sam!

| 18+ | multifandom! <3

[mmoonpies]

— 𝐒𝐀𝐌'𝐒 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍.

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: ↪ 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞.

𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘: open ↪ 𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖘 ↪ 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘: not recently updated.

[onlygirlaliveinnyc-deactivated2]

log off and hop on ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ [18+]

pairing: dilf!liam gallagher x fem!reader genre: smut !!, slow burn word count: 9640 warnings: implied age gap, unprotected sex, dom!liam, light overstimulation, slight praise/degradation, light choking, alcohol use (kinda drunk sex, both parties !), possessive behavior, very very light breeding kink, size kink lowk, minors dni !! summary: it starts with a tweet. then another. until you find each other at the pub—unexpectedly. a/n: everyones dream i think; formatting was very important to me here lol

you followed him because he was ridiculous. absolutely, unapologetically unwell online. he tweeted like he was being electrocuted in slow motion. caps lock wisdom. lowercase threats. spiritual affirmations wedged between football scores and dick jokes. you’d scroll past posts like—

“THE MOON IS HAVIN IT TONIGHT” “BE BRAVE MY SWEET POTATOES” “Elbowed myself in the eye tryna do tai chi. Vibes are off.”

—and for some godforsaken reason, they made you grin. every single time.

so you replied. once. something dumb, probably. you barely remembered what it was—just some flirty nonsense thrown into the void. but then—he answered.

@liamgallagher BE STRONG   ⤿ @m0rningglory i’d be stronger if you called me yours     ⤿ @liamgallagher Pipe down kid

you nearly dropped your phone. he’d replied to you. you. not just with a like. not just with some half-assed insult. with a name.

you stared at the screen like it might disappear. like you’d imagined it. like the words might pixelate and blur if you looked too long.

“Pipe down kid.” not fangirl. not baby. not love. just teasing. weirdly specific. and typed like it meant nothing.

you tried to play it cool. quote-tweeted him with something smug, something unserious: @m0rningglory ok sir

you half-hoped he’d reply. you half-hoped he wouldn’t. your heart was thudding. it wasn’t that deep, you told yourself. just a tweet. just a joke.

but part of you—deep down—knew this was going to spiral.

and it did.

@liamgallagher Don’t get bold sunshine   ⤿ @m0rningglory you’re just scared i’ll out banter you     ⤿ @liamgallagher Try it and see

you screamed into your pillow that night. fully, face-down, limbs flailing.

you couldn’t explain it. it wasn’t like he was flirting. not really. but there was something about the way he replied—like he saw you. like he enjoyed it.

you bookmarked the tweet. you told nobody.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

weeks later, it was still casual. still funny. still nothing at all—until it started feeling like something. you told yourself you were imagining it. of course you were. but then again—

@liamgallagher DON’T TALK TO ME ABOUT SPIRITUALITY TIL YOU’VE SMOKED A JOINT IN THE BATH   ⤿ @m0rningglory but what if i smoked it thinking about you in the bath     ⤿ @liamgallagher Get help

you didn’t answer that one. just liked it. and maybe it was projection, maybe it was nothing—but you swore he was getting quicker with these.

@liamgallagher Just seen someone wearin crocs with socks. Humanity is OVER   ⤿ @m0rningglory i could fix them. or i could wear worse. your call.     ⤿ @liamgallagherWear worse and i’ll block you       ⤿ @m0rningglory If u block me i’ll print your tweets on a t-shirt         ⤿ @liamgallagher Don’t tempt me i’ll sell them

you had to close the app. your palms were actually sweating. it was just twitter, you reminded yourself. just some dumb joke. just some daft man in a parka with too much time on his hands.

but the rhythm was addicting. he’d post. you’d reply. sometimes he’d answer. sometimes he wouldn’t. but when he did—

@liamgallagher Half you lot need puttin on a leash   ⤿ @m0rningglory what time should i be outside x     ⤿ @liamgallagher You’re one of them

your stomach actually twisted. stupid. irrational. but he’d remembered. or pretended to. same difference, yeah?

and when he posted this—

@liamgallagher i’m goin pub. don’t talk to me unless you’re buyin   ⤿ @m0rningglory what’s your order, king     ⤿ @liamgallagher Pint. Attitude adjustment.

—your phone lit up with six retweets, four quote tweets, and one dm from your mate that said: what the fuck is going on. are you two flirting?

you didn’t answer. mostly because you weren’t sure yourself.

but something was happening, and you didn’t want it to stop.

@liamgallagher NO I WON’T CALM DOWN   ⤿ @m0rningglory didn’t say calm down. said bend me over.     ⤿ @liamgallagher muted       ⤿ @m0rningglory worth it x

you dropped your phone face down on the sofa. said out loud to no one, “i’m gonna die.” your heart was kicking like you’d run a mile barefoot. you didn’t touch your phone for an hour. didn’t tweet. didn’t breathe.

he wasn’t flirting. not really. he was just being himself. chaotic. reactive. quick.

but he’d seen it. he’d answered.

you pulled your knees to your chest. bit your lip. it was just twitter.

but it was also liam fucking gallagher.

and now, apparently, you had a bit.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

@liamgallagher SHUT IT   ⤿ @m0rningglory ok daddy     ⤿ @liamgallagher GET A GRIP       ⤿ @m0rningglory worth it tbh         ⤿ @liamgallagher BLOCKED x

you threw your phone across the bed and groaned into your pillow. not because it was embarrassing — though it was — but because it kept happening. not every time. not every reply. just often enough that you started bracing for it.

@liamgallagher INHALE / EXHALE   ⤿ @m0rningglory me waiting to see if you’ve posted again     ⤿ @liamgallagher UR TWISTED       ⤿ @m0rningglory takes one to know one x

you were used to shouting into the void. but he always seemed to clock you. like his feed had a magnet for chaos — and somehow, you’d tuned your voice to match the frequency.

@liamgallagher BEHAVE   ⤿ @m0rningglory no x     ⤿ @liamgallagher WELL THEN       ⤿ @m0rningglory what you gonna do about it         ⤿ @liamgallagher SEND NOEL AFTER YA

you had to laugh at that one. not because it was clever — it wasn’t — but because he was still replying. because even at his most unhinged, he still made room for you.

@liamgallagher LEAVE ME ALONE   ⤿ @m0rningglory no <3     ⤿ @liamgallagher OHHH SHE’S BOLD       ⤿ @m0rningglory only for you grandpa         ⤿ @liamgallagher FUCK OFF x

somewhere along the way, people started noticing. a mutual quote-tweeted you with “she’s winning.” someone else DM’d a screenshot with, “not to be dramatic but you’re literally in a situationship with him.” you played it off. made a joke. but it stuck in your chest like a dare.

@liamgallagher ONE DAY AT A TIME   ⤿ @m0rningglory ok but what if we made it worse on purpose     ⤿ @liamgallagher U NEED HELP       ⤿ @m0rningglory u volunteering?         ⤿ @liamgallagher NOPE

he never followed you. never liked anything too obvious. but you could feel it — the shift. the pacing. the way he always answered the weirdest ones. like he was waiting for them.

@m0rningglory [photo] do u think liam gallagher would let me wear his shades and play with his vinyls   ⤿ @liamgallagher only if u don’t touch the fuckin smiths ones     ⤿ @m0rningglory i’d never disrespect you like that       ⤿ @liamgallagher Good. Ur on thin fuckin ice.

he liked a selfie once. no warning. no comment. just a quiet little red heart, hours after posting it — half-mirror, lipglossy, captioned something like “liam would bark if he saw me in this.” you’d laughed when you posted it. you almost cried when he liked it.

@liamgallagher liked your tweet: liam gallagher hates women he finds hot.

sometimes he didn’t reply at all. but ten minutes later, you’d get a like on an old post. one with three likes and no tags. quiet. deliberate. like he was saying, i see you. i’m just choosing chaos today.

you were starting to tweet just for him. not in a sad way. in a specific way. a bit daft, a bit shameless. always at the edge of what he might call back.

he never told you to stop. he never told you anything. but the replies kept coming. and you were starting to feel watched in a way that didn’t feel bad at all.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

you’d had two ciders, a handful of chips, and one very long, very unserious conversation with your flatmate about whether you could reasonably claim “twitter mutuals” as a form of courtship. she’d said no. you’d said maybe. and then you’d pulled out your phone, thumb hovering over the app like a dare.

@m0rningglory i’d be so well behaved if liam gallagher told me to   ⤿ @liamgallagher No u fuckin wouldn’t     ⤿ @m0rningglory ok true but like. what if i tried       ⤿ @liamgallagher U wouldn’t last 10 minutes. Chaos demon. Menace to society         ⤿ @m0rningglory say it slower           ⤿ @liamgallagher PERVERT

you stared at your screen, a little stunned. grinning like an idiot. he wasn’t flirting. not really. not yet. but the tone had changed—less bark, more bite.

@liamgallagher JUST GOT IN   ⤿ @m0rningglory and what do u smell like     ⤿ @liamgallagher Danger and dandelions       ⤿ @m0rningglory weirdly sexy of you         ⤿ @liamgallagher Tell someone who cares

it was starting to feel familiar. like a game. like a rhythm. like something he let you win on purpose.

@m0rningglory someone tell liam gallagher i’d let him ruin my life for a laugh   ⤿ @liamgallagher How do u know i haven’t already     ⤿ @m0rningglory you can’t prove anything       ⤿ @liamgallagher Don’t need to         ⤿ @m0rningglory that’s actually terrifying           ⤿ @liamgallagher Good. x

you closed the app after that. tossed your phone across the sofa and let your head fall back against the cushions. tried not to grin. failed.

because it was happening. not a crush, not quite. just a kind of heat. a thread. tugged tighter every time he barked back.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

you wanted to stay in—have a bath, watch something mindless, maybe scroll long enough to catch one of his tweets and toss something stupid into the void. nothing major. just a ritual. just background noise.

but your friend had begged. “just one drink,” she’d said. “just for an hour. i’ll even let you play that god-awful ‘90s playlist you like.”

you’d rolled your eyes, muttered something about taste, but in the end, you gave in. you always did.

you didn’t dress up. not really. just a soft black jumper, old miniskirt, your favourite boots. hair a little messy, makeup a little smudged. you weren’t trying to impress anyone. you weren’t trying at all.

and that’s what made it worse.

because you walked into the pub and there he was.

not five minutes in—not even halfway to the bar—and your eyes snagged on something familiar in the corner booth. the parka. the unruly fringe. face half-shadowed under the pub lights, but unmistakable. unmistakably him.

liam.

you froze. blinked. looked again.

he was nursing a pint, legs spread wide, one hand lazily spinning a pack of cigarettes across the table. talking to some bloke you didn’t recognise, laughter low and slanted. his voice didn’t carry, but his presence did—like static. like something sharp in your chest.

and maybe you stared too long, because he looked up. met your eyes.

you looked away so fast your neck twinged.

—

“jesus christ,” you muttered under your breath, dragging your friend toward the other end of the bar. “jesus actual christ.”

“what?” she said, already fishing for her card. “what’s wrong?”

“he’s here.”

“who—wait. he? no. no.”

you didn’t answer. didn’t have to. the look on your face said enough.

and suddenly you were hyperaware of everything—the way your lip gloss had worn off, the static cling of your skirt, the tremble in your fingertips as you reached for your drink.

you hadn’t planned for this.

you didn’t even think he lived near here. you thought he’d be somewhere flashier, somewhere louder. not this barely lit pub tucked down a side street. not your street. not your night.

and certainly not looking at you again.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

you were trying so hard not to look.

not in a pathetic way—just practical. normal. you had your drink. you were being chill. the pub was loud enough to cover your heartbeat. you kept your back half-turned, eyes fixed on your friend, nodding at whatever she was saying. pretending. acting.

you were doing fine.

until she nudged you—subtle, like she was adjusting her bag. “don’t freak out,” she muttered. “but i think he’s coming this way.”

you blinked. “you think—what?”

“i said don’t freak out.”

you turned, slowly. casually. like you weren’t about to combust.

and yeah. there he was. not looking at you—yet—just moving through the crowd, pint in hand, head tilted toward the telly mounted above the bar. match highlights. some player’s face frozen mid-sprint. it made sense, kind of. but he wasn’t walking like a man interested in the game. he was walking like a man orbiting something. someone.

your pulse thudded.

he got closer.

and then—he looked.

just a glance at first. not even a second. then a double take. a pause. his head tilted. brow furrowed. lips parted, like he might say something—but didn’t.

you didn’t breathe.

you saw it then—the flicker of recognition, vague and electric, like trying to place a dream.

he knew your face.

not from here. not from the room. from somewhere stranger. smaller. a little app on his phone, lit up in the quiet hours when the telly was muted and the world was half-asleep.

his eyes narrowed.

you pretended not to notice. raised your glass. took a sip like your hand wasn’t shaking.

he was still looking.

and then—just as casually as he’d appeared—he looked away. moved on. wandered back toward his booth like nothing had happened.

your lungs released.

your friend was grinning. “holy shit.”

“no,” you said, heat crawling up your neck. “don’t say anything. please.”

but you couldn’t stop thinking about the look. the pause. the click of something slotting into place behind his eyes.

he knew.

