cut you off, his eyes pleading.

“Think about it. You wouldn’t be alone. You'd be safe. And… and I want you to be with me.”

The raw honesty in his voice was disarming, stripping away the layers of cynicism and doubt you had so carefully constructed. The thought of waking up beside him, of sharing your life with him, was a siren song you couldn't ignore.

You swirled the dregs of your latte, avoiding Max’s intense gaze. He’d sought you out, finding you holed up in this anonymous corner of a city far removed from the glitz and glamour of Monaco.

A city where you hoped to disappear, to catch your breath after the fallout. But Max, with his unwavering determination, had a knack for finding you.

"This is crazy, you know," you said, the small smile on your lips trembling slightly.

It was crazy. Everything about this was insane. The clandestine meetings, the stolen moments, the constant fear of discovery. And now, the open defiance of your father’s wishes.

"What’s crazy is you living by yourself this whole time," Max replied, his voice serious, devoid of the playful banter that usually characterized your interactions.

"Yeah, I’ve been living in a small hotel, a big change from Monaco, right?" you joked, pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. But Max remained unsmiling, his focus unwavering.

"Has anyone tried to do something to you?" he asked, a furrow appearing between his brows. The intensity in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. The concern was real.

"Nope, nothing I couldn’t take care of before," you answered, offering a reassuring smile. "You’re overprotective for someone who is supposed to be my enemy," you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"I’m serious," he said, his voice low, insistent. "This whole situation… your father… it’s not safe. You shouldn’t be alone."

You sighed, stirring your lukewarm latte with unnecessary force. "I know, I know. But what choice do I have? Staying in Monaco was… unbearable."

The unspoken words hung heavy between you – the suffocating atmosphere, the judgmental eyes, the constant reminders of the chasm between your world and Max’s. Or, more accurately, between your fathers' worlds.

Silence descended, a pregnant pause filled with unspoken anxieties and desires. Then, Max broke it, his voice a quiet rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

"You could stay with me."

The words hung in the air, simple yet earth-shattering. You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. Stay with him? Live with him? It was a leap of faith so profound, so reckless, it took your breath away.

"Max…" you began, but he cut you off, his eyes pleading.

"Think about it. You wouldn’t be alone. You'd be safe. And… and I want you to be with me."

The raw honesty in his voice was disarming, stripping away the layers of cynicism and doubt you had so carefully constructed. The thought of waking up beside him, of sharing your life with him, was a siren song you couldn't ignore.

"You don't have to answer now but can we get a meal, I'm starving after driving so long," Max said, breaking the heavy silence.

"I have food in my hotel, if you want," you replied, the offer escaping before you could fully register it. It was a small, hesitant step, a tiny crack in the wall you’d built around yourself.

Max's face softened, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. "Really? Are you sure? I don't want to impose."

"It's just leftovers," you said, trying to downplay the significance. "But it's better than this coffee shop. And cheaper."

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Alright, lead the way. But I'm buying dessert later."

The walk back to your hotel was short, the silence less oppressive than it had been at the cafe. You found yourself stealing glances at

Max, noticing the way the afternoon sun caught the golden flecks in his eyes, the slight stubble that shadowed his jaw, the easy confidence in his stride. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of energy and passion, and you were inexplicably drawn to him, even though every instinct screamed that it was a terrible idea.

Your hotel room was small and functional, a far cry from the opulent suites you were accustomed to.

You felt a flush of embarrassment as you opened the door, revealing the cramped space with its generic furniture and slightly musty smell.

"It's not much," you mumbled, gesturing vaguely around the room.

Max shrugged, unfazed. "It's a place to sleep. I've stayed in worse." He surveyed the room with genuine curiosity, his eyes lingering on the small framed photo on the bedside table – a picture of you and your mother, taken years ago on a sun-drenched summer day.

You busied yourself in the tiny kitchenette, pulling out the containers of leftover pasta from the fridge. "It's just pasta, nothing fancy," you said, your voice muffled.

"Pasta's perfect," Max replied, leaning against the doorway, watching you. "Especially when someone makes it for me."

You felt your cheeks flush again. "I didn't make it. I ordered it from a restaurant."

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. "Details, details. The point is, you're sharing it with me."

As you ate, the conversation flowed more easily. You talked about everything and nothing – the weather, the city, the ridiculousness of the reality TV show playing on the small television.

You avoided the topic of your fathers, of the racing world, of the complicated web of politics and rivalries that had brought you both to this point.

After you finished eating, you started clearing the dishes, but Max stopped you, gently taking the plates from your hands. "Let me do that," he said. "You relax."

You watched him as he washed the dishes in the tiny sink, the water splashing and the sound echoing in the small room. There was something surprisingly domestic about the scene, something that felt both comforting and unsettling.

When he was done, he turned to you, drying his hands on a dish towel. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension.

"So," he said, his voice low, "about that offer…"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "Max, I don't know. It's… a lot to consider."

"I know it is," he said, taking a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "But I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was the right thing. For both of us."

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. Fear, doubt, longing, hope – they all battled for dominance.

"My father would kill me," you whispered, the words barely audible.

"He won't have to know," Max said, his voice soft. "We can keep it our secret. For as long as we need to."

The idea was tempting, dangerously so. A secret life, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world, where you could be with Max without fear of judgment or reprisal.

But the thought of deceiving your father, of living a lie, weighed heavily on you. "I don't know if I can do that," you said, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze.

Max's expression was unreadable. "Then what do you want to do?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You didn't know. You wanted to run away, to escape the suffocating pressure of your life. You wanted to be with Max, to explore the connection that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

But you were afraid. Afraid of the consequences, afraid of the pain, afraid of the inevitable heartbreak that seemed to follow you everywhere.

You stepped back, putting some distance between you. "I need time to think," you said, your voice trembling.

Max nodded slowly, his eyes filled with understanding. "I know. Just… don't take too long. I don't want to lose you."

He took another step closer, closing the gap between you. You could feel his breath on your face, see the flecks of gold in his eyes, smell the faint scent of his cologne.

"The problem is," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine, "if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

The air crackled with electricity. You knew he was right. One kiss, one touch, and you'd be lost. You'd surrender to the desire that had been building between you for months, and there would be no turning back.

You closed your eyes again, bracing yourself for the inevitable. But instead of kissing you, Max stepped back, his face etched with a mixture of longing and restraint.

"I should go," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'll let you think."

He turned and walked towards the door, leaving you standing alone in the small hotel room, your heart pounding, your mind reeling, and your body aching for a touch that you knew you couldn't afford to have.

The scent of him lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the choice you had to make, of the path you had to choose, and of the dangerous, irresistible man who was waiting for you on the other side.

You knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that your life would never be the same again. . . .

The sudden buzz of the hotel room door jolted you from your introspection, the muffled sound piercing the quietude that had settled over the space like a warm, velvet shroud.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart fluttering like a caged bird at the thought of seeing Max again. Two days had felt like an eternity, and you hadn't been able to shake the feeling that something was amiss. The buzz grew more insistent, and you realized you'd been holding your breath.

With a soft exhale, you approached the door, peeking through the peephole to confirm your suspicion. There he was, Max Verstappen, his frame slightly hunched as if he were carrying an invisible burden.

You swung the door open, the cool metal handle smooth against your palm, and took in the sight of him. Your eyes widened in alarm. Max looked as if he had been through a storm, his usually impeccable hair disheveled and his clothes rumpled, but it was the bruise blossoming on his left cheek that truly concerned you.

