#you don’t want to know how far and how deep I had to dig for this….

[sassyandclassy94]

Luke + Lane Slattery (Yes that is indeed his wife😍 Aren’t they precious?)

[tonycries]

Golden Boy - G.S.

Synopsis. Falling right back in love with the cult leader you’re supposed to kíll? Happens more often than you’d think.

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader 

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, friends/lovers to enemies to lovers, oral (fem receiving), facesítting, creampíe, slight Gojo x Reader, running away from it, Suguru is so SOOO in love still, unprotected, spítting, kinda angsty, hurt/comfort, mentions of bIood and kníves, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.4k

A/N. I was listening to fantasmas while writing this so take that how you will LMAO.

The difficult part, surprisingly, wasn’t infiltrating Geto Suguru’s Time Vessel Association. No, a few faux tears, a decoy curse, and you were in - stepping through his grandiose hideout. The difficult part was convincing yourself that you were here to kill him. 

Something that utterly foolish little part of yourself still had trouble believing - even when you had a knife to his throat. 

“Any last words?” you spit, muffled through your mask, thankful for the way it covers up just how much your voice shakes. Maybe because of the way his lips curl into a familiar smile, maybe from his cool dagger pressing against the back of your neck.

Seconds away from a bloodbath. 

You don’t know if you’re breathing - or if he is either. Eyes locked on the way Sugur- your target only raises his hand up, up, up - getting ready to strike. To kill. Only you’d get him first and-

Snip!

You’re not dead. But you might as well have been, because your mask falls onto the tatami mat with a deafening clatter. 

“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.”

It’s hard not to remember. 

“You don’t have any right to say that.” your knees tighten around where you had him straddled to the ground. Your hand pinning one of his down, blade digging deeper into Suguru’s pale neck - eyeing the slow, steady drop of blood that beads down it. “Didn’t think you’d remember me, either.”

With your mask now no longer on your face, you could traitorously take in that relaxed grin - as if your life wasn’t in his hands right now. As if he didn’t care. 

Suguru’s hair was much longer now, splayed out across the floor inkily. Circling around his broad shoulders, around the eyes that were just a bit harder than they were ten years ago. And yet, you catch the way they flicker briefly with something so raw as he whispers gently, “How could I ever forget my first love?”

So quiet that you could’ve blamed it on your imagination - and you wish you did. 

It’s so unfair. 

Unfair how you let out a gasp, despite yourself. Unfair how you were the best sword wielder that Jujutsu had to offer, yet your fingers tremble on your knife. Heart stuttering at the mere sight of the way his eyes crinkle with the beginnings of a smile. Pleading, like all he could see was you from what felt like a thousand lifetimes ago. 

Those golden years. Back when rare Susanoomon cards were what you’d fight over, and the only stains he’d wipe off were from the grassy grounds of Jujutsu High, still faint underneath the encrusted blood on that uniform nestled away deep in his wardrobe.

You manage to grit out, “Shut up. You left me- us.”

“I did.”

Like it was all he wanted to see. 

“You never loved me.”

“I do.”

Your voice is shrill at this point, words stumbling over each other. “You’ve massacred more people than you’ve saved.”

Suguru wastes no time denying - or in any niceties. Looking right into your absolutely crazed eyes as he answers, “I have.” And his answer rings so hollow and emotionless in your ears, cold-blooded. Absolutely nothing like the boy you remembered. The one that would laugh and steal you away to take you around campus on his bicycle, all because the next class was “too far”.

“I- fuck.” You place both hands on the hilt of your blade, distantly registering the way that Suguru lets his own drop onto the floor. “I should kill you- I should kill you right now.”

Just one flick of your wrist. Fast and simple. 

In and out - exactly like you’d been ordered to. 

“And to die by your hand would be a death that someone like me doesn’t deserve.”

You both jolt when your knife hits the ground - as if neither of you were expecting it. And before you can stop yourself, you’re fisting his thick robes, pulling Suguru’s face up closer to yours. Mere inches away. 

“Then- then I’ll-” you choke, a hand coming up to dig into the sides of his milky neck, leaving neat, red indents on his skin. “I’ll kill you with my own hands, Suguru.”

And he’s known you for years - would never admit it, but was by your side for only half as long as he’d watched over you. 

Saw - only from a distance -  those big fat tears you cried at graduation, the curve of your lips as you pulled a very reluctant Nanami into a hug outside his new office building. The steely look in your eyes meeting Satoru’s much softer one, telling him first how you’re going into teaching. And the smile on your face when you thought of who else might have, too. If he’d gotten the chance.

Always hidden.

Never so close to this frenzied glint in your gaze, a tiny sob threatening to escape your lips. Never like this - and yet, he never thinks you’ve looked so beautiful. 

But what would someone like him know about beauty, anyway?

You flinch as Suguru reaches a hand up to thumb away the furrow between your brows, catching on the single, stray tear sitting at your cheekbone. Whispering - so low that you involuntarily crane your head closer to hear - “Still such a crybaby.”

“And you’re still going to be the death of me.”

Soft - Suguru’s lips are as soft as you imagined. And it’s not exactly the tender, picture-perfectly romantic first kiss his teenage self dreamt up with you, but fuck if he wasn’t going to remember this like it was. 

Perfect. 

Pretty lips smothering yours, all slow and sensual. Drinking in those deliciously breathless gasps of yours as he sucks on your candied lips. 

You gasp, “Suguru.” and it comes out teary. Making you finally register the wetness rolling down your cheeks, glistening against the dim lighting. You tighten your grip around his neck, “This won’t fix-”

“I know.” Fuck, does he know better than anyone else. 

A hand slides up your forearm, the other cupping your face to pull you closer. He’s running his hot tongue along your cheek, pooling your salty tears on his lips. “But let me make you forget - if just for tonight. Please.”

The only answer Suguru gets is your fingers leaving his neck, dancing feather-light across his sculpted shoulders to slide under his robe. Feeling the smooth plane of his pecs underneath your palm, that traitorously thundering heartbeat he wishes he could slow down. “Kiss me.”

“Fuck.” he pants into your open mouth. The sight of your glossy, slightly puffy lips having him surge forward to reattach his with yours with a pained grunt. “God- jus’ a bit more, my love.”

Again. And again and again- like he was addicted. 

He’d always been, with you, anyway.

You let out a sinful sound of his name when Suguru kisses down your neck, lips slotting over your racing pulse. Throbbing and so real under his lips, remembering how he used to feel this song under his arms long before. 

“Oh- shit.” you moan, when his now rougher - larger - hands sneak underneath your crumpled shirt, deftly unbuttoning. Unbuckling. Impatient. “Sugu-”

A hoarse groan leaves him, only spurring him to all but rip the rest of your uniform off your body faster. 

And at the first sight of you clad in nothing but your panties, Suguru’s kiss-bitten lips are falling slack. Brows shooting up into the dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead now, “Been missing out, hm?” He’s dipping a hand down to run the back of his index along your clothed, puffy folds. Up and down. “Really been-” Heart clenching when he remembers the way Satoru now looks at you with a familiar glint. One he knew all too well. “-missing out, my love.”

You’re only trailing your fingers along his cheek - his neck, grazing over that little mark from your blade. He groans - maybe from your touch, probably from the way you’re dragging your cunt across that massive bulge underneath you. “Please, Suguru. Wan’ you.” 

And if Geto Suguru has spent ten years denying himself, surely he could sacrifice it for the way he lifts your stuttering, sloppy hips up so easily. All the way up until they were hovering over his mouth, hot breath hitting your clothed cunt. 

“Wanna taste you.” he groans, spying on the way your slick beads through your panties. “Wan’ see if you’re as hah- sweet as I imagined. Please.”

And he’s obsessed with the way you’re sinking yourself down so gently, cock jumping at the thought of you afraid you’d suffocate him - as if you didn’t have your blade at his throat just minutes ago.

“Fuuuck, don’t worry, pretty.” he groans, soft darting to lick at the juices smeared across your inner thighs. “Some more now. Put it all on me, I can take it- fuck-”

Your syrupy sweet cunt has Geto losing whatever’s left of his fucking restraint, dark eyes rolling to the back of his head because you were so sweet. So pretty looking down at him with your glassy eyes. So addictive. He moans, chest heaving as he breathes in your essence. “What happened to that feist from earlier? Gonna hafta do a lil’ more than that now.”

“B-but-”

It’s at this moment you realize that at any given moment Suguru could’ve easily taken the upper hand. A hand of his pulls down your hesitant hips, swollen lips against your covered ones in such a filthy kiss. 

He hums into your folds, bunching your panties between them. “Mmm. Shit- jus’ like I imagined.” Hot tongue dipping just underneath the flimsy fabric to feel out your sloppy entrance, “Better, even. Jus’ look how well you’re taking me, pretty.”

But you don’t - too scared to find out that you’d like the sight more than you should. How you wished you could go back to the golden days where it didn’t matter - wasn’t a matter of life and death. And something else entirely. 

And this dilemma has Suguru’s brows furrowing, sharp canines lightly nipping at one of your swollen folds. Wanting to see how it’s him - despite everything, it’s still him making you feel this way. “None of that now.”

RIP!

With this you have to look down, a desperate whine leaving your stupid mouth at the fucking sinful sight down below. Your panties now a tattered excuse in between Suguru’s teeth, baring them with such a devilish grin right up at you. 

“See?” he spits out the fabric onto the floor beside him, half-lidded eyes peering up at you so sultry. Looking right at you as his tongue lolls out, spreading your bare, needy folds shamefully. “Isn’t this much better?”

“Hngh- fuck, yes-” you slide your fingers through his now-messy hair, falling out of that half-bun. Jolting on top with each push of his tongue past that feeble ring of resistance, the lewd squelches leaving you with each graze of the wet muscle against your walls. “Shit- Suguru it feels too good. So deep ngh-”

He swats a hand against your ass, making you sit your slutty hips down deeper, all the way till Suguru’s jaw was grinding so greedily against your cunt. Tongue bullying past your folds in and out in and out in and-

“God- hah-” he’s pulling away to gasp deep lungfuls of air - secondary, to the way he was back immediately to making out so hotly with your tight pussy. “Mmm fuck. This cute lil cunt is so needy. S’like you’re trynna suck my tongue off.” Thumb reaching up to draw slow, languid circles that have you throwing your head back. “So perfect.”

Your delirious mouth is dropping open, body moving before your mind as you strain to reach your hand behind. Trembling. Shaky when you manage to cup Suguru’s aching erection. 

“G-guess m’not the only one ah- needy, hm?” you smirk, having him bucking and spitting out harsh little profanities with each rub of your palm down his drenched length. 

Suguru doesn’t give you a response - because his fingers are speaking on his behalf. Dipping into your sloppy hole, locating your g-spot, as if on instinct. He’s milking your pretty cunt while he roams for those sweet spots. Lips muffling around your throbbing clit, “You’re always right, my love. You always were.”

And his words are so gentle - mouth so sloppy. Squelches so obscene. 

Nose pressing up at the top of your abdomen, cheeks hollowing wetly around the sensitive nub. Letting your juices drip all the way down his chin, his jaw, dangerously close to that cut on his neck. 

The hand sliding back and forth across the swollen outline of his cock had Suguru get more frenzied. Faster. Like it was his personal mission to make you cum on his tongue before he fucking passed out. 

Penetrating your gummy hole with both his fingers and his tongue, spreading it open more. And it’s all you can do to keen, “Oh- oh my god.” Riding Suguru’s pretty face harder. “Shit- m’close, Suguru.”

“Always right.” he gasps, swiping his tongue faster across your clit. “Always perfect” Alternating between squeezing back into your hole, your sweet spots. Stretching out your gummy walls as far as they’d go. “Always made f’me.” Assaulting it with both his fingers and his tongue. Again. And again and again and- “Jus’ wish I got to have you sooner.”

His words make you snap your eyes up from his mean mouth to meet his gaze, devouring you as greedily and depraved as his tongue. They make your thighs burn with the effort to drag your sloppy pussy faster.

They make you cum - shaking, crying out little mewls of “Ngh- fuck. M’cumming m’cumming m’cumming.”

The way your voice is breaking at the end of each moan has Suguru’s cock straining so painfully against his trousers. One hand firmly on your waist, arching you deeper to tongue you through your high in ways he’s only ever dared to imagine. 

Ways he’s selfishly hoped only he could - even after all these years, the sight of any other man looking at you wrong having his irritation flaring. 

“S’right.” his voice is sending stars bursting behind your lids, tongue even worse. Having you pleading and so sensitive. “I got you, my love. Give it t’me.” Messy - not as forgiving as he’d like to be. “Give it alllll to me.”

And you do - all but smothering Suguru’s eager tongue with all your sweet juices. Ones he’s lapping up happily, tilting his head back as far as it’d go on the floor, letting your heady slick fill up his throat. His pussydrunk lips let out a hiss, both at the burn of that cut on his neck, and the way you’re desperately pulling your hips back. 

Too overstimulated. Too fucking sensitive. Too much - but it would never be enough for Suguru. 

“Please, Suguru.” you sob at the way your limp hips are being pulled back by a needy Suguru. “M’too sensitive. I- fuck-” He’s only lapping at your quivering cunt leisurely, smirk prominent against your swollen folds. 

And it’s all you can do to deliriously slip a hand underneath his robes, a desperate attempt to keep whatever shred of sanity you have left. Fingers feeling down his unfairly toned abs, the tufts of hair at his pelvis, reaching-

“Oh fuck!” Your heavy eyes admire the way Suguru arches into your touch in surprise - like he couldn’t help himself. Eyes flying open, glossy, plump lips curling into a disbelieving grin, “Ya really are made f’me, huh?” 

That’s all it takes for Suguru to head to your lewd whims, bruising fingers on your hips finally loosening to let you sit your sloppy cunt back down on his lap - except, this time, you were seated directly on his rock-hard cock. Pussy lips spreading around his length to just soak him. 

“Oh, my love.” He sits up, splaying you out so prettily on his lap. “How I’ve missed you.”

You don’t even register the way you’re raising your head up to meet Suguru’s - not until he spits. Once. Twice. Straight onto your awaiting tongue that you didn’t even realize you were sticking out, saccharine sweet saliva making such a mess when he’s crashing his lips into yours. 

“Yeahh, like that. Kiss me like that.” he slurs against your mouth, drunk off both sets of your sweet lips. Getting out through wet, sloppy pecks. “How I wish I had you sooner.”

You can feel your heart thumping so wildly against your ribcage, matching the needy, needy staccato of Suguru’s cock throbbing between your puffy folds. And, well, you really can’t be blamed for the way you break the kiss to look down and oh-

Oh Suguru notices that furrow between your brows, kissing away the nervous little wobble in your lower lips as he grunts, “God, you’re killin’ me.” 

Fuck. Killing him?

You were the one sent in for the kill, but it seems you won’t be making it out here alive. 

Because Suguru was so big, girth rubbing up against your thighs. So angry and heavy, smearing hot precum over his abs, your cunt, adding to add to the absolute mess. Long enough that you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk out of here - which, honestly, Suguru would’ve preferred. To keep you with him forever. 

To have you always mewling so prettily when he’s dragging his fat head down your sensitive slit. To have his name - and only his name - leave your bruised lips when he’s asking, “Who’s got you this wet?” 

You’re so cockdrunk already that you’re groaning mindlessly, “You- Suguru-”

“No, that’s not what you call me.” 

And it takes you a few, long seconds to understand what he’s saying, all the while trying to focus with the leaky tip being pressed past your swollen folds. Slow. Torturous. Hitting you so violently at the same time he slips past that first, slutty ring of muscle. 

“Sugu!”

A blinding grin splits across Suguru’s absolutely fucked-out face, brows furrowing together in ecstasy. “That’s more hah- like it.” Not having heard that familiar little nickname - one of your many - fall from your lips since high school - one that makes a heart he forgot he had grow five sizes too large. “Now, just take me-” Hips bucking up, so strong and ruthless. “-like I know you can, okay?”

Over and over. 

You can’t let out anything but barely-lucid whines at this point, letting Suguru sink in inch by fucking inch. Your walls stretched out so perfectly to take his sheer size. But the stretch- oh, the stretch.

Fuck, it has you clawing at Suguru’s exposed shoulders, fingers leaving angry, red marks down the muscles. An obscene ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with each time he reels his hips back, only to bully his aching cock inside until he physically couldn’t.

“Hngh- Sugu, s’too big-” You buck your hips down in shallow, tentative grinds to meet his filthy method of fitting in. “Too- much. Didn’t expect you to be so mean-”

“The sorcerer that hah- held a knife to the infamous Geto Suguru’s neck-” he groans, hands groping your ass to move you further down his massive cock. To watch the way your sloppy entrance was stretching out so much to suck him up. “-can take this too, right? I know you can.” He reaches a deft thumb around to toy with your pretty clit, making your cunt relax like the good girl she is. Fucking up deeper, just a bit more mean. “You- can-”

Several things happen at the tail end of Suguru’s sentence - he’s finally fitting in all in one go. With a calculated, harsh thrust up into your poor cunt, your ass is kissing his heavy balls, pussy rubbing against the hair at his hilt. So full and so much.

And Suguru knows he just might not see heaven - but shit, does he feel like he’s there right now. The feeling so good that both of you letting out mingling gasps of pleasure. 

Your back falling onto the now soiled mats like such animals, the other not far behind.

“You alright, my love?” Suguru hums against your throat when you’re managing to adjust somewhat to the stretch, aware enough to kiss the palm resting protectively underneath your head - making sure you don’t hurt yourself.

You bat your teary lashes, “Never been better, Sugu.”

And something about that makes him remember. 

Remember the way you’d tell him the exact same thing when you fought with curses too strong for you - coming back to the dorms all battered and bruised, but alive. Flashing him that addictive grin, and a crooked thumbs up, “Never been better, Sugu. Gold, actually.”

His golden girl.

Shaking away the tightness at his throat, Suguru instead focuses on wrapping your trembling legs around his toned waist. Tight.

“Sh-shit- you’re milkin’ me so good, fuck-”

Abs burning as he just drags his cock along your plushy walls, keeping your legs held wide open for him. So tight - like you were sucking the fucking soul out of him. Making sure to angle his hips in just the way that’ll have your eyes tearing at the way he was massaging all your sweet spots. 

And sure enough - “O-oh my god-” you breathe, and shit, it was so hard to speak. Suguru’s cock too big, too depraved. Speeding up with every ram of his hips into a steady, mean pace. “Jus’ like that, fuck-”

“Mhm?”

You paw at his free hand settled by the side of your neck, trailing it down, down, down - rings and all - to the part of your stomach you could feel his thick tip hitting. A slight bulge, abusing your cervix over and over, “Here-”

“-s’where I belong.”

Your brows raise at his interjection, and you swipe away the long locks of hair partially covering Suguru’s face, legs tightening around his hips as you take a long, hard look. He repeats, “S’where I belong. Where ngh- you belong.”

Like some deep, dark part of him was trying to fuck out any and every doubt about this out of you - as if you’d have any - Suguru’s rolling his hips harder into yours. All the way until it almost hurt - until the sting of his twitching balls against your ass felt permanent, fingerpads pressing down so hard on your stomach. 

Lips searing against yours, punctuating each word with a jagged, rough thrust. “Because you sh-shouldn’t be ah- here. You shouldn’t be-” He drags you deeper onto his dick like some ragdoll, fingers frenzying on your clit. “-with me.”

Words slurring and as sloppy as his hips now. 

“Wh-why fuck- why wouldn’t I be?”

“Heh, you forgot?” Suguru spits out a chuckle, pushing you further and further up the mat with how bruising his hips were hitting yours. Alternating between marking your cervix - your g-spot - your gummy walls. “Forgot how I told ya to live a better life than this?” Everything and anything. Hips smacking so loud, echoing in symphony with those melancholy words he parted with so long ago. “How I told you to hngh- find a-another? Live a long life? To be happy?”

Now that Suguru was talking, it was like he couldn’t stop. Like a damn had been broken - both with his words and his movements. The curve of his dick drives you wild, veins molding your cunt into their shape. 

Gritting his teeth to hold back the way his drenched balls squeeze so painfully, biting down on your lower lip. “You’re s-supposed to kill me.” A drop of sweat splashing down on your cheek, “To kill me and maybe you’ll be hah- fuck mine in another universe. But not this one.” It’s like he’s out of control now, “Never this one. You can have anybody else.”

And suddenly you’re having a flashback to just a week prior, to an uncharacteristically solemn Satoru telling you words you should’ve been happy to hear. Quiet, and unassuming. Ones you knew that had you heard them before knowing Suguru, you’d have jumped into his arms - exactly how he hoped you would, the day of his departure. 

Chuckling at you being such a “crybaby” about him leaving. After all, this was just meant to be, right?

But no.

Instead, you’re here. Bunching Suguru’s beautiful, glossy hair curtaining the sides of your head, into a ponytail. Difficult - with how he was getting faster. Harder. Just ravaging your hole until you were gaping and breathless.

And yet, arms trembling and limp, you still manage to reveal the boy you fell in love with - the one you could never forget. From the flush on his pretty face, to the twisted, sad curve of his mouth. And the eyes that bore into yours like they were searching for the same thing. Smiling, for the first time since you entered this place, “How could I ever want anyone else, Sugu?”

The hand on your stomach is cupping your adorable face so softly - and it’s hard to believe those hands have killed. Betrayed.

Like they were capable of doing anything but as Suguru swipes the single tear glistening down your cheek, “Still a crybaby, huh, my love?”

And then you cum - and Suguru isn’t too far behind. 

It’s just a flash of hot white, tingles running down your spine - all the way to the thick, creamy base soon forming around his wildly twitching cock. 

And it’s so good. Too good that all you can do it scream out his name, letting him do anything - and you were glad all he did was fuck you so mercilessly through your high. So violent. Addictive. 

Vision blurry, mouth sagging open for Suguru to press intimate little kisses along the corners of your mouth. Whispering sweet praises as your cunt sucks him up so good. So sinfully milking him for everything he’s worth. 

