#and are one step towards getting into a screaming match at all times in public with each other

[lyricalchrysanthemum]

thinking about nuvema divorce again

[trashytracktales]

Girl i need. NEED. Lando and reader sneaking out of their own wedding to fuck. i can’t get it out of my head pls pls pls pls.

like imagine himmmm: obsessed with how she looks, can’t stop being handsy and touchy and always looking for kisses and attention that at some point he drags her in some bathroom and gets under her massive bridal skirt AAAASSAASNFHDJS i can’t pls pls make it happen 😭😭

5 minutes. 7, tops | LN⁴

☁️ summary ──── Lando has never been the one to resist her. And on their wedding day, when she looks the most beautiful he’s ever seen her, wrapped in white and glowing just for him, he doesn’t even try.

☁️ pairing ──── Lando Norris x Wife!Reader

☁️ rating ──── explicit

☁️ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, dirty talk, swearing, banter and emotional intimacy, smut, semi-public, brief fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, teasing, possessiveness, unprotected (bathroom) sex.

☁️ word count ──── 4.2k

☁️ date ──── Jun. 22, 2025

☁️ a/n ──── Based on this ask, this os was highly requested for some reason, so take a slice until I find a way to finish the other 5 I started 🫴🏻🍰

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” a voice cuts through the air, loud and vibrating with excitement. “For the first time ever, I have the honor to present you: Mr. and Mrs. Norris!”

A set of double doors at the back of the hall swing open, and a wave of applause and cheers rolls forward as the newly married couple appears in sight.

Lando is holding her hand tightly, like he has no plans of letting go ever again. He looks like a fairytale, wearing a tailored black suit with clean lines down the legs, the kind of cut that says money but doesn’t scream it. His shirt is a stark white beneath, the collar buttoned all the way up, his tie coordinating perfectly with her dress without being too much. There’s a hidden message in those seemingly small choices that might go unnoticed. But they say more than words ever could. No loosened collar means a man who knows exactly who he belongs to, and the matching tie means that, from now on, every step is made with her in mind.

His smile is blinding, spreading all over his face and lighting his features with happiness. He’s not smiling for the crowd or cameras, but for her. His eyes keep flicking sideways to catch hers like he still can’t believe this is real.

“Let’s go, Landooo!” someone shouts, making the guests laugh, and his smile blooms even further.

They walk in perfect harmony toward the center of the room, surrounded by clapping and whistles, artificial fog and confetti, and her dress molds softly against her legs as they move, his steps steady and sure, despite the fact that on the inside, Lando already fainted three times, received CPR twice, and died once.

They reach the dance floor, and as the first notes of their song begin to play, everything shifts. The noise drops off almost instantly, the crowd falling silent, while the lights dim just a little. The music fills the room with something much heavier than melody just as Lando places a hand on her waist, fingers brushing the fabric of her dress. Her back fits perfectly against his palm, and when she gazes up at him with those eyes that still make his heart skip more than one beat, lips curling into a smile that’s been haunting his thoughts ever since the day he’s met her, Lando is gone.

Her dress glimmers, hugging her curves like it was crafted for the sole purpose of undoing him. And truth is, it was.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, starting to guide her in the steps they’ve been practicing for months now. It became muscle memory, carved into quiet mornings before he left for work or rehearsed in his driver’s room between practice sessions; they’ve been stealing moments whenever they could, and now everything blends together effortlessly, like it was always meant to lead here.

She giggles, blushing a little but enjoying the way his voice drops when he’s being honest. Honest and absolutely in love with her.

“Don’t you have other lines, Mr. Norris?” she teases, eyes sparkling under her curled lashes.

He leans in, lips slightly brushing her ear. “Not unless you want to show everyone in here how you melt if I say something else,” he replies under his breath.

She looks at him again, emboldened by the intimacy in his words. “Like what?” she challenges him.

Lando’s jaw clenches. He spins her slowly, her dress fanning out, revealing just enough leg to make his vision blur. When she lands back in his arms, her chest presses against him, and he hisses softly.

“For starters, your boobs look insane in that corset,” he says, eyes flicking down for the briefest second.

She exhales a soft sigh, half scandalized, half thrilled, her fingers tightening around his shoulder.

“It’s torture,” adds Lando, his mouth hovering dangerously close to hers. “I was hard the second you walked down that aisle.”

The girl finally gasps, eyes darting to his. “Lando.”

“I’m so serious, baby,” he insists, laughing softly. “It hasn’t let up. I don’t know how I’m supposed to wait ‘til we get home,” he punctuates it with a look so intense that her knees nearly give out. She clutches his shoulder firmly, her pulse slowly rising, everything below her waist aching at the thought. “I just want to fuck my wife.”

Well, shit.

The word echoes in her head like church bells, giving her chills all over her body — wife, wife, wife! She loves the way he says it, like it’s something he’s earned. She melts further into his frame, their bodies brushing in a way far too suggestive for the room full of people watching them.

She lifts her chin, brushing her nose against his in the barest tease of affection. “You’re not the only one suffering, you know,” she whispers, her lips grazing his. “I’ve been a mess since I saw you in this tux,” she continues, smoothing the material with her palms sliding down his chest. “My husband looks like sex.”

Lando lets out a high-pitched chuckle. “Shoot me in the balls, it would hurt less.”

“I really appreciate the visuals,” she laughs in return.

He twirls her once more, slower this time, his eyes never leaving her. When she lands back in his arms, her back arches just slightly, pressing her breasts against his chest. It’s easy to feel the shift in him, and how his fingers tighten around every part of her body that he’s touching.

As the song is coming to an end, Lando’s hand slides up to her throat, holding her there. Her breath catches right away, but he doesn’t wait for permission. He already got it the moment she said yes to him in fornt of their families, friends, and the entire world. So he crashes his mouth to hers, putting up a show for everyone, without shame. It’s not the delicate kind of kiss people expect during a first dance. It’s months of tension and restraint, and the thrill of calling her his wife unleashed all at once. Her fingers curl into the lapels of his suit, so dizzy that she can barely hear the music anymore. But she feels it in the way their bodies sway together, the way the room goes still again, before the crowd erupts in wild applause.

Just as the final chord fades out, his lips leave hers, bringing her back to reality.

“Should we dip?” asks Lando, staring at her with a subtle look.

She arches a brow, grinning. “Dip?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs with a slight tilt of his head, completely serious despite the smirk. “Sneak out. Just for a bit.”

Her eyes widen. “We can’t leave our own wedding, Lando. We literally just got here.”

He smiles, leaning in closer, voice laced with enough honey to make her swoon. “Come on,” he insists. “Just a quickie in the bathroom,” his lips touch her cheek gently as he speaks, “We’ll be five minutes. No one’s gonna notice.”

She pulls back to shoot him a questionable look. “Five minutes?”

Lando rolls his eyes. “Alright. Seven, tops,” he says.

Her pulse is jumping wildly as she presses a hand to his chest, half to hold him back, half to steady herself. “Baby, our parents are here.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “As if we didn’t go at it in my childhood bedroom with my mum watching The Crown across the hall,” says Lando in a casual voice, studying her face. “What?”

“You’re such an idiot,” she says, fighting to hide a smile.

In response, Lando lifts his left hand to her eye level. “Your idiot,” he reminds her, pointing at the ring on his finger. “Forever.”

The girl shakes her head. “Your point?” she asks.

Lando grins. “I’ll make it fast, darling,” he assures her, his hand sliding around her waist, fingers pressing into the small of her back. “I’ll be in and out. Like, literally”

“So romantic,” she says sarcastically. “My husband, everybody!”

Just then, the voice of the wedding planner cuts in again, echoing through the mic like a divine intervention, “Now that the dance floor is officially heated up,” she calls cheerfully, “We’d love for all of you to join the lovely couple and let’s get this party started!”

She hesitates. For just a second, and that second is all he needs. He sees the flicker in her eyes, the war between logic and lust and, luckily, he knows her too well to know exactly which one’s winning this time.

With a playful wink, he intertwines his fingers with hers and gives her hand a gentle, insistent tug. “Come on, Mrs. Norris.”

As they weave through the crowd, hands still clasped tightly, guests stop them every few steps, offering hugs and heartfelt congratulations. They smile, nod, thank everyone politely, but there’s a quiet urgency in their movements, a shared look between them like they’re trying not to be swept up in the chaos. If they could melt into the walls unnoticed, they would, but right now, all they want is to be alone.

For just five minutes. Seven, tops.

The second they disappear around the corner, his hand is already on her waist, pressing her back into the wall beside the bathroom door. His mouth finds hers again as hot as earlier, pulling soft whimpers out of her.

The bathroom is nothing short of extravagant, like everything else at this wedding. Soft golden sconces glow against marble, casting a warm light that reflects off the tall mirrors lining on the walls. The sinks are sculpted from polished stone, ivory and veined with gold, with delicate faucets that look more like something made by Michelangelo than plumbing. Plush white hand towels are rolled perfectly beside trays of expensive perfumes and colognes. Everything sparkles, and it smells like luxury: jasmine, sweet vanilla, and a hint of champagne.

They stumble through the door like they’re drunk, her giggles breathless and lips kiss-bitten, while Lando spins her gently and backs her toward the counter. Her body presses to the edge, dress fanning out as she leans back whithout resistence. Then her leg slips out from the slit in her gown, forcing Lando to drop to his knees immediately, as if pulled by gravity.

He shoots her one look, with dark eyes and puffy lips from all the kissing. His hands trail slowly up her thighs, parting them delicately, then pulling her panties down. The white of her dress pools around his shoulders, brushing against his cheeks and collar, framing him in folds of pearlescent fabric.

Her mouth goes dry at the sight of him; he looks angelic between her legs, surrounded by pure white, but when his tongue touches her, there’s nothing holy about it.

Lando groans the second his mouth finds her folds, his hot tongue lapping confident strokes that make her head tip back against the mirror with a dull thud. He said quickie, but doesn’t rush. He tastes her like he’s savoring the first gulp of water after the Singapore Grand Prix, and hearing her silent moans only makes him thirstier.

“Lan…” she whines, fingers tangling in his curls.

He smiles against her skin, already pulling back, lips wet and glistening. “You are a fucking dream,” he tells her. “Such a mess f’me, you don’t even need prepping.”

He’s up in a blink of an eye, lips brushig her jaw so lightly that she’s sure she imagined it, until Lando cups her face gently, thumb brushing her cheek as he tilts her chin up, searching for her eyes. The warmth of his other hand slides back between her legs, fingers sliding through slick heat. All he gives her is just a couple of slow pumps, the kind meant to tease and announce their presence, not satisfy. His eyes stay locked on hers the whole time, reading every shift of her breath like it’s a private language only he understands.

“You like being sneaky so much that you’re dripping already, hm?”

She’s trembling, thighs closing around his wrist. “No,” the girl lies.

Lando hisses. “No?” he shakes his head, laughing softly. “I think you like knowing they’re all out there celebrating us, while you’re in here soaking my fingers.”

He’s well aware of the effect he has on her; always were. He knows all it takes is just a little look, and she’s done for. It’s a power he’s been taking advantage of countless times in the past, but this time, he uses it almost like a gentle reminder. While maintaing that look, he unbuckles his belt with the other hand, the soft clink echoing in her head like choir of angels. Then, he unzips with practiced urgency, pushing his pants and briefs down just enough to free himself.

And she realizes that Lando was nothing but honest, as usual.

His cock is already hard and flushed, the head swollen, leaking slightly at the tip. He wraps his hand around the base with a quiet hiss through his teeth, dragging it once down his length. He keeps his other hand working between her legs in the meantime, coaxing her higher with every stroke.

“See what my wife does to me?” he asks rhetorically, then slows, easing his fingers out with maddening care, watching her with a knowing gaze.

She can barely breathe at this point.

Deftly, Lando’s hands land on her hips, hiking her dress up her waist, until white silk bunches around them, revealing the heated skin beneath. He hooks one of her legs up over his waist, angling her until her core presses right against him. He knows it was the perfect choice, because her back arches in an instant, and breath starts stuttering when she feels the head of his cock sliding through her folds, catching on her clit and dipping back down, spreading her wetness over both of them.

The skin-on-skin contact makes her whimper in anticipation.

“My pretty liar,” she says, making Lando puff out a sigh. She lets out a shaky breath, body already aching, but the longer he lingers, the more her frustration bubbles up. Her fingers grip his jaw, forcing him to look at her. “You said five minutes,” she whispers, eyes narrowed but glittering. “And now you’re playing games?”

His jaw clenches as he pushes forward, just enough for the head to catch against her entrance. Then, continuing to hold her gaze, he thrusts in. All the way.

Lando chokes on a breath. “I said seven, tops,” he defends himself.

He stills inside, eyes closing for a moment, brain gone entirely blank at the feeling of her, as if it’s the first time. Her pussy grips him tight, warm and slick and perfect and his, and for a second, all he can do is focus on his breathing. No coherent thoughts, no words, just the mind-shattering realization that he’s buried inside his wife.

Each breath is punctuated by the slow beginning of his hips rolling, starting to move, dragging his cock against her walls again and again, as if trying to relearn every inch of her from the inside out.

She’s maddening around him, her body molding to his like it was made for him to hold. In his selfishness, Lando actually believes she was. Because it’s not just the physical. It’s everything that bonded them over time. And now, it’s the weight of the ring on her hand as it clutches at his shoulder. The way she gasps his name like it’s the only word she knows. The look in her eyes that says, I’m only yours.

His breath gets shallow and unsteady in a way she’s never heard him before. Like Lando’s unraveling in real time, coming apart at the seams just from being inside her. And she moves with him, meeting every thrust with the same need. Her nails scrape gently down the back of his head, then dig in when he shifts just right, making her entire body shiver in response.

“Mine,” he chokes on the words, thrusts slowing for a heartbeat as if to savor it, while she hums in pleasure. “Feel how wet you are? That’s all me, yeah?”

She nods, but it’s not enough. She turns her head, mouth finding his jaw, his neck, trying to stay anchored in the moment while her body rocks with his. “Always you, my love,” she replies, sounding like she’s on the verge of despair.

His laugh is breathless, like she’s just broken something open inside him. “Fuck, I won’t last. Two minutes,” he informes her. “Dropped to two minutes.”

She laughs, too. But his next thrust is harder, less controlled, making her cry out instead, all needy and high-pitched. She gasps his name, fingers clawing at the lapels of his tuxedo jacket as his hips continue to move in earnest, thrusting into her with a delicious rhythm. She fumbles with the tie and buttons, trying to peel the fabric from his shoulders, craving more of his heat and skin and the way his muscles flex every time he slams forward. But Lando’s pace only increases, and it ruins her effort.

His jacket slips halfway off, one sleeve hanging limp from his arm, the other clinging stubbornly to his shoulder. He can’t stop. The sight of her like this, with her legs spread, dress hitched up, and soft body pulling him in with every thrust has obliterated every ounce of patience he had left.

“Fucking, fuck,” he growls, burying his face in her neck. His mouth presses a small kiss there, but his lips twitch with restraint, the need to mark her thrumming violently through him.

“Don’t,” she warns, knowing every filthy thought that’s ever crossed Lando’s mind.

“Please,” he whines. “Let them know I fucked you in the bathroom at our own wedding.”

Her voice trembles as she moans loudly, her arms locking around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. Her back arches off the counter, hips meeting his, as her body folds to the rhythm.

“You’re already fucking up my wedding dress,” she gasps, breath hot in his ear. “Trust me, baby. They’ll know.”

Lando pulls back to look at her, sweat beading at his temple, a gremlin-like smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s the only time you’re wearing it anyway.”

After that, his hands clamp down on her waist, firm to fuck her harder, burying himself to the hilt with each movement. She cries out, head falling on his shoulder, completely unraveling for him as her slick walls tighten around his cock. Her body clings to him in every possible way, shaking with the promise of release, and all Lando can do is just hold on, driven by the feel of her, the sound of her, the truth of what they are now.

Husband and wife. And so completely owned by each other.

Her body is ready to give up under his force, every inch of her strung tight with need, already teetering on the edge. Her hair’s falling in messy waves around her flushed face, eyes glassy as she encourages him to take her harder.

Fueled by her demand, Lando does exactly as he’s told.

“My wife.”

Thrust.

“Mine.”

Thrust.

“Making me go crazy.”

Thrust-thrust-thrust.

His words slam into her as hard as his hips do, leaving her gasping, dazed, dizzy. And wanting more. She lets out a string of moans, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket still stubbornly clinging to his shoulder. Her entire world feels like it’s collapsing around the rhythm of his body and the ragged devotion in his voice.

“You have no idea,” he grunts, “How fucking excited I am to fuck you like this for the rest of our lives.”

“I might have a few ideas,” she replies. “Especially if this is you before our wedding night. What’re you gonna do when I’m wearing nothing but your last name and asking for more?” she asks, tilting her hips enough to make him feel the shift. “Think you can keep up with me, husband?”

A guttural noise tears from his throat as he slams into her faster, chasing the release like it’s his lifeline. Their bodies slap together with wet sounds, the soft rustle of her dress and the quiet creak of the counter drowned beneath their wild breathing.

“That answers your question, eh?”

“Shit. Yes. Fuck,” she replies. “Lando,” the girl pants, mouth brushing his.

And then she breaks. Her orgasm hits fast and hard, her thighs shaking, body trembling as she cries out, voice echoing off the walls of his skull. But before she can fully scream, Lando covers her mouth with his, swallowing the sound.

Their kiss is messy and soaked in panting breaths and wet lips, and with her convulsing in pleasure beneath him, is too much for Lando to hold back. He thrusts deep once, twice, then groans into her mouth as he spills all his love and lust inside her. The blinding sensation knocks the air from his lungs, their bodies shaking together as they fall apart and hold each other through it.

Trying to catch her breath, her cheek rests against his shoulder, arms wrapped loosely around his back, one of her legs still hooked around his waist. His hands stay firm on her hips, not wanting to let go, still inside her, connected, and in no rush to move, because time doesn’t exist in this little corner of their universe.

But a few moments later, Lando lifts his gaze, catching sight of them in one of the tall mirrors. The reflection hits him hard: his dark curls are pointing in every direction, his jacket hangs crooked from one shoulder, tie just halfway undone. Her dress is wrinkled and bunched around her thighs, and her lipstick is smudged everywhere on his face from all the kisses they never planned to stop. And what truly gets him is the look in his own eyes — he’s glowing. Like he’s just crossed a finish line, but this time it wasn’t just him in the car.

He sees her holding onto him like she always will.

He sees himself holding her like she’s the only safe place he’s ever known.

Suddenly, he realizes he’s a husband now. Her husband. And he’s going to wake up to this woman for the rest of his life. Through every challenge, every joy, and every storm, he has a partner that’s here to stay. Even when life throws everything it can at him, she will be his constant. His only source of peace. His home.

Lando’s throat tightens, emotion rising so violently it nearly drowns him. Gently, he leans in, pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, breathing her in as he closes his eyes.

“I promise to always be yours,” he starts whispering his vows again. “To protect your heart like it’s my own.”

Her breath hitches, her brain just coming out of the haze of pleasure caused by her husband.

“To love you when things are easy,” he continues, “And love you even harder when they’re not.”

With teary eyes, her arms squeeze him tighter. Even if she finds it hard to hold him like that, because her body melts under the weight of his words, she does it because she knows how important it is for Lando to remind her that, at the end of the day, it’s about this: them.

She’s just about to whisper something back after Lando stops talking, but he’s always managed to leave her speechles, one way or another. This time, he reduces her to a soft moan when he slowly pulls out of her. At that, her body clenches involuntarily as the absence of him leaves her sensitive and throbbing. The warm aftermath of their pleasure slips slowly out of her, making her thighs twitch around the sensation.

Lando sighs as he watches it happen, forehead dropping to her shoulder.

“Shit, sorry,” he says, voice raspy as if he just woke up. “Didn’t mean to ruin the moment, but fucking hell. It kills me every time I pull out,” he explains, drawing back to look at her, his hand trailing over her thigh, possessive and adoring all at once.

She exhales a breathy laugh despite herself, her chest still rising and falling from the intensity, cheeks all flushed. “You’re such a boy,” she scolds playfully, giving his shoulder a half-hearted push, still giggling.

“I’m grieving,” he says, faking innocence.

“You’re done,” she cuts him off, the affection in her voice making it sound more like a vow than a complaint.

Still perched on the counter, she leans forward, trying to tame the wild curls now clinging to his forehead. Her fingers thread through his hair with the kind of tender frustration only a woman in love can pull off, pushing it back, smoothing it, even if it’s completely in vain.

Lando closes his eyes and hums like a man being worshipped. “That’s your mess, by the way,” he says satisfied.

