#sharing and not needing to sell everything

[tinysunshine]

━━━━━━ ✧˖° 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍’ 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌

‎ ‎ [ 𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni. slightly dead dove.

kinks: daddy kink, dirty talk, leon is submissive, oral sex, cum eating, rough sex, face sitting, one mention of leon in panties, masturbation, mentions of mommy kink (not with reader), protective leon, anal play, panty stealing, fingering, creampie, some humiliation, cumming untouched, light dom/sub, kinky soulmates <3

warnings and triggers: fauxcest, age difference, leon is a perverted old freak, reader is a camgirl and does only fans, dubcon if you squint, noncon fantasies, leon is extremely pathetic and is simping hard, slut shaming, mentions of intoxicated sexual acts, sexual blackmail, reader is kind of a bad person, porn addiction, one mention of drug use, alcoholism, mommy and daddy issues

word count: 9.2k

porn with plot, slight alternate universe.

He’s too old for you. You’re too good for him. Whatever weird thing that’s going on between the two of you - that’s all it can be. Roommates. Friends. And even then, Leon knows that it’s pushing the limits of what’s acceptable.

→ You sell nudes for a living and Leon is the hot, older man who lets you move in with him. He’s the sweetest pervert you’ve ever met.

It starts, because you need a place to stay. 

Leon hardly knows you. He knows your name, yeah, and he knows that you have a great rack. Perky tits and a pretty smile, lips that are always pink and glossy. You smell good, and one time you reached around him to grab a straw on the bar top and he felt your soft body press against his, and - 

Okay, all Leon really knows about you is that you’re hot. Really fucking hot, like a girl from the porn he used to watch, back when he really hated himself. Don’t get him wrong, he still does harbor deep feelings of resentment for everything that makes him who he is, but it’s not as bad as it used to be. 

That’s what he tells himself, anyway. 

He met you at a bar. His bar, and by that, he means his home away from home - the local fucking bar, a few blocks away from his apartment actually. Every good drunk knows it’s mandatory to have a bar they can get to without driving, because every smart drunk knows that in order to properly drink to their heart’s delight, they’ve got to have a safe way to get home. See? Leon called himself smart - he doesn’t hate himself nearly as much as he used to. 

But he also just hasn’t figured out the whole Uber thing. Oh well. 

Leon, his bar - right. You’re always fucking there. Leon doesn’t understand why, because it’s a shitty place, with phone numbers scribbled on the back of the bathroom stall doors. Once, before last call, Leon swears someone followed him into the bathroom and asked if there was a glory hole. Or - maybe he followed someone into the bathroom and - doesn’t really matter. There’s no glory hole at this place, and it isn’t until after you move in, that Leon realizes you only came to this bar so much because everyone was paying for your drinks. Leon was paying for your drinks. Smart girl. 

You’re a lush, that much is true. You drink a lot, and you can’t handle your liquor - but that’s part of your appeal. Just a little. It’s one thing, for a little slut like you to drink like a grown man and not show any signs of it, but that’s not you. You drink dirty shirley temples and cherry coke and jack and your eyes get misty and you slur your words and Leon always has to walk you back to your apartment that you share with three other girls. But the best part about drunk you, is that you’re always asking to suck his dick.

You’re my friend, you told him once, even though Leon doesn’t really agree with that. But fuck it, right? He could always use friends. Especially friends that are as hot as you. 

Makes the other guys at the bar jealous, when you show up every Friday night with your stupidly small purse, not big enough to even hold a wallet, just lip gloss and bubblegum and, Leon, you think they take Apple Pay? Leon doesn’t fucking know, and it doesn’t really matter, because he’s paying for your drinks anyway. Can’t figure out Uber, you think he knows what Apple Pay is?

That’s how it starts. 

You show up every weekend to a bar you don’t belong at, take a seat next to Leon who always arrives before you and is half drunk by the time you get there, and the rest of the night, he buys your drinks. He doesn’t know a lot about you, that’s true, but you do talk a lot. Chat his ear off. Nothing important ever comes out of your mouth, but you overshare a lot of details that mean nothing. It’s cute, and it’s not like Leon’s got anyone else to talk to. It goes on like this, for months, until Leon finally asks you what you’re doing at this shit hole in the first place. 

You blink at him, fake lashes a little crooked since you fixed them in the bathroom. Oh, right - Leon knows you’re a little slut because you sucked him off in a bathroom stall. There’s no glory hole at this place, no - but he put his leather jacket on the ground so you didn’t bruise your bare knees when you let the head of his cock bruise the back of your throat. 

“I live close,” you explain, looking at Leon like a clueless little kitten. He swears your nose scrunches up, so fucking cute, and then he downs the rest of his drink before the way your makeup is smeared around your eyes turns him off.

Leon thinks differently of you after you swallowed his cum. After you did that. Not that he slut shames or anything, but - what you did was kind of slutty. He feels bad about that thought, even if it turns him on, so when he walks you home that night, he tells you he’s not a creep, that you can trust him - he’s a cop.

Not that you needed that information to trust him. You’re a little naive, and you’re obviously old enough to drink, but Leon wonders what’s wrong with you. Girls like you should be on dating apps, getting guys your age to buy you dinner or take you to the movies. Or looking for men even older than him, to spend money on you and buy you those heels with the red bottoms. Leon doesn’t remember what they’re called, just that ball busting porn seems to center around that brand of shoes.

You shouldn’t be blowing strange older men in gross bar bathrooms. He thinks about how long it took you to tie a cherry stem with your tongue and how he had to pay attention like it was the coolest shit he’s ever seen, and he feels annoyed all over again - but at the same time, a little charmed?

Anyway. You’re practically a stranger. Leon doesn’t even know what your pussy looks like when you move into his apartment. It happens so fast. 

One night, you come to the bar looking like shit. There’s no lip gloss on your lips, just some dry looking color and for the first time, Leon understands what overline means, and your eye makeup is smeared around your eyes, and your hair is - not done? God, Leon is the most judgmental bastard in the world. A hypocrite too, judging you like that - since last night he spent about four hours jacking himself off to porn of girls who look just like you. So much for a porn free lifestyle. It's your fault he broke his porn freak streak.

With his non dominant hand, since the other was preoccupied with jacking his cock off - he typed up, spelling errors and all, exact features of your body to get better results. He was dedicated. 

Yunggbh bslut gets fucked by old sdaddyh, for example.

Some results did come up, by the way. Last night was a good night. Anyway.

He asked you what was wrong, and you sniffled, demanded a vodka lemonade, and told Leon your troubles. Here’s what went down:

You acted like a little slut. Which, in this case - meant you were just being yourself. It’s okay, baby, Leon remembers saying, As your friend, I’m being honest. Okay? You just couldn’t help yourself, and that’s okay. God, it’s like the blind leading the blind. Leon, obsessed with a girl much too young for him, with scummy, dirty, awful, perverted thoughts about her, pretending to care about her problems so she might touch his dick - telling said girl that it’s okay she fucked her roommate's boyfriend, because she was just being herself. 

It’s kind of beautiful. Meant to be, in a kinky, weird way, Leon thinks, ordering another drink for you and himself. Anyway, the point is - you have to find a place to stay, and you’re not sure where to go. 

Leon, shit faced, says you can live with him. And that’s how it happens.

────

You get under his skin. 

You’re insane, annoying. Smoking hot. Leon didn’t know they made girls that look like you in real life, thought the women he saw in porn and online had to come from a factory somewhere, but he doesn’t see a shipping label anywhere on your body. You’re a little rude, although when someone is as hot as you are, society calls you bratty. Well, Pornhub does. Maybe not society.

Leon can complain all he wants, but that’s actually not something that’s annoying to him - Leon likes brats. Has watched enough bratty stepsis porn in his life to be okay with it, at least. 

And anyway, it’s all his fault. Leon hardly knew you when he asked you to move in, which was one of his most pathetic moments. Just a drunk mistake, but how dumb are you, to move in with a man you don’t know? Sure, Leon has paid a small fortune for your drinks over the last few months, has walked you home, listened to you babble about dumb reality shows, assured you that he was a cop, and he knows what color your nipples are - but maybe that was just a long term, elaborate plan to get you to trust him so he could…traffick you or something. Fuck. 

You’re so goddamn naive. But, hell - maybe he is too. 

You’re a distraction - you come with a big, red warning label that Leon didn’t notice when he brought you home, because how could he? You might be a walking red flag, but you’ve covered that flag in enough pink and glitter that it’s impossible to see the true color of it. 

On purpose? Leon’s not quite sure. All he knows, is that he can’t escape you. 

Can’t escape the girly mess you leave all around his apartment in the form of little socks with tiny cartoon characters on it, the mugs you collect that take up space in his sink. Can’t escape the smell of your sweet perfume, the way it lingers in his car and on his clothes. 

And that shit is really long lasting, because he just came home from the bar and he couldn’t even flirt with any women. Tried to get the number of some blonde in an attempt to distract himself from thoughts of you, and all she had to reply with was asking how old he was, and to tell his girlfriend that she has good taste in perfume. 

Bitch. I don’t have a girlfriend, Leon wanted to say, but didn’t know how else to describe you. Even to himself. What can he say? I’ve got a little twenty something year old living in my house. Yeah, she lets me fuck her sometimes, but she’s not my girlfriend. It sounds bad to him, and he's the one living it.

Because that’s the progression. Yeah, Leon let you move in, and now there’s pieces of you all over his apartment, his car, his mind. Feels like you’re literally under his skin sometimes. 

Tonight, he gets home, kicks off his boots, hangs up his leather jacket - and he runs a hand through his hair. Leon is tired. Tired of working so fucking much, tired of pretending like he has a life outside of his little thing with you, annoyed that when he was about to score with that busty blonde milf she threw the fact that he smelled like perfume in his face and tried to humiliate him - and he hates that he liked that too. Made his dick chub up a bit. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

You’re not in the living room, so Leon figures you’re in your room - and he avoids that door. Likes you and all, just doesn’t want to deal with you right now. Besides, you could be filming, because - oh right, did he forget to mention? You make amature porn of yourself and sell it for money.

Yeah, that’s partially why Leon hates his life so much. You bring out the worst in him, bad habits and all. It’s just porn, Leon, you really don’t watch it? You’re so fucking old, I swear. 

Of course, now he does watch it, but you're such a little brat - Leon's been looking at porn since before you were born.

And, yeah - he does think that little fact is hot.

Leon’s pretty sure he’s got blisters from how much he whacks off nowadays. Imagines you in your room, and sometimes presses his ear against the door when you're filming something. Can hear you, the little beep of your camera, the sound of your pussy, so wet while you rub yourself off and post the video for men even more pathetic than Leon to buy and - 

Alright, alright. He can’t pretend like he’s not subscribed. He is. Feels a weird sense of intimacy, knowing that the mattress you lay on when you stuff toys inside of yourself is his, that the walls that your moans echo off of are paid for by him, that the cup you drink water out of after deepthroating a pink dildo on live chat is his, gifted to him by his aunt but. Whatever. He notices every curve of your perfect body, that stupid little Playboy bunny belly button ring you wear. He'll jack off in his room, then he times leaving his room, hand still salty with his spunk, to meet you in the kitchen while you're still in whatever sexy little outfit you filmed in. 

“Thirsty?” He'll say, pretending like your ass cheeks aren’t hanging out. He’ll reach around you, grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “What are you wearing? It’s cold out. You need me to turn the heat on?” He’ll ask, as if he didn’t anonymously buy you that outfit from your wishlist. He’s such a fucking sick bastard. 

But tonight - you’re not in your room. Leon can tell, because the light is off, and normally you’re awake this late, watching movies or dirtying up his kitchen that you won’t even bother cleaning. He won’t accept your money for rent, because he’s not that pathetic, can afford to pay for this place - but he thought you'd at least pick up after yourself. Instead, you leave messes everywhere that Leon has to clean, after he gets off work. Doing laundry naked, which you do, probably once a month, makes up for it. But sometimes you shrink his clothes. 

And anyway, knowing you’re in his home, lazy and freeloading, probably playing with your pussy while he fights the urge to shoot himself in the head at work - it kind of turns him on. He’s got no clue why. Imagines you forcing him to fuck you or else you’ll tell mom and dad on the way home from work so he doesn’t drive his car into upcoming traffic and end his miserable existence right there. Porn brain. Thanks to you. Do you know what you’re doing to him?

You’re in his bed. You’re in a pair of purple panties that are the perfect amount of tight and your shirt has a weird picture of a stuffed bear on it. Leon’s half hard already, but he pretends like he’s annoyed. “Why are you in my room?” He asks, standing in the doorway. He waits for you to move, but you don’t. Of course you don’t.

Instead, you spread your legs, turn off whatever you were watching on his television. Probably deleted all his recordings too, because he’s old enough that he still does that. Has cable, that is. You asked what that was once. Leon got so hard, he almost cried when he made himself cum in the shower. 

“Lighting was better in here. During sunset, you know,” you say casually, as if he’s supposed to know what that means. And then - oh. He does. You filmed in his room? You spread the lips of your little cunt and rubbed yourself to orgasm on camera on the phone that Leon added to his phone plan in his bed, and - 

He pretends to be cool about it. 

“Alright,” he says, sitting beside you in his bed. He leans against his pillows, watches you sit up and push your messy hair away from your face. Leon is pretty sure he sees a wet spot on your panties. Not to mention, the bed sort of smells like…pussy. It’s delicious. Gross, in a way that makes Leon lick his lips and fight back the desire to pull you up his body so you’re sitting on his face. He wants that, to taste you. Has only got to do it once, but wishes you’d make him do it everyday. Force him to. He probably needs medication. 

You shirt is see through, but you break his imaginary boundaries and cozy up to his side. Grab his arm and lift it, tuck yourself against him and then place his arm around you. It’s hard to believe you’ve known each other less than a year, that you’ve only lived together for a few months. “Where’d you go tonight?” You ask, and Leon wonders if you get jealous. Knows he does, when you put on your slutty little outfits and go out with your friends. 

Knows his cock got harder than it did when he went through his Viagra stage, which was before he met you, when you brought your friends over and teased him in front of them. When a pretty redhead, your bestie you said, laughed at him and then asked for a ride in a cop car which he can’t do, unless he wants to lose his job, and he doesn’t, because he wants to keep you and -

“Bar. Almost hooked up with some chick,” he says, trying to appear…like anyone but himself. He can’t tell if you’re jealous, but you throw a leg over him, definitely feel the bulge in his jeans, but you don’t say anything. Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to cuddle with roommates? Not to fuck them? Probably not, since they didn’t tell you not to move in with strange men who have fantasies about younger women controlling their lives. Anyway, Leon’s winning here, why should he complain? 

“Why didn’t you?” You ask, tone bratty. Should get smacked in the face for that, instead, Leon just gropes your ass. 

“She thought I had a girlfriend. Smelled your perfume,” and because he can’t stop nagging, he’s old, he adds, “Because you’re always spraying it in my car and I told you not to,” and you laugh. Well, giggle. It’s so sweet and so cute and your nipples are hard against him, and Leon just lets out a deep breath. 

“I knew that perfume was long lasting. Need to write a review on the Sephora app. Anyway, Lee,” and since when did Leon say you could give him that nickname? He groans. “You can fuck me, if you want. Since I ruined your hookup,” you offer, pulling yourself onto his body. You’re straddling his hips, and then you take his hands, slip them under your shirt and place them on your perfect tits. Leon moans, because he’s pathetic, bucks his hips up and loves that you’re already so wet. He can feel the heat from your cunt through his jeans. You’re ready to go. Ready for him. He can see your arousal on the fabric of your panties.

He’s only a man, okay? He takes you up on that offer, because of course he does. Tonight, he wanted that woman that looked like she wouldn’t mind a bit of mommy play, but everyday? Leon wants you. He takes his clothes off, takes your clothes off, imagines all that stepsister porn shit in his brain while he rails you, because he’s broken, sits up and maneuvers you so you’re under him, fucks you so hard your head hits his headboard and wonders idly if you’re filming this for whatever little hustle you’ve got going on. Secret cameras exist. You’re a pro, really, you are, and you scratch his back and suck his neck and call him Daddy, and Leon likes that but not tonight.  

“You got any siblings?” He says, one hand by your head, balancing his body so he doesn’t crush you, the other gripping the headboard. You tighten your legs around his hips, smile a little goofy, and keep his cock nice and snug and tight inside of you. He feels your walls hugging his cock.

“Yeah,” you say, and Leon wonders if you check his porn history. Same wifi and all that. Can people do that? Because you say, “A stepbrother.” 

Leon cums inside of you, paints your insides with his seed and when he pulls out he uses that dumbass bear shirt to clean you off. He goes to shower, feeling manly for banging his hot, young roommate, when you call out, “Can I have my lace panties back? The ones with the white hearts on them. They’re pink. Think they’d look cute for the video I wanna film,” but Leon cuts you off. Opens his shower door, turns the water on and stands outside while it warms up. 

Quirks a brow. Pretends to be clueless, wonders why you’re just laying in bed still while his cum is probably sticking to your cervix.

You laugh, sit up in bed and toss your dirty shirt into his hamper. 

“I know you took them from my laundry basket,” you say, but you’re not judging. You’re cool with it, and ultimately, that’s why Leon likes you so much. Girl of his dreams and all. Leon feels comfortable with you. He’s never felt like this around anyone. You're the least judgmental woman that Leon has ever met.

The shower is hot now, but he walks to his closet and opens his sock drawer, grabs the panties that you’re asking for and tosses them to you on the bed. You cackle.

So much for limp dick Leon. He jacks off again in the shower, all thanks to you.

────

Honest truth? Leon has never lived with a woman. Not like this.

He says it’s hard to live with you, because he’s a negative bastard, but he really doesn’t know if it’d be like this with any woman. Isn’t sure if it’s normal for stuffed animals to cover every square inch of the house, doesn’t know if all women sit on their roommate's bathroom counter and get their little toe marks on the mirror when they do their makeup, because his bathroom lighting is better. One of these days, Leon swears you’re going to ask him to switch rooms with you, and he honestly doesn’t know if he’d be able to say no. 

You’ve lived with him for six months now.

Today, Leon’s off of work. And you? You’re driving him crazy. 

You’re ruining his couch, drenched yourself in coconut oil after your shower and you’re completely naked, drying off on the couch which really means just destroying the leather. And Leon’s dick is hard because he accidentally sat on your bunny stuffed animal, and you smacked him on the arm and - yup. It’s that easy these days. He's that easy for you.

Doesn't hurt that you're naked and shiny.

“Do you have an Instagram, Leon?” You randomly ask, while he sits on the ground of his own living room since you’re hogging the couch. He’s flicking through channels, leaning against the end of the couch where your feet are, and he swears you're purposely bumping your cute, pink painted toes into his head. Ruining his hair, you little brat. 

He makes no move to change seating position though. Too busy dealing with the emotions of realizing that he’s upset you haven’t called him Lee in weeks. 

“No,” he says, scoffing because he’s a drama queen. Probably picked that up from you. All he can think about is the fact that you smell like a tropical vacation, one he’s never taken, and that you’re all oiled up and so is your pussy because you shaved. He could slip right in. Taste you, feel you melt on his tongue, bend you over and rub the head of his dick through the oil on your thigh and fuck you in your ass -

“You’re so old,” you reply, sitting up. Leon turns his full attention to you, sits on the couch, loves the way your stomach has a roll and that you’ve got stretch marks on your tits yet you’re so young and so hot and so tight in the way that only women your age are. Don’t get him wrong - he likes older women too. It’s more about the personality of a woman then the looks that get him going, but you? You’re every wet dream he’s ever had come to life. Put the girls in the porn he watches to shame. 

He wants to lick your pussy. Instead, he says, “Can I see your account?” 

Leon plays dumb. He’s got an Instagram, no pictures and his user is rookiecookiecop, but he only uses it to jerk off to pictures of girls in bikinis that look like you. He doesn’t get it, all this talk about don’t objectify me from girls your age, when all you lot do is show your body off online in skimpy clothes. Begging for attention. At least you make money off of it, link in your bio and everything.

To be fair though, sometimes Leon logs on and watches fridge organization videos, or loyalty test street interviews. Podcast clips, depending on the algorithm of the day. God forbid he accidentally finds one of those Republican blonde chicks hot. You can’t tell someone's political affiliation just from their bikini pics, but a mistake like that will fuck up his Explore page for sure. But they're entertaining enough, all those videos, while he’s warming his dick up with a hand in his pants in his bed at night.

You hand Leon your phone, and your page is cute. Coffee everyday, pink hair clips and little keychains on your purse and lots of cleavage and little skirts and friends just as hot as you. Pictures of the dinners Leon has taken you out to, or when he drives you in his car somewhere, or when you watch a movie together. His arm is the only thing showing in these photos, of course, but his chest feels full of something like love, because he’s a pathetic idiot loser pervert, but it’s kind of nice you want to document your time with him. His arm looks sexy too. His new protein powder must be working.

A lot of guys comment on your stuff, and then Leon can’t help but ask, “Why don’t you have a boyfriend? Why do you type in all lowercase?” You laugh at the second part, scoot closer to him, take your phone back and set your phone on the coffee table and place a hand in the middle of his chest to push him down. You shrug, before climbing up his body, settling on his face.

Your confidence - it’s fucking sexy. Treating Leon like you own him. You sort of do, he’ll admit it. He wants you to know it too.

“‘Cause I got you,” you say, possibly the most romantic thing Leon’s heard in fifteen years. “You're such a good friend. Take good care of me. You don't judge me," and then you add, "Lick my pussy, Daddy?” And Leon does. ‘Course he does. You’re his roommate, his crush, the girl of his dreams - but most of all, you’re his baby, aren’t you? You give him hell, need his protection, live with him and he provides for you and -

He sucks your clit into his mouth. On his face, you cum three times, all from his tongue which makes him feel pretty good. You’re the only girl he knows who is so willing to have her ass played with, his perfect little slut, so he fingers your hole and nearly gets a charley horse in his bicep when his arm tenses up keeping you in place in his face. It feels good, holding you down and prodding at you. He wants you to squirt, but he’s not sure he’s got the skills for that quite yet. 

Probably needs more practice. He’ll ask you for some more later. 

But Leon’s pretty content right now, smothered under your pretty pussy, two fingers knuckle deep in your ass, your soft skin suffocating him because you’re right about the oil, you feel baby soft. Which works, being his baby, because you keep calling him Daddy and Leon loves it so much. You moan like he’s the best mouth you’ve ever had, which is sweet, since he hears you get yourself off in your own room constantly, and you get much louder than you are right now. 

You don’t squirt, but you’re satisfied. Thank Leon for the orgasms and his enthusiasm (ouch) before walking off to your room. You don’t offer to return the favor or anything, but it’s okay. 

Leon came in his boxers, untouched. Forget all that shit he saw online about how to fix a dick that won’t get hard. No need to cut out alcohol, no need to take magic pills, no need to eat healthy or workout less or stop porn. 

Apparently, all Leon needed was to meet someone like you. 

Phew.

────

“There’s no more alcohol,” you say one night, cutting up strawberries on the kitchen counter top with no cutting board. Leon’s got to ask about the way you grew up - it’s like you know nothing about living as an adult, but who’s he to judge? Your immaturity works in his favor. He, and he knows it's sick, wants you to rely on him.

“Okay,” he says, mood a little sour from yet another shitty day at work. Another shitty day in his brain, so bad he sort of thinks he should look in his bathroom cabinet and see if those pills a doctor prescribed years ago for depression might still work. “Go buy some. You need some cash?”

You snort, which is unattractive but cute, and Leon feels a little better just being around you. You’re eating fruit salad for dinner, and even though he bought the groceries and he just came home from work, you don’t offer him any. Makes his dick stir, at your selfishness. He needs therapy, badly. But a quick fix, he realizes, can be found at the bottom of a liquor bottle.

He just can’t believe all the alcohol in the apartment is really gone - just figured you stopped looking after checking one cabinet, but. He can’t take that risk. It’s a Friday night, anyway. 

“Wanna come with me to the store?” Leon asks, shutting the fridge door after he sees nothing on interest. You nod, and then you hand him what he thinks is a strawberry, but it’s just the leaf part. You want him to throw it away, so he does. 

“Yes,” you say, so excitedly it actually almost makes Leon smile. You like him, want to hang out with him, want to be around him. Someone like you - sweet and pretty with a pussy that makes more money than his brain and his brawn, and you want to spend time with an old fuck like him. It’s flattering, honestly. 

So he drives to the store. Leon doesn’t open your door to the passenger seat, and you get all upset, huffing and sighing until Leon asks what’s wrong. “You didn’t open my door,” you bitch, and he rolls his eyes, hands you his phone that’s already connected to the bluetooth because he knows you, and he knows you want to play Katrina, Sarina, what is it again? Sabrina Carpenter? Yeah, that’s it. Leon thinks she’s pretty cute.

“I’m not your boyfriend,” Leon answers, maybe a bit too rudely, because you don’t have a snarky comment back like usual. Instead, you just dramatically look out the window while the new Britney Spears sings about trying out fuzzy pink handcuffs. Drama queen. 

You go to a corner store, because Leon doesn’t want to deal with an actual grocery store right now. Not when it’s dark outside, not when you’re in an outfit that you can’t even bend over to grab a basket in without your whole ass showing. It’s hot, shows a lot of leg even in the car, but Leon cares about you and he has a jealous streak, even if he got off last night to the thought of someone who wasn't him giving you the fuck of your life (while he watched and played clean up boy), so he opens the car door for you and takes off and holds out his jacket so you don’t flash anyone on the way out of the car. You smile a little. 

“I’ll buy you anything you want,” he teases, because it’s the cheapest 'date' in the world, and then you grin. There's a little lip gloss on your teeth, and Leon wants to lick it off. “Cigarettes?” You ask, teasing right back. Heard Leon’s drunk and coked up rant last month, about how unsexy it is when women smoke.

As if he didn’t, in his youth, ask someone a woman to put cigarette out on him. He’s got mental problems and he knows it. 

He tells you no to the cigarettes, puts his jacket back on, walks you inside the store and lets you go nuts. He picks up a basket that’s falling apart, stuffs it with too much junk and too much alcohol, and he’s a really bad person because he’s so much older than you, should be showing you good habits, but the honest truth is that he doesn’t have any. Not one. Can go months without eating a piece of broccoli, okay? He only buys healthy shit for you, like the fruit.

He walks around to find you, can see the way the other men at this corner store are looking at you, and it makes him sick - because he wonders if that’s how he looks. Is it? Like a wolf, licking his chops, ready to pounce on poor Red Riding Hood? The fact that he even remembers that fairy tale sort of makes him embarrassed, so he focuses on finding you in one of the aisles, where you’re looking at the calorie difference on powdered sugar donuts or chocolate ones. You settle on an apple pie scone thing, put it in the basket. 

“You’re an alcoholic,” you comment when you look in the basket, a little too loud, and Leon forces out a laugh. People are looking at you both, probably wondering why you’re shit talking him, or why you’re even standing together to begin with. He wonders if he looks old enough to be your dad. Hopes he doesn't, but maybe he does. People look your way, but Leon ignores them, knows you’re trailing behind him on the way up to the cash register.

Everything is fine. Normal. The smell of your perfume lingers in the air and the sound of your little heels on the ground are comforting in Leon’s ears. He gets his ID ready while he waits in line, as if he really needs to show it with his greying hair and the lines on his face when he smiles. But then -

You shriek. Leon turns around so fast, and when he realizes what happened, he drops the basket he’s holding on the ground and looks to you. You look so scared, and it’s all happening so fast but Leon realizes what’s going down and he feels an anger he’s never experienced in his entire life. 

He feels like a bad guy all the time, true - but the fact is, he’s really not. Sexual deviance aside. He had dreams of serving his community, wants to help and wants to do what’s right. He’s done good for so many people in his career, and just because he has a crippling porn addiction and an Only Fans model living in his home doesn’t mean all the good he's ever done didn't happen - or that he doesn't have an ounce left of it in his body.

Leon doesn't like what's happening, and he's not going to stand for it. Fuck no. Not when you're so upset. Some loser just smacked you on the ass - and this time, it wasn't him.

