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shortnspidey · 3 months ago

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SILENT RIFT

jj maybank x fem!cameron!reader || WC: 4.5K

SUMMARY: The Pogues finally find the gold they've been searching for after countless obstacles. However, when it comes to actually succeeding, the universe has other plans. Held at gunpoint in the middle of nowhere, a spontaneous decision changes everything. In the heat of the moment, words are said that reveal hidden feelings. Emotions run high, leading them to confront not only their enemies, but also their own emotions.

WARNINGS: established relationship, cursing, mild angst, talks of drugs, typical OBX level violence, suggestive towards the end but no smut!

A/N: Happy OBX 4 release day! This one shot is one of my old Wattpad drafts from when I was writing a JJ story. Enjoy this drabble as I try to publish another chapter of broken record or collateral hearts soon! This ended up being a long one, enjoy! Divider by @marvelstoriesepic

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"Hell of a job melting it down, Dr. Frankenstein," JJ scoffed, narrowing his eyes at Kiara as he stepped out of the Twinkie. He clutched the melted piece of gold tightly in his hand, its weight a tangible reminder of what everyone was expecting him to do. As the group arrived outside a shabby pawn shop on the outskirts of the Outer Banks, the rundown aspect and the graffiti on the walls made your skin crawl. The shops window's were smeared with grime, making it impossible to see inside, and the peeling paint revealed patches of weathered wood.

Kiara shot JJ a glare, her frustration evident in the tight set of her jaw and the clenching of her fists. "Like you could have done any better." She retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. JJ stepped closer, standing toe to toe with her, not backing down from her challenging gaze. "I could have done much better. I took a welding class," He sassed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Woah, woah, hey!" John B chastised, stepping in between his two friends.

His presence seemed to diffuse some of the tension, his calm demeanor acting as a buffer between the two. You followed his lead, grabbing JJ by his arm and rubbing comforting circles with your thumb on his forearm knowing that he was anxious. You could feel the taut muscles in JJ's arm slowly beginning to relax under your touch, the rhythmic motion of your thumb providing a small measure of comfort.

"Chill out, okay?" John B coaxed, his voice gentle but firm. You watched as Kiara's eyes softened slightly, her earlier anger giving way to a mix of concern and frustration. She took a step back, her shoulders sagging as she exhaled deeply. "It's easy for you to say that," JJ scoffed, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You're not the one that has to pawn off this piece of shit." He emphasized his point by holding up the gold bars that were now melted in a unrecognizable shape, the once gleaming metal was now a twisted, misshapen lump.

"How did I get this job anyway?" JJ muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Cause you're the best liar." Pope replied nonchalantly, his tone matter-of-fact. Letting out a sigh JJ turned to you, his cerulean blue eyes locking with yours. His eyes were a stormy sea, filled with a mix of frustration and determination. He turned his head, tapping his cheek. "Kiss, for you know, good luck." He grinned, his usual mischievous spark returning momentarily. You rolled your eyes at your boyfriends antics yet leaned in to kiss him nonetheless.

Just as your lips were about to collide with his cheek, he turned his head at the last second, smashing his lips with your in a kiss that was way too passionate for it to be in front of your friends. The warmth of his lips, the sudden intensity, made your heart race. You could have sworn you heard your sister mutter an "aww" while everyone else fake gagged, their exaggerated sounds filling the air. Pulling yourself away from the kiss, much to JJ's dismay, you smiled, leaning up and pressing one more chaste kiss to his pouting lips.

The brief contact left a lingering warmth, a promise of more to come. "You got this," You reassured him, squeezing his bicep in emphasis, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Showtime," He mumbled to himself, mentally preparing. Straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath, and gave you one last look before stepping forward. Behind you, Sarah reached out and squeezed your hand, her grip offering a silent message of solidarity and support. The warmth of her touch was comforting, grounding you in the moment.

Everyone followed JJ into the empty shop, the jingle of the bell on the door announcing your arrival. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet space, a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air. "Afternoon, ma'am." JJ greeted, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of anxiety. The shop was dimly lit, with dust particles dancing in the beams of barely there sunlight that filtered through the windows. Shelves lined the walls, filled with various trinkets and curiosities, each one telling its own story. “Afternoon.” The pawnbroker, an elderly woman with a stern face and piercing eyes, looked up from behind the counter.

Her gaze swept over your group as you spaced yourselves around the room, lingering on JJ for a moment longer. JJ stepped forward, trying to maintain his composure under her scrutinizing gaze. "I see you buy gold," He emphasized, his voice steady but with a hint of nervousness. "That's what the sign says, don't it?" She retorted, her lips curling into a sneer. She glanced at the sign hanging in the window, its letters faded and worn. "Well, I sure hope you buy a lot of it, because I am about to blow your mind." JJ carefully opened his bag, revealing the items inside. The pawnbroker's eyes never left his hands, watching his every move with a hawk-like intensity.

"I ain't got much mind left to blow, so have at it," She challenged, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of defiance and curiosity. "How about them gold apples," JJ replied, his voice steady as he placed the melted gold onto the counter with a thump that echoed throughout the shop. The sound seemed to reverberate off the walls, adding a weighty finality to his action. The pawnbroker chuckled cynically, shaking her head. "That ain't real," She declared, her voice filled with disbelief and a hint of mockery. Her eyes flicked to the gold, then back to JJ, as if daring him to prove her wrong.

"That ain't real?" JJ scoffed, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. He leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "It can't be," The pawnbroker pressed, her voice faltering slightly as doubt began to creep in. She reached out a tentative hand, her fingers hovering just above the gold, as if afraid to touch it. "Feel how heavy it is," He countered, his voice firm and confident. He nudged the gold closer to her, the metal glinting under the dim light. The pawnbroker hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked on JJ's, searching for any sign of deceit. Finally, she picked up the gold, her fingers curling around it.

Her expression shifted from skepticism to surprise as she felt the weight of the metal in her hand. The shop fell silent, the only sound being the faint creak of the floorboards as she adjusted her stance, the gold weighing heavily in her grasp. "Mhm, here let's get some light on that." The group watched intently as she narrowed her eyes, but nevertheless picked up a nearby magnifying glass with a light, inspecting the chunk of gold closely. "Spray-painted tungsten." She concluded, her voice laced with doubt but still firm.

"Really, okay?" JJ rolled his eyes. "Why don't you see how soft it is." He suggested. "You mind?" The pawnbroker asked, holding up a small mallet, her eyes seeking permission. "No, go for it." JJ urged, his gaze unwavering as he watched her. She brought the mallet down gently, making a small dent in the gold, then pushed down on it for further inspection. "Wow. Would you look at that." JJ remarked sarcastically, a smirk playing on his lips. "Hold your horses, we ain't got the acid test yet." She shot back, her confidence wavering slightly. "Ooh, the acid test," He turned, his eyes locking onto yours, a mischievous glint in them.

"My favorite, baby." He added with a wink, grinning as he noticed how the simple action made you flush. You pretended to be distracted by a limited edition book on the shelf, your heart racing as you tried to avoid his piercing gaze. This was certainly not the place or time. Everyone held their breath as the woman dribbled a few drops of acid on top of the gold. The liquid sizzled slightly, emitting a faint, acrid smell that filled the small shop. "Well, it ain't plated, and it ain't painted," she assessed, her tone now more serious. "Ma'am, I'm telling ya, this is as real as the day is long," He insisted, growing tired of the back and forth, his patience wearing thin.

"It looks like someone tried to melt it down," she raised a brow, her eyes meeting JJ's in a challenging gaze. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken accusations. "My mom," You stepped in, linking your arm through JJ's as the pawnbroker eyed you both suspiciously. "She had all this jewelry laying around the house, and she thought it was best to melt it down to "consolidate" it." You tried to sound as convincing as possible, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. The lie felt heavy on your tongue, but you pushed through, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sarah bite her lip to stop the laugh that she almost let out at your evident lie. The pawnbrokers gaze flickered between you and JJ, her skepticism evident. The silence stretched, each second feeling like an eternity. Turning around with a sigh, she placed the gold into a small scale behind the counter, the scale creaked under the weight. "Seven pounds," Her eyes widened. "That's a lot of earrings." Her voice had a hint of disbelief, and you could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to piece together your story.

"Okay, to be honest, ma'am," JJ spoke, clearing his throat and adopting a more somber tone. "It's really hard to see my fiancé's mom fall apart with Alzheimer's. Breaks my heart, truly." His voice wavered slightly, adding an authentic touch to the fabricated story. "Give me a minute." She tsked, walking towards a secluded office. JJ nodded solemnly, playing into the act of the heartbroken fiancé. "Take your time, ma'am." As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned to give JJ a look of disbelief. "Alzheimer's really?" You whispered, trying to keep your voice low. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to handle, and you could feel a nervous giggle bubbling up inside you.

"So I talked to my boss, and this is what I can do." The pawnbroker returned, holding a piece of paper with a price written on it. Inspecting it, JJ raised his brows. "Fifty thousand?" He repeated, his voice tinged with incredulity. The offer was far lower than what you had hoped for, and you could see the frustration building in JJ's eyes. "You think I walked in here not knowin' the spot price?" JJ retorted, his voice firm. "I know for a fact this is worth 140 at least." His confidence was unwavering, and you could see the pawnbroker's resolve starting to crack. "Well sweetie, you in a pawn shop. This ain't Zurich." Her voice was firm, but there was a hint of concession in her tone.

"Ninety, or I walk," He bargained, his voice steady. "Seventy, half price, and I don't ask questions about where you got this.” JJ clenched his jaw, looking over at John B, who nodded his head, giving him the green light. "I'm gonna need that in large denominations, please," JJ agreed, his voice calm but resolute. "Well, here's the snag, I don't have that much denominated. Not here anyway, but I can write you a cashier's check." JJ immediately shook his head. “No ma’am, I want the cold hard, that’s what that sign says. Cash for gold, and that’s what I expect.” He pointed to the sign on the wall as emphasis.

“Well, I have to send you to the warehouse. I have the money there. Is that alright?” Everyone in the room held their breath, watching as JJ mentally weighed his options over in his head. “Where’s this warehouse?” He finally asked, his voice steady but with a hint of skepticism. That is how the group found themselves further into the middle of nowhere following the pawnbroker's instructions to the supposed "warehouse". The road was rough and winding, lined with tall, ominous trees that seemed to close in on them as they drove deeper into the unknown.

To say you were on edge would have been a complete understatement. Every creak of the van and small jolt from where you were seated on JJ's lap made your heart race faster. "So, they keep money out here?" Pope voiced aloud the question everyone was probably thinking. His voice broke the silence, but instead of easing the tension, it only seemed to heighten it. The unease in his tone mirrored the anxiety that had settled in your chest. JJ shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. "That's what she said," He chuckled at his own joke. "That's what she said." His snicker was met with silence, the gravity of their situation overshadowing any chance of humor.

"Stop," Pope warned, his expression hardening. The seriousness in his eyes was a stark contrast to JJ's attempt at levity. "That was cute, but definitely not the time, J," You exasperated, your voice barely above a whisper. The fear and uncertainty in your tone were unmistakable. The blonde boy nodded, his playful demeanor fading. He held onto the melted gold in one hand, the other resting reassuringly on your thigh. The warmth of his touch was a small comfort in the midst of the overwhelming tension. "I've never even heard of Resurrection Drive." Sarah inquired. "That's cause your rich." JJ mumbled under his breath.

"You've never heard of it either." Both you and Kiara retorted in unison. "Thank you." Sarah replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "There's nothing but weeds back here." Kiara informed the group, looking out the van's window and seeing nothing but shrubbery. JJ was about to retort with another sarcastic comment, yet he was interrupted by the sudden, piercing sound of a siren. The noise sliced through the tense silence like a knife. Sure enough, John B looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening as he saw the flashing lights of a car behind them, signaling for them to pull over.

"Cops? Out here?" Kiara questioned, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you kidding me!" JJ fumed, his grip tightening on the gold and your thigh, the panic in his eyes was evident. "What did we do?" Sarah questioned, her voice small and wavering, the fear clear in her tone. "Stash that," John B whispered urgently to JJ, who was still holding onto the gold in his hand. You quickly got off his lap and sat next to Kiara, your heart pounding in your chest. The van's interior felt even more confined as Pope and John B coaxed JJ to hurry up. The oppressive weight of the situation pressed down on you, making every second feel like an eternity as you waited for what would happen next.

Your heart sank in your chest upon hearing the cock of a gun and seeing a rifle a few inches away from John B's face. The metallic click echoed ominously in the confined space of the van. "Why don't I go ahead and see them hands in the air?" A gruff voice declared, belonging to a mystery assailant who wore a bandana on the lower half of his face. The fear that gripped your heart quickly morphed into a seething anger. You knew that voice. "All of y'alls hands up in the air right now." Oh hell no, you thought to yourself. This was going to end here and now. "No," You seethed, making direct eye contact with your assailant. You could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew you recognized him, and his cover slipped slightly.

The tension in the van was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Every muscle in your body was tense, ready to spring into action. The familiarity of the voice only fueled your anger, making it harder to think clearly. You could feel the eyes of your friends on you, their fear and confusion mirroring your own. "Just do as he says, Y/N," John B urged, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his fear. He slowly raised his hands, setting an example for the rest of you. "No," You shook your head, challenging him. The defiance in your voice was clear. The assailant's eyes narrowed behind the bandana.

"Alright, tough girl, come on out here then," He taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "Y/N, what are you doing?" Sarah whimpered, her voice trembling as she watched you step out of the van, the barrel of the gun trained on you. "It's gonna be okay, Sarah," You reassured her, trying to keep your voice calm despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "Y/N!" This time it was JJ. His voice cracked with desperation. As your eyes met his, you could see he was barely holding it together, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "JJ, trust me, stay here," You coaxed, trying to project as much confidence as you could muster. The last thing you needed was for him to do something reckless.

"I'd listen to the lady, unless you want your brain scattered here on the side of the road," The assailant threatened, his voice cold and unyielding. The weight of his words hung in the air, adding to the already suffocating tension. "I'll be okay, I'll be right back," You promised, hoping your words would be enough to keep your friends from doing anything rash. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was to come, and stepped further away from the van, feeling the eyes of your friends burning into your back. Once you were a safe distance away from the van, Barry lowered his rifle, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Mighty brave of you, Cameron, especially 'cause I'm the one holdin' the gun." He mocked.

"Oh please," You rolled your eyes, your voice laced with disdain. "Drop the act, Barry," Addressing him by his name with a tone of authority, you crossed your arms over your chest, standing your ground. "We both know Rafe will kill you if you so much as lay a finger on me." You smirked confidently. "Now, why don't we cut to the chase, shall we?" You proposed, your eyes never leaving his as you reached for the shiny gold diamond ring that adorned your knuckle. Barry watched in disbelief as you slipped it off and held it out to him. "Here," You coaxed, handing him the ring. "This will get you a couple thousand dollars if you pawn it off right." Barry took the ring, studying it in the sunlight. "This covers what you and your friends got, but not what country club owes me, you feel me.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest once more, the frustration evident in your posture. "How much does he owe you?" You asked, your voice tinged with exasperation. "At least two hundred," Barry replied, a smirk playing on his lips. Sighing, you reached into your back pocket for your wallet, picking out two hundred dollar bills. "Are we free to go?" You huffed, knowing that if this deal took any longer, your boyfriend would most likely come and take matters into his own hands, whether Barry had a gun or not. "Tell your boy toy that his attitude's gonna get him in trouble," Barry sneered. "Don't," You spat, your eyes narrowing. "If you even think of touching him, we're going to have a problem. You feel me?" You threw back his previous words with a defiant glare.

Raising his hands in mock surrender "Damn, looks like I hit a nerve." Barry chuckled. "I mean it, Barry," You insisted, your voice steady and unwavering. With one final smirk in your direction, Barry pockets the cash and the ring and climbs into his car without a single look back in your direction. You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding and turn back towards the van. As you approached, the tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air. "What the hell was that?" Sarah was the first to question you, her eyes wide with concern as you climbed into the backseat as if nothing had happened.

"I handled it, it's over." You shrugged nonchalantly, but the tightness in your chest betrayed your calm facade. Sarah scoffed, clearly unconvinced by your bravado. "That was pretty stupid, Y/N," Kiara scolded, her voice filled with frustration. Everyone nodded in agreement, their faces a mix of worry and disapproval. You shrugged them off, trying to meet JJ's eyes, who had yet to say anything. You could see the worry and anger battling for dominance in his eyes, the tension in his jaw making it clear just how much he was holding back. "Let's get out of here," John B broke the silence, his voice a calm command that cut through the tension. Everyone was unharmed, yet you somehow knew this was far from over.

Arriving back at the Château, you watched JJ throw open the door before John B even parked his van. The sound of the door slamming against the wall echoed through the air. You watched as JJ stormed inside, his movements quick and agitated. One hand was gripping his chest, his knuckles white from the pressure, while the other was balled into a tight fist, veins visible under his skin. He didn't look back, his anger propelling him forward. John B, Kiara, Sarah, and Pope turned to you, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity. It was as if they were silently asking if they should get involved, their eyes darting between you and the direction JJ had gone.

"I'll handle it," You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settle on your shoulders. You stepped down from the van, the gravel crunching under your feet. "Good luck," John B sing-songed, a teasing lilt in his voice. You flipped him off with a smirk, hearing Sarah and Kiara scold him in unison. Their voices faded as you walked through the door, the familiar scent of the Château enveloping you. You found JJ in the spare bedroom, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. His footsteps were heavy, each step reverberating through the wooden floor. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a storm of emotions - anger, frustration, and a hint of vulnerability.

"JJ, talk to me," You urged softly, stepping closer. Your voice was calm, trying to soothe the tempest within him. He stopped pacing and turned to face you fully. His expression was a mix of anger and hurt, his jaw clenched tightly. "What the hell were you thinking, Y/N? You could've gotten yourself killed!" His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear behind his anger. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you took a deep breath to steady yourself. "He's the scumbag who sells coke to my brother. I know him and what he's capable of. As much of a psychotic asshole as he is, he wouldn't hurt me. Not without facing Rafe's wrath." That only made JJ angrier. "How are you so sure?"

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. "Maybe next time you won't be so lucky, or I won't be there to protect you." His voice was low, almost a growl, and you could see the worry etched into his features, mingling with the anger. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his breathing was ragged. "I'm fine," you replied, trying to sound reassuring. "It's over now." "Over?!" JJ's voice rose, and he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Dammit Y/N, you don't get it!" He screamed, pulling his hair in frustration. "I was fucking terrified. Did you know how scared I felt, watching the woman I love being held at gunpoint?" His voice broke, and you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, though he tried to blink them away.

You opened your mouth, but nothing seemed to come out. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and significant. "What did you just say?" You finally managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. JJ stayed quiet, almost as if processing the words himself. His breathing slowed, and he looked away, his shoulders slumping. The vulnerability in his stance was palpable, and it hit you just how deeply he cared. This was more than just anger; it was fear of losing someone he couldn't bear to lose. "JJ," You coaxed to stop him from overthinking, knowing that his flight or fight mode was kicking in.

JJ's confession hung in the air, the raw emotion in his voice making your heart ache. You could see the fear and love in his eyes, and it made everything else fade away. The room seemed to shrink, and all that mattered was the two of you, standing there, vulnerable and exposed. "I love you, Y/N," He repeated, his voice softer this time, filled with a desperate need for you to understand. He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection. Your breath hitched, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your hands reaching up to cup his face. "I'm so sorry, JJ," You whispered, your voice trembling.

"I didn't mean to scare you, but I couldn't just stand there and do nothing either." His eyes softened, the anger melting away as he leaned into your touch. "Just promise me you'll be more careful," He murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "I can't lose you, Y/N." He whimpered leaning his forehead against yours. "You won’t lose me, ever, I promise," You replied, your voice barely above a whisper. Without another word, you both closed the distance between one another, your lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and fervent. It was a kiss that spoke of all the fear, the love, and the relief you both felt. Bodies pressed together, seeking comfort and connection, hearts beating as one.

“And I love you too,” You grinned the second he pulled away giving you both a moment to catch your breaths. “In case that kiss didn’t make it clear enough.” JJ shook his head, only pulling you closer. "What do you say we seal the deal?" JJ grinned suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're lucky I love you." He didn't even give you a chance to finish his sentence before he kissed you again, wanting to show you just how much he meant it. His hands slid down your back, pulling you even closer, the heat between you growing more intense. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that promised so much more to come.

2K notes · View notes

trashytracktales · 27 days ago

Note

Hey! Please do a lando x ex!reader. They break up after a lot of arguments due to being away from each other so much and then they meet a few months later and hook up. Like angst in the beginning then lots of smut.

If it's meant to fall apart | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I was actually planning to write something similar for so long. Thank you for the request and I hope you like it 🤍

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𐙚 summary ──── Surprisingly, months apart haven’t dulled the connection between them. After a night of passion and honesty on both sides, maybe there is a future where they can make all the right decisions, after all.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x ex!reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, lots of angst & back-and-forth, fluff & smut, teasing, praising, explicit language, unprotected sex, mention of alcohol and drinking, swearing, not the healthiest relationship I've ever written tbh (the toxicity is implicit tho), overstimulation, pussy-drunk Lando, Max F. & Ethan aka FEEFA cameo.

𐙚 word count ──── 10.6k (Thank you to everyone who voted on this poll I posted the other day, I didn’t expect to see so many 🥺).

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 27, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Guys, look. I know it's A LOT 🥴 I kinda let myself run with this one because I haven't posted anything in like a week or so. I still have 2 requests I'm working on, so don't give up on me yet 🤞🏻

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

SHE'S NOT ENTIRELY sure how long they’ve been dancing, but she hasn't finished her drink yet. Time feels like an illusion, blurring the edges of her vision with every new rhythm of the night. For the first time in months, she feels a little lighter, her friends’ energy pulling her out of her own head — and apartment, where she locked herself in after the break-up.

The club is packed tonight, bodies pressed together in a sea of drunken, sweaty chaos. Neon lights bounce off every surface, painting the room in vivid purples, blues, and pinks. It's not usually her style — not anymore — but she figured it won't hurt to let lose for a couple of hours.

It’s only when she steps away from the dance floor, her feet hurting and her head buzzing, that she spots him.

Why tonight, of all nights?

Why here, of all places?

Why him, of all people?

He’s leaning casually against the bar, a glass in hand, chatting with a few familiar faces. Faces that she can't help but miss.

She stopped talking to Max — well, Max stopped talking to her after ending things with Lando, too upset that she toyed with his best friend's heart for ‘no apparent reason’. Their friendship dissolved under pressure, fragile as a cheap plastic cup in the grip of sulfuric acid. But Max wasn't the only one who took it personally. That's why she needed to cut ties with everyone from her past. She needed new friends — her own friends —, she needed a new place and new clothes, and to rebrand herself from scratch. Which she did.

She thought she had made it through, but the past has its twisted ways of coming back when you least expect it.

Now, the sight of him, so vivid and real, makes her chest tighten.

She stops in place, hoping he doesn’t notice her, but then his eyes flick in her direction and, for a brief moment, neither of them blinks, the noise around them fading into a dull murmur.

He straightens slightly, his relaxed posture gone as his brows knit together. There’s something unreadable in his body language — surprise? Excitement? Confusion? Pain? She doesn’t know, but it mirrors the knot twisting in her stomach.

Her friends call out to her, pulling her attention briefly, and when she looks back, he’s still staring. Except now, he’s moving, weaving his way through the crowd toward her.

Oh, hell no.

Her heart starts to race, a mix of adrenaline and something far more complicated than fear, as she rushes to walk away; she's fought for far too long, and now her instinct is to fly as soon as she senses danger.

Unfortunately, she's not quick enough.

“Hey,” says Lando when he gets closer, his voice low but audible over the music.

Hearing him gives her goosebumps, hating the way her body is betraying her. It’s been months since she’s heard his voice, but it still hits her the same way: sharp and unrelenting.

She turns around, forcing a smile, “Hi, Lando,” she manages, her voice steadier than she feels, thinking she should try acting if she makes it out alive from this encounter.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his tone careful, yet extremely suggestive.

It makes her stomach twist again.

He used that line the very first night they met, his boyish grin lit by the dim, flickering lights of another club, in another city. Potentially another life, she's not sure. She remembers the way he had leaned in, so full of confidence and asked the same exact question with a mischievous glint in his eye.

It feels too deliberate now, too heavy with the weight of their past for her to ignore.

“All set,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended, as she raises her half-full glass in her hand. “Thanks.”

For a moment, it feels like they’re strangers meeting for the first time. Except they’re not, and their history is hanging heavily in the air between them.

Lando nods, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “How about this, let me join you for that drink?”

She takes a look to where her friends are dancing, then she turns back to him, “I'm here with my friends.”

It's a pathetic excuse, she knows that. But she has no time to think of something else. Not when her brain is suddenly all scrambled and can't form a single coherent thought.

Lando frowns, disappointed, but not willing to give up that easy. “Come on, just a quick catch-up and then you can go back to your friends. Mine won't mind,” he shrugs, pointing at the bar, where the others are following their every move like a bunch of curious minions.

She catches Max lifting his glass in her direction, and Ethan, waving frantically.

Against her better judgment, she nods.

“Okay,” she murmurs, “Let's catch up,” she spits the words, sounding a bit too sarcastic. Still, it makes Lando smile.

His shoulders relax slightly, relief softening the tension in his body. He gestures toward a quieter corner of the club, away from the pounding bass and the sea of bodies. His first instinct was to take her hand in his, but since that's over the line, Lando keeps looking back, making sure she follows him. And she does. Like a naive, lost puppy that hasn't learned a single thing in the past five months, apparently.

The crowd surges around them, chaotic and loud, and before she can react, someone stumbles into her, their elbow catching her arm. As a result, she's thrown off balance, her feet slipping on the slick floor. Gasping, she's bracing for the inevitable fall that… never comes.

Lando’s hand shoots out, catching her waist and pulling her upright. His grip is firm, grounding, and suddenly she’s pressed against him, her chest brushing his.

“Careful,” says Lando, his lips close enough to her ear for the voice to cut through the noise.

The spot where he's touching her is burning her skin. She looks up, speaking with a hesitant smile, “Thanks, I'm good.”

The club around them fades away, and all she can feel is the warmth of his hand on her waist and the familiar scent of his cologne — a smell she used to know so well. It is almost intoxicating, and it makes her mouth water. She realizes that's what she was missing the most.

Lando smiles faintly, his hand slipping away as if he’s reluctant to let go. “Always got you.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, sensing the double meaning behind his affirmation. So, she nods and lets him guide her the rest of the way.

They find a small, semi-private booth near the exit, far enough from the main dance floor that the music dulls to a manageable volume. He gestures for her to sit first, then slides in across from her.

She fiddles with the edge of her glass, feeling his eyes on her.

“So,” she starts, leaning back against the booth, “You're here.”

Here, as in back home.

“For a week or so, yeah. Got a bit of a break between Brazil and Vegas.”

She nods, emptying the rest of her drink in one go, “How’ve you been?”

Lando shrugs slowly, “Alright. Busy with work and everything,” he trails off, his gaze dropping to her lips for a brief moment. “It’s not the same,” he continues, his smile fading away. “What about you, what have you been up to?”

She needs superhuman powers to stop herself from scoffing in his pretty face. It’s such a simple question, yet it feels loaded, heavy with all the things they haven’t said to each other in almost half a year.

“It's been… peaceful. I moved to another neighborhood. Kept busy, distracted.”

Lando hums, his expression unreadable for some reason. “Yeah, I get that. You look great, by the way,” he states it as a fact, his voice soft but unwavering.

She hesitates, then looks up at him, really looks at him. His face is the same and yet… not really. The boyishness is still there, but there’s a weariness in his eyes that's somehow new. Plus some facial hair she always begged him to try out. It tugs at something inside her, something she’s not sure she’s ready to face. Because it hurts. Because it annoys her. Because, after everything, she's still not over it.

“Cheers,” she replies, hoping he won't catch the blush in her cheeks. “I kind of hoped you would look like shit when I saw you again,” she admits. “You know, I'm talking no front teeth and severely balding. But, oh well. You too.”

Lando's smile widens, making everything infinitely worse for her.

He wears a black shirt that clings to his frame in a way that highlights the muscles in his arms. His black cap is pulled low, worn backwards in that signature way he always did, giving him that effortlessly cool vibe. His eyes are still the same, though. Dark, piercing, the same ones that could make her heart beat faster even after everything that’s happened.

“I thought about you a lot over these months, you know,” Lando finds himself saying, chewing on his lower lip.

She shoots him a surprised look.

As if, she thinks. His Instagram feed would say otherwise.