“Yeah,” she agrees with a smile. “My beautiful mess.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[weaklittlefakeboy]

i’m thinking of a world where men entering adulthood are paired with women entering adulthood and symbolically enter manhood during a public claiming ceremony. during these ceremonies the woman is forced to lay spread eagled on a bed in the middle of an arena- ensuring her spread legs and pussy are able to be seen by everyone in the massive crowd. the man shows his dominance and superiority over the woman- who will become his wife- by fucking and impregnating her in front of their entire town.

you’re a trans man living in this society where this tradition is followed and today is your 20th birthday- you’re entering symbolic adulthood and your ceremony is today. though you perceive yourself as a man in every sense of the word and feel it deep in your soul- your small stature, delicate features, and most of all- bouncy b cup tits and pussy- define you as a woman in the eyes of everyone in your town.

womanhood and the ceremony where you will be fucked and bred are inescapable for you.

you stare blankly at the wall in front of you as your mom and sister fuss over your appearance- dressing you in the traditional ceremonial attire. you look towards the mirror and feel entirely disconnected from the image staring back at you. despite the short hair cut you gave yourself weeks ago- you are dressed in a delicate white sun dress and certainly look the part of the wife you will soon become.

your mom- who went through this ceremony like all women before her- cups your face and smiles “don’t be nervous my darling. it may hurt at first but entering womanhood and submitting to your husband is a beautiful thing. i’m so excited to spoil my grandbabies.” you flush at the reminder of your fate and stay silent. “come, it’s almost time.”

a line of older women who have already undergone the ceremony surround you and lead you in a slow walk through the long hallway leading into the breeding arena. as you walk closer, the noise of the crowd waiting excitedly grows louder. your ears ring with nervousness as you walk through the grand arch and take in the crowd before you. as you walk closer to the center you see the vague outline of your soon-to-be husband walking at a matching pace through the corresponding arch surrounded by men who smirk and shove him playfully towards the bed in the center of the room. the crowd goes crazy at the sight of the man and his new bride- leering and shouting obscenities that blend into one cacophony of noise.

“fuck her!” “make her scream!” “knock her up!”

as you and the man meet in the center of the arena- you get your first look at his face and gasp. your breeder is your childhood best friend, matthew. he was the one person you felt safe enough to admit your transness to. he had held your hand and reassured you through all the pain you felt growing up. and he… looked almost excited?

you took a step back but were shoved forward by your mother who looked at you reassuringly. the priest stepped forward and silenced the crowd with a raised hand. the new hush that fell over the mass of people was almost worse than the yelling. you took in the hungry eyes of the men in the stadium and the almost sympathetic looks from the women. you felt a deep shame and embarrassment that all of these people were about to watch you get impregnated- especially as you began to notice familiar faces. teachers, friends, family. you snapped out of your observations as the priest began to speak.

“we gather here today to witness the coming of age of this fine young man. matthew. here, in this sacred arena where many of you found yourselves not too long ago or will find yourselves soon- we will observe as matthew’s bride submits to his dominance and masculine superiority and becomes his woman and the mother of his offspring- which will become the new generation.” the crowd hums. the man turns towards matthew and his father. “men, prepare the bride.”

your heart pounds in your chest as the women who led you into the stadium excluding your mother- stride away from you. matthew comes towards you and grabs you by the chin- forcing you took up at him as he towers over you. “i’m so happy it was you” he says taking in your attire. “i can’t wait to show you how a real man treats his woman”

you barely have a moment to feel your betrayal before your dress is stripped from your body and you are thrown onto the bed. leaving you bare and exposed to the crowd. matthew doesn’t waste a moment- he gropes your chest, fondling one of your breasts and looking down at you with an unreadable expression. he trails his other hand down your trembling form- pausing at your flat stomach. “i’m going to make you swell with my children, and i won’t stop at one. i want a big family.” you whimper and try to push him off but your hands are pinned by two people behind you. you stretch your head back and flush when you see that they belong to your mother and matthew’s father.

“this is the undeniable place of a woman.” started the priest again as you began to weep “she lies, restrained, underneath the strong form of her man. notice, my people, how weak and fragile she appears under the strength of our young matthew. how he towers over her. the natural place of a woman is submission- while a man feels the urge to dominate and control.”

matthew’s hand makes its way down to your pussy and he wastes no time shoving a finger inside of your quivering hole, thumb playing with your clit. you moan against your will and he smirks. “you can deny you like this and struggle all you want, but your wet pussy, she doesn’t lie.” he began to finger fuck you fast and you throw your head back with unwilling ecstasy. the bed shifts beneath you as your former friend climbs onto the bed alongside you- stroking his growing cock. “i’m going to fuck you so hard, i’m going to make your brain melt and make you forget that you ever wanted anything other than this right here.” he curved his fingers and pressed on your g spot making you squeal femininely and arch your back obscenely. the crowd echoed with laughter that elevated your shame- though you were quickly losing your inhibitions as the pleasure grew stronger.

“look at this” he grabbed your chin once more, forcing you to look down this time. your mouth fell open as you gazed upon his long, thick cock that he rested over your stomach. how would that ever fit inside of you? “this is what real men have. they use it to fuck girls like you. you always whined and cried about how nobody would ever see you as a man- but how could they? look at your stupid little needy pussy weeping for my cock already. you can deny it but this pussy right here?” he slapped it making you gasp “was born for taking cock and receiving a man’s seed.“

he emphasized his point by lining up his cock, making your heart pound in anticipation, before slipping in in one long thrust that forced unimaginably embarrassing noises from your mouth. your eyes rolled back into your head as you were officially submitted. the crowd roared as matthew finally claimed you as his wife and the breeding ceremony began.

arms still restrained above your head, you gasped and moaned like a bitch as matthew began to fuck you. every thrust filled you with warmth and filthy filthy pleasure. “look at me bitch” matthew grunted. you opened your eyes and made eye contact with your husband. “you’re such a good girl. this is the rest of your life, whore. you’re going to give me so many children. you’ll be a good mother.”

matthew’s strong hands grabbed at your waist and he began to fuck you harder, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder. the change in angle had your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your jaw dropping. “oh oh oh my god” you moaned. your tongue fell out of your mouth as you felt unimaginable pleasure. you knew then that you had absolutely no power. your mom and matthew’s father kept your arms tightly restrained above your head, his masculine hands caressed your soon to be pregnant stomach, your tits bounced with every thrust of his hips against your ass. you were submitting to him entirely. the thought made you gasp and throw your head to the side.

“fuck yeah, uh. fucking bitch-“ you vaguely registered matthew’s words and opened your eyes to take in the crowd that was watching you be dominated so profusely. the men looked hungrily at your spread legs and fucked out pussy. even the priest looked at you and saw nothing but a woman being put in her place. not one of those hungry eyes were looking at your bouncing breasts and saw a man. matthew seemed to catch your line of thought and laughed as he thrusted in and out of your weeping pussy.

he let go of your lifted leg, resting it on his shoulder, and you were ashamed to say you made no effort to move- too lost in agonizing pleasure and an indescribable loss. he grabbed your throat and looked down at you again. “you’re a woman- MY woman. say it. say it and maybe i’ll let you come.”

“i- i’m your woman.” you gasped as he put more pressure on your neck.

“you were made for me, you will spread your legs for me at my every whim and carry my children. because that was what you were made for.”

he slapped your face and accentuated his words with a hard thrust. the pleasure was building even more now.

“i, oooh, was made for matthew, i will spread my legs for him at his every whim and carry his children. because that was what i was made for.”

“good girl” he said, you nodded and screamed with pleasure as he lifted both of your legs and spread them wide- jostling your whole body with a newfound vigor. “i’m gonna come inside you and make you a mommy, slut.”

those words alone made your back arch and toes curl as you came your brains out on his superior cock. your mind went blank with pleasure. but he wasn’t stopping. you didn’t even realize, but your arms were released from their hold as you climaxed. unrestrained, your arms unconsciously wrapped around your new husbands back as you shook and squealed and finally gave into your role.

“ahhhh, fuck me please keep fucking me. oh my God. please give me your babies i’ll be a good girl i promise please just keep going.” matthew laughed in your ear, the sound deep and full.

“whatever you say, wife.” he pushed your legs down and folded you into a mating press, fucking you hard and fast and- somehow- at the perfect angle. each and every thrust hit your g spot and another orgasm was coming on fast. you couldn’t control the noises that were coming out of your mouth- you scratched lines into your man’s back as the pleasure built up again. he moaned in your ear “i’m close, i’m gonna flood your womb with cum.”

you screamed louder than you’d ever screamed before as you felt your husbands cock twitch inside you and warm jets of cum shot straight into your fertile womb. this climax was even better than the previous and you lay there- the picture of womanliness and submission.

you barely registered your husband pulling out of your used pussy or your legs falling onto the mattress. you were completely fucked out. your tongue lolled to the side as you smiled slightly, eyes glazed over, legs twitching and cum slowly leaking out of you. distantly you heard matthew’s father joking with his son “i guess you really made her brain melt huh kid?”, your mother brushed your hair out of your face and whispered words of congratulations, the crowd cheered and chanted.

but all of that noise faded into the background as waves of pleasure ran through you. maybe being a woman wasn’t so bad after all.

[sevikalvr]

— 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 —

summary!; bodyguard!sevika x reader > you are a PR management control for a band named faultline and things get messy and out of hand, which calls for a new security personnel.

wc; 5.7k — cw; dom top!sevika, bottom!reader, fingering, biting, scratching, lots of cursing, if you skim you’ll miss pet names, humping, MINORS DNI!!

notes - this is my first post! i intended for this to be a series if people like this fic, i have had this idea sitting in my drafts and finally decided to put it into words! enjoy!🌸 p.s. @littledykeblue account gave me the motivation to post! 💗💗💗 go check them out!

part 2 here!

Faultline. The only rock band that seemed to live up to its name. They’re messy, chaotic, and then turn the internet upside when they really want too.

And you? Well you have the damn luxury to be the fucking ductape of this band. Fucking backbone even. With only you having the pleasure of cleaning up their messes.

Every. Damn. Time.

The hallway outside the VIP lounge still smells like sweat, hairspray, spilled champagne, and ego. You shove the double doors open with both hands, the slam echoing loud enough to make a few crew members flinch from their seats.

“Jinx!”

She’s sprawled on a velvet couch like she’s the queen of a ruined empire, all glitter and eyeliner and zero remorse. You don’t know how she’s still smiling after what just happened. The show incident. The shouting match. The mic she nearly threw at Vi.

You storm toward her, ignoring the sidelong glances from assistants and event staff still pretending not to be eavesdropping.

She doesn’t even blink. Just props her boots on the armrest, upside-down and grinning like a menace. As if she's expecting this outburst from you. Cocky bastard.

“You know, if I had a dollar for every time you screamed my name—”

“—you’d be paying for the goddamn crisis PR team I had to hire after the last time you lost it in public!” you snap, jabbing a finger in her direction. “What the hell was that out there!?”

Jinx twirls a lollipop between her fingers like she’s twelve and invincible. “A family moment.”

“She bumped your shoulder.”

“She meant it.”

“She brushed you and you tried to bodycheck her in front of three different cameras and a live stream!” Your voice cracks as you throw your hands up. “You want me to lose this job? Because that’s the next step! I already had to fake two fucking apologies and bribe a damn blogger today!”

Jinx winks, her legs swinging off the couch with her elbows resting against her knees. “You’re so good at it though.”

“You’re going to be the reason I develop stress ulcers.”

“Could be worse,” she says, blowing a kiss. “Could be herpes.”

You let out a strangled sound.

That’s when you hear it—the quiet thud of boots on the hardwood near the door. You don’t need to look. You clocked her the second she walked in. Standing guard like she belongs in a damn action movie: arms crossed, black shirt stretched over muscle, one scarred eyebrow raised in calm observation.

Sevika.

Some newly hired personal security. Supposed to be here to “reinforce safety protocols and de-escalate threats.” Which, so far, you haven’t seen her do once. Considering that this is your first real encounter, her stance is a little intimidating. A little. You hadn’t spoken yet—not more than a nod when she was introduced earlier—but she’s been watching the room with that cold, unbothered stare the whole damn time.

You finally glance at her, jaw tight. “I assume you were hired to prevent a repeat of the Vi situation?”

Sevika doesn’t move. “Didn’t realize I was hired to babysit.”

Jinx loses it, nearly falling off the couch in laughter. You glare at both of them, pulse hammering behind your eyes.

“I don’t care what unresolved twin hell you two have going on,” you say, turning your focus back to Jinx. “The sponsors are jumpy. The label is breathing down my neck, and you guys haven’t even got halfway through your fucking tour yet! If I get one more email with the word rebrand, I’m going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

She rolls onto her stomach like a bored cat. “What happened to letting me be authentic?”

“Authentic doesn’t mean unhinged.”

“Pretty sure it does if you’re me.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Unbelievable..”

You turn to leave—but Sevika shifts just slightly. She’s still leaning on the wall, but she subtly blocks the door with one arm, like she’s testing whether you’re going to keep unraveling.

You stop, your temper still burning like acid. “Something to add?”

She looks at you then—really looks. Not dismissive, not hostile. Just… assessing. Measuring the edge in your voice, the tight grip you still have on your clipboard, the wild mess of a job you’re doing to keep a whole brand duct-taped together.

“You good?” she asks, voice low and even. Not teasing. Just… steady.

You blink.

“…Yeah,” you say. “Totally thriving right now.”

She doesn’t smile, but something in her expression shifts. Like she’s seen this kind of pressure before, just not wrapped in eyeliner and a chaotic PR spin.

“You always this high-strung?” she asks, that same calm tone—but now with a little curiosity under it.

You bristle. “Only when I have to explain basic boundaries to a crazy grown ass woman.”

Jinx salutes from the couch.

Sevika tilts her head just slightly, that unreadable look still in place. “You hold it together better than most.”

You glance back at her, slightly narrowing your eyes. She’s unreadable. Solid. Completely unshaken by the chaos around her. And for some reason, that is the most unsettling thing of all.

“Yeah, well…” you mutter, pulling open the door. “Get used to it. This is only just a quiet night.”

You feel her eyes follow you out. And it’s not until the door swings shut behind you that you realize,

you're not entirely sure which one of them you should be more worried about.

──────────

You’re barefoot on a fake leather couch that squeaks every time you shift. Your heels are kicked off by the door, one of them scuffed—probably from when you chased Jinx off the fire escape earlier.

Your phone is at 6%.

The Notes app is open to an aggressively polite draft that reads:

“We’re aware of the situation that occurred between performers Jinx and Vi at tonight’s event. At this time, we…”

You delete the whole sentence in one angry swipe. This is fucking ridiculous. If Jinx just manages to keep her damn hands to yourself and her mouth shut, none of this would be necessary! You swear you’re going to grow gray hairs at this rate. With the two unhinged sisters going on tour. You had a feeling some shit was going to happen. Christ, this was only just the fourth show so far, and they have already messed up so much. But then again, who else would deal with their chaotic selves?

Regardless, a knock interrupts your train of thoughts.. Except not really. More like a dull tap tap against the open door frame.

You don’t look up.

“You're still here?” you mutter, thumbs pausing over the screen.

Sevika’s voice rumbles in like the bassline of a threat. Or a reassurance, “Didn’t hear an all-clear.”

You glance up. She's leaning in the doorway like she owns the place—jacket draped over one arm, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable. The overhead light hits her jaw just right. Of course it does.

“I didn’t realize I needed to declare the room emotionally decontaminated.”

Sevika walks in anyway.

She grabs one of the unopened water bottles from the counter, cracks it open, and drinks half without blinking. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to say anything. That silence is part of the intimidation package, probably.

You go back to the message:

“...mutual artistic tension between the performers is part of their established brand and we do not condone—”

No. God, no.

You throw your head back with a groan.

“I went to school for this,” you say out loud. “Media strategy. Corporate theory. Top of my class. And now I’m negotiating apologies between two adult women who threw mic stands at each other like they were on fucking Jerry Springer.”

Sevika huffs something that might be a laugh. “Sounds like you’re good at it.”

You glare at her over your phone. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“Nope.” She shrugs, then crosses to the armchair across from you and sits with the kind of heavy ease that only people like her can pull off. Like she's never once rushed a thing in her life. “Just calling it.”

You squint at her. “Do you even do anything? Or is looming your main job?”

“I stop things before they break,” she says, tone even. “You’re the one walking in when they’re already cracked.”

That hits. A little too accurately. Jeez she just started working too, you wonder how many similar scenarios she had seen compared to this. You go quiet. The only sound is the soft buzz of your phone warning you it’s now at 5%.

“I didn’t know about you until today,” you say finally, softer. “PR only told me after the Vi thing. That they were bringing in someone to... ‘manage conflict.’” You put the air quotes in hard.

Sevika nods once, unbothered. “They wanted someone who didn’t scare easily.”

You snort. “And yet you flinched when Jinx tried to light her setlist on fire.”

“That wasn’t flinching,” she says dryly. “That was calculating fire risk.”

You glance at her, then back at your phone, hiding a smile behind your knuckles. No, that wasn’t funny. Stop.

“I’m used to security being in the background,” you say after a beat. “Not...participating in group therapy by proximity.”

“You yell loud,” Sevika says. “Hard not to overhear.”

“That was just me being calm.”

She leans back a little, studying you. “Right. I’ll brace myself for when you’re actually pissed then.”

Another pause. Not awkward. Just...stretched.

You close the Notes app, giving up with a headline to fix the situation right now.

“They make me care too much,” you admit, voice quiet. “Jinx. Vi. All of them. And they don’t even know it. Or worse—they do, and they don’t care.”

You regret saying it the second it leaves your mouth. Shit, that made you sound vulnerable didn’t it? Worst part was they probably don’t even realize the amount of effort you put in just to keep their band going.

But Sevika doesn’t mock you. Doesn’t offer a half-assed platitude. She just nods, slow and steady, like she understands without needing to say it.

“You can’t fix people,” she says. “You just hold the line.”

You blink at her.

“I thought you weren’t here to give advice.”

“I’m not,” she says, standing again, stretching one shoulder with a quiet roll. “Just figured you looked like someone who needed to hear it.” She starts toward the door, jacket slung over her shoulder. But she stops before she leaves.

“You should plug in your phone,” she adds without turning around. “I’m assuming tomorrow’s gonna be worse.”

You smile despite yourself. “Thanks for the pep talk, Sevika.”

That scarred eyebrow lifts slightly. “Wasn’t one.”

Then she’s gone.

And you’re still sitting barefoot on a couch that smells like Jinx’s hairspray, staring at your phone screen, wondering what the hell just happened—and why it felt like someone finally saw you through all the damn chaos. Maybe she wasn’t so shady after all..

Actually, speaking of shady. Now you’re curious about Sevika, because she came out of nowhere earlier in the VIP room. A thought crosses your mind. You jump up to plug your phone in before it dies on you. Your phone has truly been through hell, at this point you need to be sponsored by high quality brands just to feel content.

Regardless, you grabbed your computer from your bag and went to sit back down on the fake leather couch, it giving that obnoxious squeak sound. You just rolled your eyes. Your fingers were quick to log in, as you clicked on a new browser typing in;

Sevika. Faultline security.

Nothing immediately comes up. You try just ‘Sevika’, and suddenly you’re scrolling through blurry photos: her towering outside venues, sunglasses on even at night, arms folded, always near chaos but never in it. One grainy paparazzi shot has her with her hand braced against someone’s chest—is that a Medarda? Anyways, she was holding her back mid-argument. The title reads:

“SECURITY OR BOUNCER BAE? WHO IS FAULTLINE’S MYSTERY MUSCLE?”

You chuckled, and kept scrolling.

She’s private. That much is clear. No Instagram, no interviews, no tags you can trace. But the fan forums are already on it. There’s a Reddit thread titled “Sevika thirst trap central” with hundreds of reposts.

You click it. Just for research. Obviously..

Clearly the entire page was just full of thirsty girls and possibly some blurry pictures here and there of Sevika. Eventually, you pause, thumb hovering over a photo of her from backstage—cigarette between her lips, arm slung over a crate like she owns the building. Professional interest, you tell yourself. But your stomach’s doing that thing.. and it shouldn’t. Ugh.

As you scroll, your thumb slows as you hit a post buried halfway down a forum thread titled "Faultline's Realest Ones". Most of it is memes and low-res gifs, but then— a user named spittinimage32 posts a screenshot of a blurred-out article, dated three years ago. The headline is cropped, but you can still make out part of it:

“...Security Contractor Under Investigation After Club Incident Leaves Two Hospitalized.”

Underneath is a zoomed-in still from grainy security footage. The photo quality is awful, but you recognize her—Sevika, unmistakable even in motion blur and shadow. Standing over a man doubled over on the pavement, one arm outstretched like she’s just landed a punch.

The caption under the post reads:

→ “Pretty sure this was her before she started working with musicians. Some private club Zaun. No charges were filed, but the story disappeared fast.”

You tap the article link. It’s dead. Damn, that’s some good management. Wish you had power like that.

Another comment below says:

→ “Medarda’s firm handled it. Probably paid the guy off.”

You stare at the screen, heartbeat picking up just slightly. The Medarda’s. They’re wealthy business owners, and wealthy like— dollar dollar bills wealthy and they don’t stop till they get what they want. This must’ve been serious, you think to yourself.

No official record. No explanation. Just that photo. Her fist. And two men in the hospital.

You suddenly remember how calm her voice was when she told you earlier, “I don’t step in unless I have to.”

Apparently, when she does, someone ends up in a trauma ward. But are you surprised? Not really. If she gets the job done then.. That's that. Although now you’re left wondering what truly happened in that situation.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You wake up to the buzz of your phone—fifteen unread messages, three voicemails and especially one from your boss saying ‘fix it’, then at least ten push notifications from media outlets.

“BREAKING: Vi Allegedly Wants Out of Faultline,” “Is the Band Imploding?” and your personal favorite, “PR Nightmare or PR Genius?”

You scroll faster, heart thudding. There’s multiple blurry shots of Vi storming off stage, Jinx yelling with a microphone in her hand as if she’s about to throw it, and somewhere in the background—your face, mid-horrified gasp. You try to breathe, but the headlines keep coming. Sponsors threatening to pull out. The tour manager "checking in." The label asks where your “statement” is. And all of this before coffee.

