#its funny that this will be the last one for a while

[salem-s]

EVER SINCE ROCKY DUNE — RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT (18+)

SYNOPSIS you and rafe notoriously flirted all-throughout high school, seeing who could rile the other up the most. after not seeing each other for four years, you run into him at a bar and slip into a familiar rhythm of banter. you're surprised to see that he’s not the same frat-prick he was in high school. and rafe realizes that you're exactly the same… except way hotter than the last time he saw you.

WARNINGS fluff, angst, suggestive content but no actual smut. lowkey wrote this off two glasses of wine. i’ll edit in the morning. enjoy. 18+ MDNI.

WORD COUNT 7.7k.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER devil's advocate by the neighborhood

Rafe's been on cloud nine lately.

Work has been going spectacular (as a job really can get), the girl he's been trying to brush off gently has finally gotten the hint that he's just not that into her, the city life has been treating him relatively fairly (as in, he's no longer tied to the confinements of his father's meticulous expectations ever since he moved out and started working onsite in the city, so now he can finally breathe), all of his friends are in one place and he has a great work-play balance that people could only dream of.

He isn't sure if it gets better or worse when he sees you from across the bar.

It's jarring. Especially when he triple takes to make sure it's actually you and not some trick that the tequila is enticing him into, because his vision isn't that great to begin with so it's not a completely foreign concept for him to mistake someone for a different person. He's done that way too many times which called for an astronomical amount of awkward encounters to try and make up for his fuck up.

But no. It's you. Clear as day.

And hotter than he can handle.

Shamelessly, through the crowds of people coming in and out of his focus, all his eyes can do is stay on you.

Study your figure in all its glory. The way that skirt sinfully snugs your curves. The way you're subtly shifting your weight from foot to foot to relieve the pressure on your poor heels, the inches too high for him to count. The way your clothes cling to your skin and how your hair has changed since the last time you saw him. The way you're smiling and laughing at something funny your friend said, looking way too fucking pretty to be considered casual.

It's funny, because all throughout high school, all he could think about was how he couldn't fucking stand you. But not in the way one would expect.

No. In the way he couldn't stand not having you.

Rafe couldn't stand the way you batted your lashes at him every time you (somehow) lured him into another one of your traps, as in getting him to do your homework with a simple squeeze of his bicep or allowing him one slow dance at prom in exchange for some of the shitty weed he used to deal to Kooks (a discounted rate for you, always). You knew all of his nooks and crannies, knew how to play the cards he dealt you, and, boy, you won the game every single time.

Yet now?

He can't look away.

In fact, he's craving the confrontation, almost jittered at the thought of being close to you again after going so long without it. His hands twitch in your direction, a subconscious pull to you that he can't explain. It's as if you're casting a spell on him without even knowing it. Every time you laugh, his heart skips. Every time you take a sip of your drink and he focuses on your lips, his breath hitches. Every time you almost meet his gaze, his knees nearly buckle.

Rafe's been nursing a half-drank tequila soda for the past thirty minutes, since he laid his eyes on you the first time, shamefully staring at you while — maybe — taking three sips in the same time frame.

And — of course — when you happen to look over your shoulder and nonchalantly scan the crowd, your eyes find his as he's downing the rest of his drink.

The shudder that waves over his body is indescribable, and an automatic smirk etches his lips when you fully realize who you're looking at, proud that you finally found him after not being subtle in the slightest. It's his trademark pick up: send a crooked smile to a pretty girl across the bar in hopes it'll get her blushing, get her enticed enough to mosey her way over to him and spark up a conversation, or vice versa where he's practically stalking up to her and preparing his whole entourage.

But Rafe's mind spins when you simply look him up and down, eyes bright and mischievous, before turning back to your friend and continuing with whatever you were saying.

The act stuns him, blinking stupidly and animatedly to make sure he saw that correct. Did you just...brush him off? Acknowledge the guy you flirted with for four years straight with a simple up-down glance? And follow up with nothing? Not even a wave, or nod, or smile?

Topper, who accidentally witnesses the brutal rejection, claps Rafe on the shoulder a little too audaciously to be considered compassionate.

"Damn, bro," he murmurs loud enough for Rafe to hear. "Looks like that move's done. You're buying our next round again, right?"

The words piss Rafe off for a multitude of reasons, the first being that he's never inviting Topper and his other high school friends to stay with him for a weekend ever again, because it's been one day of them visiting and Rafe's already done with their bullshit, the same bullshit they'd pull all those ages ago and the same bullshit that he could never fucking stand. It was a courtesy invite, something to get Topper off his back because he asked to see the city one too many times.

The second reason being the fact that — no — he's not done. Never with you.

(You're the only person he's thought about in years. Even when he had a relatively long-term girlfriend. Even throughout all the hook-ups he's endured only to picture it's you underneath him. It's sinful the amount of times he's imagined you saying his name, clawing his back, imprinting your mark on his skin. No one else's. Only him. Solely him.)

Pathetically, he recounts all the missed opportunities he's had with you. Sitting shoulder to shoulder in honors chemistry and pawning notes off each other. When'd he go home to study for an exam, he'd see your tiny hand-drawn hearts in the corner of his paper that he traced over gently like it was engraved. Purposefully approaching you in the halls or in the courtyard to rile you up just so he could talk to you. Kissing you once and fucking it up all in the same breath. Slow dancing with you at prom as an excuse to hold you, even when he made you think it was in exchange for some free weed.

Christ, he would've given you the weed for free if you simply asked nicely.

Two more shots, thanks to Topper, and Rafe's pushing through the crowd to you.

When your friend sees him approaching with a stone cold expression, she frowns and darts her gaze between the you and him, yet the cautiously growing smile on her face gives away the fact that something interesting is about to happen, so either that's why she doesn't say anything to you — who are talking animatedly about something random — or she simply doesn't care.

His hand feels like ice against your hot shoulder. "Don't tell me you're too shy to say hi, baby?"

You already know the scent of his cologne, the cadence of his voice, without having to turn around. You've known it for years, dreamt about it for years, so sue a girl for thinking it's all a dream when you're actually hearing it after so long.

Your friend, though, is reacting real time. "Baby?" She darts her gaze between you and Rafe, looming behind you like a shadow. "Got a secret boyfriend I don't know about?"

Your finger taps your chin in mock contemplation. "Hm, a few. Hang on, let me guess."

When the pads of his fingertips skin against the small of your back, you stifle a grin.

"This one's blond," you muse teasingly, loud enough for him to hear and sweet enough to get him to indulge in your little act. "Dirty blond, though. Not to get confused with a Targaryen blond. A head taller than everybody else and a jaw clenched so tight it might break if you call him Rafey."

At the nickname, his hand fully presses onto your skin, somehow finding its way under your tank top to seer against your bare skin, burning hot and inviting just for him.

"Easy," he murmurs low and baritone in the shell of your ear. "I have a reputation to uphold."

Your friend, simply third wheeling for the whole occasion, says her parting words. "Some rep." She turns to you. "I'll be at the bar."

With a ferociously beating heart, your eyes follow your friend as she sifts through the crowd, making her eventual way to the bar after pushing through several friend groups who do their best to accommodate her.

Though his palm is branding your skin, ice against your fire, settling under your tank top so shamelessly that you'd think it was meant to stay there. His audaciousness certainly surprises you, as you've only had a few physical instances with him that kept you up at night: his palm somehow finding its way to your jaw during your prom-night slow dance, arms bear-wrapped around you pulling you away from a cat-fight at the Boneyard one summer night before graduation, climbing over his shoulders and settling there for a game of chicken against your friends in the ocean.

The night always ended the same, with a lingering touch and his piercing blue eyes that seemed to stay too long on you, as if he was itching for more.

But now, older and wiser and hotter, he doesn't pull away.

Instead, he holds you firmer.

It makes you hum. "Cameron, you're scaring away my roster."

He's still behind you, a ghost of a man, almost building up the anticipation of actually being face to face with you.

"No need for them anymore," is all he says before moving in front of you.

And — god — if the close proximity isn't fogging your brain.

You always knew he was tall. Hell, you've been closer to him than this before, but the reaffirmation nearly startles you. His shoulders are a bit broader then you remember, biceps more defined and almost begging to burst through the seams of his t-shirt. The curtain bangs and eventual buzz cut are long gone, instead replaced with a short-grown mullet that you've never seen on him yet crave all the same. It makes him look more relaxed, more sure of himself, as if he's venturing out from the cookie-cutter image he's been molded to fit and finding his own style, finding the own beat to his drum.

It's intoxicating. You're addicted.

And Rafe? He looks fucking hypnotized.

You nearly snort when his blue eyes scale your figure up and down slowly, taking you in shamelessly as if he has all the time in the world to do so. All while his hands settle on your waist, and his palms only press harder when you don't push him away and instead invite the contact. Eventually, his blue eyes find yours and a lazy smile etches his lips.

"You're awfully bolder than I remember," you say slowly, drawing out every syllable to fully ingest his attention.

"You're awfully hotter than I remember," he responds quietly, more to himself as he looks at you in awe. "Since when have you been here?"

You frown in faux offense.

"Are you telling me you haven't been keeping tabs on me, Cameron?"

He snorts.

Yet you continue. "I've posted so many Insta stories, and I know you've seen every single one," you add sweetly, a honey-laced cadence to your voice that nearly lures him into a trap.

"Always kept tabs on you, baby," Rafe murmurs methodically, almost in a trance as he tugs on the ends of your tank. "I like this."

"You like it?"

"Mhm. Makes you look pretty."

"I didn't wear it for you."

Rafe's lips twitch. "Who'd you wear it for?"

Your smile widens. "Me. And all the guys in my phone," you muse.

But that only makes Rafe furrow his brows and tilt his head in mock seriousness, hands pressing a little tighter against your bare skin (not that you mind in the slightest) as if he's staking a claim on you, branding you with the marks of his palms and the pattern of his finger prints. You never knew how nice his touch could feel, never knew what you were missing out on all those years spent bickering back and forth, never knew that kind of form he could mold to the sculpture of your figure.

It's comical, really, knowing damn well you don't have a roster, nor a list of guys in your phone, but how would he ever know? What's the harm in a bit of play? Especially when he looks so pathetically cute trying to look serious with a pinched brow and puffy parted lips. He’s not threatening to you in the slightest. Never has been.

"What?" You ask with faux confusion, going as far as jutting out your bottom lip in a pout that he can't help but stare at. "Why are you frowning, baby?"

"Delete their numbers,” he murmurs, looking solely at your mouth that’s growing into a crooked smile. “Just keep mine.”

“Rafe, we haven’t talked in four years, what makes you think you’re mine?”

“Baby, I’ve been yours since freshman year.”

You falter.

Only slightly, as you involuntarily suck in a breath at the ferocity of his confession. Whether it's actually true or not, whether he's just saying these sweet nothings to hopefully get in your pants, whether it's the influence of whatever he's drinking and the excitement of getting laid tonight, it still makes your heart flutter.

Because you think back to all that time ago: fourteen with brightly aligned smiles thanks to the braces that came off a year earlier, refusing to coward under his pretty blue eyes like all the other girls and stand your ground, show your indifference, prove that it's gonna take more than a few slick one liners and a charming smile to lock you down. Not to mention he's tried more than once to score with you, when you were fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.

One liners tossed over his shoulder as if its second nature, and you flirting back but never giving him an actual chance, not unless he could change for the better. Your relationship is ping pong, tennis, thumb-war. You let him know that he can get close but he can't touch.

Opposite of what he's doing now, which is cautiously smoothing his palms on the skin under your tank top, fingertips digging gently into your flesh.

And, oh, he sees you falter, even though you hoped it was subtle enough. But nothing gets past him, ever.

Rafe's grin is so fucking pretty it makes you scowl. "C'mon. Don't act like you didn't know."

Deflect. Deflect. Deflect.

"I don't," you deadpan back, though in your attempt to remain stone-cold, your voice is quieter than you intend. "You're full of shit."

"Am I?" He's so fucking close to you. "Here I am, pouring my heart out to you, and you think I'm bluffing?"

You manage to quirk a brow. “I wouldn’t consider the insinuation you want to sleep with me the same as pouring your heart out.”

Rafe’s lips twitch. “No?”

“Nope.”

“Even if I asked nicely?”

“Even if you bought me a car.”

Rafe laughs boisterously, head tipped back at your usual venom cadence that he never takes to heart. It’s almost as if he craves it, loves that you give him a hard time, keep him on his toes and make sure his ego is in check, because lord knows the rest of the female population that he encounters probably don’t have the gall to keep him in line. You never did. Sure, you flirted with him (if your definition of flirting was incessantly insulting him and pissing him off) and had your fun, but there was never the insinuation that he was serious.

The thought of him being serious about you settles a kettlebell in your gut.

“Baby,” he says with a giant grin, and you hate the way your heart skips at the name. “You could slap me and I’d buy you a small country.”

“Oh?” You hum, still aware of his hands on you. “So it’s that easy? Let you fondle me a little, slap you, and walk away with a sovereign nation?”

“Why are you acting like this is news?”

“Because you’re you,” you deadpan, ignoring the way his facade cracks slightly. “You want what you can’t have, and once you do, you’re onto the next.”

His once-charming smirk now morphs into something you can’t describe, perhaps a hint of it left on his lips as his eyes soften with such speed that you nearly have to blink to make sure you’re talking to the same person. All he does is stare at you for a moment, giving you more than enough time to take back what you said and turn it into something he approves of, something that’s true.

But you don’t. You hold your ground and let your words linger in the air. It’s obvious, no? His motive has always been to get what he doesn’t have, which is nearly impossible since he already has what money can buy him. The riches, the trust fund, the dozens of yachts he has all can’t buy what he really wants: you.

“That’s what you think of me?” Rafe asks gently, more sincere than you’ve ever heard him. “That’s what you think I see you as?”

You open your mouth to retort, probably something witty and bitchy and out of tune with the mood of the conversation, but just past Rafe, back at the bar, you notice Topper and two other boneheads from high school you know he used to bum with, staring at the two of you and laughing at the entire interaction. Topper ducks his head to whisper something to his friend, snickering and darting his gaze between you and Rafe as he says something, probably something crude and fucking ridiculous.

It makes your spine straighten.

You're brought back to earth, remembering why you never gave into Rafe's flirting and complex for all these years. He's a cookie-cutter mold of what home is: rich frat assholes who think they can sweet talk their way into getting anything they want. You zoom out, and remind yourself that you only know Rafe on the surface. You don't know what he's like behind closed doors, you don't know how he treats his sisters and any motherly figures in his life. You don't know how he'll treat you after you give him what he wants, which is simply getting his dick wet.

You've only seen this side of him, thinking back on all the times he's openly hit on you and you've hit on him back with those bitter insults you love to throw at him. But whereas he's treating this as a game, to get another token under your belt, you've been treating it as a shield, a mechanism to remind him of what he could have if he wasn't so fucking pretentious.

"Look," you start firmly, flirtatious edge gone as you reach down and peel his wandering hands off your waist. "I'm not sure what kind of caveman-dominance-act you're doing for your friends, but we're grown enough to stop running in circles with this little bit."

Rafe frowns as you place his arms at his side.

“If you want to get your dick wet, there’s plenty of girls here to suffice,” is all you conclude with, offering him a smile that isn't very nice and doesn't reach your eyes before disappearing into the crowd.

Leaving him speechless, hurt, and hard.

You really thought that'd be the end of it.

You said your piece, let him down firm enough so that he won't try the same shit again the next time he sees you. Because, as fun as it is to rile him up and flirt with no consequence, it's getting pretty old putting up with his audacious behavior, especially now that you haven't seen him in how many years, and he's feeling you up as if he ever had any right?

Please.

Rafe’s never been one for commitment. He had one long term (six months, at that) girlfriend in high school, but after an abrupt breakup that he refused to elaborate on with anyone, nothing was stable for him since. A new girl every weekend tucked under his arm, bringing a girl by the hand up to his room only to repeat his same actions with a different girl an hour later. It wasn’t something you ever wanted to involve yourself with, no matter how hard you flirted or how hot he looked on certain days, nothing would actually make you fold.

But tonight?

It’s proving difficult to stick to your word.

Especially when your ex mistakenly gets involved.

You didn’t even see Seth enter the bar, nor did you see the three vodka shots he downed back to back to back, nor did you see him spot your best friend so that, conveniently, means you’re somewhere nearby too. After slithering away from Rafe, you beelined towards your friend and got another drink, moseying out to the outdoor patio to get some fresh air and to decidedly try and ignore whatever the fuck just happened.

It’s when you’re halfway through telling your friend the summarized version of your and Rafe’s lore when your ex decides to approach.

The whole interacting is nothing graceful. He’s drunk and babbling on and on about absolutely nothing at all (you dated for three months and broke up because he was actively sending nudes to his ex girlfriend) so his words don’t really mean anything to you. They’re harmless, really, slurred and incoherent and nothing you really need to pay attention to. Seth is barely a threat.

Although, when ten minutes go by and he’s still not leaving you alone is when you start to get antsy.

You really wish you hadn’t given your friend the it’s okay nod because now she’s nowhere in sight, and you’re on your ninth damn that’s crazy. You only have so many of those left in the chamber, and Seth’s breath reeks of vodka and with every word, despite your constant step back, he’s getting closer. He keeps trying to grab at you, to hold your hand like old times and get you back like he’s been trying to do for a few weeks now.

It’s getting ridiculous. He’s got you caged in a corner and every time you try to duck under his arm and escape, he’s blocking you in, continuing his rambling with more fervor each time. Your eyes scan the patio and the small glass door leading back into the bar for someone, anything, any light at the end of the tunnel to help you get you out of this mess.

When he asks who you keep looking for, the lie rolls easily off your tongue. “My boyfriend.”

