#Unruly Boss | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintobio · 3 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓. (final part to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑.)

in the painful memory of what once was, sylus learns that love can't be bound where it was never meant to stay.

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ genre. angst, smut, boss/assistant, 18+

♱ tags. sylus's pov, reader is not l&ds!mc, sylus might be ooc, main story spoilers, razor's dance spoilers, nightplumes spoilers, lots of timeskip, fast-paced, unrequited love, profanity, petnames (kitten, sweetie), espionage, jealousy, brief smut, mentions of pregnancy/impregnation kink, mentions of accidents, suicide attempt, injuries, blood, usage of guns, usage of knife, killings, death, my own theories incorporated into the lore, sylus groveling bcos yall want him to

♱ notes. 9.5k wc. l&ds!mc is referred to here as 'diana'. THIS IS A REPOST of the original post i accidentally deleted. i already posted this several hours ago, so if you’re seeing this new one again, blame my dumbass 🤧 oh well life is life.

Sylus had a part of him that wished things could be different.

Ever since he turned away and left you that night at the alleyway, he didn’t really realize the chain of events his decision would set into motion. He simply underestimated how strongly your threats were backed by the grudge you had on him for bringing the hunter girl from Linkon into his base.

After all, you were just an assistant of his. And her, she was everything to him. It wasn’t just about the Aether Core, too—their bond stretched back into his distant past, into another planet where two of them ruled before the inhabitants of Philos came to ruin everything. Him and Diana had a connection he couldn’t sever no matter how much you had come to mean to him. And he spent years, centuries even, just to search for her.

So, how could a mere assistant he had known for less than a decade have such entitlement to her role in his life?

Eventually, days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. With your prolonged absence from the Onychinus base, Sylus’s business transactions and illicit deals had become increasingly unruly. He had grown too dependent on you as his right-hand woman, relying on your meticulous management to ensure all his illegal activities ran smoothly. Yet now, without your oversight, things were falling apart.

And while he was contemplating how to fill the void your absence had created, the office door slammed open. A subordinate soon rushed in, breathless and wide-eyed. “Boss, she’s betrayed us!” Luke exclaimed. “She’s gone to the Hunter’s Association. We got word that she was a high-ranking intelligence agent there!”

“A.K.A a spy!” yelled the other twin, Kieran, who looked equally hurt at your betrayal. “She fooled all of us. And here, we treated her like family.”

That was how Sylus learned that you had left the N109 Zone, seeking refuge in Linkon City, and had exposed critical intel on Onychinus. At the time, rage naturally exploded within him. Didn’t he take good care of you while you were here? He had given you everything, trusted you, and you had thrown it all away. Four years of falling into his trap. Four years of being his partner in crime, his right-hand woman, his lover. People even saw you as the modern day Bonnie & Clyde. Sylus couldn’t understand the root of your betrayal, couldn’t imagine how letting you slip away from his grasp would cost him so much in return.

When you vowed to do everything in your power to kill Diana, was this just a part of your grand scheme? What other machinations were you orchestrating in your pursuit of revenge?

“She’s a wild animal on loose.” Sylus looked up at the twins, maintaining a calm yet ruthless mien as he sat on the couch. He might be idly tossing a coin like he didn’t care, but inside his brain was chaos ensuing. “Where’s she now? Any news?”

It was Luke who shrugged in response. “She hasn’t been seen anywhere, boss-man.”

“We suspect the Association is hiding her,” Kieran added.

The hunter girl, Diana—the very girl you were jealous of, was sitting next to Sylus throughout the conversation. Their hands were connected by a strong energy linkage that was seemingly ignited by the Aether Cores in their bodies. They couldn’t separate themselves even if they wanted to. And God forbid you would have lost your mind tenfold had you seen their situation right now.

“That g-girl,” gasped the hunter girl, eyes wide in bewilderment at what she was hearing. “Sylus, your assistant. She did all that? She was a spy from the Hunter’s Association?”

Luke tilted her head at the girl, his beaked mask mocking her. “Oh, miss hunter! Haven’t you heard about the HIS? You should know them better than us.”

“Well.. what is the HIS?”

“Hunter Intelligence Services.” Sylus was the one who answered, releasing a deep sigh while rubbing his temples. “They’re top secret. Regular hunters wouldn’t have known about them, because they only deal with people like me.”

Diana looked between him and the twins, rubbing her wrist before moving closer to the boss of Onychinus. Her close proximity allowed him to smell her familiar sweet scent. “Is she… after me? But I don’t understand. If she’s part of the Hunter’s Association too, then shouldn’t we be colleagues?”

Kieran cleared his throat. “Ever since you came—”

“Place a bounty on her head,” Sylus interrupted the twins, and also ignored the question of the girl next to him. She didn’t need to learn the history behind you and him, or why you chose to target her. “Make sure to bring Y/N back to me. Alive.”

“Roger that, boss!”

It was his last desperate attempt to draw you back to him. Now that you had the Hunter’s Association protecting you, Sylus knew that locating you wouldn’t be as simple. Otherwise, he would have easily captured Diana long ago. He convinced himself that the bounty was to punish you, but deep down, he knew it was because he couldn’t bear to lose you to his enemies completely.

It took you a year to return to the N109 Zone.

Did you forget he had eyes and ears everywhere? He was the boss of that infamous No-Hunt Zone. Even if you leaked intel about his residences and the Onychinus base to the Hunter’s Association, Sylus still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He had hideouts in places that even you weren’t aware of, and the residents of the N109 Zone were loyal to him. Too loyal that they wouldn’t give any information to anyone no matter the consequences.

And how foolish were you to forget about Mephisto’s existence?

“Caw! Caw!”

The mechanical crow’s eyes glowed with the same red hue as Sylus’s as it landed on his arm, projecting visions of you entering the underground fight club disguised in an Onychinus uniform. It was almost farcical that you thought you could infiltrate a place Sylus frequented unnoticed.

But then, the vision shifted to you speeding on a motorcycle with a truck in hot pursuit. Sylus quickly recognized the truck’s decals—it was the hitman he often employed for dealing with his enemies, now terrorizing you in a high-speed chase. Without hesitation, Sylus grabbed his leather jacket and mounted his own bike, racing to your location in sixth gear.

He arrived just a minute too late. And what was meant to be a dramatic reunion turned into a scene of you lying unconscious and injured on the road, while the hitman grinned nearby with an expression of triumph. If it hadn’t been for your helmet, Sylus would have been met with the gruesome sight of your shattered skull.

“Mr. Sylus!” the hitman exclaimed, jumping out of his truck with arms outstretched in petty victory. “Can I get the $500,000,000 in cash?”

As Sylus’s gaze fell on your unconscious, injured body sprawled on the ground, a surge of anguish overwhelmed him in ways he couldn’t understand. But it was quickly replaced by seething rage—rage that made him summon his black-red mist, enveloping the hitman in its dark tendrils.

“I said not to harm her,” Sylus growled, his red eye glowing ominously against the desolate highway backdrop. “You failed your task.”

“P-Please, Mr. Sylus! I thought you—”

Without another word, Sylus scooped you up in his arms while his mist dealt with the hitman behind him. The hitman’s desperate cries were soon drowned out by the expanding tendrils, which tightened around him until he was engulfed. Then, in a violent burst, the mist exploded, reducing the hitman and everything around him to dust.

Sylus brought you to his underground hideout immediately after. And an unfamiliar—or perhaps strange—pang tugged at his heart as he gently laid you in bed, his gaze lingering on the road rash you obtained from the crash. The injuries were severe, with patches of skin nearly stripped away in the most brutal fashion he could think of. He could only imagine the burning pain you had to endure as soon as you skidded along the gravel, and Sylus felt his own frustrations knocking at the door knowing that he didn’t have the power to extend his fast-healing abilities to you.

“Tch. My kitten’s reckless as always, riding without the proper gear,” Sylus grumbled, looking at your unconscious body. “You’ve never been one to follow the rules, have you?”

To make up for his inability to save you on time, he applied a potent medicinal ointment all over your body and placed you in an anesthetized state while you healed. His mist enveloped you like a protective shroud the entire time you laid in bed unconscious. Every single day, Sylus tended to your wounds, changing your clothes and bandages, and applying the ointments over your bare body. He even took special care to ensure the twins did not enter your room without his permission.

Despite the care he showed, a persistent question echoed in his mind: Why am I doing this for you? You were his enemy, a traitor, and a woman who had betrayed him. It didn’t make sense.

That afternoon, feeling suffocated from this internal conflict, Sylus decided to leave you in the care of Luke and Kieran while he went to Linkon. He knew he needed space to grapple with the feelings that were driving him to care for you in the first place.

He needed to see the real woman he should be caring for.

Because you had not only exposed intel on Sylus and Onychinus to the Hunter’s Association, you also asked for them to isolate Diana so she would have no way to see or contact him. Who knew that mere feelings of jealousy would spark you to do such trivial things?

Frankly, you were insane. You were dark and twisted like him.

But in a way, it only underscored how similarly deranged the two of you were. Perhaps, in your madness, there was a strange compatibility—one that Sylus found unsettlingly fitting. The suggestion of you two being more a suitable pair than he and Diana gave him an unease that he couldn’t simply shake away.

It should be her. Her. Just her and her alone. He dedicated his whole life into finding her, yet you came into his life to ruin the foundations he had built to meet the person he was supposedly destined for. He had repeated it over and over in his mind like a broken record—the voices in his head telling him to let you go, to hurt you, to make you suffer.

However, as he stood across the pedestrian crossing, watching Diana from afar, a realization hit him like a cold gust of wind. There she was, oblivious to his presence on the other side, but the spark that once ignited in his heart whenever he saw her was gone. Now, his pulse remained steady and his heart stayed still.

With a wary glance around, mindful of any watchful eyes, he decided to pick up his phone and ring hers. It was a good thing he was able to seamlessly blend into the crowd, with his practiced nonchalance making him invisible among the throng of people. After all, he was Sylus Qin, the mastermind of Onychinus—disguise was second nature to him.

“Sylus?” Her voice came through the line, tentative and filled with a mix of emotions as she scanned the faces on the other side of the crossing.

“According to the conditions set by the Hunter’s Association, we shouldn’t be meeting again.” His voice was steady, almost detached, as he kept the phone pressed to his ear. “Or if not, you will be marked as a Tenebra.”

Her eyes eventually found him amidst the walking crowd, keeping an expression on her face that showed both longing and forlornness. “Not the first time someone has been marked a Tenebra because of you,” she managed to slip in a snarky remark in her worried expression. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?”

“Are you worried about me?” he nonchalantly asked, watching as she stepped off the curb when the light turned green. Each step was a step closer to him, but nothing changed the pace of his own heartbeat like it should have. Nothing stirred within him as it once did.

“You have the audacity to use a phone when you’re right in front of me,” she snapped, frustration flaring as she yanked the phone from his grasp. Without hesitation, she grabbed his arm, dragging him along with her to escape the dangers of being seen in public. They ended up in an alleyway, a place hidden from prying eyes, an irony that made Sylus chuckle under his breath. The alleyway. Why has that become such a memorable place to him? “Sylus, what’s so funny? I was so scared something happened to you! You couldn’t even call me back or text me the past few days?”

He remained expressionless as he observed her outburst. Strange. In her frantic worry, she reminded him of you, and it was a discomfiting parallel that sent chills down his spine. “I said I’d need to disappear from your life completely, so I have to tie up loose ends,” he began, each word seemingly a dagger to her heart. “We haven’t been able to resonate either way, sweetie. There’s no reason for us to keep meeting.”

“No!” she adamantly denied the thought, pulling him into an embrace. “No, you’re not allowed to disappear just like that! We need to find a way to get—”

“It’s a dangerous gamble to be caught in my world,” he said in a low voice.

But she was stubborn. “I’m already caught in it! So, please, Sylus, take me with you. Take me to the N109 Zone or wherever you’re hiding. I want to be where you are.” And in spite, she uttered words that made Sylus think twice about his perception of you. “It’s her fault that this is all happening. She’s a traitor to you and to the Association. Her loyalty isn’t with anyone but herself, Sylus. She’s the one who needs to disappear!”

Back at his hideout, Sylus was careful to ensure that Diana remained oblivious to your presence in another room. He was already grappling with how to manage the situation—torn between the woman he loved and the woman he had wronged who, ironically, were both now under the same roof. The thought of you two crossing paths was a nightmare he didn’t want to deal with, so he gave strict orders to the twins, notorious for their loose lips and loud mouths, to keep Diana far from you.

Because when Sylus returned to your room, he knew you were awake. The dark classical music playing from the vinyl record had likely stirred you from unconsciousness. It had been nearly a week since the crash, but thanks to his meticulous care, your wounds had mostly healed, leaving only faint scars behind.

“You can’t hide from me forever.” Sylus hovered over you to whisper into your ear, summoning his protective black-red mist to slowly release you. “Wake up, kitten. We have unfinished business.”

When you finally opened your eyes after what felt like an eternity, Sylus told himself it was natural to feel relieved, that it was only right for his heart to soften at the sight of you returning to consciousness. But as you awoke, the voices in his head—the damned, relentless voices—grew louder, mocking him, provoking him, and luring him into darker thoughts. His right eye began to glow like a flickering candle, and when he saw the fear on your face, the words that followed weren’t his own. They were driven by the unforgiving side of him he couldn’t control, a side that thrived on your terror. The beast that couldn’t be tamed.

She’s a traitor.

Punish her.

Hurt her.

Devour her.

While in a heated, dramatic exchange with you, Sylus was spewing words he didn’t mean. He was doing actions without regard. He was mocking your pain. Your jealousy. Your heartbreak. The drive to hurt you was strong in his head, but he fought desperately against it. The demon inside him that tried to consume his every thought. He tried to battle his own self just to protect you.

“I betrayed you because of her!”

His laughter died down, but the amusement in his eyes only deepened, replaced by the wicked smile on his face that enjoyed seeing you suffer. “It’s always been about her, hasn’t it? You see me with her, and you can’t stand it. It eats at you, makes you act out.”

You tried to move away, but Sylus pressed his foot firmly on your wrist. She betrayed you, Sylus. Punish her.

“I’ve seen your struggle,” he continued, his voice soft but laced with corrupt satisfaction. “The way you watched me with her, the way it gnaws at you. It’s almost poetic, really.”

It wasn’t until you reached for the gun on his nightstand, pointing it at yourself, that Sylus snapped out of his dark trance. The horror in his eyes was a stark contrast to the sorrowful shine in yours as you stood there, sobbing in front of him. Each word you spoke was tailed with the pain of a heart shattered by everything he had done and said.

“...All I wanted was your love,” you choked out with tears cascading down your face, “I j-just wanted you to love me. I turned my back on the H.A. for you. I left all my friends and family for you.” Your breathing was still for a moment, but your heart had already been blown into smithereens. “All I had was you. I loved you. I devoted all my body and soul into loving you, Sylus. Why c-can’t I have even a little bit in return?”

Even as his gaze softened and a flicker of regret passed across his face, you had already made your decision when your finger tightened on the trigger. The recoil jolted your wrist, but before the bullet could find its mark, Sylus’s hand shot out and expertly deflected your aim. Instead of ending your life, the bullet shattered a window, ricocheting off the glass and disappearing into the night.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Sylus roared, his voice a thunderous mix of fury and disbelief.