“I recognize you,” a random guy says. Ugly, reeking of marijuana and something stale. Since you moved in, Leon’s sense of smell has changed. So used to vanilla and floral and expensive and sweet that anything bad is extra noticeable now. You've changed his life. “You’re that girl, hey, John,” he calls out, and his buddy turns around. “She’s the girl I’m subscribed to.” 

You’re getting recognized at the gas station. The men standing there know what your pussy looks like, know what your nipples look like, know what you look like when you cum. Leon looks at you, and you’re about to cry, but he knows violence isn’t going to solve anything. He thinks fast, but he’s always been good at that. Leon steps towards the guys. 

“Subscribed to what? You want to explain to me what the fuck you're talking about?” He asks, and you grip his arm but he shrugs it off. Hears you tell him to let it go, it’s not worth it. But Leon’s not going to do that. No, he’s not ashamed about what you do - doesn’t think you should be either. Thinks these two punks, two guys your age that are so fucking stoned they don’t know they’re seconds away from Leon pulling the cop card and calling someone to drag their ass to the station for a drug charge.

But every cop knows - better to just scare them. So he does. 

“I’m her father, and you just smacked her ass in front of me. In public. Some man, huh? You want to tell me what that subscription is? I should beat your ass just for looking at my daughter wrong."

Leon doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Words just fly out, and he scares the fuck out of the two guys so bad that they both drop their shit and leave. Leon pays for the stuff you want, a hand on the small of your back while you try to calm down, and then he opens your car door and helps you with the seatbelt, feeling oddly protective. 

But once he sits on the driver's seat, starts the car, you break down in tears. Sobbing. Little sniffles, rubbing your face full of makeup onto the white sweater you have - and Leon knows that it’s ruining it. Staining it. He’s the one that washes it. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, the nickname rolling off his tongue. “It’s,” he doesn’t know what to say. “It’ll be okay. I’m sorry I didn’t hit them, or beat their ass, or whatever you wanted me to do but,” but you let out a wail, and undo your seatbelt, throwing yourself over the center console to wrap your arms around his neck. 

“That was so scary,” you say, and Leon feels so fucking bad. “It’s one thing when it’s virtual, you know? But in real life. It's just awful,” and you cry and cry and cry, and all Leon can think of is - duh. It’s horrible that this happened to you, makes him want to shoot both of those dicks in the, well, dick - but you had to know that real people were looking at your pics. Your videos too. Truth be told, Leon should’ve asked this a long time ago but - where are your parents? Do you seriously not have a decent adult to guide you? 

“I know, baby,” he says instead. You go back to your seat, makeup smeared, and Leon knows he’s falling hard for you because he doesn’t think it makes you unattractive. He still thinks you’re beautiful, just. A beautiful raccoon. 

He takes you home. Carries the bags from the store. You sit on the couch and pull a blanket over your lap, one of your fuzzy ones that are too small for Leon to use but fit you just right, and he puts the snacks and some of the liquor away. He’s about to take a swig out of a bottle to calm his nerves, when he hears your voice from the living room. 

“Leon,” you whimper. He walks over to you immediately. “Do you subscribe to any other girls?” Your voice sounds like you’re worried about what his answer might be, and he doesn’t understand why that’s something you’re worried about right now.

You know that Leon likes you. Look at everything he does for you. He's made it clear that even if you didn’t let him fuck you, he’d still let you live here - but at this point, you really could afford your own room somewhere. You’re friends. Why would it matter if he subscribed to - 

Wait. 

Other girls? 

Does that mean you know that he’s subscribed to you? He flushes red, flustered as he sits beside you on the couch. Hands you a little bottle of vodka to swig out of that he carried in from the kitchen, and you do. Don’t even make a face or anything. Maybe you are related. You hand the bottle back.

“I know you subscribe to me. Rookiecookiecop. Who else could it be? You've said that before when you told one of your stupid jokes.” 

Leon shakes his head, takes a swig of his own. “Could be anyone. Lots of cops. I don’t,” but he gives up. Shakes his head again and taps a finger on the bottle he's holding. “Fine. I do. Just you, though. Why’re you worried about that?”

You shrug. You look so sad and small all of a sudden, and Leon just wants to wrap you up in your stupid blanket and rock you to sleep. He doesn’t know if it’s fatherly, or a feeling a boyfriend would get. It doesn’t really matter - he just wants to take care of you. 

“I just don’t know why you don’t like me like that. Like…more. I know that you’re hot and you’ve got your shit together,” and as these words leave your mouth, Leon genuinely thinks you’re pulling his leg. That you’re teasing him. Because - you’re out of your mind. You think that he’s got his shit together? He can’t even walk past your laundry basket without grabbing a pair of your dirty panties. He let a random girl move in, he secretly subscribed to her online porn page. He’s a depressed alcoholic who shouldn’t have access to a gun for his own mental health, and you - 

You’re beautiful. Sexy. Caring, when you want to be. Leon loves you, but he doesn’t know what that means. Doesn’t know what that looks like. So he scoots closer, puts the bottle down on the coffee table, wraps one arm around your shoulders and then places his other hand on your thigh, so he’s all in your space. Your fake eyelash is falling off but he doesn’t even care, really. He presses a kiss to your nose. 

“You’re so wrong,” he whispers, because that sums it up. “About everything. You have no idea, the things you do to me,” and he’s going to regret saying this, but he has to let you know. Would feel guilty, keeping this truth from you. “You’re too good for me. You see that, don’t you? Could do so much better than all this. I can’t be your boyfriend, because you deserve someone better, baby. Okay? But I’ll be what you need me to be, as long as you need it. Just you,” you nod. You understand. Leon doesn't even need to finish his speech.

You kiss him, and you’re good at all sex acts but you could use some work with your kisses. Too much saliva, that Leon slurps up because it's you, and this is the closest he's ever gotten to a woman spitting in his mouth. Your teeth knock into each other for a second. Leon loves it. Reminds him of his first kiss, and his dick swells up in his pants. “Lee,” you whisper against his lips, and Leon missed that nickname but he still cringes, cups your face with one hand, uses his thumb to try to clean some of your makeup up. “Want you to be Daddy tonight.” 

Leon can do that. 

────

You like to call Leon Daddy, and he gets it. Understands the appeal, because anytime he sees a woman over thirty with big tits he wants to call them Mommy. There’s something comforting about choosing your own authority figure - to just relax, turn your brain off, have someone else make all the rules for you. 

Leon wouldn’t consider himself dominant. Sometimes he worries he’s only two porn categories away from having a foot fetish, truth be told, because he just likes the feeling of someone else taking control.

And, because he paid for your pedicure last month and you let him look at your toes close up to see where his hard earned government money went. You're so sexy to him, you bring out new fetishes - and Leon thinks that's beautiful.

He loves your bratty behavior. Loves that you tease him about his drinking habits and his porn addiction and his age, loves that you disregard his needs unless you need something from him, like cash to get your nails done or to buy something dumb at the mall. He’s pretty sure that even with all the money you make, he’s the one solely funding your coffee habit. You’re selfish, and rude, but you’re so hot and you’re so young and Leon likes that about you. Loves that he can take care of you, be your Daddy, someone you trust and look up to - even when he bends to every single whim you have, and sometimes feels like your bitch boy more than anything else. 

Your dynamic gives him a chance to be the pathetic loser he wants while also tricking him into thinking of himself like a winner. Because yeah, you might wear his balls around your neck because even when you don’t sleep in his bed, he lets you keep your stuffed animals in his bed all night with him just in case you come in there if you have a nightmare, but you’re dumb enough and sexy enough that everytime he gets a chance to play with you he feels like the man. Other men can only dream of living the kind of life he lives with you, and for the first time, Leon really does feel like he’s a winner. 

He’s such a loser. 

You wanna be babied tonight? Leon will do that. He carries you to his bedroom, eats up the way you compliment his big, strong arms, is supposed to be in charge but you tell him exactly what to do. How you want him to fuck you, how many fingers you want him to use when he opens you up, if he’s allowed to give you any hickeys (no, and it’s just a slap in the face at this point because Leon’s never marked you up - but you’ve done it to him, make it impossible for him to get laid by anyone else). 

“Daddy,” you say, when Leon gently takes your clothes off, positions himself between your legs and softly licks up your slit. You’re not even wet yet, which means this Daddy thing is more than just sexual for you. Truth be told, Leon did always figure you had no relationship, or a strained one with your father. On Father’s Day this year, you did a 24-hour broadcast on your camming account, and Leon’s pretty sure any woman doing that has daddy issues that run bone deep. 

But who’s he to judge? Imagining that he’s your father can get his dick so hard, sometimes he can literally cum without touching himself. 

“Yeah, baby,” Leon assures, licking your pussy and running a finger lightly around your clit, teasing before he drags his finger down and pushes it inside of you. Your back arches off the bed like it feels so fucking good, and maybe it does, but Leon doesn’t know how it compares when he knows you shove ten inch dildos in your pussy on camera. He’s bought you one before. “Daddy’s here.”

“Fuck me,” you say, like you changed your mind about the foreplay. You’re wet enough now that Leon doesn’t feel bad for fucking you without getting you all properly good and wet, so he positions himself on top of you, spits in his hand and rubs it on the tip of his aching hard dick, because yeah, he’s already that turned on, has a hero complex and the fact that you were all over him with tears, well - he's a cop for a reason.

And then he pushes his dick inside of you, and you cry and scratch his back so hard that he hisses - but he knows he just stretched your tight little cunt out without much warning. It's what you wanted though, what you demanded from him, right?

“Tell me something sweet,” you beg, and Leon looks down at you, taken aback. You’re always the flirty one in bed - saying filthy, sexy things. Bending yourself into crazy positions, but right now you really seem upset. Maybe you’re more emotionally disturbed than Leon thought. Maybe you really do have problems that lead you to live this kind of lifestyle. Maybe Leon’s a worse guy than he thought -

But you being so vulnerable is making his balls tighten, much faster than usual, and he fucks you so brutal and so rough and the only sweet thing he can think of really isn’t that sweet at all. 

“Perfect little slut,” he manages to say, pulling out so he doesn’t cum inside of you. "You make a real pretty cumrag." If you’re filming tomorrow, he feels bad about giving you a creampie - doesn't know if you can get it all out in time to get a close up of your pussy. Not fair to you. So he pulls his dick out before he can cum, jerks himself off for a second before he busts his nut all over your sweet little stomach and that sexy belly button ring. He’ll help you properly clean it when you're both done. 

Leon sucks. He didn’t get you off. Came in about five minutes. But - 

“Lick the cum off. Finish me off,” you whine, so Leon does, licks his own seed off of your stomach, your skin warm and soft under his tongue. To be honest, he doesn’t taste that bad, which makes sense why you’re so obsessed with sucking his dick. Protein powder for the win again, he supposes. Leon cleans you off, and then he licks you out. You cum from his tongue pressed hard in your hole, his thumb circling your clit. 

He’s Daddy, so he carries you to the bath and lets you tease him about being a grown man in a pink bubble bath. It’s your bath bomb that you're both using, but, yup, you guessed it - Leon likes the humiliation. Dick half hard and pressing into your back while you two relax together and raise the cost of his water bill. You love your baths. Take one almost every day.

“You feel better?” He asks, rubbing up and down your soft thigh. Leon kisses your head. 

“Yeah,” you say, a little happier than before. “I really like you, Leon. You take such good care of me. You’d make a really good boyfriend.” You’re silent, while Leon absorbs the compliment that gets rid of about two years of emotional trauma inside of him. Then you break the silence. 

“Why’d you tell those guys you were my dad?” You giggle, and Leon shrugs. He’s embarrassed, because he doesn’t even know himself. “First thing I thought of,” he admits, and you lean back against his chest. All is right in the world. Until - 

“Don’t get mad, Leon, but,” and then you tell him. You tell him the truth. 

That you’ve secretly been filming every single time you've had sex with him. You explain that it gets the highest views, and you always crop out his face, and now that people know he’s your dad they’ll probably tell the internet forums, because after all, you are a very popular creator. So it works out, you say, that Leon pretended to be your dad today. People online are into that kind of shit, you tell him, and pretty please don’t be mad. 

Leon, he’s - he doesn’t even know. Doesn’t even know what to fucking say. You’ve been secretly filming him fucking you, putting it online and - 

That’s a crime. That’s literally a fucking crime. Men go to jail for that sort of thing. For a long time. Leon is speechless. He feels betrayed. Violated. Even worse, you pocketed all the money you got from those videos?

You must take his lack of talking to mean he's not mad. So you start lathering yourself in soap, chatting about the pink flip phone you want Leon to buy you, one you saw on eBay a few weeks ago, so you can get one to match his artifacts. Leon wants the bath to swallow him down the drain. 

“I,” he says, pulling away from you just slightly. “I don’t,” he can’t form a thought. “No.” But he says it like a question. “You know that’s illegal, don’t you? I could lose my job.”

And then you turn to him, eyes big, the makeup almost all washed off after crying. Your lips are in a pout, and you rub your ass against his cock. You're manipulative, Leon sees it now. You're smarter than you look, and Leon feels queasy and...a little scared?

“Daddy,” you say, and he guesses you're back to that now. You know how to play him. Forget selling pictures of your body - you need to make a fucking online course to teach women how to get away with murder.

“Please?” Another pause, and you lick your lips like you’re thinking and it makes Leon want to groan. “I mean, if you told anyone, they’d know it was you. Plus, if you really did get fired, we could probably just make more videos for more money. It’s not a big deal.”

Leon feels like he hates you a little bit. Feels like he walked into a trap, a prison with his eyes closed, and now he's stuck.

But somehow, by the end of the bath - Leon steps out with his dick painfully hard, dries the both of you off, and pulls his phone out while you cuddle up to him in bed. He buys you the phone you asked for, all while you read the comments and requests from your viewers and subscribers out loud to him. 

“Put your dad in panties,” you read, literally throwing your head back in a laugh. Leon is red in the face, but the truth is?

He’s never been so hard. 

And he’s pretty sure you do have access to his porn history - 

How’d you know his favorite category was Blackmail?

[lotties-ashwagandha]

OFFERINGS

poly!adult!yellowjackets x fem!reader

NSFW! you try to blackmail them for money, but end up with them on your doorstep, and they’re ready to kill you until they realize who you are. the anons were going to smite me down if i didn’t write this, so enjoy :) toxic weirdo shit in this fic so consider this your formal warning. AU where lottie still has her wellness center bc miss cult leader deserves to be happy. also misty is mentioned in this fic but she doesn’t get busy bc in my head she’s ace and possibly aro and I have to follow that.

“You should go,” Lottie says, pulling on a robe. “You’ll be late for work.”

In theory, you could stay for another hour or so, if this wasn’t all so transactional — but you know she doesn’t like the idea of anyone seeing you sneaking away out of her cabin in the mornings, so she sends you away at dawn. If she had more self control, she would have you out before that — but the nights you come over to the wellness center are the only nights Lottie allows herself to really be free, and the two of you usually end up drinking or smoking something so potent that you don’t remember making it into bed together in the first place.

And most of the time, Natalie is no help — she hasn’t been ever since she and Lottie started dating, and you started coming over to be shared between them.

You don’t know how Lottie still manages to function at such an early hour afterwards, and every time, while Natalie sleeps in. If it were up to you, you’d take a full day of recovery. Instead you are on the road driving at sunrise back to your apartment, so that you can change and look somewhat presentable at work in a few hours.

You don’t feel bad about the letter you slipped into their mailbox this time. You should, but you don’t — and you don’t regret sending variations of the same to the rest of the Yellowjackets, because all of them are wealthier than you, and even if you were to receive double the amount of money you were blackmailing them for, it wouldn’t put financial strain on them at all. And now, above all, you need extra money — the current financial landscape makes it nearly impossible to get a job that pays well enough for you to live comfortably.

While you’re driving, your phone starts to ring. The caller ID surprises you with Shauna Sadecki.

“I need you to stop by the house,” she says as soon as you pick up. “It’s important.”

You haven’t spoken to Shauna in a long time. You’re older than her daughter by a long shot, but your families are familiar since your younger sister has been best friends with Callie since she started high school and you were already in college. “Is everything okay?”

“I know you sell Callie weed,” Shauna states.

That’s new. It’s not true, either — not really. “I don’t sell your daughter weed.”

“You give it to someone who gives it to someone who gives it to her,” Shauna sighs. You can’t deny that. “I don’t mind. But she’s run out, and I… I’m going through some shit, and I need you to stop by with your magic shit.”

__

Shauna lights the first joint in front of you. She savors the smoke, closing her eyes for a moment as new calmness sweeps over her features.

“Is everything alright?” You ask. Out of the corner of your eye you see the envelope you sent.

She opens her eyes and unpromptedly glances down at the envelope before turning to look out the kitchen window. “Everything’s fine.”

You nod, clearing your throat awkwardly and pocketing the money she hands you.

“What about you?” Shauna asks. “Haven’t seen you in a long time. Your sister still comes over at least three times a week, though.”

“I’ve been working,” you say carefully, but with the necessary authority in your voice to make your tasks sound big and important.

“On this enterprise you’ve got?” Shauna looks down at everything she bought from you.

“And other things,” you shake your head.

“So mysterious,” she mocks you. “Well, good luck with all of your… other things.”

__

“Hey,” Taissa sits down on the couch next to Van. She hands her the letter. “This was in the mailbox today.”

“What is it?” Van looks up from the box of tapes she had been sorting through.

“Open it.”

Van opens the envelope and reads what lies inside. When she’s done she closes the envelope and rips it in half.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s bullshit,” Van shrugs. “No one’s going to expose anything we did. No one knows anything.”

Taissa shakes her head. “Should we really take that chance, though?”

Van hesitates. “What would we do, anyway? I’m not giving anyone money.”

“Maybe we don’t have to. We could—”

“We’re not killing anyone, either,” Van interrupts, and even though her concern dissipates a bit when Taissa grabs her hand, she is stern.

“I’m going to call Misty,” Taissa decides. “If anyone knows what to do with a blackmailer, it’s that crazy bitch.”

__

Your next stop was a test of luck.

You had a growing suspicion that Melissa, a woman that was meant to be long dead, was living the suburban dream instead of rotting in a grave. You had done some deep diving on what really happened to the Yellowjackets, and some conspiracies you found online matched with some other research — and a few things Lottie and Nat said when you were unreasonably high with them one night — led you to locate Melissa alive and well in a new house with a new name and a wife that just so happened to be the daughter of a researcher killed in the wilderness.

You’ve driven by the house a few times now to make sure no one’s home. The only car left about half an hour ago, and from what you could gather it was the whole family that had left.

The final envelope rests in your hands. It will be simple to walk it up to the mailbox, you’re parked a ways down the street so that no one suspects you, but you’re still wrought with apprehension.

The mailbox, instead of being placed at the end of the street, is a drop box attached to the house next to the front door. It’s closer than you want to be to the house even with no one inside, but you gather your courage and try to act natural for anyone watching as you go up the front steps to occupy the porch.

You reach for the mailbox, but before you can slip the envelope inside, the front door swings open.

Shauna Sadecki meets your eyes. “You need to go.”

You pause, clutching the envelope. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Shauna tightens her grip on a knife in her left hand. Then, she sees the envelope you hold, and recognition sweeps over her face. “What’s that?”

You don’t have time to answer. She rips it out of your hands and opens it, scanning over the letter within.

Shauna looks back up at you. “You fucking bitch.”

Another voice sounds from inside. “Who is it?”

Melissa joins Shauna in the doorway. There’s no doubt that it’s her, with the same quiet sureness that you remember from pictures of her taken forever ago. And if a resemblance to her past self wasn’t enough, she still wears that backwards fucking hat.

Melissa steals the letter from Shauna. “What is this?”

Shauna looks hesitant to say, guilty even. She speaks quietly, but you hear the fury in her voice. “She’s trying to blackmail us.”

Melissa crumples up the paper and faces Shauna. “So it wasn’t me.”

Shauna doesn’t meet her eyes.

“You thought it was Melissa?” You look between them and your gaze settles on Shauna’s knife. “Did you come here to…”

“And now it’s you,” Shauna pulls you inside and shuts the door. She points her knife at you, guiding you to go stand over by the fireplace. “You’re going to stay there until we decide what to do with you.”

You’re fucked — and the horrible thing is that you don’t really mind. You stand with Shauna Sadecki pointing a knife straight at your heart and while you are afraid, you embrace it. You have lived such an existence of monotony that part of you wants to take a step forward to find out what the point of the blade feels like against your chest, to see if she will drive it in the rest of the way. You want the intensity of her gaze pointed at you just as sharply, you want to bear her scorn.

“The rest are on their way,” Shauna says, coming closer. “Lottie, Natalie… What do you think they will do when they find out it’s been you behind this all along?”

You’re not sure how she knows. You’ve been discreet with your visits to the wellness center.

Shauna toys with the knife in her hands, glancing down at the paper Melissa holds. “Hand-delivering a blackmail threat. I didn’t think you were that stupid.”

You didn’t think any of it through. Your desperation had gotten the better of you and maybe, in the back of your mind, you had wanted to get caught. You wanted to feel powerful and in some way prove your defiance of the usual system of money honestly earned and a world where only the rich have the privilege of disobedience. You wanted to be caught and somehow praised for it.

You find no praise here. Death watches you.

“We could have you arrested,” Melissa stalks over. You realize she carries a knife now, too. “You could be fined, you could be put in prison… you wouldn’t survive it.”

You wouldn’t. You don’t know if you’ll survive this.

You hear a car pulling into the driveway. You stay still, even when Shauna lowers the knife and lets in the rest of the Yellowjackets.

They come inside one by one and suddenly you recall every horrible tale you’ve ever heard about their time in the wilderness. You remember the stories that they ate their own teammates, that they used to make sacrifices to an unnamed spirit and hope for salvation that was never truly received.

Lottie comes in first, and she is the first to notice you. She looks between you, Shauna, and Melissa, confusion etched into her features. “What’s going on?”

Shauna waits until the rest of them are inside before pointing the knife at you again. “It wasn’t Melissa. It was her.”

Lottie exchanges a look with Natalie, who stands at her side with the same look of surprise. Then Lottie approaches Shauna and grabs for the blade in her hand.

Shauna doesn’t let go. She looks up at her defiantly and a silent communication passes between the two of them that causes the rest of the room to fall silent.

Shauna lets go of the knife.

You take a step back instinctively when Lottie approaches with the knife. You can’t meet her eyes, not even when she steps so close to you that you can feel her breath on your neck when she leans slightly and speaks in a volume only you are meant to hear. “You spent so many nights with Nat and I, we thought you were ours, and you did this…”

“I needed money,” you say quietly.

“I would have given you money, love. All you had to do was ask,” Lottie moves back half a step and trails the knife down to the hollow of your throat. Greater authority comes into her voice. “There are three ways out of this for you. The first is you leave, you leave and for your own good we never see or hear from you again. The second way is that you give us something in return, a repentance. You give us an appeasement and we all carry on like we used to. And the third way…” Lottie lifts your chin with the flat side of the knife. You meet her eyes, and you understand her implication, that in the third way your blood is spilled for It and everything you read about the Yellowjackets becomes true. “What will it be?”

Your breath catches in your throat and for a moment you can barely breathe as you acclimate to the feeling of the knife, but you’ve already made up your mind. You don’t want to die, and you don’t want to leave. You want them. You want to beg for their forgiveness. “The second way.”

“The second way,” Lottie repeats, removing the knife and stepping behind you, circling you. “What will you give us?”

“Anything you want.”

She stops in front of you. “That’s not how offerings work. You don’t ask, you give.”

You hesitate. You know what you want to give, you know what she wants you to give, but you’re not sure if anyone else shares the same idea.

“You can pick a different answer if you’d like,” Lottie says casually, like she’s not offering isolation or death, “but you have to decide now.”

You have known what you’ve wanted since you started all of this, even if you never fully admitted to it. So there is no fear or regret or horror living in you when you step up to her and kiss her. Her arms slide around you, one hand pulling at your hair and driving you closer to her. You hear the metallic clink of the knife dropping to the floor.

Someone else is behind you now, pressing up against your back. You can tell instantly that it’s Nat — you have been down this road before. She reaches for your shirt, greedily pulling it over your head before latching onto your neck and sucking angry marks onto your skin. Her nails dig into your sides, and you moan when she pulls you closer back against her.

Lottie is pulled away from you by Melissa, who isn’t so apt to share you. You run your hands along the defined muscles of her shoulders as she kisses you, and you gasp when she tugs you forward and leads you into the bedroom. She gets impatient before you can reach the bed, instead shoving you back up against the wall.

She’s about to get on her knees in front of you when Shauna pushes her away.

You meet Shauna’s eyes for a moment. You both know that this will not leave you after, that the way your families have been innocently entwined will be poisoned. But she shoves her fingers into your mouth and you suck on them anyway. And you let her, and again Natalie who has returned, leads you over to the bed.

It’s Taissa and Van, though, who pin you down onto it. Taissa doesn’t let you watch the rest of them caught up in each other kissing and sucking and moaning, and Van takes over and straddles you once the two of them have rid you of the rest of your clothes. She leans down, shifting to suck at your collarbones, moaning against your skin.

“So beautiful, isn’t she?” Taissa agrees, hand trailing against your jaw as she looks just as far gone at the sight of you beneath her girlfriend. She speaks about you like you can’t hear. “She’ll look so gorgeous when she cums for us.”

Lottie joins you on the bed. She looks down at Van with something akin to annoyance. “Let me have her.”

“You’ve already had your turn.”

“No,” Lottie argues, but her protests are silenced when Nat comes over and pulls her against her, and for the moment she’s satisfied. And you’re happy with the solution too, every inch of you burning with need for them with Van settling between your legs as you watch Natalie pull Lottie’s dress down and slide a hand down to rub at her clit. You moan at the sight, and the two of them notice, Lottie’s gaze a heavy pressure on you until Nat slides two fingers inside of her and Lottie throws her head back against the other woman’s shoulder.

At the same time, Van licks through your folds, tongue sliding lazily over your clit. You gasp and Taissa leans down to kiss you, and somewhere close you hear Shauna’s whispered praise to you and Melissa moaning as god-knows-who is touching her.

It’s building quickly, the heat between your thighs that’s growing into something so fervent and agonizingly intense that the moans that escape you are embarrassing, and the speed at which they’ve taken you to the edge of release even more.

“Watch her, she’s so close,” you hear Natalie whisper to Lottie. “Watch her cum from seeing us.”

Van sucks your clit into her mouth, working her fingers inside of you, your wetness coating her chin and hand. And then Taissa straddles your face, lowering herself down onto your mouth, and your hands are shaking as you pull her closer and start to lick through her wetness.

Someone pulls Van away from you — Shauna.

“Don’t let her cum yet,” she orders. “Not until the rest of us have.”

im on my period btw and everyone needs to know because i am very angry about it. wrote this on my typewriter bluetooth keyboard like a true gangster of irredeemable sin, a glutton of tickled toes and one jolly fellow of olden days. comment/reblog if you enjoyed :)

masterlist | ko-fi/“buy me a $2 coffee” | taglist form

[mo-habbash]

Hi, I want you think about this, you had dreams about things you wanted to do. Forget about education. I'm talking about things like hobbies that have potential in being an income, something you really like to do and can be turned into a life career but within a minute everything turns upside down and you start the journey of thinking and worrying about things you never worried about .

As described above in the maslow's hierarchy of needs it's impossible to reach self actualization if you still worry about things like water and food. Anyways this is us in GAZA, we do worry everyday that it is possible to evacuate from the place you are in right now or you are gonna get murdered by the ISRAELI OCCUPATION, we worry that any moment food and aids are going to vanish from the market, we worry that we might not find clean water to drink and clean ourselves, this type of life is not helping in achieving our dreams what so ever.

I am Mohammed Alhabbash, a 21 year old guy and that was my story, i had dreams but not anymore. I evacuated 3 times from a place to another. My house got bombed, I lost everything even my phone got stolen leaving me with no pictures or videos that I took in the past to share it in this post. Life is scary right here and you can do nothing about it.

I tried to make a living from selling juice and it worked for a while until no sugar is left in the markets.

YOU REALLY CAN'T KEEP GOING HERE FOR A REASON.

Now here I'm asking you to help me financially and emotionally after losing everything I once had.