Taking in rope after rope of thick cum that warms your gummy walls from the inside, overfilling just enough for it to dribble down into the mat below in an obscene little pool. Smearing down your thighs, his balls. Heavenly. 

His heaven.

And in the haze of it all, Suguru imagines that you’ll reach for your knife again, press it back against the curve of his exposed neck. He imagines you’ll laugh in his face, tell him what a great whim this was but you had to get back to your job, turning your back on him as he has done before. He imagines.

But what he gets is your strained, fucked-out little voice, “I missed you, my golden boy.”

A/N. Yes, That Line was inspired by HTTYD. If I had to be hurt, y’all do, too. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | You've patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different.

author's note | i'm taking a little break to work through some series and pre-write but i needed to write a little fix it fic for my own well being. ANYWHO, if you're reading this, thank you <3 and thank you to @chaotic-mystery for the beta read, love you bitch

content warning | hurt/comfort, fix-it-fic, jackson!joel, s2ep2 spoilers, established relationship, medic!reader, wound tending, mentions of leg injury and some face injuries, old man joel using a cane, flirting, fluff, kissing, i'm going to go cry again

word count — 3.8k

He’s breathing. Alive.

You’ve patched up Joel countless times - cuts and gashes that were too far out of reach for him to handle on his own, a busted ankle from a construction project gone wrong, the occasional painkiller to help with his aching bones. He was a regular within the clinic, like most of the patrol team. And he was your favorite, which wasn’t a secret.

But, this was different.

Tommy - as hard as he tried, attempted to shelter you with the rest of Jackson’s women and children, but it was useless.

You spent the last hour patching up the towns wounded and helping lay to the rest some of the less fortunate, but brave people who had attempted to defend Jackson from the impending horde.

In the chaos of cleaning up bloodied bandages and used medical supplies, the front door to the clinic sounds, bells ringing out so deafening it makes your heart stop.

And the sound of Tommy’s panicked voice as he called out your name.

When you turn the corner to catch sight of him, it was Tommy and Jesse carrying a limp, sleeping Joel on a makeshift gurney and equally injured Ellie holding tight to her ribs as Dina and Maria supported her weight, your eyes widening in shock.

“Fuck—I—what happened?” you ask, immediately sliding the supplies off of the only semi-available operating table you had in the office - it used to be a veterinary clinic, but the town was making do with what they had.

“You save my goddamn brother,” Tommy demanded, his tone riddled with an emotional pain you couldn’t fathom, taking the order in stride as you nodded and put your own curiosity aside, slowly accessing the weight of the situation and surmising that this had been an ambush, more or less, “alright?”

You access his knee, jeans matted with blood around his festering wound, his leg tourniqueted by a belt that Tommy explains wasn’t there doing, rather the attackers. His pulse is steady as your fingers over his femoral artery once you’ve cut his jeans open further with the scissors.

“El—Ellie,” your voice shakes slightly, looking over your shoulder to catch her grimace as she hunched over further in pain, “she needs—”

“I’ve got her,” Maria assures you and Tommy, who was understandably only focused on Joel.

You don’t waste another second, working around Tommy on instinct while Jesse followed the girls to the back room, a gentle but reassuring hand on your shoulder as he passes by.

Your hands move gently over his wound, mind racing through every step of triage and trauma care as if your nerves hadn’t already been shot an hour ago. You didn’t know how many wounds you’ve treated today, but Joel’s was the worst—and unspeakably, the most important.

The wound is bad. Deep.

Frayed flesh around the spread of the bullet, a shotgun you can assume, already turning an angry red. The steps were simple, fortunately. You’ll have to clean it out, maybe even dig if the bullet fragments were lodged in deep. 

His face is a mosaic of bruises and dried blood, and he hasn’t stirred once.

That—more than the sight of the injury itself—makes something in your chest clench.

Tommy’s gripping the table tight, white knuckling as his jaw clenched in worry.

“Do I want to know?” you ask softly.

Tommy shakes his head slightly, “Ellie ain’t said much—jus’ know whatever the problem was, it isn’t one anymore.”

“He’s gonna need blood,” you explain to him as you work quietly but carefully on the wound, grateful that most of the issue was at the surface and that with enough time to heal and consistent check-ins, Joel would recover.

Undoubtedly with a limp, but you knew Joel—he’d manage.

The quiet is unsettling, though.

He should be fighting this. Groaning. Cursing. Something.

But he’s still.

Too still.

Tommy stays rooted in place like he’s afraid Joel will vanish if he lets go.

Part of you carries that fear, too.

With the attack on Jackson, everything seemed up in the air.

“I need you to keep your hand here,” you say firmly, guiding his hand to the artery in his leg, feeling the steady pulse underneath your fingertips. “Count the beats, focus. If it slows, weakens—don’t wait, tell me.”

Tommy nods, jaw still clenched tight.

He’s got blood dripping from a cut in his brow, covered in dirt and grime, streaks on his face from the tears he was shedding quietly, it was your only attempt to busy his mind.

You work diligently, more focused than you had been all evening.

Forceps clink against the metal tray as you dig out fragments, your breath hitching every time Joel twitches—barely, like his body’s fighting beneath layers of pain and unconsciousness.

You glance toward the IV stand that was taped to hell, barely holding on.

Just like everything else in Jackson at the moment – like Joel.

“I’m gonna flush the wound,” you murmur more to yourself than Tommy, gripping the saline syringe with steady hands. “Then I’ll stitch it. Antibiotics to be safe. He’ll need pain meds and I need to work on the cuts to his face, but I want his body to rest. We have morphine stored away, but I know Joel will probably refuse…”

Tommy doesn’t respond. Just keeps his hand pressed where you told him, eyes locked on Joel’s face like he’s willing him to wake.

“He still needs blood, Tommy,” you remind him, “but I don’t know his blood type.”

“I’m O-negative,” Tommy interjects.

“That works,” you assure him, nodding for him to sit as you grab the supplies to draw Tommy’s blood, unflinching as the needle slips into his vein.

It’s all rather quick, kneeling to hold the bag as it fills while Tommy stares at his brother, looking briefly over your shoulder to catch his breathing, a slow rise and fall.

“He’s gonna be alright,” you assure Tommy, “the worst outcome here is him complaining about having to use a cane, if it comes to that.

Quietly, you tend to the small head wound that Tommy has and he doesn’t even attempt to argue, eyes flickering to your briefly at the gesture, tilting his head up for better access.

You move efficiently, like muscle memory as you tape up his wound before transferring the blood and prepping the line for Joel. 

The line finds Joel’s vein without much resistance, and you secure it with shaking fingers, your breath held as the dark crimson slowly, mercifully begins to flow into his body.

“C’mon, Joel,” you whisper under your breath. “Not you.”

“He was in and out on the way here,” Tommy comments, holding the cotton ball to use the wound as he stands and you quickly return to him to bandage up and pressure the wound, “but now he’s just…still. That ain’t good,”

“It’s the body responding to the pain,” you remind him, “he’s clearly lost a lot of blood, his face is bruised—the important thing is he’s breathing and his pulse is good. Just…let me work on him. Go check on Ellie.”

Tommy hesitates, glancing back at Joel like his feet were already rooted permanently to the floor. Then his eyes shift to yours—tired, firm, unwavering—and he nods, finally stepping away. 

Just far enough to check on Ellie. 

Just long enough to breathe.

The second he’s gone, it’s just you and Joel.

–

The room feels colder without the presence of Tommy’s worry. 

You stitch slowly, methodically, carefully maneuvering around the skin until you are satisfied, constantly eyeing Joel to gauge a reaction, noticing some of his color had returned, hair damp with melted snow.

If he was awake he’d be grumbling and complaining and part of you hates how much you wanted to hear it as you bandage up his knee, assuring that bleeding was under control before you removed the belt on his upper thigh and grabbing a spare blanket to drape over his body as you move down to tend to his face, riddled with cuts and bruises.

You press a hand against his and pull it to his chest, resting gently against the fabric of his shirt. 

His palm is rough, calloused, and warm—thank god, still warm.

You clean the last of the blood from his face, wiping gently along the arc of his brow, around the corner of his eye that was slightly swollen. A bruise is blooming dark down the line of his jaw, but under it—his face is still familiar.

Still him.

After a stretch of time that feels like eternity, Maria and Tommy return to the front room of the clinic, looking fearful as their eyes land on Joel.

“He’s alright,” you assure them both, “he probably needed the rest, too.”

Tommy chuckles weakly at that, “I—we’re…we’re gonna go pick up Benji, but we’ll be back, alright?”

You nod in response, “I’m not leaving until he wakes up Tommy, I promised.”

“I know, kiddo,” Tommy says endearingly, approaching you with arms open slightly, enveloping you into a short hug that were few and far between, “Ellie’s asleep, too. Dina and Jesse are sticking around until she settles.”

The front door clicks shut behind Tommy and Maria, the heavy silence seeping back in soon after.

You don’t move far, bringing a stool to sit beside Joel.

The clinic is dim now, the lights softened by fucky wiring as the evening crept in.

You can hear Jesse’s and Dina’s muffled voice in the back—low and quiet—and the distant creak of the cot Ellie’s curled into. But here, in this room, it’s just you. 

And Joel, and the quiet hum of his breathing.

You reach up to brush a stray bit of hair from his temple, your hand pausing just above his skin.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you whisper. “If you were awake, I’d be screaming at you,”

And you know he’d only smile.

Joel doesn’t respond, but his breathing shifts. 

Not much—just enough to prove he’s still there, riding the edge of sleep and pain.

“You enjoy it, though. You always laugh, I know it’s pointless and that you’re just stubborn as all hell and I’m willing to put up with it,” you push the few strands of hair away from his face and sigh, “guess there’s a reason why you always ask for me.”

A few hours pass, the night creeping in slowly amongst the storm that roared outside.

You glance at his hand after a thorough check-up and redressing his wound for good measure, still resting palm-up where you’d placed it. Hesitant, your fingers slip into his, lacing slowly. 

You wait. No squeeze. 

But, the warmth is enough.

Then, a shift.

A low grunt, almost imperceptible.

Your breath catches. You look up sharply, eyes scanning his face. One eye twitches. His brow furrows just slightly.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but his mouth moves.

“Ellie?” he asks weakly, squeezing your hand back.

Tears burn your eyes before you can stop them, relief flooding your chest in waves.

You squeeze his hand back again. Tight. “She’s okay—she’s good,” you whisper quickly, wiping your cheek with your sleeve, not that it helps.

Joel breathes out, like the tension’s finally releasing from somewhere deep inside his chest. 

You watch the slow rise and fall of him for a moment, just taking it in. Life.

Then his eyes crack open, albeit one is swollen, but hazy and bloodshot and focused on you.

His brows twitch as he looks at you.

“You cryin’?” he rasps, voice rough but teasing.

Even now, he teases you.

“You worried the hell out of me,” you tell him.

“Did I?” Joel asks genuinely, “M’sorry, darlin’.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Joel grimaces and makes a soft noise, “S’all touch and go, right now. I’m really tired, that normal?”

“I gave you some painkillers,” you explain, “probably why.”

Joel looks around gingerly, noting the mess with an amused expression.

“Cleaned up real nice for me, didn’t you?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you mutter dryly, shifting to adjust the blanket over him. “Next time, I’ll set up some mood lighting and put some music on for you.”

Joel groans low in his throat, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Nah. You singin’ for me would be good enough.”

You snort softly, “I don’t sing.”

“Shame,” he murmurs, barely audible, his eyes slipping closed again. “Bet it’d be real pretty, you got a pretty voice, know you’d sing pretty too.”

Your chest squeezes, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath you can’t quite take.

“You’re losing it, old man.”

Joel smiles weakly.

“Maybe.”

A long pause and he speaks even soften.

“Still think you got a nice voice, though.”

–

You stay beside him. Even after he dozes back off, you don’t move—not far. Never quite letting go of his hand either. Just shift the stool closer and brace your elbow on the edge of the bed, chin tucked in your other hand. 

The storm outside has softened, now more wind than snow, rattling the windows with every gust.

You don’t realize you’ve nodded off until something shifts. A sound—low, grumbly.

“…you snore a little,” Joel rasps.

You straighten quickly and shake your head, blinking through a sleep haze as you answer him defiantly, “I do not, Miller.”

“Oh—you do, sweetheart,” Joel challenges, a subtle smirk playing at his face, staring at you through his swollen eye.

“Good to know you never stop being insufferable,” you tease him.

“Just like seein’ you laugh,” Joel admits before a silence grows, a look of subtle concern crossing his face, “How bad was it? The horde?”

“We’ve dealt with stuff like that before, maybe not at that level but it isn’t something we’re not prepared for. A couple didn’t make it, got bitten defending the watchtower—Jackson can always rebuild, we mourn, move on, you know? With you, s’different,”

Joel, for once, doesn’t know how to respond.

You see it then—that quiet, careful look he sometimes gives you when he thinks you're not watching. Like he’s cataloguing you. Not in some grand, poetic way. More like he’s memorizing how you look when you're safe. When he needs the reminder of it.

You’re too tired to do anything but meet it.

“I ain't goin' anywhere,” he says finally, voice rough but firm, “You can stop lookin’ at me like I’m about to flatline.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Joel smirks faintly. “You’ve been holdin’ my hand for a while,”

“Oh,” it started to feel like an extension of you, his touch, but you slowly attempted to retract.

“Don’t,” Joel tells you, gripping your hand tighter, shifting his head against the makeshift pillow underneath his head that you had made out of his jacket halfway through the night.

“Thanks for not givin’ up on me,” Joel says gently,

You glance over, unsure how to respond at first.

“You really think I would?”

“Dunno,” he says, voice low, “don’t really think I deserve the effort anymore from anyone…”

He trails off, but it hangs between you anyway. 

The way he says it—soft, raw—like the words snuck out before he could stop it.

You lean in slightly, brushing your thumb just once over the back of his hand.

“I’m not anyone, Joel.”

Joel looks at you again, his expression shifting.

His fingers curl around yours again. Warmer this time. Intentional.

“Five years I’ve known you—I’ve patched your ass up more times than I can count. I’ve had dinners with you, beers with you and your brother. This isn’t my attempt at gaining some good karma. I care about you just as much as the rest of this town.”

“You’re too good to me,” Joel says quietly.

–

Jackson rebuilds, but it takes time.

Eventually, you find out that the assailants were after Joel—but Jesse and Ellie had shown up at a crucial point in the ambush that saved Joel and Dina’s life, despite his extensive injuries.

And Joel, stubborn as he was, began to heal.

The first few weeks are slow, mostly bed-ridden - or office-ridden, leg propped up at his desk as he and Tommy planned out the rebuild process and you rounded your daily office visit to him for assurance that he was taking the antibiotics you had given him and checking on his wound.

It takes a few months, but he does get on his feet again.

He’s resilient, you’ll give him that. An injury that would take no less than six to eight months before the healing was done and Joel was already moving, though with some noticeable pain.

You spot him halfway down the main road on the first name where Jackson was finally starting to feel normal again, walking out of the Tipsy Bison with a pronounced limp.

You sigh to yourself, shifting the object under your arm and start down the road.

“Joel Miller.”

He doesn’t stop walking, but he flinches a little. 

He’s been avoiding you for a couple weeks now, knowing how insistent you had been about him using something to support his leg, just to give it a break once in a while.

“I will chase you down.”

He stops.

You close the distance, holding up the object in your hand.

“If you don’t use this, I’m following you everywhere, barring you from walking, and pushing you around in a wheelchair.”

He eyes the cane. Then your face. Then the cane again.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s exactly what you think it is.”

He scowls. “I’m not usin’ a damn cane.”

“You’re still healing,” you tell him, “and if you care about my worries—you’ll use it.”

“That’s low,” Joel counters,

You had spent a week sanding down the cane to a smooth texture, rounding out the handle to something comfortable to grip, even polished it up. It was extravagant or crazy, but it was clearly made with love.

“Did you make it?” Joel asks curiously.

“Doesn’t matter,” You shrug.

Joel smirks at that. 

You had. He knows it.

He takes it wordlessly, wrapping his fingers around the handle and planting it into the ground.

He tests it out wordlessly, leaning his weight into it and only slightly annoyed at how it eases the weight on his injured leg, looking up at you sheepishly.

“So….should I say it now or?”

“Zip it,” Joel retorts with a faint playfulness, “it…helps, s’real nice of you, you know?”

You raise your brow. “You sayin’ I was right? Knowing you needed it?”

“Don’t push it.” Joel warns

“Say it.” you tease with a flirtatious smile that doesn’t go amiss.

Joel sighs, scratching at his jaw. “You were… not completely wrong.”

You beam, and he rolls his eyes, though the edge of his mouth quirks up.

After a beat, he taps the cane gently against the side of your boot.

“Walk with me?” he asks.

He didn’t even need to ask.

–

There wasn’t any indication of where you were walking to, but naturally you drift to your shared street, homes sitting on opposite sides of the street, but near enough that you were only a short walk away.

The cane clicks softly against the dirt road like a steady metronome to the quiet shuffle of your boots. His limp is pronounced, but less severe than it was a few weeks ago.

The streets are quieter these days. Jackson feels like it's exhaling after holding in a long overdue breath.

Joel walks with his shoulder close to yours. Not touching, but close enough that it would only take a shift. He’s never been one for words, not when the moment matters most—but his silence is full of meaning.

Or, maybe he is just savoring the peace.

“You really made this?” he asks again after a few paces, like he needs to be sure.

You nod shyly, hands shoving into your coat pockets.

He’s quiet for a while, but then, “It’s real thoughtful of you.”

“I was gonna carve your name into it, actually,” you joke, nudging him gently with your elbow, “but Tommy said that was a bad idea.”

Joel chuckles low under his breath. “He’d be right.”

Through your sudden shared laughter, your knuckles brush.

It’s nothing, but it feels like so much.

As you approach your houses, Joel turns to you.

“Do you need anything?” you ask him gently. “I can stop by later if you need some pain meds or anything? Or yell at you for not resting up at home like you should.”

Joel huffs, shaking his head. “Always lookin’ for a reason to yell at me, huh?”

“Only ‘cause you keep givin’ me so many,” you tease.

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes scanning your face in the too quiet dark.

“You stayed the whole night,” he says finally, like he’s been holding it in for a while.

“I told Tommy I wouldn’t leave until you woke up.”

Joel nods once. He shifts his weight on the cane, hesitating just slightly, before adding, “I heard you—talkin’ to me.”

“You did?” you ask, your voice quiet. “Well, that’s…embarrassing.”

Joel’s gaze drops to your hand lingering close to his—he hadn’t even realized he’d reached out until it was too late, his hand dwarfing your own in a gentle hold of your fingertips. 

It’s a small touch, but it grounds him.

You flinch slightly at the touch, feeling the heaviness of the moment

“You can let go,” he says, looking back up at you.

You smile faintly. “I don’t want to.”

Joel hums thoughtfully. “Seems I don’t want to either,”

And in that soft hum between houses, under the stars beginning to peek through the roaming clouds overhead, Joel leans in, his cane shifting a few inches behind you as he leans his weight into it to reach you, his lips pressing against yours in a quiet, tender moment of vulnerability under the dim street lights.

“Never got to thank you properly,” Joel admits.

“Is that your way of saying thank you?” you ask curiously.

“Can be,” Joel responds mischievously, a smirk tugging at his lips as you pull back to look at him.

“I think you can do better,” you challenge him, nose brushing against his own.

“You’re damn right,” he agrees, using his free hand to curve around the back of your neck as he pulls you in, stealing your breath away with the second press of his lips.

When he parts, you can’t help but giggle against him, an indescribable feeling tightening your chest.

“Yeah…that’s—” You breath stutters as you nod, “that’ll do.”

Joel chuckles softly, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“Good, ‘cause I got a lot of thankin’ to make up for.”

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖫𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖱𝖾𝖽' ༄࿔ 𝖡.𝖢.

⤷ Size Kink | Stomach Bulge | Teratophilia (Wolf-Hybrid)

♱ word count: 1.8k

♱ warnings: fem!reader, Red Riding Hood reader x Wolf Hybrid Chan, I never specify body type but this has stomach bulge & Chris is described to be bigger than the reader so read at ur own discretion, size kink, teratophilia, knotting, kinda corruption?, bribery/coercing, lowkey kinda mean chris (everyone act surprised. Sian wrote mean dom), rough sex + big dick chris with no mentions of prep, biting, public sex? Its in a forest but nobody is around, 1 use of “good girl’

sorta proofread

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

“Tsk tsk tsk… You should know better than to be this far out in the woods, Red. You know this is my territory.”

“C-Chris! Listen… I’m really sorry but I need that plant over there. Grandma isn’t doing well and the only remedy that will help needs just a few of those flowers…” The tall man looks over his shoulder, eyeing the purple-colored flowers that you had pointed out.

“Hm… Okay, you can have a few.” The bright smile that grew on your face was almost enough to let you take it for free. Almost.

“Thank-” “On one condition.” 

“C’mon, sweet girl. You know I don’t do things for free~” His rough fingers stroked your cheek and he couldn’t help but grin as your smile dropped. The canines that peeked out from behind his plump lips were enough to bring you back to reality and remind you that he was in fact still a wolf hybrid and not so much your “friendly” neighbor.

“What exactly do you want…?” His grin seemed to get wider before he took his bottom lip between his teeth. A predatory glint took over his eyes as he slowly looked you up and down.

“I have something in mind…”

“Open the fuck up.”

His growl rumbles from deep within his chest and he thrusts his hips forward aggressively, causing you to cry out. Your thighs ache from the action, along with your swollen pussy thanks to the big dick that was currently tearing your insides up. You lost count after the first 5 inches, and now the seemingly never-ending length was quickly becoming too much for you.

He knew this all too well. But that didn’t stop him from forcing you and your little human body to take every last inch of his thick cock inside of you.

“C’mon Little Red, you can take it. You need to, remember?” He chuckles and pushes your thighs further apart. “You need those pretty little flowers, so you need to take my fucking cock.” His smile drops at the end of the sentence and he pulls out just to roughly thrust back inside. You moan out in surprise and his fingers dig further into your thighs, leaving crescent-shaped divots in your skin. 