You were barely responding to him as he cupped your cheeks and forced your lachrymose eyes to lock into his crimson ones. It was as though you had already resigned yourself to reality, that ending your own life would have been a better option than being with the man you hopelessly loved.

“Y/N,” Sylus tried to shake you awake, desperate for you to look into his eyes. “Y/N! Enough. Let’s end this game.”

“...I was never playing one with you.”

Sylus was overwhelmed by a profound, indescribable pain that pierced his chest. It was a pain that mirrored yours but was infinitely more intense. “I warned you many times before to never fall in love with me,” he said in a low, softened voice, “It’s for the best, and it’s what will keep you safe. Why don’t you listen?” He longed to pull you into his arms, but the crushing reality was that he only now realized how deeply he cared for you. It was devastating that his awakening had come at the cost of your near-suicide, forced by a love he was unable to return.

Was it truly too late for him to come to terms with his feelings for you? Was it too late to accept that he had fallen in love with you rather than the woman he believed he was meant to be with?

His answer came in the form of a gut-wrenching realization. It manifested in the frantic voice of Diana—the woman he believed he loved, piercing through the haze of his thoughts by yelling, “Sylus, step back!”

“No!” he shouted, his black-red mist swirling to intercept the bullet.

But his efforts came too late. The bullet had already been set in motion, and it tore through the side of your head.

It penetrated your skull with a cruel precision, not just once but twice. And the warmth of your blood seeped through his fingers as he caught your head before you fell onto the floor.

Sylus’s mind raced with the enormity of what had just happened. His face grew ashen as he looked at your bloodied head and lifeless eyes, a wave of acid welling up his chest until he couldn’t breath. But the reason for his suffocation was because of his own guilt and grief. It was at the force of a sledgehammer when he was hit with the admission that he had always been in love with you. All along, despite your tangled mess, it was you who had captured his heart in this world.

His chest tightened, his breaths coming in ragged, broken bursts, while he held you close in his arms. And your last three words, your very last words of “I… love… you…” as you stared despairingly at him was icing on this bitter cake.

No… no!

He couldn’t fucking accept it. He was losing his mind, he was going insane. He was plunging into madness. Utter hysteria. “Y/N, please,” he begged, his voice breaking as your eyes, once full of life and light, were now glazed over with the sheen of death. “Don’t leave. No, I can’t let this happen!” For the first time in a long time, he once again felt hot tears leaving his eyes. It was an emotion so rare it only ever showed toward the people he deeply cared about. “I love you too,” he struggled to say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said back there.”

Sylus held you close, disregarding the blood staining his clothes while he was consumed by agony and regret. He had driven you to this, pushed you away, and then drawn you back into his orbit only to lose you forever.

Though he may have conquered your heart, in doing so, he had only destroyed the both of you. The memory of your love and the warmth of your touch would haunt him for the rest of his days. And as he held your lifeless body, he knew that he would never be whole again.

But it shouldn’t be too late. No, it shouldn’t! He didn’t know if it was the hysteria or adrenaline kicking into him, but he had thought of an idea—no matter how immoral—that would return you back to him. He just couldn’t weigh which strong emotion he had to deal with first; should he grab the gun and shoot Diana out of anger? Or should he ignore her presence entirely and just focus on you?

Sylus chose to proceed with the latter as he carried you through the corridors of the base, his steps heavy with guilt and his shirt drenched in blood as you remained unconscious in his arms. The hunter girl had followed him in his spiritless steps, her eyes wide with confusion over his anguish.

“Sylus, why are you doing this?!” she demanded, grabbing his arm to halt his progress. “She would’ve killed you. That girl’s a traitor!”

Although he stopped in his tracks, he couldn’t really return her gaze. His eyes could only look at your lifeless ones. “That girl you shot in the head,” he spoke low and in despair, “is my woman.”

Diana was horrified. “But… but you never said—” Before she could finish, the twins intervened, holding her back from pursuing Sylus further. “What about me?”

He had already turned away. “I’ll fulfill my promise to protect you from afar, but this is where our paths part. Do not come near me again.”

Sylus stood over your unconscious body, his eyes bloodshot and tears-streaked, while his heart pounded with a mix of grief and desperation. He had summoned Philip and the finest surgeons he knew to his hideout, where you lay in a medical bed, exposed and vulnerable, as if you were a subject in a desperate experiment.

Philip arrived with a grim expression, his eyes scanning the scene with both skepticism and professional detachment. Sylus could barely contain his desperation as he demanded, “Do everything you can to save her. Even if it means infusing a high-grade protocore in her brain.” After all, he had plenty of that. Sylus had all the resources, protocores of the highest grade, each with their own purpose and capabilities.

Yet Philip hesitated, his face contorting with concern. “Mr. Sylus, you know I can’t do this. She’s gone. The best thing to do is accept—”

That was when Sylus’s composure cracked. He kicked the nearby chair out of rage, tears streaming down his face as he begged, “You’ve done it before. Do it again! Please, I need her to live!”

The sight of Sylus, usually so imposing and dominant, breaking down in front of him was shocking. Philip felt a pang of sympathy toward the Onychinus boss who was willing to do everything for a woman who was already dead. His hands trembled as he spoke, “I-I can try. But I’m warning you, Mr. Sylus… even if she survives this, there’s zero chance her memories will be the same. They may even become altered, and it will be out of our control.”

Sylus’s gaze never left you. “I don’t mind. Just do it.”

Weeks later, Sylus found himself in a secluded alleyway, meeting with a deepspace hunter who was also an enemy of his from another planet. Of course, the atmosphere was tense as both men stood in front of each other, eye-to-eye, carrying a defensive stance from one another.

They were never friends. But that day, they weren’t enemies either.

“How’s she?” Xavier broke the silence first.

Sylus answered with a low voice. “She hasn’t woken up, but she’s stable.”

“Why’d you ask to meet?”

“I want you to look after her,” the Onychinus leader began, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of desperation, “Speak to the Association about taking Y/N back and forgiving her for her betrayal. In return, I’ll step away from Diana’s life. She’s all yours. I just want Y/N to return to her normal life.”

Xavier’s expression was serious. “You’re forgetting you still have a bounty on your head.”

“And you’re forgetting you and your backtrackers destroyed the planet where I was living,” he replied in equal disdain, but only enough to trap Xavier into a wall of guilt and obligation.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Lumiere—or, in his current form, the deepspace hunter, Xavier. “The HIS will be easy to convince. But what if she wakes up and wants to go back to the N109 Zone?”

Sylus felt a tug of deep sadness pulling at his heart. “She won’t. Her memories of me are gone for good.”

If this was his karma for hurting you, then it was definitely the worst kind.

Sylus maintained a distant watch over you after you returned to Linkon, observing from afar as you rejoined your life with the support of the Hunter’s Association and former colleagues. Each day, he sent Mephisto to monitor your whereabouts, carefully tracking your interactions and daily activities. The mechanical crow often returned with glimpses of your life, which Sylus scrutinized with intense focus as if he were watching a movie. Each glimpse offered him a sense of relief, happiness even, at knowing how easy you were settling back into your old life.

You had been officially dismissed from the Hunter’s Association due to a medical condition that rendered you unfit for duty, but they continued to cover your pension and provided free lodging—likely thanks to Xavier’s persuasive influence over the Association. The official story was that you had been sent on a dangerous mission where a Wanderer had placed you in a life-threatening predicament. The narrative praised your honor and dedication to the end. There was no mention of Sylus, Onychinus, or the N109 Zone. No hint of the life you had once led or the truth behind your memory erasure.

Yet, in a bitter twist of irony, perhaps the story you were told may not actually be farther from the truth.

After all, Sylus was the dangerous monster that sent you to that life-and-death situation.

But at least now, you were well cared for. So much so that Sylus fought to contain his jealousy whenever Mephisto’s eyes relayed visions of you sharing lunch with a physician named Dr. Zayne. He struggled to mask his irritation as he saw the man drape an arm around your shoulders while guiding you out of the hospital or wrapping a scarf around your neck to keep you warm. He would often even drive you home and send you gifts that were masked as tokens of “recovery.”

Bullshit.

Sylus clenched his fist, his thoughts of jealousy consuming him. My girl, he thought in despair, my beautiful girl is cherished by other men, while he remained imprisoned in the desolate shadows of the N109 Zone, longing for you.

Eventually, Sylus felt an overwhelming urge to see you in person. After discovering that you had taken a job at a café in Bloomshore District, he convinced himself that observing you from a distance wouldn’t cause harm. He just wanted to be near you, to ensure your safety, and to protect you from any potential threats.

As he sat on a nearby bench, Luke joined him with a comment. “Boss, you said we needed to disappear from her life.”

Kieran, taking a seat on Sylus’s other side, added, “Do you think she’d recognize us if we walked into that café? If she doesn’t, I’ll give her a hard time with my orders ‘til she remembers us!”

“Ha ha! Let’s do that!”

“Boss, let’s go!”

“Leave her be.” Sylus took a deep breath, adjusting his sunglasses and setting aside his newspaper—part of his disguise—as he watched you through the café window. He noticed the subtle traces of familiarity in your actions, but the connections that once bound you were now distant memories. “...I’m just here to make sure no one’s bothering her.”

The truth was, he wrestled with his emotions each time he visited the café you were working at. He wanted to approach you, to speak to you, but he hesitated each time because of the fear of rejection and the pain of seeing you not remember him holding him back. There were so many what-ifs in his head that it drove him insane to think about.

Because if anything, what if you were already seeing someone else? What if you were already in a relationship with that scumbag doctor from the Akso Hospital?

It was petty jealousy that drove Sylus into stepping into the café. And the first time your eyes met since you resurrected, his heart initially froze, then raced uncontrollably. His heart swelled with hope as you looked up at him, but it was quickly replaced by the lack of recognition in your eyes the moment you spoke from the counter.

“Hi. What can I get you?” you asked, treating him no differently than any other customer.

Sylus was caught off-guard, but he knew he had to play the part. “I, uh, I’ll get an Americano. Large.”

“Alright, sir. And your name, please?” you asked, following your routine without any real interest in the man before you.

But in a way, this was a relief for Sylus. It confirmed that the protocore embedded in your head was functioning as intended, and that any dark memories from the past had been completely erased, even if it meant he was no longer part of your life.

“Skye,” he said with a soft smile. “That’s my name.”

There wasn’t a single day Sylus missed visiting the café.

At first, he worried that his constant presence might seem odd, or that you might think of him as a stalker. But as the days passed, seeing you became an essential part of his routine. A day without catching a glimpse of you felt incomplete, almost maddening. Seeing you was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.

Initially, you found his regular visits a bit strange, but gradually, the small interactions between you two evolved. Sylus began to appear at the café just when you needed him most—whether it was fixing a broken coffee machine, addressing rude customers, or simply offering a helping hand. These acts of kindness somehow transformed your view of him. What started as a customer-service relationship slowly became more personable, and in recent days, you often greeted him warmly and smiled whenever he walked in. If only you knew how badly it warmed his heart that he got to do things for you without making him feel like he was intruding in your life.

And to be honest, Sylus even felt like he might be—as Luke termed it—foolishly ”crushing” on you.

“Who knew our boss-man could be a hopeless romantic~?”

There was a time when he visited the café, only to find out from your manager that you called in sick from work. Sylus knew where you lived, but going to your place uninvited was a different story. He had to put some boundaries no matter how worried he was for you. But that was when Mephisto became useful; the mechanical crow would simply fly off to your place and observe you from outside. Then, an idea to drop a box of medicines and chocolates at your balcony was something he had thought of at the last minute.

Back in the N109 Zone, Sylus anxiously looked at his crow. “Are you sure she didn’t see you?”

“Caw! Caw!”

“Did she eat the chocolates?” he asked, exhaling a deep breath he didn’t think he was holding.

“Caw! Caw! Caaaw!” Mephisto responded, fluttering its wings as if to reassure him.

And then, that day happened.

The day Sylus finally gathered the courage to ask you out, fate had other plans. And what began as a simple gesture to offer you a ride home during a stormy night quickly escalated into something far more intense.

Because one moment, he was offering you a ride. The next, he found himself in your bed, having the most passionate sex he had ever had with someone. He wasn’t even sure if he could call it that, because it felt more like he was making love to you, even if to you, he was probably just an attractive guy you unexpectedly hooked up with.

So, he had to make himself known. He had to hear his real name leaving your lips. “Sylus,” he breathed into your ear, hands tracing your curves, “Call me Sylus, kitten.”

That night, he was an insatiable man who could only be satisfied by his woman.

When he was buried far too deep inside you, he enjoyed the sight of ecstasy on your face and lavished at the sounds of your titillating moans with his every thrust. Not only did he miss the feeling of your walls tightening around his shaft, he also remembered how badly you used to want him to cum inside you.

And so, he did just that. At his climax, he released hot spurts of seed into your womb, fulfilling a wish from the past that he used to deprive you of.

But as the night progressed and the heat of the moment faded, the conversation shifted to a more profound and emotional terrain. Sylus wrestled with the urge to reveal the truth about his true identity—every painful detail and the secrets he kept from you. Yet, he knew that doing so would only complicate matters further and risk causing you more pain. The idea of hurting you again, after such a meaningful connection, was unbearable to him, especially now that you were still fragile as glass, ready to shatter at any moment.

“Why do I get the feeling that I was the one who experienced a one-sided love before?”

“No, you were loved. You were very loved. There was no one else,” he pressed, forcing you to believe the narrative with his rueful eyes staring back at you. “I was the one who wasn’t worthy of you… But I’d like to try and win your heart again this time. If you allow it.”

“Sylus… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for not recognizing you before. I just… I lost a chunk of my memories, and I don’t know if it’s been altered or what, but…” He caressed your back as you took a deep breath. “I’ll try to remember, okay?”

“Please don’t.” He shook his head, crestfallen as he thought of the past that was rightfully erased. “And there’s no need for apologies, sweetie. There wasn’t anything you did wrong.”

Your relationship with Sylus remained unclear since that night. And it seemed as though the roles had reversed—now he was the one left wondering where he stood in your life. Because on the surface, it did seem like you were willing to work on building a relationship with him again, but every encounter you two had were always physical rather than emotional.

Sylus found himself at your apartment frequently, three or more times a week, engaging in intense, passionate encounters. He had lost track of how many times you two could do it in a single night, exploring every possible position, in every corner of your home. He had tried his hardest to make you feel like he was the only man who was more familiar with every inch of your body than anyone else. Yet, despite the physical closeness, he sensed that the emotional barriers between you remained intact.

No matter how deeply intertwined your bodies became, the walls around your heart remained firmly in place, and Sylus knew that there was a part of you he still couldn’t reach.

That, and the fact that he was still seeing you interact a little too closely with that doctor from Akso.

It somehow didn’t surprise you when Sylus’s car showed up outside the hospital to pick you up, and you got on with a guarded look.

“How’s it for my kitten today?” Sylus asked as he secured your seatbelt, his lips brushing against yours in a quick peck. “You didn’t mention you’d be at the hospital.”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. “Oh, I just... didn’t think I needed to inform you of my whereabouts.”