Fucking hell you expected this. After the whole chaotic mess from last night, you didn’t think it would be this bad. But this? This is beyond fucked.

You're not even dressed when the emails start rolling in—

"URGENT: Clarify band status." "What’s the narrative here?" "Is Jinx okay?" "Is Vi leaving?"

You throw your phone on the bed. Immediately regretting it, picking it back up.

Your team’s group chat is useless. Two interns are arguing over font sizes for the Instagram apology and your assistant is asking if she should cancel the shoot or wait for someone else to make the call. Not even that but when you call both Jinx and Vi, neither of them picks up. You’ve probably messaged them more than a dozen times, acting like a damn desperate ex.

They’re lucky the next show isn’t until three weeks. But that only means three weeks to fix all of this shit.

You’re now pacing your hotel room in a hoodie, coffee going cold on the counter. There are like five open tabs on your laptop, and every headline feels like another layer of anxiety pressing down. The one that sticks out the most to you:

“Insiders say PR is losing control.”

and only probably because they’re right. You are losing it.

You hastily get dressed, the least thing you're doing is only making yourself look neat with your hair up and your makeup done but barely noticeable. The shirt you have on feels like a damn compressor against your chest as if it's restricting you to breath, and your jeans— god you look and feel like a fucking mess.

──────────

You storm into the temporary backstage office at the venue from yesterday’s show, clipboard in hand and murder in your eyes. There’s a junior label rep there—smug, unhelpful, sipping a green juice and scrolling on their iPad. You ask if they’ve handled the sponsor callback list. They blink at you. “We’re waiting to see how the narrative evolves.” They pause before adding, “Oh and— we’ve lost two sponsors.”

That’s when it happens.

You scream.

Something about "narrative evolution" and "branding alignment" and “how this isn’t a goddamn improv troupe, it’s a multi-million-dollar tour and we are hemorrhaging public goodwill like a gunshot wound!” You’re near tears. Frustrated. Helpless. And fucking livid. You’re talking too loud, your voice is breaking, and nobody is doing anything.

The room goes quiet. People freeze. Hell, some even have the audacity to back out of the room from you.

Then—

A low voice from behind you cuts through the static.

“Hey.”

You spin around, breathing heavily, expecting more bullshit. But it’s Sevika. She’s leaning against the wall with arms folded, unreadable as always. Where the hell did she come from?

“You done yelling at the kid?” she says, calm. Not mocking. Just... grounding.

You blink. Realizing your hand—matter fact your whole damn arm is shaking. Your breathing’s off. Your face is most likely red.

She steps forward, slow, steady, and without touching you, positions herself between you and the others in the room. She says nothing else. Doesn’t need to. The tension starts to bleed out of the air.

Someone asks if they should reschedule the press call.

Sevika looks at them. Just looks.

They scurry out.

She turns back to you. “Come on. Breathe.”

You inhale. Exhale. You hate that it works. Hate more that she’s the only one who’s helped all day.

“I’m going to snap,” you whisper, not entirely joking, as your hands clenched into a fist.

“No,” she says. “You’re not. Because you’re the only one who knows how to keep this thing from falling apart. And you’re not about to give them the satisfaction of seeing you lose it.”

You’re still shaking, but her voice, low and steady, keeps you anchored. Your phone buzzes again. You silence it this time. You nod once. Just once. Enough to say; I’m still here.

And Sevika steps aside. Not leaving. Just letting you move forward again. But now with someone behind you who’s actually watching your back.

Eventually, you’re working with the other interns and your assistant to handle the chaos that is currently circulating around the damn internet. You decided to take on the press call only hoping this will smooth the headlines out for now. You still keep checking your phone just in case you get a message or a call from either of the sisters.

But you doubt that will happen.

Not really a choice made but it came to a conclusion that you have to take an overnight red-eye trip for a crisis briefing. Great. Just another thing to look forward to. You sighed softly, throwing your clipboard aside for now. The room had been emptied out for the day. You hadn’t even realized that you all were working the entire day to fix this mess.

You lean back against the couch, your head resting back staring at the ceiling. You felt the couch dip beside you, already knowing who it is.

You don’t bother to look.

“I’ll come with you,” Sevika says.

“There’s no need”

“I’m not asking, it’s protocol” she says in a tone that is non-arguable.

You scoff, slowly turning your head to look at her. But for some reason you don’t really mind that she’ll tag along with you. Infact you find it better that you have company rather than handling it alone, like always.

But seriously?

“Protocol my ass..” you muttered out, going back to gazing at the ceiling. But she didn’t say anything back.

You both knew it was her choice.

Before you knew it, you were in the car with her as she drove. The place was only just a couple hours from the previous show. Both your bags in the back as the car was silent throughout the drive. Some small talk here and there as she stopped for gas, and as well getting you some snacks. Other than that, the ride was silent.

Silence was slightly awkward though. Sometimes you’d catch her glancing at you, or vice versa. There was still tension from before. It wasn’t anything bad but— there was something lingering between you two. You couldn’t help but notice her wearing casual attire. The sleeve hugging against her biceps, the dark brown complimenting her skin color as her as the slight makeup she used on her face. Just some eyeliner and brown lipstick.

Yeah— you definitely couldn't deny it now. She was very attractive. Her sleek jaw, hair pulled back into a half up ponytail, the way her lips were the perfect amount of thickness, and those biceps— christ. You knew you were beyond screwed. She was beautiful, handsome even.

And you?

Probably not even her type regardless. Or so you thought.

“You think this crisis meeting will solve anything?” Sevika asks, breaking the silence and odd tension from your trance.

You sighed from exhaustion before responding, “The best that will come out of it right now will probably be controlling the headlines and to avert their attention from Jinx and Vi to something else. Probably the next show or something..” you pause, rubbing your temples before continuing, “This will only be properly fixed once they get their shit figured out. And to answer their damn phone calls.”

You checked your phone to see if either of them had texted, but nothing. You sighed, setting your phone down.

“You’ll figure it out” She says after a beat, glancing at you.

“Yeah I’m the only one who ever does” You retorted, scoffing as you met her eye for a moment.

Even though it wasn't loud, you heard her chuckle under her breath. Your lips quirked from amusement hearing that from her. You eventually look away as you two fall into silence again. Comfortable silence.

──────────

You’ve both just endured a brutal crisis meeting. You're exhausted, emotionally fried, but still high on tension. Sevika’s been calm the entire time—cutting through the bullshit in the room when you couldn’t, quiet when she needed to be, but fiercely in your corner.

You’re both walking into the hotel, late-night check-in, bags slung, the hallway quiet.

You walked up to the front desk, giving the receptionist your last name that you booked the rooms under.

“Looks like we’ve got you down for just one deluxe king suite!” the lady behind the desk replied cheerfully as she prepared the card for you.

You blink.

“That better be a mistake” You say, staring at the receptionist lady with a deadpan stare.

“Sorry honey, we’re fully booked tonight otherwise” She had replied, sliding the key to you on the desk.

Are we fucking serious.. you think to yourself.

You slowly turn to Sevika with an unreadable look. She raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

“Fucking perfect,” You muttered under your breath.

The check-in desk had one job. One. You blink at the concierge like they just slapped you.

“There were supposed to be two rooms by the way,” you say, tone brittle enough to cut tile.

The receptionist gives you that polite corporate shrug that means “not my problem.” You don’t even have it in you to argue. Not after the crisis meeting that felt more like a firing squad. Not after watching half the label toss blame back and forth while you took notes on how to be their next scapegoat. Not after Sevika said absolutely nothing the entire time but still managed to make you feel like someone was in your corner.

Now this? One room. One bed. You feel the eye twitch coming on.

“Whatever,” you mutter, snatching the keycard and stomping toward the elevator. Sevika follows. Silent. Heavy boots. Calm shadow. It shouldn’t make your skin burn hotter, but it does.

You don’t speak again until the hotel door swings shut behind you.

And then—you explode.

“Two rooms! Two. That’s all I asked for. Not world peace. Not someone’s kidney. Just two fucking rooms!”

Your heels hit the floor hard. You toss your bag onto the bed—the one bed—and just stand there for a second, teeth gritted. Sevika closes the door behind you with that quiet, deliberate calm she always has. Doesn’t say anything. Just watches.

“And that meeting?” you scoff. “They want a rebrand. They think Vi might go solo. They think I’ve lost control.” You turn around, anger rising like a wave. “What am I supposed to do? Photoshop a damn friendship back together!?” You gesture wildly around the room.

Sevika is leaning against the door now, watching you pace like a hurricane in heels. She raises an eyebrow. Still leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Shrugs a little. “You handled it.”

“Bullshit. I’m dangling by a thread,” you snap, voice tight. “I’m fucking done. I’m trying to put out fires and you’re just, what, always just fucking standing there? With your one-word replies and your constant brooding like a hot, grumpy—”

She steps forward. Not fast. Just enough to break the space between you. You stop mid-rant.

“You think I don’t see it?” she says, voice low. “You holding it all together. No one thanks you. No one listens. And they’d all fall apart without you since you’re the backbone of this entire band.”

Your breath catches. You don’t want that to land. But it does.

Your lip curls like you’re about to say something biting—but it falters. Because Sevika’s close now. So close. And the silence between you feels… different.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter quietly.

“Like what?” she says.

“Like you can see through me.”

“Maybe I can.”

You’re still fuming. But it’s twisted now—burning hot under your skin in a different way.

She looks at the bed. Then at you.

“We flipping a coin or...?”

“Fuck the coin,” you say, voice hoarse, “I’m too tired to care.”

You move past her like you’re going to grab something—but she grabs your wrist. Not rough. Just enough.

“You need to let it out,” she says. “Whatever it is.”

You look up at her. Chest tight. Anger still vibrating in your bones but buried under that — that need.

“Yeah?” you whisper. “And what are you gonna do if I do?”

She doesn’t answer. Because she's on you within seconds. Your back pinned against the hotel wall as her hand was on the back of your head to prevent it from hitting the wall too harshly. You let out a sharp gasp from the impact.

You both just stared at each other. The electricity crackling between you two. The moment felt like everything slowed down for a second. You stared into her eyes.

Then you surged forward.

Your mouth crashes into hers with all the fury of the day behind it—messy, desperate, teeth clashing. She catches you easily, hands gripping your waist, pinning them against the wall. Your hands were gripping her shirt tight, pulling her closer than she already is. You let your hand trail down her chest, letting them roam free. Your fingers pressing against the shirt as you felt the firmness of her stomach, trailing them down under her shirt—

Oh fuck.

The minute you felt her V line beneath your fingers you let out a moan into her mouth, one she quickly swallowed up in the filthy and greedy kiss you shared.

You gasp as she lifts you by your thighs, pinning you there. You wrap your legs around her instinctively, fingers tangled in her jacket as her mouth drags hot, slowing down your neck.

“Fuck,” you breathe, nails scraping along her shoulder. “This is such a bad idea.”

“Best one I’ve had all day,” she growls against your throat, biting down hard against your neck, erupting a strangled whine from the back of your throat.

You yank her shirt up, your hands finding skin—warm, solid muscle. She peels off your jacket without care, lets it fall. Her hands are everywhere: gripping, kneading, claiming. Your mind goes white.

Clothes hit the floor in frantic pieces. Your heels are thrown to the side of the room. The room’s too hot, your back hits the mattress, and she’s above you—hair falling into her face, pupils blown, looking at you like she’s about to wreck you.

“This is wrong” you mutter as your hands went down her back to grope her ass.

She groaned in response, her hips bucking closer to yours, “Then why aren't you stopping me?”

“I can’t” you whispered in her ear before pulling her into another filthy kiss. One that's messy, where your tongues are fighting for dominance. Your hands rake in her hair, pushing it back slightly before giving it a sharp tug. In return her hand finds your tit and gropes it, making you moan pathetically into the kiss. You feel her smile against the kiss. That fucking menence smile.

You felt her hand go down your stomach as you felt her fingers spread through your soaked folds, eliciting a soft moan from you.

“You’re fucking soaked..” she mutters against your lips, glancing down between the two of you.

“Fuck you” you panted against her, lips swollen and red from the kiss as your eyes were already half lidded, gazing down at her neck.

“I’m trying” you hear her mutter before she dips her head down to your neck, tongue flicking out as she traced a wet path along her collarbone, her mouth latching onto an aching peak deliberately sucking at your skin that sends shivers down your spine.

“Sevika..” you breathe out as your fingers dug into her shoulders, with your back arching and trembling against her touch.

“Tell me what you need”

God its almost like you were drunk and were unable to fucking speak properly. But somehow, you managed.

“Your fingers—you. I don’t care” you managed to say helplessly as she obliged.

Her thumb slowly pressed against your clit as you felt her slip two fingers in your core. Your hips buck from the contact as your fingers dig against her shoulders, dragging them down your back.

“Oh god” you groaned as you bit at her neck which made her inhale sharply, her fingers curling in you that hit your sweet spot.

Oh fuck.

Your body doesn't know what else to do other than your hands profusely scratching at her back. Your hips buck trying to find friction but you fail, all you can do is just squeeze against her fingers. But it's not changing her speed which makes you writhe in place. “You're gonna cut my fingers off at this rate” she says, almost condescendingly, smirking against your skin.

“You— you’re not helping” you bite your lip to refrain yourself from whining for more, “go faster” you whisper, burying your face in the crook of her neck planting wet, open mouths kiss under her jawline.

“You're lucky you’re pretty” she whispered before another finger was slipping inside your drooling cunt. Her pace becomes faster as her fingers curl repeatedly against your g-spot which makes you choke on a moan, letting yourself succumb to the pleasure.

Your arousal that coated her fingers makes the most obscene noises that filled up the hotel room, Sevika’s own hips were grinding at your thigh as you both chased for your climax. Your mouths captured into a kiss as you swallowed each other's moans, you propped your leg up as you felt the slick from her pussy against your thigh.

Your hand found their way to her swollen nub of her clit, with your touch being firm and insistent as you kept rubbing hard and fast. Which had added another layer of pleasure and desperation in the movement of Sevika’s hips grinding against your thigh.

“fuck— keep it like that. Just like that baby” she growls near your ear as you feel her pump her fingers in and out of you quicker.

“Sev— Sevika!” you almost fucking screamed her name out as your eyes fluttered for a moment from the pleasure. Your back arched from her touch as your free hand pushed her hips down against your thigh as the other rubbed vigorously at her clit. The minute you chased your orgasm, your hips bucked in her hand as you clenched tightly around her fingers, with you moaning her name from exhaustion at this point.

Her fingers were still curled inside that wet pussy of yours as she kept grinding against your thigh, her movements becoming sloppy as leaned her forehead against your shoulder.

“Shit..” Sevika moans against your ear which makes you clench around her fingers again as her words are followed by a few more curses as she shivers out her orgasms.

Her fingers slowly pulled out of your dripping cunt, retreating them back to her mouth, licking every drop.

“Fuck, you taste just like I imagined..” She says hoarsely before capturing your lips in another kiss, this one being more sloppy as you taste yourself. Your hands went to her neck as she flopped beside you on the bed. Legs tangling with each other capturing yourself in a moment of bliss and the aftermath of such pleasure, lost in each other's arms.

Eventually you two pulled away from each other panting, her arm around her waist pulling you chest to chest.

“I still hate this room,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen.

She huffs something like a laugh, brushing her knuckles down your thigh.

“Not how it sounded five minutes ago.”

You roll your eyes. But you don’t pull away.

“This doesn’t mean I like you.”

“Sure,” she says, dragging her mouth lazily across your shoulder. “That’s why you’re still shaking.”

You shove her, half-hearted.

She doesn’t move. Just smirks.

You hate that she’s right.

You hate it even more that you already want round two.

[ynbabe]

We don’t hate each other ୨୧ Arthur x fem! reader

Y/n was Ollie's oldest friend, growing up with him as he raced his way up to formula one, somewhere in between she found Arthur Leclerc, found him a massive fucking pain in the ass that is until something changes when Ollie debuts in Carlos Sainz Ferrari.

A always, comments and requests are always welcome! lemme know what y'all think of this!

Warnings: curses, lime

y/nl/n

y/nl/n GET THIS MAN IN A FERRARI ASAP 💪 💪 💪 😮‍💨

Username they're relationship is so important to me actually

username arent they just friends?? username girl you believe that? LOOK AT THEM THEY'RE LITERALLY MARRIED username theyre 18 go touch grass pls 😭

username GET THAT MAN IN A FERRARI!!!

Username shes so real for that bow, ollies so cute 🥹

olliebearman thank you for the very serious pictures of me, a very serious, very profession man

y/nl/n "very serious, very professional man"🤓 shut up you literally cried in my arms when you got called olliebearman i'm telling my pr officer to block you username did what in whose arms now?? username oooh so hes in love love

arthurleclerc Way to go Ols!

y/nl/n gtfo my post arthurleclerc gtfo off my fyp y/nl/n block me bitch arthurleclerc too much effort, cry olliebearman guys you're in public 😭

username whats with Arthur and Y/N? 😅

Username they're competing for Ollies love Username bro you wrong for that 😂

arthurleclerc

arthurleclerc to MY bestfriend, congratulations on making it to Ferrari and f1! You deserve the best! Hope my brother treated you well.

username SHOTS!! HAVE!! BEEN!! FIRED!!

Username he know he wrong for that first photo

Username okay wait. How do both Leclerc have a Wattpad ass gay romance is it genetic??

Username bro all capped the my 😭

username mans petty as hell

username @/y/nl/n me personally, I wouldn't take that

username hes stealing your man girl go get him!!

oliiebearman Thank you Arthur! Yes he did!

arthurleclerc ur welcome ols ❤️ username @/y/nl/n were waiting for you boo username its the red heart for me Username Charles come get your brother!!! he's cosplaying you and max on main again

y/nl/n Congrats Ollie!! love you 🥰 (Not gonna make this abt myself like some other girls)

arthurleclerc revoking ur paddock pass btw 🥰 Olliebearman ... I'm blocking you both 🥰

username mans done with them 😂

You rolled your eyes as you saw Arthur's comment on yours, how could he be so childish. Forget it, you reminded yourself, today is for Ollie and Ollie only.

You waited in Ollie's driver room till he was done with the debrief, you'd go out to celebrate with him and his family later. His trainer had given him a pass on the diet, after all, scoring points in F1 was no joke.

You jumped off the chair you were lounging in, ready to hug the man as you heard the door open but to your disappointment, it was only Arthur.

You groaned as you saw the boy and he scowled in return. You never knew how your rivalry began. One moment you were visiting Ollie for the first time at Prema and the next you were in a screaming match with a Monagasuque man with the cutest accent.

"What are you doing?" He asked, rather, demanded.

"Waiting for my friend," you replied with the same annoyance in your voice, "What are you doing here?" you accused, stepping towards him.

He pulled a face, closing the gap, "Here to support my friend, you know cause we can actually stand each other,"

"Hah, sure, at least I'm not jealous of my friends, you know cause they actually make it into f1," you shrugged, knowing it was a low blow.

His face morphed into anger as he pushed closer towards you, "You need to shut up," he spoke in a low voice, you'd be scared of the taller, much stronger boy if you weren't doused in anger yourself.

"Make me then," why did you say that- Oh shit.

Your eyes widened as he kissed you, making both of you stumble back and fall on Ollie's driver room bed. You groaned as your back hit the mattress, the older boy breaking the kiss, looking down at you in concern.

"O-oh, my god! Y/n I'm so sorry, I don't know wh-" he began rambling but you couldn't let him win, could you? So you kissed him back, letting your hands run through his hair.

He led one hand to your waist, letting it fall under your shirt, he hissed at the warmth your skin radiated under his palms.

"Oh my god, OH MY GOD," Someone yelled, making Arthur push off the bed, and fall on the floor.

"Ollie this isn't what it looks like," he explained from the floor making you frown.

"It isn't?" you asked making him turn to you.

"No, it is," he explained to you, then turned to shocked Ollie in the doorway, "I mean- it is," he tried to explain.

Ollie paused for a moment, "On my bed, really?" he replied, disgust in his voice.

You picked up the pillow on his now messed up bed, throwing it at his head, "Shut up,"

He laughed as he ducked, "Hey, at least none of us had to intervene," he confessed making you and the boy who was now getting up off the floor groan in defeat.

olliebearman

olliebearman never make out in my room again, I beg you

Y/nl/n sorry I stole your boyfriend, Ols

arthurleclerc you are still the love of my life, y/n's just a friend olliebearman DO NOT START THIS AGAIN

Username HUH?

username chat is this real rn? username fr thought they hated each other username bro said he was going to get his Wattpad enemies to lovers one way or the other

username Charles Leclerc it's your turn now.

charlesleclerc So all the ranting actually led to something?

y/nl/n he talks about me?? arthurleclerc NO I DIDN'T! Charles shut up or I'll tag someone you rant about. Charleslecler y/n changed you i dont like this relationship anymore username WHAT DO YOU MEAN??? Username First we get Arthur x y/n and now we are getting Charles read like filth 😭

trying something new, thoughts?

[simp4jungwonn]

Omg omg gurllll can u make a Niki smut when they were at coachella and Niki turned to his hotel room all sweaty and tired but reader just wants to do it so they end up having it rough since he got annoyed

Oouhhhh yes gawd 😛

Coachella

It’s late at night at the desert-edged hotel just off the Coachella grounds. The final beats of ENHYPEN’s set still hum through the air, but inside Niki’s suite, it’s heavy with the scent of sweat and adrenaline.