"Max! What happened!" you exclaimed, reaching for him, your voice a symphony of worry and relief. He stumbled forward, his eyes hazed with pain, and you caught him before he could collapse, the weight of his body a comforting presence that sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

With gentle insistence, you guided him to the plush couch that dominated the room, the soft fabric whispering against his skin as he sank into the cushions. He winced slightly, and you couldn't help but notice the way his muscles tensed beneath his shirt.

"Nothing happened," he muttered, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the air, thick with unshed emotion.

But the tremor in his words was a telltale sign of his distress, and you knew better than to take his dismissal at face value.

"Max," you said firmly, kneeling in front of him and placing your hands on his knees. The fabric of his trousers was rough against your palms, grounding you in the reality of the moment.

You searched his eyes, willing him to open up to you. "You can tell me." His gaze flicked to the floor, a silent confession of his vulnerability.

"My father…" he began, his voice cracking. "He hit me after I told him I was coming to see you today." The words hung between you, heavy with the unspoken implications of his actions and the price he'd paid for you two.

Your chest tightened with a mix of anger and fear for Max, but you pushed the feelings aside, focusing instead on the warmth of his body so near to yours.

"Why?" you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. His eyes met yours, the turmoil in his eyes a tempest that you desperately wanted to soothe.

"He doesn't approve," Max said, his jaw clenching. "But that's never stopped me before." A hint of defiance flashed in his eyes, and you felt a spark of admiration for his courage.

The silence stretched, a taut bowstring drawn between you both. The air grew thick with unspoken desire, and the space between you seemed to shrink until it was nothing more than a whisper.

You wanted to reach out, to trace the line of his jaw, to brush the hair from his forehead, to tell him everything would be alright. But you couldn't find the courage.

"I'll go get a first aid kit," you muttered, breaking the spell and standing abruptly.

You practically fled to the bathroom, grabbing the familiar box from under the sink. Your hands trembled as you opened it, the sterile scent of antiseptic doing little to calm your nerves.

You took a deep breath, trying to regain control, and walked back into the living room.

You returned with the familiar red and white box, the scent of antiseptic and sterile gauze a stark contrast to the intoxicating aroma of Max's aftershave that still lingered in the air.

He was lying back just as you'd left him, legs splayed slightly, a picture of vulnerable masculinity. A wave of protectiveness washed over you, eclipsing the earlier anxiety.

You walked between his legs, a move that felt both intimate and practical, and gently tapped his shoulder. "Max, wake up," you murmured, your voice soft.

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open, heavy-lidded and unfocused for a moment. He sat up slowly, wincing almost imperceptibly, and instinctively placed his hand on the side of your leg, a light, possessive touch.

"Yes, schat?" he asked gently, his voice thick with sleep and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

The word, Dutch for "treasure," sent a shiver down your spine. You tried to ignore the way your skin prickled under his touch, focusing instead on the task at hand. "I've got the first aid kit. Let's take a look, okay?"

He nodded slowly, his eyes meeting yours, searching, questioning. "It's nothing, really. Just… a bit sore."

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Let me be the judge of that." You knelt before him, opening the kit and carefully laying out the contents: antiseptic wipes, bandages, gauze pads, and pain relievers.

"Where are the worst spots?" you asked, your voice professional, though your heart hammered against your ribs.

He hesitated, then unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing a faint bruise blossoming on his chest. You gasped softly, your fingers tracing the edges of the discoloration.

"He didn't hold back, did he?" you whispered, your voice laced with anger.

Max shrugged, trying to downplay the severity of the situation. "It's fine. I've had worse."

"That's not the point," you retorted, your voice sharper than you intended. You softened your tone, looking back up at him. "Let me clean it up. And then we can talk."

He sighed, relenting. "Alright."

You carefully cleaned the bruise with an antiseptic wipe, watching his face for any sign of pain. He remained stoic, his gaze fixed on your hands as they moved with gentle precision. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken emotions.

Once you finished cleaning the bruise, you applied a thin layer of antiseptic cream and covered it with a bandage. "There," you said, stepping back to admire your work. "That should help."

Max looked down at the bandage, then back up at you. "Thank you," he said softly.

You met his gaze, and the air crackled with tension. You knew you couldn't ignore the elephant in the room any longer. "Why, Max? Why do you keep coming here, knowing what it costs you?"

His jaw clenched. "Because I want to," he said simply. "Because being with you… it's worth it."

"But is it really?" you pressed, your voice laced with doubt. "Is it worth the pain, the conflict, the disapproval of your family?"

He reached out and took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. His touch was warm, grounding, reassuring. "Yes," he said firmly. "It is. Because you make me happy. You make me feel… alive. And I don't want to give that up."

His words resonated with a raw honesty that tugged at your heart. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that your connection was strong enough to withstand the forces pulling you apart.

"I worry about you, Max," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want you to get hurt because of me."

He squeezed your hand, his eyes filled with concern. "I know. But I can handle it. I'm a racing driver, remember? I'm used to taking risks."

You managed a weak smile. "That's not exactly reassuring."

He chuckled softly, the sound a welcome relief in the tense atmosphere. He pulled you closer, his gaze fixed on your lips. The air grew thick with anticipation.

It was a dangerous game you were playing, one that threatened to consume you both.

"I… I don't think we should see each other," you muttered, your hand instinctively reaching up to play with the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

The words felt like shards of glass in your mouth, each syllable a betrayal of your own desires.

"And why is that, schat?" he slowly smiled, his Dutch accent thickening with playful provocation. He rubbed the side of your thighs, the simple gesture sending shivers down your spine.

"Because you're getting hurt because of me," you replied, knowing it was a weak argument, but all you could manage.

"For you? I'll do anything," Max said, moving closer, his breath ghosting across your lips.

He was so close, you could see the flecks of the ocean in his blue eyes, the tiny scar above his left eyebrow, a memento from his karting days.

You knew you should pull away, end this before it went any further, but you were frozen, caught in his magnetic pull.

He raised his head, his lips hovering just above yours. "I wasn't joking," he whispered, his voice husky and low. "If I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, threatening to break free. The world seemed to narrow, focusing only on him, on the anticipation that was building inside you. You knew he was right.

One kiss, and you'd be lost, spiraling further into this forbidden love affair.

"Maybe that's the problem," you whispered back, your voice trembling.

He tilted his head, his eyes searching yours. "What is?"

"That I don't want you to stop," you admitted, the truth spilling out like a confession.

A slow smile spread across his face, a genuine, heart-stopping smile that made you forget all the reasons why this shouldn't be happening. He lowered his head and finally, his lips met yours.

The kiss was electric, a jolt of pure energy that coursed through your veins. It was possessive, demanding, and utterly intoxicating.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, surrendering to the moment, to the overwhelming desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

Time seemed to dissolve as the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. He tasted of rain and adrenaline, of the forbidden thrill that defined your relationship. You ran your fingers through his hair, savoring the feel of it against your skin.

He pulled away slightly, gasping for air, his eyes dark with passion. "See?" he murmured, his voice raspy. "Told you."

You laughed breathlessly, the sound filled with a mixture of joy and apprehension. "You're impossible," you said, shaking your head.

"Maybe," he conceded, his eyes twinkling. "But you love it."

You couldn't deny it. You loved the danger, the excitement, the feeling of being completely alive when you were with him. But you also feared it. The consequences of your actions loomed large, threatening to crash down on you both.

"What are we going to do, Max?" you asked, the question heavy with uncertainty.

He sighed, his expression turning serious. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm not giving you up. Not without a fight."