—

he wasn’t looking for anyone. never was. just out for a pint, maybe a packet of crisps—something salty to soak up the tail end of the day.

but then there she was.

at first he didn’t clock it—too far, too loud, too much going on. but something about the back of her head tugged at him. the slope of her neck. the way her hand moved when she reached for her drink—slow, a little exaggerated, like she wasn’t quite in her body.

then she turned. not all the way. just enough.

and he knew.

he didn’t smirk. didn’t blink. just stood there, watching her not watch him.

it was funny, really—seeing her try to play it cool. like she hadn’t just shattered half his notifications last week with some cracked tweet about his trainers. like she hadn’t been haunting his mentions for the better part of a month.

he took a sip of his pint. kept his eyes on the telly. didn’t move. not yet.

what are the fuckin’ odds, he thought. he let the pint rest against his bottom lip a second longer than necessary.

might’ve been fate. might’ve been the algorithm. same thing, these days.

she looked good. better than the selfies, even. softer. realer.

he scanned the room once, twice. no cameras. no mad lads with phones out. good.

he turned, leaned back against the bar, and let his gaze settle on her again.

alright then, he thought. let’s see if she bites.

he waited—patient. lazy. like a bloke watching something he already knew the ending to. just taking his time getting there.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════ your mate was still mid-rant about some lad from tinder who’d ghosted her twice and still liked all her stories, and you were nodding along, half-hearted, nursing your drink. the pub was loud, your feet were sore, and you were trying to decide if you had one more pint in you or if the night had already peaked.

then—

“fuckin’ hell.”

it landed behind you like a pint hitting wood. low. blunt. familiar in a way that made your stomach tilt sideways.

you turned. blinked. froze.

liam gallagher was standing ten feet away. pint in hand, brows lifted, mouth curled into something between a smirk and a sneer—like he’d just spotted something mad in the wild.

“didn’t think you were real,” he said, eyeing you like a puzzle. “thought maybe i’d made you up. or one of them bots. y’know—nutter with a good face.”

your throat went dry. “hi.”

he barked a laugh. “hi, she says. fuckin’ hell. you’ve been cloggin’ up my replies for weeks and that’s all i get?”

you smiled, helpless. “you’ve seen those?”

he leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “seen ’em? pet, they’re the only ones worth readin’.”

you flushed.

he grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself. took a long, lazy sip from his pint like it hadn’t cost him a thing to say that.

“was hopin’ you were half as fit in real life,” he added, eyes dragging over you in a way that wasn’t subtle. “turns out you’re worse.”

you laughed—half shock, half thrill. “worse?”

“yeah,” he said. “like... danger to the public. menace. babe.”

you raised a brow. “you rehearsed that one?”

“nah. came right outta me like a fuckin’ prophecy.”

he stepped in closer, nodded toward your drink. “you gonna buy us one, then? or are you all talk?”

“you’re the rockstar. shouldn’t you be buying me one?”

he scoffed. “i reply to one tweet about my sunglasses and now you want me to bankroll your night?”

“you replied to five.”

“six,” he muttered. then, quieter— “fuck’s sake.”

you were grinning now, bold from the beer and the way his eyes didn’t leave you. it felt like the centre of gravity had shifted.

“so?” he asked, leaning on the bar with one elbow. “you gonna stand there lookin’ smug all night, or are we havin’ this pint?”

“depends,” you said. “you always this charming, or is this just for me?”

he licked his teeth, head tilted. “dunno, love. maybe you’ll be the one to find out.”

you rolled your eyes, tried to steady yourself with a sip. the pint glass was too cold in your hand, the rim damp where you’d been leaving nervous little half-sips. you didn’t know what to do with your other hand, so you rested it flat on the bar, tracing a ring of condensation.

he clocked it. of course he did. gaze dropped once, then back up to your face. like he was filing it away. like he collected details the same way he collected insults.

“so what’s the verdict, then?” he asked—voice low but cutting clean through the din. “am i charming, or just a twat?”

you tilted your head. “both.”

his laugh cracked out quick, sharp. he knocked back another sip. “fair enough.”

the silence after wasn’t heavy. just odd. the jukebox kicked over to the stone roses. someone shouted at the telly. you felt his presence more than you saw him—the heat of his arm near yours, the faint smell of tobacco threaded through something warmer, sharper. aftershave, maybe. or just him.

he drummed his fingers once on the bar. impatient, maybe. restless. then:

“you local, then?”

“ish.” you shrugged. “not far.”

“dangerous,” he muttered, like it was a joke. “means i’ll be seein’ more of ya.”

your mouth twitched. “what makes you think you want that?”

he turned. really looked this time. no grin now—just that lazy, assessing stare you’d only ever imagined before. the kind that made your stomach dip.

“cos you’re here, ain’t ya?” he said simply. “ain’t leavin’, either.”

you didn’t have an answer for that. not one you could trust yourself to say out loud.

so you clinked your glass against his instead—light, nervous, stupid.

he smirked at that. shook his head like you were daft, but still lifted his pint to meet yours.

“fuckin’ menace,” he muttered. “knew it from the first reply.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

he kept sipping his pint. didn’t say much for a moment. let the music fill the space—a certain romance now, sweet and swirling, a little too tender for the look in his eyes. you half-wondered if he even noticed it.

he leaned his hip against the bar, shoulder angled toward you now, full-body and unbothered. pint dangling loose in one hand, thumb tapping against the glass.

“so go on then,” he said, like he was picking up an old conversation. “what’s your deal?”

you blinked. “my deal?”

“yeah. what’s the story? i post one thing about the moon havin’ it and next thing i know, i’ve got some pretty little gremlin flirtin’ in my mentions on the daily.”

you snorted. “gremlin’s harsh.”

he shrugged. “affectionate, that.”

you took a sip, licking your lips after. “maybe i just liked your tweets.”

“yeah?” he squinted at you. “which ones?”

“oh, you know. the spiritual wisdom. the threats. the tai chi incident.”

that got a grin. a proper one. teeth and everything.

“nearly took my own eye out,” he muttered. “fuckin’ tragic, that.”

“you survived. just barely.”

“only ’cos i had the moon on my side.”

you bit your lip. looked away, then back. “you always tweet like that?”

he raised an eyebrow. “like what?”

“like you’re possessed by a mancunian fortune cookie.”

he barked out a laugh—sharp and real, the kind that made his chest shake. “oi,” he said, swatting at your arm with the back of his hand. “cheeky fucker.”

you shrugged, grinning. “you asked.”

“mad thing is,” he said, turning back to his pint, “some of it’s real. some of it’s just bollocks. can’t tell which half most days.”

“don’t think anyone can.”

“no,” he agreed. “but you get it.”

you looked at him then. really looked.

and there it was again—not a flirt. not yet. just something watching.

like he’d read you in real time and liked the book.

you looked away first.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“so,” you said, swirling your drink a little, “do you talk to all your reply girls, or am i just special?”

he huffed through his nose. “fuckin’ hate that term.”

“which one?”

“‘reply girls.’ sounds like somethin’ noel’d moan about on a podcast.”

“so you’re dodging the question.”

“nah.” he shook his head, slow and deliberate. “just sayin’—if i wanted anyone in my mentions, it wouldn’t be half the ones i get.” he took another sip. “but you... you’re different.”

you raised a brow. “how so?”

he paused. just for a breath. then: “you make me laugh.” simple. flat. unflinching. like he hadn’t even thought about saying it.

you blinked, heat rising in your cheeks. “oh.”

“don’t get carried away,” he added, smirking into his glass. “sometimes you’re annoying as fuck.”

you let out a short, surprised laugh. “takes one to know one.”

he pointed at you. “that’s the shit. that’s why.”

you shook your head, hiding a smile. “you’re impossible.”

“and you’re a menace,” he said, shifting fully toward you now—no more lazy lean, just full-body attention. “but you’ve got style. and teeth. and you never fuckin’ miss.”

“you’ve definitely muted me.”

“never.” then, quieter. like a secret. “almost did. but then you said somethin’ about lettin’ me ruin your life for a laugh, and i went—yeah. alright. fair enough.”

you felt it in your chest, sharp and sudden—like lightning in water. but neither of you moved. not yet. just the hum of the pub behind you, the clink of glasses nearby, two half-drunk pints between you.

“do you reckon,” you asked, slow and cautious, “if we weren’t here right now... we’d still be tweeting?”

he looked at you, long.

“we will be anyway,” he said. “tomorrow. next week. whenever. you’ll post some filth and i’ll pretend i didn’t see it, then like your playlist the next day.”

you laughed. soft and fond. “that’s not flirting?”

“depends what you’re after.”

you looked down at your drink. “what if i don’t know?”

“then you’re honest,” he said. “rare these days.”

he nudged his pint against yours. a low clink. the gentlest kind of promise.

“but you’re here now,” he added. “and i’m not goin’ anywhere.”

you looked up. caught his gaze. that Liam look—half bored, half burning.

“alright,” you said. “guess i’m stayin’, then.”

“yeah?”

“just for the pint.”

“sure,” he said, already grinning. “just for the pint.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

he returned with both hands full, pint glasses knocking together at the base. didn’t say anything at first—just raised one toward you in offering, glass slick with condensation, knuckles smudged where the bar towel hadn’t dried the base proper. his fingers brushed yours as you took it. you felt it in your teeth.

“c’mon then,” he said, nodding toward the back corner. “reckon we’ve earned a seat.”

you didn’t answer. just followed. his parka slung over one arm, the other wrapped lazy round his pint. he didn’t check if you were behind him—you just were. orbit pulled. gravity bent.

the booth was too small. or maybe he was just big. either way, he took up more than his fair share—one leg stretched halfway into yours, the other knocked loose against the floor, heel tapping every now and then like he was keeping time to some song only he could hear. he shrugged the parka off and let it slump in the corner, then sank back into the seat like he’d always been there. black tee clinging soft to his shoulders, rings clicking gentle against his glass, thumb dragging slow over the condensation like it was muscle memory.

you tucked yourself into the edge, back half-pressed against the wall, trying not to shift too obviously when his thigh brushed yours. his arm was slung along the top of the booth, not touching, but close enough you could feel it—like static. like a held breath. like a warning. he hadn’t dropped it round your shoulders. not yet. but it hovered, cocky and casual, like it was just waiting for you to lean back and give him the excuse.

he hadn’t touched you. not really. just the press of his leg. the occasional brush of fingers when you reached for your drink. but the heat was unmistakable. a low thrum beneath your ribs, gathering slow. you felt a little electric. like your skin knew something your brain hadn’t caught up to yet.

you’d only meant to have one. just a drink, maybe two. a laugh, a story. something stupid to tell your mate the next day—remember when liam gallagher flirted with me at the pub?—followed by giggles and disbelief.

but liam was... magnetic. loud in a way that didn’t ask for attention, just pulled it in. like smoke. like gravity. his voice rolled low across the wood of the table, vowels stretched, consonants bitten off with that lazy northern lilt that made everything sound like a dare. every pint made him softer at the edges but sharper in the centre—easier with his hands, rougher with his compliments. unpredictable.

and you—god help you—you couldn’t stop grinning.

“you always this mouthy?” he asked, watching you over the rim of his glass.

his pupils were blown wide, black bleeding into blue, lids low and lazy like he was watching you from underwater. he looked at you like he wanted to laugh. or bite.

you shrugged, nudging his knee with yours. “only when provoked.”

he hummed deep in his chest, like an engine turning over. like it pleased him. his gaze dragged down your face, lingered at your mouth a second too long.

“so what,” he said, voice low, “you reckon i’ve been askin’ for it?”

“you reckon you haven’t?”

his tongue pressed into his cheek. “cheeky little thing, ain’t ya?”

you tried not to react, but your grin was already giving you away. he noticed. of course he noticed. his mouth curled, all smug and slow, like he was plotting your downfall and enjoying every second of it.

he shifted, stretched his arm higher over the back of the booth, his wrist brushing the ends of your hair like an accident. he smelled like cheap aftershave and stale beer and something sharper beneath it—cool and clean, like peppermint and rain. it hit the back of your throat like a dare.

“y’know what your problem is?” he asked, tipping his glass back.

you leaned in slightly. “enlighten me.”

he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then pointed vaguely in your direction. “you think you’re runnin’ the place. all smug. all clever. but deep down...” he leaned in now, voice dropping, lips just close enough to yours to make your breath catch. “you’re waitin’ for someone to knock you back a peg.”

you raised a brow. “is that what you’re offering?”

he grinned—wide and wolfish. “don’t tempt me, menace.”

you laughed, tipped your head back. he watched you like he was drinking you in, too.

something shifted in the air. subtle. charged. the pub blurred at the edges—just moving lights and mumbled noise, all dim beneath the weight of his gaze.

“you really think you can handle me?” you asked, cocking your head.

he didn’t blink. “babe, i was dealin’ with girls like you before you had your fuckin’ baby teeth.”

you choked on your drink, spluttered out a laugh that made his whole face light up. and for a second, it was easy. stupid. sweet. a moment caught mid-spin. two orbits slipping closer.

you hadn’t expected this. not the rhythm. not the pull. he was older, cockier, full of himself in a way that should’ve turned you off. but there was something about him—the way he spoke to you like you could keep up. like you might outpace him if he wasn’t careful.

he drained the last of his pint and set the glass down with a clink. rings flashing dull in the pub light. arm flexing as he stretched again. and this time, his hand dropped to your shoulder. not heavy. not claiming. just... there.

you didn’t move.

he tapped his thumb once against your collarbone. absentminded. or maybe not.

“one more?” he asked, nodding toward the bar.

you swallowed. nodded. “yeah. one more.”

he stood, slow and loose-limbed, fingers grazing your shoulder as he passed. he didn’t look at you. didn’t need to.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

he came back with two rounds. not two drinks—two rounds. four pints stacked in both hands like some unholy beer tower, face smug as anything.

