#even in a non-romantic setting too!!! like HE WANTS LOVE

[hassianlovebot]

It’s criminal there’s no touchstarved hassian fics out there I have a NEED

YOURE SO RIGHT

now i'm imagining a little drabble where the player is hanging out in his grove and hugging tau. and hassian is just fondgazing both of them while poeting in his head about how he wants that too :')

hassian, looking at player petting and hugging tau:

[magiefish]

I think old interviews and reading/listening to DWEU stuff has slow cooked me into being a bit of a one-sided Turlough/Five shipper (maybe, maybe not) out of pure pragmatism, because these writers are constantly introducing ship-tease / love interests for Turlough and just. Not really doing anything with them because obviously you can't develop one-off characters into influential fully-fledged convincing relationships. And you can't do Tegan x Turlough because no, and then they try to do the whole 'Turlough was in love with Nyssa' thing and it's like okay?? If you factor in the older!Nyssa arc and those three years they spent in Brisbane then maybe, but also we all know by now that she either ends up with her husband or later probably Tegan so that's not going to go anywhere.

And at best the reason I can come up with for why they keep doing this is because Mark Strickson might have had an interest in Turlough having a love interest on the show just because it would have given him a more well-developed relationship with another character and maybe something to do post-Enlightenment. So everyone just keeps on bending over backwards, trying to conjure a female love interest for Turlough, who is both long-term and convincing, and it's like.

Guys. I can think of someone who he has a long-term relationship with and who was also key to his character arc and who he also literally defied god for.

Like *hand on their shoulder* There is another way. But you're not going to like it.

[hyperlexichypatia]

As I keep shouting into the void, pathologizers love shifting discussion about material conditions into discussion about emotional states.

I rant approximately once a week about how the brain maturity myth transmuted “Young adults are too poor to move out of their parents’ homes or have children of their own” into “Young adults are too emotionally and neurologically immature to move out of their parents’ homes or have children of their own.”

I’ve also talked about the misuse of “enabling” and “trauma” and “dopamine” .

And this is a pattern – people coin terms and concepts to describe material problems, and pathologization culture shifts them to be about problems in the brain or psyche of the person experiencing them. Now we’re talking about neurochemicals, frontal lobes, and self-esteem instead of talking about wages, wealth distribution, and civil rights. Now we can say that poor, oppressed, and exploited people are suffering from a neurological/emotional defect that makes them not know what’s best for themselves, so they don’t need or deserve rights or money.

Here are some terms that have been so horribly misused by mental health culture that we’ve almost entirely forgotten that they were originally materialist critiques.

Codependency What it originally referred to: A non-addicted person being overly “helpful” to an addicted partner or relative, often out of financial desperation. For example: Making sure your alcoholic husband gets to work in the morning (even though he’s an adult who should be responsible for himself) because if he loses his job, you’ll lose your home. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/08/opinion/codependency-addiction-recovery.html What it’s been distorted into: Being “clingy,” being “too emotionally needy,” wanting things like affection and quality time from a partner. A way of pathologizing people, especially young women, for wanting things like love and commitment in a romantic relationship.

Compulsory Heterosexuality What it originally referred to: In the 1980 in essay "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence," https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/doi/abs/10.1086/493756 Adrienne Rich described compulsory heterosexuality as a set of social conditions that coerce women into heterosexual relationships and prioritize those relationships over relationships between women (both romantic and platonic). She also defines “lesbian” much more broadly than current discourse does, encompassing a wide variety of romantic and platonic relationships between women. While she does suggest that women who identify as heterosexual might be doing so out of unquestioned social norms, this is not the primary point she’s making. What it’s been distorted into: The patronizing, biphobic idea that lesbians somehow falsely believe themselves to be attracted to men. Part of the overall “Women don’t really know what they want or what’s good for them” theme of contemporary discourse.

Emotional Labor What it originally referred to: The implicit or explicit requirement that workers (especially women workers, especially workers in female-dominated “pink collar” jobs, especially tipped workers) perform emotional intimacy with customers, coworkers, and bosses above and beyond the actual job being done. Having to smile, be “friendly,” flirt, give the impression of genuine caring, politely accept harassment, etc. https://weld.la.psu.edu/what-is-emotional-labor/ What it’s been distorted into: Everything under the sun. Everything from housework (which we already had a term for), to tolerating the existence of disabled people, to just caring about friends the way friends do. The original intent of the concept was “It’s unreasonable to expect your waitress to care about your problems, because she’s not really your friend,” not “It’s unreasonable to expect your actual friends to care about your problems unless you pay them, because that’s emotional labor,” and certainly not “Disabled people shouldn’t be allowed to be visibly disabled in public, because witnessing a disabled person is emotional labor.” Anything that causes a person emotional distress, even if that emotional distress is rooted in the distress-haver’s bigotry (Many nominally progressive people who would rightfully reject the bigoted logic of “Seeing gay or interracial couples upsets me, which is emotional labor, so they shouldn’t be allowed to exist in public” fully accept the bigoted logic of “Seeing disabled or poor people upsets me, which is emotional labor, so they shouldn’t be allowed to exist in public”).

Battered Wife Syndrome What it originally referred to: The all-encompassing trauma and fear of escalating violence experienced by people suffering ongoing domestic abuse, sometimes resulting in the abuse victim using necessary violence in self-defense. Because domestic abuse often escalates, often to murder, this fear is entirely rational and justified. This is the reasonable, justified belief that someone who beats you, stalks you, and threatens to kill you may actually kill you.

What it’s been distorted into: Like so many of these other items, the idea that women (in this case, women who are victims of domestic violence) don’t know what’s best for themselves. I debated including this one, because “syndrome” was a wrongful framing from the beginning – a justified and rational fear of escalating violence in a situation in which escalating violence is occurring is not a “syndrome.” But the original meaning at least partially acknowledged the material conditions of escalating violence.

I’m not saying the original meanings of these terms are ones I necessarily agree with – as a cognitive liberty absolutist, I’m unsurprisingly not that enamored of either second-wave feminism or 1970s addiction discourse. And as much as I dislike what “emotional labor” has become, I accept that “Women are unfairly expected to care about other people’s feelings more than men are” is a true statement.

What I am saying is that all of these terms originally, at least partly, took material conditions into account in their usage. Subsequent usage has entirely stripped the materialist critique and fully replaced it with emotional pathologization, specifically of women. Acknowledgement that women have their choices constrained by poverty, violence, and oppression has been replaced with the idea that women don’t know what’s best for themselves and need to be coercively “helped” for their own good. Acknowledgement that working-class women experience a gender-and-class-specific form of economic exploitation has been rebranded as yet another variation of “Disabled people are burdensome for wanting to exist.”

Over and over, materialist critiques are reframed as emotional or cognitive defects of marginalized people. The next time you hear a superficially sympathetic (but actually pathologizing) argument for “Marginalized people make bad choices because…” consider stopping and asking: “Wait, who are we to assume that this person’s choices are ‘bad’? And if they are, is there something about their material conditions that constrains their options or makes the ‘bad’ choice the best available option?”

[burymagdalene]

Chateau Lobby #4 - S. Reid x Reader

Whilst trying to navigate romantic relationships after prison, Spencer finds himself in love and caught in an all-too-serious non-relationship with reader. Wanting to break this streak, he asks to spend Valentine's Day properly with a real date. Afterward, they find themselves desperate with trying to express their love for each other.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut (18+ pls pls), fluff, and maybe a bit of angst at the start tags: switch!Spencer, blowjob, fingering, a bit of munch!Spencer, pinv sex, age gap (not explicit, but I was foaming at the mouth thinking about it while writing), praise, riding, creampie, lots of teasing and love… all that jazz. wc: 6.9k ;-) a/n: Happy Valentine's Day! I had to name this one after essentially the best love song ever. I kiss all of you!

Work is grueling as usual, couples flooded the diner you work at for their pre- Valentine’s Day festivities with flowers in hand and shit eating grins plastered to stay.

Yet, you’re off soon and you can taste your freedom just like the stale coffee you’ve been throwing back all day as the bell to the front door jingles with more fervor than usual,

“I want to take you out. Properly. Friday. It’ll be a good, proper, date. Yeah.”

You blink in bewilderment, apron tied around your waist as Spencer proposes your first actual date at the kitschy restaurant you work at. 

After Spencer got out of prison, his perceptions around a genuine connection in a relationship seemed to be as distant a reality as the person who he was before prison. Upon meeting you, a small radiant glow around you at all times as you poured him his coffee during his lunch breaks beckoned him into this altercation he’s in now with you.

The dull incessant nagging on his shoulder at all times whispering his new inadequacies in relationships has steered him into a solitude state he has never experienced before. You couldn’t possibly stoop so low to fall for an ex-convict? Would he even call himself that? Would you? 

Most importantly, he had no idea how to steer a relationship before this complete 180 in his life, and now he’s even more lost to the tenderness he’s craving so deeply it hurts to even give himself a taste of optimism within the relationship he’s developed with you.

Spencer has somehow held himself back from you in all these months in such a critical way that it has resulted in a bond which the concept of he’s priorly abhorred. You only have sex. 

Well, that’s kind of impossible for him. Only sex. But every time he’s seen you, been with you alone, it has led to sweat mingling and his dry whining. You two can’t help but to talk about your lives, your passions, can’t help but give each other sickening support and kindness that makes him nervously chew the skin of his thumbnail. 

Despite how much he thinks about something genuine between you two, in reality, he just gets scared. Simply put. He has seen and been through unimaginable horrors, it scares him to bare that to another person, to someone who brings aid to him. Pushing you away in any sort is not something he can handle, so instead he’s managed to come up with a only slightly agonizing set up for the both of you.

It’s better than confessing completely and inevitably driving you away with his damages. 

Except, this clearly hasn’t worked out. It’s February, he’s been seeing you every weekend for months and Spencer cannot bear the thought of taking all of your time like this and you getting nothing on Valentine’s Day. It sickens him, it strikes him one night. If you told him that some other guy you were seeing had put you in the exact situation he’s put you in, and you’re not even receiving flowers and an all expenses paid dinner on Valentine’s Day, he’d personally show up to his apartment and kill him.

 So he’s finally stepped up.

A sweep of bravery flooded his senses on his lunch break, and he was up on his feet walking to where he knows you are at this time without even thinking.

Your manager, however, was not as excited about this distracting public confession, and grumbled out a prompt for you to leave early before causing a further hindrance, and now you two are sitting next to each other on the curb outside. 

Spencer is staring holes into the side of your smiling face as you pick a loose string from your jeans.

“I can’t believe you asked me out at work,” you giggle and shift your gaze at him for a split second “didn’t really know if you even liked me.”

“What? Of course I like you, you’re the only person I spend time with.”

“Hm. Yeah, it’s just confusing sometimes. I really like you, but usually when guys like you back they want to take you out, ha.”

You end your sentence with a dry laugh that explains to Spencer how you’ve been feeling throughout the time you’ve been sleeping together. 

“I’m so sorry. I just- I thought it would be easier on you. Than for you to actually be with me. Why didn’t you mention anything?”

You sniff, like knowing that what you’re about to say is probably a bit too mean to say to someone who just asked you to be his valentine.

“Why should it be on me to say something, you don’t tell me anything. Nothing about how you feel about me, apparently. I never said anything because I was going to put up with whatever until you dropped me because I care about seeing you too much.”

That makes Spencer shift his gaze to his own knees in front of him.

“Yeah, I’m unfair. I guess I just assumed that because you’re more confrontational than I am.”

“Am I though?”

Spencer sighs, with how many times you’ve dogged on him for certain things he’s said or done, yes. But you’ve never really mentioned how the relationship was impacting you, it’s easier for you to bring up menial topics to him, he guesses. 

“No, you’re not.” He finalizes.

You huff out a laugh and place a kiss on his blazer-clad shoulder– a peace offering. Grabbing his arm, you pull his jacket sleeve up to check the time. 

“I’m gonna drive home before you have to go back to work. I’m sorry I was mean. I’m really excited to go on a date with you friday. I’ve never had a Valentine’s Day date.” 

Standing up, you brush off your concrete imprinted palms on the back of your jeans before tilting up Spencer’s chin (he’s remained utterly still sitting on the curb) to meet your gaze. He looks away slightly to your shoes and rests his forehead against your stomach, a wordless apology as he nods against you. 

Again, you place your palms to his cheeks to look at you, he’s always had a problem with maintaining eye contact for long periods of time.

“And…you mr. gentleman, are you excited to wine and dine me?”

Spencer’s kicked-puppy look dissipates as his love-struck smile takes its place.

“Yes. I actually think it’s going to be the best night I’ve had since… maybe since I’ve met you.”

Smiling, you’re satisfied.

“That’s right. Okay, Spencer. Thank you. I’ll see you Friday.”

You try to suppress your grin as you spin away on your heels, but Spencer catches it before you turn and it heats his frigid body from sitting outside for so long. How has he been so dumb all this time? Somehow it being easy with you, painfully easy to be treated tenderly by you, since the beginning has slipped his mind. Of course, an actual relationship with you would come as naturally as it has since you started. 

He’s never been so sure of it. 

✵

Spencers looking at himself in the bathroom mirror as the bouquet he picked up for you and the personally annotated book he’s giving you sit on his kitchen table, awaiting his arrival to put their still existence into motion. 

He knows you well, he’s intently stored away every single piece of information you have given him. He knows everything you’ve been through, the best day of your life, what turns you on so much you get embarrassed… so on and so forth. Yet, he’s staring at his pre-date reflection right now seeing how his face has drained of all color. 

The restaurant he picked has been mentioned by Rossi a few times as a favorite. Fancy, Italian, expensive, and Spencer was able to get a reservation by the skin of his teeth for Valentine’s Day because he (regrettably) had to pull a “I know David Rossi, yeah..” on the phone a few days ago. 

So he should be rather prepared, he knows where you’re going, he’s been on a date before, sure. Yet…

Spencer flicks off the light in his bathroom to force himself away from the mirror, agonizing over his face isn’t productive in the least. You already know what he looks like. 

He drives in complete silence to your apartment, he’s already anxious as ever and he has to be behind the wheel, which is not his forte. But the thought of seeing you in the passenger seat glowing after a fancy meal appeals to him so greatly his stomach swirls.

Spencer’s early, of course. He couldn’t not be. He was probably ready for the date 3 hours before the time he said he would pick you up at. With this day off he’s been able to sit and pace and freak out for hours. Great. 

When he knocks with the fist holding the book for you he hears frantic scrambling for thirty seconds or so before you swing the door open– 

“Spencer!” You gasp belatedly when you see the flowers, “oh my god! Come in, I need to put my shoes on and I’m good to go.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, so pretty…” Spencer mumbles against the top of your head when you pull him into a greeting hug.

“Mmm. Happy Valentine’s Day. You smell good.”

You can’t help yourself, wrapping your arms around Spencer’s neck and pulling him into a kiss immediately. All too easy, you’re used to your mouths working furiously together. It's like another language for you.

But Spencer is pulling away slightly, speaking against your lips, “I'm trying to take you on a date first.”

Groaning lightly you start kissing him again, resulting in his hands placed on your waist slowly peeling you off him. Spencer's hands and lips have a mind of their own though, his hands are firmly pushing you off as his lips chase yours as you separate.

Laughing, you tilt your head to one side to inspect him, “So after the date you’ll get me home by 8:00 and give me a chaste kiss goodnight?”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head at your toying. 

“If you’ll let me, I’ll fuck you after the date. But, sure I’ll also give you a chaste goodnight kiss, though it’s 7:30 so you can rule out being home by 8:00. Sorry.” He pulls in his lips and raises his eyebrows as if to say, that’s that. 

“If I’ll let you?”

“Right.”

“Mmkay.”

“And… if you like it I can do that again and again,” he chuckles and rubs his forehead with his palm, “and then I’ll take you on a second date.”

You avert your eyes to hide the tell tale signs of you flustered, hating whenever he gets the upper hand in flirting because you can not take it as well as Spencer can when you dish it out.

“Whatever-” whipping your head around trying to locate your shoes Spencer giggles under his breath, your presence has totally eased his nerves. He watches you pick up your heeled boots and he kneels slowly in front of you to place them on your feet.

“You’re sweet,” at your words Spencer smiles to himself and zips up the sides of your boots. “I’m so excited for the rest of the night if this is gonna be my treatment.”

“What? Princess treatment? You should be excited, I’m going to be cutting your food and feeding it to you.”

“Ooh. Waving me with a big leaf and feeding me grapes?”

“Something like that. Yeah.” He smiles and stands up, grasping your hands to help you up. “Very pretty. You look beautiful.”

“You look beautiful too,” you poke his side, “I love this maroon tie. I wish you would let me kiss you.”

Spencer sighs at your dramatics and cups your face for a soft kiss. You sigh into it and he kisses your neck once in finality. 

“Better?”

Smiling bashfully, you nod. 

✵

The looks of the restaurant struck you immediately, and there is a nervous prickling at your spine that happens when you’re in fancier places than you think you deserve– a feeling of being a persona non grata. 

To hide your insecurity, you grasp Spencer’s hand as he tells the hostess the reservation name and whistle lowly below your breath at the long draping lace curtains around the room and the barely-there candlelight illuminating the entirety of the restaurant. 

Sitting down, you immediately start the date with a joke that falls flat, “So, do you take all your ladies here on the first date?”

Either Spencer thought the joke was distasteful or he didn’t get it, either way he furrowed his brows and shifted his eyes to the side for a moment like he’s looking around for a translation from a bystander.

“No?”

“I’m just- yeah, I’m kidding. Sorry. I’m nervous.”

“I was really nervous before getting you tonight, my hair… I don’t know.”

“Ha, seriously?” Unbelievable you think, his hair is slightly wind ruffled and his curls look ringlet-y, you never could wrap your head around the tales of the plain mean teasing over his looks he’s lived through. “You’re extremely handsome, I tell you that.”

“You do. I wanted to impress you.”

“You do.” 

The whole dinner fills your stomach with butterflies that mixes extraordinarily well with whatever red wine Spencer ordered for the two of you. It has you leaning forward when you laugh, has you running your foot up and down the inside of his calf, causing his voice to spike up two octaves whenever you trail up slowly.

Spencer halts your movements quickly though, grabbing lightly at your ankle to stop its ministrations, making you hum around your fork and him roll his eyes light heartedly. 

The night was going very well once your romantic jitters melted away into a comfortability you felt you could only possess when around Spencer, something nobody else has given you before. 

It was utterly ridiculous, feeling so lovey dovey, you can see how the holiday has some emotional merit to it and isn’t just a capitalist money grab to drain the pockets of couples and make single women feel unworthy. Though maybe you’re just feeling that because you’re not on the victims end of the money grab, regardless…

On the other side of the booth, Spencer has been spiralling into a clusterfuck of thoughts around how much more deeply invested he is in you than he thought. You’re here though, you didn’t turn down his proposal and you kept mentioning how excited you are.

