#there were a handful of of suggestions before but like

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Home Bliss | The Salesman x Wife!Reader |

Summary: He may be a psychopath but he pouts when his wife does not respond his messages.

Warnings: S2 Spoilers - Suggestive - Soft moments - S1 Salesman personality with S2 personality - Obsessive!Salesman - Soft!Salesman

He liked to follow a routine, wake up besides you, your soft snores filling the room and your sweet natural aroma.

Take a moment to aprecciate your features, face, body, see the marks he had left behind after a rough night of sex.

If some were fading away then he would take a mental note to give you some new ones later.

Then he would move, letting you sleep some more, sometimes he would nudge you so you two would shower together, an activity he enjoyed a lot.

Washing your body, feeling the soap against your skin, water falling between your breasts and down your collarbone.

Did it lead to him being late becuase he could not control himself under the image that resembled a goddess? Yes.

But he never cared, he made it up by getting the double amount of names crossed from his list.

Preparing his briefcase for work was a private act, the password for the safe know only by him, even if the content itself was not grotesque, he prefer for you to know very little about what he did for work.

After it he would have breakfast with you. A black coffee with no sugar and a red appel, you would often make some bread for him, another thing he loved. Home coked food. He would teast the love you poured when making it. And would leave the house feeling full and loved.

Oh, and with a kiss. He could never leave the house without getting a kiss from you.  A sweet long kiss, soft lips and cold hands caressing his face and hair.

And that look, a look that made him feel less of a monster and more human, a look only someone deep in love could give.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

The Salesman had just ended another day at work and at the park where he would entertain himself by offering bread or fair tickets. Most would choose the second and find out they had lose.

After it he would go to a near bakery and buy some sweet desserts for you, he knew how much of a sweet tooth you had.

He pulled out his phone while he waited for his order, pouting when he saw no new messages from you.

What was his little wife doing?

Were you mad? He did not notice something different in the morning. You acted as you usually did, doting him like he was a starved man for affection.

For your affection? Maybe he was. But only yours.

Was about last night? He knew he was quiet rough, harder than most nights. He could not help himself when he saw you in one of his old shirts, showing your precious legs to him and your half closed eyes.

You looked cute and hot after a nap, he always told you to not wait him awake if he told you he was going to be late. But you were admant about it and wanted to see him before sleeping.

So, instead of going straight to sleep he had took you to his special room, where he showed you just how aroused he was, how much he liked pushing your limits. Making you scream his name and cry. Licking your tears and edging you over and over. Pain and pleasure blurring the line, as he spanked you, making you count and thank him for them.

Oh, your red ass looked so cute with his printed hand on it, he could cum in his pants by it.

Of course he also made you ride himself while he kept a strong hold on your neck, giving you different pressure, cuting out the air that went to your lungs and then letting you breath. He loved to see your eyes roll back, when he would hit that special spot inside you with the sensation of lost air.

Your life was in his hands and you gave him all the control over it.

Even if you were too tired this morning and with more marks than usual...he knew you had liked it.

So no, that could not be the reason.

"Order six!!"

Well, he would have to return home and see for himself what was happening.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

Back at home the kitchen was a mess. You had decided to prepare your husband a well deserved dinner (even if walking did hurt like hell). In order to focus your phone was long forgot in your bedroom, were it rested with messages from him.

Not like you could know, too focus in the task at hand, the rice rested in a near plate, the meat being made at medium just like he liked it.

A small salad was also ready and waiting, you even went out to get a nice wine for both. Friday nights were the best nights to get drunk together.

It was all ready, you made your way to the dinning room, serving the plates in a fancy way, two glasses full of red wine.

You checked the hour and nodded to yourself, he would be home soon. You still needed to change.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

The Salesman opened up the door of his home, he frowned when he noticed the lights were off.

Slowly he moved towards the dinning room, were a flick of light was coming from. He started to get worried, did someone break in and hurt you? Just the idea sent rage into his body.

His lips formed a thin line, eyes now sharp and calculated as he walked in.

As he circle the corned his worried flew away, there you were, drinking a glass of wine, wearing his favorite clothes just for him and with the smell of home made dinner that made his heart beat fast and his body relax.

"Love, I kept texting you all day" He greeted going to hug you and kiss your head. "Why did you not respond?"

He gave you a pout, his eyes sad, he was a lot of things and one of them was being a softie for you, his dear wife.

"I was making you dinner, left my phone away so I would not get distracted"

He nodded but still looked over you with worry.

"One, one text its all I need to keep going" He said in a soft whisper "Dont ignore me again"

You had to bite down your smile, for someone who could get freaky and even sadistic in bed, he also had his lovable side, a bit possesive and obsessive but still lovable and yours.

"It wont happen again, now why dont you get out from these clothes and join me for dinner? I did your favorite"

His mouth watered at the sight, he was indeed hungry, and seeing the food was making him even more.

"Of course my love, and later I will show you how grateful im for it" He smirked kissing your temple.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 LOVERS ROCK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: there are very few things that leave dazai osamu at a loss for answers. you are one of them. more specifically, it's your relationship (is this a relationship?) with him that has him so disconcerted, and dazai is getting to his breaking point.

(wordcount: 3.6k; nsfw [kind of, very suggestive so will label nsfw], ada!reader, dazai has SEVERE trust issues & paranoia, this is set like half a year after he joined the ada, dazai also has a bad relationship with sex that is mentioned in his narration, he is terrible at communication too, accidentally hurts reader a little [nothing major])

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hiiiiiii guys <.< so i'm actually really proud of this ehehe. this is a universe that i'm tempted to expand on like wykyk, but we'll see.

Dazai hates giving up control. 

Ever since he was a kid, he’s been hyper-independent. First with his family, because they were never around and he had to learn to be self-sufficient otherwise he’d die a slow, painful death. Then in the Port Mafia, he quickly learned that asking for help is a weakness and being dependent on others is a vulnerability that people would take advantage of to subvert his influence and usurp his position as an underboss. As long as he’s remembered, it was all but a death sentence to rely on any other than himself. 

It wasn't until he became a member of the Agency that he finally began to allow himself to depend on others—banking on Ranpo and his mind, Kunikida and his ideals, Yosano and her tenacity. But even then, he never allowed himself to lose complete control over a situation, drawing things out in a way that would always leave him with a firm hand guiding the chess board. 

Until he met you, at least.

He wasn’t sure what made you so different—he still isn’t entirely sure, it’s a thought that frequently plagues him, and because of it, he can never allow himself to be fully comfortable with you. You joined the Agency a month after him with lips that spoke pretty words and gave him even prettier smiles. You’d been kind to everyone, but Dazai likes to think you were especially kind to him. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Dazai liked the idea of it.

Well, he didn’t at first. 

In fact, he was rather hostile to it. To you. The longing he felt for the casual, soft touches you laid upon the other members of the Agency felt more like a weakness than anything else. It scared him. He’d never desired anything of the sort before, he’d always been okay on his own—thrived in it, really—and now he was suddenly seeking you out at all hours of the day, and he didn’t even fully understand why. Every time he sought you out, it ended poorly with him saying something uncalled for and your expression twisting as you tried to hide your hurt. 

And yet he still continued to seek you out. He made the same mistake over and over again: constantly forcing himself into your space after getting jealous watching you doll out casual affection to the other detectives, waiting for you to give him the same attention, and then lashing out in some manner when you finally did.

He supposed it didn’t help that Dazai was uncomfortable in general with people touching him, which naturally made him even more hostile because why was he longing for something that made him uncomfortable? 

He also still isn’t sure how you managed to break through all of his walls—or why you even persisted when it became clear that he was at best incompetent when it comes to dealing with real emotions, and at worst, borderline malicious. 

But you did. And it scared him. Scares him.

Dazai lets out a shaky breath when he feels your lips ghost against his neck, fingers twisting the sheets below him. Your hands are sliding against his sides, gentle and soothing, and a part of him wants to melt into the sheets while another part of him wants to flip the two of you around, press you back down into the mattress and rip control over the situation back from you.

As if you can sense his conflict—maybe you can, Dazai has come to realize that unlike everyone else at the Agency, who he can fool with his mask of exaggerated dramatics and clownlike behavior, that you had somehow learned how to see right through him—you pause for the sparest moment and trace your lips back up his neck to brush them against his own, soft and comforting, as if to soothe his discord.

And it works somehow. Dazai doesn’t know how you do it because he can’t even quell his own mind when it starts to spin out of control, but the brush of your lips against his is enough to ground him again. 

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, eyes searching his face for the answers that he knew his lips might not give.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice rough and cracking over the word. 

He thinks maybe a part of it is the way you always check on him to make sure he’s doing alright. For Dazai, sex has only ever been transactional—he was young when he was first carted off to a whorehouse so he could be taught how to use his body for intel and other miscellaneous advantages. No matter how hard he tried to enjoy it, he always found it to be underwhelming at best and loathsome at worst. And he did try to enjoy it, he forced himself to seek out women in his free time to try to learn to enjoy the activity that so many other people seem to find comfort and pleasure in. 

It wasn’t until you that he could.

His first time with you was earth shattering. He’s not exaggerating when he says it completely altered his perspective on intimacy. It was embarrassing, almost—he remembers giving you quick, flirty smiles, and he remembers the sly comments he whispered to you at the bar the members of the Agency were at to celebrate Yosano’s birthday. 

He knew that morning that he wanted you in his bed by nightfall—partly because he thought it would get you out of his system, that maybe all he needed was a good fuck to stop acting like he was brainless whenever you were around, and partly because he was curious. He was curious to know if that genuine demeanor of yours continued behind closed doors, or if it was all just a mask you liked to put up in public. 

Dazai’s hands were on you before the two of you even left for the night—they were creeping up your inner thigh, lingering on your bicep, he was resting his chin on your shoulder as he stood behind you, warding off any man that might try to approach you with cold looks you couldn’t catch. Eventually, like he planned, you asked him if he wanted to go back to your apartment, and Dazai agreed, of course, eager to get his questions answered. Eager to free himself of whatever shackles you’ve put on him.

And it all went downhill from there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, frown deepening and hands stilling on his waist when you don’t find an answer you like on his face.

Dazai tries to play it off—you’re here for sex, not all of his unstable thoughts. He gives you a practiced smile and slips his hand under your shirt to rest on your lower back, pulling you firmer against him—an easy tactic, one of the first he learned to distract his partner when he slips up.

He should have known better than to think you would fall for it.

Instead of returning to the lingering line of kisses you were leaving on his neck, you sit back to study him, and Dazai feels seen. He shifts under your scrutinizing gaze, averting his eyes to the ceiling and counting the seconds that pass as he waits for you to ask that dreaded question. 

“What's wrong?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai can evade it. He knows that he can—even if the sex is ruined, because he knows you’re not going to have sex with him if you think something is wrong, he can evade this question by refusing to answer. You never press it, although sometimes your lips curve down in a disappointed frown that makes him feel even worse than before.

But Dazai finds himself hesitating.

“I-“ he starts to say before cutting himself off abruptly, horrified by the realization that he was just about to admit to you what he was thinking. “Nothing.” 

The anticipation that had sprung to your eyes when he started to speak dissipates when he blows you off, and it makes his chest tighten. He feels your thighs tense and knows you’re about to get off of him, so his hands fly to your hips to keep you in place.

“Something,” he corrects, voice just a little too raspy for comfort. “… Something.”

You settle back down on top of him, tilting your head to the side. 

“Tell me?” you offer quietly, your hands drop to his arms, sliding up and down the bandages that cover his forearms slowly. Soothingly. He hates it.

“I just don’t understand this,” Dazai admits. “It’s… confusing.”

It's possibly the first time he’s ever spoken these words out loud. It’s a weakness he’s never allowed anyone to be aware of—even when Dazai has no idea what’s going on, he’s careful to put up an impenetrable facade of confidence, one that even the keenest eyes can’t see through.

And here he is, bare of masks and facades, admitting his weakness plainly to someone who could easily take advantage of it.

Oh.

“This as in…?” you prompt with a pondering frown.

Is that it?

“This,” he repeats more insistently as his mind races. “Us.”

You, he accuses silently.

You have the ability to destroy him. Dazai realizes, disconcerted, that this is what is confusing him. He's allowed himself to be weak in front of you. He's lowered all of his guards. He's let you in through his many walls of defenses. You’ve settled down in the treacherous beating thing in his chest that he’s tried to rip out too many times to count, and Dazai waits for you to take advantage of it. He waits for this to go wrong. Waits for you to prove yourself to be a Trojan Horse in the form of dazzling smiles and a beautiful face. 

But you don’t, and that’s what Dazai just can’t understand. He doesn’t understand what you’re getting out of this—he knows what he’s getting out of it. He’s getting comfort, he’s able to pretend he’s capable of being loved, he gets you. But you’re not getting anything out of this, so he feels like he’s just been biding time before the other shoe drops.

“… What about us do you not understand?” You sound perplexed, and it agitates Dazai. Worse, you can tell it agitates him because immediately you run your thumb over the pulse point on his wrist to soothe him. You add quickly with a small smile, “I'm not understanding now, help me?”

It is beyond disconcerting that even though he knows it was a ploy to distract and soothe him, it works anyway. Dazai needs to do something about this.

“What do you get out of this?” Dazai decides to ask the question plainly instead of dancing around his words, partially because of the agitation and partially because he just needs an answer. Desperately. “What do you get out of what’s going on between us? I don't understand why you keep agreeing to meet me, why you initiate it sometimes. I need to know what it is you get."

Sex is transactional—it always is. Each party has to get something out of it, and if you don't know what the other is getting, then you have made a perilous mistake somewhere along the line. Dazai has known this since the beginning, but he allowed himself too long to bask blindly in the comfort of your arms and bed. He can’t keep doing this without knowing what you’re getting, It’ll come back to haunt him.

You’re still confused by his question even with the explanation, he can see it in the way the thoughts race behind your eyes as you try to piece it together. 

Eventually you settle on a smile that’s almost playful as you answer with, “You?”

Dazai’s frown deepens at your words, his expression becomes a bit colder. He thinks you’re evading the question because you don’t want to answer it, and that’s dangerous. You joined the Armed Detective Agency not long after him—were you a plant sent to get close to him by one of his old enemies? By Mori? His thoughts start to spiral dangerously. These are questions he should’ve been having months ago when you first joined the Agency, not now. 

“What are you really getting?” His grip on your hips tightens. “Tell me. Stop avoiding the question.”

Your expression becomes a bit more alarmed when he closes off from you, he thinks maybe his grip on your hips might be painful from your wince but he can’t afford to let go until he has his answer. 

“You, Dazai,” you say again, more insistently this time. “I get you. I get to spend time with you. be with you. That’s what I get.”

“But why?” Dazai presses, raising his voice, holding you tighter. He is hurting you now, he can tell from the way you try to bat his hands away, but he couldn’t let go if he wanted to. His blood pressure is rising as he realizes how badly he might have messed up. All of Ango’s efforts—Odasaku’s last request—all down the drain because of one mistake. “Why? What information are you trying to get? Who sent you? Who are you work-“

“What?” you demand. The confusion in your eyes is almost believable—Dazai thinks you must’ve been sent by someone important if you’re this good of an actress. His thoughts track back to Mori and his mind starts to fog with fury. “Who sent me? What are you-Dazai-I want you because I care about you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

The fog clears, Dazai stares at you blankly, hands loosening on your hips. He's not sure he heard you correctly, so he says: “What did you just say?”

Your expression softens a bit, and you repeat, “I care about you. I want you because I care about you.”

“No, you don’t,” Dazai says immediately. Instinctually.

“Yes, I do.” Dazai has never seen you get irritated before, but your face twists when he instantly denies your words. “I do, Dazai.”

“You don’t,” he insists. “You can’t. You don’t even know me, you don't care about me.”

He thinks he almost would have preferred that you had some ulterior motive to this. He hates the way his chest swells with hope—hope is dangerous, more dangerous than any other emotion. Fear, anger, sadness, none of it compares to the light that tries to bloom within his rotted chest. He tries to cut it off before it can spread, but it’s notoriously hard to snuff out; it clings to anything it can get a hold on even as he tries to push it away. 

The idea is… more tempting than he expected. It’s concerning, that should be enough to clear his head, but it’s not. His fingers cling to your shirt desperately, he searches your face, trying to find the sparest indication that you may be lying.

He finds none.

Still, Dazai knows better. He knows this won’t last. you’ll find out who he was, all of the things he did, and then you’ll leave him. You’ll see him for what he is, and you’ll leave him. This will never last. 

Nothing good ever does for him. 

“But I do care about you,” you insist, and you’re cruel now, because you reach out to cup his cheek and Dazai leans into your touch. He can’t help himself from it. “I care about you deeply, Dazai.”

“You can’t,” he repeats, and to his horror, his voice wavers. “You don’t know who I am, you don’t know what I’ve done, and when you do-“

“We all have skeletons in our closet, Dazai,” you interrupt him quietly. “I don't think there’s a single ability user out there that doesn’t. I don't need to know your past to know I care about you.”

That’s not true, he wants to say, but can’t force the words out. Instead, he says hoarsely, “It would change how you see me. I'm not who you think I am. I’m-”

A monster. A demon. His blood is black—has been since the day he was born, will be until the day he dies. He is not someone who should be cared for. He's someone who should be left to rot, someone the world would be better off without. He doesn’t deserve this, not when there are so many other people in the world who are unfailingly good and do deserve it. 

“It won’t,” you say again, but Dazai knows it’s not true, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know how awful he is. You don’t give him the chance to protest though. “I care about who you are today. I care about who you are tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. Not who you were months ago. The past is the past, Dazai, leave it there.”

“It's not that simple,” he rasps. 

“It can be,” you say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, “if you let it.”

“It can’t be that simple,” he disagrees. There’s an odd lilt to the voice—pleading, almost, begging you not to give him hope only to rip it away when the truth inevitably comes to light. “It can’t.”

“It can for us,” you tell him again, and Dazai finds himself believing you. Wanting to believe you. Wanting to believe things can just be that simple. That easy. 

“Why?” Dazai breathes out, eyes searching your face for answers. “Why me? Why not someone…”

Someone better. Someone good. Someone deserving. 

“Because you’re you,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, you lean down to ghost your lips against his and it fogs his brain with a pleasant warmth he’s only ever felt with you. “Do I need a reason more than that?”

Dazai wants to say yes, because him being him is a reason for you to not want him. He’s despicable, he’s cruel, he lashed out at you for weeks all the while forcing himself into your space because he wanted to be near you but didn’t understand why. 

“I love your smile,” you say, thumb running along his bottom lip, “and I love even more when I’m the reason for it.”

“But-“

“And I love your eyes,” you continue, fingers trailing up his face to trace under his eyes. “I think they’re the prettiest shade of brown I’ve ever seen.”

“I know that’s not true,” he rasps—he knows very well that his eyes are unnerving, too black and too empty. People have been unable to look him in the eye for long even when he was a kid. “I-“

“But most of all, it’s just you,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks with both of your hands. “You make me happy. I like being around you. I always look forward to the time we get to spend together—missions, at work, after work. I’ll take you in whatever way I can get, Dazai.”

You don’t let him avert his gaze this time, you force him to look at you, force him to see the truth of your words reflected in the adoration on your face. No one has ever looked at him like this before, and it makes him feel bare. Seen. He’s always felt seen with you, but never like this.

“I was… mean to you.” He still tries to argue with you, lashes fluttering shut. “I was cruel for months because-“

You laugh at him. “Mean? You were like a puppy trying to snap at my hand to scare me off.”

Dazai gapes. “A puppy?” he demands, seriously offended. “Don’t compare me to a dog. I’m more like a… A…”

“A…?” you press, a pretty smile flickering at your lips.

“A panther,” he supplies confidently.

“A kitten,” you correct.

Dazai groans dramatically, flinging his head back, but he finds himself smiling. He finds his chest full of warmth, light and bubbly, and when he looks back up at you to meet your eyes, he finds the same emotion swimming on your face. He thinks again that no one has ever looked at him like this before—not with such fondness, not with adoration, not with…

No, Dazai doesn’t dare think that word.

“I care about you too,” he admits. He’s hesitant, like he’s scared to say the words out loud.

“Even with all of the skeletons hidden in my closet?” you tease, leaning down to brush your lips against his again, and then a second time, and then a third. He basks in it, eyes sliding shut as you kiss him gently—it takes a few moments for your words to register.

“They’re not worse than mine,” he replies, the pads of his fingers running up and down your thighs absently. After a couple of seconds pass, he asks, “… What skeletons do you have?”

You tilt your head to the side and say playfully, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Dazai isn’t ready for that, so he just tosses you a smile and a wink before murmuring, “How about you show me something else instead?”

You laugh at that, tossing your head back and giggling so genuinely that your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound. His lips part to make another suggestive comment, but he finds himself breathless at the sight of you. 

You’re beautiful, and Dazai can’t help but think again that he doesn’t deserve this. You.

“Deal,” you agree.

This time when you lean down to press your lips against his, Dazai’s hands are content to rest on your thighs. His fingers don’t itch to wrangle control from you, and his mind isn’t plagued with paranoia-induced thoughts.

He thinks, maybe, that he can get used to this. Used to you.

[ditzydoe444]

MDNI 18+

bed chem ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

porn star! reader x jason todd

jason todd smut

when you told jason what you did online, you didn’t expect the reaction he had. he gave a casual shrug before suggesting he could help with your content. so now you were on your knees giving him a blowjob whilst he held the camera, capturing every angl as he sat on the edge of your shared bed. “look at the camera baby,” he cooed, nicely before fucking your face with his other hand. “need to give ‘em the performance they want yeah?”

you nodded, making all sorts of gagging noises on his cock, despite being together for over a year you could never adjust to his size. “come on, get your head together,” he grunted as he thrusted deeper, “can’t have my star performer lacking can we?”

you shook your head, trying to focus but whenever he fucked your mouth like it was your cunt it was too much, he basically fucked you dumb. both of your hands gripped his cock like it was your lifeline, moving up and down the inches you couldn’t take, your hands couldn’t even grip the whole thing because of how big it was. “look at that,” he cooed, looking down at you, “dribbling all over my cock like a little toy.”

eventually his thrusts became more ragged, and slow, a sign that he was going to come. “ ‘m close sweet thing,” he groaned pulling his cock out of your mouth resulting in a small ‘pop’ sound. your saliva dribbled down your chin with a small string connecting from your mouth to the fat tip. he gripped his cock, giving a new more pumps before a small devilish smile formed on his face. “let me paint your face, baby,” and god you wasted no time closing your eyes, leaning towards his cock. in a matter of seconds you felt the hot sticky mess running down your face, you opened your eyes slowly.