“You did?” she ends up asking, curiosity getting the best of her.

A hint of vulnerability creeps into his voice, “Of course. I've missed you.”

She laughs dryly, “But it's been good for us, right? We just established we both look great, no constant fighting, no slamming doors, no smashed phones…” she says, looking at him intently.

He can't sustain that for long, so he looks down at his shoes, slightly ashamed, remembering how bad it used to get when the distance between them felt too much to handle. He remembers the frustration, and the helplessness he felt when he couldn’t reach her, because he couldn’t make things right. He did smash his phone once, in a fit of anger, because he couldn’t get ahold of her for hours — not his proudest moment, that's for sure.

Lando swallows hard, “Yeah, it has been nice to have some distance. I guess it makes the heart grow fonder, right?”

“Hmm,” she hums, letting her eyes travel across the room, scanning random faces and wondering how life would be if she were someone else, “I don't know about that.”

She knows, in fact. But the words pause in her throat, too tangled up in memories. When he finally looks up, she's holding his gaze for just a beat longer than she should, and she wonders if he can feel it too — that familiar pull, like gravity, drawing them back together once again.

“I know—” Lando begins, not sure from which angle to approach. “I know it was the right choice at the time, but I can't help but wonder what things could have been if I'd fought harder for you.”

“Come on, Lando,” she laughs, unamused, giving her head a shake, “We would've ended up in another vicious circle, no matter what. It's always like that with us, isn't it?”

A part of him knows she's right. Still, “We'll never know.”

“Well, maybe it's better that way,” she manages, her voice lacking conviction.

“Or maybe it’s not,” he contradicts her, his words carrying a weight that presses on both of them. “You never think about us?”

Another sharp, dry laugh — it's either this, or she'll start crying. “I am actively trying not to,” she admits, her tone tinged with exasperation. “What’s the point, Lan? Thinking about what could’ve been won’t change what happened. You were always gone, and I couldn't spend my life following you around like a headless chicken. We had a good time, but it was never going to last,” she says the last part mostly as a reminder for herself. “Not in those circumstances.”

His jaw tightens. “You think it was easy for me? That it didn’t tear me up knowing I couldn’t be there for you the way you wanted me to?”

“I didn't say that,” her eyes snap to his, “We simply weren't working. We were too good at breaking each other.”

Lando leans back in his chair, frustration visible on his face. He hates that she's right, but it doesn’t stop the ache in his chest.

His jaw clenches, “I just… I don’t want to believe that’s all we were. Breaking each other.”

Her expression softens a little at his words, “Not all. But enough to make us miserable.”

For a while, the air between them feels heavier, the noise fading into the background. He wants to say something, anything, to counter her point, but all he can do is look at her and ask himself if they were, indeed, playing a losing game back then.

“Did you meet someone?” his question flies out of nowhere.

Lando looks at her with anticipation, sensing the hesitation.

“I did,” she replies, nodding slowly.

“And?”

She meets his eyes for a split second before looking away again, fixing her gaze somewhere on the table. “And we're happily married with twins on the way. What do you think? I just. Couldn’t.”

Lando's stomach drops, trying his best to remain calm, his hands clenching into fists. “You couldn’t what? Be with them?”

She shakes her head, her movements slow and deliberate, as if choosing her words carefully. “It was too soon.”

Her answer only leaves him with more questions. “So, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know what it means,” she rushes to say, her tone tinged with irritation. It’s clear she’s as unsure as he is, but that only makes it harder for Lando to process her reaction.

He runs a hand over his face, his exasperation bubbling to the surface. “I’m just trying to understand,” he says, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Because I've also tried.”

She looks directly at him now, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And?” she challenges in the same manner, her tone carrying just a hint of defiance.

“They weren't you,” says Lando, the truth of his statement hanging between them like a heavy anchor.

They remain silent after that.

She wants to ask him why — why he still cares, and why it hurts so much to be in the same space again after all they’ve been through. Nothing comes out, though; she already has the answer to that. They didn't break up because they stopped loving each other. They had both been too caught up in their own worlds to find any kind of balance. That broke them up.

He wants her to speak. He needs to hear her speak. To react. But when she says nothing in return, there is a brief second when he feels like giving up for good; he can't do anything if she's already made a decision. He knows how stubborn she is.

Lando nods to himself while getting up and start walking toward the exit, his thoughts all over the place.

The night air greets them with a quiet, cooling embrace as they step out of the club. Of course she follows, and she hates herself for that. But she can't help it — it's instinct. Like a magnetic force he's always had over her.

On the other hand, it's how they always communicated, through gestures and actions rather than words.

The soft click of her heels against the pavement gives Lando hope. He slows down so she can catch up, and then they walk side by side, without talking. The background noise of the city keeps them company, and by the time she decides to break the silence, he stops abruptly.

His voice sounds so small now, like a child asking his parents why can't he eat his chocolate bar before dinner.

“I know it feels so silly looking back,” says Lando, as though afraid to shatter the superficial peace between them. “We did so many things wrong, but I think we also did a lot of things right.”

She hesitates, her eyes dropping to the ground where a patch of light from a distant street light catches the edge of her shoe. Her arms fold tightly across her chest, while trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Yeah, breaking up was one of the right things,” she says thoughtfully, though her voice has a trace of bitterness behind it. “Before that, we tried so hard to make it work that we ended up burning each other alive.”

It's crazy how simple words can cause physical pain so quickly.

“Yet we're still here,” he reminds her. “Knowing what we know now, maybe we wouldn’t burn so fast this time. And isn’t it worth it, even if it only lasts for a little while? We were so happy at the start.”

That’s what he clings to. The laughter, the stolen moments, the way they fit together so effortlessly — she can’t argue with that. Their beginning was a beautiful dream, but it’s the nightmare that followed that keeps her guarded now, even though all she wants is to crack his ribcage open and slip inside him so they will never be apart again.

Her voice shakes as she tries her best to make him see her side, the memories spilling out like water breaking through a dam. “I had to put myself back together, Lando. Piece by piece. And I was all alone.” She forces herself to meet his gaze, finally, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Turns out, our friends were actually your friends, and I had to go through the worst breakup of my life with no one by my side. I had to move, I had to build an entire life from pretty much nothing. And I had to do everything alone, because I didn’t just lose you. I lost everything the moment I made you the center of my universe.”

Her words knock the air out of his lungs, guilt clawing at his insides. “Look, I know I should have been there,” says Lando, his voice barely steady. “Fuck me. I wasn’t supposed to let you go in the first place, alright? I should’ve been a better boyfriend, and I should’ve fought harder to make it work, using what we had then. But you did fuck with my head, and I thought being away would help.”

The first tear spills down her cheek, and she wipes it away hastily, as if she could erase the vulnerability altogether.

“It did help,” she agrees. “I know I can live without it now.”

Lando freezes for a split second, then stepping dangerously closer to her. “So, you’ll be fine if we stay broken up?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

She nods, but it’s shaky. And when she takes a step back, trying to put distance between them, Lando decides he gave her enough space. Fuck that. He's not thinking anymore, not with his brain, at least. He closes the distance again, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close in one swift motion.

It’s impulsive, desperate even. But he doesn’t care. The moment he feels her presence in his personal space, the fire he’s tried to smother for months, roars back to life, more powerful than ever. And just like that, everything it's right again. The way her body fits against his, the familiarity of it all, makes his heart race in his chest.

“Stop being so fucking stubborn, baby,” he murmurs into her hair, his voice cracking under the weight of his own desperation. “Why can’t we at least try, hm? You told me it was too soon for someone else. Maybe it’s because it’s supposed to be me.”

Her breath catches at the sudden closeness, at the rawness of his voice. She's unsure of what to do with her hands, until they hover awkwardly by his shoulders.

“You're not fair,” she whispers, her voice slightly trembling. “You can’t just accidentally waltz back into my life and say things like that.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about being fair,” he says, his voice firm. “I just want us back. Simple as that.”

Her tears blur the edges of Lando's face when she tries to push him away, but his grip won't let her. Not this time.

“It's not that simple, and you know it,” she says. “We’ll only end up hurting each other again.”

“Then we hurt, so what?” he counters, his voice soft but sure. “At least we’ll know we tried until there wasn't anything worth fighting for. I'm not done with you, baby. Are you?”

Her hands finally move, trembling as they brush against his cheeks. They're not as soft as they use to be, his little facial hair scratching slightly at the pads of her fingers. The connection sends a jolt through them both as her touch lingers, trailing up to his hair. She pulls at his cap with both hands, placing it on her own head with a weak smile.

“It’s longer than you used to wear it,” she notices, her tears catching the street lights.

Lando’s heart clenches, managing to shoot a small smile in return, “I thought maybe I’d try growing it out. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she admits as she tries to messily style his hair with her fingers. “It suits you.”

For a little while, they’re trapped in their own bubble. Her touch feels like home, and all Lando can think of is that he can't lose it again.

“I’m not asking you to decide now,” he finally says, his thumbs tracing soft circles on her waist. “I just need to know I’m not the only one still holding on.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they're stumbling into her apartment. She knows it's reckless, and she's basically throwing away five months of progress, but it wasn't going to last, anyway.

Addictions are very hard to keep under control, especially when they have curly, dark hair and give you bed eyes.

“This way,” she says, her lips swollen from kissing all the way to her door.

Lando doesn’t have time to adjust, his head already spinning with hundreds of scenarios that fly tirelessly through his mind. However, the only thing that captivates him at the moment is her, and the way her fingers curl into the waistband of his jeans. She tugs him closer, her lips crashing onto his once again, their breaths blending in a frantic exchange of need and uncertainty.

He watches her fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, her movements clumsy but determined. His heart reaches his throat, swallowing hard, as his hands move from her waist to his belt, blindly unbuckling it before tossing it carelessly aside. The sound of leather hitting the floor barely registers over the erratic, overlapping rhythm of them kissing.

Then, he sees it. The spark in her eyes she used to have when she looked at him — it catches him off guard, giving him hope. He follows her as she moves slowly, her back toward the bed, her movements precise, like a cat's. She lies down, propping herself up on her elbows, while he takes cautious steps closer, his shirt hanging open to reveal his chest and toned abs.

But just as he leans forward, her high heel presses lightly against his chest, stopping him.

Lando freezes, his hands bracing on either side of her foot, tracing his palm up and down her leg, as his eyes dart up to meet hers.

“You can look,” she says, catching a glimpse of confusion in his eyes. “But for now, no touching.”

He frowns, clenching his jaw at her request. It would make sense for her to bring him to her place only to torture him, but she can't be that heartless. Right? The sight of her, stretched out on the bed with her foot holding him at bay, is almost too much to handle already.

“You're not fair,” he mutters under his breath, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I don't give a flying fuck about being fair,” she repeats his words from earlier, her foot staying firm against his chest.

The power is in her hands, and she's planning on using them properly tonight.

“No touching,” she repeats, determined.

Lando's hands fall at his sides.

Slowly, she slides her foot down, letting it drag across his chest, making a quick stop on his lower abdomen before settling on the bed. Her gaze locks onto his, a daring glint in her eyes as she spreads her legs, revealing the black lace panties. The dress she's wearing lifts up her thighs of its own accord, leaving Lando chocking on air for a brief moment. His lips part as she trails her fingers down her own body, teasing herself the way she’s done countless nights before.

Nights when he wasn’t there.

Nights when she was alone, chasing a high only his touch could give her.

“Wanna see how I got through five months without you?” she asks, her hands traveling way down, hooking her fingers to pull at the soft material.

His breath hitches, the sight of her undressing before him so painfully slowly making his chest ache with longing and guilt.

“I thought of you,” she continues, letting a small whimper out when the soft lace peels off with a little resistance from her already soaked pussy. “Your hands, your mouth… the way you sound when you're turned on,” she discards the panties at the foot of the bed, her breath catching in her throat as she glances at him through her lashes. “Such a delicious combination between your sleepy voice and that low octave you hit when you're drunk.”

Lando’s mouth goes dry, his hands twitching at his sides, itching to lean over and collect the material off the floor to stuff it into his pocket as a souvenir. He’s never felt so powerless and yet so utterly consumed by someone before.

“Will you let me?” she asks, her lips curving into a smile that’s equally wicked and vulnerable, “Show you?”

Her name leaves Lando’s lips in a protest while he takes an instinctive step forward, but she stops him with her foot once again. It’s a punishment, and he knows it. She’s showing him exactly what he missed, and exactly how she wanted him for so long.

Lando's breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling as he watches her. Helpless. His every nerve is tuned to her, eyes following how her fingers slide so easily between her folds, spreading the wetness as she teases her hole. Of course she’s taking her time with it, only to make sure he registers every tiny detail, just in case he forgot.

Her head tilts to the side with a quiet gasp when she pushes slowly inside. The sound of her wet entrance is enough to make his knees weak, still, his body turns to stone.

On the other hand, his heart is a mess of pride and frustration — pride that she still feels comfortable to be this vulnerable and open in front of him, frustration that he has to see her like this, untouchable. That's why he's not even blinking, too afraid he'll miss a thing.

She starts to gently rock her hips against the bed, fucking her fingers in and out, her body trembling as her whimpers fill the room. It's too much for Lando, but luckily, she didn't say anything about moving. His legs finally give out, and he falls to his knees, the sound of his breath ragged and uneven as he gets closer to her.

Yes, she's in charge — for now, at least — but he can't stop his words slipping out. Quiet, yet demanding.

“Slower,” he says, fixing his eyes on the way her fingers slide over her clit. “Don't rush it, please. I want to see all of you.”

Her gaze meets his, and for a moment, neither of them says anything else. She sees the vulnerability etched into his features, the way his body betrays him, shaking with restraint, completely at her mercy.

He looks like a man unmoored, defeated. So beautiful.

“Lando…” she breaths heavily, her back arching against her own hand, that flattered slightly at his words, a blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

She hates how much he still affects her, obeying him without questioning his ways. Like no time has passed whatsoever.

When they make eye contact again, it's like they silently agree to go with it; whatever tonight will bring.

“That's is,” says Lando with satisfaction as she resumes her movements. “You gorgeous little thing. So beautiful when you listen, yeah?”

She nods, feeling him leaning forward just slightly, close enough that she can feel his warmth on her skin, without him touching her in any way. The air feels electric, her breath stuttering as she keeps fucking up her fingers under Lando's careful guidance. He watches every motion, his jaw tightening, ignoring the ache in his boxers the moment she finds her sweet spot, crying at how good it feels. She tries to muffle the moan, but Lando catches the hesitation, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

“No, let me hear you. Please, let me hear you,” he implores, exhaling sharply. “God, you're perfect. I could watch you forever.”

Lando can't help but notice how receptive she becomes at his words, her body tightening at the way he's praising her. As a result, she presses her fingers harder onto her clit, feeling the pressure building inside.

“Mhm, Lan…”

“I'm with you, baby. Keep going,” he encourages her, his gaze fixating on the slickness dripping between her legs. “Fucking hell. You're already so close, aren't you?”

It's like every word gets caught in her throat, and the only way she can reply to him is with a pathetic, desperate whimper.

In hindsight, she's never came from her fingers so quickly before, but the wave that’s hitting her from every direction right now is too intense to process right away.

It happens too fast, and the next thing she's aware of is Lando's voice, bringing her back.

“Please,” she hears him beg, managing to give him a slight nod of her head in return.

In that moment, the lights go out. Even so, Lando wants to be patient, as his index finger lightly brushes against her warmth. She exhales, giving up control, her gaze locked on him as if he is the only one that ever knew her. Meticulous, Lando traces his long, rough finger through her wetness, causing a shock to run through her whole body as it moves up and down her clit.

She thought she already crossed her limit, but then he leans down to press his mouth on her — deliberately, unapologetically, thirsty.

Lando lets out a deep, guttural groan that reverberates against her, causing her hips to twitch slightly. His tongue is wet and warm on her pulsating clit, leaving her breathless while he tastes her like it's the last time.

“My sweet, sweet baby,” he whispers, his voice intimate and personal, the words enveloping her in layers and layers of honey.

Feeling his warm breath on her center causes a surge of tension within her, making her walls tighten as his tongue explores within. He can't help but smile just as she leans into him, her body responding naturally, and he grips her thighs, closing the remaining gap between them. At that, she instantly buries her fingers in his curls, her hips mimicking his head movements.

“Oh, fuck,” she exhales abruptly.

The rest is pure bliss — his tongue licking in deep strokes, his muffled moans between her thighs, and the way he can’t seem to let go of her, gripping her tightly because he’s been deprived of her taste for so long.

Just for a brief second, Lando raises his head and, as his gaze remains fixed on her eyes, his mouth sucks gently at her clit. She's never seen him so desperate before, the sight of him owning her like that covering her entire body in chills.

Gradually, his kisses become way too powerful, which forces her to quickly grab his messy curls and pull him closer, unable to control herself anymore.

Without any warning, she screams his name as her climax hits her like a tidal wave for the second time in a row.

His growling makes her thighs quiver in his grasp, the vibrations intensifying her pleasure as her body convulses with each new sensation, while Lando’s tongue continues licking her during every heartbeat and shiver.

Next time she looks at him, his lips shine, his cheeks are red, and his gaze so intense that it causes her heart to skip a beat, creating a connection that seems more profound than any physical sensation she's just experienced.

He didn’t try to give her the best she’s ever had, but attempt to remind her how well he knows her body — to show her she still belongs to him.

“You’re so pretty,” says Lando, keeping his eyes on her, while he presses one finger back inside her cunt to test how thight she is after her second orgasm.

“Lando,” she spits his name at the unexpected touch, still too sensitive, “What… are you doing?” she gasps softly, a mixture between a sigh and a moan, when Lando's finger pulls out and glides across her wet, delicate clit once again.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Lando murmurs against her thigh, his voice low and reverent.

He grins in her direction, while his thumb circles her clit with precise intention, like a wheel gripping the perfect racing line. Sure of himself, Lando continues his movements, realizing how overstimulated she is, as he gets up to hover above her. Her hips buck instinctively into his hand, a jolt of reaction she can’t control.

Seeing Lando on top makes her react on instinct, wrapping one arm around his neck, while the other hand travels down his chest. The heat pooling in her stomach rises fast, an apex she didn’t expect to reach so soon. It’s intoxicating, her body spiraling as her mind blanks out the world beyond him.

“Lan—” she gasps, her back arching as if trying to escape, though every fiber of her betrays that she wants more.

“Come on, baby,” he says, increasing the pace. “You can give me one more. You're doing so well, I know you can,” his voice is a blend of dominance and desire, while his fingers press into her, knowing exactly where to go and how to bend, “Like that, see? So easy for me to read you. I could fuck my fingers into your pretty hole all night long and you'd still come for me every single time, wouldn't you, baby?”

Shaking, she clings to his neck, crying out his name in spasms. He loops his free arm around her, gently kissing her cheek — a gesture so tender and innocent that makes her heart grow ten times in size.

She grips his shoulder with one hand, her eyes closing in pleasure. “I can’t—” she chokes, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths.

In an attempt to get her power back, she tries to push at his wrist, but his arm steadies her, determined.

“Of course you can, love,” says Lando, his voice a gentle command, the firmness in his tone like a driver refusing to lift his foot off the pedal, curious to see how far he can take it.

Her hand clenches around his arm as his thumb presses against her clit with ruthless precision. She reacts on instinct, muscles coiling tight as she bucks against his hand, not sure what controls her body anymore, since her brain got disconnected long ago. The slik rhythm of Lando's fingers becomes too much, and she knows she's close when he starts curling them inside at the perfect angle.

“La— Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” her voice is a high-pitched cry now, laced with desperation. “I’m going—”

“I know, baby. So pretty. Look at you, making such a mess for me,” he urges, leaning in to kiss her neck.

Her body tightens as pleasure explodes within her, blinding and all-consumming — a full-throttle sensation, unrelenting in its intensity. She sobs his name as liquid warmth spills from her pussy, coating Lando’s fingers. He doesn’t stop there, though, his hand continuing its pace, coaxing every last wave of her climax as his arm holds her securely against him.

“God, I've missed you.”

When her breathing slows down, he falls down on top of her, burying his head in the crook of her neck. Her legs shake slightly, and her fingers curl weakly into his bare chest as he cradles her close.

Lando presses a tender kiss against her temple, his voice filling the quiet. “It wasn’t acciedntal,” he confesses.

She blinks rapidly, tilting her head to look at him, confused, “What?”

“Earlier,” Lando clarifies, “You said I was accidentally waltzing back into your life — it wasn’t accidental,” he repeats.

“What do you mean?”

Lando places a few more kisses on the heated skin of her neck, sucking in a couple of bruises, the gesture meant to buy himself more time for the storm raging in his head to stop.

“Lando,” she pulls him out of it.

“Been trying to figure out how to do this for a while. I just… couldn’t stay away from you anymore,” he admits, looking up at her, his eyes pleading. “I had Max playing detective while I was away.”

She pushes him off her to sit up on the bed, pulling at the edges of her dress. “Seriously, what?” her tone is not defensive — at least not yet — but there’s a sharpness to it that cuts into him.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he rushes to explain, “Look, I didn’t stalk you or anything. Nor Max,” he continues, getting up to stand next to her. “I didn’t even know where you lived until you brought me here. I swear.”

She wraps her arms around her own body, needing something to ground herself, “What did you do, Lando?” the girl asks, her voice quieter now.

He swallows, “I just asked him to check in on you. To see if you were okay.”

“And how did he do that?”

“He saw you tagged in a pic on this girl's account, and then did some research on the people you were with, paid some dudes to find out if their records were clean—” he starts chuckling when her fist hits his shoulder, playfully, but still with intent.

“Don’t be a dick,” she warns, her smile giving away the fact that she’s still amused by his immature sense of humor.

“I just… didn’t want to simply appear out of nowhere if you were happy. If you’d moved on,” Lando continues, his tone more serious now. “But when he told me you seemed like you hadn’t, I couldn’t keep pretending like I was fine. I'm really not.”

His honesty was always a breath of fresh air, but now it's suffocating. Hearing him admitting he's not okay, implying that she's the reason why, is simply heartbreaking.

Her arms drop slowly to her sides, her fingers gripping the edge of the bed, “Why now, Lando? And why not text or call?”

He scoffs, “Can you look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you would have picked up if I called? Especially given how we left things?”

She cups Lando’s chin in the palm of her hand, forcing him to look at her, “I'll always pick up if it's you.”

The admission makes his chest tighten.

Lando shakes his head, “I promise I’ve tried,” he says, “God, I’ve fucking tried. I threw myself into everything, and nothing worked. Racing, training, sim sessions, going out with the guys — no matter what I did, I was constantly thinking of you. Every night out felt wrong because I wasn’t coming home to you. And I know home is such a vague word for me, because I’m mostly away, but you made every single place feel like home, and that's why it didn't matter where I was at the time. I just needed… need you in ways I can't nor want to explain.”

His confession makes her head spin. The breakup had been difficult for her, but she hadn’t considered how Lando had handled the past five months. All along, she had assumed he wouldn’t miss her — that his life, always on the road and consumed by his own pursuits, was too busy to notice the absence of one small, insignificant detail: her.

She's now realizing how wrong she had been to think that way.

“So…?” she finally asks. “Do you think a few orgasms later can mend what was broken five months ago?”

“What? No, of course not,” he says firmly, leaning forward, his elbows digging into his thighs. “I swear, all I wanted to do tonight was talking to you. I didn’t plan on getting to this point, but I can’t say I’m mad about it,” says Lando, taking her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You still want me,” she shoots Lando a rapid look, studying his face, “Just like I want you. I see it, I feel it. Baby, I know it.”

Her heart pounds in her chest, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her defenses like a hot knife through butter. She wants to be angry, to accuse him of being selfish, but the truth is, she isn’t. Maybe it’s foolish to believe him, but one thing Lando never did was lie to her. He did worse, yes, but he never lied.

“Lando...” she starts, but her voice trails off, wishing her head would stop spinning so she could think.

“I know I hurt you,” he continues, his voice softer now, “You hurt me. We hurt each other. But we're too good together not to find a way to make it work.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her mind racing with memories of their past — the good, especially the bad, and everything else in between. Her fingers toy with the fabric of her dress, her eyes flickering between his face and the floor. The room is heavy with silence and, just for a moment, she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find each other again.

Otherwise, if it's meant to fall apart, then let it happen with them gasping for air, tangled together, connected in every way imaginable.

THE MORNING SUN filters shyly through the curtains, soft and golden, spilling across the bed where Lando stirs awake. He’s all alone, the sheets around him rumpled from where she had slept. He blinks up at the ceiling, a little disoriented. Then, he hears the faint sound of running water and realizes she’s in the shower. It makes him feel like everything went back to normal, but he can't be sure of what's going to happen next. He can only speculate and hope, but nothing more than that.

The quiet is interrupted by the persistent buzz of his phone on the nightstand. He reaches for it, still groggy from sleep, scrolling through a handful of texts from last night — banter in the group chat, some Instagram notifications, a few missed calls; nothing too important to catch his eye. He places the phone back on the smooth surface carelessly, and his hand knocks over something solid in the process.

Frowning, he sits up to put it back in its place, and that’s when he sees it — a framed picture of them, taken during a rare quiet weekend in Monaco over a year ago, right at the beginning of their relationship. She looked so happy back then, caught mid-laugh as Lando was gazing at her with an expression so tender that it makes his chest ache now. The weight of the memory hits him harder than he expects, pulling him fully awake.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes him turn, and he puts the frame back quickly. However, it's enough for her to catch his sudden movement, her eyes flicking to the photo and back to him.

Her cheeks flush a deep pink. “I meant to put that away,” she rushes to say, pulling the towel tighter around her body like it might shield her from the embarrassment.

“Carlos took this one,” his voice is soft, as his eyes shift back to the frame. He picks it up again, turning it in his hands. “You asked me why didn't I call, but… why didn't you call?”

She laughs dryly, crossing the space to take the frame from his hand and placing it face down on the nightstand. She sits down next to him, shrugging.

“And tell you what, Lando? That I couldn’t stop thinking about you even though you broke my heart?” she asks, shaking her head, the embarrassment turning into something closer to frustration. “It’s just a stupid picture, anyway. We barely knew each other when it was taken.”

“It’s not stupid,” he contradicts her vehemently. His hand reaches out tentatively, brushing against her soft forearm. “It's nice to know I wasn’t completely crazy for hoping you felt the same.”

Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no words come out. The towel slips slightly, and she clutches it tighter, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his hungry eyes.

“Lando…”

“Leave it there, yeah?” he says, pointing at the picture. “Facing your side of the bed, preferably.”

Seeing her suddenly deep in thought, Lando grabs her wrist and gently pulls her onto his lap, his thumb lightly brushing against her silky skin.

She looks at him, her emotions warring on her face. “If it makes me look less pathetic, it was face down most of the time.”

Lando laughs, his hands finding her waist, then her hips, steadying her on his lap, “I love you,” he says it casually, but it still freezing the blood in her veins.

Her fingers fly towards his mouth to cover his lips, “Don't,” she warns.

“You know I do. I was serious last night. You don't have to decide anything right now, but I'm not going anywhere. It sucks we needed to hurt for a while, we're both at fault, but I never stopped loving you,” he repeats.

“You're so unfair.”

“Don't care, say it back,” he teases, digging his fingers into her skin to tickle her sides.

She starts giggling, “Don't you dare.”

His grin widens, “Or what?” he asks playfully as her hands fly to his, trying to fend him off.

“Lando, I'm serious. Stop it,” her laughter blends with his while he leans in closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“I need to hear it, baby. Please. Just say it back.”

“It back,” she chuckles, feeling his fingers tickling her so mercilessly that tears form in her eyes. Their laughter bubbles over, loud and uninhibited, until she collapses against him. “Okay, fine. Fine,” her breathy voice stops him in place, catching his attention. “I love you, Lando.”

A simple confession; he asked for it. But none of them expected it to hang that heavily between them. It's not a lie — not in the slightest — and Lando knows it.

“Enough to give us a second chance?” he asks.

Her breath catches at the sudden shift in his tone, and before she can reply, his thumb traces her cheek gently.

“I'm so scared,” she admits, leaning into his touch.

Lando sighs, understanding too well where she's coming from, “I know, baby. But I'm even more afraid of losing us again. Losing this…”

His hand slides down her chest, tracing the curve of her breasts. With a gentle movement, he tugs at the corner of her towel, letting it drip smoothly down her body. Patiently, he runs his hands down her waist, moving back up to her chest as they leave goosebumps in their wake. Hungry, his hands rest on her breasts, squeezing them lightly until he feels her nipples in his palms, and she drops her head on his shoulder, whimpering softly.

Memories of last night make her body shudder, feeling the heat between her legs intensifying. Following his lead, her fingers start tugging at the waistband of his boxers, until they slip low on his hips.