Still, every exhale out of his lungs is a shudder in fear of a looming rejection of an inquisition he’s not even sure he’s going to ask, or if it’s already set in place. Are you dating? 

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Um, ahh, um, are we dating?’

What an idiot!

You burst out laughing. Jesus, he must’ve been sick mulling over the aftermath of the date going back to your former dynamic of who even knows what. You couldn’t possibly live with the idea either, but are probably more keen on living in the moment than Spencer.

“You wanna date me? Be my boyfriend?” Your laughter is trailing off, but you have a smile as you say it from giddiness rather than mocking.

A gust of air then, “More than anything.”

The chilly air outside that was previously cooling both of your anxieties upon entering the restaurant meets the same warm cheeks for an opposing reason now. Hand in hand, you walk with full bellies back to Spencer’s car.

Filled with the first secure sense of trust and vulnerability in your life, hand in hand you swing your arms together like a lovesick teenager. 

All hesitation around what you could do or say to drive Spencer away flies out into the abrasive February air and off with the wind, so you ask, 

“When, if you know, did you first realize that you.. like-liked me?”

“Like-like huh? Haven’t heard that one in a while.” Spencer opens the passenger side door for you and guides you in with a palm on your lower back. He watches you buckle yourself in and leans his arms against the top of the car, looking down at where you’re seated he contemplates his answer seriously.

“I knew I like-liked you once I first saw you brushing your teeth in my bathroom the first night you stayed over. Hm. Yeah, I was watching from the doorway in awe, and seeing you do something so… banal, and it tearing me open. I wanted to see it every night.” He shuts the door and walks to his side as you sit staring out the window where he once was.

Spencer turns his car key, putting on your seat warmer before his own, and rubs your cheek with his thumb. “I really enjoyed myself tonight.”

“I first knew I loved you when you picked me up from work when it was raining. I’m not even sure what, but seeing your wet hair and maybe that getting your suit wet didn’t matter at all to you… I just felt so… I went home and stared at my hands all wet for like an hour. Then I woke up the next day with a cold, ha. I’m… so, yeah.”

You know what you said, you’re not shocked it came out and you didn’t want to really avoid it anymore with frivolous watered-down terms. 

Spencer laughs and places his forehead against the wheel at a stoplight. “You’re perfect. I can’t believe it, I’m so lucky and you’re so perfect and I realized I love you now in the same way I realized I did when you were in my bathroom. It feels the same.”

✵

Now you’re back at Spencer’s apartment. Head tilted up and pressed against his front door as he’s fumbling with taking off your coat while simultaneously kissing away your lipstick, it rubbing on his chin in a smudged crimson streak.

Your thumbs are looped through the belt hoops in his trousers as you’re pulling his hips against your own.

Spencer always has a way of kissing you that feels all consuming, and you think you cannot possibly kiss anyone else in your life without implementing everything you’ve learned about kissing Spencer. Every kiss in your future would be executed to roll Spencer Reid’s eyes back, you can’t possibly kiss anyone ever again.

Sucking on your top lip, he flings your coat to the ground and wraps his greedy arms around your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. 

It’s almost a grounding exercise within itself to make out with Spencer, you can’t possibly hear, feel, see or taste anything other than him when he’s this way. The universe exists solely between your lips and the way your overactive brains become a fuzzy-soft blend of peace when you’re passing your tongues between mouths is placating.

Still puppeteering Spencer through his belt hoops, you move him towards his worn leather couch you’ve associated his scent with. Spencer is sat with his legs spread open in a lazy manspread as you stand and look down at him.

“Should I sit?” You poke teasingly, knowing by the dick print shining through his trousers that he could beg for it pretty easily. Spencer nods slowly, pulling his hands from his sides to grab onto your hips to pull you down.

You stop him though, arm placed firmly on his shoulder, halting yourself from falling onto him. You would like to hear how badly he wants it. 

“Woah, tiger. I think I asked you something, no?” you’re laughing plainly at the grovelling face he makes that you know he doesn’t realize he’s making. Ever the overreaction. 

“Yes. You should sit.” He grumbles.

“Why?”

“Because I know how much you like to feel yourself against me when you’re needy like this, and…I want to do everything for you. Because if I don’t have you against me soon I’m going to fall apart.”

Sounds good enough.

Humming happily you straddle Spencer’s lap and reattach your lips onto his, welcoming the inevitable swollen look with no complaint. Without hesitation, you wiggle your hips contentedly against his crotch. Spencer's sharp inhale of pleasure never gets old. 

 Cupping your jaw into his warm hands he whispers against your lips, “This a good enough reason, or should I give you one more?”

Gasping lightly against the friction you’re creating you respond, “Sounds like you want to give me another reason anyway.”

“I can always feel the way you tighten your legs around my hips. It happens almost instantly every time… like you have to brace yourself to feel me against you. I can always tell how badly you want it.”

He’s mumbling against your neck as he says it, partly because he can feel your pulse race against his lips and partly to hide how red he gets when he feels brave enough to talk this dirty to you.

Once he starts sucking a mark onto the sensitive part of your neck, every nerve in your body is on high alert to each move he makes and you need to part, if only briefly, to regain your composure, you’re all too frazzled, a live wire.

“Spence, can I suck you off?”

The pained half-groan half-laugh Spencer lets out is exactly what you expected to hear as you crawl down on the floor between his legs, rubbing his thighs up and down with open palms. 

“Y-yeah. Um. Why should you, I mean, why should I let you?”

He’s failing miserably at trying to make a call back to your prior teasing, too impacted by the visual of you between his thighs to make a coherent, taunting remark. 

“Because I’m supposed to be getting the princess treatment.” You unzip his pants slowly while looking into his half-lidded eyes.

Your heart always flutters at this part. Before you find your usual rhythm you always assume that you’re going to forget everything you’ve learned about sucking dick and ruin the atmosphere, the pressure of caring is almost always crushing.

Still, you find yourself eagerly pulling his dick out of his underwear, and shuffling towards him more till your arms are overtop his upper thighs and the top of your head is brushing his lower stomach, which curls inward when you place kisses up his length.

“Woah-” Spencer whispers out as you continue to kiss him lightly. Instead of crudely grabbing your hair or face, his hands find themselves behind his head as he lengthens his body out like a cat sunbathing. 

Running the tip of your tongue across his frenulum, Spencer twists his hips to the side, trying to run away from the pleasure and as a result his cock wipes against your cheek. You grab the base now, keeping it steady so it’s not like you’re working on a moving canvas and take the tip into your mouth.

You place your tongue out, covering your bottom teeth enough so you’re comforted in knowing you’re not going to scrape him, and suck lightly while moving your tongue that's against the bottom of his tip in circles. 

“That’s! That’s enough, okay. Jesus.” Spencer says a bit too loud and jolts your system, which was just falling into a methodological pace.

Pulling back, you lick your lips and pull them into your mouth, tasting him even when he’s not in your mouth anymore and look at him expectantly.

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean that. I was going to cum. You can keep going… only if you want.” He tries to save his little oversensitive outburst from mere seconds ago. 

Wordless, you move back to what you were doing. You want to listen to him a bit though, as a treat, so you take more of him into your mouth instead of focusing all of your energy on the most sensitive part of him. Spencer hums in content and his head falls back against the couch. 

A small trickle of your spit is slipping out and running down his cock, you always feel so embarrassed when it gets messy, you don’t know why, you don’t feel awkward at all when Spencer is going down on you so enthusiastically that you can feel his saliva running down your inner legs. 

Now you’re thinking about how good it feels when he’s going down on you. You whine softly around him and put a hand that was resting on his thigh to rub over your tights and underwear from where you reach under your dress.

Spencer was already close earlier, watching you try to touch yourself as you give him head is simply too much again. 

“Angel, d-done, I’m…okay-”

You pull off of him with a pop and the trail of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his dick stretches and breaks as you talk.

“Can we go to your bedroom please?” it's hoarse and rough but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“Come ‘ere.” Spencer stretches out his hands to you so he can pull you up from his carpet. Tucking himself back into his underwear for some semblance of modesty, you two walk the short trip to his bedroom as you hold onto his arm.

Like it's your own, you jump and land on your back onto his comforter which all but swallows you whole as you relax against it, excitement thrumming through your veins as if your cells are chanting “my turn, my turn!”

Spencer lithely crawls on top of you, sitting on his knees as his thighs cage yours in. 

“You looked so pretty tonight, I’m almost mourning having to take all this off.”

“Almost, though.”

“Yeah, I know I’ll probably cheer up pretty quickly when I do, huh?”

You laugh and cover your face with your hands, it’s so stupid but he always makes you feel like you're melting all over when he’s being corny. 

Soon enough, Spencer is peeling your tights down with your underwear, and you’re squirming along with him while trying to help and shimmy out of your dress and bra. For a small second, Spencer pulls away to take off his blazer and roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Leaning down on one forearm by your head, he begins kissing you again. Your mouths work together as his other hand trails his fingertips incredibly light against your inner thigh. Biting down softly on his bottom lip, a plea. Spencer uses his middle and ring finger to gather your wetness up to your clit.

The circles he’s rubbing against you leave you moaning and whining against his open mouth as he kisses you through it, maybe throwing in a few “aw’s” or hums in approval as he continues to work his fingers against you.

You both know exactly where this is leading to, and he always has to thoroughly prep you so that you can painlessly take all of him. Those same fingers move against your opening now, Spencer places the middle finger against you and is met with little resistence, so he begins fucking you slowly with it.

Back arching up so your chests brush against each other, Spencer take’s your opportunity of bliss to slip in another finger, scissoring you open as wet sounds emanate between your thighs. 

With two of his fingers in you now, his efforts to kiss your lips have become harder than ever as you become more and more nonverbal and increasingly whiny. 

“Where’d all your teasing go? What happened to calling the shots?” Murmured at your chin as your jaw opens with a whimper. You shake your head, you can’t entertain this, he’s kicking you while you’re down and it’s not right!

Looking down, Spencer see’s your toes curling in and slowly pulls his fingers out of you, a loud suction-y noise following his absence. You blink your eyes open blearily, trying to refocus yourself and reorient yourself into this living plane.

Spencer has stealthily moved down to where your legs are spread open and he’s looking at you exposed with so much adoration in his eyes that even though you’re blinking away tears, you can see it clearly. He’s in love with you.

“Oh, please.” You gasp out, trying to cut to the chase before Spencer asks if he can eat you out. He smiles, and asks anyway to frustrate you good naturedly. 

“Do you want me to return the favor, my valentine?” he swoons.

“Yeah, uhhuh, please.”

“I saw you touching yourself when you were using your mouth on me earlier,” he moves his head between its rightful home in between your thighs, “were you thinking about how good it feels to be in that position?”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Lucky you then, huh?”

“M-mhm!”

He’s tired of hearing himself talking now, he just wants to be nestled into your pussy and let his tongue work you up in a more productive way than pitiful teasing.

With the palm of his hand flat against your very lower belly, Spencer simultaneously pushes down and up, exposing more of your clit to him and adding pressure to your stomach. He kisses your clit and pokes his tongue out as you lightly circle it as your hips squirm.

Intermittently, Spencer suctions your clit, pulls away completely, and goes back in to repeat the pattern. You’re smeared over his lips and chin and half convinced that he keeps pulling back to see your strings of come stick to his lips.

He changes methods, using his tongue to lick and suck at the source of your slick, nose prodding at your clit. You take it into your own hands to increase the stimulation on your clit as you rock your hips against his nose, Spencer muffles a moan into you.

Recognizing this, Spencer pulls back up to attach his lips back to your needy clit. Through his lips he’s running his tongue against you and the pleasure is unrelenting and intense. The exact stuff that makes you come.

“P-please stay there.” You manage to whimper out, the thought of him changing positions or rhythm is too scary for you to stay silent when you’re this close to finishing. You can feel him smile against you as he stays where you want him to.

Your hands reach for his hair as you thread it between your fingers, the silky stands grounding you to the bed before you prepare to come and fly out to wherever in the space-time-continuum Spencer takes you whenever he goes down on you.

Eventually, the pleasure gets to be too much for you to stifle and savor off much longer, you’re too greedy to ask him to edge you too. You don’t have enough willpower to put this off, you can ask him to eat you out for hours and hours some other day.

With one last suction, stars dance behind your eyelids as Spencer holds your hips down to suck off every last bit of come you have for him, trying his best to lick you clean when you finish all over his face. 

There’s nothing to do but take a slow deep breath in and a long deep breath out as you put the pieces of your brain back together. Once you do, Spencer is up by your face again as he was earlier while fingering you, and he’s palming himself over his underwear.

“Okay?” He asks through pleasure filled furrowed brows.

Nodding, you laugh, you can still feel yourself throbbing for Christ’s sake. Spencer nuzzles his nose against your cheek and kisses your jaw. You let your eyes close again, the feeling of his lips against your skin calming down your racing heart.

It’s a completely silent and peaceful atmosphere of Spencer kissing where he can as you come down until you feel his curious fingers swipe at your clit again. Immediately, your eyes snap open.

“I can’t- I can’t.” You bargain like your life is on the line.

Spencer pulls his fingers away for a moment, looking into your eyes and rubbing it once more as you gasp so hard a strand of hair in Spencer’s face blows to the side, he leaves you alone then.

You cannot fathom how Spencer is almost fully clothed right now. With shaky, malleable limbs, you pull him a bit closer to you and slowly pop each button of his top open. He’s watching your fingers work against his shirt as he continues to rub himself over his underwear gently.

Laying flat beside you know, Spencer lifts his hips up to pull his underwear down finally. Like a moth to a flame, you sit up and take him into your hand again, missing the feel of him hard against you, you note that you want to ride him more than anything. 

“Spencer, darling, can I ride you?”

For a moment he has an unreadable face, but you know that gears are turning in his head at such a rate that he can’t compute them into a response yet.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you.”

You roll your eyes.

“Spencer, darling, can I ride you for a bit?”

“Yes.” 

He responds just as you finish your sentence, eagerly pulling your wrist so you can straddle him again for the second time tonight.

Sitting right below where is cock is hard, you wrap your hands around him and place him up to your stomach, displaying how deep he’s going to be inside of you once you’re fully settled on him, at his dazed face you tease, “deep, huh?”

Spencer shuts his eyes in embarrassment, but his dick twitches and you smile down at it like it’s giving you Spencer’s insider secrets that he can’t say out loud. 

Lifting yourself up, you shakily rub him over your entrance a few times before sitting down slowly on his head. You both whine as you start, Spencer's hand on your hip rubbing circles while his eyes are still closed.

You want him to watch so badly. You sink down further, almost all the way with a small squeal that has Spencer’s eyes opening and his stomach tightening, checking to see if you’re in any pain. 

“M’ okay. Fucking big, can’t get used to it.” You trail off.

A light pink blush appears on his cheeks like your compliment had come from a sweeter, more innocent place in your heart. You place your palms on his chest as you take a deep breath in and sink down all the way. 

“Fuck- perfect. You okay?” Spencer speaks through his teeth at your whining as you accommodate him.

Again you laugh to take the fiery attention completely off of you, “So much dick.”

“Stopp.” Spencer whines. He feels so much like a dude when you compliment him like this, his ego doesn’t even know what to do with these extremely filthy compliments. He assumes you feel the same way when he’s fingering you and won’t shut up about how you feel and sound. 

Starting with small circles, it feels like Spencer is churning you as deliciously as humanly possible. The more small movements you give the deeper the need to actually ride him is, you stop holding back and start picking up your hips against his as your nails dig indents into his chest. 

Spencer’s singing out soft uh’s with each pass of your hips and you’re (unfortunately) not able to match his sweet pleads as you’re holding back full and embodied moans that slip out when you angle him perfectly inside you. 

You want to swindle it so that Spencer forgets about your prior compromise and lets you ride him till he’s coming inside of you, but when your hips stutter briefly with exhaustion, he notices immediately.

“Flip over.”

Pretending to be mad, you roll your eyes and lay flat on your back, the stretch of removing yourself from him making you suck in air between your teeth.

“Felt so good, did so good for me, please let me do that for you.” Spencer whispers into your ear as he positions you onto your side.

One of his arms from behind you is holding up your thigh closest to him, inadvertently spreading you open for him to be inside you once again. With one of his hands on your thigh and the other propping himself up for a good angle, you take matters into your own hands, lining him up with yourself again.

As easy as ever, Spencer pushes his hips slowly as he enters you from the side and your head falls to the pillow, allowing Spencer access to your ear and side of your neck.

When he finds his rhythm, he gets more confident, gaining his voice to mutter praises and filth into your ear as he fucks you.

“What’d I say? Told you I was gonna fuck you, jus’ had to be patient. Jesus, always so patient for me, with me. I’m sorry…”

You can tell he’s not exactly referring to his act of fucking you right now, moreso the push and pull he’s put you through for months. But it feels good to hear, Spencer's emotions are spilling out since he’s put out everything he’s felt for you on the table.

“Mmf. Would wa-wait forever-” You’re trying to be comforting, you’re getting your brains fucked out. The angle on your side has Spencer’s cock dragging along the front of your vagina, every single toe-curling spot is being rubbed relentlessly.

“Perfect. Perfect.”

The open mouthed kisses Spencer’s leaving on your cheek are wet and sloppy, but wholeheartedly welcome. With his face so close to yours his stubble is rubbing against you, making you whine.

Picking up on the way Spencer’s breathing becomes more shallow, you assume he’s pretty close. All night he’s been starving himself of this and you almost get excited for him, you’re too in deep.

Realizing he’s close after you have realized it, Spencer moves his hand from your inner thigh and starts rubbing your tender clit with his fingers again. Moaning loudly through a closed mouth, you let him this time.

You have to trust him to put you back together to your normal self after this though, you’re expecting a hard second orgasm and after how much the first one took you out, you have to brace yourself as you feel it brewing in the bottom of your belly.

Noticing how you’ve buried your face a bit more into the pillow and are trying to work on steadying your breathing, Spencer picks up quickly how you’re feeling. 

“I got you, you’re okay, you’re okay. I know…” He kisses along your cheek and with a squeak that makes Spencer’s own orgasm arrive, you throb around him and twitch in his arms as you come. 

He’s pressing his body into you as though he’s a weighted blanket, soothing the aftershocks that are thrumming through your entire body with his own. Spencer places his hand against your heart to gauge how you’re doing and begins peppering your skin with kisses.

“Do you feel good?” Spencer’s begun massaging your side and back softly, preventing any sore muscles from developing there before tomorrow hits you.

You come to yourself, before you had panicked, not sure how to trust Spencer completely with the vulnerability you were about to experience, but you’re fine. You’re happy. Coming harder than you have before is not scary because that’s exactly what Spencer wanted from you.

“Yes. I could cry.”