“give me a smile baby,” he mumbled softly one of his hands caressing your cheek softly before giving you a small pat on the head. you gave your cheesiest grin, your round cheeks protruding out, staring at the camera. “perfect,” he grinned, in a matter of seconds he placed your camera down at the bedside table before grabbing you by the waist. his sheer size made it easy for you to be manhandled, and he shoved you in the bed face down and ass up. “let’s get another round in,” he grumbled before shoving his cock into your cunt. let’s just say the two of you made an excellent film.

[julietsf1]

The Idiot I Call Mine - Lando Norris x BestFriend! Reader

summary: best friends are supposed to share laughs, inside jokes, fries and the occasional late-night drive. what they’re not supposed to do is flirt like it’s a competitive sport or make you question every unspoken rule of friendship. at least, unless your name is Lando Norris apparently. (7.1k words)

content: fluff! friends to lovers; flirty dynamic; mutual pining

an: whaaat? a fic about another driver? yes loves. this is me coming forward as a secret Lando fan. I hope you'll enjoy as much as I did writing this :)

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Lando Norris has this annoying habit of always being right. It’s not even about anything important—it’s just little things. Like the time he guessed exactly how long it would take before I caved and ordered dessert, or when he said I’d end up watching a rom-com tonight even though I claimed I wanted “something deep and meaningful.”

“See?” he said smugly, leaning back on the couch as the opening credits of The Holiday  played. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Hardly,” I shot back, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “You just know I have a weak spot for Jude Law. That doesn’t make you psychic.”

“No, but it does make me an excellent best friend.” He winked, plucking the popcorn off his lap and popping it into his mouth like the show-off he was.

I rolled my eyes, pretending I wasn’t fighting a grin. Lando and I had been inseparable for years, the kind of best friends who finished each other’s sentences and shared a borderline unhealthy obsession with late-night McDonald’s runs. But lately, something had been… different.

Not bad, exactly. Just different. Maybe? I wasn’t even sure to be honest. 

“You’re staring again,” Lando said, breaking into my thoughts. He was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest in a way that felt entirely too casual and yet completely deliberate. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, and his smirk was the kind that could make even the most confident person question their sanity.

“I wasn’t staring,” I lied, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it in my mouth for good measure.

“You were absolutely staring,” he teased, leaning closer. “What’s on your mind, hmm? Thinking about how devastatingly handsome I am? It’s okay—you can admit it.”

“You’re such a joke,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed but failing miserably. “Devastatingly handsome? Please. You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Exactly,” he said, flashing a grin. “And yet, here you are, spending your Friday night with me. Interesting choice.”

“I’m here for the popcorn,” I deadpanned, though even I didn’t believe myself. “And because you begged me.”

“I didn’t beg,” he protested. “I suggested strongly. There’s a difference.”

This was us—lighthearted insults, jokes at each other’s expense, and an ease in our conversations that felt like home. If there was something different lately, I told myself it was just my imagination running wild. 

“Speaking of choices,” I said, leaning back against the couch. “What’s the deal with you and your phone wallpaper?”

“What about it?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on, Lando,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You really expect me to believe you just happened to pick a picture of me for your wallpaper?”

“It’s a great photo,” he said with a shrug. “You look happy. And let’s not pretend your wallpaper isn’t me.”

I froze, caught. He was right—my wallpaper was him, but that wasn’t the point.

“That’s different,” I said quickly. “You look stupid in yours. It’s funny.”

“Ah, so I’m your personal clown now?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock offense. “Good to know my humiliation brings you joy.”

“Always,” I said sweetly, tossing another piece of popcorn his way.

The movie played on in the background, but neither of us was really paying attention. We were too busy pushing each other’s buttons, like always.

“Hey,” Lando said after a while, his tone a little softer. “You’re coming to dinner at Mum’s next weekend, right?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “She’s already planning the menu. Something with pasta, probably. You know how she gets when you’re coming over.”

I smiled despite myself. His family had always treated me like one of their own, and his mum had a knack for making me feel special in ways that were both comforting and overwhelming.

“Well, in that case,” I said, pretending to think it over. “I guess I can clear my schedule.”

“Good,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. “I’d be bored without you there.”

It was moments like this—simple and familiar—that stuck with me longer than they should. The way he said things so casually, as if they didn’t carry any weight, even when they somehow did. 

“You’ve got something on your face,” I said suddenly, trying to distract myself.

“Where?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Right there,” I said, tapping the corner of my mouth.

He smirked, deliberately licking the spot where I’d pointed. “Better?”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” I said, shoving him away. But I was laughing, and so was he.

“You love it,” he said, and for once, I didn’t argue. Because maybe I did.

As the night went on, the teasing continued, each remark more loaded than the last. By the time the credits rolled, I wasn’t sure if it was the movie or Lando’s lingering glances that had me feeling so off-kilter.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he said, breaking the silence as he stood to clean up the popcorn bowl. “Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking,” I said vaguely, not meeting his gaze.

“About?” he pressed, leaning against the counter with a smirk that said he already knew the answer.

“Nothing important,” I said, grabbing my phone and pretending to scroll.

“Liar,” he said, his voice playful but probing. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know that?”

I glanced up at him, my heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it had been doing lately. He was standing there like he had all the time in the world, his green eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“Goodnight, Lando,” I said finally, brushing past him on my way to the couch.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he called after me, his voice laced with amusement.

…

“You know, for someone who claims to be an athlete, you spend an alarming amount of time eating,” I said, glancing at Lando over the top of my menu.

“Carbs are fuel,” he replied, flashing me a grin. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand that we could’ve gone somewhere normal instead of whatever this place is,” I said, gesturing to the overly fancy restaurant. The kind of place where the wine glasses sparkled brighter than the chandeliers, and the menu was full of words I couldn’t pronounce.

“You’re so ungrateful,” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “Do you know how hard it was to get a table here? I had to name-drop myself.”

“Wow,” I said dryly. “The struggle.”

“Exactly. And now you’re here, about to enjoy the finest pasta in town, thanks to me. A little gratitude wouldn’t kill you.”

“Gratitude? You dragged me here under false pretenses. You said this was a ‘low-key spot.’”

“It is low-key,” he argued, gesturing around. “For Monte Carlo standards.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto my face. This was just how things were with Lando—effortless, easy, and borderline ridiculous.

“Alright, what are you getting?” Lando asked, lowering his menu.

“Fettuccine Alfredo,” I said without hesitation.

“Of course you are,” he said, smirking. “Predictable.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I shot back. “What are you getting, then? Something groundbreaking? Life-changing? Revolutionary?”

“Tagliatelle al tartufo,” he said with a mockingly posh accent.

“Wow,” I said, feigning awe. “Truffle pasta. You’re really pushing the boundaries, Norris.”

“Don’t be jealous just because I have sophisticated taste,” he replied, the smirk never leaving his face.

“‘Sophisticated’ is one way to put it,” I muttered, pretending to study the menu again. “Another is ‘pretentious.’”

“You’ll be begging for a bite,” he said confidently, setting the menu down.

“Please,” I said, scoffing. “You’ll be stealing mine before the plates even hit the table.”

He leaned forward, his grin widening. “You know me so well.”

The food arrived soon after, and, as predicted, we switched plates halfway through without even discussing it. It was second nature by now, like so many other things about us.

“You know,” Lando said, twirling a forkful of fettuccine, “if this whole racing thing doesn’t work out, I could be a food critic.”

“Sure,” I said, deadpan. “Because people are dying to know what Lando Norris thinks about pasta.”

“They would be,” he said, undeterred. “My palate is unparalleled.”

“Your palate consists of pizza, chicken nuggets, and whatever I’m eating,” I shot back.

“And yet, here we are,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Me, enjoying this culinary masterpiece, and you, enjoying my company. Life is good.”

It was shaping up to be another night of easy conversation and mindless teasing until a voice interrupted us.

“Lando?”

I looked up to see two women standing at the edge of our table. They were both tall, blonde, and effortlessly elegant, the kind of women who looked like they belonged in a magazine spread rather than real life.

“Oh, hey!” Lando said, his face lighting up in recognition.

I glanced at him, watching as his entire demeanor shifted ever so slightly. He straightened up, his grin widening just enough to make my stomach twist.

“We haven’t seen you in forever,” one of the women said, her smile bright and practiced.

“I know,” Lando said, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “It’s been a while.”

“You look great,” one of them said, her smile bright as she leaned in a little too close.

“So do you,” Lando replied, his tone polite but just warm enough to make me suddenly very interested in my water glass. The conversation floated around me, full of laughter and inside jokes I didn’t understand.

“And who’s this?” one of them finally asked, her gaze flicking to me with polite curiosity.

“This is Y/N,” Lando said, gesturing toward me with a casualness that felt too deliberate. “My best friend.”

Best friend. There it was again.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Likewise,” she replied, her tone perfectly pleasant.

They didn’t linger much longer—just enough to leave their mark before excusing themselves with a wave and a promise to “catch up soon.”

“Old friends of yours?” I asked once they were gone, my voice light but with a slight edge.

“Something like that,” Lando said, taking a sip of his water.

“Something like that?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, his smirk returning. “They’re sisters. I, uh… may have had a thing with both of them. At different times, obviously.”

My fork froze midair. “Both of them?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, laughing. “It’s not that weird.”

“It’s incredibly weird,” I said, shaking my head.

“I mean, it didn’t overlap or anything,” he added, as if that somehow made it better. “But yeah… sisters.”

I stared at him, equal parts amused and horrified. “That’s… impressive? I guess?”

“Thank you,” he said, grinning like he’d just been handed an award. “Think I should call them again?”

“Sure,” I forced a laugh, stabbing at my pasta. “And then ask if they have any other sisters you might’ve missed.”

He chuckled, clearly oblivious to the sarcasm in my tone. “Good idea. Always room for a hat trick.”

My stomach churned uncomfortably, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I focused on my plate, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way my mood had shifted.

…

The paddock was its usual chaotic self—teams rushing to prepare for practice sessions, fans peering over barriers for a glimpse of their favorite drivers, and media personnel darting between interviews. I decided to escape the madness for a bit, heading toward the staff catering building for a much-needed coffee.

The line was mercifully short, but as I joined it, I noticed someone already waiting near the front. Tall, dark-haired, and wearing a Ferrari polo with his name—Marco—stitched neatly on the chest. He turned slightly, catching my eye and offering a polite smile.

“Busy morning?” he asked, his tone warm and conversational.

“Something like that,” I replied with a small smile. “You?”

“Always,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But coffee makes it manageable, no?”

I nodded. “A universal truth.”

Marco stepped aside to let me order, a gesture so casual it almost went unnoticed. As I gave my order to the barista, I felt him glance at me again—not invasive, just curious.

“So, not Ferrari,” he said after I stepped back to wait for my coffee.

“Is it that obvious?” I joked.

“A little,” he admitted, his grin widening. “You’re far too relaxed to be one of us.”

“Should I be offended or flattered?” I asked, tilting my head playfully.

“Flattered,” he said easily. “Relaxed is a good thing.”

We fell into an easy rhythm as we waited. Marco was effortlessly charming, asking questions without prying and tossing in a few self-deprecating remarks about Ferrari’s chaos.

“You’re here with a team?” he asked eventually.

“A friend,” I said vaguely.

“Lucky friend,” he said, his tone light but genuine.

I laughed softly. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

Marco opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation.

“There you are.”

I turned to see Lando approaching, his expression relaxed but his eyes sharper than usual.

“Hey,” I said, surprised. “I thought you were doing media.”

“Finished early,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze flicked briefly to Marco, who stood quietly by my side. “And I figured I’d find you here.”

“Good instincts,” I said lightly, though something about his sudden appearance felt… deliberate.

Marco offered his hand to Lando, ever polite. “Marco. Ferrari engineering.”

“Lando,” he replied, shaking his hand. “McLaren driving.”

Marco chuckled. “I know who you are. Good to meet you.”

“You too,” Lando said, his tone friendly but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.

The barista called my name, and I turned to grab my coffee, giving them a moment to exchange polite words. By the time I returned, Marco was stepping away with his own drink.

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” he said, offering me a small wave before disappearing into the crowd.

Lando watched him go before turning back to me. “Who was that?”

“Marco,” I said simply.

“And what was Marco talking to you about?” he asked, his tone too casual to be entirely innocent.

I raised an eyebrow. “Coffee, mostly. Why?”

“No reason,” he said quickly, taking a sip of my drink.

I studied him for a moment, noting the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” he said defensively.

“You’re definitely acting weird.”

Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely baffled.

“He was flirting,” Lando said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I blinked. “He was being nice.”

“Nice,” Lando repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. “Sure. That’s one way to put it.”

“Lando, he’s just a guy who works for Ferrari,” I said, shaking my head.

“Exactly,” he said, as if that proved his point.

There was a beat of silence as I processed his words.

“You sound jealous,” I said finally, testing the waters.

“Jealous?” he scoffed, though the flicker of something in his eyes gave him away. “Hardly. I just think you can do way better than some guy who chats you up in the coffee line.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he asked, smirking now.

“Yes,” I said firmly, though the warmth in my chest betrayed me.

We walked back toward the McLaren garage, his mood lightening with every step. By the time we arrived, he was back to his usual self—chatting with the mechanics and laughing at some joke I’d already missed.

But his words stayed with me, replaying in my mind as I sat down with my coffee. My coffee which Lando had somehow already drank half of. 

…

The McLaren lounge was a rare oasis of calm in the chaos of a race weekend. Engineers hustled past the windows, radios crackled with updates, and somewhere in the distance, an engine roared to life. But in here, it was all plush couches, soft lighting, and a distinct lack of urgency.

I was curled up on one end of the couch, flipping through a magazine, while Oscar and Lando lounged on the other side. Lando, as usual, couldn’t sit still. He was draped sideways over the armrest, absently spinning a water bottle in his hands.

“Alright,” Lando announced, breaking the comfortable silence. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses?”

I looked up from my magazine, narrowing my eyes. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“It’s an important question,” he insisted, his grin wide and mischievous.

I pretended to ponder for a moment. “One horse-sized duck. Definitely.”

Lando gaped at me like I’d just declared something outrageous. “Terrible answer. Absolutely terrible.”

“It’s the smart answer,” I shot back, sitting up straighter. “You outmaneuver one big target instead of exhausting yourself trying to wrangle a hundred tiny ones.”

“Do you even know how terrifying a horse-sized duck would be?” Lando asked, his voice rising in mock disbelief.

“And do you know how terrifying a hundred duck-sized horses would be?” I countered, raising an eyebrow.

Lando leaned forward, his grin widening. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me you’d rather face one giant, angry duck with a wingspan bigger than this couch?”

“Absolutely,” I said confidently. “Ducks aren’t that scary.”

“They can bite, you know,” he shot back, gesturing dramatically. “One snap, and you’re done for.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “I think I’d survive. Besides, I have a secret weapon.”

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“You,” I said, deadpan. “I’ll just toss you in its path and run.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “Wow. That’s cold, Y/N. I thought we were a team.”

“We are,” I said, grinning. “But only if you pick the right answer next time.”

For a moment, he was quiet, his grin faltering just slightly as he met my gaze. It wasn’t much, just a flicker of something softer beneath the banter. But it was enough to make my stomach do that annoying little flip I’d been trying to ignore.

“Lando,” Oscar interjected, his tone casual but pointed. “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” Lando said quickly, his ears turning the faintest shade of pink as he looked away.

“You are,” Oscar said, leaning back with a smirk.

“You’re imagining things,” Lando muttered, crossing his arms.

Oscar snorted but didn’t press the issue, instead grabbing his phone and scrolling through it idly. But the look he shot Lando wasn’t lost on me—or Lando, for that matter.

As the banter settled into silence, I decided to grab a drink from the catering area, leaving the two of them alone.

The moment the door swung shut behind me, Oscar struck. “Mate, you’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“About what?” Lando asked, feigning innocence as he fidgeted with the water bottle.

Oscar didn’t even look up from his phone. “About Y/N.”

“What about her?”

Oscar set his phone down, leveling Lando with a knowing look. “You’re acting like a lovesick puppy every time she’s around.”

Lando scoffed, though the tips of his ears betrayed him again. “That’s ridiculous. We’re just friends.”

“Sure,” Oscar said, dragging out the word like he was savoring it. “That’s why you light up like a Christmas tree whenever she walks in the room.”

“I do not,” Lando said defensively, but his voice lacked conviction.

“You do,” Oscar replied, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “Mate, you’re glaring holes into the back of her head every time she talks to someone else. And don’t even get me started on how you were watching her during the duck-and-horse debate like she’d just solved world peace.”

“That’s—” Lando started, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Right,” Oscar said, his smirk firmly in place. “It’s exactly like that, but go off.”

Lando opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly searching for the right words. “It’s… we’ve known each other forever. It’s Y/N.”

Oscar nodded, as if that made sense, but his smirk didn’t waver. “Don’t you think it would be time to change that soon? You two are exhausting.”

Lando shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You’re completely gone for her. Admit it already.”

Lando groaned, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through his hair. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, grinning now. “But I’m right.”

Lando didn’t respond, his gaze drifting to the door where I’d just left. And for the first time, he let himself wonder if maybe—just maybe—Oscar was onto something.

…

The moment we walked into George’s celebration, the energy hit like a wave. The room was packed with familiar faces—drivers, engineers, and friends—dressed to the nines in that effortless way people in motorsport always seemed to manage. String lights twinkled across the ceiling, soft jazz played over the speakers, and a steady hum of conversation filled the air.

“You’re going to owe me for this,” I teased, glancing at Lando. “Dragging me here after wasting twenty minutes deciding between two identical shirts.”

“They weren’t identical,” Lando replied with a roll of his eyes, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as we weaved through the crowd. “One had a darker stitch.”

“Completely life-changing,” I said dryly, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

“See? You get it,” he shot back with a grin, steering us toward a booth near the bar.

The way his hand lingered, warm and steady, was something I tried not to think too much about. It was just Lando being Lando—playful, touchy, and completely oblivious to the little flips my stomach insisted on doing whenever he leaned too close.

We found our way to a booth not far from the bar, where Alexandra and Charles were already seated. Charles was gesturing animatedly about something, while Alexandra sat with her usual poised grace, sipping champagne. When she saw us, her face lit up.

“Enfin, vous êtes là !” Alexandra exclaimed, waving us over. (Finally, you’re here!)

“Lando a changé de chemise trois fois,” I replied, throwing him a look. (Lando changed his shirt three times.)

Charles chuckled, leaning back with a smirk. “Toujours dramatique, hein ?” (Always dramatic, huh?)

“English,” Lando whined as we slid into the booth. “You’re ganging up on me in French. It’s not fair.”

“Pauvre bébé,” I teased, patting his arm lightly. (Poor baby.)

“Whatever that means,” he muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn’t upset.

The conversation flowed easily between the four of us. Lando, of course, dominated the chatter, weaving an elaborate story about George’s awkward rookie days. His expressions were so animated, his gestures so over-the-top, that even Charles—usually the calm and composed one—was cracking up by the end.

“That’s not true,” I said, nudging Lando with my elbow. “You’re exaggerating again.”

“I’m not!” he protested, his green eyes wide with mock innocence. “It’s all true. Every word.”

“Sure it is,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Back me up here!” he said, turning to Charles.

Charles raised a brow, taking a deliberate sip of his drink. “I wasn’t there, but… I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Alexandra laughed softly, glancing at me. “Toujours l’acteur dramatique, ce Lando.” (Always the drama actor, that Lando.)

“Hey,” Lando said, pointing at her. “I know that wasn’t a compliment.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “It absolutely wasn’t.”

He gasped dramatically, his hand over his chest. “Betrayed by my own friends. I’ll never recover.”

“You’ll survive,” I said, brushing him off, though the warmth in his gaze lingered just a beat too long.

Lando eventually excused himself to grab drinks, leaving me to chat with Alexandra and Charles. As soon as he was out of earshot, Alexandra leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Il est tellement évident qu’il a un faible pour toi,” she said softly, her voice full of amusement. (It’s so obvious he has a thing for you.)

“Quoi?” I asked, my cheeks heating instantly. (What?)

“Ouvre les yeux,” she said, smirking. (Open your eyes.)

Charles chuckled, sipping his drink as he watched the exchange. “C’est écrit partout sur son visage.” (It’s written all over his face.)

“Stop,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re imagining things.”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, her expression saying everything her words didn’t.

At the bar, Lando was cornered by Carlos, who leaned casually against the counter, his expression smug. 

“You know,” Carlos said, his tone casual, “you’re not very subtle.”

“What are you talking about?” Lando asked, though his focus kept drifting toward the booth where I was sitting.

Carlos raised his drink, gesturing toward me. “You’ve been staring at her all night, hermano. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

Lando stiffened, his grin faltering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just tell her,” Carlos said, swirling his drink lazily.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando replied, his voice quieter now.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because if I mess this up, I lose her,” Lando admitted, glancing toward our booth.

Carlos tilted his head, studying him. “You’re scared. That’s what this is.”

“Of course I’m scared,” Lando muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s my best friend. If it doesn’t work—”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Carlos interrupted, his voice softer now. “But you’d better do something soon.”

Carlos’s smirk softened slightly, but before Lando could reply, Liam Lawson appeared at the bar.

“Who’s the girl with Charles and Alexandra?” Liam asked, nodding toward the booth. “She single?”

Carlos grinned mischievously. “Yeah, she is—go for it.”

Lando’s head snapped toward Carlos, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Carlos.”

“What?” Carlos said, feigning innocence. “Just giving the kid a shot.”

…

Liam approached with the kind of confidence that only a Red Bull driver could pull off.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from me. “You’re Y/N, right?”

I blinked, momentarily surprised but recovering quickly. “That’s me. And you are?”

“Liam Lawson,” he said, extending a hand.

I shook it, his grip firm but not overbearing. “Nice to meet you.”

“How do you know George?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table as if he had all the time in the world.

“Through Lando,” I replied, keeping my tone polite but measured. His easy demeanor was almost disarming, but there was something about the way he looked at me that made me hyper-aware of my surroundings.