Niki and you enter the hotel room, he throws his towel onto a chair, shirt clinging wetly to his back. His breathing is sharp, Coachella’s heat and the crowd’s roar still pulsing through his veins. You slip in behind him, fingers brushing against the silky fabric of his tank top. “You smell so good,and you looked so good on stage” you murmur, voice husky with want. Niki barely glances at you, irritation flickering in his eyes.

You step closer to him, your heart thudding uncontrollably in your chest,you cling to him from behind.

He pulls back, a low chuckle of annoyance. “Not now,” he snaps but there’s a flicker in his jaw that hints at something else… desire.

You meets his gaze, steady. “I need you,” you say softly, but firmly. “I’ve waited all day and watching you on that stage only made me wat you more.” You say softly. His annoyance melts into something fiercer. There’s a pause a flash of conflict then he grips your wrists and guides you toward the bed. “Fine, you want dick, you want me to fuck you, that’s what you’ll get” he growls, voice low. “But don’t think I’m doing this because you asked nicely or that I’m gonna go soft on you” he says while practically ripping your clothes off.

Niki’s hands move with urgent purpose over your body, he pins your shoulders to the mattress, his own body pressing you down. He leans down and kisses your down leading to your collarbone his warm wet mouth giving you chills. He positions himself at your entrance deliberate, slow so she can feel every inch. Y/N gasps as he buries himself deeper inside you, filling you completely. Your eyes lock with his, before he pulls out and thrusts hard. Making you scream “niki!” You scream out and he covers your mouth and leans down by your ear “shut the fuck up, do you want people in this public hotel to hear you?” He whispers sternly in your ear while still thrusting in you and all you can do is moan and shake your head.

“Then be quiet baby” he says still serious but with a bit of gentleness in his voice. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and speeds up, The bed creaks under their weight. Niki’s movements are fast and impatient each thrust was rough, rhythmic push sending pleasure through you. You wraps your legs around his waist, anchoring him, matching his pace.

“Fuck” niki groans

Your fingers twist in his sweat-damp hair as he buries himself deeper, slamming into you over and over. Your soft cries echo in the room, mixing with the low thrum of music still pulsing outside.

As his pace quickens, you breath comes in ragged bursts. Niki’s grip tightens on your hips and leans forward again, his chest flush against hers, and with a final, powerful thrust, you both cum.

“Riki!”

You cry out his name loud and shuddering your body clenching around him. He lets out a breathy growl slipping past his lips as he collapses on top of you.

“Fuck y/n” he says in between gasps.

They lie tangled, hearts pounding. Niki rolls to his side, pulls you close, and tangles one arm around your shoulder. Your head rests against his chest, listening to the steady drum of his heartbeat.

Niki: “Maybe next time…ask quieter.”

You laugh breathlessly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

[eternalsunrise]

call my bluff.

deadpool (wade wilson) x gn! reader

word count: 2.1k

summary! deadpool and you have an unorthodox dynamic. every time the masked man ends up in your neighborhood, he can’t seem to stay away. you’ve never seen his face or even heard his name, but the two of you are in a game of flirtation with no end in sight. as the tension is raised, both of you wonder, is there something more here?

tags! reader is a regular citizen, talk of reader wearing a skirt but i don’t think i used any pronouns? HEAVILY suggestive but no smut, alcohol mentions, i wrote this with comic deadpool in mind but could easily be ryan’s as well!!

notes! the collective d&w brainrot has caused me to open tumblr and actually complete a fic. hope u love it <3 abs

“taxi!”

the crisp night air nipped at your legs as you stepped off of the sidewalk and onto the edge of the street for the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes. you waved your hands semi erratically, jumping up and down as to try and make yourself take up more space so that the bright yellow vehicle would take notice. instead you watched as it zipped right past you, short term deja vu happening once again.

you threw your arms down in defeat and stared up at the night sky, “fuck!” you sent your frustrations up to the half of a full moon you could see, the other portion blocked by skyscrapers. how is it that this city was known to be crawling with cabs and you couldn’t even flag one of them down? were you on some kind of taxi blacklist?

whatever the reason, you decided that between your horrible luck with public transport and your dead cell phone, you might as well start the trek home.

your body buzzed with the alcohol from the evening; your night out with friends had veered into the early morning hours, and you promised them you’d be able to find your way home. blacklist or not, the city was walkable and you were tired of waiting.

so you crossed your arms over your chest, a half baked attempted at hiding from the chill of the city. you started walking in the direction of your apartment, craving the touch of warm sheets and pillowcases.

after a few minutes of sharing the air with faint car horns and the buzzing of people’s air conditioning units, you heard something else. someone else.

you weren’t naive, the city never sleeps, and there were bound to be people out just like you. however the path you chose was definitely less trafficked, and general paranoia was starting to set in. after all, you’ve been the only person for the past three blocks, only sharing the sidewalk with stray cats.

the thought that someone was behind you forced you to sober up quickly. ice cold blood replacing the warm alcohol that was coursing through your veins.

the footsteps are louder now, matching your heartbeat patting against your rib cage. you wonder why they haven’t walked past you yet. were you being followed? taking a deep breath, you reach into your bag slowly. you retrieve your small weapon of defense, ready to face off a potential threat. whoever it was, they were behind you now. you figured your best bet was fight AND flight. attack and spirit off.

you hear a wolf whistle, deep and slow, right in your ear. it’s now or never.

you whip around and shove your arm toward the nightcrawler (pervert?). you open your mouth to let out a scream and clench your eyes shut. you’re surprised when your voice is muffled by…leather?

“oh cupcake, this is adorable! where’d you get this, amazon?”

you open your eyes and are stunned to lock them with a sea of red and black. your eyes trail upwards, spying artificial whites and a mask you’ve grown familiar with. the original terror you felt starts draining from your body, and is replaced by shock and a strange sense of relief.

deadpool has one of his gloved hands locked around your wrist, long index finger just barely lifting yours off of the trigger of the object in question. a travel sized, hot pink, container of mace.

you open your mouth again to speak but find his other hand muffling your airways, his large palm covering your mouth and tip of your nose. you frantically grasp at his arm with your free hand, yanking it away from your face.

“you know sweet thing, if you wanna walk around this late by yourself, you’ll need something a little more industrial. i actually know a guy if you-“

you take in a giant gulp of air and clutch your chest, trying to slow down your heart rate, “what. the FUCK is wrong with you?” you cut off deadpool’s rambling, staring at his blank eyes.

the merc tilts his head to the side as if he was a confused golden retriever, “really? you wanna trauma dump right now? well…” he clears his throat, voice dropping an octave to portray faux sincerity, “i guess it all started in third grade…”

you groaned and rubbed your face with your free hand, the other still in control by your assaulter, “you could’ve announced yourself, you gave me a heart attack! what are you doing following me anyway?”

deadpool finally releases your hand, his own finding home on his hips, resting right above his two holsters. “well i saw you wandering around like carrie bradshaw. and i may not be your mister, but i was hoping to give you something Big.” he shrugs as if that response was as normal as discussing the weather. you shove your measly can of mace back into your bag.

shaking your head, you turn on your heels, starting to walk away. you plan to continue your trek home, confident that the anti hero would be quick to follow behind. “how hard would it be to just say you want to walk me home?”

you’ve been playing this game of back and forth flirtation for a while now, and you knew that deep…deep…deep down he was masking true concern for you.

deciding not to answer, deadpool took just a few of his large strides to end up by your side. “what are you doing walking alone looking like that anyway? admit it! you were hoping i’d show up.”

you look at him with glassy eyes. now that your guard was fully down, you started to feel the effects of those three tequila shots you took as a send off to your friends. maybe those weren’t such a good idea. the way you’re looking up at him make’s deadpool’s wade’s stomach turn, and he has to clench his fists to control himself.

suddenly he’s forgotten why he was on this side of town in the first place.

you let out a laugh full of teeth, “oh you wish! i haven’t seen you in a few days though, had to go out to fill my needs elsewhere.”

what you two have has never went beyond casual flirtation, but the idea of you being under someone else sparks a match of jealously. but wade knows better. and he knows that slight stumble as you walk, your hands pulling the skirt of your outfit down.

deadpool hisses as if you’ve hit a nerve, “ouch baby, i didn’t think i’d be third wheeling with you and jose cuervo tonight.” he spots a car driving toward the two of you and acts quickly; he places a gloved hand on your waist and moves you away from the sidewalk. he doesn’t miss a beat, you don’t even realize you’ve switched places.

you’re looking back up at him again as you walk, this time reaching up and tapping the handle of one of his sheathed katanas, “what about you killer? you been thinkin’ about me?” you’re teasing him, but a small part of you hopes he’ll give you a genuine answer that aligns with what you want to hear.

his mask creases as he raises his eyebrows and you can’t see but wade is giving you a smirk that sits on the side of his mouth, “oh you know it sweet thing. every time i’ve slid one of these bad boys in and out of a bad guy, it reminds me of what we could have.”

deadpool lets out a dramatic sigh, reminiscing on something that hasn’t even happened, “but their screams usually ruin my hard on, i think your’s would have the opposite effect.”

so much for your genuine answer.

you blame the red on your cheeks and buzzing feeling on the alcohol, pushing the thought of the real cause into a box and storing it in the back of your mind. how embarrassing to feel this way about a masked weirdo that sometimes strolls through your neighborhood. you didn’t even know his real name. hell, you’ve never seen his face!

after a little more walking and a lot more sexual tension, the two of you arrive in front of your apartment building. you turn to face your escort for the evening, flashing him a grin full of drunken glee, “well this is my stop, thank you for the company mr. pool. i’ll have to repay you somehow.” your tone teasing but borderline suggestive.

deadpool nods and taps his chin a few times, “you’re right cupcake….since you’re offering…” he trails off, his voice growing deeper as he bent down to be eye level with you. your throat hitched, a gasp getting stuck there, not expecting him to call your bluff. “i take payments in the form of cash, debit, or check!”

he taps the tip of your nose and shoots back, standing up straight.

oh right! no way this guy would ever actually take you up on your banter! and that was a good thing…right? you decided to end the night now, preventing your drunken state from dragging a masked man into your home.

you rolled your eyes and braced your hand on his broad shoulder, stepping on the tip of your toes and placing a kiss on the side of his mask, the textured material tickling your lips. “goodnight handsome.”

you leaned away from him but trailed your hand down to rest on his chest. hey! the tequila was making you brave.

deadpool, no wade—deadpool—no! wade felt like he was about to fall backwards like a cartoon cat after getting hit with a sledgehammer. it had been a long time since his suit had experienced anything that gentle, he felt this was about to go down a dangerous path.

wade stared down at you through white lenses, his gaze bouncing between your hand and your lips. back and forth like a game of table tennis.

he watched as you bit your lip and held his gaze. your cheeks flushed, eyes glossy, the street lights illuminated your face in a way he’s never seen before. he wonders if potential onlookers could see small hearts surrounding his head.

wade feels a thought go through him, as if it swept in on the early morning breeze. a thought that he felt insane (shocker) for having even for a moment.

standing there with you, he wants to be himself. he has the urge to be vulnerable; rip his mask off and be wade wilson with you. for you. in this moment he wants to be more than the merc that flirts with you. wade wants to be with you. he wants…..fuck he wants to take you inside and make sure your body leaves an imprint in the mattress that’ll be there for weeks. stop looking at him like that, his pants are getting tight.

and there’s deadpool. he imagines tiny versions of himself stabbing katanas into the hearts around his head. they let out sad whines as they deflate and fall onto the sidewalk below him. he needs to get a grip.

“sweet dreams angel face. oh! if you need me throughout the night, just scream out of your bedroom window! screams of damsels in distress are like my mating call.”

you retract your hand with a giggle that makes that stupid thought come back into deadpool’s head.

you hesitate. wanting to say something but…deciding best not to. you turn around and walk up the stairs to your door, ignoring the fire in your stomach that’s been growing after each flirtatious jab.

you hear him start to speak as soon as you put your key into the lock, and you turn around almost too eagerly. you want him to say what you’ve been wanting, craving to hear. you want him to enable that dark part of you; the part of you that wants more of him. the part of you that knows he’s wrong. that he’s got to be walking danger.

deadpool points at himself, “but babe, if you see a way less sexy guy in a suit responding to your call. one that has ugly little spider webs all over him? slam the window shut. you want nothing to do with that guy, trust me.”

your shoulders drop, an exhale released. you give him one last shake of your head, and a barely there smile, before you’re inside your home. the bubble that surrounded the two of you bursted.

the door shuts behind you but the masked man stays in place. he stares at the spot where you were just standing, thinking about all the other routes this night could’ve taken. he isn’t right for you. he should leave you alone. wade knows that. too bad deadpool’s never been a good listener.

[viviansturns]

Okay, hear me out.

Request for cocky!sub!chris doesn’t have to be in the storyline if there is one but like you know how he always talks about being a dom and stuff like that? What if one time when him and reader have sex and he’s being extra sub one of his friends either like walks in or overhears them, like you get what I mean? A day or something later the friend teases Chris about it you know? Like one of his friends find out all of that stuff was a lie.

You totally don’t have to do it if you’re not comfortable with it or it doesn’t fit in the au!!

ok this is an awesome request!! i'm actually going to make it a part two to THIS fic because I think it fits really well, so go read that if you haven't!

part 1 here

𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒚𝒔𝒖𝒃!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑨𝑼

Nate's POV

He’s halfway down the front steps when he realizes it—his phone.

“Shit,” Nate mutters, patting his pockets like it’s gonna magically appear. He hesitates. Should he just ask Chris later?

But it’s late, and he doesn’t feel like waking up without it tomorrow.

So he turns around and heads back to the house.

The porch light’s still on, door unlocked—classic Chris. Nate steps inside and calls out casually, “Yo, forgot my phone! I'm just gonna grab it.”

No answer.

He frowns, stepping a little further in, scanning the coffee table—nothing.

The couch cushions? Empty.

Then he hears it.

A low, very familiar voice from down the hall, raw and ragged, almost hoarse: “Y/N—please, please—s’too much—I can’t—”

Nate freezes.

That is not the kind of “forgot my phone” situation he wants to walk into.

He's getting ready ready to leave, but he practically stops in his tracks in disbelief at what he was hearing.

“Shut up. You’re gonna stay inside me, got it?”

His jaw drops, eyes wide, frozen to the spot as a loud creak echoes from the bedroom floorboards. And then—Chris’s voice again, wrecked:

“F-fuck—oh my god—”

It’s not just the fact that they’re having sex. It’s how they’re having sex.

Chris sounds destroyed.

And Nate blinks, stunned, because this is the same guy who—two hours ago—sat on the couch grinning like a smug bastard, telling them all she was the one screaming.

Liar.

“Still feeling confident?” he hears her say, breathless but cruel.

Chris doesn’t respond.

Nate’s eyes go wide. Holy shit.

He turns slowly, inching back toward the front door like it’s booby-trapped, trying not to breathe too loud. But as his hand hits the doorknob, and the last thing he hears—clear as day:

“I’m the one who makes people scream. And next time you open your mouth about it—you better fucking remember that.”

A beat of silence.

And then Chris’s voice, small. Broken. Humiliated.

“…yes ma’am.”

Nate silently walks out, shuts the door behind him, and stands on the porch for a full thirty seconds, blinking at nothing.

Then, quietly:

“…bro."

- - - - - - -

It’s the next afternoon, and Chris is hanging out in Nate’s living room—some half-eaten pizza boxes on the table, a video game paused mid-match.

Chris is lounging on the couch like he always does, legs spread, arm draped behind his head like he owns the place.

Nate eyes him from the armchair, sipping a soda with the slow, deliberate smugness of a man who knows something.

“Yo, Chris,” Nate says suddenly.

Chris glances over. “What?”

“You good, man? You look—tense.” He pauses. “Sore, even.”

Chris stiffens. Just a little. “What—I’m fine.”

“Oh?” Nate smirks. “Your voice still sounds kinda hoarse, bro. You sick or somethin’? Or maybe just… lost it yelling too much?”

Chris’s eyes go wide for a half-second before he blinks and looks away. “What are you—I—I wasn’t yelling.”

Nate raises his brows. “No? ’Cause I could’ve sworn I heard some real passionate noise the other night when I came back for my phone.”

Chris’s ears turn fully scarlet and he just stammers.

“I—look, that was private—” he starts, stammering.

Nate shrugs innocently. “Private? Oh, nah. Sounded pretty public to me. Like—audible-from-the-front-door public.”

Chris sits up straighter. “Nate.”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Nate says, holding his hands up. “Just think it’s wild, you know? You talk all this shit, and then I walk in on you sounding like you were being—what’s the word—dominated.”

Chris glares daggers, but there’s no recovering from this. Not when he knows exactly what Nate heard. Not when he hears the echo of his own whimper in his memory and wants to die.

“I’m gonna fuckin' kill you,” Chris mutters under his breath.

Nate just grins. “You’d have to stand up straight first, champ.”

bro i feel so bad for him. rip chris' dignity i guess </3

also if you sent in requests im working on them rn!!!

[willows-escape]

Carpe Diem - Musical!Erik x Reader

Pairing: Musical!Erik x Fem!Reader

Summary: You'd received possibly the worst news a high status woman could receive in their entire life time, and you had only one thought and one goal in mind. Erik had a different one.

Warnings: angst, forced marriage, a lot of crying, jealousy, uninformed consent (?), almost getting caught, oral (f and m receiving), finger sucking, vaginal fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, crying during sex, forced mask reveal, mentions of murder, gaslighting, manipulation, kidnapping

Words: 9570

Notes: sorry this took so long, coursework's a pain in the ass and i've written and deleted what i've wanted to write so many times. i've written seven different stories at this point and rewritten them each at least three times. i decided to pull back all the complexity of what i was originally going for and ending up with this thing.

i tried to make the phantom more submissive because i know people wanted to read that but musical!erik just doesn't feel submissive to me, at least not in this kind of scenario. he's just too much of a control freak i feel and i think he would become more of a switch later into a relationship when he grows comfortable.

hopefully i don't take so long to write my next thing in future, and i pray i continue to improve in my writing skills lol.

You were in flight, your heart pounding a thunderous rhythm in your chest, matching the frenzied drumming of your feet against the opera house's ancient wooden floors. Every sinew in your body screamed in protest, yet you willed yourself to run faster, harder. The adrenaline coursing through your veins drowned out all thought, all reason, save for one - you have to get to the rooftop.

Your relentless fate was stealthily stalking you, icy tendrils of fear unfurling down your spine, as you envisioned the pitiless roots of destiny relentlessly chasing you, eager to entangle you within their remorseless clutches. The letter you gripped in your trembling hand was the harbinger of your impending doom, a chilling memento of the ominous vow you had once made.

As you turned the corner, your heart pounded in your chest as you darted up the flight of stairs towards the clandestine meeting point. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, matching the dusky sky's ethereal haze. As nightfall descended, it signalled the time when both of you could shed your public facades and bask in the tranquillity of each other's presence, shrouded in shadows and secrecy.

Every muscle in your thighs and calves screamed in protest, pleading for mercy as you drove yourself onward. You forced yourself through each step. As you pushed through the final barrier, the rooftop door swung open, revealing your destination. A gust of crisp, cold air met your face, a shocking contrast against the sweltering heat of your exertion. The sudden chill cut through the stifling humidity clinging to your skin, offering a brief, but sweet, respite.

"Erik? Erik, where are you?" you called out aimlessly, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

The tension of anticipation didn't linger long. Soon, the haunting familiarity of the black suit and porcelain mask punctuated your line of sight. A smile, so ignorant and blissful, graced his hidden face, while your own mirrored nothing but distress. As your eyes met, his smile faltered and a sense of panic ignited within his gaze.

"Has somebody hurt you?" The first conclusion came tumbling out of his lips as he rushed to stand in front of you, hands reaching out to caress your arms.

An onslaught of feelings of safety and security besieged you. The caress of his gentle touch, his sugar-coated words, and the purity of his love stood stark against the frigid future looming ahead - ice-cold eyes, indifferent touch, and a home that was nothing more than an glorified prison. Your vision blurred, as if submerged underwater, with briny tears carving trails down your icy cheeks. Your body convulsed with splutters and coughs, surrendering to the raw unravelling of your emotions.

"My dear, please, who did this to you?" His voice wavered, desperation tinging his plea. "I can't bare to see you like this," he confessed, his heart aching to draw you into his arms, to cocoon you in a protective embrace. Yet, his hands twitched with uncertainty, unaccustomed to offering unbidden comfort and tormented by the fear of making the wrong choice.

Struggling, you gasped for the words that seemed to evade your grasp. Finally, in a pitiful whimper, you managed to choke out the truth, "My father. It's my father."

"He has hurt you?" His words, taut with restrained fury, barely managed to mask the cataclysmic rage broiling within his core. His eyes flamed with the intensity of a thousand suns, pledging an unspoken oath that he would move heavens and earth to guard you from any harm. He would not let this happen again, his earlier leniency was a mistake he wouldn't repeat.

"No... well, yes, sort of," you stammered, every word a struggle as tears choked your speech. Your sentences, muddled and hardly coherent, tumbled out in a rush. He stood there, a silent pillar of patience amidst your storm. "The curtain had just fallen on tonight's performance, when Madame Giry found me, said someone had come to the Opera Populaire with a letter for me. I ventured backstage, and – and –”

"Take your time," he reassured you, trying to keep his tone soft and soothing when he was feeling anything but that.