EVERY SMALL DONATION HELPS.

Please don't leave me alone through these hard times.

[dunmertwink]

.

[kuroakikitsune]

Creates an artwork that took ages but I'm really proud of it. Its a subject that a lot of my friends and followers like. Only a few people like it. Most of my friends have seen it and, nothing... I know I did a good job and it's pretty but this makes me feel like my art isn't good enough. It hurts more that my friends and mutals aren't liking it, more than the numbers.

[horreurscopes]

[river-taxbird]

AI hasn't improved in 18 months. It's likely that this is it. There is currently no evidence the capabilities of ChatGPT will ever improve. It's time for AI companies to put up or shut up.

I'm just re-iterating this excellent post from Ed Zitron, but it's not left my head since I read it and I want to share it. I'm also taking some talking points from Ed's other posts. So basically:

We keep hearing AI is going to get better and better, but these promises seem to be coming from a mix of companies engaging in wild speculation and lying.

Chatgpt, the industry leading large language model, has not materially improved in 18 months. For something that claims to be getting exponentially better, it sure is the same shit.

Hallucinations appear to be an inherent aspect of the technology. Since it's based on statistics and ai doesn't know anything, it can never know what is true. How could I possibly trust it to get any real work done if I can't rely on it's output? If I have to fact check everything it says I might as well do the work myself.

For "real" ai that does know what is true to exist, it would require us to discover new concepts in psychology, math, and computing, which open ai is not working on, and seemingly no other ai companies are either.

Open ai has already seemingly slurped up all the data from the open web already. Chatgpt 5 would take 5x more training data than chatgpt 4 to train. Where is this data coming from, exactly?

Since improvement appears to have ground to a halt, what if this is it? What if Chatgpt 4 is as good as LLMs can ever be? What use is it?

As Jim Covello, a leading semiconductor analyst at Goldman Sachs said (on page 10, and that's big finance so you know they only care about money): if tech companies are spending a trillion dollars to build up the infrastructure to support ai, what trillion dollar problem is it meant to solve? AI companies have a unique talent for burning venture capital and it's unclear if Open AI will be able to survive more than a few years unless everyone suddenly adopts it all at once. (Hey, didn't crypto and the metaverse also require spontaneous mass adoption to make sense?)

There is no problem that current ai is a solution to. Consumer tech is basically solved, normal people don't need more tech than a laptop and a smartphone. Big tech have run out of innovations, and they are desperately looking for the next thing to sell. It happened with the metaverse and it's happening again.

In summary:

Ai hasn't materially improved since the launch of Chatgpt4, which wasn't that big of an upgrade to 3.

There is currently no technological roadmap for ai to become better than it is. (As Jim Covello said on the Goldman Sachs report, the evolution of smartphones was openly planned years ahead of time.) The current problems are inherent to the current technology and nobody has indicated there is any way to solve them in the pipeline. We have likely reached the limits of what LLMs can do, and they still can't do much.

Don't believe AI companies when they say things are going to improve from where they are now before they provide evidence. It's time for the AI shills to put up, or shut up.

[jamminvroomvroom]

as sick as it sounds, i loved you first. 2

LN x fem!leclerc reader

PART 2 OF 2 -> read part 1 linked HERE!

here we go again guys, you know the drill! follows directly on from part 1 because of the silly word count :(

warnings: warnings: 18+!! minors GO AWAY! smut, angst, fluff, kinda enemies to lovers? kinda? r is charles sister oop, miscommunication, both of them are down bad for eachother but they are also extremely dumb! breeding kink, size kink, pain kink (if u squint), unprotected p in v (don’t be silly!)

part 2: 6.1k words

8. i have you.

“you never told me why.” lando blurts.

the sun is setting outside, the pair of you sprawled out over your hotel bed. he’d been in your room for a few hours, tangled with you between the linen sheets. it’s thursday in brazil, and he’d made a beeline for your hotel room after media day wrapped up. he couldn’t explain the anxiety he felt, pooling thickly in the pit of his belly, but it subsided as soon as he saw your pretty face, peeking through the crack in your door.

he’d stayed after, a habit that had been developing of late, when you were both at home in monaco, but it was unusual on a race weekend. you’d pulled out your laptop to do some work, and chucked the remote at him, telling him to put something on netflix. he’d just smiled and obliged, more than willing to stay with you.

“told you ‘why’ what?” you look up from your laptop, confused.

“why you haven’t really been with anyone else.” his voice is small, scared he’s overstepping but he figures he’s seen you naked one too many times to get shy.

“oh.”

you stare off into the dim light of the room for a second, collecting your thoughts, reliving it all.

“you don’t need to tell me, sorry if that was weird-“

“no, uh, it’s fine. it’s a bit tragic really, embarrassing.” you start. “there was a guy, a couple of years ago. he was on my course at uni. he was perfect, flowers on my doorstep once a week, romantic dinners overlooking the harbour.” you reminisce, smiling sadly. “we went on a few dates and he was selling it all perfectly, it was like he was telling me everything i wanted to hear. i trusted him, so i slept with him. it was my first time.” your breath hitches. “next thing i know, he’s telling everyone that will listen that he’s best friends with charles leclerc and that he’s fucked an f1 drivers sister. and, you know, monaco is small. charles and arthur beat the shit out of him.” you laugh, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, which are now glossed over with fresh, stinging tears.

lando slides closer to you, tentatively wrapping an arm over your shoulder.

“it’s always been hard, you know? people trying to get close to me so that they could get close to charles. all my life, it’s been the same shit. i just wanted someone to want me for me, just once.”

you’re crying now, and lando wants to die for causing it.

“hey, ‘m so sorry, honey. i shouldn’t have asked.” he shushes you, pulling you close. he kisses the top of your head gently, and you snuggle further into him.

“no, it’s okay. wanted you to know. that’s why i like this. us.” it comes out just above a whisper.

“that’s why i like us too.” he murmurs. you look up at him, scanning his face.

“what’s your story? charles said something to me once about a bad breakup.” you ask softly. lando sighs.

“she wanted the lifestyle more than she wanted me.” he shrugs.

“i’m sorry.”

“don’t be. i’m better off.” i have you, he wants to add.

“i like the fact that we can’t hurt eachother that way.” you breathe, voicing the sentiment that you’ve both shared since the very first time you were together.

“i like it too, honey. more than you know.”

-

9. ache.

a weight lifts off of him in vegas.

brazil had been a shit show, one that he wanted to forget. one that left him awake for two days avoiding your calls, until you snapped him out of it by showing up at his place anyway, and giving him the best head of his fucking life. he’d slept like a damn baby after that.

he had a week off, after, which he spent in your bed more than his own, and then he was promptly off to nevada, awaiting your arrival a few days later and fixated on clawing something back after brazil, even if it was just pride.

well, that fixation didn’t amount to much, but at least you were there, somewhere, watching and waiting. charles is a wreck, though, storming away from parc ferme, which means you’ll be with him, instead of with lando. he feels selfish at the way it stings.

he’s exhausted when he leaves the track, dead on his feet in the elevator up to his room. he can’t bring himself to join max or george and celebrate. he’ll make it up to both of them another time. his phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, recognising your contact. he doesn’t even fight the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

packed something special for you. you gonna come find out what?

he’s in love with you. has been for a while.

the attention you pay to him for himl, the way you tease him and laugh with him and let him lose himself in unravelling you. your quick wit, mesmerising eyes, the way you switch languages when he scrambles your brain and you can’t think hard enough to keep speaking english. he’s a goner, and he knows it.

he doesn’t bother replying, just makes a beeline for your room. he’s spent enough time in it already this weekend to make it there without much thought. you’d even left him a keycard, which he retrieves with nimble fingers from his wallet, letting himself into your suite.

he calls your name, rounding the corner and he could die right there, just at the sight of you.

you’re lamplit, knelt on the middle of your bed, wrapped in nothing but intricate, baby pink lace.

“my god.” he pants, jaw dropped. you’re ethereal, gorgeous, a delicate gift wrapped up just for him to open.

“do you like it?” your eyes are wide, daunted.

“what the fuck did i do to deserve you?” he stalks to the end of the bed, shrugging off his jacket, his hoodie, until he’s left in a white vest and team joggers. he kneels down at the foot of the bed, ready to crawl over you. “i love it.”

you flush, grinning sweetly as he crawls over you, pushing you back into the mattress.

“you did this all for me?” lando asks, stroking over a lacy bra strap.

“thought you deserved it.” you purr, but your facade slips for just a minute. “is this okay? never done this before.” you glance up at him with round, doe eyes that make him swallow hard, melting further into you.

“‘s perfect.” he promises. “you’re so perfect.”

lando kisses you softly, his warm skin pressing into yours. you moan quietly into his mouth, holding him close. he thumbs over the lace adorning your bust, stroking it. you squirm every time he brushes your skin.

“wanna be on top. wanna try it.” you pant into his mouth, watching closely as he groans, eyes fluttering as he imagines the sight.

“only if you keep this on.” he bargains, flipping the pair of you over.

you sit up on his lap, smoothing your hands over his chest as his find your hips. he steadies you, playing with the band of your panties, tracing over the pattern.

“can’t believe you did this all for me.” lando coos, taking the opportunity to take it all in, you, flustered and breathtaking, straddling him. dressed up all for him, all his.

“you deserve it.”

“do you think you’re ready for me? lemme see.” his hand skates between your thighs, pressing the pads of his fingers against the crotch of your underwear. he applies pressure against the wet patch that he feels, licking his lips. “were you thinking about me when you were getting all dressed up? thinking about how i’d touch you?”

“yeah,” you nod frantically, grinding down on his fingers. “wanted you all day but i wanted to be good for you.” you pout. you’re gonna kill him, he thinks.

“always good for me.” he applies more pressure, toying with your clit through the lace, the sensation making you quiver, bucking your hips.

“just want you inside of me, lando. i’m ready.” you plead, palming over his sweats. your hand travels further, finding his between your legs. you tug your underwear to the side, and he feels just how wet you are for him.

“you sure, baby?”

there he goes again. baby. your tummy twists.

“yeah, lan, i want it to hurt a little.” you sound so sweet for him and it shreds the rest of his self restraint.

lando sits up just enough to rip off his vest, taps your thigh so that you lift up for a second, long enough for him to shrug off his sweats. when he’s bare, he paws at your hips, helping you to adjust. your fingers wrap around his length and he jolts, mouth falling open as you swipe the head of him through your slit. you sink down, taking just the tip, but it feels like the first time all over again, the angle creating delicious pressure that burns through your pelvis. your eyes squeeze shut and he swirls his fingers over your sides.

“take it easy for me, love.” lando urges, looking up at you with concern.

“i like it. promise.” you choke out, eyes rolling back at the pleasure, the burn.

you continue to slide down on him, sinking further and further until you’re flush against his pelvis. you roll your hips experimentally, your clit brushing against the thatch of hair at his base and you squirm, sensitive.

“want me to help?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“wanna do this for you.” you pant, rocking your hips against his.

the angle is brutal, so intoxicatingly good, and you can already feel yourself leaking all over him. you build up a rhythm, slow and steady, watching the ripple of his abs everytime you sink back down on him, the way his curls fan over his forehead, the veins in his arms bulging as he grips at your waist tighter and tighter.

“you look so pretty, baby, taking me like this.” lando sighs, helping you pick up the pace. you cry out, leaning backwards, fingers gripping his firm thighs.

“it’s so good, you feel so good.” you whine, arching your back.

he’s entranced by the way your breasts bounce, fighting against the skimpy bra and he sinks his teeth into his plush bottom lip, eyeing you hungrily. one hand leaves your waist and travels to the cups of your bra, tugging so harshly that you hear the threads break. he frees your tits, watching in delight as they fall out of the lace confines.

“you’re so sexy, honey, look so beautiful. you’re all mine, aren’t you? this is all for me, right?” lando’s eyes roll back in his head when he feels the way you clamp down around him at his words. he’s gonna fill you up, he thinks, mark you as his from the inside out.

“yeah, lan, all yours.” you slur, fighting the urge to cum. “‘m all yours.”

he can see that you’re tiring, the ache setting in, so he pulls you forward, until you’re chest to chest, wrapped up his his thick arms.

“i’ve got you, baby.” he swears, holding you close as he rolls his hips, fucking up into you.

it’s all too much like this, the constant pressure on your clit, the head of his cock tapping against your cervix, the thrumming of his heart, the cold sweat of his chest peaking your nipples. you let out a strangled cry of his name, and you see white, your nerve endings overstimulated and fried. all you can hear is his voice, pulling your through it and out the other side.

“did so good for me, baby, such a good girl. took it all so well, love.”

you’re limp on top of him, a dead weight curled around him like a life force. there’s nothing that could make him move you, and wouldn’t let you go unless you asked. you lay there in silence, your mixed release leaking out of you. your heart rate steadies, about as much as it can with him around, and you feel yourself blinking away sleep, exhausted. lando notices, of course he does.

“let’s clean up.” he suggests, sitting up carefully with you on his lap.

“carry me?” you request sleepily, a lazy smile painting your face.

“as you wish.” he jokes, bowing his head.

your legs wrap around his waist as he shuffles off of the bed, and he walks to the bathroom, setting you down on the marble sink top. he leans into the shower, adjusting the temperature and turning the water on. he lets it heat up and turns back to you. no words are exchanged as he peels your ruined panties off, as he unhooks your bra and drops its all onto the counter. he tugs you off of the side, guiding your under the stream of water, the warmth making you relax into him. he’s more than happy to prop you up.

“my legs ache.” you giggle, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

“was it worth it?”

“definitely.”

“good.”

he cleans you, massaging soap into your skin, and washing it off. you stay close while he does the same for himself, passing him different products as you clean up together. it’s quiet, nothing needs to be said, and you wonder if this is what life with him would be like. domestic and easy.

“stay.” you let yourself ask, croaking the request out into the silence. you’re both drying off, and he’s gathering he’s clothes.

“i thought you’d want me to go.” he looks like a deer in headlights. cute.*

“stay.” your repeat, and this time it sounds like a plea. he slides his boxers on.

“okay.”

he’s like a furnace under the covers and you can’t help but curl into his side, legs wrapping around eachothers. there’s no going back from this, you fear. he’s thinking the same thing. you kiss his chest as you fall asleep, just a quick press of your lips to his pec, but it makes him hot all over. if the lights were still on, you’d see him blushing. he returns the favour with careful peck to your hairline. you both nuzzle impossibly closer.

“has it ever been like that for you?” you whisper into the darkness. you hear the change in his breathing.

the question is loaded; have you ever felt like this before? was that just sex to you? what are we? what is this? do you want me how i want you?

“never.” it’s barely a whisper

you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

-

when you wake up, he stirs, bronzed arms tightening around you.

“go back to sleep.” he grumbles, pulling your back to his chest.

“i need to catch my flight.” you reply, turning around to face him.

you’re stunned when you see him smushed into the pillow, lips pouty, eye lashes fluttering to clear away sleep. he looks so pretty in the morning light, and you wish you’d asked him to stay the night sooner.

“just fly with me.” lando mutters. you freeze.

“lan, you know i can’t do that. what would that look like?”

“who cares?” he half shrugs behind you, and you wriggle away, sit up in bed.

“uh, me? i care, lando. i can’t be seen flying around with some other driver, do you know how much that would complicate things?”

“some other driver.” he huffs. that gets his attention, and he sits up. “what so we can sneak around, and you’ll let me fuck you, but being on an airplane together is crossing the line?” he grunts sarcastically. you narrow your eyes at him.

“don’t say it like that.” you scold.

“how should i say it, then? i thought maybe this meant something more to you.” he’s standing from the bed now, hurt thick in his voice, and you panic, reaching out for him, but he’s finding his clothes.

“it does! it does mean something to me but… lando, i can’t put charles in that position. i can’t put myself in that position.” you reason weakly, standing and rapidly moving towards him. you pull him to face you, holding onto his shoulders. “don’t go, please.” you whisper, cupping his cheek.

he stares down at you, dejected, a wounded animal, and pushes your hands off of him.

“i, uh. i care about you. a lot. too much, i think. i can’t go through this again, and you can’t hurt your brother. so…” he breathes shakily.

“so?” you plead, shaking your head. “don’t do this, we can…”

“i’m not gonna be ‘some other driver’, honey. ‘m sorry.”

“lando-“

“its okay. this was good while it lasted, and i know you’re gonna find what you’re looking for, without all of the, uh,” he gestures around blindly. “the complications.”

“don’t go.” you whisper, catching his hand. tears pool in the corners of your eyes, distorting him.

“go catch your flight.” he smiles sadly, finally dressed, and then he’s gone.

you stand frozen, taking stock of whatever the fuck just happened.

i care about you.

good while it lasted.

you’re gonna find what you’re looking for.

complications.

you choke out a sob, stumble backwards onto the foot of your bed when it hits you.

you’d already found what you were looking for, and now, he was gone.

-

you’re supposed to go straight to qatar with charles, but you beg him to get you a flight home instead.

he can hear that you’ve been crying, and tells you that he’ll kill anyone that you need him to. you promise it’s fine, through even more tears, tell him that you’ll fill him in when he’s got a minute to breathe.

the ticket lands in your inbox and you flee. you spend the twelve hour flight watching love actually, crying into a glass of wine, and wondering if you should get gracie abrams’ lyrics tattooed on your forehead.

i love you, i’m sorry would be quite fitting right about now.

when you land, you don’t even go home, making a beeline for alex and charles’ apartment instead. when alex lets you in, confused to see your face, leo does laps around your feet. you drop your bags and fall into her arms, sob until your throat is raw and your eyes are bloodshot.

“i fucked up.” you wail, breathing hard.

“lando?” she asks, tentative. she has a knowing look, and your eyes nearly fall out of your head.

“what? how did you-“

“well let’s just say that we saw the DM he sent you, and arthur was actually sat opposite me when you said you were with him.” she admits. you gasp.

“does charles… does he…?”

“oh, sweetie, charles knows nothing. although he did ask me what shoe size you wear after coming to your place a few weeks back. he said something about a pair of birkenstocks that looked huge compared to your other shoes, and i told him that was just the style.” she snorts, and you slap your hand over your forehead.

“oh, jesus.” you whine, hiding your face in your hands.

“wanna tell me what happened?”

“i don’t even know, he asked me to fly with him and then i said it would complicate things, that i couldn’t been seen with, quote on quote, ‘some other driver.’” you sigh.

“some other driver? oh, girl.”

“yep.”

“were you guys dating…? or?”

“no! lately things had been a bit more,” you pause, gathering your thoughts. “intimate? i don’t know. i definitely have feelings for him.”

alex looks at you sympathetically, strokes your knee soothingly.

“have you told him that?”

“no, i didn’t know how and now he’s done with me.” you wince, a fresh wave of tears pricking your eyes.

“maybe not, sweetie, maybe you if you told him how you felt, he’d understand. is charles what you’re worried about?”

“charles, the fans, all of it.” you whimper.

“the fans can be, well, intense, but take it from me, if lando’s worth it, none of that matters. is he worth it?”

you pause, weighing it all up. the way he’d been with you, so gentle and caring, considerate and interested in you. he’d made you feel safe and satisfied, and everytime you caught him looking at you, you felt that first initial spark all over again. you could laugh with him, push and tease and not just be charles leclerc’s little sister. you look forward to seeing him, feeling him, speaking to him. all of this together feels heavy, but you want to bear it.

“he is.” you whisper, looking at alex nervously. “oh, god, what do i do?”

“i think there’s a paddock pass with your name on it that you should make use of.” she tells you, wrapping you in a tight hug. “and if charles has a problem, tell him he has to go through me.”

-

10. pizza and pasta.

max fewtrell sips his coffee in the hotel lobby, waiting for keegan to join him. it’s hot in qatar, dry and bright, ornate.

his phone buzzes.

message request from: yourusername

HI SORRY ARE YOU IN QATAR????

he probably looks like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his skull.

another message comes through.

this sounds insane and i’m sorry that this is like, the first time we’ve ever spoken, but i need a huge favour. like a really really huge favour.

max scratches the back of his head, pulling a face at his phone. baffled wouldn’t even begin to cover how he feels.

he picks up his phone, and opens the messages.

-

lando over exerts himself keeping away from you. the sprint race had been a breeze compared to staying away, out of your reach. it hurts like hell, but it’s a necessary evil for both your sakes.

he wants to sleep, do nothing else but collapse onto his mattress, phone silenced and curtains drawn as tightly shut as they can go. he unlocks the door to his hotel room. the light flashes green, and he relaxes, finally. until, he doesn’t.

there’s a faint sound coming from down the short corridor that separates his front door from his sleeping area. it’s not max, he’s just left him outside his own hotel room, and it’s not keegan, either, for the same reason. he wonders if he has another stalker, braces himself and picks up the first thing he can find. a shoe. useless, he thinks.

lando creeps down the corridor, poised and ready, jumps out of his skin when you round the corner before he can get there. you yelp, bracing yourself against the wall.

“what the fuck, i thought you were a murderer!” lando huffs, throwing his head back.

somehow, the sight of you is worse than any murderer could ever be.

“putain! god, i’m so sorry! so sorry!” you squeak.

“how did you get in here?”

“funny story,” you tilt your head to the side, trying to look harmless. “max let me in.”

“verstappen?” lando asks, face twisting with confusion.

“no, idiot. fewtrell.” you reply, duh-like. “i can go, i know this is crazy and weird and a total violation, but i had to talk to you.” your voice softens and lando seems to finally relax. he’ll kill max later.

“this is batshit, actually, but i respect the grind.” lando shrugs. “what do you want?” he sounds harsher than intended, closed off, but you suppose you deserve it.

“i’m sorry about what happened last weekend.” you inhale shakily. “i… i care about you a lot, too, and i have done for a while but i was too scared to say it. i realised as soon as you left that i never ever wanna hurt you like that. never want you to feel like i don’t lo- care about you… like that.” you catch yourself, not ready to say certain words. he gets the gist.

“i don’t wanna be some hookup anymore. it was fine at first, when i thought that’s all i could have from you, but i know that it’s not. i want you.” lando states, his words poignant. “whatever pace you need, whatever you want from me, i wanna give it to you.”

the space between you dissipates.

“i saw you, you know, watching me from your garage all those months ago, like you were trying place me.” your voice is barely above a whisper. “admittedly, i kinda wanted to punch you for ruining that dress, but i also, really really secretly thought you were cute.”

“well, if we’re being honest, i really wanted to fuck you the first time i saw you.” he jokes crudely, and you slap his chest. “in my defence, i was blackout drunk.”

“asshole.” you mutter. you’re so close now that his nose bumps yours.

“i think you like it.” he whispers.

“yeah, i really do.”

your lips meet his urgently, homecoming. it’s been too long since you’ve had him in your hands, touched him and felt him breathe against you. the kiss is passionate, frantic, and you know you’re in love with him. you’re certain.

-

an hour later, you’re tucked into bed with him, a movie that you’re not paying attention to playing idly on the tv. pizza crusts lay on a plate, the leftovers of your impromptu dinner date.

you’ve covered your degree, how he got into racing, what you do for work, who you’re friends are, family dynamics.

you learn that his favourite colour actually is yellow, and he learns that you’re favourite drink is red wine. he prefers pizza, you prefer pasta. you like flat whites, and he doesn’t like coffee at all.

“after abu dhabi, i’ll take you on a real date. i promise.” he sounds excited as he says it, and you melt into his side.

“oh yeah?” you ask, looking up at him, your cheeks smushed against his shoulder. he tucks your hair behind your ear, thumb stroking your cheek tenderly. he just hums in response, gazing down at you.

“gonna talk to your brothers as well.” he murmurs, dipping down to peck your lips.

“not just yet.” you whisper. he furrows his eyebrows.

“why?” he doesn’t sound upset, maybe a little deflated.

“i wanna enjoy this a bit longer, at least go on a real date before, you know, they kill you.” you keep your tone serious, holding it together well. he bursts out laughing, squeezing you closer.

“and here i was worried that you were ashamed of me.” he’s grinning toothily, boyish and pure, and you kiss him again, deeper.

“never.” you coo.

-

11. daylight.

abu dhabi is a distant memory by the time you get back to monaco. you were happy for your brother and your boyfriend.

yeah, that’s what you get to call him now.

your first date had been effortless and yet so intricately perfect, lando planning it down to the last detail. flowers delivered to you the morning of, picking you up at the door, telling you just how beautiful you looked. your table had been waiting for you, candlelit, dressed immaculately. a bottle of red wine served as the centrepiece, your favourite kind. swoon.

he orders pizza, you order pasta. halfway through, you switch plates.

you wake up the next morning in his arms, content and satiated, still bare from the night before. your phone is buzzing, stirring your both out of your deep sleep. you ignore it.

“c’mere.” he begs, breath fanning out across your neck and you wriggle backwards, further into his arms. your naked skin moulds with his, and you can feel him, ready and waiting against the curve of your ass. he’s still half asleep, and so are you, but you spread your legs just enough for him to swipe himself through your folds and slip right in.

you groan at the stretch, he shushes you soothingly, clinging to your frame. everything is so warm and heightened.

“so ready for me.” he whispers, kissing over your shoulder, hips making the most minimal, languid thrusts that make you dizzy.

“want you like this every morning.” you purr, hiking your top leg up even further. he’s basically on top of you now, his body half covering yours.

lando drags your hips back to meet his, breathing heavily against the back of your neck.

“anytime you want me ‘m here. ‘m yours.” lando mutters, eyes rolling back in his head when you clench around him. lewd sounds are exchanged between your lazy bodies, so worked up, two powder kegs desperate to explode.

it happens in waves, powerful orgasms washing over your bodies like the sunlight through the curtains. it’s bright and warm and leaves you buzzing underneath him, electrified.

“good morning.” you smirk, rolling over to face him.

he’s already sunk back down into the mattress, a satisfied grin on his face, eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheeks where his eyes have fallen shut. he looks angelic, and if it wasn’t for his devious ways, you’d hail him a saint.

“very good morning, baby.” lando pants, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“you look so pretty.” you breathe, raking your nails through his hair. he groans, shivers of pleasure radiating through his scalp and down his back.

“not as pretty as you.” he surges forward, pinning you to the bed, the pair of you a hazy mess of limbs and laughter, so wrapped up in eachother. he’s peppering you with kisses, all over you face and your chest, further and further down your body.

round two is about to commence, and you’re more than excited, ready to welcome him back between your thighs, when you both here a loud, repetitive thud coming from faraway. lando pulls back, trying to pinpoint the sound.

“is that the door?” he says to himself. “sorry, baby. need to get that.” he frowns apologetically. you sigh, waving your hand in understanding, watching as he grabs a robe.

-

charles nearly chokes on air and fury when he gets the all caps message from arthur, followed by one from lorenzo, then his publicist.

arthur: HAVE YOU SEEN TWITTER? i don’t know if i should laugh or cry

enzo: be nice to her, don’t be a little bitch

publicist: Charles, we will need to address this news immediately and conclude whether the photos are out of context or not. Meeting scheduled on the shared calendar.

first question: what fucking photos? did someone catch him picking his nose in public?

second question: who does he need to be nice too?

third question: can he not go five fucking minutes without some impending media crisis?

he opens twitter and doesn’t need to look hard, because there on his screen is a picture taken the night before of his precious baby sister, and there is lando fucking norris with his tongue down her throat.

alex asks him where he’s going, watching him storm out keys in hand. he doesn’t respond with anything but a growl and a mutter of your name. alex’s eyes go wide, reached for her phone.

to: your number

girl he knows! idk how but he KNOWS!

for once in your life PICK UP THE PHONE

JESUS OKAY i just saw twitter…

OKAY im tracking charles location rn and looks like he’s near lando’s?

MISS LECLERC PLEASE! HELLO?????

it was nice knowing you babe.

-

you pick up your phone as lando leaves the room, scrolling absentmindedly through your notifications. your interest peaks, however, when you see about a million texts from alex, and even more missed call. in fact, you have literally thousands of notifications, and your blood runs cold.

you’d been so careful last night, surely it hadn’t leaked. your blood runs cold when you open your text chain with alex. the aggressive knocking on the door suddenly makes harrowing sense and you spring from the mattress just in time to hear the front door click.