Lando moves one hand around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. He groans against her mouth, his breath hot and ragged, before breaking their connection long enough to kick the boxers aside.

Skin on skin, their bodies align like two puzzle pieces.

She hovers over him, his hands on either side of her, “I wanna take care of you,” he speaks softly, closing his eyes when her forehead rests against his. “Please, let me take care of you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone that twists something deep inside her. She's just learned how to be independent again. She can't throw all of it away. She can't let herself slip.

She can't.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.

Her answer is all that Lando needs to hear. His lips crash back onto hers as he swaps their positions, lowering her onto the bed, his body pressing against hers, warm and solid. And so very real. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word feels like a promise, a vow that he won’t let her slip through his fingers again.

And then, Lando takes control — not the type of dominance he's used to when he steers his car. It's more like devotion; his hands map her body all over again, like a driver learning every twist and turn of a new circuit, his lips following the trail his fingers blaze.

She arches into his touch, responding to him in ways she thought she’d forgotten.

But the body remembers.

And the remembering is, oh, so good.

Last night was just the warm-up, she reckons — an act meant to remind both of them how well they fit together. Lando was gentle, kind, and patient. But now, she sees the shift in him.

His eyes are darker, filled with lust, his touch greedier. She can't help but smile when she realizes that the Lando she knows all too well — the one who’s needy, insatiable, and unrelenting in his desire for her — is still there, and so ready to show off.

Her skin tingles in anticipation as she watches him, knowing exactly what he wants. And for once, she wants it just as much. Maybe even more, considering how her body is acting independently from her brain.

She wants him to give her everything, to burn through her until she’s left gasping and wet and ruined, and she’s ready to meet his hunger with her own.

But before that, “We're not done talking,” she tells him, breathing heavily against his mouth.

“Yeah, we'll talk. Stay with me and we'll talk all you want, baby.”

She wants to protest, but her air gets knocked out of her lungs and her fingernails sink into his shoulders when Lando nudges the head of his cock up and down her slit to collect the wetness. With a gentle kiss on her jaw, she closes her eyes, tracing her fingers down his arms as he pushes inside.

They both exhale, relieved that they're back where they belong.

Talking can wait.

Lando's hands grip her waist just as he pulls out, only to push back in, all the way to the hilt in one slow, but hard thrust. The feeling is almost too much for her, which is ridiculous since he just started moving. But she feels so full, and the sounds he lets out only make her open up for him even more.

“Wait, wait,” she can barely recognize her own voice, stopping Lando when their hips touch together.

She can't explain it, but she needs it.

“What's wrong?”

She looks down between their bodies, confusing Lando even more. “I…,” she begins, but she's not sure how she's supposed to voice her need.

“It's okay, you can tell me,” he assures her, bringing his hand to cup her face in his palm, tracing his thumb over her cheek.

“I—need a second to feel you,” she explains, pushing his hand away only to trace her palms over her face.

Lando chuckles, “Baby, don't hide from me. You're driving me fucking mad when you're blushing.”

“I'm not blushing,” she contradicts him, raising her hips against his, her walls hugging him tighter with every move.

“No?” whispers Lando roughly as if he lost his voice. “God, you're perfect. So good, so fucking sweet and perfect around me, baby.”

Her legs tighten around his waist, keeping him inside, while one hand moves to his lower back to push him against her even more. There is no physical space left between them, but she still wants more. It only makes Lando's cock throb inside her pussy, giving her a few more seconds to adjust to his length before he pulls all the way out and slides back, searching for the perfect pace.

“Fuck, Lando,” she whines, burying her fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots.

“Yes, I know,” agrees Lando, his eyes flicking over her face. His insides tighten at the sight of her parting her lips in pleasure, her breathing hot and irregular. “You're so beautiful from this angle.”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off, which makes Lando chuckle again.

“Why would I?” he asks, leaning closer to her ear, while thrusting a couple more times before pausing. “You look like a fucking goddess taking my cock so well.”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the sound of his voice, low and raspy, rocking her hips to find that sweet friction against her walls again.

“Keep,” she whines, “Keep going, then. Let me have it.”

Lando presses his lips on hers at the same time he resumes his movements, his hands roaming all over her body.

“You can have my cock, baby,” he groans into her hair. “All yours.”

She nods, wrapping her fingers around his biceps, “Yeah?”

“Promise you,” says Lando.

After that, he picks up pace, both falling into an agonizing rhythm. All this time, she had thought that familiarity might dull the edge of being with Lando, that knowing his moves would make it predictable and boring, maybe even ordinary.

Somehow, it’s the exact opposite.

It’s because she knows him, and he knows her so well, that every touch feels ecstatic, every kiss charged with meaning. He doesn’t need to guess what she likes; he already knows how to unravel her, how to leave her trembling and breathless. And she knows exactly what will make his breath hitch, how to draw out that low, desperate groan that ignites her own fire.

In a way, every time feels like the first, but it's always much better, because they know how to make each other fall apart like no one else can.

“Please,” she gasps, breathing wetly in his shoulder. “Harder.”

One thing about Lando, he's always been good at listening. Without thinking twice, he tightens his grip on her hips, fucking his cock inside her harder and faster than before. In an instant, her ears are blessed with the way his moans sound.

“God, I've missed fucking my pretty girl like this,” says Lando, his hands moving on her thighs to spread her more so he can slide in faster. “It's never like this, baby, fuck.”

Being with Lando is chaos, the kind of beautiful, consuming chaos that leaves everything around them in shambles. They are loud and messy, and everything is sweaty and wet and sticky. He kisses her like he’s starving, touches her like he’s desperate to memorize every inch of her skin, and she matches his fervor, meeting him with the same wild energy that pulls them under. Together.

“Lando,” she spits his name out of her mouth in short spasms. “Lando, Lan… Lando.”

It's almost like a cry for help, but she doesn't need saving. Not when he's fucking her so good, slamming against her over and over again, until the outside world fades away and all she remembers is his name.

“Lando,” she whimpers again.

“Keep me in, love. Like that,” she can barely hear him over the sound of skin slapping on skin. “Fuck. You're taking me so well, I won't stop fucking you, baby. I won't—”

She sucks in a breath of air, her body buzzing with pleasure. Wrapping her arms around his torso, she can feel how hot and sweaty his chest is. She moves with him for a couple more thrusts before she lets go, the sound of Lando fucking in and out of her while she comes so obscene that it makes her eyes roll.

“I'll never get tired of seeing you coming like that,” says Lando, pinning her to the bed, his cock feeling so fucking good inside of her that it makes him see stars. “So fucking hot, baby.”

Her nails scratch the skin of his back as her pussy clenches around his length, forcing another hiss out of Lando's mouth.

“Don't stop,” she manages to say, even though she feels her throat raw.

“Ah, look at you, now. Being so good for me,” says Lando with a smirk, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Letting me have my way with you when you're sore and spent. And so wet, baby, you're dripping all around my cock. Fucking hell.”

Lando's jaw clenches, a visible battle playing out in his face as his breath hitches. She feels him moving deeper, hitting the sweet spot inside her, sending ripples of pleasure through her body with every thrust.

“Yes—fuck. Don't stop,” she repeats.

His eyes widen as he tries to hold on for as long as he can, but it's hard when he flashes his eyes in her direction and catches her already looking. It doesn't take long for him to realize there's a replica to her first orgasm. He nods, without saying anything else, bringing his hand up to her neck. She places hers on top of his, not to push it away, but to let it rest there as a sign that it's fine to claim her if that's what Lando needs.

And that's enough for him to lose it.

“Baby,” he breaths out, fucking her slopply, any sense of order dissolving under the weight of their eye contact.

She arches into him, her fingers trembling as they rise to cup his face.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she demands, her voice a desperate need.

She pictured that face thousands of times in the past months, but nothing compares to this. Lando groans at the command, his hooded gaze staying on hers. The intensity of his expression nearly undoes her again — his pupils blown wide, lips parted as he lets out s string of cuss words.

“That's it, pretty boy,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over his cheek as he moves inside her, his pace faltering for just a moment before he snaps back into thay sloppy rhythm, chasing his release. “Want to see you when you let go.”

She barely finishes her sentence when his orgasm crashes over him like a tsunami; no one would be able to even tell where she begins and where he ends.

Lando looks so beautiful and wrecked, and she drinks in every second of his surrender.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

When his features soften, she sees how vulnerable he is, and it leaves her breathless.

Satisfied and content, her fingers still trace his face, wanting to remember the exact way he looks in this moment, when he is completely hers.

Unable to support his weight, Lando collapses on top of her, feeling his body as light as a feather, which is so far from the truth. But she doesn't mind; she loves the feeling, actually. She loves the heaviness, and the way he keeps his cock tucked deep inside her, wet and softening slowly, not allowing his cum to leak out of her.

Descending back down from their high, the only sounds in the room are their slowing breaths and the soft rustle of the sheets. It's hard not to notice the weight of reality when it begins to creep in around the edges.

She lies beneath him, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his back, but her mind is miles away.

“When are you leaving?” she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando tenses for a moment, then shifts to lie beside her, propping his head on his hand to look at her. The vulnerability in her eyes twists something deep inside him.

She swallows hard, suddenly flooded by all the reasons they had fought, all the late nights filled with misunderstandings and misaligned priorities. She remembers all the reasons why they broke up, and thinking how bad of an idea this has been. Because, how can she let go of him again, without feeling like she'll be losing both her head and heart in the process.

“On Tuesday,” says Lando softly. “But not how you think.”

Her brow furrows in confusion as she turns to face him. “What do you mean?”

Lando leans over, his hand caressing her cheek as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about us for months. Since you left, actually,” he begins, his voice low and deliberate. “I had a lot of time, and I managed to figure out why it didn’t work before, why I couldn’t give you what you deserved. So… I’ve talked to the team.”

She almost stops breathing, her eyes widening in his direction while she waits for him to continue. Months ago, she would've die to have this conversation, and now that it happens, she doesn't know how to behave.

“I'm working on a schedule. To have more time for us,” Lando explains.

Her heart skips a beat. “You’d do that?”

“For us,” he repeats, his voice firm. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay without you. I don't want to be okay without you, it's stupid. And I don’t want to keep coming back here, hoping for a second chance, only to mess it up again. I want to get it right this time.”

She stares at him, not knowing what to do with that information. This is not the Lando she knows. The recklessness and impulsivity got replaced by caution and planning the steps ahead. It's new, and exciting, and it makes her tear up.

“And what if it still doesn’t work?” she asks, her voice small.

He leans closer, his forehead touching hers. “It will.”

His tone is so definitive that she can't say anything else, letting the silence stretch between them as she searches Lando's face for any sign of hesitation.

There’s none.

“How... did you actually know where to find me last night?”

Lando smirks, studying her face with half-closed eyes, bringing his hand to her jaw. “That friend of yours posted on her story. Honestly, I didn’t know you were going to be there. But I hoped.”

She shakes her head, scoffing, “Stalker behavior.”

Lando shrugs nonchallantly, “I just happened to be nearby,” he chuckles.

“Lucky me,” she says, tracing the contour of his nose with her finger, stopping on his jaw.

“Lucky us,” he corrects, pulling her in for another kiss.

Thank you for reading!

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

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cosmictheo · 9 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 | feyd-rautha

( gif credits to @wondrousashes )

—summary: on a calm day back at your home, you shattered away the serenity as you decide to confront feyd about his alleged concubines and the little secrets he seemed so cautious to hide, pushing him further and further to the edge. —pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x female!atreides!reader —word count: 4k —warnings: arranged marriage, jealousy, a bit of implied smut (the actual smut is coming up in the next and last chapter !!!), mentions of sex, mentions of cannibalism, feyd being a slut for the reader (as he should), mentions of killing and death, hot and very passionate love confessions, definitely ooc!feyd.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ★ part one ── part two ── part three (coming soon)

The week at Giedi Prime went by so fast that you hardly noticed any of it. The first day had been a bit slow and tedious, but the ones that followed turned out to be more than agreeable and enjoyable, Feyd-Rautha had been very concerned about keeping you entertained and as comfortable as possible, showing you every corner of the palace and walking you around the city.

But for now, you were back at your home for the last visit you would have there before becoming a Harkonnen. Feyd was staying close to you through all the reunion, naturally, diplomatically greeting your family.

“You met his cannibal lovers yet?” Paul's voice echoed inside your head between Feyd's conversations with Duke Leto, your gaze drifting to your brother in absolute alarm, horrified at the question and relieved that, so far, the answer was negative.

“There are rumors that tell how his concubines feed on the hearts of his dead opponents.” Your brother propelled you with the oh-so-cute information about your future husband. “The bastard has not one, but three. I guess you'll have to battle it out with them for his love, that was Duncan said.”

“Stop it, don't be an idiot.” You snapped back at him, averting your gaze from him to Feyd-Rautha, who was conversing ever so formally with Lady Jessica now.

You couldn't imagine him eating of human flesh, nor fucking three different women at the same time. Although, rumors always started from something and during the few times you had been able to get inside Feyd's head, you hadn't seen anything that was remotely pretty or light.

Paul's words managed to resonate in your head, lingering between the walls with a sense of suspicion.

Maybe that was why he never showed you the intimacy of his chambers... because on his bed lay three women compliantly awaiting for his attention and lust.

For some reason, the false image of him fucking them, bodies intertwined and interlinked, voices whimpering and moaning, made you feel respulsive, your guts twisting like a serpent.

You didn't want to believe it was jealousy, but again, your mind never wanted you to believe anything at all.

The palace of the Atreides stood majestically between rocky mountains, with the golden sunlight falling beautifully on the grayish stone walls, bringing in a warm afternoon. Rising magnificently behind your back, standing like a rocky guardian.

Your gaze was on Feyd-Rautha as you walked together along the outskirts balconies of the castle, your greenish dress swaying in the sea breeze, as did your hair, which you wore unusually loose that day, the sweet smell of it had him crazy.

“Do you like it?” You asked him after a few moments of silence, with a hint of a smile that Feyd noticed as he turned to look at you, noticing as well how you waited expectantly for his opinion of your home, which he knew you always held close to your heart.

After a second, he nodded his head, looking at you intently. “I do.”

His blue eyes, which looked as clear as ever under the natural glow of the place followed you as you walked beside him, keeping himself close to you, he could feel the natural warmth of your body and the sweet smell of your scent.

It was the first time you saw his eyes showing their true color, for back in his home, they rarely reflected so much brightness and his orbs glowed so beautifully in the sunlight. They possessed the most beautiful shade of blue, reminding you of the ocean, of home.

“It's nothing like my home.” Feyd-Rautha added in a more amused, lighter tone of voice, with a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, lowering his gaze to the ground, noting how the grass softened each of his steps on it.

“Obviously. Caladan is everything that Giedi Prime and Arrakis are not.” You answered him, snorting the words out with a soft chuckle that was carried away by the wind, turning your head to look at him once you stopped at the edge of a greenish cliff after descending one of the many rocky staircases that rose up through the hills.

The sea stretched into the immensity of the horizon and the water was uncommonly calm, waves lapping the shore relentlessly. It was a calm and peaceful scene out there, quite the opposite of what you felt inside, as you felt a tempest of emotions raging in your soul.

“Have you been with someone else like this?”

There was another one of your little questions again.

And he pondered the answer, dragging his eyes as blue as the ocean itself in front of them, back to you.

But Feyd-Rautha was rather certain that you already knew the answer, that you already had it, you could tell by the way he looked at you and the way he addressed you. Because it was enough to be clear that he had never been this way with anyone before, he had never spoken to anyone like this and he had never been so pleased to be in someone's company, basically in his entire life.

“The only people I've ever had this close to me are my family or my enemies, neither of whom I think entertain my presence very much.” Was his reply, honest and respectful. His husky voice, in contrast to the graceful sea breeze was a pleasant and comforting noise to you.

His words were masked with a touch of amusement, as he used to do in the last days when he spoke to you, it seemed as if you brought back that inner child he had, a stranger who felt increasingly closer.

But even using that tone, his eyes told you that he was not lying, that he was giving you the pure truth.

Yet, somehow you were not satisfied with his response. And he knew it.

“Have you been with other women?”

Feyd drew in a breath, half-opening his lips, air hissing between his teeth.

“So I'm assuming you've heard about the rumors about me?”

And there he was, answering you with another question to challenge you back, to play with your head as he had grown to love to do during the short time you had been in each other's company. Your conversations always ended up being a game of back and forth, a game of a tension that would be cut with the least sharp blade.

“My future wife likes to guide what she believes by mere rumors?” He pressed further.

And as always, you exhaled the air held inside you, twisting your head slightly, looking at him with incredulous eyes. “These are not rumors, Feyd —I've seen it.”

His blue eyes narrowed as he walked closer to you, expression both intrigued and yet defiant. “What do you mean you've seen it? Don't play games with me now, woman.”

“Don't threaten me, man,” You squinted your eyes as you pronounced the word like poison, almost coming out like an insult. “I'm not afraid of you.” With your own response to his defiance, this immediately silenced him, stopping him in his tracks right in front of you, as you stepped closer to him, your presence growing menacing now. You were really upset. “Do you think that when I marry you I will allow you to go on screwing around with them?”

“You met them and they threatened you?” Feyd asked in a low tone, maintaining a calm demeanor, though he wanted to know if any of his concubines had dared to even glance at you during your stay at Giedi Prime. His orbs reflected a sensation that ranged to a murderous, bloodthirsty urge, not at you, but at anyone who was stupid enough to threaten you. “Tell me, did they say anything to you?”

You crooked your head very slightly, looking genuinely offended by his questioning.

“Do you think I would allow any of your concubines —anyone at all— to threaten me and go on with their lives?” You replied instantly, looking him up and holding his gaze, as brave as ever. You seemed to be the only one in the whole universe who dared to answer him and put him in his place. And he was loving it, he felt the desire to be broken by you, to let you destroy all his walls and reach his soul. “They'd already be dead if they did.”

An amused grimace twisted his lips, gaze darkening with pride, desire even, approving of your words, feeling suddenly small under the vastness of your aura, dark and menacing now.

“Don't worry about them.” His words sounded humorous this time, just as his fingers laced between yours, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, an attempt to reassure you. “Soon I'll be all yours, sweet girl.”

You frowned your brow slightly, as did your lips, still looking offended. He squinted his eyes, hissing as he realized he had said the wrong thing, yet again.

“I'm not sweet.” Your hand released his, your annoyance rising with the seconds. “I'm not one of your pets you can treat as sweet, Feyd-Rautha.”

He raised his brow, following you with his gaze, puzzled, as you turned around and began to walk back to the palace, turning your back on him and leaving him to talk alone.

“One of my pets?” He questioned, with that amused grimace plastered on his mouth again, as he began to follow your hurried footsteps, his pale face reflected a blend of frustration and irritation. “Do you think I would treat you like one of my pets?”

His voice sounded so husky and frustrated and delicious that you felt like just stopping and jumping on him right there. But your own self-respect and pride were more important, you wanted to believe.

Seeing that you weren't planning to stop, Feyd tried to stop you by grabbing your arm, but his hand remained over your smooth skin, with no major result in trying to calm you down, so he cleared his voice, making the attempt to be as cautious and reassuring with his words.

“I think you must understand that desire and lust is something we all possess, my lady, not just men.”

He was physically relieved when you stopped to be able to look at him, with his hand lingering on your forearm.

But your eyes were still dark with discomfort when they met his once again. “I won't be one of your girls, Feyd-Rautha.”

His lips parted, brow furrowing slightly, his voice kept low. “(Y/N)—”

He stood right there, utterly speechless, with his voice caught in his throat, watching you walk away from him, striding with steps that exuded pure anger up to your rocky palace. His hand dropped from your arm and returned to his side, now far from your warmth and heartbeat.

It took Feyd-Rautha a couple of minutes to pull himself together, sighing heavily, a small smirk curving his lips as he began to walk the path back to the Atreides' palace.

He was absolutely thrilled to discover this side of you that he hadn't previously seen. You were truly frightening and he was loving it.

By the time the moon was bright in the center of the dark sky, shining through the thickness of black, a pair of soft knocks sounded against your chamber door and you didn't have to use any hint of your skills to know who it was.

He looked at you with those now dark blue eyes from across the threshold, arm resting lightly against the grayish stone. He looked strangely troubled, look shadowed.

“Have you always been such a perfect seductress?”Feyd asked you just as you made a questioning gesture with your head. “How many men have you seduced like this?”

You looked him up with doubting eyes, frown slightly furrowed. “What are you talking about—”

He interrupted you in a scratchy voice, fearing somehow, that someone else might hear him, that someone else might witness how desperately vulnerable he was being, for you.

“You've broken me. All I can think about is you.”

Feyd took one step forward and you one step back, so you two moved as if you were in a kind of dance until he eventually entered your chambers, pulling the door shut behind him.

“I can't handle not touching you. It's a rule I'm on the brink of breaking for you.” He whispered and your breath caught in your throat, exhaling air in a stuttering gasp. “And I should— I'm expected to be a gentleman. I'm supposed to behave myself, keep my composure. But you… you are driving me crazy, woman, you play with my head, you've bewitched me.”

You could really see that he was trying to explain himself for you, attempting to articulate everything that was going through his head and you knew that it was very unusual for him to speak out loud about his feelings. And now, you were the one who couldn't say anything at all.

It was true, the most important rule your mother had emphasized to you was that you were not to get involved sexually, or in any way with your betrothed, until the very day of the actual wedding, as that particular night was meant to be consumed.

“Y—you shouldn't be here, my lord.” You managed to utter out after a few hesitant stutters, feeling your back brush against the wall and having him in front of you, trapping you against his body. He seemed to be struggling against his body, against his desire and instinct, hesitant hands twitching at his sides, nearly reaching out instinctively for your body.

“You were so bold back there talking back to me, what happened now? Aw, what happened, pretty?” He asked in a more teasing tone of voice, holding your gaze. “We could put that mouth of yours to good use then, hm?”

“My lord—”

“Call me by name.” He demanded, he begged you, whispering.

“Feyd...” You named him so obediently that it made him smile darkly to himself. “Someone might listen.”

“Are you afraid that someone will find out that two people who are getting married desired each other?” Feyd asked, half-closing his eyes and breathing out through his nose, as if trying to compose himself, trying to convince himself more than you. “There is nothing wrong for a husband to crave for his wife, right?”

You gulped, and his eyes instantly landed on your throat, watching as bone and muscle moved beneath the flesh, his tongue twitched, aching with all his will to be able to just lick the skin of your neck.

“I guess not.” Your voice trembled even when you were trying extra hard to sound confident and certain. “But we are not yet husband and wife.”

“Soon...” Feyd muttered, almost as if he was making a promise, uttering a vow.

His eyes closed as he finally rested his forehead against yours and suddenly, you were breathing from the same air. His trembling breath was warm against your lips and his scent was everything you could have ever craved... and it felt so familiar that your soul seemed to shudder, like something you had smelled all your life, something that had haunted you even in dreams, forever present but yet always so far distant.

“Can I touch you?” Feyd breathed out against your mouth after a few moments.

You didn't answer him verbally, instead you slowly took his hands between yours, fingers placing them in parallel against his, allowing you to feel every inch of the imprint drawn on his fingertips as you dragged yours across his palm, both feeling the size difference.

Then, you rested his big, calloused hands on your waist, allowing him to touch and hold you as much as he wanted and to permit him to do so, a single sight on your eyes was all it took.

He hissed as his hands molded the curve of your waist and instantly afterward drew you into his body, pulling you fully against the wall behind you. Your back arched instinctively and you gasped too, so softly, your chest pressed against his with the motion.

“Touch me.” Feyd-Rautha pleaded, he had never pleaded so... desperately for anything ever in his life.

That was your allowance for your hands reaching for his body, out of control, one making a slow path up through his strong arms while the other rested against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your palm, beating echoing your own. Your fingertips gently patted his muscles, recognizing his skin and his body. You got the abrupt urge to claim it as yours. To claim him.

You felt yourself blushing at all the overly imaginative and lustful images of him invading your head.

His nose brushed against yours, nuzzling it affectionately, still without opening his eyes, as if he were in some kind of dream from which he didn't want to wake up. His fingers caressed your belly, tracing a slow caress across your entire abdomen upward, while his other hand gripped your waist, holding you against him.

His touch triggered an immediate reaction across your flesh, skin shivering under his fingers.

Feyd whispered your name like a prayer, like a thirsty man, crawling and screaming for water.

“I'm trying to be good...”

“Don't be.” You whispered back, almost begging, looking up at him, gaze meeting his once he opened his eyes. “Please, Feyd—”

Then finally his lips landed on yours, initiating a kiss that you both craved so much, maybe he more than you for the way he brought you close to him, almost possessively, like a mad man, almost as if he was imprinting his mark on you, marking you for whoever had the courage to look at you.

He let himself sink in the way your lips fit against yours, in the warmth your body offered him, in the all too familiar sensation he could sense in every single fiber of his core from the kiss, your kiss.

Feyd-Rautha felt like a roaring beast just unleashed, ruthless and insatiable, just like when he walked into the arena, eager to kill, rooting against his opponents —and now he was rooting for you, to be near you, to intertwine his soul with yours, to claim you as his own.

And claiming you he was, his scent covered you all over now, making you feel a burning sensation in the pit of your stomach, throbbing crotch, blood seething like an infernal flare. Anyone who came near you would not only smell you, but him too, on every inch of your body. His hands roamed just under your breasts, rubbing across your ribcage and sliding down your back, fingers just barely grazing your ass, pressing you tightly against him in desperation, grasping and squeezing as much of your tender flesh as they could.

Your own palms roamed up his chest, caressing his broad shoulders, all the way up to his neck, tugging him closer to you in desperate motions, impossibly close.

When your bodies begged for oxygen, you broke the passionate kiss, leaving you both breathless. He kissed you once more, allowing you to breathe just for a few seconds before all you breathed was him. He wanted to become your oxygen, something indispensable to you, something you needed to live with, a necessity.

“You're the only one.” Feyd-Rautha mumbled out as his hot and soft lips trailed down a wet path all the way to your neck, tracing the line of your jaw with sloppy kisses, each time his lips pulled back from your skin a wet noise echoed and filled the room, making you gasp.

You could feel the way his lips were modulating each word against your skin, as if using a language so intimate and so tight that it took your breath away. A language known and used just between the two of you.

With desirous eyes he looked at the dark crimson mark he'd left on your throat before raising them across your flushed face, his hands cradling your jaw, thumbs caressing your skin tenderly.

“When my uncle gave me the announcement that I was to marry you, I kicked them all out.” He continued to explain, pecking your lips a couple of times before kissing each cheek, your forehead, your eyelids, your nose, every single feature of your entire face, with the utmost care and adoration.

No one had ever looked at you the way he was looking at you right now.

Feyd rasped out a small chuckle, breath warm tickling against your nose. “And by kicking them out I mean I killed them.”

His comment didn't surprise you at all, in fact, it didn't even provoke a reaction in you. During the week you had been in his company, you had already gotten used to Feyd-Rautha's -almost cruel- honesty and sassy remarks, you were just starting to get used to his very eccentric and unique attitude. Because the na-Baron's personality was something that was most captivating to you, he was so different yet so similar to you.

“Of course.” You replied, trying to hold back that dark grin on your lips, an action that caused him to kiss you once more, his attention was on your mouth the whole time as you spoke to him in that tone of voice. “I would expect nothing less from the Feyd-Rautha and for my future husband.”

Again he rested his forehead against yours and you were the one who kissed his lips this time. It had become a reassuring habit in a span of less than five minutes for both of you.

“I can't do anything to you until we get married, my uncle would find out otherwise. I have —we have— to behave, my love.”

He seemed to read your mind this time, or maybe it was the way you were looking at him, biting your lower lip gently, eyes darkened with desire, silently begging him to just take you right there against the wall when he called like that.

Perhaps Feyd-Rautha was a hopeless romantic just like you or he simply desired you in ways that went beyond mere sex or plain lust.

“Are you afraid of him?” You softly asked him, your fingers stroking the back of his neck, feeling the smoothness of his skin. Your fingertips followed the trail of one of his veins marked on his neck, making him gasp lightly.

“Have you seen him?” Feyd responded with another question, a curved little smile on his lips, his tone of voice directed pure sarcasm. “I don't think I'm in such a position as to challenge the Baron.”

You nodded your head, fingers stroking his cheekbones now, tapping the moles that spread across his face affectionately. “He's terrifying.”

Your heart seemed to melt as you watched him close his eyes and lean against your hand, kissing the palm in action.

“Mhm...” Feyd hummed, watching you attentively, as if he was memorizing every inch of your face. Suddenly, his expression changed to one of amusement.

“Were you seriously jealous of my darlings?”