Dammit. He knew you weren’t officially together, but it hurt more than he cared to admit. And it didn’t help that Sylus’s pride couldn’t naturally take it, so he probed more. “That doctor. He’s not your neurologist, is he? It seems a little inappropriate for him to always be around you like that.”

“Well, I’ve known Zayne for a long time,” you merely replied, eyes focused on the view outside rather than the driver of the car. “I’d also appreciate it if you'd be less territorial over me, Sylus. I know you said we have a history together, but I don’t remember a thing, so… I hope you won’t rush me.”

The Sylus you knew back then would have been enraged. Who were you to order him around? Who were you to tell him what he should and shouldn’t do over someone he rightfully owned? But he was a changed man now, and it was all because of you. You were the beauty that tamed him into a powerless beast.

“I understand,” Sylus replied, swallowing his pride as his hands tightened around the steering wheel, focusing on the road ahead. “I apologize.”

He heard you sigh beside him, and a part of him wondered if it was out of sympathy. But before he could dwell on it, you spoke up, your tone more serious. “I was at the hospital today because I had a pregnancy scare.”

Sylus hit the brakes at the red light a bit too abruptly, his heart racing in excitement. “Are you?”

“No, thank God,” you breathed out in relief. “But... can you please stop doing it inside? I really don’t like it. It’s not smart for me to get pregnant by a man I barely know.”

His chest tightened in a way he couldn’t describe. The old you nearly begged him for a baby so he could be yours forever, but he was aware that this version of you right now was not the same. It never would be, and that was the price he had to pay for love.

“I won’t do it again.” Once again, swallowing his pride. “I’m sorry.”

You still invited him to sleep at your apartment that night, and your reason being to work on the memories of him you had lost. Time and time again did Sylus tell you it was better you didn’t remember them, but he could also understand your dilemma when you told him that you always felt like a piece of you was missing ever since that “accident”.

“And this ugly scar on my temple,” you pointed it out, settling into your side of the bed. “What kind of Wanderer did I fight for me to get a traumatic brain injury?”

Sylus placed a tender kiss on your scar. “Perhaps it was a heartless monster more terrifying than a Wanderer.”

Like me.

“Oh, well.” You pulled the sheets over your body, suggesting you two would have no action tonight. “Good night, Sylus.”

“...Sleep tight, kitten.”

You didn’t need to worry, though, because he wouldn’t have touched you even if you had explicitly asked him to. After hearing your words that afternoon—about not wanting to get pregnant by him and asking him to stop being so territorial—Sylus felt the need to pull back and be more cautious in his actions toward you. Your words had cut deep, but he understood you were only protecting yourself from a man who was, essentially, still a stranger to you.

And despite the sting, he had promised himself that he would be patient for the only woman he cared about.

However, that same night was a different story.

No, it was actually way past midnight when Sylus woke up from an agonizing scream that pierced the silence of the night, chilling him to the bone. Instinctively, his hand reached out to the side of the bed where you should have been, but the sheets were cold and empty. And then panic gripped him, forcing him to leap out of bed, his mind racing with a single horrifying thought: the protocore.

He darted outside of your bedroom and deeper into your apartment space, his eyes scanning every shadow, every corner. The image of you, eyes wild and frenzied, ravaged by the effects of the protocore, haunted him.

What if it’s happening now? What if I lose her for good?

The horrifying thought of the protocore making you berserk like a wild Wanderer was always there.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw you on the kitchen floor, curled up, your body wracked with sobs. Relief washed over him to have found you, but it was fleeting, replaced by a deeper, more insidious fear. He tried to approach you cautiously, his voice soft as he placed his hands on your shoulders, “Sweetie, are you okay?”

You flinched at his touch, and when you turned to face him, the sight made his blood run cold. Your eyes, usually so warm, were now wide and filled with tears—tears of terror, of anger. And in your trembling hand, you held a knife, its blade gleaming in the low light as you pointed it directly at his throat.

“Don’t come any closer!” you cried, your voice breaking at every word. Sylus froze, his breath catching in his throat as your sudden hostility surprised him. The knife’s tip hovered dangerously close to his skin, but it wasn’t the threat of violence that shook him—it was the raw, unfiltered pain in your eyes.

“Kitten, let’s talk about it calmly.” His voice was laced with cautiousness.

“Stop calling me that!” You swallowed hard, your grip on the knife tightening. “You! I had a nightmare... about you. But it felt real, like a memory. You were torturing me at your base, laughing... and then, you shot me in the head.”

Sylus’s heart dropped into his stomach at hearing your altered memory. He felt his soul tear apart at the edges as he stared into your tear-streaked face. “It was just a dream. It wasn’t real, kitten.”

But you weren’t listening. “But is it also not real? That you…” You uttered each word with a threatening voice, “are the boss of Onychinus?”

The question hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words were stuck in his throat and refused to form. He was trapped. The situation felt like a dead end—he could deny that your dream was a real memory, but admitting he was the leader of Onychinus would only validate that lie.

His silence alone was an answer to you. And your expression crumbled into one of betrayal at that. “You lied to me! You’ve been lying to me this whole time. How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?”

The anger in your voice enforced the stillness of Sylus’s breath. He knew he had no saving grace from this situation, but still, he took a step closer, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Y/N, I never wanted to hurt you—”

“Get out!” you screamed, the knife shaking in your hand. The sight of you so broken, so shattered, tore him apart. “Get the hell out of my sight! I don’t wanna see you ever again, you monster!”

But Sylus couldn’t leave—not like this, not when you were hurting because of him. So in his desperation, he lunged forward, grabbed your wrist, and forced the knife into his own chest. The sharp pain radiated through him as he plunged the blade in and stabbed himself repeatedly, his face twisted in agony, but not from the physical pain. This was nothing compared to the torment of knowing he was the source of your suffering. Again.

“Even if I can’t die,” he choked out, his voice ragged as he tried to absorb the stinging ache in his chest, “I’ll take all of this pain away from you.”

His own blood soaked his fingers, staining your hands as he released his grip on the knife. It fell on the floor as he stepped back, his heart aching more than his wounds ever could, but those wounds easily healed. The pain of losing you again, on the other hand, would never heal.

He looked at you one last time, seeing his monstrous reflection from your frightened eyes, before turning away. Sylus walked out of the apartment with heavy steps, feeling his soul crushed from your antagonism. He knew he had lost you—perhaps forever—and the realization was more than he could bear.

A haze of cigarette smoke and the clink of glasses filled the air of the bar. Sylus sat alone at the counter, his new glass of whiskey untouched as he stared blankly into the amber liquid. The sting of alcohol was nothing compared to the numbness that had settled in his heart after that agonizing night with you. Every swallow of the hard liquor was a desperate attempt to drown out the torment of recent events, but the pain lingered, and it was damn persistent and unforgiving.

As he poured himself another drink, the muffled sounds of conversation around him blended into a dull roar. That was until a familiar voice cut through the haze—someone he wished he hadn’t come across.

“Sylus?”

He looked up, squinting against the dim light, to see Diana standing before him. He hadn’t seen him for the past year or so. And surely, her presence was unexpected, but he felt a sudden tinge of irritation at the sight of her. While her, she looked both apprehensive and determined, as if she had just made a hard decision to confront him.

“H-How have you been?” she asked the question as a conversation starter, but Sylus could see the faint hint of unease in her eyes.

He then straightened up, and his posture became stiff and defensive. “I told you it’s not wise for us to cross paths,” he said curtly, his voice slurred from the alcohol but still holding a note of finality. He didn’t want to engage, not with her, not tonight.

On the one hand, Diana’s eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn’t quite place—regret, perhaps. “I… I wanted to say sorry for what happened with Y/N. I didn’t realize how much she meant to you. Xavier… told me everything. About you and her.”

The apology was genuine, but the mention of your name was a fresh wound, and he felt the anger and sadness surge again, bubbling beneath his carefully maintained exterior. He wanted to lash out, to blame her for everything, but he swallowed the words, knowing it wouldn’t change a thing. In the end, this was all his doing and he couldn’t point fingers over the mess that he alone had created.

Sylus tried to stand up, the room spinning slightly as he steadied himself. “I’m leaving.”

But Diana stepped closer, her hand reaching out as if to stop him. He simply brushed past her, his movements unsteady but undeniably distancing from her. The desire to remain composed was slipping away, replaced by the harsh reality he faced every day since you were taken from him.

He made his way to the exit, pushing through the bar’s heavy door with a forceful shove. Sylus’s next move was to lean against the wall outside as the cool winter breeze blew on his face.

“Boss.” Kieran’s voice held a note of concern as he and his twin steadied Sylus by wrapping his arms around their shoulders. “We’ll take you home.”

Luke glanced at his brother with a sad glint in his eyes before leading Sylus toward the car. “Maybe it’s time to let her go, boss.”

February nights were the coldest. And it was supposedly the day for lovers, too.

Unlike the couples that littered the riverside, Sylus stood alone, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. His dark coat offered little protection against the biting wind, but he stayed committed, his gaze fixed on the empty expanse before him. Four hours had passed since he had sent you the message, and each minute he stood there waiting for you felt like an eternity. The biting cold gnawed at him, but he was determined to wait even if he’d end up getting frostbite. It was the least he could do.

The frozen river’s surface glistened with a thousand points of light as the moon cast its silver glow over the landscape. And for the next thirty minutes that passed, he was still alone.

She won’t be coming, said the voice in his head. Give up.

As he prepared to leave, the ache of disappointment settled in his chest, and his heart skipped a beat as he recognized you, standing cautiously across him, your eyes wide and filled with both curiosity and trepidation. The sight of you, despite waiting in the cold for hours, instantly warmed his freezing body.

“Thank you for coming.” He took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. “I won’t keep you long.”

You maintained your distance, wary of his next move. “Why did you want to meet?”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he began to peel the scarf from around your neck, and he felt a prick in his heart seeing you flinch. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He waited until you allowed him to proceed, his fingers brushing against your skin in a touch that was both gentle and reverent. You looked at him with confusion, the chilly air fought by the warmth of your breath. Sylus was just carefully replacing the scarf with the necklace he had given you long ago, the red Beryl crystal catching the light and sending soft, radiant glimmers into the night.

Do you even recognize it?

“I’m just returning a gift, kitten.”

As he fastened the clasp behind your neck, he pressed a tender kiss to the nape of your neck, his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened. That small gesture of his was actually carried by the depth of his affection and regret. And, if you may, it was his silent apology for all that he did to you.

“Sylus…”

His red eyes shimmered, intensified by the bloodshot whites. Sylus stared at your face with a mixture of love and ruefulness clouding his expression. He was looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And he struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, with his voice breaking as he feathered the snowflakes that rested on your hair. “Take care of yourself. Always lock your doors at night and stay warm.” He took the scarf Zayne gave you, and pulled out a new one from his coat. It was a silly scarf with kitten prints all over it, that he soon carefully wrapped around your face and neck. “Wear that whenever you can.”

Your own eyes were large and rimmed with tears as though you were also hurting inside. “Why are you saying this?” you asked, keeping the weakness inside. “You sound like you’re saying goodbye.”

Sylus’s gaze was suddenly directed back to the river, but it was only because he had to avoid looking at your eyes or he would lose it. “The Association managed to track me here in Linkon and they’re still after me. I just managed to escape, but I can’t stay here,” he explained calmly, “I only came back to this city because of you… But now, I have to disappear, so don’t worry about having me around. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and the tears that had been pooling your eyes finally spilled over. “Are you crazy?” you cried, seemingly unable to comprehend the words he was spewing. “You’re leaving me?”

Sylus’s heart broke at the sight of your tears, but he had to restrain any weakness by giving in. Instead, he reached out, and his hand trembled as he wiped a tear from your cheek. “I love you, Y/N.” He wanted to be the first one to say it this time. “Even if you regain all your memories of me—good or bad—I want you to know that I regret every pain I caused you. Even if you hate me, I’ll still love you. Today, tomorrow, and in our next lives.”

Sylus took one last, lingering look at you, his eyes filled with a sorrowful haze that nearly blinded his vision. He turned slowly, walking away from the river’s edge, with each step causing distance from the love he was leaving behind.

And you, you stood there, the necklace around your neck feeling heavy as you watched him disappear into the night. A surge of emotion overwhelmed you, and without thinking, you sprinted towards him. You took quick, long strides just to reach him, pulling him into a tight embrace, and crashing your lips against his in a bittersweet kiss.

Both of you cried as the kiss deepened, and you were encasing each other’s lips in a tight lock. The intensity of your emotions poured out in this poignant, intimate moment. And frankly, Sylus had never been this emotional. No one had ever seen this fragile side of him that he had always kept hidden. After all, what dominant, cruel boss of Onychinus would spill tears over a woman?

But they wouldn’t understand it. They never would.

When you finally pulled away, your eyes were red and swollen from tears. “Be careful,” you sniffled, barely unable to catch the breath you needed for the next. “Keep in touch if you can. And when I’m ready, I’ll find you.”

Sylus’s eyes were also filled with tears, but he managed a forlorn smile as he nodded. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the heaviness of the moment. “I’ll wait,” he promised softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“Until we meet again.”

As he stepped back, the distance between you seemed impossibly vast, but the promise in your eyes and the love in his heart made the separation bearable, if only just. And when Sylus turned away, his heart was heavy but full of the hope that one day, you would find each other again. That one day, this distant love would become a cherished memory that you would look back on as you grow old and wrinkled, yet insurmountably happy and content with the life you had lived. With or without him.

PREVIOUS PART

#love and deepspace x reader #love & deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lads x you #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x yn #lds x reader #l&ds x reader #l&ds x you #sylus angst #sylus fanfic #l&ds sylus

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hellishjoel · 2 months ago

Text

wild like the west

3.3k / pairing: cowboy!joel miller x cowgirl!reader

main masterlist | notifications blog

summary: joel and his cowgirl warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), implied but unspecified age gap, joel is technically reader's boss (so power dynamic stuff), swearing, dirty talk, pet names (baby girl, brat, etc.), unprotected p in v, pussy pronouns, asphyxiation kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, clean up on aisle reader's stomach, reader is described having hair but otherwise (I believe) reader is a blank slate, no use of y/n, barely edited A/N: I unfortunately have not stopped thinking about a game joel miller x yellowstone crossover, and I feel like he would like this to be his long, happy life. I also haven't written for joel since may which feels like a sin! sorry baby!

It doesn’t matter how many ass bruises you get, or the pain of repeated thrashes to your knees from getting bucked off; this unruly horse will bend its spirit to your will.

Half the job of purchasing new horses for the Miller Ridge Ranch is breaking them in like a pair of new shoes.

Any cowboy, or for you, cowgirl, knows that a horse can sense your personality and fear from a mile away. If you sprout fear, it won’t trust you to be the guide on its back. It’s a mutual thing to trust one another. It’s the trust Joel thrust upon you after loyally working at the ranch for a handful of years. Sure, you were young, but you had a good head on your shoulders.

He perches his cowboy boot on the low fence rail, teeth gnawing at a toothpick as he watches you with careful eyes. The morning dew settles over the long grass and tall trees, untouched by man, fostered by nature. With the sun clawing at the horizon, the land turns from a pale blue to a beaming orange glow. It’s beautiful here, peaceful. You imagine this is the life that Joel always wanted, craved. He’s not from around here, he’s got too much Southern twang to be from these northern Montana woods.