“is she here?” you hear charles bellow, voice laced thickly with anger.

“uh… who?” lando tries, he really does, but he’s not a good liar. you wince, grabbing anything to cover your dignity: lando’s sweats and a t-shirt. you scramble out of the bedroom, sliding down the corridor from the sheer speed you’re moving at.

“fucking hell.” charles sighs, wincing at the sight of you. “of all the people on the planet, you pick my rival? you pick him?” charles barks at you. you close your eyes, focusing on your breathing as your chest constricts. “i told you. i specifically told you not to mess around with him, and c’mon, i don’t ask you for much.” charles throws his hands out in frustration.

“charles, listen to me,” you keep your voice calm and steady. “we’re not messing around, we… we’re together.” you confirm, watching his jaw tick.

“together? with him? do you know how many girls probably think they’re in a relationship with him? half of the portuguese modelling industry is linked to him.” charles laughs incredulously, disgusted. your eyes narrow, watching lando crumble into a million pieces in your peripheral.

“don’t you dare ruin this for me! and how can you come into his house and speak to him that way? my god, charles, you don’t get it, do you? i can never be happy with anyone because of you! everyone, everyone, uses me to get to you and, god, i finally found someone who cares about me and couldn’t give less of a shit about who you are and you don’t approve? shall i stay single and lonely and in your shadow forever? should i go for some greasy hedge fund legacy who wants to fuck any leclerc he can get his hands on? huh? i’m sorry if you don’t approve, truly, i am, but you will not have a say in this.”

charles stays silent, as does lando, the only sound in the hallway being your heavy breathing, a symptom of your monologue. you feel the ghost of lando’s touch on your waist, soothing you from your outburst, and you lean into his touch, looking up at him. his eyes are reassuring, the only source of comfort.

charles watches intently, the silent communication between you both, and it knocks him for six. ultimately, he wants you to be happy, but it begs the question: can lando make you happy? the way you truly deserve? he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, lets out a muttered string of expletives.

“will you look after her?” he stares daggers at lando, watches the way the brit straightens up.

“i will.” lando nods firmly, eyes sincere.

“and you won’t hurt her? you won’t fuck her around?” charles looks like he’s desperately pleading, but his voice is commanding, no margin for error.

“i promise.”

“and you’ll make her happy?”

“i’d do anything for her.”

your head snaps towards lando, the tears you’d been holding back finally breaking the dam. charles watches closely, steps backwards towards the door. there isn’t space for him here right now.

“okay. i- okay.” you watch the way charles backs down, and he finally meets your eyes again. “ma chére, je suis désolé.” he tells you solemnly. you nod, lips in a thin, hard line. you can feel lando nudge you forward.

“come here, loser.” you groan, opening your arms for your brother. charles meets you half way, squeezes you tight. he gently kisses your forehead and turns to leave, not before shooting lando a look that says ‘i’m watching you.’

you turn back to your newfound boyfriend, tears still falling, but you pay them no mind.

“well done, baby.” he affirms, thumbing away your tears.

“i love you, lando.” you whisper, threading your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. “thank you.” his eyes glaze over, total adoration swirling in the pools of green.

“so glad you said that because i absolutely love you too.” he laughs, hauling you in for a kiss. it’s a mess of tears and laughter and a weird sense of serenity.

“you might wanna call your publicist. pictures of last night leaked.” you mumble against his lips.

“at least we don’t have to sneak around anymore.” he shrugs. “i’ll call later. got things to do.” he picks you up effortlessly, throwing you over his shoulder. you squeal, and he teasingly slaps your ass.

you catch sight of the apartment as he walks you through it, and you think about the first time you saw it, under the cover of darkness, covert and clandestine.

you much prefer it in the light of day.

you prefer lando in the light of day, too.

yourusername and landonorris just posted on instagram:

liked by: francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri and others.

yourusername: oops!

comments on this post have been disabled.

-

thank god that’s over lmfao - thank you for reading!!

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722

[kurohe]

Things you can do to actively participate in the revolution

Here's the list !

I know some of those will look really silly, i promise they are not. And obviously, this is not a checklist, you don't have to do everything. But they're steps that you can absolutely take if you wish to, and they WILL help.

(i am continually correcting things when people point out mistakes. Thanks everyone for your help)

(under the cut !)

1) Let's start off with a very easy one you can do right now: stop using Chrome. It's a google owned browser, and it sents all of your data towards it. Mozilla is a very good replacement, but almost anything will do, really. Also, resign your amazon prime subscription. We revolting against capitalism as a whole, and this is a good first step to not freely give em your data and money

2) Start stealing things from supermarkets and malls. I am not kidding. Little things, that aren't really monitored: a can of food, a lighter, a pair of socks. Condiments are particularly easy to hide in bags or pockets. Steal hygiene products, steal food.

Remember that you should have access to those for free, and you don't because a few rich guys don't want you to.

Additional tip: train station stores are very easy to steal from, because they're so busy. But don't put yourself in danger. Check beforehand if they check bags at checkout, look out for employees that might notice what you're doing. Don't be reckless.

(edit: imma say this, you should read up on what the risks of stealing are, for you and others. Stealing from big stores is IMO always morally right, but it is risky for many reasons. Be careful)

3) In the same line, if you see someone stealing anything from a big store, no you didn't.

4) I know a lot of people are scared of disrespecting rules. By fear of being caught, or by guilt. My advice is: start disrespecting stupid, meaningless rules. I don't have specific exemples, but you'll encounter them and wonder why you're doing that. Stop doing it. This will train you to be able to disobey autority way easier.

5) Put stickers everywhere. If you already have them, go ham. Especially on public property (lamposts are amazing). If you don't, buy them from artists or independant stores, not big brands. If you cannot afford them, remember that you can simply write stuff on an A4 paper and plaster it to walls. Or even post its !

6) Carry a sharpie with you at all time, the big black ones. If you see propaganda, scribble it out. Keep a look out for terfs stickers, maga posters, etc. Also good for getting rid of transphobic and sexist stuff written on public restroom stalls !

7) Buy locally. This means going to the market or small stores, and thrifting your clothes. If you can't for money or accessibility reasons, try trading with your friends, family and neighbours. Get communication going in your circles, and you'll realise there are a lot of things that you can simply trade with or buy from people around you. Like a jar of jam against some eggs, or a pair of socks for a t-shirt you don't wear anymore !

8) Learn how to sew. I know, that sounds dumb ! But i promise you, not only will it be amazing to trade with other people ("i'll sew back ur shirt and in exchange, you give me a can of peaches !"), corporations also haaaate when you know how to fix your clothes. Because they want you to buy more. You'll spend a lot less money if you know how to fix em

9) If you have the space and the money, grow your own food, and share it or sell it around you. Be careful, some assholes will call the FDA on you. Do that with people you trust.

Additional tip: growing vegetables and fruits can be a real nightmare. You can absolutely start by just growing some basil or mint :)

10) Organise. Join leftist groups online, even if it's just to see what's being said, you don't even need to interact. Follow creators, repost and share their content. By doing that, you'll stay informed on group movements like strikes, protests and boycotts, which you can then participate in. It's very important you're connected to other ppl and the movements that are started !

11) Unionize. I'm very sorry I don't know the exact way unions work in the US, but if you can, join one. They will help you in times of needs, especially if you're a student or a worker. If you're not sure how to do that, absolutely ask around to people you know are very active politically, around you or online. People will help.

12) Stay. Informed. Follow independant papers and news outlet. If you can afford it, give them a dollar or two. They are fighting everyday for access to unbiased information for all, and sadly, their independance means that they rely almost entirely on donations and people simply engaging with what they put out.

If you can't access those: do not get your news from TV. Ever. Or anywhere else that has been bought by the far right. Sadly, the majority of TV channels are just the worst.

And, most importantly: fact check. All of the time.

13) Share that information. Talk to those you trust and who are ready to listen to you, and tell them about what's happening. Get angry with them. Revolution stems from people coming together and realising that they're being used and profited off of. Share videos and posts relating to politics, especially informative videos.

14) Go to protests ! If you've never been, i know it can be scary. But you can stay in the middle (don't go all the way to the front, that's where stuff can get heated) and scream and walk with everyone else. You'll meet people who, like you, want things to change. Capitalism wants you to stay as unconnected to others as possible, and that's a great way to fight that.

Sometimes, there are sites that have a planning for all protests happening in a city. Look up if one exists for yours

15) Create and strenghten community. I know i really struggled with this one, because it's so vague. But here's a few places you can start:

-Go and introduce yourself to your neighbours, if you deem it safe. Give them a little gift if you can afford it, like a pack of pasta.

-Make new friends, even if they aren't deep friendships. You need connections. Online or irl, both are fine- don't stay isolated.

-If you already have community, go check on them right now. Ask your friends how they're doing, and if they need anything- ask how they're being impacted by what's happening right now politically.

16) Look for ways to fuck over the institutions in easy ways. One example that went around tumblr a lot is letting dandelions grow in your backyard, because landlords fucking hate it. If you work in retail or fast food, cheat. Accidentally forget to scan the diapers. Put in 7 nuggets instead of 6.

(edit: been told that it's very risky for walmart workers to not scan things, so beware.)

17) Engage in art. MAKE art. Music, shitty paint drawings, craft, anything as long as you're being creative. Share it. If you feel like you can't do that, then support artists. Make a point to look up cool illustrations, and new music. Go to the cinema.

If you're an artist currently in an underpaid office job, please, by the love of god, be creative during office hours. You're underpaid, they do not deserve your full time and attention. Take 30 minutes to write that snippet you've been thinking about.

(and actually, if you're underpaid at all: do the minimum required. So that you can't be fired, but that's it. Any more effort is not worth it. Companies will never be thankful for what you do.)

18) Look up books that your state banned, and go read them. You can get them secondhand, or as pdfs online. (if anyone needs ressources, i will glady look for and share them.)

And, actually, read books in general if you can. Yes, fanfics count !

19) Seek education. There's a lot of youtube channels out there talking about educational subjects in a fun way. Some things the rich assholes who run the country specifically don't want you to learn more about are: biology, history and archeology, social and economic sciences. GO LEARN ABOUT THOSE.

The people in power don't want you to be educated. It's why they eviscerated the education system.

20) PIRATE. I cannot stress this enough, anything you can pirate (that isn't from small, indie creators, except if you absolutely can't afford it) do it. Download music illegally, torrent movies and games. If you want access to academical studies and papers, some writers will give them to you for free if you email them about it. There are also ways to go around paywalls.

21) Don't fall for the traps of "progressive brands". Lately, i've seen a lot of praise for Ben and Jerry's for openly supporting lgbtq rights and being globally anti-trump. They are still a brand. Avoid buying from any big names when you can. That being said, if you have to, check beforehand which ones and what their history is. Some are more evil than others.

Additional tip: a lot of brands you see in stores are actually owned by bigger brands. One prime example of this is Nestle, who are fucking evil, but they own a shitload of other big names. Be careful what you buy.

22) I hate to say this, but be prepared to defend yourself. Revolutions are never peaceful. You will get in danger. If you can, get in ok physical shape. Learn how to run fast and fight well.

If none of those are available options to you, please, make sure you have someone around you that will be able to protect you, or a place where you can be safe. Whether you are disabled, a minor, or anything else. Don't put yourself in more danger than is necessary.

(this used to also include getting a gun. I deleted it because i don't feel comfortable recommending this. But it's still an option.)

23) Last but not least, be kind. When someone cuts off a woman speaking, interrupt and give her the floor back. Shame those who think it's right to say bigoted shit in public. Listen to those around you. If you can't act, then remember to always have empathy for the homeless, for drug users, for immigrants. Understand they are people just like you. You are not immune to propaganda and prejudice, no matter who you are. Always question yourself and your biases.

(if you've read this far, please repost. We need this to reach as many people as possible)

I want to remind you that you're not alone. I know things seem hopeless, but the simple fact that you're reading this is proof it's not. I don't live in the US, but i'm supporting you as best i can from where i am, and sending you strenght.

If you have any questions, do ask away. I'll end on this image that's very dear to me:

[gowns]

...you need to accept the reality of being a person who writes books. Here’s how it works: After you publish a book, there is a reckoning. All of the emotions you suppressed and fought with writing alone suddenly rush in and crush you. If your book doesn’t sell, you feel sick. If it sells a ton, you’re also in for a scary ride. When your goal is to make art, to give a big piece of yourself to the world, to tell the truth, and — crucially! — to FACE THE TRUTH, then your goal is also to feel like a complete fucking idiot, to ask for way too much, to seem impetuous and enraged and self-centered and needy. You will stand up in a nearly empty room somewhere and you will read your book out loud and you will think “I am such a loser” — and you will also think “I deserve it all.”

Your most important job as an artist is to listen to that second voice — and believe it. [...]

I’ve been taking my gifts for granted for a long time now. That’s just what people do. It’s embarrassing to realize what an ingrate you are. But it’s also embarrassing to look at your gifts and acknowledge them in public and continue to push them into people’s faces, in spite of everything.

It’s embarrassing to be human.

Writing is a very public quest for love. It’s embarrassing to ask for love out in the open. It’s embarrassing to believe that someone will understand you eventually. It’s embarrassing to know that you’ll keep working hard to be loved, to share yourself, to show yourself, whether anyone is paying attention or not.

But listen to me: You write because you believe in it. You still believe, even now. You crave love, and that part of you isn’t humiliating. It’s sad and pure and true. It’s a gift. So stop telling yourself lies and repeating this world’s bad noises. No one smart measures quality on sales. No one enlightened reduces art to commerce. You are an artist. Fuck everybody. You deserve it all.

-- heather havrilesky, excerpt from ask polly dec 2024 - "i published a novel and no one cares"

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Sorry, wrong number (H.S. One Shot)

General Masterlist Summary: A wrong-number text leads to an unexpected connection between a you and a stranger. What starts as a playful exchange quickly becomes the highlight of their days, leaving you curious about the man behind the messages. A/n: I don't really know what i'm doing here, i just got inspired and i was bored, i'm clearly not a professional fanfic writer, but i hope at least someone enjoys it. (ALSO ENGLISH IT'S NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE SO BARE WITH ME WITH GRAMMAR AND STUFF) Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: Not really, use of y/n, maybe slow burn, cliff hanger cause i don't know if it's good enough to continue it.

Friday, January 10th

"Hi! This is Y/N. I already sent the files you asked for last Friday, but I didn’t get any reply. Could you please confirm you received them? Have a nice day!"

…

Tuesday, January 14th

"Hi! This is Y/N again. I know you might be busy, but I just wanted to confirm if the files were okay. We also still have the last payment pending, so whenever you can, it’s fine! Have a nice day!"

Maybe it was too soon to think the client had run off with the files and didn’t want to pay, or maybe he was in trouble? Maybe he got mad that I texted his personal phone number? Anyway, it wasn’t unusual for clients to disappear, but this time, you were really looking forward to that last payment.

Your mom’s birthday was coming up, and you wanted to buy something nice for her for the first time—maybe even outdo your sister and prove you could buy her something special too. You were eager about it but tried to brush it off and focus on other clients who actually responded to emails and texts.

Then, your phone buzzed.

"Hey, I wasn’t going to answer these texts, but I’m pretty sure someone gave you the wrong number. I’m not waiting for files—sorry!"

"That explains a lot," you said to yourself, staring at your phone. Embarrassment crept in as you double-checked the number the client had sent in an earlier email. And there it was—one single digit off from the number you’d been texting. Still, why wasn’t the client answering their email?

Regardless, you had texted the wrong number and even asked for the final payment.

"Oh my god, I’m really, really sorry! I just double-checked, and yes, I made a mistake with the number. Again, I’m so sorry to bother you."

"It’s fine! Hope you find the real client and get your payment."

You facepalmed in your office and chuckled at yourself. It was embarrassing to think about the stranger receiving your out-of-context texts. Maybe they were busy too, and you’d just interrupted their day. Or maybe you were overthinking it.

After searching for that email again, you dialed the correct number carefully, double-checking each digit. Then you sent another message:

"Hi! This is Y/N. I already sent the files last week, but I didn’t get any reply. Could you please confirm you received them? Have a nice day!"

Minutes later, the client responded. He apologized for falling behind on things, said he’d been busy, but confirmed he had received the files and planned to make the payment the next day.

Thank God.

You were always busy—navigating the challenges of freelancing and the whole "being your own boss" thing. Sometimes it meant being not just the social media marketer but also the accountant, admin team, planner, and much more.

"Everything alright?" Gwen asked, chuckling as she glanced at you. "You look a little stressed."

"It’s been a couple of stressful days," you replied. "But I’ll survive. You know I always do," you added with a smile.

Gwen was the fashion designer you shared the downtown office with. She was more experienced than you and ran her signature shop below the office, filled with beautiful, unique pieces. Thankfully, she was always a helping hand when you got stuck with an Excel sheet or needed advice on balancing work and life.

The next day was more of the same. Mid-month meant analyzing how the brands were doing—were they selling? Were they stagnant? Was there a new trend going viral? Or an upcoming holiday to leverage?

Your phone buzzed, interrupting your focus.

"I hope this isn’t weird, but did you get the right number? Or the payment? It felt like I was left on a cliffhanger."

You smiled at the text from the stranger who had received your initial messages.

"Not weird at all! I’d be curious too. And yes, I got the right number, and I think he’s paying me today!"

"Well, I’m glad! I wasn’t going to sleep without knowing how it ended."

"I’ll update you as soon as the payment comes through! lol."

Maybe it was odd to have a conversation with a stranger, but they didn’t even know who you were, so what did it matter?

"Please do. 🙏🏻"

You thought of that viral story about the grandma who accidentally texted a stranger and ended up inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner. But in your boring life, nothing like that could ever happen. You weren’t particularly chatty or extroverted in real life, but since they didn’t know who you were, what was the harm?

——-

"Update: The payment came in!!"

"Thank God! I’m happy for you, and it’s not even my money."

"Well, thank you for answering. Otherwise, I’d still be texting you about my lost payment."

"My pleasure. Is it okay if I ask what your job is? I’m curious—it’s my first time being a wrong number!"

"Is it weird to be texting a stranger who randomly asks about my job?" you asked Gwen, showing her the texts.

"What does that even mean?" she asked, confused.

"Have a look at this," you said, sliding your phone over. Gwen read the texts and smirked.

"He doesn’t even know who you are. He knows your name, but how many Y/Ns are there in London?" she said, trying to calm your overdramatic thoughts. "Or you could make up a funny, dramatic life and have fun for a few days—tell him you work in a strip club!"

You laughed softly but were tempted by the idea of harmless fun. What real danger could come from simple texts? He was the one who started asking questions, after all.

"I’m a digital marketing specialist."

"Sounds cool. I could never."

"What do you do, then?" you asked boldly.

"I own a small brand."

He technically wasn’t lying, but it wasn’t the full truth either. Maybe it was too soon to reveal his real identity. If he even had contemplated that.

"'I own a small brand?' That’s it?" you muttered to yourself. Your life wasn’t that boring after all—or maybe it was, compared to his.

Recently, you've been haunted by questions about your career. Did you even love marketing? No. Did you know what you wanted to do? No.

Your phone buzzed again, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"My name is Harry, by the way. Seems fair to tell you since I know yours."

"Nice to meet you, Harry."

You smiled at your phone, a soft, involuntary expression that you quickly brushed off. It wasn’t like you were getting attached or anything; it was just amusing. A stranger texting you was definitely the most interesting thing to happen that week. But after that, it went quiet. The conversation stopped, and you figured it was just one of those random, fleeting interactions life throws at you. Something to laugh about later with friends.

Two days later, though, your phone buzzed again. You assumed it was your mom or a group chat notification—certainly not Harry

“How did the week end for you? Any other wrong numbers?”

You blinked at the screen, taken by surprise but also oddly pleased.

“It ended pretty busy, but thank God it’s over. And no, no more wrong numbers, lol.”

“So, any weekend plans?”

How was it that this stranger, Harry, was better at keeping a conversation going than any guy you'd actually dated? It felt natural, like he genuinely wanted to talk to you, and for once, you didn’t feel like retreating into vague one-word answers.

“Nope, a bit of a boring life here. You?”

“Yeah, same.”

Okay, that was definitely a lie.

Your life was painfully average. You worked to pay rent, paid rent to keep a roof over your head, and that was it. Sure, there were good days and bad ones, clients who made you want to tear your hair out, and others who gave you glowing feedback that kept you going. But lately, when anyone asked, “What’s new?” or “What have you been up to?” your mind went blank. The truth felt too dull to say out loud.

Your love life? Also on pause. You’d had a long-term boyfriend once, but when his ambitions veered wildly away from your own, it fell apart. You didn’t hold any hard feelings, but dating apps weren’t exactly your thing, either. Deep down, you clung to the hope that someone would randomly appear in your life, the way they do in rom-coms—chocolates, flowers, and all. But you’d stopped expecting it a long time ago.

So why was a stranger, with nothing more than a name and a few texts, suddenly the most exciting part of your week? Maybe it was the mystery. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because it made you feel like you’d stepped out of your routine.

“Is it weird that I just kept on texting you? I feel like it is,” he texted again.

“A bit, but I’m enjoying it so far. It’s kind of fun, actually.”

“Ok, thank God we’re both weirdos, then. Are you based in London?”

And just like that, the fun felt like it came to a halt. He was asking for your location now. Sure, London was massive—1,572 km² of sprawling city—but your anxiety immediately perked up. Was this crossing a line? Did he want to track you down or something?

But then, the little mischievous devil on your shoulder chimed in. Relax, it’s harmless fun. It’s not like you two are actually going to meet, or like he’s going to know your exact address just because you said you lived in London.

The devil wins.

“Yes, I’m in London. You?”

Your turn, Harry man, you thought. And then, as if on cue, your brain jumped onto a rollercoaster of wild thoughts. Wait, what if he’s a 50-year-old? Or worse—a 15-year-old hormonal teen?! You shook your head. No, no, he’s a brand owner, you reminded yourself.

Was this fear of the unknown creeping in? Or... was it just pure curiosity?

“Yes, around Notting Hill.”

You stared at your phone, a bit shocked. Did he really just tell you his neighborhood? Was this man never taught about the dangers of sharing personal details with strangers?

Says the girl who keeps answering his texts.

“Cool,” you panic-texted back, immediately cringing at how abrupt it sounded.

A second later, another message from him popped up:

“You don’t have to tell me your neighborhood. I know it’s probably TMI. Sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

You blinked at the screen. 

Wait, was he apologizing? For oversharing?

“It’s fine, but be careful, I might be a stalker. You never know 😉”

An emoji? Oh my god, did I just use an emoji? 

You internally cringed, debating whether deleting the message was still an option. But his reply came quickly:

“I’m used to that.”

You stared at your phone, baffled. What? What does that even mean? Was he used to stalking people? Or being stalked? That didn’t even make sense. Had you missed some new meme or slang? Or was he just trying to sound cocky and mysterious? Either way, your brain was now racing, trying to decode mystery Harry man.

Harry, on the other hand, was staring at his phone, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over him. Shit, did that just give away who I am? He tried to reassure himself. Maybe not. It could pass as just a random response... right? But the doubt crept back in. Then again, if it’s just a random response, does that make me seem really weird? Ugh, why didn’t I think before typing? He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he waited for your reply, wondering if he’d managed to keep things casual—or accidentally made it more suspicious but as you never did he quickly types another thing

“Hey, can you help me with something?”

You stared at the message, your eyebrows furrowing. Whatever this is turning into, it’s really, REALLY weird, you thought. But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a bit thankful that he’d brushed off the whole stalking comment. Now he wanted help?

“I’m about to launch a new collection next month, and I need to choose four nail polish colors for a kit. Which ones would you pick?”

He sent a picture of a color sample sheet, words scribbled around it like, “Too bright?” “Love this one,” and “OUT.” The paper rested on a dark wood table, and you couldn’t help but notice his right hand in the frame, his nails painted in a sleek shade.

A man wearing nail polish? you thought, biting back a grin. What’s sexier than a guy with zero fragile masculinity?

STOP. Sexier? Seriously?

STOP. He’s a stranger.

“I would go with, the coral one at the top, the navy, the nude and the green” 

“That’s literally what I was thinking. If they sell out it’s on you y/n” 

“So I’ll be expecting a good commission then” 

“Deal and thanks, by the way. For actually helping. I wasn’t sure you’d reply to that one.”

“No worries, it’s kind of nice having someone randomly text me about nail polish drama. Way better than client emails. Didn’t thought your business was about nail polishes though”

“Glad to be of service. Let me know if you ever need a second opinion on, I dunno, which shade of PowerPoint gray to use.”

“My saviour”

“That 's me. A true giver. Anyway, I’ll stop bothering you for now. But seriously, thanks again, Y/N.”

“No problem. Good luck with the collection!”

The conversation ends with more questions than answers about Harry—nail polishes? Why is this conversation flowing so effortlessly? It left you curious but not uneasy. Both of you felt like this wasn’t the last time you’d talk. It was a small, unexpected connection, one that neither of you was quite ready to let go of.

—-

Your mom’s birthday went on as planned. You were able to buy her a beautiful scarf from one of her favorite brands—pricey, yes, but it was your mom, so you didn’t mind splurging. And if you happened to overdo your sister this time? Well, that wasn’t the point, not entirely. But deep down, it felt good to prove to yourself that you could keep up, even if her success with her law firm always felt like a shadow hanging over you.

It had been five days since you and Harry last texted. It felt... normal. No stomach-wrecking nerves like the ones you got when talking to guys you were interested in. No overanalyzing if you’d been annoying, rude, or too eager. With Harry, it was different. Maybe it was because he was still mostly a stranger. Maybe because you weren’t trying to impress him. Or maybe because you knew deep down that, even if he didn’t reply again, it wouldn’t sting. At least for now.

After a few days of sporadic texting, Harry throws out an idea, the text that changed everything.

“Okay, hear me out: since we both don’t want to seem like stalkers, how about a deal? We get to ask one random question a day. Nothing creepy or too revealing. Just normal stuff. What do you think?”

You smirked at the screen. He’s trying to make it less weird? Bold of him to assume this isn’t already weird.

“Alright, but you go first”

“Fine. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

“Somewhere coastal. Like Brighton, maybe? I need the sea to remind me I’m alive.”

“Interesting choice. I’d go somewhere quiet, but still close to a city. Like, Italy?”

You paused for a second, feeling a little silly. He chose a whole other country, and you’d barely ventured two and a half hours away from London. Still, it was a start.

The daily questions continued, evolving from a simple game into something that felt more like a natural rhythm. Each question peeled back another layer of this stranger you were beginning to know better, even without ever seeing his face. You learned that Harry loved tea but hated coffee—how do you even function?—and that his favorite season was autumn. He found out you adored thunderstorms and had an irrational fear of elevators, thanks to a terrifying incident years ago when an elevator you were in nearly dropped two floors.

It wasn’t just the questions, though. There were moments in between: a blurry photo of an office corner from Harry, captioned, “My life in chaos”; a street view of Downtown that you sent, carefully avoiding any landmarks near your home. Then there was the fluffy golden retriever he’d spotted on his way to work—he couldn’t resist sharing it with you.

Before bed each night, you’d find yourself thinking for at least twenty minutes, trying to decide what to ask next. The game didn’t feel like a game anymore. It was something else, something steady and comforting. For now, there was no pressure to meet or cross any lines—just two strangers finding small joys in their shared curiosity. But now it felt refreshing and even exciting whenever his or your question popped up on the phone. 

It was a rare Sunday sunny afternoon in London, and you found yourself strolling down the street. The shops buzzed with life, tourists snapping photos, and locals hurrying along with their errands. You were looking forward to reach that particularly small ice cream shop you loved. That’s when you saw it—a storefront with sleek, funky decor and the words Pleasing printed elegantly across the window. You slowed your pace, curiosity pulling you closer. The display was stunning: a lineup of nail polishes in perfectly curated colors. Coral. Navy. Nude. Green.

Your heart skipped a beat.

No. It couldn’t be. This is just a coincidence.

You even felt silly for considering it. But for a moment, you just stood there, staring at the bottles neatly arranged under soft, flattering light. Your mind raced back to that conversation. Harry when he had asked for your opinion on nail polish colors. Coral, navy, nude, and green. The same exact shades in the window now.