“didn’t know what you wanted, so i made a judgement call,” he said, thunking them down on the table with a flourish.

you blinked at the collection. “jesus.”

“cheers,” he added, raising one to his mouth like he hadn’t just committed a war crime against moderation.

you stared at him. then at the pints. then back at him.

“you trying to kill me?”

“you started it,” he said, half-snarling, half-grinning. “all that mouth, ‘m just keepin’ up.”

“this is not keeping up. this is sabotage.”

“nah. this is character development.”

he passed you a glass like it was a peace offering—all froth and sparkle and maybe a little bit of something dangerous. you took it with a sigh, but you were smiling too hard to make it convincing.

the booth had shrunk in the time he was gone. or maybe he’d just taken up even more space—slumped back now, legs splayed, thigh pressed warm to yours like it belonged there. his knee kept knocking into you, slow and accidental. except it wasn’t accidental at all.

you were tipsy already, but now you felt it in your fingertips. everything buzzing. sweet. his voice a little louder now, words slurred at the edges, vowels dragged out like he was chewing them.

“y’know,” he said, mid-sip, “when you first started tweetin’ at me, i thought you were a bot.”

you nearly spit out your drink. “excuse me?”

“swear down. i was like—no one’s that bold. not without wires in their brain.”

“you’re such a dick,” you said, laughing.

“yeah, well. you kept goin’, didn’t ya?”

you shrugged. “someone had to humble you.”

he pointed. “see? bot energy. cheeky. relentless. absolutely no shame.”

“and yet you replied. repeatedly.”

“i was intrigued. like watchin’ a feral cat type with its paws.”

you snorted—loud enough to turn heads at the next table. he looked impossibly pleased with himself.

“you’re lucky you’re pretty,” you muttered, sipping again.

he leaned in, eyes twinkling. “say that again.”

“what, that you’re lucky?”

“nah. the other bit.”

you didn’t. but you didn’t have to. your cheeks were warm, and he saw it.

“thought so,” he murmured.

you reached for your next pint. he did too—and your hands brushed. not fleeting. solid. the kind of touch that lingers even when it ends.

you both paused. looked at each other.

“so,” you said, tilting your head, “how’s it feel, flirting with someone half your age?”

he let out a bark of laughter—full and unfiltered.

“cheeky and ageist,” he said. “unbelievable.”

you shrugged, smirking. “i’m just saying, it’s giving cradle robber.”

he leaned in closer, close enough to smell the beer on his breath, the faintest trace of sweat and aftershave and something smoky beneath.

“it’s givin’ you’re lucky i’m patient,” he said, voice low. “cos if i were twenty years younger, we’d’ve already got a cab.”

you blinked. heat flooded your chest.

“what, and ruin the mystery?” you said, swallowing around the sudden thud of your pulse.

he smiled like sin. “oh, babe. you think there’s still mystery left?”

your laugh came out shaky. you covered it with a sip. his eyes didn’t leave your face.

“you’re such a fucking menace,” you mumbled.

“so you’ve said.”

“you love it.”

“never said i didn’t.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

the second pint disappeared faster than the first. things were fuzzier now—edges gone soft, thoughts slipping sideways. he kept touching you. little things. a hand on your knee when he leaned forward to talk, a knuckle brushing yours when he gestured too wide. and you—well, you weren’t pulling away. you made some offhand comment about one of his tweets. something stupid he’d posted about wanting to headbutt a pigeon. he laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink.

“you saved that one?” he asked.

“maybe.”

“you fuckin’ loser.”

“you’re the one who tweeted it!”

“yeah, well. i was in a mood. the bird looked at me funny.”

you leaned into him, shoulder to shoulder now. “you’re unwell.”

“and you’re obsessed.”

“a little.”

he tilted his head. “lot, more like.”

you smiled. “so what if i am?”

“so nothin’. just means you’ve got taste.”

he said it too easily. too warm. your chest twisted.

“fuck,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “you’re dangerous.”

you blinked. “me?”

he looked at you then—really looked—and for once, the grin dropped.

“yeah,” he said. “you.”

the booth went quiet. the pub blurred at the edges. it was just you and him, pressed thigh to thigh, one breath away from whatever the fuck this was becoming.

he glanced down, then back up.

“we gotta get outta here,” he said suddenly.

you blinked. “what?”

he was already standing. “too loud. too many people. too many... rules.”

“liam—”

“mine’s close. c’mon.”

he held out his hand. not rushed. not pleading, just sure.

and you took it.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

outside, the air hit your face like a slap — sharp and cool and real.

liam flagged a cab with a sharp whistle, his hand still locked around yours like he wasn’t planning to let go. his grip was hot, anchoring, steady despite the wobble in his stance — drunk but purposeful, all swagger and instinct.

the cab pulled up fast. you barely registered what he said to the driver — something about camden, maybe, or chalk farm — before he was tugging you into the backseat, the door slamming behind you like punctuation.

and then — he kissed you.

no warning. no pause. his hand found your throat, not rough, just firm, thumb warm along your jaw as he pulled you into him like gravity had a grip on his bones. his mouth hit yours hard — beer-slick and breathless, tongue deep, a groan cracking out low from his chest like it’d been caged for too long.

you grabbed for him without thinking, hand twisted in the lapel of his coat, your knees knocking his. his other arm curled tight around your waist, dragging you half into his lap like he needed you there — like sitting beside him wasn’t enough.

you moaned, high and shaky, the noise slipping out before you could think.

he laughed, low and wrecked. “yeah. that’s it. gimme all that.”

the cab rocked over a bump and he took the chance to shift you closer, his hand sliding to your hip, thumb pressing into the fabric like he owned it. like you were already his to move. his fingers curled against your waist, guiding you where he wanted you.

“you feel that?” he murmured, teeth catching at your bottom lip. “how easy you are to move when you let me?”

your breath hitched. he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper. his hand didn’t leave your body — kept you close, kept you pliable. thumb grazing your cheekbone, stroking down to your lip like he was drawing out your obedience.

"fuckin’—" he broke off, breath hot on your jaw, "been wantin’ to do this since the first fuckin’ tweet."

you laughed, all breath and heat. “which one?”

his fingers slid under your skirt — slow, almost lazy. too casual to be casual. “take your pick,” he muttered. “any of the ones that made me look like a perv scrollin’ at half past midnight.”

your breath stuttered. his palm cupped your thigh, warm and calloused. you kissed him again, harder this time — hungry, wet, teeth clacking. his mouth swallowed every sound you made like they belonged to him.

his hand skimmed higher.

your leg shifted, barely a thought behind it — just instinct, giving him room. giving him permission.

his fingers dragged up the inside of your thigh, slow and possessive, until they reached the edge of your knickers. just stopped there.

“liam—”

“shh,” he whispered against your mouth, the softest hush. “just wanna feel.”

he pressed against you, not pushing, not yet — just there. the heat of his hand solid over you, thumb resting against cotton like a promise. like he could learn your body through the fabric if you’d let him.

“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered. “you’re hot.”

“you’re drunk,” you breathed.

“yeah. drunk and lucky.”

you arched into his hand without thinking. helpless.

his touch shifted — dragging down your thigh again, slow enough to make your nerves burn, before tracing back up with his fingers splayed. his thumb dipped just under the band of your underwear, barely there.

his mouth found your neck, open and hot and messy — the kind of kisses that smeared, that took, that taught you what he liked by how he gave it.

“been thinkin’ ‘bout this,” he murmured, voice low and slurred and dangerous. “you, squirming in my fuckin’ lap. didn’t even know your name, and i still—”

his hand pressed firmer between your legs.

you gasped. choked on his name. “liam—fuck—”

he kissed you again, bruising and sharp. his hand held you there, cupped you like a possession.

“still smug?” he breathed against your lips.

you whimpered — might’ve said no, might’ve just made noise.

his hand curled tighter. “good girl.”

the cab jolted over a pothole and your hips rocked forward, grinding into his hand by accident — and fuck, the sound he made. low, guttural, right at the base of his throat.

his forehead dropped to yours.

“jesus christ,” he muttered, breath ragged. “if this ride don’t end in thirty seconds, i’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

you couldn’t even speak. just clung to him, heart rabbiting.

he kissed you once more — filthy and fast — then slipped his hand back down, pulled away like it hurt him to stop.

you whimpered at the loss. actually whimpered. he grinned at the sound — flushed and wild and so fucking pleased with himself.

“babe,” he said, voice wrecked and reverent. “we’re not even close to done.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

the cab shuddered to a halt, but neither of you moved.

just the engine ticking. your breath still tangled with his. the ghost of his hand still hot between your thighs. liam exhaled hard, like he’d been holding something in. dragged a crumpled note from his pocket and shoved it at the driver without so much as a glance.

“cheers, mate,” he muttered, voice all gravel and hunger.

he kicked the door open and stumbled out like the street owed him space. then turned back, already holding his hand out toward you.

“c’mon,” he said. “before i start dry humpin’ the fuckin’ seats.”

you took it.

the street was quiet. late enough now that even the pubs had gone dark, the night spread wide and yawning overhead. he led you down the block to a squat row of flats, keys jangling as he fished them out, head ducked like the stairs were already winding him up.

and you barely made it inside.

his coat hit the floor somewhere behind you, and your back found the wall like a magnet. he was on you again — mouth hot, breath hotter, tongue licking into yours like he needed to taste how wrecked he’d already made you.

“fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered against your throat, hands sliding up under your skirt. “knew you’d be like this. all mouth online, but soft for me. all that noise, and now look at you.”

his fingers pushed into the soaked fabric of your knickers — slow, then firm, like he already knew exactly what he’d find. you gasped. bucked into it.

“that’s right,” he breathed. “don’t hold back. let me feel it.”

your head hit the wall behind you with a dull thud. he kissed you again, deeper this time — messy and demanding, tongue sliding, hand tight at your waist like he was holding you still. your fingers found his hair, tugged hard enough to earn a grunt.

“keep teasin’ me on twitter all you want,” he rasped, mouth brushing yours, “but in here? you’re mine. yeah?”

you couldn’t speak. just nodded — fast. breathless.

his hand flexed between your legs, knuckles dragging slow, deliberate. “say it.”

“yours,” you whispered. “fuck—liam—”

“good girl.”

he pressed in closer, hand guiding your hips against his thigh like he wanted to feel every tremble. the weight of him. the voice in your ear like a slow, dirty prayer.

“upstairs?” you breathed, dizzy.

he grinned like sin. “if we make it.”

his hand dragged back down your thigh, knuckles grazing skin like he was wiping your heat onto himself. you whimpered. he looked smug as ever.

“bed,” he said. “now.”

you followed. legs wobbly. breath wrecked. your skirt still crooked, lips still kiss-bitten.

the flat was dim and chaotic — low lamps, half-drunk mugs on shelves, a guitar slumped in the corner. records stacked messy, sleeves half-open. a parka draped over the bannister like a king’s cloak. you brushed past it on your way up, hand steadying against the wall.

liam looked back once, saw you laugh.

“oi,” he said. “no judgin’ the decor. i’m a fuckin’ rockstar, not a minimalist.”

“noted,” you managed, winded.

he reached the landing and shouldered the bedroom door open like he was kicking it down.

then turned. looked at you like you were already stripped bare.

“get in,” he said, low and sure. “off with that skirt.”

and you didn’t even hesitate. not for a second.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

his room smelled like weed and something faintly metallic, like guitar strings. you barely registered it. too busy backing toward the bed, fingers fumbling at the hem of your skirt, breath hitching as the door slammed shut and liam turned that look on you again—drunk, feral, starving.

“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, eyes dragging over you like a lit fuse. “you gonna tease me all night or what?”

you dropped the skirt in answer. let it puddle at your feet. his mouth twitched. not quite a smile—something darker. possessive.

he stalked over, parka already half-off, and grabbed the bottom of your jumper with one hand, yanking it over your head like he couldn’t bear the space between you a second longer. “there we fuckin’ go,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “jesus. look at you.”

you reached for his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, but he batted your hands away with a lazy slap. “nah, let me.”

he undid it slow. deliberate. the fucker. eyes never leaving yours, like he wanted you squirming—liked the way your hands twitched, the way your breath caught every time a new inch of skin was revealed. “don’t get shy now,” he said, shirt falling off his shoulders, lean chest exposed in the low light. “been barkin’ at me online like you wanted a fuckin’ medal.”

“you’re one to talk,” you said, voice barely holding. “half your tweets are spiritual thirst traps.”

he barked a laugh—bright and chaotic, head tipped back. “that so?”

“yeah. all that inhale/exhale shit? textbook horny behaviour.”

“you’re fuckin’ nuts,” he said, grin split wide, grabbing your face with both hands and kissing you like he meant it—hard and messy, tongue hot in your mouth, breath shared like a secret.

you tumbled back into the bed together, limbs tangled, mouths still chasing each other. he slotted between your thighs like he belonged there, hips pressing down—his cock thick and heavy through his jeans, grinding slow against the soaked cotton between your legs.

“fuckin’ soaked through,” he muttered, rough hand dragging the fabric aside. “barely touched you.”

“liam—” you gasped, your voice lost when he rutted against you, slow and filthy, the friction making your toes curl.

“shh, babe,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek. “let me feel you first.”

he rocked against you, jeans still half-on like he couldn’t be arsed to take them off yet. his hand slid under your bra, thumb brushing your nipple, and you arched into him with a choked sound. “fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, sucking at your neck now, slow and possessive. “god, you’re perfect. knew it. knew you’d be like this.”

you whimpered. ground up into him. your thigh hiked high on his hip, desperate. his cock dragged against your cunt again—hot and thick through the cotton, slick building with every pass. it was filthy. easy. neither of you undressed, just messy and wrecked and too far gone to care.

