sra7riddle-malfoy

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ what did you expect?

# pairings: yandere sugar daddy harem x sugar baby reader

# synopsis: eight obsessive lovers think they’re the only one—until their secrets collide. now, you’re trapped between devotion, danger, and the illusion of choice.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession and possessiveness. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI

# notes: reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated!

# parts: part 1 𖤓 part 2 𖤓 part 3

# tags: @hopingtoclearmedschool , @yawnzzx, @hasty-desert, @enchantingarcadecreation, @cannyyyyy, @lianobody, @bokkito, @lordkhrisangel, @kiyo123456789, @iris-arcadia, @sleepycow21, @agustdxjiminx, @theangxz, @plus-ultra-girl, @slowlyswimmingmoon, @whiteoakoak

you don’t move.

you don’t breathe.

you just listen.

the front door handle jiggles. the back one, too. your apartment is small—too small for this. for two men who shouldn’t know each other to be reaching for you at once, calling you baby like it means something different on their tongues.

you back into the wall, calculating. the money. the gifts. the lies. the men. you’ve always kept it separate—clean, compartmentalized. eight lives. eight masks. never crossing. never slipping.

but something’s cracking.

“just open the door,” says one—closer now, coaxing. elijah? no—lucas? they blur together in the panic.

“i saw the light on,” the other murmurs through the rear entrance. “you home, sweetheart?”

you inch toward the hallway. your mind races through excuses, through escape plans. one of them is going to see the other. one of them is going to know.

and then what?

the front door knocks again. harder. louder. not a request, now—a warning.

your phone lights up on the counter.

eight missed messages.

three voicemails.

your name repeated like a prayer and a threat.

they’re closing in, and they still think they’re the only one. still think you belong only to them.

but if this is the night the truth comes out—

you might not get to leave.

your phone lights up again.

another message:

“i know you’re in there. don’t make me wait.”

you don’t recognize the number. but the tone is familiar. possessive. low. someone who thinks waiting is beneath him.

your throat tightens.

the front door handle clicks. the back one rattles. your apartment feels like it’s shrinking, the walls pressing in with every second.

you don’t even have time to figure out which one is standing where.

all you can think about is the second bedroom elijah wanted to fill. the silk robe nathan said you’d grow into. the prenatal vitamins matthew left like it was the most natural thing. the way kai stares too long at your stomach. how xavier whispers to it like there’s already something growing inside.

your stomach twists.

you never agreed to anything. never promised forever. you gave them smiles and touches, laughter and attention—and they gave you gifts. trips. jewelry. money. enough to live comfortably, to stay just out of reach.

but now they’re all reaching.

the back door knob jolts violently. a voice, clearer this time: “you’re not answering. why aren’t you answering me?”

your fingers dig into the edge of the counter. your heart is racing. this isn’t normal. this isn’t love.

this is a trap.

a cage lined with velvet and diamond-studded handcuffs.

another message buzzes through.

“i saw him. who was he?”

your blood runs cold.

they’re watching. maybe more than one. maybe all of them.

you inch toward your bathroom, silently lock the door behind you. your fingers fumble for the window. it’s too narrow to crawl out of, but you crack it anyway—for air. for escape. for the illusion of safety.

your phone vibrates again.

“we were supposed to be forever.” “you lied to me.” “i’m outside. don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”

you slide to the floor, curling against the tub, breath shaking in your chest.

you’ve played this game so well.

smiled through dinners. laughed at their jokes. let them believe they were the only one. and maybe, for a while, it was fun.

but now?

now the game is over.

you’ve always known how to lie. how to perform.

but tonight, you’ll have to survive.

because one of them has found out.

and maybe—just maybe—they’ve told the others.

your knees press into cold tile.

somewhere outside, voices blur into one another—soft at first, like murmurs carried by wind, then louder. firm. insistent.

you don’t breathe.

two voices. not yelling. not yet. but the fury simmers beneath every word, masked only by the fact that they think they’re alone with you.

they don’t know about each other.

not yet.

and that window—the sliver you thought was escape—is now the perfect peephole. one of them paces by it, a familiar silhouette cloaked in tailored wool. you recognize the glint of his watch in the moonlight. lucas.

composed. deliberate. terrifying.

he’s not supposed to be here.

none of them are.

your phone buzzes again. and again. and again.

a dozen names. a dozen new messages.

where are you? are you avoiding me? i saw your lights on. i’ll wait all night if i have to. come outside, baby. please. i miss you. don’t make me come in.

a shiver rips down your spine.

you open your texts, hands trembling. a photo loads. grainy. zoomed in. taken from across the street.

it’s you. earlier today. unlocking your front door.

you never saw him.

another one loads. this time, through your bedroom window. you’re changing. your back to the glass.

you slam your phone face down.

this is spiraling.

they’ve been watching. waiting. marking time.

and now, they’re slipping. losing patience. showing teeth behind velvet smiles.

a soft knock—again. back door.

“i brought dinner,” someone says. sweet. calm. too calm.

matthew.

he always brings food. always watches you eat, like he’s studying your habits, waiting for signs. now, you wonder if he’s been dosing it.

your stomach flips.

you think of the vitamins. the tests. the new toothbrush that just appeared one morning in your bathroom—same brand as his. the silk sheets that mysteriously matched the ones in leo’s house. the second toothbrush. the tracking app you didn’t install.

your name echoes from the hallway.

not a question. a command.

“open. the. door.”

you flinch.

they don’t know they’re all here. yet.

but if they find out—if they see each other—what happens next won’t be about love. or even possession.

it’ll be war.

and you?

you’re the trophy they’ve all convinced themselves belongs to them.

you inch toward the closet. pull back the false panel you had installed months ago—just in case. it’s small, meant for shoes. cash. secrets. but it might buy you time.

you crawl inside the space.

the sound of a door opening echoes through your apartment.

but you never opened it.

you never said a word.

someone just let themselves in.

you press yourself into the farthest corner of the crawlspace, knees to chest, breath held so tight your lungs ache. the door creaks open—slowly. deliberately. like whoever entered doesn’t need to hurry.

your phone vibrates once more against your thigh.

you don’t look.

you already know.

footsteps now. one pair. deliberate. heavy. someone confident.

they don’t call out.

don’t ask for you.

they already know where you are.

floorboards groan. the closet is close.

you clamp a hand over your mouth. heart jackhammering. one wrong move and they’ll hear you breathing.

and then—

a pause.

no movement. no voice. just silence so thick it buzzes.

until another sound slices through it.

“they’re not answering you either, huh?”

a second voice.

your stomach drops.

they’re both inside.

“maybe they’re out.”

“they’re not.”

silence again.

“how do you know?”

“because their phone’s still here. and the lights are on.”

lucas. that calculating edge in his voice.

and elijah. smoother, but colder. too calm for someone this angry.

“who the fuck are you?” lucas asks, voice low, sharp.

“funny. i was about to ask you the same thing.”

you hold your breath.

“you’ve been watching them.”

“so have you.”

“don’t play dumb—why are you here?”

“same reason as you. they belongs to me.”

something slams. hard. a chair? a table?

you flinch.

“you don’t even know them.”

“i know everything i need to. and i know you’re in my way.”

they’re circling each other. measuring. two wolves in the same cage.

you stay frozen.

silent.

until—

another voice.

“both of you need to shut the hell up.”

matthew.

“they’re not a fucking toy you get to bicker over. they’re ours.”

the temperature in the apartment drops.

“ours?” lucas repeats, cold.

“you think they belongs to us?”

a pause.

“no,” matthew says. “i know they do.”

another voice. softer. hesitant.

nathan.

“…what’s going on?”

four.

four of them now.

you bite down on your knuckles to keep from making a sound.

the walls are closing in.

“they’ve been lying to all of us,” lucas says, sharp and sure. “don’t you get that?”

“and yet you’re still here,” elijah snaps. “so are you really mad? or just jealous?”

“jealous?” matthew scoffs. “i’ve already planned our future.”

more footsteps.

another knock.

“hey,” kai says from the hallway. “is something wrong?”

“you too?” lucas hisses.

you hear a breath hitch. kai.

“…wait. you’re all here?”

“no one invited you, kid,” elijah says, voice like steel.

“they didn’t invite any of us,” lucas snaps.

the air goes still.

“they’ve been playing all of us,” someone whispers. maybe nathan. maybe damien. maybe someone new.

“you shut your mouth,” leo growls. sudden. vicious. “don’t talk about her like that.”

“why?”

“because they’re still ours.”

“you really think they wants any of us?”

“they don’t need to want us,” damien finally speaks. “they need to understand.”

“understand what?”

“that this ends tonight.”

your blood turns to ice.

they’ve stopped talking.

and now?

now they’re moving.

together.

you hear the footsteps draw closer. eight sets. slow. united.

no longer fighting each other.

they’ve made a choice.

and you’re the one they’ve chosen.

your phone lights up one more time.

you should’ve picked one of us. but now we’ve picked you. all of us.

your breath catches.

you can hear them in your room now. feet shuffling. drawers opening. your closet door creaks.

you press yourself deeper into the hideaway, heart slamming against your ribs.

then—

a hand brushes the panel from the other side. gently.

and a voice.

“there you are.”

you don’t scream.

you don’t move.

you just stare as the panel starts to shift open—slow, deliberate.

but it’s not just one hand.

another one grips the edge from the other side.

and another.

and another.

different sets of fingers. different grips.

they’ve all found you. at once.

and for the first time all night, they’re not fighting each other.

they’re working together.

the last thing you hear—before the panel gives way completely—is a chorus of voices, soft and smiling, overlapping in perfect, practiced harmony:

“we forgive you.”

darkness falls as the panel opens.

and they reach in.

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

BURNT OUT - CHAPTER 2

batfam x neglected burnt out overachiever! reader

dividers: @saradika-graphics and @uzmacchiato (lmk if I forgot to do anything for your dividers!

a/n: im honestly a bit disappointed with this chapter, i think it doesn't show what i wanted it to show properly, and it wasnt proofread but whateverrr... ALSO advice appreciated!!

alfred's plan is coming into place.... dun dun dunn

prev. next.

Dick always thought he was a good older brother.

He attended parent-teacher meetings for Damian when Bruce was fighting Joker, he let Tim rant about the frustrating dead ends on a new case - hell, he even could get Jason to lighten up, through jokes and comforting pats.

So why couldn’t he recognise his little sister? Why didn’t he remember you performing on a stage, like these awards said?

He had been standing in his baby bird’s room since lunchtime. Dick fell asleep on your bed, wanting to remember your face - all his dreams were of you, of how young and innocent you used to be.

Were you still like that? Would you still look at Dick like he was the kindest soul you knew? 

It was terrible, he knew, how he couldn’t tell a stranger from his sister. Dick tried to recount all of the interactions he’d had with you, but all he could remember was when you first came - with that smile. That familiar bright smile that could light all of Gotham. 

But he couldn’t see that same smile in the photos. 

Dick really wanted to know which one you were, he really did! No matter how hard he squinted or sighed, no one was standing out to him. In every picture, there were at least 5 common faces. It was impossible to deduce who his baby bird was.

Maybe he’d keep waiting for you to come home. Where were you? You’d been gone all day! 

You didn’t leave him, did you?

No. You wouldn’t do that to him. Dick sighed. Maybe Jason knew. 

Dick remembered how close you and Jason used to be. He had to know. 

If he didn’t know, he’d bring up the matter at dinner. Someone had to be checking in on his baby bird! Dick pulled out his phone, scrolling until he found Jason. 

Jason zoomed through the city, his motorcycle roaring through the now-quiet streets of Gotham. He had just finished a mission, taking down a big drug operation that was on the down-low. As he rode through the streets, his phone started to ring. 