Life guided him up here and he never turned back.

You can feel the horse grow agitated under your haunches, whinnying with anxiety as it takes a few rough steps backward in the ground-up dirt.

“S’okay, boy, take it easy, easy,” you coo in a gentle voice that lets the horse breathe through its panic. You grip the colt’s mane at the very base of his neck, right by the horn of your saddle, gently scratching that sweet spot that seems to bring him some tranquility.

You’re the only one who seems to calm these beautiful boys.

“You got a habit of gettin’ in’ta trouble before it even knows to start lookin’ for ya.” Joel’s southern drawl rumbles deep from his chest, stepping into the training ring and crooking his first two fingers in your direction.

“I got it, Joel,” you say insistently, guiding the horse by a little squeeze of your boots to its belly in Joel’s direction.

“Know ya do.” Joel stops at the horse’s chest and pats its neck, large and calloused hand stroking down its coarse mane as he stares up at you, squinting from the morning sunlight.

His eyes are starkly brilliant in this light, typically a dark brown, now a glowy amber under the brim of his black cowboy hat. “You know that part of learnin’ how to be a cowboy is lettin’ them break in their own horse. Hop down.”

A sigh leaves your parted lips as you unhook one boot from the stirrups and throw yourself off. Taking the reigns, you walk with Joel back to the main fence.

“You’re too nice to ‘em. I hired you to be a bit more…” He pauses indefinitely, tilting his head.

“Ruthless. I know.” Your eyes connect, both hardened after years of this long life. One day of being a cowboy felt like a year at any other job.

The plan was plain and simple, a route you’d taken a hundred times with a crew that changed on and off for the past couple of years. The cattle were in need of fresh resources, lush grass to graze on, and streams of pristine crystal water. Up through the valley they’d go.

The cowboys and cowgirls were gathered on their horses, Joel sat atop his beautiful black mare, eyes piercing his crew even behind his tinted sunglasses. Any season besides summer in this state demanded thick, warm work wear. Joel adorned a chocolate brown Carhartt and thick denim jeans under old, worn-out brown chaps.

“I want Wyatt and Jack to take front, Bo and Sadie, swing, Jess and June on the flank, Tucker and Sammy on the drag. Wear your bandanas, it’s gonna get dusty back there,” your eyes flick up to a string of confused faces, “any questions?”

“Why do we have to go through the valley? We’d have to push hundreds of cows through open water,” Bo mutters, disdain for a woman making all these choices for him, perhaps.

“Yeah, n’I can’t swim. Never learned.” Another pipes in.

“Then you’re a goddamn idiot,” old man Wyatt gurgles up a chuckle. Wyatt has been a cowboy longer than you have been alive. He raised you up to be tough with a streak of kindness that could never be washed away. He gives you a tight nod of reassurance as you sigh weakly.

All this tomfoolery seems to be a bit much for Joel’s taste. “She’s takin’ questions about the plan, not your ‘pinions on it. I tell her what to do, she tells ya’ll what to do. You question her, you question me. So do as she says, or you answer to me.”

Joel’s always had a tight hand on the crew. He intimidates them. He is their boss, after all. They have a problem with you or this ranch or anyone else, they answer to him. Joel takes off his sunglasses and narrows his eyes on Bo, the newest cowboy with a pretty big mouth on him who bucks just as bad as your new colts. And his dead eyes are set on you.

The rest of the crew sets off towards the direction of the cattle herd, everyone except Bo.

Your head jerks upward in his direction, your own eyes narrowed. “You wanna say somethin’?” You ride alongside Bo, who seems to be wrestling with his stupid thoughts. But before he gets a chance to say anything, Joel intervenes.

“Got a fight in you? It starts an’ ends with me.”

Bo looks between both of you, simply scoffing before he backs his horse off and trots along towards the crew.

The view from the top of the valley is beautiful, all yellow and golden, with a pale blue sky and tall trees that harbor the secrets of the forest. Joel used to tell you it would whisper to him, warn him. Your chestnut-colored horse stands tall next to Joel’s, and both of you are overseeing the herd and the crew working together.

“Not as bad as I thought this was gonna be,” Joel mutters, turning his head in your direction. You’re unrecognizably quiet. He’s never known you to be so still.

He watches as your fingers anxiously twirl your horse’s mane. “You undermine me in front of them, and they don’t respect me, Joel.”

So that’s what got you so stiff. He takes in a deep breath of mountain air, crossing his wrists over the horn of his saddle and glancing over at you out of the corner of his eye. Your hair blows in the wind, gentle and flowing. Almost graceful if it wasn’t in this wild west. Your beauty was city beauty, he was surprised you ever found your way out here.

“Bo’s as green as grass. He needs to learn not t’talk to you like that. And if he needs to learn from me, so be it.”

Keeping your lips zipped, your eyes scan the points that use the dogs to guide the herd in the right direction. The swings and flanks work the mid to back-mid to maintain movement, and the drags stationed at the back ensure that any loose stragglers keep up.

Joel rolls his eyes and sighs, reaching his hand across to your horse’s reigns, keeping your horse tucked to his side.

“C’mon, Cowgirl. Spit it out.”

“You go about defendin’ me, it looks like we’re sleepin’ together,” you gripe, “and I don’t need our crew slingin’ the slander that I got my job fuckin’ the boss. I don’t want that shit, Joel.”

Joel shifts his jaw from side to side, silent as he usually is. His tongue muscles over the right words, the words that will settle that ball of uncertainty you have nestled in your gut.

He settles on the truth.

“We are sleepin’ together.”

Shaking your head, you steal your reigns back from Joel and gently nuzzle your boots against the horse’s underbelly. “Well, maybe that should end.”

Joel watches on with a small smirk as your horse is set in motion down the grassy hill. He shouts loud enough for his voice to carry down from the high ground. “You set those boys straight, or I’ll have to keep doin’ it for ya.”

You sling back your middle finger in his direction, both of your horses riding side by side now as you follow the crew through to the valley.

Joel sighs upon entering his large, private cabin, resting his cowboy hat to air out on a hook by the front door. His clothes wreak of his musky sweat, and the shower calls his name. He walks stiffly. Joel’s thick thigh muscles are as strong as iron from riding his horse, and his back cracks each time he inhales.

But he can’t deny that this life was made for him.

Training to be a carpenter, earning pennies on the dollar to work in the hot Texas sun, and for what? Building someone else’s dream property? He had his own dreams.

The ranch was his dream.

He always had a profound appreciation for nature and the outdoors.

Fuck the city, fuck car horns honking obnoxiously, fuck the traffic. He found more fulfillment in listening to the wind flutter through the trees and would much rather hear the moos of his cattle than impatient commuters at six in the morning.

Plus, he’s never felt more free or independent. This was his land, and he made the decisions on how it was run. Hiring the sassy cowgirl from the metropolis just happened to be a nice bonus on lonely nights when there wasn’t much left to his whiskey bottle, and the ride into town was more than twenty minutes for a new one. She sated him all the same, better, even.

Despite years of riding and wrangling, you’re so fucking soft. You have soft eyes, a pretty voice, and satiny thighs. Your lips are plush against his weathered ones, and you don’t seem to mind sitting in his lap with his rougher-than-barbwire hands feeling over your body.

But in turn, you’ve made a little soft spot in his wild like the west heart of his. And he swore he’d never settle down; you seem to have the same intentions.

Things were easy. Nice and easy. Almost routine.

The bunkhouse would be busy with cowboys and cowgirls playing card games, drinking their beers, singing to the music on the radio, and talking nonsense. You’d slip out after dark and wind up upstairs in his bed.

He recalls you saying something about how his bed is more comfy than the ones in the bunkhouse.

“Whatever you say, darlin’.”

Tonight was no different. Fresh from his shower with a towel secured low on his waist, he hums curiously at the sight of you sprawled out across his bed. No more than a minute later, you are tugging it loose from his frame and letting it pool around his ankles.

“Thought you said you were done,” Joel muses with a hint of teasing. You sit up from the bed on your knees and wrap your arms around his broad trap and shoulder muscles.

“I ain’t a quitter,” you mutter against Joel’s mouth, feeling his tongue glide along yours as he explores you freely.

He sheds your clothes, feeling your freshly showered skin and hair under his rough palms. He can’t help but touch you like you’re his, like he owns you. But no man can possess the wind.

You kiss as he slips you under the bed’s cool sheets, drunk on the way you move so pliantly under his guidance. His lips move to the slope of your neck, his greying whiskers scratching your skin before he washes over the irritation with more kisses.

Joel’s hands slip between your legs, cupping your clothed center in one hand. Your eyes light up at the friction, mewling up a moan of his name as he massages over the wet spot growing on your panties.

“She’s already soaked, darlin’. You been thinkin’ ‘bout this?” Joel muses, sitting up properly to peel your shirt off your body, two fingers curling around the hem of your panties and chucking them mindlessly on the floor.

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly as he’s about to slip down between those pretty legs of yours.

“What?” He asks, damn near annoyed.

“I can’t wait,” you beg breathlessly, his eyes meeting yours. “I-I can’t, I’m beggin’ you, please. It’s been a long day.”

Joel sighs but ultimately nods. It’s not what he wants, but sometimes you both need a quick fix.

Joel’s body parts your legs, a grunt escaping the depth of his throat as he ruts his hips against your own.

“Good idea,” he mutters against your mouth, leaning down and distracting himself with your kisses as he lines his length up and down your soaking center.

You sharply inhale as he enters and the sound is music to his ears. He feels your nails carving into his back muscles as he sinks himself in deeper deeper deeper, both of you panting with eagerness by the time his hips are flush with your own, lost in where you end and he begins.

You let out a string of moans as he reels himself back, only to return to your depths with a snap of his hips that releases a shrill whine of his name from your throat. His forearms are buried in the fluff of the pillows on either side of your head, forehead against forehead, his hips grinding against you now.

The friction is enough to make your head spin. You can feel the coarse hair of his happy trail tickling your already anxious pearl.

“Fuck,” you huff out, letting your hands slip down his back, knowing that if you want him to pick up the pace, you’ll have to ignite his fire. In one quick movement, your hands drag themselves up Joel’s back, your nails creating etched lines that raise red once you finish at the very tops of his shoulders.

Joel releases a long, low groan in response as his eyes snap open to meet yours. The sting of pain creates heat along Joel’s spine. His jaw is wound tight as he brings his large hand to wrap around your pretty throat, thumb on your chin to force you into staring straight at him.

“Such a goddamn brat,” he growls, adding pressure to the column of your throat as he begins to pound into you harder and harder with each thrust of his hips. You cry out his name, a cacophony of your panting moans and your slick squelching against his hips fill your ears. The ecstasy of losing just a smidge of air is enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head.

He’s obsessed with the way your eyes gloss over in lust, your body jerking up the bed with each powerful thrust he gives you. Your mouth hangs open, gasping for air that’s just out of your reach.

“You take it, baby girl, you keep takin’ it. She’s so fuckin’- goddamit, so fuckin’ good for me,” he pants, feeling the warm air dissolve against your skin as Joel begins to swell fatter inside of you.

Perfectly slick and warm, he loses himself in your pussy. You squeeze and choke him, his orgasm only building as you whimper how good he feels.

“Holy fuck, Joel, please please please, right there, ohmygod you’re gonna make me-” you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as you grip onto his forearm that’s still holding your delicate throat, your other hand gripping the hair at the nape of his neck. He knows to squeeze a little harder as you fall apart, the euphoria of the combination sending you over the edge.

Joel’s holding on for dear life, always focused on putting you first, always trying to prove your jokes of him being an old man wrong. But he can’t deny he’s nearly finished twice now, your pretty cunt all nice and warm for him.

What’s wrong with pushing you over the edge a little?

Joel abandons the hold on your throat as you still are witnessing the aftershocks of your orgasm, his two thick fingers circling over your swollen clit.

Joel smirks as your eyes snap open, your jaw dropping wide as you silently scream in pleasure. He nods sadistically, smirking as he overstimulates your already twitchy clit.

“You’re gonna give me another, right here, right now,” Joel grunts, stilling his hips as he’s buried to the hilt inside you, feeling your pussy clench around his cock as your gasps and strangled moans fill the room.

“Fuck, Joel I don’t think I can,” you cry out, bracing the wrist of the hand that’s still working figure-eights around your pearl. Joel watches as your chest rises and falls quickly, nipples at peaks as you continue to clench repeatedly around his cock.

“Know you can, baby, cum on this cock again. You’re a strong cowgirl, ain’t’cha? You been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day, getting this pretty girl drilled by me, know ya have.”

And he’s right. Shamefully so. Denying Joel looks good in and out of his cowboy attire is just nonsense. The way he rides his horse with his thighs snagged tight around its middle, gnawing on his toothpicks to ward off the need to smoke a cigarette or chew; at this point, it’s everything that he does that turns you on.

And maybe that’s why it’s so easy to give him a second one.

Your nails pierce into his skin as your hands grip his biceps, mewling and moaning something wrecked, feeling the warmth gather deep in your belly once more.

“Keep fuckin’ me, I didn’t say to stop,” you pant.

Joel disguises his laughter by meeting your lips with his own, giving you messy kisses that taste better than perfect ones. His hips and fingers work in tandem to force you over the edge. You’re shaking under him, your thigh muscles twitching with excitement, legs wrapping around his middle as he grows closer to his own finish.

Just as he feels like he’s going to give way, he can feel your pussy clenching around his aching cock, his tip brushing so perfectly against that spongy spot that sets your insides alight.

“Fuck,” he grits, ripping himself loose of your perfectly wasted cunt as he yanks over his length. One, two, three more times, and he’s spilling warm spend across your belly. The pretty splatters are like a Jackson Pollock. He stares in awe at how pretty you look getting finished on.

The bed dips as he falls into place beside you. He doesn’t lay idle. He reaches for some tissues from his bedside table, politely wiping away his mess as you stare at him with lustful eyes. You were so fucked out. Sorta cute.

“Quit,” he mutters, avoiding your eyes.

“You ain’t as old as I thought you were.” You whisper, a smirk tugging on the corners of your mouth.

Joel chuckles softly at your familiar tease. He's heard it countless times, but it never ceases to make him roll his eyes and pull you closer to him. He kisses your forehead affectionately, his voice carrying a hint of playful banter.

“You gonna keep remindin' me about my age every chance you get? Don’t stop ya from comin’ back each night.”

You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heart thump.

Joel’s got one arm slung around your shoulders, the other on your thigh that’s draped across his middle. His strong hand works slowly into your tired muscles. You play with the greying curls on his chest, taking note of the dark, nearly black ones still speckled throughout.

“Goodnight, old cowboy.” You say, patting his chest, hearing his slow laughter rumble from his chest.