“liam—please—”

“please what?” he grinned, voice wrecked and gleaming. “use your words, babe. you’re mouthy as fuck online—where’s all that now?”

you whimpered again. nearly sobbed.

“please touch me.”

he growled. that did it.

“oh, i’ll fuckin’ touch you.”

his hand slid down, under your panties, thick fingers dragging through your slick like he’d been waiting his whole life to feel it.

“jesus christ,” he hissed. “you’ve been like this all night?”

you nodded—helpless.

“course you have,” he muttered. “walkin’ ‘round in that skirt, flirtin’ like you weren’t beggin’ for it.”

he pushed two fingers in without warning. you cried out. your hips bucked.

“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, curling them—deep and sharp. “that’s it, love. give it up for me.”

he worked you open with slow, cruel confidence. thumb circling, palm pressed tight, voice a hot slur against your skin.

“this,” he said, breath warm at your temple, “is for every time you posted some cracked shit about me barkin’. every time you said i’d ruin your life.”

he bit your earlobe. curled his fingers again.

“this is me provin’ you fuckin’ right.”

you couldn’t answer. couldn’t breathe. your whole body sang with it—shaking, clenching, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing left.

and when he finally pulled his hand back, dragged your panties down your legs and shoved his jeans just low enough—

you were already gone.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

he didn’t tease.

no slow grind of knuckles over your clit. no cheeky smirk asking if you were sure.

he just grabbed your hips, hooked your thighs over his arms like they belonged there, and spat into his palm — the sound loud in the hush of the room. slicked it over his cock with two filthy strokes, then lined himself up and pushed in with a low, guttural groan.

no warning. no easing.

just all of him — thick and hot and real — stretching you open in one long, brutal thrust.

your body arched like it had been struck. a choked noise caught in your throat.

liam dropped his forehead to yours, voice already wrecked. “fuckin’ hell, babe… knew you’d take me. knew it.”

he held there, buried to the hilt, chest heaving against yours. his fingers splayed against your thigh, gripping hard, keeping you open for him like you were something to be claimed.

“look at you,” he breathed, pulling out an inch just to sink back in slow. “fuckin’ perfect, you are.”

you whimpered — helpless, breathless — and his pace began to build. not fast. not yet. just deep, steady thrusts that left no room to hide. like he was fitting himself into a space he already knew.

“yeah,” he muttered. “just like that. fuckin’ melt for me.”

your hands clawed at his shoulders. his back. anything solid.

he didn’t mind. leaned into it. let you scratch and cling, even grabbed one of your wrists and pinned it to the pillow, like he wanted the image of it burned into your bones.

“you’ve been mouthin’ off for weeks,” he said, thrust sharp now, hips slamming into yours with purpose. “tweetin’ like you’re a fuckin’ brat. like you don’t wanna be put in your place.”

you moaned, too far gone to be clever.

he grinned, nasty and gleaming.

“but look at you now,” he purred, lips brushing your ear. “all pliant. all mine.”

your thighs trembled where they framed his hips. he read the signs — watched your breath stutter, watched your eyes flutter. pressed down harder with his cock, grinding in deep, hitting the spot that made you keen.

“that’s it, baby,” he said. “let me take care of it. let me do the thinkin’.”

his hand found your throat, thumb resting just under your jaw — not choking, just holding. grounding. anchoring you in the heat of him, in the rhythm of skin on skin and the wet slap of your cunt taking him.

“god, you’re drippin’,” he hissed, thrusts growing rougher. “you like bein’ used like this, don’t you?”

you nodded. couldn’t speak.

he caught your mouth in a messy kiss — more teeth than tongue, all heat and sweat and possessive little growls between gasps.

“all them tweets,” he murmured, voice a low rasp, “talkin’ big. bet you were touchin’ yourself to the thought of this, weren’t you?”

your hips bucked. his cock hit deep.

“yeah. i fuckin’ knew it.”

he fucked you harder — not cruel, but intense. relentless. like he wanted to fuck the noise out of you, the attitude, the last scraps of independence still clinging to your spine.

his thumb found your clit and rubbed tight, wet circles, dragging every twitch and whimper out of you like a secret.

“come for me,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to yours. “c’mon, love. now.”

your orgasm hit like a wave — sudden, breathless, full-body. it ripped through you, left you shuddering, clutching at him like you’d come undone.

“fuckin’ hell,” he groaned, feeling your cunt flutter around him. “you’re—jesus. look at you.”

he didn’t let up. not right away.

kept thrusting through it, kept you stuffed full, overstimulated, sobbing into his shoulder.

“wanted me to ruin you,” he said. “wanted to act all hard and end up cryin’ on my cock. yeah?”

you whimpered. nodded. couldn’t stop shaking.

he grabbed your face in one rough, reverent hand and kissed you hard — wet and deep, like he needed to taste every last bit of you before he gave in.

“gonna fill you up now,” he growled. “fuckin’ breed you if you’re not careful.”

your eyes fluttered. your body bucked.

his hips stuttered — one, two, three hard slams — and then he came with a low, broken moan, cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled everything he had.

he collapsed over you, arms tight, mouth pressed to your shoulder.

“fucking hell,” he mumbled. “you’re dangerous.”

you didn’t answer. didn’t need to.

you just curled into him, still shaking, still full, and let him hold you there.

his cock softened inside you, but he didn’t pull out. just kept one hand on your thigh, the other in your hair, like he wasn’t ready to give you back yet.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“fuckin’ hell,” he whispered after a while, voice rough with awe. “you alright?”

you hummed, lips brushing his shoulder. “yeah.”

he shifted, just a little, finally easing out of you — slow, careful, like he knew you’d be sore. you winced anyway, legs twitching, and he caught your face in his palm like it was precious.

“‘m sorry,” he said, low. “wasn’t thinkin’. got carried away.”

you smiled, small. “you think?”

he huffed a laugh, leaned down to kiss you. properly, this time — no bite, no heat, just lips on lips, slow and warm.

“didn’t mean to—” he started, but you shook your head, fingers sliding into his hair.

“was good,” you said. “really good.”

he held your gaze for a second longer, then kissed you again. he looked so different like this. flushed and fucked-out, hair damp, eyes heavy-lidded and soft. you’d never seen him this quiet. this still.

you watched him fumble with the duvet, tugging it up over your bare legs, half-wrestling it into place. it was sweet, in a ridiculous sort of way — Liam Gallagher, rockstar, swearing under his breath as he tucked you in like you were something fragile.

he laid back beside you with a groan. pulled you into his chest without asking.

“you do this with all your twitter mutuals?” you mumbled, cheek pressed to his collarbone.

he snorted. “nah. just the ones that mouth off.”

you grinned. “so all of them, then?”

“oi.”

his fingers traced lazy shapes over your back. every so often, they paused — like he was checking, making sure you were still there, still warm, still close. you were.

“you’re soft,” you whispered, more to yourself than him.

he grunted. “shut it. i’m rock ‘n’ roll.”

you pressed a kiss to his throat. “you’re a teddy bear.”

“say that again and i’m blockin’ you.”

you giggled into his skin. he let you.

the room was quiet now. streetlights leaking through the blinds. somewhere outside, someone was laughing too loud. inside, everything was still.

his hand found yours under the covers. he threaded your fingers together. didn’t let go.

“g’night, trouble,” he muttered, already halfway under.

and you, floating in the haze of him, already so far gone — you whispered it back. “g’night, rockstar.” and meant it.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

you didn’t remember falling asleep. just the slow fade — his arms around you, the weight of his breath, the ache in your thighs wrapped in warmth and cotton sheets. you’d drifted somewhere quiet, somewhere safe.

when you stirred, it was bright. too bright. the curtains were thin and the sun was ruthless, spilling over the bed like an accusation.

you groaned and buried your face in the pillow.

“mornin’, menace.”

his voice was lower now, hoarse and scratchy with sleep. you turned your head, squinting — and there he was. sat up, shirtless, hair an unholy mess, one hand braced behind him while the other nursed a mug of tea.

he looked… good. painfully so. especially in the morning light — soft-edged and half-lidded, pink at the mouth like he’d been dreaming about you.

“you made tea?” you croaked.

“’course i did,” he said, holding out the mug like a peace offering. “not a monster.”

you sat up slowly, wincing a little. he clocked it but didn’t say anything. just watched you take a sip, eyes warm and unreadable.

you half expected him to be weird. distant. maybe a bit cold, now that it was morning. but he wasn’t. he stayed close. stayed soft. let your bare thigh rest over his. let you lean into him, sleepy and dazed, while the tea cooled between you.

you didn’t talk much. didn’t need to. just sat there, tangled and quiet, while the world outside blinked into focus.

— you left a little before noon.

he didn’t walk you out, didn’t make a scene. just kissed you once — lazy, lingering — and muttered, “text me when you’re home, yeah?” like it was a habit already.

you nodded. you almost smiled.

you still felt like you were floating when the cab pulled away. still smelled like him. still had the little marks on your hips where his hands had held you too tight. you looked out the window the whole ride back, half-expecting the clouds to part or something. they didn’t. but your phone buzzed in your lap anyway.

@liamgallagher THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS TO MY NEIGHBOURS

you stared at it. blinked. your mouth pulled into a slow grin.

no name. no tag. but you knew.

you liked the tweet. didn’t reply.

not yet.

[torturredd]

hi I’m trying to find vi’s fics I reblogged

[antidesire]

LEON SQUIRT SQUAD ADVOCATE.. he loves squirters it’s real. being the cause of your body reacting in such a way and then scolding you for it? oh yea

disclaimer.. this is all consensual, reader and leon would’ve talked about boundaries, and safe words before hand, always practice safe sex. rough, light face slapping, finger fucking, squirting, leon is mean, cocky, degrading, insulting, please take caution reading, mwah.

send in your filthiest leon headcanons ♡

SCOLDING YOU FOR IT— kisses your brain

no because this play into humiliation, delicious. not sure if this is exactly what you were getting at but here we gooo woohoo

his ego is already big, this motherfucker is so cocky it’s unbearable !! so you bet your ass when he finally has you squirting- after you insisted you can’t do that, he is left with the biggest smug expression plastered on his face the rest of the day too.

his three fingers were pushed inside your soppy little cunt, drenched in his spit and your arousal. the way he was curling his fingers, stretching you out with every inch until they were stuffed up to his knuckles.

you were inconsolable, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, and a death grip on his other arm rested nonchalantly up on your cheek, slapping gently now and then ♡

you looked sooo cute, so messy, body trembling, he had to force your legs back open with his elbow every time his fingers picked up in pace, settling on an angle that had your toes curling and emitting a shriek of sheer desperation from you.

“i-i can’t!” you cried, snivelling, cheeks and nose burning, your legs kicking in the air beside his head.

he scoffed, “mmh, i think you can.”

it felt like you couldn’t breath, the feeling of his other hand now pushing into your tummy to keep you against the bed, certainly didn’t help but oh-

“l-leon! no, no.. hold o— nghnn, wait!” your feet kicked themselves against his back, vision way too blurred to even watch him between your legs any more.

all you could hear was the faint sound of leon’s voice and the soppy, slick sound of his fingers abuse on your cunt.

you were soaked, your cum splattered over your tummy, leon’s hands and upper chest too, glistening in your fluids.

when you regained most of your bearings you kicked leon’s shoulder, grumbling about how sensitive you were, “you’re fucking disgusting.” he eased up his fingers and your face went cold, blinking a couple times.

you gasped, feeling his hand grasp your jaw firmly, your sticky wet release spreading on your face, dripping down his hand, “say sorry, brat.” he pushed your cheeks together which made you pout, shaking your head a little.

“i know your body better than you, ain’t that pathetic?” he laughed, he laughed right in your fucking face. “you doubted me..” he mocked your upset expression.

your words came out jumbled when you tried to speak, his grip on your jaw made it hard to be coherent, it only made him laugh even more, it made you feel small underneath him like that.

“n’awww, now don’t be sad..” he was still being condescending, “it’s okay to be a dumb little thing, that’s why you got me, sweetheart, i’ll fix you.”

[tulipsbymybed]

this is so basic but i’m obsessed with the idea of the “only one bed trope” with leon. like, “oh no, it’s cold and we have to cuddle for warmth, wait why is your dick hard”

asdfghjkl I’m like. DROOLING.

BABE!!!

When you’d made your way to Leon’s apartment, it had only been a light dusting of snow. A pretty sight, made better by the comfort and warmth of the bus you were on when it snowed a little harder.

At his apartment it was a little worse, wind blowing you back a bit and white obscuring your vision-but you’d come all this way and Leon had been gone for ages, it’s not like you were gonna turn back round?

Which is why you and Leon are currently watching in silence as the local news tells you that all public transport stopped thirty minutes ago, and the roads are not safe to use. Great.

Just what you needed right? Long day of work and then you get stranded away from home because of a goddamn blizzard??? Brilliant.

You both just stare at the screen, each thinking mayyyyybe it isn’t so bad, maybe you could still go home-

A picture flashes up on the screen of an apartment building, four feet deep in snow and in a comical show of panic you both snap your heads to each other, then rush to his window and shove the blinds aside. The sight that greets you is, well, a massive snow bank blocking his window.

It doesn’t take long for Leon to convince you to sleep in his bed rather than in the couch, mainly because he insisted he’d take it and you knew his back was worse than he let on from all the dangerous missions he had to do.