"My father," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "He sent this to me," you raised your arm, presenting him with the damning parchment that bore the news, "It declares that I have a single week to make my return... and to dutifully submit to his wishes, to bind myself in marriage to a man he's handpicked for me.”

As the words tore from your lips, a deluge of sobs overpowered you, shattering your composure into fragments. You crumpled onto the frigid concrete, your body convulsing with the ferocity of your wails, echoing the raw torment festering within.

"He has already decided my fate, to wed me to Alexander Beaumont, heir to one of the wealthiest fortunes in Paris. But, Erik, I cannot bear the thought! I'd choose the most excruciating demise before even contemplating marrying him!" Your tears began to mingle with your snot, humiliation gnawing your insides, knowing he was bearing witness to your disarray. Yet, you were powerless to stop it, and no amount of snivelling could quell the impending sense of doom building within you.

Erik was consumed by a fury so intense, it was a blinding white light in his mind. Thousands of brutal scenarios played out in rapid succession, each a unique way he could annihilate the man who dared to pull you away from him. The man who had reduced you to nothing more than a pawn, a puppet to be used in his ruthless climb up the social ladder.

"I've met him before, his gaze piercing through me, speaking of me as though I were a mere fly on the wall... If I were to wed him, I'd be reduced to nothing more than a trophy wife, imprisoned within the confines of a household, expected to bear children annually until nature robs me of the ability," you choked out between sobs, bitterly recalling his elaborate discourse to your father about his archaic aspirations for a wife, a die-hard traditionalist to his core.

"The Opera Populaire, an impossibility now. My friends, forever out of reach. And you... you, I shall never feast my eyes upon again." The tears assaulted you, battering you with the unrelenting force of a tempest as the brutal reality bore down, each tick of the clock amplifying the sting of truth.

"Then don't go," he uttered, his words masquerading as a suggestion, yet ringing with the commanding tone of a demand, "Don't return home, do not bend to your father's will. There's always another escape, always."

"Oh, Erik," your voice broke, anguish seeping into each syllable, "I can't." A hard lump constricted your throat, the bitter reality of your predicament sinking in. "My father...he wields power, he has influence. If I dare not return, all of Paris would be hunting me down, a bounty on my head. I'm cornered, Erik. I'm left with no other choice."

Before he could utter another syllable, you swiftly eradicated the residue that had amassed on your skin and surged to your feet. Your eyes were ablaze with a bloodshot hue, stray teardrops stubbornly tracing a path down your face. Yet, an unyielding determination was etched across your features. You yearned for one final moment, one last poignant memory before the unavoidable reality of leaving him forever would consume you.

"Take me," you urged in a hushed plea, your gaze ensnaring him with such profound intensity that he was left with no room to misconstrue your meaning. Your purpose was undeniable, and it struck him into stillness. "Please, I beg you, do not deny me this final experience, this closing moment of exhilaration. For I am to be condemned.”

Your fragility was palpable, an image of vulnerability and innocence that made the idea of your bodies entwining, your souls merging into one, nearly impossible to suppress. Erik was gripped by a relentless thought; this encounter wouldn't be your last. A scheme was rapidly taking shape in his mind, a bold plan that he was awaiting the opportunity to enact. Yet, beneath it all, he was merely a mortal, how could he resist such a sweet opportunity laid before him?

As though your initial plea wasn't potent enough, you read his silence as a stark rejection. With a desperate urgency, you persisted, "I must experience what it means to unite with someone who harbours a profound love for me, and whom I equally adore, before time steals this chance forever. This is my final request of you, please, grant me this.”

Every trace of Erik's reservations - his mask, his insecurities, his lack of experience - evaporated in an instant. His entire being was consumed by the sight of your pleading eyes and enticing lips, desperately imploring him to make love to you. The intensity of your need, your last request born out of the fear of never seeing him again, ignited a scorching fire in his abdomen. His slacks tightened unbearably as his body responded to the raw desire coursing through him.

He didn't respond with words. Instead, his body lunged forward, crashing against yours, his lips desperately colliding with yours in an intoxicating, chaotic ballet. It was flawlessly imperfect, devoid of rhythm or pattern, yet it echoed the sheer intensity of your shared lust and fervour. A surge of electricity coursed through your veins, your skin prickling, your stomach churning with a heady mix of anxiety and exhilaration as you passionately kissed him.

Small, desperate gasps and whimpers escaped your trembling lips as they urgently sought his, the icy chill of Paris causing a cascade of goosebumps to erupt across your skin. You clung to him with a ferocity born of pure, raw fear, as if you were precariously perched on the brink of an abyss and he was the only tether keeping you from plummeting into the void. He was your sole anchor in a sea of chaos, the only force keeping you alive.

The searing heat of your skin beneath his fingertips sent his mind spiralling, the sensation of you - so soft, so yielding under his hands, a staggering, unfamiliar experience. He could feel the rhythmic surge and ebb of your chest, your breath, a hot whisper against his face as your lips clashed and fused, time and time again - he was certain he could feel the pulsating rhythm of your veins as your blood roared through your body. So vivid, so fiercely alive.

Inescapably, the mask had turned into an intolerable burden. Each movement caused it to ruthlessly scrape against your skin, the epidermis painfully inflamed and raw. With a heavy sense of reluctance, you retreated, your eyes slowly fluttering open to behold the breath taking spectacle of your angel, gasping for air, his eyes wide and darkened with intensity.

"My love," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers nervously fiddling with the lapels of his coat. "I know this is a significant request..." The tension hung heavy in the air between you two. "But, would you consider... removing your mask?" Your heart pounded in your chest as you dared to meet his eyes. "It's been catching on my skin, and it's starting to hurt. If it's too much, I understand! We can find another way. It's just that... I yearn to see all of you, unobstructed."

His expression shifted to one of grave solemnity. Deep within, he had known this moment would arrive, yet he had clung to the hope that it would be delayed, that he could savour more of you and this opportunity before you were cruelly torn from his grasp. Now, his countenance was a spectacle of terror, a sight so horrific that he was certain it would repel you instantly, forever severing any connection you could have had. It was this dread, this fear of losing you, that compelled him to deny your request.

"No," he declared, his voice cold and final, making it clear he had no intention of prolonging this conversation any further.

A lump formed in your throat, a silent reflection of the tension in the air. His features were chiselled, hardened as if sculpted by an unseen force. His eyes, unyielding and intense, bore into you, commanding silence without uttering a single word. You were far from foolish, aware that any protest would shatter the brittle tranquillity of the moment. Respecting his unspoken plea, you held your tongue, allowing the silence to envelop the space between you.

You plunged back into the fervour of your previous kisses, this time contorting awkwardly to keep your face clear of the cold, threatening porcelain weapon. With each passing moment, you fought to maintain the connection, a bizarre dance with a man whose full face you'd never seen. A wave of filth washed over you, a creeping sense you should be drowning in shame, but you found no room for such feelings. Not when his touch set your skin ablaze with desire.

His hands settled on the small of your back, gently rubbing above the fabric of your dress. You naturally moved closer, your soft chest against his solid one. Your hands wandered, touching every part of him within reach.

"Is this what you call a lovers outing, Piangi? It's cold and dirty!" The piercing voice of the renowned prima donna erupted from the rooftop entrance, slicing through the silence. You and Erik froze.

"Ah, forgive me, my love," replied her lover, his familiar Italian accent flooding through his words. His voice sounded awkward and dejected. One could almost imagine his look of shame, realizing his romantic gesture wasn't appreciated. "I wanted to look at the stars with you, but if that's not what you desire-"

"Forget it," Carlotta spat out. The echo of footsteps approaching sent jolts of panic through your veins, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Erik, however, remained calm amongst the chaos. His fingers laced through yours, pulling you urgently towards the shadowed sanctuary of the rooftop's far corner.

"If you get too cold, dear, I have my coat with me. Just say the word and I will give it to you," Piangi spoke, his voice straining with the effort to pierce through Carlotta's gloom.

As their voices clashed in petty discord, a sudden blast of searing air prickled the nape of your neck. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your hair bristling on end. A whispered command, laced with urgency, pierced the tension, "Stay behind me and follow. Make no noise. Not even a whisper."

With a sense of increasing trepidation, you gave a tense nod. You watched, breath held, as Erik emerged from your concealed sanctuary, prowling the expanse of the rooftop with a predator's stealth. He would intermittently halt, shielding himself within various makeshift hideaways. You hastened to mirror his movements, until at last, you found yourself inside the familiar confines of the opera house. His hand ensnared yours, his grip firm yet comforting, as he urged you onwards into the unknown.

It didn't take long before he ceased his steps, drawn like a magnet to the first mirror you encountered. His grip on your hand slackened for a fleeting moment, his fingers dancing over the wall in a cryptic rhythm. There was a tense hush, then the sharp click echoed in the silence, and the mirror slid back with a menacing grace to unveil a hidden passageway.

"What on earth?" you whispered, a tremor in your voice as you gazed upon the hole in the wall where once a mirror was.

Erik wheeled around abruptly, a sense of urgency flickering in his eyes as he extended his hand to you. You paused, uncertainty clouding your features, "Where does this passageway lead? Where are you taking me?"

"Trust me," he implored, his voice barely a whisper, yet carrying an undertone of desperation.

You swallowed, your throat tight with a mix of fear and anticipation. The situation and context around it weighed heavily on your mind, a potent cocktail of potential consequences swirling before you. The silence was deafening as you deliberated, the seconds stretching into what felt like an eternity. Then, with a deep, steadying breath, you extended a trembling hand towards him, a silent acquiescence. You nodded, a solemn gesture of trust, surrendering your fate into his hands.

He responded with a nod of his own, guiding you towards the opening. The entrance was inconveniently elevated from the ground - not to an extreme where a leap was required - but enough to pose a considerable risk. With a firm grip, he assisted you as you stepped inside, ensuring the voluminous folds of your dress evaded entanglement. He trailed in your wake, the air heavy with anticipation.

With a precise touch, he activated a concealed point on the wall, causing the mirror to slide back into normalcy. The echo of silence descended, the only sound being the synchronization of your breaths reverberating through the confined passageway. A whirlwind of questions swirled in your mind, each one violently dismissed as the realisation of your shared purpose gripped you. Of what you were coming down here to do.

He steered you through a maze of bewildering turns, his whispers of caution echoing in the cold, damp air. His grip on your hand was constant, a lifeline in the suffocating darkness. His familiarity with the convoluted tunnels was unsettling, and a chilling worry gnawed at you, as you wondered what hidden dangers made him tread with such measured care.

Soon you were greeted by a lake, its misty greens and blues shimmering so bright it twinkled like glitter. The view was mesmerising, the many candles scattered around lending the stone walls a glorious golden glow that took your breath away. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, the foliage blending together beautifully as it decorated the walls. You gasped.

He guided you towards a gondola which was tethered to a stout wooden stake driven deep into the ground. With a steadying hand, he aided your entrance into the vessel, ensuring your balance as you nestled into the boat's hollow core. Following your lead, he stepped in with calculated caution, his grip closing around a weathered paddle, poised at the ready to commence the strenuous task of rowing.

"What is this place?" You asked, ogling at the scenery around you.

"My home, my hiding place, the Phantom's lair, the sewers under the opera house..." he drawled off, beginning to row, "whichever one you wish to call it. All apply."

"You live down here?" You questioned, your brow furrowed as the icy air bit harshly at your exposed skin. The beauty of the place was undeniable, yet it held a chilling solitude that whispered of profound isolation, making it a daunting place to inhabit.

"Since I was a young boy," he spoke as if the words that spilled from his lips held no weight.

You couldn't shake the thought that something terrifying lurked beneath the mask. He had warned you, but you'd never considered how truly terrible it could be until now. Your eyebrows shot up, eyes dilating as your mind spun wildly with grotesque possibilities. What could be so monstrous about his visage that he was compelled to conceal it in the depths of a dank cellar?

Clearly, you had no intention of broaching the topic; it would undoubtedly ruin your plans for the evening. Yet, as the journey unfolded, you became lost in a whirlwind of contemplation, feverishly imagining the concealed face beneath the mask. Your affection was unwavering, regardless of how horrific his face was you'd feel the same way, but the mystery added an exhilarating layer of intrigue that consumed you.

Within mere minutes of fervent rowing, the silhouette of land loomed ahead, jolting you from your daze back into reality. You remained in the confines of the boat as Erik disembarked with calculated precision. He secured the boat with a swift, practiced motion, restoring the paddle to its rightful place. Then, he pivoted towards you, his hand outstretched in an offer of assistance, his eyes locked onto yours.

You smiled graciously, accepting his helping hand as you stepped out of the boat. You were enchanted, looking around at his home and how it was decorated. It was beyond your wildest imagination, intriguing and enigmatic, labyrinthine and gothic.

You were struck by the vast arrangement of candles. They casted a dim, dancing light which bathed the walls in an ethereal glow, casting long, eerie shadows on the dank stone. There was a majestic, ornate pipe organ, and a big mirror off to the side. All the way in the farthest corner, you spotted a bed, grand and draped in heavy, dark fabrics. You were in awe.

Erik did not give you long to stand and stare, as he was quick to pull you in the direction of where his bed resided. After a long, unfamiliar journey, you found yourself standing at your ultimate destination.

Anxiety, like a shadowy predator, stalked and then launched itself upon you, its claws sinking deep into your psyche. Your blood surged in a torrent, your heart hammered an urgent rhythm against your ribs, and your palms became slick with cold sweat as the full weight of your hasty agreement descended upon you.

"Now, it's my turn to pose the question," Erik initiated, his every footstep purposefully resonating tension as he incrementally diminished the space between you both. Your eyes, wide and alert, mirrored the mounting suspense. "Will you do this with me? Allow us to feel each other, become one, before you are to leave and never return?"

Tears welled threateningly in your eyes, a bitter reminder to the tortuous ordeal that loomed above. A personal hell was waiting, embodied in the stony indifference of your father and the pitiless gaze of your suitor. Discarding caution and fear, you hurled yourself against him with the force of a dead weight. In the face of despair, your inner flame roared back to life, desperation clawing its way to the surface once more.

His arms coiled around you with an intensity that left your breath hitched, his lips fiercely claiming yours. With a sudden, swift motion, he hoisted you into the air, your legs automatically snaking around his waist in response. He gently, yet assertively, laid you upon the cool sheets of the bed. He loomed over you. He began to crawl atop, compelling your legs to part in silent compliance. A gasp of anticipation escaped your lips, swallowed by his own, as you felt the weight of him gradually descend upon you.

As you kissed, the inadvertent brush of his crotch against your core sent a jolt through you, driving your senses into a wild frenzy. The searing heat from his arousal, even through the barrier of his trousers, was palpable, each pulsating throb a teasing promise of what was to come. Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your chest, as saliva-slick tongues ventured into uncharted territories, escalating the tension that hung in the air.

Driven by instinct, Erik's hands made a beeline for your sleeves, yanking with an insatiable restlessness, a silent plea for their removal. You countered his advances, pushing him back, a giggle escaping you at his stubborn demeanour. Undeterred, his lips sought new territory, latching onto the sensitive expanse of your neck, peppering kisses and grazing his teeth in a seductive dance that sent shivers down your spine.

Erik's movements against your aching core grew in intensity as he realised what he was brushing against, threatening to silence you completely. Yet, if he truly desired your uninhibited vulnerability, he needed to grant you the space to shed every layer.

"Erik," you tried to infuse your voice with authority, but it faltered, punctuated by your ragged sighs and helpless whimpers, "I'm laced into a corset, it needs to come off. Release me."

He moved with urgency, moving away from your form and allowing the space for you to rise, your knees pressing into the solid mattress. With a focused precision, you began to unbutton your dress, the fabric gliding over your head with a practiced ease, your focus fully enveloped in the task at hand. So engrossed were you, you failed to notice the predatory way his gaze drank in the sight of your bared skin, or the noticeable gulp that resonated from his throat as more and more of you unfolded before his eager eyes.

Your fingers trembled, struggling against the stubborn knot that held the ties of your undergarments in a vice-like grip. It was a battle you were unaccustomed to, always having the help of someone else to aid you with your corset. Your difficulty was palpable, a silent cry for assistance. Lifting your gaze to Erik, your eyes were wide, desperate pools of plea.

"Would you... could you, do the honours?" you asked through gritted teeth, your fingers clawing fruitlessly at the defiant knot, the bulge in the string a mocking testament to the maid's overly-zealous efforts.

In a silent affirmation, he nodded his head, his hand reaching out with an unspoken authority to rotate your form, granting him unimpeded access to your corset. You felt your undergarments grow increasingly wet under his firm handling, a damp patch steadily spreading across the fabric in response to your mounting anticipation. Heat suffused your cheeks, each accidental graze of his fingers against your back as he navigated the complexities of the female attire sending a shocks of tension through your body.

After an intense struggle, he conquered the knot, crafted by your maid's expert hands. But victory left him bewildered.

"Now that it's undone, what's the next step?" His gaze bore into the corset's lacings, a new challenge awaiting him.

With a chuckle rippling through the tension, you interjected, "Allow me." Swiftly, you unhooked the busk at the front, stripping the garment from your form. It cascaded to the floor, disappearing from view.

Bare and unshielded, your form was revealed from the hips upward, only your undergarments veiling what remained. There you were, a portrait of vulnerability, kneeling in anticipation yet turned away, placing a blind faith in him, trusting his unspoken intentions.

His hands seized your hips with an assertive grip, drawing you into his sphere, letting you tumble back onto the mattress as you laid facing him. Your breasts bounded with the abrupt motion, your soft contours and supple skin devoured by his relentless gaze. He studied every detail, every curve and secret of your figure, etching them into his memory.

"You might find this... somewhat audacious," you stammered, your gaze darting around the room, evading his intense stare, "But I've come across something in a book. And I have this... this urge to experience it."

Erik seemed to snap out of a daze, his brows furrowing in curiosity. "And what might that be?" he asked.

You dropped your gaze, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you attempted to muster the courage to voice your desires. "Are you familiar with... cunnilingus?"

A silence fell over the room. Erik appeared shell-shocked, his lips parting but no sound escaping as he tried to comprehend the salacious request that had just spilled from your lips. His experiences with carnal pleasures were extensive, more so after meeting you- he'd spent countless nights engrossed in books filled with varying degrees of erotica. He'd envisioned you and him as the characters, and his fantasies of caressing, embracing, and making passionate love to you had kept him awake many a night.

"Briefly, why?" He asked, his voice steady but his façade barely concealing the turmoil within.

"I want... I want you to do that to me," you managed to utter, swallowing down the embarrassment that threatened to choke you. "My betrothed, he... he wouldn't. I need to know, just once, what it feels like."

A dark shadow passed over his face at your words, the mention of the man you were intended to wed igniting something within him. His lips met your skin with a ferocity that stole your breath away. His body was pressed against yours, a desperate attempt to meld into one, to erase the space that separated you. His kisses trailed a scorching path from your neck downwards, each mark he left with his teeth due to the simmering anger that consumed him.

His hot breath teased against your core, creating a whirl of anticipation that caused your legs to twitch restlessly, your back to curl off the bed. An tingling sensation flowed from your core to the tips of your legs, prompting your thighs to instinctively tighten. He exerted his dominance, forcibly parting your legs to the sides, his chest pulsating with a primal pride as he observed the clear signs of arousal staining your underwear. The thin fabric did nothing to veil your desire for him.

His lips embarked on a deliberate exploration around your intimate area, strategically withholding the direct contact you craved, fueling a desperate need within you. He relished in your quiet pleas, in your desperation for him, for his touch. He wanted to hear it again - your voice, filled with longing, confessing your need for him, your love for him.

A few teasing kisses and feather-light licks over the fabric of your underwear were enough to reduce you to a state of complete disarray. Your head thrown back, lips parted in a silent plea, you begged, "Please, God, please."

He was relentless, persisting in his torturously slow pace and feather-light touches. He was prepared to play this drawn-out game; after all, he'd been fantasizing about moments like this since the dawn of his adolescence. He could wait an eternity if needed.

By the time he finally conceded, you were a whirlwind of emotion, eyes squeezed shut, body writhing as you grappled with an overwhelming sense of embarrassment, struggling to voice your feelings. You appeared as if you had been plucked straight out of a painting, your body seemingly sculpted by celestial forces, the ethereal glow on your skin from your sweat rendering you nothing short of angelic.

His fingers danced along the delicate straps of your underwear, tracing the curve of your hips as he meticulously slid them down your legs. Your underwear was discarded with an impatient kick. He admired how your lips glistened with your wetness, eyes wide and mouth agape as he inspected your parts. His cock felt like it was suffocating in it's tight confinement, begging to be released. He subconsciously rubbed himself against his quilt, hips driving him harder and harder into the fabric.

He didn't allow himself to spend an excessive amount of time simply staring, his fingers gingerly parting the folds of your intimate area as he gradually moved ever closer to the spot where you craved his touch the most. His tongue hesitantly emerged, like a tentative explorer venturing into uncharted territory, testing the waters as he gradually grew accustomed to your unique taste. It was an intoxicating, addictive flavour that he found himself drawn to, your evident arousal dissolving on his tongue like the sweetest candy. As he became more familiar with your body's reactions, his actions started to grow decidedly bolder, his initial cautiousness melting away.

The smooth, cold porcelain of the mask, right where his nose should have been, made direct contact with a particular spot on your body. It was a spot so sensitive, so responsive to his touch, that it turned you into a trembling, moaning mess. Each touch was like heaven, each movement a wave of pleasure that washed over you. It was a sensation you had never experienced before, and it left you weak, gasping for breath.