“P-Please…” He clicks his tongue and leans forward more, shoving his face into your neck with another growl. With this, he manages to push another inch or two into your puffy hole, but your mind is so foggy that you don’t even notice it right away. The feeling of him breaching your walls so aggressively, all while he growls and huffs about how he needs to be all the way in for it to “count as payment” makes your head spin.

Even more so as a sob rips from your throat when he finally bottoms out. Your jaw drops and you squeal as his hips grind against yours, causing him to feel deeper all while he rubs against your G-Spot so perfectly. He throws his head back at the feeling of you completely wrapped around him and groans deeply when you clench subconsciously.

“There we go~ Good job, baby.” He licks a stripe up your neck before placing kisses all over it, letting you take a few seconds to breathe. He wasn’t that much of a brute- he did still care for you after all. Plus, what good is a new toy if you break it so early on!? So he takes a few seconds to himself, backing away and fixing his posture, allowing him to get a good look at you. And God do you look exquisite.

He licks his lips and looks over your body multiple times, doing everything in his power to burn this image of you into his head. He starts with your pretty lips, swollen and shiny with drool, and then your flushed cheeks that are wet from the fat tears that fall down them.

His eyes glance at your arms, smiling to himself at the army of goosebumps that have littered your skin as your body shakes deliciously with what he can’t decipher if it’s pleasure or pain. Your chest catches his eyes next; the way it heaves with each breath you take makes his chest swell with pride. But the thing that took the most of his attention, was the not-so-little bump on your tummy.

His lips were slightly parted and his breath was quickening as he lightly traced the outline of his dick. It’s at this point that he realizes just how large and wide he is compared to you. He’s always noticed- it’s quite hard not to. But when he has you like this, below him and completely at his mercy, he finally realizes just how much bigger he is. The sun only urges him further, casting a giant shadow over you that completely covers you and some of the ground you lay upon.

It makes his instincts go absolutely crazy and he can’t hold himself back from experimentally thrusting, moving at an angle that makes the bulge more prominent. The squeak you let out causes his eyes to flicker back up to your face, essentially snapping him out of the daze he was in. And when he meets your confused face looking up at him, he realizes how long he has been staring.

“Haha… Take a look at this, baby.” He wipes some of your tears and tilts your chin to help you look down. The desperate moan you let out sends his ego to the moon, causing him to twitch against your walls. He huffs out a laugh in disbelief and begins to move his hips, thrusting into you slowly yet roughly.

“I’m so deep… You feel that, baby?” His hand moves from your thigh and pushes down on your lower stomach, right on top of where the bulge popped out each time he bottomed out. “Fffuck.. ‘S my fat cock in your tummy?”

“God- Fuck, shut up Chris-” You clench tightly at his words despite your words and he ignores you in favor of picking up his pace, groaning when your walls flutter around him even more.

“You feel so fucking good. It’s almost like this pretty pussy was meant for me.” You swear you almost see his eyes roll into the back of his head, but he immediately brings your attention away by folding you in half. Pushing your knees to your chest and letting your ass hang in the air as he completely hovers over you, fucking into you with carnal need.

This new position makes you see stars and he uses it to his advantage, pounding into you and not allowing you time to think straight. He chases this brutal pace until your legs begin to ache, the pain of it overpowering the pleasure and making you hurriedly tap on his shoulder and push him back, “Fuck, wait- my legs.”

He huffs in annoyance but responds immediately, sitting up straight and allowing your legs to fall to his sides. His hips continue to thrust shallowly as you breathe deeply and try to rub the ache away, but this break doesn’t last long. You owe him payment, and he wants it now.

So he pulls out, opting to quickly flip you onto your knees and push your chest into the ground. You’re given no time to object before he’s shoving his entire length back inside with a groan. Your body shakes at the feeling of being absolutely filled to the brim. The back of your throat even itches as if his tip was poking it. And god, did it genuinely feel like that.

It’s not hard for him to find his previous pace, especially now that you’re seemingly more pliant for him. The only disobedient action from you is your cries for him to slow down, but he has no plans to. Not when you look absolutely ruined below him.

He shushes you and leans forward, holding you down with his chest against your back as he continues to fuck you as if his life depends on it.

“Shhhhh… It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re gonna be good and take it right? You're gonna let the big bad wolf fuck your brains out? Yea?” Your fingers dig into the ground and you nod as best as you can with your cheek shoved against the floor.

He’s unhappy with the silent answer and bares his teeth, sinking them into your shoulder with a growl to “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes! Please, Chris!”

“Goood girl. Just sit there and take this fucking dick. Let Wolfy use you like the good chew toy you are.” The new name makes you clench tightly around him and he groans as you cum, causing the squelching noises to become even louder. He moans and nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving small kisses before he chomps down again.

The overstimulation is starting to hit and you cry out, desperately pushing against the ground in hopes of pushing your torso up and off the floor. But that’s not what good toys do. So he growls against your neck and pushes you down, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to keep you in place as he fixes his posture.

“No. You’re gonna sit still. Good toys don’t fucking move. I can’t knot you if you’re misbehaving.” As if to prove his point, his other hand digs into your waist, holding you even more still as he rams into you.

Thanks to his thick tip incessantly knocking into your cervix, you don’t process what he says right away. At least, not until you feel an extra mass pushing against your swollen folds. “W-Wait, your knot?!?”

You hear his earrings jingle as he tilts his head and you can almost hear the shit-eating grin on his face as he mocks you. “Yes, my knot. You’re gonna take it inside of this tight. little. cunt. And you’re going to take every last drop of my cum.” You go to disagree but your body reacts on its own, clenching around him and trying to suck him in impossibly deeper.

“F-Fuck- feels like you do like that idea, baby.” He grits his teeth and starts to focus on sharp thrusts. Once his knot finally breaches your hole, you sob into your arm and bite into it to hold back a scream.

He whines and grinds into you, rubbing against your G-spot roughly as he pushes himself over the edge. You can feel his breath on your neck, heavy and heaving as he pumps you full of his seed. His body shakes with each spurt of cum he releases, and the overwhelming movements are enough to push you over the edge again; the needy grinding from him mixed with the mind-numbing feeling of being overfilled, yet forced to hold every last bit, pushing you towards another orgasm.

“Mmmm… Hold it there, yeah? Keep my pups nice and safe in their new home, and I’ll let you take as many plants as you want. Deal, Little Red?”

Taglists: (red=can't be tagged)

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@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess

[rafesangelita]

bf!rafe x thick!reader.

i’ve been thinking about how reader is insecure about her thick thighs and ass so rafe fucks her dumb in the mirror forcing her to look at herself as he says how perfect she is <3

warnings: unprotected sex, rough sex, mirror sex, mentions of body image issues and insecurities, body worship, praise, hair pulling, slapping, dirty talk, pregnancy kink (but rafe is serious about it??)

a/n: if you want to read more thick/bigger girl!reader, read this ‘thinking thot’ if you haven’t <3

“fucking look at yourself!” rafe grunted, wrapping a fist in your hair before forcing your head up to stare at your reflection. besides the obvious fact that you looked like a fucked-out mess, rafe wore a smirk that had you squeezing around him with a broken sob. “you’re so insecure and for what?” he landed a harsh smack to your ass, the loud sound making your cheeks heat, “if it wasn’t for this body i wouldn’t be able to fuck you like this..” you cried out when he let go of your hair and grabbed your hips, planting a foot on the mattress before drilling into you even deeper.

in this position he was easily nudging your cervix with every thrust, his fingers digging deep into your flesh as you struggled to keep your eyes on the full length mirror in front of you. “you make me so fucking mad when i hear you talk bad about yourself,” rafe said through gritted teeth, “saying you wish you looked better,” he scoffed, “..it doesn’t get better than this.” your knees nearly gave out from under you when he snaked a hand around your waist, his fingers working on your clit until you felt that familiar heat starting to simmer in your tummy.

“you’re so pretty, baby, it freaks me out sometimes,” rafe leaned down so his mouth was next to your ear, “you have no clue how many times throughout the day i have to resist the urge from bending you over and fucking you dumb— just like the way i am right now.” your eyes rolled back at his words, his praise shooting straight to your soaked cunt. “you make me hard without even doing anything, you know that? these curves are so fucking perfect, i could squeeze you and grab and rough you up just the way i want to. you drive me fucking crazy.” you weren’t only crying because of the way you were being pounded into right now, but because you knew rafe was coming from a place of genuine love.

you couldn’t help but feel insecure when you saw the kind of girls that always tried to get at your boyfriend, some even going as far as flashing you a wink when they stroked his arm while passing by. all of them looked flawless in your eyes, your insecurity creeping up on you and making you question why on earth rafe was even with you. questioning rafe’s devotion was exactly what got you in the position you were in right now. “look up, ‘pretty, i need you to see what i see.” he clasped a hand around the back of your neck, dragging you up so your back was flushed against his chest.

your body was on full display, your teary gaze meeting rafe’s as he fixed your head in place to make you look at yourself. “starting with this face,” he was still thrusting into you when he stroked your cheek, “i don’t think you’re real sometimes. especially when we wake up in the morning and the sun is hitting you just right..” he planted a kiss in the curve of your shoulder. “you don’t even know this but on the days i wake up earlier than you i just watch you. admire you.” you moaned when you felt him hit your sweet spot, your eyebrows knitting together as you took your bottom lip between your teeth.

“these tits,” rafe took both of his hands and cupped you, rolling your sensitive buds between his fingers, “this is why i love it so much when you’re on top.” you laughed softly, a small smile playing on rafe’s lips as he continued rocking into you. you knew rafe wasn’t lying, he always looked hypnotized and dazed whenever you rode him, his eyes glued to your chest while you bounced on top of him. “these thighs are the same thighs that i always need my head in between. whether you’re sitting on my face or i have you pinned down on your back, i fucking love them.” he rasped, his hips stuttering as he began approaching his high.

“your hips and your waist..” your mouth fell open in a silent moan when he found your clit again, “you’re gonna carry my kids, i’ll make sure of that.” you gasped when he picked up his speed, his words hitting you right where you’d feel them most. “m’gonna make you have my babies, ‘give you even more reasons why you should love your body the same way i do. you understand?” you nodded frantically, turning your head so he could take you in a searing kiss. that was all it took for both of you to fall over the edge, rafe carefully laying you down on your tummy as he filled you up.

you two stayed like this, your kisses growing more feverish once he pulled out, rafe wasting no time in wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. he traced the curve of your lips, thumbing away the tears from your eyes as you sighed. “i don’t ever want you to question the love that i have for you, do you understand?” you cozied up to him, whispering a ‘yes.’ before he hummed sleepily.

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐞 — 𝐂.𝐒.

Synopsis: You've been teasing Chris too much, he gives you some payback but only offers one option.

Warnings: Smut, public sex, rough sex, degrading kink, princess kink

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chris couldn't take it anymore. 

All day you had been torturing him, making him so painfully hard. The skirt you were wearing was short and he knew the only thing under was his favorite pair of panties – the cotton blue fabric that made the wet patch so visible when he teased you. 

So that’s what he did – he teased you. 

Chris tortured you all day as payback. His hands were wrapped around your thigh, his finger massaging so close, but not close enough. You were excited to finally have the upper hand, but he just wouldn’t let you have it. 

“C’mon, baby,” Chris purrs, leaning into your ear before his fingers brush just below the hem of your panties. “--don’t you want me to take care of you? Ya know, make the ache disappear.” 

The tips of his fingers crawl around the hem of your underwear, pulling them just enough to let the air brush along your slick folds. You’re dripping. 

You wanted the upper hand earlier, but now? Now all you wanted was him, fucking you ruthlessly – anything to make the damn ache that felt like fire to perish between your legs. 

“Let’s go home, I – please,” you mumble, an embarrassed pink hue coating your cheeks as you tug the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

The mall was filled with shoppers. Nick and Matt were wandering somewhere, but you couldn’t spot them over the crowds of strangers walking past. Thankfully, no one passing by was looking close enough at you and Chris sitting on the bench – not close enough to see just how far his hand had traveled up your skirt. 

“Uh-uh, you want it so bad, you take it here.”

Here?

Your eyes bulge as you stare over at Chris. He nods with a sly grin pulling on his lips, “Bathroom or nothin’. Matt and Nick are gonna be at least another hour and an Uber will take just as long. Your choice, baby.” 

And that’s how you ended up here – in the family bathroom, getting fucked ruthlessly. Just like you wanted.

Chris' hard cock viciously pounding into you showed nothing except for how far you really had pushed him. So much for the upper hand. 

Now, your hands were occupied, clutching onto Chris’s wrists for balance as he slammed himself repeatedly into you, letting out dry laughs between moans while watching your legs quiver. 

“Feels — fuck — feel better yet, princess?” he teases, letting his fingers dig even more into your hips, your skirt piled at your waist as he pulls you to meet his movements. 

“I — ye-yes, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you screech, your mouth falling into a ‘o’ as he reaches the deepest part of you. 

Pure euphoria is all you feel. You don’t even register how loudly you’ve started screaming until Chris wraps an arm around the front of your stomach, pulling you against him for support before slapping his hand over your mouth — fucking his cock so hard, pounding you so good that you see stars. 

“Shut – up,” he puffs through his movements. 

“-sorry, -’m–’m sorry.” 

The muffled apology only makes him feel his pride swell even further. He lets his lips rest openly against your neck, his hot breath tickling the back of your ear as groans fall from him each time he feels you clench tighter around his dick.  

“-so needy, but, shittttt,” he seethes, nibbling into your neck for a brief moment, “-so fuckin’ perfect. Letting me fuck you like a slut – my slut,” he husks. 

No words can gather in your mind. Your hands clutch onto his forearm as he practically holds you up himself, fucking into you so deep that you can feel everything. 

“-’m clos–so–so close,” you screech. 

Your body is so overwhelmed. The pleasure is overbearing, making your limbs twist and turn, but Chris keeps you pinned against him. 

“So close, hm? Payback feels that good, huh baby? Such –”  he hisses as your walls start to convulse around him, “--such a fuckin’ tease,” he strains, stomach tensing as he feels his own release start to spill and leak into you.

Chris continues to rock his hips, letting his pace slow as you both roll down from the high. His arm stays firm around you. You’re still shaking – your legs like jello as he tries to set you down just the slightest bit. 

Out of breath and heaving for air, Chris’s tone becomes sweeter as he brushes some of the sweaty hair from out of your face, “You alright, baby? Too much?” 

Shaking your head, you let it fall backward onto his shoulder with exhaustion. “No,” you squeeze his forearm reassuringly, “--felt so good and…” you laugh drying, “--I was trying to tease you with my skirt.” 

Chris huffs against your neck knowingly, letting his lips place a gentle kiss right over the place he had bitten. The way your entire body flinches from the subtle movement makes him grin against your neck, “I know,”

“-such a fuckin’ tease.”

[screampied]

can you please please write manhandling & squirting w gojo :(

❤︎ ໋𓈒 telling your best friend satoru that you can’t make yourself squirt

warnings. fem! reader, manhandling, praise, fingering, talking you through it, rev cowgirl, dirty talk, squírting, mdni.

legs sprawled, toes all curled up, you were desperately trying to make yourself squirt. it’s never happened to you and you wanted to experience what it was like—you read through various erotic stories of how it feels way different than just your everyday ordinary orgasm. with your teeth softly digging against your bottom lip, your fingers gently rummage throughout and against your clit. after a while though, you end up sighing—on the verge of giving up before as if on literal cue, your best friend gojo opens the door.

“hey, is it any more . . oh! uh,” he’d murmur, walking in on you with your legs sprawled all open. gojo suppresses a giggle that was about to escape from his lips before he utters. “. . . should i come back another time? you seem busy.”

there was smugness dripping underneath his tone and you were far too aroused to feel embarrassed. “no,” you puff. “i need help, satoru.”

“yeahh you seem like it,” he snickers. running a hand through his hair, he hums to himself before his eyes avert towards your lazily slid to the side panties. “is that what you call fingering yourself?”

“. . . shut up,” you chastise, and his sly smirk only widens. gojo stares at you for a long while before inching closer towards you—plopping down beside you. the mattress jolts a bit from his weight and he cocks his head to the left in pure amusement. “i need help. i can’t … i can’t squirt.”

gojo sneers. “oh, you sure can. you just don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, angel, heh.”

he had such a smart mouth, the dramatically frustrated sigh that deserts past your lips was too adorable—in his eyes at least.

the way you were so dedicated to making yourself have a proper finish was so cute . . but you couldn’t, you needed his help—you wanted his help.

“hm but okay,” he shrugs with a cheeky grin, getting right beside you. gojo lightly grabs your wrist, peering at how you’d already soak two of your digits with sloppy amounts of slick before he titters. “aw, poor thing. these useless fingers just can’t do shit, huh?”

“just fucking help me.” you grouse at him, a pouty scowl ceasing against your lips firmly.

“fine, girl fine,” he rolls his eyes. “i’ll take it from here.”

and he does because once he starts to ‘help’ you, it’s in a way that has you merely speechless.

with your neck slightly whirling towards the left, you’re mindlessly bouncing up at down on his thick cock. you’re faced the opposite way, your back leans up against his chest. gojo holds you up with no problem, a brief squeeze on your thighs and you start to whimper at how close his fat tip thwacks against a particularly sensitive spot.

“f— fuckk, ‘toru,” you’d whimper out, feeling him reach the deep components inside of you.

so deliciously good, you felt a few droplets of your own saliva trickle past your lips as you slump back against him. “so deep, stuffin’ me f— full, ‘toru.”

“. . . hah,” he pants heavily, tensed abs flexing each time he drags you up and down. he’s treating you like a rag doll. you didn’t expect him to do all this, having you all up and down. although, who were you to complain—he was reaching every spot without an ounce of trouble. “guess i can reach better than those fingers ever could, hm angel?”

“y—yes, yesss,” you stammer, your voice all shaky, trembling on each syllable that you spat out. “satoru, harder. fuck me, f—fuckkk me.”

you repeat the same words out your spit-glossed lips. with such a firm grip, he’s making your hips slam up and down—such a rigorous rhythm…

you try to grind a bit against him but you only end up slouching against his bare chest. it was simply no secret, gojo was known to be lengthy, longer than thick when it came to his cock. every orifice, he makes sure to locate every spot inside of your gummy walls with the crown of his shaft.

gush after gush, you’re spasming on him and you make a cute attempt at grabbing his wrist, clammy hands piercing into his skin. “s-so good, more ‘toru. right there, pleaseee . . !”

“i got ya.” he huffs, warm breaths waft right up against your earlobe. he’s holding you in place, each time he bounces you up again and again.

your eyes do that cute thing where it rolls all the way back into your cranium. it’s cute, lewd . . but cute.

with your pretty pupils dilated, all you see is nothing but pure splotches of white. his cock’s buried so deep that you’re stuck in a trance, a trance you never wanted to escape from.

“. . . awww,” he purrs against your ear, a big hand softly cupping your chin. he feels some of your translucent spit pour down the sides of your lips before smearing it over your mouth with his thumb. “such a messy baby. you feel it comin’ don’t you?” he teases, nipping a kiss near your neck once you squeeze his wrist a tad bit tighter. “oh. you want me to hold your hand, is that it?”

“sato—ru,” you whine, a cute trembly voice making a special appearance.

but oh, the stretch…

it was so good simply divine.

each second is spent with gojo’s dick delving into your clenched walls. a syrupy ear ringing whimper snatches right out of your throat before you speak once more, “satoru, ‘toru, s—satoru.”

“hey, that’s me,” he grunts with a coy grin, feeling how well you clamp down on him—of course, he’d make a joke out of nearly anything. you’re like a bobbling doll, feeling your cunt squeeze him tight before within seconds, your thighs began to quaver.

with your legs quavering, it was as if a volcano was preparing to erupt. violently, your legs start to tense and you’re steadily pulsing and pulsing. something’s coming and it’s coming fast…

it had to be exactly what you were thinking. it felt a bit different though. pressure presses down against you and you feel gojo’s fingers intertwine with yours. “heh, you’re kinda dramatic, huh?” he teases—and right before he can give you another snarky reply, he brings your hips to an abrupt halt. teeth chomping down together, your jaw insignificantly tightens and you feel a certain sharp twinge for at least three and a half seconds.

“i- i’m about to s-squirt, ‘toru,” you warn him, and he nips another chaste kiss near the crook of your neck.

“nuh uh. you’re going to squirt, trust me. give it to me, yeah. grind against me ‘n just listen to my voice, mhm.”

his voice.. just the way he spoke to you in such a playfully deep tone was enough to make you finish on the spot.

gojo holds you still. he’s still buried deep inside. stuffing you fill of hefty inches before he brings a hand towards your swollen puffy entrance. “damn, she really is so fuckin’ sloppy,” he grunts, starting to maneuver slow circles against your pussy. he makes haste with it though, and your lips part before moaning once you even hear the evidence yourself.

squelch, squelch, squelch..

it’s loud, it rings throughout your ears—each time, it’s louder than the next. he’s so sloppy with it too, no shame whatsoever. gojo then drags a soft thumb down your slit that was just sopping. everything felt so fervent - the way he’d strum his fingers against your cunt, only to then give it a concise spank.

“s-satoru, fuckkk.” you’d gasp, leaning way back with your legs still sprawled, “i—”

“now—don’t be rude, angel. she’s tryna speak to me, let her do her thing, baby,” and he clearly referring to your dripping wet pussy. he continues, rubbing against your clit at a much more rapid speed now. your legs could barely hold themselves open. mouth twitching, you feel a rupture on the very brink of rippling out of you before his spanks against your pussy come again, and again, and again…

“sloppy girl with a sloppy … fuckin’ … cunt.”

his words get more raspy and degrading and he’s way too into it to pause. with a thumb slowly tickling against your spasming nub, he watches at you moan a shrieking whine before not even seconds later, it happens. you gush out, and it’s a lot to where you even dampen gojo’s lap. thankfully he was prepared, keeping a towel underneath you just in case you were a bit too much of a soaked.

and soaked you were, it felt so good that you didn’t even know what to say… more like, you didn’t know what to think.

your mind was blank, equivalent to an empty canvas. he’s so mean, whispering such filthy murmurs into your ear before he lets you ride out your orgasm.

wet, you felt that entire word right between your legs. gojo’s still playing with you, cock stuffing your pussy full to the very brim before he feels you bare around him.