It HAD to be a coincidence.

“Pleasing is huge…Harry is a huge pop star too” you thought to yourself, folding your arms as if to shield your thoughts from prying eyes. “There’s no way. It’s not like that Harry would just randomly text someone asking for nail polish advice. Or just to play a silly game of questions everyday”

But the seed of doubt was planted. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking your trance. For a split second, you expected to see a message from him. But it was just a group chat notification—nothing exciting. You took a deep breath, willing your mind to behave. “Stop being ridiculous” you tought  “He was probably just some regular guy with the same first name, with the same kind of business. Nothing more.”

Still, as you walked away from the shop, the memory of his texts lingered, trailing behind you like the shadow of a question you couldn’t quite answer. Was it possible? Could he have been the Harry all along? The thought was outrageous, yet your heart raced with the tiniest flicker of hope—or was it just pure curiosity? You slipped your phone out of your pocket, scrolling back through weeks of messages. One by one, you opened the pictures he had sent, your eyes scanning every corner, every detail, hoping for something—a slip-up, a clue, anything to confirm or dismiss the wild idea.

There was the photo of the nail polish color samples, laid out on a dark wooden table. You zoomed in on the edge of the frame. The faintest reflection of something metallic—jewelry? A ring? You’d noticed his hand before, polished nails and all, but now you studied it with new intent.

Then, there was the picture of a cat, curled up on a plush couch. The background caught your attention this time: the kind of sleek, minimalist decor that wouldn’t look out of place in a magazine. It could belong to anyone, really…but why did it suddenly seem so…familiar? Your finger hovered over the screen as you stared at his name in your contacts: Harry. Just Harry.

And yet, the thought wouldn’t leave you alone. You zoomed in on one last photo—the corner of his shoe peeking into the frame of a sunset he’d sent you. White Sambas. Completely ordinary. But the tiniest voice in the back of your mind whispered, or maybe not.

You locked your phone and shoved it back into your pocket, your cheeks burning as if someone had caught you red-handed in your amateur sleuthing. “Get a grip,” you thought. “Even if it was him, he’d never admit it. And honestly, why would he have time to text a stranger?”

Still, the idea danced at the edge of your thoughts, impossible to ignore. As you walked away from the Pleasing shop, a small, secret smile tugged at your lips. Even if it was crazy, the idea was kind of…fun.

The easy back-and-forth continued for days, it was like a month by now, his messages feeling less like texts from a stranger and more like snippets of a conversation with someone familiar. You felt lighter, laughing more often, and somehow the world didn’t seem quite as dull as it did a few weeks ago.

Then, one night, came a new question:

“If you could pick one place to meet a stranger for the first time, where would it be?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. Is this what I think it is?

Your heart jumped as you stared at the screen, the words blurring for a second. You thought for a moment, carefully choosing your response before typing: “A café. Casual, safe, easy to leave if they’re weird. Full of people, maybe near a police station if they’re a serial killer. You?”

His response came quicker than you expected.

“But if you could pick an estimated time to meet a stranger, how long would you wait to feel comfortable with it?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Nice try, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Tulip 🌷.”

Oh no. That wasn’t your stomach growling in hunger; those were butterflies. Actual, undeniable butterflies. Was it even possible to feel something for someone you had no idea what they looked like? What if he was totally different in person, the opposite of this charming, thoughtful guy behind the texts?

Harry had started calling you Tulip after you’d mentioned they were your favorite flowers, and somehow, it stuck. Now, every time he used it, it made you smile like a fool.

Maybe his question was just a throwaway comment, harmless banter before he said goodnight. Or... maybe it wasn’t.

----

One Friday morning, you found yourself buried in work at a café you liked to visit when you needed a break from your desk. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of quiet chatter helped you focus on a new project.You were mid-email when your phone buzzed. 

“Today’s question: what’s your go-to coffee order?”

You smiled, grabbed your cup, and snapped a quick picture to attach to your reply. “An iced latte with oat milk. Drinking one right now.”

“Is that a café?”

“Yeah, it didn't feel like an office day today.”

Moments later, your phone buzzed again, and your stomach dropped.

“…I think I see you.”

Your heart stuttered. Wait. What? Your eyes flicked around the café with a mixture of curiosity and panic. Students were typing away on laptops, a few professionals were deep in email mode, and a couple laughed over their pastries at the next table. Everything seemed normal—except now you felt like you were being watched. You straightened in your seat, pretending to be calm while your mind raced. Another buzz.

“I don’t mean to freak you out, but… blue sweater, iced latte, corner seat by the window?”

Your stomach did a flip. That was definitely you. The serial killer theories came roaring back in your brain.

“Okay, very funny. That was just a lucky guess, wasn’t it?” You hit send, not sure if you wanted him to be joking or if you secretly hoped he was serious.

“No joke. I swear.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you set the phone down. You scanned the room more carefully now, eyes darting from one face to another. Was it the guy with the newspaper in the corner? The barista behind the counter? And then, you saw him.

A man near the door, half-hidden behind sunglasses and a black baseball cap, a scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, holding a cup. He was leaning casually against the wall, phone in hand.

Holy fucking shit. No. No way. Your brain scrambled for logic. This was just a dream, right? Some random coincidence. But your phone buzzed again, yanking you back into reality.

“Disappointed?”

Your breath hitched. He’d sent the text just as you watched him tap his phone. And when your screen lit up, he glanced up—right at you.

It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was him. Harry. Your Harry. and Everyone's Harry Styles.

PART 2!!

-------

[cosmicdahlias]

I Like Hearing You Talk

Logan Howlett x Reader

MINORS DNI

You’ve pined for Logan since the day he came into your life. He makes you so flustered you can barely speak around him. After Wade interrupts your drunken moment together, you’re left feeling incredibly pent up and in desperate need of release.

tags: caught mid-masturbation, oral, face sitting, multiple orgasms, p in v, big dick hurts, rough sex, choking, creampie

y’all i got nothing to say this time, i’m just down bad for logan 😭

Living with Logan Howlett had proved to be… frustrating. For most this would be due to his incredibly abrasive personality, however for you it was for an entirely different reason.

You found him PAINFULLY attractive. He was rough around the edges, blunt, quick tempered, and would maul anyone with his foot long claws if they dared look at him wrong. All of these things should have scared you off, but it only made him more alluring.

Ever since your other roommate, Wade, had introduced him to you, it had been so hard to not feel that primal need deep within your core. You struggled to even form sentences when he talked to you. He didn’t just give you butterflies, he gave you the whole damn garden. So when he invited you to sit on the couch with him and share a few drinks you felt like you were going to spontaneously combust.

An hour had passed and even though the help of a little liquid courage made it significantly easier to talk to him, you were still very much flustered. You had been telling the story of how you and Wade met back in the days when he was still a merc-for-hire.

“But yeah, essentially I hired him to rough up my abuser, make him finally pay for all the shit he did to me.”

“What’d he do to the fucker?”

“Honestly what DIDN’T he do? He beat him so bad that from what I heard he could barely even crawl. Wade gave me one of his teeth, said it was ‘a souvenir of a job well done’.”

“Well was it? A job well done?”

“I mean he never bothered me again.”

“Good, but if he ever does decide to be enough of a dumbass to come near you just let me know and I’ll take care of it. Can’t guarantee he’ll still be breathing after I’m done with him though.”

“That might be going too easy on him.” You joked.

Logan chuckled and took a sip of his drink.

“You know it’s funny, this is the most I’ve ever heard you speak.” He said.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah, I like hearing you talk.”

“Y- you do?” You stammered, your cheeks turning a dusty pink.

Logan tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I really do.”

You felt your heart thump rapidly in your chest. Everything within you was screaming for you to kiss him, but your whole body felt like concrete, immobile. Logan took your cheek in his hand, coming in so close that his lips almost brushed against yours.

“Do I have to make the first move, babygi-“

Wade burst into the room and the two of you jumped back from each other.

“GUYS! YOU’RE NEVER GONNA BELIEVE WHO JUST GOT FRONT ROW TICKETS TO MADONNA! I MIGHT’VE HAD TO SELL A KIDNEY, BUT THIS HANDSOME MOTHERFUCKER REGENERATES SO I BASICALLY GOT THEM FOR FREE!” He shouted, sitting next to you on the couch.

The rest of the night was spent with Wade completely, and unknowingly, third wheeling you two and killing all possible sexual tension.

The next day your mind ruminated heavily on the night before, you had been so close to finally having his lips on yours. You played out in your head how differently things could’ve gone had Wade not interrupted. Images of Logan taking you, claiming you from every position consumed your thoughts. By the time you came home from work the overwhelming need to touch yourself was too much to ignore.

You quickly said “hi” to Logan and stole yourself to your room, undressing and lying back on the bed. You wasted no time letting your fingers move straight to your clit, your other hand caressing one of your breasts.

You closed your eyes and moaned softly, imagining Logan’s strong hands in place of yours. You allowed your mind to echo his voice uttering words of praise, telling you all the things you desperately wanted to hear from him.

“Mmmnn, Logan.” You whimpered as you felt yourself grow close.

At that very same moment your door swung open.

“Hey, you alright? I thought I heard- oh shit.” Logan said.

You jumped nearly a foot out of your skin and your eyes snapped open to the sight of him in the doorway. You quickly pulled the covers over yourself.

“FUCK! WAIT! I WASN’T- I- hold on, could you hear me?”

“Did you forget how thin the walls are?”

“Motherfucker.” You groaned.

Logan closed the door behind him and walked over to stand at your bedside.

“Now, my turn to ask a question with an obvious answer. Who were you thinking about?” He asked.

You felt your heart do a somersault.

“You really want me to say it?”

He cupped your chin, stroking your lips with his thumb.

“Yeah, I do.” He said softly, pulling down the covers to reveal your body.

His eyes looked you up and down with the intensity and hunger of a wild animal.

“You, Logan.” You said softly.

“Yeah? Then is this little pussy all wet because of me?” He asked, slipping a hand between your legs.

You nodded.

“Thought so.”

He dragged the pads of his fingertips along your wetness.

“Now, why don’t you finish giving me that little show I walked in on?” Logan instructed, leaning down to kiss you passionately.

You turned deep scarlet.

“Logan, I-“

“C’mon babygirl, you were so close.” He coaxed, taking your hand and guiding it down. “Are you gonna be good girl and cum for me?”

You drew circles against your clit and with a shudder felt the pleasure return to you. Logan watched you intently.

“Fuck, I can’t hold myself back, not with you looking like this. I need your mouth around my cock.”

Logan unbuckled his belt, unzipping his jeans and pulling out his intimidatingly massive cock. Your jaw dropped at the sheer size of him.

“Holy shit, Logan.”

“You good?”

“Yeah, my jaw might not be.”

Logan turned your head to face his throbbing cock.

“It’s alright, only take what you can handle.”

You went to take him past your lips when he stopped you.

“Wait, one second.”

He reached over you, turning your stuffed animal on the bed to face the wall.

“Logan Howlett, what a gentleman.” You laughed.

“Hey, I’m just protecting their innocence. Now c’mon, keep touching yourself and open that pretty little mouth for me.” He said.

Logan guided himself into your mouth and you took him down to the base of his shaft.

“Fuuuuck babygirl, no one’s ever gone all the way down before.” He groaned, tangling his fingers in your hair.

He bucked his hips against your face as you stroked your clit.

“How the fuck are you not choking on me? You ever sucked cock this big before?”

You shook your head with him still in your mouth, Logan chuckled.

“No? Guess you just got lucky to not have a gag reflex. God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

You whimpered around him at his words, growing close.

“That’s it, keep going for me babygirl, yeah, yeah like that. Make yourself cum with my cock in your mouth.” He said as he throbbed against your tongue.

Your back arched off of the mattress as you felt yourself tip over the edge. Your moans were muffled by Logan’s cock buried deep in your throat.

“Jesus, you moaning like that feels too goddam good.” He grunted, giving one last thrust into your mouth before pulling out.

He watched as your orgasm subsided, the heaving of your chest slowly steadying. He lowered his hand between your thighs, slipping his fingers inside you and curling them against just the right spot to make you writhe underneath him. He pulled out his fingers, taking them in his mouth and giving a growl.

“I can’t fuckin’ resist, I need you to sit on my face. Just tasting you isn’t enough.”

He moved onto the bed and picked you up, lowering you to straddle his face. His hot breath lingered on you for a second before his mouth made contact with your clit. Having cum already, it wouldn’t take long for him to get you there again. You laced your fingers in his dark hair.

“Oh god, Logan.” You whined as you felt your orgasm build.

“Mmm, fuck.” He growled against your clit.

The deep rumble of his voice vibrated through you, making you gasp as you came again for a second time. Your grip on his hair tightened as every single wave of pleasure rippled through you, rolling your hips involuntarily on his face.

You panted breathlessly, the only words coming out of your mouth being “Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmy-“

Logan took your hand in his.

“Hey, hey, easy babygirl. Breathe.”

He picked you up off of his face, lying you down on the bed. He shrugged off his flannel, pulling his white shirt from over his head and slipping his jeans off his legs. He returned his attention to you, lifting up your lower half by your thighs and slipping a pillow under your ass.

“What’s that for?” You asked.

“Makes me able to go even deeper and hit all the right spots. Trust me, I’ve been around for over two centuries which is more than enough time to figure out what feels good.”

“You know, I’ve always had a thing for older men, but you might be pushing it for me, Logan.”

He cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

“But there isn’t a gray hair on me, is there?”

“Yeah, and it’s honestly a shame you don’t age like the rest of us. You’d be damn good looking with some salt and pepper hair.”

“I think Wade said there’s a variant of me like that.”

“Well shit, I got the inferior model?” You teased.

“Watch it babygirl, or I might just have to fuck you hard enough to shut you up.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Only if you want it to be.” He said with a smirk.

Logan sat on his knees and pulled you by your hips to him, your legs against his chest. He pressed the head of his cock against the entrance of your pussy.

“I’ll start slow so it’ll be easier for you take me. Just tell me to stop if it’s too much. Alright?”

“Okay.” You said softly.

“Attagirl.”

He gingerly slid his way in. Despite his attempts to be gentle you still struggled to accommodate him. You winced and drew a sharp breath.

“Shhh, easy babygirl. You’re doing so well for me, but you need to relax if you want this to feel good.”

It was beyond attractive to see this side of him, so soft and affectionate. You knew only certain people had been privy to this. He buried himself to the hilt, pausing to let you adjust.

“I’m gonna start moving. Think you can handle it?” Logan asked.

“Y- yeah.”

“Good girl.”

Logan began to thrust at a gentle pace.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He groaned.

Even though he was going slow it felt like he was ripping you in half, but it felt good, incredibly good. You wanted more, you needed to see how that raw, aggressive nature played out in the bedroom.

“Harder.” You whined.

Logan’s brow furrowed.

“Babygirl, you’re already struggling to take me as it is.”

“I know, but I want you to tear me apart. Fuck me like an animal, Logan.”

You felt him throb inside you.

“Fuck, why didn’t you let me walk in on you sooner?”

Logan increased his pace dramatically, fucking you with an animalistic intensity. By god did it hurt and you loved every second of it. Noises, a mix of pleasure and pain, escaped from your mouth. He cocked a brow at your yelps and whines.

“You doing alright there?” Logan asked.

“Y- yeah, h- hurts so good.”

“Goddam babygirl, you really do like it rough, huh? You’re gripping me like crazy. Here, I think this’ll help you relax a little.”

His hand moved to stroke your clit, drawing circles against the delicate, sensitive skin. You bucked your hips, taking his cock further inside you.

“Goddam, look at you, fuckin’ yourself back against me. Tell me how much you love this cock splitting you in half.”

He fucked you even faster, purposefully trying to make it harder for you to speak. All you could manage was a whimper.

“C’mon babygirl, you know I like hearing you talk.” He teased, slowing his pace slightly to let you answer.

“Y- you fe-el i- incredible, b- biggest I’ve e- ever h- had.”

“That’s my girl, so good for me.” He said, resuming his brutal rhythm.

You moaned at Logan’s praise and he felt you tighten around him.

“Oh you like that don’t you? You wanna be my good girl?” He smirked, knowing he’d found your weakness.

“P- please.” You murmured.

“Good, because you’re fuckin’ mine now.”

The sound of Logan’s hips meeting yours reverberated throughout the room. He grunted at every thrust, sliding his cock out until only the tip remained inside and then sharply forcing himself back in again, making you take every single inch. His nails on the hand that wasn’t on your clit dug into your calf.

“Choke me.” You begged.

He let out a deep chuckle.

“Damn babygirl, aren’t you just a little masochist? How could I say no when you’ve been such a good girl for me?”

With one hand still on your clit, Logan wrapped his other around your throat, squeezing it tight. You let out a strained moan.

“Yeah, makes things feel even better, doesn’t it?” He purred.

Between the feeling of Logan’s hand gripping your neck, his fingers stroking your clit, and being fucked hard and fast by a cock thicker than a beer bottle, you felt your orgasm begin to build. Logan was right on the edge as well.

“Fuck, I’m so close. You gonna cum too, babygirl?” He asked, releasing your throat.

“Y- yeah, I’m- oh g- god.” You whined.

“Good girl, cum with me.”

His words were all it took. Your breathing becoming shallow and fast as you felt yourself come undone, pulsing around him. Logan groaned, burying himself deep within you, his hot, thick cum coating your insides.

“Jesus fuuuuuckin’ Christ, you feel so perfect.” He panted as he gave his last few thrusts.

You whimpered as Logan slowly pulled out and laid beside you, pulling you to him with your head against his chest. You both lay in silence for a moment, him stroking your back before finally speaking.

“You know, when I offered to have drinks with you last night I thought you’d take the hint. I was really banking on you at least kissing me, before Wade killed the mood and all.”

“I wanted to, I just…” You trailed off.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Just what?”

You fidgeted with the hair on his chest.

“I dunno, I just feel like you’re way out of my league. You’re incredibly handsome and I’m… me.”

He gave a chuckle.

“I’m sorry, but that’s the stupidest goddam thing I’ve ever heard, and that says a lot because we live with Wade. Babygirl, do you not see how fuckin’ gorgeous you are?”

You felt your cheeks turn pink.

“You think so?”

He kissed the top of your head.

“Of course I do, been dreaming of this since I met you. Not gonna lie, wanting you as badly as I did when you were too nervous to even talk to me was kinda torture. There was a few times you almost walked in on me the same way I did with you.”

“O- oh.”

“Yeah, it’s uh… it’s been a while since someone’s made me feel like this. When you live in a world where everyone hates you there isn’t much opportunity for even just casual fucking.”

You looked up at him.

“Sounds lonely.” You said softly.

Logan kissed your forehead.

“Doesn’t matter now that you’re finally talking to me.”

“If you’re referring to what we just did, you’ve got a weird idea of what talking is.”

“Yeah? Then how about we continue our conversation?” He said, turning you over onto your back and kissing his way down your body.

“Very smooth, Logan.”

[dead-end-draws]

WOF tribe Merchant/Trading booth concepts:

Hey folks! This one was the recent winner of this WOF poll, so here’s my concept art that headcannons trading in Pyrrhia.

Read below cut for close-ups of the individual booths + the thought process / headcannons behind the design choices: 👇

Skywings: The Sky Kingdom’s mountain ranges provide plenty of pasture for raising sheep. As such, Skywing shepherds benefit from traveling to sell their wool, dyes, fabric, and woven tapestries. Many of these merchant tables also include herbs grown exclusively in the mountains, or ibex drinking horns that can be strapped on a dragon’s shoulder & carried in flight.

Along with goods, Skywing merchants may offer sewing services to fix tears, burn marks, or other fabric damage. They are sought out for their quality clothing, and most fabric across Pyrria originated from a Skywing’s talons.

Mudwings: Mudwings’ abundant food & cooking skills are envied almost anywhere in Pyrrhia. Their swamps have fertile soil, responsible for hosting diverse crops which can be purchased as produce at merchant stalls. For those lucky enough to find a traveling Mudwing merchant, the promise of a delicious dish can be whipped up and served at the stall in no time. Along with produce goods, Mudwings sell weaved baskets, spices, and cooking ware.

Sandwings: Sandwing booths offer luxuries of the desert: It’s most common to find accessories such as gold carved jewelry or musical instruments such as drums, lyres, & mandolins for sale. Though, even more sought out across Pyrrhia is Sandwing tattoos/piercings, which are done within the merchant areas. Ink etchings on papyrus paper are stationed outside their tents to showcase designs. All which can be selected, and poked into the skin with a tapping stick and plant dye ink by a trained talon.

Seawings: SeaWings sell a variety of ocean related goods; taking a share in the fish market with Icewings. Outside of food, there are den decorations like driftwood carvings, accessories such as seashell & pearl jewelry, and rope nets weaved by expert Seawing sailors. Some Seawings even sell fishing equipment, canoes, or offer sailor knot tying instructions to curious dragon buyers.

Nightwings: During the war, it was near impossible to find a Nightwing merchant. Most refused to participate in merchant territory, mostly as a way to keep up with their tribe’s mysterious nature.

Though in the more shady, unground parts of the market you can buy from a huge selection of obsidian weaponry, the sharpest in Pyrrhia. No one knew initially how Nightwings smithed so many weapons, or why, until their secret volcano kingdom and the intention to invade the rainforest was discovered. Then forging armor & weapons became clear. Along with a vast armory, for the right price, some Nightwing merchants offer Prophecies & Nightwing Literature (not always guaranteed to always be reliable) and assassin services as well (very reliable).

Rainwings: Though Rainwings haven’t been part of Pyrrhia trading for years, they have a vast hold on dragon medicine. An apothecary of herbs, salves, and remedies are all offered for various ailments due to the rainforest’s abundant resources. Along with medicinal goods, many Rainwings are fruit vendors, promising to any hesitant meat-eating dragons that such an array of flavors isn’t to be missed. Though, their fruit selling pitches often fall flat to most other predominantly meat-eating tribes.

Icewings: Icewings have everything a dragon could need to brace the cold, with a selection of goods only found in the most frigid regions of Pyrrhia. Furs, bone jewelry, and fresh fish (thanks to frost breath) are served on ice. Though Icewings themselves don’t require fur to withstand the cold, it’s considered fashionable and common in upper ranks to wear fur as a status symbol. Since metal is hard to smith without fire & in cold temperatures, fur and bone are more accessible to Icewings for clothing statements.

[acourtofchaos]

'TILL WE TURN TO BONE | Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Summary: An unwanted reunion with your cheating ex forces Mattheo and you, his best friend, to confront your feelings for each other. [14.7K]

Warnings: 18+, soft smut, oral (fem receiving), piv, cheating ex, rough breakup, minor violence, insecurities, slightly feral, protective mattheo but he's soft as fuck with you 🖤

A/N: i'm back with another re-write of old fics, but this one absolutely took on a life of its own and turned into this chunky beast

He was not sure what came over him.

Mattheo had, of course, always been known for a terrible lack of impulse control, for the rapid flare of his anger that followed more often than not, but it was rarely ever like this.

It rarely felt like he could tear someone to shreds with trembling, bare hands and the dull bite of blunt nails. Ripping at them until they peeled apart, ribbon by ribbon, until there was nothing left but a miserable pile of blood soaked skin and massacred entrails.

There was simply just something that made him irrationally protective over you - something that blossomed from deep within his soul to coil tight around the stuttering flesh of his heart like tendrils of ivy.

And it didn't matter how much he denied it. The many different ways he thought of to try and explain to himself, to the friends you both shared, to absolutely everyone.

We’re just friends.

It always found a way to spectacularly burst out of him, to make his head spin like a top and all those lessons his brother gave him, the extensive hours of learning how to compartmentalise and switch off and to not get emotional, be wiped from his brain like they had never even existed.

Because it was you.

And if there was anything Mattheo absolutely loathed with every wretched fibre of his being - it was when somebody hurt you.

**

It all started when they were at honeydukes.

When they were stocking up on chocolate and sweets before buying firewhiskey afterwards because it was Friday, and they’ve had this tradition they’ve refused to let go of since they were sixteen. Films and takeout - snacks and booze - everything you need at the end of a stressful as fuck week.

You were in sweats and one of Mattheo’s old jumpers - one he once couldn’t find no matter how hard he had looked until you revealed you’d stolen it. Kept it as close as you'd so desperately wished to keep him when he’d followed Tom into the wrong side of their father's war.

Something to remember him by had you lost him for good, whether to death or to darkness.

He had been all but devastated when you'd told him - when you'd ultimately ended up following him with the intention of dragging them both out because you couldn't stand the thought of your best friend, or either of them really, getting manipulated by fear and undeserved loyalty into being weapons.

Into becoming the monsters they had always wrongly believed, somewhere wretched and wounded deep down, that they already were.

It had caused a seed of something aching and unruly to take root in his chest that still bloomed to life whenever he remembered, whenever he saw you in the worn material all these years later.

Because you glowed like this.

When you were both safe and alive after almost selling your souls to ensure it, when you wore that jumper and still looked at him with so much heartbreakingly lovely affection despite the reminder of all the terrible choices he had made along the way to here.

To you being happy and utterly at ease, trying to see just how many sweets he'd let you pile onto the already looming mountain in the basket hooked over his arm before he finally told you enough was enough.

Embarrassingly they hadn't discovered that final amount yet - he was still that bad at saying no to you after so many years. That undeniably suckered in by the sparkle of your grin and your too pretty eyes to ever want to be responsible for making them dull.

But then they did anyway.

One minute you were babbling about inventing a new snack for them to try and then your eyes flickered just beyond his shoulder and it was lights out. Your voice stolen from your throat and your glow diminished like a burning star swallowed up by the wide open maw of the ocean.

His brow furrowed and he was turning before you could stop him - expression instantly morphing to something dangerous - a dark, deadly shade of calm where the only hint of the gathering storm within him was an almost missable twitch of his jaw.

Because it was your ex.

The one you wouldn’t allow Mattheo to kill, slowly, painfully, despite everything he did. The one who reduced his angel of a best friend into a mere shadow - an empty husk cleaved in two.

He remembered the weight of your grief hitting him like it was his own, the way you couldn’t sleep and couldn’t eat and your eyes seemed in a permanent state of glassy red whilst you stared numbly at the walls of your bedroom.

He had felt lost, scared to smother you yet equally terrified of making you feel abandoned if he tried to keep his distance and in the end he had simply thought fuck it.

If you had wanted to be left alone you would have told him to leave and until that happened he had resolved himself to becoming a permanent presence at your side, dropping bags of your favourite food beside you for when you had the energy to pick through them and then slipping in the bed to curl himself around you.

Hoping if he held you tightly enough he could meld those shattered pieces of your heart back together.

You had murmured one day, voice smeared with sadness and a sense of self-loathing that had made Mattheo feel like his heart had been violently slammed against the bones of his ribs, leaving the muscle aching and bruised.

“You must think I’m pathetic.”

He had frowned, carefully turning you in his arms and dropping his chin so he could look into your eyes when he asked. “Why would I think that?”

You refused to meet his gaze however, seemingly far more interested in the old, worn fabric of his t-shirt beneath your fingertips.

“Look at me, Matty.” You had huffed, annoyed. “I’m supposed to be the best of the best, a member of the team of aurors who strike fear into dark wizards and witches everywhere, but instead I’m a fucking mess over a break up - unable to function like a normal human being just because I caught the man I thought I might marry sticking his dick in his assistant.”

He’d winced at the reminder, the memory of your devastated voice, hitching with rattled sobs, when you’d called him straight after.

Drawing back to study you then, he could still see the ghost of that raw agony, the echo of it present in your downturned lips and the bone-deep weariness lurking in your eyes. But there was also more - the stirrings of white-hot rage lurking beneath your pupils that you refused to allow to break the surface.

He'd knew you were attempting to skip over the uglier stages of your healing. Preferring to feel nothing because you have this tendency of turning your anger inward and letting it fester rather than deliver it at the feet of where it belongs.

It pissed him off to see you doing it then and so he’d switched tactics and prayed it wouldn’t backfire horrifically.

“Hey, anyone would be just as upset if they were in your position.” He shrugged casually. “I mean c’mon, an assistant? The lack of originality or imagination is just insulting.”