“Ah, Lando,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Lucky guy. You two seem pretty close.”

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” I said simply, taking a sip of my drink and trying not to overthink his comment.

“Well,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “his loss if he hasn’t made a move yet.”

That caught me off guard. My gaze flicked to his, searching for any hint of a joke, but he was entirely serious—or at least good at pretending to be.

“Excuse me?” I asked, my voice betraying my surprise.

Liam grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Just saying. If I were him, I wouldn’t be sitting over there, letting someone else steal your attention.”

The comment was bold, and I didn’t quite know how to respond. My thoughts were a mess of confusion, flattery, and something else I didn’t want to name. Before I could formulate a response, the familiar sound of Lando’s voice cut through the air.

“Liam,” he said smoothly, stepping up to the table. His tone was calm, but his green eyes held a sharpness that made me sit up a little straighter.

Liam glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Christian’s looking for you,” Lando said, his tone casual but firm. “Something about debrief notes.”

Liam frowned, clearly reluctant. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, nodding. “He seemed pretty keen.”

Liam hesitated, his gaze flicking between me and Lando like he was weighing his options. Finally, he sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. Nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“You too,” I replied, watching him leave with a mixture of relief and something I couldn’t quite pin down.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lando lingered for a moment, his hands shoved into his pockets as he avoided my gaze.

“That,” Charles said, his tone thick with amusement, “was the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Lando shot him a glare, his ears turning faintly red. “Mind your own business, Charles.”

Charles just smirked, raising his glass in mock surrender. “Whatever you say.”

I didn’t say anything, but a flicker of suspicion settled in the back of my mind.

Had Lando just…? No. That would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it?

“Let’s get a drink,” Alexandra said, pulling me to my feet.

��

As Alexandra and I made our way back toward the booth, she nudged me gently, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Lando looked like he was about to breathe fire earlier,” she said casually, sipping her drink.

I laughed softly, trying to deflect. “He’s always protective. It’s nothing.”

“Protective?” Alexandra repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That was not protective, chérie. That was jealousy.”

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped short as we neared the booth, Lando and Charles’s voices filtering through the hum of the room.

“It will just be awkward, mate,��� Lando said, his tone low and almost resigned.

“Just talk about it,” Charles replied simply.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando muttered. “She will never be more than just a friend.”

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. My chest tightened, and the air around me seemed to still. Alexandra’s hand touched my arm gently, but I barely noticed.

“I— I need some air,” I managed, turning away before she could respond.

The ache in my chest grew with every step I took, his words echoing in my head.

She will never be more than just a friend.

And just like that, everything I thought I’d imagined felt painfully real.

…

I turned my phone face down on the table at Gigi’s, willing myself not to glance at the screen again. The missed calls from Lando were piling up, his name lighting up my notifications every half hour like clockwork. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him—I did. But every time I thought about his voice, his laugh, his damn words, the ache in my chest tightened.

She will never be more than just a friend.

I shook my head, forcing the thought away as the waiter arrived with my order. The smell of rich, cheesy pasta wafted up, comforting in the way only food could be. I twirled a forkful absentmindedly, hoping the carbs would somehow fill the space that had been hollowed out the night before.

The familiar growl of an engine outside pulled my attention from my plate. I glanced toward the window and froze.

The unmistakable silhouette of Lando’s Miura parked just outside, sleek and shining even under the soft glow of streetlights. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was, stepping out effortless as usual—but his expression wasn’t the easygoing grin I was used to. He looked… worried.

Before I could decide what to do, he spotted me through the window, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. He pushed through the door, his eyes locking onto mine immediately.

“There you are,” he said, relief evident in his tone as he approached my table.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Lando? What are you doing here?”

He pulled out the chair across from me, sitting down without asking. “Looking for you.”

My heart twisted. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been ignoring me all day,” he said, his voice quieter now.

I looked away, focusing on my fork. “I had my phone off that’s all.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he said finally, his voice softer but steady.

I glanced up, frowning. “What?”

“You always turn to cheesy Italian food when you’re upset,” he said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s your thing.”

The casual observation caught me off guard, a mix of warmth and frustration bubbling in my chest.

“So what?” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “You’re some kind of expert on me now?”

He sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Y/N, I know you better than anyone. And I know something’s wrong.”

I didn’t answer, twisting my fork in the pasta and pretending to be engrossed in my meal. But the usual comfort it brought was absent, replaced by the uncomfortable weight of his gaze.

“You’re not yourself,” Lando said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, my tone clipped.

“Don’t lie to me,” he replied, his tone more serious than I was used to.

I set my fork down, the clink of metal against porcelain louder than it should have been. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking.”

His eyes softened, his frustration giving way to concern. “Y/N…”

“Lando, I’m fine,” I interrupted, though the words felt hollow.

He didn’t push further, but I could see the gears turning in his head. He sat back, glancing down at my half-finished plate of pasta before gesturing to the waiter.

“Can we get the check, please?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.

I frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Paying,” he said simply, standing as the waiter approached.

“For me?”

“Yes,” he said, looking down at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Come on.”

“Come on where?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

“You’ll see,” he said, extending a hand.

I hesitated for a moment before letting him pull me to my feet.

The warm night air hit us as we stepped out of Gigi’s, the soft sound of waves in the distance mingling with the faint hum of the city. Lando didn’t say anything, his grip on my hand firm but gentle as he led me toward Larvotto Beach, just a short walk away.

“Lando, seriously,” I said as we reached the sand. “What’s going on?”

He stopped, turning to face me, his green eyes brighter under the moonlight.

“We need to talk.” he said simply.

And just like that, my heart started racing, even though I had no idea what he was going to say.

The beach stretched out before us, quiet except for the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore. The city lights glittered faintly in the distance, their reflection dancing on the dark water. Lando walked beside me, his shoulders tense, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

For once, I didn’t fill the silence. I didn’t trust myself to. My thoughts were a whirlwind—last night’s overheard words still fresh in my mind, colliding with the unexpected intensity of this moment.

We walked like that for a while, the sand soft beneath our feet, until Lando came to a sudden stop. He turned to face me, his green eyes catching the moonlight in a way that made my stomach twist.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

I crossed my arms, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. “Try the beginning.”

He huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “The beginning’s too far back. I’d be here all night.”

“Good thing I don’t have anywhere else to be,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

For a moment, he just looked at me, his expression softening. “Y/N, I have a lot of friends. Like, a lot of friends.”

I blinked, confused. “Okay?”

“But none of them get to me the way you do,” he said, his voice dropping.

I stared at him, my breath catching. “What are you saying?”

He glanced out at the water, like he was searching for courage in the rolling waves. “I mean… you’re not just anyone to me. You never have been. You’re the first person I think of when something happens—good or bad. And the idea of upsetting you? It’s unbearable.”

My throat tightened as his words sank in.

“Like today,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “You ignored my calls, and I couldn’t stop thinking about whether I’d done something wrong. Whether I hurt you somehow. Because if I did…” He stopped, exhaling sharply, and shook his head. “I can’t stand the thought of you being upset because of me.”

I didn’t respond, too caught up in the flood of emotions his words were pulling from me.

“When you’re upset, it breaks my heart,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “And when you laugh… it’s like my entire day gets brighter. When you’re sad, it feels like my world’s falling apart.”

“Lando,” I started, but he held up a hand, shaking his head.

“I’m not done,” he said, his words tumbling out now, faster and more frantic. “I’ve been feeling like this for so long, and I thought I could just push it aside or pretend it didn’t matter, but it does. It matters so much. And if I messed up—if I’ve ruined this somehow—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You didn’t—”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted, his eyes locking onto mine. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, but I’ve been too scared to admit it. And I know this might change everything, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

I froze, his confession slamming into me with the force of a tidal wave.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know if this makes sense. I just… I can’t lose you, Y/N.”

Without thinking, I stepped closer, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

For a second, he was completely still, caught off guard. But then he kissed me back, his hands slipping to my waist as he pulled me closer. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it deepened quickly, making the world around me disappear.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us catching our breath.

“So… I’m guessing you feel the same?” he asked, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re so slow sometimes,” I murmured, shaking my head with a laugh.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” I said, smiling.

The relief on his face was almost comical. He pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me tightly like he never wanted to let go.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” he murmured into my hair.

“And I’ve wanted to hear it,” I admitted, my voice muffled against his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “But… yesterday. Did I say something? Did I—”

I hesitated, my stomach twisting. “I overheard you talking to Charles.”

His face paled. “Oh.”

“You said I’d never be more than a friend,” I said, my voice wavering.

Lando winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, Y/N, that’s not how I meant it at all. I said that because I thought I didn’t stand a chance. Like… you’re so important to me, and I didn’t want to mess up what we already had by wanting something I thought I could never have.”

He looked at me with a mix of regret and hope. “I’m an idiot. It wasn’t because I didn’t want more—it’s because I didn’t think I could have it.”

“You are an idiot,” I said, my lips twitching into a small smile. “But you’re my idiot.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yours, huh? Bold claim.”

I tilted my head, my grin widening. “Think you can find someone else to deal with you the way I do?”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Deal with me? You mean worship my charm and tolerate my perfection?”

“Oh, please,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “The only thing I’m worshipping is the patience I’ve built up putting up with you.”

His hands slid to my waist, pulling me slightly closer, his smirk turning more mischievous. “You love me. Admit it.”

“Not a chance,” I said, even as my pulse quickened.

His gaze dropped to my lips for the briefest moment before meeting my eyes again, his voice softening but still teasing. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

Before I could respond, he closed the gap, kissing me again with a fierceness that took me by surprise. This wasn’t the hesitant, nervous kiss from before. It was confident, teasing, like everything we’d been holding back had finally snapped into place.

I kissed him back, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. His hands tightened on my waist, grounding me as he smiled against my lips, murmuring, “Still denying it?”

I broke the kiss just long enough to catch my breath, raising an eyebrow. “You think one kiss is going to make me fold?”

“Two,” he said smugly, leaning in for another without waiting for an answer.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t stop him, meeting him halfway this time. His lips curved into a grin mid-kiss, and I could feel his stupid, insufferable smugness radiating off him.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked when we pulled apart, my voice laced with mock annoyance.

“Unbelievably,” he replied, his grin widening as he rested his forehead against mine. “And don’t pretend you’re not.”

“Maybe I am,” I admitted, smirking. “But if you keep talking, I might start regretting it.”

He laughed, pulling me closer. “Alright, no more talking. For now.”

“Good,” I said, leaning in again, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore fading into the background as everything else fell away.

The weight of everything unsaid was gone, replaced by the warmth of realizing we’d both been fighting our way toward the same truth: we’d always belonged to each other.

When we broke apart, Lando’s grin turned mischievous, and I immediately knew he was up to something. Before I could react, he scooped me up effortlessly and started toward the water.

“Lando! Don’t you dare!” I shrieked, squirming in his arms as laughter bubbled out of me.

“Payback for all those times you called me an idiot,” he teased, stopping just as the waves lapped at his shoes.

He finally set me down, his smirk smug and unapologetic. “Admit it. You love me anyway.”

Figures. I’m in love with someone who steals my fries and once confidently argued that dolphins were just “sea dogs.” I wouldn’t have it any other way though.

[cherrixpie]

ACCISMUS

↬ maybe it was stupid trying to make theodore nott jealous by going to the yule ball with mattheo. maybe.

↬ sfw; wc: 9.4k; cw: violence, suggestive; theo nott x reader, friends to lovers

Mattheo Riddle was a genius. At least after today he was. Though it wasn't like he wasn't sharp, it was more so the fact that his desire to punch someone got in the way of his composure that had earned him the reputation of a beater rather than a schemer. Usually, it was Theodore with the observant eyes, perfect composure and the thoroughly thought-out plans. Mattheo would know, as Theo’s quick-witted responses and excuses were likely the only reason he hadn't been kicked out yet. But today, he would turn the tables.

As usual, younger students jumped out of his way as he stormed through the halls, climbing the stairs that led up to Gryffindor tower. A group of his peers that were climbing out of their common room entrance cast him incredulous looks as Mattheo surged forward to hold it open and slip in in their wake. The second he entered the lion’s den, conversations fell silent and a sea of Gryffindors wearing expressions of varying shock stared at him, standing panting before the exit.

With a sweeping glance, Mattheo spotted you, sitting by the fire with your friends and playing chess against Weasley. When he had entered, you had looked up from your game and were now looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He called your name and motioned outside, hoping you'd get the hint. You did and rose from your seat, quelling the nervous remarks of your Gryffindor friends.

In spite of your house, you had been included in Mattheo’s friend group ever since you’d had a charms project with Enzo in fifth year, who had introduced you to them. Against all odds, it had been an instant match, and you hung out with them whenever you could, even though your housemates had been opposing the idea from the start.

Now, you stifled their complaints and slipped past Mattheo out of the portrait hole, who followed in suit, not sorry to leave the room of judging stares behind. When he let the portrait fall back into place, he found you frowning at him. “Did you run all the way up here, Mattheo?”

“Maybe,” he grinned cheekily and you rolled your eyes, though actual annoyance was missing from both your eyes and voice. “Whatever for?”

His appearance was slightly unnerving. Though completely out of breath and heaving heavily, an eager, almost crazed smile tugged at his lips and his eyes glinted dangerously. “I have a proposition for you,” Mattheo grinned and you sighed. Oh Merlin. You were going to get roped into another one of his schemes, weren't you?

“So, here’s the deal,” Mattheo whispered conspicuously and dragged you into a darker part of the corridor. “I think we can both do each other a favor that benefits both of us.” He swatted his hand at your skeptical expression. “I mean, actually benefitting both of us.”

“Let's hear it,” you replied and crossed your arms. You had your doubts wether this wasn't just an elaborate plot advantageous to exactly one person: Mattheo. That wasn't prejudice talking, but experience. Just a few years ago, you would've thought it impossible that you would be friends with Mattheo Riddle one day, but he had turned out to be a genuinely funny and easy to talk to person. But that didn't mean you trusted him when he looked at you like that. Especially because Mattheo had a way of causing trouble that rivaled Harry Potter’s.

“Be my date for the Yule ball,” Mattheo blurted out and your brows only rose higher.

During the last few weeks, nobody had known another topic of interest than the Yule ball that would take place at the end of the week, the hustle and bustle around it had been exhausting. Not to mention the drama resulting from the dating rumors. Secretly, you’d been hoping that Theo would ask you out. You had been crushing on him since even before you were properly introduced, and befriending him had only intensified your feelings for him. But he hadn't made a move. And now this.

“How would that benefit either of us?” you said, stunned. “What use could either of us possibly have to gain from stepping on each other's toes for a whole evening?”

“Well,” Mattheo started, rubbing his neck. “Ya see, I have a lot of … options, but I don't want anyone to become attached and start bugging me or expecting a relationship.” He pulled a disgusted face and you suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. Out of his whole friend group, who were all very sexually active, Mattheo had earned himself the title of the biggest whore, but it looked like that came to beat him in the ass for the first time.

“Why don't you go alone, then?” you asked sensibly. “I'm sure no one is going to doubt your sexual prowess just because you go solo to the Yule ball.”

Mattheo shook his head. “Not an option. I did a bet with Draco and I have to eat a hundred living flubberworms if I don't get a date.” A shudder ran through his body at the thought. “So I’m thinking I'll just ask a friend. But Pansy and Blaise are going and Draco and Daphne have made arrangements and Merlin forgive me for not wanting to go to the ball with Enzo or Theo.”

You couldn't help the snort that escaped you and turned into a laugh at the incredulous look he gave you. “God, Mattheo, I can't believe it. This is absurd.”

Patiently, Mattheo waited for you to come down from your laughing fit. “So, what do you say, angel? I can dance, I promise.”

“What's wrong with going out with Enzo or Theo?” you asked elusively. Though you had become used to the looks and stares that you earned every time your friendship to the Slytherin gang came up, you weren't keen on the attention you’d get for going out with the Dark Lord’s son, even if it was merely platonic.

“Come on,” Mattheo pleaded with you and it was a genuinely curious sight to hear him beg. “Think about what's in it for you!”

“Having to listen to you for hours on end and a public witch hunt?”

“Aha!” he called and sprung up. “That's where part two of my plan comes in.” When you opened your mouth to protest, he waved his hands to stop you. “Listen to this. I get to escape the flubberworms and the nosy girls and you get to make Theo jealous.” Ignoring your spluttered response, he continued. “That boy’s head over heels for you, and with a little luck, seeing you with me will make him explode and confess, and the two of you can ride into the sunset together yada yada yada.”

Luckily, your hidden corner was so dark the blush on your cheeks would not be visible to the eye, but in the deafening silence that followed, you could hear your heart beating faster. Finally, you broke it with a wavering laugh. “You’re ridiculous, Theo doesn't like me like that. He isn't- he wouldn't-” But Mattheo grinned wider the more you stuttered on and you glared at him. “If he likes me, why hasn't he asked me out yet?”

It was impossible. Too good to be true. Theo was stunning, he was smart and just overall great. When you first joined their friend group, he had warmed up to you the fastest, after Enzo of course, even though it was quite unusual of him to be open to strangers. But you had bonded over your shared academic interests, and once you had started recommending each other books and studying together, you were a done deal. But it was a purely platonic deal, at least from his perspective. Right?

“He will,” Mattheo interrupted your train of thought. “And he’ll give you the same spiel as me. He just needs a wake up call to realize he wants to fuck you!” Ignoring your piqued look, he gesticulated wildly. “Come on, are you just going to let him use you when you love him and he can't wrap his head around his feelings for you?”

“Like you are using me?” you reminded him but it couldn't deter Mattheo. “That's different. You don't have feelings for me, do you?”

You avoided his eye as you pondered his proposal. What if it didn't work? Well, at least you'd know and finally be able to let go of your stupid crush. There was, objectively, nothing wrong with going to the ball with Mattheo, you could just say you were helping out a friend.

Mattheo had said Theo had feelings for you- but what did he know? Why would someone as amazing as Theo be interested in you? Then again, there had been those moments, between bookshelves in the library, or in his common room, or out at the lake, shuffling closer to each other because of the cold. Moments when he had said or done something more befitting of a boyfriend rather than a friend. Rare smiles, interlaced fingers, sweet compliments, weirdly romantic Italian nicknames you had researched in a muggle library over the holidays. Was there a chance that Mattheo, who had the emotional intelligence of a tree trunk, was right about Theo’s feelings, or was he simply misinterpreting them?

“He really likes you,” Mattheo added quietly, as if he had read your thoughts. “He just needs a little push. Come on, angel, what could go wrong?”

Angel. That nickname. The first time Mattheo had called you that had been in the Slytherin common room. You had been lounging on the couch next to Theo, a book abandoned in your lap, and tried to cheer them up after a depressing quidditch practice. When Mattheo had called you an angel, Theo’s hand on your thigh had tightened and you had looked up just in time to see him throw a warning glare at Mattheo. Maybe there was something to his words.

But then again, you reminded yourself, Mattheo had an agenda with this, and when had someone else ever been more important for him than he himself? It was ridiculous to think that Theo liked you, but you were so hopeful. What if Mattheo’s stupid plan did work in your favor?

“F-fine,” you spluttered out before you could start to doubt yourself again. “I'll go with you. But it won't work because Theo doesn't like me like that. And you’re just taking advantage of my stupid schoolgirl crush. So, if it doesn't work, which it won't, you’re going to let me test my practice potions on you for a weekend. Deal?”

“Deal,” Mattheo grinned, shaking your outstretched hand. “But I fear you’ll have to find another guinea pig for your potions, because it will work.”

When Mattheo strode into the Slytherin common room fifteen minutes later, he walked in on Pansy beating Blaise at chess maliciously. The light of the flickering green fire made the shadows of their chess figures flicker over the walls in giant dimensions. Both of them looked up when he fell down on the couch with a triumphant grin and exchanged a glance. Usually, Mattheo's good mood could mean one of two things: someone was bleeding or someone was going to bleed.

“So…,” Blaise began when Mattheo made no indication of speaking. “What's got you in such a good mood?” Immediately after, he began to curse bitterly when Pansy took advantage of the distraction to get rid of his Queen.

“I’m not going to eat any flubberworms any time soon,” Mattheo said, satisfied. “y/n just agreed to go to the ball with me.”

The reaction was immediate. Pansy choked on a chocolate frog she had been eating and Blaise was too shocked to pat her back when she began to cough. In the armchair a few feet away, Enzo shot up and stared at Mattheo as if he had just announced he’d take a Hungarian Horntail to the ball. Then, he folded up his edition of the daily prophet he had been reading and sighed. “Mate, Theo’s going to kill you. Like, properly murder you.”

“That's what I'm counting on!” Mattheo retorted enthusiastically, undeterred by the skeptical looks on his friend’s faces. “Hold up, it's actually genius. I go out with y/n, Theo’s jealousy overloads, he explodes, finally confesses to her and stops yapping to us about how great she is.” He had framed his words with dramatic gestures, but they didn't have the planned effect.

“Mattheo, you absolute idiot,” said Pansy, so outraged at this display of foolishness that she didn't catch Blaise sneaking some of his chess pieces back onto the board. “You think jealousy is going to work? Have you met Theo? He’ll just brood in the corner forever.”

“She's got a point,” said Enzo, rolling up his newspaper and staggering over to his friends. “Also, Theo’s not going to confess if he thinks she’s into you!”

“You all underestimate his selfishness,” said Mattheo, still wholly convinced of this plan. The others exchanged looks. “Of course he’ll be broody and torn, but in the end, he’ll choose himself, as much as he loves her. And then he'll finally man up and tell her how he feels, she’ll confess right back and they ride out into the sunset together. Come on, it's guaranteed to work!”

A long silence followed, in which Mattheo smiled to himself giddily and the others contemplated the plan. Then- “this is why no one trusts you with anything emotional, Mattheo,” said Blaise, shaking his head. “Why not just talk to Theo instead of creating this drama? Oh, right, because you’re Mattheo.”

“We’ve tried, haven't we?” Mattheo asked in an exasperated voice. “We’ve told both of them again and again to finally get off their ass and make a move and they never listen, because they are oblivious angsty idiots.” He did have a point. Since the start of term, it had been obvious to the whole friend group how head over heels in love the two of you were for each other. Their attempts to get you together had failed miserably, however. Though the two of you were probably the smartest in your friend group, in this matter, you were wholly oblivious.