“. . seeeee,” he pants, humming in a soft tune.

he squeezes your folds tighter just to hear that honeyed mewl rip from your sweet lips. he gradually pulls out and now you’re just laying back against his chest with the dumbest expression. “told ya you didn’t know what the fuck you were doing,” he chaffs before making you turn your neck, dragging you into a deep kiss.

it catches you by surprise, you connect your lips against his and that’s when he makes you fall back. you watch with glossy eyes before he then grabs ahold of chin with one hand, brushing it tenderly against your skin. “say ah, open that pretty mouth for me ‘n taste what a messy girl you are.”

you felt your heartbeat go straight between your legs. once you loll out your tongue for him, staring right into his bright cerulean irises, he stuffs your mouth with two fingers. the same fingers that were covered in nothing but your sweet wet arousal. “yeah, run that tongue around my fingers ‘n taste it all, baby.”

you moan, swirling your tongue alongside his digits before you briefly end up gagging at the tips of his fingers massaging against the very back part of your throat.

“good girl,” he whispers—pulling his fingers out real slowly, he does this purposeful. a sheeny trail of your glistening saliva follows out from your lips before he gives you another long kiss before departing. “now, let’s do it again. but this time,” he utters, making you lie back against your back. “i’ll make you squirt just from my tongue, angel. let’s make that cute squirt velocity a little stronger, hm?”

[melliemell]

Pairing: Dazai x f!reader

Contents: NSFW, car sex (unfortunately for Kunikida), breath play, dazai levels of whining, but he always gets what he wants doesn't he, Approx. 1.5k words

“Don’t even think about it,” you breathed, grinding your hips against Dazai’s. His mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut as a moan left his lips before it turned into a strained laugh. Dazai guided your hand to his neck. He bit at your lower lip playfully, languid thrusts drawing out your pleasure with every deep stroke. 

“Pretty please?” Dazai whispered to your ear, his lazy smile widening as your fingers grazed the bandages he always wrapped himself in. “I’ll be a real good boy about it.”

“You’ve been anything but for the last half-hour,” you retorted. “I’ll think about it.”

Dazai pouted, his trademark gaze of innocence returning. He knew how to get what he wanted; even if it required you to play this game of fetch every time. Instead, you ground your hips down, enjoying the friction of him bottoming out in you.

The parking lot was empty this late, keeping your undertakings pleasantly obscured under the roof of your car. 

You weren’t meant to be here, precisely. 

Nor Kunikida’s car– it was supposed to be back hours ago. But then again Dazai was ever the opportunist; why waste a perfectly good vehicle when you’ve already used it the whole day to spy on a client? Might as well give yourself a treat for a job well done.

Dazai brushed your hair to the side, teeth sinking into your soft skin. You couldn’t move much, your hips straddling Dazai’s and the steering wheel digging into your back with his every thrust. He was keeping you in place, not giving much of any opportunity even as you wriggled and panted against his lips. 

Postponing your orgasm was becoming somewhat of a speciality of his, especially with how grumpy it got you the longer he played around. That was what he wanted, more often than not. Predicting your actions was easy, and knowing how far to push to reach your breaking point–

easier.

Then he might get what he wanted. 

Your hands drew him closer, your focus waning as the pressure built up again. You weren’t going to let Dazai ruin this one too. Maybe it counted as giving in or perhaps you felt like you were taking control this time, but…

Delicate fingers trailed around Dazai’s neck, making him shudder the moment he realised what you were up to. He wanted it, of course. As much as it annoyed you how desperate he would get only to have your hands wrap around his throat, the pressure building with every second.

You knew he liked the thrill of it. The suicidal maniac in him was ecstatic–playing with life like that. You on the other hand felt your worry building every time he so much as looked at you with that pleading gaze. It was only a play, no real harm behind it.

Plenty of people were into breath play, and yet…it felt different. 

It scared you, sometimes—just a bit.

“Change of heart?” Dazai’s eyes were hooded. He looked beautiful like this, flush all the way down his chest. His hand trailed up your thigh, gripping tightly.

“We make a deal?” you asked, arching forward. He was easy to bargain with, like this. “I do this, and you give me the best orgasm I’ve ever had? No half-assing here, Osamu.”

Dazai fluttered his lashes and his grin turned vicious. “I do as you please, oh great beauty of mine.” And you could only blink your eyes closed, hands wrapped around his neck in preparation.

Dazai raised you up suddenly, his cock slipping out of you.

“Wh-at?” you asked, grabbing into his shoulders for balance. 

“I’m a fast worker, what can I say?” Dazai smirked. 

His hand went to your entrance, drawing slow steady drags of his fingers against your wet pussy lips. The moment his fingers entered you, a shudder crawled up your spine. 

You weren’t sure where he was going with this. His fingers made quick work, moving within your walls and twisting to your sweet spot often enough to make you dizzy. You almost forgot what you were meant to do with your hands.

“Fuck,” you said, trying to force your attention back into focus. 

Dazai was looking at you, enjoying every second of it. 

A few more strokes and his hand pulled away, only for his cock to enter you again, sudden and filling. Your thighs clenched around him, breath coming ragged. The fingers now covered in your wetness went to skilfully move over your clit, thumb rocking back and forth in time with Dazai’s every thrust.

You had to remind yourself to breathe, eyes back to Dazai’s face. He was watching you, head thrown back as a smirk tilted his lips. You could have been a sight to see for all you knew.

But that didn’t bother you.

You reached up, tracing his jawline with both hands before going lower. Dazai’s whole focus was on you, every detail engraving itself in his mind as you wrapped your hands around his neck. 

Such delicate work under these circumstances wasn’t ideal. You felt Dazai try to swallow under your hands, the pressure barely there to distract him. But he knew this was only a warmup. It takes time for you to ease into it; this wasn’t the first time you were hesitant to do this.

Dazai’s cheeks reddened. Slowly, ever so slowly, your pressure increased, and you marvelled at the way Dazai moaned weakly from the sensation of literary being suffocated. 

Dazai’s eyes fluttered shut, head thrown back as his hold on you waist tightened.

He was beautiful like this, so vulnerable and entirely at your mercy. 

You tried to regulate, watching his every twitch and grunt for the air he lacked. You were bringing him to the brink only to relax just enough to get his bearings back together. 

Your legs were trembling from the strain, seeing as Dazai’s trust became sporadic, trying to force out as much of his strength into fucking you. Your lower belly tingled with your release which was steadily building up. 

Dazai’s thumb didn’t stop, his hand going down to your entrance to gather more of your wetness before coming back to stroke at your clit. You could barely breathe at this point.

Dazai looked at you, choked sounds falling from his open mouth even as his upper teeth bit into his lip. He was having the time of his life.

“Good boy.” You smiled, diving for a kiss as your hands squeezed firmer, swallowing Dazai’s whine as your tongue trailed inside his mouth. Saliva trickled down his chin, making him a bigger mess with every second.

You felt his legs spasm, the tension increasing. Your pussy clenched around him, just the way he liked before he was near.

You held him, not letting go even as his belly fluttered, twitching with every strain to push his orgasm forward. You forced him into the seat, Dazai’s neck bared prettily as you hovered over him, the sound of your kissing filling the air almost as much as his rapid trusts as he struggled to reach you. 

“Come on, pretty boy. I’ve got you,” you panted against Dazai’s lips.

Pleasure seeped in, not suddenly this time, but a steady buildup of more more more–and you were cumming, cunt fluttering around his cock enough to force Dazai’s eyes open, staring wide at the rooftop as a pitiful moan vibrated right from his chest. You felt his cock twitch inside you a moment later, his spent shooting inside you, warm and thick.

You only loosened your hold on him when you were sure he was coming down from the high. Dazai’s head lolled to the side, eyes still closed as he breathed hard between coughs for air. He looked utterly exhausted, his face pale with overstrain. He barely had the strength to move, let alone slip out of you. 

Not that you could help, flopping against his chest to breathe in his musky scent. The air around you was hot, almost foggy. Like in those sappy romance movies where the couple run away to their car to finally have some alone time.

Except this one wasn’t yours.

You pulled yourself back, reaching with a groan for your phone. 

“Whatcha doin’?” Dazai asked, kissing at your shoulder. He looked so pretty as he blinked at you, face serene. 

“Looking for a nearby car wash,” you said, forcing your eyes to the screen. 

A silence before Dazai’s hearty laugh filled the space. You looked at him, eyebrow raised. 

“Were you expecting something else?” 

“Not in the slightest,” Dazai said, clearing a tear from his eye. He still smiled when he said, “Kunikida sure has a great friend in you.”

“In both of us.” You leaned in for a quick peck. “Seeing as we’ll be splitting the bill.”

Dazai groaned but it didn’t sound as sincere as he would’ve liked. He pulled you in close, pouting all the while as you pretended not to notice him. He got his way this time around, it’s not like he had much to complain about. 

[ireverie]

risky, sjy (ft pjs)

ᯤ that was too close

ׂ╰┈➤ smut, cheating, stepcest

your pajama shorts are bunched beneath your knees as they nearly knock into the bottom cabinet of the bathroom sink, your hands bracing the counter for purchase as jake roughly ruts into you from behind.

you don’t have to struggle to keep your lips closed. jake’s hand is flush against your mouth, the side of his index finger pressing slightly into your nose as his thumb jabs into your cheekbone and his pinky curves underneath your jaw. your quick breaths fan hotly against his palm and every sound is muffled.

to be fair, you had tried to stop him. you had tried to be a good, faithful girlfriend, telling jake that what you had together was in the past and he needed to let it go. but he didn’t listen. he sat you on top of the counter of the shared bathroom connecting his bedroom and your one when you still lived here, and ate you out.

if nothing else could convince you, that definitely did. 

maybe it was a bad idea to bring your boyfriend back home with you, but your parents had been dying to meet him and you could no longer put it off. you knew jake wouldn’t be happy, considering that you used to hook up before you moved out, but you didn’t expect him to take it this far.

heart unfurls in the tightening pit of your stomach as you feel jake’s thick cock so deep in your guts, stretching you past your limits just the way you remember. you hate that it feels so good, so familiar. he knows all the tricks to make your walls gush around him, kneading his cock and selfishly squeezing every drop of cum out of him. 

it’s not that your boyfriend is bad in bed, but damn, nothing can compare to the dick of the man that claimed your virginity and used to take you every day. his sex drive was insatiable, always down to blow your back out, always wanting you. more often than not, you were fucking with his hand clamped over your mouth when your parents were home, and fucking all over the house when they were not.

speak of the devil and he shall appear. there’s a knock at the door, from your bedroom. “babe?” jay, your boyfriend, calls out. “how much longer? i wanna cuddle.”

you stiffen, eyes widening as you meet jake’s gaze in the mirror. your bodies are sticking together, almost like you were never meant to be separated. jake leans into your ear, whispering, “talk to him, but don’t make a sound.”

jake doesn’t stop fucking you, merely moving his hand away from your mouth so that you can speak. you swallow the lump in your throat, your voice sounding a little breathless. “my stomach hurts, baby. it’s gonna be a minute.”

you can practically hear the frown on jay’s face, even though you can’t see him. “aw, i’m sorry, baby. do you want tummy kisses when you get out?”

jake scoffs from behind you. at that, he starts to slap his hips into yours even harder, damn near ripping a gasp from the back of your throat. he’s hitting all the right spots, knowing your body all too well. better than he should. at one particular thrust, you moan, wincing your eyes in regret.

“what was that?” jay asks, still hovering near the door. you curse under your breath, remembering that you didn’t respond. 

“sorry,” you call out stiffly, balling your hands into fists. your nails dig painfully into your palms. “it just really hurts.”

again, jake scoffs. this time, it doesn’t seem to be out of anger; it’s amusement. “hurts, huh?” he repeats. “doesn’t look like you’re hurting.”

“shut up,” you hiss irritably. it’s his fault you’re in this situation in the first place.

“okay, baby. i’ll be here when you come out,” jay answers sadly, likely feeling bad for you. he doesn’t like when you’re in pain; he drops everything to take care of you when you’re on your period.

“okay,” you echo, fighting back another moan with everything you have. jake isn’t making it easy. he says not to make a sound, but with how he’s fucking you nice and rough, lips brushing against your skin just the way you like, you would think he’s trying to get you to react on purpose. “i’m probably gonna take a shower first.”

“i’ll wait up,” jay calls back. you hear his footsteps, figuring that he’s finally turned back and gotten into your bed.

jake huffs, like he’s unsatisfied. not that he would ever say that. “so close,” he murmurs.

you exhale, relaxing your hands and tightening them again immediately as jake strokes your sweet spot. “too close,” you say, throbbing as you take in the sight of his body molding into yours in the mirror.

[free-slutt]

𝙊𝙃, 𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙄 𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝙎𝙄𝙉𝙉𝙀𝘿 𝙄 | 𝙁𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙀

a/n: i haven't started the show yet, so I'm not familiar with his character in this show. please forgive my cluelessness during this fic.

summary: the reader goes to the church to confess to the priest that she recently sinned. however, the father decides to have some fun of his own.

warnings: mention of religion, 18+, missionary, loss of virginity, oral(fem & m receiving) fingering, nipple play, praise kink, pet names like doll,sweetheart,baby, mentions of anal, spanking, degrading, corruption kink, almost caught

˖⋆࿐໋

growing up in a religious household, i have developed a deep appreciation for my catholic roots. whenever I feel overwhelmed by sadness, anger, or depression, I find solace in the church.

today i couldn't help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt. i found myself hanging out with a boy, and things got a bit physical. even though we didn't go too far, i couldn't help but feel ashamed. i had promised to wait until marriage, but these uncontrollable desires keep creeping up. i've decided to go to the church to talk to the father about my recent activities and confess my sins.

as i made my way to the church, i felt a mix of nervousness and anticipation. i'm meeting with father charlie, a young and attractive man who’s also the priest at the church, which is not something you typically expect in the church. i haven't had a chance to speak with him one-on-one yet, so im feeling a bit apprehensive about what our conversation will entail.

i open the big doors to the church to see it completely empty just to find charlie sitting down on one the church benches.

“hello there” he calls out.

"father, there's something weighing heavily on my heart that I need to share with you," i said as I hurried to sit next to him.

i can feel that irritating uneasy sensation in my stomach. I didn't even give him a proper greeting. the guilt was so overwhelming that it made me stumble over my words.

"what is it y/n?" he turns all of his attention towards me, his big brown eyes digging into mine, as if anticipating something significant.

“i don’t know who to talk to, i can’t talk to my parents about this especially my own father. i’ve been feeling really guil-“

he interrupted me with a gentle smile and placed his hand on my shoulder, assuring me that everything would be okay and letting me know that he was a safe person to talk to.

“father, i need to confess something. i kissed a boy, and he kissed me back. he started to touch me, but i stopped him. i made a promise to the lord, and i feel terrible for breaking it”

as the tears welled up in my eyes, i instinctively dropped my face into my hands, seeking refuge from the overwhelming emotions.

"hey, it's going to be okay," charlie said in a gentle, caring tone as he stroked my hair, trying to comfort me.

“now tell me, did you guys fuck?”

as those words reached my ears, i couldn't help but look up at him, shaking my head as the tears continued to fall.

oh no, i hope he's not going to make me feel even worse.

“no father i swear-“

"shh, no swearing in the church," he said, raising his finger to his lips with a smirk. the irony wasn't lost on him, considering he had just dropped the f-bomb.

it was so quiet for a whole minute, and I started feeling really awkward. i had come all this way hoping for some advice or comfort, but it seemed like he just didn't care.

as I stood up, charlie grabbed my arm, forcing me to sit back down. “i didn't say you could leave. where do you think you're going?”

he replied coldly, smirking, “always so forgiving. it's kind of pathetic”

i stared at him, utterly perplexed, not really sure what he was talking about.

“father, isn't forgiveness what the church is all about?”

“sometimes, but in this case, i really want you to show me how sorry you are. otherwise, you're just going to keep committing the same sin over and over again. you don't want that, right? you don't want your parents to find out how desperate their innocent little girl has become, do you?"

i couldn't believe what i was hearing from charlie. i never expected him to act this way, let alone say things like this. i was at a loss for words and didn't know how to react. all i could do was nod in agreement. the last thing i wanted was for my parents to find out.

“father, i think i should go”

"why are you suddenly so shy, doll?" his hand on my chin made me tilt my head to stare at him.

"you don't think i notice how you look at me during mass when I'm speaking on the stand? you've become so needy that you sometimes cross your legs to stop yourself from feeling those emotions you want to avoid so badly," he says while caressing my cheek, gently rubbing his thumb on my bottom lip.

"i know you think of me taking you to the point where you can't even think straight, cum dripping out of you while i use you for my pleasure. you don't think i notice that? the way you avoid eye contact with me”

“i don’t know what your talking about father”

charlie’s hand rested lightly on my thigh, sending a spark of electricity coursing through my body. as his fingers inched toward the top of my skirt, pushing the fabric up just a little, my breath caught in my throat. each slow movement seemed to stretch time, heightening my senses and igniting a thrilling tension i couldn't ignore.

it felt deceptively wrong—the kind of reckless abandon that sent a shiver down my spine—but the anticipation was intoxicating, and I craved more. my mind raced, caught between instinct and hesitation, as the warmth of his touch settled into a deep hunger, one i found increasingly impossible to resist.

i glanced up, searching his eyes for a sign, a cue that this was more than just a fleeting moment. we held a playful challenge, a promise of the passion we both knew was simmering beneath the surface. my heart raced with excitement and fear, the boundaries of right and wrong blurring into a sweet confusion. with every breath, i felt the world around us fade away, lost to the undeniable chemistry pulsing in the air. i didn’t want to stop it; I wanted to let go completely and dive headfirst into whatever was coming next.

“do you want this as much as I want this?" charlie's voice broke through the haze of my thoughts, causing my heart to race in an unholy rhythm. i felt his gaze resettle upon me, a weight both thrilling and terrifying. my mind was a jumble, each beat vying for clarity as i struggled to focus on anything but him.

his eyes—the deep pools of mischief and longing—held me captive, swaying me like a fragile leaf in a rising storm. the blueprint of his desires flickered behind those intense brown eyes, and my cheeks burned with a shameful blush. I could hear the hymns of the service fade into background noise, a distant echo that paled against the ferocity of this moment.

what was wrong with me? i shouldn’t be feeling this way, not here—certainly not in a house of worship. my skirt brushed against my legs, reminding me of the innocence i used to wear like armor, now discarded in the face of this ravenous yearning. charlie wanted me. craved me. it was a dangerous temptation that had taken root within me, whispering sweet nothings that urged me to give in.

the candlelit corners of the church bathed in shadows, the lure was overwhelming. each passing week at mass had been an exercise in restraint, a careful balancing act over a precipice of emotion. seeing him near the altar in his crisp shirt—as though god himself had stitched him together purely for me—seemed more sublimely wrong every time.

as his eyes swept over me, i wondered if he could sense the tension glittering between us, thick and electrifying like charged air before a storm. j licked my lips, torn between the sanctity of the aisle and the allure of his promise. "I need you, doll. I can't deny it anymore," he murmured like a sin freshly minted from temptation's forge.

i felt a tumultuous wave of conflicting emotions surging within me. the whispered prayers seemed empty as an overwhelming desire ignited like an uncontrollable inferno. "father” i gasped, but the air escaped me, filled with forbidden possibilities. despite everything, all i could focus on were his lips drawing nearer to mine, as if the world around us faded away, leaving only the intense magnetism between us.

in that sacred moment, beneath the flickering lights, surrounded by silence begging to be heard, we hovered on the brink of something vast and insatiable. would we give in? would grace curdle into passion? ignoring the whisper of consequence felt like my true struggle—should we tiptoe across this brittle line, or confess that hunger has only one unyielding answer? together.

as I processed what was happening, a surge of warmth enveloped me, and i found myself surrendering to the moment. his lips danced across the sensitive skin of my neck, light as a whisper but charging the air with electricity. a small moan escaped my lips, betraying the whirlwind of emotions stirring within me. i could feel his smirk, a secret shared just between us, brushing against my skin, simultaneously teasing and thrilling.

his hand roamed over my thigh, a firm yet gentle grip that sent a shiver cascading through my body. "that's it, such a good girl for me," he purred, his voice a low whisper that thrummed like a melody in my ears, both lustful and tender. each word dripped with a promise, igniting the fire kindling deep within me, blurring the boundaries between desire and surrender.

lost in this intoxicating closeness, i reveled in the sensations; the world beyond shifted and faded, leaving only his teasing caresses and the seductive intimacy that enveloped us—a balance of power and vulnerability, inviting me to cross the threshold into unknown territory.

"father, i really don’t think we should be doing this here. It just doesn’t feel right. what if we get caught?" i watched as charlie sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration, clearly torn between desire and caution.