“Baby…”

Slowly you flip over to face him, a little teary but nothing streaming down your face as you plant a kiss on his lips. And then again.

There’s still a small lipstick stain on his jaw from when you were sitting above him on the couch earlier. You trace over it with your finger.

“You’re going to be finding hidden lipstick marks all over your body for weeks…” you smile and close your eyes.

“I hope,” he replies softly and earnestly, “I really like them. I really like you.”

✵

You’re both clean now. Showered and fresh as a daisy, you smell like all the products in Spencer’s shower and you’re standing behind him, arms wrapped around his waist as he dries off his hair in front of the mirror.

You can see his skin is tinged pink from the hot water, creating a sweet blush over his back and shoulders where you press your cheek against. With your skin soft and warm now, you think about the small snow flurries falling outside, how they mean nothing to the warmth coming off you and from inside you.

Spencer moves away from the mirror, allowing you your turn to get fully ready for bed. Taking out the “spare” toothbrush he has that’s essentially yours, you begin brushing your teeth. Feeling eyes looking at you from your side you turn to where Spencer is leaning against the wall and watching you.

Suddenly, you remember what he said earlier in the car, how he realized he loved you. You slow your brushing down and meet his gaze, sure that if someone else were in here to describe your looks it would be a cheesy “eyes shaped like hearts” moment. 

Your heart fills, the toothbrush clatters in his sink as you drop it and run over into his arms, placing kisses all over his lips and face, leaving small streaks of toothpaste behind. 

Through similar frantic kisses Spencer speaks in giggles,

“I still want to see this every night. I need to.”

[sparrows4bats]

Dick Grayson is the victim of his own choices when it comes to Jondami. Aka Dick sets up Jondami, this time on purpose, but quickly regrets it.

Damian grew up to be a beautiful, kind young man, and Dick can't be prouder of him.

When he left Robin to be a doctor Dick had his feelings about it (ie hes growing up so fast! Make it stop!) but respected Damians' choice and gave as much support as possible as he went to med school and started his internship and residentancy. Damian is an adult now, accomplished and intelligent and Dick couldn't be more happy.

The only issue is other people's reactions to Damian.

Ever since, he was reintroduced to hero society for his medical expertise under the code name Nightengale (Tim chose it and suffered Damian's wrath for weeks) Every young hero Dick knows has delevoped 'an admiration' for his baby brother. (They want to get into his pants, but Dick refuses to even think about it), and Dick can't take it anymore!

He deals with this with every member of his family, and eventually, the love lorn stares die down.

But with Damian, they seem to only be increasing over time as he saves more lives and endears the younger heroes with treats and stories of his many pets.

That is his baby, and if they don't stop with the lecherous gazes soon Dick is enacting contingency plans!

It's getting plain dangerous! With the other bats, the way to impress them was competency, but because Nightengale is rarely in active combat, his admirers have resorted to injuring themselves or exaggerating symptoms to get his attention. It's gotten so bad that Bruce had to put out a League Wide memo on safety and, somehow, had gotten Damian to teach a first aid class. But that only made it worse! Nightengale claimed even more hearts during the class! He had an army of suitors practising CPR and gave everyone his com frequency at the end in case of emergency!

Dick has walked in on way too many conversations discussing Damians' datebility. He almost murdered the poor soul that started describing what they thought the doctor would be like in bed. (They were so lucky Kory was there to hold him back from disfiguring the pervert.)

The worst part is that as soon as it was revealed that Nightengale is a bat. Nightwing, the friendliest bat, was inundated with questions about the doctor. A brave few even asked him to put in a good word for them!

Dick needs this to stop. Now.

So he starts to think. How did the wave of crushes end for the rest of his family? Dick realised they only stopped after the object of their affections started dating another hero.

So all Dick has to do was set Damian up with someone. (He despairs at the thought, but anything is better than watching people he is meant to trust with his life oogle his little Robin as Damian just tries to do his job.)

So Dick Grayson makes a list of attributes any partner has to have. (Not that any of them will ever be good enough to deserve him.)

The person he sets Damian up with has to be a good hero, non judgemental about Damian's past, be able to handle his more acerbic attitude, and just crazy enough to keep up with a bat. They have to be competent, intelligent, and willing to defer to Damian when he makes his own choices but stubborn enough to dissaude his more reckless behaviour. They have to be kind, an animal lover, and willing to move heaven and earth for his baby brother at the bare minimum.

Most important of all, they can't under any circumstances have a reputation for dating around or being a massive perv. Damian is his mother's son, and as much as he tries to deny it, a true romantic. If Damian falls in love, there's no doubt in Dicks mind that Damian will remain loyal. If he's not careful, Damians' compassion and incredible capacity for forgiveness will be his doom.

So Dick needs someone who would never dream of taking advantage of another's heart.

Dick is left with a surprisingly short list. He considers asking the rest of the family for help but can't risk it getting back to Damian.

Then, after a half hour of despair. It hits him. Jonathan Kent!

They are childhood Friends, Jon knows all about Damian's childhood, they trust each other, Jon think Damians insults are funny, respects his decisions, loves animals, and would literally break the world to protect him. Jon doesn't date much, usually committed relationships, and is interested in men! It's perfect!

Dick mentored Jon himself. He's a good guy and definitely wouldn't take advantage of Damians' loyalty.

So, with his decision made Dick begins his plan to set them up.

It's a delicate operation if he goes right out and says it there's no way Damian will go with it. So he starts assigning Jon to Nightengale at the Watchtower during low activity.

He smiles as he watches the two laugh over restocking the medbay.

Next, he gets Damian to bring Superman 2.0 to visit the children at the paediatric hospital he works at as a day job. Jon happily agrees and afterwards meets Dick with a bright blush in his face and a sappy smile that doesn't fade.

Dick makes up excuses for them to hang out, training, humanitarian missions, and abusing superspeed and flight to ensure Damian is fed after long shifts.

The two are definitely interested in each. It's cute. Jon starts glaring and hanging around Damian whenever the other heroes start flirting. Damian lets Jon help him with projects, and the two are never out of each others sight for more than two minutes.

The plan is progressing beautifully, but they need just one more little push.

It happens without Dicks intervention, in the worst possible way.

Nightengale is out during an invasion, fighting and providing emergency medical help when he's hit. Hard.

Dick doesn't see it happen. But turns to see Jon with red eyes standing in front of a bleeding Damian as he takes down hundreds of the aliens. There are very few times Dick has really understood the power the Supers hold. This is like watching a vengeful God. But no hostile gets anywhere near Damian again.

The rest retreat after the carnage, but Jon doesn't care. He gathers Damian in his arms and flies away. Hours later, the batfamily finds them at a hospital, Damian is out of surgery, and Jon is sitting holding his hand. Both out of their hero gear, Thank God.

Jon doesn't even acknowledge their presence just keeps staring at Damian who is out cold.

Bruce starts to lecture him but stops when Clark very firmly drags him from the room. Dick watches the two in silence and slowly takes the chair on Damians other side.

"Thank you, for keeping him safe."

Jon just brushes Damians cheek and replies, "Always."

Jon doesn't leave until Damian is released a few days later. Damian moves back into the Manor temporarily to continue to heal. Jon visits him everyday.

Dick is celebrating his success. The two are well on their way to a relationship, and all of Damians admirers have backed off and only enquire about his health now.

Life is good.

Until he walks in on a Naked Jon Kent in Damians bed. He screams and flees before he can see anything else.

After he has calmed down and given them a chance to dress, he returns to lecture Damian about strenuous activity only to be lectured in turn about holistic pain management and rehabilitation after surgical intervention.

Dick shuts up, glares at Jon, and ensures Damian hasn't disturbed his stitches.

It would be fine if that was the only time he found the Super menace feeling up his baby.

He has, somehow, in his quest to save Damian from the lecherous assholes of the Watchtower, set him up with a pervert!

Everywhere he looks, he finds them canoodling, and Jon doesn't seem to fear him nearly enough. The little shit can't seem to keep his hands to himself!

The worst of it is when he and a few titans walk into the medbay after Damian goes back to work and finds the two of them using one of the beds!

They have no shame, and the titans spread news about the encounter to everyone. (At least Damian would be harem disperses) But Dick now wants to bleach his eyes out of skull.

But Damian is happy, so he resists the urge to break out the kryptonite.

That is until, one day, he notices a ring on Damians' finger during a hangout between the two brothers.

"You're engaged to Jon!!"

"No Richard."

Dick breathes a sigh of relief.

"We eloped."

"WHAT??"

Dick Grayson has many regrets.

[cosmicalily]

'kiss my troubles away' with stray kids, ot8 headcanons by @cosmicalily | first kisses with skz

“you turn minutes into hours, don't stop 'til the stars are all we see. you know, you make it easy for me to let go, so let's go, oh, oh.” - ‘kiss my troubles away’ by twice

author's note: a very fluffy req from the lovely @channieschocco <3 this was so fun and lighthearted to write, hope you enjoy it sweetheart! warnings: kissing, making out (all sfw!), sex jokes in jisung's bc he's a fake ass freak, also lowk jisung slander but i promise i love him guys

first kiss...with chris

kind of similar to jisung, but probably a bit less of a loser (this is said with affection!). like he’s all talk, always teasing and winking and leaving lingering touches, but when it comes to the real thing, his ears are going pink and his eyes are wide and suddenly he doesn’t know what the hell to do with his hands. on your cheeks? on your hips? around your neck? eventually, you have to intertwine your fingers with his, and then he settles, rubbing soft circles into your hand. definitely a slow makeout enthusiast, especially when its quiet in the evening. he loves the intimacy of kissing you, the level of closeness. what a softie.

first kiss...with minho

mingo mingo mingo, my funny little guy. he seems quiet and shy on the surface, but i know (you know lee know) that he will be grabbing your ass the first time you kiss. he can’t help it! it just felt right! and he’s kissing you, what else is he meant to do with his hands? not harshly, but like a gentle hold, other hand cupping your (non ass) cheek softly. when you pull apart, he’d gaze at you with this insane melty softness in his eyes that gives you no choice but to kiss him again. i also feel like minho would love the classic back-hug-and-neck-kiss move, and whenever you’re in front of him, expect a pair of lips on your neck.

first kiss...with changbin

i’m a lifelong advocate for the pick-up-and-kiss combo, especially if seo changbin is the one initiating it. it’d all be very sweet and soft with him, probably very giggly too. he’d get so giddy afterwards, unable to stop laughing, and neither would you! with your legs still wrapped around his waist, he’d haul the two of you onto the nearest soft surface and you’d both squeal like teenagers over what just happened. probably the type to pepper your cheeks and nose with small kisses afterwards (not the post-kiss aftercare) and he’d treat you like an absolute princess the whole time!

first kiss...with hyunjin

hyunjin has been waiting for this moment since the first time he set his eyes on you. he wants to make it ‘perfect’, and has all these grandiose plans for how to initiate, but of course it happens when the two of you are nestled on the couch in your pyjamas watching a movie. screw a fancy dinner and roses, i guess! but in all honesty, he loves it regardless. he just wants to be with you, and having your lips on his is an infinite bonus. he’d sling his arms gently around your waist, and i feel like he’d be a sucker for makeouts. definitely the type to just gaze into your eyes for a couple of seconds after the kiss ends, very cliche high school movie of him, but let him have his moment. this is a very big deal for our resident romantic.

first kiss...with jisung

this guy is all talk and no balls (sorry not sorry), and he’d be flirting and teasing about kissing you for so long, probably even about fucking you, but when you actually cup his cheeks and bring your face to his? he’d be shocked. suddenly he’s babbling incoherently and his cheeks are bright pink and holy shit, thank god he’s cute because otherwise, he’d never live this down. he eventually settles after his nervous system reminds itself that he’s actually just kissing his girlfriend, not being held at gunpoint, and then he starts to get into it. might even slide a cheeky hand onto your waist if he’s feeling really confident, but for the most part, he sticks to caressing your cheeks and playing with your hair. silly boy.

first kiss...with felix

felix likes to hide behind this innocent, blonde angel facade, but i know the freak that you are lee yongbok. i feel like he’d definitely be the one to initiate, especially since he’s a big physical touch guy. hands are probably all over you on the regular, but even moreso when you settle yourself onto his lap and he finally gets to press his lips to yours. he’d be gentle, because this is a pretty intimate moment for the two of you, and he wouldn’t want to overwhelm you or take things too far in case you’re not ready. whilst it’s a decent step in your relationship, it would feel very casual for the two of you, like it was meant to happen. he’s probably already kissed everywhere on your face and neck but your lips anyways, this little lovebug.

first kiss...with seungmin

seungmin would be so gentle, making sure you’re comfortable and that it’s really, truly what you want (even if you’ve made it abundantly clear, he needs to be certain). would probably start with a soft peck, waiting for you to initiate if you want anything more, but once you do, he’s very giving. his lips are smooth and sweet and probably taste like coffee. he wouldn’t want to get too carried away when kissing you for the first time, so it would probably just be gentle makeouts for the first few times. he’d be the type to cup your face with his hands and softly stroke your cheek once you pull away, eyes sparkling. god bless kim seungmin, now move because it’s my turn.

first kiss...with jeongin

jeongin kind of doesn’t care. and this is not in a bad way! but like, he doesn’t really feel the need to rush things, he’s just happy to let things happen as they do. he’s comfortable around you, and whilst he might not always initiate affection, he’s always glad to receive it. so when you lightly thrust your thigh over his while cuddling one day, he’s quick to place his hands on your waist and let you lean into him. would probably start very soft, but i feel like he’d get easily overexcited, especially due to the fact that your lips are finally on his for the first time. however, he’d be careful to make sure he doesn’t go too far, silently checking in with you as the kiss progresses to make sure you’re happy, and who the hell wouldn’t be?

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @heartsbyani @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger @woozarts @zelinkcrossing @urlocalmultigroupfan @shuuporanglinos @lezleeferguson-120 @r1nstaaa @bibibahngg - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[shaiyasstuff]

intimacy | rafayel

synopsis : He’s the perfect man for you, sweet, caring, a little aloof but he’s also very good at making you safe. However, he’s never initiated contact with you beyond just a kiss. One girl talk later, you find yourself wondering if it was time to give it a try. content : smut(well it’s more romance than actual smut), first time, no pull out, a little bit of awkward ness, rafayel x non-mc!reader, Shaiya is an OC, fluff, MDNI

You’ve been dating Rafayel for over a year now.

You first met him at the amusement park one evening, when you overheard a particularly dramatic sulk-fest about a missing cotton candy.

Apparently, some kid had “stolen” it from him.

You later found out his lady hunter friend had given it away.

Willingly and with a smile.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Out loud. Before you could slap a hand over your mouth, it was too late.

Two pairs of eyes landed on you.

One, vaguely confused and highly entertained.

The other, hopelessly love-struck.

He asked for your number five minutes later, pressured—or really, bullied—by his lady hunter friend, who gave him a not-so-subtle jab in the ribs and whispered something that sounded suspiciously like “grow a pair.”

The next day, he brought you to the sea.

Just a chill, no-pressure, totally-not-romantic beach date.

Until he asked you to be his girlfriend with all the nervous energy of a schoolboy confessing to his crush behind the gym.

And things just… took off.

You had café dates where you tried, and failed, to beat him at Kitty Cards.

You endured constant third-wheeling by his lady hunter friend, who took it upon herself to be your official ship captain—teasing the both of you mercilessly and often.

Despite the chaos, you were genuinely happy.

Life was good.

You had a boyfriend who was equal parts adorable and infuriating, and a new best friend who always had your back when said boyfriend decided to be a lovable idiot.

Then came the day it hit you.

Like a truck.

Or a surprise test.

You were lounging in your living room with Shaiya, legs tossed over your couch arm, when she peeked at you over a bag of chips and asked with a smirk, “So… have you two done it yet?”

You choked on your drink. “Excuse me?”

But before you could even mount a proper comeback, something clicked.

Wait.

Hold on.

In the ten months you'd been dating Rafayel, he hadn’t initiated anything even remotely intimate.

You gasped. “…No…”

The horror in your voice only made it worse.

That was all the invitation Shaiya needed. Your loveable—albeit infuriating—lady hunter friend burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as she doubled over.

“Don’t laugh!” you hissed, watching her wipe away tears from the corners of her eyes.

“I was just asking for fun,” she said with a smug grin. “You’re the one who took it seriously. That’s one point for me, zero for you.”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “You’re right. He’s sweet. He’s an adorable puppy when we’re out and about, but I’ve never… thought of that.”

Her laughter softened, and so did her expression.

“Maybe it’ll happen soon. Don’t let it get you down.”

You threw her a half-hearted glare. “Now I’m insecure.”

That set her off again.

She laughed, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry! But it’s part of my job, being your personal third wheel and emotional instigator. Besides,” she leaned in slightly, her tone more sincere now, “if I don’t talk to you about this, who else will?”

You paused. She wasn’t wrong.

There weren’t many women in your life you could talk to like this. And the old lady who sold potato sticks outside the café definitely didn’t count.

You let out a quiet sigh. “I just… never really thought about that.”

Your voice dropped as the weight of the thought settled.

Shaiya reached out and rubbed your shoulder gently. “Hey. I’m sorry if I went too far.”

You gave her a faint smile. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…”

Your words drifted off.

It wasn’t like you actually wanted Rafayel to be intimate with you.

Well. Maybe you did.

But it had never been the point.

You liked the playful arguments. The way he curled around you on the couch when you were sick or too tired to move.

The quiet comfort of simply existing beside him while he just… was.

And somehow, that had always felt like more than enough.

A knock tapped gently against the doorframe.

Both you and Shaiya looked up.

Rafayel stood there, casually leaning against the wood, his dusky purple hair slightly tousled, a paint-stained jacket slung over one shoulder.

His mismatched eyes flicked to you, then to Shaiya, one brow raising with practiced laziness.

“Well, well,” he said, voice smooth and low, “should I be worried, or flattered?”

Shaiya grinned. “You’re always worried and flattered.”

“I prefer revered, personally.” His gaze settled on you, softer now. “Everything alright?”

Your heart hiccuped.

You nodded quickly, too quickly. “Yeah. Just… girl talk.”

“Dangerous territory.” He stepped in, the scent of charcoal and citrus trailing after him. “I could feel the emotional tension from the hallway.”

Shaiya laughed. “I should go before I get accused of emotional arson.”

She rose and headed to the door, whispering as she passed you, “Think about what we said.” Then she tossed a wink at Rafayel. “Be gentle with her.”

He gave a mocking bow. “Always.”

When the door clicked shut, silence settled between you two.

Not uncomfortable, but charged.

Rafayel stayed near the door for a moment, watching you.

Then he crossed the room and lowered himself beside you with a graceful kind of stillness, the way he always moved when he wasn’t performing for the world.

“She meant well,” he said, voice barely above a murmur. “But she rattled you.”