Your heart seemed to drop to your stomach and burn with your guts as you heard the nickname fall from his mouth.

“Call them that again and I'll cut your throat.” You murmured against his lips, kissing them slowly before pulling away from his body, looking up at him with dark, yet playful eyes, your hand roaming across his chest until it fell to your side as you stepped away. Then you made your way towards your bed with a very slow pace, under the attentive gaze of his azure eyes following every movement of your hips.

His heart —apparently non-existent until then— was pounding like crazy inside his chest as his lips parted, for once again you had left him speechless.

That was living proof that you were simply made for him. And he for you.

And maybe that just meant you were each other's weakness, people would say so.

But he felt just invincible in your presence, as if your company made him behold the whole universe, gave him the power of the all galaxy at hand, making him feel like the only man in existence. Your man.

Feyd-Rautha had never felt so desperate to make you his wife and finally call you his.

#feyd rautha x reader #cosmictheo #feyd rautha one shot #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune x reader #dune 2 #dune imagine #austin butler x reader

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myfamilycrestisthedemonofdeath · 5 months ago

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I'm thinking of how the 141 men react to you cracking your joints, either purposefully in Price's case, or accidentally on the others. Suggestive towards the end , MDNI

~~~

Like with John, you do that trend where you put pretzel sticks inside your mouth and ask him to pop your back and then bite down into the pretzels as you act limp. He'll immediately pick you up and start rushing you out of the door to bring you to an ER, panic evident in his face, jaw clenched, but his eyes are focused. He looks at you sternly when you explain to him what happened before bringing you back inside the room, still in his arms, and you can still feel his heart racing, muscles still tense but calming down as you soothe him, feeling bad about your prank.

You're laying on your stomach on the floor in Simon's case, just being in the way of where he wants to move, maybe with various objects around you as you are occupied with your phone. He'll ask you to relocate your activities, but you refuse to get up, and so he warns he'll just walk over you. He nudges your side with his foot, and when you just grunt at him, he places his foot on your lower back and exerts slight pressure, eliciting a groan from you until you both hear a loud pop from your back. He'll drop immediately to his knees, not minding if some of your stuff is digging into his legs as he worriedly checks on you, checking multiple times that he didn't hurt you. You just tell him how good that felt as you lay limply, assuring him that you are okay, that was a good pop. He'll then carefully pick you up and move you to your bed even with you protesting, and then comes back with all your stuff and rearranging them around you.

Maybe in Johnny's case, you two are sparring, he's got you in between him and the ground mat. Both of you sweaty as he tries to subdue you while you are doing your best to fight him off. He gets you into a headlock with his (strong, meaty) biceps, and you twist your head a little. Both of you froze as you hear your neck joints pop, and he quickly loosens his hold on you, cradling your neck with utmost gentleness, worriedly asking if you are okay and if you can still feel your limbs. He'll lay you down gently and refuse to let you get up until you assure him multiple times that your neck just popped, it didn't hurt and you are fine. He'll beam his worried blue eyes over you and refuse to continue sparring, opting to just hug you protectively into his chest after, leaving you with no choice but to be sticky with both of your sweat cooling off.

Or you are making out with Kyle, his big, warm hands roaming over your body, your curves, as you grab at his slender neck, both consumed in fiery passion. You gently push him off you, away from the wall where you both heatedly started when your simmering gazes and coy words weren't enough to dampen the heat in between, and you guide him towards the sofa, him falling back on it with your nudge, his brown eyes roaming over you appreciatively. You slot your lips with him again, trying to clamber over and straddle him, when you hear not just one but both of your knees pop as you try to settle. He pries his mouth off you urgently, moving you to relieve pressure off your knees by sitting you sideways in his lap, inspecting and checking over as you laughingly told him it was just your joints cracking. Oh you best believe he will be the only one on his knees when he picks you up and brings you to your bedroom.

~~~

Power is out in my house since last night due to thunderstorm, which is apparently when my creative juices start flowing. I'm glad I'm a prepper who has a powerbank for my phone as well as a battery-powered fan, a bunch of flashlights, and a hand-crank emergency radio/flashlight/charger

#my brain worms are at it today #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #john price #john price x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #call of duty

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goldfades · 2 months ago

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PLAYING WITH FIRE──FATHER CHARLIE

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for this request

─ summary | a preacher's daughter becomes involved in a secret and passionate affair with a priest, challenging her strict upbringing and the expectations of her family and faith.

─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x preacher's daughter!reader

─ warnings | NSFW (with plot) under the cut. fingering, heavy make-out sessions, praise/degradation?

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Your father always said the church was supposed to be your sanctuary.

From the time you were old enough to sit still on a pew, the towering stained glass windows and the echo of hymns in the vaulted ceiling had been your world. Every sermon, every candlelit service, every whispered prayer had woven itself into the fabric of your life, wrapping you in a cloak of devotion that felt as natural as breathing.

Now, standing in the shadow of the altar, that cloak felt a little too tight.

The evening light filtered through the stained glass, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the stone floors. Blues and golds stretched in long, quiet beams, like the church itself was holding its breath. Outside, the world was settling into the calm of twilight, but inside, the silence felt heavier than usual. It pressed down on your shoulders, thick and stifling.

You stood there, fingertips grazing the smooth surface of the wooden pew in front of you. The familiar scent of incense and old books filled your lungs as you breathed in deeply, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had been crawling under your skin for weeks now. Something was different, though you couldn’t quite place it. The church, once a place of comfort, now felt... constricting. Maybe it was the weight of expectation—or maybe it was something else entirely, something you didn’t dare to name yet.

Your gaze drifted to the large crucifix at the front of the room, eyes tracing the well-worn details of it, the soft glow of candlelight flickering at its base. You were supposed to feel something here. Reverence. Peace. But instead, a knot twisted in your chest, a tangle of emotions you couldn’t unravel.

Footsteps echoed behind you, soft but deliberate, the sound pulling you back to the present. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could feel his presence like the air had shifted, like the temperature in the room dropped just a fraction of a degree.

“Evening service is in an hour.”

Father Charlie’s voice, smooth and low, cut through the silence, brushing against the nape of your neck like a whisper. You swallowed, your pulse quickening, though you weren’t entirely sure why. He always had that effect on you, though you told yourself it was nothing. Just nerves. Just... respect. Nothing more.

You turned to face him, forcing a smile as you nodded. “I know. I just... wanted a moment before the crowd comes in.”

His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary, and something in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t just the way he looked at you—it was the way you felt when he did, like you were being seen for the first time, like every carefully crafted piece of who you were might unravel if you weren’t careful.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice still soft, but there was an edge to it now, something unspoken that hung in the air between you.

You looked away quickly, your fingers curling tighter around the pew. Your father’s words echoed in your mind, reminding you of your duty, of your place. You were the preacher’s daughter, after all. Everything about your life was tied to this church, to your father’s legacy, to the faith you were supposed to uphold with unwavering loyalty.

But then why did it feel like everything was starting to crack?

You forced yourself to stand taller, clearing your throat as you spoke again, your voice quieter this time. “I should probably go help with preparations.”

“Right,” Charlie said, though he didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off you.

The silence stretched between you once more, and you could feel the weight of it, heavy and unspoken. Something was shifting, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

───

College had opened a thousand new doors for you, each one leading you further away from the world you had known for so long. The freedom was intoxicating—more than you could have imagined. Late nights spent in libraries, impromptu road trips with friends, a city that felt alive beneath your feet, humming with possibilities you had never considered. For the first time in your life, you weren’t tethered to the expectations of your family, the expectations of the church.

But even as you explored new ideas, met people who challenged the beliefs you had grown up with, and carved out space for yourself in a world much bigger than the small town you’d left behind, something kept pulling you back. A tug, a whisper, a lingering sense of obligation that gnawed at you when the campus quieted down in the early hours of the morning.

It wasn’t just the faith you were raised in that haunted you; it was the weight of your father’s voice echoing in your head, the way he spoke about duty, commitment, and sacrifice. His sermons had always been about more than just scripture—they were about life, about how the world tested you, how sin was a slippery slope. How it could seduce you without you even realizing it.

You thought you could ignore it for a while, push the thoughts aside as you embraced everything new. But when the holidays came and you found yourself back home, the old routines settled over you like a heavy coat. The Sunday services, the church events, the constant watchful eyes of the congregation. You could feel them all waiting, wondering if the preacher’s daughter had come back changed, if the world had gotten to you.

And then, there was Father Charlie.

You hadn’t expected to see him again—not like this, not after everything had shifted inside of you. College had given you new perspectives, yes, but it hadn’t prepared you for the way your pulse raced the moment you saw him standing in the front of the church, speaking with your father as if everything was still the same.

But it wasn’t.

Charlie looked different. Or maybe you did. He was older now, though not by much, and there was a certain weight in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t just his sermons or the way he carried himself with that steady, unshakable calm; it was the way his gaze lingered on you, the way it seemed like he could see through the mask you were trying so hard to keep up.

You’d always known him as the priest who helped your father, the man who had been an almost constant presence in your home, at dinners, at family gatherings. He was someone you trusted, someone you never questioned. Until now.

There was something about him now, something that made the air feel too thick when you were in the same room. Maybe it was because you had changed, maybe it was because you had seen more of the world and realized how small the one you left behind had been. Or maybe it was because for the first time, you were looking at him not through the lens of innocence and trust, but through something darker. Something you weren’t ready to name.

It started innocently enough—helping your father prepare for services, catching up with old friends from the congregation, falling back into the role of the dutiful daughter. You had perfected that role long ago, and slipping back into it felt almost too easy, like muscle memory. But every time you caught a glimpse of Charlie, that mask cracked just a little more.

You told yourself it was nothing, that it was just the stress of being home again, of reconciling who you were now with who you had been before. But it wasn’t long before you found yourself lingering after church events, staying late to help clean up, just to see if he’d still be there. Just to see if his eyes would meet yours again, if that strange, unspoken tension between you would return.

And it always did.

It was subtle at first, the way he looked at you from across the room, the way his gaze lingered just a little too long before he turned away. You tried to convince yourself you were imagining it, that it was just your mind playing tricks on you. But then there were the conversations, those moments when the two of you were alone in the church hall, the only sound the distant hum of people outside. The way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way he leaned in just a fraction too close, the way his hand brushed yours when you passed him something.

It was nothing. Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But one evening, after a particularly long meeting at the church, when everyone else had left and you were gathering your things, you turned around to find him standing in the doorway, watching you.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. The look in his eyes was different this time—darker, more intense. There was something there that you hadn’t seen before, or maybe something you had been too afraid to acknowledge.

“I didn’t expect you to come back,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as you tried to gather your thoughts. “It’s home,” you replied, though even you could hear the uncertainty in your own voice.

He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. The sound of it clicking shut seemed to echo in the silence, making the space between you feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to find something, some answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet.

You should have felt uncomfortable. You should have made some excuse to leave, to get out of there before whatever this was could unfold. But instead, you stayed rooted to the spot, your breath shallow, your heart racing in your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice lower now, almost a whisper.

Your heart skipped another beat, a wave of heat washing over you at his words. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what to say to the man standing in front of you—the man who had always been so steady, so composed, and now looked like he was standing on the edge of something dangerous.

“Charlie, I—”

“I know,” he interrupted, taking another step closer, his eyes still locked on yours. “I know this is... complicated.”

Complicated didn’t even begin to cover it. He was a priest. You were the preacher’s daughter. There were rules, lines that couldn’t be crossed, things that couldn’t be said.

But here you were, standing in the quiet of the church, and those lines had never felt more blurred.

It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. You knew it deep down, felt it in the pit of your stomach. He was a man of God, your father’s closest confidant, the last person you should have these thoughts about. And yet, here he was—standing before you, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch, like you were the only person in the world at that moment.

He was too close now. You could smell the faint scent of incense still clinging to his clothes, could see the slight furrow in his brow as he struggled to keep his composure. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the muted shuffle of footsteps outside the room.

You should leave. You needed to. But instead, you found yourself taking a slow, steady breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

“I don’t know what’s happening here,” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible.

Charlie exhaled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Neither do I,” he admitted, his voice low, almost broken. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy and dangerous. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be a man above these temptations, above human desires. And you were supposed to be someone who understood that, who respected the boundaries that came with it. But somehow, those boundaries had started to blur long before either of you realized.

His hand twitched at his side, like he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch you, to close the distance between you. For a moment, you thought he might actually do it. That he might cross that final line. But he hesitated, clenching his fist as if to hold himself back.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered under his breath, taking a small step backward, as if the space would help clear the growing storm between you.

You bit your lip, trying to find the right words, the right way to make sense of the tangled mess of emotions inside you. “Charlie...”

“Don’t,” he cut you off softly, shaking his head. “You don’t understand how wrong this is.”

His words hit you like a cold splash of water, but they didn’t stop the way your heart fluttered in your chest, or the way your stomach twisted with something dangerous. You knew he was right. This was wrong, on every level. And yet, the way he looked at you, the way his voice dropped when he said your name—it sent a shiver down your spine that you couldn’t ignore.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just stared at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and something darker—something you didn’t dare name out loud.

“Because,” he finally murmured, his voice thick with restrained emotion, “I can’t help it.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words settle over you. It wasn’t the confession you had expected, and it wasn’t one that made things any easier. If anything, it only made the situation even more complicated.

“I should go,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to take a step back, to create some distance between you and the storm brewing in the space you shared.

That was all you said before turning around, and leaving the room.

───

You weren't sure how this had happened, but sure as hell did. Charlie's lips were on yours, pushing you into the door with force. You hummed into his lips, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

All you remember was his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. The world outside that door no longer existed, fading into a blur as Charlie’s lips moved against yours with a fervor that felt like it had been building for far too long.

All you remembered was the sound of your own heartbeat, pounding so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else—the quiet of the church hall, the soft creak of the door behind you, the whisper of your name on Charlie’s lips before everything had spiraled out of control.

You had always imagined this would be different, more hesitant, slower, maybe even sweet. But this? This was something else entirely. It was rushed, desperate, like both of you had been holding back for so long that the dam had finally broken, flooding every bit of restraint.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him to close the gap between you entirely. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as if he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t. His lips were warm, insistent, and you couldn’t help but melt into him, surrendering to the pull you had resisted for so long.

The weight of what you were doing hit you in flashes—between the soft gasp that escaped your throat and the way Charlie’s breath hitched when you responded with equal need. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be doing this. But nothing had ever felt so... inevitable.

The taste of his kiss lingered on your lips, sending sparks through your body that only grew more intense the longer it went on. You could feel the tension radiating off of him, the battle he was fighting between what he knew was wrong and what he wanted more than anything at that moment.

It was a battle you were losing, too.

You broke away for a second, gasping for air as his forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily. His eyes—dark, conflicted, and filled with something so raw—locked onto yours. For a moment, the weight of what you’d just done hung between you.

But then, before either of you could think too much, his lips were back on yours, silencing any doubts. This time, softer.

This time, his kiss was slower, more deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. The urgency had dimmed just enough to let the moment stretch out, to let the reality of what was happening sink in. His hands traced a path from your hips to your waist, pulling you even closer, while his lips moved tenderly against yours, tasting you in a way that made your knees weak.

Your mind was a blur of sensations—the warmth of his breath, the soft friction of his body pressing into yours, the quiet hum of the world outside this stolen moment. Every touch, every kiss, felt like it was lighting a fire inside you that you couldn't put out, even if you tried.

But then, as his lips left yours to trail softly down your jawline, the weight of it all crashed down on you. What had you done? What were you doing?

“Charlie,” you whispered, your voice trembling as reality clawed its way back in. His name fell from your lips like a plea, though you weren’t sure if you were asking him to stop or to keep going.

He froze, his breath hot against your neck. For a long moment, he didn’t move, his hands still gripping your waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go. Then, with a shuddering breath, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression filled with a storm of emotions—regret, desire, conflict, everything.

“I... I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. His eyes searched yours, as though he was looking for some kind of answer, some justification for the lines he had just crossed. “I shouldn’t have...”

You shook your head, still catching your breath, your hands sliding down from his shoulders. “No,” you whispered, feeling the heat in your cheeks. “Don’t apologize. I wanted this, too.”

Charlie swallowed hard, his gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes, torn between the undeniable truth of your words and the overwhelming guilt gnawing at him. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he took a step back, running a hand through his hair as if to ground himself, to keep himself from falling further.

“We can’t do this,” he muttered, almost to himself, though the words were meant for both of you. “This... it’s wrong. It goes against everything.”

“Charlie,” you scoffed as you straightened up. “So what? So what if this is wrong, who said we can't have fun every once in a while?”

Charlie’s eyes darkened at your words, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his features. You watched as he clenched his jaw, wrestling with the temptation that you had just fanned back into life with that careless, reckless comment.

“Fun?” he repeated, his voice low and strained, almost like he couldn’t believe you had said it. “You think this is just fun?”

You tilted your head, shrugging, though you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. “Why not? Why does it have to be this heavy, guilt-ridden thing? It’s only wrong if we make it wrong.” Your voice was bold, but there was a trembling edge beneath it, one you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

Charlie’s hand ran through his hair in frustration as he stared at you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, taking a step closer, and for a moment, you saw the fire in his eyes again—the same fire that had pulled you both into this moment in the first place. “This isn’t just some game. You have no idea what you’re risking.”

You stepped forward, closing the distance again, the tension between you crackling like electricity. “I know exactly what I’m risking, Charlie. And I don’t care. Don’t you get that by now? I want this.”

For a split second, you saw the conflict in his eyes again, the internal war he was waging, but then his hand reached out, gripping your arm, pulling you closer. His breath was ragged as his forehead pressed against yours, his fingers tightening around you like he was holding on for dear life.

“You’re driving me insane,” he murmured, his voice thick with desperation. “This isn’t something we can just... play with. It’s wrong, and I—”

“Do you want me to stop?” you cut him off, your voice soft but firm, your lips inches from his.

Charlie’s breath hitched as his grip on you tightened even more. His eyes searched yours, the weight of the decision heavy between you both. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with anticipation, with the unspoken truth neither of you could deny anymore.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper, filled with all the tension and desire he had been trying so hard to suppress. “But I should. We should.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, and without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Then don’t.”

That was all it took.

In an instant, his resolve crumbled, and Charlie’s lips crashed into yours with a force that sent a shiver down your spine. All the restraint, all the guilt, evaporated in that single moment as his hands gripped you tighter, pulling you against him like he couldn’t get enough.

That was how this little affair had began. What started as a reckless act of rebellion, something thrilling and dangerous, had spiraled into something much bigger, something neither of you could have anticipated.

For Charlie, everything began to shift. At first, it was just the stolen kisses and the hurried, whispered moments behind locked doors. But then, gradually, you noticed the change in him—subtle at first, but undeniable as time went on. He wasn’t the same devout, principled man he’d been before. The conviction that once held him together was starting to unravel, and it wasn’t just about you anymore.

His sermons, once delivered with unshakable passion, began to falter. He spoke the words, but there was a hollowness to them now, a lack of fire that hadn’t been there before. The weight of his role as a priest no longer seemed to sit so heavily on his shoulders. It was as though he was slipping further away from the man he had been, day by day, like he had loosened his grip on the faith that had once defined him.

It wasn’t just in the church either. You saw it in his eyes, the way they lit up when he saw you, no longer clouded with guilt or hesitation. The same man who had once knelt in prayer for hours, seeking forgiveness for even the smallest of sins, now seemed to be the furthest thing from repentant. There was a spark in him that had nothing to do with religion—a hunger for something more, something that you had awakened in him.

You had become his escape, his release from the rigid life he had once lived. And it was clear that, for the first time in a long while, he was having fun. Real fun. The kind that made his eyes light up with a mischievous glint, the kind that left him grinning after each secret encounter. He was no longer the solemn, restrained Father Charlie that everyone in the church knew. Around you, he laughed more, joked more, and seemed more alive than he ever had before.

There was a recklessness to him now, a side of Charlie that had been hidden beneath layers of duty and piety. When you were together, it was as though none of the rules applied. His hands roamed freely, his lips found yours without hesitation, and the weight of his priesthood—the guilt that had once threatened to crush him—seemed to melt away with each touch, each kiss, each stolen moment.

He wasn’t praying for forgiveness anymore. He wasn’t praying for anything at all.

And maybe that was the most dangerous part of all. Charlie was slipping further and further away from the man he had been, from the role he had devoted his life to. But even as you saw him change, a part of you knew—you liked this version of him better. The one who wasn’t weighed down by morality, the one who let himself live, who let himself enjoy this, enjoy you.

Because, in truth, he had never seemed happier.

Then, your family's Christmas Eve dinner came and of course, Charlie would be invited. Your mother and father were practically buzzing with excitement—this was their biggest event of the year.

It would be in your home, just as it always was, with the dining room decked out in festive decorations. The smell of cinnamon, cloves, and roasting meat filled the air, and the flicker of candlelight danced along the walls. Your mother had spent days planning every detail, from the table settings to the perfect holiday playlist softly playing in the background. This was the night your family pulled out all the stops, and the guest of honor, of course, was none other than Father Charlie.

As you descended the stairs, dressed in a modest yet elegant outfit your mother had insisted upon, your stomach churned. The thought of Charlie sitting across from you, pretending nothing was happening between the two of you, made your skin prickle with a strange mix of anticipation and dread. You could already picture him, composed and serene, his priestly demeanor fully intact. But you knew better. Beneath the calm exterior, beneath the collar, there was a man who had unraveled, one you had helped tear apart.

The dining room was a scene of festive cheer by the time you arrived, your parents bustling about, greeting guests and making sure everything was perfect. You could hear your father laughing loudly from the other room, his booming voice full of pride as he told someone about how Father Charlie had become such an important part of the church community. How proud they were to have him there.

And then you saw him.

Charlie stood near the fireplace, talking to a few of the older parishioners who had arrived early, his usual composed expression firmly in place. He looked every bit the part—his black priest’s garb impeccable, his hands clasped in front of him in that familiar posture of calm authority. But when his eyes flicked over to you, for the briefest of moments, something shifted. His gaze lingered, and you saw the hint of heat behind them, a flash of memory that you were certain only the two of you understood. His lips quirked up in a small smile, seemingly innocent and kind. But you knew better.

Your heart skipped a beat as your mother’s voice pulled you back into the moment. “Sweetheart, come say hello to Father Charlie!” she called, her voice brimming with affection.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto your face as you made your way toward him. Your mother was already gushing about how wonderful it was to have him here, how much your family appreciated him spending Christmas Eve with them. You barely heard her, your mind racing as Charlie’s eyes met yours, steady but unreadable.

“Good evening,” he said softly, his voice smooth as ever, though there was an edge to it that only you could catch. The soft smile that graced his features had turned into a small smirk as he took in your shy expression.

He extended his hand, and for a split second, as your fingers brushed his, a jolt of electricity surged through you. It was barely noticeable—a moment so fleeting your mother wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But for you, it was enough to send your mind spiraling back to all the times his hands had been on you in a much different way.

“Good evening, Father,” you replied, your voice steady, though your pulse was racing beneath the surface.

“Such a lovely home, as always,” Charlie said, turning his attention to your mother with a charming smile, ever the perfect guest. But as he spoke, you caught the way his fingers flexed slightly, like he was trying to hold back something deeper.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself painfully aware of Charlie's presence, of the way he seemed just a little too comfortable, a little too close. He wasn’t careless enough to raise suspicion, not with your family and half the parish sitting around the table, but there were moments—subtle, fleeting moments—that made your heart race.

It started with the way he looked at you. His eyes would linger a beat too long whenever you caught each other’s gaze across the table. He spoke politely to your parents, laughed at the right moments, even indulged your father’s long-winded stories about the church’s history. But every time he glanced your way, there was something beneath the surface. A smoldering awareness.

Then, there were his hands. When he passed you the breadbasket, his fingers brushed against yours. Not an accident, not something your parents would ever notice, but it was enough. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and the heat in his gaze told you he knew exactly what he was doing. His thumb grazed your wrist in a way that made your breath hitch, and when you glanced up, he was already looking away, like it never happened. But you knew.

Charlie was being reckless, though not in an obvious way. His behavior was just subtle enough to keep from drawing attention, but to you, it was impossible to miss. His foot nudged yours beneath the table during dinner, a simple tap, but the look he gave you when your knees touched—it was almost too much. You could barely keep yourself composed, your mind spinning with the memory of him pushing you up against the door, his lips on yours.

"Father, would you like more wine?" your mother asked, completely oblivious to the tension simmering between you two.

Charlie smiled, nodding graciously as he held out his glass. "Just a little more, thank you."

As your mother poured, his eyes found yours again. This time, he didn’t look away, not immediately. The corner of his mouth quirked up, just enough to send your thoughts into overdrive. It was like a private joke, one that only the two of you understood. A secret dance of hidden touches, stolen glances, and unspoken words.

You tried to focus on your plate, on the conversation happening around you, but it was impossible. Every move he made felt like it was meant for you, no matter how small. When he reached for his napkin, his hand grazed your thigh under the table, just for a second, but it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat. You glanced at him in shock, and he gave you a sideways smile, the kind that spoke volumes without a single word.

He was playing with fire, and so were you.

Dinner stretched on, with your father telling more stories and your mother doting on everyone, but all you could think about was Charlie. The way he leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping the room, but always coming back to you. It was reckless, the way he was letting his guard down, letting you see the cracks in his calm facade.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” your father asked, drawing you out of your thoughts. His concerned gaze made your stomach tighten.

You forced a smile, nodding quickly. “Yes, just tired, I think. It’s been a long day.”

Your father patted your shoulder, satisfied with your answer, but when you glanced at Charlie, you saw the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes—something that told you he wasn’t tired at all. He was far from it.

As dessert was served, the tension between you two only grew. He was no longer pretending to keep his distance, not really. His foot stayed lightly pressed against yours under the table, and when your fingers brushed again as you passed him a dish, he let them linger, his thumb trailing over your knuckles for just a second too long.

The worst part? No one else noticed a thing.

Charlie was playing this game with expert precision—just enough to make your pulse quicken, but not enough to get caught.

As dessert came to an end, Charlie's eyes flickered towards you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He had barely spoken directly to you the entire night, but now, it was like he couldn’t wait any longer. You were both playing this game, pushing the boundaries of how far you could go without crossing an invisible line—at least in front of everyone else.

"Could you show me where the coffee cups are?" Charlie asked, leaning back casually in his chair. His voice was calm, maybe even a little too casual, but you caught the subtle undercurrent of something more.

Your mother’s head turned slightly, her brow furrowing in mild confusion. "Father, you’ve been here enough times to know where they are, haven’t you?"

You held your breath, your pulse quickening at the way your mother’s question hung in the air. Charlie smiled smoothly, shaking his head.

"Ah, but every time I’m here, something’s moved around. You know how it is in a busy house," he said, chuckling lightly, the picture of a gracious guest. But his eyes were on you again, and you knew this wasn’t about coffee cups. Not even close.

"Of course," your mother laughed, brushing it off with a wave. "Go ahead, sweetheart, show Father Charlie where everything is."

Your heart was pounding as you rose from your seat, barely able to look at your parents. The room felt too small, too hot, like every eye was on you as you and Charlie stood up from the table. But when you glanced back, your father was already engrossed in another conversation, and your mother was busy with the dishes.

Charlie followed you into the hallway, his footsteps too close behind you. Your breath hitched as you led him toward the kitchen, trying to act natural, but the tension between you two was suffocating. You could feel his presence like a shadow, his gaze boring into the back of your neck as you rounded the corner.

The second you stepped out of view, his hand caught your wrist, pulling you to a stop. You spun to face him, heart racing, and before you could say a word, his body was pressing you back against the kitchen counter.

"Charlie—" you whispered, but he silenced you with a look, his breath coming fast and shallow.

"I couldn’t stand it any longer," he muttered, his voice low and thick with something dark. His hands came to rest on either side of you, trapping you against the counter, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. "I need you, baby..."

Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed the side of your face, and you felt your resolve start to crumble. You knew this was wrong—knew it with every fiber of your being—but Charlie’s lips were dangerously close to yours, his breath warm on your skin.

"You’ve been driving me insane," he whispered, his voice ragged, filled with a hunger he hadn’t bothered to hide anymore.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment crushing down on you. There was still time to stop this, to step away, but you knew neither of you would. You had pushed each other too far, and now, there was no turning back.

"I know," you breathed, barely able to get the words out. "I’ve been waiting for you to crack."

A low groan escaped him, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours, hot and demanding. His hands slid down to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the heat between you was overwhelming. It was reckless, dangerous, but it was also everything you had been waiting for.

The tension that had simmered all night finally broke, and you melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back with the same desperation. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, and you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth.