Mattheo felt you go deathly still - a statue in the circle of his arms - and held his breath.

“That’s what you think I should be upset about? The fact he wasn’t more imaginative about who he cheated on me with?” You questioned, incredulous.

At least you hadn’t straight up punched or hexed him.

“Not just that obviously but he could of at least been less of a stereotypical dick and fucked the head of department or something.”

“Mhm, because sleeping with the boss isn’t cliche at all?”

You were finally looking at him by then, using his chest as leverage to hover yourself above him with brows pinched like you were trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

He pretended not to notice - to be deep in thought before he snapped his fingers and grinned.

“I've got it - what about the cleaner? You never hear about anyone fucking them”

“Well for starters, the cleaner is a dude.”

“Even better.”

“He’s like seventy, Matty.”

“Everybody loves a cougar - ouch!”

He jerked as you pinched his hip, arms binding tighter around your body out of reflex and causing the weak press of yours keeping you above him to buckle. His chuckle had died in his throat as you’d fallen back into him, every inch of you pressed together and your nose brushing his whilst you’d regarded him.

He had felt something expand in his chest then - a swell of warmth that had made him swallow hard. He hadn’t managed to make you angry, his attempt at getting you to work through that part of your break up had failed but the end result was undeniably better.

You were smiling.

Not a full blown grin or anything close, it was subtle - just a faint curve of your lips but it was enough to make Mattheo practically giddy, like he’d taken a shot of pure adrenaline or liquidised sunshine.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t missed your smile.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” You’d chastised him half-heartedly . “Arsehole.”

Mattheo huffed a soft laugh. “You love me anyway.”

He felt your fingertips at his jaw - a fleeting, hesitant touch that had him sucking in sharp breath as your gaze swirled warm.

"Yeah, I do."

A tension had bloomed between them in the following silence, his eyes searching yours before subconsciously dropping to your mouth. He breathed and you moved with him, sunk deep into his chest with his trembling exhale as your head dipped lower until he felt like he could taste you on his tongue.

It would have only taken the slightest movement to kiss you - a small lift of his chin to seal his lips over yours and drink you down the way he'd secretly wished to for years. But he couldn't.

It would be wrong when you were in so much pain, your judgement clouded, even if it was what you thought you wanted.

He could kiss you and you'd regret it - you'd be mortified no doubt, either blaming yourself for using him to make yourself feel better or resent him for taking advantage of you in such a vulnerable state. And he couldn't bear the thought of either.

“C’mere.” He murmured instead. The tips of his fingers trailing over the swell of your cheek before they cupped the back of your head to tuck you back into him. He wondered if you could feel his pulse where your mouth skimmed his skin, if the wild thrum against your lips gave away how easily you could affect him without truly even trying.

The air was still heavy - still swollen thick with want and longing and the confusion he could feel in the trembling drum of your fingers over his heart.

Mattheo wanted to kick himself, he hadn't wanted to be another person who made you doubt yourself and you never would if you knew just how desperately he was clenching his jaw to stop himself from spewing his fucking feelings everywhere.

To stop himself saying, "If you want me to kiss you I will - I'll kiss you until I can't fucking breathe, until my damn lungs burst - just not when you're grieving for another guy. Come to me in a month, several months - a year. I'll wait and I'll kiss you until you can't remember any other name but mine."

Instead he croaked softly into your hair. "It's not pathetic to be weak when you need to be. Take as long as you need, I've got you."

**

You healed eventually.

You suffered and you overcame it - cried yourself dry before deciding one day that enough was enough and you bloomed once more. A wildflower sprouting from the rotting corpse of your ruined relationship.

There wasn't any mention of what had nearly happened between you and Mattheo, and he was okay with it.

He'd dealt with the fact you were probably just seeking comfort - that you didn't feel the same - because at the end of the day having you in his life as his best friend and nothing more was infinitely better than living without you.

And as long as you were happy, as long as he kept getting to see that glow in your eyes and the dazzling beam of your smile then Mattheo was happy too.

But now you weren’t.

You were looking at the boy who had once upon a time taken your happiness and cruelly obliterated it and he could see you crumbling that little bit. The ghosts of that old pain and humiliation coming back to twist the loveliness of your features into something shadowed. Haunted.

He reached out to touch your hand, drawing soft lines from your wrist to the tips of your fingers before he tangled them together.

Whether it was to steady you or lead you away he wasn't sure.

He wouldn't get the chance to decide because all of a sudden that voice was splitting through the air. Your name yelled across the brightly-coloured shop in such a way that it instantly felt like a grater being thrust over Mattheo’s nerves.

You blanched. Fingers tightening around his as your eyes darted from over his shoulder again and then back to his in horror.

"Oh shit - what the fuck do I do? He's coming over."

"Break his nose?"

"I'm serious, Matt."

"Oh, well in that case then a well-aimed crucio should work wonders."

"Mattheo!"

It was the panic lacing your voice that did it - that made him lose any real humour and rationality whilst his eyes flickered between your rapidly approaching ex and the insecurity bleeding through every move you made.

You were trying to smooth over your hastily shoved up hair, picking nervously at the way your clothes hung, and it took everything in Mattheo to not slap your free hand away. To not snap at you to stop it because he couldn't understand why you didn't see how soul-wrenchingly gorgeous you were no matter how you dressed.

He glared at your ex again - close enough now that Mattheo got the perfect view of him realising just exactly who you were standing with as his expression curdled.

Good.

Let it stick in his side like a cursed blade that Mattheo was still a permanent fixture alongside you, let it scrape against bone and nick at his shrivelled excuse of a heart that he had failed spectacularly in trying to drive a wedge between the two of you - something you had never seemed to realise but Mattheo had sniffed out immediately.

He watched the way the other boy's eyes narrowed at your hand in his, something disturbingly possessive lurking in those pale, soulless depths and Mattheo could have snarled at the sight. Teeth bared like the feral beast you sometimes liked to joke he was.

Not that he gave a damn if that was how he appeared, he'd gladly appear every bit the monster if it meant that this waste of oxygen stopped believing he had any right to look at you in that way - or any kind of way ever again.

“C’mere.” He told you lowly, voice slightly rough with his anger despite how he tried to gentle it for you, and his heart dove into a maddening pace at how easily you slipped closer and into his arms regardless. The way you happily let him tug you into his chest like you craved the closeness as he always did.

You blinked up at him and all that fury, that volatile energy crackling in his veins, almost bled out of him completely when the trust in your eyes made his breath catch. His lungs sputtering at the absolute look of faith that no matter what, Mattheo wouldn't let a single damn thing hurt you whilst he stood there breathing.

But then you were murmuring his name, soft as whisper, and he swallowed hard as his eyes drifted to your lips. His hand leaving yours to brush permanently bruised knuckles along your jaw.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He sighed, desperately trying to ignore the fierce ache in his chest when your eyes widened - lashes fluttering in surprise. “I won’t stand here and let him make you doubt yourself, not again, not when he’s the one who fucked up by letting someone as incredible as you go. Let me show him what he’s missing.”

And then he pressed his mouth to yours.

It was chaste at first, innocent, a barely-there touch to test the waters in case he was crossing an irredeemable line and you decided to shove him away, disgusted.

You didn't.

You returned it almost immediately. Soft lips moving gently beneath his own, a hesitant exploration that had Mattheo kiss drunk far too easily and seeking without thought to deepen it. The gentle nudge of his tongue made you gasp into his mouth, made your fingers scrape up his chest and around the back of neck to twist into his hair and press him closer.

And oh fuck, he was burning, his whole body going up like kindling and he couldn't care less if there was nothing left of him but ash afterwards. There was a broken sort of noise that echoed in his ears and he dazedly realised it had come from him just before your tongue brushed against his and he forgot everything.

How could he remember anything when there was no room left between them, Mattheo gathering you in his arms until he had you utterly sealed to him. The heat of you searing him despite the many layers and even then there was a part of him that craved you closer, like if he could crack himself open and let you crawl inside, he would.

He’d give you everything he could as long as you kept kissing him like that, your pretty soft mouth sounds swirling in his ears as it became something more hungered.

If he wasn’t careful he’d end up lost to you completely.

Maybe he already was, because it wasn’t until he heard an obnoxious voice pipe up right next to them that he realised just how utterly consumed he’d allowed himself to become.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You tensed and he kissed you once, twice more. Sweet brushes over swollen lips that kept your attention solely on him even as his mouth finally parted from yours achingly slow. His thumb trailed a path to your mouth where he rubbed at the spit-slick shine left there and grinned golden with pride as you shuddered with hooded eyes under the new attention.

“Ahem.”

It seemed your ex was still as arrogant and impatient as ever and it only made Mattheo’s grin morph into an insufferably satisfied smirk when he watched a flood of deep-seething irritation burst behind your pupils.

He turned then before you could say anything, slinging an arm around your shoulders to tuck you tight against his side - an unnecessary display after the show you’d both put on but he was positive it was worth it when the vein in your ex’s forehead seemed dangerously close to rupturing.

“Hello, Steven” Mattheo drawled, his voice dropping to something dark and silken, head tilting as his mocking stare glided over the man before him. “Did no one ever teach you it's rude to interrupt? I was under the impression that your irritating family valued manners and kissing the arse of their betters above all else. Daddy must be so disappointed that all that money he threw at the ministry to get you a job was a total waste if you can't even remember something so simple.”

For a moment he thought Steven would back off, abandon whatever stunt he was trying to pull by approaching you when he heard the venom in Mattheo’s tone, the shade of threat lingering just beneath the feigned calm, and shifted warily.

But apparently he had either forgotten the kind of person Mattheo could be, the kind of person that you could be, or he had deluded himself into thinking nothing would happen to him in such a public space.

Because he decided to ignore the blatant hostility radiating towards him with nothing more than a dismissive scoff, a disgusted glance barely thrown at Mattheo before he focused on you.

“Hardly. Unlike Riddle here, who's still in the same position he was when he started despite his family's ‘influence’, I've actually just been promoted.” He replied smugly, condescension rife in his tone as he added. “You're looking at the new head of the department of magical transportation.”

You snorted at that and Mattheo felt the corner of his lips twitch despite his irritation at your ex’s jab, his pathetic attempt at a display of power. He felt the laugh bubble in his chest and surge up his throat where he caught it and refused to let it slip free when you muttered a less than impressed ‘how riveting’.

“What about you?” Steven asked, and when he made a move as if he was about to step towards you, Mattheo's response was immediate. The shift of his body to tuck in you tighter and put more of himself in the way, making your ex stop in his tracks.

Huffing, “have you finally chosen something more suitable for a career than running around after criminals? You look better than you did when we were together, always coming home filthy and bruised.”

He felt you flinch against him like the words had knocked an old wound, like they had sharp nails that picked and dug at a scab until it was torn open and bleeding once more.

This was not the first time, Mattheo guessed, that you had taken a hit from this boy who was supposed to love you about your career, your occasionally roughed up appearance after a particularly hard day. And Mattheo was suddenly livid.

Rage had begun to spit in his belly, it snapped in his veins and scorched at the chambers of his heart that were full of every aspect of you that had ever been or would be. It made his breath still, every single part of his being tensing until it seemed like raw fury would burst him apart at the seams.

But then your hand was on his stomach like you knew, like you knew without a warm, grounding touch that the boy you were already holding so sweetly would violently crack and explode if he did not have that extra part of you connected to him.

He felt himself deflate as that hand slid slowly upwards, as it reached for that space above his heart and covered it lightly, tenderly. Fingertips tapping once, twice, a third and fourth time, in a quiet, steady rhythm for his galloping heart to follow.

And all the while you let the rest of your attention land where Steven remained, glaring at your hand on Mattheo's chest as if repulsed by the sight. Your own stare was flinty, cold and unyielding, as you chose to ignore the slight and simply responded,

“Thanks. But maybe don’t let Elvie hear you say that or has she come to her senses after finding you hanging out the back of someone else too?”

And if that quiet, lethal tone had been directed at Mattheo, he’d have seriously considered just fucking running for the hills - you were terrifying when somebody had the misfortune of pissing you off, a fact that had always made Tom proud and scared the other boys half to death- but he wasn't the one in danger this time and fuck, he could barely contain his delight.

Amusement forcing him to bury his face into your hair when an undeniably shit-eating grin bloomed across his face.

Steven, however, only tutted at you.

Annoyance briefly flashing through the haughty look on his face like he couldn't fathom how you were still not over it before he chastised. “Not this again. I told you that was just a one time thing - that I was just stressed with work and she was there. You didn’t have to make it into such a big deal.”

Mattheo stiffened, smile gone and head snapping in Steven's direction like a hound who had just scented blood. “A big deal?” He echoed, incensed, just as you straightened to your full height and your once mild expression shifted to something flat - a touch too calm.

“We were talking about a future together.” Your voice was blunt, deadpan and brittle, the laugh that followed somehow worse. “Buying a house and getting married, what kind of reaction did you expect when I found you fucking your assistant.”

“I expected you to understand that I had needs and you hadn’t been there. I was under a lot of stress and you were always too busy with ‘your boys’.”

Wait a fucking minute.

Him and the others had barely seen you at all before the break up. The day you returned and found out about the cheating you had just spent the week with them but that had been the first visit in months - Mattheo calling you half frantic because Tom’s nightmares had returned and his once apathetic brother had spiralled hard.

You had dropped everything to come running and it must have bothered the selfish, insecure, pathetic excuse of a wizard in front of you that much that he’d immediately done the worst thing he could just to spite you.

The realisation bred a whole new brand of anger, the sheer vehemence of it smashing against the walls of Mattheo’s skull, screaming through his chest to rattle the bones of his rib cage whilst he fought breathlessly to lock it down.

You, on the other hand, looked suddenly ill - stricken as your train of thought clearly followed the same path that his own had stumbled down only seconds before.

“I barely saw them.” You whispered before a snarl twisted your lovely features into something murderous. “I barely saw them because you always complained that I spent too much time with them and not enough with you. Because you accused me of being too close and having feelings for them.”

Steven pursed his lips at that, arching a cool brow as he gestured at where you were still snug beneath Mattheo’s arm - your own snaked around his waist in what he knew was an effort to ground yourself and not the incriminating evidence of romantic intimacy that your ex thought it was.

“Well it seems like I was right after all, doesn’t it?”

Oh, Mattheo was done.

He'd had suspicions that Steven hadn’t liked him, that he hadn’t approved of your friendship.

But to hear that he hadn’t liked you being friends with any of them, that he effectively did his best to keep you away from the boys who were your family whilst accusing you of potentially being the unfaithful one, made Mattheo so unbelievably delirious with rage that he almost couldn’t breathe from the force of it.

“You’re a piece of shit” He seethed, ignoring your warning murmur of his name as he dropped his arm from your shoulders and took a menacing step forward.

He watched the slight widening of Steven's eyes in panic before he attempted to cover his weakness with a pitiful scoff, uselessly trying to make himself look more intimidating when faced with Mattheo’s broad frame.

“Who do you think y-” Steven hissed but in a blur Mattheo surged forward, shoving the other boy into the shelves behind him with such force that the jars of sweets rattled and tilted, threatening to fall around them whilst he pinned him with both hands fisted in his collar.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit.” He reiterated harshly, voice rough, darkened with all the violence that had been steadily unlatching inside him. “She has always been too good for you. You knew it, we knew it, the only one who didn't realise was her and that’s why you were so fucking desperate to keep her away from us. Because you knew she would have figured it out a hell of a lot sooner with us right by her side.”

“I wanted her away from your miserable pining.” Steven spat and he froze. Shock, like a punch to the face, momentarily making him loosen his grip and your ex took quick advantage, shoving forward with what seemed to be all of his strength and knocking Mattheo a few steps back in your direction.

He laughed cruelly as he took in Mattheo’s expression awash with surprise, a spiteful gleam in his eyes.

“What? You didn’t think that I knew you were in love with her? How could I not with the way you constantly trailed after her like an adoring puppy.” He sneered and Mattheo’s stomach dropped when he heard your sharp intake of breath. “Tell me, how does it feel to have someone else's scraps? Though I guess you’re used to that now aren’t you - always second behind your brother in school and your parent's favour, so why should it be surprising that the girl you wanted didn’t want you first either.”

There was the faint ghost of a metallic tang in his mouth, an invisible crimson film on his bone-white teeth, like Mattheo knew exactly how Steven’s blood would taste and feel if he sank them down right then and ripped his fucking throat out.

The thought drowned out everything else in his head, muddling it all and clouding his vision in a veil of red until there was nothing left. Nothing but the ferociously compulsive chant of, make him bleed, make him bleed, make him bleed.

And when everything came swimming back through that familiar fog of darkness he hadn’t even realised he had lost it so violently until he was suddenly face to face with you.

Until Steven was back to being sprawled against the vivid green shelving and you were wedged between his quaking frame and Mattheo’s heaving one.

His sudden burst of wrath was still a wild, unruly thing - still tearing around inside his head, a vicious, incandescent roaring that you had stopped him from repeatedly smashing his fist into your ex’s face until his skin swelled an ugly bluish purple and split. Until the snap of bone was enough to satisfy his hunger for retribution.

But you were there and your hand was clasped around the fist Mattheo had unknowingly reeled back. The other one had smoothed out from its stern grip on his bicep to sweep up, up, up until you were cupping his jaw and brushing your thumb over his cheek.

And once you saw you had gained his attention you drew his forehead lovingly to yours, voice calm, devastatingly gentle, as you told him. “Matty don’t listen to him okay, listen to me, he’s not worth it. Everything you ever said about him was right and he’s not worth it. I refuse to let you get arrested because of a worthless piece of shit like him.”

You gripped his chin, pressing the softest kiss to his mouth without the slightest hesitation and his heart spasmed. “Let’s just go home, yeah? I don’t want to waste any more time on him. Not when I just want to be with you.”

The last part was a whisper, an intimacy for him alone, and every part of him melted with it. Like it was a balm to the raw edges of all that howling rage that you seemed to only ever be capable of providing.

“Okay.” He answered simply, hoarsely, and you beamed as he tugged the hand still wrapped around his raised fist to his mouth and planted a ridiculously sweet kiss to your knuckles before stepping back and pulling you with him.

He began to lead you away, ignoring the way other customers weren't even hiding that they'd been watching, their jars of sweets held in limp, uninterested hands as they whispered excitedly between themselves.

Instead, he turned slightly one last time to call over his shoulder to your ex. “I would say see you around, but I’d rather avada myself before that happens.”

“Fuck you, Riddle.” Steven spat back, vindictive in his humiliation. “You’re pathetic, she’s using you and you're so desperate for someone to love you that you can’t even fucking see it. She’ll chew you up and spit you back out and you’ll probably still be begging her to let you fuck her, you sad wast-”

You slammed your fist into his nose before he could finish and his insults shattered into a high pitched wail of agony that echoed through the sweetshop.

Mattheo hadn’t even seen you move - couldn’t even remember feeling you tug your hand from his, you had been that fast. A vengeful crash of lightning cased in bone and flesh, striking before anyone else had time to blink.

He watched you with his mouth agape as you shook your hand out - flexing your fingers with a look of dark, fleeting curiosity at the blood sprayed across your skin before your gaze swung back to the boy whining on the ground at your feet.

You stalked closer and he cowered - pride swelling in Mattheo’s chest at the power radiating from every inch of you.

He admired it as you dropped smoothly into a crouch, as the venom Steven prepared to weakly spit withered and died on his tongue when you lent forward and whispered something that Mattheo couldn’t hear but whatever it was, it made your ex gulp and nod frantically.

It was so stupidly attractive and he could barely regain control of his features that had glazed over in a ravenous, unrepentant want before you rose and turned back to him, the movement lazy with self-satisfaction.

“Ready to go?” You grinned.

Salazar help him, he was so fucking in love with you.

Mattheo’s face fell then.

If you had heard what your ex had said and believed him, then you knew it too.

Fuck.

**

The journey home was tense.

Did you know? Was he supposed to ask or did he wait to see if you mentioned anything?

He tried studying you out of the corner of his eye as he walked, the fading sun and the flickering of the streetlights coming to life, illuminating the lovely planes of your face but little else.

No hint of what you were feeling - if you had any feelings at all towards what you had possibly overheard.

Even watching you now he felt at a loss - like a code he’d always been able to decipher had all of a sudden switched up on him and he didn’t even know where to start cracking it again.

You moved around his kitchen easily, pulling out bowls and glasses for whatever you could scavenge together to make up for the fact you'd had to leave everything behind that you’d picked out at Honeydukes.

There was a domesticity to the way you were so comfortable in his space, like you belonged there, like it had always been your own as much as it was his and it made something golden fizz through Mattheo's veins at how right it felt.

His attention drifting whilst he revelled in the warmth of it and he didn’t realise you were talking to him until you were stepping close to wave a hand in his face.

“Earth to Matty.” You laughed and he blinked, startled, before offering a sheepish grin that soon fell in concern as he gently grabbed your wrist.

A noise of discontent rose in his throat whilst he inspected your hand. “You’re hurt, you should have told me.” He accused softly and before you could shrug it off he was letting go just to drop his hands to your waist - lifting you on to the dark, glossy countertop with a shameless grin at your surprised yelp of his name.

“Just sweeping you off your feet, princess.” He winked and you snorted before rolling your eyes - muttering jesus, you’re such an idiot as he hunted for the first-aid kit under the kitchen sink.

“Haven’t you played the knight in shining armour enough for one night.” You teased, watching him playfully when he returned to dump a small box on the counter before slotting himself between your thighs. “Seriously Matt, it’s just a few scrapes, I’ll live.”

“Not if you get an infection, now stay still.” He grumbled - pulling out wipes, antiseptic cream and a roll of bandage before picking up your hand to inspect the damage again. “You got him good.”

A small, cheeky smile graced your mouth at his praise, proud and utterly captivating. “Yeah well, serves him right for thinking he can say shit about you.”

It took everything in him to bite back a wicked grin at that, hiding his elation as he used his teeth to tear open a wipe - using the distraction of tending to your hand to ignore your gaze on him - the way his body was reacting to your proximity now that he knew what it felt like to have you pressed into him. Kissing him.

“Remind me why you aren't healing this with magic?”

“Punishment.”

“For what?” You demanded petulantly, offence flaring in your gaze before the little bright burst of pain from the wipe mellowed it back out to something slightly pathetic.

Something so endearing that Mattheo didn't know whether to laugh or to lay down a flurry of apologetic kisses just shy of the stinging cut.

Instead, he tilted his head up and shot you an amused glance as he tossed the wipe and grabbed the cream, taking greater effort than before to dab it gently over your broken skin. “You know the rules, Rocky. You fight outside of work and you have to heal up like a muggle so you think twice before doing it again.”

“Those are the rules for you.” You huffed back at him, a half hearted scowl on your face that he definitely wanted to kiss until it melted into a pretty, satisfied grin beneath his lips. Fuck, he was pathetic. “You're the one who can't go a day without punching someone, you psycho, this was a one time thing.”

“So you think it should be one rule for one and not for others - that's not very lawfully fair of you. Are you sure you should be an auror?”

Your head fell back in exasperation. “I hate you.” You muttered, but it was too fond, too drenched in affection for Mattheo to react any other way besides chuckling warmly.

“No you don't.” He smirked, voice devilish, taunting, as his eyes rose to meet yours briefly once more. “Now be a good girl and be quiet whilst I wrap this - you're being too distracting.”

Silence followed.

Just like he'd asked for because you were too busy staring down at him in surprise. The moment lasting a little too long to be ignored as you blinked, lips parted ever so slightly, and he hated the blazing heat that rushed through his entire body at the realisation he had made you flustered.

The way something ached and pulsed in his stomach as his mind flooded with all the other ways he could make you flush if something as simple as calling you good girl was enough to have that perfect brain of yours emptied. That whip-sharp tongue falling silent.

Salazar help him, how was he supposed to concentrate like this?

He bit down on a groan and attempted to force the thoughts from the head, refusing to pay attention to anything other than the texture of the bandage as he rolled it out in his hands, as he cut off the amount he needed and distractedly took your hand back into his own.

He felt like he was having trouble breathing properly, his blood refusing to cool no matter how much he willed it, your closeness to him not helping when all he could see in his mind was the way something had flashed in your eyes, quicker than even he could decipher, and how he was almost desperate to know what it was.

His heart would not stay at a normal pace and as it stuttered and beat itself violently against the cage of his ribs, he wondered if it was possible to die from something like this. From the desire and longing trapped and blistering beneath his skin, a wicked hot thing that was trying to burn him from the inside out.

Matty?” You asked quietly and it took everything in him not to jump, not to flush guiltily as he made a quiet noise of acknowledgement, a rumbled hmm in his throat before he glanced up at you curiously beneath the dark fan of his lashes when the silence stretched on and you didn’t continue.

You were chewing your lip - a hesitant look on your face - and there was barely a chance for him to swallow down the excruciating urge he felt to gently tug it free with hid thumb, to soothe away the rawness with soft touches and his mouth pressed to yours.

Barely a chance for his stomach to drop as his frazzled mind finally registered fuck, this is it, when you suddenly blurted. “Why did you kiss me?”

Because I couldn’t stand to see you breaking all over again when you’ve come so far.

Because you deserved to make your shithead ex feel as insignificant as he made you feel.

Because you needed my help and I’d give my fucking soul if it mean’t you never had to doubt yourself that way again.

He ran each reason through his mind and just as quickly discarded every one. They were too revealing - those truths that he weighed on the tip of his tongue too heavily threaded with another.

I love you.

So instead he shoved it all back, his nervous gaze dropping back to where he was looping the bandage tightly around your hand whilst he scrambled to come up with something that wouldn't make you too suspicious.

“Mistletoe.”

Nailed it.

“Mistletoe?” You echoed, the choked off noise of barely-restrained laughter colouring your tone.

So much for avoiding suspicion, but maybe he could still work with this.

“Mhm, saw it and had a moment of divine inspiration. You're welcome.”

“Matty, it's February.”

He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips as he carefully tied off the bandage. “Maybe they forgot about it, not everyone has the decorations down practically a day later like you, weirdo.”

“Yeah because you make me put them up in November, Mattheo.” You shot back.

And then there was silence - a heartbeat moment where they just stared at each other, all soft, warm smiles and breathy laughter and when did you get so close, because Mattheo was sure as hell when this conversation started you weren’t right there.

Not right where he could see every individual fleck of colour in your eyes and the way your lashes fluttered as his breath fanned over your lips.

He wanted to resist but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop himself.

It was like you were staring right through him and he was helpless but to spill everything - to peel back his skin and crack apart his ribs to let you take a peek at the mess of his heart just so he could sate that unsatisfied gleam of curiosity you held.

“I hate him.” He declared with such sudden vehemence that it had your eyebrows raising and your lips parting in surprise. “I hate that he hurt you and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. I hate that he made you feel like you were worthless and I hate that he can make you doubt yourself even after all this time because you are fucking incredible and an absolute saint and lets be honest we’d all probably be dead or at least significantly more traumatised without you.”

A small chuckle slipped past your lips then, watery and thin, and the sight of your trembling smile and glistening eyes made him ache - made him yearn to wrap his arms around you and cradle you flush against his chest.

Instead he took your face into the warm cup of his hands and swept his thumbs in tender strokes over the swell of your cheeks, resisting every cell in his body that was screaming at him all the while to kiss you there and then until you were both breathless.

“Do you know what I think I hate the most?” He whispered, shuddering slightly as your fingers trailed gently up his arms to rest around his wrists. “That he had everything. Everything I ever wanted and he threw it away like it was nothing. I could kill him for that alone.”

You sucked in a breath and he forced himself to hold your searching gaze whilst his heart threatened to erupt. “Matt,” You eventually croaked, eyes troubled and brows knit into a soft frown. “I know today has been a lot, but please, don’t say anything you don’t really mean.”

"When have I ever?"

You hummed a half-hearted acknowledgement, still unsure. “Are you trying to tell me that you- that what Steven said? Was that true?”

He had to tell you.

He'd gotten this far, gotten to experience this semblance of relief blossoming in his gut because he’d coveted these feelings for so long and despite the fact he knew it was going to hurt catastrophically in the end, it also felt so fucking good to finally be honest with you.