You’re not even looking at your ex when his shoulders stiffen. You’re looking past him to search for a viable candidate to try and read your mind, get the hint, and come over here and play the part.

Of course, your ego dies when Rafe enters the patio.

He doesn’t see you immediately, eyes trained on the barely drank beer in his hand and huffing out a low breath. But he’s alone: not surrounded by his degenerate friends and finally having a moment to himself to collect his thoughts, debrief your interaction earlier without Topper chirping in his ear at how funny the whole thing was. For a moment, you slightly pity him and his dejected expression. His pretty blues resemble that of a kicked puppy, and your heart does a weird flutter when you consider the fact that you actually might’ve hurt his feelings.

But when Rafe meet your gaze, it’s a silent exchange.

Your eyes are slightly widened, a wordless help that he seems to understand immediately, wiping the pitiful expression off his face and instantly turning stone cold. The drink in his hand is set down on a table full of random people, getting a few confused looks. But he doesn’t stop to address it, instead eyes staying solely on yours as he approaches the dim corner your ex has you backed into.

Christ. Your dignity is dwindling by the minute.

“Hey, baby,” Rafe hums low, baritone enough to make your ex jump in surprise and spin around to face the voice of the culprit. “Ready to go?”

Not by the minute. By the second.

Before you can open your mouth and humiliate yourself further, Seth scoffs in disbelief as he turns his head between you and your supposed-boyfriend, eyes wide and mouth agape. It takes him one, two moments to fully register what’s going on and react.

“Th—this is your boyfriend?” He splutters with a slur.

The sound makes Rafe rolls his eyes.

“You mind?” He asks coolly, taking an audacious step towards you.

It makes Seth step aside immediately. The cold blue stare plus the added height definitely frightens your ex, as he’s never been the one for confrontation and scoured away anytime there was any inclination for a fight.

But Rafe? No. He craves it.

Fragmented memories scatter your brain. Writing his chemistry notes for him when his knuckles were too busted to hold a pen. Witnessing the Great Boneyard Squabble in real time when he broke Connor Carlone’s jaw yet suffered two broken ribs. Remembering how easy it was for him to throw hands instead of using his words and almost always used fighting as a cop out, because he knew he’d win.

You remember one particular time you drunkenly found him sitting alone on the sand dunes, putting his ice cold beer against a busted knuckle. It was the only time you’ve ever seen him distant, quiet, so unlike the Rafe you’ve grown to know and despise. You asked him if it hurt, he only shrugged. You then asked him why he keeps doing it if it hurts, to which he responded that it’s all he knows. Fighting and putting on a mask are all he knows.

And your ex certainly wants no part of it.

“No. Not at all.” He turns to you and swallows thickly when he watches Rafe slither an arm around your waist. “Uh, I’ll, um, see you?”

Before you can retort something smart, the breath is momentarily sucked out of you when you feel Rafe’s palm tug you taut to his side, still indulging in his little pretend part before it’ll get swept away from him. You can’t say that you blame him, as he’ll take any excuse to get his hands on a girl even if it’s for a glorious sixty seconds. And with you — the girl who never let him get too close — he’s certainly going to extend the short-lived time he has with you as long as he can.

“You won’t,” is all Rafe responds with, and your ex is staggering back, slipping back into the crowd and disappearing before you know it.

You manage to let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, but mask the relief with an eye roll and a gentle shove at his rib cage.

“You didn’t need to do all that,” you murmur, still holding onto the smallest grudge you have with him on his boisterous behavior earlier.

(Despite how fucking nice it feels to have his hands on you).

You hear Rafe snort beside you.

“I got him to fuck off, didn’t I?”

You bite your tongue when a bratty response rises in your throat, only holding back because he’s right. Of course all it took was one glare to get your ex to tuck tail and bolt, whereas your attempts to brush him off and leave proved fruitless. As much as you want to roll your eyes again, say something snotty that’ll either rile him up or piss him off, you hate to acknowledge that Rafe did exactly what you wanted him to do without explicitly having to say anything.

“Yeah,” you murmur quietly, almost frustrated. “Thanks for that.”

Being the prick that he is, Rafe isn’t letting you get away with a half-assed apology muttered under your breath, because suddenly he’s right in front of you, a hint of a grin ghosting his lips as he ducks down to your eye level, making it that much more person than it needs to be.

“What was that?”

You narrow your eyes. “You heard me fine.”

“You know I’m hard of hearing, baby, lemme hear that voice. Gotta speak up around me.”

That abhorrently incriminating nickname turns your heart into a stampede every time, no matter how hard you try to push down the feeling or deny it. Curse Rafe Cameron and his sultry cadence and stupid pretty eyes that are twinkling with delight.

So you do what he asks, and you don’t get flustered (or at least show it). You look him deadpan in the eye, face him square, and put on your sweetest voice.

“Thank you, Rafey.”

But it has the opposite effect. Instead of flustering him, making his breath hitch, throwing him off his game, it only spurs him on further.

He breaks out in a giant fucking grin.

“That so hard, hm?”

Oh, poor choice of words, you think.

Because it makes an idea pop into your head (undoubtedly a stupid one, but a fun one nonetheless) as you take a small step forward, now being the one to crowd his space instead of vice versa. Your chest just barely brushes his, peering up at him through batting lashes and the sweetest smile you can muster. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you bring a hand to skim over his heart, feeling it thump erratically under your palm.

A flicker of surprise coats his features, but you have to admit he masks it quickly with his signature expression, a charming smile and low lidded eyes.

One of his hands cautiously ghosts of your waist, and when you don’t pull back or slap him away, he lets his palm press further into your figure, fingertips slipping under your tank and smoothing over the soft skin of your waist.

Slowly, your other hand skims over his belt loop, just barely dipping your fingertips between the waist band of his pants and his hot skin on his lower abdomen. The unfamiliar contact (from you, especially) makes Rafe suck in a breath in shock, gripping your waist tight and possessive that it makes your heart skip. It only augments when you allow yourself to move forward, fully letting him feel the soft flesh of your breasts press up against his chest.

And that’s when you feel it: the outline of his cock pressing hard against your front.

You peer up at him all pretty and composed, whereas his lips are parted and his blue eyes are nearly blown back with lust, and the sight of him almost makes you fold. Almost. But you zoom out, remember who you’re dealing with, remember all the times he’s left you hot and bothered and aggravated. No matter how big his dick actually feels.

“No,” you murmur softly, responding to his earlier question. “But I know something else that is.”

Rafe opens his mouth to respond, but you’re quicker, taking advantage of his discombobulated state to twist out of his grip and completely remove your hands from his body, stepping out of his grasp and slithering into the crowd.

“Hey—!”

He tries to snatch you, but you’re faster, weaving in and out of friend groups like a snake and not even bothering to check if he’s following you, to see if he’s waiting to press you against a wall and take you in front of all these strangers. You figure that or he’s stuck in the same spot, dumbfounded and hard and annoyed.

You know you’re in trouble when you throw a spare glance over your shoulder before you head back into the bar, suppressing a grin when you spot him through the crowd, eyes solely trained on you with a jaw clenched so tight you’d think it would break.

To elongate his misery, you blow him a kiss before disappearing inside.

Although, it only takes thirty seconds for him to find you again.

You stifle a grin when you feel a calloused hand snatch your hand, fingers lacing through yours without a second thought and tugging you backwards, sending you stumbling back and bumping into his chest hard. Hard enough to turn a few heads.

The music is so loud. Everyone is laughing and singing and talking. The bass is vibrating the floor. But the only thing you can feel is his hot body pressed against your back and the rapid thumping of his heart. All you can hear is his baritone voice ghosting the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, especially when one of his hands snakes around your body to press against your hip bone, pulling you even closer than you were before so you can feel him against your back, harder than he was before.

“You think you’re funny?” He snaps in your ear, all flirting edge gone and replaced with something else, perhaps frustration.

It only makes you prouder. “A bit.”

He scoffs and it’s nothing nice. “A bit,” he mocks under his breath. “You’re a fucking brat.”

“Yeah,” you muse, wholeheartedly agreeing. “And yet, you can’t seem to stay away, Cameron.”

When you tilt your head away from him to give him access to your neck, Rafe takes the leap of faith, ducking his head to the soft skin and attaching his lips to your vocal cord. And — god — if this is how his mouth feels now, you can only imagine what it’ll feel like against your lips, your chest, your—

“Can’t,” he admits immediately and so certain of himself, especially when he copies your previous action and his fingers dance along the waistband of your skirt almost daringly. “Won’t.”

The sensation makes your heart skip and spine straighten, sucking in a breath when you feel his teeth gently graze the muscle of your vocal chord with the added feeling of his warm fingers meeting the skin of your lower abdomen, and you pray that the act is subtle enough to not alert him that your body is very much reacting to his body.

Of course, he notices.

“This what you needed, baby?” The baritone of his voice against your neck reverberates your nerves. “Some attention?”

All you do is hum, because, yup. Right on the nose. At least you can admit it to yourself.

When he sucks a particularly sweet spot, you let out a quiet noise you didn’t know you were capable of making, quiet enough so no one else at the bar hears it. Well, everyone except for him, who hears it loud and clear and wants to hear it for the rest of his fucking life.

Rafe exhales deeply through his nose, tickling your skin. “I knew you’d sound so pretty.”

“I always sound pretty.”

A chuckle. Not necessarily a nice one. “Can’t believe you never knew.”

You frown even though he can’t see it. “Knew what?”

“How bad I fucking wanted you.”

The confession makes your stomach do a weird flip. “But you—“

It’s as if he knows your thought process, knows the way your brain works, because he answers your question before you can even get it out.

“Always wanted you.” He kisses your neck with surprising chastity. “Want you to drive me nuts for the rest of my fucking life.”

You blink stupidly, praising whatever higher being that he can’t see your face right now. “That’s excessive.”

“It’s what I want,” he albeit murmurs with candor. “And I always get what I want.”

The rational part of you wants to spin around and slap him silly for such an out of touch comment. He’s on top of the world, getting more money than he knows what to do with and only knowing the lifestyle that comes with a silver spoon. Rafe Cameron gets all the material objects he wants. Watches. Boats. Cars. Designer anything. That’s something money can buy, and money he’ll happily spend if it’s something he has his eye on.

But you? You’re the outlier.

You’re the girl he reached for but could never grasp. You gave him glimpses of what he could have if he stopped being such a prick and straightened himself out. You’ve told him time and time again (after he’s asked you out time and time again) that you’ll only ever go for him if he gets his shit together, stops acting like a frat asshole and ditches his degenerate friends who share the same brain cell and only mooch off of him for his money. He’s refused to see it, not wanting to lose the only “friends” he’s ever had, so every time he let you walk away with your ultimatum, hoping the next time he asks you that your stance has changed.

But it never has.

Not even now.

“You know how I feel,” you respond earnestly, and you bite the bullet and twist around in his arms so you’re facing him, chest to chest and peering at his pretty blues under the kaleidoscope of purple, blue, red, green lights. Your hands brace on his chest and his settle on your waist, looking at you ardently with all sighs of sexual frustration gone, instead replaced with seriousness, determination, admiration. “How I’ve always felt.”

“I know,” he answers immediately. “I can be that person.”

You quirk a brow.

He sees your apprehension, your deflection, the same look you always gave him. But it’s different know, especially when you’re in his arms and not dreaming of pulling away, especially when he looks so damn sure of himself in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I’m…trying to be,” he says after a moment. “Ever since Rocky Dune.”

Your spine straightens at the mention, a memory so deep in your brain’s archives that you nearly forgot its entire existence.

It was the summer after senior year, where your graduated class would congregate on a sector of dunes so secluded from civilization it became your uncharted territory, the spot only your class knew about. Everyone would drink and smoke and carry on as usual, just…less chaotic. The music was never too loud. The lights were never too bright. No one shouted and drunkenly sang obnoxiously. People would chat with other people they didn’t really know. It was…nice. Different. Almost nostalgic. Your class’ secret.

You block the memory away because there was one night that you were so fucking nasty to him that it makes your heart lurch.

You were both relatively drunk, not stumbling but tipsy enough to say things from the locked vault of your mind that never should’ve met the light of day. Secluded from the party, you and Rafe sat shoulder to shoulder in the dunes and watched the gently waves lap against the shore, met with the sound of the water and silence.

Where you kissed him.

You were lonely, fresh off a breakup and he was right there. Saying the right things. Being uncharacteristically nice to you after he saw you crying alone. Finally leaning into the real version of himself, the guy you’ve seen glimpses of. He’s softer, dedicated, serious and devoted. You saw him, not the front he always put up. Just Rafe. And for that one kiss, you thought he’d straighten up, finally understand why you’ve never given him the actual time of day beforehand, why you flirted back but never give him a chance. You thought it would click, he’d keep being himself and stop the frat-prick-asshole act to impress his friends.

Yet he had to ruin it.

Because when he pulled away, he put on that stupid fucking smirk. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

And you wished you hadn’t seen a glimpse of the real Rafe at all, because in that moment, you knew you’d never see it again, never see him again, only the persona he’s created to seem cool, nonchalant, like a prince. It broke your heart, humiliated you while you were already so fucking embarrassed when he caught you alone, and it was where you put your foot down.

By this point, you’d already shoved him away and stood up, creating distance. “How stupid of me to think you could ever change.”

You still remember the way his face fell in the moonlight.

And you just had to continue. “If you think acting like this is going to get people to like you, you’re not surviving anything outside this fucking bubble of an island. Stop waving around a wad of cash and let’s see how many people still hang out with you. Grow the fuck up, Cameron.”

The words still haunt you, the expression on his face still haunts you, and the fact that that was the last time you saw him up until this very night haunts you right now. Those were the last words you said to him, your last memory with him, and it’s you saying the worst things he’s probably already thought about himself.

“I never apologized,” you say when you’re brought back to earth. “What I said was—“

“It was what I needed to hear,” Rafe interrupts gently yet firmly, making your apology die in your throat. “It woke me up. When I left for the semester, I straightened out. Focused in school, got good grades, got clean, made friends who actually give a shit about me. You… I should thank you.”

You’re flabbergasted.

Despite it, he continues.

“I want to earn you,” he says softly, as if he’s been itching to say it forever. “I meant what I said. I know I…” His gaze flickers down momentarily. “…seem impatient, but I wanna do this right. With you. If you’ll let me.”

You search his expression for any shroud of doubt, any flickers of playfulness or teasing regard, but you come up short. Instead, you’re met with bright blue eyes that shimmer with certainty, that look at you with such seriousness that it throws your brain for a loop and sets a kettlebell in your stomach.

But the excitement outweighs the uncertainty.

You cave. “One chance.”

Rafe nods immediately.

“One,” you reiterate seriously.

He nods again, emulating the pure embodiment of obedience at the thought of being irrevocably yours.

“If I catch you being a prick,” you continue pointedly, “you’re done.”

“Copy,” he responds earnestly.

“I’ll pluck your balls off like an apple.”

“Whatever you want.”

“I mean it.”

“Baby, I’m about to be on my best behavior, just you wait.”

You quirk a brow as you let a thick silence elongate between the two of you.

The gesture makes Rafe blink, lips twitching. “I can call you baby, right?”

All you can do is give him a pointed look, trying really fucking hard to remain stoic but it’s proving difficult when a smile threatens to creep up, because you have to admit being called such a name, especially with the way it rolls off his tongue with such eased nonchalance that you’d think he was born to say it, makes your heart flutter uncontrollably. Of course he can call you baby. He can call you whatever he wants as long as he never says it to anyone else.

“Yeah,” you find yourself saying. “As long as you say it right.”

And for the second time in your life, you’re gripping his shirt to tug him close and kissing him like your life depends on it.

Rafe responds immediately, mmrphing low into your mouth as his hand comes up to hold the column of your neck, keeping you in place and squeezing just a fraction. The act makes you gasp gently, lips parting at the feeling, but it only allows him more access, slipping his tongue audaciously into your mouth to taste your sweetness in all its glory.

Your hands brace on his chest as some sort of pathetic mechanism to ground yourself, because your heart is leaping out of its chest and the skin that he’s touching of yours is on fire, and you pointedly decide in this moment that you’ve never been kissed like this, so passionately, ardently, gingerly. Frankly, it throws your brain for a loop, especially when he emits a satisfied hum the reverberates in your throat.

You almost forget you’re in the middle of a bad. There’s people all around you, singing and dancing and laughing and completely ignorant to your little moment. The atmosphere is loud and boisterous and unforgiving with its collected heat, but it envelopes you in a blanket, tucked into the warmth that is Rafe, Rafe, Rafe. It’s intoxicating, knowing anyone could be seeing your exchange right now and dismissive to the fact that this is one of the most exhilarating moments of your life.

When you pull away, Rafe’s leaning in for more.

You grin. “Easy, Rafey.”

He mirrors your smile. “You’re gonna kill me. I swear.”

“Your place or mine?”

The words aren’t what he expects, because his brows fly up in surprise as he peers at you with bright blue eyes nearly blown black. He’s trying, he’s trying so fucking hard to do this right, to take his time with you and earn you the way he’s supposed to. The last thing he wants to do is jump the gun and ruin his one chance he has with you, a chance he’s been shooting for since he was fourteen, and if he somehow fucks it up (and knowing him, it’s not unheard of) he’ll probably lose his mind.

“You— But I—“

You interrupt his babbling. “Whatever I want, right?”

Rafe sucks in a breath. “Yeah, fuck, anything.”

Your hands smooth up his chest to rest and you lightly graze your nails along his neck, your fingers moving to the nape and pinching the ends of his overgrown hair delicately. It feels nice to hold him like this, to see what gestures make him fold and see what he positively reacts to. And, so far, any place you’ve been touching him has been fair game. He’s given you the green light without his words, simply showing his affirmation through his actions.