He pulled you close again, burying his face in your hair. "Tonight," he murmured, "forget everything else. Just be with me."

You knew it was a temporary solution, a Band-Aid on a gaping wound. But in that moment, with his arms wrapped around you, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, your love was strong enough to overcome the obstacles in its path.

The roar of the Formula 1 engines rumbled in the distance, a constant reminder of the world he belonged to, the world that was waiting for him.

He needed to leave, to go and fight, to drive the best race of his life.

You pulled away and looked in his eyes. “Go. Win. I’ll be watching.”

He smiles, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. “For you, I will.”

He kissed you once more, a quick but passionate kiss before turning and disappearing into the night. As you closed the door, you leaned against it, your heart pounding in your chest.

You knew this couldn't last forever.

But for tonight, you would allow yourself to dream, to believe in the impossible, and to hope that somehow, against all odds, your love story would have a happy ending. . . .

[cosmowgyral]

"Lover's Contract: A night of immoral deeds"

▪︎ Nica Schwartz

This is a fan translation, not 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. Expect grammatical inconsistencies.

Since Nica is not yet out in the EN server, there might be terms that will turn out different than what I have used here when he is finally released. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

A big thank you to Ciele (@.judesmoonbeauty) for providing me with the video of the epilogue. ♡

Epilogue

Kate: Ni-Nica, stop.

He licks the red bite marks repeatedly, proving I’m his.

He leaves peckish kisses down my neck again and again.

Even though it was just a little stimulation, after it was repeated multiple times, I started to feel hot and my entire body began to shake.

He gave me an exaggerated blow, and laughed a little as he saw me writhe.

Nica: What? Are you feeling it?

Kate: That’s not it.

Nica: Then why are you staring at me with such a flushed face?

He strokes my cheeks with the back of his fingers, twirling the ends of my hair and playing with them.

Nica: If it feels that good, I want you to do it too.

Kate: Huh, ah!

A hand reaches under my armpit and I am lowered from the railing. Nica then switches our positions.

Nica: Come now, put it on me too.

I hesitated when Nica pointed to his neck——

Nica: The Crown—

Kate: I-I’ll do it! It’s okay to do it, right?

Feeling threatened, I hastily placed my lips on his neck.

Despite its slender appearance, his neck is well-defined, with muscles that are normally invisible, now appearing and disappearing.

The aroma of ylang-ylang wafts from his Adam’s apple, which rises and falls with each breath, almost mesmerising me, but—.

Kate: Mmph, uh

Pursing my lips, I sucked again and again changing my angle, but the red mark never appeared.

Kate: Mm?

(I’m not good at it at all.)

As I struggled, I heard a voice coming from above my head and looked up.

Then I saw him with his eyebrows lowered and a happy smile on his face.

Nica: You’re no good at all, Robin.

He said the words while wiping away tears from too much laughter.

I couldn’t respond as my eyes were drawn to him.

Nica: Giving up?

Kate: Huh, oh, I’m still going.

I hurriedly tried to make a mark, but the colour was faint and it didn’t turn out as I had expected.

He then touched the side of my neck that didn’t have love bites.

Nica: Let me show you how it works.

Kate: Mmm

Red marks form on my neck once more.

Neck, collarbone, nape..

The slight pain that accompanies the sound of lips causes the red marks to become more noticeable.

Kate: Ni-ca

(What should I do? I know I’m not supposed to like it.)

As the number of bites increases, I can feel my excitement rising.

He finally parted his lips and licked them with his tongue.

Nica: See, now do it like this.

He puts his hand around the back of my head and presses my face into the crook of his neck.

I tried to imitate him but failed again.

(If this goes on….)

I bared my teeth and bit into his beautiful neck.

However, it seems that I bit harder than I intended.

Nica: Nngh!

Kate: I’m so sorry! Did that hurt?

Startled by the bite, Nica put his hand on the bitten spot with a shocked look on his face.

He touched the area where the bumps are clearly visible with his fingertips.

He then grinned and stroked the love bites on my neck—.

Nica: Mm, matching.

My heart was pounding loudly.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓 ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Kate: Excuse me.

A few days later, Nica called me to the reception room.

Nica: Here you are. I’ve been waiting for you, Robin.

Kate: You needed me for something...w-whoaa!

I couldn't contain my amazement when I saw the vibrant boxes of sweets on the table.

Kate: What is all this?

Nica: Do you remember the husband from when we infiltrated the lover’s club?

Kate: Yes.

Nica: The man actually owns a sweet manufacturing company. So I received a lot of sweets as a thank you.

Nica: I couldn’t have these all by myself, so I want you to take some too.

Kate: Is that okay?

Nica: Consider it a reward for going on the mission with me.

Stacks of biscuit tins and glittery chocolates.

Cute looking candies and sweet-smelling caramel.

(Which one should I choose…?!)

Choosing one is fun, so I started selecting and analysing each one.

Nica: If you’re that interested, you can have them all.

After hearing Nica, I shook my head sternly.

Kate: No, I can’t. If I eat them all, I’ll get fat.

Nica: You’re slim enough for me to lift you up easily.

Kate: That’s….

Suddenly remembering what happened a few days back, I stopped examining the sweets and looked at him.

Kate: Oh…

As he was sitting on the sofa and resting his head on the backrest, I could see the teeth mark on his neck and I couldn’t help but let out a cry.

Then, noticing my gaze, Nica opened the collar of his shirt to show it off.

Nica: This has hardly faded.

Nica: That goes for you too, right, Robin?

I had unconsciously placed my hand on the spot where the love bites were on my neck, but I quickly removed it.

Nica: There’s no point in doing that. They’re clearly visible once you look up.

Feeling embarrassed, I tried to look away, but he pulled me by the arm and brought his lips close to my neck.

Nica: Hey, Kate.

Nica: Should I renew our contract?

It seems I still can’t escape from him.

[Premium End] [Masterlist]

➽──────────────❥

Note: The hickeys were referred to as "red flowers blooming" here, but it sounded plain weird, so I changed them all to red marks.

[fuyuu-chan]

Oh to be the Reader

(this will be the pov of the female lead, Cha-Hae In)

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x GN! Reader

Fuyuu-chan: i got writer's block, so sorry for the late post. (inspired by one of the reels i saw in instagram lol) i actually planned on doing this fic on sylus but i feel like this suits jinwoo more

✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

Cha-Hae In was just a character from a novel, a webtoon, along with everyone else. She herself knew this, she is aware of the gaze of the reader who reads this novel. And she is sure Jinwoo does too, with the way he always spaceout looking up. As if looking to the reader, and this always happen, especially when he is with her.

Whenever Jinwoo does something to Cha, the reader would always squeal or smile with delight just because of how Jinwoo act as being a romantic. And...Jinwoo would always smile looking up as if he got the approval of the reader.

Cha hated it. If Jinwoo likes the reader, why must he use her or be with her?? Why just show things or be affectionate to her just to impress the reader on how he treats his lover? Doesn't he know he is hurting her?

Besides Cha also felt jealous, she is the female lead of the novel after all so shouldn't she be with the male lead? She is destined to be with Jinwoo. She might be in a relationship right now with him but...his attention was solely focused on the reader all the time. Like...his heart belonged to them and not with her.

She doesn't get it, at all. She was supposed to be happy with him, right? .... So what happened?? What changed?

.

.

.

As time pass by, Cha got to accept the fact that Jinwoo's heart would never be for her.

But she was so tired of it all. Cant Jinwoo just spare her the trouble? At least give her some mercy.