Charlie pulled away just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes. "Your parents are in the other room," he murmured with a small smirk, though the way he held you betrayed any thought of stopping.

You smiled up at him, your heart racing. "Then why can’t you stop?"

His jaw clenched, and without another word, he pulled you into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands exploring your body with a reckless abandon that sent a shiver down your spine. The world outside the kitchen, the family dinner, the church—it all melted away as you gave in to the dangerous pull between you.

Charlie pulled away for a second, his hand reaching up to grip your face harshly. "Dirty girl, aren't you?"

You couldn't help but laugh, your eyes never leaving his. "You started this, Charlie."

Charlie's grip tightened, and you felt the heat of his gaze searing into you, both intoxicating and possessive. He kissed you again, his mouth fierce, almost punishing, as if he couldn’t stand the space between you. Your back hit the counter, but the discomfort barely registered—he pressed his body into yours, and you gasped against his lips, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation flooding your senses.

His hands roamed, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before sliding beneath your shirt, the roughness of his palms igniting your skin. You felt him pause, as if savoring the feeling of you under his hands, and when he finally pulled back, it was only to whisper against your ear, his voice low and thick with desire. "You like this, don't you? Knowing we could get caught..."

You could barely think, your body burning with need. You bit your lip, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. "Isn’t that what you want?" you whispered back, your own hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin.

Charlie groaned, his grip on you tightening. His fingers found the hem of your jeans, teasing, as he trailed hot kisses down the side of your neck. "Always so defiant," he muttered, his breath warm against your skin. "But I’ll break you yet."

The intensity of his words sent a thrill through you, and you tilted your head back, giving him access to more of your neck as he kissed you, nipping at your skin, leaving a trail of marks behind. His hands, strong and demanding, finally dipped lower, and you gasped as his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your lower abdomen.

"Charlie," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as your hands clutched at his shoulders, needing him closer, needing more.

Charlie’s breath was hot against your neck as his hands traveled lower, teasing the edge of your jeans. His fingers dipped just beneath the fabric, tracing your skin with maddening slowness. "Say my name again," he demanded, his voice husky and filled with dark need.

Your lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as his fingers toyed with you, just enough to make you squirm but not enough to satisfy the aching desire that built inside you. "Charlie," you breathed, your voice trembling, desperate.

His hand tightened around your waist, pulling you harder against him. "Louder," he growled, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. He was taunting you, daring you to give in completely, and you could feel the power shift between you. You were no longer in control—he was, and the knowledge only heightened the tension.

You clenched your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, trying to keep your composure, but he wasn’t making it easy. His other hand slid to your throat, not choking but holding you in place, his grip firm as he pressed his lips against yours again, more demanding than before.

"You think you can push me, don’t you?" he muttered against your lips. "Make me lose control." His fingers slipped lower, brushing the spot that made your knees weak, and you gasped, unable to stop the flood of heat that rushed through you. He smiled, wicked and knowing, as if he could sense your surrender.

Your head fell back against the cabinet, your breathing ragged, your body burning under his touch. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again, his eyes dark with lust and dominance. "But you're mine," he murmured, his voice a promise and a warning all at once. "And you’ll break before I do."

Your heart pounded in your chest as Charlie's words sank in, his hand at your throat tightening ever so slightly, just enough to remind you of his control. The intensity of his stare sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you found yourself caught between the desire to challenge him and the undeniable pull of surrender.

"Are you sure about that?" you whispered, your voice soft but laced with defiance, the words barely slipping past your lips as you fought to maintain some control.

A dangerous smile tugged at the corner of Charlie’s mouth, his gaze flickering with something dark and unrelenting. "Oh, I’m sure," he said, his tone low and dripping with confidence. His fingers danced over the waistband of your skirt before slipping inside, his touch both teasing and commanding, and the heat pooling in your lower abdomen intensified, your breath hitching in response.

His fingers played with your panties, that were already soaked before slipping in a finger. You let out a soft hum, your head falling back on to the counter as your eyes squeezed shut. You tried to steady yourself, your grip tightening on his shoulders as you fought to stay grounded, but Charlie’s presence overwhelmed you.

His lips found the hollow of your throat, and he kissed his way down, each press of his mouth against your skin sending shockwaves through your body. When his finger moved deeper, the other brushing against your clit, your body betrayed you with a soft, needy whimper.

"That’s it," he murmured against your neck, his voice a low growl, filled with satisfaction at the sound. "Let me hear you."

The tension inside you built, every stroke of his finger pushing you closer to the edge, and you were losing the battle of resistance. Charlie’s hand tightened around your throat, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you locked in place, at his mercy. His breath was hot against your ear, his fingers moving in a rhythm that had you trembling.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice rough with desire.

Your mind was clouded, your body aching for release, but you bit your lip, fighting the words he wanted from you. The defiance only seemed to amuse him further, his grip tightening slightly. "Still holding out?" he asked, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. "You think you can win this game?"

Your heart raced, your body betraying you as you squirmed under his touch, and you knew you were close to breaking. His fingers moved with more purpose now, pushing you closer to the brink, and a gasp escaped you as your resolve began to crumble.

"I—" You could barely form the words, your body arching into him, desperate for more.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice a rough whisper. His fingers curled, hitting just the right spot, and the pleasure coursing through you was too much to bear.

"Charlie—please," you finally gasped, your voice breaking as you surrendered to him completely. "Make me cum."

A satisfied grin spread across his face, and he pressed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, his hand finally giving you what you needed as his finger moved deeper and quicker. "Good girl," he whispered against your mouth, his voice dripping with possessive pride. "Cum for me."

That was all you needed to let out a shuddering moan, your knees falling weak as the knot in your lower stomach snapped. Charlie's hand covered your mouth quickly, the sound muffled by his large hand. After you rode out your high, Charlie's hand slipped out of your skirt as you caught your breath.

As if on cue, your mother came in with some dishes in her hand. There wasn't even a trace of suspicion in her expression, she was too busy with the dinner to even question why you two were taking so long and why you two were standing so close.

"Did you guys find the cups?" She asked with a sigh, loading the dishwasher with the dishes.

Charlie casually wiped his hand on his pants, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he hadn’t just had you unraveling under his touch moments before. His lips curved into a smirk, eyes glinting with amusement as he shot you a sideways glance. The contrast between your rapid breathing and his calm demeanor was infuriating. He knew exactly what he’d done to you—and he was reveling in it.

"Yeah," he said smoothly, his voice steady as ever. "We were just…looking for them."

You tried to compose yourself, struggling to regulate your breaths without drawing attention. Your legs still felt shaky, and the warmth of his body so close to yours lingered like a sinful reminder of what had just happened. You forced a smile, hoping your mother wouldn’t notice the flushed look on your face.

Your mother barely glanced at you two as she continued with the dishes, completely oblivious to the tension hanging thick in the air. "Great, we're just about to leave for service," she said with a tired sigh. "I’ll need your help with cleaning the table soon."

"Of course," Charlie responded, his voice filled with an edge of playful charm, though only you could hear the smug satisfaction underneath it all. He took a step closer to you, almost brushing his arm against yours as he reached up to grab the cups from the shelf. The proximity sent another wave of heat through you, and it took everything in you not to react visibly.

Your mother turned her back again, preoccupied with the dishwasher, and Charlie seized the opportunity. He leaned in ever so slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "You’re going to have to work on that poker face, baby."

You shot him a sharp look, your body still buzzing from the intensity of earlier, and now his teasing only made it worse. The urge to wipe that smug look off his face was almost overwhelming, but you had no choice but to keep it together, your mother only a few feet away.

As he moved past you, you caught the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. He knew how much power he held over you in that moment, and he wasn’t going to let you forget it anytime soon.

Your mother finally turned back to face you. "You okay, honey?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she noticed you standing still by the counter. "You look a bit flushed."

You swallowed hard, fighting to find your voice. "Yeah, I'm fine, just a little warm in here," you lied, managing to give her a weak smile. "I'll help with the table."

Charlie glanced back at you, his smirk still firmly in place as he picked up the cups. His voice was smooth and casual, betraying nothing of the wickedness lurking beneath the surface. "I’ll take care of the rest," he said, shooting you a look that made your pulse quicken. "You just… relax."

Your mother nodded, oblivious. "Thanks, Charlie."

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aeralux · 19 days ago

Text

"Easy Going Down" - Jacaerys Velaryon

Modern!Jacaerys x Stepsister!Reader

Summary: Jacaerys and you have never gotten along very well ever since his mom and your dad got together. However, you both tolerate one another, staying out of each other's way. But this night, Jace has had enough of your defiant attitude, lashing out at you. Obviously, you decide to pay him back.

Warnings: SMUT; nasty and filthy language; dub!con (they both want it tbh); stepcest; both are mean to each other; masturbation; oral (m!receiving); degradation; name calling; rough sex; breeding kink lowk (he cums inside); fluffy ending; taboo relationship; reader admits to sleeping around; drugging? (reader uses Viagra on Jace, as payback);

Words: 11.7k

Notes: English is not my first language. This is hella 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 (regarding the language used). They are not blood-related in this story. No descriptions of Reader and no use of (y/n). If you are uncomfortable with any of the warnings, please do NOT read it. Thank you.

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Jacaerys sits engaged in his studies in his room. Still, the constant pop music blaring from his stepsister's room soon distracts him. The loud tunes echo in the hallway, quickly becoming a source of frustration. He feels his aggravation bubbling inside him as he struggles to concentrate on his assignment.

"Why does she always have to blast that ridiculous music?" he says to himself, gritting his teeth. His patience is wearing thin, and he can no longer disregard the noise that seems intentionally designed to irritate him. Taking a deep breath to calm his rising anger, Jacaerys stands up and heads toward the door.

Walking to your room, he reflects on how much you frustrate him. "Why is she even awake? I still don’t understand why she needs to be so loud. Can’t she be a little more considerate?" The mix of irritation and anger boils within him as he approaches her door.

He knocks, but the music continues to drown out everything else. "Just fantastic," he mutters to himself, and at that moment, he realizes that his patience has completely evaporated. Jacaerys flings the door open, bracing himself to demand that she lower the volume. Still, he’s hit with a wave of anger that makes the whole predicament even worse. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for a confrontation.

"Hey, turn that music down," he demands. He lacks the composure to simply ask, and in that instant, his emotions take charge. Jacaerys is fully prepared for an argument, knowing that this encounter won't go smoothly.

You were dancing in your room, clad in your baby blue panties and a loose white tee. The music was blasting, the beat thumping through your veins as you moved to the rhythm. It had been a long, tiring day, and you just needed to let loose, to forget about everything.

Your hair swayed with each twist and turn of your body as you lost yourself in the beats of Black Eyed Peas, a classic. You finally felt somewhat better, like the cool, carefree girl everyone sees you as. Nothing else mattered except the music and the feeling of the air against your skin.

Suddenly, your 'party' was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. You didn't need to look to know it was Jace. He always had a knack for ruining your fun. But you didn't let it phase you. Instead, you turned up the volume, your grin turning wicked as you faced him.

You continued to dance, lipsyncing the words with exaggerated passion, putting on a show just to annoy him. His face contorted with anger, his brows furrowing. You had to bite back a laugh as he got angrier while you just kept twirling around like an exotic dancer.

"What? Not used to actually good music?"

Jacaerys stands in the doorway, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight before him. His stepsister is dancing in nothing but her underwear, your body moving sensually to the music. He feels a wave of anger wash over him, mixed with a hint of something else... something he doesn't want to acknowledge.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he shouts over the music, his voice dripping with contempt. "You can't just blast your shitty music at all hours of the night!"

He takes a step into the room, his eyes never leaving your body. He tries to look away, trying to focus on the anger bubbling up inside him, but he can't help but stare. Your curves are mesmerizing, your skin glowing in the dim light of her bedroom.

"And put some fucking clothes on!" he adds, his voice rising. "You look like a cheap whore!"

The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth, but he can't take them back. He knows they're cruel, but he's too angry to care. He hates you, hates how you have invaded his life, his home. And now you're dancing around half-naked, taunting him with your body.

"Don't you know I'm trying to study?" he shouts, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you have any idea how annoying you are?"

He's breathing hard, his heart pounding in his chest, he can't seem to look away from you, can't stop watching you move. Jace clenches his fists, trying to ignore the way your breasts are visible through the light-coloured tee and the way your panties hug your hips.

You stop dancing and glare at him, your lips pursed together. You abruptly shut off the music, the sudden silence deafening.

"Get out!" You yell, furious at his degrading words. You know you pissed him off, but he's never called you names like that before. What's gotten into him?

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious about your state of undress. But you refuse to let him see that he's gotten under your skin. You keep your chin raised defiantly, meeting his angry gaze head-on.

"You're the one who barged in here unannounced," you snap. "Maybe if you knocked first, you wouldn't have seen anything. But apparently, you just can't help yourself when it comes to invading my privacy."

You turn away from him in disgust, not wanting to look at him anymore. Your heart is pounding and you feel your cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment. You can't believe he said those things to you. He's never been so cruel before.

Jacaerys feels a pang of guilt as he sees the hurt in your eyes, but he quickly pushes it down. You're the enemy, the intruder in his life. He can't let himself feel sorry for you.

"Oh, so it's my fault now?" he scoffs, taking another step into the room. "I'm the one who can't help myself? You're the one who's always prancing around half-naked, just begging for attention."

He reaches out and grabs your arm, turning you to face him. He can feel the heat radiating off your skin and can smell the sweet scent of your perfume. It's intoxicating, and he hates himself for noticing.

"Listen, you little bitch," he sneers, his face inches from yours. "I'm in charge here, not you. You don't get to do whatever you want, whenever you want. There are rules in this house, and you're going to start following them."

He can see the rage in your eyes, the way you grit your teeth. But he doesn't let go. He wants to show you who's boss, wants to make you submit to him.

"Now put some fucking clothes on and stay out of my way," he growls, giving your arm a rough shake. "And if I hear that music again, there will be consequences."

Jacaerys' grip is rough as he grabs your arm, and you can feel his nails digging into your skin. You grit your teeth, trying to suppress the wince of pain. His closeness is suffocating, his hot breath on your face making you light-headed.

"Get. Out." You spit the words at him, ripping your arm free. The movement leaves angry red marks on your skin, a physical reminder of his bruising hold.

In the past, you would have run straight to Dad. His presence loomed large, always ready to swoop in and protect you. But not this time. The air between you is different now, charged with a new dynamic since his relationship with Jace's mother. No, Dad won't interfere this time.

You are on your own.

Something stirs inside you. A spark of anger, of determination. You won't let him bully you, won't let him treat you like you're nothing just because it's his house.

A smirk plays at the corners of your mouth as a plan takes shape in your mind. Oh, you'll make him pay for this. You'll make him regret ever laying a hand on you.

"Now," you hiss, your voice low and dangerous. "Get out of my room before I scream. And if you ever touch me again, I will cut your dick off and fuck your face with it."

You watch as he hesitates, his eyes flashing with rage and something else, something you can't quite place. But he backs down, turning and storming out of the room.

You slam the door behind him, leaning against it heavily. Your heart races and your breaths come in short gasps. This isn't over. Not by a long shot. But for now, you've made your stand. And you will get the better of him.

Jace storms out of your room, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang that echoes through the hallway. His hands are shaking, his heart racing. He can still feel the heat of your skin under his fingers, and can still smell the intoxicating aroma of your perfume.

"Fuck!" he shouts, punching the wall in frustration. Pain shoots through his hand, but he barely notices. All he can think about is you - your defiance, your attitude, your goddamn body.

He knows he shouldn't have touched you, knows he crossed a line. But he couldn't help himself. You were just so... there, so tempting. And he hates himself for it.

Jace takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He can't let you get to him like this, can't let you see that you have any kind of power over him. He's the one in charge, not you.

But even as he tells himself this, he knows it's not true. You have a hold over him, a power he can't quite explain. And it terrifies him.

He stalks back to his room, slamming the door behind him. He needs to clear his head and focus on something else—anything else.

But as he sits down at his desk, trying to force himself to concentrate on his homework, all he can think about is you. The way you looked at him, the way you smelled, the way your skin felt under his fingers.

He groans in frustration, burying his face in his hands. This is going to be a long night.

Jace slammed the door and before you could think, you were screaming, hurling the nearest object you could grab - your half-empty water glass - right at the wooden barrier separating you. It shatters on impact, scattering shards across the floor.

You pant heavily, your vision swimming with a red haze of fury. Those red marks on your arm are a throbbing reminder of his cruelty. How dare he lay a finger on you, how dare he treat you like you're just some nuisance to be dealt with.

Cursing under your breath, you go to clean up the pieces of glass, hissing as a few sharp slivers embed themselves in your fingertips. It hurts, but you grit your teeth and keep sweeping.

Tomorrow, you vow to yourself. Tomorrow, he's gonna learn not to underestimate you. And there's no one to stop you this time. No dad to intervene, no mom to play peacemaker, and no Lucerys to come to his defence.

Just you. And you know exactly how to make him pay. That smug, cocky expression on his face will be wiped right off when you're through with him. He'll be begging for mercy.

A wicked smile curls your lips as you imagine all the ways you can make Jace suffer. Oh, it's gonna be so satisfying to bring him to his knees. He'll regret the day he ever laid a hand on you.

Jace hears the crash of glass, followed by your muffled screaming. He knows you're angry, knows he pushed you too far. But he can't bring himself to care. All he can think about is the feel of your skin. It's driving him crazy.

He paces his room, his mind racing with thoughts of you. He hates you, but he can't deny the attraction he feels. It's eating him alive, consuming every thought. He's never felt this way before, never been so torn between lust and disdain.

Jace stops in front of his mirror, staring at his reflection. He looks like shit - his hair is a mess, his eyes are wild. He looks like he's losing his mind. And maybe he is. Because all he can think about is you, touching you, claiming you as his own.

He slams his fist against the wall, feeling the sting of pain in his knuckles. But it's not enough. Nothing is enough to quench this fire burning inside him. He needs you, needs to overpower you, needs to take you like an animal and make you into an obedient bunny.

Jace strips off his shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs. He's been working out like crazy lately, trying to blow off steam. But it's not working. Nothing is working. Except the thought of you, naked and helpless under him.

He reaches down, palming himself through his shorts. He's already hard, already aching for release. But he knows it won't be enough. Nothing will be enough until he has you.

Jace collapses onto his bed, his body tense with need. He wants to hate you, wants to push you away. But he can't. All he can do is lie here, imagining all the ways he's going to make you his.

His cock is hard and aching, straining against the confines of his boxers. He reaches down, stroking himself slowly, imagining it's your hand on him instead of his own.

Jace groans, his hips thrusting up into his hand as he imagines you touching him. In his mind, you're naked and wet, your body pressed against his, your lips trailing kisses down his chest.

"Fuck," he moans, his name for you falling from his lips like a prayer. He's always tried to resist you, always tried to push you away. But now, he can't fight it any longer. He needs you, needs to feel you, needs to claim you as his own.

He thinks about barging into your room again, pinning you against the wall, tearing your clothes off with his bare hands. He wants to touch you, to taste you, to make you scream his name in pleasure and pain.

Jace speeds up his strokes, his cock throbbing in his hand. He's close, so fucking close. Just a little more and he'll explode, will paint his chest with his seed like a fucking teenage boy.

"Oh, yes, fuck," he pants, his eyes rolling back in his head as he imagines you riding him, your tits bouncing in his face. He wants to grab them, to suck on your nipples until you're begging for more.

With a final groan, Jace comes, his cock pulsing in his hand as he shoots his load all over his stomach. He lies there for a moment, catching his breath, his body still tingling with pleasure.

Unable to drift off, you pop a melatonin and collapse onto the bed, giddy with anticipation for tomorrow. You just have to act normal and bide your time patiently. With your mind foggy from the drowsiness, you struggle to recall clever quotes about patience. Ah well, you'll just have to exercise some restraint until the moment is right. Tomorrow, Jace will get a taste of his own medicine.

The next morning, Jace wakes up feeling groggy and exhausted. He can still feel the ache in his cock, the memory of his fantasy still fresh in his mind. He rolls over, burying his face in his pillow to muffle a groan.

He knows he shouldn't have done that, knows he shouldn't be thinking about you that way. But he can't help it. You're always on his mind, always tempting him, always challenging him.

Jace gets out of bed, and heads to the bathroom to shower. As he strips off his clothes, he catches sight of the cum stains on his boxers from last night. He feels a sense of shame washes over him, followed by a surge of anger.

"Fuck," he mutters, balling up the underwear and throwing it in the hamper. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

He turns on the shower, letting the hot water cascade over his body. But even as he scrubs himself clean, he can't shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He imagines you in the shower with him, your hands sliding over his slick skin, your lips on his neck.

Jace groans, his cock stiffening again. He reaches down, wrapping his hand around it, stroking it slowly. He thinks about you, about how you'll look when he finally breaks you when he makes you submit to him completely.

He's close, so fucking close, when he hears a knock at the bathroom door.

"Jace, hurry up!" his brother Lucerys calls out. "We're leaving!"

Jace curses under his breath, releasing his cock reluctantly. He finishes his shower quickly, towelling off in a hurry. As he heads to his room to get dressed, getting ready to bid his brother and parents goodbye, he wonders what kind of shit you'll pull today.

You head downstairs as well, your heart fluttering with excitement as you watch your family leave for their weekend trip. You give them each a quick hug, your smile a little too bright, your eyes a little too eager. They say their goodbyes, reminding Jace and you to study hard for your upcoming finals.

You turn to Jace, who's engrossed in conversation with Lucerys. You seize your chance. Slipping into the kitchen, you retrieve the Viagra pill you'd tucked away in your pocket earlier. Your hands shake slightly as you open the capsule, pouring the powdered contents into Jace's glass of coffee. You stir it smoothly, erasing any trace of your tampering.

A wicked smile plays across your lips as you picture what will happen next. Jace, oblivious, will gulp down his spiked drink, blissfully unaware of the chemical coursing through his veins. And when the effects hit, oh, how delicious his suffering will be. The smug boy finally brought low by his own lust, enslaved by a desire he can't control.

Part of you feels a twinge of guilt for drugging him without consent, but your desire for revenge overshadows it.

Jace finishes his breakfast, gulping down the last of his coffee. As he starts to work on his History paper, he feels a strange sensation wash over him, a tingling warmth spreading through his body. He stands up, heading to the sink to rinse his cup.

But as he walks, he feels a sudden tightness in his groin. He looks down, shocked to see his cock hardening in his pants. What the fuck? He hasn't even seen you yet, and he's already hard? He can barely walk, his legs trembling with the effort of holding back his orgasm.

"Fuck," he groans, pressing his thighs together. His cock is rock hard, throbbing painfully against his zipper. He can feel it pulsing, almost like a heartbeat.

He stumbles back to the sofa, sitting down heavily. He can feel his heart racing, his skin flushed with heat. He knows he shouldn't be feeling this way, knows he should be focused on anything but you. But he can't help it. All he can think about is you, about your body, about fucking you until you scream.

Jace shifts in his seat, trying to adjust himself discreetly. But it's no use. His cock is throbbing, aching for release. He looks around, making sure you are nowhere near.

"Fuck," he mutters, reaching down to palm himself through his jeans. He knows he shouldn't be doing this, and knows he should stop before he loses control. But he can't. He needs to cum, needs to relieve the pressure building inside him. Jace is a mess. His cock is leaking steadily, soaking through his boxers and making a damp spot on his jeans.

He slides his hand into his pants, pulling his cock out and wrapping his hand around it. He's so hard it hurts, so fucking horny he can barely think straight. He starts stroking himself, biting his lip to keep from making a sound.

Jace's mind is filled with thoughts of you, of your body, of your touch. He imagines you walking in on him like this, seeing the shock in your eyes as you realize what he's doing. He pictures you dropping to your knees, taking his cock in your mouth like a good little slut.

"Oh, fuck," he moans, his hips thrusting up into his hand. He's so close, so fucking close. Just a little more and he'll explode.

You crouch behind the wall on the staircase, eyeing Jace through the gap. There he is, the always arrogant Jacaerys, pumping himself like a horny teenager. You can't help but smirk, feeling a thrill at seeing him so undone. But you can't ignore the dampening between your legs at the sight of his toned arm wrapped around his thick shaft...No! You shake your head.

You need to stick to the plan.

You stride into the living room, calling out in mock shock, "Ew! Seriously?!" You point accusingly at his hard leaking cock in his fist. "So I'm a 'cheap whore' for dancing in my room, but you can just whip it out and whack off anywhere?!"

You lay into him mercilessly, your voice dripping with disdain. "What are you, some kind of sick pervert? Jerking off where your innocent step-sister could walk in on you? God, you're disgusting!"

You know you shouldn't take such delight in humiliating him, but you can't help the wicked satisfaction curling within you as you watch his face flush with shame and anger. He looks like a scolded child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Get your act together, Jace," you scold, your voice laced with faux-concern. "This isn't appropriate behaviour."

Jace's eyes widen in shock as he hears your voice, his heart pounding. He's caught, exposed, his worst nightmare come true. He scrambles to cover himself, his face burning with shame and anger.

"Get out!" he shouts, his voice cracking with embarrassment. "Get the fuck out of here!"

But you don't move, just stand there with that smug look on your face. He can see the evil glint in your eyes, the way you're looking at him like he's some kind of pervert.

"Fuck you," he spits, his cock still throbbing painfully in his hand. "This is none of your business."

But even as he says it, he knows it's a lie. Everything about him is your business now, whether he likes it or not. You're in his life, in his head, in his fucking cock. And he hates it, hates you, hates everything about this situation.

He looks down at his crotch, seeing the wet spot on his toned stomach, the sticky strands of precum leaking from his tip. He feels like a fucking animal, like a dog in heat. And you're standing there, watching him, judging him.

"Get out," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Get the fuck out of here before I lose my temper."

But even as he says it, he knows it's a hollow threat. He's too weak, too desperate.

Jace's hand is still wrapped around his dick, his fingers slick with pre-cum. He can feel it dripping down his shaft, making a sticky mess of his boxers. He's so fucking hard it hurts, so desperate to cum that he can barely think straight.

"Just leave me alone," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Or I'll make you leave."

You bite your lip, looking at his aching cock, making a mess all over himself. "Aww..." you coo, pouting your pink lips. "Look at you, you're so horny, you can't even think straight. Your cock is leaking all over you."

You tease him with faux regard, your eyes gleaming with amusement. "What a mess you are, Jace. You really need to learn some self-control."

Jace glares at you, his eyes narrowing with anger and embarrassment. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, the shame burning through his body. He knows he looks pathetic, and knows that you're enjoying every second of his humiliation.

"Shut up," he snarls, his hand tightening around his cock. "Just shut the fuck up."

But even as he says it, he can't tear his eyes away from you. You're so fucking beautiful, so perfect in every way. And you're staring at him like he's some kind of freak, some kind of pervert.

He wants to hate you, wants to push you away, wants to make you suffer for what you've done to him. But he can't. All he can do is stare at you, his heart pounding in his chest, his cock throbbing in his hand.

"Fucking slut," he mutters, his voice low and vicious. "I bet you love this, don't you? Love seeing me like this, all pathetic and desperate."

His hand is moving faster now, stroking his cock with frantic, needy movements. He's so close, so fucking close to exploding. He just needs a little more, just a little more friction.

"I bet you're getting wet right now," he growls, his eyes locked on yours. "I bet you're picturing me fucking you, aren't you? Fucking you like the dirty whore you are."

He's not thinking straight, not thinking at all. All he can focus on is you, your body, your touch. He needs you, needs to dominate you, needs to make you submit to him completely.

"Come here," he demands, his voice rough with desire. "Get on your fucking knees and suck my cock like a good little slut."

He knows it's a mistake, knows he shouldn't be saying this. But he can't help it. The drug is clouding his mind, making him say and do things he never would normally do.

"Do it," he commands, his voice harsh and demanding. "Get over here and put that pretty little mouth to work."

Your breath catches in your throat as Jace's filthy words wash over you. You can feel the heat pooling between your legs, your panties growing damp with arousal. You never expected this, never thought he would affect you like this.

"N-no," you stammer, your voice trembling. You press your thighs together, trying to ignore the ache building in your core. You shouldn't want this, shouldn't want him. But you do, so badly.

You can feel your nipples hardening beneath your shirt. You know you should leave, should get away from him before it's too late. But you can't seem to make your feet move.

You can feel your juices trickling down your thighs, your panties clinging to your slick folds. You're so wet, so desperate for his touch. You know you should be disgusted by your desires, but you can't be. Not when Jace is looking at you like that, his eyes dark with lust and hunger.

Jace's eyes are burning with desire, his gaze raking over your body like he wants to devour you whole. He can see the way your nipples are hardening beneath your shirt, the way your breasts are swelling with need. He knows you're turned on, knows you want him just as badly as he wants you.