“Okay,” you pointedly decide. “Mine then.”

When you snake your hands down to lace your fingers with his, Rafe doesn’t object. As you weave through the crowd with him in tow towards the exit, he makes no argument. When you slide into his lap in the taxi and cling to him as if your life depends on it, he invites the contact. And when you lead him up to your apartment and shut the door behind him, the feeling he’s had for you for years tenfolds.

And, for once, you’re not pushing him away.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission. mdni.

notes yup hey here’s another one shot literally nobody asked for. hope you enjoyed!

[trashytracktales]

okay kinda of a weird question but how do you think lando would react at eating aphrodisiacs by accident or something and suddenly he’s all hot and salivating ….like he would definitely try to play it cool and stay nonchalant but he can feel the blood flowing south and south, he’s kinda dying inside lmao it would be so funny to witness

Phenylethylamine | LN⁴

🍫 summary ──── Lando has a habit of stealing her sweets, but after he accidentally eats her special chocolate, his girlfriend makes sure it’s the last time he touches them without asking.

🍫 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🍫 rating ──── explicit

🍫 warnings ──── 18+, graphic sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, smut, aphrodisiac use (very exaggerated symptoms for the sake of writing smut lmao), sexual frustration, teasing, mutual masturbation, pillow humping/grinding, praising, unprotected sex, soft power dynamics, light slapping, detailed descriptions of sweat, cum, and wetness + messy sex scenes with even messier finishes, overstimulation and multiple orgasms, post-sex banter (I apologize in advance for my broken humor).

🍫 word count ──── 5.3k

🍫 date ──── Jun. 30, 2025

🍫 a/n ──── I swear this was supposed to be cool and nonchalant while Lando died on the inside, but I saw this ask during ovulation so here we are, allow me ☝🏻🤓

LANDO IS IRRITATED.

He fumbles with the lock, only managing to open the door after the third attempt. The moment it swings inward, he’s hit with the familiar warmth of their apartment, but its comfort doesn’t tame the ache pounding through his bloodstream. Every inch of him thrums with a need he’s never felt before, not this intense and constant, and he can’t see the end of it, no matter how hard he tries to calm down.

He’s flushed from head to toe, his cheeks adorably painted in a pale shade of pink, his pulse visibly agitated under the hot skin. So hot that it can set him on fire.

The clothes are suffocating, making him wonder how it’s possible to feel the them on every inch of the body they make contact with, starting with his shoulders and ending with the tip of his toes.

The second the door clicks shut behind him, she hears the noise like a gunshot. It’s not just the sound, but the energy it propagates throughout the silent apartment, heavey and rushed at the same time. She also hears him muttering something to himself, which makes her smile with how bothered he seems.

Lando’s footsteps hit the floor like he’s even forgotten how to walk, but then he stops when he sees her waiting in the living room. Most likely looking forward to just point and laugh at him.

And he can’t blame her, since he probably looks like an idiot right now. A very horny idiot.

His curls are slightly damp at the temples, the collar of his team hoodie stretched and clinging to his neck with cold sweat. One hand clenches uselessly at his side, unable to sit still while switching his weight from one leg to the other. His lips are a little red and glossy, probably from licking them every few seconds, and his pupils are noticeably dilated.

He’s either already commited a crime or he’s about to, the girl thinks.

“You’re home early,” she teases, fighting a smile.

His breath comes shallow when he speaks, “Yeah, well,” Lando nods, stepping out of his shoes. Even the glide of fabric against his thighs makes him groan. Every movement of his muscles sends sparks firing straight to his cock, already hard, twitching in his boxers with every maddening beat of his heart. “Called Oscar about halfway to tell the team I wasn’t feeling well. And I’m pretty sure he heard me moan right before I hung up.”

She leans a shoulder against the doorway, arms loosely crossed. “Mhm,” she hums, “Are you sick, Lando? Coming down with fever or something?”

He snorts. “I think I blacked out driving back,” says Lando, rubbing a hand down his face like the memory — or lack of one — spooks him. “I don’t even remember when…” his eyes drop, landing directly on the hem of her shorts.

Her sleepwear is laughably minimal, he figures. Silk jersey shorts that ride high on the thigh, the kind that barely conceal the gentle curve of her ass cheeks when she shifts her weight. Plus the tank top that’s one size too small, holding her breasts like it’s one inhale away from failure. No bra, of course, because why spare him?

She catches where his gaze is pinned and lets her lips curl. “So it works then,” she purrs, stepping toward him with languid grace. “Interesting.”

Lando opens his mouth like he might agree, but nothing comes out except a strangled little exhale.

She gets in front of him, lightly brushing her chest against his, while letting her face tilt up toward his. She notices how hard he tries to remain casual and nonchalant, but she sees how he swallows his saliva every three seconds, like a thirsty, overly excited puppy.

Her mouth parts, going in for the kiss he’s clearly desperate for, but ends up planting a light peck on his cheek instead.

Lando’s jaw clenches beneath her lips. He knows her well enough to know that she will jump on any opportunity to make him suffer just to get even, so he’s in no hurry to put his thoughts in order now. In return, he grips her by the waist and yanks her flush against him. One hand slides down without hesitation and cups the underside of her ass, fingers splaying possessively over her skin. His breath catches when her body finally presses fully to his, making her gasp a little when he squeezes. His lips crash onto hers, tongue immediately sweeping past her lips as if asking would take too long.

She laughs into his mouth, amused yet breathless, because she can feel how every part of him is straining, twitching, and aching to be taken care of.

Pulling back a little, she licks her lips while keeping her eyes on his glassy, fucked-out gaze. “You’re sweating,” she informs him as if he’s not already aware of it. “You need a shower.”

“I need you,” he contradicts her with no hesitation, pressing her tighter against him.

She laughs again. “Right. As if I’ll let you have it that easy,” says the girl, pushing him in the chest in order to slip out of his embrace. “You ate my chocolate, Lando. All of it, like the greedy man that you are.”

“Exactly,” he points out. “You know I have a sweet tooth, and that makes it your fault entirely. For leaving it out on display like that.”

Lando is breathing hard as he watches her hips sway just ahead of him, each step teasing him harder than the previous one. Her shorts ride higher with every movement, revealing more of those soft curves he can’t stop thinking about, now that they’re right there.

She pauses at the bedroom door before turning around. “Well, then. Maybe next time you’ll ask before stealing, even if it is out on display like that,” she shrugs, and disappears inside, curious to see how long it takes until he’ll actually break.

Without wasting time, Lando trails behind her into the bedroom like a teenager who’s just been grounded, even more frustrated than he was a minute ago, and seconds away from whining.

“Wait, that’s it? You actually won’t let me fuck you now?” he asks, voice laced with slight annoyance. His brows are pulled together, chest rising fast beneath his hoodie. He looks half-wrecked already, like just being near her is doing damage.

As a response, the girl sits gracefully on the edge of the bed, her knees spreading slightly and her eyes holding his like a silent dare. “I will, I will,” she says calmly, voice velvet-smooth. “But you’re gonna have to work for it.”

He blinks in disbelief, a chuckle leaving his mouth in a breath. “Work for it? Look at me, darling.”

She leans back on her palms, the curve of her mouth going smug. “Yeah, I see you, needy boy. Sadly, the chocolate was meant for both of us,” she reminds him. “But you ate it all, so now you’re a mess, and I’m not even close. Not fair.”

Lando sighs, running both hands down his face. “No, you are unfair,” he accuses.

She shrugs. “Make me want it like you do,” she adds, then watches as he strips, without complaining any further, as if he already has a clear plan in mind on how to.

He yanks his hoodie over his head first, ruffling his curls and making them even messier in the process. The fabric lifts, revealing the toned stretch of his abdomen, leaving her admiring her boyfriend for a moment, until her gaze dips lower as his arms flex, veins prominent, just as he gets pissed at the drawstring of his pants like it’s personally offended him.

He kicks them off in a frenzy, almost loses balance, stumbles a step back, then mutters a breathless, “Fucking hell.”

She lets out a small laugh, biting her lip while she watches him stand there, half-naked and impossibly bothered.

His cock bobs free when he kicks off his boxers, flushed a deep red, thick with arousal and already glistening at the tip. He’s hot, and she’d have no issue letting him fuck her into oblivion like this, but the game she’s planned for Lando is more complex, meant not only to remind him not to steal her sweets again, but also to get revenge for every time he teased her while she was the needy one.

“Spread for me,” he orders soflty in a barely audible voice.

She complies, her legs parting slowly as she stares at him with a knowing look. Lando can’t read that expression at first, but when he’s close enough to kneel in front of her, the girl lifts one leg with practiced grace and places the ball of her foot gently against his chest. The pressure is light, but commanding, making him freeze in place.

“Right there,” she says. “Stay.”

The flicker in his eyes stops too, somewhere between adoration, confusion, and desperation, all at once.

Lightly, she trails her foot down his torso then up again, leaving tiny goosebumbs behind. As tamed, her hand slips beneath the waistband of her shorts, feeling her breath catching and lips curving upward in a sort of smirk, but far more intimate. Her eyes don’t leave his, especially not when her fingers easily find the clit, but then she closes them, inhaling through her mouth like she’s trying to remember how air tastes like.

Lando exhales sharply, the sound loud in the silence, doing the only thing he can at the moment: stares.

“Baby…” he starts, then trails off.

One of his palms curls around her ankle, placing a wet kiss there, his hungry eyes watching her pleasure herself as she purposefully tortures him with her pretty noises.

She hums in response, but not to mock him this time. It’s just light satisfaction, as she stays focused on the movement of her fingers, the heat building slowly but surely. Her other hand rests on the sheets beside her, gripping them tightly as she finds deeper places inside. Each breath she takes deepens the burn in his belly, too, and when she opens her eyes again, Lando’s are dark and fixed. On her.

“Come here,” she says.

Lando doesn’t hesitate. He leans over, kissing her lips like he needs to be saved. His hand rests beside her head, steadying himself in the process, while the other brushes her waist. He always loved her velvety skin, but now its smoothness sends his whole body into overdrive; he needs to grab, to squeeze and bite, to leave traces that they can admire together later.

Luckily, her mouth is meeting his with the same urgency, and she pulls him deeper into the kiss, sighing against him like it’s the only way to stay sane.

His fingers slide under her top, and she lets him undress her one piece at a time, her soaked shorts first, then the barely-there tank top. She’s so beautiful beneath him, flushed and breathless and so mean for doing this to him. And then, just when Lando thinks he might finally have her, she gently pushes him down onto the mattress.

He lies back in surprise, watching her with expectant eyes. Waiting. She straddles his hips for a second, her weight a short relief on top of him, their skin meeting just for a beat, but still enough to make him think she’s about to ride him. To finally give him the release he’s craving.

It’s such a disappointment when she leans in and tugs the pillow from beneath his head instead, causing him to lie completely flat and defenseless on the mattress.

Lando closes his eyes, frustration surfacing through his words next time he speaks, “Baby, come on,” he sighs. “I get it, yeah? What do you want from me?”

“I need this big mouth shut,” she whispers, leaving a kiss on his tensed jaw, “And your pretty eyes on me,” the girl continues.

Lando lifts his head slightly the second he feels her absence, only to watch her placing the pillow between her legs, settling herself on top of it; his breath catches in his throat so sudden that his heart skips a beat for that fraction. Her thighs part, her hips roll forward, and the movement is fluid and sensual, making his thought process devastatingly slow.

He studies every shiver though, monitoring as the soft fabric disappears into the slick heat of her pussy as she sinks on it, letting out a delicate moan. She knows how to move with intention, rising and falling like a tide that pulls Lando under without his permission. His cock twitches at the sight of her grinding against the smooth cotton as her folds glisten, dragging more sticky wetness into the fabric.

His mouth goes dry and his throat feels like he’s been drinking sand. Almost like it’s an automatism, he fists himself again, not because he wants to, but because he has to.

She’s driving him mad, and they both know it. Her body is art, guiding herself with a lush precision designed to shut down the rational part of him — if he ever had one. There’s not a shy bone in her body, and no hesitation in her pleasure. And she gives him nothing more than a front-row seat to it.

Gradually, her hips catch on, moving faster and faster, as her hands clutch the pillowcase. Lando’s name escapes her lips in short spasms as she does, and that has the power to nearly break him. On the other end, he can barely speak, burning alive in his own skin. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the way she rocks, hips flexing in a rhythm that’s pure madness.

The breathy sounds wrap around his spine, pushing Lando to keep looking, to see exactly why she’s so lost in it. He wants nothing more than to touch her. Every single cell in his body screams at him to do so. Instead, he settles for the heat of his own skin slapping against his fist, nothing compared to what he imagines hers would be like: slick and tight and pulsing around him. The thought makes his hips quiver, and he begins to stroke faster, matching her rhythm.

His voice is wrecked when he manages, “Hate this. It fuckin’ hurts, but can’t stop.”

Her moans grow louder and arches her back in response. “That’s the point,” she replies.

“Please,” he whines, but isn’t sure what’s he begging for anymore.

She smiles as she grinds harder, letting the pillow press deeper into her clit.

As if he had reached his limits, Lando can’t bear the distance anymore. The ache in his chest is consuming, matching the one in his cock. It’s an overwhelming need, not just to touch and be inside her, but to be close, to breathe her in. So he moves, cautiously, like she might banish him if he oversteps.

Lando kneels closer to her on the mattress, muscles locked with restraint and the need to just relax. His nostrils flare, eyes flickering with carnal hunger at how she bounces, her lips opening around breathless moans that immediately ripple through him like shockwaves. His thumb slides against the swollen tip at that, smearing all the pre-cum there as he watches her move.

She lifts and sinks, again and again, so needy and so close that her moans starts coming out in short, broken cries.

“Lan…”

“That’s it, fuck. Show me how good it feels,” he whispers, eyes locked on her every tremor. “Could’ve been under you, but you’re too stubborn to ride me, hm? Trying to prove a point, aren’t you?”

She cries out again, clutching the pillow more firmly while fucking it with more urgency. Her thighs tremble as her hips chase the sweet friction, each bounce sloppier than the last. And soon after that, Lando’s cock jerks in his fist harder, watching her body unraveling in front of him. The muscles in his forearm are tight, jaw clenched so hard it hurts. His eyes can’t afford to leave her now that they’re so close. Not when every little whimper and every roll of her hips is dragging him into their own heaven.

“Shit. You gonna come, baby?” he pants. “Let me see your pretty cunt soaking my pillow.”

“Come closer,” she breathes, lifting her head to give him a knowing look.

And that’s all it takes for Lando to understand.

Her eyes flick briefly between her thighs and then back to him. There’s no hesitation in what she wants: him to be there, with her. On her. In this with her, in every way she can take him without actually having him inside her. And the implication lands like a weight in Lando’s chest.

He exhales another fuck under his breath, ragged and helpless and so greedy. His body moves before his mind catches up, sliding close enough that he can see hers shaking. The image makes him stroke rougher, everything tightening inside him as he angles himself lower.

She shifts ever so slightly, adjusting her hips so she’s dragging her soaked center over the very center of the pillow, welcoming him. Lando presses forward, his hand working in a blur, eyes burning into hers as his release crashes over him like a freight train. He lets out a strangled cry as his body tenses, then jerks; thick ropes of cum spill from him, splattering across the fabric beneath her, streaks of white painting the same cotton her pussy continues to ride, her body tweaking with a choked cry.

She sobs at the feeling, thighs clamping down and grinding right into it, catching his release with her folds, smearing it all over her clit like she’s trying to claim it.

“Fuuuck,” he almost shouts, eyes following every second of her using him, even in this way. “You’re so fucking perfect. Fucking mean, but so perfect.”

She collapses at the intensity, burying her face in the scent of their bedsheets. Lando’s still breathing hard, his hand sticky with release, the pillow soaked and shining between her thighs. His eyes are glued, watching her completely wrecked, realizing how completely in love he is, and how completely sure that nothing has ever looked more beautiful than his girl on this bed, right in this moment.

She turns her head just to catch him in her periphery. “You want to feel it?” she asks, voice velvety-soft, different from before.

She lifts herself up then, careful and fluid, staying on her knees. The pillow remains between her legs, and she adjusts it just enough to keep her clit in contact with the soaked cotton as she spreads herself open on all fours. The curve of her back is sinful, her ass arching perfectly, folds glistening in the low light, shining with her own slick and now streaked with his cum.

Lando’s mouth goes completely dry.

“Show me what that chocolate did to you,” she almost begs, closing her eyes at the irony of how quickly the tables have turned.

He’s behind her in an instant.

One hand finds her hip, then cups one ass cheek, his fingers digging in like he needs to anchor himself before drowning in his own needs. The other wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself to her entrance.

She’s so wet that the tip slides easily through her folds, coating in the mess they’ve made together. And when he finally pushes in, the sound he makes is broken — a choked, inhibited whimper that shoots out of his chest like a bullet. His head drops between his shoulders as her wet heat clamps around him, drawing him in, inch by inch.

“Oh my fuck,” he breathes, hips jerking deeper involuntarily. “You feel so good, love.”

Her mouth falls open, rocking back enough to take him fully. The pillow shifts under her, and her clit finds it again, angled perfectly for her to feel it every time he moves behind her.

“Just like that… Stay close.”

Lando’s hands grip her firmly, fingertips pressing into her skin in order to make sure she’s not moving a single inch without his approval. Then, he begins to thrust, shallow and controlled for a fraction, breath catching with every grind of her hips. The slick sounds of their bodies joining blend with the wet friction of her pussy dragging against the cum-soaked cotton, making her melt under him like ice-cream forgotten in the sun, her spine flexing with every roll of his hips.