Maybe if the reader was in her place, Jinwoo would finally be happy...she just wanted to be out of this.

Cha knew she would never be like the reader anyway. She would never get Jinwoo's genuine affection, how his eyes soften more when he looks up, how he always seeks the reader's approval by his actions based on how they react to that.

She already knew her fate had changed. She just had to come terms with this situation...but is she selfish on wishing she could be free and happy? She wanted to feel loved too...even if it wasn't from Jinwoo.

Maybe, just maybe....if reader could just come in this world, she would be out of this miserable life.

ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

Please do not copy, translate, repost to any other Social media, Thank you.

[honey-on-your-tongue]

FWB

Part 9 Logan Howlett x fem!reader Series masterlist

a week ago

The days blur together. All he knows is that he’s drinking too much. He’s no longer keeping track of where he is, or what time it is, or how much alcohol he’s had. He’s not even keeping track of the women he hooks up with. He doesn’t care. He’s trying to drown, be it in a river of his unshed tears or in the hundreds of whiskeys he drinks. Either way, he just needs it all to disappear.

One night, he’s sitting at a bar, chatting up some girl whose name he can’t even remember. And as she talks and talks and talks, Logan finds himself thinking of you.

You and your gorgeous eyes. You and your sweet words. You and your brilliant mind. And this girl…she���s nothing compared to you. None of the girls he’s ever been with compare to you. Not even Jean.

Yes, he loved Jean. Yes, he admired her. Yes, he cared for her. But you? You’re just…unique. There’s something about you, a certain essence that no one else posseses. It’s like you and him were made to fit together; two pieces of the same puzzle. 

And this woman is talking and talking and talking and Logan remembers your laugh, the scent of your skin, the taste of your lips, the feeling of your fingers in his hair, the arch of your back, the little snores when you were asleep…

What am I fucking doing?

He springs up from his high chair at the bar and the woman pauses. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, eyeing him.

In his drunken state, Logan shakes his head and slurs out, “No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to get back to my girl,” he replies and stumbles towards the exit. 

The night is cool and dark and lonely, but Logan doesn’t notice that. He doesn’t notice how he almost falls a hundred times or how he gets lost half as many times. All that’s in his head is you. You, you, you. He has to get back to you. He has to. 

What the fuck was he thinking? What the fuck was he doing? He just…walked out on you. He’s a fucking idiot.

“Well, that ain’t new,” he mumbles at himself as he finally sees the mansion in the distance. God, how long has he been out here, wandering the streets like a lost dog? It’s gotta be at least two, three in the morning. 

You’re probably asleep. He can picture you lying in your bed, eyes shut, lips parted slightly, your hair all over your pillow…

He stands at the front door for ages, his hand on the doorknob, his heart in his throat.

He feels nervous, scared, disgusted with himself. How is he supposed to face you tomorrow morning? How is he going to look you in the eyes and ask for forgiveness after what he’s done? 

He considers leaving again, but, fuck, he just needs you so bad. And not in a physical, I need her for sex kind of way. He needs to sit down and talk with you, needs to hear about your day, needs to smell your hair right after you’re out of the shower, needs to feel your hand in his while he drives you two somewhere for date night. He needs to love you, like he needs air. In fact, he may need it more than he needs air. At least that’s what it feels like. 

Scared that he’ll run into someone else who might be up, Logan decides to take the kitchen door. He pushes it open silently and slips inside, as nervous as a little kid who just broke an expensive vase.

He’s had enough to drink, but he figures a beer won’t do him any harm. So, he heads to the fridge and takes out a can of beer. He’s just opened it when he hears it. Footsteps. Soft, measured. And then, the scent of you, the sound of your heart beating. 

Everything in him stops, his blood seems to turn to sludge and time slows. A little smile threatens to show on his lips, but he’s not sure he’s in a position to smile at you. “You’re always too loud, never did learn to calm your heartbeat. I heard you a mile away.”

You peek out from around the corner, frowning as you take in his appearance. “Lo?”

God, he missed that. The way you’d say his name, the little nickname that makes him feel like he’s human and not some monster. He sees the way you look at him, though, the way you study his messy hair and long beard. Yeah, he hasn’t been taking care of himself, lately. Life’s been hell without you. And he wants to say that to you. But he doesn’t. He just takes a sip of beer to wash down the words.

You cross your arms. “What’s wrong with you? You can’t just fucking walk in here whenever you damn well feel like it. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Where are the others?” Logan asks, trying not to think about your words. What’s wrong with you? 

I don’t know, he wants to scream. I don’t know. But maybe if I’m by your side, I’ll be okay.

“Working,” you tell him and he sees you put a little switchblade away.

He imagines you all alone here in the night, defenseless. They left you all alone? Left you to take care of the kids and the mansion while they all left on a mission? His blood boils. No, he realizes. They didn’t leave her alone. I did. I’m supposed to be here. 

“Lotta good that would’ve done you,” he says sarcastically about the little blade, angry at himself. He was out drinking while you were here alone, defenseless. He’s an idiot.

“Where the fuck even were you? You’ve been gone for, like, a week,” you accuse and he griamces slightly.

“I just…needed to clear my head,” he says quietly. But the memories of the alcohol, the women the leaving so he doesn’t have to face the consequences comes to mind. 

He sees the look in your eyes and he remembers that you can hear his thoughts. “I see,” you say in a broken voice as you cross your arms. 

Immediately, he tries to make ammends. “No, bub, look—”

“Don’t you bub me,” you snap and he shuts up. You think you can just treat me like that? Fuck me and disappear without a word? You didn't even leave me a fucking note!”

And, God, you’re right. You’re so right. He left without even saying goodbye. You’re right, but he needs to make this okay. “No, listen to me—” he tries again.

You scoff and laugh humorlessly. “There’s nothing to listen to, Logan, because there's nothing you can say to make this better. I don't need any more of your bullshit. I'm done.”

And that’s it. His entire world crumbles then and there. He could swear he feels his heart stop, his lungs refuse to take another breath, his brain unable to process your words. Those two words hit him with enough force that he feels almost instantly sober. “What?” he asks, his voice trembling. He’s never heard his voice tremble before. 

“I’m done. Fucking done.”

One of the kids shows up then and interrupts, but Logan is too far gone to care.

Done. 

He lost you, just like he thought he would, and by trying to avoid that, he achieved it anyway. 

He feels like he might throw up, like he might cry. He wants to break every window in the mansion and destroy every curtain and tear the furniture to pieces and yell and punch and kick and destroy until he’s too tired to do anything but lay there in his sorrow.

Instead, he just remains where he is, frozen, as you turn to take the kid back to bed.

And just before you leave the room, you glance back at him. And that’s the last straw.

He sees the pain in your eyes, the heartbreak. Where he once saw adoration and trust and care, he’s now seeing hate and pain and disappointment.

He was so scared of losing you, that in everything he did to avoid it happening, he only led to its realization. 

---

Taglist

@nerrivm @rosiahills22 @d3vils-adv0c8 @thychuvaluswife @18lkpeters @daddy333 @e-nonsense @ch3rryblossms @ayamenimthiriel @thesecretlifeofmo @simming4sims @raideaters-blog @1cam8 @angelicbbsblog @giuliahowlett @lemonsquaredd @meadow-field @secretpandaconnoisseur @givenoutlaw @wunder-blunder @aredheadednerd @fictionalmen-dilflover @insanesociopath @m1cky-y-y @fictional-hooman @ion-even-know @znerac @steviebbboi @insanesosciopath @reidsworld @arrozconpepitoria @meadow-field @sir-thisisadndserver @wolviesgirl @rooroen @tezooks @nervousmumbling @sowhatariyana @mikyapixie @breezeybre @andmuzzlethat @takeyour-pants-off @manifester3 @ddwnghead 

*if you wanna be added to the taglist, let me know 💛

---

Blog masterlist

[andrealol7]

the exit

mattheo riddle x reader

inspired by the exit by conan gray

a/n : part 2 is up!!!