You looked at your hands. “She just… made me think about things I wasn’t ready to think about.”

His fingers brushed yours. “Things like me?”

You didn’t answer. He didn’t push.

Instead, he leaned back slightly, eyes searching your face—not with judgment, but a quiet kind of curiosity, as if trying to see what you were protecting.

“I never expected you to be ready,” he said finally, “but I’m not going anywhere.”

There was no playful smirk now. No lazy swagger.

Just Rafayel, stripped of all the performative charm. Just him—deep and devastating and completely real.

And in that stillness, something shifted.

Maybe it was the way he didn’t demand anything. Or the way he offered the truth so gently.

But maybe—just maybe—you were starting to think about him after all.

“Well…” you began, turning to face him slowly, unsure where the words would land.

“I mean… we’ve kissed. A few times.”

He tilted his head, watching you with that same unreadable calm, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “Yeah…?” he said. “That’s normal, isn’t it?”

You nodded too quickly, then froze, your thoughts catching up to you a beat too late.

The memory of those kisses—soft, fleeting, innocent—brushed through your mind.

But then your thoughts slipped further, imagining what could come next. What might come next.

And suddenly, your face burned.

You glanced away, unable to hold his gaze now.

The idea of anything more than those kisses… anything more than the safe rhythm you’d settled into with Rafayel…

It felt daunting.

Especially when you looked at him.

Your boyfriend, with his tousled hair and teasing grin, who always reminded you of an affectionate puppy curled too close to the fire.

It was hard to align that image with the heat curling in your stomach.

Hard to reconcile the softness he gave you with the weight of want.

Rafayel leaned in a little, not close enough to crowd you, but enough for his voice to dip lower.

“Are you scared?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I don’t know.”

And that was the truth.

You weren’t scared of him. Not really.

You trusted him with your life.

It was the idea. The change.

The possibility of crossing that invisible line where intimacy stopped being soft and started becoming something raw, something deeper, something you couldn’t undo.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease.

He just nodded, like he understood.

“Then we don’t rush,” he said simply. “You tell me when you’re ready.”

And that, somehow, made your heart ache more than if he’d kissed you right then and there.

Because he meant it.

Because he saw you.

“I mean…” you trailed off again, glancing at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t you have… needs?”

The words hung in the air like fog—equal parts awkward, honest, and unintentionally hilarious.

You watched his expression shift, not in offense or surprise, but in that subtle way he always did when he was trying to read between your words.

There was no malice in your question. No pressure.

Just confusion.

Because it had started to gnaw at the edges of your thoughts—this quiet, growing need to understand him.

To repay him, even, in your own clumsy way.

For tying your shoelaces without being asked. For picking up the things you dropped when your hands were too full.

For tucking you in during thunder-heavy nights and crawling under the covers just to be near, to be warm, to be something steady when your world wasn’t.

For all the ways he took care of you without ever asking for anything in return.

And that’s what made it strange.

That he had never once initiated anything beyond a kiss.

Never reached for more.

Rafayel blinked slowly, his lips quirking—not into a smirk, but into something softer. Something unreadable.

“I have needs,” he said eventually, voice smooth, but not flippant. “But they’re not more important than you.”

You felt your breath catch.

“But… I want to make you happy,” you murmured. “Isn’t that part of it? Like… giving back?”

A shadow crossed his features, fleeting but there. He reached over, his fingers curling gently around yours.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, and for once, there was no teasing in his tone. “I do those things because I want to. Not because I expect something in return.”

You looked down at your joined hands.

“I just… thought maybe you were waiting. Or holding back. For me.”

“I am,” he said, without hesitation. “But that’s not a burden. That’s a choice.”

He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, warm and unhurried.

“You’re not a debt to be paid. You’re a story I want to keep reading, one page at a time.”

Your cheeks flushed hot, your heart thrumming in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

It was the way he looked at you—like you were already enough.

And that, somehow, made you want him even more.

“But what if… I want to?”

Your voice was barely more than a breath, but it was enough to break the quiet between you.

You hesitantly lifted your gaze to him.

Rafayel’s expression softened immediately, as if the weight of your vulnerability wrapped around him like silk. Not fragile, but precious.

You felt nervous—tingly all over, your skin aware of every inch of space between you and him.

He was the first.

The first guy you’d let this close. The first who made it past the walls you didn’t even realize you’d built.

You’d never actually done it before.

Never crossed that invisible line with anyone.

And now, here you were—sitting beside the man who looked at you like you were made of starlight and sea glass. Like fire couldn’t burn him if it came from you.

“I…” You swallowed. “I’ve never done this. With anyone.”

Rafayel didn’t move at first. His gaze lingered on your face, absorbing every word you didn’t say.

Then, gently, he reached up—fingertips brushing the side of your cheek, slow and featherlight.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

You blinked. “For what?”

“For trusting me with that.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in, close enough that his forehead almost touched yours, but stopped short. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“If you’re ready, really ready… then I’ll be whatever you need. I’ll move at your pace. I’ll hold you. Kiss you. Worship every inch of you.”

A flush bloomed down your neck.

“But if there’s even a sliver of doubt,” he continued, thumb brushing your jaw, “then I won’t lay a finger on you. Because I want all of you. Not just your body.”

You nodded slowly, your heart thrumming in your chest like wings caught in wind.

Rafayel didn’t ask again. He didn’t rush.

He just waited.

And something about that—about him—made your fear melt into something warm.

Something that felt like love.

You stayed still, your breath mingling with his, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

Rafayel didn’t move any closer. He didn’t try to sway your decision.

He just stayed there—close enough to feel, but far enough to wait.

Your fingers twitched against your lap before finding his. You laced them together, slowly, tentatively, and he squeezed once. Firm. Steady.

“I don’t know what I’m ready for,” you whispered. “But I know I want you.”

His smile was soft, almost pained in how tender it looked on him. His eyes shimmered—not with fire this time, but something far more fragile.

“You already have me,” he said.

There was no heat behind his words. No hunger, no pressure. Just truth.

And for the first time, that truth didn’t feel daunting. It felt like a quiet, open sky.

You leaned into him, letting your forehead touch his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you like you were something precious, not breakable—but worth protecting.

His breath came slow, steady, and you felt it rise and fall beneath your cheek.

No more words were needed.

No promises, no decisions.

Just this—warm skin, slow breaths, the sound of his heart beneath your ear.

He held you like that until your nerves melted into calm. Until the tremble in your hands faded into stillness.

And outside, the night rolled on, untouched.

—•

When you woke the next morning, everything felt soft.

The light was dim, filtered through the curtains in streaks of pale gold.

The room was still, quiet, heavy with the warmth of sleep.

You blinked slowly, disoriented at first, until the familiar scent of smoke and citrus drifted through your senses.

You shifted slightly.

That was when you felt it.

Something firm, pressing lightly against your lower belly.

You froze.

Rafayel was still asleep, his arm draped around your waist, his breathing slow and even beside your ear. His body curled protectively around you, one leg tangled with yours, holding you in place as if even in dreams he couldn’t bear to let go.

And you realized, slowly, that you were still on the couch.

The two of you must’ve fallen asleep like that last night, somewhere between hushed confessions and shared stillness.

You swallowed.

You had never noticed things like this before. You’d always been so… innocent.

But after yesterday—after Shaiya’s teasing and the conversation that followed—you were suddenly aware.

Aware of the way Rafayel’s body was pressed to yours.

Of the heat between you.

Of every subtle shift in his breath when your thighs brushed.

You felt your heart stutter in your chest, a flush creeping up your neck.

Not from fear.

But from knowing.

From finally understanding the unspoken gravity that came with loving someone like this.

You tilted your head, just slightly, watching him. His hair had fallen over his eyes, his expression soft, almost boyish in sleep.

Still, there was something undeniably real about him like this.

Vulnerable.

Human.

And maybe a little bit yours.

You closed your eyes again, pressing your face gently against his collarbone.

You weren’t ready for everything.

But you were ready to hold this moment.

To feel.

To want.

And to slowly, carefully, let yourself fall.

You weren’t sure how to do it.

Your knowledge was limited to a blurry, awkward twenty-minute video from sex ed in high school, filled with sterile diagrams and uncomfortable silence.

Nothing about it had prepared you for this.

For the quiet rise and fall of Rafayel’s chest beneath your cheek.

For the weight of his arm still around your waist. For the strange, beautiful ache blooming low in your belly—tender, unexplainable, but insistent.

There was no plan. No clear thought.

Just a need.

Something stirring and restless and new.

You shifted carefully, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt as you tilted your head.

Your lips brushed his collarbone.

Featherlight.

A second kiss followed. Then another.

Each one just a little more deliberate. A little more brave.

You felt it when he stirred.

The faint hitch in his breath.

The way his muscles tensed slightly beneath you, as though part of him was trying not to move.

But he didn’t stop you.

He stayed still. Waiting.

You kissed your way higher, barely skimming skin, heart hammering in your chest. It wasn’t about knowing what to do.

It was about feeling.

Rafayel shifted, just enough for his hand to find the small of your back.

Not pulling you closer—just resting there.

Warm. Grounding.

His voice came low and rough with sleep.

“…Y/N?”

You froze, your lips hovering near his throat. Embarrassment flooded your chest.

“Sorry,” you whispered, already pulling back. “I didn’t mean—”

His hand tightened just slightly, not to stop you, but to hold the moment in place.

“Don’t be sorry,” he murmured. “Just… tell me what you want.”

You looked at him.

Really looked at him.

Hair tousled, eyes still hazy with sleep, voice like smoldering embers.

He looked breathtaking like this.

And vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before—waiting for your answer, for your choice.

“I don’t know how,” you admitted softly.

His gaze didn’t waver.

“Then we’ll learn together.”

There was no urgency in him. No hunger that would push past your hesitation.

Only patience. Only care.

And in that silence between your heartbeat and his, you realized this was what it meant to be ready.

Not to know everything.

But to want to share the unknown—with him.

Rafayel’s touch was warm against your back, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles as if he were trying to calm not just your nerves, but his own.

You felt the way your heart stammered against your ribs.

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but you knew one thing.

You wanted him.

Not just in the way people talked about behind closed doors, not just out of curiosity or some shallow idea of closeness.

You wanted this.

This softness.

This warmth.

The reverence in his voice.

The way he looked at you like you were something sacred.

You tilted your head, brushing another kiss over his collarbone.

He exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

Your eyes met.

And even though your chest felt tight and your fingers trembled, you whispered, “I want to.”

His expression softened.

Not with desire—but with something deeper.

Something tender.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

You nodded. “I don’t know how. But I want it to be with you.”

Upon hearing that, there was a subtle flicker of something in his eyes.

Something that resembled desire.

Rafayel leaned in and kissed you, slow and full of meaning, as if he’d waited forever to be told that.

His lips moved against yours with care, slow and deliberate, as if he was memorizing the shape of your mouth with every kiss.

He gave you space to breathe between them, never rushing, never pushing.

But then, something shifted.

A warmth, low and unfamiliar, unfurled beneath your belly—soft at first, then insistent.

You found yourself leaning into him, seeking more, like your body was moving on its own.

And when you exhaled a quiet moan into his mouth, you felt it.

The way his body tensed against yours.

Rafayel pulled back, barely, his forehead resting against yours as he fought for breath.

“I can’t hold back,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “not if you sound like that.”

His eyes met yours, no longer just soft with affection.

They burned now.

Still full of love, but threaded with something deeper—raw need, and desire so carefully restrained it made your chest ache.

You could see it in the way his jaw tightened. In the subtle tremor in his arm as he held himself still.

You reached up, brushing your thumb gently along his cheek.

And with a soft, trembling smile, you whispered, “Then don’t.”

His lips found yours again—this time with hunger.

There was no hesitation now, no careful pauses between kisses. Just heat. Intention.

You startled slightly at the sudden intensity, but his hands were already there, grounding you, guiding you—and soon enough, you melted into him.

The kiss deepened, breath hitching between the spaces where your mouths met.

Soft, involuntary sounds slipped from your throat—quiet, breathy mewls that you couldn’t have held back even if you tried.

And that was all it took.

Whatever restraint Rafayel had left unraveled, unraveling with the delicate curve of your waist beneath his palms, the way your fingers clutched at his shirt like you needed more of him.

His hands roamed now—reverent, searching, hungry. Not to claim, but to feel.

Desire poured off of him, thick and tangible, warm enough to set your skin alight beneath his touch.

And through it all, he still moved with care, even in his urgency.

As if your body was a canvas, and he wanted to memorize it with every brush of his hands.

Every kiss tasted like longing.

Every breath felt borrowed from something sacred.

And still, you wanted more.

When his fingers found the hem of your shirt, he stilled.

The heat between you didn’t fade, but his hands—once so eager—held still now, trembling faintly as his eyes rose to meet yours.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

It was written all over him.

The reverence. The restraint.

The barely contained desire he kept shackled beneath every careful breath.

You nodded.

Just once. But it was enough.

His jaw tensed, and he exhaled slowly, as though the motion alone steadied him. Then, with hands that betrayed nothing of the fire he felt, he lifted your shirt—inch by inch, never rushing, never daring to look away from your face.

As if watching for the moment you might change your mind.

But you didn’t.

You let him undress you with that quiet devotion, every movement full of patience, full of care.

His touch never once felt greedy.

Only awed.

As though this was something sacred. As though you were.

And in that silence between heartbeats, you realized—he wasn’t just touching your skin.

He was memorizing you.

His lips found your collarbone, warm and open, pressing kisses that trailed lower with aching slowness.

Each one was deliberate. Soft. Reverent.

You gasped, the sound catching somewhere between surprise and surrender, as a moan slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

It was a sensation unlike anything you’d ever known—foreign, yes, but raw and deeply, inexplicably real.

His mouth moved against your skin like he was learning it, worshiping it. Like this was something sacred to him, something he didn’t dare rush.

Your breath came shallow now, fingers curling gently into the fabric of his shirt, the weight of his body a comforting warmth above yours.

Rafayel paused only to look up at you again, his lips brushing just below your throat, his voice low and rough with restraint.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, as if the words weren’t for you, but something he needed to say aloud. Something he needed you to know.

And with every kiss that followed, you believed him a little more.

You let yourself explore him with trembling hands—fingertips grazing along his collarbone, then gliding lower, over the firm lines of his chest and the warmth of his skin.

He felt solid beneath your touch, alive and real in a way that sent shivers across your spine.

Your palms traveled along the curve of his back, tracing the dips of muscle, the heat of him burning beneath your skin.

Rafayel inhaled sharply, his hands catching yours in his own, gripping them tightly.

Not to stop you.

But to hold you.

As if anchoring himself.

As if grounding you both in this fragile, precious space between hesitation and surrender.

His fingers wove through yours, then slowly guided your hands back to him, encouraging, wordless, wanting.

He made you feel safe even in your uncertainty—made you forget the quiet fear of not knowing what came next.

Because with him, it wasn’t about perfection.

It was about presence.

And the way his body reacted to yours—the slight tremble in his breath, the way his muscles tensed when your touch lingered—made something ache sweetly within you.

His mouth returned to your throat, kisses hotter now, lingering longer, trailing lower.

When his lips closed gently around your skin and sucked, your breath hitched, a soft sound leaving you without permission.

The friction of your bare skin against his, the growing heat, the mounting need between your legs—it was all overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

And when his hands slid down your sides, drawing you flush against him, every inch of you humming, you let yourself stop thinking.

You just felt.

You moaned again, breath catching sharply, when his fingers found your nipple—already sensitive, already aching for more.

The contact sent a jolt through your body, a sharp gasp slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

Rafayel’s eyes darkened at the sound, and in one swift, practiced motion, he unclasped your bra, letting the fabric fall away.

Then came the heat of his mouth.

Warm. Wet.

You almost cried out at the sudden sensation—his tongue swirling, lips pulling gently around the peak of your breast.

It was overwhelming, the way he worshipped you, the way his mouth moved with such purpose and reverence that your spine arched off the couch.

You felt his hands on your hips, steadying you, holding you in place as he continued—slow, focused, unrelenting in the way he tasted you.

Your hands threaded through his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as your body writhed beneath his.

Every flick of his tongue sent sparks scattering through you, every subtle graze of his teeth made your thighs clench, the heat building between them unbearable.

And through it all, he never rushed.

He took his time—worshipping you like you were the only thing that existed.

And in that moment, in his arms, beneath his mouth, you felt like you were.

“R–Rafayel…” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.

Your fingers tangled into his lilac waves, clutching them tightly as your body instinctively arched into his mouth. You pulled him closer, unable to help yourself, craving more of his warmth—his weight, his worship.

He growled low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your skin like thunder.

The way his name spilled from your lips—it undid him.

His tongue returned to your nipple, this time slower, more deliberate, tracing teasing circles before flicking softly across the sensitive tip.

The sensation sent your breath stuttering, your moans spilling freely now, raw and unrestrained.

You could feel him pressing against you, his arousal impossible to ignore—thick and straining against his jeans, the heat of it pressing right into the growing ache between your thighs.

Even through the layers of fabric, the pressure made your body tremble, made you more aware of how badly you wanted him—every inch of him.

Your legs shifted instinctively, parting just enough to invite him closer, to let him settle between them.

He rose slowly, lips trailing up your body, peppering your skin with kisses as he came to hover over you. His breath was ragged now, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with desire, but still watching you—checking, searching, waiting for your consent.

His voice, when it came, was rough and strained.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “Anything, and it’s yours.”

“You,” you breathed, barely able to form the word. “I want you.”

And with that, whatever thin thread of restraint Rafayel had been clinging to snapped.

He surged forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was nothing like before—sloppy, desperate, filled with the kind of need that had been simmering far too long beneath the surface.

You gasped into his mouth, startled and breathless, but welcoming it—welcoming him.

His hands fumbled at the button of his jeans, the motion rushed, clumsy in a way that made your heart stutter. This wasn’t polished or perfect. This was real.

Raw.

Human.

And it made your chest ache with affection, even as your body burned for more.

He kissed you through it—deep and unrelenting—and when your lips parted on a shaky breath, he took the invitation without hesitation.

His tongue slid against yours, slow and claiming, exploring you like he had all the time in the world.

You whimpered beneath him, hips lifting instinctively as your thighs framed his waist, inviting him closer, pulling him in.

The heat of his body pressed into yours, every inch of him now impossibly close, and still it didn’t feel like enough.

You wanted all of him.

Not just the weight, the warmth, the passion.

You wanted the connection.

The kind that set fire to your body and soothed your soul all at once.

And Rafayel—he gave it.

Every kiss. Every touch. Every breath.

All of it, only ever for you.

He pulled away from the kiss, breathless, lips swollen and eyes dark with heat.

“I have to prepare you,” he murmured, voice husky and low. “Is that okay?”

You couldn’t find your voice, so you nodded—your body already trembling with anticipation.