“So close, baby,” he speaks against her back, barely able to breathe from how hard he’s pushing inside her. “You take me so easy. Opening up like it’s nothing, hm?”

She responds to him by pushing back into him again, and the groan Lando lets out is harsh, and almost pained.

“More,” she tells him. “Wanna feel all of you while I ride your mess.”

The smile blooming on his face is diabolical, his hips slapping against her ass as the wet squelch of her grinding continues beneath them. She swallows her whimpers instantly, biting her lip to stifle the sounds as her clit gets overstimulated, friction sending lightning through her limbs.

He can’t stop praising her, voice breaking between thrusts, “So good around me. So fuckin’ tight. Not gonna last, baby.”

“No,” she pants. “Don’t stop.”

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. The need to feel her around his cock like that is greater than any rational thought he’s ever had. Every time he pushes into her, it’s like the first time all over again, and he can’t see a place in time where he will ever stop.

She’s so full of him. Every inch of her stretching sweetly, clutching tight, sucking him deeper with a need that borders on pure lust. He opens her wider, but her thighs press together weakly in order to prolong the pleasure.

His second climax crashes into him violently and unannounced. Lando buries himself as deep as he can go, body locked in place, and lets go with a throaty moan that tears straight from his chest. His cock pulses hard inside her, again and again, hot spurts of cum flooding her cunt, so much of it that it spills around his length, dripping down her thighs.

Her body jolts forward with every thrust, the bed creaking beneath them and, as a result, her arms give out beneath her, causing her to collapse face-first into the pillow, all of her moans muffled that way.

Somehow, his hips are still moving.

Even as he comes, his body keeps going with hard thrusts that punch wet sounds from between them, desperate and uncontrollable.

His brain fogs over, drowned in heat and light and so much pleasure. His skin burns from his cheeks to the soles of his feet, heart pounding against his ribs like it’s trying to escape his ribcage. His muscles are on fire, too, burning from the inside out as if they’re tearing away from his bones with every twitch and instinctive snap of his hips into her soft, fucked-out body.

Lando can’t take his eyes off where she’s stretched tight around him, glistening and clenching, drawing him in, not wanting to let go. It feels like he’s getting harder inside her, the pleasure and pain blending together and sending both of them to a realm where nothing else exists, except their bodies, intertwined.

The high doesn’t fade, but tears start stinging at the corners of his eyes. Worn out, Lando leans in and pants against the sweat-damp skin of her back, overwhelmed and on the edge of begging for mercy. Or more. He presses his forehead to the space between her shoulder blades and groans, a loud noise that doesn’t sound human anymore.

“Fuck, baby,” he exhales. “This is... holy shit. I can’t stop fucking you.”

He’s leaving marks on her skin, whether he means to or not. Red smudges blooming beneath his fingertips where he grips her hips, fingerprints on her waist, even the shadow of teeth at the swell of her ass from when he’d bit down, without remembering exactly when. His thighs slap wetly against hers, over and over, as he drives his cum deeper into her, their combined mess dripping in thick trails, soaking further into the sheets.

Yet, she’s still muffling her moans into the pillow.

Lando frowns through the daze, instincts cutting through his pleasure like a blade. Gently, his hand lifts and slaps the flesh of her ass, enough to jolt her body and shake her back to the surface.

“You still with me?” he asks, barely holding together.

She lets out a soft cry, assuring him that she is.

At that, he moves without thinking, one arm wrapping around her middle, pulling her up until she’s kneeling against his chest, her back flush to his front. Her head falls back onto his shoulder, and he cups her breast with one hand, the other holding her steady as he keeps moving inside her, slower now, but no less desperate.

Her pussy squeezes around his length, still so warm, so slippery and wet from the storm of sinful whimpers and sounds between them.

“Ask your friend where she got the goddamn chocolate, yeah?” Lando urges her. “And order a dozen of ‘em.”

She would’ve laughed at the irony, but she’s far too busy to feel every sensation in her body, that’s crumbling against his heated chest with every passing second.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold them up like that. Every muscle in his body is shaking with exhaustion and bliss and something close to a irrational fear that he might actually never come down from this high.

With that in mind, Lando’s hand drifts down her stomach, then south enough to find her clit, fingers brushing the swollen bundle gently. She twitches in his arms, back arching, thighs trying to close around his wrist, but he holds her open with his knee.

“Let go all over me, beautiful,” he asks in a soft, wrecked tone.

He can feel her throbbing under his touch, puffy, drenched, and so sensitive it’s almost pains him that he’s not eating her out instead. But her hips roll into his fingers anyway, chasing the friction while grinding on his cock, the new angle hitting just right.

For a moment, Lando closes his eye only to listen to her breathing, knowing he’s the reason why she’s so utterly spent. Then he shifts the girl onto her back, her legs falling open like muscle memory. He leans over her, cock still nestled inside her heat, and continues to shove all of his need inside.

One thrust.

Then another.

Until she finally breaks.

Her cry splits the air, eyes fluttering shut as her orgasm crashes through her. Her walls are fluttering and coating his cock in fresh wetness, so much of it that he can feel it sliding down his thighs. Her body is convulsing with it, fingers digging into his shoulders, leaving behind crimson crescent moons, that she’ll kiss tomorrow morning in order to wake him up.

Lando is so lost in the feel of her, stopping for a beat just to stay inside her like that, deep and still, watching her fall apart around his cock.

He leans down then, lips pressing to her skin, tracing wet kisses down her neck, continuing up the curve of her ribs, then over her heaving chest. When he reaches her nipple, he takes it into his mouth, gently sucking until she lets out the softest whimper, then releases it with a wet pop that echoes in the room.

His nose brushes her silk skin when he pulls back to look at her again. “This taught me nothing,” Lando jokes.

“What do you mean?” she asks, brushing the hair off his damp forehead.

“I mean,” he exhales a relieved sigh, “If you wanna train me not to eat your sweets, this is not the way to do it.”

She lifts her hand to cradle his face, thumb brushing across his flushed cheek. Lando’s eyes close at the touch, lashes fluttering like he’s trying to hold back the way he’s feeling everything so deeply.

It doesn’t matter. Quite frankly, she doesn’t even care anymore.

“You’re so pretty like this,” she whispers.

That opens Lando’s eyes, and he looks at her like she’s just spoken the only truth he’s ever needed to hear.

Without warning, his mouth presses against her, all tongue and spit and too much teeth, but neither of them minds. Their bodies can barely keep up, nerves fried, but their lips move like they’ve still got everything to say without words.

Eventually, Lando lets out a breath and finally pulls out of her, both of them wincing a little at the hypersensitive drag. Their combined release spills out of her in messy drips, soaking everything around them as they let out a sigh of relief together.

The room is warm and smells like sex and sweat and something far sweeter underneath — maybe the chocolate that’s finally leaving his bloodstream, but still clinging to him like a final reminder.

She shifts against him, tired and sleepy yet satisfied, curling her body into his side and resting her head on his chest. His heart is still pounding, steady and exhausted beneath her ear, like a lullaby.

Lando glances down at her, eyes soft that makes him look so in love.

“What?” he asks, once he hears her giggle.

She bites her lower lip, grinning up at him while her fingers start drawing lazy circles on his damp chest. “I thought you were gonna hump the door the second you walked in.”

He groans, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. “Don’t start,” he warns.

She laughs harder at that, a little breathless still, and kisses a line along his ribs.

“I was sweating in places I didn’t even know I had pores,” Lando cotinues, “And I still feel my dick vibrating. Like, it’s just sitting there… vibrating.”

“Shit,” she chokes on another chuckle. “Is it about to detach and walk off on its own?”

Lando lifts his head slightly, giving her a tired, unamused glare. “If it does, I hope it finds you and haunts the rest of your days. Like some cursed dildo with abandonment issues.”

Her hand is slowly drifting downward, familiar and teasing, fingers just grazing his stomach with a dangerous glint in her eye.

He jerks under her, grabbing her wrist immediately. “Stop that.”

She blinks up at him, all fake innocence. “Why?”

“I’m not even joking. If you touch me right now, I will go fetal and weep,” he says flatly, eyes wide with honest fear.

“That bad?” she asks, more curious now than anything.

Lando groans and drags a pillow over his face, before realizing it’s the same pillow they’ve ruined. “Fuckin’ hell, mate,” he cries, lifting it in the air to shoot a look at it, his curls flattened to one side, eyes wide and scandalized. “I just shoved my face into our crime scene. It’s in my nostrils, fuck’s sake.”

She’s still laughing when he glances down at her, only for her expression to freeze mid-giggle, brows touching together in complete horror.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Lando.”

He blinks. “Hm?”

She points an accusing finger at his feet, “You didn’t even take your socks off?”

He lifts his head slightly, looks down at his bare chest and his entirely naked body, except for the pitiful white socks still clinging to his feet like two forgotten soldiers.

He shrugs, flopping his head back. “I was in a rush. You don’t know how it feels.”

“You animal,” she gasps, looking personally offended, like she’s just been betrayed by the man she loves. “You fucked me like a possessed man with socks on?”

“They’re my beautiful Quadrant socks,” he defends, waving a hand weakly.

“Your overpriced Quadrant socks,” she corrects him. “Who charges twenty dollars for a pair? You need to be castrated.”

Lando leans in and presses a sticky kiss to her forehead, letting out a spent chuckle. “After my bee stops buzzing, love.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[hyacinthleaves]

hello hello!!! may I request fluff relationship headcanons with eddie and volt? need to see more of my husbands and I plan on making another seperate request for two more characters so this wont be my last :)

also if its okay may I be referred to as 🌙 anon? :3

yeah bet. trying so hard not to write smut rn you can see it while i was writing. its like having a really funny joke that you cant say cuz everyones talking

Eddie and Volt:

I'm trying so hard not to be biased but this is actually one of, if not the most rewarding relationship to be in. Like, in comparison to all the other objects in the house, you are getting the most princess treatment from these two

It's def because they were so grateful for your help and not just because they're attracted to you. Because originally that wasn't their thing so the fact that your relationship literally went from 1 to 100 is one of the reasons why being with them is deadass all fun and vibes for the most part

Also I think it would be so fun to date them because unlike some other pairings in the house (cough cough curt and rod, harper and dirk, and maybe timmy/timothy if I can count them) there's no tension between one and the other where you're forced to come between them really

I feel like interactions with them heavily depend on how you're feeling towards them or what side you decide to show to them

Like I can see a more sassy/teasing s/o talking to Volt a lot and poking fun at Eddie (in a flustering way) because of how much he blushes around them

Just getting Eddie flustered has got to feel like the greatest thing ever. Keep reminding him how much he wanted nothing to do with you when you first met. Make him feel how thankful he is to have you by his side. Volt supports this and actually thinks its so funny. Eddie is getting you back for this. Don't think you can just get away with this

But I can also see a more kind and affectionate s/o being more clingy to Volt (which he loves and will accept all of it, despite how busy he is) and Eddie jokingly poking fun at you

Volt makes it very clear to everyone that you're his partner. PDA shakes in the presence of Volt. I swear he gets worse with every interaction with you

In fact I feel like he has to hold himself back a lot. You make him lose his composure so easily and he has to remember he's on the clock

If you ever give him a reason to, he wouldn't be too upset if he had to close the Breaker Box early. He would find the perfect time to do it though so it doesn't seem like anything TOO bad is happening

But his patience is pretty high so usually there's no need for it to get to that point...don't test him too much though. Or do. You're well aware where that will get you

You literally cannot get bored around them I'm so serious like 10/10 relationship

[serenity-loves-red]

IT STARTED WITH THE CAT DISTRIBUTION SYSTEM

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. (Current)

Cat distribution system featuring Phainon.

In which• The Deliverer of Amphoreus is suddenly transported to your home as a cat.

Since your classes for today was canceled, you decided to spend time home and relax. Instead of waking up quite early, this time, you woke up around near noon when you felt something paw in your face following a small fluffy body with its head resting on your neck.

You slowly opened your eyes, and as expected, you saw Blue cuddled to your chest. He gave you a cute meow when he saw you awake, albeit eyes still fogged sleep.

You noticed that he seems to like waking you up like this. Either peppering kitten licks to your face or resting his whole body cuddle to your chest. No in between.

Blue is also really considerate. When you don’t have early classes, he lets you sleep in and won’t disturb you until near noon.

You’ve already established and accepted that he isn’t like some normal cat you’d see outside. He can understand you really really well that at first, you thought it as some kind of funny coincidence but as it keeps happening, you slowly accepted that it isn’t.

You just think that he’s special to make it plausible. It’s better to accept than get crazy thinking too much about it. Besides, you feel more amused than scared to be honest. Blue is like some kind of human trapped inside a cat’s body.

And as much as you want to think so, that’s just sounds impossible. Unless if they are cursed or something. Or some cosmic being at play.

Blue gave you another meow that finally took the last bits of sleep from your eyes. You slowly got up, moving your head sideways to check for your other companion.

You remembered them sleeping at your room last night. Blue slept cuddled in your chest while Princess lay somewhere at the floor. You tried to lay him at your bed but he didn’t bulged. He let out some small whines and whimpers instead, tucking his head underneath your bed when you tried to carry him over.

You didn’t saw Princess anywhere your in room. Rather, you saw him sitting at the pillows in your couch, staring blankly. When you called him over, you saw him flinch and didn’t make any eye contact.

Princess has been behaving like that after you bath him last night, just like Blue when you first bathed him.

Thinking about it, who would have thought that Princess isn’t some Princess like you thought him out to be.

Imagine your surprise when you were able to finally subdue the orange ball of fur–he packed a fight for someone as small as him, when you felt some firm, oval shaped structure– about the size of a grape in his rear as you washed his body.

You felt Princess–can you still call him that?- stiffen in your arms, letting out a high pitched bark and before turning limp in your arms.

“Oh…” you trailed out. Did you just misgendered your dog?

“So Princess isn’t a Princess hm?” You said amused. “Princess is still a lovely name so we don’t have to change that.”

That was the scariest thing Mydei felt in his whole life. The hardest battle he’d fought but had lost to. No amount of pets or affection can easily sway him! Don’t worry, he’ll just come around.

He may be in a body of a fluffy canine, he is still in his right mind to feel scandalized and horrified.

Mydei tried to comfort himself. At least he wasn’t the only one who experienced this. The Deliverer must’ve been at this situation too at some point. Besides this is just a bath. What’s worse that could happen?

You never knew how traumatized Mydei and Phainon felt that time. If you did, that’ll be around by the time they are back to normal and you would rather jump on the nearest building than let them remind you what crazy things you’ve done.

Alas, seeing Princess clearly still uncomfortable, you left him alone and make yourself some breakfast.

If he is that similar to Blue, then you supposed he can understand and retained some degree of human intelligence.

Damn, just what kind of luck did you have to get pets like these?

And before you forget, you did make some vet appointment for tomorrow, didn’t you?

Just how bad will that be?

[sectumsempraaa]

The Black Blade

Pairing: fem!reader x Mattheo Riddle

Word count: 2k

TW: violence, depression, extreme levels of badass-ery

Featuring: Mattheo, Draco, Lorenzo, Theo

A/N: My first multi-part series! This is part 1 of 3. Y/N is a damn warrior in this one. Enjoy.

Summary: It’s been one year since the Death Eaters finished training you in their ways… and one year since you escaped their clutches. One year since you last saw Mattheo Riddle, the love of your life. And one year later, you’re going back to get him as a full-fledged assassin.

PART 1: A Gift for a Gift

“The usual, please. The steel six inch and the set of emerald daggers, the small ones.” You relayed to Theo as you sat on the worn down couch, tying your boot laces extra tight.

“You sure about this, bella? Shouldn’t we take a second to think about it?” He pleads, his words laced with worry. But you continue on without a thought, Theo helping you stand up while you begin to strap the weapons to your belt.

“The black blade,” you request, your eyes casually feigning down at your gear. You were intentionally ignoring the nerves radiating from Theo’s very being at the risk of second guessing yourself. There was no time for that.

Not when Mattheo’s involved.

Theo’s eyes instantly grew wide with fear as he began to understand how serious you were. The use of the black blade wasn’t to be taken lightly. It was yours, only yours, given to you by the Dark Lord himself.

And now you were going to use it against him.

“Y/N, tesoro, come on, sit down with me. This has to be planned, I can call Draco-”

“It’s been almost a year, Theo. A year.” You reason as he recognizes the weight of the pain in your eyes.

The nightmares had become unbearable. They always occurred right after a beautiful dream, the kind where Mattheo was laughing uncontrollably or telling you funny stories at the lunch table in the Great Hall. In both, his eyes glistened with that perfect, boyish charm he exuded so naturally.

You couldn’t take it anymore, the not-knowing. Something has to be done.

Theo was always so gentle that actually arguing with him was simply not done. The grace of his Italian dialect tugged at your heartstrings as you hastily tied your hair up. He, of course, helps with that too, his fingers softly tugging the loose strands of your hair together.

You stand back, looking to him for approval. He scans you up and down, making sure to fix that one strap on your left shoulder you always left a little too slack. 

“Good?” You ask. “Am I forgetting anything?”

“Si, your sanity.” Theo responds as his hands rake through his own hair with anxiety.

The air in the room suddenly weighs heavy as he hesitantly hands you the hilt of the black blade, the grip of it fitting your hand like it was molded special for you. 

It feels so real now, your threat, as your eyes study the clean silver details lining the onyx sword. Even Theo steps closer, his eyes drawn to it like a siren’s song.

You lift it over your head, securing it to your back in its leather holster.

You offer him a little smile and meet his stare for the first time since you made this impulsive decision. A moment goes by while you take each other in, silently exchanging your mutual feelings of desperation and sorrow.