"Fuck," he growls, his hand speeding up on his cock. "You're so fucking hot. I bet you're dripping wet right now, aren't you? Bet you're aching for my cock."

He spreads his legs wider, giving you a clear view of his throbbing cock. It's swollen and red, the tip dripping with pre-cum. He knows it would feel so good inside your tight pussy, stretching you, filling you, claiming you.

He takes a step towards you, his hips thrusting into his hand. His cock is throbbing, dripping with pre-cum.

"Get on your knees and worship me," he demands, his eyes burning into yours. "Show me how much you want it. Show me how much you need my cock."

He knows it's immoral, knows he shouldn't be saying these things. But he can't stop, can't control himself. The medication is making him wild, making him say and do things he never would before.

He knows it's a challenge, and knows that you won't be able to resist. He can see the way your eyes are locked on his cock, the way your tongue is darting out to wet your lips.

"Come and get it," he taunts, his voice thick with desire. "Come and show me how much you want to be my little cock sleeve."

"Do it," he demands, his eyes boring into yours. "Get on your knees and suck my fucking cock."

He's moving closer now, his cock bobbing obscenely in front of him. He can smell your arousal and can see the way your body is shaking with need.

"Fucking. Do. It," he snarls, his hand tightening around his shaft. "Or I'll fucking make you."

He's so close, so fucking close to losing control completely. If you don't obey him, if you don't give him what he needs, he might just snap. Might just grab you and take what he wants, consequences be damned.

He's going to make you submit to him, make you his own personal fuck toy. He's going to use you, abuse you, make you beg for his cock.

"Now," he snarls, his hand tightening around his shaft. "Before I lose my fucking patience."

You take a small step back, shaking your head as if to clear it. "No, Jace... this is wrong," you say, trying to sound firm even as your body betrays you. Fuck, why does he have to be so hot? Every fibre of your being is screaming at you to drop to your knees and worship that massive cock.

The sight of Jace stroking himself, his eyes dark with lust, is enough to make your head spin. You want him so badly, want to feel that thick shaft stretching your throat, fucking your face until you're gagging and drooling all over yourself.

But you can't. You won't. No matter how much your body craves it, you know this is wrong. He's your stepbrother, for fuck's sake. You can't do this, can't cross this line.

You take another step back, your heart pounding in your chest. You were so close to giving in, so close to letting all of your inhibitions melt away.

"Jace, please," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "We can't do this. It's not right." Trying to sound commanding, but it sounds like a pathetic whimper.

Jace's eyes narrow, his jaw clenching with anger. He can't believe you're rejecting him, can't believe you're turning him down after everything his family has done for you. He's been nothing but patient to you, nothing but kind and generous. And this is how you repay him? By denying him what he needs most?

"Fuck you," he spits, his hand tensing around his cock. "You think you're better than me? Think you can just walk away?"

He takes a step towards you, his eyes burning with rage. He knows you're unconvinced. But he doesn't care. All he cares about is his own need, his own desperate hunger.

"I own you," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You belong to me. And I won't let you go until I'm satisfied."

He lunges forward, grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you towards him. He pulls you close, his body pressing against yours, his cock rubbing against your stomach.

"You're mine," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "I'll fucking violate your throat until you're begging for more. And you'll enjoy every second of it."

He shoves you to your knees, his hand tangling in your hair. He pulls your head back, forcing you to look up at him.

"Open your mouth," he demands, his cock pressing against your lips. "Put that pretty little mouth to work and show me how sorry you are."

You stare up at Jace with wide, shocked eyes. The sweet, charming stepbrother that you know has transformed into someone so cruel, so aggressive. But despite yourself, you can't deny the slick pooling between your thighs at his vulgar words and forceful actions.

With trembling fingers, you place your hands on his muscular thighs, steadying yourself. Slowly, obediently, you part your pink, glossy lips and stick out your tongue, offering your mouth to him. Your heart pounds wildly in anticipation of what he might do.

Jace grins down at you, his eyes gleaming with triumph and dark lust. He grips your hair tighter, practically yanking you forward to take his throbbing cock. "That's it, slut. Open wide for your stepbrother."

He slaps his heavy, veiny shaft against your cheek and lips, smearing sticky pre-cum on your soft skin. The musky scent of his arousal fills your nostrils. "Mmm, yeah, gonna train you with my dick. Gonna wreck your throat with it."

Grabbing your jaw, Jace forces his fat cockhead past your lips, stretching them obscenely. "Ffffuck..." he groans at the tight, wet heat engulfing him. He bucks his hips, ramming several inches of thick cockmeat down your throat.

Your eyes bulge and water as he hits the back of your throat, making you gag and sputter around his invading length. Drool leaks from the corners of your stretched mouth. Jace's heavy balls smack against your chin.

"Take it, bitch!" he snarls, eyes wild with lust. "Choke on my fucking cock! Gonna use your throat like a fleshlight." He yanks your head forward, burying his dick to the hilt in your convulsing oesophagus.

Holding you in place, Jace starts savagely pistoning his hips, sawing his huge cock in and out of your abused throat. Your eyes roll back, drool splattering your tits as he uses your face like a cocksleeve. "Ungh, fuck, so good!" he grunts, grunting and sweating. "Best. Throat. Ever!"

Spit-roasted and choking, you can only gurgle helplessly as he breaks your throat. "Look at me," he demands, his voice rough with lust. "Look at me while I fuck your throat."

You force your eyes open, looking up at him through your tears. He's looking down at you with a wild, feral expression, his eyes burning with a hunger that terrifies and thrills you.

"You like this, don't you?" he asks, his voice low and cruel. "Like being used like a fucking toy. Like being my personal cum dumpster."

He pulls out suddenly, his cock slipping from your lips. You gasp for air, coughing and sputtering. But before you can recover, he's shoving back in, fucking your throat with renewed vigour.

"I'm going to ruin you," he promises, his hand tightening in your hair. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name. Until you're nothing but a set of holes for me to use."

You moan around his thick cock, the vibrations travelling up his shaft as your throat constricts around him. Wet, obscene noises fill the room - the sloppy sounds of spit and drool as he uses your mouth like a disposable fucktoy

Gasping desperately, you pull off his cock for a moment, lungs burning. You gaze up at him with huge, tearful eyes, mascara smeared down your flushed cheeks. "Jace..." you whine pathetically, your voice is scratchy and broken.

You trail your delicate fingers along his chiselled abdomen and strong thighs, a soft apology. Your nails lightly scrape his heated skin, silently pleading for mercy. But your sorrowful puppy dog eyes hold a dark, masochistic thrill - you love being used like his personal fleshlight.

Jace chuckles darkly, his hand still fisted in your hair. "You look so cute when you're choking on my cock," he sneers. "Like a pretty little whore. My pretty girl."

He tugs your head forward, forcing you back onto his massive dick. Your nose presses against his pubic bone as he bottoms out in your throat.

"No more talking," Jace growls. "Just take it like a good little step-slut."

He starts face-fucking you with cruel intensity, hips slapping against your face. Drool pours from your stretched lips, making a further mess of your tits. He yanks your hair, forcing you to deepthroat him over and over.

"Fuck yes, gag on it," he pants harshly. "Choke on your stepbrother's fat cock."

Spit sprays from your mouth as he ruthlessly pounds your throat. Your eyes squeeze shut, tears streaming down your face. But you look up at him with a perverse, masochistic adoration.

Jace leers down at you wickedly. "Take it all, you filthy throat slut. Milk my cock with your whore throat."

He holds your head down, burying his dick as deep as it can go. Your throat spasms around him, convulsing as you struggle for air. But he keeps you pinned, using your mouth like a warm, wet fleshlight.

Pulling out suddenly, Jace rips you off his cock. A flood of drool and pre-cum pours out of your used hole. You gasp and splutter, trying to catch your breath.

"You love this, don't you?" Jace sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. "Love being treated like a cheap fucktoy. Like a set of holes for me to use."

He slaps your cheek with his wet, veiny cock. "Go on, slut. Clean my dick."

You obediently wrap your lips around his cockhead, suckling gently. You lap up the mixture of pre-cum and saliva, savouring the taste of his essence.

"Mmmm..." you moan around his leaking tip.

Jace shudders as your tongue swirls around his sensitive cockhead, your lips making little kisses along his shaft. "Ohh fuck, that's it," he groans. "You’ve done this before, haven’t you? On your knees for some man who just wants to use you for your mouth and ass?”

You whimper softly as you clean Jace's thick shaft with your tongue, slurping up the mix of your spit and his pre-cum. Your eyes flutter shut as you lose yourself in the sensation.

But his degrading words sting, making you scowl around his throbbing cock. You want to show him how much more experienced you are than he realizes.

Releasing his dick from your lips with a wet pop, you shift to nuzzle his heavy, cum-filled balls. Your tongue darts out to lap at the wrinkled skin, stroking his veiny shaft at the same time.

"Ohh Jace," you coo sultrily, your warm breath washing over his sensitive sack. "Do you want to cum on your pretty little sister's face? Be a dirty pervert and paint me like a cheap whore?"

You roll his big balls in your mouth, suckling gently as you pump his cock with your soft hand. Your fingertips dance teasingly over his weeping slit, making him twitch and throb.

"Mmmm...I'll be such a good girl for you, brother. Just tell me where you want to cum. My mouth? My tits? All over my slutty face?"

Jace groans, his head falling back as you worship his most intimate areas. Your warm, wet mouth and soft hands feel amazing on his heavy sack and throbbing cock.

"F-fuck..." he stammers, his eyes squeezing shut. "You're so good at this. Have you practised much? On your ex-boyfriends?"

His abs flex as you tongue his balls, your hand pumping his slick shaft. "Dirty girl," he pants. "Bet you've sucked off lots of boys before. Bet you love it."

You glance up at him through your lashes, your eyes dark with lust. "Maybe I have," you purr, your hand speeding up. "Maybe I can't control myself around big, hard cocks. Maybe I just need to be filled up and used like the slut I am."

Jace groans, his cock throbbing in your soft hand as your tongue and lips worship his heavy balls. The sight of you nuzzling and sucking them, combined with the depraved words tumbling from your lips, has his cock swelling even larger.

You release his balls with a wet pop, gazing up at him with sultry bedroom eyes. "I've dreamed about your cock, brother," you purr, pumping his shaft slowly. "Imagined you bending me over and fucking me like you own me."

"Fuck," he pants, his hips rocking slightly into your touch. "You're such a dirty little slut. Begging for your own stepbrother's cum."

He reaches down to fist his hand in your hair, guiding your head to his groin. "Open up, whore. Let me feed you my cock."

You obey eagerly, parting your glossy lips to accept his thick meat. He slides over your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum flooding your mouth.

Jace starts fucking your face, his balls slapping against your spit-slick chin with each thrust. "Take it all, you filthy cumslut," he growls. "Choke on your stepbrother's fat cock."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as he hits the back of your throat repeatedly, but you moan wantonly around his pistoning shaft. Drool leaks from the corners of your stretched lips, making a sticky mess of your chin and breasts.

"Mmmph!" you hum, the vibrations driving Jace wild. His grip tightens painfully in your hair as he starts bucking into your mouth with reckless abandon.

"Ohh fuuuck!" Jace throws his head back with a guttural groan. "Gonna fucking bust! Gonna paint your whore face with my load!"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries his cock in your throat and unloads his seed directly into your belly. Hot spurts of thick, sticky cum shoot down your throat as he empties his heavy balls.

You whimper as Jace pulls his spent cock from your throat. Globs of his thick cum spill from your lips, dripping down your chin and onto your already ruined shirt. The fabric clings to your skin, damp with spit and his precum.

Wiping the cum from your face with trembling fingers, you bring them to your mouth and suck them clean with a sinful moan. Your body is on fire, desperate for more despite the ache in your throat.

You peel off your soiled top with quivering hands, revealing your perky tits glistening with dried fluids. Your pert nipples stiffen in the cool air, aching to be touched. You toss the shirt aside carelessly, uncaring of your state of undress.

You know he's not done with you yet. The drug has him in its thrall now, his need insatiable. Your pussy throbs, empty and needy. You present yourself to him, ready to be used again and again for his pleasure.

Jace drinks in the sight of your half-naked body, his eyes dark with lust and something more sinister. He circles you slowly, drinking in every curve and dip of your lithe form. His gaze lingers on your pert breasts, the peaks already pebbled with arousal.

He trails a single finger down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You shiver and arch into his touch, craving more. Jace chuckles lowly, the sound sending tingles across your skin.

"So desperate for it," he purrs, his breath hot against your ear. "So eager to be filled by your own stepbrother's cock. What a dirty little slut you are."

His hand snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against his muscular body. You can feel his renewed erection pressing insistently against your ass, hard and heavy. He grinds against you, letting you feel exactly what he wants to do to you.

Jace's fingers dance across your sensitive skin, tracing teasing patterns over your hips and thighs. He nips at your earlobe, tugging it between his teeth. "Beg for it," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "Beg me to fuck you like the filthy cumslut you are."

His words make you burn with shame and need, a combination that has you dizzy with want. You've never been spoken to like this before, treated like a piece of meat to be used for someone else's pleasure. But, god help you, you love it. Love being degraded and objectified by the man you've secretly craved for so long.

"Please Jace," you whimper, grinding back against his rigid length. "Please fuck me. I need it so bad. I need you to split me open on your big cock and make me yours."

Your shameless begging seems to inflame him further. With a low groan, Jace fists your hair, pushing you face-first onto the couch.

He looms over you, his eyes wild and hungry. "I'm going to ruin you," he promises darkly as he rips off your flimsy shorts and panties.

You yelp as Jace roughly pushes you down, your glistening holes exposed to his hungry gaze. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you feel his eyes devouring your most intimate places, watching the way they twitch and flutter with need. You can feel your arousal coating your inner thighs, your desperate cunt clenching around nothing.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps, your mind reeling with a mix of shame and desire. You've never been so vulnerable before, so utterly at someone else's mercy. And yet, you've never wanted anything more than you want Jace to claim you in this moment, to make you his in every way possible.

You can feel his eyes raking over your body, taking in every curve and dip of your quivering form. It's as if he's memorizing every inch of you. You squirm under the intensity of his stare, your skin prickling with goosebumps.

"Please," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please Jace, I need you. I need you to split me open on your fat cock. I want to become your personal fleshlight, you can use me whenever you want, please."

Jace growls low in his throat, the sound sending shivers down your spine. He runs his rough palm over the globes of your ass, squeezing the supple flesh. "Such a desperate little slut," he taunts, giving your cheek a sharp smack. "So eager to be used like a cheap whore."

You cry out at the sudden sting, your pussy clenching hungrily. Jace chuckles cruelly, rubbing the reddening skin. "You like that, don't you? Like being marked and claimed by your stepbrother."

He spreads your cheeks wider, exposing your twitching holes to his ravenous gaze. "Look at you, dripping for me already. Your cunt is practically begging to be fucked."

Jace notches the swollen head of his cock against your entrance, the blunt tip nudging your sensitive folds. "Brace yourself, slut," he warns, his voice a dark promise. "I'm going to fucking destroy this sweet little pussy."

With that, he slams his hips forward, burying his massive length inside you in one brutal thrust. You scream at the sudden intrusion, your body stretched to its limits around his girth. It feels like he's splitting you in half, the thick cockhead kissing your cervix.

Jace doesn't give you any time to adjust, immediately setting a punishing pace. He pounds into you with animalistic eagerness, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. The couch creaks dangerously beneath you, rocking with the force of his thrusts.

"Fuck, so tight," he rasps, his hips never faltering. "Gonna ruin you for anyone else. No one will ever make you feel as good as I do."

You can only whimper and moan, your mind short-circuiting with pleasure. It's too much, too intense. The feel of him claiming you so thoroughly, owning your body in the most primal way possible. It's everything you've ever wanted, even if you're too ashamed to admit it.

"Oh god, oh fuck!" You wail, your voice cracking with ecstasy. Jace's fat cock is stretching you beyond belief, filling you so completely that you can barely breathe. It feels like he's in your throat, splitting you open from the inside.

Tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he pounds into you mercilessly, the couch groaning beneath your combined weight. You can't believe how good it feels, how right. Like you were made to be used by him, and him alone.

In your pleasure-drunk haze, the words spill from your lips without thought. "You're even bigger than your best friend," you moan dazedly, clenching around his pistoning length. "Fuck, you're ruining my pussy!"

The moment the comparison leaves your mouth, you realize your mistake.

Jace stills, his hips still buried deep inside you. "What did you just say?" he asks quietly, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Realization dawns on you, horrified. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why did you say THAT?! Now he knows! Now he'll stop, now he'll pull out and leave you empty and aching and you can't let that happen!

"I didn't mean it," you babble, desperate. "I was just saying stuff, I didn't mean anything by it!"

Jace pulls out abruptly, his cock slipping from your clenching hole with a lewd noise. You whimper at the loss, your body already missing his thick meat.

But then he's flipping you over, pushing you down onto your back. He looms over you, his eyes dark and fathomless. One large hand wraps around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"Who?" he asks, his voice low and menacing. "Who have you fucked? Who else has had this sweet little cunt?"

His other hand reaches down, his fingers brushing over your swollen, sensitive folds. You buck your hips instinctively, seeking more of his touch.

"Tell me," he commands, tightening his grip slightly. "Tell me who you've spread your legs for. I want names, pet."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You can't tell him the truth, can't admit to all the boys you've let use you. He'll hate you, he'll see you as nothing more than a dirty whore.

But then again, isn't that exactly what you are? A filthy cumslut desperate for any cock that will have you? Maybe this is your chance to finally be honest, to let him see the real you.

"I...I've fucked a lot of people," you whisper, your eyes downcast. "Guys from school, random hookups. I've let them all use me, brother. I'm nothing but a horny slut."

Jace's hand tightens around your throat, cutting off your air. "Did you enjoy it?"

You can barely breathe with Jace's hand around your throat, cutting off your air supply. Your lungs burn, and your vision starts to blur at the edges. But even through the haze of oxygen deprivation, you can feel the heat pooling in your core, your treacherous body responding to his show of dominance.

"Y-yes," you manage to choke out, your voice strained. "I loved it. Loved being used like a cheap whore, like a set of holes for them to fuck."

Jace's eyes flash with something dark and dangerous. His grip on your throat tightens even more, making spots dance across your vision. "Did you let them cum inside you? Fill you up with their seed like the dirty cumslut you are?"

You nod frantically, tears streaming down your face. "Yes, brother. So many times. I wanted to be claimed. Please, please fuck me. Use me like they did. I'm your filthy slut, yours to ruin."

Jace releases your throat abruptly, letting you gasp and cough, drawing in desperate gulps of air. He flips you back over onto your hands and knees, your ass presented to him like a bitch in heat.

"Spread yourself," he commands, giving your rear a sharp smack. "I want to see those slutty holes that have been so eagerly fucked."

You obey immediately, reaching back to spread your cheeks wide. Your swollen pussy lips glisten with arousal, your puckered asshole twitching hungrily. You're so empty, aching to be filled, to be used like the cum-hungry whore you are.

"Please, Jace," you beg, your voice trembling with desperate need. "I'm yours, only yours. No one can make me feel as good as you do."

You jiggle your round ass, spreading your cheeks to expose your soaked holes to his hungry gaze. Slick arousal trickles down your inner thighs, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching to be filled.

"I'll be your personal fucktoy, your cocksleeve to use whenever you want. Just please, fill me up again. I need your big cock stretching me open, claiming me as yours."

Your eyes are pleading, your body shaking with need. You've never felt so vulnerable, so utterly at someone's mercy. But you trust Jace, know that he'll give you exactly what you crave.

"No one else will ever touch me again," you promise, your voice breaking. "I'm yours, brother. Yours to fuck, yours to fill with your seed. I'll be the best little cockwarmer you've ever had."

Jace's eyes darken with lust as you present yourself to him so wantonly, your trembling body an offering to his basest desires. He drinks in the sight of your glistening folds, swollen and desperate for his touch.

"Such an obedient little slut," he purrs, trailing his fingers through your slick heat. "So eager to be bred by your own stepbrother, fucking dirty incest whore."

He notches the swollen head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of fullness. Your hips buck back instinctively, trying to impale yourself on his thick length.

But Jace holds you in place, his grip bruising on your hips. "Ah ah, pet. You'll take my cock when I give it to you. Not a second sooner."

He drags the blunt tip through your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Each pass of his cockhead sends sparks of electricity racing up your spine, your body singing with need.

"Please," you whimper, tears of frustration leaking from your eyes. "Please, Jace. I can't take it anymore. I need you inside me, need you to fill me up."

With a satisfied growl, Jace lines himself up and thrusts forward, burying his massive length in your aching cunt again in one brutal stroke. You scream as he splits you open, your walls stretching to accommodate his girth. It's almost too much, the delicious burn of being filled so completely.

Jace sets a punishing pace, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes through the room, punctuated by your whiny moans and his grunts of effort.

"Take it, you filthy whore," he snarls, slamming into you. "Take my fucking cock like the cum-hungry slut you are. This is where you belong, speared on your stepbrother's dick."

It truly was, and you wouldn't change a thing about it. The degradation, the filthy words falling from his lips, the way he uses your body for his pleasure. You've never felt so complete, so utterly owned.

"I lo-ove your f-fucking cock," you sob brokenly, your fingers digging into the soft cushions of the couch. Drool spills from your slack lips and your eyes roll back in your head as Jace pounds into you with brutal force.

You're lost, drowning in a sea of pleasure, your mind short-circuiting under the onslaught of sensation. His thick cock stretches you impossibly wide, the wet slap of skin on skin filling your ears. You can't think, can't breathe, you can only focus on the feel of him splitting you open over and over again.

"Fuck, Jace!" You wail, your body convulsing around his pistoning length. "You're ruining me! Oh god, don't stop, please don't ever stop!"

Your hips rock back to meet his thrusts, desperate for more. You've never felt so full. At this moment, you're not even a person, just a hole for Jace to fuck.

You clench your hole around him, trying to milk his cock for all it's worth. You want him to use you, to fill you with his cum until you're leaking with it. You want to be his personal fucktoy, to exist solely for his pleasure.

You moan, your voice is ragged and broken. "All yours, big brother. Ruin me, break me, I can take it. Just please, please don't stop fucking me!"

Jace's thrusts become erratic, his cock pulsing inside you as he nears his peak. He leans forward, pressing his sweat-slicked body against your back. One hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back as he growls in your ear.

"Gonna fill this slutty cunt up," he pants, his hips snapping forward even harder. "Gonna breed you like the filthy whore you are. You want that, pet? Want to be knocked up by your stepbrother's seed?"

The thought sends a shockwave of lust through you, your already tight walls clamping down on his pistoning length. You've never wanted anything more, never ached to be claimed in such a primal way.

"Yes," you keen, pushing your hips back to meet his brutal thrusts. "Yes, fuck! Please! I wanna leak with your cum."

Your words seem to shatter the last of Jace's control. With an animalistic roar, he slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt. His cock jerks and pulses, painting your insides white with his thick seed.

"Gonna ruin this tight hole," he grunts, slamming into you harder. "Paint these filthy walls with my cum. You'd like that, wouldn't you? To be bred by your own fucking brother?"

You can only moan in response, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you lose yourself to the relentless pounding of his cock. Your mind is blank, all thoughts consumed by the feel of him inside you, claiming you, owning you.

Jace's balls slap against your sensitive clit with each thrust, the added stimulation pushing you closer to the edge. Your toes curl, your nails scrabbling uselessly at the cushions as your body tenses, ready to shatter.

You scream as your own orgasm crashes over you, your cunt milking him for every last drop. Pleasure explodes behind your eyelids, whiting out your vision as you're consumed by ecstasy.

Jace collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for breath. His softening cock slips from your abused hole, a trickle of cum following in its wake. You can feel it running down your thighs, marking you as his.

As the post-orgasmic haze clears, reality starts to sink in. You just let your stepbrother fuck you raw, just begged him to cum inside. What have you done? What kind of sick, twisted person are you?

Shame and self-loathing wash over you, warring with the afterglow of pleasure. You should feel disgusted, should push Jace away and run as far away from this shame as you can.

When he finally pulls out, you feel empty. Your abused hole gapes obscenely, a trickle of his release leaking out. But Jace isn't done with you.

"We're not done yet, slut," he promises darkly.

"What?" You whisper hoarsely, your body still throbbing in the aftermath of Jace's brutal fucking. But even through the haze of pleasure, truth starts to creep in. You were the one who drugged him, who set this whole thing in motion.

"Wait," you whimper, twisting in his arms to face him. Your lips are swollen, your eyes glazed and unfocused. You can feel his cum leaking out of you. "Jace..."

Jace grabs you by the hips, pulling you flush against his body. His semi-hard cock nestles against your sensitive folds, making you gasp.

"You drugged me," he accuses, his voice low and dangerous. "Slipped something in my drink to make me fuck you. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

Your heart pounds in your chest, dread and arousal warring within you. You've been caught, and your sick game exposed. But why does the danger only excite you more?

"I...I'm sorry," you stammer, trying to squirm out of his grasp. But Jace just tightens his grip, his fingers digging into your soft flesh.

"Don't lie to me," he snarls, shaking you roughly. "You wanted this, wanted me to fuck you senseless. Admit it."

He grinds his hips against you, his cock hardening further. You can feel him throbbing against your slick heat, the promise of more pleasure making you dizzy.

Your legs tremble, barely able to support your weight after the brutal pounding Jace just gave you. But it's not just exhaustion making you shake - it's the anticipation, the promise of more in his heated gaze.

"Y-yeah..." you admit meekly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to embarrass you. Wanted to see you lose control."

You look up at him through your lashes, biting your plump lower lip. "Did it work, big brother? Did I make you forget all about being a gentleman?"

You can feel his cock twitch against your slick folds, already hardening again. The knowledge that you've reduced him to such base lust, that you've corrupted him with your depravity, sends a thrill through you.

With a feral growl, Jace slams your head against the couch, pinning you there. His hands are everywhere, groping and mauling your sensitive flesh.

"You're playing with fire, little sister," he warns, grinding his rock-hard length against your aching core. You can feel him throbbing against you, hot and hard and ready.

Jace leans in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "I should punish you for drugging me, you know. Bend you over my knee and spank that juicy ass until it's red and raw."

He punctuates his words with a sharp smack to your rear, making you yelp and arch into him. Your body craves more of his touch, your pussy clenching on nothing.

"Please," you whimper, too far gone to care how desperate you sound. "Punish me, Jace. I deserve it."

Something dark and hungry flashes in his eyes at your admission. "Filthy little slut," he growls approvingly. "Trust me, I will."

With a vicious smile, Jace scoops you up, throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He carries you towards his bedroom, his grip unyielding.

You shriek as Jace picks you up, your body going limp in his strong grip. You can feel his muscles flexing beneath your fingers as he throws you over his shoulder like a rag doll, carrying you effortlessly towards his bedroom.

Jace kicks open the door to his room, dumping you unceremoniously onto his bed. You bounce once, twice on the firm mattress before coming to rest on your back. You stare up at him, your chest heaving, your skin flushed and glistening with sweat.

"What are you going to do to me?" You ask breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper. But you both know the answer.

Jace looms over you, his eyes dark with lust. He crawls onto the bed, covering your smaller body with his own.

"I'm going to ruin you," he promises darkly, his fingers finding your dripping slit. "Gonna fuck this greedy cunt until you're screaming for mercy."

He drives two thick fingers into your tight channel, making you cry out. Your walls clench around the intrusion, trying to suck him deeper.

"So eager," Jace croons, pumping his fingers in and out of your slick heat. "Such a desperate little slut, always hungry for cock."

He curls his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. Pleasure crashes through you, stealing your breath.

"Nngh, fuck!" you moan, your back arching off the bed. Your hips buck into his hand, chasing more of that delicious friction.

Jace just smirks down at you, his eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, how he's reducing you to a mindless, cock-hungry mess. And god help you, you love every minute of it.

"Beg for it," he demands, scissoring his fingers inside you. "Beg me to fuck you like the desperate little whore you are."

"Please, Jace," you whine, your voice high and needy. "Please fuck me! I need your cock so bad! I'll do anything, be anything, just please use me!"

With a triumphant grin, Jace withdraws his fingers. He lines up his thick length with your entrance, the swollen head nudging against your fluttering hole.

"Since you asked so nicely," he purrs, slamming forward in one brutal thrust.

You scream as he splits you open, the stretch bordering on discomfort. But it's the good kind of pain, the kind that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head.

Jace's thrusts are relentless, his thick cock pistoning in and out of your stretched hole. Even though he just fucked you, split you open and bred you like a bitch in heat, you can never get enough of him. Of his fat dick stretching you so full, claiming your body as his own personal fucktoy.