Dick. Dick was calling his phone. Jason ignored it the first time, planning to call him back when he was back at his apartment - but Dick just continued to blow up his phone, sending some texts that he couldn’t read since he was still riding. Jason pulled over, groaning as he answered the next call from him.

“Dick, I’m in the middle of something-” Jason complained into the phone. He was tired and just wanted to relax.

“Jason.” Dick cut him off, his tone worried. “Have you talked to Y/N recently?” 

Jason raised an eyebrow, concerned but still closed off. “No. Why would I? I haven’t been over much anyway. What’d she do?” 

Jason leaned back against a nearby wall, watching his surroundings carefully. 

“She didn’t do anything, it’s just-” Dick sighed, taking a breath. “I went to find her, and she’s not in the manor. I haven’t seen her around in a while, and I don’t think she’s been here in a while.”

Dick’s voice was a bit quieter now, almost regretful.

“Grayson, she’s around; you probably missed her. She might have gone out.” Jason suggested, softer now but still firm. “Have you checked her room?”

“Yep. She’s not here, but-” Dick answered, his brows furrowing. “Can you believe she sang? She even performed musicals and plays - I don’t remember any of it.” 

That caught Jason off guard, though he didn’t comment on it. After a moment of silence between the two, he spoke again. “I’ll come over. Tell Alfred to set another plate out for me, I’ll stay for dinner as well.

They both said their goodbyes before Jason hung up, sitting back on his motorcycle. Had you really not been seen? Jason knew you both hadn’t been close since he came back. It was better that way - so why did he feel like he missed out? 

Maybe more happened to you than he thought.

You lie in the hot sand, your swimsuit contrasting against it beautifully. The sun was bright, glowing like it could feel your emotions. You’d been sunbathing with your best friends for hours, talking about where you planned to go next. 

Last week, you and your friends had decided that a nice, warm vacation would be great, especially since your birthday was coming up. Yesterday, you celebrated with them. You didn’t have a cake, but being with your friends was enough. They had been close to you since you were in Gotham Academy, immediately clicking with you through personality and interests.

They knew how hard it was for you in the Batfamily, and how isolated you were to them. So, they became your family. They were like your sisters, even if not blood-related. 

Of course, you couldn’t just leave the manor without telling anyone; you’d feel terrible if Alfred had no idea where you were. So, you told him the day you and your friends decided to go on a birthday vacation. He agreed, of course, cheering you on. You were positive that the Batfamily wouldn’t notice you were gone - after all, they never had before.

So, you left for the vacation 2 days ago, one day before your birthday. It was amazing so far, and you knew Alfred would tell them if they truly needed to know where you were. 

You and your friends got changed into some comfortable but cute clothes to go out to dance at a nearby club. As you walked into the club, you smiled. Maybe you could start becoming more than just ‘the one who wasn’t trouble.’ You could be more than just Y/N Wayne.

Little did you know, back in Gotham, things weren’t going to be as smooth as you thought.

The Wayne Manor buzzed with chaos, everyone talking over each other. 

Dick had told the whole family about you and how he hadn’t seen you in a long time, and others started to realize the same. How they hadn’t had any interactions with you, weird or not. They hadn’t even seen you! 

After a few minutes of loud conversation about it, which was more like an argument, Bruce spoke up. 

“She couldn’t be far. Tim, when you’re done, check the cameras.” Bruce said, his voice firm and commanding. When Tim hurriedly went to stand, Bruce shook his head. “When you’re done. We need to think first; this may be a misunderstanding.”

Begrudgingly, everyone quieted down, seemingly in thought. When everyone finished eating, they headed to the living room, all back to talking about you. It wasn’t often they talked about you.

Alfred watched nearby, the gleam in his eyes hard to read.

Tim had gone somewhere else, seemingly to his office, to find some information. After about 5 minutes, he called everyone in. 

Bruce stood tall, though it looked like there were loads on his mind. He wasn’t this inattentive with his own daughter, was he? He was Batman! His entire life was to pay attention and strike back. 

Somewhere in the back, Steph and Cass stood, preparing themselves for the information to come. Tim’s tone had been hard to read, so there was no way of telling if it was good or bad news.

Damian huffed. This had to be a ploy for attention. A stupid one, at that. If it really wasn’t, he would be surprised. He didn’t think you were this pathetic. 

Despite his actions and face saying one thing, the worry in his stomach said another. His fist tightened by his side.

Dick was closest, Jason behind him with crossed arms.

On Tim’s monitor was a post from your social media. Seemingly a more secret one, considering none of them had seen it before.

The photo on the post had bright colored lights on the ceiling, with you and your friends toasting some alcoholic drinks. 

You couldn’t drink yet, you were too young! What were you doing at such a dangerous place?

The caption on the post made Bruce clench his fists. 

‘To my found family, the ones who listened during my dark times!’ 

The rest of the caption was tags to other people in the photo.

What did you mean, family? They were your family! Not those… replacements.

They’d make sure you realized that.

taglist hehe: @specklesreid @lovebug-apple @dubidumzy

(tell me if anything is spelt wrong in your tags!)

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

Finally finished this piece after months of reworking. Far from perfect, but I’m glad it’s done. Inspired by the amazing Bruno Redondo, Dan Mora, and especially Dexter Soy.

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

If you like DC and the Batfamily you have to read this.

Firefighter!BatSib!Reader x Yandere!Batfam - Blurb

I was reading this by @jellyfishmoon97 and remembered this little thingy I wrote for a neglected!Reader that became a firefighter and killed Joker one day.

Warnings: GN!Reader, no real Yandere themes atm, Joker gets killed but I wouldn't say it's too graphic

You didn't kill Joker for any malicious reason. He was in front of you and all you could think about was how lucky you were. Lucky you hadn't lost what you really cared about to him. You could've said it was revenge against Bruce for choosing Gotham over you. But, it wasn't. It was because you remember how nearly every person in Gotham had lost someone to the mad man. Explosives, death traps, hostage situations gone wrong, so much gas. Laughter always ringing out.

And you watched him. Bent and tied in a wire, laughing and laughing because he was going to get away again. It was a matter of time.

The rest of the family was putting an end to his latest plot. Leaving him tied in the custody of your fellow firefighters. No one stood close. No one wanted to be by the mad man.

But, your grip tightened on the Fireman's axe in your hand. A standard tool that you used to help rescue people. Now, it was the executioner's.

You wanted him to stop laughing. Not because it was driving you insane. But, because it was time to put an end to the mad dog's barking and howling before all the sheep were sent to the reaper.

No one thought to stop you as you approached him. In fact, most watched you with weariness for your own safety. Their fear of the clown too great.

He kept laughing. And, laughing, even as your shadow fell. When he finally looked up at you. You took a good long look at him. The wrinkles and laugh lines on his face. The fading makeup on his already pale skin. The grease in his dyed green hair.

He laughed at you. Until he saw your frown. A frown he had been desperate to see made into a smile each and every time he plotted against the great big bat.

He was going to comment on it. Call you some sort of firebird. But, then he saw your eyes. He never knew what Batman's eye color was. He didn't know if it was the same as yours. And, he never would.

With the sirens and the lights flashing there as a woosh in the air. Flesh being torn and splattered on the ground as you ran your axe through the side of his head.

You had half expected to be stopped. To have one of your long estranged family members swoop in and give you some spiel about justice and how you couldn't do this because the guilt was too much.

But, you saw that flicker in the Joker's eyes. That last moment of clarity when the madness subsided and he realized what was about to happen.

Everything was still after that.

Gotham's Clown Prince was finally dead. None of the officers around you moved to contain you. None of your fellow firefighters moved to pull you back. Not one the reporters even said a word as the city seemed to be stunned. There was no camera flash. No fan fare.

But, as you gently laid your executioners axe on the ground, you felt Batman's approaching you. Anger radiating from him.

You didn't bother to turn and look. You didn't care about the disappointment or rage he had. You felt no fear of him. You just stood over the corpse you just made and put your hands behind you head. Waiting for your impending arrest without saying a single word and without giving him a single glance.

A/N: Physical Therapy is kicking my ass. They just have me doing shoulder workouts and neck stretches. But, it still gives me a headache.

A/N: I'm trying to work on OMG Part 13 and Pregnant!Reader Part 6 at the same time to get them out back to back and give y'all something good.

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

I need a second part 🙏🙏🙏

The Night You Left

{!!SPOILERS!! SEASON 4 EPISODES 1-8}

[Rhys Montrose x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: After an argument that went wrong in many ways, you left your boyfriend in the dust. It was only later when you eventually found it to be the biggest mistake of your life.

WC: 675

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort (ish)

This one is super short, but I wanted to get something out before the weekend ended. So... enjoy!

『••✎••』

You couldn't even remember what the two of you were arguing about. One minute you were cuddled up on the sofa, watching a Disney classic, and the next you were both screaming like a bunch of banshees.

The anger you felt, which might have been unjustified, clouded your judgment and actions. At one point, you had a nagging feeling that you had gone beyond being violent and possibly had thrown his grandma's handcrafted vase at his head. It was a little fuzzy, but if you had, he must have been quick on his feet. You didn't recall seeing any blood.

At the end of the fight, which could have been hours or minutes, you stormed out with him at your tail. His begs and pleas for you not to go, his insufferable fists on the car door to get you to open up, and his demands that both of you worked out whatever it was, were the only things that came back to you.

Thinking back, you wished you had reopened the door. You wished you could have pulled him into a hug, forgiving him for everything, but your past self was a stupid idiot. A selfish, insufferable stupid idiot.

You drove off, purposely dusting him in the process, with not a care in the world. You figured he would call you later in the evening with apologies and flowers at your doorstep, but he never did. When guilt hit you, you attempted to call, but he never picked up, and Rhys always picked up when it was you.

The silent treatment went on for days, and your calls became more and more frantic.

The things you said, the things you believed you said, were not the things you meant. Of course, they weren't. You loved him more than anything, and you wanted to let him know that. If he was going to shove you out of your life, fine, but at least he should hear the truth from you.

It was then, two days later, that you found out he wasn't actually ignoring you. He couldn't call you because he was gone. Murdered. Slaughtered down in the woods like some animal. When you watched the news, your heart sank.

You felt numb like you couldn't breathe. Memories of your smiles and laughter from the early days of your relationship - the good times - surrounded your brain. His flirty personality that got you hooked, the British accent that made anything sound like Heaven, his absurd love for alcoholic beverages, the way he would prioritize forehead kisses over lip kisses, the smile he'd give you when you came into view, his hands... God, his goddamn writer hands...

The more you drank, the more he appeared in your apartment. The irony was that, although he was a figment of your imagination, he scolded you for drinking and reminded you it was his job, not yours. He would hold your hand, wipe your tears, and act as though he had never left. But in reality, he was never there.

From time to time, you still felt his lips hovering over yours, giving you the same tingly feeling you had always experienced. You believed it to be him staying around you, like the Patrick Swayze movie you used to watch together. He always hated it, but because you loved it so much, he tolerated it.

A few days after his body was found, and his funeral was held, new evidence suggested that some random, mentally ill college kid had murdered Rhys. It was hard to believe that such a pleasant and charismatic man like Rhys could be taken away so suddenly by someone who lived too much in their head.

After the article was published, explaining the whole ordeal, Rhys became forgotten by many. The man who was running for mayor was swept into the far abyss, and people moved on with their lives. But you were still drowning in your liquor.

You were drowning and the one person who could pull you up was gone. No one else cared.

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

The Devil's Tango

[Rhys Montrose x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: A certain professor is not very supportive of your relationship with the mayor-in-running.

WC: 2,741

Warnings: It's You... the show is warning enough.

The amount of people I see begging for an x reader of this man, and that no one had done it yet is actually hilarious. You would think after the first reveal, the whole fandom would jump at the sight of this man.