“G’night, pain in my ass.”

main masterlist | notifications blog

#joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal the last of us #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou #tlou fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel tlou

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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months ago

Note

Mafia!Konig X Sex Worker/Prostitute!Reader pretending like she's constantly not there at the brothel whenever she hears him coming

You aced the art of hiding from him. Unfortunately, Konig is still the most paid client at your brothel and, at some point, even a fine establishment like yours, will stop listening to your wishes and finally push you in his hands. The manager might be a bit disappointed that such an elite prostitute is gone from this line of work forever, but at least they would lose Konig as a client - and with this guy, he always brings in more trouble than money. Although he has paid three times more than your debt already. You were trying to avoid him, but everyone else at the brothel was ratting you out - no one wants to deal with an angry mafia boss when his favorite girl is not around, and especially not when he thinks that she is with another client. He paid for you to be blocked from any other guy - as much as you hated it, since the manager didn't pay you even half of what Konig gave. You're a bird inside a fabric-padded cage, and Konig is your silent observer, waiting for you to finally break and ask him to get you out of this place. Maybe, it won't be so bad. Yeah, he'd clip your wings and make you stay by his side at all times - but he would also pay you more than any of the assholish clients you had. Maybe your freedom was cheaper than you thought it is. Konig always pays for the whole night, always drags you out of the place - it's usually not in the policy, with how careful the place treats its best dolls, but he can pay upfront and make a week of your payments in just a few hours. He never stays for the whole night, however -- too busy, you guess, never staying too long after he fucked you once or twice. He pays for the whole night and let you stay at the fancy hotel room he got for the two of you, with breakfast service in bed included. On good days, you can almost pretend to be a spoiled princess who has servants at her beck and call. On bad days, you feel like a sacrifice for some unruly god of war. Spread open on his bed and then fed grass-fed cuts of beef and some expensive grapes. You feel stuffed during those days - both figuratively and literally. Sometimes you really wish he'd stay - but the most he gives you is a quick hug, desperately clinging to your body before his mind catches up to him and tells him to stay away.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #mafia!konig

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harryspet · 2 months ago

Text

well kept [4] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, DUBCON/NONCON, corporal punishment, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: longest chapter yayyyy :):)

word count: 4.9k

In which Rafe's control pushes you to the brink of ecstasy and beyond.

well kept masterlist

Rafe Cameron could handle his liquor, you learned that quickly. After accompanying him to a few dinner parties and watching him down several shots of whiskey before finishing an entire pitcher of beer, you wondered how he maintained his physique. He never slurred his words or stumbled, he seemed entirely happier when he was drinking, a completely different person.

He’d forced you to drink a cocktail and that quickly made you feel wobbly. The nights were a blur of conversations and you were tethered to reality by the feeling of Rafe’s hand on your lower back. He never introduced you as his assistant to his rich friends. You were just Y/N. “She’s cute, yeah?” He would say to people. Usually your dress was way too short or your cleavage was spilling from your top. Unfortunately, you sipped your drink when you were nervous.

You were exhausted by the end of the night and a little tipsy though you hadn’t dared to drink nearly as much as he did.

“C’mon, I’ll take you home,” He’d said, hand on your waist as he guided you out of the restaurant. Sometimes it made you feel protected. Like Rafe could hurt you, sure, but at least no one else could.

“Should you be driving?” You’d mistakenly asked, words slipping out before you could stop them. He took it as a challenge to his manhood and the look on his face made you regret it.

“I’m fine,” He’d looked at you sharply before he commanded, “Get in the fucking car.”

You didn’t hesitate any longer and let him him help you into the passenger side of his truck. He kept his eyes focused on the road, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, and you hoped he wasn’t angry, maybe just deep in thought.

When he pulled up to your apartment complex, you fumbled for the door handle, eager to escape the tension. But before you could step out, Rafe’s hand was on your arm.

“I’m coming up,” he stated firmly.

“It’s a weeknight,” you said, trying to find a reason that would convince him otherwise. “My roommates are probably asleep by now.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “I’ll be quiet,” a hint of his boozed up charm returned to his voice. Reluctantly, you led him upstairs.

When you opened the door, you were surprised to find your roommates, Imani and Angel, still awake, standing in the kitchen with a bottle of wine between them. Their laughter filled the small apartment. Their expressions shifted to complete shock at the sight of Rafe behind you. You smiled, trying to give the impression that all was well, that it was completely normal to be returning to your apartment with your drunk, billionaire boss.

Imani, with her flawless olive complexion and neatly styled curls, scrutinized the scene with furrowed brows. Beside her, Angel stood tall and vibrant, her unruly tight curls escaping their single hair tie, her mouth agape in astonished silence as she stared at you. Both much more beautiful than you, a sad thought crossed your mind, and you worried for a short millisecond that Rafe would realize he’d made a mistake in picking you.

“Hey,” You did you best to sound casual, “Rafe, this is Imani and Angel. Imani, Angel, this is Rafe.”

“Your boss, Rafe?” Imani asked incredulousy, her arms crossing over her faded band tee. “I don’t understand-”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Cameron,” Angel blurted out, practically bouncing on her bare feet, “Can I offer you a drink? We both had a shitty day so we whipped out the strawberry moscato.”

“It’s nice to meet you guys. And thanks, tempting offer but I’m quite satisfied at the moment,” His voice was smooth and effortlessly disarming. He placed a hand on your waist, pulling you into him, and your eyes widened, “I’m just here to make sure Y/N gets a good night’s rest.”

Both Imani and Angel looked at you with a mixture of shock and curiosity. Imani’s eyes, in particular, were sharp and disapproving, clearly questioning how you had kept this from her. Her gaze was heavy with the unspoken question: How could you be involved with Rafe and not have told her?

“Make yourself at home,” Angel said, clearly more excited than angry, and Imani’s intense gaze snapped to her, “I’m about to make popcorn and we’re about to watch a movie if you guys-”

“Angel,” Imani whispered harshly, “Leave them alone.”

“I’m j-j-just gonna, uhm, goodnight, guys,” You took Rafe’s arm and led him away from the tension filled kitchen to the narrow hallway that led to your bedroom. You felt he weight of Imani’s disapproval lingering in the air.

Your small apartment that you shared with two other people was a stark contrast to the luxurious settings you’d been in over the last few weeks. As Rafe’s eyes wandered over your tiny room, the awkwardness of the situation continued to build.

“This is …cozy,” He said after you shut the door. He was already taking off his suit jacket and undoing his cuff links. Was Rafe Cameron really going to spend the night here with you? Maybe he was drunker than you thought. “So this is where you unwind after a long day of dealing with me?”

Was that humor you heard in his voice? Dealing with him. You more than dealt with Rafe Cameron. You practically let him walk you around on a leash.

“Do you feel bad for me yet?” You tried to joke but there was too much animosity in your tone.

He chuckled before starting to undo his belt, “I try not to feel bad for other people. Life’s easier that way. Sides’, this won’t be your life for much longer.”

As he stripped down to his underwear, he started to settle into your bed, the lines between your professional and personal worlds now blurrier than ever.

“I wasn’t expecting t-t-t-t … to have company tonight,” You said, gathering his pile of clothes from your carpet and doing your best to fold them and place them neatly on top of your dresser.

“I’m full of surprises, sweetheart,” He winked as he folded his arms behind his head, and you had to avert your eyes from his statue-esque physique. Broad shoulders, thick arms and chest, and abs that acted like an arrow that pointed down to his … “Plus, I wanted to see where you lived.”

“Now you see I d-d-don’t have sss-space for all my new work outfits,” You started to undress now, realizing there was no way out of this long night except by sleeping. You kicked off your heels, placing them neatly at the bottom of your closet. You put an oversized t-shirt on and used it to cover your body as you slipped off your mini-dress.

“Yeah, I see that now. It’s like a shoebox in here,” You shot him an offended look and he smiled stupidly, “It’s cute.”

“You sss-say that word a lot,” You mumbled before finding a pair of fuzzy socks and taking a seat at the very edge of your bed, bending over to slip them on.

“C’mere,” he patted the spot next to him and you hesitated.

He wouldn’t, you thought, not while your roommates were on the other side of a paper thin wall. But he would, you remember, Rafe Cameron would do that. He already had the gall to walk into your apartment with his hand on your waist despite being the one who paid your salary. He would do it and you’d let him because you had no spine.

“Y/N?” You pinched your eyes shut for a brief moment before you inevitable crawled into the spot next to him. You’d never really laid next to him in bed and it wasn’t what you were expecting. Even on his side, laying down, his presence enveloped you. You felt small like you usually did. He easily pressed himself to you, impossibly strong arms pulling your fronts together.

“You hhh-have to be quiet,” You whispered.

“I’m not the loud one,” He chuckled, warm breath tickling your shoulder and making you shiver. He placed a kiss there, one arm wrapped around your back and pulling you closer while the other tickled over the skin on your bare thigh, “I could fuck you so slow, so gentle, and I’m sure you’d be screaming.”

“No,” You argued though you weren’t sure why.

“No? You think you could stay quiet?” A excruciatingly soft and wet kiss was placed on your collarbone.

Your breath hitched in your throat, “I’m sss-sserious, Rafe.”

“So informal,” He shook his head, the hand that was on your thigh started to peel up your shirt. To your surprise, Rafe ducked inside the fabric of your shirt, beginning to burrow his head into your breast, “My fucking favorite place on your cute, little body.”

He seemed to groan, something animalistic, placing kisses along your skin. His breath tickled your nipples and you tried to pull away. He flips you fully onto your back, pinning you with his weight, his mouth threatening to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You couldn’t take it, “Okay, okay, y-yess,” You rushed out, “I c-couldn’t stay quiet. You’re right.”

You look down to watch him pop his head out from under your shirt, “Yeah?”

“Yes,” You nodded, “I-I admit it. Please.”

“Please stop? Please fuck you quietly?” Rafe teased you, “You’re not adding sir to the end of your sentences so it gets kinda hard to understand–”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” You pleaded with him through your eyes, “Please …fuck me quietly, Sir.”

“That’s better,” He pulled your shirt over your breasts before he completely devoured them.

The next time Rafe decided to have sex with you was two weeks later, right as he walked into his office. You should’ve known by the outfit he had chosen for you. The white blouse had an air of professionalism, but the plaid, pleated skirt barely reached mid-thigh, making you certain the entire elevator caught a glimpse of your underwear when you dropped your notebook that morning.

It felt like he’d been teasing you up until that point. You'd lost track of how many times he made you orgasm in front of him during those two weeks. He had an insatiable fascination with watching you pleasure yourself, wanting you completely vulnerable, often in compromising positions, with your eyes locked on his the moment it happened. Whether it was on top of his desk, against the office window, or bent over a coffee table, you were starting to grow comfortable with being uncomfortable.

He couldn’t resist touching you, making you grind against him, or rapidly moving his fingers in and out of you until you were shaking. However, he had managed up until that point to not actually fuck you. It was getting to the point you found yourself pouting at him from your desk as you watched him complete his daily meetings.

You didn’t have a chance to get out your usual spiel about his meetings for the day because his briefcase was already on the ground, and his arms were wrapped around your backside as he carried you over to his desk, “Take off your panties,” He commanded after setting you on his desk. He stepped back, fumbling with his belt and zipper, “Now, sweetheart. C’mon.” He said and you realized you clearly weren’t moving fast enough for him.

Your panties weren’t even around your knees before he was lifting up your legs and pulling them off the rest of the way. He parted your legs, immediately dipping his fingers into you, “You’re already wet,” It was just an observance. No smile or smirk or evidence that he was at all pleased with the revelation, “Desperate little girl. You been thinking about me, yeah?”

You stared up at his lips, pink and parted and imagined them on yours, his soft stubble tickling the skin of your mouth. Why wasn’t he kissing you? Everything with him was a ritual. You couldn’t get what you wanted until you felt utterly humiliated and vulnerable. He couldn’t get what he wanted until you had tears in your eyes. You nodded, “Yes.”

“Fucking say it,” He barked and you winced.

“I’ve b-b-been th-thhhinking about you,” You admitted although he already knew it. Your own well being seemed to rely on being obsessed with him. If you wanted any sexual satisfaction, he was the one who brought it. He was the entire reason you had a good income now. He was everything.

“You haven’t touched yourself though, not without my permission?”

You nodded, “Nnn-not without your permission.”

“Cause you need me,” He finally placed his lips on yours and you nodded against them.

“I nnn-need you,” You mewled between kisses as he pressed his crotch into yours. The two of you both tilted back towards his desk, “Please, Sir.”

You had consented, despite not being fully prepared. It didn’t feel like the first or second time. The first time had been overwhelming, your orgasms crashing over you like a storm, while the second time had been so gentle that the pleasure left you feeling like you were vibrating with ecstasy. You wanted him, undeniably, but nothing had prepared you for the intensity of him filling you completely. This was what you had desirel, feeling full, but now you were overwhelmed, as though he was consuming every part of you.

With his hands braced on either side of your head, he looked down at you, his gaze intense and focused. He moved inside you with a relentless, unyielding rhythm, driving into you with an insatiable need.

The room faded away around you. You couldn’t feel yourself breathing nor could you hear the sounds leaving your mind. You just stared back, your face a mix of anguish and pleasure, and accepted your fate. You didn’t fight your orgasm this time, your body moved instinctively, squeezing around him, your hips grinding up for more friction.

When he was close, he pulled out of you. Your energy was already gone, your orgasm having taken almost everything from you, but he moved your body effortlessly. He pulled you off the desk before placing you on your knees in front of you. Your legs folded easily, weakly, “Fuck,” He cursed, pantting, and you watched him take his cock in his own hand.

You reached out to take ahold of him but he pushed your hand away. His hands moved, determined, rhythmic, “Ask me to cum on your face.”

His breaths were heavy, desperate, and he clung to that control that had slipped away when he was inside you.

“Will y-you cum on my face, Sir?”

The question hung in the air, tension thickening, until he was finally gritting his teeth. He broke eye contact only as his orgasm ripped through him. The room filled with his moans and you did your best not overreact to that warm, sticky feeling that was now violating your senses.

“Good girl, look at you,” He said and you squeezed your eyes tightly as it began to drip onto your eyelid.

You breathed deeply, the intensity of the moment deciding to peak, and tears started to spill over. You became a crumpled pile of pleasure, shame and exhaustion. It seemed like the only way to release your emotions. Unexpectedly, you didn’t sit their alone. Rafe was the one to wipe your face with a tissue. He cooed, “Hey, you did good, kid. You’re a good girl,” He whispered sweet nothings to you.

“C-C-Can you hold me?” You asked, voice trembling, so embarrassed that you didn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t want to see how he was feeling or know what he was thinking. It was all too much.

Without a word, Rafe lifted you effortlessly into his arms. His strength was both reassuring and overwhelming as he carried you behind his desk, his body warm and solid against yours. He settled into his chair, drawing you onto his lap with a sense of protective intimacy. For the rest of the morning, he worked with you nestled against him, your face buried into his neck.

Rafe Cameron’s Appalachian cabin was one of the twelve properties he owned personally. You got to it by passing though a quaint and charming town. Despite the fact that he normally spends only three weekends of the entire year there, all the locals know him.

The four of you; Rafe, you, Eleanor and Topper, made your way down main street which was lined with old-fashioned storefronts. In the middle was the town square which featured an old, courthouse building and a gazebo where you see a few locals gathering. The four of you enjoy a diner meal at the Blue Ridge Breakfast Bar before you walk through a few shops. It almost feels .. normal. You were surprised the three of them were even willing to walk through the antique buildings, let alone find the shops interesting.