Enzo was the first to speak. “I swear, if you ruin this for Theo and y/n, I’m taking you down myself.”

“You can try, Berkshire,” grinned Mattheo, reaching for his wand, but Enzo only rolled his eyes and retreated back to his armchair, unfolding the daily prophet and continuing to read where he had left off.

“Wait,” said Pansy, narrowing her eyes at him. “y/n actually said yes to this? She's either braver than I thought or just as mad as you are.” She groaned exasperatedly and rubbed her temple, giving Blaise the opportunity to wipe a few of her chess pieces off the board without her noticing. “I give it two days before Theo starts plotting your untimely demise. Maybe less.”

“Well, that's the spirit, isn't it?” Said Mattheo, brimming with excitement. “Haven't had an equal fight in months.”

“Oh, that's what this is about,” murmured Pansy under her breath and gave Blaise a sharp look at if to say 'I've done all I can, it's your turn now’. Blaise, who wasn't one to let down his girlfriend, frowned thoughtfully. “Mark my words, this isn’t going to end well- for you, at least. I’ll enjoy watching, though.”

“Watching what?”

All four of them shot around at the sound of a drawled out voice coming from the entrance. It was Draco, covered in mud and shouldering a broom, and in his wake Theo, looking no less in need of a bath. “Why weren't you at practice, mate?” Draco asked Mattheo, who surely didn't regret ditching practice now that he'd gotten a clean shirt and a date out of it.

“I had to make a trip to Gryffindor tower,” he answered honestly, eyes roaming over their dirty forms. “Equally as unpleasant, I figure. Though it did ultimately work in my favor. Because I have a date for the ball now.” His observant eyes rested on Theo, who’s tired ones briefly flickered over and narrowed at him in suspicion.

“You’re taking a lion to the ball?” asked Draco skeptically, he seemed unable to imagine Mattheo having the audacity to ask you out, since, as everyone knew, you were Theo’s girl. “You must be really desperate. Who's the unlucky girl?”

“y/n,” grinned Mattheo simply, but the words had their intended effect nonetheless. A loud clatter silenced the common room when Draco’s broom landed on the floor, having slipped right out of his hands. His face was almost as white as his platinum hair as he gaped at Mattheo and then glanced back at Theo who had frozen mid-motion. Now, he straightened up once more to look at Mattheo. Theo, other than Mattheo, understood it to hide his reactions behind a mask of indifference, but his blue eyes were as hard and cold as ice.

“She said yes?”

“Yeah,” grinned Mattheo, failing to read the room, or he simply said the following out of madness. “She seemed pretty stoked!”

“Did she?” asked Theo tight-lipped and Mattheo only grinned in response. Teasing Theo, prodding him, holding you over his head, waiting for him to snap, for his oh-so-great composure to crack was the definition of fun. Mattheo could almost see it flicker in his eyes, the desire to punch him, to punish him, for taking what was his. And then, Theo’s annoying righteousness when it came to you, how he would remind himself that you didn't belong to him, that you could do whatever you pleased.

Mattheo could imagine both sides battling viciously in Theo’s head as he returned his gaze, it was delicious to have him squirm. He only had to watch his step, not play with the fire too much. Theodore Nott was one of the few people he knew that could actually beat his ass if they got poked too much. But he didn't take his eyes off Theo's who seemed just as determined to hold his. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see his hands tighten around his broom before they relaxed, he spread his fingers like spiders and disciplined his own body into submission.

“So,” said Theo cooly, a certain bitterness tinging his tone that he kept to a minimum. Of course Theo knew Mattheo was trying to provoke him, and he was determined not to give him the satisfaction, or that was what Mattheo himself concluded. “When exactly did you decide you were into her? Before or after you knew I-” Theo paused and clenched his jaw “Never mind.”

“Does that bother you?” Mattheo asked in faux consideration and he could feel his friends holding their breath. Theo's infamous death stare fell upon him and the grin fell off his face, though the daring look in his eyes did not subside.

When Theo answered, his voice was smooth and controlled. “Doesn’t bother me. I just… didn’t think she’d be your type.”

“Why not?” asked Mattheo, his body ready for attack, every nerve tense in excited anticipation of a good fight. “She’s sweet, pretty, smart-”

“She's too good for you,” Theo cut him off with narrowed eyes, but Mattheo only shrugged. “It's the damn Yule ball, mate, I just need a date so I don't have to eat three courses worth of flubberworms, and I could imagine way worse than spending the evening with her. I mean,” a light smirk curled his lips, “she's not your girlfriend, is she?”

Oh, he could just feel Theo’s fury in his fingertips, the way he looked at him as if he wanted to take his head off. How he had to regret not asking you sooner, how confused over his anger he had to feel. Mattheo reveled in the power he had over him. But Theo smoothed out his features and stared at him through a mask of indifference. “Right.” Looking somehow a lot moodier than when he had stepped in, already brooding, he shouldered his broom and left for the boy’s showers.

His absence left behind a tense silence. Blaise was the first to speak. “Mattheo, mate… you're dead.” But Mattheo only laughed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, unbothered by his pessimistic outlook and still wholly convinced of his plan.

You wondered if Theo had caught wind of the Yule ball arrangement when you caught sight of him the next day in the Great Hall, looking more somber than ever. Even from the Gryffindor table, you could see him staring gloomily down on his porridge as if it had wronged him somehow. You were equally as unable to eat. Gnawing on your lip, you weighed the explanations in your head. Could he be jealous? No, that was too good to be true. It couldn't be.

Maybe he too had made a bet with Draco and had to eat flubberworms if he didn't find a date? Maybe there was some other explanation as to why Theo seemed to be answering all questions directed at him with either a frown or a shrug. Hunched over, his dark locks fell into his eyes as he glowered at his meal, fingers flexing around his fork. It was true, Theo was a grim person, and on bad days, he tended to glower at everyone who crossed his path- could this be just another one of his mood-swings?

“Everything alright?”

Taken aback, you looked at Hermoine who surveyed you with a cautious look in her brown eyes. “You haven't eaten.”

“I'm just not hungry,” you smiled truthfully and discarded the fork. No use pretending, you weren't getting any breakfast down today. Not when Theo looked so distractingly sinister and gorgeous.

But Hermoine didn't look convinced. “What did Riddle want yesterday? When he wanted to talk to you, what did he say?”

Your attention had been captured by Theo giving Mattheo his nastiest death glare, so you only registered the words slowly. “Huh? Oh, he only asked me to be his date for the Yule ball.” you replied, making Hermoine choke on her cereal. “He did what?”

Biting into the sour apple, you decided to come clean. “I said yes.” To escape her unbelieving and quite frankly accusing eyes, you rose from your seat. “See you in Arithmancy, Hermoine,” you said hastily and walked along the Gryffindor table in long strides. When you reached the doorway, however, you turned left and walked along the Slytherin table towards your friends.

Pansy noticed you approaching and waved, making the others look up as well. Mattheo grinned at you and blew you a kiss you rolled your eyes at. When Theo’s eyes fell upon you, however, they softened visibly. He scooted to the side, making space for you to sit down next to him. You smiled at him, albeit intimidated slightly by his bad mood, and moved closer to him. To your immense relief, he returned your smile and grabbed an empty glass to fill it with pumpkin juice and place it before you.

“Decided on a dress yet?” Pansy asked from the other side of the table and you looked at her, therefore missing the slight narrowing of Theo’s eyes at the mention of the ball. You did, however, notice his hand, reaching for yours over the table and interlocking your fingers with his. The Nott family ring on his ring finger burned cold against your skin, the calloused tips of his fingers from all the smoking burns felt even more uneven against your soft skin. You didn't know why you noticed his hands so clearly at this moment. Maybe, you realized, because you had never actually held his hand.

“Uh- yes,” you said, a little flustered, and returned your attention to Pansy who gave you a knowing look. “And you?”

The two of you slipped into a conversation about the ball and your dresses that the other boys participated scarcely in. Blaise asked questions about Pansy’s dress that he had never actually seen before. From time to time, Draco threw in a comment about his dancing skills and Enzo laughed along to Pansy’s teasing. Mattheo made flirty comments towards you when you talked about your dress, glancing at Theo to gauge his reaction.

Only Theo didn't participate in the conversation, though his fingers stayed interlocked with yours. Every now and again, they seemed to tighten, especially when Mattheo directed one of his flirty comments at you. But maybe that was just wishful thinking on your part. When everyone rose to go to class, he tugged you down again by your interwoven hands. His expression was serious. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Uh, sure,” you smiled, waving the others goodbye. Mattheo winked at you and you rolled your eyes at him. You sat back down, but Theo didn't speak immediately. His eyes studied your face, roamed over your features, as if he was seeing you for the first time- really seeing you. Merlin, he was an idiot. He should have asked you before Mattheo would be able to. The thought that you had looked up at Mattheo this sweetly just a day prior, before he had gotten ahead of him and asked you, was gnawing at him.

“You're going to the ball with Mattheo?” he forced the words past his lips, but managed to make them sound casual, as if he was asking about the weather.

“Yes?” you said and immediately scolded yourself for making it sound like a question. Your tone made him lift his brow as his eyes searched yours for any hesitance. “You don't have to go out with him, if you don't want to,” he said.

You could hear your heart beat in your ears. Was he trying to tell you that you had other options? Like him? For one second, you could see yourself, in the dress you had already picked out, side by side with Theo. He had to be a wonderful dancer. But then, you remembered what Mattheo had said. It was a platonic offer, even if he had feelings for you. Which you doubted. The thought of going with him when it was a merely platonic deal for him but meant so much to you, it was almost unbearable.

“I want to,” you replied and your voice sounded steadier than you’d dared to hope. For a second, you thought you saw his expression drop, but you could never trust your eyes with him, his fleeting expressions and flashes of emotions were hard to keep up with, even for you, who could see through him better than most people, by his own admission.

Theo merely nodded and stood up. Before you could, he shouldered your book back as well. Like the gentleman he was, he fended off your protests and held out his arm for you to take, as if you were at a special occasion, when, in truth, it was just another Tuesday in the Great Hall. Both glad and disappointed that nothing had changed, you slipped your arm into his and you left the Hall on your way to the Arithmancy classroom.

The soft hum of chatter filled the entrance hall as students in glittering gowns and sharply tailored dress robes gathered beneath the glowing light of the enchanted candles. The winged doors to the Great Hall were still shut as students who had partners in another house pushed through the crowd in search of them. You, however, didn't have much of a hard time finding your group of Slytherin friends, as any sane student steered clear of them. Before they could make you out in the wave of Gryffindor students that swept over the hall just now, you spotted them in a more secluded corner.

Of course, you noticed Theo first. He looked impossibly handsome in his dress robes. They were black, but with subtle hints of dark green. A dark green that matched the color of your dress. As if you were just meant for each other. Well, in your dreams. You noticed he didn't have a girl on his arm, neither did Enzo. Pansy and Daphne both looked gorgeous in their dresses, and especially Blaise looked hopelessly smitten. Then, there was Mattheo. You were somewhat surprised to see that he was actually wearing something formal. It was already a rarity for him not to be bloody, but to wear something festive was not a sight you ever expected to be subjected to.

Mattheo was the first to spot your approaching frame, a slow grin spreading across his face as he leaned casually against the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets. His gaze seeped over you with an aporoving nod. “Well, aren't you dressed up nicely,” he drawled when you were in earshot, causing the others to take notice of your presence as well. Pansy, ever supportive, let out a low whistle, Blaise wiggled his eyebrows and Enzo gave you a thumbs up. But it was Theo’s reaction that you felt most acutely- a subtle shift in his posture, his jaw tightening ever so slightly as he looked you over. His gaze felt hot on your body and you felt your breath hitch when his stormy eyes locked with yours, a flicker of something unspoken flashing across his face before he quickly glanced away.

Fuck. You were gorgeous. Of course, he'd always known you were pretty, but seeing you in that dress did something to him. That green was the color of his house, of his family, the color of him. You looked like his, even though Mattheo put an arm around your waist and pulled you towards him. He could have killed him, he might have, if you hadn't let out a bright laugh at something he had said that stilled every and all remains of fury in him. Your laugh was disarming, especially when you looked over at him and gifted him one of your sweet smiles. “Hey, Theo.”

He could only nod, unable to take his eyes off you, even when the doors to the great hall opened and the group slowly made their way towards them. His gaze zeroed in on Mattheo's hand on your lower back. That was not Mattheo's spot, that was where his hand lay when he was walking you to class or Hogsmeade. Unable to look anywhere else, he followed the others mechanically, unaware of the glimpses you stole at him to gauge his reaction. But all you could see was indifference.

When you stepped through the doors you were momentarily distracted from Theo. The Great Hall was alight with blue light, decked in ice crystals. The usual four house tables had made way for a multitude of smaller, round tables surrounding the dance floor that took up the better part of the hall. Mattheo led the way to one table in close proximity to the dance floor, which surprised Theo. Usually, Mattheo preferred corners over the center.

Mattheo pulled out your chair for you before Theo had the chance to and - wether by chance or because he was a snarky asshole - sat down in between Theo and you. With a sly grin at Theo, he interlocked your fingers over the table and moved closer to you. In that moment, Theo swore to himself that he would dance with you today. He'd stay up until three in the morning if necessary, but he would hold you in his arms tonight, twirl you around in that damn dress and see the light of the crystals reflected in your eyes. And if he had to hex Mattheo, he would gladly do so.

Your laughter rang in his ears and he cursed himself. Hex Mattheo, and ruin your night? What right did he even have to feel like this? As much as he hated to admit it, Mattheo was right. You weren't his girlfriend, he had no claim over you. His possessiveness was sick, twisted and entirely selfish. You were his friend and he should only want the best for you. What he had masked as ‘the best for you’ was no more than what fulfilled his desires. He was being a horrible friend to you.

“Wanna dance, angel?” Theo couldn't even find it in himself to feel anything but bitterness when Mattheo rose and offered you his outstretched hand. Over his death stare directed at the table, he missed the way you glanced over at him before taking it and allowing Mattheo to eagerly drag you to the dance floor. The music was fairly quick and as Mattheo twirled you around, you let him pull you into him and mirrored his steps. Mattheo was a fairly skilled dancer, but you struggled to keep up with his extravagant style and quick steps.

Mattheo twirled you around so fast you could barely see beyond the flashes of blue that remained of the room. And even when a more slow piece came on, he found a way to keep you on your toes. “He's looking over,” you whispered after daring a glance over your shoulder to see that Theo's brooding gaze was fixed on the two of you.

“You even have eyes in your head?” grinned Mattheo, pulling you closer by your waist. “He's been looking at you the whole evening.” A smirk curled his lip. “Told ya”

You were a little too out of breath to answer, but when Mattheo leaned close to whisper a question in your ear, you nodded, albeit a little hesitant. Your rowdy dancing partner pulled you even closer until there was barely any space between you two. When he said something, anything, you giggled and he laughed along, even though neither of you remembered what he had said. In spite of the dancing, Mattheo managed to dip his head down and trail pecks up your neck to the shell of your ear. The shudder that went through your body was not as much a result of his lips, but a reaction to the way Theo’s fists clenched as you locked eyes.

Worry and stupid excitement coiled in your stomach. The way he was glaring at you through his dark locks, his fists clenching and unclenching, his cerulean eyes so dark, his posture so tense as if he was a predator ready to devour his prey, was so damn attractive that you couldn't help but stare longer than you intended to, before you managed to avert your eyes and focus them back on Mattheo. But you couldn't help but worry what his tense appearance might mean. Had he seen through Mattheo's plan to make him jealous and considered this a betrayal of your friendship?

Meanwhile, Theo had to summon up his last reserves of restraint when his best mate’s hand crept down your back, further than he was supposed to, teetering the edge of inappropriateness. But you looked so happy, laughing along to Mattheo's jokes. Though somehow, he had missed the repeated glances you cast at him all throughout the dance.

When the next number came on, you parted from Mattheo who lifted his brows. “That's enough. If he hasn't done anything by now, I must be right. You were wrong about these supposed feelings, Mattheo.” You sighed and shook your head about your own stupidity. Of course Theo hadn't reacted, you’d been right all along. Still, disappointment stung in your heart. Maybe you had held on to hope. Oh, who were you kidding, a part of you had believed Mattheo, and now you felt way worse than you had before. Before Mattheo could talk, you parted from him and left the dance floor.

Theo slowly, dangerously, lifted his head from his knuckles as his gaze followed your figure, ducking in between dancing couples to make your way back over. Your expression showed disappointment, sadness… you’d always been easy to read for him. When he asked you about it, you said you showed your emotions openly on purpose. Why, he had asked, and you'd laughed and said that you wanted to make people feel at ease and safe when talking to you, so you showed yourself to them to invite them in, make them feel welcome.

Even though he didn't fully understand, he admired you for it, recognized it as a strength when Mattheo had outright laughed at your explanation, earning him a sinister glare. But right now, Theo desperately wished he wouldn't be faced with your sorrow, it would make it easier to keep himself from walking over to Mattheo, drag him out into the hall and finally confront him. A horrible suspicion dawned on him as he locked eyes with Mattheo, who had been watching your retreating figure as well. When they locked eyes, he grinned, winked and disappeared into the crowd of dancing bodies. Had he been using you to make Theo jealous, to tease him for his personal satisfaction?

His sinister thoughts were quelled when you reached the table and sat down next to him, bending over with a groan and slipping out of your heels. But before you could even grab a slice of cake to drown your sorrows in sweets, someone got a hold of your hand. You followed the arm and saw Theo, looking at you with a serious expression. His grip was soft, as if you were fragile, made out of glass, made to look pretty and shatter. But his eyes were hard as stone. “What did he say to you?”

“Huh?” you asked, genuinely perplexed at the growl in his voice. “Who- what- You mean Mattheo?” A curt nod. You understood. Theo must've misinterpreted your bad mood upon leaving the dance floor for hurt at something Mattheo had said. “Nothing,” you said quickly. “Everything's alright.” But your reassurances couldn't wipe the skepticism from his eyes. “Look, it's just my feet that started to hurt, alright? It's not Mattheo's fault.”

Though he still looked doubtful, Theo seemed to accept your explanation and reached over to cut you a large piece of cake. In spite of your expensive dress, you brought your knees to your chest as you started eating, but your sudden appetite quickly subsided. With a long sigh, you leaned your head on Theo’s shoulder and reveled in his warmth. “‘M sorry,” you murmured under your breath, unsure if he would even catch it.

He did, and frowned, you could hear it in his voice though you didn't see his face. “What for, amore?” Amorina. It meant ‘little love’, or that was what the muggle dictionary books said. Those damn Italian nicknames. His accent, barely noticeable in everyday conversation, was thicker when he spoke hushed and you allowed yourself to revel in how it made you feel, just for a moment. Then, you shrugged, hoping it would be enough of an explanation for now. Would you ever be able to tell him why you had gone to the ball with Mattheo or would you sooner die of embarrassment?

This wasn't so bad. Actually, it was quite nice. You rocked slightly in the rhythm of the music and leaned into Theo who, in turn, leaned onto you carefully. Somehow, your hands had found each other. Draco was dancing with Daphne, Blaise and Pansy were making out in a distant corner of the room and Enzo was at the buffet to get seconds. It was quite peaceful, almost like you two were the only thing that mattered and all around you was just noise and light and colors. They would fade, he wouldn't, and you wouldn't either.

Your peace was only disturbed when Mattheo arrived, who, to your not-really surprise, had a giggling girl holding onto his arm. Unbeknownst to you, Mattheo had not given up just yet. If Theo's selfishness wasn't stronger than his desire to see you happy, maybe his knight-in-shining-armor urges would be. He grabbed your plate from in front of you, ignoring Theo's frowns, dug the fork into it and held it out to the giggling girl that was clutching his dress robes.

“You enjoying yourself, darling?” he asked and she nodded, giving him a sultry look. He cast you a deliberately indifferent look. “You don't mind, angel, do you?” Though he didn't dare look at Theo and give himself away, he could practically feel him fuming.

“Knock yourselves out,” you replied with a wave of your hand but Theo was not so quick to dismiss the scene. He rose from his seat, feeling as if all his frustration and resentment of the last week had reached its peak and was ready to boil over. In moments like these, when he allowed his anger to escape, to be felt just for a moment before funneling it towards the intended target with deliberate precision, he could feel himself getting calmer. The rushing in his ears subsided, his heartbeat slowed to a normal pace as he looked down on his best mate.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Taking a gorgeous girl to dance with me,” Mattheo answered casually, grinning at the girl on his arm. How could he act as if you weren't even there? How dare he run to another when he had taken you to be his date, was he never satisfied?

“You already have a date, scemo,” he growled. By now, a few pairs of eyes had gotten wind of the brewing storm. A few of them stepped closer to observe the scene, others pushed through the crowd to put some space between them and the two boys who now glared at each other. Mattheo was tense, brimming with excitement and pushed away the girl. Theo, on the other hand, seemed almost unnaturally calm, his hand slowly slipping into his robes in search of his wand.

“Theo,” you said quietly, in an ineffectual attempt to avoid more attention. “I really don't mind.” He cast you a quick glance and you knew it hadn't been enough. His eyes were soft all of the sudden, but you knew he wouldn't back down. And you weren't going to lie, it did warm your chest that he was so willing to stand up for you. Though you didn't want the situation to escalate into an actual fight because of your’s and Mattheo’s stupidity.

Mattheo would apologize to you for the following later, but now he had to wound Theo up so much that he’d attack him with bare hands, Mattheo's preferred method of fighting, because he knew he couldn't beat the academic weapon Theo in a wizarding duel. “Yeah, she was kind of a bore so I-” But he didn't get to finish that sentence, because Theo had abandoned the search for his wand, surged forward and tackled Mattheo so they fell to the ground in a heap of robes and fists.

You had rarely seen Theo fight. Well, that was not quite true. You'd seen him hex people, curse fellow students, but never like this. The punches he delivered to Mattheo’s face were less deliberate and full of rage. It was a show of force unlike any you'd ever seen from him. When tackling Matteo, he had discarded his robes and now his white shirt got the first red spots. Mattheo hit and kicked back with the same fervor you already knew from him, and you could see it in his eyes, this was all just a game for him.

Students screamed when a resounding crack echoed through the hall, amplified by the sudden silence that had come over the crowd as everyone formed a circle around the fighting boys. Theo had broken Mattheo's nose, you were sure of it, and for a moment, you thought Mattheo was down, but of course not. Without a sound of pain, he shot up and tackled Theo, who had hesitated for a split second too long, to the ground. Wherever they threatened to crash into the wall of onlookers, the students moved back like a coordinated swarm of fish.