Rafayel’s hands moved with care, helping you out of your underwear.

Every movement was gentle, reverent, his touch lingering as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you like this.

You nearly cried out when you felt it.

Hot. Wet. Unbelievably intimate.

His tongue pressed firmly against your core, slow and purposeful, and your back arched instinctively off the couch.

Your toes curled, thighs snapping shut on instinct, but his strong hands were already there, holding you open, steady, as he groaned into you.

The sound vibrated through your skin, deep and raw, sending another wave of pleasure crashing through you.

“So… sweet,” he breathed between licks, his voice thick with hunger and awe.

He devoured you slowly, like he had all the time in the world, like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered.

Each stroke of his tongue was deliberate—teasing, tasting, coaxing soft, helpless sounds from your throat that only seemed to spur him on.

And all the while, his grip never loosened.

Like he needed to keep you close. Like he wanted you to fall apart in his hands.

And slowly, piece by piece, you did.

The sounds—wet, lewd, unrestrained—filled the quiet of your living room, echoing off the walls like a secret you were no longer trying to hide.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Not when he was between your thighs like this.

Not when Rafayel, your purple-haired boyfriend who always held you like you were something fragile, was now tasting you like you were something divine.

He buried himself between your legs with single-minded devotion, tongue gliding through your folds, slow at first, then firmer—more confident—as he found the places that made you gasp and twitch beneath his hold.

Your fingers dug into the cushions, your hips rolling into his mouth without thought, chasing every flick and swirl of his tongue.

He groaned again, the sound low and hungry, vibrating against your sensitive skin as he mouthed at you like he was drunk on the taste of you.

And maybe he was.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open wider, grounding you while your legs trembled around his shoulders.

You felt exposed, undone, utterly vulnerable.

But with him—there was no shame.

Only heat.

Only want.

Only the slow, steady build of something that was about to consume you whole.

Something coiled deep under your belly—tight and burning, like a knot drawn taut with every languid stroke of his tongue.

Your breath came in shaky gasps, the tension building faster than you could keep up with. Your body trembled, hips rising instinctively to meet his mouth, to chase the feeling you were terrified and desperate to reach.

Your fingers found his hair, sinking into the soft lilac strands, gripping tight as your body began to shake.

“R–Rafayel,” you gasped, your voice high and breathless.

He growled softly at the sound, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you as he doubled down, tongue flicking and pressing with deliberate, perfect rhythm.

The coil inside you tightened to the breaking point.

You were unraveling beneath him, your entire body flushed, teetering at the edge of something you had no words for—only feeling.

“Just let it go,” he cooed gently.

Rafayel’s hands never left you, his grip firm on your hips as he kept you grounded, held you open, guided you through it.

You felt yourself shatter.

Quietly.

Completely.

With his name on your lips and his mouth still worshipping you like you were something holy.

You were still shaking, the aftershocks rippling through your limbs like waves on a trembling shore.

Before you could catch your breath, his lips were on yours again—urgent, hungry, claiming.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, warm and heady, as he kissed you with a passion that made your head spin.

Your moan was muffled by his mouth, your mind hazy and dazed from the high you had barely begun to come down from.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as you felt him slide into you, slow but unrelenting.

You broke the kiss with a choked cry, the stretch overwhelming, unfamiliar, real.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes—not from pain, not exactly, but from the intensity of it all.

The sensation. The closeness. The raw, unfiltered reality of finally becoming one with him.

Rafayel stilled immediately, his hands cradling your face as he leaned in close, lips brushing your temple.

“Shh… it’s okay,” he whispered, over and over, each word a soft litany, a promise.

“I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

He kissed the tears before they could fall, his forehead resting gently against yours.

His voice was low, trembling with restraint. “Just breathe… we’ll go slow. You’re safe.”

And with those words—his warmth, his love wrapping around you like silk—you let yourself relax into him.

Let yourself feel.

Because no matter how overwhelming this moment was.

You weren’t alone.

You had him.

All of him.

You rolled your hips slowly, cautiously at first, adjusting to the stretch of him inside you. The ache was still there—sharp at the edges—but with every slow grind, it dulled, softened, giving way to something deeper.

Something hotter.

You gasped softly as your body relaxed around him, the pain melting into a slow-burning pleasure that made your skin tingle and your breath catch.

Rafayel groaned above you, his jaw clenched, chest rising and falling as he fought to hold himself still beneath your careful rhythm.

His fingers gripped your waist, firm but reverent, like he was anchoring himself with you.

“God,” he hissed through his teeth, voice low and wrecked, “you’re so warm… so tight.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

He dipped his head, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You feel like heaven.”

You whimpered, your thighs trembling around his hips as you moved again, grinding just enough to feel every inch of him drag deliciously along your walls.

He shuddered, his breath stuttering as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, mouthing at your skin, kissing and biting gently as your pace gradually built.

Each movement became easier, slicker, the room filled with the obscene, wet sounds of your bodies moving together.

You moaned louder this time, your hands running over the planes of his back, nails dragging lightly as your hips met his again and again.

The friction, the fullness, the stretch—it overwhelmed you in the best way, your body burning, trembling, needing.

Rafayel lifted his head, eyes meeting yours, completely undone.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, thrusting into you with a slow, deep roll of his hips. “So perfect around me.”

You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure began to spiral inside you again, tighter this time, urgent and all-consuming.

And as he began to move faster, matching your rhythm, all you could do was hold on—moaning his name like a prayer, unraveling piece by piece beneath him.

“Let me,” he whispered, voice rough with desire.

His hands slid firmly to your hips, holding you in place as to still you, then began to move.

The first thrust was slow, deep, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you.

You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, your head falling back as your body trembled from the sensation.

He set the rhythm carefully at first, hips rolling into you with steady, deliberate strokes. Each one made your breath catch, your core fluttering around him with need.

He moaned into your ear, low and broken, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“God… you feel so good,” he groaned, pace beginning to build.

You moaned as he picked up speed, your voice rising with every thrust—soft gasps giving way to louder, breathless cries as pleasure rippled through your body in waves.

Your walls clamped around him, clenching with every stroke, the friction maddening, perfect.

“R–Rafayel,” you choked out, your body rocking with his, overwhelmed by how full you felt, how completely he claimed every part of you.

He answered you with a kiss—hot, desperate—his mouth crashing into yours to swallow the sounds spilling from your lips.

You kissed him back, open-mouthed and hungry, moaning into him as his thrusts grew deeper, harder, the slap of skin echoing with every movement.

His hands roamed your body—palms sliding up your back, thumbs brushing the swell of your breasts—never stopping, never breaking the rhythm as he lost himself in you.

You felt it building again, that heat coiling low in your belly, unbearable and perfect, and with every breathless grind of his hips, it drew tighter, closer.

He felt it too, in the way you pulsed around him, in the way your cries turned into sobs of pleasure against his mouth.

And still, he didn’t stop. He gave.

All of him.

Your body tightened around him, trembling with the rising pressure that coiled low and hot inside you, each thrust sending sparks down your spine.

Rafayel groaned against your mouth, hips moving harder now, more desperate, his rhythm faltering just slightly with the intensity.

“Fuck—” he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were wild with heat, pupils blown, flushed skin glowing under the low light. “You feel… so good around me. So fucking perfect.”

You cried out, voice breaking as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot deep inside you that made your vision blur.

Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, your body clinging to him as if you could pull him even deeper, never wanting to let him go.

He grunted through gritted teeth, his control unraveling.

“Don’t hold back, cutie,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “Let me hear you. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you did.

Your nails dug into his back, your head thrown back with a loud moan as your orgasm crashed over you, blinding and all-consuming.

You pulsed around him, muscles spasming, hips jerking as waves of heat tore through you, leaving you gasping his name like a plea.

He cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering again as you clenched around him.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me—”

His mouth fell open with a low, guttural groan as he thrust deep, grinding into you once, twice more before he came.

You felt it—the sharp, delicious jerk of his body as he spilled into you, heat flooding your core as he buried himself to the hilt, trembling through his release.

You moaned at the feeling of each rope, filling you up.

“God… Y/N,” he gasped against your neck, lips pressing against your sweat-slicked skin, “I love you. I love you.”

He kept whispering it, even as his body slowly stilled, even as he collapsed gently onto you, careful not to crush you beneath his weight.

The only sounds left were your shared, heavy breaths, your heart pounding against his chest, and the soft hush of his voice murmuring your name like a vow.

The world had gone quiet again.

Not silent—but still.

The kind of stillness that settles after a storm, where everything feels washed clean, softened by the weight of what had just been shared.

Rafayel lay above you, his forehead resting gently against yours, eyes still closed as he caught his breath.

Your bodies remained tangled, skin damp with sweat, his warmth wrapped around you like a blanket. Neither of you moved to speak at first. There was no need.

It was all there, in the quiet.

The trust.

The vulnerability.

The love.

After a while, he pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair gently from your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

His thumb ghosted over your cheekbone, and he leaned in to press the softest kiss to your temple.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hushed and a little hoarse.

You nodded, too full to speak for a moment.

Then, “Yeah… I’m okay.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. He looked at you like you were something fragile, sacred, something he could never take for granted.

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” you whispered. “You were… perfect.”

You saw the relief in his face, the way his shoulders finally relaxed.

And then he tucked you against his chest, his arms sliding around you, holding you close like he never wanted to let go.

Your head rested against the curve of his collarbone, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“I’ve never felt anything like that before,” you murmured. “Like… I could break apart and still be safe in your hands.”

He tightened his hold around you. “You are safe with me. Always.”

You lay there together, your fingers trailing gently over his chest, his hand drawing lazy circles along your back. The room was filled only with the sound of your breathing, the occasional quiet kiss he’d press to your hair, your forehead, your shoulder.

“Was it okay?” you asked, almost shyly.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again. “Okay?” He gave a breathless laugh. “It was everything.”

Your lips met again—this time slow, sweet, lingering.

No hunger now. Just gratitude.

Intimate. Love.

And as he pulled the blanket up around you, as you curled tighter into his chest and let your eyes flutter closed, you realised.

You hadn’t just given yourself to him.

You had found yourself with him.

And he had held every part of you like it mattered.

Like you mattered.

masterlist

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Back To Work | Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader | Drabble - 800 words

Retirement, a new house, a romantic evening planned, Bucky just knew that life was all going too well . Especially when he starts being hounded to return to his superhero life.

Warnings: language, fluff, a little angsty at the end. Featuring domestic thunderbolts Bucky.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

“Bucky, are you ready to go baby?” Your voice carried through from the living room as he clicked his arm back into place, shrugging his shoulder to get the fit right. 

You'd been excited all day, buzzing around the new house and opening boxes, trying to unpack at the same time as finding the perfect outfit. Bucky was only half regretting making plans so soon after moving, sure it was stressful trying to dig out his nice shoes from the piles of boxes and bags, but seeing you so happy was completely worth it and knowing you’d be coming home to your house, together, was just the icing on the cake. 

Now the sun was setting and you had turned on the downlighters in the kitchen, void of your usual clutter it looked lonely. 

“Just checking my phone, Doll.” He called back picking the offending item up from the counter - so many missed messages, he sighed.

 He'd been better recently, replying to Sam and catching up with him every week or so. He'd even managed to facetime Steve in his retirement home. He quite enjoyed the easy freedom of digital communication. But today, of all days, it had been pinging non-stop all driving him crazy during the drive and ruining the relaxing and, he hoped, romantic atmosphere he was trying to create. 

“Come on, baby, I don't want to be late.” You strolled into the kitchen and he dropped the phone again to focus his attention on you instead, taking in your dress and heels, your lipstick perfectly done. How could he worry about a stupid phone when you were together. 

“C’mere,” he pulled you close, tucking you under his chin and planting a kiss to the top of your head. 

He smelt lovely, fresh from the shower but with the hint of cut wood from building furniture. His vest revealed the hint of his dog tags, outlined under the fabric, as well as his tanned skin from a summer well spent outside, your traced your fingers over the chain and up his neck. Tangling your fingers in his long hair you tugged him down for a kiss. 

“Love you, Buck.” You whispered against his lips, heat surging through you just at his presence. 

“Love you too.” His lips tickled your cheek, behind your ear, and then he was swinging you up onto the counter. 

“Don't make us late!” 

“If you don't like it, stop giggling.” His fingers tickled up your bare legs, eyes twinkling with desire. 

Ping 

“That fucking phone,” Bucky growled, grabbing it again. More messages, more missed calls. 

“You should see what they want,” wrapping your arms and legs around him as you tugged Bucky closer, every line and curve fitting against him perfectly. He was sun warmed and cuddly, still ridiculously strong, but the hard lines and plains had softened since his retirement and you couldn’t get enough. 

“Fine, for you, then we're going to go and have a nice dinner and I'm leaving this stupid thing here.” He grumbled, chin on top of your head. 

You giggled again, leaving kisses on his chest. Bucky was so attached to that thing you didn't believe it for a second. Until his breathing went funny, heartbeat speeding up beneath your cheek. 

“What is it?”

His eyes had lost their sparkle, looking sad and serious. 

“I might have to rearrange dinner.” 

“What? Why?” You couldn’t see the phone, but his eyes raced across whatever he’d been sent.

“Where did we pack the gear?”

“The what? Oh - uh,it's in the trunk, in the garage but -” 

Bucky slid away, eyes glazed, focussed, intent and you were suddenly so cold without his presence.Your heart sank listening to the movement in the garage on the other side of the wall. 

He emerged ten minutes later, his smart trousers and vest discarded in favour of leather, the dirty t-shirt he'd been wearing while you were unpacking was back and he’d at least grabbed his soft leather jacket for protection. 

You threw yourself into his arms, tears springing to your eyes. “Are you needed?” 

“I think so,” his voice was low, sinking into the headspace required to take on whatever danger was lurking. 

“Come back to me in one piece, okay?” Your voice cracked, arms squeezing him impossibly tight.

“Of course, doll.” He looked at you then, tears welling in his own eyes, his lips so soft against your own. 

“You're my hero, you know that? You don't have to do anything else?” 

He nodded, letting you slide back to the floor, heels clicking on the tile in a sad reminder of your ruined evening. 

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, lock the door behind me, okay? Don’t let anyone, anyone, in.” 

It was your turn to nod, you knew the protocols, the rules that reassured him. 

His bike roared to life, then he was gone, and you were alone in the echo of your home. 

[cowboyfromh3ll]

you said to do headcannons right?

can you do sex headcannons for the members of the gang? Only ones you're comfortable with obv. Personally, I don't care much for Micah (I want to set him on fire) so feel free to leave him out if you don't feel like writing for him

But the usual Dutch, John, Javier, Arthur, Charles, and anybody else you feel like are just perfect. I love your writing, so I'm excited to see your take on these

<3

Sex HC Ft. Van Der Linde Gang

(Dutch Van Der Linde, John Marston, Javier Escuella, Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, Lenny Summers, Kieran Duffy, Micah Bell, Sean Macguire, Sadie Adler)

I should write for the girls more

Warnings: Smut, duh

Dutch Van Der Linde

He probably loves roleplaying

Pretending he's the outlaw and you're the officer punishing him

But most times he loves being in control of you, thinks it's so attractive when you submit completely to him and become his pliable little servant

Likes it when you wear expensive jewelry and gifts he buys you with nothing else on

Definitely wants you to call him Sir

Says the most poetic and flowery things to you during

Probably enjoys receiving but LOVES giving head. Views it as another way to take control

Quickies with him are non existent. To him, sex and intimacy are an art, and he will take his time with every little detail and aspect of it

Enjoys playful brattiness, definitely a brat tamer

I can see him being into BDSM. Ball gags, leather crops, leashes, blindfolds, etc

John Marston

Super messy, super rough, super desperate

Pussy eating pro. I'm talking mind blowing, back arching, toe curling, sheet gripping head. ALWAYS asks if he can go down on you

Acts like every time you two have sex will be the last

On the contrary though, I feel like he'd be into edging

Also doesn't mind letting you be dominant, he has such submissive energy

Mayhaps a mommy kink, because I can also see him calling you mommy

Would let you tie him up, totally at your mercy

He loses any semblance of shame, will beg, cry, whimper, you name it

Could consent to just about anything, if you tell him to bark he'll bark

Gets carried away when during sex sometimes, just gets absolutely drunk from pleasure

Javier Escuella

Incredibly romantic and passionate

He can fuck, but he can also make love

So much sexual stamina, and makes every time you have sex absolutely unforgettable

Loves to make sure you are as comfortable as possible and feel as though you have enough privacy. Even if it means paying for a hotel, he'll do anything to ensure your comfort

But if you wanna have risky public sex he's more than willing to as well lmao

Holds you and whispers how much he loves you while he thrusts slowly

But if y'all are fucking he'll say the filthiest shit he can conjur up in his mind while thrusting as hard and fast as he can

Slaps and grips anything he can hold onto

Overwhelms all of your senses and stimulates you in multiple ways at once

Loves cumming inside you but if not inside then on your torso or face

Arthur Morgan

Loves putting his whole weight on you when y'all fuck

Just simply pinning you down with the size of him drives him crazy

Is such a gentleman even during sex. Always stops and asks how you are and if you like how he's doing

Insists you don't have to go down on him but secretly loves it when you do

His favorite positions are ones where you're totally helpless like mating presses or locking your arms behind you

Whenever he fucks you from behind he wraps his massive arm around your neck. Idly squeezes down on your neck

Enjoys sex totally naked, makes it feel more intimate exposing yourselves fully to each other

But he loves it if you wear cute outfits for him just so he can take it off you

But he absolutely loves quickies. Complains they're too risky but every time you suggest one he's unbuckling his belt before you can finish your sentence

Definitely does the knee thing

Charles Smith

He is a pure giver. You will always cum at least 3 times or else he won't feel like he did a thorough job.

Will ignore his own aching cock as long as he can see you squirm in ecstasy

Your pleasure is his pleasure

Doesn't care if he doesn't get to cum tbh

Definitely aware of his size and uses it to his advantage if you're into that

Cages you in his arms, holds you down, puts you in choke holds, etc

I feel like he'd be pretty vanilla and you'd be the one to bring kinks to the table if anything. Will honestly do most anything you want if it brings you pleasure

Soft but firm touches, like every touch is done with intent and thought

Type to make out with you for hours without any actual stimulation and be content. Will see you off with the bluest balls.

Lenny Summers

He's still pretty young so I believe his experience would be limited

You two are probably eachother's first everythings, atleast you're his

Probably cums real fast but makes up for it with enthusiam

Will try out so many things with you, the two of you will both bring ideas to the table

Tries to start things off slow but his excitement gets the best of him

SO MUCH communication and talking during (feedback, jokes, etc...)