And then, your voices collide in a soft symphony, uttering the phrase you were both thinking at the same time, and in your respective accents.

“We’ve got to get him back.”

—

As you turn the key in the ignition, the memories flash through you like a film reel. Things used to be so, so different.

Six years ago, you met Mattheo at Hogwarts. You laugh to yourself, remembering how you beat his ass in a wand duel during Defense Against the Dark Arts. Even Snape got a kick out of that. 

That’s all it took for Mattheo to fall head over heels for you. The boy who always looked for a challenge finally met the one he couldn’t defeat. Then there was the pining…

And oh gods, was there pining.

In fourth year, Mattheo wrote (yes, wrote) an argument for why you should be his date to the Yule Ball. It was his first real move on you, and he knew a girl as smart and worthy as you would need some convincing.

You sat in the library in the dead of night, trying to contain the volume of your laughter as he laid out his many points, explaining each with a lawyer-like tone and fleshed out support. He even wore something that resembled a suit so you’d “take him seriously.”

The soft, yet explosive kiss you bestowed him afterwards was answer enough.

The two of you became everything to each other. Your whole routines centered on the other, your worlds meshing and mixing and blossoming. You were the first one he told things to, and the other way around.

Your days and nights were spent picnicking on the Black Lake, drinking in the Astronomy Tower, and traipsing around Europe in the summers with the Slytherin gang. Hand in hand, you took on life together.

And it never, ever got old.

You couldn’t wait to see each other after class to exchange gossip and jokes, and you went to lengths to get each other out of detention. Professors had to separate you in class to keep you from constantly giggling and talking. 

You were more than lovers… you were best friends.

And then there was now. You look around, your vision shrouded in quiet darkness in the driver’s seat of Mattheo’s old vintage car, this devastating reality hitting you like a tidal wave as the low rumble of the engine and the light patter of rain on the windshield mask the silence.

He had thrown you the keys to this car when you last saw him. And now you sit in it alone.

A distinct sadness had taken its place over you ever since you met his father.

—

Just over a year ago, when Voldemort’s reign commenced, he demanded his son come home to help the cause. You couldn’t stand to leave him, but you couldn’t stand the Death Eaters or their vision for the future either.

So you lied. And you let those monstrous, evil dictators train you. Long enough to learn the ins and outs of the Slytherin manors, their strategic tendencies, and their battle protocols. It took all your mental strength not to slaughter them.

All in the name of love and deceit.

Mattheo grew miserable. The flair of his young-hearted light had faded from his face over the course of those months like a wilting rose. He was to be by his father’s side nearly all day, every day. His once joyous smile was replaced by grim, blatant despair. 

The suffering sole heir.

You learned their language for three months… and fled like a shadow the night before your dark mark ceremony.

You had returned to your room that night, quietly packing your clothes, when you were summoned to the dining hall. You opened the large, cavernous doors with all your strength to find Voldemort, alone, sitting at the head of the table.

A chill ran down your spine as his ghostly, echoing voice grazed your ears.

“Enter, child.”

And so you did. Your heart fell closer to your stomach with each step you took closer to him.

He knows. He knows I’m leaving.

You said to yourself as the sweat gleamed on your hairline. As you went to sit down, he stopped you with a gentle slight of his hand.

He stood up, retrieving a light gray box and laying it before you. You stood utterly frozen, observing every one of his devastating movements as that haunting drawl reached your ears again.

“A gift, for a gift.” 

The box opened on its own with another graceful wave of his hand. Though rooted in villainy, you were always in awe of his sheer power, how the effects of it hung in the air like vapor.

It was the black blade. A long, old, stunning piece of absolute weaponry. Death seemed to inhabit it, its presence alluring and intimidating. It had hung on the wall above his throne since he took over.

It took you a minute to understand that he wasn’t just showing it to you. The words echoed in your head. 

A gift, for a gift.

The last trick of your act. To accept this meant to betray him and his empire. You could only imagine the wrath he would unleash the next day when your spot at the table was empty. For a moment, you worried what the consequences would be for Mattheo.

For Mattheo, who you hadn’t seen for weeks now. For Mattheo, who couldn’t visit your room anymore.

For Mattheo, who was slipping away with each passing minute in this prison.

It had occurred to you then that you had never actually spoken to the lord. He’s never heard your voice, your ideas. He’s only heard of your successful training and completed missions through his Death Eater cronies.

And now he believes your abilities are valuable, your skills honed and sharp, worthy of praise.

So after months of learning and practicing their methods, you decided to leave him with a dangerous, yet brutally honest remark.

“Thank you for this, my lord. For everything.”

And you meant it.

The corner of his snake-like mouth lifted as he bowed his head to you. But you couldn’t ignore the slight squint of his right eye as he replayed your words in his head, your voice tinged with finality.

As you turned from the Dark Lord for the last time, you captured the mental image of his expression.

You smiled to yourself as you realized you had left the most powerful force of evil in the world utterly and completely unnerved.

—

“WAIT, BELLA!” Theo yelled from behind you as you accelerated the car towards the street. You rolled your eyes, braking and lowering the window as he caught up, nearly out of breath. You couldn’t help but notice his white-knuckle grip on the car.

“I’m coming with you. Open the door, per favore.” He begged. You considered it for a minute, his plea. You had turned him down before, and you couldn’t deny that taking this on alone would be nearly impossible.

Maybe all hands on deck wasn’t such a bad idea.

His face lit up with surprise as you unlocked the car and granted him inside. Theo had just as much a hole in his heart as you did. He was Mattheo’s right hand man, his most favorite friend.

Theo buckled his seat belt and took a deep breath, his exhale telling you all you needed to know. His determination had undertones of fear, but you knew which one would override the other.

You’d go to the ends of the earth for Mattheo, and Theo wouldn’t let you go by yourself. Your mutual mission felt more dire each day, and as a result, had brought you closer together.

His backpack had all kinds of pointy things jutting out the sides, a decent attempt at coming prepared. It seemed he took everything you hadn’t. You take a minute to analyze how this will change the plan, idly rubbing your thumbs together.

“You will stay close.” You ordered him. He nodded, a silent salute. You lower your forehead to your arms resting on the steering wheel.

“Anything else?” he asks, his voice steady and sure.

You only had one chance. If it was all hands on deck, then you were going to make sure all hands were on fucking deck.

“Yes. Call Draco.”

You put the car in drive, the townhouse you had been hiding in for a year becoming gradually less visible in the rearview mirror.

“Theo…” you start, your voice lowering to a whisper, almost embarrassed to utter the words. He looks to you with that signature expression of pure loyalty.

“You can’t let me see Mattheo.” The phrase pierced your heart like an arrow as you tried to swallow the quiver in your voice.

Luckily, Theo doesn’t need an explanation. He’s smart enough to put the pieces together. It broke your heart that your soft spot was already common knowledge.

But you were the Slytherin apprentice… the Death Eater’s infamous protege. You couldn’t afford that level of distraction. Part of you wondered if Theo should even see him.

“I know, bella... I know.”

And as the car ventured forward, two young, beautifully broken and tethered friends were swallowed by the dark and uncertain night.

-

End of part 1. 🤍

[arthursknight]

it's a word that inspires more boredom than fear when you're made out of its ingredients, merlin supposes. curse.

men, grown and brutal, tremble at the mention of it. women avert their eyes and murmur apologies to keep it tamed and away, somewhere far from their hearths and doorsteps. kids are taught that jokes are not to be made in its name, and everyone in camelot-- and, by extension, merlin supposes everywhere the sun can reach-- has been taught, from the first crying breath, that magic lurks somewhere behind a shadow ready to catch its claws around your throat and curse you.

arthur is one of those kids, merlin supposes, where the lesson didn't truly land. he's been known to wiggle his fingers at a young knight who lands a lucky blow during training, cock an eyebrow and say in a voice that echoes too much of uther, "you didn't curse me, did you?"

it's funny, merlin can admit, the way their cheeks always stain tomato red as they stammer to prove they're not, you know, ensorcelling the future king by managing to best his parry for once. half the time, merlin knows from the sidelines, arthur lets them, even if he won't admit to it.

but it's arthur's joke to him, too. "i must have gotten cursed," he'll say when merlin's a few minutes behind bringing him his morning bread, "to have been saddled with someone so incapable of being able to tell time. we do have clocks in this kingdom, still, do we not, merlin? or has my father passed ordinances while i've been out hunting again?"

or, when merlin stumbles and spills the last of the wine arthur's been nursing from the skein on his way to try and put it back where arthur can no longer reach it, arthur will moan into his furs, "you can't be serious. is this some d-- devil-- devil--"

"devillry?"

"yes. are you-- 's trying to curse me?"

"by preventing your royal grumpiness come morning?" merlin quips. "nothing gets past you."

it's funny.

arthur can't know the half of it. arthur doesn't know what it's like to live with a curse (and will never, so long as merlin lives and walks this earth beside him, and there's a part of merlin that knows, terrified and ancient in his core, that that will be longer than any man may ever know). arthur doesn't know what it's like to wake every day, live a life that can never be honest, fall asleep listening to the earth calling his name and begging him to embrace his power only to wake up and ignore it with all his might. and-- gods. sure, that's fine. he can mope about the magic all he wants, he'll pencil it in. but-- it's this curse, right. the one where merlin can nod off during an important meeting of some sort or another and look up, only to find arthur secretly laughing at him, smile uninhibited, and his heart will turn to ember. or the one where arthur will already be up and at 'em come morning, somehow wired on energy from a brilliant idea or a new training exercise or just a good night's sleep, for once, and when merlin comes in the door, he'll sling his arm around him and say, "right, so now that you're *here*--," and he'll smell like forest and mulling spice and merlin's skin will sting electric. this curse. the one of arthur's wink across a fire in some woods near the edge of their land, on the precipice of danger, some joke merlin must not get. the one of his smile, bright and wide in the summer sun, women swooning on the side as merlin grumbles about being with an arrogant sod to cover his racing heart. this one isn't very funny at all, is it. and it's one he is sure he'll live alone with, as his other one. pencil this one in, too, beside saving arthur's sorry behind one more extra time this week and the errands he needs to run for gaius. nightmare about magic destiny, then washing up before going to clean the stables, then watching practice, then pining over the crown prince in a way that is horrific, then probably some sort of nonsense beast from a neighbouring kingdom. he'll have time enough. but it's one night of the same-- same as it always is, arthur making some quips, when he presses on the bruise a little too hard. something about how he wishes he could lift himself of the curse merlin brings to him during one of their rare late night card games. "right, well," merlin says, tired and empty from it like he sometimes gets, "i'll take my leave." they haven't finished. "we haven't finished," arthur laughs, confused, looking suddenly boyish. fuck. "wouldn't want to bring you even more bad luck," merlin forces. "curse and all." he doesn't know why it's hitting him so hard tonight when he's normally able to stomach it. maybe it's the weather, the heat. maybe it's the exhaustion. "you-- merlin, i wasn't being serious." "yes, well, it's not-- not a very funny joke, is it." christ. merlin has to steady himself by fiddling with his tunic so he can get his head back on. arthur tilts his head, then. it has been a long day-- a long week-- a long month. this has been a rare moment of reprieve, just the two of them, and merlin's gone and blown it with his cursed emotions. "merlin," arthur says, stern, but when merlin looks at him, it is not the hardened gaze of a bloodhungry father. it's calculating, soft, steady. "do not make me admit to you how much of an honour it is to have you at my side." the air leaves the room, a sudden whoosh. merlin catches himself before he does something stupid and makes the cards explode by sheer force of emotion or something. "oh," he says, a half laugh. "well--" "sit down," arthur huffs, "before i curse you." he already has, merlin knows. and he will, again and again. and merlin, damn him-- merlin will let him.

[onlyangel4]

ringside romance. cody rhodes. smau.

cody rhodes x f1 commentator!reader

synopsis: you never expected your weekend to involve body slams and pyrotechnics, but when f1 and wwe teamed up for a one-off commentator swap, you found yourself ringside instead of trackside. that’s where you met cody rhodes, charismatic, kind, and unexpectedly gentle beneath the spotlight. what started as a curious conversation backstage quickly became something more, and before the show was over, you were wondering if one weekend could change everything. turns out, sometimes the best connections happen far from your comfort zone.

faceclaim: lissie mackintosh

wwe

liked by y/ninsta, cathykelley, f1 and 829,384 others

tagged: y/ninsta. cathykelley.

wwe: to celebrate a long term collaboration with wwe and f1 we will be swapping team members for the next few weeks. first interviewer cathy kelley will be interviewing at the miami gp while f1 staple y/n y/ln will be joining wade barrett and joe tess ringside to assist on commentary.

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user1: this is stupid but i love it too

user2: poor y/n is gonna have no idea what is going on

y/ninsta: please be nice to me wwe universe

user3: this is so funny

cathykelley: something tells me i got the easier side of this deal

y/ninsta posted a story

written: last week in the paddock before i join the wwe universe for one week.

y/ninsta posted a story

written: ringside fit

wwe posted a story tagging y/ninsta

written: tonight's guest commentator has arrived

the lights were brighter than you expected. not just in the literal, retina-scorching sense, though that was certainly true but in the way everything at wwe felt like it had been cranked up to eleven. the crowd was electric, the music deafening, and the energy? unmatched. you’d been trackside at grand prixs, your voice had carried over the roar of engines and champagne-soaked podiums, but this was another planet.

you sat at the smackdown commentary table, headset snug against your ears, mic live, adrenaline humming under your skin. wade was next to you, calm and effortlessly snarky, as if people didn’t regularly get slammed through tables six feet away from him. you were doing your best to keep up, calling moves when you could, reacting when you couldn’t, and relying heavily on your ability to improvise under pressure.

"not bad for your first day in the madhouse" wade said during a lull, flashing you a quick grin.

you smiled, grateful for the kindness. "i’ll be able to breathe once i stop worrying about accidentally calling a suplex a tire change."

he chuckled, mic off for a second, just enough to say, "if someone hits a ddt and you say ‘downforce,’ i’m walking."

you were still laughing when the arena went dark, solo sikoa’s music hit, and everything shifted.

the match was already chaos from the opening bell. cody had barely made it to the ring before solo charged him, fists flying, the animosity between them thick enough to cut. you didn’t know all the backstory, yet, but the tension told its own story. cody moved with practiced charisma, all sharp strikes and elegant brutality, and somewhere in the middle of calling a clothesline, you realized you were watching him more closely than you meant to.

there was something about him.

professional curiosity, of course. you were new here, after all.

the pace picked up fast, too fast. you barely had time to catch your breath before the action spilled out of the ring. cody and solo were trading hits at ringside, raw aggression radiating off both of them. you instinctively leaned forward, trying to keep eyes on every movement, your voice stumbling slightly as you narrated the chaos.

"they’re, uh, bringing it outside the ropes now", you said, more for your own benefit than the audience, while wade slid his chair back just enough to get some distance. "rhodes is on the, oh, he’s right in front of us"

that was when it happened.

solo lunged, lifting cody with a sudden burst of brutal strength, and before you could process it, cody’s body was airborne, then crashing down across the commentary table with a thunderous slam.

the force rattled everything.

your headset jolted. the table shuddered beneath your arms. you didn’t even realize you were supposed to move until it was far, far too late.

the impact knocked your elbow into the edge of the desk hard enough to sting, and something, maybe cody’s boot, maybe a stray monitor, clipped your shoulder as he landed awkwardly across the table, groaning through gritted teeth.

a sharp gasp escaped your mouth. your mic was still live.

you flinched back instinctively, hand flying to your shoulder, blinking in shock. the crowd around the arena collectively roared, but a few keen-eared fans might’ve heard the faint "ow" that slipped through your lips, small and stunned.

"are you alright?", wade’s voice cut in, low but audible, clearly trying to cover for you without drawing attention.

"yeah. just startled. i’m okay." your voice wobbled slightly, but you nodded, even though your arm throbbed and your brain hadn’t quite caught up yet.

cody was already rolling off the table, pushing himself up, a flicker of something in his eyes when he glanced your way, a flash of concern before solo yanked him back into the match.

you sat there, a little breathless, trying to steady your voice as Wade smoothly took over the call. you weren’t hurt, not really, but your heart was thudding in your chest like it wanted to jump ship entirely.

maybe you weren’t quite as ready for wwe ringside as you thought.

you stayed quiet for the next few minutes, not out of fear, but because you genuinely weren’t sure what you could say that wouldn’t sound completely shaken. your voice was steady enough when you finally chimed back in, but it lacked the usual spark, the confident lilt you brought to your formula 1 calls. you kept your tone safe, observational, like a passenger instead of a commentator.

wade didn’t push. he covered like a pro, giving you space to recover while keeping the broadcast rolling. but you could feel him glance at you every now and then, a subtle shift in his posture that said, you good?

you were, mostly.

your shoulder ached where you’d taken the brunt of whatever that was, and your elbow throbbed from slamming into the edge of the desk. but it wasn’t the physical pain that had you off-kilter, it was the sheer adrenaline dump. in f1, danger came from crashes at two hundred miles per hour, but this had been inches from your face. bodies flying, tables breaking, and the surreal realization that one of the top wwe superstars had quite literally landed in your lap.

you were still absently rubbing your shoulder when the match ended, cody hitting cross rhodes out of nowhere, the crowd erupting as he pinned solo for the win. the ref counted three, the bell rang, and the place went wild.

cody rolled off solo, chest heaving, face slick with sweat and triumph. and even in the midst of the celebration, he looked back at you.

not to play to the camera. not to wink for the crowd. just a glance, quick but deliberate. concern flickered across his expression, the kind that felt completely unscripted. his brow furrowed, like he was mentally rewinding the moment to see if you’d been hurt worse than you let on.

it was nothing. it was a lot.

you blinked, then quickly looked away, not trusting yourself to hold that gaze while your heart was still trying to remember its rhythm.

as the cameras cut to commercial, you reached down to gather your notes, trying to shake off the nerves. the moment was over. the match was done. you were fine.

but still, somewhere under the hum of adrenaline and the pulse in your arm, you could feel the weight of cody’s look, warm and unspoken, like maybe he wasn’t finished checking in.

the post-show buzz backstage was louder than you expected. not in volume, though there was plenty of that too, but in motion. people passed by in a blur of crew headsets, half-undone ring gear, and production chatter. you’d excused yourself from the immediate swarm near gorilla, heading down the hall with your shoulder still aching and a weird, lingering heat in your chest that had nothing to do with the crowd’s energy.

you finally stopped in a quieter corridor, peeling off your headset and letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. you rubbed your arm absentmindedly, feeling the sting where you'd knocked it. it would bruise by morning.