"you’re right," he replied, his voice low and raspy, "but it’s late, and I don’t think anyone’s going to wander into the church at this hour. just relax, sweetheart."

i hesitated for a moment, then nodded, the thrill of the forbidden sending a shiver down my spine. i reached out, intertwining my fingers with his, bringing his hand to my lips and sucking gently on his long fingers. his eyes locked onto mine, filled with a primal hunger that made my heart race. i could see it in his expression—the desperate need to claim me, to tear away any barrier between us.

the air was thick with anticipation, and i could almost feel the weight of his longing as he shifted closer, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. the dim light from the stained glass windows cast a soft glow around us, amplifying the intensity of the moment. i could sense the tension building, a thrilling mix of danger and desire, as he leaned in, caught in the magnetic pull that seemed to draw us together like moths to a flame.

we were on the edge of something wild and reckless, and in that sacred space, everything felt possible.

charlie withdrew his fingers, his intention clear as he replaced them with his warm, teasing tongue. it slipped into my mouth, exploring with a fervor that sent electric shivers through my entire body. he held my neck gently yet possessively, urging me closer, deeper, igniting a fire that burned between us.

i kissed him back with equal intensity, a thrilling battle for dominance that left us both breathless. the taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and urgency that made my heart race. every flick of his tongue ignited a wave of pleasure, pooling low in my belly and making it almost impossible to think straight.

the heat of the moment consumed me; i could feel my body responding instinctively to his every move. the sweet tension built inside me, and i knew i needed him—needed to feel him against me, to drown in that wild connection we shared. my panties were already soaked, a testament to the overwhelming desire coursing through my veins.

charlie pushes my panties to the side allowing his already wet fingers from my saliva to dance around my clothed heat growling like a predator hungry for its prey “let me show you how a real man is supposed to make you feel darling, those little boys wouldn’t know how to handle something so precious like you. i can make you feel so good you wouldn’t be able to walk straight for days”

as he pumps his fingers in out of me the sweet sounds filling up the quiet church was enough for the both of us to go crazy “more father please” he smirked at my neediness removing his fingers out of me putting them up to mouth to signaling me to suck the sweet juices off of his fingers then going back in for a quick rub of my clit

charlie stood up getting ready to unbuckle his pants but before he could even do that a voice filled up the quiet room which caused me to jump and act quick closing my legs and hiding my exposed area “father charlie i’ve been looking everywhere for you” an older lady shouts from across the room as she appears to be in desperate need of his help

he sighed and i took that as my sign to leave before we both do something we might regret later, charlie keeps his gaze on me the entire time “hi, ill be with you in a moment” he spoke up the lady stops in her tracks wondering what a young woman was doing here at almost midnight with the priest of the church she was curious but nothing crossed her mind as she was desperate to talk to the priest

charlie followed me out of the church closing the door behind us “this isn’t over sweetheart” he placed a kiss on my forehead as he walked back into the church.

˖⋆࿐໋

a/n: omggg i hope you guys like this!! i’ve spent almost a day and a half working on this just for you all especially the person who requested this, i will be making this into a little series since it was getting pretty long! anyways i really hope you guys enjoyed this, remember feel free to request anything!

[monstersholygrail]

HI HI HI I LOVED UR PUPPY BF BLURBO BTW- HI ! um food for thought... cat bf? maybe? like the total opposite of puppy but still absolutely needy lmao HI!

When you walk into your home the silence that greets you automatically unsettles you to the bone. While usually your Cat bf is all over you as soon as you walk in the door after you come home, now he’s nowhere to be seen. You close the door behind you, looking around the empty hall.

“Bubba, where are you?” You ask sweetly, even using his favorite nickname as you wonder if he’s upset with you for some reason.

Entering the living room you look around for him, thinking he has to be here. All his favorite napping spots, besides your soft squishy body, are in the living room. Just as you’re about to look behind the couch, a heavy weight pounces on you from behind and you both tumble to the ground.

A mix of soft purring and rough growling echo in your ear and vibrate into your back with your bf’s chest so tightly against you. Your bf grinds his cock into your clothed core, showing you how needy he had grown without you there. You can’t help but moan, arching into the girth of his length.

“You’re late,” your bf grumbles, his tail flicking in agitation before it curls tightly around your leg.

Your breath hitches as you realize why he wasn’t at the door. He is very much upset with you and by his hardness you know exactly why. So as soon as he starts clawing at your clothes and practically shredding them, you immediately help him get them off till you’re bare for him.

He stares at you, his pupils dilating wide at the sight of your glistening pussy already so wet for him. He can’t keep his hands off of you a second longer and he races to grab handfuls of your flesh, kneading them and watching your curves shift deliciously.

You yelp as he uses his hold to finally yank you back against his body. A shaky moan leaves you as his dick slides between your wet folds, catching every drop of your essence he can. You can hear him sigh and his body relaxes almost completely now that he’s about to be inside you.

He leans his chest over till his form is surrounding your large frame. The weight of him is comforting and a smile tugs at your lips at he nuzzles into your hair, taking deep whiffs of your scent.

“Waited so so long for you, it was torture. Weren’t back when you said. So unfair,” your bf whines and you can feel the pout of his lips on your head.

You gasp sharply as his tip rubs into your clit with every rock of his hips and you know it’s on purpose. Your bf wanting to torture you just like you had him.

“L-let me make it up to you,” you breathe out, arching your hips. Prepared for him to finally take you.

Before you can process the movement, your bf is flipping you onto your back, clearly needing to see your face. Trying to gain your senses your bf easily throws your legs over his shoulders and plunges into your wet heat. You mewl, back arching to take him inside you even faster.

“Just wanna fuck you, baby. Can I please fuck you? Wanna feel you clench around my cock and milk me dry,” your bf whines, his cock already fucking up into you with shallow thrusts. You don’t even think he realizes.

“Go ahead, it’s ok, it’s ok.”

With another whine he picks up his pace, his claws digging into your wide hips so he can pound away at your pussy like he’s been waiting to for the entire day. He ducks his head into your neck as if trying to get as close to you as possible. His whimpers quiet in your ear.

You moan, your hands clawing down his back in a way that has him hissing and pumping into your tight cunt with fierce determination. You meet his every thrust, wanting to reach so deep inside you that you feel him in your throat. Your bf’s whimpers grow louder and you try and squeeze his cock in reassurance.

“It always hurts being so far away from you. Just wanna stay with you, stay inside you, please,” he whines, rutting into you so hard the sound of your bodies meeting fills the room.

Your heart aches for your bf, even as your pleasure climbs higher from your mixed desperation to be together. You moan with every snap of his hips, barely even able to talk but you have to try.

“T-then come inside me. Fill me up to the brim so a part of you can stay inside me. C’mon, bubba. Need your cum. Let go,” you beg breathlessly.

Your bf growls and shifts to push your knees to your chest. Ripping a gasp from your throat as he stretches you even further. Your orgasm sweeps over you a few thrusts later and you scream, clenching onto your bf in every way. Forcing him to follow you into ecstasy. His cum gushing into your eager pussy and making you feel even more full.

Neither of you can get enough, your bodies still furiously meeting even as overstimulation begins to set in. When he whines again you relent and you both slow down until he sags on top of you. You stay like this for who knows how long and you know your bf doesn’t want to leave and risk his cum gushing out of you by the way he clings to you.

“How about you get the plug, love? Can make sure it all stays in. Then we can have some more cuddles.”

Your bf jerks up to meet your eye, a bright smile on his face. His attitude completely turned around from when you first walked into the door now that he’s had you. It won’t be for the last time tonight but he can’t resist cuddles for the life of him.

He carefully pulls out before rushing down the hall to your shared room. You watch him with an adoring smile, having hated being home late almost as much as he had.

[leclerc-hs]

tides of us pt. 2 - ln4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader summary: in which you and lando are stuck in a swell of unknown territory and feelings. warnings: language, NOT PROOFREAD, smut under the cut!!!!, kinda toxic but really they just don't know how to handle emotions. ANGST word count: 12.1k... author's note: SURPRISE!! she's a long one. PLEASE let me know what you think as I love to hear from you all. hearing your thoughts is what keeps me going!!

part 1

“Oh my fucking god…Don’t stop.”

You couldn’t remember the last time a one-night stand had felt this intense…or more accurately, the last time a fleeting, ‘one-off’ encounter had inexplicably morphed into something far more complex, something that seemed to repeat itself, each meeting even more consuming than the last.

A recurring one-night stand, if you even dared to label it that.

Since that morning on the yacht, weeks ago, everything had shifted. Kind of. You still fought like fucking hell. With the new addition of an unrelenting cycle of burning, sensual fucking. Each time more addictive than the last. You couldn’t stop, no matter how often you told yourself you hated each other.

His fingers would graze your skin like flames licking at dry wood, igniting a trail of heat that spread through every godforsaken inch of you.

It made no sense. None of it did. It was supposed to be nothing. Just a one-time thing. In fact, it wasn’t supposed to be anything at all.

You hated each other. You should still hate each other. 

Yet, here you are. With your face pressed hard against the cold, smooth surface of the wooden dresser, and his arm a relentless, possessive presence against the small of your back, locking you in place. The weight of his touch had you pinned, forcing your eyes to meet the reflection of the two of you in the mirror, as he  buries his cock so deep in you that he manages to hit that spot in your tummy just right.

Lando’s usual blue-green eyes, so often bright and full of life, were now a dark, smoldering shade that seemed almost unnatural, like a storm gathering on the horizon. 

They no longer sparkled with mischief but instead had deepened into pools of liquid steel, so intense that they appeared to consume the very light around them. His heavy-lidded gaze pierced through the reflection, burning you with an unsettling heat, as though he could see straight through your skin.

The smirk curling at the edges of his lips was effortlessly wicked, a sly, knowing expression that held a thousand secrets. It was enough to make your breath hitch and your eyes narrow, instinctively wanting to do nothing but smack that fucking smirk right off of his beautiful face. Wait what?

Lando, like you, is wrecked. A complete mess of desire and restraint as he feels his body on the verge of trembling with each stroke of his cock into your tight cunt. His body was aching with an intensity he hadn’t expected, a hunger he couldn’t suppress, no matter how hard he tried.

“M’fucking god,” You outright moan.

Lando groans, dragging his fingers upwards to the back of your neck, digging into the skin of it hard enough to bruise. His cock throbs inside of you, and fuck…he’s obsessed. 

“Yeah?” His teeth graze his bottom lip as he angles his hips to somehow hit you deeper, and you swear you might just come on the spot.

“I’m gonna-“

The sudden shift in motion takes you by surprise, a fleeting moment where you feel weightless, suspended between his raw strength and the gravity of the world around you. His presence is consuming, an irresistible force as he lifts your head from the dresser, his touch firm and sure. Your back presses against the solid warmth of his chest, the heat of his body radiating through you, grounding you in his unyielding embrace. His grip tightens, pulling you even closer, and before you can fully process it, you’re falling, swept toward the bed that had once seemed so distant.

The soft sheets welcome you, cushioning your fall, but his hold remains steadfast, his arms wrapped around you with an unrelenting force as he hovers. There’s no escape, only the sensation of being claimed.

He glides the head of his cock between your slick folds, teasing you, and you swear you might punch him if he doesn’t do something soon.

“Lando, if you don’t-“

“If I don’t what?” He interrupts, his voice a smooth, teasing drawl. His lips curl into a smirk, the flicker of mischief in his eyes dark and mocking, as if daring you to finish your thought. The weight of his gaze lingers, intense and unreadable, leaving you caught between the sharp edge of his challenge and the magnetic pull of his presence. He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin, as if savoring the moment, waiting for you to make your move. “Beg.”

The frustration in your eyes is undeniable, a flickering fire that burns with defiance. Lando notices it instantly, the way it sharpens your features and tightens your jaw. And despite the teasing edge in his tone, despite the challenge he laid out before you, something stirs in him.

He feels a familiar ache deep within him, a pull that tightens his chest in a way he hadn’t expected. It’s not just the defiance in your eyes, but the way your flushed cheeks betray the heat of the moment, the wild strands of your messy hair that fall across your face, adding to your raw, untamed beauty.

For a split second, the teasing smirk fades from his lips, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. His eyes linger on you.

“You’re such an ass,” You groan, grinding your hips in hopes the friction of his cock against your folds would be enough. But it isn’t.

The smirk on Lando’s lips is back almost instantly.

“Just beg, baby.” Lando’s voice rumbles, low and commanding, the words slipping from his lips with an effortless authority. He trails one hand to your breast, his thumb rubbing smooth circles around your nipple in the meantime.

The nickname hits you like a wave. Your stomach flutters almost instantly, a flutter of warmth spreading through you, as if his voice alone has the power to unsettle every nerve.

“Please,” Your voice is low, sounds so small.

“What?” Lando pinches your nipple. “Could you repeat that? My hearing’s quite shit.”

“Lan, are you fuckin-“

You don’t get to finish your sentence as Lando stuffs his cock back into you with a harsh slam of his hips.

“No. I’m not fucking kidding.” He grunts into your ear, his voice dropping an octave. “Say my name again.”

It’s not until he lifts your hips a fraction of an inch off the bed, his cock hitting that spot just right all over again, that had you nearly shouting.

“Lan, I’m gonna-“ Your voice falters, trembling with the weight of him. Your fingers dig deep into the hard muscles of his biceps, nails trailing harshly against his skin, leaving faint red marks in their wake. The sensation is sharp, almost painful, but he doesn’t flinch. In fact, he smiles.

His breath quickens, but there’s no sign of retreat. If anything, he leans into it, relishing the pressure, the intensity. He doesn’t care if it hurts; the marks you leave are a reminder. A brand, of sorts. And in these moments, he finds comfort in the sting.

“Yeah, c’mon.” He urges, his voice a low, rough growl that sends a shiver down your spine. His breath is warm, brushing against the curve of your neck, stirring the hairs there to life. You can feel the heat of him close, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The proximity, the tension, it’s intoxicating.

He know’s exactly what he’s doing. Pushing, coaxing, his presence a magnetic pull that constantly threatens to unravel you.

He knew, without a doubt, that the moment his lips met yours, it would be the tipping point— the one thing that always sent you spiraling, completely undone. It was a delicate, powerful thing.

But this time, as he barely brushed his lips against yours, lingering just long enough to make you ache for more, and then pulled away, he caught it. The flicker of pain in your eyes. It was subtle, but undeniable. 

“You like it when I fuck you like this?” Lando groans as your walls tighten around him from his words. “Yeah?”

You nod, your pupils dilated and cheeks flushed red.

“You just wanna come all over m’cock, hm?”

The words claw at your throat, the struggle of needing to come becoming almost too powerful. 

“Please.”

He presses a kiss to your jaw, right by your ear, and it has you groaning out. “You’re so fuckin’ hot when you get like this.”

“Please, please, please.” You begin repeating, not caring how pathetic you sound. “Need t’come.”

“So needy and pliable.” He groans hotly into your ear. “My own personal fuck toy, yeah.” He begins to laugh, and it has goosebumps rising on your skin almost instantly.

“Shut up and make me come.” You’re so close. Right at the tipping point.

He drags his fingers up your neck, curling around your chin with a grip just firm enough to assert his dominance. His touch glides along your jaw, and he presses the pad of his thumb against your lips, before gently slipping it into your mouth.

“This pretty, filthy fucking mouth…” he groans, his voice hushed with desire as he pushes down against your tongue, feeling you suck in response.

He wastes no time, pulling his finger from your mouth, dragging it down and pressing roughly against your clit. Without warning, his mouth crashes against yours, hot and demanding. His tongue forces its way inside, urgent and unrelenting. The kiss is frantic, messy, as if he can’t get enough, the raw need palpable in every movement.

His cock throbs inside of you and he swears he never wants this to stop. Wants you wrapped around his cock with every waking second for the rest of his life.

The white hot-sticky pleasure consumes you, as your groan vibrates right against his tongue. The sound you make is guttural, as you arch into him as much as you can in this position with your legs twisted so tightly around his hips as he continues to fuck you through it.The mixture of his cock fucking into you, and the pad of his thumb circling right against your clit had you on sensory fucking overload.

No matter how much you squealed and groaned against his tongue, he didn’t let up. Didn’t stop. He swallowed every moan, every squeal, every push of your tongue as it lapped against his. 

His other hand loops into your hair, holding it tightly as you continue to arch off the bed, keeping your head against the mattress until he has to pull out, frantically pulling his tongue from your mouth with a loud ‘pop’ and fisting his cock until hot spurts of his white come cover your belly. The sight of you covered in him had his head falling back with a loud groan.

His skin is flushed red, down his neck to his collarbone. And you can’t help but admire hot fucking hot he looks with his lips parted open and eyes squeezed shut. There’s so much of it, oozing and pooling over your skin that you feel your cunt clench and ache at the sight.

He collapses on top of you, no care in the world as his come smears against his own skin in between the both of you. He pulls you in for one last kiss, his tongue hot against yours, pushing against yours in slow, languid motions before pulling off. His hands trail your face, pushing your hair back as you give him a soft sleep smile that makes his heart clench.

And he smiles right back.

-

“Y’know, I probably could’ve done that faster if you let me help.”

Lando leans over your shoulder, peering at what you’re doing, his breath warm against the side of your neck. The heat of him is impossible to ignore. So close that you can feel the faint press of his chest against your back.

Without missing a beat, you keep chopping, casting him a sideways glance. “You? With a knife? Yeah, I’ll pass.”

Lando’s eyes widen in mock offense, his lips curling into a smirk. Before you can react, his hands settle lightly on your hips, fingers grazing just enough to send a shiver rippling through you. The touch is effortless, familiar. Like he belongs there.

“I can cook, y’know.” He murmurs, leaning in closer, his voice dipping just enough to make your pulse stutter.

His chest brushes against your back, and despite yourself, you falter for half a second, the rhythm of your chopping momentarily thrown off. You force yourself to focus, but it’s getting harder when every slight movement of his sends a spark of warmth through you.

“Oh, yeah?” You challenge, a teasing edge to your voice. “And when was the last time you actually cooked something?”

Lando’s fingers flex at your waist, his grip tightening just slightly in a silent dare. When you glance up, you catch the glint in his eyes. Mischievous, knowing, and suddenly the kitchen feels much, much smaller.

“That pasta the other night,” he quips, far too quick with his answer.

A laugh bubbles up before you can stop it. “I said cooked, Lando. Not burned.”

He gasps, scandalized, but the grin tugging his lips gives him away. 

“Wow. No faith in me whatsoever.”

You smirk, setting the knife down and finally turn in his hold. His hands don’t leave your hips. In fact, if anything, they tighten just slightly, as if anchoring you in place. His face is close, impossibly so, and the teasing glint in his eyes is shadowed by something softer, something warmer.

“I have faith,” you admit, tilting your head “Just…not in your cooking.”

His lips part in mock outrage, but you catch the way his gaze flickers, tracing the curve of your mouth before meeting your eyes again. “Alright, now you’re just rude.” He murmurs, voice lower than before.

You roll your eyes, but the way your breath catches betrays you. “It’s honesty.”

Lando hums, fingers soothing slow, absentminded circles over your hips. “Mmm. I think you just like making fun of me.”

You grin. “That’s a given.”

His fingers twitch, his grip shifting just enough to pull you the slightest bit closer. Your hands instinctively lift, catching at the front of his hoodie, and his smirk deepens like he just won some kind of silent challenge.

“Y’know,” he muses, voice ripping into something dangerous, “if you don’t trust me in the kitchen, I could always just…” He leans in, lips barely brushing your jaw, slipping his hands up your skirt as he whispers, “…stay right here. Supervise.”

The warmth of his breath sends a shiver racing down your spine as a small moan slips past your lips when his fingers rub gently against your covered core. And you can practically hear the smirk in his voice when he adds, “For safety reasons.”

You swallow hard, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his hoodie. “For safety reasons,” you echo, pretending to consider it as his fingers push past the thin fabric, finding your clit with ease where he rubs gentle tiny circles that has you careening forward into his hold.

“Always fuckin’ soaked.” He groans, pushing two fingers into you and scissoring them. 

Lando grins, tilting his head as you fumble slightly from the pleasure. “Can’t have you getting distracted, can we?”

Safe to say, you were very distracted. And dinner was not cooked, but burned.

-

It was one of those rare, peaceful weekday afternoons where Lando was home between races, sunlight streaming through the windows of the grocery store, the air cool and crisp with the faint hum of background music. You hadn’t planned on going shopping with Lando, but somehow, here you were, pushing a half-filled cart together down the aisles.

Lando was usually a whirlwind of energy, but today, he was relaxed, strolling beside you with a lazy grin as you both debated over which brand of cereal was the best.

“No way,” you said, holding up the box of Honey Nut Cheerios. “This one is clearly superior. It’s simple, timeless.”

Lando shot you a look, his eyebrow arching with playful disbelief. “Timeless? It’s just Cheerios.” He grabbed another box from the shelf, one that was all brightly colored with pictures of fruit and some kind of sugar dusting. “This is the one to go for.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You just wait,” he reaches to grab another item of the shelf. “You’re gonna try it and you’ll be converted. I’ll even let you have the first bowl.”

“Oh, really? Your Highness is willing to share his precious cereal?” You say sarcastically, but the playful tone gave it away—you were just as amused as he was.

“Of course,” Lando replied, completely deadpan.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m honestly kind of impressed by your cart,��� Lando says, peering into the basket with a playful smirk. “You’ve got, like, actual food in there. What happened to the usual ‘chocolate and chips for every meal’ routine?”

You made a face, swatting him lightly with a bag of coffee beans you’d picked up. “Excuse me, I am a grown up. I have vegetables in there.”

“Sure, sure. I’m here for the snacks. You know, real food.”

You rolled your eyes but the smile never left your face. “Yeah, whatever.”

-

The restaurant was alive with energy, a steady hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air. Your group had been seated at a long table near the windows, overlooking the city skyline, the kind of view that made for a perfect, relaxed evening.

Except for the fact that Max and Pietra had made it their mission to set you up with someone tonight.

You should have seen it coming. The way Pietra had been watching you all evening, the knowing glances exchanged, the hushed whispers right before dinner was served. Now, as Pietra leaned in across the table, her eyes twinkling with mischief, you braced yourself for whatever was coming.

“Okay, hear me out,” she began, swirling her wine glass between her fingers. “Alex—tall, handsome, and completely into you. You should at least talk to him.”

You let out a slow breath, pushing your fork against the edge of your plate. “I’m good, Piet.”

Max, ever the instigator, smirked as he cut into his steak. “C’mon, he’s a great guy. And single.”

Across from you, Lando let out a soft scoff, barely audible over the clinking of plates and low chatter. You glanced up at him, catching the quick flicker of irritation in his expression before he masked it with practiced indifference, taking a slow sip of his drink.