Very forward with his needs

Asks for hand/blow jobs a lot to blow off some steam

Very fast learner, and probably very risky

I feel like he'd ask to finger you a lot in risky situations

There's been instances where he just forgets foreplay altogether and just wants to go at it

Kieran Duffy

Submissive as hell

Definitely whimpers

Let's you take the lead 99% of the time

Will cum within five minutes max, and it really takes it out of him

Super sensitive literally everything. Touch him anywhere and he's blushing and squirming

Loves it if you wrap your thighs around his head

That being said, enjoys face sitting

Feels reassured when you tell him what to do and help him in the process

Hands roam all over you, it's like he can't fathom that you're a real being that's actually doing this with him

Eyes roll back and his face goes red when he cums. He's super embarassed about it

Micah Bell

SO rough. Drags you into position and commands you to do certain things

Likes slapping, hair pulling, spitting, I feel like he'd even be into piss. All of the above would go both ways for him.

Hate sex with him goes crazy ong. And after arguments? Just fucking all your anger away

Into degrading for sure

Sex is definitely the best emotional release for the both of you without actually hurting eachother

He's into marks. That entails scratches, bites, bruises

Make him bleed, literally beat the shit out of him during sex and he'll let it slide

Sex is a constant battle for dominance

Probably makes you do embarassing things for him like bark

Also puts you in obscene and embarassing positions just for his own pleasure

If anyone ever heard y'all have sex they'd think it sounds more like an argument and a fist fight than love making

Sean Macguire

The goofiest man during sex, not even intentionally either. He'll say the stupidest thing you've ever heard with his whole chest and you'll have to ask if he's serious

"You ready for the Macguire special?"

Loud ass moans, cannot contain them. If you're into public sex you better either prepare to be caught or mentally prepare yourself for the influx of scoldings/questions that'll come later

LOVES playful brattiness or when you want to take control. He's all for it

Has fantasies of being woken up with head

Will do the same for you in return if that's what it takes to enact his fantasies

Also into roleplay but way cornier shit like you're a nurse and he's a patient. Indulges in costumes as well

Drunk sex is the best because it's combining two of his favorite things

Sadie Adler

Also definitely does the knee thing...

Genuinely one of the sweetest and more passionate lovers, and it will translate during sex

Super gentle and passionate

Lot's of "I love you"s exchanged

Never any space between you, your limbs constantly intertwined as you kiss and move against eachother

Either of you can take the role as dom, it doesn't matter to her

Smiles the whole time out of pure adoration for you

Can be super sultry and kinky when the time calls for it though

Not opposed to being a little rougher but I can't see her going too far with that

Thinks you're far too delicate and special to be treated in such a way

[barbwritesstuff]

I'm struck with a sudden and unprovoked need to explain the romantic dynamics in Blood Moon and Thicker Than. I don't know why, and will not be taking questions at this time.

There are eight romanacable characters in Blood Moon.

Marco

Carrie

Vicky

Ed

Sergi

Shawnie

Roe

Farro

And nine in Thicker Than.

Tracy

Marcel

Erin

Nathan

Iliya

Freya

Ravima

Chris

Minjo

Starting with the werewolves...

Marco's whole shtick is the best friend. He's the goofy, kinda scrappy golden retriever guy who is fun, a little awkward, and prone to running his mouth. That dynamic doesn't change if you romance him. When it comes to the bedroom, he's super versatile. Top? Bottom? Rough? Gentle? Left? Right? No matter your preference, he's game.

Carrie brings the baggage so you don't have to. She needs a lot of love and understanding, especially at first, but if you're kind to her she'll let her guard down and open up. I wanted her dynamic with the MC to be all about that trust and that extends into the romantic and intimate scenes. Carrie's banter with the MC is her way of feeling safe... so yeah, that's in the sexy bits too.

Vicky is my Batman. Strong, stoic, silent... even when perhaps she shouldn't be. She's been through hell and back and her number one mission in life is to make sure no one she loves has to experience what she did. She also knows kungfu, because of course she does. Her romantic scenes are very, very gentle.

Ed is a sassy wee sweetheart. A genuinely good, and really smart guy who has to try so hard not to roll his eyes at the antics of some of the other werewolves. He's never dated anyone before, so the romantic dynamic is a little slower, a little sweeter, and a little softer. Because he's a virgin he'll set some boundaries in the bedroom. After all, he's still figuring it all out.

Sergi is a little late edition to the Blood Moon love interest roster. When I first invented the character, he was originally going to be way more of a background character than he ended up being. There's a bit of an age gap here, as Serge is a little older than the MC, and the relationship develops right at the end of the game. It's a kinda messy dynamic, a lot of trauma, helping each other recover through love, etc.

Shawnie is hot and she knows it. Curvy, sexy, playful, fun. Because the other female love interests lean a little bit bleaker, I wanted Shawnie to be for people who wanted a lighter, bubblier, more fun romance. That doesn't mean she's shallow or simple, but that she takes her fun where there is fun to be taken.

Roe is the alpha of the other pack and has some pretty intense feelings about power and being in charge. Expect some tussling in the bedroom. They've been an alpha for only a little while and have only recently started to realise how lonely it can be at the top. A lot of their romance is them realising they have that wall around themselves and figuring out how to navigate around it.

Farro is the only love interest in Blood Moon who is 'missable'. I.E. Depending on your choices, you may not meet him at all. He looks like a werewolf, even among werewolves, big and muscular with long hair and a beard. He's also a dad, a widower, and super introverted. However, behind closed doors, he's rather intense.

And now for the vampires (and non vampires) of Thicker Than...

Tracy is a bitch with a heart of gold. She's using you to escape the clutches of the cult that she's been trapped in for decades, and isn't quite sure if she can trust you either. But, despite all her sharp edges, she's the most ride-or-die person in the world. She needs some tenderness, but isn't shy about desire or romance.

Marcel does a really good job of acting the part of the scary, shadowy vampire lord, but the truth is, he's rather too easily charmed by plucky fledglings who push back against the system. He's also kinda a freak in the bedroom.

Erin is complicated. She's been fighting against the vampire court for decades and is a figurehead of the revolution... even though, in some ways, she doesn't really believe in it any more. I haven't written her intimate scenes yet, but the vibe I'm reaching for is a little messy, a little angry, just like she is. Also lowkey thinking of adding a threesome in with her and her human girlfriend in Chapter Four. I dunno.

Nathan is the vampire hunter, so if I had to give him a trope, it'd be enemies to lovers. He's kinda a badarse, but also really bad at looking after his own arse. He is, after all, catching feelings for a vampire. Also, he 100% doesn't get enough sunlight. The vibe is I-don't-know-if-I-should-kill-you-or-kiss-you.

Iliya is one big walking cliche, and that's why I love him. I wanted him to be the bodyguard romance, and he is that. He's also kind of a bastard in a I-will-betray-you-but-then-maybe-unbetray-you kinda way. Big, a little cheeky, and very hungry.

Freya is soft and kind and very trusting in almost every way. Unfortunately, that makes her a little (occasionally a lot) gullible. She wants to believe the best in people, even when sometimes it puts her in danger. My intension with her character was to contrast it with her witchy powers. She's a sucker, but she's also one of the most powerful necromancers alive (and is capable of consulting with some of the dead ones). Her romance is, like everything else about her, very soft and cosy. She will only use her powers on you if you're into it.

Ravima is perhaps my most classic vampire romance. They're dark, they're sinister, they're obsessed with art, with knowledge, with anything that will make immortality a little less boring. They also kinda want to eat you, but they also want to fuck you, and that's kinda the whole vibe.

Chris is my first (and last because oh holy hell the coding is hard) gender selectable love interest. They're only available to players who select the divorcee origin at the start of the game. That's because, they're the main character's ex spouse. Perhaps obviously, the romance route is very second chance romance.

Minjo has the weird honour of having the most Romeo and Juliet romance I've ever written. She's team werewolf, and you're a vampire. She's also a total MILF, and only available to characters who are also parents. Bond over being single and raising kids. I wanted to give her a dry sense of humour, and a down to earth sorta charm.

Anyway.

My number one goal with these romances was to make them all unique. I didn't want to copy paste the love scenes and change the names. I wanted them to all feel like different people and for their romance routes to feel different and unique to them. I don't know if I've fully achieved that. There's some that do overlap with each other, but I think I've managed to hit a few different spots on the love interest spectrum.

[konpeitonom]

I am shocked that no one has asked for a Daisuke nsfw alphabet version yet...I must change that... Can you make a Daisuke nsfw alphabet when you have the time, please? _(´ཀ`」 ∠)_

daisuke nsfw alphabet.

nsfw — lowercase intended ^_^

fem reader —

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^

notes; it took me a couple days to do this IM SORRY. it might be all over the place. complete writing slump rn but i now have dedicated times to write and such so hopefully i wont slack, haha..

and happy 102 of you all! did not think i’d reach this far so early.

nsfw under the cut! minors do not read

a — aftercare, (what they’re like after sex)

— he’s always hungry after sex so he��ll always make you/order you food, whether or not you want it or not, haha.. he’ll also set up the tub for you, or whatever. if you’re at his place he’ll set up his fancy jets.

b — body part (their favorite body part, and their partners)

— 100% a thigh kind of guy.. will ask you to suffocate him with them. non-sexually even, he just has a fixation on your thighs.

— for him? nothing in particular, i really can’t think on this. maybe his hands?

c — cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

— not inside, he’s too paranoid for that kind of thing (he’s still young after all!) even if you are on birth control.. i think on the bed or whatever surface you guys are on, because he’d feel just a tinsy bit bad if he cums on you. with your permission, on your thigh..

— i mentioned in my regular daisuke headcanons that he used to be a bit of a player. he doesn’t wanna make you feel used and stuff, so he tries his best to not come off as such..

d — dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

— he cums really easily. he’s kinda embarrassed about it. came while making out, because he grinded a bit on your thigh. had to excuse himself to the bathroom. don’t laugh at him be nice about it haha.

e — experience (how experienced are they?)

— hes not too experienced sexually.. once or twice maybe? or a virgin too. i see him as 18-21 and i feel like most people don’t really lose theirs till then.. whatever it is, he doesn't really know what he’s doing.

f — favorite position (self explanatory)

— you riding him.. he thinks it’s just really hot- likes the sight of you on top of him. In bed, he’s not particularly dominant unless you’re much more submissive than him.

g — goofy (are they more serious in the moment?)

— he can get a bit overwhelmed emotionally i think, so he might make a joke or two or just be less serious overall to sort of cope with that.

— seeing sex as intimacy rather than just a way to get off is a sign of growing up for him which i think might scare him a little?

h — hair (how well groomed are they?)

— he doesn’t think about it! it’s never something he paid much mind too so unless you’re bothered by it then he doesn’t care all much.

i — intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic wise?)

— i think he can be pretty romantic. like, praise or ‘i love yous’ during sex. but it’s not something he focuses on unless it’s a special day.

j — jack off (masturbation headcanon)

— i think he jerks off pretty often, however often a teenage boy/young adult usually does. usually to the thought of you, or porn (projects the two of you when watching..) or maybe to one of your clothing items you so happen to leave at his place. he’d wash it, promise.

k — kink (one of their kinks)

— semi-public stuff. his car or bathrooms even. he doesn’t actually wanna get caught or in trouble but he really, really likes the idea of it.

— marking!! thank you 🪖 for the inspiration. only in spots you’d allow him too. maybe not on the neck just for looks sake.. particularly enjoys your thighs and shoulders.

— watching you masturbate. you watching him masturbate. i won’t elaborate this is a throwaway thought.

— i think.. he’d like it if you degraded him? maybe a bit of a guilty pleasure, it’s just sexy. but there’s a thin line between that and being plain mean.

l — location (favorite places to do it)

— .. in the car, in some random parking lot. it’s like the perfect place for him. privacy, but not too much. and no worries about his parents or yours. and likes the look of fogged up windows, just a hint of what they’d done!

m — motivation (what turns them on)

— seeing you want it is the hottest thing to him. like you tugging at his sleeve, telling him you wanna go home early to go ‘do stuff’. just say the word and he’ll do it for you!

n — no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

— nothing that hurts you, or hurts him. i mean, it’s sex, it’s supposed to feel good. he wouldn’t like being mean to you. you could be mean to him but he can’t imagine like, slapping you.

o — oral (preference in giving, receiving)

— prefers receiving! i mean he eats pussy, and likes doing so, but is in love with the way your eyes look as you go down on him.. your lips, the way it feels, he loves it. especially in the privacy of.. a bathroom stall.

p — pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

— i think.. he thinks faster is better. and sometimes it is. not particularly rough but he tries, if that’s what you’re into.

q — quickie (their opinion on quickies, how often)

— he likes them! loves them, even. after that initial stage of awkwardness he’s totally up for sex everyday, even if it’s a little quickie.

r — risk (are they willing to experiment? do they take risks?)

— hes very open and excited to try new things, infact i think he does most of the suggesting. of course he considers your preferences into account before doing so. if you suggest something, 9 times out of 10 he’s willing.

s — stamina (self explanatory)

— i think he can go for a long while.. he has a lot of energy. he used to play baseball (canon) so i can only assume physically he’s very active.

t — toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on themselves or their partner?)

— yes, 100%. he prefers using toys on you, as a way to please you. double stimulation, or whatever. but he’s not opposed to using toys for himself either. he wouldn’t go out of his way to do so, but if you wanted it then for sure.

u — unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

— he’s not much of a tease. maybe if you were being kind of mean that day, he’d tease you a little. but he prefers it when you tease him, honestly, thinks it’s real cute.

v — volume (how loud are they? what sounds do they make?)

— he’s loud.. whines and groans. he can’t help it, really. he’s not just doing it for show. though, he tries to quiet down just a tinsy bit so the focus is on you. he likes it when his partners are loud.

w — wild card (a random headcanon)

— has wet dreams more often than not. it’s really funny, actually. i think if he dreams about you specifically within said wet dream he’d feel a bit of guilt, then eventually jerk off to whatever it was.

x — x-ray (what’s going on underneath?)

— i think he’s average in length but a bit thicker. please compliment his dick he’s really insecure abt it ngl. that’s really all i have to say, sorry!

y — yearning (how high is their sex drive?

— pretty high i’d say. or just a bit higher than average. but being the people pleaser that he is, he’d take note of yours and go based on that rather than him.

z — zzz.. (how quickly they fall asleep)

— he can if he wants too, but would rather get up and do something else. he doesn’t want to feel all sore and groggy when he wakes up so he’d take a shower at least.

[buttercandy16]

In-laws

PAIRING: Dark!Agatha Harkness x Reader, Agatha Harkness x Reader x Rio Vidal

SUMMARY: In-laws are the worst and you found out the hard way.

WARNING(s): Dark themes, Non-con, and a whole lot of SMUT!

A/N: Dark themes ahead. If you find these things disturbing I strongly advice that you skip this post. Thank you!

Y/N POV 

The night's cold breeze is crisp on my face as I stand outside the balcony thinking about how perfect my wedding tomorrow will be. 

Nicky and I have been together since my parents started working for his parents. At first, I was reluctant to engage in a romantic relationship with him since in the eyes of society we were unfit for each other, but he was persistent and in the end, I let love win. I was even more thankful that his parents accepted me and my family with open arms despite our lowly status in life. 

After years of being together, we are finally making it official tomorrow as husband and wife. 

I just finished celebrating my bachelorette party earlier which was neatly organized by one of my soon-to-be mother-in-law, Agatha. While Nicky is having his bachelor's party with his set of friends. 

Everything will be perfect, for sure nothing will go wrong. 

"Excited?" I was pulled out from my thoughts when Agatha appeared by my side with a bottle of wine in hand. 

For the record, I'm currently staying at Nicky's house. Both of his mothers insisted that I stay here before the wedding and I agreed.

"Yeah, I'm so excited to get married to Nicky!" I exclaimed excitedly. 

Agatha gave me a chuckle before waving the wine bottle in front of my face. 

"Good, then we better celebrate with this." 

"Ummm... I don't want to be rude, but I'll have to decline. I don't drink alcohol, remember?"

Agatha rolled her eyes at me before she leaned in closer to my ear. 

"Oh come on, sweetheart. That was different, this one we get to enjoy all to ourselves, and I think it's about time you try right? And it's not like we're gonna get wasted, you'll be fine tomorrow. I swear." 

I suppose... 

"O--okay then, but I'll only drink one glass.”

"One glass is enough" Agatha smiled at me mischievously before slightly pushing me inside the room. 

I was a bit nervous about how she was acting, she seemed pushy. But I was fast to dismiss that thought as she filled our glasses with wine. 

She gave me mine before sitting next to me on the sofa, only an arm's length away from each other. 

"Go on" she urged playfully... 

I swirled the wine in my glass slightly before carefully putting it to my lips and tentatively sipping the liquid. I found it delicious and very cooling.

“This is delicious!" 

"Yes, simple but very soothing. Finest wine you can ever have. But, you must drink deeply for the full effect." 

I eagerly did as I was told, and Agatha seemed satisfied with this. Soon I was holding an empty glass. I had drained it and hadn't even noticed. The drink was that smooth. The only problem is that I found that I was still thirsty. 

"Could I have another, please?" I asked, her eyes glinted with something dark from my request. 

"I think that can be arranged." 

Agatha was careful to replenish my glass whenever it emptied as we talked and talked into the night. 

It was quite odd, no matter how much I drink I still feel thirsty. 

I wondered if it was starting to affect me. I noticed that the room was becoming increasingly warm. Worse, I was finding my body becoming uncomfortably warm. My face was becoming flush. My heart was beating very fast and I was practically panting, my breath had gotten so fast. I was starting to sweat inside my clothes, too. My clothes were becoming very confining. How odd, I thought. It was supposed to be a chilly evening. But now, I desire nothing more than to get out of my clothes, then I would feel so much better. 

"Have you and Nicholas done it yet?" Her question almost made me choke on my drink, her eyes never leaving mine. 

Am I hearing this right? Does she mean th--- 

She slowly traced the rim of her wineglass while looking at me curiously, "What do you mean?" I asked.

"Did you have sex yet?" 

Her question slightly took me aback but answered, nonetheless. 

"N--no, we haven't. I'm still pure" 

The moment I said pure, a shadow seems to pass on her features as the corner of her lips slightly lifted sinisterly, barely noticeable in the dark. 

But I saw it... 

She snickered under her breath as she slightly swirled the wine in her glass. 

That's when I realized that she's never touched it. Not even a single drop. 

She followed my gaze to her wine glass before catching mine. Slightly tilting her head, she then smiled knowingly. 

She knows that I've noticed. 

I was starting to feel uncomfortable from this so I decided that it was time to retire for the night. But when I stood up, I was immediately met by sudden dizziness making me sit back on the couch ungracefully. 

It felt like my innards were being replaced by some kind of emptiness. I tried to stand again, desperate to leave this room. I swayed for just a moment before Agatha caught me. There was nothing I could do now, and as I slowly slumped sideways, she gently tugged on my shoulder, causing me to lie flat, with my head on her lap. Now all I could see was my fiance's mother smiling down at me… and the world went black. 