"thought i might find you hiding back here."

you turned, just a second too fast and there he was.

hair a little messy, jaw still flushed from the match, his hoodie zipped halfway up over his gear. his tone was casual, but his eyes, blue, unreadable, way too observant, moved straight to your shoulder.

"i wasn’t hiding", you said, trying for lightness and missing by an inch. "i was regrouping. big difference."

his smile was immediate and unfairly disarming. "i saw what happened at the table. you okay?"

you gave a small shrug. "took a hit i didn’t see coming. welcome to wwe, right?"

but he didn’t laugh.

cody stepped closer, careful not to crowd you, voice dropping just enough to pull you in. "i'm serious. i should’ve caught myself better. i didn’t mean to, well, you know."

he gestured to your arm, a quick flick of his fingers like the words were harder to say out loud.

your heart gave an annoying little kick behind your ribs. "you were mid-match", you said, softer now. "getting thrown at full speed by solo kind of trumps spatial awareness."

"still" he said, "i don’t usually crash into commentators. not unless they’re talking trash about me."

you smiled despite yourself. "guess i’ll save that for next time, then."

that got a real laugh out of him. warm. slightly hoarse. totally worth the aching shoulder.

for a moment, neither of you said anything. the backstage noise faded behind the weight of the quiet. cody glanced down, like he was considering something, then looked back up at you, more vulnerable than before, less like the american nightmare and more like the guy beneath the spotlight.

"you sure you’re okay?" he asked again, quieter this time.

you nodded. "I'm good. really."

he didn’t look convinced, but he let it go.

then, with a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he added, "well i think i owe you a drink"

you blinked. "is that your version of an apology or an invitation?"

he shrugged, all charm. "maybe both."

and then he was walking away, nodding at a passing stagehand, leaving you in the hallway with nothing but the echo of his boots and the smile he’d pulled from you without even trying.

you stood there a moment longer than you meant to.

your phone buzzed as you finally turned to leave.

cody rhodes: just checking in. still owe you that drink. :)

your bruised arm hurt a little less after that.

y/ninsta posted a story

written: an update for all those worried people on twitter, my shoulder is 100% fine and i'm so ready to get back to the paddock wwe was fun but watching cars in circles will always be my favourite (and a lot less dangerous for me)

wrestlersightings posted a story

written: cody rhodes spotted at dinner with a mystery woman

y/ninsta posted a story

written: he has been sat here for three hours trying to build a mercedes

americannightmarecody posted a story

written: heading somewhere i have never been before

wrestlingupdates

liked by user4, user5, user6 and 219,339 others

wrestlingupdates: cody rhodes has been spotted on the red carpet for the f1 movie premiere he is accompanied by f1 interviewer and member of the sky sports team y/n y/ln. rhodes and y/ln met seven months ago when y/n was a guest commentator on smackdown and reports are coming in that they have been seeing each other ever since.

view all 6,484 comments

user4: didn't he like fall on her

user5: they are actually so cute

user6: i'm watching the livestream rn and the way he looks at her is the sweetest

user7: i love them so much already

y/ninsta

liked by americannightmarecody, lando, jensonbutton and 829,399 others

tagged: americannightmarecody

y/ninsta: turns out good things do just fall into your lap

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user8: the caption omg, when will it be my turn

americannightmarecody: pretty girl

solosikoa: can i take credit for this relationship

user9: oh i love them

user10: not cody holding y/n's chihuahua that is so cute

user11: my parents

[ganondoodle]

as funny as this scene is ... toby and the team are very good at combining humor and serious things (or rather, the humor works so well bc it has a solid base? idk words) the longer i think about it the 'worse' it gets

even with them trash talking each other constantly its so obvious that they still care (they share so many phrases and themes you cant even tell who got what from whom.. though i suppose its more likely spamton got them from Tenna .... but also he would have had to be there for quite a while to have so many similarities) even if its complicated- and like, spamton kind of sounds so genuinely happy here?? and the fact he (if you have the dealmaker) comes out of your inventory on his own here when Tenna talks to himself about being at his lowest and wishing him back (more or less) is kinda heartbreaking to me????? for all i know (cut me some slack its been a long time) we dont know why spamton never came back or left in the first place (and there is the thought of ... would he have even been able to come back given that they are all tied to physical objects and to get Tenna to safety later -if you dont let him die- susie literally has to carry him away) and even if its some sense of resentment or pride or shame or something that made him stay away/avoid him, NOW that you got him here and he hears and sees this he actually makes a move????????

for all that spamton is weird and kinda fucked up for unkown(?) reasons, treated badly (even if for good reason(??) i dont remember everything of the first chapters) and everything im just so?? he could have just stayed in your inventory like hes done before but he doesnt

but you also cant really blame Tenna for reacting the way he does here (and yes i do think he knew it was spamton and the overblown reaction was mostly trying to think of soemthing to do bc HOW would you handle this?? and also i do think he could be petty about it but also maybe overreacting ... i know how it feels to overreact in weird ways ahaha- just .. i get it but, dude, why q-q)- you were hiding and he was talking to himself and then spamton just freakinge appears in front of him like that (when Tennas desperate attempt to avoid being thrown away fails, no matter how far he went, when everything is falling apart, when its kinda .. too late) after who knows how long of silence, knowing literally nothing about where he went or why (yet he still kept the pipis.......)---

and then how spamton says hes never gonna do that again, while understandably so and very funny in the moment, im just so .... the one time he actually does seem to try to reconnect (?) with someone he seems to have actually genuinely cared about he gets rejected like that (for also understandable reasons aaaaah) and swears to never try that again ......................................................

blaming each other for their downfall but still caring and then fumbling the one chance they get to meet again im so .............................................. fine about it.

(and not to derail but why .... why is it so easy to let Tenna disappear or die ..............?? even if you do all the nice things if you dont go to the hub after church (if thats possible, i dont ...actually know), or dont give him to mettaton, toriel throws him out and once it rains and hes outside its like the last chance to get him to safety (and most people would probably avoid going there before the church bc you are told to go home when its raining and most would then check everything else first and end up in the church at night.. skipping out on finding him outside in the rain and after that he is just gone??? (i think?)- ALSO if you dont recruit enough/are nice enough Susie says she still went back and searched for him in the dark world (i love her so much) but couldnt find him and the other NPCs refused to help out.................. the boarded up tv room in the hub??? arhj my heart man q-q .......... and when you actually break him the broken TV just stays in the room????????? at least spamton can just chill in your inventory nfjksbfshfkjnfksl)

((also also ...i found it weird you dont get to see susie help him in the dark world or the sealing of the fountain there, i know its at the end of the chapter and sth happens with Kris and the shelter but ... i think thats the only time we havent seen the actual sealing?? and then she tells you what happened if you interact with the TV instead ... i do love the highly missable dialog of her telling you she found and patched Tenna up with the help of the other NPCs if you got them all recruited though.... qwq))

(sorry these thoughts have been spiraling around sicne i woke up today and i literally could not concentrate on work at all bc i kept ... thinking about it .... either way these all all just current incoherent thoughts im throwing around........ i hope we get to see Tenna again later on, though i kind of doubt that)

[namelesskn1ght]

A temporary consolation pt3.

Skybound Optimus Prime x Reader Content: sharing a tender moment before sleeping.

· He didn’t think things through clearly when he asked you to spend the night with him. He was somehow terrified of having to go back to his cabin alone and recharge in the dark.

· He knows there is something wrong with him and that it would be best to keep your distance for your safety, but he doesn’t want to let you go. He can’t. He yearns most of the time to have you by his side, and that scares him so much, because at some point it could end in something fatal.

· Feel your soft hands cling to the antenna on his helmet. Feeling a slight pleasure from your touch on that sensitive area. Trying not to show how you make him feel because it would be embarrassing if you noticed.

When you enter the cabin, the first thing you notice is a metal bunk bed and a desk accompanied by a simple chair. It somehow makes you feel strangely sad, because there are no memories or anything decorating the room, it’s as if no one ever lived here.

His large servo holds you carefully, approaching his chassis as he approaches the bunk and slowly lies down. Letting you lean against him as his servo covers you in an attempt to keep you warm.

When he asked you to sleep with him you expected it to be his smaller size, maybe hugging each other, but this doesn’t feel wrong. You hear the constant hum of its spark, his frame radiating such comforting warmth that you begin to feel tired.

· With his thumb he gently caresses your head and back absentmindedly, relaxing with the small beats of your heart against his chassis. “Do you feel comfortable there?” he asks in a low voice, because he is aware that humans rest on soft, squishy things and he is not exactly that. Hear your sleepy voice saying: ‘Yes Oppy, don’t worry, you rest, you need it.’ Oppy?

You hear a small sound, but enough to make you open your eyes wide and get up from where you were lying. “Did you just laugh?” because in all this time since you met him you have never heard him laugh, and his laugh is so sweet that you want to hear it again.

· Your exaggeratedly high-pitched tone takes him so by surprise that he starts laughing out loud. Listen to you excited and super high-pitched ‘You did it again.’ which makes him shake, having to hold you up so you don’t fall while he laughs more. “For the love of Primus, how is it possible that you can put your voice like that, darling?”

· He feels you move until you rest both hands on his battle mask, meeting you in his field of vision; with a smile so charming that it makes his spark jump.

“Yes, I can still hear that adorable laugh, I can change the tone of voice to one that can make you keep laughing.” you want to continue seeing him happy, make him forget everything and have fun with you.

· You spread your happiness so easily, making him smile under his battle mask. Reflecting that smile in his eyes. “I didn’t expect that funny tone of yours, nor that curious nickname,” he says calmly as he absentmindedly strokes your head with his index finger, ruffling your hair and then gently running down your back. “I’ll have to think of a nickname for you, little spark.”

· He feels you approaching his battle mask until you snuggle up, extending your arm in a way that resembles a hug. He hears a sound he easily recognizes; you make it whenever you feel tired.

A/N: Sorry for disappearing, I haven’t felt very well emotionally these last few days. But finally here is the third part, I have some ideas in mind that I wish that to be able to share soon. One of them is an extremely long chapter about this Optimus story about the first encounters with the reader.

· With the corner of his lips still curved, he inexplicably relaxes but takes the opportunity to rest. He carefully holds you until he places you back on his chassis, gently resting his servo on you. His optics begin to close, almost forgetting everything that was tormenting him. Without needing to be on alert, there is only silence, just you and him. “I love you.” he confesses to you while you rest, wishing for dawn to come so he can tell you in the eyes.

Previous

I also hope to finish some writings about Waspinator and Bulkhead from Animated soon. (There’s almost nothing about them so it’s time for that to change.)

[pavuchokk]

I believe that El was never really in love with Mike, bear with me.

In season 1, she didn't even know what a friend was, likeee a couple of days before their kiss? And... Wow. Shocker, obviously, she didn't know what love was either. Their 1st kiss gets turned into an inc3st joke (just like any other their "romantic" interactions in the show, it's not taken seriously).

El first learns about love in Hopper's cabin while watching the tv in season 2 , this is the moment when she realizes that Mike wants them to be lovers, and she gotta play into that lover role. Writers sort of fraimed it as a lavender marriage without making El gay. She's just too unsocialized to understand what love even feels like. My girl hasn't even experienced family love yet (which she WILL in season 5, cause that's her real arc).

After their reunion, her first intention was to kiss Mike, but its clearly not because she's head over heels for him, lol. It's just the only thing she knows so far, and she knows Mike supposedly likes it (so we see her performing and comforming to society [and Mike] as early as season 2).

In season 3, we are introduced to them "swapping spit." Mike is showing sort of "I'm uncomfortable" body language, dude pulls her hands away and starts singing to get over himself, i guess. El did NOT like him singing, and later, we learn that singing together is a sign of love [Dustin&Suzie and Lumax, both couples had a moment where they were singing together]. The only thing she wants is to keep kissing, which is lowkey giving: "I'm a toddler and found something i like, so I'm gonna do this thing until i throw up." They don't really talk with Mike, don't share common tastes and interests. (Moreover, Mike is embarrassed about being a geek, he doesn't want to show her this part of himself ). So there's actually nothing to connect with each other besides being physical.

Then we have the breakup, and El says that he's her FIRST boyfriend??? Soooo she doesn't even see him as something permanent? That's not how you think someone you love, idk. Ik the beakup itself has been milked hundreds of times already, but yeah, my girl didn't gaf at all when they broke up, and neither did Mike (yeah, so endgame couple behavior).

Then there's the mall's "crazy together 1.2" dialogue, where we see that El doesn’t have that "crazy" feeling for Mike, she doesn't pick up on what Mike is trying to tell her (one lil funny thing to me is how Mike freaks out at the word 'boyfriends', yeah dude we get it, you're not gay, chill).

Even tho the goodbye kiss is talked about a lot, it is not talked about ENOUGH. Idk why people purposely ignore El's facial expressions, girl is literally cringing hard at herself. And no, it's not because she's aware that Mike doesn’t like her, cause umm she literally begs for his attention and love in s4 lol.

Heading into season 4, we see El's performance in its full colors: cheesy love letters and a sort of altar for Mike lmao. Looks like an obsession to me, not love. We don't see any characters doing bs like that, bc, well, it IS weird, and she clearly learned this shit from books and tv. The most important "couple thing" for her is to say and write the word 'love.' Well well well, sounds like somebody likes to read/watch romance😭.

The airport and the Rink-o-Mania oh yeahhh, both El and Mike are soooo fake here. Once again, we are reminded how different their tastes are. They argue about food choices like 2 times here???

Untill her rescure I personaly see El just being upset with Mike lying to her (and i guess she heard Mike and Will aguring in the Rink-o-Mania + later she most likely saw the van scene on top of that).

Now the pizza scene, it was giving "the last laugh," both are so ready to break up, and i believe they would've if Argyle hadn't come up.

The monologue, it just made her mad tbh, we see that with vines tightening around her neck and her facial expressions... girl is crying inside and out: "bitch Mike, why tf are you lying again? god i wanted to end this bullshit relationship".

After the whole Vecna thing, the season ends with her being mad with Mike once againnnn and Mike has no clue why ("but.. but.. i- i- i said "the thing" why is she mad, damn these species😒") , oh okay😅

In conclusion, it's just crazy to me how dependent all 3 characters are on this love triangle.

Mileven being endgame:

Makes Mike a shitty friend and boyfriend.

Will ends up as yet another poorly written token gay guy that has to suffer.

And El becomes just another ass written woman among hundreds of ass written women in media.