He pushed himself further into you, his movements becoming more desperate, more needy. His tongue, warm and insistent, ventured into every hidden corner it could find. It was as though he was trying to memorize you, to imprint the taste of you onto his very soul. He was consuming you, devouring you in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The side of his face that wasn't hidden behind the mask was growing wetter with each passing moment. Each new wave of your arousal either swallowed by him or adding to the wet mess on his face. His eyes, dark and intense, never left your face, watching your every reaction, feeding off your pleasure.

With each passing moment, you found yourself teetering on the edge of exquisite pleasure, its intensity growing with a fervour that rendered you breathless. As cries of delight spilled from your lips, your fingers curled into the fabric of his bedsheets, clutching them with a strength that threatened to rip them to shreds. Now that you had experienced such ecstasy, you were unsure how you’d ever live without it again.

The pressure swelled within the depths of your abdomen, escalating dangerously as your eyes lost focus, surrendering willingly to Erik's touch. The burgeoning tension coiled within you like a heated serpent, until it could no longer be contained, compelling it to uncoil and release the pent-up passion that had been simmering within. Everything let go.

Erik's lips found your most sensitive spot again, sucking on it gently, coaxing a symphony of soft whimpers and quivering gasps from deep within your throat.

The intense sensations that flooded your body soon became far too much and left you with no other option but to gently, albeit reluctantly, push him away from your soaked cunt. His visible cheek and chin bore the shiny evidence of your pleasure, an erotic testament to the intimacy that had just transpired. His lips, swollen and red, were slightly parted as he laboured to catch his breath, the aftermath of your intense encounter leaving him just as breathless as you were.

He planted a single kiss on your thigh before he rose, drinking in the sinful sight of you lying beneath him. Your chest heaved, and the intimate area between your thighs was slick with a mixture of saliva and arousal, a mess he alone was responsible for. He was in disbelief at the sight before him - a woman who had pleaded for his touch, who had permitted him to venture into territory he was not meant to traverse.

You felt utterly winded, struggling to regain your breath as your mind remained in a dense fog. As you sat up, the ringing sensation of blood rushing in your ears was almost deafening. You gave him a once-over and let out a weary pout.

“Why am I naked and you are still dressed head to toe?” you playfully whined, clumsily rising up to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt.

A wave of panic washed over him. While a less sensitive subject than the removal of his mask, he was still hesitant about the concept of somebody seeing him disrobed. His hand swiftly intercepted yours, worried eyes looking directly into yours.

“We don’t have to do this,” you reminded him, “Removing clothes is quite necessary to engage in intercourse, so if that’s off the table, that is fine and we do not have to go any further.”

The looming threat of your sexual endeavours coming to a halt was so disconcerting that it pushed his fear of being seen nude into a corner of his mind. If you managed to bare all in front of him, then surely, he should be able to do the same. No horrifying disfigurement marred his body, save for a few scars and marks, which offered him a semblance of comfort amid his anxiety. Yet, it felt so extraordinarily odd - prior to you, people avoided him, disdaining him as a bizarre outcast to either laugh at or run away from. But you, you wanted to see him. You saw him.

With his consent, you delicately unfastened the buttons of his shirt, your fingers tracing the contours of his body as you gently slid it off along with his coat. The anticipation heightened as you unbuttoned his trousers, a sense of awe overtaking you as you noticed the visible sign of his desire pressing against the fabric of his underwear. With a slow, tantalizing motion, you slid his slacks down, pooling them around his ankles, leaving him to step out of them. The sight of him in such a state had your mouth watering, the subtle twitching under the thin fabric not going unnoticed. You glanced up, your eyes silently asking for permission before you proceeded to remove his last piece of clothing.

He was perfect - not too intimidating, yet not too modest. A balance that promised pleasure without the prospect of discomfort. A smile graced your lips as your hands were drawn to him, appreciating the prominent veins that adorned his underside and the swollen tip that seemed to crave the soothing touch of your lips. You didn’t have a second thought before you ducked down to take him into your mouth.

The moment that his length was enveloped by the soft, velvety embrace of your mouth, he felt an explosive sensation, as if he might shatter. The intoxicating blend of your warmth and the slippery wetness was an overwhelming sensory overload, causing his eyes to flutter closed as he savoured the sensation in its entirety. His low, primal groans amplified into a resonant hum of pleasure as you explored his length, your tender hand caressing the parts your lips had yet to discover.

You surfaced for air, drawing in a deep breath before giving him a seductive smile. Your hand continued to stroke him, maintaining the rhythm you'd established, "Have you heard of this one too? It's called fellatio. I've heard from men that it feels quite pleasurable, so I wanted to give it a try."

His brows knitted together in confusion and a hint of possessiveness, "Who's been talking to you about things like this?" he hissed, his fingers entangling in the roots of your hair. He didn't tug or pull, but simply let his hand rest there, grounding himself in the sensation of your touch.

“No one, I just overhear a lot,” you winked, a playful glint in your eyes.

Finding yourself drawn back to your prior task, you returned your mouth to its position, delicately licking around the sides and base of his manhood with a renewed vigour. You made a point to explore every contour, every ridge, leaving no part untouched by your careful ministrations. As you took him into your mouth once more, you hollowed your cheeks, creating a tight, welcoming space that made him gasp. You allowed your tongue to wander, tracing the map of protruding veins that decorated his length, making him shiver at your touch. You took your time, adjusting slowly but surely to accommodate his length.

Over time, you found a rhythm that was as steady as it was sensual, each movement drawing forth intoxicating sounds of pleasure from your lover. Your hand was rendered unnecessary, forgotten at your side as your face pressed closer, your nose brushing against the heat of his skin. The taste of him, the intimacy of the act, left you breathless, saliva slipping past your lips. The symphony of his escalating moans and guttural grunts echoed in your ears, signifying the mounting pleasure coursing through him.

Erik was teetering on the edge, every fibre of his being screaming for release. Time had lost all meaning; all he knew was the burning desire to break down your defences and claim you as his own. He tugged urgently at your hair, a silent plea for you to relinquish him from your mouth. His ego soared at the sight of your ravenous gaze and ragged breathing. Sweat was pooling uncomfortably beneath his mask, creating a stifling heat that was nearly unbearable. Yet, he would not — could not — remove it. For your love, he would endure any torment.

With a gentle persuasion, he coaxed you onto the plush solace of the bed, a wordless request to which you surrendered willingly. His fingers, rough yet tender in touch, traced the shape of your lips. You accepted them eagerly, lavishing them with a soft suckle until he withdrew them. Setting off on a slow, teasing journey, his fingers embarked on a path that danced across your lips, before descending the length of your neck. His touch was electrifying, a trail of shivers marking their progress.

His fingers continued their southern movement, drawn to the inviting warmth of your most intimate area. As he approached your yearning core, your breath hitched, a silent supplication mirrored in your eyes as you awaited his touch. He relished the anticipation, playfully circling the edge before carefully penetrating you with one of his fingers. The sensation of being filled by him was intoxicating, your eyes fluttering in sheer overwhelm as he moved in a rhythm that was leisurely and gentle. Every part of your being was tuned to his touch, each motion sending ripples of pleasure cascading through your body.

"Erik," you moaned, unaware of how you just moaning his name made his arms feel like jelly. He pushed through, eager to please and show you how good he could make you feel.

He cautiously inserted another finger, gradually stretching you out around his digits. He was utterly enchanted by the soft, plush feel of your walls, which seemed to welcome him in their embrace. He explored you curiously, his fingers gently probing, reaching deeper and deeper inside of you. It was like he was charting a course through a previously unexplored territory, each new discovery making him yearn for more.

The sounds that escaped your lips - cries of pleasure, of anticipation, of need - were music to his ears. The way your body responded to his touch, the way your breath hitched every time he moved, the way your fingers clung to him - everything about you made him feel weak with desire.

He didn't keep his fingers at work for very long, just enough time to make sure that you were adequately warmed up, ready for what would come next. With a simple gesture, he signalled for you to move further up the bed. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable, so he guided you to position your head against the plush softness of the pillows that lay strewn at the head of the bed.

His gaze was fixed on you, watching intently as you took the next step. Without needing any words, you communicated your agreement to what was about to unfold. You spat into your hand, a simple but intimate act, sitting up before carefully spreading the moisture over his length.

You allowed yourself to lay back down, your body welcoming the coolness of the sheets beneath you. Erik carefully positioned himself at your sopping wet entrance; his eyes, filled with a mix of anticipation and desire, locked onto yours as he began to push against you. You could feel his bulbous tip as it slowly pushed past your entrance, a sensation so new and unfamiliar that you couldn't help but squeal, your body jolting in response to the sudden intrusion. Erik's mouth hung open in a silent gasp, his breath hitching in his throat as he felt the first part of him slide inside you.

With a slow, cautious movement, he pressed forward further, sinking into you bit by bit, deeper and deeper until he was fully nestled within your warmth. Every inch of him was surrounded by you, his breath hitching once more as he adjusted to the velvety sensation.

For you, it was a fervent blaze, a primal burn that seared through every nerve. His manhood was a stark contrast to his previously tender touch, an unmerciful comparison that seemed impossible to reconcile. A soft whimper of pain broke free, a silent begging for him to pause his movements and allow your body to accommodate his invasion.

You lingered in the throes of this discomfort, each second diluting the initial shock and morphing it into a thrilling wave of bliss. It was a leisurely metamorphosis, a sultry dance between pain and pleasure, until all that was left was pure, unadulterated desire that left you gasping for air and craving more.

Once your body had succumbed to this new sensation, you gave him a silent nod of approval, a signal that he could resume. Erik let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, and his initial gentleness gave way to a carnal rhythm, each slow, deliberate thrust sending ripples of ecstasy that cascaded through your very being.

“So this is what it feels like,” you chuckled, less talking to Erik and more so thinking out loud.

Erik was so utterly focused on you and the indescribable sensations your body was offering him that he found himself unable to formulate an appropriate response. He was completely entranced by the way your intimate area, slick with your abundant arousal, enveloped him so thoroughly. He was lost in the feeling of you, engaged in an internal struggle between wanting to see the expressions of pure pleasure that danced across your face, or to look down and observe the erotic sight of his own manhood disappearing again and again into your inviting warmth.

He draped himself over you, his form a sanctuary, shielding you from the world beyond. His face nestled in the junction of your neck and shoulder, an alcove where he could inhale your scent. The cool porcelain of his mask contrasted with your heated skin, tempering the dew of perspiration that glossed your body. Underneath the mask, he endured the humid confinement - a necessary sacrifice for the exquisite torment he was bestowing upon you. Each powerful thrust sent ripples of ecstasy through you, rendering you breathless and dizzy with delight. The potent heat was all-encompassing, filling your consciousness with nothing but unadulterated, exquisite pleasure.

"I love you," you breathed out in a whisper, your voice dripping with desire. Each word was punctuated by a soft moan, the sound of it causing shivers to cascade down his spine, your hot breath against his ear igniting a fire within him.

As if his struggles weren't already overwhelming enough, your words seemed to only add more fuel to the already blazing fire within him. It was as though every syllable you uttered stoked the flames, pushing him further into a realm of passion he had never known before. His arm, strong and certain, forced its way behind your back, pulling you up to hold you close to him. It was a closeness that was almost palpable, almost too much, as he thrusted inside of you.

“I love you too,” he groaned, his words saturated with an intense, raw emotion that welled up in his eyes, the tears threatening to cascade down his face in an uncontrolled torrent of feeling.

You, on the other hand, were no better off, your own tears of sheer joy and devastating heartbreak pooling in your eyes until they were beyond their capacity to hold back any longer. They overflowed, running down your face like precious diamonds, a display of the depth of your misery. Making love to somebody who genuinely loved you back was a concept so beautifully simple, yet tragically forbidden. It was an experience that brimmed with a love so deep, a care so nurturing, and a passion and compassion so profound that it was unparalleled.

You knew you would never encounter such a feeling again in your lifetime. You were merely attempting to stave off the inevitable end, attempting to shield yourself from the stark reality that awaited your return to the surface world. Each moment was a battle against the clock, each second a desperate attempt to extend the blissful ignorance of the impending conclusion.

In that moment, you belonged to him and he to you, your bodies intertwined and connected as the flames consumed you both. You held onto him with a desperation that mirrored your own, your arms wrapping around him, hugging him close. You were a lifeline to each other, two beings lost in a sea of passion and desire, holding on to the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.

With every pulsating sensation, you tried desperately to prevent the impending climax that was steadily building within you. You wrestled against it, mustering all of the strength and willpower you possessed. You didn’t want this magical night, this passion and desire, to end. The thought of the experience drawing to a close was unbearable, and yet there was nothing you could to do stop the familiar building pressure in your abdomen.

And you knew, in the deepest recesses of your mind, that you shouldn't have given in to the temptation- that you should have exercised restraint and kept your wandering hands to yourself. Despite this, you were a prisoner to your own overwhelming curiosity, a force so powerful it threatened to consume you whole.

The haze of pleasure Erik was weaving around you kept intensifying, it ebbed and flowed into every crevice of your consciousness, distorting the boundary between the tangible world and the intoxicating euphoria you found yourself spiralling into. Your hands, as though guided by an insatiable yearning that was wholly their own, found their way to the mask that resided on his head.

Your fingers, trembling with anticipation and anxiety, began to play with the thin string keeping the mask firmly in place, protecting his true form. The tension in your body was mounting, your anxiety and the impending orgasm that threatened to shatter your very being reaching the same intense peak.

The familiar ball of pleasure that had been steadily growing within you finally burst, sending shockwaves of pure ecstasy coursing through your veins. You could feel Erik's hot semen spurt inside you, marking you as his. As the intense waves of your climax washed over you, you summoned the last of your strength and ripped the mask off his face, revealing the man beneath.

You had comprehended the profound severity of Erik's disfigurement when he confessed that he had been residing here since his tender youth. Why else would somebody feel so compelled to withdraw from society? You had determined then, with unyielding resolve, to love him irrespective of his appearance. Your conviction remained unwavering as his visage came sharply into view. His eyes, dilated with raw fear, his mouth trembling on the verge of speech, and his hands, once securely encircling you, now trembled and twitched uncontrollably.

A sigh escaped you, a bright smile lighting up your face as you gazed at him dreamily. You leaned in, your hand tenderly cradling the side of his face which had remained disfigured and concealed until this moment. Tears which had been threatening to spill from his eyes now fell freely, and your own followed suit as the realization of parting hit you.

With a gentleness that belied the depth of your feelings, your fingers traced the lines of his marked skin. Your lips had found his in a passionate kiss, the tears that slid silently down your cheeks mingled with his, a silent symbol of the connection of your souls, a joining so profound that words failed to capture its essence.

With reluctance, you pulled away from the warmth of his body, rising slowly from where you were entwined with him. You wiped your tears away. A wince crossed your face as you felt Erik's softening length slip out of you, the sensation of his release dripping out of you, serving as a lingering reminder of the intimacy you had shared.

"Do you not take issue with that you see?" His voice was laced with an unnerving intensity, his eyes never leaving your form as you searched for your scattered garments. You assumed his weird behaviour was due to his feelings about your impending departure.

"Not when it's you," you confessed, a poignant smile pulling tragically at the corner of your lips, laden with unspoken emotions.

It didn't take long for you to find your garments. You fastened the corset around your waist, making sure it properly supported your bosom. Despite pulling the laces tightly, you found that you needed additional help. Each time you tried to tie the laces, the corset loosened.

"Could you lace this up for me, Erik? I'm struggling," you chuckled, turning back round to find that he had already put his underwear back on. "Corsets are tricky things. I often need someone else's help to put it on and take it off."

"You don't need it," he declared, his face a stoic mask, eyes unblinking and filled with unwavering resolve.

You hesitated, uncertain of how to respond or process his words. You thought he might not understand the full purpose of your undergarment. "I can't be amongst with people without wearing my corset. It's indecent. Without it, people could see my breasts," you said.

"And that's precisely why you don't require it," he shot back, his hardened face rigid with confrontation, eyes locked onto you as you blinked, wrestling with the weight of his words. "You aren't going anywhere."

"What? Erik, I have to leave," you leaped towards him, a wave of dread washing over you as he remained unaffected, "My father wields a lot of power and influence, a fact you're well aware of. Search parties will be dispatched and they'll hunt us down."

Erik's laughter echoed ominously around you, his jarring mirth only amplifying your unease, "He will not pose a threat, my dear. Act as though he doesn’t exist."

"How can you be so sure?" You shot back, eyes narrowing into slits as you regarded him with deep-rooted suspicion.

"Because he won't live to witness the week's end, fortunate if he survives the night," he sneered.

You were petrified, frozen in terror. The uncertain veracity of his words hung heavy in the air, but the fury etched in his gaze was unmistakable. It was a chilling declaration that bulldozed your defences, sending frigid lashes of fear snaking through your bloodstream.

“No, no,” you whispered, face twisted in dread.

"You said it yourself!" he yelled, seemingly unaffected by your flinch. You lifted your hands, ready to protect yourself if needed, but you knew that if he truly wanted to hurt you, you had no chance. "He was the one who tried to separate us, to spoil our love! How can I let him manipulate destiny? It's a sin!"

"Sin or not, he is my father!" you retorted, tearing off your corset and swiftly pulling your dress over your head. You let it fall over your figure. "I have to go."

“You forget yourself,” Erik's voice echoed ominously from the shadows, untouched by your retreat. “Was it not you pleading for me to awaken your senses to the touch of a genuine lover? Were you not weeping to me over the wreckage your father's deeds would cause in your life? Does Monsieur Beaumont need to be added to the list? Is that what you desire? I am merely aiding you!”

Trying to block out his taunting, you jammed your underwear down your bodice and clung to your corset like a lifeline. Panic was on the verge of consuming you, your thoughts spiralling out of control, too swift and chaotic to grasp. The realization of your own foolishness hit you like a punch, a bitter and unforgiving truth.

In your hour of fragility, you had sought solace in the one individual you deemed a sanctuary, a cure to your torments. But he, like a concealed predator, exploited your vulnerability, shrouding his true motives to feast upon your innocence and cast you into never ending isolation. The dread lay not in his visage, but in his very being, a monstrous revelation.

“Even if you escape, your father cannot. He has to pay for what he's done,” he hissed, his voice becoming a menacing whisper, fading into the background as you distanced yourself.

You were approaching the familiar boat, stepping carefully over the wooden structure. You untied the rope and with the paddle in hand, you prepared to set off on your journey.

CLINK, SLAM.

You froze.

“Besides the fact that you have no idea where you’d be going around the sewers and passageways and would probably end up fatally mutilated in one of my many traps,” he spoke once more, trailing off as he watched the light leave your eyes, “You don’t know how to open the gate. Unfortunate.”

What had you done?

any feedback is appreciated! sorry it ended there, i started writing this at 12pm and it's now 5:21am the day later. i have not had a break. it had to end.

[delirious-donna]

tw: narumi x reader, possessive gen, unwanted attention, drunk stranger, wet cat boy narumi, unprotected sex, cute little cat cafe date

Narumi wasn’t entirely sure what had come over him when he had volunteered to take on the extra mission, despite it being his well-earned day off. Eiji had sworn it would be a cakewalk, in and out in less than an hour, he’d said. It wasn’t even a Kaiju level threat, just some low-level grunts that he could smack around to boost his popularity. A silly mistake… 

Six hours later and he was hurriedly showering to rid himself of the ick that clung to his skin and hair like some kind of glue. He ground down on his molars as he imagined your sweet little face, sad and searching for him. It might be the middle of high summer, but his mind conjured a picture of you shivering in a cold wind at his absence. 

His clothes flew from the dresser, tugging on jeans and shirt whilst running his fingers through the mess of bi-coloured hair to bring into some semblance of artistic mess rather than looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Narumi gave one last half-hearted glance in the mirror, damn near whining when he wasn’t quite perfect with his appearance, but the tick of his watch forced him to propel out the door despite it.  

You were due to meet outside a new cat café that had not long opened in the prefecture, a treat that he was excited to indulge you in. It was only a ten-minute walk from the gate of the base, but he was already running late. His pace quickened as he turned the corner before skidding to a halt when he saw you waiting for him outside the café. 

You really had gone all out with the cat-themed clothing, all you were missing was a tail and that thought alone might have been arousing had he not been glaring at a man invading your personal space. It was only late afternoon, but the man smelled strongly of sake. His steps were unstable, and although you presented a strong façade, Gen could sense you were terrified.  

Your hand tightened around the keys in your pocket, sliding the metal between your fingers just in case. The man was just some down on his luck drunk, not a real threat but it was better to be safe than sorry. He had spotted you whilst you waited for your boyfriend to appear and taken an immediate interest in your attire. It was only now that you decided that it might have been best to wait until you got inside to don your fluffy ears, an accessory especially picked for your favourite kitty boy. If only he knew who might appear at any moment, of the danger he would likely be in if Narumi was to see his display of unwanted attention. 

He was getting too close, with every step back you took, they matched it, and you felt a nervous whimper build in your throat when his hand reached out towards you. 

“Will you purr if I tickle you behind the ear?” he slurred, gesturing towards the cat ears sat atop your head. 

Your eyes screwed shut but the touch never landed. Instead, a cracking noise followed by a pathetic scream split the otherwise silence of the street. Peeking through your fingers, Gen stared back with an impenetrable expression on his handsome face. 