And maybe it was wishful thinking but if he just got it out for you to tell him that you didn't feel the same then he could maybe find a way to not make things weird and move the fuck on.

“Before I answer that.” He coughed, clearing his throat, mouth suddenly dry as bone. Fuck, this was terrifying. “I need you to know that I’m not expecting anything from you. I know you don’t feel the same and it’s okay - I’m okay with it. I don’t want to lose you so if I get it out in the open, we can work past it and nothing has to change.”

“Matty.” You murmured, before one of your hands leaves his to cradle his jaw.

His eyes fluttered closed.

Now or never.

“I love you.” It punched out of him, powerful like so many of Mattheo’s emotions had always been. A blunt force, or too much, as some people had told him and he couldn't help but be petrified that after it all you might be one of them.

“I’ve loved you since we were kids, I just never realised.” He continued, rooted in place despite every fibre of his being telling him to bolt, because the words just kept coming. Jumbled and tumbling, near frantic to make you understand.

“At least not until you were with Steven and I saw all the ways I would treat you better if it was me being allowed to love you and not him. And then it hit me just how much I wanted it to be me, I was just too scared to do anything about it. I’m sorry.”

When he finally fell silent he didn't dare move or even look at you for the first moment, nor the one that followed. You had seen Mattheo in just about every state there was to see a person, but never, until right then, had he ever felt so vulnerable. Cracked open and so completely and irrevocably at someone else's mercy as his emotions bled from him to stain you both.

It was the brush of you against him that startled him back to life. The tender caress of your fingers over his cheek, nose nudging his, that gathered the little courage he had left to open his eyes again, to face the aftermath and look at you.

At the way your lips were clamped together in a trembling press, eyes shining and pained.

And for a sickeningly horrifying moment he thought that he had upset you so badly that you were about to cry, that his feelings were so wholly unwanted that he was hurting you, breaking your heart by having them and ruining everything you had been to each other before he had opened his mouth.

Numbly, he let his hands fall away from your face before taking a step back when a heavy wave of nausea rocked into him.

But then your expression changed, it morphed into something mystified - a touch incredulous.

“And you think that I don’t feel the same?” You questioned. Nose scrunching in confusion and your voice, merlin, your voice, it was so quiet, so full of disbelief that it felt impossible, despite how desperately he tried, to not fold all of his hope into it.

You didn't give him a chance to answer, not that he could have in any distinguishable capacity. Not with his heart lodged somewhere up in his throat.

“You think that I haven't loved you from the moment you came crashing into my life?” You shook your head, the words cracking on your tongue, flooded with emotion as the confession bubbled up out of you and all Mattheo could do was blink - stunned. “You think that I haven't imagined kissing you a thousand times over and not just to get back at some bloody ex?”

“For salazar’s sake, Mattheo, I practically followed you everywhere. School, the war, and now here. Did it never occur to you that I only started dating Steven because in all that time, you never seemed interested in me like that? I thought you didn't love me like I loved you, and so I tried to move on, but I never wanted all the forever stuff with him. Not at first anyway. I always wanted it with you.”

I wanted it with you.

With you.

With you.

With you.

He inhaled sharply, a small noise slipping from his throat that he couldn’t stop if he tried. Those words were spinning around inside his skull like it was a carousel, all bright flashing lights and the swell of tinkling music - drowning out every other thought until it was the only one he had left.

“I - I didn’t –” He stammered, a little bewildered, and your expression melted into something so sweet and understanding that it broke his heart to think he'd ever doubted you.

You reached for him then and he all but stumbled back to you in his desperation to meld himself against you. To bury his face in the crook of your neck and nudge his shaking hands beneath your jumper so he could curve them around your bare sides, seeking out the warmth of you to ground himself because he felt like he'd been totally unmoored.

You huffed out a soft laugh, a lovely, almost giddy thing that made it feel like there were flowers blooming in all those hollowed out spaces between his ribs, decorating the soft vines that breached through all of his organs to join them. Suffocating him in the best way with just how much he was in love with you. “Me neither, but it's okay, we both know now.”

It was almost too much, after all Mattheo had always been utterly unused to to the act of loving and being loved out in the open. No masks or repression or insecurities with needle-sharp claws dug into his brain to hold him back.

It almost felt overwhelming in its rawness, like a violent kind of vulnerability, and yet he couldn't force himself to hide the embarrassingly stupid grin that tugged at his lips at that, lashes fluttering as he sighed at the gentle pass of your hand over his curls before humming a choked, but coy, “Do we?”

“Uh huh.”

“Are you sure?” He teased softly, something sparking in his chest when he felt the way you shivered beneath his hands as he drew a line with his nose up to your jaw. “Because I don't think you actually said whatever it is we're both supposed to know.”

Your cheek rubbed against his with the mild shake of your head that followed then, breath hitching on a chuckle, a knowing little sound that told him you were on to him immediately.

Yet still, you indulged him, as you always had.

A hand clutched at his shoulder whilst the other slipped from his hair to dip beneath the collar of his hoodie, fingers toying with the clasp of his necklace as you asked, voice full of faux confusion. “Didn't I? I could have swore I did.”

“Nope.” He told you quietly, forlornly, his tone heavy with mourning though the smile he held when he slid his nose over your cheek so he could graze it against yours was anything but. “You asked if I'd thought about it which I don't think is quite the same, do you?”

Your eyes shone, lips twitching into the loveliest grin that Mattheo had ever seen. “I think you're impossible.” You whispered and he wondered if it was possible for his heart to lurch out of his chest, for it to dive through his bones and his skin and straight into yours, because it sure as hell felt like it wanted to when you added. “But not wrong, at least not about this.”

“I'm never wrong.” He rasped and when your hand found its way to his jaw, thumb trailing sweetly back and forth against his too flushed skin, he leaned into the touch like he was starving for it.

His entire body almost swaying into yours with how gone he was for the way you were looking at him, how your fingers touched his face like he was something precious as you cupped his cheeks.

“More like, eighty five percent of the time?”

“You wound me.”

“I love you.” You corrected him cheekily, gaze twinkling when his eyes widened and god, he must have looked as dazed, as utterly dumbstruck, as he felt because you laughed. A bright burst that made his heart swell and his cheeks tinge pink. “I love you, Mattheo Riddle, I always have and I'll continue to do so long after we've both turned to bone.”

And then you kissed him.

You kissed him and he drowned in it - lost to the pure radiance that glowed in his veins and the tender heat of your mouth crushed to his. The hand that threaded itself through the curls at the nape of his neck, tangling within and dragging him closer.

His touch fled from your hip and the ladder of your ribs to cradle your cheeks, gently tilting your face up to his own as he did so and it all burned so fucking sweet that if anyone was to ask Mattheo to pinpoint the exact moment he fell to ruin, he would be incapable of providing such an answer.

He could only tell them that he had.

That he was magnificently lost to you as the kiss deepened and you unravelled him with each brush of your lips against his. As you moaned, breathless and needy, into his mouth and he felt like you had brought down heaven and placed it in his arms. Pressed it into his skin until, for the first time in his life, Mattheo knew what it felt like to be so full of light it could burst from him.

He could do this forever he decided - he could die with an appeased soul despite the atrocities of his past when he had the salvation of your devotion. The fire of your hunger burning away all those ugly, dark parts of him until he shone.

You shivered when he wound an arm around you, wrenching you firmly against the solid press of his body as you clung to him and his name poured from your lips like a prayer. An offering.

A softly gasped, “Mattheo,” that dripped golden pleasure down his spine.

And he must have made a noise - some wrecked, low sounding thing in the back of his throat - because you pulled away just a fraction, eyes flickering over his face. Drinking down his hungered expression, his blown-out gaze that slipped from your own to your mouth before he dragged it slowly, heatedly, back up again.

“Do you want me?” You whispered, your hand sweeping over his side and to the bottom of his back, dipping beneath the layers of his hoodie and shirt to splay across flushed skin.

He could barely focus, his forehead falling to yours as he shivered beneath the gentle stroke of your fingers. He felt the touch like it was inside him - like they had sunk through flesh, tissue and bone to fist around his heart.

Merlin.

“Of course I do.” He rasped.

“Then show me, please.”

He sucked in a breath before surging forward to kiss you then, his lips crashing against yours like the world would spin off its axis if he didn’t have his mouth on you.

It was nothing like the kisses he had ever given before, raw desire making his head spin, making him a little clumsy, messy, but it still had your breath catching in your throat.

It had your body melting into his and your hands flying to clutch at the slopes of his shoulders as your surprise dissolved into something hungrier, the sensation of his mouth moving over yours dragging you into delirium with him.

He was gripped with a singular, overwhelming urgency to devour you entirely - the need possessing him until there was nothing else but you and the feel of your mouth under his - and it took a herculean type of strength to remove himself the centimetre it took to ask huskily against your lips. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

You sighed sweetly into him, the hand in his hair drawing him back so you could kiss him again, a little more demanding before your lips slipped to the corner of his mouth, his chin, his jaw, sliding down his throat to suck a bruise at the skin before dropping a sweet kiss over the mark that made his lungs stutter.

It had a groan tearing through Mattheo’s chest when you pressed yourself against him so he could feel the way your chest heaved - the way you were trembling for him. “I want you to make me yours, Matty.” You breathed. “Just like I always have been.”

And salazar help him, how could he ever refuse you.

So he hauled you forward off the counter and into his arms. His mouth recaptured yours and he let you part his lips, let you flick your tongue, quick and dirty, against his own and lick the needy groan from his mouth as he stumbled. Attempting to navigate you both to the sofa that he swore was suddenly a million fucking miles away whilst you laughed into the kiss.

In the end, you didn’t make it.

They bounced off a door frame and there was a curse hidden beneath more laughter before he muttered fuck it and laid you down right there in the hallway.

Your back hit the floor and immediately he was stretching himself over you - caging you in - his hips nestled into the cradle of your own in a filthy, slow grind that had you panting against his mouth. A keening noise sounding in the back of your throat that made Mattheo’s head go fuzzy.

He pulled back an inch then and stared - tried to brand this image in his brain because god, it was doing something indescribable to him.

Because it was you, gazing back at him with eyes darker than he'd ever seen them, hungry and wanting. Lips kiss-bruised and parted as you sucked in a sharp breath when he rolled his hips and caught you just right. Looking so fucking sinful that it had him swallowing down a choked moan.

Mattheo was almost embarrassed by just how close the sight drove him. There was a swell of something unforgivingly hot behind his ribs, searing in his stomach and his veins, all liquid gold and white flame, and he couldn’t resist re-capturing your mouth in a kiss that echoed just how helplessly he was affected by it all.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispered into it, voice lovesick and bleeding awe, painting your mouth with a sparkling grin that knocked him flat, made his heart flip behind his ribs, as he pressed each word to your lips. “More beautiful than anyone or anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Mattheo.” You breathed, a little choked, eyes shining, and he had to drop his head before he could get too entranced, before the way you were looking at him had every little thought and feeling he had surpressed for years bubbling up from his chest and out of his mouth.

Instead, he began pressing featherlight kisses along your jaw, down your throat , gently scraping his teeth along the curve as your fingers caught in the fabric at his shoulders.

He travelled reverently down your body, worshipful hands ghosting down your sides until they reached the hem of your (his) jumper and with a quick glance and a tender smile at your nod of approval, he was lifting it up and over your head, throwing it somewhere to be forgotten entirely.

Mattheo made a greedy noise of appreciation at the sight before him. As his gaze, followed by the almost sacred touch of his trembling hands, discovered the warm, silken skin of your belly, then your ribs and finally your lace covered chest.

You shook beneath him, exhaling a shuddering breath when he bent to kiss your stomach, the droop of his curls tickling softly at your flesh before you carded gentle, adoring fingers through them.

They tightened into a fist as he dragged his tongue from your belly button to the edge of your bra, tugging at the strands just a little meanly enough to make his hips lurch and his molten gaze snap to yours.

“Salazar, Mattheo, stop dragging it out and just take the damn thing off, are you trying to make me explode?” You huffed and he chuckled. A rough, throaty sound as he nudged his nose along the swell of your tit, his mouth hovering just shy of touching whilst he glanced up at you with a smug grin.

“Of course not, princess.” He teased, bleeding self-satisfaction and half-drunk on your need. “Not yet anyway.”

Then his mouth closed over your nipple and whatever witty comeback he could see brewing on your tongue cracked into a choked moan as you arched into him, your thighs tightening as he flicked and pinched at the other with deft fingers.

He swirled his tongue over the wet lace before ripping it down to taste your bare skin, teased the stiffening bud between his teeth whilst he worked the bra from your body and tossed it aside without a glance.

And when he’d drunk his fill of your soft little sighs, the shaking of your body in anticipation, he finally slipped down. Trailing hot, open mouthed kisses over your ribs - your stomach - the patch of skin above your waistband until you were tilting your hips up in a silent plea.

Like he would even consider refusing you, like he ever could.

He curled his fingers around soft fabric and drew it down, slow and careful, past your thighs and your calves until he was curving a gentle hand around your ankle to slip your sweats and your underwear off entirely.

It tore the air from his chest, having you utterly bare before him, enough so that for a moment he did nothing but press his face into the softness your leg and breathed you in, refilling his lungs with you.

You were so warm against him that he couldn't resist moving closer, kissing his way up the inside of your leg until he was between your thighs once more. Broad shoulders wedging them apart and his hands stroking over the sides.

He watched you watch him, eyes darker than he'd ever seen them, as he lowered his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to your clit.

It made you jolt, made you whimper prettily, and Mattheo's grin was downright wicked as he murmured. “Oh, you liked that didn't you?”

He did it again, a little messier, his tongue barely just grazing you before he stopped and your head thumped back against the floor. “Matty–please.”

“Ah, ah, you’ve got to look at me when you ask for something, princess.” He taunted, soft with it as his fingers swept over your hips. “C'mon, let me see those pretty eyes, yeah?”

You obliged and the shiver that overtook him was less from the late-winter chill that still clung to the bare bones of his flat and more from the fire that snapped in your gaze as you stared down at him.

It was glorious, the war between begging him for more or demanding it of him that played unguarded across your features, the adrenaline rush that came with the knowledge only he inspired such indecision.

You didn't beg for anybody and when Mattheo saw that you realised he knew that, his grin turning smug as he waited, your eyes flared.

“Just because I love you doesn't mean I won’t– oh my god.”

He chose then to bury his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue in a slow, firm stroke over your cunt until your whole body arched with it - your palm slamming to the floor beside you as you wheezed. “Fuck–Mattheo.”

His eyes snapped up to watch you, raking over your pleasure-drunk expression, the raw vulnerability of it nearly enough to make Mattheo lose his damn head before the movements of your hand caught his attention.

You were skating it over the carpet, fingers flexing, clawing, attempting to twist into the coarse fibres in an effort to ground yourself and failing as he swirled his tongue over your clit.

He reached for you without another thought, his hand leaving the unyielding grip it had on your thigh to snatch up yours, entwining both your fingers before he squeezed. Silently telling you, use me - anchor yourself to me - it’s okay, I’ve got you.

The first flick of his tongue after that made your head fall back. The second had you twisting your fingers in the silk of his curls. His lips sealing themselves over your clit before he sucked hard had you tugging at him enough that Mattheo whined into you, fingers digging into the meat of your arse to press you to him tighter, his hips rocking against the floor whilst you bucked into the searing heat of his mouth, utterly uninhibited.

The sight of it was maddening, it was divine.

He was torn between never wanting to leave the space between your legs and pulling back to fully appreciate you writhing beneath him. Letting all the praise that was crashing through his head come spilling out so he could see the way you'd go liquid, pretty eyes glazed over, as your thighs quaked.

There was sweat beading at your hairline as he made a mess of you - glistening along the column of your throat, the valley between your gorgeous tits. He watched the way your free hand left his hair to trail the softest path to one of them and squeezed, felt the way your body reacted to both sensations when he pushed two fingers inside you and curled them nice and deep.

You were feverish under him, mewling and arching as he picked up the pace and Mattheo almost lost it at the state of you, trying his hardest to not embarrass himself when every crook of his fingers had you flexing your hips into his hand, fucking yourself on him.

It made your voice turn thread-bare when you whimpered that you couldn't take much more, that you were ‘so fucking close’ and ‘please–Matty–don't stop’.

He went to flame then. To desperation and insanity and all burning, searing need to devour you whole and drink you down until he either drowned or you had nothing left to give.

“I won't baby–fuck, that's it,” Mattheo groaned, sounding equally as wrecked as you looked. “Let go for me. Let me hear how it feels– that's it, good girl.”

And just like you begged him to, he didn't stop until your entire being shook beneath him with a choked cry and you clenched unforgivingly tight around his fingers. He didn't stop when the call of his name cracked and broke as your voice gave out whilst he licked you through the violent crest of your orgasm until it's dying breaths and your body fell slack against the floor.

He didn't stop until you jerked in his hold, gasping and pleading, your fingers eventually releasing their tense grip in his hair to slip down to his chin, tilting it. Away from your glistening cunt as he was made to look up at you.

“Are you trying to kill me?” You laughed weakly, stunned gaze roving over every inch of him as you tried to catch your breath, and he wondered if he looked as undone as he felt before you. Wild haired and panting. On his stomach with his eyes dazed and face coated with you.

“I'm sorry,” he rasped, not bothering to even try and appear like he was very sorry at all, “but it's not my fault you taste better than I dreamed you would.”

Your eyes glazed a little at that, a dopey little smile playing at your mouth with it, and he laughed softly when you released his hand to pass it over your sweat-damp hair with a breathlessly murmured ‘fuck’.

He nuzzled at your thighs as satisfaction rolled through his chest, pressing gentle kisses to the still trembling skin as he soothed his hands over your legs - your belly - massaging your sides until you made a playful grab for them and brought them to your lips, eyes shining down at him at the way his lashes fluttered and his expression turned smitten before you tugged at him.

He climbed back up your body with a grin, a shining, pleased thing that he was sure probably took up nearly half of his face and you huffed a quiet laugh when he nudged his nose against yours. His mouth surrendering once more to yours in a syrup sweet kiss that burned deeper, more feverish, the longer it lasted.

“You’re adorable sometimes, you know that?” You smiled when he eventually drew back, eyes bright and twinkling with mirth whilst your fingers skimmed his jaw.

He snorted. “Sure, that’s the word you’re gonna use for someone who just made you c-” He teased, cheeks dimpling as his grin widened when you quickly covered his mouth with your fingers and jokingly warned.

“Don't ruin the moment, Mattheo.”

He laughed and kissed you insead. He couldn't stop, couldn't stop touching you, couldn't feed the ache fast enough that came with needing to do it more than he already was.

He choked as you rolled your hips into his own, as he finally allowed himself to fully acknowledge the pleasure sparking in his veins whilst it gathered intensity. Letting the thick outline of his cock slide against you until you were groaning into each other's mouths. Hands knotted in his hair and pearl-white teeth grazing the plush of his lip when you drew back to murmur.

“I want you–I've wanted you for so long, fuck, Matty, you have no idea.”

He did. He’d wanted you for just as long, if not longer.

But still, hearing it sent a shock through him - ripped a low, guttural moan straight from his lungs that was followed by a heat-soaked curse that you took from him just as readily as you had everything else he'd given so far.

He didn't even blink before asking. “Can you say that again?”

You licked your lips and grinned, breath stuttering as he continued to move against you, fingers snatching at your jaw so you couldn't take your eyes of him. “I need you inside me or I'm gonna lose my mind, it's all I've thought about for months–the way you'd feel– how you'd fuck me– oh god.”

Another desperate noise. “Fucking hell. Again. Please.”

He didn't try to stop you when you reached for his clothes, rising to sit back on his haunches so you could follow and strip him of his hoodie, his shirt. His hand curling around the back of your neck to drag you into to him, mouths connecting the instant they were both over his head in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth, a little messy, touched with desperation. Frantic.

You flattened your palms to his chest, sweeping them out and then down, exploring the expanse of flushed skin, the muscles of his chest and his stomach that twitched beneath your touch. The hunger behind every slow, drawn out trace making his heart rattle behind his ribs.

He shivered when your mouth trailed over his jaw, when he felt teasing nips marking his throat before there was an open mouthed kiss pressed over the scar on his chest.

A soft clink of metal echoed in the room as your hands drifted to his belt, your fingertips slipping over the leather whilst you pulled it free from the loops of his jeans before it fell to the floor with a quiet thud.

And then you were pushing his jeans down just far enough until he was able to hastily kick them off. His heart in his mouth as he knelt before you, utterly naked apart from the shadows that slanted over his skin.

He felt a flicker - the ghosts of that insecurity of not being enough passing over his face before he could blow it away like a cobweb- and prayed that you wouldn't notice. That you wouldn't mistake his hesitation for something else and even consider it to be directed at you.

But instead it seemed that you understood. Your hands found his jaw and you drew him into a kiss that ached. A lovely, bruising thing that had him melting into you, any insecurities fleeing so fucking far away that he could barely remember what they felt like.

You held him as tightly as you could and hummed in delight against his lips when he did the same and crushed you to his chest, the sound of it morphing into something needy as his cock throbbed, hot and smearing wetness against your belly.

“I want you, Mattheo, I don't know how else to explain it, just that I need you so badly it hurts– it's hurt from the moment I realised exactly what you mean to me and I don't think it'll ever stop no matter how much I might have you.”

Mattheo swallowed hard, throat bobbing.

You would be the death of him, he was sure of it. His hands shook, fingers grasping at your cheeks in an attempt to hide it, and there was this unfathomable feeling of love swelling inside him so brilliantly that he could barely contain it as he peppered your face with sweet, breathless kisses.

"You can have me whenever you want,” he pressed the words into your skin, the glowing warmth of your cheeks as he pushed you back, murmuring the next ones over and over until he hovered over you once more, “I’m yours.”

You went soft for him in the cage of his arms at that. Stripped down to your barest bones in the face of his raw emotion and it made his heart flutter and thump all too fast behind his ribs when your voice trembled on a sigh his name, so sweet and lovely, as his forehead dipped to meet yours.

“Hi.” He breathed, voice dropping low, his smile achingly soft.

Your lips quirked, nose slipping against his when you whispered back a tender, “hi.”

In the dimly lit space of his flat and with soft carpet at your back, you drew him closer, kissed him like you wished the two of you could fuse together and touched him as he fought to commit it all to memory. The way he felt - burning with each and every stroke of your hand, each part of him alight as you murmured beautiful affections against his mouth - at the intimacy of it all.

The image of you that he was sure not even death could take from him when it eventually came - eyes bright as jewels, lips marked with his kisses, all pretty, soft skin that gleamed under the weak stream of light the evening had yet to swallow.

You looked like something ethereal, something otherworldly and untouchable, and the privilege he felt in being the one to see you that way, to contribute to the way you were a gorgeous mess, felt like something holy.

“I love you.” He choked.

His words coming out jumbled and almost broken, followed by a hiss slipping sharply through his teeth when you finally guided him into you. A low noise caught in his throat and eyes screwed shut as he slid inside you inch by inch until his hips met yours.

He felt like he was on fire, the warmth that had been blooming in his gut morphing into something violent and unimaginable that had his body tensing as he struggled not to finish before he’d even started. Head falling against your shoulder just before he felt your lips brush against his temple, parting on a rushed exhale.

“I love you too,” you moaned, voice strangled. “Oh, god, Mattheo–”

At least, it seemed that you were in just as bad shape as he was. He’d probably say something similar if he could remember how to speak.

But his mind had splintered. Shattered apart to fragments and the only thing he could focus on was the way you were surrounding him- all slick, tight heat and the overwhelming sensation that burst through his chest of all his lost pieces suddenly slotting into place, like you were a part of his soul he wasn’t aware he was missing until you were finally joined once more.

“Shit, I'm sorry– just give me a minute.” He stuttered, voice hoarse and eyes blown wide, endlessly dark when he peered down at you. Half determined, half pleading. “I want to make it good for you, you just feel so–merlin, you feel too fucking good.”

He moved carefully only moments after that, unable to resist. An oozing honey pace that only made him moan when you kissed him, a filthy sound that would have stunned him had he not been so out of his mind.

He could only stare at you like you were pure magic taken form - no ancient bloodline or cursed objects needed for whatever it was running through your veins - as you threaded your fingers through his hair and whispered. Breath hitching. “It's okay– it's already so fucking– oh– so good, just let go. I want to feel it.”

It made his desperation threaten to win over. Head spinning as he dragged himself back out of you before surging back in, hitching your leg high up at his waist so he could do it again and again and again. Each thrust knocking you further up the floor and pulling a strangled noise from the back of your throat that he quickly stole with greedy lips moulded over your own.

It started slow, deliberate and devastating, and then turned faster. Needier and unrestrained. The sound of panting breaths and skin on skin rising in the otherwise silence. Open mouthed kisses that were forced to come to an end because all the oxygen felt like it had fled both of your lungs, punched out every time you met the frantic rolling of his hips.

Mattheo had never felt anything like it and it was dangerously close to annihilating him completely.

There were wicked bolts of something animalistic, a feral rush of desire, threatening to send him spiralling and you gasped in surprise, hands clenching tight at his arms, when he pulled out and reared back to kneel before you. Desperate hands shoving your knees against your chest before he buried himself back inside you again.

It changed the angle that he speared into you with and with the next thrust that came you were sobbing for him, seizing up like he’d plunged into the heart of your pleasure and pierced it - letting it flow out to the farthest reaches of you until you were curling into the solid press of him against you. Fingers scraping down his arms and back arching like a bow.

“Mattheo,” you whimpered and fuck, you sounded just as overwhelmed by it as he felt. Shaking in his arms as the heat wrapping around you both grew and grew. “Oh–god–”

It made him choke on his tongue, eyes rolling back at the way you were clenching around him as his thrusts became deeper, greedier. His cock harder than it had ever been whilst you made a mess of his stomach and his thighs and Mattheo couldn’t get enough.

He was so close to losing his mind, so close to devouring you entirely and begging you to ruin him because every sound you made, every sweet little uh,uh,uh that tumbled past your lips was unlocking something wild tucked deep inside him that he was helpless to rein back. That had him babbling praise, incoherent words that dripped down on you like scalding hot honey.

“So good for me– so fucking perfect– just look at you, fuck, you're beautiful.”

And then he was folding himself over you to latch his mouth to your nipple. Relishing the way you jerked as he flicked his tongue, scraping his teeth across the peak until you mewled before trailing a path of fire up to your collar bones and then higher again to the tender skin of your throat. Sucking a kiss there that had you keening and shone like a bruise when he drew back to meet your burning stare.

“Show me.” Mattheo asked roughly, more than a little desperate because you were so tight around him and he was so fucking close. Stomach quivering and flooding with golden heat. “Show me how you've touched yourself all those times you thought about this, how you made yourself come thinking about me.”

You nodded slowly as if dazed by the request, lips parted and eyes gleaming dark. But you were quick to comply. Quick to grasp his hand and drag it down to where he was fucking up into you, to the place where you were soaked and aching.

And once you were there, you pressed his fingers against you and manipulated them to draw quick, messy circles over your clit that had you throwing your head back with a loud cry of his name whilst he watched, lust drunk and in awe.

“Shit, shit shit.” Each word that bubbled its way up your throat was ragged, edging on breathless as you writhed. “Mattheo, oh my god, I’m gonna–”

He surged up before you could finish, his other hand tearing away from your leg to tangle itself in your hair so he could drag your mouth to his and kiss you as you came. Holding you fiercely in place and groaning against your lips, swallowing down your own noises whilst your cunt fluttered around him, convulsing over and over until his movements grew frantic and messy. Warmth pulsing brightly in his groin and his stomach and his too tight chest.

“That’s it, fuck–” He grunted into your mouth, lungs heaving. “Cum for me, baby– make a fucking mess of me–”

It was too much - he was bordering on delirious, wound so tight that any moment it felt like he’d explode. Burst apart like confetti.

It took every ounce of strength he had to stave off his own release so he could extend yours by letting the frantic rhythm of his snapping thrusts morph into a slow, intense grind that stole the breath from your chest and made it feel like he was melding himself to your body.

Like you were burying into each other so deep that you would never truly be able to remove the imprint of the other afterwards.