Though, realistically speaking, it's probably because he's one of those characters that are so hard to get right. Plus the fact that Part 2 didn't help in his favor at all.

I do plan to write more of him, so this is just a little tease if you will.

『••✎••』

“Hello, you.”

You jumped out of instinct, snapping your head towards the hoarse voice behind you. The chalk that you were currently using flew right out of your hand, soaring to hit the shadow that was now in front of you. Before it could hit your mystery stalker in the head, however, swift hands caught it just before impact.

“I… think you dropped this.” The sarcastic tone of an expired New Yorker made your fears fly away as your piece of chalk had. As you turned to meet the familiar brown eyes, you couldn’t help but give a slight smile.

“Oh, Jonathan,” You raised a hand to your chest, letting out chuckles in relief. “You scared me there, I wasn’t expecting anyone to visit at this hour.”

He stood in front of you blankly for a moment, as if someone had hit him with a “time freeze” superpower. You paid no mind to this of course, as it was a typical Jonathan Moore quirk. He clearly was very into his mind.

It almost reminded you of a certain… someone.

Jonathan snapped back to the present in no time with a soft, closed smile forming on his face. Within doing so, he handed you back your murderous chalk, before shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“Oh, no… no it’s totally my fault.” He apologized profusely, nudging his elbow towards the door. “The whole “not knocking” thing seems to be a nasty habit that only I can’t seem to get rid of.”

You nodded along to his apologies, despite already forgiving him the second you saw the familiar curls that fell down his forehead. It was pretty hard to hate the man that shared the same passion for poetry and was one of the professors that was teaching the same subject as you had.

“So, Jonathan,” you started, moving to lean your back against your desk. Your daily planner was down by your hips, along with the chalk. “What brings you to my classroom? Are you looking for some new recommendations?”

His face slightly faltered to the point where no normal, unobservant eye could witness it. The lip quiver, the slight wobbling of his left leg… they were all telltale signs of compressed emotions that an average joe wouldn’t think twice about — specifically, those who only knew the person on a surface level.

That wasn’t you, of course. You were observant to the point where it annoyed you. The constant paranoia that followed everyone’s movements practically ate you alive.

After a heap of silence, Jonathan sighed with his head facing downwards, his dark chocolate eyes refusing to look at you.

“It’s about Rhys Montrose.”

Your eyebrow raised in confusion at his words, your hands subconsciously resting on the desk, with your planner and chalk beside you. It was now you who had that blank daze.

“I…” You were absolutely speechless to the point where you could feel your jaw drop slightly. Jonathan knew Rhys? You’ve of course mentioned your relationship with Rhys to Jonathan himself, but you had no idea they had actually met. Honestly, you were still having a hard time believing that the nerd had met Lady Phoebe.

You straightened yourself, using your arms as leverage, as you looked at him with furrowed brows. “With how busy he constantly is now, I wasn’t even aware-“

“He’s not what you think he is.” Jonathan cut you off, his eyes shooting you to meet with yours. They were full of… worry?

“Jonathan, what are you—?“

His hands reached out to your shoulders, his body encasing you between himself and your desk. With every step he took closer to you, the more your eyes widened with confusion.

“You don’t know him, not like you think you do,” Jonathan whispered, “He’s a danger to society.”

You pulled his arms off of you, completely shocked by his tone. His phone buzzed as you looked at him bewildered, but he ignored his new text message. All he was focused on was you, just you.

“A danger to society? Jonathan, he’s just running for mayor.” You scoffed, turning back your attention to the chalkboard from before the librarian arrived. “You know, I didn’t take you for a man that’s into politics.”

“It’s not about fucking politics!” His hands slammed down on your desk. It caused you to jump, turning back towards the man only to find him mere inches from your face.

You tried to back away, but he pulled you right back in. “Jonathan—“

“You’re not listening!” His hands grabbed at your arms, his eyes darkened underneath the light you both stood under. “Rhys is a danger to society, he’s a danger to you.”

Jonathan continued to shake you and yell words into your ears, but everything around you went mute. The slightly muffled conversations from students down the hallways were silenced. You saw Jonathan’s lips moving, frantically, but you couldn’t hear. You didn’t want to hear.

“Jonathan, I think you need to leave.” You muttered to him coldly. It was a tone that would get anyone to stop and think, and he did just that. He paused, and it was then you gathered your strength and shoved him off of you for the final time. He stopped abruptly, his eyes questioning you.

He begged and pleaded with you to hear him out, but you refused. You refused to even glance in his direction. You were rarely an angry person, you usually kept it bottled up to come out in soft rants, but you were afraid if you said another word to Jonathan, you might just go ballistic to the point where you’d risk losing your valuable job, something you couldn’t afford to lose.

So, you told him to get out of your classroom once again and eventually he was forced to listen. He left when your familiar, upbeat students came pouring in one by one.

Despite the almost psychotic break dearest Jonathan had beforehand, class had gone rather smoothly for you. The students actually engaged with one another and focused completely on the short story at hand.

Not once had they gone off-topic. Then, of course, the devil shows up with a knock at your door, disrupting everything. It was one of the things you’ve hated the most, as you found it terribly rude, but your forgiving nature came into play when you realized it wasn’t the man you believed it to be. When you turned your head, it was Rhys who stood there with his hands crossed against his chest. He wore his signature suit and tie, which both complemented his figure and his eyes.

You gave him a slight smile in return, but the look he gave - the blue eyes devouring yours - had you following him outside the classroom rather immediately. You trusted your students enough to behave themselves.

Once outside the view of your students, Rhys gingerly wrapped his hand around your arm, guiding you to a secluded spot in the hallway that was sure not to draw attention. With Montrose's face being blasted everywhere as the mayor-in-running, it was hard finding privacy in public.

You were about to ask what it was that had him so upset to the point where he chased you down at work, but he beat you to it.

"Hello, darling," Rhys's voice sounded almost strained, tired even. It had been a while since you last saw him, not to mention that his friend Gemma had just recently become another victim of that so-called "Eat-The-Rich Killer," though Rhys had "admitted" that she wasn't his friend. If you recalled, he used the words, "Oh, piss off, you manky hypocrite" when he had last spoken with her. Still, the bags under his eyes suggested that he hadn't slept much the night before.

"Ah, nice to see you haven't changed your habits." Rhys covered his tiredness with a knowing smile as he gently leaned down to kiss the top of your head. "Maybe a psychology degree would be a better fit for you."

"Sorry," you apologized, looking slightly down. "It's just... not that I'm not glad to see that you're back, I really am, but are you okay? You look like you haven't slept for days, and you usually don't drop by the university unless there's a problem."

Rhys licked his lips, letting out a breathy laugh as he raised his hands to his hips. The tiredness in his eyes went away for a moment, resulting in him staring at you amusingly. A look that only took you a few seconds to realize you'd analyzed him once again.

You couldn't help but internally groan at yourself, but he only shot you another charming smile. It was one so enchanting that it made you swoon at the sight.

However, he eventually dropped that smile and sighed, caving into your concerns.

"I've had a long week," he confessed to you. "Oddly enough, I couldn't work my usual charm to get through to some... certain people, but I'm optimistic. Nothing a little persuasion won't fix."

"Me too, it's been a crazy morning." You agreed with a sigh. The incident with Jonathan within the previous hour was still fresh in your mind, haunting you to your core.

You never felt threatened by Jonathan, but as you recollected the scene, his body towering over yours with the desk blocking you from escaping. His arms held you, keeping you captive as he screamed about the man - the man who you loved with all your heart - wasn't the man you knew. That he was a façade, dishonest... an apparent danger to you.

Of course, you didn't believe Jonathan. You trusted Rhys with your life, but nothing about what Jonathan said sat right with you. He couldn't have known Rhys for more than six months, so why did he act as if he knew him better than you...

Rhys whispered your name, calling you back to face him. He was closer to you than he was before, with eyes that held his growing concern. As his hands gingerly reached out to caress your shoulders, you wanted to tease him about how he was now the observer, but you stayed quiet.

He didn't like that.

"Darling, what is it?" he pushed softly, his accent adding gentleness to his tone, "What happened?"

"It was… really odd," you muttered, your mind flicking back to your classroom, the way Jonathan's hands slammed down on the desk with sudden rage, how badly it made your heart skip a beat. "My coworker, Jonathan, he—"

Rhys cut you off. "You said, Jonathan?"

"Yes," you nodded.

"As in… Jonathan Moore?”

Huh, it seemed Jonathan wasn't lying to you about it after all. They really do know each other. The more you thought about it, however, made you wonder why Rhys never told you about him. He must have known you both worked in the same building.

You nodded to his question once again, lowering your eyes down toward the glassy floor beneath you. You didn't have to look at Rhys to know he was listening intently.

"Usually, Jonathan comes in to give or receive book recommendations, but today he was acting… really off," you glanced back up at him, as you began to quiver. "He was stating things about you, and shouting at me, and I… I don't know. It really threw me in for a loop."

Rhys' head snapped up at you like a lightning strike. His eyes no longer contained the concern he had held before. They darkened, as well as his voice.

"What did he say to you?"

"Something about how you were a danger to society, and apparently a danger to me," you shivered at the memory. "He shouted a lot of things really, but I canceled out the majority of them and threw him out, metaphorically of course."

Rhys mumbled under his breath. Unfortunately, it was something you couldn't quite pick up on. The only thing you could do was watch as he sucked on his tongue, making a face as though he was eating sour candy, before glancing up to meet your eyes again.

You stayed quiet, observing his newfound attitude. His jaw was clenched, with arms shifting towards the wall to encase you within them before letting his head fall and lean into you. He practically did what Jonathan did but with the wall instead of your desk, and despite the similarities, you weren't scared of Rhys. His eyes fluttered closed with his — now loosened tie — dangling out in front of you. His lips were only inches away from the base of your neck, and you couldn't help but take in his signature scent of grounded coffee grinds.

"Rhys," you whispered softly towards him, ruffling up his short hair slightly. He let out another sigh that unclenched his jaw and pushed himself closer to you. You couldn't help but notice how relieved he now seemed, letting out gentle, smooth huffs of air to take in the moment.

Unfortunately, as much as you'd like to stay like this — being you haven't had him for a week — you still had a class to teach. Regrettably, you forced yourself to peel away from his arms, whispering short apologies and promises to see him later.

You didn't look back as you retreated back to your classroom. Upon returning to your desk, you turned to see that every single one of your students either gave you a smirk or a knowing nod, and you couldn't help but threaten them with a pop quiz that you were positive they weren't prepared for. As expected, it shut them right the hell up.

Ah, the power of being a professor.

———

When Jonathan arrived home that night with his now empty red takeout bag, he couldn’t help but sense the feeling that he was being watched. His feeling turned out to be correct when he went to unlock the door of his apartment, only to find it already unlocked.

The professor froze momentarily, hesitating whether he should enter unarmed or retrieve a nearby weapon. But being in sight of absolutely nothing, he had no choice but to grudgingly step inside.

As expected, when closing the door behind him, the lights of his living room flickered on and within the light revealed the man he most desperately wanted to kill.

The unwelcome man sat on his chair like he owned the place. A martini resided in his hand as he gave a sarcastic smile. The yellow light mixed in with the fiery flames of the fireplace reflected the same unnerving expression.

“Hello, Professor Moore,” the man spoke with amusement as he turned to face the bearded killer. His accent had the falsified name rolled off in a tease.

The owner rolled his eyes as he dropped the bag he held down at his feet. His keys were put safely back into his pocket. He should’ve known this would happen.

“Despite how much I would love to carve out your marvelous attractive eyes,” the man stood up, swirling the drink in his hand as he approached the professor. “I have to admit, Joe, I underestimated your intelligence. I knew you were smart, since the very beginning mind you, but this was just… impressive.”