————————————————————————

You should’ve known from the beginning.

Mattheo Riddle was never yours. Not really.

He was magnetic, unpredictable, the kind of boy who could ruin you with a glance and make it feel like a privilege. Everyone wanted him—he was darkly charming, effortlessly dangerous, and impossibly out of reach.

And yet, somehow, you had gotten close.

Close enough to be the one he smirked at from across the Great Hall. Close enough that his knuckles grazed yours under the table. Close enough that, in the dead of night, when the castle was quiet and your dormitory felt suffocating, you would find yourself in his bed, tangled in silk sheets and whispered confessions.

You had him.

Or at least, you thought you did.

-

The night was cold, and the corridors were dimly lit as you walked through them, trying to push down the feeling in your chest.

It was stupid, really. The way you lingered, the way you let yourself believe, even for a second, that this—whatever this was—meant anything to him.

Because Mattheo didn’t do relationships.

He didn’t do love.

And you weren’t supposed to care.

You weren’t supposed to need him like this.

But Merlin, when he looked at you like that—when his hands were on you, when his voice was in your ear, when he made you feel like you were the only person in the world—it was impossible not to want more.

So when you heard about the party, you knew where you would find him.

And you knew, deep down, you shouldn’t go.

But you went anyway.

-

The Slytherin common room was packed, the air thick with smoke and the scent of firewhiskey. Bodies pressed together, music thrummed through the walls, and in the center of it all—

Mattheo.

He was laughing, leaning back against the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world, a drink dangling from his fingers.

And she was next to him.

You didn’t know her name. Didn’t care. All that mattered was the way she was draped over him, whispering something in his ear, her hands on his chest.

He didn’t push her away.

He didn’t even look uncomfortable.

And that was the part that hurt the most.

Your heart clenched, but you forced yourself to breathe. This wasn’t new. This wasn’t surprising. You knew what Mattheo was like.

You had no right to be hurt.

So why did it feel like you were about to break?

-

You didn’t know how long you stood there, frozen in place, before his eyes finally landed on you.

And when they did, something flickered across his face.

For a split second, he looked… guilty.

But then, just as quickly, the expression was gone. Replaced by that infuriating smirk, the one he always wore when he wanted to pretend nothing mattered.

When he wanted you to pretend nothing mattered.

Your fists clenched, but you forced yourself to smile—forced yourself to walk past him like you didn’t care.

Like you weren’t falling apart.

You barely made it a few steps before his hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist.

“Leaving so soon?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was something underneath it. Something almost… desperate.

You yanked your hand away. “What do you care?”

His smirk faltered. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Like someone who actually thought they mattered to you?”

The words hung between you, sharp and unforgiving.

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening. “You do matter.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? Sure doesn’t look like it.”

His lips parted, like he was going to say something else, but you didn’t give him the chance. You turned on your heel, shoving past the crowd, ignoring the way your vision blurred.

Because if you stayed—if you let him look at you like that for a second longer—you knew you would break.

And you refused to let Mattheo Riddle be the one to break you.

-

You didn’t see Mattheo after that night.

Not for weeks.

You stopped seeking him out in the halls. Stopped waiting for him to show up at your door. Stopped pretending that what you had—whatever it was—had ever been real.

And it was fine. It was good.

Until it wasn’t.

Until you found yourself at another party, another crowded room, another place you shouldn’t have gone to.

And this time, he was the one who saw you first.

You felt it the second his eyes landed on you.

Felt the shift in the air, the weight of his gaze like a burning brand against your skin.

But you didn’t look at him.

You were too busy laughing, fingers trailing over someone else’s arm, a boy you didn’t even know.

And Mattheo?

For the first time since you’d met him—since you had been tangled up in his sheets, since you had whispered secrets into his skin, since you had let yourself love him—

He looked jealous.

He looked wrecked.

And it should have made you feel better.

It should have made you feel like you had won.

But when he crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into the nearest empty corridor, it didn’t feel like winning at all.

“Let go of me,” you hissed, trying to yank yourself free.

He didn’t.

Instead, he pressed you back against the wall, his breath uneven, his hands shaking. “What the hell are you doing?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “What does it look like?”

His jaw clenched. “It looks like you’re trying to piss me off.”

“Well,” you whispered, tilting your head. “Is it working?”

Something snapped.

His lips crashed against yours, rough and desperate, and suddenly, everything else disappeared.

Your fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him closer, his hands roaming over your body like he was afraid you would disappear.

Like he was trying to memorize you.

And then—just as quickly as it started—it was over.

Mattheo pulled back, chest heaving, eyes searching yours. “Tell me you don’t love me.”

Your breath caught.

Tell me you don’t love me.

It was a demand. A plea.

You opened your mouth, ready to say the words—ready to lie.

But then he whispered, so soft you almost didn’t hear it—

“Because I love you.”

And suddenly, you weren’t so sure you could lie after all.

[silverskye13]

"So, you know what you have to do," Helsknight said patiently, gently placing the sword in Tanguish's hand. "We've run through it in slow motion like... Ten times."

"I'm going to stab you somehow," Tanguish muttered, staring down at the offending sword like it were a snake. "I just know I am."

"You're not going to stab me," Helsknight informed him. "But if you do, it's my neck you're aiming at, so it'll be quick, don't worry."

"Helsknight, I cannot convey enough how much more that makes me worry."

"I'll try to bleed to death quietly?"

"Helsknight."

"Er... gracefully?"

"Helsknight."

"You agreed to help me practice," Helsknight countered, an eyebrow raised, his hands on his sides. "You've seen me mock up this routine before."

"I know," Tanguish whined, wringing the sword's hilt in his hands nervously. "It's just-- it's different when it's me! My hands are shaky! And I get scared-- twitchy! I twitch!"

"If you can twitch a sword through me, you're either a lot stronger than you look, or something on step one went really wrong," Helsknight scoffed.

"I don't see why you need to practice this," Tanguish said for probably the fifth time that afternoon. "It's a fall. Everyone can fall. Falling is so easy most people don't even do it on purpose!"

"Which is exactly why I need to practice. You brace up when you see a fall coming. If something needs to look natural, accidental, it needs to be practiced. So." Helsknight jabbed a finger at Tanguish's chest, and when he looked down, snapped his finger up beneath Tanguish's chin. "Buck up. Do what I showed you."

Helsknight flashed him a weary smile, "Honestly, it's going to be fine. You did the mock-ups perfectly."

"I'm going to stab you," Tanguish repeated his earlier thought, this time with a little more threat than worry.

"Most people do at some point," Helsknight sighed dismissively. He walked backwards a few paces, lifting his sword in his hand and striking the pose that passed for dramatic on Helsknight. His shoulder faced Tanguish, the point of his blade low towards the Colosseum sand, chin up in a haughty, almost bored expression. Neither of them had armor (a fact that made Tanguish increasingly nervous), and Helsknight had discarded his cloak in order to focus on unimpeded movement. Still, when he tossed his head back and prepared his sword point, Tanguish could almost see how his cape would billow with the movement, something leading and flashy.

"Ready to strike me dead where I stand?" Helsknight smirked.