_=_=_ 

How long I was out, I’m not sure. I opened my eyes, and it took them a moment to adjust to the light.

Something was wrong. 

My arms could not move, despite my best efforts, and the air felt rather cold on my skin. And when my eyes adjusted, I immediately saw why. My wrists had been secured firmly in two straps, on either side of my head. And the cool air on my skin was because I'm completely naked! 

I tried to scream my lungs out, to shout for help, to do anything that might get me out of this situation. But the only thing that came out was a muffled sound. That has something to do with the gag placed over my mouth. But it did draw some attention to me because a figure suddenly appeared over my vulnerable form, and when it spoke, I heard the unmistakable voice of my fiance's mother. 

"So, you're finally awake" 

"I think before you try going off on one, I should probably introduce you to a bit of "context," I think you'd call it." She reached for the table next to her and picked up a remote. She turned on the TV that was positioned just above the bed I was strapped to. "Let's just say you might want to forget about struggling when I show you this video." 

My confusion made me forget my anger, for a moment. But as the film started, and what I was watching became clear to me, my anger was replaced by shock and horror. 

It was a video of me and my co-worker Tony, sitting in my office, and him kissing me. It had been a professional meet-up, he was showing me some files that we needed to sort out before the big presentation when out of the blue he just kissed me. I froze out of shock while his lips continued to press against mine but when I finally snapped out of it I immediately pushed him off me and gave him an ear-deafening slap on the face. But that wasn't shown in the film. It was just the kiss, making it look like I did it deliberately. I remembered him looking at me in pity like he was sorry for what he did. I didn't tell anyone about it, not even Nicky. And now my soon-to-be mother-in-law possesses proof of it.

But how? Why was there a video? Based on the angle I know it was filmed from a hidden camera. Was it done intentionally? For what reason?! Was she behind it? 

If someone got hold of it, I wouldn't just get fired from fraternizing with a colleague. I would probably lose Nicky as well. 

And that scared me shitless... 

Agatha pressed another button, and the video switched off. She looked at my face, now starting to become tear-stained and the fear now plain for everyone to see. She smiled. 

"I think that expression is a good one for you," she remarked. "It makes you look so sweet and innocent." 

She leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek. I tried to jerk away but couldn't. The kiss practically seared my skin like molten lava. 

"Now that no one is going to disturb us, how about we get some fun done?" 

Agatha then began to touch me, and that was when I started to squirm a little. She moved her arms around my body, rubbing it in a very erotic way. "Aww… such a nice body, pet! I can't help myself but touch myself thinking about you every day. And now, I can't help myself anymore." She put a hand on my knee and began to gently stroke my leg. 

"What should I do first with your body?" She ran her finger on my smooth skin, before taking the gag off my mouth. 

I gritted my teeth from both anger and sadness. "Why are you doing this?" 

"Didn't I already tell you? I want your body to be mine! We are going to have so much fun, pet. And if you disobey me, I think you already know what will happen right? Not to mention, I can get  both of your parents fired, tsk... that would be unfortunate" 

A single tear ran on my cheek and Agatha kissed it, licking the drop. I know that I have no other choice but to let things happen. I have so much to lose if she doesn't get what she wants. 

She moved around and brought our lips together in a violent kiss, forcing her tongue past my gritted teeth. She bit my bottom lip hard enough to earn a gasp, allowing her to move her tongue past the barrier. 

The tongue quickly found its way around my mouth and explored every inch it could. In parallel to that, her hands moved around and groped my breast. She slightly massaged them and pinched the erected nipples. It was not that the events made me horny. It was the cold that made my body like that. 

The kiss ended after a while, me being out of air while the older woman was looking crazier than before. She licked her lips another time before stripping her shirt, skirt, and underwear away. She moved and kneeled in front of my face, her warmth being right on top of my face. "Eat up!" She said in a commanding voice, but I hesitated. The woman gritted her teeth in anger and grabbed my hair. "I ordered you to eat up!" She forced my mouth to get in contact with her entrance. 

Out of reflex, I attempted to close my mouth, but then felt a pair of forces crushing my head from both sides as her legs pressed me. The pain was enough to make me gasp. She took the opportunity to tighten her grip on my hair and pressed me harder. 

"That's more like it!" She started to move her body up and down, making my juice splash on my face. "Now, get that tongue of yours to work baby" She ordered and once again tightened the grip, forcing me to obey her order. 

I had to stick my tongue forward, forced to have a taste of the older woman. It was sweet and I can't stop myself from moaning from the taste of her. She also moaned at the feeling of my tongue inside her and moved faster until she cummed in my mouth. 

Just as I was about to let go of a sigh, my left leg was lifted, Agatha’s right leg sliding under it. "It is not the end yet! I still have a lot of things I want to teach your body." She pushed her hip forward, making our center meet.

I can't help but admit that it started to feel so good. The pleasure coursing through my veins like a blast of adrenaline... 

She repeated to thrush several more times, bringing our center together and making them part, and then collide again. She started to moan once again as I did the same, her hands starting to play with my breast, enjoying every contact through my body. Until my second orgasm was ripped from me this evening, followed by the beautiful temptress who laid on top of me while catching her breath from her release. 

She looked down on me in complete amusement as I lay helplessly underneath her. 

Agatha kissed the tip of my nose before sliding her warm body over me to reach something on the nightstand. When I saw what it was, my eyes grew wide as saucers... 

Oh no... please no more 

"P--please... I can't. It's too much" 

I struggled with my bonds as I tried to pull myself away from her. 

"Shhhh... I know you can. Just give mommy one more baby. I just need to taste you." 

She settled herself in between my legs, parting them by force. 

She reached between my legs and pushed something. The buzzing vibrator held against my clit sped up a notch, causing my back to arch. "Oh!" I gasped, head falling back. "Oh, oh—" 

Agatha cupped my left breast and mouthed at it, kissing and licking. I didn't know where to look but into her eyes, our foreheads practically touching on the pillow. 

I'm not sure what possessed me at the moment but I was suddenly desperate to taste her lips. 

"Kiss me," I begged. "Please..." 

And she did. Soft and sweet, holding me to her. Tugging my lip with her teeth and stroking my back, my butt. She took hold of my legs, cupping the underside of my knees. Bringing my legs around her waist, she rocked against me, teasing my lip with her tongue. 

I parted my lips for her, tasting her, sighing... Jolting when she tugged on my nipple. "Oh, ow, owie—, please don't—" 

I cried out with pleasure. This was so nice; it felt so good. 

She smiled at me. “You’ve got the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, pet,” she said, reaching to touch me, pulling back the hood of my clit so she could rub me with her thumb. I shivered. “Look at this tiny clit. So fucking cute, and all mine…” 

She proceeded to slide down my body until she was face to face with my dripping warmth. 

I gasped when she started to lick me and felt my stomach twitch, surprised and excited at Agatha’s eagerness to please me. I felt her tongue trace the outline of my lower lips and shuddered. A moment later, the older woman finally slid her tongue over my clit, and that's when I felt my walls clenching in a sudden spasm, screaming in pure pleasure for the third time. Due to the intensity, I blacked out. 

_=_=_ 

A groan left my lips when I woke up in the middle of the night with a sore body. 

Slightly stretching, that's when I realized that I was no longer chained to the bed and I was all alone in the room. 

Seeing this as an opportunity to get the hell outta here I immediately grabbed my clothes that were placed on the vanity chair before frantically dressing. 

No longer caring if I was dressed right I immediately ran towards the door but stopped when it suddenly opened, revealing my fiance’s other mother, Rio Vidal dressed in her expensive suit. 

"Ri-rio..." 

"Sweethear, what are you doing here?" Rio asked as she curiously surveyed my disheveled form. 

"Rio, you have to help me, please" I pleaded as I went closer to her. 

"Why? What's wrong?" She asked as she gently held my arm. 

"It's A–agatha, she---" 

"Hello, my love! You're home early," My words were cut off as Agatha appeared from the bathroom only covered by a plush purple robe. "It seems you caught our little bunny trying to hop away." She smiled devilishly... 

Wha-what? 

"Which is quite fortunate, I wouldn't want to miss out" Rio chuckled darkly. "But I'm very disappointed that you started without me, my love." 

"Well, you were late. It's been so long since I wanted a taste of her. I lost all self-control the moment I had her in my grasp. But don't worry, I saved the best for you." 

My eyes widened in realization and I felt my whole body shiver in fear as I heard the door's lock click. Locking me inside with two predators hungry for my young flesh... 

Nonononono... this isn't happening... 

Tears started to fall from my eyes as Agatha walked over to me, and Rio’s hand settled over my shoulders in a tight and almost painful hold. 

Agatha looked down on me with a predatory grin before slowly tilting my chin with her finger to meet her eyes. 

It was so dark and full of lust that it felt like I was about to drown in it. 

"Do you know the real reason why we let our son be with someone as lowly as you? It's because the moment we saw you, we knew that we needed to have you. Our perfect little toy." My heart ached from her words. So after all this time, I was nothing but a fool. 

"So here's what will happen from now on, you will get married to my son tomorrow and officially become part of our family. You will be a good wife to him and grant him the children he desires. But behind closed doors, you will become our pretty little pet and cater to our needs. Do you understand?" I nodded weakly.

"But the most important thing is... Nicky must never know about this little arrangement of ours. This secret will stay with you until you reach your grave, or else... I'm pretty sure you are aware of the power that we hold Y/N, if you go against us, we will destroy you and your loved ones. Do I make myself clear?" Her grip on my chin tightened, emphasizing how serious she was. 

"Ye-yes" I stuttered through gritted teeth. 

Agatha's eyes moved from behind me as Rio pressed her lips to my ear as she whispered... 

"If you behave like a good little girl for us, we will reward you with anything you desire, aside from your freedom of course." 

"Since that's all settled then, I think it's time for the main event" 

"Wh-what would that be?" I fearfully asked. 

Agatha smiled at me before leaning in close, her lips almost touching mine. 

"We're going to take your virginity baby"

_=_=_

Please don't forget to like, repost, and leave a comment below. I love hearing other peoples thoughts about this. Also, if you have any good ideas for a Dark fanfic featuring mother agatha please do send it. Thanks! 💜

[shysuccubusstuff]

husband! Zayne:

Content: SFW + NSFW hc, non proof-reading; established relationship + husband! zayne + consensual + praise kink; soft! dom into mean! dom Zayne (then back to soft! dom) : brat taming + degradation kink + praise kink + overstimulation + aftercare.

Note: So, I entered the game today and Zayne blew up my phone, one of the texts was about kaomojis and he said something about it being childish, even if he did it afterwards... I NEED TO MAKE HIM A DADDDD so freaking bad!! I'm pretty sure I already did something like this, but I just can't help it when I see such husband material... BTW Tomorrow is my birthday!! Time goes so fast :00 I hope everyone is able to rest during the holidays!!

♡ thinking about husband! zayne...

Hubby! Zayne. who proposed during one of your many outings, the sun was setting and you were sharing those old fashion snacks, laughing about how he had gotten the smaller side of the ice cream. You were still making fun of him when he suddenly got on one knee, his face completely red as he tried his best to get his severely prepared and rehearsed speech ready.

Hubby! Zayne, who makes sure to celebrate each single month , all the people in the hospital are completely aware of when that time comes, as they are able to see Zayne's uncontrolable smile during the whole week before the date. He makes sure to buy a beautiful bouquet for you, only using your favourite flowers and colours, that's the least he would do for you though. When your aniversary comes, better get ready for Zayne's constant pampering, always reserving some special place where the two of you can go together and spend some time alone, just him and you.

Hubby! Zayne, who makes sure to pay close attention to every single word you say, always answering to your rantings: "Oh, really? How could she do that to his long time fwb? Keep telling me, love."

Hubby! Zayne who prepares dinner the days that he gets home sooner than you, the table set and ready by the time you arrive home, sometimes even lighting up a few candles to give it a more romantic ambience.

Hubby! Zayne who sometimes appear without warning, he is resting his back against his car. As soon as he sees you getting out of your work, he quickly gets up, his right hand holding a plasting bag. "Just remembered you wante to go to that new restaurant, since I had time, I went and bought some take-out, do you want to go home and eat it?"

Hubby! Zayne who gets flusthered as soon as you start to think about having kids with him. He had been thinking about it for a long time, trying his best not to say it in case you felt unsure about it.

Hubby! Zayne who goes crazy just from the thought of filling your precious cunt with his essence, forcing himself not to get carried away as he keeps hitting the tip of his cock against your cervix, your insides clamping against his length making his mind foggy. What if he simply shoved you into the bed as he took away that damn condom, filling you to the brim as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

Hubby! Zayne who loves cuddling with you every single night, his sligthly cooler body quickly warming him up, maybe a bit too much, as you suddenly start to feel something poking you from behind.

Hubby! Zayne, who tries to act as if nothing is happening, slowly moving away as soon as he believes you are asleep, his hand tracing down his own body as he tries to reduce his erection as fast as possible just so he can keep embracing your body... Or so he thought.

"Zayne?" Zayne stops himself, quickly hiding it under his pants.

"...Yes, love?" You turn around, soon noticing how he had gotten away from you.

"Sure you don't need some help down there?" Zayne's face flushes, his eyes widening as he looked at you.

"...You noticed?"

"I mean, it's not exactly easy to ignore something stiff poking against my ass while trying to fall asleep, you know?" Zayne stopped your words, his hand covering your mouth as he tried to stop you from saying more embarrasing things.

"I, I just didn't want to bother you, I know you work so hard everyday so you must rest, this can wait until we have more time, there's no need to--" Zayne's words were stopped as you got on top of him with your hands massaging his chest while you started a deep kiss. "Love... we shouldn't, we have to wake up early tomorrow." Once again, you ignored poor Zayne's words, your hands quickly getting rid of his shirt, throwing it to the ground, your lips starting to make a small trail of kisses all over his neck to his chest. "You're always so..." Zayne's words were cut off, a deep breath leaving his lips before he was able to end his sentence. "...naughty." You smiled, almost a bit too happy to see him struggling under you, sadly, this soon reached its end, with Zayne swiftly changing positions, having you under his bigger frame. "Not so fun now, am I right, love? It seems I have been pampering a bit too much, now you even think that you can do whatever you want and have no consequences since I love you so much... But even brats like you should know when to behave." Zayne started to kiss you, his soft lips leaving small kisses all over you as his hands started to run under your clothes, his cold touch making your whole body shiver. "Not so funny now, uh?" With your whole body now completely exposed to Zayne it was almost impossible to stop him from finding your sweet spots. Zayne started to massage your breasts, his fingertips playing with your nipples while he sometimes gave them small licks. "Oh, they are perking up, seems I am not the only one who is weak to... someone's touch."

"You're talking too much, just-- Fuck..." Once again, Zayne's touch stopped you mid-sentence, his hands suddenly lifting your lower half and putting your legs over his shoulders, Zayne now kissing and leaving small licks all over that place, still not going for it, just teasing it. "Zayne, just, uh... please."

"Please what, love? I can't read your mind, I need you to say it to me." You clenched your fists as Zayne kept teasing you by kissing your inner thighs.

"...Please. Just... just make me feel good, I need you." That was everything Zayne needed, his mouth already moving towards your cunt, his lips kissing it and giving it a few licks before he actually started to play with your poor clit, his tongue making your whole body quiver as he started to use one of his fingers to play with your clit as he used his tongue to slowly enter you. After a few minutes, he finally introduced one of his digits, entering another as he considered you were finally ready for it. "Zayne... I need you now-- Give it to me."

"Don't rush, my love. We have all the night left." With that set in mind, Zayne ignored your pleas, having you lay with your legs wide open as he kept teasing you, stopping just before you were finally able to cum, making your mind start to feel fuzzy as he kept playing with your clit, his fingers still prepping your poor cunt.

By the time Zayne finally let your legs go, your whole body was trembling, your eyes tearing up as the overstimulation had gotten far too much, your hands fisting the sheets as you tried to avoid being heard by your neighbours. "Zayne, Zayne, please!... Just, can't think, I need you." Zayne chuckled at your pouty face, kissing your lips before he lifted you from the bed, sitting on the bed and finally letting his cock make his way inside your overwhelmed cunt, bottoming out with a deep groan.

"...You feel so nice, love." You rested your hands on his chest, trying your best to use your legs to try and lift your lower half, barely being able to take out a bit of his lenght. "Wait dear, let me help my sweet girl." As soon as he said that, Zayne's hands were already on your hips, carefully lifting you up before entering your cunt once more, kissing you as he tried to avoid your slutty moans to be heard by someone that wasn't him. Annoyed by his teasing, you tried to get Zayne to move faster, trying your best to release his grip on you, suddenly forcing you to slam yourself against him, a high-pitched whimper resonating in the bedroom you both shared. " It seems I haven't been able to put you in your place still, I suppose you really want to be treated like a brat, get fucked against the mattress while you cream all over my dick, so be it. It was foolish of me to think you would want to get pregnant while making love, you just love getting your brains fucked out by me, right?" Zayne quickly pushed you again, forcing you to face the bed as he started to slam his hips against your ass, the lewd sound reverberating in the room while your eyes rolled to the back of your head. "Speak, you always love running your mouth, why not answer me now?" Your nails digged on the sheets, Zayne pulling you by your hair without much force, just letting you breath so you could answer him.

" Sowwy--- I'm sorry! Sorry for being a brat, I love you, I love you Zayne... I love getting my brain scattered by your cock! Pleasee~... Just cum inside, don't pull out, please please Zayne!" Zayne once again teased you, turning you around just to see the face he loved so much, ashamed, you hid your face with your hands, trying your best to keep quiet as Zayne kept punishing you with his thrusts, your cunt gushing out each time he hit that special spot inside of you.

"That's my good girl, keep taking me so good, dear. You're doing such a good job, let me get you all nice and round, you will make such a good mommy... Keep cumming for me love, no need to think about anything else." So you did, your cunt pulsating as your mind was finally able to begin to clear up, Zayne's hands caressing your soft face while he kissed your wet cheeks. "You did so well, love. Promise I will pamper you the whole week, how about having breakfast in bed? We can then have dinner together in that new restaurant you keep seeing, yeah? Let me take care of everything." Nodding, you dooze off, Zayne's words resonating in your ears while he kept kissing your face.

[gothgleek]

Your Boyfriend’s Mom! Alicent x f!Reader- NSFW Alphabet

You’re dating Aegon but when he’s being an ass, you’re fucking his mom.

TW: modern au with sexual situations and a little bit of dark!Alicent that includes brief mentions of non consensual nudes.

Border by @saradika-graphics

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Alicent is often wracked with guilt about sleeping with her son’s girlfriend until you roll over and cuddle her. Then she melts into your arms.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

She loves her hair and takes multiple steps to ensure it stays thick and healthy. Alicent also likes her neck because of the way you kiss her there.