Joe ground his teeth. “What do you want with me, Rhys? Why are you even here?”

“Two things, really,” Rhys smacked his lips together, nodding his head as he looked down for dramatic effect. When he glanced back up at the professor, his amusing smile was gone. His hand stopped swirling the martini, keeping it eerily still, and his eyes darkened almost instantly.

“Remember what we talked about, Joe, with the replacement. I want it done within twenty-four hours. If not, as I said earlier, you’ll be going down for everything.”

Joe’s breath hitched as Rhys stalked closer to his body. The piercing blue eyes caused the professor to freeze in his thoughts, forcing him to watch for Rhys’ unpredictability.

“And if you ever come near my girl again,” his voice was ghostly, sending chills throughout Joe’s entire body. “I’ll be the one who throws your ass in the cage.”

As if he were a light switch, Rhys pulled his lips into a grin within seconds. In a calm manner, he forced his half-sipped martini into the professor’s hands before seeking himself out.

For the first time in a long time, Joe Goldberg felt uneasy.

*Rhys x reader being nonexistent on Tumblr*

Me:

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

Mr. Superman for the ladies

Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Masterlist.

Summary: Where you, preschool teacher, get the incredible Superman (aka your boyfriend) to come to your classroom for Jobs and Careers Day.

"Everyone say hello to Superman, kids," you smile at your class, which Clark only knows to be less than twenty children, all with huge, anxious grins glued to their desks.

If it were up to them, they'd all be clinging to the cape of the superhero who was sharing their classroom today, but of course you'd told them they had to behave extra-specially today, otherwise, Mr. Superman would be very sad!

Two nights earlier, you were with Clark at the kitchen table. You were drawing a smiley face on what looked like a sunburst while Clark occasionally let out a "Golly" under his breath every time he made a bad cut, just as he proudly showed you every time he made a good cut. That's what your Sunday nights were like: preparing supplies for toddlers and watching a YouTube tutorial on how to remove glitter from skin because Clark always ends up at least a little messy.

"The firefighter I had planned for the day of jobs and careers just canceled," you frown as you read the messages from the worker who excuses himself by saying he has something very important to do. "God, I already promised the kids this."

"You promised them to met a firefighter?" Clark raises an eyebrow with an amused smile.

"I promised to bring them someone with one of those jobs all kids like." You tug at your boyfriend's ear, smiling the same way he does. Clark just laughs. "But apparently all the police officers, firefighters, and doctors in Metropolis are busy."

You let out one last sigh and shrug. You'd apologize to the kids later of course, it would be hard to find a way to make it up to them, something so amazing as to make up for all the wonderful things you talked about in class about jobs like firefighters, police officers, and doctors with your kids.

Something as cool as Superman. God blessed you with an alien boyfriend with big ideas, and an equally big heart always willing to do anything for you.

There are children everywhere. Stepping on the boots, pulling at the cape, tugging at the superhero's fingers as if they're all fighting for his attention. Even kids from other classes are standing outside your classroom door, you know because you can hear the little voices saying, "Is that really Superman?" "I can't see him." "Don't push!"

"Hey, hey, one at a time." Clark would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the attention, and of course he enjoys being the hero to a bunch of kids in front of you even more—"Do you like soccer?" "Veggies?" "Dolls?"

"Superman came to talk to us about his work as the city's hero, kids," you raise your voice a little so all the kids could hear you. With a single sweet command, all the children return to their places "So let's behave, keep quiet, and listen to him, okay sweets?"

"Can Mr. Superman make us fly later?" The voice of one of your students is almost a plea, while the other children talk about how amazing it would be

"Maybe later, sweetie" You let out a chuckle, before taking a place next to your boyfriend in front of the board and smiling at him. "Mr. Superman, please let's talk more about you and your job."

Clark smiles at you and feels like grabbing your waist, but stops when he remembers the small group of under-fives in front of you. "Well, I think you all know my job," Clark puts on that heroic voice that always gives everyone goosebumps. The children answer in one voice

"Aren't you scared when those ugly villains appear?" A girl makes a worried face, clutching her backpack while the boy next to her rolls his eyes. "Don't be silly, Rachel. Of course he's not scared, only girls get scared"

Clark can't help but find the children's interaction funny, he shakes his head as he approaches the small tables where the children were. "Just between you and me," Clark crouches down as if to reveal his greatest weakness. "Sometimes it actually scares me."

"And what do you do when you're scared?" Another little boy, with hearing aids, asks, his eyes shining like the rest of the group's. Clark thinks for a few seconds before licking his lip and speaking almost seriously.

"I think about my family," Superman nods at the children. "I think about the people I love." This time his eyes shift from the children to you. You smile at him, before the children pull his cape back towards the playground.

The final activity is to draw a picture of what you want to do when you grow up. Once you're back in your apartment, with your folder full of your students' drawings, it's no surprise to see a bunch of children's drawings from your boyfriend. A girl with blonde pigtails holding Superman's hand, a boy with a soccer ball dressed as Superman, and even a drawing of Krypto on the moon.

When I grow up I want to be like Superman, so I can have super hearing.

When I grow up, I want to be like Superman so I can fly to my granny's house.

"Yeah, yeah, that's amazing baby" Rachel's mom repeated incredulously while Rachel told her about Superman in her classroom, and about how someone had seen Superman kiss the teacher in the hallway

Taglist: @starincarnated @angelicp0etry @yeonalie @lator-gators @starssfall @moomumu @chamorunsmiles @urlittleangelbaby @americanboz0 @mysticdinosaurpirate @spiidergwenn @sugarbutterbailey @pestoluvr8 @ilovemangoes444 @kaiparkerwife @qardasngan @animegamerfox @helloimamistake @rinapomu @chaoticroaddreamerpasta @ryomku @dreamlesssleepsaga @yzuposts @mickey-mouse-crackhouse1902 @j07lvrg @khxna @1wannab3inaband @wintersoldierenthusiastt @yyiikes @rosie-hao @psiiconic @httpstoyosi @lettucel0ver @scorpio-echo @iveofficiallylostmymarbles @aratakiittooo @angelicprincess12 @pinkluv29

@shine101 @karimestarksworld @lortheswiftie @bangtanevermore @njdluvr @justamina-blog @avroravia @m3lod7 @just-pure-trash @pprettyvisitorr @againanothersideblog @differentcandycreation @hagarsays

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

But Death Eater Michael using the Imperius Curse on you,,,,,, mmmmmfucj

Imagine him in a long cape that is polling behind his back like the waters of a black, treacherous river, enveloping his tall, majestic figure. A silver mask adorned with arabesque pattern covers his chiseled face, icy blue eyes piercing through the slits of it at you, sitting obediently on your knees before him.

He points his wand at you and whispers:

“Imperius.”

All you can see is a thick shroud of grey mist clouding your vision and seeping under your skin, turning every muscle of your tense body into a numb, insensible state.“I know you would do anything for me even without this…measure,” Michael slowly drags his fingers wrapped in a tight black leather glove across your cheek, “but this particular order definitely requires it. From now on, every time the Dark Lord pronounces my last name, you are going to cum. The second it falls from his lips, a riveting wave of orgasm will pierce through your body.”

He watches the way your cheeks flush scarlet red and your breathing intensifies as a proof that his spell has worked.

“Now this is Daddy’s idea of fun”

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

I was walking through the toy aisle at Target when I found this thing and had a VIOLENT AND IMMEDIATE FLASHBACK to when JP first came out and they had a bunch of REALLY COOL T Rex toys that I would have sold one of my scrawny small-child limbs for but my mother wouldn’t get me one because they were “too violent and also ate people” :(

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

🔥

only the lonely

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x F!Reader x Six (Court Gentry) Wordcount: 6.6+K Warnings: smut. threesome. LLoyd is a possessive dick and lashes out. He uses derogatory words, but i shaved off his stache so who really wins in all this? Six is probably OOC, but we live fast and loose with them rules, baby! Summary: "Sociopathic tendencies. Keyword, there. Doesn’t mean there aren't a few people I’d die for if necessary.”  A/N: For this to work, I erased the whole little kidnapped girl storyline. So just pretend the boys are fighting in that maze for their own egos. In a diff world, I feel like they'd respect each other to a degree and if you remove the kidnapped aspect, it probably could be valid.

They’re both near death when you practically drag them into the getaway vehicle. Significant damage. Shallow breathing. Lloyd is missing a few fingers, and when you wrap your arm around Six’s waist, his shirt squishes wetly. There’s way too much blood. It sticks to your cheek as you help him into the car.

They can't die. It would ruin everything.

You’ve got a boss who wants their skills, and he gave you the task of hiring them. For the last few months, you've been forced to wait for the right opportunity to strike. It soon becomes clear that a rare and likely impossible series of events must happen for them to even consider the offer.

But - happen it does. In fact, it falls into your lap.

They're in Croatia and on opposite ends of the same mission. A mission that has steadily gone south and has now hit rock bottom.

Your informants fill you in on where these two are headed. Scapegoats. The CIA has fucked themselves so severely that there isn't a single solution that isn't paper-thin. Lloyd Hansen and Sierra Six are as good as dead. Rats in a cage.

Well - now they're tucked into the back of your car like a pack of sardines. Both too big to fit.

Lloyd is paler than usual - his milk-white skin gray and sallow, and his big blue eyes are having trouble focusing. Six - Court - is just as bad, his head rolling forward as he tries to lift himself upright in the backseat.

“What is this?” he mutters the second you slip behind the wheel.

“In a nutshell? CIA is coming, and they plan on getting rid of both of you.” You twist around in your seat to level them with your best authoritative stare. “So you either get cool with each other real fast, or you go back out there and die.”

“That’s a real Sophie’s choice, baby,” Lloyd remarks dryly. He’s leaning forward, unable to press his back to the leather. He regards you with a kind of wonder, subtle recognition, though he’s probably dizzy from blood-loss.

It’s been a long time, Lloyd.

Silent as the grave, Six holds your gaze. His fingers tremble on his thigh and there’s no hope in securing a seat belt around him. The car's interior already reeks of blood and burnt flesh. 

“It’ll be unmarked graves, and you’ll both take the fall for this shit-fire.” You glance at Lloyd. “You really wanna be buried with that stache?”

“God,” Lloyd groans as he spits out a thick glob of blood that hits the window and drips down slow as molasses. “You’re such a cunt.”

Six socks Lloyd in the chest, and he chokes, sputters, and then yells when he accidentally falls against the seat and irritates the charred flesh of his back. “She’s saving our asses, you fucking shithead.”

“Standing up for her? Didn’t peg you as the chivalrous type. Good luck getting in that snatch because it’s next to impossible.”

You jerk a finger in Lloyd’s direction. “You would use snatch, you fucking troglodyte.”

“Nice word of the day, babe. I’m so proud of you.”

 “Jesus,” Six hisses. “Just shut up so we can get out of here. I’d really like to stop bleeding out right now.”

He nods at you. “Let’s go. We’ll figure out the rest later.” He shuts his eyes and drops his skull against the headrest. “We can murder this guy and leave him on the side of the road if he complains.”

Lloyd scowls but says nothing else. Seemingly deflated, he hunches forward, curling his mutilated hand against his chest. 

Dawn light, pink as a grapefruit, filters into the car, shoving both men into stark relief. They look touched by death. It’s jarring. Two living legends are going cold in the backseat of a shitty rental. As the air fills with the whir of helicopter blades and the scream of sirens, you hit the gas.

***

This is how it starts. You bring in crooked doctors who are paid under the table. They deliver top-notch medical supplies and sew up what they can. The men will have to be flown out of here. They’ll need surgery, but first, they must accept the terms.