Slowly, Theo seemed to get the upper hand on Mattheo who seemed slightly knocked out from the hit in the face that had broken his nose. But nonetheless, while Theo’s expression was bitter and hard as he brought his fist down on Mattheo's face again and again, the latter laughed, almost crazily, coughing up blood. His laughter was the loudest sound, and for a good minute, you doubted his sanity. In contrast, Theo was eerily silent as he beat Mattheo with the utmost concentration, jaw clenched and eyes full of disdain.

Finally, the headmaster managed to push through the crowd. Some of them were chanting, others were covering their faces with their hands. Dumbledore assessed the situation in one glance, and you thought he even winked at you, before he pulled out his wand. As if pulled apart by invisible hands, Mattheo and Theo were ripped apart and both stumbled a few feet back, making the crowd on either side burst to scramble away.

They were both heaving. Mattheo looked worse than Theo, his nose was visibly broken and his face was littered with cuts and bruises and two black eyes. Theo’s lip and nose were bleeding, dripping crimson upon his stained shirt, as were his fists, and a darkening bruise bloomed above his right jawline. Both of them looked ready to jump back into it, if it hadn't been for a very disgruntled Snape, who stepped in between and sneered at Theo especially. “What a display! You have dishonored your house with your public brawling-”

“Now, now, Severus,” said Dumbledore calmly and smiled in understanding. “Tempers run high at events like these. I can remember, in my youth, there was no ball without a good duel. Of course, some choose the more direct approach.” His eyes twinkled.

Unfortunately, Mattheo chose the exact moment to send you a wink and Theo, who looked just about a hundred percent done with his bullshit, took a step towards him, only to be roughly pushed back by Snape. It couldn't stop the words leaving his mouth through gritted teeth, though. “Sei praticamente mio fratello,” growled Theo with a wild look in his blue eyes. “come hai potuto farmi questo, pezzo di merda?"

Mattheo was still gasping for breath and wincing at every inhale, but he grinned nonetheless. “non parlo italiano, you dumbass,” he sneered with what you could only assume was a heavy British accent, and Theo, still fuming, spit on the ground over Snapes shoulder who was still holding him back.

“Now, now,” said Dumbledore with a level of indulgence you could only admire him for. “I believe, Mr Riddle, you should see Miss Pomphrey. As for you, Mr Nott, how about a walk to, ah- cool off?”

Theo pushed Snape off of him who glared at him, only to be glared at right back. “Twenty points off Slytherin, Nott,” he said with clear disdain in his voice. Before Theo could protest or do something rash (you had never seen him like this, he looked like he was capable of anything), you grabbed his hand and started pulling. To your immense surprise and relief, Theo gave in immediately, following you as you pushed through the students, out of the door, through the entrance hall, and finally, out into the dark grounds where the chilly night air finally cleared your head a little.

You sat down on the stone steps and Theo followed suit, still breathing heavily and flexing his hands. For a few minutes, you didn't dare speak. When you finally managed to work up the words and the courage, it was Theo who spoke first. His voice had lost all temper, all edge, it was full of regret. “I'm sorry, amore.” Taken aback, he turned your head to look at him. His gaze was fixed on his hands, covered in both Mattheo's and his blood, seeping out of his knuckles.

“What for?” you asked and he finally looked at you, albeit as if you were asking a very ridiculous question. “Cazzo, for ruining your night. You deserve better, I was a-” But you didn't let him finish, you reached over to wrap your arms around him and pull him in, needing his warmth more than ever. Immediately, his arms engulfed your form and he pulled you into him so that you were sitting halfway in his lap, but neither of you cared. Maybe even without realizing, he rocked you back and forth lightly and you breathed out, breathed in, let the smell of him consume you whole. Cigarettes had never smelled better.

When Theo reluctantly released you, his gaze trailed over the goosebumps on your arms. Your dress, as wonderful as it was, did not have sleeves. “Let's go,” he said softly. He didn't say where, but you didn't care, you trusted him. So you let him pull you up and back inside, down the staircase to the dungeons. None of you said a word. When you stepped inside, the Slytherin common room was deserted, as everyone was still upstairs, enjoying themselves.

Theo urged you towards the couch, but you had come to a halt. You knew you needed to come clean. Now. Before he had the chance to actually take Mattheo's head off. Mistaking your hesitation for doubt rather than guilt, Theo let his arms engulf you once more. It may have been a trick of your imagination, but you thought you heard him breathe in the scent of your hair. “Maleditelo, that bastard. Merlin, I could have broken his fucking jar if they'd given me one more minute. Curse him for doing that to you. I’d never have-” He fell silent.

You sighed against his chest, silently wishing you'd never taken part in Mattheo's crazy plan. “I didn't mind that,” you murmured into his blood-stained shirt, reveling in the feeling of his thumbs brushing over your shoulder as he held you. But it stopped, and Theo pulled away, face contorted into a bitter smile as he began to pace in front of you. “No, of course you didn't. Sei troppo dannatamente bonario, troppo gentile, troppo perfetto.”

“Theo!” you said loudly and that made him look down on you. Your voice was shaking slightly. “I’m sorry.” He frowned, and then it all spilled out of you. How Mattheo had proposed the idea of making him jealous because he was convinced he liked you, how you had said yes because you were a lovesick idiot, how he had been purposefully riling him up and you had went along with it all. “I'm sorry,” you said shakily, holding back tears. “I was so stupid, this is all my fault, I'm so, so sorry Theo.”

During the whole tale, Theo hadn't moved an inch. Now, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from out of his pocket, ignited one with a bit of wandless magic and took a long drag. Usually, Theo didn't smoke when you were around, because he knew you didn't like it. But desperate times seemed to call for desperate measures. Staring down at the glowing cigarette between his fingers, Theo seemed to gauge the words, weigh them on his tongue, before he spoke. “You like me?”

“I love you,” you confessed, hiding your face in your hands. “God, Theo, I'm so sorry.”

“Why didn't you just talk to me?” You peeked at him through your fingers, but he seemed calm. Sure, he was frowning, but the cigarette seemed to have helped. His gaze was fixed on you as he studied your expression, what little he could catch a glimpse of, anyway.

You let out a helpless sigh, feeling ridiculous. “Because… you know, you’re you.”

At that, his frown deepened and he took another drag of his cigarette, as if to calm himself. Then, he flicked it into an ashtray and approached you slowly. His gentle hands came up to pry your hands from your face. They fell helplessly at your sides. “What's that supposed to mean?” he asked with furrowed brows. “Are you intimidated by me, amorina?”

“N- no!” you stuttered desperately, “it's just…” You let out a long sigh, not daring to look at him. “I was scared it might ruin our friendship, it just… seemed like the best way.” As you spoke them, you realized the stupidity of your words, and Theo, too, raised his brow at you. “You thought going to the ball with Mattheo to make me jealous, letting him kiss you on the dance floor and rile me up all evening was the best way, did you?”

“Yes?” you squeaked, never having felt this abashed in your life.

Theo rolled his eyes, but he leaned down and suddenly he was so close. So close you could feel, hear and smell his breath, still reeking of cigarettes. So close you suddenly realized just how blue his eyes were, a deep cerulean blue. So close your breath hitched. Theo's voice was but a whisper, but he seemed distracted, his eyes darting between your eyes and - could it be? - down to your lips. “Stupid plan.”

“I know,” you breathed, looking at him with wide, teary eyes that Theo wanted to burn into his memory forever. He couldn't find it in him to be mad at you. Not when you looked at him like this, not when he could smell you.

“It worked,” was all he said, and you could barely comprehend the words before his lips crashed onto yours.

You'd imagined many times how it might feel to kiss Theo, too feel those soft lips on yours. Would it be messy? Gentle? Rough? It turned out to be none of those, or perhaps all of those. Kissing Theo was dizzyingly overwhelming. His lips moved in yours in a controlled passion, slow and meticulous, but at the same time, hungry. So, so hungry when he let out a groan and parted your lips with his to slip his tongue into your mouth. To explore, to discover, to make you whimper against him as he pulled you in tighter by the waist.

You suddenly felt impossibly hot and bothered, especially when Theo's lips departed from your mouth to nip at your jaw and travel down the crook of your neck, biting, sucking, caressing, worshipping. When you felt something solid poke against your thigh, you gasped, nervousness coiling in your stomach. “M-maybe,” you stuttered, “now that all is cleared up, we should maybe go look after Mattheo in the-”

You gasped loudly when Theo bit down hard on your neck, silencing you effectively with the growl that escaped his throat. “Don't say his fucking name, amore.” You nodded frantically, biting back moans, and Theo started lapping at the bite, rubbing his tongue over it in soothing circles as his hands travelled down, further down before they reached the slit in your dress and he grabbed a handful of your thigh. “You can scream mine instead.”

Suddenly, the door burst open and you jumped, Theo took a step back from you to glare at your intruders. It was Pansy, and, following right behind, Blaise. She had her brows lifted and grinned. “Holy hell, get a r-”

“Get out, Pansy,” Theo cut her off, fingers digging into your thigh. Though she held Blaise back from standing up for her, she rolled her eyes at his tone and turned to leave. “Lock the door,” Theo called after them and you somehow found yourself giggling. “Theo, you can't just shut your whole house out of the common room.” You felt light headed, slightly dizzy, but you smiled and he managed to return it. “'Course I can.”

He let go of your thigh and walked a few steps, over to what had to be an enchanted record player. With a tip of his wand, it started playing a slow song. Theo looked back at you, extending his arm, offering you his right hand. A small smile played around his lips as he crooked his head to the side. “Dance with me, amorina.” And of course, you took it, let him pull you towards him and closed your eyes as he began to move you to the slow rhythm. Somehow, your head landed on his shoulder, his came to encircle your waist as you moved, barely taking a step.

He would make the stolen night up to you. Every single second.

[luminni]

Most desperate things the 141 boys have done for sex because I can't stop thinking about it <3

(sorry for this being a 3rd repost, I had an account called Lumi_bunsblog but that one got deleted for some reason so this is the new one now ig lol)

John's begged for it. I mean on his hands and knees begging for a taste. I know this man is an avid pussy pronoun user too. He has been on his knees in front of you as you sit pretty on his couch, trailing kisses up your soft belly to your tits and then back down to your thighs.

"C'mon sweet girl lemme' 'ave a taste of 'er yeah? Know she fuckin' needs me hm? Just look at tha'" as he runs a thumb of the wetness that's seeped through you thin panties, just waiting for you to say the words and let him tear them off.

He knows if anybody else in the 141 or if any of his fellow soldiers could see him now, the Captain Price practically drooling over you and sweet talking your cunt like it could hear him they would have a fit. But he couldn't care less because you looked so fucking good right now so "just let 'er 'ave what she wants alright sweet thing?"

I just know Kyle has spent 70% of his last month's pay check on hotel room because the 5 star pent house suite was the only hotel room in your area left available during the holidays. He played it cool with an arm around your waist assuring you it was fine, acting like this was the room he wanted to get, not the one he was forced to have. But if he was being forced to do anything thank god it was spoiling you.

"Don't worry 'bout it love. Just make 'urself comfortable" He'll say in a sultry sweet tone, planting kisses up the side of your neck before excusing himself to the lavish bathroom to check his bank account. He had to make sure he still had enough to buy you a nice breakfast in the morning.

And you're already layed out so pretty for him on the bed so he's not complaining about anything. Especially not the mirror situated on the ceiling right above the bed. Oh and don't you dare suggest splitting the cost, "just split your legs for me hun, 's all ya need to do"

Johnny is eager, like so so eager. When a passionate make out session on your couch got even more heated than either of you had previously expected and he now had his fingers playing with the waistband of your skirt, letting his cold finger tips splay themselves just below. When he got to the hem of your panties and began to hook a finger into the lace you had to stop him,

"Johnny"

"Yea?" He was breathless, chasing your lips when you pulled away to talk. You almost felt bad for separating but if he was going to touch you, there was one request you needed to make. You had felt his nails drag across your thighs moments earlier, it felt wonderful but they were...a little long.

"Do ya nae want this hen?" He'd ask, looking at you like you were a piece of art. Pleading with his eyes, shining like they'd spill tears if you said yes.

"No, no I want this, I want you so so much. It's just..." you trailed off

"Tell me what's wrong bonnie and I'll fix it, yeah?" his hands kept you grounded to his lap either a soft grip on you ass.

"It's just- you're nails, they're a little long" your request was nothing more than whisper.

'Oh' Johnny knew he probably should have just asked for clippers, but you felt so damn good on his lap. He could feel your warm cunt through the zipper of his jeans and with your tits brushing against his chest he couldn't bring himself to move.

You watched in shock as he just began to just tear his nails off with his teeth. Without a second thought his pointer and middle finger nails were bit off to the skin. He paused and looked at his right hand before ripping off the index finger as well.

"Johnny what's gotten into you-?"

But he's already got his hands back down your skirt. Soft finger tips slipping between your folds. "Feel better now eh?" And when you just nuzzled your nose into his neck and let out a little whimper he chuckled "I'll take tha' as a yes"

Simon swallows his pride for the first time in his life for a chance at hitting it raw. You tell him it's okay to not use protection, that you're on birth control. But you needed to make sure that he didn't have any stds seeing as they're even more of a pain when you're on birth control. Not that you don't trust him you just want to make sure and it's not a problem for him seeing as he has to get tested every other week being in the military.

He doesn't, however, have his records on him at the moment and with a girl already lying in his bed telling him he can cum inside. Plus a raging hard on, he doesn't exactly feel like running back to base to get the paper work. So...next best thing.

"Price-"

"Rare for ya to call on leave Simon, whatchya need?" Price responds, his voice cracking through the face time call, a cigar dangling from his lips.

"Sir I need..." he looks back at you, your eyes expectant and shining. You wanted him and he wasn't going to fuck this up. "Can you send me a picture of my last med check results?" He rushes out the last part, elbow on his knee and hand dragging over his face.

Price quirks one eyebrow but doesn't look like he's going to ask any questions. Unlucky for Simon though, Johnny was also in the room. His voice distantly coming through the phone,

"The feck ya need those for l.t.?" He questioned

Simon just groaned, soap's addition to this call just made it even more frustrating. But he snapped out of his frustration at the sound of price opening his file cabinet. "What part?" Price asked, dismissing Johnny with a wave of his hand.

"The-" Simon began, this was fucking embarrassing but when he looked back to you, now perched on your hands and knees, the plush of you hips resting on your ankles, he'd do anything at this point. "STD results." He responded plainly.

"Aye! No fuckin' way mate!" The sound of a chair scraping the floor could be heard as Johnny began to clammer over to his captain who pulled the sheet from his files.

"Ya didn't tell me he was in the room" Simon growled

"Ya didn't ask" Price droned

Johnny's head popped into frame "show me what she looks like ey l.t?"

"Not happening" Simon deadpanned

"Aw c'monnnn" The sergeant whined "just proud of you for finally getting some action!"

"Enough." Simon could see you biting your lip to stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eyes, a curious look in your eyes at his reddened face.

"Sent a picture to ya Simon" Price huffed, letting Johnny give him one last "good luck!" Before hanging up the phone.

You were a mess of giggles as he just shook his head and shoved the phone results in your face for you to look at. "See. Clean."

"Okay okay" you giggled, finally letting his form eclipse you back onto the pillows

"Went through a hell of a lot of trouble for ya, sweet girl" he whispered, nipping at the shell of your ear.

"I'll make it worth it" you said, kissing the corner of his lip and tangling your fingers in the back of his hair

"Christ woman" he groaned, feeling his cock twitch at your promise, "gunna' be the death a' me"

[rafecameronssl4t]

hey for forced marriage can u do smth w like Rafe and reader being intimate and yk doing it (ik u don’t write smut) but like the aftermath of it and they walk down and sees readers brothers there and they heard everything 😭😭

Unexpected audience || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: LMAO I LOVE THIS

Warnings: suggestive content in the beginning

Word count: 1,846

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

The late afternoon sun cast golden streaks through the wide bay windows of the estate’s master bedroom. The luxurious room, with its ornate furniture and heavy velvet curtains, was a picture of elegance—except for the tousled state of the bed, the tangled sheets, and the discarded clothing strewn haphazardly across the floor.

You lay sprawled on your back, the ache in your legs a sharp reminder of the events earlier. Your breathing was finally evening out, but your skin still carried the warmth of Rafe’s touch. He lounged beside you, propped up on one elbow, a smug, self-satisfied grin plastered across his face.

“You’re quiet,” Rafe teased, brushing his fingers lazily over your bare shoulder. His voice held that signature cockiness that both infuriated and, to your dismay, enticed you. You turned your head to glare at him, but the expression lacked its usual bite. “Don’t start,” you muttered, brushing a strand of hair away from your flushed face.

“What?” he said, feigning innocence, though the wicked gleam in his blue eyes gave him away. “Can’t I check on my wife after thoroughly—”“Rafe!” you interrupted, throwing a pillow at him, which he easily dodged. He chuckled, catching your wrist and pulling you closer.

His lips brushed against your temple as he murmured, “I’m just saying, I think we set a new record. That was impressive, even for us.” You groaned, pushing against his chest as you sat up, wincing slightly. Your thighs burned, and your body felt like it had been through a rigorous workout.

“Yeah, well, now I’m paying for it,” you grumbled, tugging the sheets around yourself as you stood. Rafe’s eyes trailed down your body shamelessly, his grin widening as he leaned back against the headboard, hands clasped behind his head. “A little sore, huh? I guess I got carried away.”

You glared at him, though your cheeks burned and your lips twitched upward. “Carried away? You were like a damn animal.” “And you loved every second of it,” he countered smugly. You huffed, wrapping yourself in a silk robe and shooting him a withering look as you attempted to walk toward the door.

Attempted being the keyword—your legs wobbled, forcing you to steady yourself against the dresser. “Need some help?” Rafe teased, casually pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. “No,” you snapped, tucking your hair behind your ears with an irritated huff as you pushed toward the door. Rafe trailed behind, his amused gaze lingering on your slight limp.

You catch sight of his expression through the mirrors in the hallway. “You don’t have to look so smug,” you muttered over your shoulder as you descended the grand staircase. “Oh, but I do,” he replied, his voice dripping with amusement. “Especially since you’re walking like that.”

You shot him a warning look, but before you could retort, your eyes landed on the living room. There, sitting stiffly on the elegant leather couch, were your brothers—William and Edward. They looked up at the sound of your footsteps, their faces betraying a mix of discomfort and barely concealed horror.

Your heart sank as realisation dawned, your cheeks flushing a deep crimson. “Oh… my god,” you whispered, frozen in place. Rafe, of course, was anything but mortified. Instead, his smirk grew wider, and he slid an arm around your waist, pulling you close as if to emphasise his claim on you. “Afternoon, gentlemen,” he drawled, his tone laced with that infuriating confidence.

Neither William nor Edward said a word at first, their eyes darting between the two of you. It was William who finally broke the silence, clearing his throat awkwardly. “We, uh… didn’t realise you were… busy.” Your cheeks flamed. “How long have you been here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Edward, always the more vocal of the two, leaned forward with a sharp glare.

“The whole time,” he said flatly. “And believe me, we didn’t have a choice.” You felt like the floor might swallow you whole. “Oh my god.” Rafe’s hand tightened on your waist, his smirk widening. “Well, this is awkward.” “Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Edward snapped, his jaw tightening.

“Do you two even realise how loud you were? The whole bloody house could hear you,” he added, his voice dripping with frustration. You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Kill me now,” you muttered, mortified beyond belief. Rafe, however, seemed to be enjoying himself. “Come on now,” he said smoothly, his tone light. “Don’t exaggerate. It wasn’t that loud.”

“Jesus Christ,” William muttered, throwing his head back against the couch as he rubbed his temples. Edward, meanwhile, avoided your gaze entirely. Rafe wasn’t finished. “Why should she be embarrassed?” he asked, his smugness palpable. “She was just… enjoying herself. Right, sweetheart?”

Your head snapped toward him, your hand connecting with his chest in a firm smack “Rafe!” William raised a hand, cutting off whatever Rafe was about to say next. “Please, for the love of god, stop. We don’t need details like that of our little sister.” Your face burned hotter, and you glared up at Rafe, who was grinning. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”

Rafe shrugged, his grin unrelenting. “A little.” You huffed, tightening the belt of your robe as you crossed your arms. “Why are you even here?” you asked sharply, surprising yourself with your tone. “And why aren’t you in the drawing room? Anita would have told you to wait there.”

William’s brows shot up, and Edward blinked. “We were sitting there for ages,” Edward finally said, his tone dry. “So?” you shot back, unimpressed. William and Edward exchanged a look before Edward sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could we maybe go somewhere else to speak?” he offered.

You nodded quickly, desperate to escape the tension. “Fine. The study,” you said, already turning on your heel and heading for the door. As you walked, you caught snippets of their conversation. “I told you we should have just left,” William muttered, his tone sharp. Edward rolled his eyes. “Let it go, William.” But William wasn’t done.

“No, seriously,” he said, his voice louder this time. “The entire house could hear you two. It’s not exactly something we wanted to sit through.” You whipped around, glaring at him over your shoulder. “You think I wanted this either?!” William rolls his eyes, shaking his head as you turn your head back around. “This is the worst day of my life,” you mumbled to Rafe who was beside you.

He, of course, was unfazed. “Relax,” he said with a shrug. “We’re married. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.”William, hearing your conversation, spoke up. “Just because it’s not wrong doesn’t mean we want to hear it!” Before you could respond, Edward interjected, his tone more conciliatory. “Alright, enough. Let’s just… get to the study.”

He glanced at you with a small, apologetic smile, but you could still see the discomfort in his eyes. As you entered the study, you shot one final glare at Rafe, who looked far too pleased with himself. “You’re insufferable,” you hissed under your breath.

[melminli]

Dirty Cash (Money Talks)

summary - you had nothing against your colleague, but you weren't stupid enough to be fooled by his innocent smile and appearance since you knew exactly what kind of corrupt person was hiding behind that costume. after all, you were wearing the same one.

pairing: (gong yoo/ji-cheol) the salesman x fem. recruiter reader

word count: 1.4k

contains: talk about gambling + death and murder, sexual tension?, crack and just evil morals tbh

a/n: i watched maybe the first fifteen minutes or so of bullet train, but i thought of the two funny dudes from it while writing this bcuz their dynamic was funny af. also, i will use the actor's name in this fic since the character itself doesn't really have an official one that was mentioned in the series!