So here you are, lying under the covers in his bed (and in his shirt, which had made his mind go dangerously blank when he’d seen you walk out the bathroom wearing it) waiting for him to come back.

And then the power goes out.

The lights shut off, your phone lights up when it stops charging and the radiator clanks depressingly as it shuts off. It’s probably partly your imagination but the room seems to instantly drop about ten degrees.

Leon’s head pops out from behind the bathroom door, toothbrush hanging out his mouth and sweatpants slung low on his hips. There’s a dribble of toothpaste on his chest that you decide not to comment on.

“Dif-div may heaffin duft sut ff?”

“Did your what now?”

He takes the toothbrush out of his mouth and sends you a slightly panicked look.

“Did my heating just shut off-”

“I mean I think the power for the entire building shut off it’s not all about you Leon-”

“You’re the worst-after I gave you the shirt off my back as well-”

Your eyes roll instinctively at his mocking tone.

“My apologies my lord, I can’t thank you enough for your sweaty unclean shirt that you’ve been wearing all day-”

He tries not to laugh at that, mouth still partly filled with toothpaste, as he wanders back to his sink.

“I’m kidding, thanks for letting me stay here-and thanks for the shirt, you actually happen to be one of those guys who smells really good constantly. It’s very annoying, I hope you know-”

You’re settling onto your side and burrowing under the warmth of the covers as you speak so you miss his face as he walks over to you, the sheer want that’s painted all over it as he thinks of you in his clothes and drowned in his scent. He also thinks that this is the closest he’ll ever get, and he just hums in response.

A few hours later, after you’ve both fallen asleep, it’s the very early hours of the morning and you wake up to a very cold foot.

Somehow during the night your body decided to stick it out from under the covers, and it’s now fucking freezing.

Though, that doesn’t seem to be the only reason you woke up.

The other seems to be that Leon’s arms are now wrapped around your waist, his forehead is pressed against your back and his cock is rigidly pushing up against your ass.

For a few seconds you think maybe he’s still asleep, it’s a natural thing after all, maybe he has no idea it’s even happening-so you think you’ll just go back to sleep, shifting your body a little and unknowingly pushing your ass back a little against him.

That’s when you find out he’s not asleep at all, from that way his arms tighten around you and he whimpers so pathetically at the feeling. It’s almost a pained noise, an animalistic whine at the stimulation on his aching cock.

In a moment of impulsivity, you drift a hand down to wrap over one of his and push your hips back at the same time. It seems to be all the encouragement he needs because he moves his other hand up to grab at your tits, messily groping them as he ruts against your backside. The shirt you’re wearing is pushed up to your waist by this point, and his shaft shoves between the clothed cheeks of your ass, tip brushing against the small of your back every now and then.

Sleepily, you notice his hand drifting back down again-to between your thighs this time, trying to hook into your panties to push them aside. Your hand catches his, stops his movements and god the sound he lets out, you could have told someone their entire family died and they wouldn’t have sounded nearly as pained as that.

Leon tries to wriggle his hand out of your grip, sliding his fingers over the gusset of your underwear and feeling the wetness. There’s a soft kiss pressed against your back before he starts babbling to you, begging you to please please I’m-please baby I need to-fuck-need’t be inside you-please let me just-let me put it in-just-just a little-I’ll only put the tip in I swear-fuck-promise baby just wanna feel you-

And you’re gripping his hand again, moving it to rest on your hip and telling him be patient leon, we can do that tomorrow, it’s okay baby I want you to cum like this-that’s it leon, keep humping me like a good little puppy and cum for me yeah? such a good boy, you can fuck me tomorrow, stay inside my cunt as long as you like but not right now baby-because you’re still tired, still half asleep if you’re being honest, and you can tell he likes the authority, that he likes the orders.

He only whines in response though, digs his fingers into your hip and screws up the material of your underwear in his grip-he moves as though he’s going to tug it down and you jerk your hips forward away from his member, throbbing and leaking precum onto his sheets.

He whimpers again, looks at you with teary eyes and sniffles as he tries to pull you back and you send him a harsh look, cause if you don’t behave then I won’t let you fuck me tomorrow Leon, okay? you gotta be good otherwise I’m not letting you cum inside me yeah? be a good boy for me tonight and I’ll let you do whatever you want in the morning-

And he nods so fucking fast at you, hair flipping a little as his eyes turn eager again, immediately reaching for you again and you watch a small spurt of precum leave the tip of his cock as you move to settle back against him.

It only takes a few movements to cum this time, after accidentally edging himself while he slept and pent up from you leaving his grip.

His hand is still tight on your hip when you reach an arm up to stroke his bicep soothingly, feeling him jerk and twitch against your ass in the aftershocks, and he’s nosing against your cheek, licking at your jaw and asking you promise? in the morning? you promise I can put it in later?

And who could deny that?

[venomvalley-deactivated20250612]

FAIR PLAY

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: You’ve both made a bet, and neither of you are keen on losing. To even the playing field, you try something new—something that vibrates.

words: 3.5k

warnings: 18+ only (switch!leon, bindings, light choking)

notes: anon sent me an imagine that turned into a brainworm. and this is the result. i'm gonna go take a nap now jfc (added like 1k words from the first version)

You’re nervous. He’s smug as usual, wrists cradled in silk, tied to the bedpost. Shirt hiked up to his chest, pants unbuttoned.

A bet gone wrong, of sorts. That’s why you’re here—christ, not like you’re complaining. The view is wonderful, and anticipation leaves you fidgeting atop his thighs.

“Do your worst,” he says, little more than a thick rumble. He wants this, and he does little to hide his impatience. The clench of his jaw, the twist of his wrists.

“You don’t think this is my worst?” you ask, ghosting fingers over the divot of his hip, skirting close to the slick length of his cock. His abdomen twitches, and your lips stretch into a grin.

“I know you. Wouldn’t show your cards this early.”

“Think you can take a little more?”

“I’ll take whatever you give me.”

Fuck. You’re a sucker for his vulnerability, and that one sentence doles out enough to overdose you. The look in his eyes, severity in devotion. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not playing fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war, right?”

Right. This is a battle of resilience, of wills. Much like sparring: assessing weaknesses, waiting for openings, a final blow.

Fucking and fighting don’t seem too different, after all.

“If that’s the case, you’ll be taking a lot more.”

His face falls when you climb off the bed, and the frame creaks as he jerks his arms in an attempt to free himself.

You level an unamused glare at his agitated form. “Don't be so dramatic. I’ll be back.”

“You’re evil. You know that?”

You sift around inside the bottom drawer of the dresser and lift out an indiscriminate cardboard box, then rise back up and turn to him, your eyes drained of jest. “Just say the word and we’ll stop.”

He’s stubborn, but he knows his boundaries. Knows yours. He promised you when this all started that he would never let you continue if he grew uncomfortable. And while these circumstances are rare, the type of play you engage in only when the mood strikes, he’s never crossed that line.

“No. No, I’m good.”

You join him on the bed again, take a seat on his thighs, and place the box on the sheets beside you. “In that case, I have a surprise.”

He blanches when you present to him a bullet vibrator, smooth and baby blue. A personal favorite of yours. “That’s not—“

“What? Fair?”

He stews in his frustration, furrows his brow and clenches his fists into the silk bindings. You press a soft kiss just below his sternum, soothe a comforting hand up and down his side, give a teasing lick to the head of his cock. 

“Damn you,” he huffs, a ruddy blush set high on his cheeks, eyes lidded and glossy.

He isn’t angry. Most likely an effort on his part to keep up bratty, combative appearances, lest he give in and break the bet altogether.

Regardless, your lips stretch into a boasting grin, and you lick a heavy, lingering trail from base to tip. He sighs out all jilted and stuttery, jaw relaxing, brows angled in upturn. Once again jerks the headboard forward.

“You’re gonna break that thing, so unless your idea of sexy is waiting twelve hours in the emergency room, I suggest you stop.”

“Just get on with it already,” he says, voice bordering on a growl that coils pleasured heat at the base of your spine.

“We’re making a bet, remember? Unless you’ve already lost.”

His head thumps back against the pillow, and you already miss the sight of his face. Can’t deny that you’re frustrated as well—how easy it would be to just raise up and sink down on his cock, all pretty and thick and slicked-up, just for you.

But the first one to give in loses, and you aren’t a quitter.

Unfortunately, neither is he.

He’s weighty against your tongue, tastes like the body wash from his earlier shower and the salt of precum, something beneath it all that leaves your mouth watering.

You bob your head up and down his length, and he spreads his legs as far as your knees allow, and the headboard bangs against the wall.

He pants above you, grunts out a chest-deep moan, and you gaze at his destruction with a mouthful of wet cock, swallowed down to the base, stuffed inside the tight sheath of your throat.

Just before he breaks, before you begin to gag, you pull away with a gasp of air. Spread the spit with a fisted hand.

He looks as fucked out as you feel, staring down at you with stain-glass eyes, a church window blue, and you’ve never really believed in the heavenly divine until you met him. A craving to worship.

The vibrator buzzes to life in hand, almost numbs the skin of your fingers with its intensity, and he stares down at the thing as if it gnashes sharp teeth.

“You wanna stop, you say the word.” He nods in response, throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand.”

At the first touch against his skin, he jolts. Twists his face into a mark of pleasure-pain, bares the edges of clenched teeth. You ghost tight circles over his frenulum, the spit from earlier providing an easy glide.

He sounds pitiful beneath you, an offbeat rhythm of staccato whimpers that he muffles with a raised arm. His hips refuse to still, unsure whether to tilt forward or dig further into the mattress.

You steady your hand, press the toy more firmly against his cock, and he chokes out a pleasured sob—a noise so much prettier when he doesn’t seek to hide from you.

A hand curls around the front of his neck. A thumb soothes the line of his jaw. “Let me hear you. Please?”

He turns to face you, appearing almost agonized. The sharp sucks of breath through grit teeth, the high-pitched whines on each exhale. The dotting of sweat on his nose, the wetting of his hairline.

You twist the knob, and the vibration increases. His chest seizes for a moment, head tilting back to expose the thick line of his neck, a halo of golden hair upon the pillow. Your hand rises higher, fits nicely beneath his jaw, fingers resting upon his pulse—it hammers away beneath your touch, calls to you in rhythm. 

“If I could, I’d keep you like this forever.” A soft kiss to the side of his neck. “So pretty, aren’t you?”

You’re going mad, you think. You blame it on blood drain, a lack of proper oxygen to your brain. He trusts you to care for him like this, to provide what he needs, to know his limits. You. You. When have you ever felt more important? More powerful?

You tease a squeeze, barely a twitch of the fingers, but he reacts in kind. Bares his neck even further, chants out, “Fuck, yes, yes, please—“ and you’ve never been strong enough to deny him.

Your fingers tighten, and the vibration increases again. Only a few moments before his body gives you warning—he holds his breath, his muscles tense, his cock begins to jerk—

You pull away, the hand at his neck and the hand clutching the vibrator, until the heaving of his chest calms and his body slumps. Disappointed.

“This’s what you’re playing at?” he asks, tongue amidst the onset of word slurring.

You move to hover over him, hands braced on either side of his head. “Part of the bet. Remember?”

“No, actually.” He blinks up at you all bleary-eyed and slow, mesmerized, as if witnessing daylight stars for the first time. “I’m sure it was stupid as hell, though.”

“How about we make a deal? A truce.”

“A truce?”

“Admit we both won, and we can get to the point.”

“What do I get out of it?”

“You get to cum.”

He blinks. Considers a moment. Raises his brows. “Shit. Can’t argue with that.”

You steady yourself with a hand on his chest as you reach back to line him up. 

“Wait,” he says, voice croaking, and you stop. “Flashlight. Untie me.”

The knot you used is easy to unravel. Just a quick tug and he’s free. Rings of red encase each wrist, a sign of irritation, and you huff at him. Soothe a thumb over the skin. “What did I tell you—“

You’re shoved face-first into the bedsheets, and a heavy weight pins down your hips. A large hand presses steadfast between your shoulder blades.

You turn your face to catch a breath, and his lips meet your cheek. Soft and tender and loving, and you know he’s not angry with you, at all the teasing he (willingly) suffered at your hands.

“Hold still for me,” he says. A thick heat shifts between your legs, and the hand pushes harder on your back. “You did good. Think you deserve a reward.”

He slides into you, all tight and slick and you thank every god above that you prepared beforehand because he’s determined to cash in on that orgasm.

Each thrust jolts your body. A slow, deep cadence that leaves your ass smacking against his hips and a numbing pleasure curling like smoke from the pit of your stomach.

He whispers things unintelligible, spoken at the end of winded huffs. You like to think he whispers of you. His love. He’s never been vocal through the lens of verbage. Never could take dirty talk seriously. Maybe now, you witness him in his purest form, at his most vulnerable. Pinned down as you are, you certainly feel that way.

The rhythm of his hips stops, and you fist a hand in the sheets as he bottoms out, deep as your body will allow, curls protective over you, almost shielding in the way his arms bracket your shoulders.

“Jesus—fuck, Leon.” You grip hard at his wrist, attempt a tilt of your hips, but he has you right where he wants you. Filled up, restless, whining. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

He’s not angry, no, but he’s always had a penchant for revenge.

You just want him to move. Too much, too good, too hot. You sweat into the sheets, and he’s a space heater on the coldest days, and your heart threatens to break through the cage of your ribs.

“This isn’t about punishment,” he says, nosing along your jaw. “Here.”