[robigeddon]

Deltarune Yap session: trying to figure out Kris's psychology and other stuff (ch3&ch4spoilers)

TL;DR: Kris is morally gray

I replayed chapter 3 and 4 because I didn't get to see the secret green rooms and other stuff, but i realize that it doesn't matter at what time you're playing deltarune OR undertale, there's something you just keep digging in and end up in confusion, a fun kind of confusion, and it makes me appreciate tobyfox as a writter

I LOVE kris, they're like, my baby, i guide them, help them make friends, fight, act, but also, I understand 100% if kris hates the soul, because it means they can't be alone for a second, which to me is like... a very respectful boundary, privacy. yet the soul (or "me"/us/the player) is greedy enough to even make their own decisions and create either embarrassing situations or things kris wouldn't do because "it's funny",, reasonable to be mad and take a moment to beat the shit out of that thing that controls you, even if it doesn't make it stop, it kinda feels good to get a bit of rage out?

no matter what "good" decisions you do, kris won't like you

every time they have interactions with other characters, it doesn't matter to me if they're wholesome or funny, it's not kris, it's us, I could kinda say susie is friends with the player rather than kris, because its our thoughts between two options finding what's better or what's funnier, or intentionally, what's worse, as queen said actually, kris doesn't have opinions because we practically can't allow them to

but also, even tho I love this child and their psychological issues, they're a mysterious little shit, respectfully and seriously, BUT LET ME EXPLAIN

in the last S-rank room game (idk how to refer to these) when you go to the shelter in the mini game, kris is trying to go back against your decision, they don't want the player to open the shelter or see what's inside, they don't want the player, or well, they don't want ANYONE to see what's inside, because of how they "sabotage" the clue-searching at noelle's house, BUT ALSO they're scared of the soul (somehow)

there's either two scenes that could happen in this last minigame at the very end

1. If you move the tiny kris close to susie when she joins the room, they'll drag susie to them because the tiny kris has a sword, and thinks it could hurt her or kill her, it makes them anxious and even hyperventilate, what's important to me is that kris actually has an expression of fear or shock

2. when the tiny kris is out of the screen and walks to kris, they throw the controller and back up if you keep getting close, and they get spooked by the sword (i would assume)

to me, throwing the controller was like "yo what the fuck????"

when tenna "dies" (not really) and faces the roaring knight, the only option as acting with kris is "hold breath," while susie doesn't want to act, and ralsei is trying to, and when you do that (hold breath) it says kris is smiling

and if you check, kris actually just pretends by pointing at a distance or saying that they learned nothing because probably kris already knows about the knight

but what i checked from a video is where, if susie and ralsei are downed and only kris is up, there's a very.. weird or rare conclusion? but I find it also interesting

while kris works under the knight's orders, if all three have a decent or full hp, kris's attack is very low and practically useless while susie and ralsei's are as usual. and as another important highlight, kris is the only one that is standing after being equally hit, so now, with susie and ralsei down, kris's attack is higher now

when I checked comments on the video, it said that it was possibly because kris is pissed that the knight for hurting them because in these two new chapters, kris has grown more friendly, they don't like hugs or hugging (more like they don't like asgore's hugs, but still, they're don't seem to be a hugging person) and still somehow at the end of chapter 4, they hug ralsei as comforting them

so if 2+2=4, kris isn't entirely bad, but also not entirely nice, there's valid reasons to be bad, the disruption of their own peace because the player is there all the time, and taking the soul out causes them pain and tires them into collapsing, so they need to co-exist even if both don't like eachother, they give up on their hobby (playing piano), only if we're not controlling them, they'll play, but they'll also get tired and stop

but also, hiding the truth of what they're doing while the soul is locked or in a cage, leaves us with the thought that kris is evil and is manipulating susie into thinking that they're in their side, when very clearly, kris is the one causing the dark fountain because they're not allowing us to really beat the knight

but also, kris is still a child. even with all that "kris is evil" stuff, don't forget they had (for me at least) and stressful childhood, being the only human trying to fit in a town of monsters, plus, we get from tenna that toriel and asgore had issues and were constantly fighting, which as any kid, they'll have a little resentment, a little rage there that happens to stress them, as for being "evil", kris fighting the roaring knight showed up scared or resentful at it, even working with it

SO! conclusion:

Kris is morally gray

they do stuff that makes us think they're bad, and they will betray us or their friends, but they also have wholesome interactions with them, like going to QC's dinner and joking a little with susie by drawing her on the window (and also the cute little chat they had where susie lets us know kris is smiling at her like toriel did) drinking juice very.. excitedly, even protecting her in a fight with a gerson statue.. thingy..

that's all, because i love yapping, and I will never stop if I keep going, I just love games that make me think (i started writing at 10 pm, now it's 12am, whaaattt

[thewayilikemycookie]

HIIII!!! i saw that your have alex tran in your masterlist and i literally jumped for joy!!! i LOVEEE him sm and there arent any fics of him like at all!!!

sooooo i am here to request an alex x fem! reader ficc !! maybe where they are like super close friends and have been semi-flirting for months and they finally realize their feelings after getting some pep talks from their friends!!! :))

👾┆Simply In Love .ᐟ

Alex Tran x f!reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: none!!

A.n: Alex!!!!!! Im glad im not alone on this, more people need to open their eyes to him!! Anyways, I tried my best to follow the request, hope you like it anon!!

Ever since becoming members of the Smosh crew, you and your best friend, Alex Tran, made your way up to become important elements in the company’s workspace. He became producer of one of the channels, Smosh games, and you became an official cast member, but your connection never faltered in between such big changes. Alex was your closest friend, he was always there for you, since the beginning, and you were always there for him.

Whenever you’re not in front of the cameras, your coworkers know they’ll find you behind the cameras on the games stage, watching a shoot with Alex. Fans also begun to notice your laughter off camera, oftentimes blending in with Spencer and Alex’s, and made it a common topic between the video’s comments

Your dynamic on camera was also praised over. Whenever you were casted in a Smosh games video, Alex would always defend you and patiently explain you the rules of the game.

During a specific Uno No Mercy shoot, close to the end of a round, Alex pretended like there was an issue with the lights and used the inconvenience to slip a +10 card on your hands. No one seemed to notice and the card ended up making you win that round. At the end you confessed between laughs “No, okay, I actually have to be honest with you guys. During the thing with the lights Alex slipped a +10 into my hands” some of your fellow cast members (Angela) got a little mad (almost threw a chair at you), but overall it ended with hysterical laughs and fan’s comments noticing your fun dynamic.

Though you enjoyed these interactions, you have to admit that something changed over the last few months. Not exactly for the worst, its just been different. You’ve both been getting more flustered around each other for seemingly no reason and leaning into each other a little more, a casual head on the shoulder every once in a while.

You would come into the office a random morning to him holding your favorite coffee from your favorite cafe. Then, later on, you would notice yourself always saving him the seat next to you at lunch, where he would sit at and discuss your favorite games - which he never mentioned playing, he just showed up one day and seemed to be an expert on it.

You would find yourself to be staring at him during videos sometimes, even when he was talking to another cast members.

Y/n,” you heard Tommy calling for your attention, your mind refocusing on the game “It’s your turn”

“Right, sorry,” you breathed, picking up a card from the pile in the middle “Echo Master! Choose someone to be your echo, I pick…. hmm… Angela!”

“NOOO, not again!” She yelled and you heard Alex’s laugh from behind the camera, you instinctively shot him a smile before turning back to her

“Let’s see, you echo shall be…” Your mind wandered off as any of the suggestions they were throwing at you seemed to be funny enough

“Do the word ‘that’” Alex suggested

“‘That’? Wait, that’s genius!” You said excitedly, now convinced you could eliminate Angela “Cause it’ll be so subtle you wont even notice! But they will” You pointed to the camera “Thank you Alex!”

Your excitement made him flustered, but he smiled at you either way. Which caused you to get flustered, both now trying to recompose yourselves. Spencer and Angela secretly shared knowing looks with each other.

Later that day, Alex was doing some work on the games pod, but his thoughts were too distracting. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and what happened during the shoot earlier. Your glances and your smiles clearly directed towards him, you taking his suggestion immediately, even after hearing the other’s, you staring at him when you thought he wouldn’t notice. He noticed, he always did.

Alex couldn’t figure out his feelings, though. He recognized how things had changed between you a couple of months ago, but he didn’t think it was a bad thing. The fact that he liked seeing this side of you made him even more confused.

“Hey Alex,” He heard Spencer’s voice coming from the desk in front of him “did Shayne tell you about his pitch?”

“Yeah” He answered without thinking, too distracted to even digest the words

“So, what do you think about it?” Spencer asked

“I-I mean, no,” He tried to refocus. What had Spencer asked him? Oh right, a pitch “He hasn’t, what is it?”

“Dude,” Spencer moved his chair away from his desk, making sure he can see Alex though the monitors “you good?” He asked with worry on his face

“Yeah, I’m good” Alex said, not wanting to bother him with his thoughts

“Is this about y/n?” He said, hitting the bull’s-eye immediately

“How did you know?” Alex almost whispered, in shock

“So it is about her” Spencer smiled through his still worried expression “Look man, you two are a little obvious”

“What do you mean?” He asked, even more confused. What was there to be obvious about?

“You don’t try to hide your affection for each other. It’s obvious you care for her and vice versa” Spencer clarifies, leaning back on his chair “to be honest man, its like your eyes shoot out of your face and transform into, like, cartoon hearts”

“I- What? No, we’re just friends”

“Sure,” he laughed a little at his friend’s obliviousness “but hey, if you ever do feel something, it’s worth at least trying, believe me”

“Thanks Spencer” Alex nodded, he was now arguably more confused than before. Did he really feel something for you? Could he like you in that way? Could you ever like him back?

You sought Angela out at first. Your feelings were getting to your head and you couldn’t understand any of them.

You found her on her way to the break room “Hey Ang, can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Oh heyy” Angela looked up from her phone “of course, what’s up”

You sat down on the sofa next to the lunch area “I’m just really confused”

“About what?” She looked at you with a worried expression

“Um… about Alex,” you confessed “I- it’s weird”

“Did you guys have an argument?” Her voice sounded concerned

“No, no, the exact opposite, actually. It’s just- I can’t explain it, really,” You were almost embarrassed from your lack of words “it’s like every time I look at him I feel like I wanna jump or something”

“Oh girl… you’re down BAD” Angela said with sympathy

“What do you mean?” you asked

“Let me guess, do you also feel butterflies in your stomach?” She joked

“I-yeah? I guess” If you were being honest, you did get butterflies in your stomach weirdly often when you were close to him. But what did this have to do with anything?

“Y/n” She holds your hands “Do you think that… maybe…. you could have a crush on Alex?”

“But he’s my best friend…..” you though about it. It was possible, maybe in a different universe. But still, your feelings were too much to ignore.

After a long pause, she began speaking again “Think about those feelings, yeah?” Angela said. She was such an incredible and supportive friend.

“Okay” You smiled at her.

The last video of the day was a Smosh vs Dread. You were sitting down with Spencer, Arasha, Shayne and, of course, George.

Before you started rolling George was explaining a few things and Alex jumped in to give his initial notes. Seeing him in his element, so comfortable and himself really made you finally realize your feelings: You loved Alex Tran. It was that simple, really. But the thought made you smile

Alex noticed you smiling at him and, though he would never admit it, his speech faltered a little.

As your apocalyptic journey finally began, the tower started to wobble and the tension got more and more intense. Alex watched from behind the cameras, he noticed how you would adapt your acting depending on the other characters and the energy of the scene, sometimes being able to subtly change dynamics, making your character - and you - such a complex personality.

Alex liked to believe that the only time he truly saw you was when you transformed into someone else. He got to understand you better, rather than just seeing the version of you only used for him, you were different people, all at once. And he felt lucky he got to experience all of them.

So, it was easy for him to accept the fact that he loved you.

What came after this realization though, was a type of panic he has never felt before. He loved you. He felt like sharing this with someone, but the only person he could ever imagine talking to right now is you. He needed to tell you.

So that’s exactly what he did. Right after calling out the first death in the game, George asked if they could have a break. This would also signify the separation between episode one and two, so Alex of course said yes.

As people started to leave the room, he came up to you and asked to talk privately, you agreed.

“What’s up?” You asked, slightly blushed and wondering what the reason for this talk was

“I have to be completely honest with you, y/n” Alex said, worrying you a little. He believed in your professionalism to keep the shoot going even if things go south during this moment, although he deeply wished things wouldn’t go south. He looked around and noticed you were alone, so he went for it “I love you. In a romantic way, I mean. And I’m so stupid for just realizing it now. You don’t have to do or say anything, I just needed to get it off of my chest and I’m so sorry for saying it now, but I do. I love you.”

To say you were shocked was an understatement. What were the chances he would confess something like this at such a perfect time. You didn’t have any words whatsoever, so nothing came out of your mouth.

Your hesitation scared him, he pulled away a little “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that now. I should’ve waited, I’m sorry” Hearing him be so sweet made you love him even more. Worried you would scare him away from such a perfect moment, you did the only thing you could and closed the distance between you.

DREAD: Smosh vs The Apocalypse | Episode 2

Smosh Games 2.4 views 289k likes

@y/nmarrymepls

Y/N’S ENERGY CARRIED THIS EPISODE OMGG

@sabinisthebest

Y/n’s joke at [34:57] made Alex laugh so hard YOUR HONOR I LOVE THEM

@y/s/ntrutherforever

Did anyone else notice how y/n was so giddy this episode compared to the last one?? And the way she was constantly smiling at someone behind the camera?? She’s so adorable!!

A.n: hope you enjoyed reading!! I’ve been sooo obsessed with dread i just had to add it here too 🤭 Also idk why but this one was so hard to title for some reason?? If anyone has a better suggestion I’m open tbh 😭

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Mine

Changbin x Reader Synopsis: Being FWB w/ Changbin has been easy and fun, until he finally snaps after seeing you 'flirt' with Bang Chan. Warnings: SMUT, cunnilingus, oral, orgasm denial, DOM Binnie, unprotected p in v, jealousy, pet names (bunny, baby), slight angst and fluff. A/N: @encoredesires I hope this is satisfactory! Thank you for the request! I'll be trying to finish my Larie's Libation's requests over the next few days, but I also have to house sit so bare with me. I apprecaite all y'all's love and support! Comment to be added to my taglist! Xoxo💋

You and Changbin had an understanding, you didn’t belong to each other; you were free to date and see people, but the sex had to stop if one of you got into a relationship.

However, Changbin wasn’t exactly supportive of you dating, even though you both swore feelings wouldn’t get involved, they did and watching you flirt with Chan had his blood pressure high.

It was a normal day at the studio and you surprised the guys with lunch, knowing good and well they wouldn’t eat properly if you didn’t.

Chan shows you some new recording equipment he just got in and Changbin seethes with how you act like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. He doesn’t mean to be jealous, but he can’t help it. He’s been in this crazy on again off again friends with benefits thing with you for years, and yet he’s never really had you.

That afternoon you’re hanging out at his apartment, like most days, but you can tell something’s wrong.

“Binnie talk to me,” you say as you rub up and down on his arm, a slight little pout on your lips.

“It’s nothing, let’s just watch the movie,” he grumbles. You frown with your brows furrowed.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you. We’ve been friends for years, I’m not stupid; I can tell.” You press.

“Y/n, drop it.” He snaps and your head pops back. His tone is sharp, clearly agitated. You sigh as you sit back against the couch watching the movie, but your mind races with what could be wrong.

You smirk when you get an idea, leaning back over to him with your hand soft on his tummy, your lips attach to the sweet spot under his neck. He tries to ignore it, but when your tongue flicks out over the skin, he shutters. You smile against his skin before sucking on the same spot, leaving a small purple bruise in your wake.

“Binnie,” you whimper desperately in his ear, thighs squeezing together. His eyes flit to you and he scoffs.

“Go bother Chan with all that,” he bites before getting up and grabbing a drink from the kitchen.

“Chan?” you ask genuinely confused.

“What’s Chan got to do with anything?” You follow him into the kitchen, studying his movements when a sarcastic little smile plasters itself on his face.

“You were all over him today, I’m sure he’d love to have you stop by. As a matter of fact, I’ll escort you there myself,” he says bitterly and you watch as he walks over to put on his shoes, but you stop him.

“He was showing me his new soundboard today.” You say cautiously. Changbin’s brows raise quickly before falling at the same speed.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles as he moves to the door. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

He stops dead in his tracks.

“Something funny?” he says as he turns back towards you.

“I, no, it’s just, I never thought you’d be jealous,” you say with a coy smile on your face.

“I mean, it’s just not like you,” you begin and its as if he’s lightening, the way he has you pressed against the wall.

“It’s not funny,” your eyes are wide, and your arms are pinned above your head. Your heart races in your chest.

“Binnie, come on, it’s a little funny. There’s nothing going on with him.”

“Didn’t look that way to me.”

“You don’t own me ya know,” you smirk.

“Who’s to say I couldn’t date Chan? Hmm,” you tease, watching his jealousy rise.

“Guess I need to remind you who’s name you were screaming last night while you were seeing stars.”

Your gulp is obvious, and Changbin snickers.

“What’s wrong? Not so confident all of a sudden?” His other hand caresses your cheek, looking between your eyes.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” he mocks in feign sympathy. Your mouth opens but the words are stuck in your throat. It wasn’t abnormal for Changbin to be in charge, but normally it was more even, not so one sided, but tonight the shift is different. His lips crash into yours hot and heavy, teeth biting into your lower lip possessively.

You whimper helplessly, hands flexing above your head. You attempt to pull them down but he doesn’t let you go.

“Ah, ah, ah, I’m in charge tonight,” he asserts.

“Why, because you think I want Bang Chan?” you sass him and he growls, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Binnie!” you shriek, face flushed and heart pounding.

“What the hell!” you giggle as you kick your feet. His palm lands on your clothed ass.

“Stop squirming.” He grits.

“What if I don’t?”

“You’re such a brat,” he says as he throws you onto his bed, you bounce on it with a giggle and a small shriek as he crawls over top of you, wasting zero time pulling your shirt over your head.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good you won’t even remember his name.” He murmurs in your ear and your walls clench around nothing, thighs squeezing together.

“If you think you’re man enough,” you retort with sass. He growls once more kissing your lips forcefully, hand coming around your throat.

“You’re mine, you got that? Not Chan’s, mine.”

“You don’t own me,” you say against his lips; protesting his statement.

“Wanna bet?” He smirks, fingers coming up to pinch your nipples, your back arching as you gasp.

“What’s a matter, baby?” he coos and all you do is groan. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the peeked buds, sending little waves of pleasure to your tummy.

“Bin,” you groan.

“Mm, pace yourself baby, we got a long night ahead of us,” he says as he places his lips along your neck, teeth nipping at the soft flesh.

“Smells so pretty,” he mumbles as he gets a whiff of your perfume. His hips grind down into yours and you can feel how hard he is already, hearing your sounds and seeing you beneath him desperate and at his mercy.

You try to buck your hips, desperate for friction and he ignores it, trailing kisses down to your tits, sucking one into his mouth, eyes closed as he works his tongue over the hardened nub.

You gasp out a moan, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers rake through his hair.

“Mmmf,” you groan as his teeth apply pressure to the sensitive area. He chuckles against you, moving to the other one, tongue flicking over it before he closes his mouth around it. You tug on his hair lightly, making his eyes roll back into his head as he moans. He kisses down your stomach, tongue darting over, sucking a few hickeys on your stomach and one onto each hip.

You hiss at the harsh feeling, nonetheless, soaking your panties at how he’s marking you and owning you.

He removes your pants and panties swiftly, groaning at how wet you already you are.

“And here you were spouting off about Chan,” he tsks.

“Chan do this to you, baby? Or was it me?” he asks feigning his curiosity.

“You,” the word comes out breathy, anticipation felt in your bones.

“Good girl,” he answers before settling himself between your thighs, sucking another hickey onto your left inner thigh.

Your hips jut upwards, desperate for something- anything at this point.

“Use your words,” he instructs.