"We'll see how hard you're laughing when EB is sewing up your shoulder in an hour," Tanguish grumbled. With a sigh, he lifted the borrowed sword he held, the point a wary, shivering line in the vague direction of Helsknight's chest.

"Alright, I'll call out the hits just like when we slowed it down," Helsknight told him patiently. "Ready?"

"No."

"Overhead," Helsknight called, ignoring him and throwing himself forward. Their swords crossed with a shivering ring of metal high over Tanguish's head.

"Down."

Tanguish darted his sword down to catch Helsknight's blade as it knifed lazily towards his stomach. It was all telegraphed precision, Helsknight flowing calmly through motions that made more normal hands shake.

"Backstep."

Tanguish leaped away from a lunge at his midsection, twisting neatly.

"Down."

Helsknight's foot came forward. Tanguish slashed at it, smacking the flat of his sword against Helsknight's ankle. He didn't do the motion right. Whoever Helsknight's other combatant would be (Tanguish couldn't remember. EB maybe?) was supposed to hook their blade around the back of Helsknight's ankle, to make the whole motion more convincing. But Helsknight tripped backwards anyway, landing hard on the ground, braced against his elbows.

Tanguish took a step and lunged, sealing the final motion of the little practice duel. His foot landed neatly between Helsknight's parted knees. His sword point arced around to hover over the knight's exposed chest. Helsknight had untied the cords on the V of his tunic as he'd gotten hot while they practiced, and one of the many pale scars that criss-crossed his body peaked out from behind the fabric, as if inviting the blade to seat itself somewhere above his heart.

Helsknight looked down at the point, eyebrows raised, as if confirming Tanguish hadn't, in fact, managed to accidentally kill him. He was going to say something humorous and sardonic. There was a glint in Helsknight's eyes, a twitch at the side of his lips that Tanguish recognized.

Tanguish snapped up the point of the sword, a fluid motion that glanced gently off the skin of Helsknight's chest and brought the flat of the blade snapping up against Helsknight's chin. Whatever smart remark he was about to say broke against a soft grunt as Helsknight lifted his chin to meet Tanguish's eyes.

"M-maybe don't say dangerous things to the guy with the sword, yeah?" Tanguish asked, with all the bravado he could muster (which admittedly wasn't much.)

Helsknight grinned. Slow and languid, and all teeth. He splayed his hands, quiet surrender.

"I am at your mercy, mighty Gargoyle," Helsknight growled, lifting one hand slowly to lay gentle fingers on the blade. He tipped it down slightly, so the point hovered above his chest, though he left his head tilted, neck exposed in something like submission. "Though if you wanted my heart, it was already yours to keep or to break, if you wished it."

Tanguish felt a sudden, intense blush go racing up the back of his neck to burn his face. He managed to stammer one, maybe two confused syllables, before Helsknight promptly kicked his leg out from under him. The entire world turned into movement and twisting and falling. Somehow -- Tanguish wasn't entirely sure how -- Helsknight managed to pull the blade off to the side, grab Tanguish by the collar, and spin the both of them. Tanguish found himself with his back on the sand, Helsknight's knees on either side of his heaving chest, both swords in the knight's fists. Helsknight crossed the points neatly and shoved them into the ground on either side of Tanguish's neck, before leaning on the lethal little X of metal and grinning.

"Did you enjoy your two seconds of glory?" Helsknight asked sweetly.

Tanguish, still blushing hot and addle-brained, managed only a strangled, "W-was that part of the set-- p-practice?"

Helsknight laughed. To Tanguish, pinned beneath him, it seemed to shake the whole world. Helsknight slowly, carefully, got to his feet and then took Tanguish's hand to help him to his. Before the knight released him, he bowed low, kissing the back of Tanguish's hand gently.

"An apology for scaring you," he hummed as he straightened.

Tanguish, who had only just begun taming his blush, felt a new one flush his sculk-lights bright and shivering. "You're insufferable. Are we d-done now?"

"Nope."

Tanguish swore and, because Helsknight started laughing, gave the knight an ungentle kick to the shin.

[vin-at-thehub]

Vin wrote a fic for you btw @dustcrumbs

Here it is:

It was late, probably some point when the morning would come up and kiss the night away. The time where the sun wouldn’t rise with color but the moon would fade into the background and hold everything in a soft glow. It was also the point at night where Horror trudged his way back into the palace. He had been actively out all day with the plan of visiting his brother after he handled some supplies runs from Nightmares orders. If things had gone well, he didn’t show it, if it went poorly, he still didn’t show it, having his expression in a held smile. Masking in its own way.

By the time he had made it past the kitchen, to the stairs, he paused, hearing mumbling coming from that room. He stood there for a moment, before the voice of Dust clicked into his skull. Ah, Dust was awake—and talking to himself again-? Horror wasn’t sure who or why Dust spoke to seemingly no one, but he didn’t really mind overall. They were all freaks here, weren’t they-? Why would he have the right to judge Dust-? Especially when Dust had been nothing but nonchalant with him.

Horror smiled as he went and walked himself into the kitchen, eye-lights flashing around as he tried to spot Dust—there he was, mumbling something as he heated up a pot of water over the stove, and tried to strain some leaves into it.

“Whatcha doin bud-?” He asked gruffly, being caught off guard by how low his own voice was. Stars below, he was exhausted, wasn’t he-?

Eh, hopefully the big bad boss would just let him sleep through the day—and then he could stuff his face when he ate later. Maybe. It was still hard to eat without thinking of the people back home that had so little—even though he brought them food, and well, he had noticed the boss’s brother bringing some supplies at all—but at the end of the day, making sure the food didn’t go to waste was still something good to get done.

Dust snapped his skull up at him, knocking him out of his thoughts. Dust had a habit of pulling him out of his thoughts. It was nice. Sometimes Horror would just silently find himself near Dust, knowing that fog in his mind would go away around him.

The hooded skeleton shuffled his feet, eyelights likely flickering to the boiling tea. “Was gonna make you a…er cup of tea.” He said blankly. Horror stared at him in surprise for a second. Well that was a sweet pick me up. Hell, yeah. As he opened his mouth (teeth..-?) to reply with an enthusiastic thank you, Dust had started his mumbling again.

”shut up I’m trying—it’s just tea—..” He hissed to the air. Huh. Horror reached a clawed hand out and tilted his chin up—avoiding just grabbing his face like he used to since it pissed the boss of for some reason when he yanked Dust around like that—and bringing his attention back to him.

”Yah okay bud-?” He asked, tilting his skull so he could basically stare into the others covered eyelights. In a cute, friendly way of course. Dust just nodded, using blue magic to raise the pot and pour the tea into cups, handing one to Horror. Not saying much. Which was fine to him. Whatever he wanted to do was fine. Though Horror couldn’t help but be curious to what he had heard the other say earlier.

——————————————-

“Can I ask yah who you were chattin with-?” Horror asked, and Dust could swear his soul stopped in his ribcage. Papyrus, or whatever was left of him paused. Then he left. Coward. Leaving him alone with Horror after bullying him for making the guy tea. It was just tea, not a soul proposal or something. Dust took a sip of tea as he nodded, trying to silently figure out what to say, and sipping on leaf water was one way to delay his answer.

He wasn’t afraid to tell Horror. Not really. Not like he was trying to seem more sane than he was. But…it would be nicer to still seem slightly put together. It was probably why Horror constantly seeked him out. Right-?

Oh right he had basically downed the entire cup.

Time to talk, he supposed.