He leans back, allowing you to brace your knees under your body, then smooths a hand down your spine. Spreads the cheeks of your ass, traces a thumb around the meeting of your bodies, the thick of his cock.

“You take me so well. Don’t you?”

You garble out an agreeing moan when he begins again with languid thrusts, a squelching savor of tightened silk, much like the discarded bindings on the pillow beside your head.

“You’re gonna kill me,” you say, pawing at the spread of his fingers, fitting your palm over the back of his hand.

“You can take it.”

He is. He’s going to kill you. You need more, something else, harder, fuck me, please—

He pins you down again, a large hand at your neck, pulls out until the tip remains inside you, pushes back in, hard enough that you jolt forward. Does it again and again and again.

“This more to your liking?” he asks, almost mocking, then follows the question up with a biting groan.

Yes. Yes yes it is. You think you’re drooling onto the pillow at this point. His hips angle perfectly, length brushing against the nerves that melt away at your insides. A burning, desperate intensity.

He notices the way your muscles tense, the way your breathing shallows, the way your thighs twitch. You’re close, and you pray he doesn’t stop.

You lower a hand between your legs, stroke fast over sensitive flesh, and he lets you. Hisses through his teeth when you tighten around him, gives a warning gasp before his cock jerks inside you, and he pulls out to spill onto your back. You’re left unbearably empty, sticky and warm at the base of your spine, muscles wrung free of tension.

Everything blurs. Your ears ring with static. He joins you, splaying out on his back, and he fares no better—breathless, laved in sweat that glistens beneath warm light, face ruddy at the cheeks. Beautiful. He looks beautiful. Beautiful and exhausted.

“That was. Good,” he says. Clears the gravel from his throat, an ego-boosting effect of all the lovely noises you pulled from him.

Your heart pounds, wracked by butterflies. The post-sex clarity has kicked in, and you always love him even more, every time your brain starts working again. All you wish to do is hold him. Remind him of what your love feels like, bathe him in under-appreciated intimacies.

“Just good?”

He breathes out all shaky, an attempt to reaffirm the rhythm inside his chest. “I can barely move right now. Cut me some slack.”

You rest a hand on his shoulder, ghost fingers over the echoed warmth of his skin. “Was that okay?”

“Very. Wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

“Maybe you could tone down the brattiness next time.”

“Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“That is a fair point, Leon.” You smile soft at him, brush your knuckles over a feverish cheek, a depiction of devotion. All you can give for now. “Do you need anything?”

He shakes his head. Takes your hand. Presses a tender kiss to your palm. “We should shower later. Not now, though.”

You know him. He wants to be held. Always does when reduced to skin-shed vulnerability. He won’t say it, has rarely admitted it, but he looks at you with starry eyes and seeks out the pulse of your wrist, and you never have to wonder with him.

“Give me your shirt,” you say, point to the drying mess on your back, and his expression morphs to blankness. “Don’t look at me like that. It was your idea.”

With a resigned sigh, he takes it off, and you aim a pointed glare his way as he wipes the fabric over the small of your back.

“What a gentleman.”

“Have I ever been anything less?”

Once the shirt is tossed aside, you pull him into a cradling hug. Tuck his head beneath your chin and trace a languid pattern over a muscled shoulder. “That’s debatable.”

Silence blankets the room as you return to a less winded state. He presses further against your chest, fits his ear over the gentle thump of your heartbeat. “You lost the bet, by the way.”

“See what I mean?”

His breath fans over your skin as he laughs, teeth teasing a bite against your clavicle. “I deserve that. Just as long as you give me my reward.”

“I’m letting this slide only because I’m too tired. So just… wait ‘til I can go to the store tomorrow.”

“No problem. I have the patience of a saint. Not like you’d understand.”

“Okay, you’re pushing it.”

“As I most often do.”

In the shower, both of you sit curled up on the hard tile, slumped beneath a spray of warm water. He complains when you reach for the shampoo bottle, when you rise onto your knees and tilt back his head. Of course he does. Wouldn’t know a thing about deservation if you hammered it into his skull.

“You’re gonna hurt your knees,” he says, looks up at you as your fingers lather the shampoo through his hair.

“I don’t care.” The ceiling light sparks a gleam in his eyes. Bonfire, galaxy, fractals. Soft as tears. You ghost a kiss between his brows. “If I did, I wouldn’t have offered.”

He falls silent. Closes his eyes. Steam fogs up the small space, smudges your vision as you massage fingertips against the base of his skull.

“That feels nice,” he says, swallows thick when you switch to light scratches over his scalp.

“Good. It’s supposed to.”

Hands circle around each of your thighs, thumb swiping over dewdrop flesh. He’s nervous, wary. “You don’t have to—“

“Leon. Will you just let me care about you? Please?”

“I am. Doesn't mean I’m happy about it.”

You pull away to fetch a cup from the shelf then hold it beneath the shower spray. Watch as it fills then overflows. “Well, that’s too bad. Does make me sad, though.”

His struggles have never been explicit topics of conversation, but they linger around him like ghosts. Demons, morelike. He discusses them in coded messages, a recitation of redacted files marred by black sharpie. What you’ve pieced together so far can be reduced to survivor’s guilt and earth-shattering trauma.

Raccoon City. Had no business leaving there alive. A stroke of unluck. Forced to exist with those consequences, to carry along such senseless deaths in ceaseless eulogy.

But you’re happy he did, couldn’t imagine a life without his presence, and that’s… that’s hard for him to accept.

“You wanna watch a movie after this?” you ask, slicking back his freshly-rinsed hair. “I got a bunch from that video store while you were gone.”

He wipes a hand down his face, shakes off the excess water. Collapses back against the wall with a soft thud, appearing boneless, malleable from your affections. “Willy’s place?”

“Who else’s?”

His gaze darkens, brows knit together in remembrance, and you lean a shoulder against the water-dappled wall. Curl your legs beneath you. “He hasn’t said anything else to you, has he?”

“No. Actually, he’s been on his best behavior. Even gave me a free movie.”

“Good.”

“By the way, what’d you even say to him?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You saying that makes me even more worried.”

He pulls you close, throws both legs across his—again, comfort in skinship. A greedy undertone to the action, (mine), that rends your insides to putty. “I took care of it.”

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. In fact, you never fail to remind me.” You snort out a laugh, and he smiles at you all beautiful and worshiping, a stretch of inviting lips.

“Because you need to be reminded.”

You can’t be too angry with him. He needs the peace of mind. At least he knows, wholly, absolutely, that your safety is ensured.

He often makes mountains out of molehills, though. Such as the situation with one Willy from Willy’s Wiles. An angry Leon does one inappropriate comment make.

The man was an asshole, though. 

You scrub yourselves with a sweet-smelling body wash, from the (dis)comfort of the hard tile flooring. Sleepiness morphs into exhaustion some time between the first and second leg. Yawns become frequent and unavoidable. As you rinse off, the water raining from the shower head begins to cool.

Still, neither of you plan to move, and your stomach twists in disapproval.

You sigh at him, into the curve of his shoulder. “I hate to say it, but we gotta get up. There are things to be done.”

He’s nodded off four different times, yet he audaciously cuts you with a glare. “Says who?”

“Our water bill, my ass on this tile,” you stumble up to your feet, balancing a hand against the wall for support. “I’m also really hungry.”

“Food does sound pretty good.”

You push the knob in, and the shower turns off. “You thinking take-out?”

“Absolutely. You couldn’t pay me to cook right now.”

“Damn. The sex was that good, huh?”

“If you have to ask, then—“

“No. Don’t start.”

As he rises, his lips stretch wide into a grin. Droplets dot his chest, a glisten to his skin that you spread with tender palms. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, amusement thick in his tone, brows dipped low as he searches your face.

“Drying you off.” A blatant lie. You simply wish to touch him, to soak up his warmth—a reminder that he’s still here, still okay, still alive. “A little counterproductive, now that I’m thinking about it.”

You step away from him with a sigh, no matter how badly your chest aches. Something about him makes you short-circuit, makes you do silly things. You can’t help it, knowing what you know.

Mallets and hammers prove ineffective on his psyche. He’s stubborn, needs a gentler approach. Kind words, affirmations, intimacy—above all, he requires safety. Security. A four-walled sanctuary where he’s free to flay open his chest and bare his heart a while. 

And you like to think you’ve made some progress.

[mmoonpies]

HII SAM IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE I LAST VISITED UR BLOG,, I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WELL!! your rowan fics were like heaven-sent to me while i was in my wednesday phase.. but honestly id read anything you post (i saw you were writing for spencer and my eyes popped out of my head in a positive way)

HAVE A GOOD DAYY!!

HI MAYA!!!

yea my bad i have also been gone for AGESS lmao. i might start writing for resident evil, specifically leon kennedy. I'm trying to come back as much as I can. ily <3 I will have a good day knowing you're one of my biggest supporters x

[mmoonpies]

what if....i came back after 2+ months...

[adrienwithane]

krauser was mean to me..

[mmoonpies]

Will there be a part two to the Rowan wet dream request? Very sorry if you’ve already answered

honestly i’m not really sure; i kinda lost interest for writing for rowan. i will eventually start writing for him again, and its possible i will write a part two for the wet dream story but it wont be currently. im really sorry for those who will get disappointed by this but yeah.

currently i’m writing for criminal minds (specifically spencer reid) but i will start writing for rowan once inspiration comes.

honestly id write for rowan it it wasnt smut but 98% of my requests are rowan + smut so

[mmoonpies]

Okay okay I saw that you're taking requests and then SPENCER R3ID ARE YOU KIDDING, love that guy honestly sooo could you maybe do something where the reader is also in the bau and spencer and them have been dating for years (like from s1 to like s4 idk ) and only Aaron knows (because he obviously has to know for work reasons) and the team somehow finds out and are like wtf since when and then spencer says 4 years and blah blah days and so on you get the drill

i literally love him sm. him + fluff is my fav thing!!

also sorry this is lowkey sloppy + unedited

spencer reid was nothing short of being described as introspective; gentle and withdrawn eve. his mind was constantly running, comfortable focusing on his inner thoughts and ideas, drawn to the corners of the wall as he willingly let other people's shadows tower over him.

despite the uncontrollable bursts of facts that fall from his tongue before dissolving into a stuttering ramble, he was pretty withdrawn. often refusing to go 'socialising' with the other bau members, preferring to stay within the comfort of his apartment to read and write.

that was until he met you.

your smile was toothy, lips sharply curved into a grin as your eyes shimmered with a playfulness he yearned for. you had no problem being in the "spotlight" voice loud and almost boastful as you bashfully took control of the room. you were loyal, unafraid to protect those you loved; even if it would end in your peril.

your greetings were filled with enthusiasm, followed by your signature grin, despite being 4am in the morning, only fuelled the other's disdain as they winced and clutched their coffee tighter. spencer's eyes would rest on your face from across the room, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he felt the urge to smile at your bubbliness.

spencer once thought you'd be attracted to someone as confident as you, willing to show you off and flaunt your skills whenever possible. when, in reality, it was the opposite; you were searching for someone you could show off.

you were the one to listen with undivided attention to his over-the-top explanations, eyes wide and attentive as you smiled at him when his voice died off, encouraging him to keep speaking. it made his chest swell, cheeks growing warm as hesitantly gripped at his fingers, playing with them as he nervously continued his explanation.

you were the one who dropped a coffee off at his desk with a small smiley face messily drawn on the side, shooting him a bright grin before bouncing off to your desk. spencer would keep his palms wrapped around the cup, silently treasuring the drawing meant for him.

it became a routine - you sent a coffee his way each morning, and in return, spencer would offer half of his sandwich to you after you walked him through a 'tour' of your lunch. you would give him a generous serving of your lunch, and he would gratefully eat it, no matter the taste.

and to be honest, he wasn't sure when a full sandwich became 'too much' for him, always craving whatever concoction you had created after each half of his sandwich. he wasn't sure when he became so fond of you, patiently and hopefully waiting for you to bound over towards him, fists clenched in front of your shoulders as you beamed up at him.

"spencer, you will not believe how excited i am for lunch today!"

"i think i can," spencer would smile back, eyebrows raising as you bit your lip, grin still toothy and bright. "what've you got today?"

"can't tell you," you squinted up at him, giggling like a devious child. "you have to wait until lunch, but trust me, it'll blow your silly mismatched socks off!"

"hey! what'd they ever do to you?!"

it had stayed that way for 4 years; every single day, without missing a beat. no matter the time or day, you never failed to bring him c coffee with a smiley face, just like he had never failed to give you half of his sandwich.

being with you came as easy as breathing, although he struggled to convey his emotions, both physically and verbally, you both confided in the action of sharing lunch together. he hardly touched you at work, not wanting to seem unprofessional and upset hotchner or anyone on the team.

the only words hotchner had said in relation to the two of you were practically unthreatening. yet, as spencer shyly stood behind you as hotchner processed the information, the sickly feeling of dread spread throughout the inner lining of spencer's stomach.

"don't let it interfere with your work," he demanded, eyebrows furrowed as usual. you both gushed out 'thank you' before turning to leave, the stress of hiding it washing off the two of your shoulder's.

spencer, for 4 years, had assumed hotch had announced it to everyone else on the team. he still dealt with derek's teasing about him being a 'virgin' and his constant jabs about his 'experience with women.'

he was honestly just glad nothing had changed; your routine stayed the same, your glances lingering a little longer than usual, and your smiley faces turning into hearts. but that was all.

spencer was currently cursing his wonky alarm, almost tripping over his own feet as he struggled to pull his own pants up. a slice of bread was caught between his teeth as he slung his satchel over his shoulder before rushing out the door of his apartment.

he was cursing his dumb decision to skip crashing over at your apartment, fingers smashing against the buttons of his cell phone as he called you back, wincing at the number of missed calls he had.