It was dangerous, this game you were playing, pretending there was nothing between you when, in reality, there was everything.

Because no one knew.

No one knew how hard Lando kissed you breathless against his front door, hands gripping you with bruising intensity. No one knew that less than twenty four hours ago, his mouth had been on your skin, his voice rough and desperate as her murmured your name. No one knew that after weeks of sneaking around, you still hadn’t figured out how to stop yourself from wanting him.

And Lando was pretending right along with you.

But right now, as he sat there, his fingers drumming against the base of his wine glass, jaw set a little too tightly, you could tell it was wearing thin.

“Oh, and you know who else would be perfect for you?” Pietra continued, completely unaware. “Nick. He was asking about you the other day.”

Lando’s grip on his glass tightened slightly. “Right,” he muttered, his voice neutral but edged with something sharp. “Because that’s exactly what she needs.”

You shot him a quick look, wondering why he was behaving this way. You weren’t dating.

This wasn’t supposed to be anything more than what it was—just late nights, whispered moans, the heat of his body pressing into yours when the rest of the world wasn’t looking. It wasn’t supposed to spill over into moments like this, where his voice took on an edge at the mere mention of someone else being interested in you.

But here he was, jaw tight, shoulders tense, barely touching his food as Pietra and Max continued.

“She needs someone good for her. Someone who actually wants to be with her.” Pietra chimed in, not picking up on the energy of the table.

You felt your stomach tighten.

Lando huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly as he swirled the wine in his glass. His lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable.

“Maybe she doesn’t want that,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours. There was something unspoken there, something only you could decipher.

Your throat went dry.

“Well, maybe she should.” Max cut in, oblivious to the silent storm brewing across the table. “I hate what he did to you. I don’t want to see you closed off.” Max looks at you with a soft smile, sincerely.

Pietra nodded in agreement. “Exactly! So, Alex or Nick? your pick. Both are great options.”

Lando exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning back in his chair as if distancing himself from the conversation entirely. His hand ran along his jaw, irritation flickering across his face before he smoothed it over with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, voice light but forced. “She should definitely go for it.”

You hated the way that sentence made you feel.

It shouldn’t have mattered. It shouldn’t have felt like a challenge, like a dare, like a knife pressed just below the surface of your skin. It shouldn’t have sent that ugly twist of frustration curling deep in your stomach, because this is exactly what you wanted…right?

Lando meant nothing.

That was what you had been telling yourself for weeks. That was what you reminded yourself every time you left his bed before the sun came up, every time you pulled your clothes back on in the dark while he watched you from half-lidded eyes. Every time you walked past him the next morning and pretended like your body didn’t still remember the way his hands had pressed into your skin.

So you swallowed, forcing a smile, forcing yourself to meet his gaze with something sharp and detached, as if this didn’t affect you at all. As if his words hadn’t just buried themselves under your skin like a splinter you couldn’t dig out.

You lifted your glass, took a slow sip, and shrugged.

“Maybe I will.”

The words left your lips smoothly, but they tasted bitter. You weren’t sure why you said it—maybe to push him, to see if he would finally break that carefully crafted mask he always wore. Maybe you wanted to see him react the way you always did when he threw careless words in your direction, pretending this was nothing, pretending you were nothing.

Or maybe you just wanted to hurt him the way he was hurting you.

“Good for you, then,” he murmured, his voice light but laced with something sharp. “Hope he can keep up.”

It was the kind of sentence that said so little, and yet everything. 

Before you could even muster a retort, Pietra clapped her hands together, full of chaotic energy and romantic optimism.

“Oh! A triple date!” She beamed, eyes darting with excitement. “Max and I, you and Nick, Lando and..well, we’ll find someone for him.”

You blinked.

The shift in your stomach was instant and brutal, like someone had reached inside and twisted. A slow, churning weight settled deep in your gut, spreading tendrils of cold through your limbs. Your grip on your glass tightened, fingers suddenly clammy against the delicate stem.

No way.

Your brain was scrambling to keep up, but your body had already gone tense, like it was bracing for impact.

Then Lando spoke.

His voice was smooth, measure. Calm. But there was a tautness underneath, something too rehearsed, too clean.

“I already have someone in mind.”

The words dropped like stone in the center of the table, sinking into the middle of everything and pulling it down.

Pietra, sitting across from you, blinked. You watched her process the words like they hadn’t quite made sense at first. Her eyes brightened with interest as she leaned forward.

“Oh?” She said, her voice lifting with genuine curiosity, her wine glass cradled between both hands.

You barely registered her.

You could feel Lando’s gaze before you even looked. Heavy. Steady. Deliberate. It was the kind of look you felt on your skin before you even met it with your own.

He wasn’t lying. Not exactly. But he wasn’t telling the whole truth either. He was saying it without saying it.

Pietra was still smiling. “You didn’t tell us you were seeing someone!” She said, laughing lightly. “Who is she?”

Max raised his brows beside you, clearly intrigued. “Since when?”

Lando glanced back to them slowly, taking his time, like he was weighing each word like it might explode if he said too much. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, but his eyes. God, his eyes were sharp. Watching. Waiting. Calculated.

“It’s…new,” he says, his voice light. Too light. The kind of casual that didn’t sound casual at all. “We’ve been keeping it quiet.”

Quiet.

New.

Not real.

Your throat tightened.

You dropped your gaze, locking it on the soft white tablecloth like it was the only thing anchoring you to the moment. There was a tiny crease in the fabric, a barely-there fold near your fork, and you fixated on it, traced it with your eyes, anything to avoid looking up. Anything to avoid him.

Because if you did—if you met his gaze— you knew you’d say something you didn’t mean. Or worse: something you did.

Quiet.

Like the stolen moments at his flat.

Like the way he’d kiss you and pull you in when no one else was looking.

Like the way he’d pull you close and whisper things into your ear that he never said in daylight.

New.

Like he hadn’t already carved himself into you.

Like this hadn’t been happening for weeks. 

Like he hadn’t looked at you last night like you were something exquisite.

Not real.

It was supposed to be pretend. Supposed to be physical. Easy.

But you knew the truth. And so did he.

“Anyone we know?” Pietra asks brightly, laughing a little as she sips her wine, unaware of the way your entire world was caving in, breath by breath.

Lando didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch.

Thick. Heavy. Measured.

You didn’t need to look to feel him watching you again. It prickled down your spine. Crawled under your skin. Sat between your ribs like heat.

“Maybe,” he says, voice dropping a notch lower. Smooth. Controlled. Dangerous. “Maybe not.”

A faint shrug followed. The ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth…just enough to make it hurt. And then, he looked away.

The conversation moved on, but you didn’t.

You didn’t remember dessert. You didn’t taste the wine. The jokes around you blurred, distant and hollow, like they were happening underwater.

-

He didn’t know when it stopped being casual. Only that it had.

The second you walked into the restaurant—dressed in that effortlessly unfair way, that dressing hugging you in all the places his hand did. Lando knew he was completely, utterly fucked.

He watched you walk in beside Nick, your laugh soft, your eyes flicking up toward the warm lighting overhead as you took in the space. You looked calm. Gorgeous. Untouchable.

You didn’t even glance at him.

That was the first hit.

You took your seat at the far side of the table, next to Pietra, and right across from him. And beside you…Nick, all easy smiles and buttoned up charm. The guy had clearly tried tonight. Collared shirt. Fresh shave. Perfect posture.

Lando didn’t care.

What he cared about was how close Nick was sitting to you. How he leaned in when he talked to you, how he looked at you like he thought he had a chance. Like he deserved one.

And Lando couldn’t say anything.

Because next to him sat Sofia. Sweet. Funny. Stunning. The kind of girl everyone expected someone like him to be with. She laughed too loud at things he didn’t find funny and touched his arm too often like she was already claiming him.

He smiled at all the right moments. Said all the right things. Played the part.

But the entire time, his attention kept drifting back to you.

You, sipping your wine slowly.

You, pretending you didn’t feel his eyes burning holes into you across the table.

You, biting your lip to hide a smirk when Nick whispered something in your ear.

He fucking hated it.

He hated how he could still feel the weight of your legs around his waist from the week before.

Hated that his mouth still ached with the memory of your name breaking in his throat.

Hated that while everyone else saw this dinner as casual, he was sitting there fighting not to drag you out of the restaurant just to remind you that he was still the one who knew your body better than anyone else ever would.

At one point, Nick reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Lando’s jaw clenched. Hard.

He reached for his wine, a little too quickly, the glass nearly tipping as he took a long, slow sip. Sofia turned toward him, asking about the last race. He answered, but his voice sounded distant even to himself. His eyes had drifted again.

Right back to you.

Because you were glowing in the candlelight.

That was the worst part.

The soft, amber glow danced across your skin, catching the high points of your cheekbones, curling like warmth around your collarbone, and flickering in the shine of your eyes. You looked soft. Beautiful. Untouchable.

Radiant.

Like nothing was wrong. Like none of this was hard for you.

Like you weren’t unraveling from the inside the way he was.

You laughed at something Nick said, threw your head back, eyes crinkling, your fingertips brushed against Nick’s hand, and Lando swore he felt it in his fucking chest.

A clean hit. Center mass.

It wasn’t even about Nick. Not really. It was about you. About the way you smiled like someone hadn’t just lit a fire under the table. About the way you looked at Nick with polite interest instead of the burning heat Lando had seen in your eyes a hundred times when you looked at him.

He didn’t want to do this anymore.

He didn’t want to sit there with Sofia’s fingers trailing slowly up his thigh like she thought she had any idea what he needed. Like she hadn’t been talking for ten straight minutes while his pulse thudded beneath her touch, not from desire but from restraint.

He didn’t want to smile and nod while she laughed at stories he barely remembered telling, all the while watching you lean in closer to another man.

He didn’t want to play pretend anymore.

Not when his hands still ached with the memory of your body.

Not when your voice was still stuck in his head from the other night, low and wrecked and saying his name like it meant something.

Because it had meant something.

He didn’t know when it stopped being casual. Only that it had.

Somewhere between the first kiss and the first time you said just sex.

Somewhere between the time you stole his hoodies and didn’t give them back and the time he kissed your forehead when he thought you were asleep.

Somewhere between all the things he wasn’t supposed to feel— but did.

And now, watching you lean into Nick’s shoulder, your lips parted like you were about to say something else clever and teasing and not for him.

He felt sick. 

Angry.

A quiet, simmering kind of rage that sat just beneath the surface, coiled tight in his chest like a spring ready to snap. Not the kind of anger that you yell with. The kind that burns through your bone.

Because Nick was sitting there like he belonged next to you. Like he deserved your attention, your laughter, the soft little smile you gave him when he held the chair our for you. Nick, who didn’t know the first fucking thing about you. Who hadn’t memorized the exact sound your breath made when you were trying not to moan, or the way your fingertips trembled when you let your guard down. 

And you were letting it happen.

Worse—you were playing along.

Lando wanted to leave. Wanted to drag you with him.

Wanted to take you outside, press you against the car, and say everything he’d been choking on…

Don’t look at him like that

You’re mine.

I hate this.

But he didn’t.

Because it was casual. Right?

-

This wasn’t silence. This was screaming without sound.

The ride back to Lando’s felt endless. A tension wound so tight it made the air between you brittle. The kind of silence that made your skin itch. That pressed against your chest and made it hard to breathe.

Lando hadn’t even given you a choice.

“I’ll take you home,” he’d said, sharp and possessive and final.

And you didn’t argue. Because technically, he was right. You were staying with him.

Your things were still scattered in his guest room, your toothbrush still sat next to his like none of this was falling apart.

Lando didn’t look at you once during the drive. His fingers gripped the wheel so tightly you could see the tendons flexing beneath his skin, his jaw clenched like he was holding his entire body together by force.

The lights of the city washed over him in streaks…cool and gold and flickering, softening the hard line of his profile.

You stared out the window, eyes burning, refusing to let anything fall. Not with him next to you, pretending like he hadn’t gutted you.

You hated him.

You hated the way he looked you across the dinner table like he owned you.

You hated how he let Sofia touch his arm, laugh at his jokes, smile like she had any idea what it felt like to really be looked at by him.

You hated that he sat beside someone else and still had the audacity to act like you were the one who crossed a line.

And worst of all, you hated that it worked.

That his gaze still made your stomach twist.

That your hands still ached with the need to reach for him.

That even now, even after this, a part of you still wanted him.

By the time the car slid into the garage, your blood felt like fire in your veins.

You stepped out before he could say anything, storming past him and into the apartment, heels sharp on tile. The door slammed behind you.

You didn’t even make it halfway down the hall before his voice followed you—low, cold, frayed at the edges.

“You really couldn’t wait to laugh at everything he said, huh?”

You stopped. Slowly turned.

Your voice came out too calm. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He stood there in the entryway, eyes dark, fists clenched at his sides. “Pretend it didn’t drive me insane?”

You scoffed. “You don’t get to do that, Lando. Not when you had her clinging to you all night. Not when you chose to bring her and do this.”

“She means nothing.”

“Then why bring her?”

“Why bring him?”

You stared at each other, chest heaving, the pain stretching taut between you like wire.

He steps forward, slow but dangerous, like something barely caged. “I brought her because I couldn’t stand the thought of being there and watching you with someone else.” His voice cracks, raw and ragged. “Because I thought maybe if I saw it for myself, I’d feel nothing.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

His eyes locked with yours. “I felt everything.”

That was all it took.

You were on him in a second, fingers tangled in his shirt, mouths crashing like a car wreck. It wasn’t a kiss—it was a breaking point. Desperate. Vicious. Full of fury and need and heartbreak.

He backed you into the wall with a grunt, your hands fumbling at his buttons, his teeth dragging along your jaw like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you or devour you.

Your breath hitches as he presses his forehead to yours.

“I hate this,” you whisper, “I hate you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, voice gutted. “I hate you too.”

And then you were kissing again—angry, breathless, clinging like you were trying to hurt each other with how badly you still wanted this.

You didn’t make it to the bed. You didn’t need to. Because this wasn’t about comfort. It wasn’t about love.

It was punishment. It was grief in the shape of bodies.

He fucks you hard against the wall of the hallway, your lace panties pushed to the side, his belt barely unbuckled as his pants are shoved down just enough so that he can stuff his cock into you.

It was every unspoken thing you said through bitten lips and bruised skin.

And afterward, as you lay tangled in the mess of it—neither of you moved.

You didn’t look at him. And he didn’t touch you. 

But in the silence, you felt everything. 

And it hurt more than it ever had.

-

The tension in the room was suffocating, thick enough to choke on. Conversation that had once flowed easily now hovered in awkward limbo as every pair of eyes flickered between you and Lando, watching the sparks ignite into something dangerously close to an explosion.

You sat on one side of the couch, arms crossed so tightly it felt like it was the only thing holding you together. Across from you, Lando lounged back like he had all the time in the world, legs stretched out, fingers drumming idly against his knee. The picture of nonchalance, except for the telltale clench of his jaw. 

“I swear to God, you are the most self-absorbed, arrogant asshole I’ve ever met,” you bit out, your voice dripping with irritation.

Lando scoffed, eyes flinging under the warm light. “Oh, I’m arrogant? That’s rich, coming from you.” He leans forward slightly, head tilting, tone mocking. “Do you even hear yourself when you talk? It’s exhausting.”

A sharp laugh escapes you, humorless. “Sorry I don’t let your little asshole comments slip by.” You leaned forward, heat rising to your face. “God forbid, someone doesn’t worship the ground you walk on for five fucking seconds.”

Across the room, Max raises an eyebrow, shifting uncomfortably. “C’mon guys, seriously? This again?”

Neither of you acknowledge him.

Your ands clench into fists against your thighs. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Lando shot back, grin widening, “you’re always right fucking here.”

The room went still. You make a move to stand up, no longer wanting to be near him.

“Nothing about this is funny, Lando,” you seethe. “But I guess that’s all you ever do, right? Crack a joke, act like nothing fucking matters—“

“Yeah?” Lando cut in sharply, eyes narrowing. “And you act like you don’t care when you obviously fucking do. No wonder your ex left you.”

The words slice through the air like a blade, cutting through the noise, through the tension, through you.

A suffocating silence falls over the room, pressing against your chest like a vice. Your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out the quiet gasps and awkward shuffling around you. Max shifts uncomfortably, eyes darting between you and Lando. Pietra sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t dare say anything. Keegan leans back, his drink momentarily forgotten in his hand.

But you don’t register any of them.

Your entire world has narrowed down to Lando, sitting across from you, shoulders squared, chin tilted up in defiance, that sharp, reckless fire still burning in his gaze. He knows exactly what he just did. He threw a dagger straight to the heart and hit his mark. And he’s daring you to react.

You swallow hard, the initial sting of his words curdling into something darker, something lethal. Your hands tremble at your sides, but not with hurt. No. This is rage, white-hot and searing, clawing up your throat.

Then, Lando sees it. The barely-there quiver of your lip. The way your breath catches for just a second too long.

And in that instant, it hits him.

His expression falters. His cocky smirk flickers, like a candle struggling against the wind. Realization slams into him like a freight train, knocking the air from his lungs. His posture stiffens, and for the first time tonight, he looks uneasy.

“Wait,” he blurts out, moving to sit up. His voice softer now, tinged with something close to regret. “I’m sor—“

But you don’t wait to hear it.

You’re already on your feet, already walking away, your movements sharp and deliberate. You refuse to let them see your face, refuse to give Lando the satisfaction of seeing just how deep his words had cut.

The air feels too thick, too heavy, pressing in on you from all sides. You need to get out. Now.

“Wait,” Lando tries again, his voice more urgent this time, but you don’t slow down,

You make it to the front door in four strides, wrenching it open without hesitation. Cold air from the hallway rushes in, biting at your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the burn in your chest.

And then—

“Fuck,” Lando mutters.

The sound of your name leaving his lips is the last thing you hear before the door slams shut behind you.

-

The apartment felt suffocating, the air thick with unspoken words and a tension that had been building for days.

You stood in the doorway of the living room, watching Lando as he sat on the couch, his body sprawled lazily, but his eyes not quite focused on the screen of his phone. The silence between you two felt heavier than it had in days, thick like the humidity before a storm.

You took a deep breath, the weight of your decision settling like lead in your chest. You’d been avoiding this moment, dancing around it with every silent exchange and every time you deliberately didn’t look him in the eye.

You needed to leave.

“Lando,” you said, voice steady but quieter than you wanted it to be.

He didn’t immediately look up. He just shifted on the couch, adjusting his position, still fixated on the phone in his hands. The faintest sigh escaped your lips.

“Lando,” you repeated, this time a little louder.

At your tone, he finally glanced up, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of curiosity and that same old guardedness you’d gotten used to over the past few days. His lips parted, like he was about to say something, but then his expression faltered.

Your throat tightened, but you forced the words out. “I’m moving out,” you said, the words tumbling out faster than you could stop them.

There was a beat of silence, a long, drawn-out moment where neither of you spoke. Lando’s gaze flickered, searching your face, but he didn’t seem to fully understand.

“What?” He asked, his voice flat, as if the words were foreign to him. “What do you mean, moving out?”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your chest ached as you looked at him, trying to stay calm. “I’m moving out.”

Lando blinked, but his eyes never left you. There was no anger, no defensiveness—not yet. Instead, there was this cold detachment, like he was trying to keep himself from feeling anything at all. His jaw clenched, but the words didn’t come right away.

“Right.” His voice was quieter now, like he was speaking to himself. “I see.” He leans back against the couch, his posture casual, but there was a strain in the way his arms crossed over his chest. His lips pressed together in a thin line, and for the first time in a long while, you saw the cracks in his usual cool demeanor.

It was as if he was trying to shrug off what you’d just said, to act like it didn’t matter. But you saw through him. 

“You’re acting like you don’t care,” you said, the words cursing through the room.

His eyes flickered for a second, the mask slipping, but then he quickly recovers. He gives you a hollow smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes, and then shrugs. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” He said it flatly, like it was something he’d rehearsed, something he thought he should say. “But if that’s what you want, then fine. Whatever.”

You tried to ignore the sting that spread through you. It’s not like you were dating, you told yourself. You weren’t together. But that didn’t make the hurt go away. 

“Right.” Your voice cracked, and you quickly swallowed down the bitterness that was threatening to break free. “I’ll be out by the end of the week.”

-

The weeks had passed in a blur. The days filled with endless work, deadlines, and a weight of responsibilities that distracted you enough to almost forget about him. Lando. The sting of that last conversation with him had faded, but it was still there, lingering in the back of your mind like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

Things didn’t go back to how they were, but they didn’t stay as tense either. It was like a slow, reluctant return to some kind of normal, where the pain of the past still lingered, but you were both too stubborn to let it completely define everything.

You existed in this weird limbo, where you’d exchanged a few awkward words here and there for the sake of your friends, but never anything that went deeper than the surface. You spoke in the way that people who once had some sort of bond but now tip toe around each there did. Casual, clipped, and a little too guarded.

It wasn’t fun. Hell, it wasn’t even close, but it was manageable. And sometimes, that was all you could ask for.

One night, your group of friends were hanging out at a local bar, the usual crowd. You were sitting on a bar stool, nursing a drink that wasn’t quite strong as you’d like it to be, but it would do. Across the room, Lando was in the middle of an animated conversation with Max, his hands flying through the air as he gestured with the same over-the-top energy he always has when he’s passionate about something.

The laughter in the room was warm, but it felt distant. 

Later, as the night wore on, you found yourself standing near the pool table, watching the others play. Lando came over, tossing his jacket on the back of the nearby chair. The energy between you was familiar enough that you didn’t hesitate to speak to him, but also it felt strained.

“You still suck at pool,” you said, your tone more playful than it should’ve been, but it was the kind of jab you used to throw without second thought.

Lando smirked, leaning agains the table with an exaggerated cocky posture.”You wish,” he replied, his voice laced with that same arrogance you knew all too well.

You chuckled, but there was no real warmth behind it. Just the act of getting through the conversation without letting things get too weird.