You moan like a whore, your voice high and keening as he pounds into you. Thank fuck Dad and his mom and brother aren't home, because the sounds you're making would make a porn star blush. Obscene wet slaps fill the room as Jace's hips slam against you, driving him deeper with every thrust.

"Harder," you beg, your nails raking down his sweat-slicked back. "Fuck me harder, Jace! Ruin me with that big cock!"

He snarls, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he slams into you even harder. The headboard bangs against the wall, the rhythmic thumping obscenely loud in the quiet room.

You can feel another orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Jace is hitting that spot inside you with every thrust, stoking the flames higher and higher. Your pussy flutters around him, your walls clenching greedily.

"Filthy slut," Jace grunts, pounding into your abused cunt. "Can't get enough of your stepbrother's cock, can you? Fucking desperate to be ruined."

He drives into you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Your eyes roll back, drool leaking from the corner of your slack mouth as he fucks you stupid.

Your cunt is making obscene squelching noises, overflowing with Jace's cum from the last round. It dribbles down the crack of your ass, staining the sheets beneath you.

"Aaahh, fuck!" you moan, your toes curling as another orgasm crashes over you. Your pussy clamps down on Jace's pistoning cock, milking him for all he's worth. You claw your nails down his back, leaving red marks in their wake as he fuck you through your intense climax.

"Gonna flood this slutty hole again," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Fill you up with so much cum you'll be leaking for days."

With a roar of completion, Jace slams into you one last time. His cock jerks and pulses, painting your insides white with his thick seed. You can feel it filling you up.

Jace collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for breath. His softening dick slips out of your sore pussy, followed by a gush of cum. It pools between your thighs, oozing out onto the bed.

"Aah..." you whimper as your hole is throbbing, so sore and used from Jace's relentless pounding. You try to catch your breath, your eyes squeezed shut as aftershocks of pleasure course through your spent body.

But it feels so right, being claimed by him. Like you were made to be fucked thoroughly by your stepbrother's massive cock. Your pussy is still twitching from the sheer intensity, his cum leaking out of you in a steady stream. You're absolutely wrecked, but you've never felt more satisfied.

You open your eyes, looking at him. Seeing him just as messed up, makes you smile with adoration. His hair is messy, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat and his lips swollen from biting them so much.

Jace rolls off you, flopping onto his back with a groan. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, sweat cooling on his skin.

You turn to face him, propping yourself up on one elbow. Your eyes roam over his body, taking in every dip and plane. He's beautiful like this, dark hair tousled, muscles flexing with each laboured breath.

"That was..." You swallow hard, struggling to find the words. "Intense."

A wry smile tugs at Jace's lips. "You can say that again. Fuck, I don't think I've ever cum that hard in my life."

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes softening. "I meant what I said, you know. About you being mine now."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, warmth blooming in your chest. "I know. And I'm not going anywhere."

Jace reaches out, cupping your cheek with his calloused palm. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, the gesture surprisingly tender.

"I never thought I could feel this way about anyone," he confesses, his voice low and rough. "But you...you're under my skin. I can't imagine my life without you in it now."

You smile softly, emotion welling up inside you. You lean into his touch, nuzzling his palm.

"I never thought I could want someone as much as I want you," you admit softly. "I don’t care if it’s wrong. I need you..."

"And I need you," Jace murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. "Always. You're mine, and I protect what's mine."

He seals his promise with a kiss, his lips moving against yours with aching tenderness. It's a stark contrast to the furious fucking that just took place, but no less meaningful.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathless. Jace tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your skin.

Jace's touch lingers, his fingers trailing down your cheek to your neck, your collarbone. He traces idle patterns on your skin, mapping out the contours of your body like he's trying to commit it to memory.

You smile drowsily at Jace, your hand caressing his handsome face, your thumb brushing tenderly over his cheek. "My beautiful boy," you murmur softly, your gaze locked with his intense brown eyes. Your heart flutters in your chest, the intimate closeness between you sending shivers down your spine. Never before have you felt so deeply connected to someone, so utterly exposed and vulnerable. But with Jace, it feels safe.

Jace leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. A soft sigh escapes his lips, his body melting into yours. He nuzzles into your palm, pressing a kiss to the centre.

"My sweet girl," he breathes, his voice low and rough with emotion. "You've ruined me for anyone else. No one will ever compare to you."

Jace wraps his arms around you, holding you close. You melt into his embrace, your head tucked beneath his chin. The world falls away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other's love and passion.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

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frogstappen · 2 months ago

Text

𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧, 𝐮𝐬

best friend!max verstappen x reader / 2.4k

max keeps up your friendly tradition at the us grand prix.

⚠️: friends with a little something more on the horizon. one teeny mention of throwing up in a sleeping bag. cutesy, fluffy, best pal max.

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ

The world is alive with a kick only found in Austin.

Cowboy hats and cowgirl boots; star-spangled everything and a roaring reception fit for rock ‘n roll stars. Bloodthirst donned in a bolo tie and winning smile.

You swipe through your camera roll, pinching each photo to read the gimmicky banners and count the bullhorn gestures. Giggling when you spot a grown man with a sign addressed to Lewis: I called in sick to watch you race.

Max glances over his shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

You turn your phone.

He squints at the screen, huffing a laugh, then scrolls through some more. “They love and hate with the same passion. It’s actually kind of scary.”

“I love it here.”

You push off the couch and wander over to the window.

The sky is a brilliant blue, dazzling even through the tinted glass. Striking Southern sunlight bounces off each motorhome in the paddock. The lot busies away, polos scurrying from building to building, VIP lanyards shielding their eyes from the sun to take it all in.

Max taps your shoulder with your phone and nods to the door. “C’mon. Time.”

He leads you outside, loosening his elbow to let you slip your arm through his. He turns heads and raises whispers – though none of it seems to bother him. It’s like he doesn’t even notice.

He’s already turning inward, already picturing the starting line behind his eyes. He’s thinking tactics and thinking strategies, making mental notes about turns twelve through fifteen; tire degradation and DRS and not saying fuck or shit or driving too close to the car marked 4.

His eyes lift only for a second. He frowns at some photographers up ahead and positions himself in front as you walk. His head ducks again, giving them little more than a winning shot of his Red Bull cap – and he takes your hand.

“Here,” he says, “We can dodge them.”

He cuts between ferns and life-size driver banners, speeding past crowded bistro sets. By the time they clock him – Was that Max Verstap–? – he’s already thin air.

Through one of the backdoors to the garages, Max pulls you down a darkened hallway.

You giggle, trying not to trip over his heels. Cooler, though not by much, you breathe a sigh of relief and rub the starry sunshine from your vision. When you pull your knuckles away from your eyes, you gasp.

Max halts.

“What?” he asks, twisting around. His hand stays locked in yours. “You okay?”

Your nose bumps against his shoulder as you crane to see properly through the sliver of an ajar door.

Behind a throng of serious faces in white shirts and headsets – a table. Three trophies, tall and slender, polished to perfection. Obnoxious, maybe a little – but glamorous and gleaming all the same.

And right in front of them –

“Are those the podium caps?”

Max studies your face for a moment. A smile threatens the corner of his lips, but he fights it down. He follows your eye to the three hats.

He nods. “Looks like it.”

“Denim, Max. That’s so cool.”

“Well, y’know,” he sniffs, giving your hand a light tug, “It is Austin.”

“I don’t have a denim one. Yet.”

He shoots you a look more steel than blue. You don’t have to speak Max Verstappen to know exactly what it means.

You’ve been collecting his race caps – the rare designs, anyway – for as long as he’s been in Formula One. At home, there’s a whole corner of your closet dedicated strictly to Pirelli.

His very first winners’ cap sits proudly on the tallest hook, all the way to the Canadian maple leaf design that made you squeal when he presented it to you.

He knows the ones you’d like, the second he sees them. Eight years’ worth of victories, turned into something even more meaningful.

Granted, there have been a little fewer than normal lately – but sometimes, you like to pretend he’s in that cockpit aiming for first at least in part to see the smile on your face when he fits the cap on your head.

Still. He stares you down.

“I wouldn’t get too excited,” he says, walking on. “The car is shit, lately.”

“Language,” you hiss, grinning.

Max shakes his head. “I can still send you home, you know. The race hasn’t started yet.”

He’s only jesting – but annoying him is too much fun.

“Oh, you wouldn’t do that. I’m here for sympathy reasons, remember?”

He grunts in response.

Austin wasn’t meant to be on your list this year. It’s one of your favorite grands prix, that’s for sure, but you had planned to miss it this time around on account of the new guy you’d been seeing.

That is – until you called it quits last month.

It had only been a few months – three, if that – but the longer it went on, the more you noticed incompatibilities. Little things, like the way your schedules clashed, or the kinds of places you each liked to hang out.

He was a great guy, and he took it like a champ – which made the bruise sting a little…sharper.

Max let you wallow for three days. He spent a decent chunk of the month’s break after Singapore at your place; ordering you takeout and then refusing to let you pay, waking you up each morning to work out with him. You’d never admit it, but after a while, it got kinda fun.

Then, when it was time to get back to work, he invited you to Austin. You know being there will cheer you up, he said. And besides, I need my lucky charm.

So far – what with the denim Pirelli caps and the front-row qualifying result – he’s fast turning out to be right.

He pauses at the turn into the garage. “How are you, anyway? Feeling distracted?”

You smile, slumping against the wall opposite him. “Very. I forgot how hard this place goes.”

He nods, sipping from his bottle. He glances down the hall towards the echoes of photographers. “Sorry about the…” he waves a dismissive hand, “…Ever since Singapore, they…”

“You don’t think I’m used to it by now, three-time-world-champion?”

He curves his hand around the back of his neck, lips curling. “You wanna watch from the garage again, or upstairs?”

“Upstairs, please. I don’t need another 4D experience of you crashing.”

“Wasn’t exactly fun to me, either,” he says, nudging your arm. He lists directions, reminding you to stay behind the shrubbery to evade the cameras. He makes you swear you’ll text him once you’re seated.

“Do you want my pinkie, or is a blood oath more acceptable?”

“It’s a lot of different tracks, alright? Sometimes even I get lost.”

Your eyes narrow. Liar.

He smirks. “Okay, I don’t. But I also don’t stop to fucking stare at denim hats, so.”

“Go do your job, potty mouth. And drive safe.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean it, Max. Just – aim to finish in one piece.”

He pulls you in for a hug, pressing his lips to your temple.

“I’m aiming for a cap,” he says, and swings into the garage.

It’s Ferrari’s race from the opening lap. No other team gets a look-in.

Charles steals the lead from under Lando’s feet, propelling ahead with Carlos in tow to secure an easy one-two for the Prancing Horse. They hold fast the entire race and – though they are, in theory, two of your best friend’s current enemies – they nail it.

You know that, when you find each other later, Max will tell you the same. He’s never a sore loser when simply lovely racing is involved.

Fifty-six laps and five and a half kilometers later, you’re watching him on the podium.

Well. You’re watching your next collector’s item – on his head – on the podium.

Third place isn’t too shabby for a man perpetually fighting his machine – and even he looks relieved just to be up there. He glances down as the Monégasque national anthem plays, and tilts his head purposefully.

You grin up at him, eyebrows raised. I see it, you send telepathically. I’ve chosen its hook already.

Max is careful not to let it become too soaked during the champagne spraying. He ducks out of Charles’s path, aims his own at Carlos’s back. He’s the first to tip the bottle against his lips and drink, and the others quickly follow suit.

There’s probably a grilling waiting for him in the press tent. Was Norris’s five-second penalty just? How did the car feel during that battle? Do you see the rear-end of a McLaren when you close your eyes at night?

You take the opportunity while the paddock is still quiet to sneak back to his motorhome, falling back onto the double bed. There’s a flatscreen on the wall opposite you; a crystal vase of roses on the marble counter beneath.

Some days you have to remind yourself that, behind all the titles and trophies and treasure – he’s still the same kid who ate so much candy at your eighth birthday party that he threw up in his sleeping bag.

Behind all of it, he’s still Max. Your Max.

Says you can have a go at his racing simulator, then laughs while you fight with the controls. Says he’ll pick you up after a night out, then takes voice recordings of your drunken babbling to play back to your hungover self.

Says, He was a nice guy, but you’re going to be okay – and invites you to Austin to take your mind off it.

You’re watching some real estate show under eyes heavy with sleep when the motorhome door clicks open.

His shadow sways down the narrow trailer, and he materializes at the foot of the bed.

“Hello.”

You lift your head. “Hello, yourself.”

He takes your wrists and pulls you upright, scooping you in a strong hug. He’s soaked in sweat and champagne, race suit hanging from his hips, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders anyway.

His hair is damp, cheeks flushed and heated. His stubble scrapes your skin. He buries his nose in the crook of your neck and sighs.

“Thinking of moving to Mexico?” he murmurs into your shoulder, turning to look at the screen.

“The remote was on the other side of the room. I’m tired.”

“Me, too,” he says. He pulls back.

You take his jaw in your hands. “You did so good,” you whisper, thumbs smoothing the lines his balaclava has left behind. “That battle with Lando – I thought – maybe –”

He scoffs, lazy smirk pulling across his face. “Nah. Light work.”

It warrants the knock you deal his bicep.

Max laughs. “Oh,” he says, and reaches behind his back. From the waistband of his suit, he pulls a slightly dented, very drenched third-place cap. He straightens out the material. “Took it off as soon as we got backstage. Didn’t want my hair to make it all sweaty.”

You take it from his hands delicately, grinning from ear to ear as you tilt it in the light. “It’s so fucking cool, Max.”

He hums. “Here.”

He handles it with the same care you did, for the sole reason that it means this much to you – and Max knows it. With a gentle smile, eyes flitting from yours to your lips, he places the cap over your head and straightens it into place.

“There,” he steps back, “You just won third place at Circuit of the Americas.”

You giggle, turning to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. “Oh my God, I look so goofy.”

“No you don’t,” Max replies, standing behind your reflection. “You suit it better than I do.”

There’s a beat – a moment, stood against his chest, eyes locked and hearts aligned. You lean back on your heels, and he perches his chin soft on your head.

His hands find your shoulders. “I’m gonna jump in the shower,” he says. “Do you want to head back to the hotel now, or –?”

You shake your head. “I’m good. I’ll wait for you.”

“’kay,” he whispers. He lingers, still scanning the sight before him. Hands still on your body, squeezing in time with your hammering heartbeat.

Probably taking in the oddity of the entire thing, the same way you are. The two of you framed in the mirror, no closer than you spend most days, and somehow – the closest you’ve ever felt him.

Your Max. Who once caught wind that you had a crush on one of the kids in class, and teased you all summer long for it. Who once gatecrashed your horror movie night with Victoria; burst out of the closet in a Ghostface mask, screaming bloody murder.

It’s exactly the kind of feeling you’d text him for advice on. Hey, what do you think about this? I had butterflies today, standing next to this guy.

Exactly the kind of thing that he’d reply with, Does he know you cry at animated movies?

Does he know you say good morning to the birds?

Does he know you burn pancakes anytime you try to make them?

Yes, you’d send. And he doesn’t mind any of it.

Max takes the visor of your cap between his fingers and turns it. “This way for when you’re feeling fancy,” he says, laughing at his own joke the way he always does.

You breathe a relieved laugh of your own. “Sure,” you reply, shaking that feeling free. You turn, hands light on his forearms. Your gaze climbs from his chest to his eyes.

“Thank you,” you whisper, staring into the oceanic home you’ve known since you were a kid. “I’m really glad I came. You, uh…I don’t know what I’d do without you, Max.”

He shrugs – never one to take a compliment without wrestling with it first. “’s not about me,” he replies, tapping your nose with his knuckle. He swallows, shifting between feet, before his chest fills with a deep breath. “Let me take you to dinner. As a thanks for coming, obviously.”

“You mean the hat isn’t my thanks?”

He shakes his head. “I can do better than a smelly denim hat.”

“I’ll bet you can, Verstappen.”

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #mv33 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula one #formula 1 #my writing #fic: austin us #f1blr #f1 x you #f1 x reader

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chxrryhansen · 11 months ago

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౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘

Pairing; Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings; smut, dark themes, non con, breeding kink, oral- both receiving, degrading, size difference, unbalanced power dynamic, huge daddy kink, choking- to the point reader can’t breathe, dumbification, dacryphillia, spanking, steve is very dark in this, no aftercare!! i think thats it? Minors please DNI!!!!!

Summary; Steve Rogers, your boyfriend, the man everybody loved, his soul soft, standing against all evils. Until he got a taste of that sweet power. He became hungry. Now, you have no choice but to obey his rules. Can you bring him back to the light? Or is it too late? (it’s definitely too late)

here we have my first ever full fic! firstly i would like to give a huge thankyou to @dbnightingale24 for giving me the confidence and tips to write this! and another big thankyou to @evansbby and @hansensgirl for inspiring me in the first place for begin writing💘it’s around 3k words and i really put my all into this so please don’t forget to comment and reblog, i would love to hear all of your feedback!🫶🏻 much love, cherry.

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

Steve Rogers, the man everyone respected, the man everyone believed in, looked up too. The man you used to cherish, his sweet boyish nature drawing you in from the moment you met. His pearly blues that used to soften as they fell on you, his gentle touch as he caressed your hair, the tender, loving kisses he used to leave all over your body.

Until Fury resigned that was.

Steve was officially the new director of shield, to which nobody opposed, i mean, who would right? He was Captain America, the man out of time. He was perfcet for the role. Strong willed, commanding yet understanding, he had respect for those beneath him and most of all he was compassionate, something that was hard to find in a good leader. This didn't last for long, of course.

Steve shortly became power hungry, his morals became more sick and twisted as his methods became more sadistic. He was violent, cruel…volatile. There was no bringing back Steve Rogers. The problem was he dragged everybody else down with him, nobody dared to stand up to Steve, too frightened of the consequences.

Tony couldn't talk Steve down, he tried for a while, attempted to reach out to him, guide him back to the light...but nothing worked. Tony couldn't do it, nor could you, not even his best friend of over a decade could sway his newfound mindset. You all figured it was best to keep your heads down from now on and follow Steves orders, no matter how out of line they seemed.

Not that you had a choice anyway.

Bucky was short to follow in his footsteps as his second in command. Both cruel and unforgiving. Your friendship with Bucky was practically non-exhistant, you no longer had movie nights together, giggling with big buckets of popcorn.

A simple nod of his head as he passed you down the hall was about as much as you would get. Steve wouldn't allow it now anyway.

Steve's display of affection changed alongside him, the love he made was no longer passionate, or gentle. In fact, he didn’t make love at all anymore… what he made was simply rough, hard, fucking.

The marks he left behind were no longer loving hickeys while he whispered in your ear, moaning sweet nothings as he gently thrusted his hips into your own. His eyes, gleaming with nothing but pure devotion.

They were bruises... bruises from how hard his hips slammed into your ass from behind, his grip tight on your hair, pulling and tugging as your skin became flustered at the impact of his thrusts. You missed the man he was. You often thought about that life while his cock was busy destroying your cunt. He didn’t care about your pleasure anymore, you were nothing but a hole for him to fuck.

From a distance you could hear Steves heavy boots storming down the coridoor. The sound was instantly unsettling. Your body recognising the noise as a trigger for an oncoming threat, sending you into alert mode.

You stood from your office chair on shaky legs, your posture rigid as he turned the corner to enter. His 6'4, stoic figure coming into view, casting a shadow that filled the room. His broad shoulders spread wide, his presence making your tummy tighten with unease.

He said nothing as he stared down at you, your fingers tugging at your short pink skirt- which he had chosen out for you this morning, the same way he customised your figure every morning. Claiming your dumb, baby brain was incapable of choosing an outfit that proved elegance and professionalism. In reality it was the complete opposite.

He liked to dress you in short skirts, ones that left little to the imagination, your asscheeks peeking out most days and revealing blouses, your tits practically spilling out of your shirts. You were highly sought after by the males at the compound before he came and scooped you up a few years ago.

They knew you were his, i mean he was your boyfriend for several years, you were what the female agents used to coo at, naming you as "couple goals". Where Steve went, you went, and vice versa. You were always seen smiling and giggling together, tag teaming on missons and holding hands as you explored the compound.

But, as steves power grew so did his insecurity. His possesive nature grew strong, wanting, no, needing to show other men you belonged to him, and only him. And you always would, whether you liked it or not.

"Get on your knees."

"Wh-What?"

"Get on your knees. You know i don't like to repeat myself." he growls while pushing your office door closed with one arm from behind, not daring to take his eyes of you.

You gulped as he stepped forward, caging you inbetween his thick biceps as you lean against your desk. One thing he was always good at was making you feel small. Even before all of this. Of course it wasn't anywhere near as threatening as it was now. He used to joke about how tiny you were compared to him, how he could pick you up with one hand, it was cute how big and protective he was of you.

Now, he used it to his advantage. He knew you feared him. He knew that you knew, you would never be able to run from him. He would overpower you every damn time with his brute strength.

There was no running from Steve Rogers. His thick beard scraped against your sensitive skin sending shivers down your spine as he groaned into your neck, your scent driving him wild.

He whispered darkly in your ear "Final chance. Get on your knees. Now, or you won't like what'll happen if you refuse me again."

You inhaled sharply, goosebumps spreading across your body in pure fear, or ecstacy. It was hard to tell these days. Steve had conditioned you so well to his own liking that even your body reacted to him in ways you would never fully understand. Or so he says.

Slowly you inched down towards the floor with your knees bent. The cold, rough flooring instantly proving to be uncomfortable as you figited. But Steve didn't care about that, why would he? His thick hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at him through hooded eyelids.

His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, he then pushes further, massaging your tongue as saliva begins to pool in your mouth. Removing his thumb slowly, he tugged on your bottom lip with pinched fingers. Before you even realised what was happening he shoves two fingers down your throat.

You sputter and gag around his thick digits, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the hard floor. Your eyes squeezed shut in pain as tears began rolling down your flustered cheeks.

His other hand is quick to grip your hair, tugging harshly. "You fuckin' look at me while daddy gags you with his fingers. Actin' like you don't get off on this shit. You love it. Say 'thankyou daddy'." he mocks with a high pitched tone.

Desperately trying to get the words out, you mumble around his fingers, seeming incoherent. He laughs darkly at your poor attempt, shoving his fingers deeper down your throat, gagging you one last time before pulling out.

"You gonna' be a good whore n' suck my dick? Huh? You fuckin' slut." His hand reaches down, pulling your shirt to the side, making your tits spill out. You hear him let out a loud groan, his pants tightening at the sight of your bare chest. He pinches your hard nipple roughly, rolling it roughly inbetween his index finger and thumb as you cry out, tears continuing to stream down your cheeks.

He shushes your cries gently as he begins to massage the same spot he previously assaulted making you keen with pleasure.

He had a thing for associating pain with pleasure, confusing your silly little brain into thinking the hurt he put you through was a good thing since pleasure soon followed. That he was rewarding you.

"Unzip me. Cmon' you dumb baby, take daddys fat cock out."

Listening to your own heartbeat in your ears, your head pounding with adrenaline, your fingers itch towards his pants. Which was apparently too slow for his liking as his grip on your hair tightens, making you sqeeze your eyes shut briefly before opening them, not wanting to anger him further.

You hurridly unzip his pants, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his cock. It's angry head pointing towards you as he grips the base with his other hand, slowing pumping his shaft over your face.

He pushes his bulbous tip into your closed lips, smearing his hot precum all over them. When you refuse to open your mouth he growls, pinching your nostrils closed. Feeling the air begin to leave your lungs, you gasp for breath and he's quick to shove his dick down your throat.

Gagging at the intrusion you cry harder, your lips stretching to fit around his thick length. his hips thrusting into your face as he fucks your throat harshly.

"That's it, you whore. Take daddys dick all the way down your throat. You fuckin' remember this the next time you try to refuse me."

His hand which was previously tugging at your hair moves towards your throat, holding you in a tight grip.

"Fuck... i can feel my fuckin' cock in that tiny throat of yours. Love it when you cry f' me, just makes me want to fuck you even harder, sweet girl." he grunts loudly over the sound of your gagging. Steve swiftly pulls his dick out as you keel over, coughing and sputtering, your throat sore from his brutal assault.

Before you even have a chance to gain your breath, his thick hands grip your shoulders, pulling you upright, bending you over your desk. Your legs shaking as he positions you so your ass is sticking out.

Lowering himself to the ground, he grips the flesh of your ass, squeezing roughly as he lifts up your skirt, briskly pulling your panties to the side. He shoves his nose into your pussy, groaning in delight at your sweet scent.

"Fuck i could live inbetween these slutty legs, your cunt's always ready for daddy, huh? Trained you so well." Your sticky juices smeared across your legs, dripping with desire, his facial hair bristling against your thighs making you squirm.

He mercilessly pushes his tongue as deep as it can go into your hole. You whimper as he laps up your wetness, his tongue prodding at your insides. Your arousal soaking his beard while your pussy clenched around his tongue. He pulls away for a moment, “God, how do you taste so fuckin’ good.” he groans.

Reaching back to grip his hair in your small fists, you go to push his face back into your cunt, completely overwhelmed with pleasure. His hand grips your wrist tightly, pining your arm to the desk, a sure reminder of who's in charge, seeming as you had forgotten your place. “Stay fuckin’ still or i’ll stop. Don’t you ever pull that shit again.”

You moan lewdly as he moves to latch onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Groaning into your pussy as he fists his cock.

Your eyes begin to roll back as your orgasm itches closer. Steve, realising this, pulls away once again. Your juices stringing from your clit to his lips as you cry out, your orgasm beginning to fade.

"Stop with the fuckin' whining. Daddy's gonna' fuck you now. Tell daddy how much you want his cock...Cmon. No need to act all innocent now." he pressures at your hesitation.

"P-Please daddy wan' you to fuck me."

"You can do better than that." Steve husks, giving your ass a harsh smack from behind, knowing your skin will blister from his force.

Your lips quiver as you cry, "Please! N-Need your cock inside me so badly, wan' you to destroy me for anybody else. Wanna' feel you in my cervix daddy, Jus' wanna make you feel good. Love how full you make me feel. Please...I-I'll die if you don't fuck me. Pretty pretty ple-."

and before you can finish your sentence your cut off by your own scream, his cock dissapearing inbetween your folds as he bottoms out with a singular thrust. Your legs become slack as your body spasms at the intrustion, his hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as you squirm, instinctively trying to escape his hold.

"F-Fuck, Y-Your so big daddy. It hurts so bad, p-pull out!"

"Shut up." he groans as his thick hand covers your mouth from behind. “Gonna fuckin’ dog fuck you til you can’t think of anything but this fat fuckin’ cock you dirty little slut, you hear me?” he practically growls as he begins to fuck you.

The sound of clapping skin begins to fill the room, agents around the compound sure to hear the way his dick bruitalises your cunt.

"Such a filthy girl i have, always so desperate for daddy to fuck you, even when you try and deny it, i know this sweet pussy would never lie to me." He coos in your ear as you sob, your face wet with tears and saliva.

"My messy whore, see what happens when you don't listen to me? You see what a mess you become? Fuck. You look so pretty like this, this is how you should always be, filled to the brim with my fat dick.”

Steve had always loved fucking you braindead, watching as your eyes glaze over and your tongue begins to hang out of your mouth, drooling all over yourself. It made him feel powerful, like you were dependent on him. Which you were in a sense, always so needy and desperate for him to fuck you.

The impact of his animalistic thrusts turn your skin raw as he speeds up. His arm wrapping around your waist, pressing you close to him as he spreads his legs further apart, hitting a new angle inside your pussy. You let out a loud wanton moan as his balls slap against your clit.

“F-Fuck yes! H-Harder daddy.”

“Yeah? You like that? I know you do, it’s okay. Is my little girls brain goin’ fuzzy? Huh? Poor girl.” Steve mocked, amusement clear in his tone. "M' gonna' cum. Daddy please can i cum?" you whine, the knot in your stomach tightening, a warning that your orgasm was near.

"Yeah baby? You gonna' cum for me you dirty whore? Go ahead, cum all over my dick. Can feel you clenching around me, grippin' me like a fuckin' vice."

Your cream coats his length as you let out a muffled cry, biting your lip harshly as you cum.

"T-Thankyou daddy. Feels s-so good..." you babble, your thick cream creating a ring around the base of his cock. Your weight giving out once again as Steve holds you, smirking as he watches you come undone, giving you no escape from his relentless thrusts.

His thick shaft pummeling your insides as you scream with ecstacy, your pussy throbbing as he fucks you through your high.