"hey, hey! i'm so sorry y/n, please just tell them i'll be there soon. my alarm didn't go off!"

"i told you it needs new batteries-"

"is now the time to say 'i told you so'?" spencer practically whined in your ear, a small smile curving at your lips as you giggled.

"got it, just get here as quick as you can." you murmured in response before flipping your phone shut, lifting your head up to meet the inquisitive gaze of four profilers staring right at you. "he slept in, he'll be here in about 5 minutes."

"the spencer reid being late? that's a first," emily teased, flipping through the case file in front of her. hotch's facial expression was the same as always; eyes slightly narrowed and eyebrows creasing inwards with his lips stretched into a thin line.

"everyone's allowed to be late," hotch shrugged as he stepped in front of the projector, grabbing one of the files scattered over the round table. "once."

you almost snorted at the delivery, shoulders hunching over as you caught yourself, swallowing your laugh. you caught derek's eye just as the door behind you swung open, a flustered spencer basically clambering through the doorway.

"sorry, sorry! i'm so sorry i'm late!" his voice was pitched, bowing his head at hotch before walking over to you. his brain was still recovering from his interrupted and rushed morning, a cloud of haziness hovering over his brain as he leant down and pressed a kiss to your temple. "sorry i missed your calls."

the room is silent apart from the squeak of spencer's chair as he sits down, rolling forward to reach a case file before noticing the defeating silence in the room. he lifts his head up, only to be met by the shocked and wide-eyed faces of his team members.

"what?"

"what was that?' derek exclaimed, gesturing between the two of you. spencer shook his head with a shrug before tilting his head, eyebrows furrowing with confusion.

"what do you mean?"

"you just...kissed y/n on the forehead," jj spoke slowly as if she was still processing the situation in her head. spencer had a confused smile stretch across his lips. looking between the three of them as if they were crazy.

"yeah? you guys are acting like we aren't dating..."

"WHAT?"

spencer jolts back at the yells of the three members, hands raising in a defensive manner before looking over at you. your jaw was basically on the floor, eyes wide as you stared at spencer.

"...they didn't know, spencer," your voice is barely above a whisper, embarrassment running thick as you hunch your shoulders once more. for once, the attention is focused on spencer, and you're thankful the spotlight isn't on you.

"since when?" emily immediately interrogates him, standing up and leaning over the desk as her palm splays against the wooden table.

"c'mon, they're obviously pranking us," derek shrugs with a confident smirk. "we would've known sooner if they actually were dating."

"no I'm-i'm serious," spencer defends, mouth opening and closing before he turns back to face emily and answers her question. "it's been 4 years."

"WHAT?" they all exclaim in unison once more, lips parted as their jaws drop. they're all frozen in shock, eyes flickering between the two of you.

"i'm confused, how did you guys not know? we share lunch together every day!" spencer laughs in disbelief, shrugging as his hands flop between you and him. "y/n brings me a coffee every day."

"yeah but-"

'you never gave us a reason to believe that you were more than friends!" jj interjects, arms crossing over her chest.

"can we please focus on the case, guys?" hotch interrupts with a deep sigh, rubbing at his forehead with an impressed glower.

"hotch, you're not surprised?" derek exclaims, sitll in disbelief.

"no, they told me 4 years ago," hotch states simply before turning towards jj. "now, we've had enough interruptions. the case? please?"

"we're going out for drinks, and you're telling us everything." emily demands, her index finger pointing directly at you. you can feel everyone's gaze turns towards you, snickering at how flustered you look - unable to meet their eyes as you cover your cheeks with your hands.

"i'm sorry?" spencer offers, his own shoulders hunching upwards."i can give you my entire sandwich?!"

"be quiet, spencer!"

[mmoonpies]

hurt/comfort and angst!

cm s3 spoilers.

you were woken by the dull thud of a fist against your apartment door. you could only groan, feeling sluggish as the remnants of sleep were still held heavy within your limbs. the thudding against your door became more persistent, causing you to throw your sheets off your body as you begrudgingly stormed out towards your front door.

you swung the door open, eyebrows creased as you glare at the figure in front of you, eyes half-lidded and still adjusting to the difference in light.

"spencer, it's 2 in the morning, what are you doing here?" you mutter, tone edged with accusation before it dies out, taking in spencer's dishevelled appearance. "spencer?"

despite the lack of colour around his eyes, a shade of red was smeared underneath them as the skin glistened and swelled under the pale light. his eyebrows were creased upwards, lips caught between his teeth as they trembled, only partying to let out a shakey exhale.

his hands are shaking as they drop from his satchel bag, slowly reaching for his face before he presses the heels of his palms into his teary eyes. you physically can't do anything but stare with your mouth open, watching as the man in front of you tries to cling to any control he has left within him.

his fingers flex before relaxing, sniffling and letting his fingers rest just under his hairline. his voice is hoarse and dry, throat painfully strained as he chokes back his tears.

"y/n."

you reach for him, wrapping your arms around his shrinking figure with the hopes of keeping him intact. your palms press against his back, feeling the arch in his spine as he crumbles into you, hands filled with uncertainty as he grips the fabric covering your shoulders.

“he’s gone,” he whispers, voice so quiet you hardly hear it over his breath. “he left me-he left us.”

he feels so small in your arms, fingers clutching and dragging down the fabric of your shirt as he cries into your other shoulder. you briefly wonder if he can feel the deep ache within your chest, pulsing and ebbing as he desperately tries to pull your body closer towards you in need of a form of sanctuary.

you feel the jolt of his sobs as if he was hiccuping paired with the shakes of his head, unable to hear the mental war of his thoughts. you debate whether to pull him into your apart and shield him at this point in time or wait until he was slightly calmer and more rational.

you opt for the latter, waiting until the shakes in his system become more relaxed, smoothing into a more 'peaceful' rhythm before pulling away from him. it's only then you realise how broken he truly is.

his eyes are still blurred with tears, clenching shut after he catches your expression. his teeth sink into his bottom lip, threatening to pierce the skin as he relies on the pain to keep his lips from trembling even more.

"he just-he only left-" spencer's voice cracks as another wave of tears threatens to fall, fists clenched by his side as he lets out another heavy sigh. "he only left a letter.”

you silently invite him in, hand lingering on his forearms as he brushes past you, his head hung solemnly. you're unsure of who 'he' is, only feeling remorse and slight hatred that he would leave spencer to end up being dumped on your doorstep at 1am.

you almost force him to sit down, handing him a throw-over blanket before moving towards the kitchen. you keep your eyes on him, filling up a glass of water. his leg is involuntarily twitching along with the bounce of his corresponding foot, fingertips pressing down against the opposite hand's fingernails as he tries to calm down.

"drink," your offer is simple, arms outstretched as he graciously takes the glass. "do you wanna wash your face as well?"

spencer only shakes his head in return, throat convulsing with a harsh swallow as you take your seat next to him. your thigh presses against his own, hand resting comfortingly on his knee as you gently smile.

"don't feel pressured to talk, i'm just here to make sure you're okay." your voice is laced with genuine sincerity, eyes glimmering despite the sombre moment you're sharing with the man seated next to you.

"i'm, uh, i'm sorry," he begins, still shakey and hesitant before swallowing. "i didn't know where else to go."

you murmur a soft 'it's okay' hoping to relieve him with some sort of reassurance or comfort. his lips are pulled into a slightly sad smile, placing your glass down before reaching for the satchel bag next to him.

the letter he pulls out has ‘spencer’ messily written over the envelope, patches of half-dry tear stains scattered across it while spencer’s fingers grip the edges of it. he hands it to you, brown eyes soft as he mutters the one name you need to understand tbis situation.

“gideon.”

he lowers his head before turning back to fiddle with his fingers once more. you tear your eyes away from him, peeling open the letter before silently reading the words meant for spencer.

“why’d he only address me?” spencer can’t help how the frustration builds in his fingertips, slowly seeping through and replacing the remnants of aching sadness. “i’m not, i…i’m not the only one he abandoned.”

you reach over to place the letter on the table in front of you before turning to face spencer, your expression soft snd gentle.

“well, why do you think that of all the people he walked away from, he explained himself to you?”

you can see the cog’s turning in his brain; he shifts his gaze away from you as his eyebrows crease inwards, lips parted ever so slightly. the realisation hits him like a brick, his face dropping, devoid of emotion. he shakes his head as a bitter smile stretches across his lips before his hands clench into fists, tears brimming against his waterline again.

“no, no…” he whispers, more to himself as he hunches over into his lap, clenching his jaw while his fingers unclench from fists to thread through his hair, gripping his scalp.

your heart almost breaks at the sight, your arms reaching around to grab his side as you pull him into you. he turns his body towards you, allowing himself to fall into your chest once more as broken sobs fall from his lips.

“they both left me,” spencer sobs, feeling even more pathetic then he did before. “they both walked on me, y/n.”

“i know, i know,” your palm smooths over hid back as you rest your chin atop his head. “shh, it’s okay, i’m here! ‘m not gonna leave you, okay?”

he merely shakes his head in response, pulling at his hair as his sobs grow louder. you can feel the wetness of his tears staining the fabric of your shirt, but you hardly care, the warmth of him next to you is more important.

“spencer, look at me,” you murmur, hands cupping his cheeks and pulling his head up from your chest. you want to curse him, curse him for looking so fucking pretty despite how he’s crying his heart out to you. “i’m sure gideon has his reasons for not facing you, maybe, deep down he knew that you’d convince him to stay. i don’t mean in the way that you’d verbally persuade him, maybe he knew that you’d be the one reason he’d end up sticking around. plus, he’s not completely gone, yeah? you’re still waiting to beat him in a chess match, right? that could still happen one day, so you can still sharpen your skills so if he comes back, you’ll beat him.”

your words only make him break once more, falling into shards in your hands. he nods, acting as if its painful, he knows that your words have no actual hope behind them, but the logical part of his brain switches off, allowing him to live in the delusion that gideon would come back for him.

his heart was burning, knowing the chess set he had organised a couple of days before was still sitting in that damn room, untouched and ready. spencer wasn’t going to allow anyone to touch it, hoping and praying for only one thing.

just one last chess match.

[mmoonpies]

Heyy, could I please request Rowan Laslow x fem? Reader smut + scratching his back during sex/reader digging her nails into his back and it leaving scratch marks/nail marks? I'm not sure what you can do with this but honestly I love your writing so much so if you do go through with this request ik whatever you write I will love! I hope this request doesn't make you uncomfortable at all and you 100% don't need to do it :))

absolutely no problem! this didn't make me uncomfortable at all, thank you for being so sweet :( <3

warnings: dry humping, cumming in pants, no penetration, mention of blood, pain kink, low-key praise kink, dom! rowan, sub! reader, female reader, smut, nsfw, 18+, mention of blood.

rowan's shoulders couldn't help but sag downwards, the weight of the day heavy on his shoulders, his limbs aching and throbbing as he forced his body to walk into your dormitory. his bag was only added weight, slung over his shoulder as the straps slowly slid down his arms. his skin was sticky with humidity, sweat rolling down his body with the sweltering summer heat still apparent in the night.

you had plagued his mind the entire day; longing for your arms to wrap around him and bless him with the comfort he had craved all day. but, he couldn't help how impure thoughts seeped between the cracks, secretly hoping he could pin you down and let you take his frustration out on you. but, he was above that...right?

with the final part of strength, he pushes open the door of your shared dormitory, immediately letting out a heavy sigh which seemingly released the tension wound in his shoulders. the familiar calm scent of your sheets wafted through the air, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before he closes the door behind him.

he drops his bag to the side of the door before trudging through the dormitory, glancing over your usual positions while rubbing his eyes. yet, you were nowhere to be seen.

rowan's lips creased deeper into a frown before wandering over to the couch placed to the side of your room, greeted by your figure lazily sprawled across the fabric, a book covering your face from his view.

he hardly has a moment of hesitation before walking over to the front end of the couch and immediately crawling onto your stomach. you can't stop the upwards jolt of your body, a surprised yelp leaving your lips while the book once held in your hands is flung onto the floor.

on any other day, rowan would've laughed, but wednesday's just took a bigger toll on him than he'd like to admit. he simply turns his head to the side, pressing his ear against your skin as he silently relishes in the warmth of your body. his lips part, a gentle sigh filled with relief slipping past his teeth as your fingers graze over his scalp, your eyes quickly widening.

"don't take offence, but you're really sweaty," you murmur with a small giggle, removing your hand from his head, much to his discontent. he hardly reacts, simply reaching his hands back up to find your own before pulling it back down, resting his cheek on it with a quiet grunt.

"don't care," his response is nothing short of blunt; swift and sweet as you liked to describe it. "want you."

you let out a small scoff, unable to hide the smile in your voice. instead of the slight disgust you should feel, you shiver slightly at the feeling of his sweaty body pressed up against you. he shifts his head upwards, just enough to press a small kiss to the crevice of your neck - just enough to make a small jolt of electricity burst underneath your skin.

he doesn't bother to watch for your reaction, already knowing he has you wrapped around his finger. he lets his hands slide down the sides of your body, stopping to rest on your hipbones as he continues to pepper kisses down your neck before stopping at the collar of your shirt.

"rowan?" his eyes shift to look at you, the darkness of his hues making a heat shoot through your abdomen, your arousal becoming noticeable by the second. "what are you doing?"

you know how dumb it sounds as soon as the words fall from your lips, lips twitching into a small smile as he simply raises an eyebrow at you. yet, you can see the way his eyes glimmer at your reactions, his voice dropping an octave.