And yet, there was still something in the way he looked at you. A flicker of something that wasn’t quite indifference. Maybe a hint of regret. Maybe it was something else.

-

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t some big, dramatic moment where everything was fine again. Instead, it happened gradually, in the quiet in-between moments, in the casual interactions that didn’t feel like landmines anymore.

At first, it was just existing in the same space without tension suffocating the room. Group hangouts weren’t as unbearable, and the awkwardness that once weighed down every conversation started to fade. You could talk again without it feeling forced, without the sharp edge of unresolved anger lingering between you two.

Then, one day, Max invited everyone over for a movie night, and you barely hesitated before showing up. A few weeks ago, you might’ve thought twice, might’ve made up some excuses to avoid another night of dodging Lando’s presence. But this time, it felt…easier.

Lando was already there when you arrived, sprawled across the couch in the way he always was, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, his legs taking up more space than necessary. He barely looked up when you walked in, just gave a quick nod and a muttered, “Hey,” like it was the most normal thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

Weeks later, you were at a dinner with friends, and without thinking, you slid into the seat next to him. It wasn’t a conscious decision—you weren’t trying to prove anything, weren’t trying to reclaim something lost. It just…happened. And he didn’t tense up. Didn’t shift away. He just leaned back, tapping his fingers on the table absentmindedly as he listened to the conversation.

At some point, you made a comment that had the table laughing, and Lando snorted, shaking his head before muttering, “Still annoying as ever.”

It was teasing, lighthearted. The kind of jab he used to throw away all the time. 

“Yeah, well,” you shot back easily, stealing a fry form his plate like it was second nature, “you’re still an asshole.

-

Lando Norris had finally done it. After 110 race starts and 15 podiums, he clinched his first Formula 1 victory ever. The McLaren team erupted in celebration, the garage a blur of orange and blue as the mechanics and engineers reveled in the long-awaited triumph.

You watched from the sidelines with Pietra and Max, the roar of the crowd vibrating through your chest as champagne sprayed across the podium. Lando stood at the top step, his grin so wide it could have split his face in two. You should have looked away, should have focused on the bigger moment at hand, but you couldn’t tear your eyes off him.

Not when his eyes flickered toward you, just for a second.

The after party was chaos. A whirlwind of lights, music, and expensive champagne flowing as if the entire world had been waiting for this night. Everyone was drunk on victory…especially Lando, who was making his way through the club, grinning as he accepted every congratulatory slap on the back, every cheer raised in his name.

You stayed back, nursing a drink, watching from the shadows. It had been weeks, months, since you’d really talked. Since things between you shattered into something so complicated, neither of you had really figured out how to fix.

But tonight, the past felt different.

“Didn’t think I’d see you hiding in a corner,” Lando drawls, dropping into the seat beside you, eyes bright from alcohol and adrenaline.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t think you’d come looking.”

He scoffs, running a hand through his messy curls. “You’re acting like I haven’t been waiting for you to come congratulate me properly.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches. “Fine. Congratulations, Norris. You finally did it.”

He smirk softens into something more genuine, something real. “Yeah. I did.” He pauses, watching you, his knee knocking against yours. “You proud of me?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, then let out a breath. “Yeah, Lando. I’m proud of you.”

The words settled between you, something shifting in the air. You should’ve walked away then, should have left it at that. But instead, you stayed.

And later, when the party started winding down, when the night had blurred into warm laughter and lingering touches in secrecy, when Lando leaned in, breath ghosting over your cheek as he murmured, “Come with me,”— you didn’t say no.

You should have.

But instead, you let him take your hand, let him lead you through the dimly lit corridors of the hotel, the air thick with something heavy, something inevitable.

The door barely clicked shut before Lando was on you.

His hands found your waist, rough and desperate, pulling you against him in one swift motion. His mouth crashed onto yours, all heat and hunger, like he had been waiting for this for far too long.

It was messy, rushed, pure heat and desperation. He tastes like whiskey and something inherently him, something you had no business still craving. 

You gasped against his lips, fingers tangling in his curls, tugging just hard enough to make him ground. He presses you back against the wall, his body slotting perfectly against yours, the hard planes of his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath.

“Tell me to stop.” He mutters against your lips.

You could have.

You should have.

But instead, you pulled him back in, whispering against his skin, “No.”

“Fuck,” he mutters against your mouth, his voice low, strained, as his lips moved to your jaw, then your neck, leaving a trail in their wake. “Missed this.”

Your nails scrape down his back, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. “Shut up,” you whispered, voice just as wrecked as his.

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, and you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the way he groans at the contact. He stumbles backwards until you hit the bed, the mattress dipping as he hovers over you, his breath heavy, eyes dark and hooded.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” He admits, voice thick with want, his fingers tracing along your skin as he leans down, capturing your lips again.

His forehead rests against yours for half a second, his breath uneven, before he pulls back just enough to really look at you.

“This is just sex,” you said first, voice barely above a whisper, but firm. A boundary. A reminder.

Lando’s lips twitched, like he wanted to say something. Instead, his grip tightens slightly, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed the anchor. The reminder that you’re really here. Under him. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice rough. “Whatever you say.”

And yet, the way he kisses you after—slow, deep, like he was memorizing every inch of you—made it feel like a lie.

-

It had been weeks. Weeks of avoidance, of pretending that last time had been a lapse in judgment rather than the inevitable. Weeks of stolen glances across rooms, of brushing past each other like it didn’t mean anything. Like you hadn’t memorized the feeling of his hands on your skin, the way he groaned hotly in your ear as he whispered your name in the dark.

And yet, here you were again. 

The door had barely closed behind you and already the air felt different. Dense. Loaded.

You were only supposed to drop off a hoodie. That was the plan. A thin, pathetic excuse, but you told yourself it was fine. It had found its way into your suitcase after that night—the one that bled into morning, where you left his bed before the sun rose, skin still warm, mouth still tasting like him.

Now you stood in his living room, holding that hoodie too tightly. Your knuckles white around soft, worn fabric.

You hadn’t planned on staying. But neither of you were moving.

Lando stood just a few feet away, barefoot, fresh from the shower. Damp curls hung over his forehead in messy, lazy waves. The soft black t-shirt clung to his chest, still damp at the collar, and his grey sweatpants sat low on his lips like a careless invitation.

He looked effortlessly undone. And completely unreadable.

He wasn’t relaxed. Not really.

Your pulse fluttered.

The silence between you stretched long and thin, tight like a pulled wire. One wrong word, one wrong breath, and it would snap.

You swallowed. The words in your throat tasted like regret.

“I just—“ you started, holding the hoodie out like it was a peace offering. “This was yours.”

Lando didn’t move to take it.

His eyes flicked down to it, then back to you. “You came all the way here for that?”

There it was. The challenge. Quiet. Sharp.

Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric. “It was in my bag.”

“Right.” A beat passed. “You could’ve just texted.”

You swallowed hard, throat dry. “I know.”

Another silence. Longer this time.

He took a slow step toward you, not enough to close the space, but enough to make your heart stutter.

You hated how his presence still made your skin feel electric.

Lando’s voice dropped, softer now. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

His eyes search yours like he was trying to solve you, like he already knew the answer and was waiting for you to admit it.

You let the hoodie fall from your hands. It hits the floor soundlessly and he wastes no time.

He crosses the rest of the distance in a single stride, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist.

It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate. Like he was punishing you for staying away. Like you were punishing him for letting you.

You melted into it anyway. Because you didn’t come for the hoodie.

You came for this.

-

It didn’t change.

Even after all this time: weeks of distance, of pretending it never happened, of triple dates and fake smiles and sleeping in separate beds…it still hadn’t changed.

You and Lando were right back where you started.

Back to silence thick with want.

Back to tension disguised as indifference.

Back to hooking up in secret like it didn’t mean anything.

But it did. God, it did.

You had told yourself it would be different this time. That avoiding each other meant you were finally doing the right thing. That letting him go would mean letting this go, the late nights, the whispering moans muffled into his mattress, the lingering touches that felt too much like wanting.

But here you were.

Back in his bed.

Back in the dark

Back in his arms.

Hooking up in secret like it didn’t matter.

Like your hands didn't shake when they touched him.

Like his mouth on your skin didn’t ruin you every time.

His mouth hot against your neck, your fingers fisting the sheets like they were the only thing tethering you to sanity.

You had tried to stay away. You had tried to be good. But when his hands found your waist and he kissed you like he needed you, every reason, every rule, every line blurred until it vanished.

“Fucking christ,” he whispers against your skin, voice low, like he even hated that this felt so right.

Your nails dug into his shoulder. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know,” He murmurs, breathless, forehead pressed against yours. 

“Tell me you missed it,” he rasped, lips dragging down your throat, his voice already wrecked. “Tell me you still fucking want me.”

You gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “You already know I do.”

He groans, low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. His hands were everywhere. Your thighs, your ass, the back of your neck…gripping, pulling, desperate like he was trying to commit you to memory.

Clothes came off in frantic, uneven tugs. His mouth found yours again and again, each kiss dirtier, deeper, messier than the last.

“This means nothing,” you whisper between kisses, your voice shaking as his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties.

“Bullshit,” he breathes against your mouth. “You feel like mine.”

And you did.

Right then, you did.

Because Lando touched you like he owned you.

Fucked you like he was trying to erase every other man from your body.

Kissed you like he was starving for something he’d been denying himself for too long.

And when it was over, when your bodies were tangled in the sheets, skin flushed, and slick with sweat, chests rising and falling in sync. You didn’t say a word.

-

The door doesn’t just click shut behind him, it slams, rattling the walls and sending a violent tremor through your chest. The sound rings in your ears, sharp and final, like the crack of a gunshot.

The silence afterward is deafening.

Your breath comes in short, jagged bursts, chest heaving like you’ve just sprinted a mile. Your fists are balled at your sides, nails digging so deep into your palms you’re almost positive you’ve broken skin. But the sting doesn’t register. You’re too far gone.

The anger is molten in your veins. It scorches. It consumes.

How dare he?

How dare he look at you like that? Say that to you? Act like you’re the one who’s done something unforgivable. Like you betrayed him. Like you stabbed him in the back just for having a fucking conversation with another guy at an event you didn't even want to go to in the first place.

“If you want to whore yourself out to the world, be my guest. It’s not like we’re together anyway.”

The words slam into your skull like they’re on repeat, looping endlessly, cruel and cutting and so beneath him.

The inside of your mouth tastes like blood from biting your tongue too hard. Trying not to scream when he said it, trying not to cry.

But now?

You want to throw everything in sight. Smash every glass, every plate, everything that he’s touched. You want to tear apart the sofa where he kissed you last week like it meant something. You want to rip your own skin open just to let the fury out. 

Instead, you reach for the closest thing.

A glass on the counter.

Heavy. Clear. Innocent.

You barely register your arm moving before you hurl it at the wall with everything you’ve got.

The sound is instant. Shattering. Violent.

Glass explodes across the hardwood like a thousand tiny pieces of your own rage, catching the light as they scatter, beautiful and broken.

But it’s not enough.

The ache in your chest is too deep. The burn in your throat too raw.

You move. Fast. Pacing the kitchen like a wild animal, hands raking through your hair, pulling, scratching at your scalp as if you could dig the fury out from under your skin. But it lingers. It festers. 

It builds

Because how fucking dare he?

He just wanted to be the victim. Wanted to twist it into something that made you the villain. As if he hadn’t been the one who pulled away the second things started feeling too real.

Your eyes sting—but no tears come. You won’t let them.

You face faster, chest tight, heart racing. The apartment feels too small, too suffocating. And underneath all the rage, all the fire—beneath the storm you’ve become—there’s something else.

Buried deep. Almost too deep to recognize.

A sliver of something raw. Something real.

Hurt.

Because for all his flaws—all the fights, the secrecy, the push and pull—you wanted him. You still do.

And now, all you can think is:

If he wants to believe you’re some villain in his story—

Maybe it’s time you start acting like one.

-

The club is a mistake.

But right now, you want to make mistakes.

You want to be reckless. You want to be wild. You want to be seen.

The bass pounds like a heartbeat, steady and hard, syncing with the blood roaring in your ears. The room is alive—neon flashes streak across sweat-slicked skin, strangers press against each other like they’re starving, and the air smells like spilled drinks and something sweet and desperate.

Its the perfect place to forget.

Or pretend to.

Your dress clings to you like it was sewn on, your make up still flawless despite the storm you barely survived earlier, and your glass is already half-empty, liquid courage numbing the parts of you that ache too much to name.

You don’t think. You just move.

The guy with a sharp jawline and the too-easy smile finds you on the dance floor, and you let him. His hands slide down your waist, anchor you to the rhythm, and you let yourself fall into it. Not because you want him. Not really.

But because you know exactly who is watching.

Leaned against the bar like he owned the night. Curls a little messy, sleeves pushed to his elbows, his shirt carelessly unbuttoned just enough to make you burn.

Sofia tucked into his side like she belonged there.

Her hand on his chest. His smirk. His laugh.

You nearly choked on it.

Because it wasn’t just a random girl. It was her.

And he looked like he was enjoying it. Like he hadn’t just stormed out of your apartment, like he hadn’t called you something cruel and cold and unforgivable.

Like you hadn’t spent the last two weeks trying not to cry every time someone mentioned his name

Fine.

You can play that game too.

You turn toward the stranger, lips brushing the shell of his ear, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt like a scene pulled straight from a revenge fantasy. His hands skate lower. His mouth finds your jaw.

But your eyes stay locked on Lando.

And he’s watching.

You can see it from across the room. The way his jaw clenches. The way his drink stills in his hand. The way Sofia keeps talking, oblivious, while his eyes are glued to you like you’re gravity itself.

You lean into the stranger’s mouth, laugh at something he says even though you don’t hear a word. You press your body closer, let his hands wander.

And Lando snaps.

You see it in the twitch of his brow. The way he straightens. His drink hits the bar a little too hard, liquid sloshing over the edge. He says something to Sofia…quick, dismissive. She frowns. He doesn’t explain

He’s already walking.

Straight toward you.

Your breath catches, but you don’t back down.

Lando’s chest collides with yours before he even says a word, a hand curling around your wrist as he yanks you, gently, but firmly, away from the guy, who looks like he’s about to protest until he sees Lando’s face.

“Don’t,” Lando mutters over his shoulder, eyes never leaving yours. “She’s not interested.”

-

This wasn’t forgiveness. This was combustion.

The bass of the club still pounded behind you like a heartbeat, muffled now by the thick walls of the dim hallway Lando had all but dragged you down before pushing you into the private lounge. Your back hit the wall hard enough to rattle the frame of the private lounge door, but you didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe.

He stood in front of you, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile, his hands braced on either side of your head, trapping you in. Not physically. Emotionally. Because it was always like this with him. His presence bigger than his body, his silence louder than any scream.

He was staring at you like he didn’t know whether to kiss you or tear you apart.

And you felt just the same.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” you hissed, voice shaking with the fury that had been burning in you since the moment he’d walked into the club like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t ghosted you for two weeks, like he hadn’t looked you in the eye and accused you of being disposable.

Lando’s jaw clenched, his eyes dark and dangerous in the low light. “Don’t.”

“No. You don’t get to stand here and act like I’m the one who crossed a line,” you spat. “You left. You disappeared. You brought her like I meant nothing. And now you’re pissed that I danced with someone else?”

His breath came faster. You saw it. The flicker of guilt, of pain, of jealousy he didn’t know how to hide.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he said, voice rough, almost hoarse. “I was angry. I said it because I knew it would hurt.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well. Mission accomplished.”

His hands slammed against the wall, framing your face but never touching you, and you hated how it made your heart stutter. Hated that even now, even when you wanted to slap him across the face, your body still leaned into him like muscle memory.

“You think it didn’t kill me?” he growled, his voice low and guttural. “Watching him touch you? Watching you pretend like I didn’t exist?”

“You don’t get to say that,” you snapped, eyes burning. “Not after what you said. Not after two weeks of silence. You can’t just show up and expect me to—”

“I didn’t know how to talk to you,” he cut in. “I didn’t know how to look at you and not fucking want you.”

The confession hit like a thunderclap.

Your breath caught, and the weight of everything unsaid; every word buried under bitterness and pride—rose to the surface, choking the air between you.

Your voice cracked. “You think this is just wanting?”

Lando didn’t answer.

He stepped forward instead, one hand curling around your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he couldn’t help himself. His forehead dropped to yours, breath hot against your mouth.

“I hate this,” he whispered. “I hate how much I still want you. I hate that I can’t get you out of my head.”

“Then walk away,” you whispered back.

But he didn’t.

He kissed you.

It was fire. All teeth and desperation, mouths crashing together like neither of you cared who got hurt in the process. His hands were on your waist, sliding under your dress, gripping your hips like they were familiar territory…because they were.

Your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging hard, earning a low growl from his throat as he pressed his body into yours.

Clothes were tugged aside, not removed. This wasn’t soft. This was reckless. This was months of frustration and fury and ache pouring out in frantic touches and bruising kisses.

He hoisted you up against the wall, your legs wrapping around his waist, your back arching into him as his mouth moved to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmured, voice ragged and low, the words slipping from his lips like a dare, like he already knew you wouldn’t.

His breath was hot against your cheek, his hands trembling slightly where they held you like you were something breakable. And for the first time in weeks, you saw it.

The fear. The want.

The truth he had tried so hard to bury under anger and distance and pride.

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

Because you did feel it.

You always had.

Instead, you reached for him, fingers curling around the back of his neck as you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. The space between you vanished, not just physically but completely, like there had never been a single inch there to begin with.

Your voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper. “I never stopped feeling it.”

Lando exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months. His eyes fluttered shut, and you felt the tension in him loosen, melt, unravel. His hand slid up your back, holding you tighter, anchoring himself to you like he didn’t trust this to be real.

“You scare the shit out of me,” he said quietly. “You make me want things I told myself I wasn’t allowed to want.”

You smiled, small and soft, but real. “Then stop pretending you don’t want them.”

That was all it took.

He kissed you again, but this time it wasn’t desperate or punishing. It wasn’t angry or messy or anything born from frustration. It was slow. Careful. Like he was learning you all over again. Like he finally understood what it meant to have you in his arms.

Like he didn’t want to lose it this time.

And you let yourself fall into it.

Because for the first time, it didn’t feel like running.

Or hiding.

Or a mistake waiting to happen.

It felt like home.

[ditzydoe444]

Agegap jason todd with innocent whiny reader. Rough sex pls, like disgustingly rough. also obsessed/PERVY Jason todd

MDNI 18+

a/n: the mention of the cuffing was from smth i saw on x but i don’t remember the link

jason todd was significantly older than you, the big muscular brooding mechanic working at the small town’s garage. you grew up in an extremely sheltered environment, but there was just something about being around and touched by a man who was older and more experienced that did something to you.

“didn’t know a girl as prim and proper as you wanted to get fucked this badly,” jason grunted as he thrusted deep inside you. you knew jason had no business fucking you like an animal in heat, but the moment he caught you pathetically humping your pillow you couldn’t help but to beg him to fuck you.

“jacey your so big,” you whined as you gripped onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he had you in a mating press.

he had cuffed your wrists to your ankles with some sort of hand cuffs, making you spread your legs even wider, and not being able to close them.

“you can take it big girl, you were so god damn horny when i caught you humping your pillow i’m pretty sure you’ll be fine.” he grunted as he watched his fat cock disappear into your pink swollen folds.

“i knew this pussy would be good to me,” he groaned at the sight of the small bulge on your stomach, a visible reminder of the size difference between you two and how deep he was in.

jason’s gaze dropped to the bulge on your tummy, just another visual reminder of the size difference between the two of you.

“j-jacey ‘m gonna come!” you moaned at the sudden pressure on your lower stomach from him. you always came so god damn easily, just a few pathetic humps and you were coming with tears down your face.

“coming so quickly? i’ve barely fucked you yet sweet thing.”

you couldn’t even respond, your eyes were shut tightly as you bit your lip from screaming just from the sensation of him hitting so damn deep.

jason’s voice lowered, “look at me sweetheart,” his tone was sharp, sign that he wasn’t going to ask for a second time.

but you were so far gone you couldn’t even understand what he said, making pathetic noises ‘n-nngh’ and ‘m-mmph!’

“sweetheart, open your eyes,” he said once again.

you felt his hand grab your chin after you ignored his comment, making your eyes widen. “keep your damn eyes on me ok? or i’m going to edge you for the whole fucking night.”

you nodded, tears welling up in your eyes from how hard he was going.

“after you come on my cock i’m going to fuck your mouth so you can taste your cum, that alright with you sweetheart?”

“yes jay” you whined his hand slipped from your chin to your neck, choking you.

jason had dreamt about this for the longest time, fucking his neighbour that was far too young for him and too innocent. he has done the filthiest things to you, secretly talking your panties and jerking off to them, and taking your clothes just to smell them.

you were a god damn mess, tears running down your cheeks, hair all messy and cheeks all flushed.

“ ‘m close jacey,” you squirmed as his thumb rubbed your swollen clit harshly, abusing it.

your eyes widened from the sensation you knew all too well, you were going to squirt if he continued. “stop! ‘m gonna make a mess!” as you tried to swat his thumb away from your clit, only to have him slap it and push down on it roughly making you wince and whine even more.

“m-mmph!”

“don’t ya dare fucking push me away, you make a mess by squiring you make a damn mess, own up to it.”

the moment jason squeezed your stomach you came, hard.

you were a squirting mess.

“didn’t know you were a squirter sweetheart,” jason chuckled as he pulled his cock out of your cunt, it covered in your cum.

“gonna let me fuck your mouth?” his eyes glued to your pink swollen lips, the pink sparkly gloss you usually wore smeared.

you nodded eagerly, you’ve always had your secret thoughts about how you would suck him off seeing how he would man spread whilst working and just having you on your knees.

“yes jacey.”

as jason repositioned himself, allowing him to find the perfect angle to fuck your mouth as he made you kneel on the edge of the bed whilst he stood, he pushed his thumb in between your lips. the cuffs that were on you were quickly discarded and thrown to the pile hjs clothes on the floor.