You straightened your tie with your free hand while watching your train approach from the side. The station was always pretty empty at this hour, which saved you the jostling and squeezing as you entered. After that, you sat down comfortably with a light sigh - next to the free seat beside your devilishly handsome colleague. “Are you alright? Don't tell me that you had a exhausting day?” he asked you worriedly with his typical innocent smile on his face but you've known the guy for a while now and you knew exactly how dishonest he sounded right now.

You returned his gaze for a second, uninterested, before turning it back in front of you to observe your surroundings from the window. “Exhausting day? Don't make fun of me or I'll punch you in the face,” you replied monotone and Gong Yoo didn't doubt your statement for a second - or Ji-cheol as you preferred to call him since you weren't a big fan of nicknames. “I had a great time punching those bastards in the face one by one. It feels kinda therapeutic, so I'm actually feeling pretty good right now,” you told him, talking about the subject as if you were talking about the weather.

Your colleague grunted with delight at your good news. “And I would never disagree with you on that.” he said and then just watched your figure silently for a while before speaking up again. “Since you're in such a good mood, would you be willing to play a more private game between the two of us?” he suggested, making you look at him in utter disbelief.

“A private game? With you?” you repeated, amused and laughed in his face. “Hell, no. But don't worry, I'll let you know next time I want to get totally screwed by a freaky pervert,” you added, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Which will be, never.

“Come on, don't be like that,” he asked you sweetly. As sweet as the wolf who pretended to be the mother of the seven little goats before he ate them all one by one. “It's just a tiny, harmless game. It's been so long since we've played anything together.” he complained to you earnestly as if you actually cared, and you didn't.

Yeah, you remembered the last time very clearly, even if you would much rather prefer that you didn't. You hummed. “Is that so? Huh. I mean, it could be because you almost killed me in a fucking game of tic-tac-toe the last time, but that's just a theory.” You said with a shrug, clearly still resenting him for that. However, he just rolled his eyes unaffected by your grudge. “But you didn't, right? It was the other guy who got the bullet in his head.” He replied, not even remembering his name. Not that he had to.

You just glared at him while you rubbed your forehead. “Yeah, maybe. But I'm tired of risking my life just because it makes you horny and you can jerk off to it.” You made your feelings on the matter clear. “You know that the whole living on the edge of death thing isn't really my cup of tea. At least try to understand me a bit here, too.”

I suppose she's not entirely wrong, I could give it a try. I never thought about it like that before, did I? He thought to himself in his head as he ran his tongue over the back of his teeth while he pondered. How selfish of me. “So what exactly do I have to do, to convince you?” He asked you while he already had a few ideas in mind.

You grinned. “You know that very well, don't play dumb.” You demanded as you leaned closer to him so that he could hear what you were singing softly. “Money talks, money talks - dirty cash, I want you, and dirty cash, I need you, oh ~”

He raised an eyebrow, not particularly surprised. “So you want to play for money?” He repeated it, not outright rejecting your request. “Don't you have enough of that already? You're really insatiable when it comes to cash and now you want mine, too?” he joked just to get you worked up.

Though, you didn't get the slightest bit offended by what he said. “Can you ever have enough money? Besides, I'm not forcing you to give it to me, am I?” you said with a smile, already knowing that he would agree to your terms. “But if you want me to play with you, I want eight million won for every round I win.”

She's so greedy for someone who is already more than wealthy. “Aren't you exaggerating a bit? Most people don't earn that much in a month,” he continued his act of - whatever this was - because he just loved arguing with you.

“So? We both have the same salary, I know you can afford it,” you said, holding a hand in the air as soon as you felt that he wanted to stretch this unnecessary conversation even more. “You have to decide now what you want to do or I withdraw my proposal again.”

Gong Yoo closed his mouth and started grinning even wider. “You don't even want to know what kind of game I want to play?” he asked curiously, nodding and accepting whatever you wanted as soon as he saw that you actually weren't interested. You couldn't even imagine how gladly he gave in to you at this moment. “All right, I agree with your request.”

You stood up with your briefcase in hand after your station was announced. “Good. Text me when you have something in mind, I'll be there as long as it fits timewise.”

Your colleague continued to watch you with a look on his face that used to make you more than just uncomfortable back in the day - though it didn't even bother you in the slightest now. “You don't want to accompany me to the...office?”

You smiled while the train started to slow down. “Au revoir, Ji-cheol.” you just said your goodbye to him and stepped out of the doors. You didn't even spare the poor guy a second glance when he waved his hand at you from the window. She can be so heartless sometimes, he thought to himself, even if you were like this pretty much all the time. I'll have to think of something good to ask for in return should I win. I'm definitely not going to hold back when there's this much money at stake.

You didn't give a second thought to anything as you made your way home after a day's work like any normal citizen would do. However, your steps slowed considerably when you noticed a beggar in your field of vision and even though the rest of the crowd ignored the man and his entire existence, you couldn't help but focus your full attention on him. You looked at your watch, I've been off work for a while now. But even then, you couldn't help but notice that he was one of the people on your list to recruit for the game. He'll still be here tomorrow, but I don't mind another round of Ddakji. I love money more than anything - but I'm not doing this job for only that since I don't even have anything against working a bit of overtime when it comes to this.

“Excuse me,” you spoke to the man with a polite smile on your face, and he only submissively avoided your gaze as he listened to you. After all, one rarely approached people like him and why would they? He held his cup of loose change out in front of him, probably expecting you to give him a small donation, but you wanted to give him so much more than that. Even if the guy didn't know it right now - you wanted to give him another chance in life, so that he wouldn't continue to be just a miserable failure.

You ignored his donation cup. “I was wondering if you might have a moment because I'd like to make you an offer,” you continued politely and the man met your gaze at that. Yeah, you were really looking forward to what was about to happen - after all, you were known for letting your opponent only win if you allowed them to.

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter one: Ultimatum

Summary: Y/Ns father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8

Click, Click, Click the sound of your heels clacking on the floor echoed throughout the hallway. You stood in front of the door to the VIP room, where sick and twisted men drop millions of dollars on a death game. Unfortunately your father is one of them. The room reeked of power and desperation, two forces colliding in ways that felt suffocating. The black walls with gold jungle like accents were a stark contrast to the mahogany table in the center of the room. You sat down in the farthest corner of the polished table, trying to avoid your father’s hawk-like gaze. The air conditioning hummed faintly, serving as the only sound punctuating the heavy silence, but it did little to cool the heat simmering beneath your skin.

Across from you, the man they called the Frontman sat stiffly, his sharp, black mask reflecting the harsh light of the overhead chandelier. He hasn’t moved an inch since you entered the room, and the lack of expression from the cold, unfeeling mask made your stomach churn violently.

“I’ve been more than generous,” your father began heatedly, swirling the amber liquid in his crystal glass. He wasn’t even pretending to be subtle about what he was suggesting. “The games thrive on my contributions, but generosity only goes so far without… stability.” Your father finished with a concerning glint in his eye.

The masked man tilted his head, just slightly. “What kind of stability are you referring to?” His voice was even, almost dismissive, like he already knew where this was going but didn’t care enough to stop it.

You did, though.

“Dad-” you attempted to start your protest, he couldn’t go through with this.

“Quiet,” he snapped demeaningly without even sparing a glance towards you. His attention was fixed on the Frontman, the kind of single-minded determination that always made him dangerous.

The Frontman leaned back in his chair, one hand resting lightly on the table. “Speak plainly.”

Your father smirked, a wolfish grin that made your stomach twist. “Marriage. My daughter will marry you. The deal will be sealed, and my funding continues uninterrupted. You gain the security to maintain the games without… complications.” A crazed look in his eyes matched his maniacal grin.

Your mouth fell open, a sharp, indignant laugh escaping before you could stop it. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Your father shot you a look, the kind that demanded obedience, but you weren’t a child anymore.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said, as if this was a business deal like any other. “You’ve lived in comfort because of the wealth this partnership provides. It’s time to play your part.” The look on his face was nothing less than a look of hatred. Your eyes bounced between the frontman and your father incredulously.

“Play my part?” you repeated, standing so fast your chair scraped loudly against the marble floor. “You can’t just marry me off like some pawn in your sick games!”

“I can,” he said, his tone sharp and final.

You turned to the Frontman, searching for some sign of humanity beneath the mask. “And you’re okay with this? You’re just going to go along with it?” You were pleading, ready to get on your hands and knees and beg for him to reject this proposal.

The Frontman was silent, his stillness unnerving. Finally, he said, “What happens if I refuse?”

Your father shrugged, taking another sip of his drink. “The funding stops. The games collapse. And we both know what the VIPs will do if that happens.” That caused a slight falter in the frontman’s appearance. His gloved fingers curled against the edge of the table. The air felt heavy, oppressive, as if some invisible battle was taking place between the two men.

Finally, he stood. The chair scraped softly against the floor as he rose to his full height, towering over everyone in the room. “If this is the cost of stability, then so be it.” Your heart dropped to your stomach, any drop of freedom that you had previously had was stripped from you by a few mere words and you had no control over it, you were trapped just as much as the players were.

———————

The wedding took place two days later, in a grand hall that felt more like a theater than anything sacred. Rows of VIPs sat in velvet chairs, sipping champagne and watching the proceedings as if it were just another form of entertainment.

You stood at the end of the aisle in a dress that felt more like a costume, the intricate embroidery and heavy fabric weighing you down. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as the officiant droned on about unity and partnership, words that felt hollow in a place like this. You felt like you were drowning and couldn’t resurface.

The Frontman stood beside you, his mask still firmly in place, his posture rigid. He hadn’t spoken to you since the meeting. He hadn’t looked at you either.

When it came time for the vows, he recited them mechanically, his voice devoid of emotion.

“I do,” he said, the words landing like stones in the pit of your stomach.

You hesitated, your mouth dry as the Sahara when the officiant turned to you. For a brief moment, you considered saying no, throwing the whole charade into chaos. But the weight of your father’s expectations and the suffocating gaze of the VIPs pressed down on you.

“I do,” you said finally, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, laced with venom that would slowly suffocate you.

The crowd erupted into applause as the officiant pronounced you husband and wife. It felt wrong, surreal, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.

The quarters you were escorted to after the ceremony were spacious and cold, a reflection of the man who now shared them with you. You wandered through the rooms in silence, your heels clicking against the marble floors.

When you finally stopped in the main sitting area, the Frontman was already there, standing by the window with his back to you.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you said, breaking the silence. Your voice was firm, but it wavered slightly at the edges.

“I know,” he replied without turning around.

You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, but you were too exhausted. Instead, you turned and walked into the adjoining bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

You didn’t cry. You refused to. Instead, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ornate rug beneath your feet and wondering how your life had spiraled so completely out of your control.

Be nice lmao, this is my first time ever writing anything like this.. pls let me know how I did and you would actually like to see other parts. :)

also thank you to @sunny21200 for the idea!!

[witchesverse]

ur droolin' for a squeaky

pairing: vampire!wanda x human!femreader

summary: you've been distracting wanda's mind for weeks. she needs to deal with you before you ruin everything for her.

content: noncon, blood drinking, pain, clit rubbing, running from wanda, face slapping, on the verge of tears, begging, stalking.

a/n: shoutout to my awesome gf helping me write this (writers block sucks)

masterlist

When Natasha suggested Wanda acquire a human pet, she laughed in her face. It was the most bizarre thought. A powerful, high-ranking vampire does not need an idiotic, useless blood bag.

That was until you. Everything about you reeled her in, making her obsessed. She would zone out in important meetings or events because her mind was filled with violent and pornographic images of you.

"Wanda." Another high-ranking vampire, Carol Danvers, snapped at her. "What is going on? You have been distracted for the past few weeks."

Natasha sneered. "She's obsessed with a little human."

Wanda scoffed; a lie smoothly following. "Humans are below me. I would not become obsessed with such a weak creature."

"I don't care what your problem is, but you need to work it out," Carol sternly said. "I will not have you ruining this for us. Do you understand?"

Wanda nodded. She wasn't going to let a pathetic human ruin this.

-

Your heart was pounding and your legs ached with each step. You were exhausted but couldn't stop running; she would catch you. The trees had gotten thicker causing the sunlight to barely shine through, making it difficult to see.

So, naturally, you had to fall over a rock.

"Shit." You scrawled to your knees, ignoring the throbbing pain of your newly exposed skin and blood trickling down your knee.

There was no point in running anymore. She was already here within the time it had taken you to stand. You squinted, trying to find her in the shadows of the tree.

You couldn't find her.

Some people would think that was a good thing, but you knew it wasn't. You felt her hungry eyes raking over your body. Over the past few days, it had become a game for her. She would have you on a paranoid edge, pushing your fear to the limit, then pounce.

"I know you're watching me." You wanted to sound brave, but you didn't.

Silence.

"You're fucking sick, you know that?" You screamed, hoping that your rage would pull her out of the shadows.

Silence.

"Please," Your voice wavered with emotion. "Stop doing this."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as she emerged from the shadows. Her brown hair was tied in a tight bun and her bright red eyes complimented her pasty white skin.

She glanced at your bleeding knee and licked at her fangs. She smiled as you stumbled backwards, trying to create space between each other.

She was quick to fill that space. She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her and placing her other hand on your hip to keep you close.

"Are you scared, little one?"

"Does being a monster damage your brain cells?" You snapped, irritated by her stupid question.

Her hand collided with your cheek; her strong and painful slap made your skin go hot and sting. You tried to pull away from her but she kept her grip tight on your hip.

"Are you scared, little one?" She sternly asked again.

"Yes," You answered honestly.

You were fucking terrified. For many days and nights, she followed and hurt you. You tried going to the police, begging for their help, but who in their right mind would believe that a blood-sucking monster was following you? Her saliva would slowly heal a wound so you didn't even have the bite marks to prove it.

She grinned. She pushed her face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply and moaning at the scent of your blood. Her fangs lightly brushed against your skin.

"What do you want from me?" You sniffled, trying to contain your tears.

"You." She replied. "You're mine and I want you."

You shook your head. "You don't own me."

She laughed. "Oh, I think I do."

A sharp pain that was like an uncontrollable fire spread across your neck and chest as she dug her fangs into you. You squirmed in her hold, trying to break away from her but her inhumane grip kept you close.

"No, no."

The pain was unbearable until her venom was pumped into your system. You sighed in relief, slumping in her hold. Vampire venom can be used for many things, sex being one of them. The venom makes a human incredibly sensitive and horny, basically turning your brain to mush.

She pinned you against a tree. One hand held onto your waist whilst the other slipped into your panties and rubbed small circles on your clit.

Your blood filled her mouth and dripped down the sides, staining her shirt. She groaned, her grip tightening on your hips and fingers moving faster.

"Please." You whimpered.

Her laughter was muffled. "You don't even know what you're begging for."

You were overwhelmed with pleasure. The venom made everything feel more intense and powerful, even the slightest touch made you squirm.

"Stop." You weakly pushed against her.

She snarled and dug her fangs further into you. She would only stop when she was finished, not when you were.

"Please...” you beg, giving up on physically fighting back. “I can’t-”

The wicked pairing of blood loss from Wanda’s fangs in your neck with your blinding climax washing over you rendered you limp, and you felt your weight drop as your knees buckled beneath you.

Your thighs clamped around Wanda’s fingers, still steadily rubbing circles on your swollen clit, and your stomach began spasming. The little strength you had left was put towards an involuntary whine, your voice full of air as you arched away from her touch. A wince falls from her bloodied lips into the curve of your ear at your blunt fingernails digging red crescents into her pallor skin.

Just as quickly as it came, though, the pleasure melted from your body, and you were reminded of your achy limbs, exhausted from weaving your body through the woods. The edges of your vision began to fade to black, and your mouth went dry.

"Sleep well, little one."

[elikajinnie]

#sendbiceps with hyungline

a/n: i was bored... i dont know xD

Warnings: Suggestive Content? Crack fic, Humor.

(thanks to @aceheexx for helping me with input <3)

Lee Heeseung

You: I feel so bad rn. Send biceps to cheer me up 😩

The three dots appear almost immediately, and you settle into the couch, waiting for his response.

Heeseung: What biceps?

You blink, rereading the text. What biceps? Was he serious right now?

Annoyance bubbles up, and without a second thought, you leave him on read. You toss your phone aside and cross your arms, stewing in the silence. He knows exactly what you mean, but he just has to joke around.

Minutes crawl by, and your phone stays stubbornly silent. Heeseung, apparently, isn’t in a rush to make amends.

Then, just as you’re about to grab your phone and tell him off properly, it buzzes. One notification.

You open it, and there it is. A gym mirror selfie, Heeseung’s arm flexed just enough to emphasize the curve of his bicep. His black shirt’s sleeve is slightly rolled up, and the smirk on his face tells you he knows he looks good.

Your irritation dissolves into something warm. Before you can even think about responding, your fingers are already hitting "Save to Camera Roll."

A second notification pops up.

Heeseung: You better be smiling now

You: I was never mad 😌

Sim Jake

The dull ache in your head has been your unwanted companion for hours now. You’re sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly to distract yourself. But even that’s failing. Feeling both bored and miserable, you shoot Jake a text.

You: I feel so bad rn. Send biceps to cheer me up 🥺

The dots appear almost immediately, and you wait, hoping for a quick pick-me-up. Instead, his response makes your headache throb harder.

Jake: I feel bad too. Send tits?

You stare at your screen, narrowing your eyes as if he can sense your disbelief through the phone. “Seriously?” you mutter to yourself, massaging your temples.

You: Are you kidding me right now? My head hurts, and you’re making it worse

Jake: I’m just saying... fair trade, no?

You contemplate leaving him on read, but he sends another message before you can decide.

Jake: Fine, fine. Ladies first, though

You groan, mostly out of exasperation, but also because your headache refuses to give you a break. Against your better judgment, you snap a quick shot—not anything too revealing, just enough to satisfy his ridiculous request. You send it with an eye-roll emoji for good measure.

Seconds later, his response lands.

Jake: Now that’s what I’m talking about

Before you can scold him, another text comes through:

Jake: Alright, biceps incoming. Don’t say I never did anything for you

And then, right on cue, a photo of his flexed bicep arrives. It’s angled just right, the definition in his arm making you pause despite your lingering annoyance.

Your headache doesn’t magically disappear, but for a brief moment, you forget all about it.

You: You’re insufferable

Jake: And yet, you saved that pic, didn’t you?

Touché.

Park Sunghoon

Work has completely drained you. You’re sprawled on your bed, still in your outdoor clothes, the ache in your legs matching the exhaustion in your mind. With a sigh, you grab your phone and text Sunghoon, hoping for something to brighten your mood.

You: I feel so bad rn. Send biceps 😩

He replies quicker than you expect, but his response isn’t what you were hoping for.

Sunghoon: What? Why?

You blink at the screen, then groan. Of course, he’s going to make you explain.

You: Because I’m exhausted, Sunghoon! Work was a nightmare, my feet hurt, my boss wouldn’t stop hovering, and I haven’t even had dinner yet! Plus, I feel like crying, and seeing your biceps would literally make my day better. Is that too much to ask for?? 😤

The typing dots disappear for a moment, and you wonder if you scared him off with your mini-rant. Then they reappear, and after a pause, your phone buzzes with a notification.

It’s a photo.

You open it, and your breath catches. Sunghoon’s in a tank top, his arm raised as he flexes just enough to show off his toned biceps. His other hand is holding the phone, and his expression is so open and cute, it makes your heart skip a beat.

A squeal escapes you before you can stop it, and you bury your face in your pillow, giggling like a lovestruck teenager. Kicking your feet, you glance at the photo again, unable to stop the wide grin spreading across your face.

Without thinking, you hit "Save to Camera Roll." Then, as you sit there, still staring at the screen, you wipe at the corner of your mouth, realizing you were actually drooling.

You: I love you so much, Sunghoon

Sunghoon: ...So it worked?

You: Of course it did. You’re the best boyfriend ever

Sunghoon: Good. Now go eat dinner before you faint or something

You giggle again, hugging your phone. Drained or not, Sunghoon always knows how to make you feel better.

Park Jongseong

The TV screen blinks off with a frustrated click, the remote abandoned on the couch next to you. You’d spent the past half hour scrolling aimlessly through movies and shows, but nothing seemed remotely interesting. Boredom gnawed at you, and with a groan, you grabbed your phone.

You: I feel bad rn. Send biceps 🥺

The reply came a minute later.

Jay: Why would biceps make you feel better?

You chuckled at the response, already picturing the way he was probably furrowing his brows in confusion.

Jay: If you feel bad, shouldn’t you do something else? Like eat ice cream or take a nap?

Your smile widened as you started typing, determined to wear him down.

You: Nope. Only biceps will cure me. Please, Jay, I’m begging you. Just one🥺🙏

The dots appeared and disappeared, then appeared again, and you could almost see him debating with himself. Finally, your phone buzzed.

It was a photo.

You opened it, and a giggle immediately bubbled out of you. Jay had taken a mirror selfie, his arm flexed in a way that made you pause for a moment, thoroughly appreciating the definition. He was wearing a baseball cap, pulled low over his face, but the telltale flush creeping up his neck and cheeks was impossible to miss.

It was adorable.

You: OMG, you’re blushing!

Jay: Shut up. You begged for this. And don’t screenshot it!

But it was already too late—you’d saved the picture to your camera roll the second you saw it. Hugging your phone to your chest, you kicked your feet, your earlier boredom completely forgotten.

You: I love you! You’re the best!

Jay: You’re such a handful. But… I love you too

a/n: who loves biceps? hands up!!

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

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[fangdokja]

He’ll pay any price for your love—what’s your worth?

❤︎ Synopsis. In a love that teeters between devotion and obsession, escape is futile—his jealousy isn’t just possessive, it’s a consuming force that leaves no room for freedom. With each calculated act, he dismantles your world, ensuring you’ll always belong to him, body and soul.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Pantalone x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Heizou x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Venti x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Xiao x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Heart's Chains - Part 4

♡ Word Count. 4,301

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

♡ Pantalone – The Merchant’s Bargain.

“They think they can provide for you better than I can? How quaint. Shall I show them the cost of their insolence?”