“Are you okay? I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. No amount of good publicity was worth putting you in danger,” he whispered the last part ominously, regret evident in his striking vermillion eyes. 

Listening to your instincts, you launched into his arms, trusting him to catch you. The prolific Captain did one better, bracing your weight without giving an inch of ground, securing his arms around your body and squeezing tight. You thought he might have been smelling your hair as you laughed out your gratitude. 

“Oh, Gen… you’re my knight in shining armour!” 

Narumi downright blushed and it was adorable, the pink hue warming his cheeks and the tips of his ears looked hot beneath his bangs. For a time, he simply held you, his large palms full of the roundness of your backside and your nose nudging happily against his. At last, he cleared his throat. 

“Uh… I mean—shall we?” 

~  

The cat cafe was a complete success; however, Gen was flooded with filthy wanton thoughts and images throughout the entire session. The cats were cute as heck, but not nearly as cute as you were. He had watched you use the cat toys dotted around for customers to interact with the playful felines, thinking continually of how you might mewl and purr for him if he were to play with your— 

Oh, he was torturing himself with these ideas. Images of you stretched out on his bed in nothing but those dainty little cat ears and maybe a fun little cat tail plug? If you were for it… he wondered how he would even broach the subject, his clothes feeling hotter and more suffocating the longer he mused.  

It was a good thing that your perceptive skills were far more honed than his. It wasn’t difficult to sense the wayward direction of the Captain’s mind, sinful tendrils of energy leaking from him, without his realisation, to wrap around your limbs and caress your skin. To say you didn’t like it would be a bald-faced lie. 

And that was how you came to find yourself mewling for him in the dark of his room. The loss of your sight only heightening your other senses as your boyfriend lost himself in your tight cunt and whispered delicious fantasies against the sensitive inside of your thighs. 

His hand groped for your exposed tits, the swell of them pressed up from the tight hold of the blouse that had been opened just enough to bare you to the cool air and his earlier hungry mouth. The long languid strokes of his tongue along the length of your sopping slit were enough to make you grind against his face in earnest. 

“Such a needy little kitten. You gonna purr for me?” he smirked up at you from beneath dark lashes, silver hair messy from how harshly you had tugged and twisted on the strands. 

His crooked almost non-existent smile flashed in the dark room before he suckled your clit between his lips again, drinking in your moans like they were his lifeline. 

“Need more,” you begged, fixing your lopsided cat ears and trying valiantly to coax Narumi into fucking you dumb. Your hips rolled, practically rutting yourself against him and the lust-blown pupils spoke of how affected he was by your actions. 

Your stomach pressed against the mattress when he flipped you over without warning, hands grasping your hips to raise your ass. The blunt, fat head of his cock teased your folds before catching against your fluttering hole. 

He sank in on a low groan, making you see stars as he bottomed out in one long stroke. A hand gripped the back of your neck, pressing your cheek into the pillow. The position meant you could only just see the feral expression on your lover’s face as he hissed like an angry cat. 

“You’re mine!” 

[svt-charlotte]

CHARLOTTE X VOCAL UNIT ·˚ ༘ ┊͙

⋆.˚ ★— RELATIONSHIPS WITH VOCAL UNIT

HHU : PFU

CHARLOTTE + JEONGHAN = CHAEHAN

ever since Charlotte first stepped into that green room, her and Jeonghan have been exceptionally close. having to adjust to a totally new country took a huge toll on Lottie, having Jeonghan there just gave her the laugh that she never knew she needed.

it’s honestly crazy because the only thing that these two have in common is their love for cheating. but that obviously was enough for them to become basically two peas in a pod.

they have overall a trusting but playful relationship. Jeonghan is also one of the few ( many ) members who tolerates Chaerin’s insane attitude. bringing out the inner Jeonghan in him, he’ll give her the same attitude, and maybe even with a teensy bit more of sass.

even though there dynamic is all about being cheeky and fun, Charlotte knows for a fact that she can always trust Jeonghan with giving good advice. and it’s the same for Jeonghan, he may be the therapist for Seventeen, but when he needs advice for himself, Chaerin’s the person he goes to.

don’t even get me started on how much Lottie loves Hannie’s hair. the second she is within arms length of his hair, she’s immediately playing with it.

CHARLOTTE + JOSHUA = SHUARIN

The literal definition of COUPLE GOALS!

pretty sure that Joshua knew that he wanted Charlotte the moment he set eyes on her. Chaerin on the other hand, took awhile to realize her feelings for him. let’s just say there was a whole bunch of denial…

when first coming to Korea, Joshua very quickly befriended Charlotte. it was just natural because they both spoke English. Charlotte, knowing Korean better than Josh, is one of the reasons why he’s able to speak the language fluently today as she helped him practice ALL THE TIME back then.

Joshua tends to show his affection through his acts of service, massaging Lottie’s shoulders when she’s sore, cooking her food when she’s too tired to. she basically has him wrapped around her finger, and all of Seventeen knows that Joshua would quite literally do anything to ensure her happiness.

Charlotte is one with her words, cheering him on during GoSe, using encouraging statements when she knows that Joshua is at his lowest. she likes to call herself his personal cheerleader.

they are BIG on pda, like I mean holding hands at all times. the members find it incredibly cringey that they are on each other 24/7.

Carats are IN LOVE with this duo. any time that they are caught in public or during concerts being all lovey dovey, they are SCREAMING. fans absolutely love seeing them together.

CHARLOTTE + WOOZI = CHARHOON

Charlotte is soooo teasing towards Woozi, like because of his kind of quiet attitude, she’s always trying to teasingly match his energy. and it’s honestly just been like that since they were trainees, the second Lottie met Jihoon she just knew that he wasn’t the talkative type.

for example, he would be standing in the corner during dance practice trying to look all nonchalant, and Chaerin would march over, mirroring his same expression and pose.

Woozi is someone who tends to keep his thoughts to himself, but when around Charlotte he feels like he can tell her anything. he would describe her as a very understanding person ( if she wasn’t so teasing ).

these two are literally musical geniuses, everyone knows that Jihoon is the main producer of Seventeen, but nobody knows that Lottie came up with some of the catchy melodies in their songs. and Chaerin being Chaerin, she lets him take ALL the credit.

they LOVE learning how to play new instruments together ( it’s usually only Woozi doing the learning ).

CHARLOTTE + DK = SEOKCHAE

LITERALLY SUNSHINE X SUNSHINE! these two are so much alike personality wise, except Charlotte will admit that Dokyeom has a better sense of humor.

they both possess the talent of making EVERYONE happy.

AND their adlibs are INSANE! bonus points if Seungkwan joins in!

a lot of Carats say that DK is Lottie’s biggest fan, and it honestly is like that. he may be older than her, but he tends to look up to her most of the time.

these two are NEVER serious, like during serious meetings with the company where they aren’t supposed to be laughing, the second they make eye contact they’ll burst out into giggles. because of this, they are forced to sit on opposite sides of the room.

they often have conversations about the most random things. like other members will be talking about the comeback, but they’ll be somewhere in a corner talking about giraffes.

“Seokminnie, you are tall like a giraffe.”

“I like giraffes.”

CHARLOTTE + SEUNGKWAN = CHARKWAN

Seungkwan and Charlotte have the biggest love hate relationship known to man. like one minute they’ll be praising each other’s voices, but the next Lottie will be chasing him around the dorm because he ate the last popsicle.

from afar they look like the duo who’s says, “we don’t judge at all.” and then continues to give the nastiest looks.

Kwan and Chaerin both have LOTS of friends in the industry. they basically know everyone, so whenever Charlotte’s at a hang out with other idols, Seungkwan also happens to be there.

KARAOKE DUO!! you so will be catching them singing together at 2 am in the morning.

they are the biggest Gfriend fans ever. every time Viviz has a concert? these two will definitely be there singing their hearts out.

the two are also very talkative. usually there’s a talker and a listener within a duo, but these two? they are always talking and often get way to deep into conversation during practice, forcing Hoshi to yell at them to lock back in.

☆⋆｡ CHARLOTTE-WORLD MASTERLIST 𖦹°‧★

༘ the request box is always OPEN, so never be afraid to send a message！ just please remember that I won’t be able to answer immediately！

ꫂ OR message/comment to be added to the taglist！

© 𝐬𝐯𝐭-𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞

[tangerinesgirl]

Hot Under The Collar

Fem!Reader x Father Joseph Steiger

Rating: 18+, explicit

Word count: 900>

Warnings: smut, possessed wife reader (she/her pronouns), inappropriate use of rosary beads, masochism, caught post sex (semi public sex?)

Notes: I'M BACK! Thank you to @nettlesomecorvid for being my beta reader. The Ritual has me in a chokehold already, and I know a lot of us feel the same, and the film isn't even out yet! So I hope this helps us make the time pass faster!

Also note this is in no way related to the real people the film is based on, this is totally ficticious.

"That is not your wife talking, that's the devil!" 

Father Theophilus' voice booms across the room. Father Joseph watches his wife thrash against the makeshift cloth restraints on the headboard. 

"We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits...", Father Theophilus splashes holy water onto the bed, making her scream out in agony.

"That's enough for today, Father", Joseph sternly suggests to Theophilus. 

"In the Name and by the power of Our Lord Jesus Christ..." 

"I said that's enough," Joseph snatches the bottle of holy water out of his hand.

"You told me you would remain impartial," Theophilus' anger rising in his chest.

Joseph looks towards his wife groaning in pain, "I need a moment." 

It was incredibly hard for Joseph to watch his wife rolling around in agony on the first night of the exorcism, battling through her cries for help. Theophilus could see his anguish and decided to talk to him in private to calm him down.

"Very well", Theophilus agrees.

___

"Joseph..." 

He jumps awake, the old bed creaking underneath him. Joseph looks around the room when he realises where the voice is coming from.

"Joseph...help me," the eery voice moans.

Theophilus had warned him about this, letting that thing invade his mind. He quickly gets dressed, armed with his bible and rosary beads around his neck.

The floorboards groan with every step, as Joseph tries to be stealthy, unlocking the door where his wife was kept hostage. It creaks open. The room is too dark to see anything. Joseph carefully steps to the table to strike a match, lighting the lamp. 

"Joseph," she smiles, "I was just thinking about you." 

Joseph was married before he was ordained. Unable to divorce but also taking the vow of celibacy. He loved his wife wholeheartedly, and she respected his decision to become a priest. In fact, she admired it, and how passionate he was about serving God and helping others.

His mind drifts back to reality to see his wife tied to the bed, rubbing her legs together and moaning. 

"I miss you, Joseph," she gasps out, as she seeks release. 

Joseph turns his back away from her, Theophilus' voice in his head reminding him that she's not human. No longer the person he loves.

But...that was her body. Her soft face. Her voice. Her bright blue eyes illuminated by the lamp, pleading with him to touch her. 

"Joseph," she hoarsely moans, her white dress hitching up over her waist, exposing her undergarments. 

"If you do not become decent, I will leave," Joseph demands. 

"I'm sorry, my love," she slows down, "you got me all hot under the clerical collar earlier." 

Joseph looks back towards her. She giggles, before inhaling contently, "You know...The way you demanded him to stop, for me. Your wife." 

A beat.

"I know you miss me too. How I feel, how I...taste."

"Stop it." 

She smiles seeing this angry side to him, before biting her lip.

"I can see how your body misses mine", she addresses the bulge in his trousers. 

"I miss how you used to stretch me out. Like we were two pieces of a puzzle, slotting together perfectly", she opens her legs. 

"How you used to touch me," she annunciates each word.

Joseph licks his lips nervously, trying to shake off her thoughts.

"The tension, building and building, into one explosion of passion as we both came together..." 

Before she can say anymore, Joseph's lips crash into hers, desperately. It's messy, needy. His hand caresses the side of her face. 

He breaks the kiss to remove his belt and trousers, his cock bouncing free, already dripping wet. She looks at him, hunger in her eyes, as the mattress dips with his weight. Joseph removes her underwear, she helps kick them off, her legs still wide, waiting for him. 

Joseph wastes no time before inserting himself inside her. The feeling overwhelming, he pauses, trying not to come there and then. She smiles seeing him like this, wrapping her legs around his waist keeping him close, her back lifting off the bed as the restraints bite at her wrists. 

As Joseph starts to thrust deep inside her, the rosary beads slip out from under his shirt, grazing his wife's arm. She winces with pain but Joseph quickly grabs them.

"I'm so-" 

"No," she says breathlessly, bucking her hips against him, "Do it again." 

Joseph's cock continues to scrub inside her as he guides the beads to her neck, down to her breasts. 

Her flesh burns as bright as their passion, walls fluttering at the mixture of pleasure and pain.

Joseph is torn, not feeling morally good at how he's hurting his wife, but loving how she feels around him when he does so. He reminds himself that this isn't his wife, thrusting quicker, almost as if he can fuck the devil out of her. 

The metal bed clatters as Joseph starts to reach his climax, his hips stuttering as he comes deep inside his wife. Her vagina pulsing around him as she moans his name.

Shame immediately washes over Joseph realising what he's done. He quickly removes himself and hurriedly puts her underwear back on. 

"Aw, leaving so soon?", she pouts. 

Suddenly the door bursts open, Father Theophilus at the threshold, noticing the scotch marks on his wife's arms and neck. His eyes travel down to see white liquid seeping out from her legs, onto the bed. She smiles seeing Theophilus' horrified.

"Are you joining us for round two?", her voice turning deeper, grinning monstrously.

[mekochansblog]

Little Mermaid

Five Hargreeves x mermaid reader

Summary: Five and his family are finally taking a vacation! When Five stumbles on a little mermaid that loves looking at him.

The picture at the bottom is not mine credits to the creator I just colored her how I imagined her.

Five surveyed the ocean and breathed in and out, smelling the salty water. He took in the view. He walked towards a rock and saw a little secluded place. It looked like no one went there at all. Five turned towards where his family was and recognized that he walked further from the public beach and was more at a place that felt sacred in a way. Well it looked like it with just a glance. He kept going and slowly sat himself towards the sand. He gazed at the ocean and felt the waves crashing closely to where he was. It's not that he didn’t want to be with his family. After all, they did save the planet 8 years ago. He was finally 21, an “adult” even though he was 66 years old mentally. He just needed some space from his overly excited golden retriever brother Klaus and his chihuahua brothers and sister. He zoned back when he heard a splash close to him. His eyebrows furrowed and he squinted to see if he was able to calculate where it was coming from. That's when he saw it. A splash of a tail. He blinked multiple times. He was imagining stuff right? No way he just saw a tail that looked nothing like a fish or any other type of sea animal that he knew had a tail. Five slowly stood up and slowly took steps towards the ocean. He didn't want to scare whatever type of new animal he just discovered. Once he was waist deep he saw it.

He rubbed his eyes to see if maybe it was light that was deceiving him but no. There in front of him was a real mermaid swimming around. He took in her features. Her skin wasn't a normal color, it was more like an ice blue color. It actually looked pretty on her, he thought. Her hair color was a white silver with some blue tint at the bottom. What really interested him was her tail. It was an azure blue, it was long and wide, maybe around two to three feet longer than normal legs, her tail was wavy like a flowing dress. He knew that there wasn't a color that would match her tail,her scales glittered when the sun hit them making them look like diamonds. He didn't notice himself getting closer to the mermaid until he couldn't feel the ground with his feet. He panicked for a bit but then actually moved his arms and legs to not drown himself. When he calmed down and made sure he looked where land was he looked back where the mermaid was but he let out a small scream and backed away. Turns out the mermaid caught him and swam closer to inspect him seeing as she has never seen a human up close. You tilted your head when Five did it too, you kept copying his movements until he gently pushed you away from him. His hands were a bit shaky when he grabbed your shoulders. He cleared his throat which you mimicked also, finding whatever he does fascinating.

“I…I’m Five.” He gently murmured towards you. 

You blinked your eyes and tilted your head. You copied his lip movements but nothing came out. He eyed you, confused why you haven’t said anything. His eyes widened and he let out a small ‘oh’. He guessed you didn’t understand what he was saying. Until you grabbed his head and kissed him. His eyes widened and he didn’t know if he should push you away or not. The first physical girl/mermaid that he interacts with more and not counting his family or the people that want to kill him and she steals his first kiss (Dolores stole many kisses from him but he could never feel her soft lips on his skin). When you let go of him you were sofly panting while he was catching his breath from that intense kiss you gave him.

“I..I /N… Y/…N '' you stuttered. It was your first time talking in the human language. You didn’t even know if you said your name right.

 Mermish was the language the mermaids spoke but if spoken in land it sounded harsh and raspy, like a scream. Five stared at you confused and still a bit dazed from the kiss. He didn't know why you kissed him. Was this how mermaids introduced each other? He didn’t know. You smile at him so innocently and giggle. He kept blinking and just stared at you. He finally coughed and cleared his throat.

“Y… yeah I’m Five… Five Hargreeves. You said your name was Y/N?” He softly questioned you. 

You looked at him for a minute trying to understand the question he just asked you and you nodded your head eagerly. You were too excited to finally talk to someone that wasn’t a merperson. You swam from side to side wondering what else you will be able to learn about this human. Five nodded and hesitated in asking about your kind. He’s read too many books whether real or not about the merpeople and knew they were secretive. What he wanted to ask was why you kissed him out of nowhere. So he did.

“So so so why… Why did you kiss me? Is that how you introduced each other?” Five questioned you. He did want to know in case he ever encountered another merpeople, (which he hoped not since he for some reason will feel guilty). You looked at him and shook your head.

“No… I wish to know languages… not good…I kiss to know human language” You replied back to him, still smiling at him. Five’s face grew hot at what you just said, and so casually too like it was normal. Jesus you will be someone interesting this vacation. He knew he won't be able to get rid of you so easily now. 

Five gave out a small laugh and shook his head. Well at least now he was able to somewhat understand you. Your English wasn't the best and your sentences were somewhat out of place but that's all right. You giggled back seeing as he wont be a harm to you. You couldn't wait to gush to your best friend about this Five human. Five then started swimming towards the shore seeing as he was tired of trying not to drown. You tilted your head questioning in your head why he was leaving when you swam under and saw his legs, your eyes widened in fascination and touched his feet. Five felt the touch and tried to hurried it up, he shook his leg wanting you to stop touching his leg. He got closer and shook his head like a dog. he sat close to the ocean where the sand met the water so you don't have to come out not knowing if you'll be able to survive or not. You popped your head out of the water and laugh. he looked at you and let out a chuckle. You were one fascinating creature. He mentioned you to get a little closer to him so he would be able to talk to you then screaming and exposing you.

You smiled widely and swam a bit too excited towards him. You kept staring at his features. You again leaned close to his face almost touching nose to nose. Five's face flushed at the sudden movement but didn't move at all. She admired the way this particular human looked. He had an olive tint to his skin nothing like the icy blue she had. His hair was a chestnut color, his eye color reminded her of the seaweed she will mostly use, but they had a speck of gold on them when the light hit his eyes. She moves her head a bit to look more at him. His physique wasn't exactly muscular, but the hard outlines of his body still captivated you. Your eyes drank in the sight of him, lingering on the way his chest rose and fell with the quickening pace of his breath, before trailing down the soft expanse of his stomach. Five let out a small mewl, you didn't know that you were turning him on. It was just the way your burned on his skin, the way she took the sight of him like she could ravish him and he will let her.

Five grabbed your shoulders and gently pushed you away, the way you were drinking him in will make him go feral and he didn't know if he would be able to control himself. You tilted your head, your furrowed in confusion not knowing what you did wrong. You looked at his face turning crimson, his breathing was irregular. You put your hand on his chest and leaned your head to hear his heartbeat, closing your eyes taking it in. Five's mind stopped working right there. All the blood rushed towards his cock and he had to stop himself from grabbing you and kissing you. Well fuck this cute innocent's mermaid. By the end of this summer he will make you squirm just for him.

[kangaracha]

DAYBREAK; chapter 18

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pairing lee know x reader

genre smau, dystopia AU, angst, hurt/comfort, slowburn romance, hope/hopelessness, life goes on, ordinary life during extraordinary times

summary independant entertainment doesn't make money, everyone knows that - not dancing, not boxing. not without a company's name attached to it and the soul ripped out of it so that it can only sit on the stage bleeding. you knew you never should have agreed to get involved in his studio, that the bills would pile up and the income would run dry, that the government would come knocking telling you to shut up and sit down...but it makes him so happy, to be able to dance. it gives him a reason to stay. you don't know what you'd do without that.

taglist OPEN

a/n sorry there's maths in this chapter. you don't have to do the maths it's fine. also my handwriting. sorry. it's not my actual handwriting. sorry.

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BREAKING NEWS

PRIMEDIA GOES INTO ADMINISTRATION FOLLOWING FACTORY FIRES

PRESIDENT CHOI DALSEOK: ‘GENERAL PUBLIC HAS DISAVOWED REBEL ELECTION MESSAGE’

STAR ENTERTAINMENT OPEN DANCE AUDITIONS DATE SET

LEE MINHO RETURNS TO CHAMPIONSHIP FIGHT

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You almost wish the flurry of messages and headlines that you wake up to were confusing, because that would mean that you didn't immediately know where Minho is and what he has done. But there his face is, bruised and bloody and flashing his teeth as a man lifts his arm up into the air in triumph. And around him, that dirty, dusty ring and the bedraggled crowd it draws, its low lights and leaning walls just the same as they had been years ago when he'd last stepped into it.