“open.”

you complied, not willing to push jason more than you already have, the moment you parted your lips one of his hands gripped your chin before he spat in your mouth.

“now spit on my cock sweetheart.”

jason’s hands held up your hair, making a makeshift pony tail as you spat on his cock, before bringing his tip to your mouth.

you wasted no second before you took him in, your mouth stretched so damn wide you were convinced your jaw was going to lock.

jason thrusted into your mouth, making you gag as he hits the back of your throat. “taste your own cum hm sweetheart?” he cooed as he watched your tears stream down your face.

you hummed, the vibrations going up his length as he held onto your head tightly as he fucked your mouth like it was your cunt.

“aren’t ya the sweetest thing hm? letting me fuck your mouth.”

jason has been fantasising about this for the longest nights, and now he finally had you on your knees taking his cock made him feel like a teenage boy having sex for the first time and coming so damn easily.

you were so eager to please him, taking him fully to the point where your nose brushed against his pubes and how your fingers were stuffed up your cunt at the same time.

it wasn’t long before came, filling your mouth with his hot salty cum. though, it didn’t stop him, he continued to thrust into your mouth making you gag and have his cum dribble down your chin.

“fuck, let me come on your pretty face too yeah?” he hissed as he pulled his cock our, jerking it a few times before coming all over your face.

“you look so good with it all over your pretty little face sweetheart,” he cooed softly as his hand gently caressed your chin, “let me do it a second time?”

[moonstruckme]

Inspired by this adorable fic by @inkdrinkerworld <3

cw: hospital, mention of surgery, reader has a fear of anesthesia/being unconscious

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 940 words

You wish that stupid heart monitor would stop exposing you to everyone in the hospital wing. 

“You’re fine.” James rubs his palm over your heart consolingly. “Deep breaths.” 

You inhale, and he does it with you, you feel his chest expand against your back. James got into bed with you soon after you got here, when you wouldn’t stop trying to get up and pace the room. After your IV was put in, Sirius threatened to sit on you if you tried to get out of bed again. James is a nicer compromise. 

“This is so stupid.” Your exhale comes out in a disbelieving huff. “I don’t even have to do this.” 

“Dove, you’re already here,” Remus reasons. “You’ve come this far, let’s just see it through. You’ll be alright.” 

Truly, you’re not sure how you wound up here. When your doctor recommended you for surgery, you said you’d think about it, but you were lying. You knew it, your boyfriends knew it, your doctor probably knew it too. Going under was something you had no intention of ever, ever doing. You didn’t know if the problems you were having would persist without the recommended procedure. You almost didn’t care. The one thing you knew for absolutely sure was that you did not want it to happen. 

And yet, it began to. All it took was one evening of lovingly made hot cocoa and sweet-talking from James to get you to set up the appointment. From there, the date marched continually closer, and all your boyfriends had to do was keep you from backing out. To their credit, they’ve had extraordinary follow through. Suddenly you find yourself in a hospital bed waiting for a surgery you could swear wasn’t going to happen. 

“You don’t even have to stay the night,” Sirius says. He’s sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs against the wall, undeterred by the plastic arm digging into his thigh. “We’ll have you home by dinnertime. Focus on that, doll.” 

“I want to be home now,” you mumble. You know you’re acting childish, but you’d rather gripe than cry, and the way you’re feeling those are your only two options. “Are we sure I can’t be awake?” 

“You don’t want to be awake.” James kisses behind your ear. “It’s quite bloody. You’d think it was gross.” 

“Don’t scare her,” Remus cautions quietly. 

You talk over him. “I’d rather be grossed out and know what was happening.” 

Sirius leans forward to grasp your hand, shushing you. “You already know what’s going to happen, baby. We’ve been over the whole thing. Do you want to hear it again?” 

“No.” In truth, hearing about the procedure had grossed you out. But that’s not your main issue. Tears prick your eyes. 

“Hey,” Sirius says softly. His thumb runs over your knuckles. “You’re okay. You’re going to be just fine. Home by dinner, remember?” 

“I just… “ You pull in a wavering breath. “I really don’t like the idea of being unconscious while people poke and prod at me, and I can’t wake up. It freaks me out.”

“No one is going to poke or prod at you.” Remus is leaning his forearms on his knees, eyes honey soft. “It’s a routine procedure. They do it all the time, it’s their job.” 

“I’d just feel better if I could be awake.” 

“It’d be so much scarier if you were awake. This way, you only go to sleep, and the next thing you know it’s done.” 

“That’s the worst part, though. It’s not like I can wake up even if I want to. I’ll be completely helpless.” 

“Sweetheart, no one is going to hurt you.” 

“I know that.” 

“Are you sure?” he asks gently. 

You shut your eyes, tipping your face down as tears start to drip from your nose. 

“Baby,” Sirius coos. His fingers feel cool against your cheek, cupping so he can kiss between your brows. James hugs you tighter. “Oh, shh, shh. I’m sorry you’re so scared, sweet girl. It’s really not so bad as you’re thinking.” 

“Can you come with me?” you whisper. It’s not the first time you’ve asked, but you’re hoping this display of obvious patheticness will sway things in your favor. 

“You know we would if we could, doll. They’re really strict about who’s allowed in the room.” 

You nod, taking in a ragged breath. 

“We’ll be with you until you go in,” James offers, “and as soon as you wake up. You’ll get to meet your anesthesiologist before, too. Her name’s Kara, she’s a sweetheart.” 

That James knows the person trusted with putting you out does comfort you some. He pats your chest with his hand over your heart, gentle and rhythmic. Slowly, it lulls yours into complaisance. Your heart monitor stops its ratcheting. 

“Breathe.” James exhales slowly. “We won’t let anything happen to you. You’re in good hands, angel, I promise.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, opening your sore eyes. “I know I’m being crazy.” 

Sirius is squatting by your bed now. He tuts, quick to right you. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’re scared, it’s fine. I wish you weren’t because it’d be easier for you, but it’s not your fault.” 

“You’ll feel better once you’re in there,” Remus promises. “Really, lovely, it’s so much less daunting than you’re imagining it to be. It’s going to go by so easily. And then we’ll be with you, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you sniffle. 

“What do you think?” James presses his cheek to your ear, pleasantly warm. “You think you can go an hour without us? You’ll be okay?” 

You make a low, reluctant sound. “Maybe.” 

“There’s our girl.”

[rafecameronssl4t]

Please and au where forced marriage rafe gets jealous over the reader when a guy his age flirts with her at a ball or an event 🙏🙏

Little miss perfect || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: Got a bit carried away with this one but it was funnn thank you for the request :)

Warnings: angst galore is all i gotta say

Word count: 2,470

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

Divider by @h-aewo

Your hand reached out instinctively, resting gently on his bouncing knee, hoping to calm the restless energy radiating off him. Rafe’s eyes flicked over to you briefly before he turned his gaze back out the car window, the tension in the air palpable. “I really wish you’d have told me about this party sooner,” he muttered, the frustration clear in his voice.

His words came out sharper than you expected, cutting through the silence that had settled between you. “Instead of springing it on me an hour before it starts.” A scoff escaped your lips as you began to defend yourself. “It slipped my mind—” “Oh, really? It slipped your mind?” Rafe’s voice dripped with sarcasm, his eyes narrowing as he shot you a condescending look. You felt a wave of irritation rise, matching his intensity.

Your gaze shifted to the driver, catching his eyes in the rearview mirror, and with a sigh, you reached for the button to raise the privacy barrier. “I don’t know why you’re freaking out,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration as the barrier slid into place, separating you from the driver. “It’s just a party.”

His head snaps back towards you, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s never just a party with you,” he mutters, his words dripping with resentment. You furrow your brows, confusion and anger flaring as you stare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap, your voice sharpening with the tension between you.

Rafe purses his lips, eyes narrowing as if debating how far he wants to push this. The silence that follows is suffocating, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. “It means,” he finally says, his voice low and edged with frustration, “that nothing is ever simple when it comes to you and your family. Every event, every party, 'it’s always a show—a performance to keep up appearances, to impress everyone with how perfect everything is.”

You stiffen at his words, your grip tightening on your lap as the sting of his accusations digs deep. “That’s not fair, Rafe,” you say, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “You know how my family is. This is what they expect.” He leans closer, his gaze locking onto yours with a piercing intensity.

“And you just go along with it, dragging me into their mess. I’m always the one left dealing with the fallout when things don’t go according to plan—when your mother’s not satisfied or when your father makes some backhanded comment about how I should be more like William or Edward.”

“That’s not true,” you insist, your voice firmer now. “I don’t ask for these things. I don’t want to be put on display any more than you do.” “Then why the fuck does it keep happening?” he shoots back, raising an eyebrow as if daring you to argue.

“You think I don’t notice how you still try to please them? How you let them pull the strings, even when it makes us both miserable?” A flicker of doubt crosses your mind, but you push it aside, shaking your head. “They’re my family, Rafe. It’s not that simple. You know that.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms as that bitter smile fades into something colder. “But I’m tired of playing this game. Tired of being a pawn in their world, in your world.” His words hang in the air, heavy and final, leaving you to grapple with the uncomfortable truth between you.

~

The car pulls up to the grand estate where the party is being held. The opulence of the surroundings doesn’t faze you—after all, you grew up in places just like this—but tonight, it feels more like a prison than ever before. The driver steps out, opening the door for you.

You glance at Rafe, his expression now guarded, the bitterness from your argument still simmering beneath the surface. Without a word, you both step out of the car, the cool evening air brushing against your skin as you take in the sight before you. The estate is alive with activity, guests arriving in elegant attire, laughter and conversation already filling the night.

It’s all so familiar, so routine, yet tonight it feels like a burden you’re forced to carry. Rafe adjusts his tie, his movements stiff, before offering you his arm. It’s a formality—something expected of the perfect couple you’re supposed to be. You hesitate for a fraction of a second before slipping your arm through his, the fabric of his suit jacket smooth under your fingertips.

Inside, the grand foyer opens up to reveal a sea of faces, all turned towards you with polite smiles and approving nods. You recognize many of them—family friends, business associates, people who have known you since you were a child. You’ve mastered the art of small talk, of charming smiles and witty remarks, but tonight it all feels hollow.

~

As the evening wore on, you and Rafe went your separate ways. It was as if an unspoken truce had been called; a mutual understanding that distance was preferable, at least for now. Rafe, much to his dismay, was intercepted by your two older brothers, William and Edward.

They were the picture of effortless charm, their laughter and easy smiles masking the razor-sharp edges of their true selves. They clapped Rafe on the back, offering him a drink, and he had little choice but to oblige, though he felt the weight of their scrutiny with every sip of whisky he took.

The conversation flowed easily—discussions of business, shared acquaintances, and subtle digs that only someone in the family would catch. The three of them stood as a formidable trio, their presence commanding attention from those around them, yet Rafe felt a gnawing discomfort.

Across the room, Rafe watched you, your every step calculated yet graceful. The elite socialite you had been raised to be was on full display, your smile radiant as you captured the attention of everyone you passed. Men and women alike found themselves drawn to you, eager to exchange pleasantries, to laugh at your witty remarks, to bask in the glow of your charm.

You were the embodiment of everything your parents had groomed you to be. Rafe, drink in hand, watched you from a distance, his gaze narrowing as he observed the way you held the room’s attention with such effortless ease. It was both mesmerising and maddening.

Your brothers’ voices became a dull hum in the background as Rafe's focus shifted entirely to you. You were laughing now, a light, melodic sound that reached his ears even across the crowded room. The source of your amusement was a man standing far too close, leaning in to whisper something in your ear.

Rafe felt a sharp pang of irritation as he watched you tilt your head slightly, allowing the man into your personal space, your smile bright and unguarded. The proximity between the two of you sent a surge of jealousy through him, a bitter taste mixing with the whisky on his tongue. “Rafe?” William’s voice cut through his thoughts, drawing his attention back to the conversation at hand.

“Hm?” Rafe blinked, momentarily disoriented. “I was saying,” William continued, an amused glint in his eyes, “that you seem a bit distracted. Something on your mind?” Rafe forced a tight smile, taking another sip of his drink to buy himself a moment. “Just taking it all in,” he replied, his tone light, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. Edward raised an eyebrow, exchanging a knowing look with William.

“Don’t let it get to you, Cameron,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “This is just the way things are in our world. You’ll get used to it. Especially since you’re married to my sister and part of the family.” Rafe’s grip tightened around his glass, his eyes flicking back to you. The man had said something else, and you were laughing again.

He could feel the heat rising in his chest, a mix of anger and something darker, something that had been festering since the day he’d agreed to marry into your family. “Excuse me,” Rafe muttered abruptly, handing his empty glass to a passing server. Without waiting for a response from your brothers, he began making his way across the room, his eyes locked on you and the man who had somehow earned your attention.

As he approached, he noticed how your posture changed—how you straightened slightly as if sensing his presence before you even saw him. The man, oblivious, continued to speak, but your laughter had stopped, your smile faltering as you glanced over your shoulder to find Rafe closing in.

“Rafe,” you greeted him, your voice pleasant but with a hint of apprehension. “I was just—” “Enjoying yourself?” he finished for you, his tone betraying the irritation he felt. His eyes flicked to the man beside you, who now seemed to realise that he was dangerously close to crossing a line.

You could feel the tension radiating off Rafe, and for a moment, the mask you wore so effortlessly began to slip. “We were just talking,” you said, your voice softer, trying to defuse the situation. Rafe didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he simply held the man’s gaze, the unspoken message clear. His lips were pressed into a thin, unamused line.

After a beat too long, the man cleared his throat awkwardly, offering a quick smile before excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd. The moment he was gone, Rafe turned his attention fully to you, his eyes searching yours for something you weren’t sure you could give him. “You really know how to work a room,” he said, his voice low, almost accusatory.

You frowned, the frustration you had been trying to suppress bubbling back to the surface. “That’s what you’re upset about?” you asked, your voice edged with irritation. “That I’m doing exactly what’s expected of me?” Rafe’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer, his voice low and tight. “Expected by who?” His question was pointed, his proximity forcing your chests to brush against each other, the closeness amplifying the tension.

You turned your gaze away, struggling to maintain your composure. “Your parents?” Rafe continued, his voice carrying an undercurrent of bitterness. “Or you?” The question hung in the air, laden with implications neither of you were fully prepared to confront. Before you could say anything more, a voice called out your name, pulling your attention away. Another guest, eager to engage you in conversation.

Rafe took a step back, giving you space to go back to your role, but his gaze lingered on you, the unspoken words between you leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “Go on,” he murmured, his tone resigned. “Do what you have to do.”

With one last glance at him, you turned and walked away, slipping back into the crowd, into the persona that was expected of you. And Rafe watched, the weight of your earlier argument pressing down on him as he wondered how much longer you could both keep up this charade.

~

As you engaged in conversation with one of the Carmichaels, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning, you found Edward's face set in a serious expression. “I think you should go to the foyer,” he said in a low voice, his tone laced with urgency. Confused but concerned, you excused yourself from the conversation, and Edward guided you through the crowd, his presence a silent support.

When you arrived in the grand foyer, your eyes widened in shock. Your mother stood by the railing, her stance rigid and her face a mask of fury. As she turned to face you, the anger in her eyes was unmistakable. The sight made your stomach drop. “What’s going on?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly as you approached her.

Without waiting for a reply, you followed her gaze over the railing. Below, Rafe was swaying slightly, a glass of whisky in hand, his eyes unfocused. “Ah! There she is, little miss perfect!” Rafe slurred, his voice carrying up to where you stood. He took another swig of whisky, his bleary eyes locked onto you. The mixture of embarrassment and anger made your cheeks flush red, and you felt a sting behind your eyes as a few onlookers turned to see what was happening.

Your mother’s disdainful scoff cut through the mounting tension. “Is he a grown man or a teenage boy? Keep your husband in line. This is an embarrassment!” she spat before turning on her heel and walking away, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. You felt a surge of anger and humiliation as you looked back down at Rafe in his disheveled state.

You made your way down the grand staircase, your heels clicking aggressively on the marble floor as you blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and distress. “Are you out of your mind, Rafe? Are you seriously trying to embarrass me—” You reached out to grip his forearm, but he roughly shoved your hand away.

“Oh, I’m embarrassing you?” Rafe retorted, his tone dripping with sarcastic bitterness. “Yes!” you fired back, your voice rising as the intensity of the moment escalated. The two of you stared at each other, the space between you charged with mutual frustration. Your chests heaved with heavy breaths, the argument pushing the boundaries of your composure.

“We’re leaving,” you declared firmly, brushing past him as the doors swung open. The brisk, cold air hit your bare shoulders, making you shiver as you hugged yourself against the chill. As you stood by the curb, waiting for your car to arrive, you felt a heavy weight draped over your shoulders.

Turning, you saw Rafe standing there, his jacket missing and his hands tucked into his slacks. You rolled your eyes in exasperation, brushing the jacket off your shoulders and letting it fall to the ground. When the valet finally arrived with the car, you quickly climbed in, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it with a decisive click.

Rafe’s hand grasped the handle as he tried to open the door, his expression a mixture of surprise and frustration. The driver, sensing the tension, hesitated. “Miss?” he asked with a note of uncertainty, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. “Drive,” you said coldly, not even bothering to look at Rafe. “He can find his own way home.”

You leaned back in the seat, trying to steady your breathing as the car pulled away, leaving Rafe standing alone on the cold, gravel driveway.

[fear-is-truth]

Hiiii! I love your writing so so much! Dunno if you take requests anymore but I need your opinion regarding this idea: Nam gyu and virgin reader. Bc I feel like he has this corruption kink going on and that he would be even more possessive knowing he s the readers first . Lemme me know what you think 💭 Have a lovely day 🫶🏻🫶🏻

warnings ┆ MDNI 18+．loss of virginity．f!reader．corruption k!nk． character study ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ·

oh, NAM-GYU is screwed. completely, irreversibly gone. you let him be your first. him. as if he didn’t already have a stranglehold on you before, as if he didn’t already feel that sharp twist of possessiveness every time you so much as breathed near someone else—now, it’s worse.

now, he’s gripping your chin and making you look at him as he presses deeper. oh, he knew you’d be tight—he’d thought about this many, many times, jerked himself off to the idea more times than he could count—but shit, he wasn’t prepared for this. for the way your walls squeezed around him like you were trying to wring the life out of his cock, for the kittenish little gasps you let out with every slow inch he pushed inside. you’re shaking, nails digging into his arms, like you don’t know whether to pull him closer or push him away.

he’s marking you, inside and out. carving the shape of his cock into your virgin walls so you’ll never forget. because that’s what he wants—you ruined, sore, aching from the stretch of him, carrying the ghost of his touch every time you so much as move tomorrow.

and fuck, that gets to him. more than the drugs.

“too much?” nam-gyu asks, but the smirk on his face tells you he’s enjoying this way too much. enjoying how your body is struggling to accommodate him, how every time he pulls out just a little, your walls clench around tighter like you’re begging him to stay.

“no, please don’t stop,”

despite your request, he knows should go slow, act like a gentleman (even though he is far from one). he forces himself to still, just for a second, just to give you a chance to adjust, but god, the way your plushy walls flutter around him makes his brain short-circuit. fuck, he can’t—his hips snap forward, just once, just to test how much more you can take, and when your head tips back and your lips part in a wrecked moan, something inside him breaks.

“you like that?” his voice is rough, almost mocking. “letting me ruin you like this?”

you nod, that dazed, blissed out look in your eyes, and fuck, the sight makes his stomach tighten, his cock twitch inside you, and his patience snaps. hips rut forward, burying himself in one brutal thrust, and you cry out. right hand shoot up, fingers wrapping around your throat. his thumb strokes idly over your pulse, feels it racing under his palm.

“fuck, you’re mine now, aren’t you?”

and when you finally manage to nod again, eyes glazed, lips trembling—when you whisper a breathless, “yes”—his hand slides down, fingers finding that sensitive little bundle of nerves between your thighs, and you jerk, a whimper spilling from your lips. slanted eyes narrow to slits; and the grin on stretching across his lips is wolfish.

you’re all his. his to ruin, his to keep.

character study ⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹

inferiority complex / possessiveness

nam-gyu isn’t exactly secure in himself. sure he acts like he is, but deep down, there’s this this constant feeling that he has something to prove. he hates feeling lesser, hates the idea of being compared, hates the thought of not being enough. so the fact that he gets to be your first? that’s huge for him. it’s a way to claim something entirely for himself. no one else has had you like this, no one else has touched you, no one else could compare.

power & control

he’s manipulative, he thrives on control. and this? this gives him so much control over you. he gets to teach you, to shape your experiences, to decide what you like and don’t like. he loves knowing that he is the one setting the standard, that whatever you experience first will be because of him. in the back of his mind, he knows that means you’ll always compare everyone else to him. and he’ll make damn sure no one will measure up.

corruption kink & ownership

has that specific kind of possessiveness where he wants to ruin you, but only for him. loves the idea that you’ve never done this before, that he’s the first to see you like this, to make you feel things you’ve never felt before. he gets off on the idea that he’s the one opening you up to these things, that he’s the reason you’re blushing, squirming, looking at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

insecurities & fear of loss

i feel like nam-gyu has this fear of not being enough. he’s afraid of being abandoned, of being replaced, of being forgotten. so the idea of being your first is comforting to him in a fucked up way. it gives him a kind of leverage—you’ll always have that connection to him.

ego & validation

he needs validation. he craves it, thrives on it. being your first means you’re naturally going to rely on him, trust him, look to him for guidance. it feeds his ego in the best possible way. he wants you to be a little shy & hesitant—because that means he gets to be the one to coax you through it, to hear you say his name like it’s the only word you knows. and if you’re nervous? he loves that, too. because he gets to reassure you, to play the role of someone dependable.

long-term obsession

this isn’t just a short-term power trip for him. in his mind, being your first means he’s ingrained in you. it’s psychological, a permanent stamp that ties you to him whether you like it or not.