Six will be easy. Fitzroy is gone. He’ll require cash to stay below ground. He’s been doing the CIA’s dirty work for years and this offer is practically the same thing with even less rules. This is what he knows.

Lloyd will be difficult. He’s too arrogant and unpredictable and has always been his own boss. But, his connections are tapped. His options are limited. He’s got nothing, now, that the CIA would rather bury than use him.

You explain it simply. It’s private sector work. Not above board. The money will be better than anything either of them has gotten, and your boss will keep them safe. No government intervention. No CIA. They’re already dead. Dust in the wind. 

“What’s the catch?” Six asks as he idly watches one of the medics sew an ugly knife wound across his chest.

“We work as a team,” you reply smoothly. “These jobs will always require more than one person, so it shouldn’t be an issue.” Your eyes dart to Lloyd, who is staring down at his wrapped hand. You can see it. He’s been knocked down a peg, slightly humbled by the fact that he got his ass handed to him by Six. “I just need to make sure your egos can handle it.”

“I don’t even know who your boss is,” Six says. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“Agent 33,” Lloyd interjects quietly, his gaze still trained on his hand. “Remember Vienna?”

Six’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “That was you?”

Vienna. The memory ripples through you, and you can still feel the shard of metal in your thigh, lake water in your throat. The dozens dead and how you had done all of it because you were ordered to. One-hundred bodies to save a thousand. Your mouth gets suddenly dry.

“That was her,” Lloyd confirms as he finally looks up. His expression is completely unreadable. “I hadn’t seen you since I got kicked, but it tickled me when Denny said you went ghost on him after that shit in Istanbul. Knew you were just as depraved as me.”

For a moment, the unmistakable feeling of blood is on your hands. The stickiness of it itches. You went into the private sector because it was easy. You no longer had to wait for the government to give you permission when difficult choices had to be made. You weren’t strangled by all the red tape. You weren’t blamed for things beyond your control. There’s a scar under your breast that still throbs.

“I was recruited,” you explain. “Exactly what I’m doing here.” You cross your arms over your chest. “You have nowhere to go. My boss will protect you. You don’t need to know their name. You don’t need to know their mission statement. I went in blind, and I don’t regret it.”

Lloyd's jaw clicks, his nostrils flaring with barely contained hostility as he takes a moment. He’s caught, and he knows it. He’s stuck to a spiderweb. You picture spreading his arms out and nailing his hands to a glass slab. Let me pull you open, Hansen. “Whatever,” he finally growls. “I can hand you my bank account number later. I need a plastic surgeon to fix the fucking skin on my back.”

Six doesn’t give you a verbal answer, but he does tip his head at you. It’s enough.

***

The first mission is a shit show. Six (because he hates Court) and Lloyd crash into each other with alarming regularity. They argue and bristle, Lloyd is too loud, and Six isn’t loud enough. There is snag after snag and it’s because they won’t just listen. It’s a fuck-up, but you complete the mission and get the money. There’s blood in your hair as you drag yourself into a shower, and refuse to speak to them for three days.

By the fifth mission, they’re on even ground. There are splinters in the foundation, but it’s working. You have to appeal to their strengths. You have to butter up both of them, especially Lloyd, but that’s no surprise.

You want to win, right? Do you want to be the fucking best? We’re ghosts. We need to be wraiths in the night. We don’t do things messy. If you get us in a tight spot, Lloyd, then we are all fucked.

Fine - Fuck - you’re such a bitch. 

No, I’m not. You’re just a fucking baby.

Can you two relax? Jesus.

Like you’re any better? You’re a bleeding heart, Gentry. It’s embarrassing.

***

“You need to shave that mustache,” you tell Lloyd plainly. They’re in the new hideout. A place where the three can lay low when they have several assignments on the docket. It’s isolated in the French countryside. All flecked white paint and a farmhouse flair. The garden is wild with lavender, and Loyd grills big slabs of meat that get delivered from the local butcher.

“Since when?”

“You stand out like that,” you reply. “Everyone looks at you and not in a good way.”

Six snorts before trying to mask it by shoving a spoonful of sorbet into his mouth. Lloyd pouts for an hour, but he doesn’t refuse you. 

Later, you find him in the bathroom, hovering over the sink with the razor in his hands. “Get on the toilet,” you order as you step inside. The tile is cold under your feet. They need to crank the heat up in this place. Autumn has come early. The sky was purple-blue as the bruises on Lloyd’s biceps. He got into a fight with a giant Russian in Croatia and nearly had his spine snapped.

He shoots you a sidelong glance. “You’re going to cut me.”

“I flayed a dude once without killing him.” His eyes widen.

“I just got hard,” he groans, cupping his crotch. You ignore him and gesture to the toilet. 

“Sit.”

He does. 

You’re careful and slow as you work. You stand between his knees in your pajama shorts and tank top, and his fingertips skate across the side of your leg. His other hand is still screwed, bandaged within an inch of its life, but he’s working with it. Adapting. He stares at you as his features go slack - softened by the warm bathroom light. His eyelids droop, and his full lips part, but he doesn’t move an inch. You feel as if you’ve tamed a giant, lazy cat. When you gingerly tilt his head up, thumb caressing the hinge of his jaw, he makes a soft, low noise in his throat. His fingers skim the edge of your shorts, but he doesn’t push it. 

After all, you have a razor at his throat.

You wipe away the shaving cream when it's done and smirk down at him.

“Look,” you tease. “There’s the dude I met all those years ago.”

His lips split into a devastating half-smile. His teeth are white and shiny, and he is too good-looking. “Keep talking,” he urges. “You definitely wanted to fuck me then.”

“Hmm,” you tap your chin. “I did, but Marie told me you were a terrible lay. Totally selfish, which is really on brand.”

He scoffs. “I didn’t put an effort in with Marie. She’d been begging for my dick for months. You…well…” He lowers his voice to something ragged, and his breath puffs against the bare skin between the band of your sleep shorts and your top. His hungry eyes flit back to yours, and he squeezes your knees. “I’d eat your pussy until you begged me to stop.”

The place between your thighs flickers. Heat in your stomach begins to expand, blossoming throughout your body. Even your face grows warm, and Lloyd can tell. He’s reading you, his pink tongue sweeping over his spit-slick lower lip. With the razor still in your hands, you cradle his jaw and lean down. His brow lifts an inch in surprise, but a second before your mouths meet, you dart to the side and press it to his ear.

“Baby,” you whisper. “I’d fuck Six before I fuck you.”

You abruptly pull away, ease out from between the trap of his legs, and toss his razor in the sink. The sound of steel and polished wood bouncing off porcelain reverberates throughout the tiny room, and Lloyd doesn’t even blink. He’s staring at you as if you’d just slapped him.

In your own way, maybe you had.

***

Six is easy. He’s a man of very few words, and his entire work ethic is high-speed, low drag. Still, he can be entertaining when he wants to be. He’s slightly awkward when he tries to relate to you in any way that isn’t killing people. You know his background. You know how he was raised and where he’s been, so Six is barely even a fully functioning human. More machine than anything else. You don’t think he has a favorite movie or tv show. He’s a blank slate that you can’t seem to dent or leave your fingerprints on.

“Can’t believe you got Hansen to shave,” he remarks slyly. You’re sharing coffee next to the Arc de Triomphe, waiting for a drop-off not far from the cafe. “How’d you do it?”

“Promised I’d blow him.”

Six chokes on his coffee, and you laugh. “I’m kidding, but that probably would have worked, too.”

“He does have a hard-on for you,” he observes, his tone almost thoughtful. “It’s a little creepy.”

“He just likes what he can’t have.”

“That seems pretty accurate for him.”

You lean back in your chair, observing Six’s body language. His baseball cap pulled low, his sharp chin and honey-dark stubble revealed in flashes. He doesn’t look like a Court.

You’d heard about Six before you ever met him. The Gray Man. The man who existed outside the fold. You want to ask him questions, bug him about his scars. You want to compare stories. 

Suddenly, he shifts forward, lifting his arm to dab foam from the corner of your mouth. Just as quickly, he pulls away as if realizing what he’d done. “Sorry - I just - you had -”

“You’re fine, Six,” you reassure him, hiding a smile. “Thanks.”

***

Lloyd doesn’t necessarily hate Court Fucking Gentry. The man has dived out of a torpedoing airplane without a parachute. Yeah - he heard about that one. 

Lloyd read his file when he was given Operation Kill Ken. There’s stuff there. There’s some fat within all that gristle. Abusive father. Prison. Six doesn’t fuck around and, quite frankly, the man has more street cred than Lloyd will ever be able to touch. Lloyd went to an Ivy League for football. He wears loafers and cashmere. He’d skirted above the law until everything went ass-up in Croatia. 

But, shitty dads? He gets that one. 

He wasn’t lying when he said they could have been friends. The only issue he can see is that Six really doesn’t offer himself up. He seemingly does not know how to function as a person. He eats. He sleeps. He fucks (Lloyd hopes). He murders with style using the weirdest shit: pens, scissors, a well-placed shoelace. 

Lloyd has a very begrudging admiration for the guy. It kind of pains him that the only thing Six really seems all that interested in is 33. His little eyes brighten the second you speak to him or touch his shoulder or praise him for a job well done.

Meanwhile, you pretty much knock Lloyd upside the head whether you’re congratulating him or chastising him. It doesn’t matter. He isn’t jealous. Not really. 

Right?

***

The blast nearly takes you out. You manage to curse and roll out of the way before it explodes, but it does the job. Your ears ring. The world swirls in a black-red shriek. There’s a distant pain in your side, and your fingers are wet, your pants are soaked. You see blood. You may have broken something internally. The light is receding, and you can’t see what’s wrong with your stomach.  It’s difficult to breathe. Somewhere in the fog, you hear your name.

Not 33, but your name.

It’s Lloyd. He’s rushing toward you.

“Hey, hey.” He pats your cheek gently; his hand fits around your throat as he holds your head up. Opening your eyes, you see how close he is. There’s the thick stubble across his jaw, around his generous mouth. His lashes are long as pen strokes. He has crow’s feet now. His eyes blue with a hint of green. Mossy pond water. His thumb strokes your lower lip, wiping away the blood.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “You took a hit, Pumpkin, but Six is coming. We’ll get you out.”

You blink at him for a moment before your mouth twitches into a smile. He frowns. “What is it?” 

“You said we’ll….”

He scowls. “Don’t get too excited, duchess.” 

You blink the dust out of your eyes. Your heart rumbles in your chest. “I-I can’t…”

You can’t breathe. You want to tell him this, but the words are rattling behind your tongue. You’re drowning.

His expressions shifts into something nervous, deeply concerned. “What? Where does it hurt? Fuck - there’s a lot of blood.”

His eyes catalogue every piece of you, but when they move lower, he blanches. He goes quiet.

You feel like you’re falling, drifting out into a warm sea. There’s salt in your nose and tongue, and Vienna never happened. 

He slaps you lightly again. Shakes you until your teeth click. Don’t you fucking dare. Do. Not.

It’s dark.

“Shit,” he growls before shouting for Six.

***

From your doorway, Lloyd regards you with bewilderment. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like the very real shudder he felt when you got ripped open by a stray grenade. 

“She’ll live,” Six tells him as the doctors work overtime. “The boss went haywire, apparently flying in the best of the best.”

“It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“This boss,” Lloyd muses, scratching his beard. It’s all grown in, and he’s not going to ruminate over the fact that he may have done it for 33. “He’s got something personal with her.”

“We don’t ask questions,” Six reminds him as he leans against the wall. Lloyd’s eye catches the deep scar etched into Court’s bicep. It zigs zags until it disappears beneath his shirt sleeve. “But you knew her before this?”

“I met her in college,” 

“Harvard?”