”I was..chatting with my version of Paps.” He said with a shrug. Not wanting to go into too much detail, besides, Horror would probably bomb him with questions anyway. Most did.

But as he waited, that bomb never came. Horror just nodded as he sipped thoughtfully on his tea.

“That sounds nice, bein able to chat with your bro a bunch.” He said with a slight grin.

Oh.

oh.

He wasn’t judging, wasn’t pushing him to say anything more, wasn’t acting like this was world shattering news.

Of course he wasn’t.

He was Horror, his perfect fucking man that understood everything far better than anyone would, then anyone gave him credit for. He kept things simple because simple was what they both needed. What the world needed.

Dust felt himself pull into one of his older grins. He wanted to tell Horror something. How he was feeling right now maybe, how nicely his words had effected him, something to make this…partnership stronger—just something. If he wanted to be a bit drastic “that warms the inside of my soul.” Or to be a bit simpler and direct, “I need you to stay with me. You make me feel safe.” Wonderful plan.

What came out was: “I need you inside me.”

…oh he was fucked.

[madsluvsdilfs]

☆Sweet Reassurance☆

Modern! Hockey Player!Anakin X Shy!Nerd!Reader

Words: 722

Warnings? Nope, all fluff

It's been a few weeks now since you and Anakin have been dating. Wow, it still feels weird to say, you, the school's resident shy nerd and Anakin, the Anakin Skywalker, the most popular, hottest hockey player in the school...were dating. Anakin was your first everything, first kiss, first boyfriend, god even your first time holding hands with a boy. It was pathetic really, before you had started dating, you were basically a nun, and once you had gotten close to Anakin and opened up, telling him about your insecurities and inexperience, he was nothing but supportive. Always holding your hand, or kissing your forehead or whispering sweet things while you buried your nose in a book, he was all you could ask for.

And that leads to now, you want up the bleachers in the tiny, freezing ice rink, the benches packed with proud parents and screaming teenage girls. You eventually find a free seat and sit down, unbeknownst to you, in front of some of the most notorious girls in school. They're known for ridiculing and teasing the girls who aren't a carbon copy of them and that includes you.

You hear laughing and whispers behind you before you feel a tap on your shoulder. You spin around to see the leader of the pack leaning down to speak to you. ‘Why are you wearing that?’ she asks you with a certain smugness in her tone and before you can open your mouth to ask ‘Wearing what?’ she points to the hockey jersey you forgot you were wearing.

Oh, that. That being one of Anakin’s hockey jerseys that he had given you to wear in support. ‘Oh uh A-Anakin gave it to me to wear’, you tell them before hearing a chorus of laughter. ‘Really? Anakin gave it to you? Why would he date a nerd like you?’ one of the other girls chime in before they all laugh again. You feel a flush spread over your face, hating all of the pressure and attention being put on you, ‘Well…because I’m his-...his girlfriend’, you inform them all before they all start to speak at once; ‘Yeah right, like he would go out with you’ and ‘How are we supposed to believe that?’ and a bunch of ‘No way’s. You nod a few times to confirm what you said is true before turning back around and slipping the shirt off as you try to block out the whispers of you from behind. 

The hockey game was great, enthralled you watch your handsome boyfriend glide across the ice, holding his stick with practiced precision and the gorgeous smile you could see from under his helmet every time he scored.  And before you knew it, he scored the winning point and the game ended.

You wait outside the changing rooms for him, jersey still held tightly in your hands, as he walks out with a frown gracing his handsome face. 'Why aren't you wearing it?', he asked with a pout, eyes fixed on the now unworn, creased shirt. You avoid looking at his face, instead focusing on your shoes as you explain what happened and then you hear a sigh.  A deeper, almost offended frown finds its way onto his lips as he hears you mention the other girls, girls that he has never and will never show any interest in.

He steps forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to your forehead, contemplating what to say. 'You know you shouldn't care about what they think, you know I'd never leave you for them, no matter what they say', he leans forward again but this time presses his lips to yours in a tender, love-filled kiss, wanting to convey all of his feelings.

It felt just like the first time you kissed, after your first date, it was full of affection, support and trust and it left your knees feeling weak. After you pull away, you feel your cheeks head up and find yourself leaning into his touch, revelling in the safety and comfort you get from it. Anakin's hands move around to your front before his fingers interlock with your own and he leans down to whisper into your ear, 'If you're still having any doubts...I could always show you how much I love you.'  

First post, woohoo! I hope you all like it and please feel free to leave comments/advice so I can become a better writer. Enjoy, lovelies!

@anakinstwinklebunny hey bunnie! I'm the anon who asked for advice on writing and blogs so I hope I lived up to your advice and that you like this. I actually wrote this fic when I saw the title for your popular hockey player Anakin fic, so I hope I did good xx

[suzieloveships]

Cybertron Pre-Sentinel's betray

AKA High Guard x B99 au [1/?]

Base on my previous post

Starscream: That's how we do it in the HG, sir. Fight bad guys and look good doing it ------ Shockwave: Could you make TC stop doing that weird thing with his face? Skywarp: Crying? ------ Starscream: Let's go! Chest bump me! Soundwave: You don't want to do this Starscream: No, I really do Soundwave: It hurts you every time Starscream: No, I know, but I'm fired up. The adrenaline is gonna carry me through. Here we go! [They chest-bump, and Soundwave effortlessly knocks Star to the floor] ------ [Megatronus enters the room with his wrist is in a splint] Starscream: Whoa. What's with the cast? Megatronus: I sprained my wrist. Skyfire: Oh no, what happened? Megatronus: Don't worry about it, I'm fine. Starscream: Yeah, Primus, Sky. Back off. Leave the guy alone [he cranes his neck to check if Prime is out of earshot] All right, huddle up, everyone. Bring it in, bring it in. So he wouldn't say what happened, which can only mean one thing. Skywarp: He's in a fight club. Starscream: No. He did it doing something he's embarrassed by. Like smiling. Only question is how do you hurt your arm smiling. Thundercracker: Could be a sports injury Megatronus: Attention, everyone! I can hear you speculating about the nature and origin of my injury from my office. I tripped over un uneven sidewalk. I did not think it was relevant to your jobs, the jobs you should all be doing right now. Get to work. Megatronus to Starscream once everyone in gone: Do you want to know how I actually hurt my wrist? Starscream: Yes. Megatronus: I was hula hooping. Prima and I attend a class for fitness and for fun. Starscream: Oh, my Primus. Megatronus: I've mastered all the moves. Starscream: Why are you telling me this? Megatronus: Because no one will ever believe you. Starscream: You sick son of a glitch. ------ Starscream: So how'd you convince the whole squad to betray me? What'd you offer them? Megatronus: I asked them if they wanted to embarrass you, and they instantly said yes ------ Skywarp: Oh, no. Despite what I've been saying for years, that aft just might quit ------ Shockwave: Come on, sir, the math thing isn't the problem. The war is keeping you and Prima apart. You two just need to bone. Skyfire: [chuckles nervously] Megatronus: What did you say? Skyfire: Don't say it again. Shockwave: I said you two need to bone. Skyfire: [whimpers] Megatronus: How dare you, General Shockwave. I am your Prime! Megatronus: Bone! Megatronus: What happens in my berthroom is none of your business. Megatronus: BONE?! Megatronus: Don't ever speak to me like that again. ------ Shockwave: So Starscream's doing the right thing instead of the selfish thing? [to Skyfire] You did this to him ------ Megatronus: I wanna show you a picture from last night that really upset me. Starscream: Okay, but in my defense, Shockwave bet me 50 shanix that I couldn't drink all that shampoo. Megatronus: That's not what I wanted to- You drank shampoo? Starscream: What? No. You're the one farting bubbles. ------ Megatronus: Please, keep an eye on Thundercracker today. He’s going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person and get himself punched. Skywarp: Sure, I would love to see Thundercracker get punched. Megatronus: Try again. Skywarp: I mean I will stop TC from getting punched. ------ Starscream: This is where we came the night we pass our first big exam and you fell in love with me. Skyfire: Star. Starscream: The night you flirted with me for twenty klicks and I became obsessed with you forever. ------ Thundercracker: Life is a party and I’m the piñata. ------ Soundwave: You could've died.  Starscream: The doctor said all my bleeding was internal. That's where the energon is supposed to be ------ Soundwave, holding kitten!Ravage: Prime was right. I've been so worried about my own kid, I forgot about my stupid grown-up kids [points at the seekers] Starscream: That's insulting ------ Thundercraker: Sexy train is leaving station, check out this caboose. Later sluts Everyone: Starscream: Just let him have it