The rhythmic echo of his boots against the cold marble floor carried a cadence of inevitability, a sound that sliced through the gilded silence of your confinement. You had dared to defy him once—a futile, trembling act of rebellion—but the memory of your failure still clung to you like a shroud. That night, his voice, smooth and deliberate, had wrapped around your resolve like silk hiding steel.

“Freedom?” he had mused, tilting his head as though you’d spoken in a language he had long since conquered and discarded. The gloved fingers under your chin forced your eyes to meet his, those calculating pools of dark ink that shimmered with amusement and an undercurrent of unspoken threat. “Ah, my dear. You misunderstand. Freedom is not yours to hold. It never was.”

The realization had come too late, slipping into your chest like a dagger hidden behind a bouquet of roses. And then there was his touch—clinical, practiced, a scholar examining his magnum opus. His lips brushed against your skin, leaving trails of cold fire in their wake, while his hands—gloved but never less intimate—claimed every part of you that you had once believed untouchable. It wasn’t affection. It was triumph, meticulous and unyielding, as if sealing a deal that had never required your consent.

“You are mine,” he had whispered, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. His words weren’t a confession but a decree, immutable and eternal. “Every thought. Every tear. Every heartbeat. They belong to me.”

Even now, the memory of his voice—velvet layered over iron—made your stomach twist in a combination of dread and something you refused to name. He was not cruel in the way of brutes who lashed out in fits of rage. No, his cruelty was far more refined, a blade sharpened to perfection, slipping between your ribs without a trace of blood. When he destroyed those who dared to covet you, it was not with fists but with contracts and whispered promises that unraveled their lives thread by thread.

“They thought they could compete with me?” he had remarked once, his smile as sharp as shattered glass. “Quaint. Shall we see how far they fall without their illusions?”

And fall they did. Men who had once walked with pride were reduced to husks of themselves, their empires razed to ash by the sheer weight of his machinations. You had watched, helpless and horrified, as he dismantled them with the same precision he used to trace the curve of your jaw, the line of your collarbone. His methods were merciless, but his gaze, whenever it turned to you, was something worse. It was possessive, yes, but layered with an almost tender mockery—a reminder that you were both the prize and the trophy.

At night, he would come to you, his presence filling the room long before his touch reached your skin. The scent of leather and cold metal clung to him, an oppressive cloud that left no space for you to breathe. He would undress you slowly, not with passion but with a reverence that felt more like dissection. His fingers, deft and unrelenting, mapped every inch of you as though committing you to memory. And when he finally pressed his lips to yours, it was not a kiss but a seal, binding you to him in ways no contract could ever replicate.

“You tremble so beautifully,” he had once murmured, his voice laced with something dark and predatory. “Do you realize what that does to me? Knowing that every shiver, every sigh, is mine to command?”

You wanted to scream, to push him away, to claw your way out of the golden cage he had built around you. But you knew better. His control was absolute, his influence extending beyond these walls to every corner of your life. Every ally you might have turned to, every path you might have taken, had been methodically closed off. He had seen to it that there was no escape, no hope, no future that did not orbit around him.

The nights were the worst. His body was a furnace against yours, his arms an unyielding cage that held you captive even in sleep. His whispers—promises of pleasure, threats of what would happen should you ever try to leave—invaded your dreams, turning them into nightmares you could not wake from. And yet, there were moments when his touch softened, when his lips brushed against your forehead in something almost resembling affection. Those moments terrified you most of all, for they reminded you of the power he held—not just over your body but over your mind, your soul.

When you cried, he would wipe away your tears with a gentleness that felt like mockery, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he smiled down at you.

“Hush now,” he would croon, his voice a paradox of warmth and cruelty. “There’s no need for tears. You should feel honored. Do you have any idea how many would give anything to be in your position? To be cherished by me?”

Cherished. The word tasted bitter in your mouth, a poisoned fruit wrapped in silk. But what choice did you have? He had stripped away every semblance of agency, every illusion of autonomy. You were his, bound by chains you could not see but felt in every breath you took.

Even now, as he stands across the room, his gaze heavy with unspoken promises, you feel the weight of his control. He doesn’t need to speak for you to know what he’s thinking. The slight tilt of his head, the way his fingers tap against the armrest of his chair—it all speaks of a man who knows he has won. Who knows that no matter how much you might dream of escape, you will always belong to him.

And when he finally approaches, his movements slow and deliberate, you can’t help but shiver. His hand cups your cheek, his touch as cold as the Snezhnayan winds that howl outside. He tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes leaves you breathless.

“You’ll never leave me,” he says, his voice soft but laced with an unshakable certainty. “Not because you can’t, but because you won’t. Deep down, you know the truth. I’m the only one who can give you what you need. What you crave.”

His lips capture yours in a kiss that feels like a signature on a contract, binding you to him in ways you can’t fully comprehend. And as much as you want to resist, to pull away, you find yourself succumbing, the lines between despair and desire blurring until you can no longer distinguish one from the other.

Because in the end, he’s right. There is no escape—not from him, not from the darkness he has woven around you. You are his, now and forever. And he will make sure you never forget it.

────────────

♡ Heizou – The Deceptive Detective.

“You think you can hide from me? Oh, darling, you underestimate how much I enjoy a good chase.”

It starts with his voice—not a shout, but a murmur, low and velvety, winding its way into the recesses of your mind before you even realize you’ve stopped breathing. His tone is soft, almost tender, like the caress of satin against bare skin. But beneath it, oh, there’s an edge—a razor-thin blade poised to cut. Shikanoin Heizou doesn’t need volume to dominate a room. His presence alone does the work, wrapping around you until your own thoughts feel like they’re not entirely yours anymore.

“You’ve been busy,” he says, his voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement. Each syllable is deliberate, each pause measured to pull you in deeper. His words aren’t a question but a statement—an observation so sharp it feels like he’s dissecting your very essence. You glance at him, but he’s already looking at you, his eyes—those unnervingly keen eyes—piercing through you like scalpels.

His lips curve upward, a faint smile that dances just shy of genuine. It’s not joy. It’s calculation, a mask so carefully constructed that it only heightens the unnerving tension coiling in your stomach. The distance between you is too small, and yet he steps closer, each footfall soft but purposeful, like a predator closing in on cornered prey.

“Tell me,” he continues, leaning against the edge of the table with an ease that seems casual but is anything but. His fingers trail idly over its surface, tracing invisible patterns. “What’s their secret? What’s so fascinating about them that you’d risk... neglecting me?” The words drip from his lips like honey, sweet but cloying, their weight suffocating.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your throat tightens as though he’s already wrapped those deft fingers around it. He tilts his head, his smile widening just a fraction. It’s not kind. It’s a noose tightening, a slow and deliberate constriction designed to choke the air from your lungs.

“Ah,” he sighs, as though the silence itself has confessed everything. “I see how it is. You’re testing me.” His voice drops, and there’s an undercurrent now, something darker, something that makes your pulse thunder in your ears. He straightens, his frame deceptively relaxed as he paces a slow circle around you. You’re keenly aware of how close he is, how the faint scent of sandalwood and something metallic clings to him.

Heizou’s methods are meticulous, his attention to detail almost inhuman. He doesn’t lash out—not physically. His cruelty lies in his precision, in the way he dismantles you piece by piece without ever raising his voice. “You know,” he muses, his tone light but laced with something sinister, “I caught them lying today. A terrible liar, really. But then again, I suppose they didn’t realize who they were dealing with.”

His footsteps stop, and you feel him behind you before you see him. A hand brushes against your wrist, and the touch is warm, almost gentle—but it lingers. His fingers tighten, just slightly, just enough to make your skin prickle.

“They were so nervous,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “The way their hands trembled when I said your name… quite telling, wouldn’t you agree?” There’s a pause, a stretch of silence so oppressive it feels like the air itself is suffused with malice.

Then, he chuckles—a soft, mirthless sound. “You don’t think they’re smarter than me, do you?” His grip tightens abruptly, the sudden force jolting you. “Because if they are, darling, then why were they begging by the end?”

The words linger, heavy and cold, and your stomach churns. He’s toying with you, savoring the way your breath hitches, the way your pulse flutters beneath his touch.

“You underestimate me,” he says softly, his tone almost mournful. “And that’s what hurts the most. After everything I’ve done for you, after all the times I’ve protected you…” He trails off, his hand sliding up to cradle your face. His thumb brushes against your cheek, a gesture that might’ve seemed tender if not for the vice grip of his other hand.

When he leans in, his lips ghosting over yours, the kiss isn’t an expression of love. It’s a claim, a binding force that leaves no room for doubt. Heizou’s affection isn’t freely given; it’s demanded, extracted, enforced. His lips are soft, his movements precise, but there’s no gentleness. Only control. Only possession.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes you want to shrink away. “Do you know what I love most about you?” he whispers, his voice so low it feels like it’s crawling beneath your skin.

He doesn’t wait for a response. “It’s how much you need me. Even when you think you don’t. Even when you try to run.” His smile returns, but it’s twisted now, a reflection of the madness simmering just beneath the surface.

“But don’t worry,” he murmurs, his thumb pressing into your jaw just enough to make your breath hitch. “I enjoy the chase. And you, my darling, are such a fascinating puzzle.”

His hands drop away, but the weight of him doesn’t. It lingers, heavy and inescapable, like the echo of a nightmare you can’t quite wake from. He steps back, but his eyes never leave yours, and you know, with a sinking certainty, that he doesn’t need chains to keep you. His words, his presence, his gaze—they’re all the binds he needs.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he says, his tone almost gentle now, as if he’s offering comfort. “I already know everything. I just like hearing it from your lips.”

The room feels colder as he turns away, the smile still playing on his lips. But you know it’s not over. Not even close. Because Shikanoin Heizou doesn’t just want you to stay. He wants you to realize—to understand, to accept—that you were never free to leave.

────────────

♡ Venti – The Bard’s Obsession.

“The winds have whispered your name to me, and now I can’t help but sing of you. Forever.”

Venti’s jealousy is a quiet, insidious thing—gentle as a breeze at first, slipping unnoticed into the crevices of your life, only to grow into a tempest that consumes every corner of your existence. It begins with the way his songs shift. Once lighthearted and carefree, they become laced with longing, their melodies carrying a haunting undercurrent of possessiveness.

You hear it in the way his voice lilts when he sings of freedom, the irony cutting sharp as glass. Freedom is his domain, the cornerstone of his identity, yet the thought of you seeking it elsewhere gnaws at his very soul. He can’t abide the idea of you straying too far, can’t stomach the sight of another’s eyes lingering on you for too long.

“You’re the only hymn worth singing,” he tells you one evening, his words coated in honey but laced with something darker, something you can’t quite place. His aqua eyes gleam in the fading light, the soft glow belying the storm brewing beneath.

It’s not obvious at first. His jealousy manifests in small, seemingly innocuous gestures—a hand resting a moment too long on your shoulder, a sharp glance at anyone who dares approach you during his performances. But the signs are there, subtle as the wind. You feel it in the way the air grows stifling when he’s near, as though the atmosphere itself bends to his will. The winds whisper your name, carrying his voice to you even when he’s nowhere to be seen.

He’s always watching. Always waiting.

When another admirer dares to offer you a flower—a simple token of affection—Venti’s response is deceptively cheerful. He plucks the bloom from your hands with a laugh, spinning it between his fingers before casting it into the wind. “A lovely gesture,” he muses, his tone light. “But nothing compared to what I could offer you.”

Later, you notice the absence of that admirer. No one mentions them again, and you dare not ask.

Venti’s touch is soft, almost reverent, as though you’re a delicate melody he fears will shatter beneath his hands. But there’s a hunger in his eyes, a desperation that betrays his playful facade. When he holds you, it’s as if he’s trying to merge your very existence with his, to bind your soul to him in ways words and songs cannot convey.

“You’re my muse,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice trembling with an emotion that borders on madness. “Without you, my music would wither. Without you, I’d be nothing.”

It’s in his desperation that his true nature unfurls, dark and unyielding. The winds themselves seem to conspire with him, pulling you closer, trapping you in an invisible cage. When you try to leave, the gusts become relentless, tearing at your clothes, your hair, until you’re forced to seek shelter—and he’s always there, waiting with open arms and a saccharine smile.

His jealousy grows with each perceived slight, each moment you spend with another. One evening, after you’ve spoken too long with someone else, he pulls you aside, his grip on your wrist firm but not painful. “Tell me,” he says, his voice low and dangerously soft, “do they make your heart sing as I do? Do their words weave melodies in your soul?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.

When he kisses you, it’s with a fervor that borders on desperation, his lips bruising against yours as though trying to erase the memory of anyone else. His hands roam your body with a possessiveness that leaves no room for doubt—you belong to him, and he will not share.

In the privacy of his embrace, his facade crumbles. The playful bard gives way to the archon he once was, his true power humming in the air around you. The winds howl outside, rattling the windows, as he whispers promises of eternity, of devotion so absolute it would shatter the heavens.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, his voice trembling with the weight of his obsession. “No one else can have you. Not the mortals who pine for you, not the gods who dare to covet you. Only me.”

And when he takes you, it’s with a mix of passion and desperation that leaves you breathless. His hands are everywhere, tracing the curve of your spine, the line of your jaw, as though trying to memorize every inch of you. His kisses are intoxicating, leaving you dizzy and gasping for air, and his touch is both a comfort and a curse, binding you to him in ways you can’t escape.

The winds outside carry his song, a haunting melody that speaks of love and loss, of a devotion so fierce it borders on destruction. And as he holds you close, his breath warm against your skin, you realize that you are both his muse and his prisoner, trapped in a melody that will never end.

────────────

♡ Xiao – The Guardian’s Desperation.

“I’ve slaughtered demons for centuries, but none of them haunt me as much as the thought of losing you.”

Xiao’s jealousy is a silent storm, his emotions buried beneath a stoic exterior. But when someone dares to approach you, his mask slips, revealing the feral possessiveness that lurks beneath. His love is a battlefield, and he will destroy anyone who stands in his way.

“They think they can protect you better than I can? Foolish. I’ll erase them from existence before they even draw their weapon.”

He watches you, always from the shadows—a sentinel whose presence is as consuming as the shadows that cling to him. You are unaware of his gaze, or perhaps you pretend to be, your every step laced with a naive confidence he simultaneously admires and despises. You wander too freely, too trustingly. It sets his teeth on edge, a low thrum of irritation pulsing in his chest like the steady hum of karmic debt.

You should not be so careless. Not when the world is teeming with dangers you cannot comprehend, threats he has battled for centuries. Not when he exists, tethered to you by something far more insidious than mere duty.

The first time he approached you, it was a fleeting moment at Wangshu Inn. Your voice was a melody too bright for this tainted earth, your laughter soft but cutting, a knife wrapped in silk. He didn’t speak then, didn’t dare disturb the fragile balance of your ignorance. But he memorized the cadence of your voice, the way it trembled slightly on certain words, how your lips curved when you smiled—a smile not meant for him but for the world you inhabited so freely.

It was maddening.

He hated it.

He wanted it.

You—a mortal bound by the confines of fleeting years—had ensnared him, shackling his mind in ways no karmic curse ever had. He should have left. Should have buried the feelings clawing at his chest in the deepest recesses of his being. Yet every step you took away from him, every day you spent beyond the sanctuary of his watchful eye, fed the gnawing hunger inside him. It was unbearable.

And so, he followed.

At first, it was subtle—a shadow flitting in the corner of your vision, a faint sensation of being watched. You dismissed it, a trick of the light, perhaps. But he was there, always there. The walls of Liyue Harbor—so bustling, so alive—could not deter him. Nor could the open plains, the forests, the winding roads you took on your whimsical adventures. His presence was constant, suffocating, unseen but palpable.

He told himself it was to protect you, to shield you from dangers you could not perceive. The truth was darker, more primal. It was not merely protection; it was possession. You were his. From the moment he decided to lay claim to you—silently, secretly—you belonged to him. It didn’t matter if you were unaware of it. It didn’t matter if the world continued to spin in blissful ignorance of his obsession.

But there were others.

Of course, there were others. Xiao had seen them—those who dared to tread too close, their gazes lingering too long, their voices too familiar. A pang of something dark and bitter twisted inside him each time it happened. Jealousy was a foreign sensation, one he had no name for but understood viscerally. He despised the way it coiled around his throat, hot and suffocating, and yet he could not escape it. It made his blood sing with a violent need—to eliminate, to erase, to make you see that no one else could be worthy of you.

It was a quiet night when he finally let you see him again. The sky was painted with stars, their light muted against the crescent moon. You were alone, as you often were, wandering near the cliffs overlooking Dihua Marsh. The wind played with your hair, carrying it like a banner of defiance. He appeared silently, a shadow stepping out of the void, his golden eyes piercing in the dim light.

You gasped softly, startled but not afraid. Not yet. His expression was unreadable, as it always was—a mask of cold indifference that barely hid the turmoil beneath. “You should not be here,” he said, his voice low and steady, yet tinged with something unspoken.

You tilted your head, curious. “Xiao?” You said his name like it was a question, like it was fragile, like it belonged to you. His fingers twitched at his side.

“It’s dangerous,” he continued, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming in its intensity. You did not step back, though your breath hitched imperceptibly. He noticed, of course. He noticed everything about you.

“I can take care of myself,” you replied, a faint smile gracing your lips. It was the wrong thing to say.

His jaw tightened, the golden irises of his eyes darkening like storm clouds. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice sharp now, a blade against the fragile air between you. “You don’t see the things I see. You don’t know what’s out there.”

“Then show me,” you challenged, your voice steady but your pulse quickening. He could hear it, the rapid thrum of your heart, and it ignited something dangerous inside him.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, taut and suffocating. Then, faster than you could react, he was there—too close, his breath warm against your skin. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to convey an unyielding dominance.

“You don’t understand,” he repeated, softer this time, almost a whisper. His gaze bore into yours, unrelenting, unyielding. “I will not let anything happen to you.”

And you knew, then, with chilling certainty, that he was not speaking of mere protection. There was a possessiveness in his voice, an edge of something raw and unrefined. He was not asking for your consent, your understanding, your compliance. He was taking it.

The wind howled around you, a mournful sound that seemed to echo the inevitability of your fate. You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, just enough to make you stop, to make you understand.

“Do not test me,” he warned, his voice dropping to a growl that sent shivers down your spine. There was no malice in his tone, only an unwavering resolve that promised you would never escape him.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. His other hand reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The gesture was almost tender, a cruel juxtaposition to the iron grip on your wrist.

“You belong here,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours. “With me.”

────────────

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[liketolaugh-writes]

The Commissioner had said that the boy looked exactly like him. It was true, physically, but there were marked differences as well. Bruce studied him as Alfred was gently taking blood for testing.

Danny looked tired; it was likely that he'd been traveling for days, perhaps longer, but he didn't have a bag. Hopefully, he'd dropped it somewhere to retrieve later, but it was also possible that he'd been unable to gather resources before coming to Gotham.

It did beg the question of how he expected this to go. Did he intend to take a DNA sample and leave? Did he have a way of stabilizing himself, or would he return to his creators with the new sample and ask for their help? What traits had he 'failed' to present that they had expected? The number of unanswered questions aggravated Bruce. How much education had he received? Had data simply been uploaded, as with Kon?

But more than tired, Danny looked withdrawn. He shied away from Alfred, and the curious gazes of the Bats that had been spared from patrol. (Spoiler and Red Hood were still out.) His gaze was lowered, his shoulders hunched, like a shamed child. Danny seemed to lack the rage Bruce had exhibited at that age; in its place was a kind of defeat, likely from his abandonment.

Bruce suspected that he felt overindulged just to get a DNA sample, and meant to leave as swiftly as possible after that, as to not be a bother.

"I don't know if my DNA will hold together long enough to be tested," Danny said again, strained and frustrated. "It has… other problems, from some of the later experiments."

That was a half-truth, but Bruce quickly assessed it as a problem for later. "Understood."

"Everything's set up to be as fast as possible," Tim added, arms crossed as he watched. "If it breaks down before I can finish, we'll know it's not your fault."

Danny didn't look reassured. "And… what would you do?"

"We'll exercise our best judgment," Bruce said evenly.

It was obvious that Danny immediately interpreted that as 'we will play it safe and refuse to help you,' by the way his head dropped with a soft, resigned sigh, but Bruce meant what he said. Based on Danny's behavior in the interim, and his stated plans for how to proceed, he would make a judgment call. Calculated risks were Bruce's specialty.

From Damian's unwavering stare, he didn't agree with Bruce's metrics.

"This family is well acquainted with clones, I assure you," Alfred said, kinder than any of the rest of them. "We're well aware that it's not your fault where you came from. Unless we find evidence to the contrary, you are nothing more sinister than a child who desperately needs help."

Yes. A child who, one way or another, was related to Bruce.

"Recklessness," Damian muttered, his restless shifting giving away the extent of his unease. (Damian never was particularly fond of Kon either.)

Alfred handed the blood sample to Tim, who immediately scurried off with it and went to process the sample as quickly as the chemistry of the process would allow. In the following silence, Danny shoved his hands in his lap, seemingly attempting to pretend not to exist. It was an… odd look, for Bruce to see on his own face.

"If you receive a DNA sample, what do you intend to do with it?" Bruce asked abruptly. Danny glanced up, giving him a skeptical look.

"…Stabilize my DNA?" he suggested.

"Do you have the knowledge to do that yourself, or do you intend to return to the people who created you?" Bruce clarified. "Or do you know of another person who may be able to stabilize you?" There were more people in the world that had the relevant knowledge, plenty of whom would be pleased to have even a 'failed' clone of Batman indebted to them. Most of them weren't especially trustworthy.

Danny grimaced slightly, indicating he wasn't happy with his options either. "I know a guy," he said at last, reluctantly. "He's familiar enough with the cloning process that he can probably help. He's not great, but he won't let me die if he can stop it."

That indicated two things: that Danny was not certain this man would succeed, and that he did not like this man. "Define 'not great.'"

"Father," Damian said, exasperated. Bruce ignored him.

Gut Feeling

DPXDC

Commissioner Jim Gordon meets an odd kid in the precinct.

--

“Come on, you really don’t have a way to directly contact Batman?”

Jim smiled. Kids came to the station and asked that all the time. Usually, it was just curiosity and showing them the signal was enough to get them to sign up for the Junior Police program. This one looked a little older than most, teenagers were often “too old” to believe in Batman, but again, give them a little faith now and they’ll never loose it.