“Yale, actually. She was at Yale.”

He recalls the specific memory in vivid color. It had been the Yale vs. Harvard Game, and he’d been starting. He’d lost, which had been expected, but still hurt. He’d gone to drown his sorrows at some frat house party, and he’d run into you. Drunk and pretty and lost. 

He hadn’t fucked you, of course. But he let you sleep in his bed, right up against his chest. Fully-clothed. In the morning, you’d been so embarrassed that you bought him breakfast, and it ran from there. You were friends. You were also smarter than him, which got him hard. He confided in you about his shit childhood while you shared your own ugly past. Very. Very. Lifetime.

After they were recruited junior year, they ultimately drew away from each other. Different assignments. Different training. Still - the CIA had inevitably carved them both into stone. Zero morals. Hard choices. They were soldiers.  

No impulse control. Unsanctioned torture. More kills than the entire Mossad. 

He stares at your body. You look tiny - sunken and broken and drained. Lloyd really thought there was no softness left in him. No warmth. 

“Should I leave you two alone?” Six asks, and Lloyd startles. He whips his head around to pin the blonde with an icy glare.

“Sit on my fucking face, Court.”

***

Something is going on between you and Lloyd. Six can feel it as the tension mounts. They’re in another safe house in Australia. The sun has bleached his hair and given Lloyd some much-needed color. 

You’re in better shape than a month ago when you’d gotten wrecked in Nice. Your blood had stained his hands. He’d cupped your insides, and, for a moment, he’d been upset.

Disturbed. Sad.

“C’mon,” he had encouraged, teetering toward the edge of panic. “C’mon - eyes up. It’s a scratch.” But your eyes had remained shut and didn’t open for three days. 

In the weeks following the incident, Lloyd goes out of his way for you. He displays these small gestures of affection like when he opens your door and helps you out of the car, when he reloads your gun, or when he makes you coffee and purposefully doesn’t bring Six any. 

What am I doing here? Six asks himself this nightly, and the answer is always right behind it.

Because you have no other options. You have jack shit, and this has always been your life. 

It doesn’t help that he kind of likes 33. You’re cracked in certain places, but you’re just as skilled as he is. Incredible strategist. Unreal sniper capabilities. Artistic with a knife. Beautiful in a conflicting fashion. Sometimes he sees you as the girl next door, familiar and tender as caramel popcorn at a baseball game. Sometimes he sees you as a tropical storm, full of heat and difficult to grasp. Sometimes he sees you as the stars above, cold, unfeeling, and far away. 

Today, they’re sitting in an old jeep. You and Six are waiting for Lloyd to return from stealing back an asset another team lost. It’s some hard drive in a lab, which is very on the nose for their line of work. Six prefers the mercenary stuff. He doesn’t like having to carry valuables.

The air tastes like rain even though the sun is burning Six’s scalp. The AC puffs and spits, but he’s still sweating down to his ass. 

He watches you tap your fingers against the wheel. It’s been three hours of twiddling their thumbs. They’ve covered every topic imaginable before they just resigned themselves to this silence. 

He thinks of the tension between you and Lloyd. Out of his own sick curiosity, he wants to puncture it. 

“Did you and Lloyd ever fuck?” It slips out of his mouth before he can stop it, and you whirl around to look at him. Your lips part in surprise. 

“What?”

“Sorry,” he smiles. “I meant to say - did you guys ever hook up?”

“Because that’s so much better. Real subtle.”

“I’m a subtle guy.”

“Didn’t you already ask this?”

“C’mon,” he presses. “I see the way he looks at you. I know you guys knew each other in college.”

In fact, you never really told him anything. You said Lloyd wanted what he couldn’t have and didn’t expand on it. Lloyd had been incredibly aloof about your past, and Six didn’t know why he even cared this much. In truth, he’d never been part of a team before. He’d never had partners or anyone to relate to and live with. Yeah - he didn’t like Lloyd, but the guy got the job done. Hansen had seemingly calmed down, and most of Six’s ego thought it was because he’d kicked the guy’s ass. Brought him down to size. 

“We didn’t,” you reply as you cut him a sharp glance. Your eyes glisten in the sun, and he swallows. “We met in college and were friends, and we stayed that way.”

“How come?”

“Because fucking him is like the surefire way to get him to never speak to you again.”

Oh. 

So, maybe, you did care. 

“You know what’s funny?” you continue. “I told him I’d screw you before I screwed him.”

Caught off guard, Six chokes on his own spit. He smacks his fist against his chest to clear the shock. You’re staring at him, lips curled into a devious grin bordering on seduction, and - how did this happen? He hasn’t had sex in months. Maybe, since Bangkok? He’s positive Lloyd goes out most nights to find something to take the edge off. Drown his frustration in some poor chick who isn’t you.

Six feels himself twitch. His dark jeans are too snug, and he isn’t sure what to do.

“Me? Wow,” he replies, laughing a little. “Thanks for the opportunity.”

Your expression is thoughtful. Your lovely eyes drift over his face as if you’re taking stock. Do I do this? I should just fucking do this. He leans forward, leaving a breath between them. The AC creaks. The car’s engine ticks. It’s too hot, but his palm finds your cheek, and you let him tilt your head.

Your lips are soft as he meets them. Your tongue coaxes his mouth apart, and it’s tender. This kiss. This moment between them that he didn’t expect. Your hands slide into his hair, arms winding around his neck. You’re in his lap, and this is dangerous, cutting it close. They’re supposed to be on guard.

He can’t release you. He doesn’t want to. He’s lifting his hips as you grind down against him. There are the wet noises of their lips and tongues colliding. You’re making these muffled whimpers that are knocking him flat. He feels like he’s back in high school. All of his lovers have been nameless, faceless people across the world. Sex in alleys or dark rooms or between the shadows. Paid or unpaid. 

He knows you. You’re not a stranger. They’ve spent months together. He can tell anyone how you like your eggs, how fruit-scented candles make your nose wrinkle, or what you look like handling an RPL-20. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Reflexively, Six snatches his gun and aims it at the window, only to find Lloyd there. He is glowering; an M320 casually slung over his shoulder.

You scramble off Six and end up falling back against the dash. Your hand flies to your side where you’d been wounded in Nice. The stitches still raw.

“Fuck,” you hiss and then shoot Lloyd an apologetic look. “Lloyd-”

“Don’t,” he snaps before ripping the car door open and sliding into the backseat.

Silently, you disentangle yourself from Six’s lap and get behind the wheel. 

It’s a fucking awkward ride home.

***

Your subconscious must hate your ass because you haven’t been sleeping. It’s a nightmare - Vienna - and you wake up with tears on your cheeks. Your nose is stuffed, and your throat is sore. 

There’s movement in the corner of your room, and you yank your gun from beneath your pillow. Clicking off the safety and aiming.

“Hey,” Six’s calm voice fills the space. “You were screaming.”

Shit. Shit. 

Heat erupts under your skin. “How loud?”

“I mean, I was down the hall in a dead sleep.”

You groan, dropping the gun onto your side table before shoving your face into your pillow. “Did Lloyd hear?” It comes out muffled, but Six catches it. You feel the bed dip under his weight, his hand finding your knee over the covers. 

“He went into town. Hasn’t come back.”

“Figures.”

“You want to talk about it.”

“Do you ever want to talk about it?”

“You got me there.”

You flip onto your back so you can look at him. Through the gauzy curtains of their bungalow, the moon bounces off his golden hair. You realize he’s not wearing a shirt, and you can see the ugly knotted flesh of pink scar tissue that covers his shoulders and bicep.

“Regret is pointless,” you mutter. “It’s a weakness.”

You’re fairly certain Lloyd told you that once after he burned his mark alive. But that had been back in the CIA.

Six nods, humming in agreement. His hand slides up your leg before sliding back down. He does this - just this - and your body begins to respond. There’s another twinge of guilt in your belly. When he saw you straddling Six, Lloyd’s expression had been wrecked. You know he’s furious. He’s probably taking it out on some poor soul. He’s probably fucking someone else. 

Beneath the cover of darkness, you can blatantly study Six. It’s an alien feeling. You have a softness for him. He’s completely different from Lloyd, yet he is just as dangerous. He slaughters swiftly and hopes that they deserve it. There’s a swagger about him that he doesn’t intend. He’s dry. He’s sarcastic in the direst of moments. There’s a piece of you wanting to turn him over, shake him, and see what spills out.

“Court,” you murmur, unsure what he wants. 

“Don’t call me that,” he chastises as he begins to make his way up the bed. He’s shaken his identity off. He’s gray - he’s nothing - he’s just air. He hovers above you, planting his arm beside your head so he can bear his weight. You touch the ridge of the scar that rides his shoulder before your palm slides to his heart. It’s beating fast - a thump thump thump that echoes in the silence. 

“You’re not nothing, Six,” you tell him, and you can’t see his eyes, but he does drop his head and captures your mouth in a kiss that vibrates through your skull. He’s ripping your blankets away; he’s wedging himself between your legs, rucking his boxers down. You grasp his cock, pump him once and then twice before he’s already pushing inside you. You gasp - fingernails breaking the skin at the nape of his neck. He groans - circling his hips, testing the waters before he lazily draws back and thrusts forward. The bed squeaks. The headboard knocks against the wall. 

He threads his calloused fingers through yours and shoves your hand into the mattress. He pins you beneath him, taking you in long, agonizing strokes. You moan against his tongue as he licks the cup of your mouth. He peppers kisses across your cheeks and brow as he fucks you. A snapshot of something sweet compared to how hard his pace is.

The nightmare fades - disintegrates into nothing. You swear you hear the front door open.

“No regrets, right?” Six reminds you as he throws your legs over his shoulders and sinks deeper. He’s sitting back on his heels, head cocked as he admires you splayed before him and then the place he’s disappearing inside you. He’s incredibly built, thicker than Lloyd and you wouldn’t expect it with his ugly zip-ups and old t-shirts. His thumb finds your clit. “Tell me.”

“No regrets.” He presses down. 

***

When Six sees Lloyd the next morning, it becomes apparent that he wants to peel his face-skin from his bones. His eyes are slits. His mouth flattened to a firm line as the muscle in his jaw pops. He cracks his neck and cleans his guns on the outdoor patio. He says nothing, but it’s obvious.

He definitely heard them.

Six shrugs it off. It is what it is. He can’t help it. It happened - kind of rolled together. Like calling to like. You can’t keep adrenaline-soaked mercenaries in a tiny house for months and months with no outlet. 

Also - yeah - he may kind of like you. He likes you because you’re so hard. You sink your heels into the ground and don’t budge. Remorse will get you killed. Grief. Fear. Stay cold and distant and turn off all your compassion and you're good.

The thing was - Six was positive you couldn't. You hesitated on certain missions when it came to civilian interference. It was Lloyd who took those shots for you. It was Lloyd who would gently push you out of the way and claim that kill.

Six is shaken from his thoughts when he hears your feet pad down the hallway.

“Um - hi,” you mumble as you hastily step into the kitchen. 

You’re just as lovely in the morning as you are at night. You busy yourself by making eggs. When Lloyd’s head is turned toward the sun, Six darts from his chair and touches your hip, he seals his chest to your back and pins you to the sink. 

“Morning,” His voice is low, thick from lack of sleep. Your ass presses back against him and all his blood runs south. Fuck. 

When he tries to catch your eyes in the reflection over the faucet, you duck your gaze and accidentally drop an egg onto the floor. He isn’t sure how someone who has beheaded a person can be so coy and yet. 

“Meet me in your room,” he murmurs as he slips his fingertips over the nape of your neck. You shudder, before silently tossing the pan into the sink with its runny, half-congealed eggs and darting back to your bed. 