[the-kr8tor]

Can you pretty please write a bdas one where r gathers the crew up and shows them how to sew a wound the same way she showed Hobie on the island? I think it'd be funny to know the different reactions.

Like, some would be concerned that r js dragged her blade through her palm, some would think r turned crazy, and some would think r's badass. The reasoning for her teaching would be that she realized the crew would be dropping left and right without her. With the fact that they're too reckless sometimes.

Please and thanks Katy!! Love your writing so much and I hope you're doing well 💕💗💜

I miss writing for the pirate sillies 🥹 I hope you like it! ❤️

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, so specific physical description of the reader, pirate AU, reader is a medical professional don't worry, set in my BDAS series. Between the devil and the sea AU, CW blood and injury, spider trio cameo, fluff.

Navigation

“Why do we have to go through this again?” Gwen groans as you push her towards the infirmary of the ship.

“Because you're all too reckless and I keep stitching you all up more than a seamstress stitches clothes!” You exclaim as you and Gwen enter the room.

The two of you are met with rambunctious laughter and chatter. A few of the members play around on the surgery table, playing around it and pretending they're doing surgery on Miles, who's laying still on the table. You cringe at the fact that they're holding your precious instruments with their bare hands that still stinks of gunpowder and wood. Hobie, your captain that's supposed to be a role model, chases Pavitr around with a jar of a specimen floating around in fluid. Pav screams, running all over the already small infirmary.

As if things couldn't be worse, James looks through the medicine cabinet while Yuri urges him to drink a mysterious vial that would definitely kill a grown elephant.

You let go of Gwen and shut the door with a resounding slam. It doesn't take much for them to quiet down after seeing the stern look on your face.

Hobie freezes in place, mid chase as he holds the jar above his head. Clearing his throat, he gently places the jar down on the shelf and gestures for everyone to stand to one side of the room. All the while smiling sheepishly at you like a child caught with his hand inside the cookie jar. Or in this case, inside a dead frog floating in amber fluid.

Miles almost staggers as he jumps off the table because of the gauze sticking on his eyelids. Gwen stifles a laugh, heading towards him with a helping hand and tugging the bandage off. You and Hobie share a look from their interaction. Smiling softly at the two lovebirds.

“Right,” you sigh out when everyone is standing to one side of the table while you're on the other end. “I called you in here because— Yuri.” Turning towards the raven haired, you open your palm out to her.

“What?” She says innocently.

You only give her a look, brow raised and fingers opening and closing.

With a sigh and a disgruntled groan, she takes a vial out of her pocket and hands it to you before returning back into the line.

“Good, as I was saying, I called you all in here today to teach you the basics of treating an injured crew member.”

James raises his hand.

“What is it James?”

“We can only treat fellow crew members?” He asks, scratching his cheek.

“No, anyone you want to help, I guess.”

Yuri raises her hand.

“Yes, Yuri?”

“What if I don't want to help them and they're actually a prick?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I don't know, Yuri, it depends on who you're talking about.”

James raises his hand again, side eyeing Yuri.

You groan, “yes, James?”

“I think she was talking about me.” He points at Yuri accusingly.

“Then she has to help you—”

Hobie raises his hand, smiling from ear to ear.

“Yes, captain?” You warn him with your tone.

“I need to go to the loo.” A resounding guffaw echoes out.

“Oh for fucks sake!” You unsheathe your dagger, showing off the newly sharpened metal.

“Shit, love!” Hobie yelps in shock, but his smile says he's impressed and even proud.

The crew members gasp, some in a panic and some in amusement. Pav was the former, almost looking like he's about to cry at the sight of you holding your dagger right above the back of your hand.

“What're you doin'?” Hobie has his hand reaching towards you, feet slowly inching to your side. “C’mon, love, we were just jokin’”

“Oh, I know. Don't do this on your own.” You shrug as you cut deeply at the back of your hand, wincing at the pain as Hobie rushes to your side and takes the dagger away from you and then grabs your bleeding hand.

“Fuck! Why'd you do that?!” Hobie panics, while the other crew members scream at the blood dripping from your hand down to the floorboards.

“Fucking badass.” Yuri nods in approval together with James who is in awe of the deep cut.

“As a demonstration.” You say calmly, but with the way your jaw tightens, you're in pain. “What—” you hiss as Hobie grips the cut, trying to stop the bleeding. “What are you going to do in this situation?”

“What?!” Gwen bolts over to your shelves to find a clean cloth. “You're fucking bleeding!”

“Exactly,” You say in between clenched teeth. Hobie's petting your hand and murmuring apologies against it. “Hobie, I'm fine.”

“I can see through your hand!” He cries out, eyes glimmering as the ship rocks against the waves.

“Yeah and you're doing great at trying to stop the bleeding.” You praise him, only to be met with a confused look. Turning towards the bewildered crew members and to Pav, who's being held up by Miles lest he falls on his knees. “You're going to need some clean cloth to stop it, or else you're increasing my chance of getting infected.”

“Scuttlebutt, I love you, but what the fuck?” He whisper yells as if he's about to lose his voice.

“I love you too, remember what I taught you back on the island.” You beam at him, kissing the tip of his nose briefly.

Hobie inhales and straightens up like the real captain that he is. “Gwen, the cloth is on your right, inside the top drawer.” Gwen does what she's told, frantically ripping out clean fabric. “Yuri, grab the antiseptic inside that shelf, it's the green jar.” Yuri mocks a salute and then heads towards the shelf. “James, the suture kit is on that table, you can't miss it.”

James rushes to get the needle and thread as Gwen packs your wound with the cloth. “Good on you, Gwen.”

“Don't fucking do that again.” She points at you as Hobie tightens his hold on your wound, effectively stopping the bleeding. You could only smile at her.

“Miles—” Hobie calls for him, only to find that he's holding onto an unconscious Pav whilst fanning his face. “Uh, take care of Pav.”

The captain meets with your eyes as you grin at him. “What's next, captain?”

“Scuttle work for you next week once you're healed.” He threatens, worry still etched on his face as he checks if the blood has stopped flowing out.

“Aww, that's not part of it though.” His grey eyes narrow, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. “I love you, good job.” You say with a lilt, eyes shining bright and alert, a good sign for Hobie.

He clicks his tongue in reply, but he still places a quick kiss on your wrist before laying your hand on the table to continue treating you and in turn teaching the crew. The scuttle work will be worth it now that you have taught them all a valuable lesson that might save someone's life in the future.

If you liked this please check out my pirate au series! 🩵