You didn’t know people like them even ate at diners or were interested in antique trinkets that cost less then five dollars. It was surreal. In another life, the three of them were normal people, and maybe you and Rafe could have been a normal couple.

You often found yourself glancing at Rafe, marveling at the contrast between his usual, impeccably dressed self and the more relaxed look he wore today. Seeing him in jeans and a baseball cap, casually strolling through the town, was almost disorienting.

It was a similar feeling you got when Rafe suddenly flipped a switch after being cruel to you and decided to comfort you.

Despite the fact that he was technically on vacation, you were still his personal assistant, and yet he hadn’t asked you about anything related to assisting him since he picked you up that morning from your apartment.

You wouldn’t say it to him, partially out of fear that he would deny it, but it felt like he wanted you appear like a couple. Topper and Eleanor undoubtedly new the truth so why was he acting like this? You never held hands like them but his hand would find your knee when you sat next to each other and sometimes he wrapped around your shoulder when you were standing close by.

Sometimes, your body didn’t want to relax around him, and the intimacy brought you anxiety. Soemtimes he was easier to read when he was drunk, or inside of you, or yelling at you. You weren’t familiar with this version of him. But you were stuck with the three of them for the next three nights.

Surrounded by towering pines and the soft hush of nature, the cabin was more of fortress nestled into the natural beauty of the mountains. You followed Rafe across a gravel path towards a large front porch which was framed by sturdy wooden columns. You stared up at large windows that endorned the front of the house, undoubtedly letting in a large amount of natural light, as you walked through the entrance.

The house was a complete reflection of his taste and the extent of his success. As Topper and Rafe left for the bedroom to drop off luggage, you and Eleanor made your way to the kitchen with the bags of groceries you’d acquired from the local mini-mart. Surprisingly, this place didn’t come with it’s own personal chef.

Like with everything else, you followed Eleanor’s lead when it came to cooking that weekend. She encouraged you to get ingredients for a dish you knew you could make on your own and you chose spaghetti despite the idea of feeding billionaire Rafe Cameron your homemade spaghetti making you feel stupid.

“I’ll show you how to arrange a charcuterie board,” She said as she poured you a glass of red wine, “You’ll be the perfect housewife when I’m done with you, Y/N.”

The afternoon actually ended up being fun. You and Eleanor laughed in the kitchen while Rafe and Topper watched a football game in the living room, nursing cans of beer. The wine relaxed you and soon you were giggling over unevenly cut salami and spilled strawberry jam. The two of you ended up eating half the ingredients meant for the board, much to Eleanor’s amusement.

Eleanor loosened up even more, even getting comfortable enough to tell you a story about Topper, “You know, one time back when we lived in Kildare, he tried to make me pancakes for my birthday. From the box, not even from scratch, and he burnt every one. Literally every single one. The kitchen looked like it had been through a tornado. I don’t know how he even managed that.”

You covered your mouth, shaking your head, “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“He went through the whole box! He had to serve them to me like that. No amount of syrup and whip cream can mask that taste.”

“I didn’t realize we were telling personal stories,” You whipped your head around as you heard Topper’s voice. Your heart raced for a second, worried, but he made his way around the kitchen island and hugged his wife from behind. Rafe was following behind him but made his way over to you. You composed yourself as much as possible.

“I was telling Y/N about how good of a cook you are,” She joked and he playfully tickled her sides and soon they were laughing together.

The two male’s casual demeanors seemed to complement the laid-back energy of the afternoon. You watched Rafe’s lips pull into a smirk as he surveyed your work and your empty glass of wine.

Dinner rolled around a few hours later, a relaxed atmosphere continuing to permeate through the air. You’d set the table in the dining room, the ten-person table sat next to a large window overlooking an expansive lake, and aided Eleanor in preparing her beef stir-fry.

“It’s really good, Eleanor,” You complimented her once all of you were seated and digging into your food.

“Thanks,” She grinned, “You’re a good sous chef, Y/N.”

A smile tugged at your lips, “Not better than me though, right, honey?” Topper asked.

“Of course not, honey,” Eleanor winked at him.

Small talk ensued and despite the fact that Eleanor warned the two men that business talk would bring down the room, they spent a good ten minutes talking about something called “tax increment financing”.

Eleanor interrupted after it became too much, “So, Rafe, are you going to do any more renovations on this place?”

“After they finish the pool next summer, no. Did the home theatre, renovated the master bathroom and expanded the garage this summer. It’ll probably be move-in-ready next year.”

“Oh, are you selling it?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

Rafe’s gaze flickered away, an unusual reaction for him. He usually had a quip or a witty retort ready. “No, I plan to spend more time away from Charlotte after New Year's. I’ll be living here at least five days a week.”

“Oh,” You nodded though you really hadn’t comprehended his words. You looked back down at your plate, and as you took another bite, his words started to set in. It was an inappropriate time to delve further but your mind started to race. He’d never mentioned that he wouldn’t even be living in Charlotte after the next few months. Shouldn’t he have mentioned this by now? “I-I thought …”

“We can talk about it later, Y/N,” Rafe dismissed you, bringing a piece of meat to his mouth, and looking away.

He spoke as if you were annoying him now. Eleanor opened her mouth again to change the subject but you interrupted her, “I-I’m sorry … w-will you still need me then? If I’m in Chhhh-Charlotte and you’re here.”

“Did you hear me the first time, Y/N?” Rafe’s jaw set as he dropped his silverware. The clang made you jump but your mind was spinning. It was a simple question, wasn’t it? Was he stringing you a long? Would you be out of a job next year?

“I-It p-p-p-pertains to me,” You continued, your heart racing as Rafe grimaced, “Can’t y-you just say if I’ll have a job or not?”

“You’ll have a job,” Getting confirmation made your shoulders drop from relief. It was almost worth whatever seed of rage you’d planted within him, “But you’ll relocate with me.”

“What?” You pushed your plate away, leaning back in your chair.

Topper and Eleanor exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the escalating tension. It felt like you’d already poked the bull, you felt like you had to see it through, “I’ll need you to move here. Won’t make sense to juggle from two places.”

“Mmm-my life is i-in Chhh-Charlotte. You n-never said this before,” You tried to keep your voice steady, to express your genuine disappointment despite your frustration.

“It’s not my fault you haven’t caught on, Y/N,” He spoke sharply, “You know how this works. I manage my properties and business. My plans change. You’re a part of that. You’re making it an issue when it’s not. You’re acting like you have a million options.”

“I-I know I don’t–”

You looked at Topper and then Eleanor. Now, the two of them were looking anywhere but the two of you.

“Then act like it.”

“Rafe–”

“I fucking own you, you don’t even understand that.”

“Rafe!”

“One more word, Y/N, and I swear to God.”

Your lips parted and your voice started to tremble as you felt the sting of his words, “This is so … shitty,” Perhaps it was the distance, the wood table that sat between you that made you feel so bold.

Rafe’s anger erupted, his face reddening as he slammed his hands on the table. “Boo-fucking-hoo, sweetheart! I’ve given you everything, the clothes on your back, keeping the lights on in your crappy apartment, and you’re still ungrateful?”

Your frustration reached its breaking point. “Fuck you, Rafe!” you shouted, your voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t want it anymore!”

You pushed your chair back abruptly, no goal in mind for where you’d stomp off to but you felt your blood boiling. Was his entire goal to completely ruin your life?

“Y/N!” He called after you and you turned your head to realize how close he was on your tail. Adrenaline surged through you, the thought that you might never have control of your life left you close to completely spiraling. Determined to get away, you picked up your pace, practically running through the million-dollar home, over shiny waxed floors, moonlight shining through tall windows.

He barked your name again and before you could reach the front door, his hand shot out and seized your upper arm. You screamed, his fingers squeezing your flesh so hard that you thought your skin might break. Swinging your body around, your feet lifted off the ground as he through you over his strong shoulder.

Kicking, struggling, screaming and crying, Rafe carried you up a grand staircase, “Please,” You were begging but adrenaline was pumping though him too, making him moved with his own determination. He kicked open door and your head whipped as he stepped inside, slamming it closed. You couldn’t focus on any detail in the room but as he through you onto an expansive bed, you assumed it was the master bedroom. For a moment, you played a game of cat and mouse. You gained your balance, and tried to crawl off the bed. Every direction you went, he moved faster, until you were sitting on your knees in the middle of the bed.

“You need to understand your place,” You watched as he started to loose the brown belt looped into his blue jeans.

You shook your head frantically, “I don’t w-want this.”

“It will be easier if you just apologize,” Rafe let out a breath of air, a weary sigh, his face frustrated, “I promise, I’ll make it easier for you.”

“If I-I …w-will you use the belt?”

“I have to use the belt, sweetheart, you’ve been so bad. Tell you what, if you apologize, I won’t tie you down to the bed. How’s that sound?”

The offer was as chilling as it was manipulative. You shook your head. You couldn’t bring yourself to apologize.

The process of what followed was both brutal and dehumanizing. You were left feeling exposed and vulnerable, your body laid bare and handcuffed to one of the posts of the canopy bed. The sting of the belt on your skin was relentless, each strike leaving a deep, aching mark that quickly turned to a disturbing shade of purple. Your apologies came out in frantic, broken pleas, but they seemed to come too late.

You even managed to ask him to hold you but he didn’t grant your wish that time. He left you to go back downstairs. You slid down to your knees when you couldn’t stand any longer, falling asleep in that position, head resting at a strange angle against the mattress.

When you next awoke, the light of morning was gently filtering through the curtains. Rafe’s arms were wrapped around you, his steady breathing and soft snoring a stark contrast to the harshness of the previous night. His nose pressed into your hair, a reminder of his physical presence.

You cried softly against him, the tears slipping down your cheeks as you clung to him. The sounds were muffled against his chest as you hugged him tighter.

hope you enjoyed!!

#rafe cameron #well kept #dark fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe cameron smut #obx fic #rafe obx #topper thornton #dark!rafe cameron

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nights-at-crystarium · 4 months ago

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Azem's soul has gotta be the most unruly and stubborn soul in existence. Even if the wol's just half-rejoined, it's still That One Soul that'll do whatever the fuck it wants, you can't boss it around. That Exarch manages to pull it against its will to a different world, although not without blood, sweat and tears, is an overlooked aspect of how badass he is. It mostly gets memed at, but cmon, he literally pulled off an azem summoning on Azem's soul.

#listening to catboy cutscenes for comfort and having random thoughts #ffxiv #g'raha tia #crystal exarch #wol x g'raha tia #wolgraha #text post

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no-144444 · 26 days ago

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bad day- o.piastri

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summary: you had an awful day, but at least you're coming home to him.

pairing: oscar piastr x fem! reader

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You sighed as you got into your car. It had been quite the day. Your boss was pissed off at you for no fucking reason and he gave you even more work to do, on top of an entire project that your team just assumed you’d do. You somehow got through it all, but not before one of your coworkers (Allison, the one that likes to flirt with Oscar at the office parties) decided to shout at you and make a HR complaint about you supposedly ‘being rude’. So on top of all of your work, you had to sit down with her and Mark, your HR person and argue your case for a whole 2 hours.

You searched for your phone in your bag at a red light, desperate to call Oscar and rant about the shitshow of a day it had been, but then you realised you’d left it in your office charging. The building was closed, and you won’t be let back in until tomorrow.

Shit.

So, you just listened to some radio music until it started pissing you off so you just sat in the Monaco rush hour traffic in complete silence.

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Oscar had gotten home from the airport an hour ago. He’d been in Melbourne, seeing friends and family and also hand-delivering your wedding invitations, much to his mother’s delight. He’d enjoyed his 2 weeks at home, but he missed you loads. Every night he called you, every morning he texted you, he sent you random updates throughout the day, he sent you an influx of pictures (even selfies), and Hattie even texted you to tell you he was ‘sulking’ around the house without you. You’d responded all week even though you were busy with work, and he knew what time you came home every night, that was 40 minutes ago. As much as he didn’t want to catastrophize the situation, he’d made the mistake of checking traffic news, and found out there had been a crash at the hairpin. He shut off his phone and continued on with cooking dinner after that.

An hour. That’s how long it took you to get home because of the fucking traffic. You pulled into the driveway, willing yourself not to cry the second you saw Oscar. “You just had to get through dinner, you just had to get through dinner,” you told yourself as you gathered your bag and jacket from the backseat of your car and made your way to the front door. “Don’t cry, he’s only been home for 2 hours.”

He opened the door with the perfect, boyish, Oscar smile, and you felt some of the tension of the day dissipate. “Hi,” he smiled.

“Hi,” you grinned. You leaned in, running a hand through his unruly head of hair and fixing some of it that was out of place, then pressing a kiss to his lips. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” he whispered against your lips. “You have to come next time.”

You sighed. “I wish I came this time,” you scoffed.

“Bad day?” he asked, gently rubbing your back.

“The worst,” you deflated in his arms, letting him completely hold you.

“Well, I made your favourite for dinner,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “And then we can read a bit and go to bed. Sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect,” you nodded. “Thank you Osc.”

“I just love you,” he shrugged. “Come on, it’ll get cold,” he smiled, herding you into the dining room.

How did you ever get so lucky?

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

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luveline · 1 year ago

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Jade I’ve been WAITING and HOPING for you to ask about spider verse and/or Miguel requests. He is the epitome of grumpy love interest falls for sunshine reader, would you maybe write something where he’s like in the midst of being scary and intimidating and then when reader walks in he is trying to maintain that image in front of whoever else is there but she just like totally ignores it and basically exposes how soft he is?

Obviously feel free to take or leave whatever parts of that you like I just love grumpy x sunshine

SPOILERS FOR SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE BELOW

thank you for your request! for you my love, grumpy (lovesick) miguel x sunshine spidergirl!reader, 1.5k

Miguel spends a lot of time arguing with Peter B. Parker, or as you've so fondly nicknamed him, Sweatpants-Man. Well, Miguel spends a lot of time yelling at him. It stopped for a while; Peter B. Parker took some time away from the Spider Society, but eventually he returned with a brand new spider. A baby girl.

You linger at the door, startled to find him in company, but pleased when he isn't yelling as loudly as he could be. He looks desperately as though he wants to shout, and is holding back through sheer force of will, his eyes widened and his hair falling in unruly waves over his forehead, strands of it curled into his eyes.

Miguel is a worrier. It isn't his fault. He's a great man with responsibilities beyond his control, and he may not always react how he should, but he tries his best. You don't agree with everything he does, but you like him. You adore him. For all of his goodness, his bravery, and the smile he gives you when you're alone.

He's clearly troubled by something.

"I don't really see the harm, I won't tell him a thing," Peter B. Parker says.

"Why do you refuse to listen to me? No. End of discussion."

"I think we should reopen the discussion," Peter B. Parker says.

He and Miguel are friends, you think. They would have been best buddies by now if Peter could abide by Miguel's rules. Then again, you ignore the rules often and indiscriminately, and Miguel likes you.

He's scraping his hair out of his eyes now, a fierce glare fixed on Peter's face, and you have the urge to go in there and try to persuade him to give Peter whatever it is he's asking for. You're almost certain you could do it.