There was a flash of pain from your nails scratching down his scalp and across the broad sweep of his shoulders, teeth scoring the softness of his bottom lip whilst shudders wracked your frame and it startled him, the low, starving noise it drew from his mouth.

Knocked him flat when you drew the stinging flesh into your mouth, flicking your tongue against the marks you had left behind, and began to press your hips into his that little bit faster despite the way he could feel the muscles of your thighs trembling around his waist.

And when you cupped his cheeks, eyes burning with a wicked hunger whilst you whispered against his mouth, Mattheo was utterly lost.

“C’mon Matty, let go,” you encouraged him, voice wrecked. Desperate. “Want you to cum– want you to fill me up–make me yours–”

He fell apart for you then, crashed into bliss with his arms wound achingly tight around you and let it wrench him open as his hips stuttered and then came to an almost stop, twitching desperately and fused unyieldingly to your own. His vision going dark and your name like a prayer that he gasped into your skin over and over.

And when it all eventually calmed, the crashing of his heart beating against his ribs and your chaotic breaths, the exhaustion had him collapsing into you. Both of you tangling in a heap of slack limbs on the floor before he managed to lift himself on weak arms to the sound of your startled laugh.

The way you were looking up at him when he raised his head was making his chest ache, filling his lungs up with an adoring kind of wonder, the kind that created sunshine and sprouted wildflowers in even the darkest parts of him.

It made it impossible for him not to ask. “Can I kiss you?”

And if he thought that you would laugh at him considering everything that had just happened, that only moments ago he’d been buried inside you, then he was delighted to be proven wrong. Because you were beaming at him the second the question rushed past his lips, eyes sparkling in the near dark of the small, narrow hallway.

“Of course you can.”

So he kissed you like he’d always craved to but never dared to hope for, slipping his fingers through the messy tangle of your hair to cradle your head whilst his lips pressed sweetly and almost shy against your own.

It unfurled like it held its own magic, the type that could stop time and make him feel like he was floating, tingles rushing all through his body until he was lightheaded and needed to draw back before he lost his breath to the irresistible pull of it all.

He never wanted to leave this moment. There was a contentment settling in his bones that he’d never experienced before and you, you were glowing again.

It radiated from you and he wondered if he had been painted in its loveliness the same way, if his happiness was as blatant to you as yours had always been to him.

If the adoring way you were looking at him counted for anything then he thought that it was.

“You're incredible.” He murmured, snaking his arm to rest as a pillow under your head and curling the other around your waist. Folding you into him. You wound your own around his neck in return and smiled, fingers dragging softly through his hair and slipping down his face. A reverent touch.

“You’re pretty amazing yourself, Mattheo.”

He melted at that, pressed little butterfly kisses to your cheeks and your nose and your hair until his throat no longer ached with how tight it had become.

He wanted to say that he felt it, when his voice no longer seemed like it would crack.

That here in your arms he didn't feel like he was less and he was no longer afraid of being a disappointment to you. Not when you refused to make him feel like he had to destroy himself to match expectations created by someone else, like he fell short just by being him and not them.

He had always been enough in your eyes and he didn’t know how he had ever managed to deny loving you when it had been right in front of his face the whole time.

You made him glow.

And he would love you for it long after he had turned to bone.

[readwritealldayallnight]

“-and every year after that, we always had double chocolate chip cookies instead of regular chocolate chip. Made me stand out at the school bakes sales, too! And I would beg and beg and beg my mom to make them before any other sweets-”

“Got my stomach grumblin’ over here now, love.” Simon cuts off your rambling with a loving chuckle. The first winter’s snow began falling from the sky in London that morning, and you’d been eager to tell your lover about the traditions you’d had growing up around this time of year.

“Well imagine how I felt, Si!” You say with a giggle, patting his stomach in emphasis. “I swear, it’s become a true Pavlovian response, I see the first snowflakes and I instantly start craving those cookies again. Like when I was little…”

Simon sees the melancholic smile playing across your lips, and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that first chance he gets, he’ll be ringing your mum to get said recipe from her.

And if you walk into your shared flat a few days later, the smell of burnt something wafting through the air, fire alarm beeping incessantly, coming upon a flustered looking 6’4” behemoth of a man swatting a flowery dish towel through the air in attempt to dissipate the smoke coming from the oven, well, the sentiment behind your lover wanting to surprise you with your favourite treat from childhood is a thousand times sweeter than the cookie itself.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Ooh, look at those ones over there!” You exclaim, tightening your grip on Simon’s arm. You’re both strolling through a local farmers market on a dreary Sunday afternoon with nothing better to do. Your free hand points towards a stall selling beautifully intricate bouquets of flowers. “They’re so pretty for this late in the season.”

Simon is glancing over at the stall, minutely nodding in agreement, before his gaze shifts back to the crowd.

“Want one?”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. Just thought they looked nice. We don’t need any.” You say, leading him past the stall, not noticing when he glances back over his shoulder to remember the name written at the top of the display.

Once back home, upon hearing your gasp of surprise followed by what he recognizes now as your excited squeal, he smirks to himself in the other room, knowing you’ve stumbled upon the bouquet he had delivered during your nap.

What you don’t know is that he’s already set it up so that you’ll be receiving a new fresh set of flowers every week now, delivered straight to your front steps.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Really wasn’t that bad this time around, promise.” You mumble into his firm chest, his muscular arms holding you there as you snuggle on the couch. He got back from a two week deployment last night, and you’re still catching him up on everything he missed. “I made a point of going outside everyday, for a change of scenery at least.”

“Tha’s good, lovie.” He whispers, running his digits through the strands of your hair, careful not to tug any time he runs into knot, instead gently trying to comb it out himself.

“Not like I was all alone, anyhow.” You say with a small giggle, biting your lip. He finds himself answering with his own lighthearted chuckle, sitting up straighter to glance at the table over your shoulder. “Gave me something to look forward to each day, feeding the lil’ guy.”

“Was hoping it’d be a nice surprise for ya. Not another chore…”

“Oh, Goldie’s not a chore.” You laugh, swatting at Simon’s chest. You also take the time to glance over at the goldfish in question, swimming in the small circular fish bowl that Simon had somehow snuck into the flat the day before he left. He hated the idea of leaving you alone all the time, never knowing when he’d have a chance to speak on the phone, and he didn’t want to burden you with a larger, more high maintenance animal like a dog or cat. And so, Goldie was brought home.

“Although, I’m worried maybe he’s getting lonely when I’m out of the house. Might have to get him a friend.”

Simon doesn’t even try to hide the corny grin that spreads across his face.

“Have I ever told you the joke about the two goldfish in a tank?”

[biteyoubiteme]

redlightdesign

fem!reader x hyunjin 

synopsis: you get tattooed by your favorite tattoo artist. 

warnings: !!!🔞!!! tattooartist!hyunjin, tattooing, needles, pain, oral (f!rec), use of teeth, overstim, multiple orgasms (f!rec), squirting, fingering, pussydrunkvibes, subspace kinda, prob forgot some sorry 

wc: 5.2k

an: I want a new tattoo </3 feedback appreciated! [m.list] not proof read sorry ;-;

You didn’t think you would ever get a consolation let alone an appointment with redlightdesign. For over three years you have been submitting a request anytime their books were open. You set timers for when the form dropped to make sure you were one of the first to be seen but everyone was doing the exact same thing. 

redlightdesign would make an announcement that the submissions were closed an hour later saying they were booked solid for the next three months. The process repeats itself and every time you pray you get a response. 

Thirteen forms later and you finally got an answer. Your dream tattoo will be underway in a matter of weeks. You made sure to keep the perfect space open for the piece. Not a single artist is the right fit to do your idea justice the way Redlightdesign could. 

Before you read the email you didn’t even think you would ever be picked, your thigh would just always be bare for the possibility that never would come to fruition. But sitting in a coffee shop on a Sunday morning avoiding finishing your homework for Monday's class you jump on the opportunity to check your phone when it dings. Post notifications for redlightdesign on since you started following them. Every time they announced open books or a dropped appointment you jumped to put yourself up for the running. You remember the magazine article Redlightdsign had been featured in that started your obsession. The anonymous tattoo artist is based in Seattle and New York, traveling across the states to get a wider audience. Not that they needed the help, they were globally known, with people submitting forms all around the world, purchasing plane tickets after they confirmed an appointment. 

It was stiff competition and the anonymity of the artist was sacred to each client. There was barely any information about Redlightdesign on the internet besides the finished product, and the address to their studios was only given out just before your appointment. Once the details of the New York studio had been doxxed online and redlightdesign had stopped working for a year, packing up and shutting down in well deserved retaliation. When they came back to their socials they made it clear the next time they wouldn't stop for a year but quit entirely. No one shared any information after, only stating that Redlightdesign was one of the nicest people they have ever been tattooed by and a photo of the beautiful work after. 

But there sipping on an almost empty drink avoiding work that needed to be done you felt your pulse race just like every other time you've submitted a form. Only this time your stomach bottomed out seeing the email that popped up in your inbox a few minutes later. 

h.rldesign/gmail.com Hi, I love your idea and sketches. I think this would transfer perfectly in my style. If we are to do the piece on the thigh at the size you want I think it's best we split the work into two appointments. My open slots for this would be January 9th and 10th. Let me know if these dates work for you and then I can get started on designing and cleaning up your idea. -redlightdesign 

even just knowing their email address was shocking enough, seeing a response could have sent you into a coma. If Redlightdesign needed you on the 9th and 10th you would do everything in your power to be right at their door. You didn't care if you had to call in sick, you would put on the most convincing fake cough known to man; you would sell out stadiums with the performance if need be. 

You couldn't type a response fast enough, needing to send in a confirmation just to know it was solidified. Within seconds you got a link for a deposit to hold the dates and a promise that Redlightdesign would be working on your piece asap. You were too excited to even think about your work anymore, sitting in the coffee shop staring down at your phone in disbelief. 

It was only a few days later when the first drafts of the tattoo you would be getting were sent over for you to approve. You could tell the work had been drawn in a sketchbook and scanned to send in an email, the charcoal lines and highlights showing the detailed work. It was everything you could have hoped for, redlightdesign taking the amateur rendering of your idea and turning it into the masterpiece sitting in your inbox. They promised to have perfected versions ready when you arrived early on the ninth, reminding you that they would transfer it into the stencil and use a pen to finish drawing the finishing touches to make sure it flowed with your body just right. Make sure to eat before the appointment and don't wear any lotions on the tattoo area. Take care to remember we can take as many breaks as you want you have the day booked up with me so no need to rush through just to get it over with. 

You made sure to dress appropriately. A pair of shorts you didn’t mind getting ink on in case any decided to ruin them. It was cold the morning of the ninth, a drizzle setting in as you made your way towards the address you had been sent before you had woken up. Even just seeing the street name and knowing this whole time you’ve been a fifteen-minute walk away from Redlights studio was bizarre. How many times have you driven by the building without ever knowing? 

The email with the address had said the door would be open and to take the stairs up to the loft. The separate space on the ground level was a bakery, the sign flipped to closed. But as you felt the first droplets of rain you pulled on the handle for the door only for it to not budge. You check the address again to make sure it is right, you can see the windows to the studio above but the curtains are pulled shut. You were running over the email you could send to redlightdesign, reading it over once more when someone reached past you making you jump. “holy shit you almost gave me a heart attack,” you breathe your phone pressed to your chest. 

The soft laugh of the person beside you is muffled behind the black medical mask they wear, long dark hair hanging on their brow leaving only smiling eyes glancing over you. “I'm sorry I was running late and didn't make it in time to beat you here,” they push their key into the lock twisting until it clicks, painted nails wrapping around the handle to hold the door open for you. 

You give a weak thanks stepping into the little hallway leading to the stairs waiting for them to step in and follow. 

You're trying hard not to make it seem like you're staring at them but it's almost impossible not to. Right in front of you is the person whose identity has been hidden from the public for years. You've tried to imagine what redlightdesign looked like since you read that magazine article. Now with the early morning mist still stuck to their hair you were seconds away from knowing exactly what they were like. Watching how their long fingers flipped over the keys looking for the one to unlock the loft door, how they used their shoulder to push open the door turning back to give you smiling eyes, waving you in. 

They moved around to pull open the long cream-colored curtains, the gray light pouring in revealing the space. The walls have tacked up charcoal drawings, painted landscapes, and oil pastel flowers. A worn brown leather couch pushed to one side, heavy white blanket pushed back like someone had taken a nap there against the throw pillows. Tattoo bed next to rows of inks and past designs. On another wall a cluster of polaroids, stepping closer you can see its every tattoo that redlightdesign has done here. You're excited to see ones they haven't posted on their socials, so distracted you don't hear a closet door opening and the wheeling of a cart behind you. “I wanted to be set up so we could get started right away but,” when you turn you see them shrug. The view outside of the waterfront off in the distance matches some of the paintings done during different times of the day. 

“It's okay I can wait, we're booked all day right?” 

“yes that's right,” they go through their bag pulling out a large sketchbook, “here take a seat and we can go over some of these together,” 

they sink into the couch pushing back the blanket to make room for you to follow. Your thighs touching before they hand over the sketchbook. You're amazed by the craftsmanship, and the detail put into each variety of the tattoo idea you have given them. No other artist has given you so many possibilities, maybe one of two but a whole spread dedicated to small details was never on the table. redlightdesign had taken time working through this with passion. “Wow,” you breathe not knowing where to look first. 

“do you like it? It's a big thing, a tattoo of this size, and I wanted to make sure it really had all the elements you wanted in it while also not being too chaotic and messy. You see this one has less shading and seems more open but this one is heavy-handed if you're into that kinda style. I see you have other work done on your arms and if you want to go that way style-wise I think this one would be perfect,” they point at the one you've been focused on knowing that it was exactly what you wanted. 

“It's amazing, they all are, I'm so impressed redli-“

“Hyunjin, you can call me Hyunjin,” they chuckle, “I should have introduced myself earlier but I was late and it slipped my mind I'm sorry,” 

“no, it's okay thank you hyunjin,” you try the name in your mouth, “I think this is exactly what I want, better than what I could have imagined,” 

“great I'm happy to impress let me get this printed in a stencil and we can add anything else after we find the right placement,” you watch as they stand moving to the corner with a desk, you can't see their face but know they've taken their mask off as they turn on the printer. “Do you live around here or was it a commute?” 

“oh I live right up the street, I was surprised to see how close it was to my place actually,” you say over the sound of the scanner. 

“that's good, sometimes I have people coming from all over it's fun to finally have a local visit,” 

“I would have come out to New York if that's where you would have been,” you admit. 

“I haven't been out there in a while, they are doing construction on the street the studio is on so I've been located here for a while now,” he states pulling out the stencil sheet. “I did a few different sizes to start with,” 

he turns around and you're shocked at how beautiful Hyunjin is. In all the time you've thought about redlightdesign never did it cross your mind to account for prettiness but if you did your scale would be broken. You're still seated when he comes over and kneels in front of you. 

“Can I?” he asks looking up at you, your hands in your lap covering your thighs.

“oh yeah sure,” you're flustered lifting your hands away. 

“left or right?” he asks, holding two of the stencils over each leg. 

“right,” your hands sinking into the couch as Hyunjin wipes his thumb over your bare thigh. He shows you the three different sizes and you decide on one before he asks you to stand in front of the mirror so he can place the stencil on. 

“Here,” he mutters, being gentle to get the placement right in the first go. “We can always print more if you don't like it here,” he blows cool air over the purple lines traced on to make sure it's dry enough for you to move. He slides his hand behind the pit of your knee tugging your leg. You reach out to steady yourself with his shoulders, the backs of your hands feeling the tickle of his long hair hanging past his ears. He lifts your leg enough so that your foot is resting on his thigh, his hands slipping over your skin checking it looks good. 

You love the way he's found the perfect spot on your thigh so that it flows with your body, “I think you got it first try,” 

“Look in the mirror first just to make sure,” he lets you go, pulling himself to stand behind you so that you can see yourself. 

“yes it's perfect,” and he nods, grabbing a purple pen. 

“finishing touches then,” he gets back down in front of you lifting your foot back to his knee so that he can steady you. The marker is cold on your skin as he draws, adding lines and shading in spots to make the work blend better. When he blows on the wet lines of ink you shiver especially when he draws on your inner thigh, your skin so sensitive you swear you could imagine his fingers tracing shapes instead of the pen. “Perfect,” he states, giving your knee a tap letting you know he's done. “Let me set up and if you need the bathroom before we start I'd go now. I have water and a kettle for coffee over under the desk, and we can stop for lunch around let's say twelve or one-ish?” 

You nod, taking your seat on the tattoo bed. He's set it up so that you're slightly leaned back but still sitting up. You watch him pull on black gloves and get all of the inks and needles ready, following a system you've seen done before. He clicks on a stereo the soft song playing in the background just loud enough for us to talk if we wanted to or just to listen. you adjust in your seat when you hear the sound of the tattoo gun whirring, hyunjins free hand stretching your skin in preparation, “The hard part will be around the knee so let's get that area out of the way,” 

you nod watching as he starts, the familiar burn of the needle digging in but not too painfully. He was right that it was worse than some of your other tattoos but not unbearable. What distracts you is how concentrated he looks leaning over your leg, hair pushed back behind his ears but one strand hangs across his forehead, the corner of his lip between his teeth. 

He starts to ask you small questions about yourself, the conversation leading to learning about him and how he got into tattooing. He talks about his art and the little things he likes. Both of you are so invested in one another that you don't even notice how far you've come in the day, lunch already rolling around before you know it. He's gotten through more than half the outline when he starts the loose wrap to keep it clean while you go out for lunch. The bakery is just downstairs offering lunch deals you can't refuse and when you get back upstairs both of you sit on the couch and continue your conversation. Giggling over nothing much but being comfortable in each other's company more than what you could have asked for. 

redlightdesign could have been a total dick but you were blessed enough to get someone so genuinely kind and talented. And when you got back in the chair to finish the day's session you were sad to know that tomorrow would be the last time you saw Hyunjin unless you somehow got another appointment. The idea in it of itself was making you dread leaving. 

“Could you tie my hair up?” he asks lifting his wrist up to you, a hair band waiting for you to take off. You lean over taking the tie from him and running your fingers through the dark strands. He hums as you brush the hair from his face gathering it all to tie into a ponytail. “thank you,” he nods letting the end bob up and down, a sweet smile teasing his lips before he goes back to the linework. 

When he finally declares you done for the day you sigh, his thumb smoothing over the ends of the tape he's put to hold the wrap he put over your thigh. His finger slips across your inner thigh making you jolt harder than when the needle was to your skin. “sensitive?” he asks and you nod, not wanting to think too much into it. You were definitely sensitive but not from the pain, watching his long fingers work over your skin didn't put the cleanest image in your head. 

He starts to break down his workstation, cleaning up and wiping everything to disinfect. While you put on your coat he asks, “Do you want to get dinner?” you turn to make sure he is not on the phone but he is in fact asking you, “I know this great spot a block over it's not that far a walk if you're up for it?” 

“Sure,” you nod and he rubs the back of his neck. 

“You know if you're not busy or anything I don't usually ask clients out for dinner but we were having a good chat and you know if you don't want to,” he drags on his ears pink, it was cute to watch him flustered. 

“I'd love to go to dinner with you hyunjin,” you smile following him out. 

You share an umbrella as you make your way to the small cafe-style restaurant, outdoor seating covered with a canopy so you won't get hit by any rain. Sitting across from one another, Hyunjin asks to see your other tattoos. You lay one arm down on the table, hyunjins fingertips ghosting over your skin as he traces the lines of all your other work. “I think I've seen this one before, did you get it from Felix? Or what's his username…”

“youg.ink?” you nod, “I actually got it because I saw you mentioned them before and it introduced me to their work. instantly fell in love with this when he offered it up,” 

hyunjins not even paying attention to the tattoos anymore as he lets his fingers glide over your smooth skin. Most times after a client was done for the day in his chair he walked them to the door, waved goodbye, and worked in the studio on the next person's design. Most times he had people who he didn't mind not seeing again but you and your laugh, your gentle conversation, made him want to break his own rules for once. He walks you home after dinner and promises to see you tomorrow at the same time. 

When you show up for your second session you're double fisting two iced coffees; the door is already unlocked as you make your way up the stairs. Hyunjin is sitting at the desk with headphones on sketching away before he sees the movement in the corner of his eye. He gives you a big smile, all teeth and is so cute. He tugs his headphones off letting them hang around his neck, “you got me a coffee?” 

“Maybe or maybe I have a caffeine addiction,” you joke, handing over his cup. You look over to see what he's working on and he leans back to give you a better view. 

“The next client wants their back done, it will be spaced out over the next four months. first sessions tomorrow,” 

“I wouldn't even know where to start on something that big,” 

“the same way I started yours,” he looks down at your legs, the wrap still in place only today you're wearing a skirt instead of shorts. The only other clothing item you felt would give him space to work today. Hyunjin looks back to his sketchbook, shutting it and standing. “let's get you up on the chair and get started,” 

you follow his instructions, sinking back into the chair and letting your skirt bunch between your legs to expose your thigh. Hyunjin starts to set up his station, pulling on his gloves after flipping to the sketch of your design to have to glance at while he works. “might hurt today with all the shading if you need any breaks let me know we can go as slow as you need,” he peels away the tape before cleaning your leg with a towel and watered down soap. “It already looks good,” he nods, pressing around the tattoo. 

“I think I can handle it,” 

“Okay, we can work the bottom to the top again today, get the area closest to the knee and get the most painful bit first,” 

and you think you can handle it and you can for the most part but the dragging of the needle over the still red outline from yesterday is painful today. Your hand bunching in your skirt as you remind yourself to breathe. You let your head roll back in the chair not able to watch anymore, focusing on the music playing, the dull hum of the tattoo gun usually comforting you but now a reminder that you're here for a while. 

hyunjin is trying to concentrate, he's great at what he does, but what's testing him is how you're flashing your panties at him. he was going to say something, bring up a conversation about anything but when he looked up, a simple glance he was face to face with the dark grey fabric, the outline of you silencing him. You didn't even notice, your neck exposed as your free hand not holding your skirt gripped the armrest. 

Tattooing people made nudity and almost nudity normal. It was why Hyunjin preferred his private studio so that he could make people feel comfortable, it was better than having someone who wanted a hip tattoo strip in a shop where anyone could watch. But with you sitting in front of him he forgot that he shouldn't look so close. Because instead of ignoring the view he was imagining ways that he could make your pain more bearable. Imagining how if he reached over and brushed where he knew your clit would be waiting you wouldn't be moaning in pain. 

It's not until lunch that your skirt is let go but it's done the work of keeping Hyunjin hard for the entirety of the progress he's made toward the tattoo. When he sprays the tattoo down with the soapy water beads roll back up your leg because of the way the chairs are angled. The cold water feels great against your hot skin and Hyunjin apologizes for the mess passing you a paper towel to wipe any that got too far. You slightly lift your leg to wipe your inner thighs, the movement flashing Hyunjin again only this time the droplets of water had dampened your panties. The gray fabric was dark where he had been fantasizing they would be. 

He doesn't even want to think about standing from his stool knowing that the second he does he will have to adjust himself only drawing attention to the fact he is very hard. He tries to make a list of things in his head as he wraps your thigh. To think about how it's almost over, that you will be gone in the next hour or two but that only makes it worse. You would be gone when he was this needy? He wanted to make an excuse to have you come back for another session. But it was quite obvious he would be dragging out the appointment when he only needed to do a small section when the two of you were done with lunch. He could have waited and finished, pushed your lunch back, and waved goodbye but no. 

He swiveled his chair away from you, taking a sip from his almost empty cup of coffee as you slid down the bed to stand. Hyunjin takes a breath and prays you don't notice but it's the first thing you see when he turns, the strained outline not very well hidden. You pretend to look out the window, feeling your cheeks get hot. All you can think about is if it was your noises that did it, all the whimpering wasn't usually how you handled tattoos but this one was the biggest piece you've gotten, and didn't know two sessions would make your usually composed self break so easily. it would explain the silence compared to yesterday. So you toy with the idea, how far would he go if you made yourself available? 

You grabbed lunch together, hyunjin putting a pillow over his lap to steady his plate of food but both of you knew that wasn't the real reason. And when you were back in the chair you intentionally let your skirt roll up this time. It doesn't help that he's now working on the part of the tattoo closest to your center, how he wraps his hand around your thigh, pushing your legs further apart to reach a spot on your inner thigh. Gloved fingers brushing over your panties for the smallest second, your hips sinking into the seat to keep yourself from moving. Hyunjin noticed but needed to get through the rest of the tattoo, if he stopped now he wouldn't know when he would start again. Your lip between your teeth he watched as you tried to close your legs again to block your exposed panties, now wet with your slick and nothing else. He could see the spot and almost ripped his gloves off as soon as he finished his work. But now he was teasing you. Cleaning the tattoo down and wiping it down. He doesn't even bother with the normal photos he would take right away instead putting on the second skin to protect the tattoo. As he smooths the thin film over your inner thigh he lets his fingers slip up brushing against your center to see your reaction. 

Your head rolls to your shoulder watching him through your lashes as he takes off his gloves and tosses them on the cart. He lifts the armrest on the tattoo chair before reaching behind your knees to pull you to the edge of the seat so your legs are dangling off the side. “how is it someone can make the prettiest sounds and sit so still for me?” he leans down and plants a kiss on your tattooless thigh, “because all I could think about was how I wanted to see your legs shaking for me while you whined like that,” 

you tried to draw your knees together but he was in the way, kissing up your inner thigh, nipping at your skin with his teeth. When he reached your skirt he flipped it up with a lazy hand giving you no time before his thumb was over your clit rubbing a harsh circle over the fabric. You felt the shock run up to your stomach, your voice breathy as you whimpered his name. He followed the wet line down the front of your panties before hooking his finger along the seam to pull them back. He wanted one taste, needed one taste but knew he wouldn't stop at just one, not when you looked this edible and ready for him. 

He ravages your clit, your hands shooting to his head burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks. He's careful of your tattoo but your other thigh is fair game for him to wrap his arm around and push you open, fingers bruising with how he spreads you. His free hand prodded your entrance, circling in your wetness before slipping in knuckle deep. “Hyunjin,” you whine, your hips rocking against his lips, feeling the build up of your orgasm. He curls his fingers pressing up into you enough to make your legs jerk from the new angle. 

You're seeing spot before too long, hips stuttering as he gives a final hard suck, fingers still as you clench around them. You're moaning so loud you're sure someone will hear but you don't even care. Hyunjin doesn't stop the flick of his tongue against your clit making you cry out, “I said I wanted to see them shake,” devilish smile covered in your slick before he latches on to your clit again. Fingers pumping in and out of you before he presses deeper into you. You can feel tears at the corners of your eyes, and when he pulls away slightly to let his teeth brush your clit you're done for, legs trembling as you cum. He is persistent and you have to tug his head away, a slight smile stuck on his wet lips as he watches your body shake from the overstimulation. “once more?” 

“I can't- I can't do it,” you shake your head but he drags his fingers out slowly before inching them back in, your hips jumping. 

“I know you can, you've been doing so good for me already, one more time won't hurt,” he hums, dipping his nose down to brush over your nub. Jolting at the feeling he turns his head to kiss your inner thigh, slowly building up speed with his fingers, “can't you do just one more?” it's the way he asks so softly, the heavy gaze under heavier eyelids that makes you nod. 

You're so sensitive that one lick has you shaking, your orgasm feeling so far and yet so close all at once. His tongue laps through your folds circling your clit. Hyunjin is obsessed with the taste of you, completely under the spell of your pussy and how it responds to his touch. He could go all night eating you out, watching as you fell apart again and again before him. Your cries are getting louder and before you know it your back is arching into him almost coming off the seat, your orgasm so intense you don't expect the clear fluid to squirt out of you until it has. 

You're breathing so labored you place a hand over your chest to try and calm yourself. hyunjins pleased grin is the only thing you see before he pulls his fingers out of you and sticks them in his mouth to clean them. Every once in a while your legs jerk from an aftershock, the delight in his eyes worth how tired you feel. Your thighs are sticking to the leather seat under you as Hyunjin pulls your underwear back into place leaning down to leave a ghost of a kiss over your clothed clit. “next time I want you to cry this pretty for my cock okay?”