Six grins before he realizes that Lloyd is once again looking into the kitchen. The gun is forgotten on the table beside him as he leans back in his chair. He’s staring at the space you just vacated. His expression is not exactly angry, but puzzled. A little sad. 

For a moment, Six pities him. 

***

You hear Lloyd before you see him. His steps are heavy as they vibrate through the hallway of the house. It’s been a week. He hasn’t spoken to you due to Six constantly hovering at your side. Lloyd’s anger flourishes; it is palpable.

Of course, he reigns fire once Six is out on a mission.

When Hansen finally spots you, his lips peel apart into a blinding grin. “Fucking finally,” he crows as he strides toward you. You stumble backward, hitting the wall. You curse yourself for giving a shit about this, but you don’t know what to say. 

When Lloyd reaches you, his good hand curls around your throat. He thrusts his thigh between your legs and holds you there like a rag doll. His mouth is a millimeter from yours. His lower lip brushes your top one; his breath warm against your face. “Jesus, that fucking guy is like a god damn insect,” he snarls. “Wouldn’t even give me a moment with you. Has he staked his claim already? Covered you in his fucking come or something? I heard all the noises he made while he was inside you. How good was it?”

You blink at him. He’s not choking you, but the pressure of his thumb against your windpipe is uncomfortable. “Lloyd-”

He drives his thigh harder against your cunt, the muscle of it right up at your heat. “Tell me, duchess. I want to know.”

“It-it was good.”

He cocks his head, his blue eyes too bright under the hallway lights. He looks a brush manic, and you find yourself gripping his shoulders, trying to ground him. He’s upset. He’s not just angry. He’s sad.

“Not me, huh?” he asks, eyebrows lifting. “Is it the hand? Probably can’t ruin you the way I want to, but I could try.”

You frown. “It’s not your hand, Lloyd. Don’t be ridiculous.”

His thumb finds purchase under your jaw. He pushes it in a little. You gasp. “Hansen - you - you were in town fucking someone else - I - I don’t know what you want -”

“No,” he growls. “It was always going to be him. You told me yourself.”

“Let me go for one fucking second, you fucker.”

“No.”

You shoot your hand up and twist his ear violently to the side. He stumbles backward, hissing in pain. “Oh, you fucking bitch-”

You point your finger at him. “No - just no - chill out so I can explain.”

He straightens, his eyes narrowing to slits. He’s flushed with rage, his chest hitching. You’ve never seen him this emotional. His anger is usually a cold thing - winding up before it explodes, and then it burns out. 

“I fuck you, and you’ll get bored,” you accuse. “You have no impulse control, Hansen. You get obsessed, and then you forget why you were obsessed in the first place. No offense, but I don’t feel like being another notch on your bedpost, especially because we’re partners.”

He frowns. “You wouldn’t be.”

“I’ve seen you do it to every girl you’ve ever had.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. His remaining scarred fingers curl beneath his bicep. “Every girl isn’t you.”

Huh.

He rolls his eyes. “Jesus, princess,” He clicks his tongue. “For someone so skilled at spec ops, you’re fucking hopeless in the body language department. Do you think I would have spent this much time with you if I didn’t care? I’m not counting the last few months because you pretty much railroaded me into this, but I’m talking college, before the CIA.” He points to you and then to himself. “You and me? We’re the same. Granted - you may have a dash more empathy, but I knew who you were when we met, and I liked it.”

You stare at him - stunned. 

“Vienna?” His expression softens. “Yeah - I knew what you had to do and why you did it. I know you made the tough choice because you were the only one capable of it. You were trained to compartmentalize and toss out the rest. I fucking hate to say it, but Six is the same. It’s the job.”

“Those - those aren’t great qualities to want in a girlfriend.”

He snorts. “I care about you. I like you. A lot. I can spell it out. I can send you a card or flowers or fuck you into next week, but that is the truth. The rest means dick to me.”

You stumbling over your words. “You - you don’t like anyone. It’s literally in your file. Sociopathic tendencies.”

He smirks, and it only highlights his handsomeness. “Sociopathic tendencies. Keyword, there. Doesn’t mean there aren't a few people I’d die for if necessary.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

You really couldn’t. All the stories you’d heard about Lloyd painted him as a complete narcissist. He cared about money and being better than anyone else. He liked pain. He liked winning. He couldn’t be collared.

He’d followed your career, though. He understood why you did the things you did. Here he was - unfurling for you, baring himself and declaring that everything you hate about who you are is alright in his book. 

“Then let me show you,” he replies urgently. He steps back into your space, his hands finding your hips. He lowers his head, his gaze trained on yours as the corner of his mouth quirks. You’re chest to chest, and he’s wearing one of those ridiculous soft-knit collared shirts that cost hundreds. 

Slowly he grips the backs of your thighs and lifts you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, hooking your ankles right over his perfect ass. Your spine brushes up the wall, and you cradle his face, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. “I mean, I shaved the stache for you,” he teases as he ruts against your lace covered pussy. You reach down between you, unbuckling his belt and pulling him out. It’s a slow, methodical dance. His eyes don’t leave yours, and he doesn’t prep you or lick you open; he just lets you hitch your panties to the side and guide him into your sex.

“Oh,” you gasp. “Oh - fuck -”

He shudders, breath warm against your mouth. He saws his hips, easing out until it's only the tip before shoving himself forward. He’s bigger than you expected. It kind of hurts, but he quickens his pace and you forget. It burns and throbs and lights up your blood.

“Come on, duchess,” he drawls. “Kiss me.”

You do, tongue plunging behind his teeth as you fist his hair. At some point, you both fall over, and then he’s forced onto his back, and you're on top. You ride him, the skirt of your cotton sun dress flowing over his thighs. His hand is on your ass, while you reach for the other one. He gives it to you cautiously, but you coax him - praise him - tell him it’s okay. You grasp his wrist and tug the mutilated fingers up, threading them with your own, pressing your lips to the ones that remain. That seems to do something. His eyes widen, his brow lifts, and he groans. He plants his feet and fucks up into you. He leads a messy rhythm, and you respond to it, bouncing, clenching, and circling your pelvis to meet every punch of his cock. 

His head falls back against the floor. “Jesus fucking christ, baby,” he rumbles. “You’ve got a tight pussy.” You rock down into him, rubbing exactly where you need to, right against his pelvic bone. You’re close, and he’s so hard that his length is pulsing inside you. He’s at his end just as you skate over yours. He sits up, his hand grasping the nape of your neck as he forces you to his mouth for a clumsy kiss. He flips you onto your back, burying himself to the hilt before you can mourn his loss. One final drag of his cock as your walls flutter and clutch, and then it’s over. He collapses on top of you, his mouth wetly smearing your cheek before he drops his face into your neck.

“You’re perfect,” he husks. “I’m getting hard again.”

You punch the side of his arm and try to haul him off you, but he’s too heavy. Finally, he relents. He rolls onto his side and slaps your ass. “Well, that was great, honey,” he jokes. “Now - I’m off to fuck someone else.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah.”

***

“Judging by the text I got from Lloyd, I take it you guys made up.”

You go rigid at the stove. You’re stirring a pot of soup you threw together and Six is sitting at the table. Casual. Quiet. Perfectly normal. You feel on the spot. There’s still the intense ache between your legs. You’re raw and swollen. Lloyd had licked his own come out of your pussy before fucking you a second time.

“What-what did it say?”

You hear Six unlock his phone before loudly reading. “Hey fuck face! 33 and I will now be regularly having wild animal sex. We should probably figure out a sched. PS. I ate her out on your bed.”

You whirl around. “He did not.”

Six’s mouth quirks. “But you guys did everything else?”

You wring your hands before you glide toward him. He opens his arms, and you sit on his lap. It’s familiar - it feels normal. “Lloyd and I are….” You search for the word and come up empty.

“Complicated?” Six offers. 

“Yeah,” you reply. “And weird. We - we have a lot in common, and he knew me. Before the CIA…before all of this…” You gesture around you. “He knew me when I wasn’t so fucked up.” You sigh, rubbing the place between your brows before finishing. “We have something.”

Six nods in that particular way he has. He’s not angry, just resigned. You touch his cheek. “You and I have something, too.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “So what? You want us to share.”

“If you’re able.”

“Does Lloyd even know how to share?”

“We could teach him.”

***

In a way, they’re orphans. Lost. Touching in the dark. Lloyd’s mouth burns against yours as Six buries his face between your legs. “Let go,” Lloyd orders. “Relax, duchess. Let him eat you out.”

You arch when Six sucks your clit, and Lloyd drops his head to lick your nipple. He massages the other breast as he noses your cheek. “You need more?”

“Yeah?” you breathe. “Yes.”

“Mmmkay,” he croons before fisting Six’s hair and shoving his face deeper against your cunt. Six groans, the muscles in his back undulating as his fingertips bruise the undersides of your thighs. The only time Six listens to Lloyd is when he’s in bed with you.

“Fuck,” Lloyd rumbles. “That’s so hot. Who would have thought I’d have a cuck kink?”

Your hips buck up against Six’s face, and he responds by pushing two of his fingers into you. Your stomach flips, and Lloyd steels his arm around your waist. He holds you down as he watches Six crack you open, flattening his tongue from hole to clit.

“Bunny,” Hansen murmurs, his beard scraping your throat. “You’re soaking Court’s face.”

You can feel Six bristle at the name, but he doesn’t let up. He continues to work you over. He’s thorough in all aspects of his life.

Lloyd’s touch falls from Six’s hair to his shoulders; it strokes the deep, etched line of his scars that wrap around his body. You’re riveted - gaze following the path his hand takes as he just feels Six’s marked flesh. Lloyd’s other hand traces your scars, the few fingers that remain slide along your stomach where the bomb split you near in half. In the dim light of his bedroom, your eyes find Lloyd’s, and he reaches between you and Six, boldly caressing exactly where Six is dipping his tongue. 

You shudder. 

“How many scars do you think we have?” Lloyd marvels just as you climax, hips rolling against Six’s face as he anchors you to the bed. Lloyd’s question hangs between you, and you can’t tell if he’s being serious. “I mean, it’s kind of wild,” he grins as he drops his head to kiss your stomach. “We’re still all incredibly good-looking.”

Despite himself, Six laughs. 

Part Two

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

I was thinking it would be cool to have a male fae Yandere that poses as a dancer to seduce a fem presenting reader. But like they used soft power to make them enter now they can’t leave. But it also feels very similar with the jester who i would love to see more of!

Yandere Fae x Reader

Moonlight filtered through the grand stained-glass windows of the Niowil Court’s ballroom, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the marble floor. Musicians played a languid, haunting melody, their bows sweeping over the strings, each note a delicate lure. Nobles in silks and velvet danced in slow, measured steps, faces hidden behind intricate masks of gold, silver, and porcelain.

But it was him who drew all eyes.

You didn’t know his name, only that he was the court’s favored dancer. His mask, a delicate creation of silver vines and crystalline leaves, framed piercing, luminous green eyes. His hair flowed like spun silver, his movements were water given life.

You should have looked away. Should have ignored the whispered rumors about the fae who danced at the Duke’s masquerades, of those who met his gaze and were never quite the same. But the first time those emerald eyes found yours, you felt something seize in your chest, a longing so fierce it left you breathless.

Now you stood at the edge of the ballroom, half-hidden by a towering marble pillar, trying to catch your breath, trying to make sense of the warmth in your veins. You had been invited—no, you had been chosen. The summons had come to your family’s modest estate in a sealed letter, the script written in a fine, swirling hand. An invitation too grand to refuse.

But why had they chosen you? Why did his gaze never seem to leave you?

“Lost, my lady?” a voice whispered, low and melodic. You turned, and he was there—close, far too close. He smelled of wild roses and the crisp air of a forest at dawn, his smile soft but his eyes hungry.