Not through your sheer mastery of the persuasive arts, though you have mastered them, but because Miguel O'Hara has a soft spot for you. He tries to hide it and you refuse to let him. You haven't tried to kiss him or anything (you secretly aren't that brave) but you run circles around him for fun, only letting him boss you around every now and then to keep things loose. You could be much meaner about the whole thing: what is so humiliating as falling for your lackadaisical subordinate? But you don't hold it against him, because he likely isn't finished falling yet, and because you really do like him.

You pull your mask off of your face and then your gloves, shoving them into a concealed pocket on your thigh.

"Miguel," you murmur, knowing he'll hear you no matter the volume, "what's wrong?"

Miguel doesn't glance your way.

Peter B. Parker's shoulders sag in relief at your appearance. "Thank god you're here," he says.

You hadn't realised Peter knew who you were. "I'm here," you repeat mildly.

"Tell Miguel that the risk involved with visiting Earth-1610 is super, duper small."

"Well, it is negligible," you murmur, though Peter's quest isn't your prerogative.

Miguel groans loud and unapologetically.

You stand near Miguel and look up at him. He's ridiculously tall. You’d have to crane your neck if you stood at his feet. You maintain some distance and look him over from a gentler incline, cataloguing the dark circles under his eyes for the hundredth time. They don't look too bad today, but you wish he'd get more rest.

He has a very fierce face, but you know how it softens when he laughs. It's hard to find his glaring intimidating when you've witnessed the white flash of sharp teeth as he smiles, the way his eyes light up and his eyebrows relax from their stern set when you bring him something to eat on late nights. It's almost always smothered as soon as it happens, but it does happen.

"The risk involved is not super small," he says, still not looking at you, "the risk involved is actually incredibly big, and it isn't worth it."

Peter puts his arms out just as Mayday drops from the rafters above. You huff a laugh at his coordination and Mayday starts to laugh, her knitted beanie drooping into her eyes.

"Hi, baby," you say softly, reaching out to hold her hand. She squeezes your fingers.

"It's worth the risk. Absolutely, it's worth the risk, and I would argue that me visiting would actually strengthen the state of the multiverse–"

"In what scenario–"

"–and, like, make your job easier." Peter stops Mayday from climbing up your shoulder.

"If there's one thing you've never done, Peter, it's make my job easier. I can't believe you're asking me again," Miguel says, taking a big breath, like he's going to pop.

You step away from Peter to catch Miguel's attention. When his eyes lock onto yours, you smile as fondly as you're able, the kind of smile you know he likes. Your eyes widen just a touch and your eyebrows rise, the corners of your mouth not quite dimpling. It's a smile that says all the same stuff you love to say aloud. Hi, handsome. What's got you so stressed today?

"Don't be like that, Miguel," Peter says.

You tilt your head to one side. "You don't look very well," you say.

"I'm fine." There's a thread of gentleness there, almost indistinguishable from his serious tone. "Or I would be, if Peter would listen to me for once."

"I'm listening, man, I just think you should see sense."

Miguel's face flickers like he wants to correct him, but he keeps getting caught on you. Nothing specific, just that his gaze lands on your face or your shoulder or your arm before he looks at Peter, and all the steam rushes out of him. He’s trying not to smile at you.

"I see sense," Miguel insists. It's like he wants to be angrier than he has, gritting his teeth weakly. "It's not feasible right now."

You smile at that. Right now. You're not sure he's ever said something that could lead to a compromise. You are sure that he hadn't meant to. Peter is understandably thrilled, hiding his own smile as he puts Mayday back into her carrier.

"Alright. Well, I've gotta take her home. But I'll see you both again soon," Peter threatens, wiggling his eyebrows. "Thank you," he adds, nodding at you.

You laugh as he leaves. Miguel is nowhere near as pleased.

"You did that on purpose," Miguel says.

"I did what on purpose?"

"Coming in here."

"Yeah, of course. I come to see you all the time on purpose. Did you think I was drifting in here on the breeze? That would be difficult, considering." You gesture to the entrance of his office, which is far from easily accessible.

Miguel looks at you, unimpressed, with his hands on his hips. You wonder what it would take to make him put his hands on yours.

"Don't even think about it," he says.

"About what, handsome?"

"You think I don't know what that look means?" He sounds fond rather than angry. It's a win.

"I bet you know, but I'm in the dark, so if you'd… illuminate it for me, that would be greatly appreciated."

He checks that no one's about to enter his office. You feel your heart jerk in your chest, and if his super senses are anything like the other Spider People, he can hear it.

"You really can't come in here when I'm trying to set people straight," he says.

"Why?" you ask. You could pout at him, but you think that might be too much.

"You know why." Somewhere between words he drifts closer, soundless, his face inching down toward yours with a surprising swiftness. "You know why," he repeats.

You lift your chin as much as you dare, which isn't much, but enough that your giggly confirmation fans over his lips, "Yes, I do."

He nudges you away, and it isn't without affection. His warm, big hand lingers on your shoulder, even as he says, "Go, go do something."

"Miguel, I came to see you."

"I know, and I have a meeting with Jess in a minute, so you can't be here. It'll undermine my authority."

"What will?" you ask, smiling, because you already know. His fondness for you.

"Go away. Come and see me later," he says.

You sigh and spin away from him. "I will, but not because you told me to!" you call, leaving the office with an awful sense of victory.

Miguel scrubs his face with his hands as you go. He's really not sure what he's going to do with you. His plan to hold you at arm’s length isn’t working anymore, and honestly? He doesn’t think he could stand it a minute longer. Thank whoever’s watching over him that you actually do as he asks for once and leave.

Miguel was one sweet smile away from kissing you up against the wall.

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pseudowho · 10 months ago

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Defending Your Honour

A series in which the JJK guys stick-it to the creeps and perverts bothering the reader.

A multi-fic in a series ❤️🫖☕

Part 1 (Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, and Todo Aoi) link here!

Part 3 (Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara, Inumaki Toge and Fushiguro Toji) link here!

More JJK men and women to come

Trigger Warning: spreading false sexual rumours, stalking, being followed home

Higuruma Hiromi

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You had to leave. You had to get another job. There was no way to come back from this; office-culture spread rumours like the plague, and whether they were founded or not, you still felt the pierce of dozens of judging eyes on you.

Your clothes felt too tight, too revealing, your skin prickled and your nose stung with tears as you gulped, chin held high but so exposed and vulnerable. A filthy rage roiled in your gut at the injustice of it all. The irony did not escape you, as you hot-footed away from the whispers of the legal office.

As you gathered files, clunky and unwieldy in your arms, you felt a hand pretending to be affectionate on the small of your back that made your skin crawl, covered in worms and mud.

"When you're ready," a low voice sing-songed to your right, smirking, gleeful, "just hop along to my office, and we can work something out, yeah?" You jolted with shame as the hand clapped your bum. The eyes flicked back onto you. The whispers spread, infectious. You were a leper, now.

Hiccuping as you ducked your head, you felt hot rancid tears stream down your cheeks, darting down a corridor and reaching for a door any door to take you away from all of these eyes and whispers and accusations and this one was usually empty so you snuck in and slammed the door shut behind you and--

"Oh! Hello," a low, warm voice offered, surprised. You gasped, clapping a hand over your mouth, unable to hide the tears and anguish. The man was tall, slender, his unruly black hair escaping in flicks over his temples, but he looked so genuinely concerned as he rose from his desk, that you sobbed, apologising and sinking to the floor with your face in your knees.

You felt the man crouch beside you, his hands on his thighs, his presence sincere and welcoming. He sat for a moment, apparently awkward and unsure how he could help you.

"It's okay," he reassured, "it's a fucking ugly office, I hate it too, it makes me cry--" You huffed out a wet, genuine laugh and heard him smile, amused puffs of breath from his nose.

"Really, though," he continued, "I'm happy to help...if I can. Not sure if you need a lawyer, or-- or for me to catch a spider for you, I mean I hate them too but I can certainly--" he stopped himself from rattling away. You sniffled, looking up at him with a cute watery smile that made his heart thump.

"You could get me a new job, maybe? Or just a new boss?" You wiped your eyes now, embarrassed by interrupting this lovely man. The lovely man raised his eyebrows, now sitting in front of you, cross-legged.

"And what has your boss done to make you cry?" He inquired, black eyes like beetles, reading you.

You fumbled, uncertain of yourself when explaining the crimes of a man to another man, "I think he didn't, uhm...didn't take being rejected very well and uh--" tears poured, unbidden, as your face crumpled again, "--he's started a rumour than uhm-- that I sleep with him and uhm-- I don't but everyone believes it, and he wants me to come to his office now, after he's just touched me, and I don't know-- I don't know what to do--"

You broke down again, weeping into your knees, as the lovely man before you simmered, his lid rattling with unbridled rage at the unfairness of it all.

He smiled at you, though, gentle and open, "Your boss...the sweaty one? Big guy, thinks he's all that?" You laughed wetly again.

"Oh, you know him?" You grinned together, and you blushed, painfully grateful for being treated with basic respect. Hiromi nodded-- he didn't know your boss. But, he knew men like him and they filled him with bitter disdain, a core loathing and disgust that informed his choices every day.

"Well then...you can share my office today," he insisted as he stood, rubbing his hooked nose between two long fingers, "I've got...something to do." You blinked owlishly up at him. He helped you up, pulling a chair to his desk for you. You perched, confused, but not arguing.

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Some time later, your boss headed back to his office from the vending machines, impatient for you to come to his office, feeling sickly gleeful for having punished you for humiliating him, and his heart leapt hopefully, because maybe he could offer to deny all those rumours, and then you would be so grateful that maybe you'd give him a--

He opened his office door, having just enough time to click it closed behind him before hearing a quiet, angry voice from somewhere above the doorframe.

"Domain Expansion: Deadly Sentencing."

Plunged into a different room, ostensibly not his office, your boss shrieked in terror as two terrifying black figures loomed over him, only one of them human.

"What the fuck are you-- where the fuck am I-- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"

Higuruma looked up at the Judgeman with a humourless smile, and back down at your boss, who scurried backwards until his shoulders hit the domain's edge, blind with panic.

"You've been a very naughty boy," Hiromi sang, "shall we see how naughty?"

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You jumped as the office door swung open, and Higuruma (you had worked out, from the lanyard he left on his desk) re-entered with two hot drinks. He smiled a wonky, loping smile.

"Coffee machine's finest," he offered, placing one in your hands. He stood for a moment, bouncing on his heels, chin and nose dipped in consideration.

"I should think... your days of problems with your boss may be over," he said, blasé and cryptic. He did not elaborate, but reached into his pocket, before slipping his card across the desk to you.

"My office is, uhm...hiring a new legal assistant, though. I can put in a good word for you." Hiromi looked into the distance across the room, one hand in his pocket as he continued to rock on his heels. He glanced down at you, eyes glimmering at each other as they met.

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Ino Takuma

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I loved meeting you last week. I thought we made a really special connection. I'd love to meet again. Call me.

You smelled so good today. I love how you're being such a tease. Can't wait for you to call.

I can't stand seeing you talking to other guys! Still haven't seen this so-called 'boyfriend' of yours though. He can't be that into you if he's letting other men near you. Call me.

You didn't answer when I knocked for you, but I know you're home. Bet you were upstairs being naughty, hope you were thinking of me, hahaha, jk. HMU, seriously. I miss you.

I know you're such a little slut behind that 'good girl' act ;) Quit playing hard to get. I finish at 5, I'll meet you from work and we can finally go on that date you owe me.

I've never been this in love before. So disappointed you ditched our first date. I'll catch you another time. I love you so much.

Hope you got the flowers I left on your porch. I love you so much.

I love you.

Good morning baby. I love you.

You're a nasty little bitch and you're gonna die alone and you deserve it. If this is how you treat a nice guy like me, how do you treat all the others? You should be grateful.

I'm sorry. I've just had a really bad day baby. You're my whole world. I love you.

Your hands shook as you scrolled through unanswered text after unanswered text. How had being friendly at a work conference gotten so out of hand? Your head spun as you recounted the memories; were you too flirty? Did you give hints of wanting to be more than just acquaintances? Did you dress too provocatively? Did you touch him?

In a desperate hunt for answers you blamed yourself. I should just be a standoffish bitch in the future, you thought, trying to hold back tears.

Leaning over your desk to pack your bag, you began to feel the walls close in around you, terrifying and claustrophobic, a rat in a maze, and you saw tears splash down onto the leather of your work diary. Would he be waiting outside work again today? Or would he be just outside your office door? Would he be waiting in your home?

You felt a pair of warm, strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, "Hey gorgeous! Guess who got off work ear--"

In a shrieking panic, you lashed out, spinning with your hands raised in attack and defence. Your wonderful, kind boyfriend, Takuma, threw himself backwards, alarmed and apologetic, raising his own hands in placation.

"Whoa, whoa, hey! Oh babe, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you--...what is it? Why are you crying? What's happened?"

Weeks and weeks of trying to ignore your stalker, hoping he would go away and forget about you, tumbled out of you at once. In a wild babble of explanation, he keeps texting me, and I'm not interested, and he won't leave me alone, and he leaves things on the doorstep, and I'm so, so sorry.

You had thrust your phone into Takuma's hands, and he held you close to him with one arm as you sobbed into his shoulder. The other hand scrolled through messages from your unwanted admirer; Takuma's face grew quiet with rage, his lips curled in disgust, a flush of anger smattered hot and pink across his cheeks.

"Babe," he started, "why didn't you..." Swallowing, Takuma stopped himself, "This is not your fault. This guy, there's...there's something wrong with him. Have you kept everything? All the stuff he's left you? All the messages?" You nodded as Takuma gripped you by the sides of the shoulders, your face crumpling as his hand raised to cup your cheek, staring deeply into you, leaning forward to press a desperate kiss to your forehead.

"Okay, listen, I'm gonna fix this," Takuma nodded hard, staring into you again as you started to shake your head, "no, no no, trust me. I promise I'm gonna fix this. Listen, you're...you're gonna go to Nanami's place. I'll call him. He'll understand. There's this lawyer at the school now, we'll gather everything and get it to him. I've...I've got to go out. I'll fix this, I mean it. I wouldn't let you down."

Takuma's heart wrenched as you continued to sob, apologising to him as if it was your fault. Within minutes, Takuma had called Nanami, and put you in a taxi. Sticking to the alleyways as he headed out into the streets, Takuma pulled his balaclava down, his eyes ferocious and vengeful as he took to the hunt.

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Your stalker was grossly familiar with your routine now. What you ate for breakfast (he had gone through your bin bags). What colour underwear you preferred (he had seen you through the gaps in your curtains). Which work events you were going to attend (he had scoured every inch of every company calender).

Thanks to some sloppy administrators, he even knew where you lived. Grinning to himself, he felt such a satisfying possession over you, knowing you inside-out. Hiding behind your neighbours' fence panels, he peeked, waiting for you to get home.

One hand leaned past his face, resting on the fence panel beside him, and his stomach froze into knots when he felt himself doused in the icy presence of some dark, unknown force. He opened his mouth to scream, and a second hand pressed over his mouth with horrifying strength.

"Hey, big guy! Wow, you really must be a hit with the ladies," air hissed through Ino's teeth and he sighed in feigned disappointment, "Not with my girl, though." Your stalker squeaked as blackness closed in around him. Ino let out a noise of disgusted amusement as the man's trousers darkened down one leg.