"F-Fuck look at that... love watching your cream leak around my cock, taking this dick so good for me. Gonna' cum inside you...yeah? You want daddy to fill you up?" he groans as his own orgasm nears, talking himself through it.

"God, this cunt treats me like a fuckin' king. It's coming baby, daddys gonna cum, Oh fuck fuckkk." his hips twitch and his balls throb as his load begins to fill you, shooting out thick ropes of hot cum into your pussy. Moaning at the sensation of his warmth inside you.

“Take my fuckin’ cum. That’s it, good girl. Love watchin’ your pussy swallow my hot fuckin load, bet you love it too, hm? You slut.” he pants, exhausted from the brutal fucking he just gave you.

He snaps out of it almost instantly, pulling out without warning and tucking his softening cock back into his pants.

Giving your ass a harsh smack, he steps back. You turn to look at him, your eyes glazed over. He stares at the ground with no emotion as he combs his locks with his fingers, making himself seem presentable.

Hope fills you, your heart races as you lick your lips in anticipation, wondering if he will stay to comfort you and hold you the way he used to many months ago.

But he doesn't. You get nothing but a short glance as he turns to exit your office, slamming the door shut on his way out. You slump down against the floor, a complete mess.

Your soft cries turn to sobs, breathing rapidly, your hands gripping your hair as you raise your knees to your chest. It was almost as if he had you in a trance when he was burried inside your cunt, as soon as he was done it was like the fog in your brain had cleared.

People told you there was no bringing the old Steve back, that your sweet, caring boyfriend was gone. Replaced by a monster.

You didn't want to believe them... but maybe you should've.

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cazshmere · 4 months ago

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Predicting the way you might get proposed to with the help of derivative astrology 💒💍

materialist🔖

In astrology, understanding the dynamics between different houses can provide insights into how significant relationship milestones, such as proposals, might occur. The 7th house is traditionally associated with partnerships, marriage, and the spouse, while the 5th house represents celebrations, romantic gestures, and joyful events.

In derivative astrology, the 5th house from the 7th house is also the 11th house. Because the 11th house is five houses away from the 7th, it can indicate how you could get proposed to as the 5th house represents celebrations and the 7th house represents partnerships.

I don’t see many people talking about it but the 11th house sign or the signs element could also indicate significant placements in your spouses birth chart (especially in their big 6)!!

Aries Rising - 11th House Aquarius 💒

💍 The proposal may take place in an unconventional, innovative setting, possibly during a social event with a group of your friends.

💍 Your friends could be the one who could help your spouse out with the arrangement of the proposal too! Or your spouse could literally be your best friend lol

💍 The gesture could be unexpected and original, possibly involving technology, a surprising twist, or a creative idea that reflects your shared vision for the future.

💍 You might feel excited, intrigued, and intellectually stimulated by the originality and thoughtfulness of the proposal.

💍 The atmosphere is likely to be lively, eccentric, and full of surprises, emphasizing freedom and individuality.

🩷 For Example : Your partner might propose with the help of technology. Maybe showcasing your memories together via a video and projecting it for you to see.

Taurus Rising - 11th House

Pisces 💒

💍 The proposal may occur in a dreamy, serene environment, such as by the water, near the beach, during a spiritual gathering, or in a place that holds deep emotional significance.

💍 There could be a lot blues, whites, sea foam greens, lavenders or aquamarines, maybe in the decorations, surroundings or just the attires you might wear.

💍 The gesture could be deeply romantic, involving poetry, music, or an artistic expression that touches the soul and reflects the depth of your connection.

💍 You might feel emotionally moved, peaceful, and spiritually connected, sensing the profound love and understanding between you.

💍 The surroundings are likely to be calm, peaceful, and imbued with a sense of mysticism or otherworldliness, emphasizing the spiritual and emotional bond.

🩷 For Example: Your partner might propose during a quiet evening by a lakeside, reading a poem they wrote for you, as the sound of gentle waves adds to the romantic and ethereal atmosphere.

Gemini Rising - 11th House

Aries 💒

💍 The proposal may take place in a lively, energetic setting, such as during a spontaneous adventure, a competitive event, or a social gathering where you’re both having fun.

💍 Your spouse might feel extra bold and confident while planning and executing this proposal.

💍 The gesture could be bold and direct, possibly involving a challenge, a playful bet, or a dramatic declaration that captures the intensity of the moment.

💍 You might feel exhilarated, alive, and full of adrenaline, with a sense of excitement about the future and the adventures ahead.

💍 The surroundings are likely to be dynamic, fast-paced, and filled with activity, emphasizing the thrill and passion of the moment.

🩷 For Example: Your partner might propose after the two of you win a spirited race or competition together, pulling out the ring in the heat of the moment to match the adrenaline and excitement you both feel.

Cancer Rising - 11th House Taurus 💒

💍 The proposal may occur in a comfortable, luxurious environment, possibly at a private gathering, a favorite restaurant, or a place that holds sentimental value.

💍 Your spouse might book a very luxurious area for this proposal. It will be surely elegant✨. Your spouse might spoil you with gifts right before they propose too.

💍 The gesture could be practical and thoughtful, possibly involving a beautiful gift, a shared meal, or a meaningful token that symbolizes your shared values.

💍 You might feel secure, cherished, and deeply loved, with a sense of being nurtured and supported.

💍 The surroundings are likely to be cozy, serene, and filled with beauty, emphasizing the importance of comfort and security in your relationship.

🩷 For Example: Your partner might propose during a private dinner at your favorite restaurant, presenting the ring along with a dessert that’s beautifully crafted, reflecting the comfort and stability you share.

Leo Rising - 11th House

Gemini 💒

💍 The proposal may take place in a lively, social setting, such as during a party, a gathering with friends, or a spontaneous outing where you’re both having fun.

💍 Your siblings could help your spouse when it comes to setting up the proposal. The proposal could also occur in your neighbourhood.

💍 The gesture could be playful and clever, possibly involving wordplay, a riddle, or a creative idea that engages your mind and makes you smile.

💍 You might feel delighted, mentally stimulated, and appreciated for your intellectual connection.

💍 The surroundings are likely to be vibrant, dynamic, and filled with conversation, emphasizing the joy of social interaction and shared ideas.

🩷 For Example: Your partner might propose during a game night with friends, using a clever wordplay or puzzle that leads you to the final answer : their proposal lol

Virgo Rising - 11th House

Cancer 💒

💍 The proposal may occur in a nurturing, intimate setting, such as during a private gathering with close friends and family or in a place that feels like home.

💍 This could also mean an arranged marriage proposal too because both the families might be heavily involved in this proposal but ofc this is just one possibility but yes family might play a significant role in the arrangement and decisions.

💍 The gesture could be deeply caring and protective, possibly involving a heartfelt promise, a sentimental token, or a nurturing act that shows deep commitment.

💍 You might feel deeply loved, secure, and emotionally connected, with a sense of being cared for and cherished.

💍 The surroundings are likely to be cozy, warm, and filled with a sense of emotional safety, emphasizing the importance of home and family in your relationship.

🩷 For Example: Your partner might propose during a cozy gathering at home with close friends, offering a sentimental family heirloom as the engagement ring to symbolize the start of your new family together.

Libra Rising - 11th House

Leo 💒

💍 The proposal may take place in a grand, elegant setting, possibly during a celebration, a party, or a public event where you’re the center of attention.

💍 There could be a lot of children present in the place where you might get proposed to. There will surely be a lot of lively and fun energy when the proposal happens.

💍 The gesture could be dramatic and romantic, possibly involving a public declaration, a creative display, or a grand romantic gesture that takes your breath away.

💍 You might feel adored, appreciated, and fully in your element, basking in the romance and grandeur of the moment.

💍 The surroundings are likely to be luxurious, vibrant, and filled with beauty, emphasizing the celebration of love and romance in your relationship.

🩷 For Example: Your partner might propose during a glamorous event or party, making a grand gesture in front of all your friends with a declaration of love that’s both bold and romantic.

Scorpio Rising - 11th House

Virgo 💒

💍 The proposal may occur in a quiet, organized setting, possibly during a private dinner, a planned event, or a moment of shared service or responsibility.

💍 A lot of planning has gone into this proposal by your spouse. They might be anxious and nervous to propose because they want everything to go perfectly.

💍 The gesture could be practical and thoughtful, possibly involving a well-considered plan, a meaningful promise, or a gesture that reflects your mutual dedication.

💍 You might feel grounded, respected, and secure in the knowledge that your relationship is well-considered and stable.

💍 The surroundings are likely to be calm, orderly, and filled with a sense of purpose, emphasizing the importance of practicality and responsibility in your relationship.

🩷 For Example: Your partner might propose after the two of you complete a shared project, perhaps during a quiet moment at home, with a meaningful ring that symbolizes your commitment and love for each other.

Sagittarius Rising - 11th House Libra 💒

💍 The proposal may take place in a harmonious, elegant setting, possibly during a cultural event, an art gallery, or a social gathering that emphasizes beauty and balance.

💍 You might already kind of know that you might be getting proposed to and “accidentally” dress fancy for the occasion 😂. This would most likely be a proposal done when you both are alone in a one on one setting.

💍 The gesture could be romantic and graceful, possibly involving a beautiful setting, a heartfelt declaration, or an artistic expression of love.

💍 You might feel deeply connected, cherished, and balanced, with a strong sense of partnership and mutual appreciation.

💍 The surroundings are likely to be refined, balanced, and filled with beauty, emphasizing the importance of harmony and elegance in your relationship.

🩷 For Example: Your partner might propose during a visit to an art gallery or museum, where they surprise you with a private exhibit featuring something meaningful to both of you, ending with the proposal in a beautifully designed setting.

Capricorn Rising - 11th House Scorpio 💒

💍 The proposal may occur in a private, intense setting, possibly during a deep conversation, a shared secret, or in a place that holds personal significance.

💍 You might have an inkling that you are about to be proposed to. Your intuition will guide you for sure but yet again you aren’t 100% sure so you just remain skeptical lol.

💍 The gesture could be intense and transformative, possibly involving a symbolic act, a meaningful promise, or a gesture that reflects the deep emotional bond between you.

💍 You might feel deeply moved, passionate, and intensely connected, sensing the profound depth of commitment.

💍 The surroundings are likely to be private, intense, and filled with a sense of mystery, emphasizing the emotional intensity and transformation in your relationship.

🩷 For Example: Your partner might propose during a private moment, perhaps at a secluded spot that holds deep meaning for both of you, with a gesture that’s emotionally powerful and symbolic of the transformative journey you’re on together.

Aquarius Rising - 11th House Sagittarius 💒

💍 The proposal may take place in an adventurous, exciting setting, possibly during a travel experience, an outdoor activity, or a gathering with friends who share your love of exploration.

💍 There is a high possibility that you get proposed to on vacation or you might think that the proposal is just a joke and laugh it off because you aren’t sure if this is fr or not 😂

💍 The gesture could be spontaneous and full of optimism, possibly involving a shared adventure, a daring act, or a gesture that reflects your shared enthusiasm for life.

💍 You might feel thrilled, free, and full of excitement, with a sense of boundless possibilities and optimism about the future.

💍 The surroundings are likely to be lively, dynamic, and filled with a sense of adventure, emphasizing the joy and freedom in your relationship.

🩷 Example: Your partner might propose during a hike, or a long walk on the beach, a party with loud music and lots of people, a tourist spot maybe.

Pisces Rising - 11th House Capricorn 💒

💍 The proposal may take place in a formal, structured setting, possibly during a professional event, at a significant landmark, or in a place that symbolizes long-term commitment and tradition.

💍 This is also giving arranged marriage vibes😭, I mean it’s just a possibility. Your spouse could be significantly older than you for sure (dilf👀?)

💍 The gesture could be serious and meaningful, possibly involving a well-thought-out plan, a family heirloom, or a gesture that emphasizes stability and long-term goals.

💍 You might feel a deep sense of security, maturity, and seriousness about the future, appreciating the commitment and dedication your partner is showing.

💍 The surroundings are likely to be elegant, grounded, and filled with a sense of tradition or formality, emphasizing the importance of responsibility and commitment in your relationship.

🩷 Example: This reminds me of those rich CEO kdrama leads who go out of their way to propose. For instance writing “will you marry me” in the sky with the help of some lights or smoke haha. Very fancy for sure!

pic creds : pinterest

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kaiijo · 2 years ago

Text

THINGS YOU DO THAT HE FINDS HOT — [BLUE LOCK]

characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, kunigami rensuke, nagi seishiro, chigiri hyoma, itoshi rin, barou shouei content: gn! reader, suggestive content notes: hope you enjoy!

⋆｡° isagi yoichi

oh. my. gosh. isagi is absolutely down bad for you wearing his clothes — specifically, his jersey. tbh all the players love when you do but with mr. isagi “egoist” yoichi is one of the most obsessed with it.

whether his clothes are loose, tight, or fit just right, isagi’s face is flushed red and his eyes are glued to you with stars in them. after he see you in his jersey, he’s giving you his sweatshirts and jackets and looking up matching clothes on the internet

⋆｡° bachira meguru

bachira immediately gets butterflies in his stomach whenever you dance. he loves seeing how carefree you are when you do and just the way you twist and move your body.

if you really want to make his heart skip a beat, invite him to dance with you with an outstretched hand and a sweet grin and he’s absolutely putty in your hands. when you dance as close as you can, chest to chest, he’s melting in your arms with an uncharacteristically shy smile and a whole army of butterflies in his stomach

⋆｡° kunigami rensuke

kunigami really, really, really likes it when you openly admire his physique. he’s not trying to be vain but he works hard for his muscles so he loves it when you show your appreciate for that hard work

you can do this in various ways: compliment him, stare at him when he works out, squeeze around his arm and ask if he’s bulked up more since the last time that he saw you with a little, cheeky smile. whatever you do, it has kunigami feeling a little lightheaded

⋆｡° nagi seishiro

this might be cliché but nagi thinks it’s super hot when you get really passionate about things that either you like or that he likes. as someone who is pretty lazy, there’s something about the contrast of you getting fired up that he likes. he’s focuses on how animated you get when you’re telling him about something you love, the way you speak, the way you gesture, nagi just can’t take his eyes of you

like i said, he really likes you being passionate about things he likes. when you get really into a video game you’re playing together, sharp eyes trained in the screen and your fingers mashing buttons on your console, cursing quietly under your breath when something doesn’t go right — it may not seem that nagi is paying attention but he is and he’s enjoying every moment he’s spending with you

⋆｡° chigiri hyoma

chigiri’s face gets really warm whenever you trace your fingers along his face. you’re reverent, enraptured by his beauty and even though chigiri is always told how pretty he is, it’s different when it comes from you because it’s you. he’s squirming and blushing under your gaze

what makes him even more flustered is if you’re cuddling with one another and you ghost your fingertips along his jawline and whisper about just how beautiful he is. there’s something so intimate about it and chigiri feels like he’s locked in some sort of trance with you that neither of you really care to leave

⋆｡° rin itoshi

laughing at his jokes even when they’re deadass not funny is the quickest way to get rin’s heart thumping. because he’s someone who’s usually super serious, it’s kind of rare for him to crack any quips but when he does, it usually falls flat because people think he’s serious (or because it’s blatantly not funny) but you can always figure out when he does and he can count of you to let out a little giggle at the very least

maybe it’s the way your mouth curves into a smile or the way your eyes light up with amusement but rin just thinks you look your best when you’re laughing (especially at his jokes/“jokes”). he presses adoring kisses to every inch of your face when you get a private moment together

⋆｡° barou shouei

barou is an absolute sucker for you getting along with his younger sisters. he’d honestly rather die than admit it but regardless of how old they are (if they’re really much younger or pretty close in age to him), you being an older sibling figure and role model to them really attracts him to you

he may always roll his eyes when his sisters insert themselves into your time together, but he would absolutely kill for them (and for you) so seeing all the people he cares most getting close just makes him feel even more superior for choosing you as his partner. when they finally do leave you alone, he’s definitely pulling you into his arms to show you his appreciation

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x reader #bachira meguru x reader #bachira x reader #kunigami rensuke x reader #kunigami x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #chigiri x reader #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #barou shouei x reader #barou x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock scenarios #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ kaiijo writes

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vln-vibes · 9 months ago

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Bright Hope, Mighty Will

The Green Lantern Corps have lost many members over its years— a risk that came with maintaining the peace as told by the Guardians. Most of the rings reassigned to a new member of its given sector but on occasion there would come those that were so attached to its wielder that they would not accept another unless they resonated with their predecessors ideals.

It’s one such ring that had been on Oa with no new lantern to wield it. Or it had been.

The Blue Lanterns were still a growing group with whom the Corps had a close alliance thanks to their symbiotic relationship; after all a Blue power ring was at its highest potential when near a Green power ring and vice versa. So why not look for users together?

The rings were set off as a pair in an attempt to create a powerful Union and birthing the most powerful duo either Corps had ever seen.

Meanwhile in Sector 2814, on the third planet from its star— Earth, a small family from the Midwest were camping out in the woods after their youngest begged to see the shooting stars where they’d be the most visible. The oldest child explained to their parents that it was a good way to channel the younger’s passion for space and science much like their own. Everything had been well until the elder duo’s sensors brought up a strange signature from deeper in the wood— Ecto-entities or ghosts as they’d called them. Before being able to drag the children with them the youngest stood his ground and refused to be taken away from his stars, the elder assured that she could take care of her younger brother and that they’d be fine alone (they were alone even when in the same house more often than not)

The sun had since set, the telescope set up, blanket had been laid with snacks for them to consume as they sat in wait with jackets to help with the night chill. The duo sat near the campfire as the younger's anticipation grew but the thought of their parent's absences did as well. They'd been left home alone before but they were only 8 and 10 years old, in the middle of the wilderness with no way to guide them back home or even find where their parent's ghost hunting led them.

"Don't worry little brother, I'm sure mom and dad will be back soon"

"Ye-yeah! Besides mom knows how to kick butt, they'll be fine"

"Look!"

The duo took their gazes to the skies as the twinkling night was accompanied by steaks of white dashing by. The older grabbed her slightly old model camera and took photos of the unsuspecting boy's awe filled gaze before he could complain. He stuck his tongue out at her before turning to his telescope, doing his best to follow the streaks in the sky until no longer visible to him. The girl just took to taking some more photos to show their parents once they'd returned. It'd go on for a while like that, the stars as their only witnesses as they joked around.

"Hey that one's green! And that one's blue!"

She lifted her head from looking at her camera's saved photos to find the twin streaks flying together, a quick click of her camera to save such a strange occasion. She wasn't an astronomy expert but she didn't think shooting stars came in those colors. Taking her gaze off of the small screen and looking back up she noted the bigger size.

"Are they getting closer?"

"Maybe they'll land near here. How cool would it be to see them up close?!"

It was as though those words triggered something as the two stars seemingly stopped flying and began their rapid descent. Straight for them.

"They're headed right for us!"

"Run!"

The duo quickly picked up their discarded flashlights and began running away from the clearing their parents had chosen. No matter how fast or further away they got the stars still trailed towards them. The numerous twists and turns never deterring the streaks of light, even as the elder held the younger's hand in an iron grip to prevent them from losing each other or as the younger turned them around and took haphazard turns in an effort to get them away.

"Everything's gonna be alright!"

She panted as they approached another clearing, no idea where their own was but still looking and seeing the stars much closer to them, the lights were blinding. She felt her body get pushed aside and the roll of cold grass on her back, hair getting tangled with small twigs and a familiar but smaller body land on top of hers.

"Look out!"

They closed their eyes and braced for impact feeling a sudden breeze and a slight shake but nothing else. Until they heard different voices echo. Looking gazes and noticing the glowing eyes the other had they sat up--- only to be met by glowing, floating ----rings?

[Sentience located]

[Daniel James Fenton of Earth, you have been chosen]

[Jasmine Dahlia Fenton of Earth, you have been chosen]

[You have the ability to Overcome great fear]

[You have the ability to instill great Hope]

[Welcome to the Green Lantern Corps]

[Welcome to the Blue Lantern Corps]

A bright flash of blue and green surrounded the duo, hands still clasped and feeling a tug on their unoccupied hands, the warmth traveling on their bodies before disappearing altogether.

"Jazz what are you wearing?"

"What am I wearing!? What are you wearing Danny? Is that your old astronaut costume?"

Jazz noted the blue ring on top of her opera gloved right hand, also clenching the handle of a blue lit lantern? She could feel her knee length puffy blue dress move with the night breeze but didn't feel cold. White boots with blue bottoms kicked a pebble to the side, hearing it hit the nearby lake. Given the full moon she took a gaze at her reflection, finding her usual teal ribbon replaced by a giant blue bow at the back of her head and her eyes glowing a brilliant blue.

Danny was busy looking at his green suit, looking much like the costume he wore in a near daily basis when he was five until he started school. His own white gloves had puffier cuffs which reminded him of the astronaut costumes he and Tucker had looked at online for Halloween the year before, green ring also on his right, shaking the green weird lamp in the process. He pulled at the black suspenders before joining Jazz at the lake. His raven locks now had a single green streak near his bangs and icy blues now a vivid green.

"Cool"

Jazz was panicking, wondering what this could mean; what was a Blue Lantern anyway? Why did it choose her? And why was Danny green?

"Whoa!" Her glowing eyes turned to Danny but couldn't find him, hearing the sudden clatter of something falling on the floor and seeing the lantern rolling on its side, had he fallen in the water?!

"Danny!"

"Up here!" her eyes widened as he little brother flew above her, laughing as he looped around in the air, "C'mon Jazz!"

"How did you do that?" her eyes never leaving the faintly green glowing boy, "Can I do that?"

[You can. Just have Hope]

Trusting the voice in her head she reassured herself that they would be fine before feeling the ground disappear from under her feet and got closer to Danny, dropping her own lantern next to Danny's. She felt her surprise turn into a smile before doing a cartwheel in the air and the giggles escape from her.

Neither took track of time as they flew above the clearing before Danny had the idea to race above the lake, streak of blue and green reflected on its surface as it rippled from their speed. It wasn't until they flew back to the clearing that they remembered--- they had no idea where they ran off to. There hadn't been a lake where they'd set up camp.

"Mo-mom and dad will find us Danny! We'll be okay" They had to be okay, they would be fine. The idea of flying above the trees to look for their clearing was tempting but she had no idea how long it would take; did these things run on batteries? Would the power run out soon? Can they even take off these outfits? It'd be weird to be stuck like this for forever. If mom and dad find them what will they think of the glowing? It reminded her a bit too much of how the ectoplasm in the basement glowed whenever she or Danny were dragged downstairs and the substance covered near all the surfaces (that's when they'd know dad was making them clean up)

Whilst Jazz marinated in her thoughts and worries Danny couldn't help but think if there was a way to ask for help, though even if they had phones he doubted they'd even have service or know how to guide help towards them.

[Activating Emergency Beacon for Sector 2814]

"Huh? Emergency beacon?"

"What was that Danny?" Jazz snapped out of her thoughts as she heard his confusion, noting the slight pulsing now coming from his ring.

"I-I think my ring asked for help?"

"...Let's hope that's a good thing "

The brother-sister duo took to sitting by the lake once more, still viewing the stars above and keeping an ear out for any sign of their parents--- they were never quiet for too long. Especially when 'ghost-hunting', not that ghosts actually existed.

They were starting to get hungry again, having not touched their assorted snacks before the whole fiasco began when a steak of green, followed by another, approached the horizon. The first stopped, the second following suit... Were they like them? It looked like two people flying now that they weren't moving so fast. They were too far to properly see but it looked like they were searching for something.

Danny's ring flared up in quick brilliant flash before going back to its blinking; it seemed that was the cue the two in the sky were looking for as they made their way towards them.

"I think that's our ride Jazzy"

The duo finally hovered above the lake shore, the surprise clear on their faces even as one had a mask on.

"Hello, I am Green Lantern John Stewart of Sector 2814" the first man with matching vivid green eyes like Danny elbowed the man next to him.

"Uhh and I'm Green Lantern Hal Jordan of Sector 2814" he said sheepishly, running his white gloved hand through brown locks of hair. "You're the ones who send the distress call, what sector are you from?"

"Sector?" the duo looked at each other confused before Jazz remembered what the rings had said. "I- I think they said 2814?"

The duo looked surprised, disbelief easily conveyed even though Mr. Jordan's mask, actually he seemed more surprised than Mr. Stewart. "I'm sorry but what planet are you from?"

"Earth? I mean its not like--- Are aliens real!?" Danny's wariness disappeared and hovered in the air as he said it, "That's so cool!"

"You two are Earth children then" Mr. Stewart's eyes gained a dark look as he said so, "How long have you had the rings?"

"Umm I'm not really sure" Danny turned to his sister for guidance only to find her rubbing her arm nervously "Maybe an hour or two?"

Mr. Jordan's look matched Mr. Stewart's, like they were mad but they didn't seem mad at them like the teachers would when they caught him and Tucker talking during class. It was like whenever mom and dad's inventions malfunction and they'd go to school with bruises. (Those days mom and dad would mention their teachers calling them, they were always busy with the portal and never answered)

"Do you know what those are?" Mr. Jordan bent down to Danny's level, pointing at the matching green ring. Danny looked at his and wiggled his fingers.

"Not really? The voice said welcome to the Green Lantern cops?"

"Close, little man" Mr. Jordan chuckled, "My friend and I are part of the Green Lantern Corps. We help protect the universe, pretty much space cops if ya ask me"

"You get to travel into space! Awesome!" Danny literally brightened as his green glow intensified. "But why isn't hers green?"

"Your friend is actually part of the Blue Lantern Corps. They're a little different from us but we work together from time to time. They like to spread hope throughout the universe"

"Hope. It said I had the power to instill great hope. But why me? And why did they choose him?" her voice wavered as she turned to Mr. Stewart with a grave lookin his eyes.

"That... That is something neither of us can answer for you" he admitted, a solemn lookin his eyes as he placed a hand on her shoulder, "But we'll do our best to help you two with this"

"Its unprecedented for either Corps to choose children" Mr.Jordan frowned before looking towards Danny again, "What are you two doing in the middle of the woods?"

"I wanted to see the stars" Danny admitted sheepishly, all of this started from his request to their parents. They wouldn't be in this mess if he just watched from home like always, heck Mr. and Mrs.Foley had offered to take Danny and Tucker camping once school let out if he wanted to (but no he couldn't wait a month, he needed them now). "So mom and dad brought us camping but then the stars--- the rings started chasing us and we got lost"

"That must of been scary huh guys?" Mr.Jordan gave a look to Mr.Stewart and the man walked away a bit, placing a finger into his ear and whispering. How weird.

"So you guys are siblings?" he turned to Jazz, she just nodded slowly, took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. She kept rubbing the blue ring on her hand as she did. "Do you guys mind telling me your name?'

Jazz still had that worried look in her eyes, like when she knew the turkey would come back to life in any second but mom kept saying it'd be fine. (Jazz was always right, it was always the same every Christmas). His sister liked to think she was a grown up and didn't get nervous talking with strangers but she was still a kid like him. He would be brave for Jazz!

"I'm Danny and that's my big sis Jazz"

"Its nice to meet you two, or well at least know your names now?"

"Jordan"

"Hold right there"

The two adults just kept talking in whispers, looking back at them every few seconds, Jazz wasn't sure what to make of them but they were the ones who knew the most about the situation. Danny also had a pretty good sense for people and they seemed friendly but she also knew better than to trust complete strangers. Stranger danger was very much ingrained to them at a young age. Jazz knew it was rude but couldn't help but hear Mr.Jordan's outburst of "Seriously, nothing? Its been hours"

It seemed like forever before the adults came back and gave them strained smiles in turn.

"Well kids we're going to help you guys find your camp and make sure you get back to your parents" Mr.Jordan winked.

"We'll also explain more about the rings and what they mean while we wait. Sounds like a plan?" Mr. Stewart made sure to look at them in the eyes and didn't move until they both nodded in agreement.

"Okay"

The brother-sister duo didn't know what they were getting into when they went camping that day but everything was in motion, a new path diverging in time to create a brilliant new future; tragedy, love, and courage would always be on their path no matter how much he'd tried to avoid, it was inevitable. He could only witness as they embarked on this journey together and bring about the Rebirth with allies at their sides.

And he couldn't wait to meet them again, in due time.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #Lantern Au #Green Lantern Danny Fenton #Blue Lantern Jazz Fenton #Concerned GLs #they basically emotionally adopt these kids #disregard canon do phanfiction #QwQ I was actually halfway done but it wasn't save on mobile #theyre debating whether or not to contact CPS #Or even keep the rings but Guardians refuse to take them back #its for science #or thats what they say #this may or may not have spiraled out of control #also am basing GL on select cartoon lore so sorry in advance #didnt mean for the ending to sound so cryptic

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