“Lookin’ for the Bat, kid?” Jim asked, knowing he was about to make this kid’s –

Jim froze. The kid turned to face him and it was Bruce Wayne. Not playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, but freshly a teenager Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne who Jim had checked in on time and again from age eight until he ran off on a globetrotting trip to find himself. The little Bruce Wayne with too pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, and not enough love to make up for all the grief weighing him down. And he didn’t look like Damian either, where Bruce was obviously his father but there were distinct traits from his mother. This was a carbon copy of a boy Jim remembered vividly.

“I am.” He even sounded like teenage Bruce. All business, like he was on a mission.

“I might be able to help you, but it’ll take a while.” Jim said and the officer the kid had been talking too gave him an odd look. He waved her off and told the kid to follow him to the commissioner’s office. Normally, he’d be more dramatic, put on more of a show for the kid, but his gut told him this was different, this was important. He offered the kid a styrofoam cup of water then closed the door behind him. “So, what do you need to talk to Batman for?”

“It’s personal. I need to talk to him in person.”

Jim took a sip of coffee from his cup. “He doesn’t appreciate me calling for no reason in the middle of the day.”

“So you do have a direct line?” The kid nearly jumped out of his seat. “If he’s upset, it’ll be my fault, just call him, please.”

“Who should I say wants to talk to him?”

The kid hesitated. “He doesn’t know me, but I have to talk to him.”

Jim frowned. “What’s your name, kid?”

He swallowed and looked like he wasn’t going to answer for a moment. “Danny.”

“Danny…?” Jim wanted a last name but Danny kept quiet. Jim sighed, “He’s likely not going to show up until sundown.”

“I can wait, as long as you guarantee he’ll show.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why you need Batman?” Jim just got a glare in response. “What about one of the other heroes?”

“Only Batman, no one else can help.”

“You sure about that? Not even Superman?”

“Not unless Superman can get me in the same room as Batman.”

“Why’s it so important that you meet him in person?”

“It’s personal.”

Jim liked this less and less by the minute. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

Danny looked away but right when it looked like he wouldn’t say anything he mumbled. “They wouldn’t care anyway.”

After another moment to give the kid time to reconsider, Jim pulled out the Bat-phone. It was a normal Wayne-Tech cell phone, but Jim had been given very specific instructions on how and when to use it. The phone listed all the Gotham Vigilantes without visible numbers so they couldn’t be copied and handed out. He pressed the one for Batman.

“Stand outside, would you?” The kid gave him a look, but followed the request. Jim could see his shadow in the door’s window, not so subtle eavesdropping.

It rang a few times, and Jim sat there awkwardly with a teenager listening to his every move. Finally, a familiar voice picked up the other end of the line. “Commissioner Gordon.”

“Sorry to call you out of the blue Batman, but I’ve got a kid here who needs your help.”

“Who?”

“Says his name is Danny, that you’ve never met him but you’re the only one who can help him.”

“Why?”

“Refuses to tell me.”

“What’s your best guess, Commissioner?”

Jim looked at Danny’s shadow, it looked like he was straining his ears to try and hear what he was saying. Danny had given him almost nothing to work with. Just his name, that he’s never met Batman but needs to talk with him in person. But Jim was here because he listened to his gut. A feeling like when you see a random rock on your neighbor’s doorstep but you’d never go in without an invitation. A feeling like you know what’s in the present and are preparing your surprised face. A feeling like when you cheated on your wife and you know she knows.

“He looks like Bruce Wayne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

“Danny looks exactly like Bruce when he was a teenager. Exactly the same.” Jim hoped Batman would get it, feel in his gut what Jim felt.

“And he wont say why he’s there?”

“No, and he demands to see you in person.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“10-4.” The line cut off before Jim had finished saying it. He called Danny in again. “He’s on his way.”

Danny glared at him. “If he’s not, if you called some social worker or something, you’ll regret it.”

“I’m sure.” Jim sighed and downed the rest of his now cold coffee.

The sun hadn’t set, but only just barely. Jim ended up taking Danny up to the roof in the end after all, if only to save his window from being broken into. The kid had a red hoodie on, but he was still shivering in the autumn chill and it was just going to get colder by the minute as the sun made its way behind the horizon.

Jim checked his watch and, at exactly an hour from when he called, he acted surprised when Batman and Robin appeared out of nowhere. “Bats.”

“Commissioner.” Batman greeted but his eyes went straight for Danny. “Danny, I assume.”

“Yeah, I…” Danny hesitated, looking at Jim and Robin.

All it took was four words from Batman. “What do you need?”

The kid held out his hand with a flash drive in it. “I’m your clone. My par- The people who made me wanted to make a stronger version of you, but they got ahead of themselves. My DNA is degrading and I’ll die if I don’t get your DNA to stabilize me.”

Holy cow.

“You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?” Robin sneered at him.

“The flash drive has all the info on it. All the data about the cloning process and the, uh, relevant experiments after that.” Batman gave the kid a look. “I didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary data.”

“If what you’re saying is true, why are you here, alone? Are they working on a different solution?”

Danny’s shoulders hiked up. “I’ve been a failure for a while now, I’m not worth the resources and they’d learn more from an autopsy.”

Oof, kid. Jim looked at Batman who seemed to feel the same… if Jim was reading him right.

“So, you wont object to a DNA test?” Robin asked with a cocky head tilt, at least he was relatively easy to read.

“You can try.” Danny said, and then realized what that sounded like. “I mean I wont stop you, but my DNA degrades faster outside my body. You’ll have to take me to whatever lab you plan on using.”

“Then we will.” Batman said and jerked his head towards where they’d probably parked that ridiculous car of his. But then he looked at Jim with a nod. “Commissioner.”

“Batman.” Jim returned the nod. “You’ll tell me how things turn out, yeah?”

“I’ll give you a report.” Batman joked – Jim could tell, it was gut feeling.

[everythingspokenfor]

𝔽𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕥 !

Pairing: Bakugou x reader. ┊All characters are aged up 18+. MDNI

Summary: Bakugou who is willing to try every single kink, every single fetish out with you. Even if they come in form of a textbook.

Mina gifted you 'the kink book' as a joke on your 18th birthday, it was nothing to be taken seriously, you shoved it in the back of your closet and moved on with life.

There was a little secret tho, you did read that book, worst you annotated it, circled things you wanted to try, crossing out the ones you found weird, it held your deepest, darkest and naughtiest secrets, but nonetheless at the it was locked away forever.

Forever didn't last long and your beloved boyfriend found it.

Crimson eyes skimming through the pages, silently taking the new information in. You walked into the room, and noticed Bakugou standing and reading a book. Thinking nothing of it, you moved to give him a kiss when you eyes landed on an rather obscene portrayal of a sex position that looked somewhat familiar, with an annotation that read 'I can definitely fold like that'.

"What is tha- this?" You blurt out, subtly trying to yank the book out of his hands.

He started at you in amusement, hand holding the book high out of your reach.

"Didn't know you were 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 like that, babe?" He snorted, his tone was teasing but the tent in his sweats told you a different story

"It was a dumb gift, Suki." You whined, giving up on trying to get that book, instead choosing to lie face down in bed and suffer silently.

"It ain't dumb, if ya' worked so hard on it." He reasoned, before coming to lay down right next to you, head propped up on his hand.

You moved your head slightly, peeking at him. "Why don' we try it?" He suggested casually, opening the book back again, on the same raunchy sex position. "A bit of warm up, and you'll definitely fold like that." His eyes glimmered with mischief.

This was a bad idea, you should have known, barely 10 minutes into 'trying out the kink book', and you already feel like cumming, Bakugou has your knees touching your shoulders, toes grazing the head board.

Warming you up turned into Bakugou scooping out your slick with his tongue.

"hn-hng, this isn-fuck warm up." You hiss out, almost fucked out of your mind and you haven't even been fucked yet.

Bakugou is downright filthy, slobbering all over your cunt, scooping up the slick before spitting it back out, the creamy mix drips down, wetting your ass and onto the mattress.

Bakugou sinfully sucks at your clit before moving down, tonguing at your perineum, you let out a confused moan, before lifting your head up and looking at him.

He was already looking at you, locking your eyes on his own, he moved further down and sucked at your puckered rim. Tongue lapping at the rim.

"fuc- that's dirt-" You whimpered, hips weakly thrusting up against him. He reaches over, grabbing your hand and placing them against the back of his head, silently urging you to pull at it.

Bakugou pinned your waist down with one hand, other reaching to rub quick circles at your clit. The added stimulation pushing you closer to your orgasm, you weakly pulled at his hairs, trying to pull him deeper.

Experimentally Bakugou nudged his tongue into your loosened rim, the unexpected protrusion, causing you to cum. You hump his face, broken moans leaving your throat.

Bakugou sits back down on his knees, admiring your twitching form. He helps you ease down your legs, before massaging your thighs, rubbing away the ache.

A smug grin formed on his wet lips, he leaned in close to your ear and,"You like your ass ate, huh?" He whispered, before laying down and pulling you onto his chest.

"Shut up, Suki." You whined weakly slapping his chest.

[bbystark]

♡ ghost figures it out ♡

simon riley (ghost) x reader

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡ donate :)

summary: ghost tells soap he's in love, then he goes home to you with big plans

⚠︎ suggestive themes mdni

a/n: can you guys tell that all i want is to be wifed up by a large man? ;( it is short, but enjoy!

"Soap." His voice cuts through the air abruptly. No response from said man, sucked into his shitty tv dinner and whatever was flickering on the tv. He tries again, voice laced with subtle exasperation. "Johnny."

Soap pauses for a split second, before stuffing his mouth with another bite, not sparing him a glance. "Wut?"

"Think I love 'er."

Soap doesn't think he hears him right. "Wut?" He repeats, staring at his LT dumbly.

"Said I'm in love."

"Fuckin' 'ell, little y/n? You finally fuckin' catchin' on?" Soap slaps his knee, chortling to himself like this was a comedy show. "She finally say somethin'? Cause I know you're brooding arse didn't."

"Fuck are you on about?"

"S' no secret Lt, lass walks around with 'er homecooked meals 'n doe eyes starin' after you. None of us ever thought that woman was just a fuck fer you, was just waitin' for one of you to quit bein' daft."

Simon almost feels himself flush at the overt admission that everyone around him could clearly see what he hadn't until recently. When he had first seen you at the the pub near the recent base the 141 had been assigned to, he told himself it would be a one time thing. Then it was twice, three times, then bringing you along to nights out with his team, because hey, you get along so well, why not? Come 'round the base just to say hey and drop off "leftovers" while you're at it. That's casual.

How true it is that hindsight is 20/20. When Simon doesn't respond immediately, Soap continues on. "What're your intentions with the lass? Plan on makin' er' an honest woman? Think she's in love?"

"Doesn't matter. She's mine. I've got plans, Johnny."

Soap leans back in his chair, scoffing a little while still grinning. "Aye, I'm sure. Always wanted to be a best man." He means it as a joke, but what Simon replies is dead serious.

"I'll do you one better 'n make you an uncle."

Soap gawks a little at that, before making his way over to Simon and grasping his shoulder. "Imagine that, little ghosties runnin' 'round. Never took you for a family man but with a lass like that, who could blame you." He jabs a finger into his chest. "Just put a ring on it aye?"

Soap was convinced that Simon was the epitome of "confused but has the right spirit". Sure he was doing things a little out of order, but it was a miracle the broody bloke found someone like you in the first place.

"Aye. Plan on making 'er a proper wife."

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

When Simon texts you that night, a simple 'I'll be there in an hour.', you figured it was your typical hookup. Still, you had baked cookies and tidied the apartment like you were a doting little girlfriend. After months of being with Simon, but not really being with Simon, you were often confused with the complicated relationship.

When Simon lets himself in through the front door right as your bent over retrieving the cookies from the oven, and watches as your face lights up at the sight of him, he's never been less confused. He finds himself with his hands gripping your hips, ignoring your questions of how he is and if he wants to try a cookie. His nose fills with your perfume and the warm smell of sweets and he's so overwhelmed with how content he feels.

You were home. You were his.

He guides you to the edge of the counter, grasping your plush thighs in his hands and hoisting you to sit on the cold marble, your hands grasping his shoulders as you giggle. He gives you a small smile and spreads your legs, fingers tracing your inner thigh.

He kisses you, and you're no longer confused when he whispers "Whaddya think 'bout marriage?" in your ear, and later, when he was between your legs, a raspy "How 'bout children?"

It was going to be a long night.

[mattybsgroupie]

three | matt sturniolo

— CONTENTS: established relationship; threesome (f-m-f); oral (f receiving); handjob (m receiving); strap sucking; boob sucking/nipple play; p in v; slight cuckolding; mommy kink; sub!matt

— NOTES: happy new year!!! im so grateful for this past year as a writer and for being able to star a second year writing for my favorite boy in the whole world ♡ this one was highly requested so take it as a gift since i couldnt do a christmas fic. this is very very filthy and descriptive, if you're not into f-m-f or wlw, just don't read it! also i called her lexi cause NO ONE suggested me a name, but you can put your own if you'd like :) not proofread, but hope you enjoy it just as much as i did ♡

matt had an amused smile lingering on his face throughout the whole day, an occasional smirk appearing whenever you stared at him for too long.

matt was totally okay with you being bisexual — more than okay. he found it extremely hot. as a very shy and private guy, matt never spoke about bringing someone else to the bedroom. however, you were different, and you always encouraged him to explore beyond his imagination, to push the limits of fantasy. and you managed to get him extremely excited for this one.

a close friend who you occasionally used to make out with, lexi, gladly accepted spending the night with you, after all, matt’s looks were intoxicating and you were irresistible.

“can you at least pretend you’re not about to cream your pants?” you mocked matt and his pathetic grin. he sunk his teeth on the bottom half of his lips, trying to hold himself back, but he just couldn’t.

you rolled your eyes as you got closer to matt, standing on your knees, grabbing his chin and forcing him to lock eyes with you. “is my sweet boy excited?” he nodded, smiling again. “yeah? you wanna see another girl playing with us?” you cooed, ruffling his hair.

“you” matt said, nuzzling his face against your chest. his poorly shaved beard tickled your cleavage, making you chuckle. “i wanna see her… eating you out” he continued.

“is that so?” you couldn’t hide the excitement in your tone. matt nodded again, placing both of his hands on each side of your hips. “you’re gonna be a good cuck for me? watch me getting fucked by another girl?” you teased, a guttural whine coming from the back of matt’s throat. his pants got tighter, the sudden nickname — which felt more like an insult — and the thought of having two beautiful women in front of him made his blood run faster to his cock.

lexi stepped out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around her frame, the knot revealing her plump breasts, and came across the sight of you and matt making out on the sofa. with careful steps, she crossed the room and stood against the wall, coughing weakly to catch your attention. you pulled away from the kiss, resting your hands on matt’s chest as you tilted your head back to see her.

with a chuckle, lexi undid the knot, standing entirely naked in front of you and matt. he widened his eyes, startled by her boldness, but didn't say a word, simply allowing you to get off his lap so you could take her by the hand and lead the way to the bedroom. 

matt promptly followed you, locking the door before he laid down with his back against the headboard. lexi didn’t need to know in advance that he was going to sub, therefore, he could enjou himself a bit. matt lifted his arms up and placed both hands behind his head, enjoying the scene unfolding in front of him.

as you sat in front of lexi, you also traced your own finger through the fabric of your shirt before slowly unbuttoning it. you removed your shirt and tossed it towards matt, who attentively caught the cloth. you leaned your body against the mattress, holding your weight with both elbows as you called lexi to come closer with your finger. she crawled in bed, reaching for your tits and sitting in one of your thighs.

she started massaging your flesh with both hands, causing you to moan. her hands were soft and gentle, the touch was delicate yet intense. you placed a hand in the back of her head, lightly pulling her hair and biting her lower lip before going for a deeper kiss.

her tongue twirled around yours, the wet muscle exploring every inch of your mouth. lexi gradually started to grind against your bare thigh, feeling her own heat growing stronger. you smiled between the kiss, reminiscing the times you both would do that for fun. with another seal, you pulled away, watching as she picked up a pace on her movements. “so pretty, riding my thigh like a good little slut” you spitted out, taking a strand of her hair and placing it behind her ear.

both of your hands moved to her round hips, your grip helping her to go faster and practically hump her wet pussy against your skin. her soft whimpers became louder when you latched your lips around one of her nipples, sucking it hungrily.

as you circled your tongue on her hardened nubs, you tilted your head in order to take a look at matt. he looked like a virgin watching porn for the first time, his mouth hanging agape as his chest panted, his hands holding the sheet in a fist. you chuckled at the adorable sight, giving lexi your full attention. you could tell she was close by the way her cunt throbbed, the juices flowing from her coated your entire flesh.

“princess” you called, receiving a whine in response. “can you be a good girl and do something for me?” you asked as she slowed down, nodding eagerly.

“mama’s getting all wet watching you” you praised, “can you help me out before you cum? eat me out real good and put on a show for that little boy over there?” you said, pointing at matt who was visibly struggling with standing still.

“anything for you” lexi breathed out, getting off of your lap and placing her hands on your waistband, quickly removing your shorts. you were now fully bare and matt was the only one left with the clothes on. she caressed your legs with her beautiful, long nails as she trailed kisses down your body, stopping right above your pussy.

you gasped when she gave you a long kitten lick, dragging her wet tongue from your hole to your clit. matt adjusted himself on the mattress and quietly unbuckled his belt, pressing his boner over his jeans. it was a delightful sight. your fingers immediately tangled on lexi’s hair once she started sucking your clit, a loud moan coming from the back of your throat.

while still eating you out, she placed her thumb on your clit, rubbing circular motions as she traveled through your folds. unwittingly, you opened your eyes and glanced at matt. he had his cock out, his large palm slowly stroking his own lenght. his blue orbs were attached to yours, both of you breathing heavily. he fastened the movements of his fist when he saw your legs trembeling, as if he could feel the knot on your lower tummy begging to be released.

soon enough, spasms took over your body. the fact that matt was watching you being fucked by another girl and jerking off to it threw you over the edge, your orgasm washing over you as your high-pitched moans filled the room.

lexi made sure to lick all of your juices before crawling to matt, who was completely caught off guard when she kissed him and spilled your release inside his mouth. matt loved your taste, his flushed tip starting to leak when lexi replaced his own hand with hers.

you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy watching the scene. once you fully recovered, you quietly reached for the nightstand, searching for your strap and adjusting it before they could notice.

matt was the first one to pull away, loosening the grip on lexi’s waist and turning his attention to you. he gulped when he saw your pink dildo, not sure if you had planned on fucking him in front of another girl.

“open your mouth for me” you told matt and he quickly obeyed. he already knew what to do — put his tongue out like a good slut.

you held the dildo by its base and placed the tip on matt’s tongue. he wrapped his lips around the plastic dick, trying his best to fit everything he could. you tangled your fingers in his brown locks, starting to bob his head up and down in slow movements, drool dripping from the corners of his mouth.

you decided matt had done enough when you heard him gag. he deserved to enjoy the night, not get a sore throat. “such a good boy” you praised as pulled out, wrapping your knuckles around the dildo and spreading his saliva.

“mama on top?” you asked lexi, who had been touching herself the whole time. she denied with her head, her cheeks suddenly gaining a pink tone of embarrassment. “i… i wanna ride mama, please”

“fuuuuck” you heard matt whispering. you chuckled at him and sat by his side, spreading your legs and patting your tights so lexi would join you. she quickly went for it, placing her lower lips around the tip of the dildo and gradually sitting, a heavy sigh leaving her nostrils.

“all full?” you teased, placing your palm on her lower tummy. with a bit of pressure, you could perfectly feel the thick, veiny dildo filling her up. “so, so full” she whined, holding on your shoulders for support.

matt could no longer hold himself. his cock was hurting and the tip wouldn’t stop leaking pre-cum. he didn’t want to cum untouched, so as lexi started to ride you, he nuzzled his face on the crooked of your neck. “what is it hm? want the attention all for yourself?”

“nuh uh” he pouted. “just hurts… need your help” matt whimpered. you smiled at how well behaved they both were, listening to everything that you said.

“here’s what we’re gonna do. you can cum when she cums” you started, “if you act like a good boy and hold until the end, you can fuck mama afterwards” you told matt, giving him a peck. he nodded desperately, silently begging for lexi to cum soon.

you decided to not be mean and help them out. one of your hands went to matt's cock, stroking it at a slow, steady pace, while the other one remained on lexi’s clit, quickly rubbing it. “mommy mhm— please” matt whined. “i c-can’t hold it”

“no? you wanna cum already?” you asked in a warm, understanding tone. “is it too much for my little boy? watching two girls and not getting anything?” you continued, causing matt to whimper even more.

“mhm, ‘s too much” he answered, squeezing his eyes shut when you placed your thumb on his slit. “mama! please! cum!” matt cried out.

“what do you think, baby?” you asked lexi, who was too busy focusing on her on pleasure, mindlessly bouncing on your dildo. “should we let matt cum?” she nodded as she felt her own high approaching, her pussy throbbing.

“cum for mama, prince” you allowed matt. “and you can cum for me too, pretty girl” you told her. that was all they needed — your permission, your attention, your touch, you.

the room was filled with loud, lewd noises. the sound of skin slapping and moans took over the house, both matt and lexi releasing, surprisingly enough, at the same time. matt cried and whimpered as she moaned like a porn star — and you couldn’t help but feel the warmth spreading through your body once more, your pussy starting to drip from the wetness.

the three of you were too tired to say a word or even clean up, acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, you should take a break.

little did they know the night was just getting started.

— TAGLIST ♡⊹𑄽୧ @thepubeburgler @submattenthusiast @pearlzier @mattsfavbitchhh @bugeyedgrl @sturncakez @riowritesitall @mattsturnswife @sturnsmia @sturnthepot @mattscoquette @conspiracy-ash @ilovemattsturn @lizzymacdonald06 @blahbel668 @fratbrochrisgf @sturnobsessedwh0re @cayleeuhithinknott @sturniolo04 @1c3b4th @mattsfavbigtitties @bellassturniolo @sturnsxplr-25 @ivammbb @shadowthesim @slutformatthewsturniolo @stefansring @teeheeomg @dystfopia @riasturns @faiyaz555 @sturnslutz @alesturniolos @cvnntagious