It makes you angry. It makes you want to scream and cry and beat upon the walls of the apartment until they match that building that he loves so much downtown, but you don't move at all. Instead, you just lie there and stare at the ceiling and wait for...something, whatever it is that will break you from this nightmare. A sign, maybe, or the door opening as he comes home. The cats curled up against your feet finally sitting up and telling you that they agree, that he is stupid and they told him not to go either and you are not the only one in the world that thinks this is a fool's errand-

Nothing comes though. Nothing but the sound of the neighbours fighting through the wall, the hiss of a water pipe somewhere below you. The sun creeping through the crack underneath the door, telling you it is time to get up or work will be calling to fire you and Eastern Collective will be calling to rescind their offer. And maybe you are the crazy one and he should be allowed to waltz off to die, if the only message the universe will give you is to get up and move on.

But it still leaves a sour taste in your throat and a rot in your gut, still reminds you of the way life had been before he'd gotten that job at the restaurant. Dark and cold and hard, day after day after day. You don't know if you can go back to that again.

At least he had paid the bills. Some of the bills. Your father could stay in care another month, the studio could remain, Jisung could stay hidden in his walls. You could eat, more food than you'd seen in six months or more, even if every bite reminded you that it was won by the bruises on his face and the cracked bones that hid under his clothing.

You drag yourself from the covers with reluctant limbs and a hollow chest that refuses to accept that on this morning, this life has ended and Minho has slipped away from you, that nothing is coming to change that or his mind. The cats don't stir, not as you get dressed or when you slip through the bedroom door, or even when your empty stomach leads you towards the fridge. Eating does nothing to fill the hole, but you do it anyway, wandering restless circles around the living room with a bowl in your hand until your foot lands on the creak of the loose floorboard in the corner-

Of course, you end up here, prying up that board while you swallow down the last bites of a meal that tastes like ash in your mouth. You always end up here lately, even when you want to talk to the man that sleeps on the couch that your back leans against - the phones that hide in the floor offer a freedom and a comfort that can't be found anywhere else in life, and you are addicted to it. 

You'd never wanted to be a part of this whole thing - hiding Jisung in the studio, talking on a device the government's networks can't see, brushing arms with rebels and sympathisers - but you think now that if someone took away this phone, you might do anything to get it back. Even the time it takes to turn on is agonising, its old software inching through each piece of software that needs to run before the screen can light up. And even when it does, the disappointment that faces you when the message screen shows up empty, devoid of any of Jisung's late-night thoughts...

You're in over your head, you think, in so many different ways. Or maybe you're just too scared to live a better life than the safe one you'd built around Minho, or too smart to play the lottery of sending him back to the ring, gambling his life for money. 

Maybe you're just meant to drive yourself insane thinking about it, in all the hours that you spend alone and tired and angry at something you cannot define the borders of so as to fight it.

The woman that sits down across from you in the small interview room on the bottom floor of the hospital is...perfectly nice, actually. Smartly put together, a warm smile that throws a sharp contrast on the cold walls of the room, manicured nails and professionally cut hair. Soft bangs brush her forehead and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perch upon her nose, her eyes peering through them as she locates a stack of papers from within her bag and sets them softly on the table between you, pulling out her chair.

"It's so nice to meet you," she says when she has sat down comfortably, flashing you another one of those smiles, and you would almost feel warmed - except that the last time you were in this room, you were being either interviewed or interrogated by a man who didn't care if you were imprisoned, guilty or innocent. You have a feeling that if she knew that, she wouldn't have chosen this room.

"That's a lot of papers," you say, rather meekly; spurred by the need to say something rather than an actual curiousity. 

She reacts anyway, straightening her papers self-consciously as she says, "I went ahead and brought along the contract for a formal offer. ECH prefer to move things along quickly - it's so much easier that way, rather than having to wait weeks and weeks for loans, approvals...all of that."

"I thought this was just an information session," you say, and you try to tell your skittering, anxious heart that the door is just closed to keep out the noise from the hall and the contract isn't something you have to sign on the spot and this woman isn't here to incriminate you for anything you've done, just to talk-

"Well," she says primly, laying her hands on the stack of paper. "See it as a sign of just how confident I am that you'll take this offer.  Shall we get started? We only have half an hour, don't we?"

Your eyes stray automatically to the clock on the wall as she mentions it, the sharp reminder that this is time only grudgingly set aside from your job by a manager who is not pleased to see a competitor here to ply four of her nurses. "Yes," you answer, when you see you are already three minutes down, the second hand ticking and ticking away. 

"Great!" 

The overly friendly tone of her voice almost makes you wince and turn away, sickeningly sweet amidst the cold walls of the hospital. She doesn't notice - she's too busy fishing a shiny brochure out of her papers and pasting on a smile that doesn't reach her eyes as she slides it across the table. "This is for you to refer back to later," she says as you pick it up, flipping through the pages.

"But for now," she says, interrupting you before you can start reading, "I'll just ask you some questions, if you don't mind, and then I'll do some calculations for you, and you'll be able to see exactly what it is that Eastern can offer you. Does that sound good?"

"Yes," you say again, because you don't really know what else you're supposed to say. 

"Great." From her stack comes a blank piece of paper, and a pen from her pocket. "So, first off. Our records show that you're a single female with no dependents. Is that correct?"

"Uh-" You hesitate, wondering if there is any point or danger in mentioning Minho's name - but you'd come here to know what it would cost to take this job, didn't you? You came here to know if it would save him? "I have a - roommate. Dependant. Lee Minho."

"Oh!" She flips through her papers, and then pulls a phone out of her pocket and checks something on there too. "I'm sorry. We had no record of that relationship. You would want to bring him as a dependent, if you moved to Maplewood?"

"Yes," you say, and then add, "Probably. If he wants to."

"Right," she says. "Not a problem, I will just have to do some extra calculations for you. Can I ask what he does for a living?"

"He works in a restaurant. And he teaches dance lessons."

"Oh, that's great!" she enthuses, with the brightest smile you've seen in years. "We have lots of restaurants opening up, and we offer a dance studio as a free amenity!"

"I didn't know that," you say honestly; and without the enthusiasm that she is looking for, based on the way that she retracts, focusing back on whatever she is scribbling down on her sheet.

"Does he have any debt?" she asks.

You freeze, eyeing her suspiciously. "Why does that matter?"

"Eastern is offering to buy out the debt of all their employees and their families and assist with payment plans," she says, quickly and smoothly, before your hackles can raise any further. "No penalties, no deadlines. That way, you can live without worrying about it, and focus on your work and your community and it will pay itself back. For instance, I see that you have a debt of...two hundred thousand, plus a father in hospice care. We're willing to buy all of that out for you, and pay for your father's care for as long as you work for us."

You openly gape, your heart jumping into your throat. Two hundred thousand; you know the number, of course. You see it every month, winding up and up into infinity the longer that you scrape together coins for other things and pretend that it doesn't exist. It's weighed on you for as long as you can remember, like lead the government has placed on your chest to stop you from breathing. But to have it gone? To live carefree like the boys you teach, to find time to do what you love like the Minho you used to know?

"Uh-" you stammer, trying to gather your thoughts again. "He has - he has medical debt. Fifty seven thousand, four hundred and...and eighty eight."

Her eyebrows raise. "That's a very exact number."

"It's...on the statements every month," you say with a shrug. 

"Makes my job easier." She writes down the number, and then a few more; wage, you read upside down, and then transportation, utilities. "So, very quickly because our time is short, here are some preliminary numbers." The sheet moves, turning towards you, halfway across the table where you can read it.

"I've got you on our beginning wage of two thousand, one hundred per fortnight," she says, her pen pointing to the numbers in turn. "That wage also includes five hundred in company credits per week, as a loyalty incentive - that's five hundred dollars a week to spend on campus at selected stores or recreation centres; things like the supermarket, or the gym."

She pauses, glancing up to see if you're following; you nod along wordlessly. "I've estimated a wage of six hundred a week for your...dependant - of course, he's welcome to work at any of our locations on campus for any wage they offer. Now, for a two bedroom apartment, we charge five hundred a week in rent - not bad, with a combined income of sixteen hundred a week, right? Leaves you eleven hundred between you to play with, plus your five hundred a week in credit."

"That's-" You feel kind of weak at the knees at the sound of it, even sitting in this hard plastic chair as you are. "That's good," you say. "That's very good."

"We know," the woman says, with the curve of a smile. "And it gets even better - if you're interested in a one bedroom apartment, our rent is only two hundred and fifty a week, which works out to be even cheaper per square foot, but you are unlikely to be approved for a one bedroom with two people, couple or not."

"Two bedrooms is okay," you assure her. It feels like a dream to even say it, or a hallucination - for you, with not a cent to your name, to be discussing real estate-

"Perfect. So that's rent - if you want to buy your apartment, that is also an option - two bedrooms starts at eighty five thousand - don't be scared by the number though. This just goes onto your combined debt and your payment plan will take care of it in time."

"My debt is a lot, though," you hurry to put in, before she can get carried away.

The woman is unbothered, her pen moving up the page to the place where she has scribbled out the debt numbers. "Eastern haven't put a limit on the debt they can purchase for you," she tells you, in a voice that is meant to feel reassuring. "So really, nothing is too much here, and everything can be paid off just by working the very reasonable hours laid out in your contract. But if debt payments are something you're interested in, I can definitely do some calculations for you?"

"Yes please," you say, though you can't deny that your eyes move to the clock. Fifteen minutes gone, the hands ticking ever forwards.

"Okay, here you go. So, with your debt and your wage, if you put a thousand a week towards your debt repayments, you will be done in just under four years. For five hundred a week, eight years - which sounds like a lot, I know, but eight years working at a hospital that is invested in your wellbeing, living in your own house...sounds pretty nice, doesn't it?" 

You find yourself nodding along, listening as the numbers fly past you. "And for your dependant, he is looking at around three or five years to pay off his debt with his own wage. And as for your house...at a thousand a week, you could own your house in just a year and a half. Three years for the same price as your rent! I promise, you won't find anywhere else in the city where you can own an apartment for affordable down payments in three years."

It's your turn to gape again, staring down at the swirl of numbers on the page in disbelief. "Are you following me?" the woman asks after a moment, sitting back as if she can possibly give you space in such a small room.

"It just kind of seems...too good to be true," you blurt out without thinking.

She just smiles, perfectly understanding. "This is what happens when a company puts investment into the cost of living crisis," she tells you. "These prices are achievable just by going around the regulations and competition of private ownership in established neighbourhoods. And there are, of course, other expenses that I don't have time to break down for you - this, for instance-" she pauses, pulling out another sheet of paper for you that is covered in tiny writing and graphs of fractional numbers, "-is our utility rates, and there is a transport levy that averages around forty dollars a week for you to get to and from work on our bus system, things like that...but the point of this system is to allow you to pay off your debt and start saving money for your future, or your children, or whatever you want. The point is for our company to invest in you."

"That's...very generous," you say. And it is; to live not free of the government, but without owing them money that they will eventually cash in on when workers are needed, to be able to pay that off at your own leisure, working a job you choose in a neighbourhood closed to the rest of the world rather than a labour camp far away from any comforts or people that you love...it's a significant offer. For Minho to be able to live that life too, is significant. 

"Do you allow cats?" you ask, the natural progression of your thoughts past Minho. You're deliberately not thinking of Jisung. You don't know how to save him as well.

The woman purses her lips. "No pets are allowed at this point in time," she answers, haltingly, as if she knows you aren't going to like the answer. "I'm sure you can apply for an exemption with the head office though."

"Okay," you say, though you're pretty sure it won't be okay with Minho at all. "That's fine. No problem."

"Great." Her smile returns, her hand reaching for the thicker stack of paper before her. "Are we ready to sign a contract, then? I believe we only have a few minutes left."

You glance at the clock; only a few minutes left indeed, the hand soaring past the twenty five. Your gaze drops from its infinite circle to the paper and pen that she places in front of you, already opened to the page where she most wants you to sign at the bottom. "Right now?" you ask.

"Right now," she confirms. "I know, it's a lot of information all at once, but like I said - Eastern really just likes to keep the ball moving, get things done efficiently, and we're trying to staff hospitals as a matter of urgency, so getting offers out to our best candidates as soon as possible is a priority."

You nearly reach for the pen. You want to reach for the pen - you want the cheap rent, the decent wage, the shiny new neighbourhood that gleams at you from the front of that brochure. You want to sign that contract and run away from this hospital that only exists to treat the desperate cases that can't afford to go anywhere else, and you want to drag Minho along with you and keep him far away from that ring and the bruises and breaks he collects there, but-

But you've been mad at him for months for giving your life away to someone on the spot, without asking for permission or forgiveness. And there is Jisung, who you cannot just buy a bedroom for, and there are the cats that sleep on the end of your bed when the night is cold and dark and empty and he is not at home, and the studio that you've fought so hard for because you love that place and it is yours and no one else's, and-

"I have to go," you say as the clock ticks over the half-hour mark, pushing your chair back. It scrapes against the floor, the sound echoing too-loud in the small room. "And I have to discuss it with my - with Minho anyway. But if I can make another appointment-"

"We can make another appointment, sure," the woman says, her voice just as pleasant as it has been, but her face slowly changing as she realises you are slipping through her fingers, "but I can't promise that the offer will remain. This is a highly sought-after opportunity, you know, and places are going quickly."

"That's okay," you assure her. "I could contact you tomorrow if you want - if I could just have the numbers-"

You hand reaches automatically out across the table, expecting her to hand over the piece of paper that rests in front of her - but she shies away, snatching it back with just enough haste that it makes your stomach twist, the deep sense that there is something else going on embedding itself down in your nerves. "Unfortunately," she says around the sound of her clearing her throat, "I can only provide you with the brochure. Anything else we've discussed today is private company information that I can only give you further access to once you sign a contract."

"Oh." It takes you a moment to swallow this information down, to analyse it and come to a conclusion. Your heart is beating too fast for you to be able to make any real sense of it - your head is spinning too fast for thoughts to move in order, the scared little beast in the back of your mind too busy screaming that something seems off about all of this. "That's okay," you say. "I'm sure I'll remember. I'll - I'll see you soon."

"Thanks for your time," she replies, and all the sickly-sweet pleasantries of before are gone now. They’re replaced only with the blandest of smiles, the paleness of her fingers as she stacks together her papers and packs them away and waits for you to leave the room.

And you do leave, and that paper stays unsigned, and as you walk away you can feel the opportunity slipping away just the same as you are afraid everything else in your life will, and you mourn. And you wonder. And you hope, that this isn't a mistake. That you won't mourn something else sooner or later because you were too afraid to save it when you had the chance, even if it meant that it would hate you for putting it in a cage.

I will never hate you, he'd said, that night not so long ago. I am myself because you give up who you are to protect me. 

But even now, you don't know how to believe it. Even now, you can find worse and worse things to do to him, in the name of caring too much.

---

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[raven-dor]

this fic is getting posted next WEDNESDAY at 1pm EST, so make sure to keep an eye out!!

until then, here's a sneak peek of you were here...

“Am I to believe that this is our end?” The High King yelled at your back. His voice echoed down the hall, tears streaming down your cheeks in waves. You couldn’t face him, you couldn’t do this anymore. “This is how you leave me?” 

“I do not know what you want me to say.” You whispered. “I have told you what I believe-” 

“And you are wrong.” He stalked toward you, and you could hear his determined footsteps closing in. “On this very rare instance, you are wrong.” 

“Your Majesty-” 

“Do not call me that.” He hissed. “Why must you call me that?” 

You turned around, colliding with his solid chest. “Because we are in a rather public hall, Your Majesty. That is why.” 

“I don’t like seeing you like this.” He reached out, attempting to wipe away your tears. He frowned when you stepped back, glaring at him like he’d attacked you. In a way, he had. “I don’t understand. I thought you’d be pleased.” 

“In another life, I would be ecstatic, Your Majesty.” You wiped your tears away, knowing your eyes would be red and swollen the next day. “But I am a commoner, I’m not worthy-” 

“Stop saying that.” His voice was low, quiet, but just as bone-chilling as his yell. He was upset, upset that you were denying yourself, denying him, this happiness. “I will not hear it. Do not say that again, or so help me-” 

“Well, it is true.” You scoffed. “I am not a lady.” 

“You are.” He insisted. “You are a lady, in every way that matters-” 

“Except one.” You whispered, your voice weak from the screaming match you found yourself in. “Peter, please. People will talk, and they will be upset by your choice of a wife. You know this to be true, deep down. Narnia will not be pleased, Telmarine will not be pleased, Archenland, Calormen, they will all be-” 

“I do not care. I am the High King.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you would knowingly fling your country into danger for the sake of love?” 

“I would.” He nodded, resolute, confident in his answer. 

“That is selfish.” You hissed. “Very selfish indeed.” 

“I am quite fine with this being the rare moment in my life I behave selfishly.” He stepped closer, hands reaching out, desperate to hold you. “My love-” 

“Stop.” Tears threatened to spill from your eyes for the umpteenth time that morning. “I am sorry, truly I am.” 

“No, you’re not.” He hissed, eyes practically red with hurt, with anger, with pain. “You must truly hate me to let us come to this. After all this time.” 

“You know that is not true. Not in the slightest.” You hissed back. “I have loved you with my entire being, with my entire soul. But I will not do this. I cannot.” 

“I could make you marry me.” He whispered. “I could make you, and we could be happy.” 

“You wouldn’t do that.” You smiled. “Because it wouldn’t be the same, it wouldn’t be what either of us want. You are a good king, Peter. But you are an even better man.” 

“I need you.” A tear fell down his cheek. “Please.” 

“No.” You shook his head, hating how his cologne pulled you in, even now, in the middle of all of this. “You must-” 

“Then you are a coward.” The words hit you like a ton of bricks, like a slap still stinging your cheek. His words hit you harder than you cared to outwardly admit, your heart breaking into a million pieces.

“So be it. Narnia will be better off in the end because of it.” You whipped around, your last words all but well wishes. It was poisonous, harsh as could be. While the phrase could be heard as kind, loving, even, you both knew the truth. That would be your end, that would be your demise. “I hope for your safe return, Your Majesty.”

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[heartbeatlicense]

your relationship with bllk men as mitski songs

(kaiser, sae, oliver)

my posting has been very slow recently so to celebrate mitskis new album (and to feed into my eternal obsession for her music and lyricism by combining it with another thing im way too obsessed with), i dug up this old ass draft and finished it instead of giving y’all an actual fic

tags: gn!reader, angst(it’s mitski duh), yeah basically no fluff/comfort in here, suggestive-ish in the oliver one, me being a dork and combining two big interests of mine

michael kaiser - i don’t smoke

So if you need to be mean Be mean to me I can take it and put it inside of me If your hands need to break More than trinkets in your room You can lean on my arm As you break my heart

his career can be a lot on his shoulders at times even with the cocky and arrogant facade he puts on for the performance of each match he plays. he has a tendency to keep it all in to bask in the glory of his luxurious life.

you understand. you know he’s currently too prideful to deal with his true feelings, especially all on his own. you just want to be there to know he isn’t alone and that he can be open with you. so you sit there, giving him a listening ear as he lashes out and releases every awful word in the book towards you when everything finally becomes too much for him to bear. you wouldn’t want him to have a very public meltdown when it happens so it’s better this way. you have remind yourself to take none of it to heart because he doesn’t mean those all harsh words. he just needed an outlet for those frustrations.

you also don’t want the weight and significance of his career to separate you two. you’re already so damn lucky to be with someone like him. you want to prove that you can handle it. you know you can. you’re sure you can help him figure this all out somehow. love just takes compassion and patience, that’s all it is. just taking it one step at a time.

it’s just compassion and patience. right?

Just don't leave me alone Wondering where you are I am stronger than you give me credit for

sae itoshi - i want you

You're coming back And it's the end of the world We're starting over and I love you darlin' And I am done, dear

he swears he will make time for you someday. sure those words have been promised over and over again like a broken record but he truly does love you. however you’re starting to wonder if mutual love is truly enough to keep you two going.

the truth is his life is currently too big and important for him to take any focus away from it. the last thing he needs is a distraction. all of which he has very clear multiple times, even along with his contrastingly hopeful promises. though his tone is quite neutral, never letting his emotions seep through as if he’s programmed to do so. meanwhile you have to desperately hold yours back to not seem like an idiot.

it’s never been easy to express how you feel in front of him. you desperately wish you could but the inconsistency of your relationship that’s barely holding up renders it pointless. this over and over/back and forth thing that’s going on between you two is exhausting. it only leaves you lost and confused. you begin to wonder if staying is even worth it at all. even with the speck of hope that it could eventually work out. even if you love him.

You're in the house And I am here in the car I just need a quiet place Where I can scream how I love you

oliver aiku - eric

You like control, well, I do too Take off my clothes and watch me move You can come closer, I'll let you hurt me how you choose

you deeply crave a loving and fulfilling connection with another but unfortunately the other you desire is him. a guy who’s born to be a player and only wants to fool around with multiple people.

you know getting attached would only cause you so much unnecessary pain but your naive heart couldn’t resist him. you know that he doesn’t see you for more than what you give him at night but you were still a fool to fall for him.

enough of a fool to fall for him knowing he’s not ready to settle for one person. you could see it from how you would lovingly gaze at him while he leers at someone else behind you. you would still give yourself up to him if you could, offering anything he wanted out of you.

despite better judgment, you stay with a pained and aching heart. constantly yearning for more.

But how long, how long can we play this way? I'm tired, I'm tired of not loving you My heart, my heart wants to hold you But I know, I know, I know the rules

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