“Please,” you whimper.

“Please what?”

“Use your tongue.” You beg, face flushing red.

“Do you deserve it?”

“I’ll be good,” you whimper, bottom lip sticking out a bit with your brows pinched together.

“No more backtalk,” you offer as a way to get him to do what you want.

“Hmm,” he fake ponders before opening your folds, revealing your slick.

“Maybe just a taste,” he says before his tongue goes into your hole, swirling around, teasing you. Your back arches, a gasp fleeing your lungs. Changbin smiles before flattening his tongue and licking a stripe up to your clit, hitting with firm pressure immediately.

“Oh shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut again. Your hips buck with every few strokes of his tongue, the tip hitting it just right to make you whimper. Your hands go into his hair, pushing his face further into you.

“God, Binnie, yes, keep going, please,” you cry out as he inserts a finger, pumping it in and out stimulating your sweet spot. Your hips roll, the coil in your belly tightening.

“Aww, gonna cum from my fingers princess?” he taunts “Mhm,” you nod quickly feeling your hips roll with each thrust, causing his finger to hit you harder.

“Poor thing, be a shame if I tore it away from you.”

“Binnie please no, please,” you beg desperately, something that makes his cock weep.

“Are you close, baby?” He asks, the tone in his voice dark and testing.

“I-I,”

“Don’t lie to me,” he warns.

“Yes,” you fist the sheets as your about to break when Changbin stops everything.

“What the fuck!” You look down at a smirking Changbin;your chest rising up and down.

“Earn it, show me who you belong to.” He undoes his belt, letting his cock spring free as he pulls his pants down. He removes his shirt and tosses it on the floor.

“Come on, bunny. You can do it,” he encourages as he sits down on the bed. You whimper, your puffy clit catching as you move.

He watches as you lean down, gathering your hair for you in a makeshift pony tail.

“That’s it, go nice and slow,” he says as you wrap your lips around the head, sucking on it.

“Fuck, that’s perfect, slowly take it in, baby.” He says as he feels you sink down. He growls, the feeling of your mouth too good for him to speak.

“Play with my balls,” he instructs and you do as you move up and down at a consistent speed, your tongue running over his head and slit every so often.

“Fuck yes that feels so good.” He groans, head tilting back and eyes closed.

“Such a good girl for me,” he groans as he feels his own orgasm approaching.

“Keep sucking baby, I’m close,” he says as his hips lift off the bed, causing your nose to touch his pelvis. The taste of skin and salt is continuously on your tongue.

You moan softly around him, hollowing your cheeks as the wet sounds from your mouth intensify in the room.

“Fuck, baby, yes keep going, fuckfuckfuck,” he groans as his body bends forward, hands in your hair, clutching it to ground himself as he shoots down your throat.

He gasps deep and heavy, head swimming from the release. You release him, spit dripping down his cock along with a little bit of his cum as some spilled out of your mouth.

You watch his chest, now covered in a thin layer of sweat, go up and down, and the throb between your legs begins to be bothersome. He notices you squeeze your thighs together and he motions for you to come over.

“Come on,” he says and you crawl over, positioning yourself on top.

“Slow, baby.” He says as his hands find your hips.

“Yes, daddy.” You say and Changbin’s brows shoot up, his cock twitching beneath you. He chuckles at you.

“Such a little tease,” he mumbles to himself with a smile as he slightly shakes his head. You line him up with your entrance, sliding down slow and easy, both of you groaning at the feeling.

“Always so tight, so ready for me,” he groans as he sits up, head right at your neck, where he leaves butter fly kisses.

You whimper at the stretch.

“Take a minute baby, ‘s ok.” He whispers. Your hips start to move in circles, grinding your clit against him in the process, causing your head to drop down.

“Such a good girl, using my cock to get off,” he whispers in your ear, causing your walls to clench and him to hiss in response. His hand lightly slaps your ass, grabbing and shaking the flesh.

You start to bounce up and down, gasping as he hits your g spot every time.

“Fuck,” you shriek as your legs bounce your faster, and Changbin starts thrusting up to meet you.

“Feel that baby? Feel me in your tummy?” he asks through gritted teeth, trying to keep himself from coming undone just yet.

“Fuck you take me so well, look bunny, watch it disappear,” he says and forces your face down to watch. You whimper at the sight before one arm goes behind you to balance at another angle, his arms around your waist helping you hold steady.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper as the sound of skin slapping skin gets louder and louder. Changbin flips the momentum, you landing on your back with him above you, pounding into your relentlessly.

“Fuck,” you cry out as your back arches, one leg thrown over his shoulder. Your hips rotate under his touch as he stimulated your swollen bud.

“Who’s are you?” He asks cockily. You whimper, words hard to find with how good it feels.

“Tell me or I stop and you don’t cum,” he threatens. You whine out in frustration and pleasure.

“Y-yours.”

“Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours!” you scream eyes screwed shut and mouth open in the ‘o’ shape.

“Cum for me, bunny. Make a mess for me.” He says, hips snapping impossibly faster as you scream out in pleasure, cunt tightening around him, sending Changbin over the edge. The two of you cum one right after the other.

Changbin stills, letting your leg down and hovering over you, a hand gently caressing your face.

“You ok, baby?” he asks gently, forehead resting yours. You can feel the sweat on his forehead, and you nod weakly, body and mind spent and numb with pleasure.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, slight worry laced in his voice as his eyes roam your face, as if he’s looking for cuts or scrapes.

“No, ‘m ok.” You say, eyes going half lidded as a small lazy smile appears on your face. There’s a moment of silence, the unsaid words settling between you as your eyes are glued to one another’s.

“You like me,” you tease as you boop his nose. Changbin’s face turns a darker shade of pink and his eyes look into yours as his hand strokes your hair lovingly and gently.

“Yeah, I do.” He murmurs, “A lot.” You giggle, signs of exhaustion obvious on your face. He gently pulls out of you, watching as his cum drips out of you.

“That good huh?” he smirks and you nod feebly.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers and kisses your forehead. He leaves to grab a towel, returning to clean up the mess he made of you.

“Legs feel like jelly,” you mumble to him and he breathes out a laugh. He discards the towel, crawling in bed beside you, pulling you to him to rest your head on his chest.

Your nails trace the vein on his muscled arm as you smile to yourself.

“What?” he asks suspiciously.

“So does this mean we can start holding hands, and kissing each other public and like being a couple? Because if not, this is gonna be hella awkward.” You giggle as you look up at him, a doe eyed affect taking over your features.

“I’d love nothing more.” He kisses your forehead again, resting his own against it before kissing your nose, causing you to giggle, and finally kissing your lips.

“You’re mine, you hear me? Mine,” he says against your lips, causing you to smile into the kiss.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna

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[ritogysunshine]

my thoughts on the f1 movie!

(⚠️CONTAINS SPOILERS⚠️)

watched it with @sleepdeprivedline hahsajsh ily bae

i'll go through what i think is important and the.. um... interesting parts :)

part 1: the plot

. the plot overall is... okay.. but unrealistic. more on that later.

. it's about an f1 team (expensify apex gp f1 team) who haven't scored points for the past 2.5 years and they will get 'removed' off the grid if they don't score points by the end of the year

. the movie starts of with sonny hayes (brad pitt) who takes part in daytona and brings his team from 7th to victory

. he then gets invited to drive for the shitty f1 team by its team principal and agrees

. he and his teammate (joshua pearce) have intense fights but eventually he wins a race with the team in the last race of the season (predictably)

. the movie ends with him joining the baja 1000

. i genuinely don't know what to think of this plot... its quite predictable and i already knew what would happen at the end the moment the main plot was established

part 2: characters (the important ones)

. sonny hayes played by brad pitt: a cocky character who is a 'trust the process' type of guy. wasn't a big fan of his character, or the actor. he was kind of funny though

. joshua pearce played by damson idris: again, a cocky character who wants to do his best for the team or else he'll get replaced by someone else

. kerry condon played by kate mckenna: works in aerodynamics for apex gp f1 team and erm.. falls in love with sonny hayes?? the love plot in this movie is so rushed, also more on that later.

. ruben cervantes played by javier bardem: a failing team principal who asks sonny to drive for his team (apex gp). he's alright i guess. isn't as relevant as other characters

. and of course, the drivers, played by themselves: 10/10 acting, loved it, awesome, spiffing, gripping, best part of the film

part 3: the bits and bobs i liked:

. the adrenaline in this movie is incredible. even though i knew most of the time what was going to happen, i felt gripped and looking forward to seeing what happens anyway!

. the music is great too. just a shame they had to play messy by ROSÉ while sonny and kerry were making out. just keep watching is the perfect song for this kind of movie!

. the drivers. i loved seeing them in the movie and it was a great touch. i wish they'd included them a bit more!

. there are some genuinely really good things about this movie, but i won't spoil any more of it!

. it overall has a great meaning and allows you to enjoy the adrenaline of f1 while learning important lessons, such as patience and resilience!

part 4: the bits and bobs i didn't like:

. the plot is so unrealistic. it became hilarious after a while, actually. some of the strategies (that i won't spoil) are so awfully unrealistic that it made me question what i really knew about this sport

. the CRINGE. the whole 'plan c for chaos' shebang was so cringeworthy i was squirming in my seat whenever they spoke about it. i get that they wanted to show determination, but that was not the way to show it. next!

. the joshua pearce crash. let's just say he touches a kerb in the rain at monza and he flies at a height that is so high it probably went higher then my house. see what i mean by unrealistic? and the worse thing is that pearce only gets burnt in his hands and recovers in 3 weeks. other than that, not a scratch. this was jaw-clenchingly hand-grippingly confusing and funny, even.

. the love plot. oh my god this was so rushed it was like watching the worst romance show ever, on 10x speed. it goes from them being g awkward friends to making out and sleeping together and then making out, with no context or warning or anything. it felt... uncomfortable.

. when sonny is testing for the f1 team, he crashes the car across the line and completely destroys it but is 0.005 seconds quicker than pearce. this made me physically roll my eyes.

. there is probably more that i could say, but i don't want to spoil the entire movie for y'all.

overall...?

. this movie is a 6 or 7 out of 10. just because something is bad, doesn't mean i don't like it. but there is so much in this love that was unnecessary and so much that they could've done.

. if you really want to watch it, then depending on you're taste, you can see if you like it or not. i think it's an okay movie, with good or cringe scenes every now and then, but what movie doesn't have any of that now, in the big '25?

. don't feel bad for going to watch it, just enjoy the movie and the sport you love!

rit xx

remember, this is just an opinion <3

[serenity-loves-red]

Never had it once crossed your mind that you would one day find yourself at the receiving end of the affection from both Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos and The Nameless Hero of Amphoreus.

You, a mere lowly merchant from an unknown village who sells handcrafted jewelry, managed to catch the attention of the men in the higher society of Okhema– Amphoreus even.

A cruel joke, you thought. Mydeimos and Phainon are well-known rivals. Childish competitions are dished out anywhere and everywhere. Hell, even staying the longest in a hot bath becomes part of their competitive streak!

No one in their right mind would want you with a status of a commoner unless, of course, just a part of their competition that you find yourself to unfortunately be part of.

So you never had believed them and their so-called affections. You did everything to avoid them, wanting your life away from spotlight of never ending politics. Getting entangled much more as it already is will completely change your life for the worst.

You had already heard how chaotic Amphoreus politics are and with a status as lowly as yours? Maybe one day, someone will find your body in some ditch or something!

But no matter how much effort you give in order to avoid them, even taking the longer route to go home, you will always find yourself walking together staying right between them.

“Walking home? Why don’t you let us send you back? That’s more safer, isn’t it?”

“Why decline? We are already walking with the same route so just let us take you back.”

Avoiding someone was never been this hard before. At loss, you finally decided to confront them. Whatever the reason, everything must stop. You never wanted to get implicated in the first place.

Even if you like them, a joke is still a joke and even more so being cruelly dragged into this mess because of their petty rivalry.

Messing with your feeling intentionally or not, this better stop before it hurts more than it already is.

“Lord Phainon, Lord Mydei please… just stop.” You said shakily. “Stop this.”

“Huh?” Phainon replied confused. “Stop? Stop what?”

“This!” You can’t help but raise your voice. Status be damned. “Playing with my feelings because of some stupid competition? Well guess what–you both won since I’ve always love you both!”

Silence never been this loud before. Regret instantly flooded your senses and before you do something even more embarrassing, you decided to flee.

Funny you thought you could escape them. Within seconds, Mydei had you within grasp, his arms locked you securely in place, while Phainon blocked your view with his body.

“You love us?” Mydei said somewhat shakily. You can feel the heat of his body and the beat of his heart that was unexpectedly fast.

Mydei may have hold you in his arms, but it was Phainon whose gaze pinned you under its weight. Intense, raw, full of conviction and subtle longing, emotions you never imagined to see.

“Don’t run, please.” He begged as he slowly moved his hand to cupped your cheek. “It may be a competition, but not that kind that you thinks of.”

“We wanted to court you, everything we did was.” Mydei began. “But we never imagined that you would take it the wrong way.”

“The only thing we were competing is the one who you would like. Not competing just because.” Phainon told you, his eyes are tender and smile slowly started to form. “But who would have thought that you will like us both hm? Not that I mind sharing.”

His last statement made you finally realize the situation you’re in. Mydei holding you close while Phainon held your face in place.

What? Heat slowly started to rush and blush had coating your cheeks.

Before you started denying or worst– if your head started to think only Kephale knows what, Phainon charmingly said, “So why don’t we all talk about it before your pretty little head create another conclusion.”

Mydei then loosened his hold but remain attach to your left arm while Phainon enthusiastically grabbed your right and practically dragged you towards the Holy City.

…Did you just got kidnapped?

Note: Thank you for the 5k likes and 200 followers🫶🏼 damn this cult is created a week ago, imagine my surprise seeing my notifs😚 love your support tho😜😜😜

[seroism]

SPIDERMAN .ᐣ SFW.

Well... The name's Cellophane, but...

"Yeah, and it was like, I don't know, nyooo–m!" Hanta explains excitedly, the ice in his milk tea sloshing as both hands spread out in a wave, sliding smoothly along the sidewalk on a pair of black and yellow Heelys.

You follow closely behind, giggling at his story as you sip your own drink. He's trying to tell you about his last 'epic' skate park adventure and how cool he looked. Despite how silly he looks now... A little part of your brain can see it for real– the way his athletic tops always ride up, his shoulders slacken, and his eyes focus in. Such a handsome man.

"Wait! Shit, let me text Kats," Hanta's frozen in place, holding his drink out to you with one hand while the other eagerly unlocks his phone. "If he didn't save that video I'm gonna tell him to explode himself."

You hum softly as Hanta chitters on, scrolling through his Snapchat menu until he found him– lovingly titled 'Unironic Mitski Listener 001'– and sends over a solid three messages solely intended to make Bakugo's phone vibrate.

"Haha shit, I forgot he's totally doing lunch with Kirishima right now." That little comment comes with a playful eye roll– a man slightly too tired of their several-year long beating around the bush. "Like... Lunch-lunch?" You question, and are returned with a snicker and a shrug.

"Kats says it's just lunch. I dunno though!"

And suddenly, his head raises– attuned to something you haven't been listening to. Bickering, just across the road. His brows knit together ever so slightly, and your gaze follows his.

"He won't get down!"

"I can't reach him!"

"Mochi! Come here, it's safe!"

A group of three young teens stands circled about a tree, all watching doe-eyed as a black and white cat grips relentlessly to a branch.

"C'mon, babe," Hanta queues, though he's already halfway across the street when his eyes flicker back to make sure you're paying attention. A lazy grin twitches into place when you skitter to catch up, and he's right back to what he'd call his 'civic duty.'

Sometimes, you couldn't help but think about how much had changed. Hanta had never been a particularly meek boy. Not his freshman year, when you'd met him– a young, aspiring teen with the foundations of confidence and an eager to find 'his' image. It was a mask, almost– playing cool in an effort to hide his greatest fear.

Being forgotten.

He'd always known it. That his quirk wasn't particularly flashy, or cool. His tape quirk was convenient, and tactile, but all he really got out of it was... Well, stretched out shirt sleeves and funny looking elbows. It wasn't something he was insecure about, in its plainness, but... Sometimes, he wished to be more.

So instead, he'd forged something better: That shining personality you'd grown to adore.

"Someone doing some off-leash hiking?" A quirked brow, and an easy grin– the sort of calm demeanor that brought one of the sniffling kids to nod, holding up a leash, featuring a newly-broken snap clip.

"He was– he just– Got scared! There was this big truck, and–" A yowl interrupted her stammering, as Hanta nodded thoughtfully. "No big deal... I've got'cha," and with a smile that was all teeth, he raised an arm and flexed– a shiny reel of tape shot out of his arm. Within moments, he'd scaled the tree, and secured a horrified ball of fur. None of the kids seemed to notice the crinkle in his brow– seething softly as claws dug into his shoulder.

"See?" Hanta grinned, snapping the segment of tape off of himself. "Safe and sound."

A cheering of thank-yous went around, though... The kids didn't seem interested in sticking around. Instead, Mochi safely contained in the arms of the oldest, they scurried off rather quickly.

"That was so cool!"

"Yeah but... Now Mochi needs a new leash..."

"Oh, whatever! I think we just met Spiderman! Like, from America!"

Hanta huffed, snagging his drink back out of your hands. You giggled, elbowing him softly in the side.

"Hear that, Spiderman?" A brow quirked, glancing over to you as though warning. The playful spark that sat in those dark eyes made your tummy turn over.

"Say that again and I'll put you in a tree." His fingers lace into yours– right back on track towards campus. He pretends to be angry when you giggle, though a calloused thumb runs across your skin.

"Oh, my hero."