"i said i wanted you, didn't i?"

rowan moves his hips, the friction of his cock rubbing against your crotch making a quiet whimper slip from your lips before you could even think of holding back. you can see the way his teeth sink into his bottom lip, sucking in a breath through his nose as he closes his eyes briefly.

he gives an experimental roll of his hips, a small gasp falling from his lips at the shared friction. you could feel rowan's cock throbbing against the thin material of his suit pants, craving more. you move your hands from his cheeks, sliding them down to his lower back as a soft moan rolls off your lips.

you try and match the rolls of his hips, pressing your clothed cunt harder against him. you can't help but moan as the tip of his cock catches the tight fabric against your clit, dragging against it. you whimper, nails sinking ever so slightly into his skin before gliding up to grip his shoulders.

his hands began to wander over your body, almost as if he was mapping every curve to your body as he rolled his hips against you. he slid his hands under your shirt, lifting his head up to look back up at you.

“is this ok?” he asked, almost breathlessly as he pulled his hips back slightly. you nodded immediately, bucking your hips as your cunt began to throb between your legs. the warmth of his palms pressing against your skin was only adding to your arousal, desperation beginning to grow in the pits of your stomach.

"words, y/n," his voice is smooth, a shiver running through your spine as his dark eyes lock with your own. your throat runs dry for a second, only able to harshly swallow as you try and even your breath, holding back the desire to jump him.

“please rowan, need you,” you whined, letting go of his skin to raise your arm, showcasing your desperation for him as he peels off your shirt. he chuckles softly, fingers dancing over the skin of your chest before they drop lower, the tips of his fingers hooking around your waistband. you raise your hips, allowing him to pull them off you before carelessly throwing them behind him.

you desperately grab the hem of his shirt, almost clutching it between your fists as you try and tug it off his body. he lets out a small but deep chuckle, pulling off his shirt as blood rushes to gather underneath his cheekbones. you can't help the way you stare at his chest, palms pressed against his skin as your lips curl into a coy smirk.

he slid his hands back up the couch, resting them next to your shoulders and pushing himself up with his arms to lift some of his weight off your body. he gently bucked his hips forwards, his body tingling as you let out a breathless moan of his name.

“fuck…” he mumbled as he began to rut against you, pressing his clothed cock against you, watching as your breath runs short.

you rolled your hips back with each thrust, your nails digging into his skin slightly as pleasure rolled through your body like waves. you can feel the vibrations of rowan's soft grunts against your neck, briefly stopping as he presses kisses against your skin.

you can feel the ridge of a vein on his cock slide against your dripping cunt, unable to help the way your back curls, forcing your body closer to him as your toes curl. the whimper you let fall from your lips makes rowan's body stutter, the grip he has on you growing tighter.

"fuck!" your moan is shakey, nails sinking into the soft skin of his back before making their descent downwards.

you can feel every ridge of his chest press against you with each thrust he delivers, your thighs subconsciously spreading wider to allow him more access despite the need to tighten them around him, forcing his cock to grind deeper against your clit.

his kisses turn sloppy and open-mouthed as he loses himself to lust, the thin material of your panties forcing the two of you to feel everything it allowed; every detail of his thick cock dragging against you and each pulse of your cunt as he grinds further into your cunt.

the feeling of his firm body pressed against you was making your mind cloud over with lust and desire, your fingers pressing into his back as his thrusts began to turn more desperate. his muscles were beginning to ache as he held himself up, his body beginning to tremble involuntarily. he gently lowered himself back down onto your body, a pang of arousal hitting his abdomen as you let out a small cry of his name.

“god y/n,” he moaned into your ear, the sound making you squirm underneath him. “you’re so beautiful, fuck…”

the praise makes you mewl, fingers gripping his skin even tighter as you sob out his name. he can only hiss at the feeling, his cock almost painfully hard at this point. the sounds of your desperate pleas and the feeling of your trembling underneath him are enough to push him closer to the edge.

you claw at his back, trying to hold yourself back and gain some point of control. but, you both know it's pointless.

the dull ebb in your cunt grows stronger, trying to suck him further in despite the cloth barrier between the two of you. he can only hiss through gritted teeth at the feeling, his thrusts losing their rhythm as lust turns to pure fucking need.

his grip tightens around you, sure to leave bruises as he bucks his hips harder against you. your legs wrap around his lower back, heels digging into him in a desperate attempt to push him closer. he moves his head to smash his lips against you, still feverishly thrusting into you as your lips messily slide against his own.

your fingernails and heels simultaneously press hard into his skin as your body tenses, orgasm crashing into you as rowan swallow's the harsh cry of his name. rowan's throat tenses as his orgasm pushes closer, rutting against your clothed crotch.

"fuck, i love you, y/n!" he cries out, voice cracking in the middle, your stomach tensing as your cunt throbs with sensitivity. you let out a small whine, hips tightening as your thighs try and clench shut, hips bucking as his own continue to sloppily rut against your stained cunt.

you're both too focused on catching your breath to notice the sticky sensation that sticks to your inner thighs, arms falling down to your side as he gently lays back down against your stomach. you both bask in the afterglow, the intensity of your orgasm leaving a small throb in your cunt, hips slightly shifting as a way to relieve the pressure.

"fucking hell," was all that rowan could manage to say as he rolls off you, grimacing at the sudden realisation of the sticky sensation of his own cum between his legs. you throw an arm over your eyes, trying to ignore the arousal still nestled deep within your cunt, feeling awfully messy and sweaty.

rowan can feel the stinging ache across his back, his shoulders rolling back as he winces. his eyes harden playfully as he tries to look over his back, only able to slightly see the irritated skin spread over his shoulder bones.

"y/n, how bad are the scratches?" he turns his back to you, looking over his shoulder at you as you throw your arm off your eyes. you roll your head around to look at him, trying to hide the shocked expression on your face.

the once-pale skin of his back is covered with a light shade of red, with small prickles of blood only slightly pooling at the surface of his skin. the marks from your nails are beginning to welt, stretching from his shoulder bones down to the divets of his lower spine.

"not that bad," rowan can hear the strained tone of your voice, laughing in disbelief at your awful lying voice before turning back to face you. "what? I'm being serious."

rowan scoffs with a smile before flopping back down onto your stomach, giggling as you let out a groan. he firmly grips your cheeks before pressing his lips back against yours, overcome with a warm swell in his chest. you can sense the desperation behind the kiss, knowing he's fighting the urge to sink his own nails into your skin and claim you as his own.

"i'll get you back for that," he roughly grits out between kisses as he pins you down against the couch, lips curved into a smirk. "guess i gotta mark you up in return, yeah?"

[mmoonpies]

men are so much more attractive when they’re kinda dusty in a way but have those submissive puppy eyes

[mmoonpies]

Do you have sex with Rowan Laslow headcannons 🤨😏

warnings: smut, nsfw, 18+, hair pulling, crying, praise/degradation, slapping, facefucking.

SUBMISSIVE.

rowan is def a switch but leans towards being submissive.

rowan loves when you take control over him; he wants you to completely ruin him.

he will let you do anything to him but prefers when you ride him or suck him off.

loves being edged and feeling like he has no control, wants to only think of you.

whines and whimpers, a lot.

rowan also loves getting his hair pulled, but if you refuse to, he’ll take it upon himself and grip it himself as a way to ‘ground himself.’

cries <3

he’ll most likely always tear up no matter what, just feels so overwhelmed by the way you touch him!!

will always scratch at you, dig his nails into your back and whisper small praise through his sobs.

he gets off on condescending praise:

“you’re gonna cum, already?”

“such a good boy, aren’t you?”

“so dumb for me; crying just from getting touched.”

if you ask him to beg, he won’t hesitate, but gets very shy; stutters and fumbles over his pleas as he cries from humiliation.

rowan’s cheeks are always pink whenever you fuck him, eyes shut whenever he can as he whines underneath you.

you can’t help the way you tease him, he just has those big brown eyes that look at you with such desperation <3

can’t handle your teasing, especially in public. he gets so nervous and overwhelmed that he just wants you take him in front of everyone <33

guilty of having wet dreams about you; he calls you everytime after he has one, whining and crying into the phone that his hand isn’t enough, it doesn’t feel the same!

the smallest things turn him on - the way you tug his hand, your palm pressed against his lower back and even if your lips linger on his just a little longer than usual.

DOMINANT.

a service dom.

just wants you to feel good <3

usually a missionary type of guy, just so he can watch how you react as he slides his cock inside of you.

his hands slide up your body, silently honouring you as you moan underneath him.

he lets you wrap your arms and legs around him, taking it as a sign to push deeper and harder.

his hips slam against your own, fingers sliding between yours to hold them, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

loves to whisper soft praise as you moan his name.

“you sound so pretty.”

“just wanna hear you, c’mon, you can do that for me, yeah?”

“fuck, love you-!”

“so good for me, look so pretty.”

always down whenever you want him; let’s himself get dragged down between your thighs before shoving your legs open and flashing you a sweet smile.

at first, he was too shy to give you head; the flicks of his tongue tentative and noting short of inexperienced. his grip was once gentle, afraid to hurt you and make you feel uncomfortable.

now, his grip is just that little bit firmer, enough to make you try and resist against him as he moans against you, forcing your thighs to stay open.

he fucking loves giving you head; despite the firm grip on your legs, he can’t help the way he grinds down against the floor, small whimpers bubbling in his throat.

he thrives off your pleasure, just wants to hear you moan for him.

but, test him enough and he’s mean.

gets off on seeing you cry, his thrusts harsh and deep.

uses his anger to thrust into you, his grip on your hips tight as he pulls you back to match his thrusts.

his praise switched to degradation, whispered through gritted teeth.

“such a slut, teasing me all day just to cry when you finally get my cock.”

he will never overstep your boundaries, and never wants you to feel used, no matter how rough he is.

depending on his mood and how much you tease him, he will occasionally slap you.

he’ll only slap you when he wants an answer, makes sure that it’s enough to sting but enough to hurt you.

slaps you whenever he facefucks you, pulling his cock out once you gag, tapping your face as he condescendingly coos at you before slapping you and forcing his cock back down your throat.

“is too much for you? hm? don’t act like you didn’t fucking want this.”

loves the feeling of you gagging around his cock and seeing you so messy underneath him.

he’ll edge you, deny your orgasms and even go as far to ruin them if you really piss him off.

sometimes he’ll gag you if you’re being too loud; shoving his fingers in your mouth or making out with you, swallowing your moans.

[mmoonpies]

yes i’m sorry it is a compliment i shoulda specified !

but evangelion sounds vv familiar i feel like i’ve seen or heard it somewhere before ..?

yeah! it’s a pretty popular anime, i’d like to say it’s the most well-known one. honestly, it took me a little while to finish it but i really liked the art, the concept and the meaning!! very good, would recommend <3

it’s very existential though and gets you thinking deep 😭

[mmoonpies]

like when i saw your pfp i was like woah that’s v cool but then i saw your banner and i was like !!!!!! the combo really took me out i was staring at it for a good ten minutes i kid you not

i hope this is a compliment, if it is, thank you sm!!! <3

my pfp is from neon genesis evangelion!! i love the entire concept and artistic side of it. my banner is just a sort of ‘aesthetic’ i like! i like the gothic/angelic stuff, but thank you so much!!!!! <3

[mmoonpies]

rowan holding your hands gently as he fucks the shit out of you 🫣

gn!reader <3

lol sorry this is short and the ending sucks but i tried, I'll probably come back later and change it.

nsfw under the cut! 18+

rowan laslow’s who’s cock is so stuffed inside of you, the pain of him stretching you out sizzles into a sick and twisted type of pleasure. his thrusts are carved from the primal animalistic desire inside of him, your moans cut off with each rough snap of his hips.

rowan laslow who can't help the smile that crawls across his lips as you whine out his name, tears beginning to prick at the corner of your eyes. his chest feels tight, knowing that the pretty little tears running down your cheeks are from pleasure, and it's all because of him.

rowan laslow whose pace doesn't slow, watching as your back arches dramatically; the sight of your body underneath him only makes his hips drive harder and deeper into you, wanting to be as physically close as possible.

"fuck, you feel so good," he whispers, eyebrows furrowed as he stares down at where you connect, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of his cock sliding out before slamming back in. you throw your head to the side, hands gripping the sheets beneath you as you whine.

"please!"

rowan laslow who presses his weight down against you, hands holding himself up as he slams his hips roughly into you. his palms smooth across the white sheets, searching for you. his hands gently intertwine with your own, letting your fingers slowly relax as he grips them.

"yeah? you wanna cum for me?" his voice is hushed, strained despite how timid his grip is on your hands. "maybe if you beg nicely."

"please rowan, please let me- i need to!" you sob out, gripping his hands tightly. "let me cum, please!"

he keeps his fingers locked between yours, thumb softly stroking your hand as he smiles down at you. he whispers the one word that lets you finally unravel beneath him, his cock throbbing as you tighten around him, trying to suck him in further.

"fuck, you're so good for me," he whispers out through gritted teeth, eyes screwed shut with pleasure as he cums inside of you, keeping his grip around your hands loose and gentle, afraid to hurt you. you moan at the warmth inside of you, head thrown back against the sheet. he drops his head down, lips pressed against your forehead.

"fuck, i love you." his voice is full of adoration as his hips slow before becoming to a still inside of you, his thumbs beginning to rub your hands once more. "did so good for me, baby."