Ino continued, letting the man cry and shake under his hand; "Here's how this is gonna work..."

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Several days had passed since Ino had arrived at Nanami's to collect you, with a deeply satisfied smirk on his face. You had received no more messages. No more flowers. No more thinly-veiled threats. A dark cloud lifted off your mind, and you breathed easy.

Curled up on the sofa that night, you stroked Takuma's chest, listening to the clockwork thump of his heartbeat under your ear. Your curiosity got the better of you.

"Takuma...what did you do?"

Takuma grimaced, "Just showed him the error of his ways, babe. He won't be bothering you again."

While grateful, your belly swirled with fear, and guilt that even if your stalker left you alone, he'd just find someone else, another woman, and harass her just as he had harassed you-- or worse. Takuma read you like a book.

"Look, I-- I didn't want to force anything on you the other day. But I promise you, this guy knows that if you go to the cops about him, and he doesn't 'fess up, it'll be more than just me after him."

Ino smugly pictured Higuruma and Nanami, ready, Misters. Law and Order, prepared to flex their quite complementary powers of threat and legal representation.

You smiled, surrounded by an impenetrable wall of support. Leaning up, you tangled your fingers into Takuma's hair, and he let out a sweet hum of happiness as you kissed him deeply. Nose to nose, you took delight in showing your appreciation.

The next day, wearing a mantle of quiet bravery, you walked into the Police Station.

"I'd like to report a crime."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Itadori Yuuji

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You had chosen absolutely the wrong shoes to go out in.

You shivered in the chilly night air; your skirt hadn't been this short all night, had it? The cold had a way of exposing things the mirror didn't. Still, you smiled to yourself as you leant against a lamp-post, removing your heels with a sigh of relief, certain you'd be comfier taking the last few streets before home barefoot than in these beautiful monstrosities.

You could not bring yourself to regret such a fun night. Waving your friends goodbye, you had foregone taking a taxi home. Tokyo was a safe city, anyway. It was only a short walk home. You could do with sobering up a bit.

Feet padding gingerly on the cold concrete, you tapped away on your phone as you began to walk home. Within a few minutes, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, cold prickles running down your spine.

Running a hand through your hair, you shielded your glance backwards; a man. Some distance away. By the lamppost you had removed your shoes at. You gulped-- it's nothing, you lied to yourself, just on his way home like me. But, just in case, you started walking faster, the soles of your feet stinging as they clapped against the floor.

Feeling tingles at the base of your skull a minute later, you felt the man closing in on you and bile climbed in your throat, feeling the alcohol threaten to come up into your mouth, options running through your head at breakneck speed, to scream or call the police or stop and fight or try to run faster or--

It was no use. He was almost on top of you now; you rounded the corner to a tree-lined street. You could smell the sweat on him, and you spun to face him, losing your footing and falling backwards onto the floor--

All at once, you screamed, a dark mass plummeted from the tree above you, and there was a sickening crunch as it flattened your pursuer to the floor.

The black mass, burly and pink-haired, stood up and turned to face you, opening his mouth--

You screamed again, still panicking, throwing a shoe at him, "What the hell are you? What are you doing?" The young man crouched, eyes wide, both hands in front of him, bleeding from the lip from your shoe.

"I'm a Yuuji, I'm a Yuuji--"

"--a Yuuji?!" You raised your hand again and he flinched. Your pursuer groaned underneath his feet.

"--I don't know if you know, but this guy was following you-- oh shit, you're not friends are you-- please don't throw another shoe at me--" Yuuji squeezed his eyes closed, hands still raised above his head in arrest. You surveyed him from the ground, your panic slowly abating.

He's cute, you thought as your head spun violently, and you rocked to the side, vomiting all over the pavement. Yuuji crept over to you, hands uncertain at first, but eventually settling on holding your hair back as the alcohol evacuated your stomach.

Patting your shoulder with upbeat reassurance, Yuuji turned to look at the man on the floor with a scowl.

"Creep," he grumbled, crushing the man's hand under his shoe. As the man squirmed and complained, Yuuji gave him an effortlessly hard punch to the side of the head, knocking him out cold in an instant. Rummaging in the man's pockets, Yuuji pulled out a drivers' licence.

"Oh hey, he lives nearby. Want to drop him home with me?" Yuuji asked you with a shit-eating grin.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Think that'll do it?" Yuuji dusted off his hands, surveying his handiwork with satisfaction. Tied up in the offerings of the man's shed (some old garden hose, with a wooden freshly painted sign hung around his neck), the man was dropped unceremoniously onto the doorstep. You snapped a quick photo on your phone, hand over your mouth as you laughed to yourself.

Yuuji pressed the doorbell, and grabbed your other hand, pulling you behind a hedge as you giggled like children together.

"I FOLLOW GIRLS HOME" read the man's sign, as his mother opened the door.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"--so anyway, I should probably get back to work, I guess...after you get home."

You rested your chin on Yuuji's shoulder as he piggy-backed you home, your shoes slung in one hand as he ambled, slowly zigzagging along the tree-lined street. Your eyes drooped, breathing in your new friend's soft, cosy smell, still occasionally giggling to yourself.

Arriving at your doorstep, Yuuji lowered you to the ground, and brought one hand up to awkwardly scratch the back of his head. His face blushed crimson when you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. He grinned, shuffling sweetly, bidding you goodnight, but hesitating. You bit your lip, head tipped, waiting. Yuuji didn't get the hint, turning to walk away.

"Hey, my hero. All that, and I don't get your number?"

Yuuji's smile could have split rainclouds.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Higuruma waiting on the ceiling above the office door like

Coming next: Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Toji, Toge Inumaki, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara.

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pickingupmymercedes · 5 months ago

Text

Improvised Compensation - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

request: "Hi can we maybe have a smut where your work gets in the way of your plans, so you have to make do somewhere else" - anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities.

Also, wrap it before you tap it guys

wordcount: +2K

a/n: I had this video as inspo and this request and my mind RAN wild with it (cut the wordings from the request to keep the explicit part under the cut). Hope you guys have fun reading it.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

Lewis tiptoed into the kitchen, the early California sun painting golden stripes across the floor. His weekend fantasy of waking up next to Y/n, tangled in sheets met a reality that both frustrated and thrilled him.

The kitchen island was his first clue. Y/n, perched on the marble counter, her back arched in a way that he felt in his groin, typed away on her laptop. Her usual sharp focus clearly clouded by fatigue, evidenced by the round, black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose - a rare sight - and a messy bun that barely contained her unusually unruly hair.

"Ugh, finally" she muttered, pressing enter and slumping back onto the countertop with a sigh that did something daring to the hem of his old t-shirt she wore. The flimsy cotton barely concealed the lace of her panties, and all Lewis focus was on not giving into the urge to rip the shirt right off her.

He cleared his throat, the sound making her head snap up. A smile, as bright as the California sun, chased away the fatigue on her face. "Lew! You’re up" she exclaimed, flinging her arms open.

As he crossed the distance between them, her hand met him halfway, instinctively settling on his lower abdomen. The touch making his gaze drop to where her thumb rest near his boxers.

"Morning beautiful" he greeted, his voice husky with sleep and something more. He captured her arm by the elbow, his fingers brushing against the soft skin and moving her fingers from his naked chest.

"I fucking love those glasses on you," he murmured his voice dropping to a low growl. His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were dark with desire.

Y/n chuckled; a breathy sound laced with amusement. "Sorry to disappoint, babe," she said, her voice teasing. "Looks like our plans for a slow morning in bed just went out the window."

The playfulness in her eyes only stirred him on. "It's Sunday, love" he murmured, leaning in close. His breath tickled her ear as he spoke, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. "My plans definitely involve you" he continued, "but they can be done anywhere"

He reached past her, his hand hovering over the mouse on her laptop. "What are you even doing up so early dealing with work emails?"

"You wouldn't believe it," Y/n sighed, rolling her eyes theatrically. "Apparently, Europe is still eight hours ahead, and some people think weekends are prime time for micromanaging."

Lewis grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Sounds like someone needs a new boss," he said, shutting down her computer with a decisive snap.

"Whoa!" Y/n squeaked, reaching for the machine in a mock panic.

He easily overpowered her by holding her wrists above her head, his body pressing against hers. The sudden closeness of his chest to her back pulled a ragged breath from both.

"Relax, love," he said, his voice husky with desire on the back of her head. "I’m gonna make you forget work even exists"

He pulled her backwards, the t-shirt riding up even higher, revealing a sliver of smooth skin between her stomach and the waistband of her panties.

Her breath hitched as she landed on the cool surface of the counter with her forearms. He caged her body between his legs, and his voice dropped to a whisper near her ear. "Tell me, Mrs. Demanding Boss," he began, his voice dripping with amusement, "how would you like to be appropriately… compensated… for working on a Sunday?"

Y/n bit her lip, her mind a delicious filled with arousal. "Improvised compensation," she finally managed breathless "sounds… promising."

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated against her back. "Improvised, indeed," he agreed, his eyes roaming over her flushed face. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he reached down and got rid of his boxers "Let's make this kitchen a little more interesting, shall we?"

Y/n's pulse quickened, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched, from the corner of her eyes, Lewis's eyes darken with a hunger. He leaned closer, his breath hot against her neck, making her shiver. "You're always so good, babe," he murmured, his hands sliding up her thighs, pushing the oversized t-shirt higher until it bunched around her waist. "Always so ready for me."

She moaned softly, arching her back as his fingers traced the edge of her lace panties. "I had always wondered," she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation, "what it would feel like to do it here, in the kitchen"

He growled "Your wish is my command" His hands slid under her shirt, skimming over her soft skin. With one swift motion, he turned her around and lifted her onto the island, positioning himself between her legs. "Let’s make that fantasy come true." His eyes met hers in the dark haze she couldn’t look away.

Their mouths met in a searing kiss, all tongues and teeth, each breath stolen between desperate gasps. Y/n's hands roamed over his back and chest, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him. His hands were everywhere, caressing, kneading, exploring.

"Fuck, I do love these glasses on you" Lewis murmured against her lips, his hands tangling in her hair. "You have no idea what you do to me."

She smirked, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "Show me then" she challenged, her voice a husky whisper.

Without breaking from the kiss, Lewis's hands slipped under her panties, pulling them down her legs and tossing them aside. He ran a finger teasingly along her folds, feeling how wet she was for him. "God, you’re soaked," he groaned in her lips, his thumb circling her clit in slow, torturous circles.

Y/n gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily towards his hand. "Please, Lewis," she whimpered throwing her head back as he watched her face contort, her hands clutching at his shoulders. "I need you."

He didn't need any more encouragement. He pumped his dick a couple times, his member already hard and ready as he lined himself up with her entrance, pausing for just a moment to look into her eyes. "Ready, love?" he asked, his voice strained with desire.

"Yeah" she breathed, her eyes locking with his. "God, yes."

With a powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her at once, both of them gasping and gripping into each other. He set a slow, deliberate pace, each movement deep and controlled, making her feel every inch of him. "This what you wanted?" he panted, his hands gripping at her thighs.

Y/n nodded, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. "God, just like that." she moaned, her nails digging into his back.

He picked up the pace, hitting her harder and faster, driving. The sound of their bodies clashing together filled the kitchen, mingled with their moans and gasps. "Fuck, Y/n" he groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder. "You’re always so good."

She could feel the pressure building inside her, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. "Lewis," she gasped, her nails raking down his back. "I’m close."

"Come for me, babe," he growled, his pace relentless. "Come all over my cock."

That was all it took. With a cry, Y/n's orgasm crashed over her, her body trembling as pleasure took over. Their moans mingled as Y/n's orgasm crashed over her, her body trembling with the intensity of her release.

But Lewis wasn't done. He slowed down but kept his thrusts steady through her high, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing slow, torturous circles.

"Oh, God" she whimpered, her body still shaking from the aftershocks.

"That's it, babe," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "I want to hear you. Let it all out for me."

Her whimpers turned into desperate cries as his relentless stimulation, her walls continuing to clench around him, making him groan. "Fuck, Y/n" he panted, feeling the tight grip of her pussy.

When her haze finally lifted and her eyes focused back on him, he captured her mouth in a heated kiss. Only then did he slowly pull out, the sensation making them both gasp.

Without missing a beat, he turned her around and bent her over the counter. "Hands on the counter" he commanded; his voice rough with desire.

She complied, arching her back and presenting herself to him. Lewis positioned himself behind her, guiding his cock back into her wet heat. The new angle made her gasp, and he adjusted his angles so that his balls slapped hard against her pussy and clit with every thrust.

"Lew, right there" she moaned, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter.

He started pounding into her, each thrust deeper until he was sure his head was hitting her cervix. "You feel so fucking good," he groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly. "I'm gonna come, babe"

"Do it" she urged, pushing back against him. "Fill me up."

With a final movement, he buried himself deep inside her, his release exploding through him. His groan mingled with her cries, their bodies shuddering together in the aftermath.

For a few moments, they stayed like that, his lips leaving kisses on her skin as their breaths came out heavy. Finally, Lewis pulled back, pressing a longer kiss to her shoulder. "God, I love you," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her glistening back

Y/n smiled, her eyes shining with love and satisfaction. "I love you too," she whispered, turning and pulling him into another kiss.

She laughed, the sound light and happy. "Definitely not what I had planned for a Sunday morning" she agreed, "but I can’t complain."

Lewis grinned, helping her turn on his arms. "Come here," he murmured, lifting her legs on the island, his hands either side of her. "We're not quite done."

Before she could respond, his mouth when to her core, his hands spreading her thighs. She gasped as his tongue traced the mixture of their releases, the sensation making her shiver. "Lewis" she moaned, her fingers tangling in his braids.

He didn't stop, his tongue lapping at her folds, his hands gripping her hips to keep her from jolting away. The combined taste of them only fueling his pace. His tongue flicked over her clit, and she bucked against his mouth, her whimpers turning into desperate cries.

"Yeah" she panted, her body trembling. "Gonna come again."

He intensified his movements, his tongue and lips working her clit until she shattered around him, her orgasm washing over her. He held her through it, his hands soothing over her thigh.

Finally, he stood, capturing her mouth in a hungry kiss. The taste of their combined orgasm was intoxicating.

When they parted, his eyes were dark with satisfaction. "Well, now we can start our day," he said with a smirk.

Y/n chuckled, breathless and spent. "You are definitely better than coffee at keeping me awake" she replied, her tone teasing.

His arms scooped her up effortlessly. "Let me run a bath for us, love" he said, carrying her towards the bathroom, taking off her glasses halfway through. "I don't want you even thinking about any type of work for the rest of the day."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling against him. "Think I can manage that" her voice filled with affection.

He kissed her forehead as they entered the bathroom, setting her down gently. "Good" he murmured, turning on the taps and letting the warm water fill the tub.

As the steam began to rise, Y/n sighed contentedly, leaning into his chest. "Just the way I like it" she said, her eyes sparkling.

Lewis smiled, leaving light kisses on her shoulders. "Just the way I like it too" he echoed, his voice soft and full of promise.

______________________________________________________________

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