“I—no. I was only—” Words faltered under the weight of his gaze. His hand rose, fingertips brushing a loose strand of your hair back, the touch feather-light.

“You dance so beautifully,” you whispered, desperate for something to say, to fill the strange, suffocating silence.

“It is but a poor attempt to mirror your radiance,” he murmured, and the music swelled, as if answering his voice. “But would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

His hand extended, palm up, a fragile offer that felt more like a command.

Every instinct screamed to refuse, to run. But the moment your fingers touched his, the world shifted.

The ballroom melted away like mist under sunlight. You were standing in a forest of towering silver trees, their leaves glimmering with an unnatural light, the scent of roses thick in the air. His grip on your hand was warm, his other arm snaking around your waist, pulling you close.

“Let me go,” you gasped, but your body betrayed you, pressing closer instead.

“Go?” He laughed, a sound like a spring breeze, sweet but tinged with cruelty. “Did I not tell you, love? Those who dance with me are never free.”

You struggled, but his strength was effortless, his touch both a caress and a shackle.

“What do you want from me?”

“Only what you have already given.” His lips brushed against your ear. “Your gaze, your desire, your devotion.”

“Please…” The word was a whimper, and he smiled, fingers tracing down your back.

“Oh, my sweet,” he whispered, his eyes aglow with that unearthly light. “Your plea is the sweetest of music. Struggle all you like, it only binds you further.”

Around you, the walls seemed to close in, their pillars twisting together, forming an impossible, towering cage. His lips brushed against yours, a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs, your knees weakening, your mind clouded.

“Stay,” he whispered, a promise and a command. “Stay, and I will teach you the beauty of surrender.”

Masterlist

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

“She enticed me in my days. She allured me in my nights. She bewitched me in myriad unknown ways.”

Yandere Series:

— In which affection turns to obsession, and the desire to protect becomes a cage that locks both heart and mind.

✧Yandere!”Wolf”:

Idiot (1)

✧Yandere!Alien:

Pulsing light (1)

✧Yandere!Shapeshifter: Voices and Faces (1)

Honestly (2)

Lior (3) Who I Was (4)

✧Yandere!Centaur:

Clothed Hooves (1)

✧Yandere!Slasher:

Staring (1)

Please just love me (2)

✧Yandere!vampire:

Dyed Fang (1)

✧Yandere!Jester:

Ending (1)

✧Yandere!Gatekeeper: Cross (1)

✧Yandere!Emperor:

Close the Curtains (1)

✧Yandere!Captor:

Weep (1)

Bite the Collar (2) NSFW

✧Yandere!Gang:

Cigarette Burns (1)

✧Yandere!Bully: 1976 (1) Bloody Knuckles (2)

✧Yandere!Rancher: Chains (1)

✧Yandere!Boss: Late nights (1)

Apologies (2)

✧Yandere!Chef: Imagine (1)

✧Yandere!Prince: Imagine (1)

Darling (2)

✧Yandere!Secretary: Imagine (1)

✧Yandere!Spy: Flirt with me (1)

✧Yandere!Preacher: Forgive me, Lord (1)

Imagine (2)

✧Yandere!Injured Soldier: Pale (1)

Passing Red (2)

✧Yandere!Regressor: Cry, die (1)

Note

The Current Me (2)

✧Yandere!Younger: Begging (1)

✧Yandere!Bullied: Prologue (required)

Chapter one

Chapter two

✧Yandere!”Husband”: Déjà vu (1)

✧Yandere!Cop: Meeting (1)

Wonder why? (2)

✧Yandere!Stalker: Shadows (1)

✧Yandere!COG: Look back (1)

✧Yandere!Beast: Schwarzwald (1)

✧Yandere!Author: Golden letter (1)

✧Yandere!Two:

Scream (1)

✧Yandere!Landlord:

Watch me, breathe me (1)

✧Yandere!Boxer:

Steel (1)

Through the Door (2)

✧Yandere!x2:

Monsters (1)

✧Yandere!Survivor:

Radiator Chains (1)

Birthday (2)

✧Yandere!Ghost:

House (1)

✧Yandere!Killer: Didn't See (1)

✧Yandere!Fae:

Twisting Silver (1)

✧Yandere!Guide:

See for me (1)

✧Yandere!Cult Leader:

The divine (1)

✧Yandere!Military:

Angel (1)

✧Yandere!WereJaguar:

Recede (1)

✧Yandere!God:

Sun and Candles (1)

✧Yandere!Trapper:

Little Dove (1)

✧Yandere!SP Demon:

Moaning (1)

✧Yandere!Med Student:

I’m sorry (1)

Loving Series:

- In which love is the space between words, and the glance that speaks louder than any promise.

✧Loving!Romeo:

See me (1)

✧Loving!Professor:

Mountain Red (1)

Left in Winter (2)

✧Loving!Soulmate:

Feathers, claws, curls (1)

Rules and other important information

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

here lies all my masterlists, most of which are mostly untouched bc i only really write for tom blyth characters. oh well. enjoy!!

obx week 2023

rafe cameron / drew starkey

jj maybank

(young) coriolanus snow

billy the kid (2022)

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

cold nights masterlist (completed)

“gonna hold my breath until you're here 'cause i can't breathe without you."

summary:

all the stars aligned, and it was you.

word count: 118k (have fun)

tags/warnings:

tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

authors note: hi again!! its raye back with another coryo series (shocking absolutely no one). i know i said i wanted to stray from the plot so i wanted to see what i could do with tribute!reader that's not just a copy-paste of lucy gray's story (which i eat up every time btw, no tea no shade) so this one is going to be very different from the original and something totally different from LTPF!! i hope you guys love this as much as you loved that one!!

season one

one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve

season two

thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two

season three

twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two.

epilogue.

oneshots

signifying nothing (prologue)

moodboards

black friday

edits

i feel it

playlist // pinterest board

all your thoughts // let’s talk ab it

masterlists // fic recs // nav (please read!)

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

cold nights masterlist (completed)

“gonna hold my breath until you're here 'cause i can't breathe without you."

summary:

all the stars aligned, and it was you.

word count: 118k (have fun)

tags/warnings:

tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

authors note: hi again!! its raye back with another coryo series (shocking absolutely no one). i know i said i wanted to stray from the plot so i wanted to see what i could do with tribute!reader that's not just a copy-paste of lucy gray's story (which i eat up every time btw, no tea no shade) so this one is going to be very different from the original and something totally different from LTPF!! i hope you guys love this as much as you loved that one!!

season one

one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve

season two

thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two

season three

twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two.

epilogue.

oneshots

signifying nothing (prologue)

moodboards

black friday

edits

i feel it

playlist // pinterest board

all your thoughts // let’s talk ab it

masterlists // fic recs // nav (please read!)

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

Yandere Boyfriend X Reader having Periods

Request are open.

• You were having that time of month. The one were aunt flo came to suprise visit you.

• And now due to periods you were having period cramps which are a lot painful.

• As every other women you too hate having periods with all its pains, mood swings and bleeding.

• But thanks to your Yan boyfriend that always take care of you when you are having period cramps.

• He is total sweetheart who gives you heat pads for some relief.

• Gives you lots of cuddles, hugs and kisses while telling how strong you are.

• Does all errands and chores and tells you to rest.

• If you are having a craving even at midnight while he is asleep he goes out and bring it for you. Time doesn't matter to him when you need something. After all his darling want something and whatever they want yan always bring it.

• Restocks all your favourite food and snacks.

• Makes you eat lentils, beans, cucumber and watery fruits because he read on internet it helps to relieve pain and stay hydrated while menstruation.

• Makes you different types of ginger, turmeric, raspberry leaf, chamomile, thyme and oolang teas to help you relax your cramps.

• Makes you hot chocolate or tea, wraps up in a blanket and gives you a kiss.

• Watches with you all your comfort movies and shows while you eat your favourite ice cream bought by him at 1 am.

• Calmly deals with all your mood swings.

• Himself makes a period comfort basket which have all the sanitary products, your favourite snacks, chocolate, face mask, heat pads, all your favourite things and gifts it to you.

• Brings you your favourite flowers and a bear to cuddle with so you won't feel lonely when he is at work.

• Leaves you sweet handwritten notes to cheer you up.

• This man really loves you a lot and can't see you in pain so he does all this to help you in some way.

( Isn't he just adorable? I want one for myself so badly 😭)

Request are open.

For more yandere reading:

[sra7riddle-malfoy]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Request Master List

A/N: My Master List was starting to look too chaotic for me so I decided to divide things up a little. This is where I’ll put all the links to the completed requests I post for my original KPDH short series.

Divider credit: @enchanthings

The Confrontation - After the defeat of Gwi Ma, you, the Huntr/x girls, and the Saja Boys take a trip to the Hunter’s House to do some research. Of course Celine is there and of course they have to deal with the toxic treatment that she’s given you and Rumi. (Should read the original short series to make sense.)

Shovel Talk - After the defeat of Gwi Ma, you continue to explore your blooming relationship with the five Saja Boys. So, the Huntr/x girls take it upon themselves to have a little talk with them.

First Kisses - Now that Gwi Ma has been defeated, it is clear that you and the boys have immense feelings for each other. But you have still yet to kiss anybody. Well, until now.

Baby Photos - After kicking Celine to the curb, the nine of you begin your search through the household for answers. But you are waylaid by certain photos being found. (Should be read after The Confrontation.)

Smut 🔞 - Minors please do not interact. While watching a movie with the boys to relax from preparing for your solo debut, Hyeon gets distracted and it leads to your first intimate night with them.

The Debut - After the defeat of Gwi Ma and with the support of your sister, your boyfriends, and your sisters-from-other-misters, it’s finally time for you to have your solo debut as a music artist. And of course the eight idiots have to go and support you.

Interlude - What happened between Rumi and Jinu before the Idol Awards without the romantic undertone? What fight did the boys stage as part of their plan? (Takes place during/before part 5 of the short series.)

Cuddle Time - After a long few weeks after your debut, you finally get a day off—well, other than that one time—but everyone else is busy. That’s okay though, you have Derpy and Sussie to recharge with.

Old Scars - Your debut is fast approaching and you are kind of stressing out. Huntr/x and the Saja Boys all schedule a day to hang out to try and help you relax, but you end up falling back onto old habits. (Will have to have read the short series to make sense.)

Your Biggest Fans - Your boyfriends and three sisters are your absolute eight biggest fans. They also happen to be your eight biggest menaces.

Dating With Demons - Attempting modern dating with five demon boys with limited experience in the modern world? Yeah, it’s about as cute as you expected it to be.

Promises - Time for you to walk down the aisle and to the rest of your life with the five men you love.

Happy Birthday - No one has really celebrated your birthday for years, including yourself. But this year is different and the people that love you are determined to give you the best birthday ever.

A Father’s Love (AU) - Your father was a powerful demon during his time in the demon realm, the boys remembering who he was while looking at your baby photos at the Hunters’ House. And then a dead man shows up. (Takes place directly after Baby Photos.)

Seething - You have debuted as a solo artist and that’s great! Especially since you’re getting so many offers for different projects and collabs now. But not when it pulls your attention from your boys, who begin to quietly seethe.

Little Artifacts - You guys head back to the Hunters’ House for a weekend to really dig through all the things in the archive and see what has been gathering dust for centuries. You stumble across a strange carving though and it has some… odd abilities.

Forbidden Fruit - You and the Saja Boys collab for the first time, digging up memories of that night on the roof for inspiration while you shoot the music video.

Mundane Moments 🔞 - Even the smallest, most normal actions of yours pull the boys deeper into love with you. And sometimes, deeper into you.

Last Updated: July 30, 2025

©️ @that-one-girl2020