She loves your tits- I mean, smile. Just one look and her day is immediately better.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Alicent is a squirter, pass it on.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Those blurry pics she posts on her instagram story? Yeah she’s not bad with technology, she’s posting pics have been while you were eating her out.

Also, in a bit of Dark!Alicent- she has the nudes you sent to Aegon downloaded on her phone.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Outside of her husband, she has read a lot of vintage smut books but those pale in comparison to what the two of you get into.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

She likes to ride. Alicent likes when you’re in control but if you give her just a little power, she’ll have you seeing stars in no time.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Before she’s giggling at all your jokes, during she’s desperate, after she’s got that guilt setting in. And so the cycle continues.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Bush! Bush! Bush!

She used to wax because that is what her husband preferred but now she’s letting it grow free with the occasional trim now and then.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Alicent wants to be romantic but she knows you’re not the person she can do that with. You’ll both say sweet nothings to each other but that’s as far as the romance really goes. Sometimes she’ll fantasize about romantic and loving sex while she masturbates.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You took her to the store to buy Alicent’s first vibrator and she uses it almost every night. She sends you pictures as well.

Sometimes when you visit Aegon, she will masturbate in the hopes you catch her.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

She is working up the nerve to invite you to a long weekend that will involve roleplaying as her favorite characters. Perhaps even having you hunt her down in the woods and taking her amongst the trees. She’s also into the idea of filming you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

She’ll tell you it’s in her car by the lake outside of town but it’s really in Aegon’s bed. Something about the guilt makes it feel super sexy.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

She lets you hit it because you make her laugh.

Also, pictures of yourself in green lingerie and pearls. She likes you in all lingerie but green has a special place in her heart.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

She’s not into hair pulling or extreme bdsm. She still considers herself vanilla. Also, she won’t have sex in places that are too public because she doesn’t want the other PTA moms talking about her.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

She’s such a pillow princess, she’s never going down on you… unless you ask nicely. But even then, she’s doing it so you can eat her out.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Most of your encounters are quickies so fast and rough is the name of the game. Occasionally, she’ll ask you to be a little romantic but even then it’s gonna be fast.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Most of the time you two are having a quickie in the car, in the bathroom, or on Aegon’s bed. The two of you rarely have time to slow down.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Alicent isn’t a huge risk taker. Sure she’s fucking her son’s boyfriend, often in public, but those are in controlled environments like abandoned parking lots, empty parks, and her pool. She doesn’t have any interest in bdsm.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

She can cum 3-4 times with you in relatively quick succession. She had reached a number of ten orgasms in one day, just through the course of the day rather than all at once.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You bought her her first vibrator and butt plug. Then she bought herself some nipples clamps to surprise you when you got home. Those are her only toys (so far).

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If she’s feeling frisky, Alicent will tease you in public- running her hands over you, placing her hand on your thigh, and whispering sweet nothings. By the time you two end your in bed though, she wastes no time.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Despite being a secret, she is so incredibly loud- this is the first time she’s ever received pleasure and passion. Alicent will shout your name, beg, moan, and on a few occasions, knocked over loud objects so she can get fucked. You’re genuinely surprised no one has caught the two of you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Alicent went to the Sept to beg for forgiveness after sleeping with you for the first time. Then she went to the parking lot and had sex with you again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Her breasts grew to an even C cup after having kids, she also has some softness in her arms and belly.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It comes in cycles. Ovulation horny has taken her to places she would rather forget about afterwards.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

She’s out like a light. But the slightest noise will wake her up so she’s caught you sneaking out to go back to Aegon’s room.

[chiffxna]

A Love Too Dark (08)

The Marquis Vincent de Gramont x Reader

Chapter 08: Wrapped Around

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC.

This story will contain 18+ mature themes, blackmail, forced kissing, dark romance, toxic behaviour, blood, violence, stalking, manipulation, a lot of smut, dubious consent, non-consensual content, non-consensual creampie, breeding, yandere Marquis de Gramont, power play, and power imbalance, obsession, dark Marquis de Gramont, and abuse of power. The list will be added more as the story progresses. Minors, don't read.

Story Masterlist

PREV : Chapter 07

NEXT : Chapter 09

Chapter Summary:

After everything he’s forced on you, don’t you deserve something back?

“Now,” he continued, his eyes locking onto hers, the command in them unmistakable, “get under the table.”

Yn stared at him, wide-eyed with shock and disbelief. Her heart thudded heavily against her chest at his audacious demand. She breathed out incredulously, “What?”

“Get under my desk,” Marquis repeated coldly yet slowly – emphasizing each word so there would be no mistake about what he expected from Yn.

A shiver ran down Yn's spine as it dawned on her what he wanted her to do next. She was terrified. Humiliation began to course through her figure as she contemplated disobeying such an order. She did not want this. She was disgusted by the thought of it.

But reality soon set in as imagination of what could happen if she refused flooded in her mind. Yn felt trapped, caught between two impossible choices. Obey and debase herself, or refuse and face his wrath. She stood frozen, unable to move, as she held a bated breath.

Marquis's gaze bore into her, hard and unrelenting. He growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Now, ma douce. I won't ask again.”

The words ma douce were foreign to her, but the way he said them sent a shiver down her spine. Even if they meant something sweet or romantic in French, his tone carried a sense of danger and caution. Like a predator whispering sweet nothings before pouncing on its prey.

Yn’s legs trembled as she slowly lowered herself to the ground, her eyes evading Marquis’ penetrating gaze. The plush carpet felt rough against her knees as she crawled forward, each movement a surrender of her dignity.

Under the desk she went, enveloped by the dark mahogany wood – a cage of his power and control. She huddled there, making herself as small as possible, praying to disappear.

Her gaze followed the Marquis as he strode towards his chair, his long legs flexing with each step. As he settled into the seat, he spread his legs wide, positioning himself directly in front of her. The chair scraped against the floor as he slid it closer, obscuring his legs under the desk and trapping her in between them. She instinctively tried to avoid any physical contact with him, feeling a sense of discomfort and unease at his close proximity.

He peered down at her, taking in the space beneath the desk where she was sitting. She must have felt his gaze because she looked up at him with big, innocent eyes. A satisfied smirk appeared on his face before he said in his usual thick French accent, “Good girl. You will be rewarded for your obedience.”

She whimpered. “Can I get up, please?”

“Not yet, ma lapine,” he replied as he caressed the top of her head affectionately. “You will stay here until I say so.”

Out of the blue, the hand that had been gently stroking her hair now grasped the back of her head and yanked her towards his lap. Yn stiffened as Marquis pulled her closer to him, her body automatically tensing up at the thought of what would happen next. His hand on the back of her head kept her in place, keeping her face close to his crotch. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, smell the musky scent of his arousal. Panic began to rise in her chest as she realised what he wanted her to do.

She looked up at him with pleading eyes, silently begging for mercy. The Marquis met her gaze, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he savoured her helplessness. Her pleading eyes only served to inflame his desire further. He chuckled darkly, his fingers tangling in her silky hair.

“You look so pretty on your knees for me,” he purred, his voice dripping with mock affection. “Such an obedient little rabbit.”

His other hand moved to his belt, slowly undoing the buckle. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room, each click of the belt ratcheting up Yn's dread.

“Open your mouth, sweetheart,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. “It's time for your reward.”

The Marquis’ hand grasped the front of his trousers, pulling them down and revealing his erect member. It stood tall and proud, heavy with desire as glistening droplets of pre-cum adorned its tip. The veins along its length pulsated with arousal, and the heat radiating from it was almost palpable. He pressed it against Yn's soft lips, smearing the sticky fluid across them.

“Suck,” he ordered, his voice a guttural growl. “Worship my cock like you love me.”

With a forceful thrust, he rammed his entire length past her parted lips and into the hot, slick cave of her mouth. Yn choked and gagged, feeling him hit the back of her throat and tears springing to her eyes from the force. But he showed no mercy, gripping her hair tighter and shoving deeper, his desire for control overpowering any concern for her comfort.

“That's it,” he groaned, his hips rocking slightly as he forced her head to bob up and down his length. “Take it all like the obedient little rabbit you are.”

The Marquis's face contorted with desire and dominance, his hand roughly gripping Yn's hair as he forced her head to move up and down on his erect member. Her tears flowed down her cheeks, creating wet trails on her flushed skin. The Marquis's cock stood tall and proud, the veins pulsating with every thrust into Yn's mouth. Her muffled sobs added to the soundtrack of his pleasure as he revelled in his control and dominance over her. The room was filled with the sounds of her choking and gagging, mixed with his guttural groans of satisfaction.

Abruptly, a succession of knocks resounded against the door. Yn's eyes widened in fear as she realised she was completely exposed to this humiliating position. She desperately looked to the Marquis, hoping for some form of mercy. The Marquis, however, merely chuckled at her terrified expression.

“Ah, it seems we have company,” he drawled, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards into a smug smile. “Don't stop, sweetheart.”

He then glanced to the door and spoke out loud, “Enter.”

Yn's body tensed as she prepared to push herself out from under the desk, but the Marquis leaned forward in his chair, pushing her further beneath the desk and shoving his cock deeper down her throat. Now she was completely hidden under his office table, shielded by the Marquis' body and chair.

The door swung open suddenly, startling Yn, who was currently occupied with the Marquis' member in her mouth. She froze, trying not to make any noise that would give away her position, afraid of being caught by whoever had entered.

“I did it, beau.”

Yn's eyes grew wider as she recognised the voice. It’s Sabrina, a fellow bunny-girl who fancied the Marquis.

With a commanding grip, the Marquis placed his hand on Yn's head and guided her up and down. The weight of his palm pressed against her scalp, silently urging her to start pleasuring him with her mouth. A mix of fear and submission furrowed her eyebrows as she looked up at him before finally giving in and complying with his demands. Her lips formed a tight seal around him as she began to suck, feeling the heavy weight of power pushing down on her.

“So, did you get anything out of him?” the Marquis asked Sabrina.

“None, just his cum,” replied Sabrina with an arrogant tone. “He just kept mentioning his wife’s name. Probably guilty that he cheated on her.”

Yn's face turned to a frown as she contemplated how Mr. Gabriel must have been feeling. She knew he loved his late wife dearly, but Sabrina had somehow convinced him to become intimate with her. It was likely that Sabrina had manipulated the situation, taking advantage of a massage to turn it into something more, just as the Marquis had instructed her to do with Mr. Gabriel.

The Marquis asked, “Did you try asking him about anything?”

His hand rested on Yn’s head, his fingers tangling in her locks as he guided her movements. Every so often, his fingers would tighten in her hair, silently urging her to move faster or deeper. Yn's face showed a mix of submission and discomfort as she complied with his commands, her lips forming a tight seal around him as she sucked. His other hand rested on the table, his grip tightening on the edge as he leaned back in his chair, enjoying the pleasure Yn was providing him.

“I did, but he said he didn’t know a single thing,” answered Sabrina.

Yn's face was focused, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked and her tongue flicking against him in all the right places. Her hands were placed on his thighs, supporting herself as she took him deeper.

The Marquis leaned his head back as he quietly harrumphed, “Hm…”

Yn tensed as she heard footsteps approaching the table. She hadn't anticipated Sabrina being so bold as to move closer to the Marquis. Yn desperately hoped that Sabrina wouldn't circle around the table and discover her servicing the Frenchman's member. Suddenly, a noise came from the desk nearby, startling Yn.

“Marquis,” Sabrina’s voice had turned seductive. “Is there anything else I can help you with? Anything?”

Yn slowed her bobbing motion on the cock and looked up at the Marquis, who was intently watching Sabrina with a raised eyebrow.

The Marquis replied, “No. You are dismissed.”

There was a moment of stillness as if Sabrina froze, astounded that she had been rejected. Then the sound of feet walking away echoed through the office, heading towards the door. Yn heard Sabrina's voice break the silence, saying, “If you ever need any help, sir, please don't hesitate to come to me. I can make sure you have an enjoyable, all-night experience.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, the room fell silent. Yn's pace in sucking the cock slowly increased as she realised there was still work to be done.

Suddenly, without warning, the Marquis slid back in his chair and stood abruptly, his cock slipping from her abused mouth. Yn gasped for air, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

But her respite was short-lived. The Marquis stepped forward, looming over her kneeling form. With brutal efficiency, he shoved his cock back into her mouth, not stopping until he felt the head lodged in her throat.

Yn's eyes were wide with fear, and her mouth was forced open, stretched around the Marquis's thick cock. Her tears mixed with the saliva and pre-cum that dripped down her chin, her face twisted in discomfort and distress. The Marquis’ hand was still tangled in her hair, controlling her movements as he roughly thrust into her mouth. The muscles in her neck strained as she struggled to accommodate his forceful thrusts, her gags turning into wet choking sounds. The sound of their harsh breathing filled the room, along with the wet slapping noises of his cock penetrating her mouth.

“Take it,” he snarled, his hips slapping against her face with each brutal thrust. “Take every inch, ma lapine.”

The Marquis’ hips moved with a frenzied rhythm, each thrust pushing his thick cock into Yn's mouth. His hands were tightly tangled in her hair, pulling her head towards him with each thrust. Yn's mouth was stretched wide open, her tongue flattened against the underside of his cock. The muscles in her throat bulged as she struggled to accommodate his forceful penetration. Her tears mixed with the drool and pre-cum that dripped down her chin, and the wet sounds of his balls slapping against her chin echoed in the room. Yn's eyes were wide with fear and pain, but she couldn't resist him as he continued to ravage her throat.

The room was filled with the wet smacking of flesh against flesh, the sound of his hips slapping against her face with each forceful thrust. The Marquis himself let out guttural grunts as he pushed deeper and deeper into her throat, his grip on her hair causing yelps of pain to intermingle with the sounds of their coupling. Yn's choked gasps and gags added to the cacophony, creating a symphony of rough and violent noises. Tears streamed down Yn's face as she tried to take in every inch he offered, her strangled cries muffled by his thick cock shoved deep into her mouth. The repeated slapping of his balls against her chin echoed through the room, a constant reminder of her helplessness and submission to the Marquis' brutal desires. And yet, despite the pain and fear in her eyes, she couldn't fight him off as he continued to ravage her throat mercilessly.

The mixture of saliva and pre-cum glistened in the dim light, dripping down her chin in thick strands and landing on the carpet below with a wet splat. The pool of bodily fluids grew larger with each thrust, staining the once pristine carpet with their mingled essence.

“I'm close,” the Marquis grunted, his hips pistoning faster. “Swallow it all.”

Yn's eyes widened in panic, her hands scrabbling at his thighs. She tried to pull away, desperate for air, but his grip on her hair was unyielding. She had no choice but to submit to his brutal face-fucking, tears streaming down her face as she choked and gagged.

The Marquis’ face contorted in pleasure as he forcefully thrust himself into Yn's mouth, his hips slamming forward and pulling back with a rhythmic motion. Yn's mouth was stretched wide open as the Marquis forced himself in, his own face contorted in ecstasy. His hand gripped her hair tightly, pulling her head closer to him. Yn's eyes were wide with fear and pain, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to take in the fullness of him. The Marquis’ cock was pulsing and throbbing, its veins protruding against Yn's lips and tongue. The cum shot out forcefully, filling her mouth and overflowing as she tried to swallow it all. Yn gagged and choked on the bitter taste.

“That's it, ma lapine,” the Marquis groaned, his hips jerking with each spurt of cum. “Drink every drop.”

Yn gagged and choked as the Marquis's cum flooded her mouth, the bitter taste overwhelming her senses. Thick, viscous ropes of semen coated her tongue and throat, making it difficult for her to swallow. She tried to pull away, desperate for air, but his grip on her hair was unyielding.

"Drink it all," the Marquis growled, his hips jerking with each spurt of cum. "Every last drop."

Yn had no choice but to obey, her throat working overtime as she tried to swallow the copious amount of semen. Some of it dribbled out the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin and onto her heaving chest. The salty, musky taste made her stomach churn, bile rising in her throat.

The Marquis held Yn's head in place, his cock lodged deep in her throat, as he savoured the sensation of her swallowing around him. Each contraction of her throat muscles sent jolts of pleasure through his body, drawing out his climax. He groaned in ecstasy, his hips jerking with each spurt of cum down her throat.

Yn gagged and choked, her eyes watering as she struggled to breathe around his girth. The bitter taste of his semen coated her tongue, making her want to retch. But she had no choice but to swallow, her throat working overtime to comply with his demands.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Marquis's orgasm subsided. He pulled his softening cock from Yn's abused mouth, a string of saliva and cum connecting them for a brief moment before breaking. Yn gasped for air, coughing and sputtering as she tried to clear her throat of the vile fluid.

“Good girl,” the Marquis purred, taking a few tissues from his desk to wipe his cock clean. “You swallowed every drop like I wanted you to.”

The Marquis carefully wiped his softening cock with a tissue, his movements slow and calculated. Yn remained on her knees, her face a mess of tears, saliva, and semen. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks flushed and damp. The thick white substance clung to her lips and dribbled down her chin, mixing with the tears on her face. She was still in shock from the ordeal, her body trembling as she tried to compose herself.

The Frenchman wiped his softening member clean with the tissues and reached for a few more. With a gentleness that seemed at odds with his previous brutality, he began to wipe the mess from Yn's face. He brushed away the tears, the streaks of mascara, the saliva and cum that clung to her skin.

As he cleaned her, the Marquis gazed down at Yn with adoration, almost tenderness. His look said he was pleased with her, satisfied with her performance, that she had pleased him and served her purpose.

Yn remained kneeling, her head bowed, as the Marquis tended to her. She didn't resist his ministrations, too exhausted and traumatised to do anything but comply. Her throat ached, her jaw throbbed, and the taste of his cum lingered in her mouth, a bitter reminder of what had just transpired.

When the Marquis finished, he tossed the soiled tissues aside and reached out to tilt Yn's chin up with his finger. She met his gaze, her eyes wide and haunted. There was no joy in them, no hint of pleasure or satisfaction. Only fear, pain, and a deep, simmering anger that she didn't dare express.

“As a reward, you may go home early,” the Marquis told her, his voice soft and almost gentle. He reached out, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Or if you want, you can stay. But remember, you are forbidden to service any men. Understood?”

Yn nodded meekly; her head bowed in defeat. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, her eyes still haunted by the trauma she had just endured. Her throat ached with every swallow, a constant reminder of the violation she had suffered.

“So?” the Marquis asked, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. His thick French accent was unmistakable. “What will it be? Will you stay, or will you go home?”

“I want to go home,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken.

The Marquis smiled adoringly. “Very well.”

He stood up and reached out his hand towards her. She looked at it with a puzzled expression until she realised he was offering it to her. Like a gentleman. As if he had not roughly fucked her throat like a fleshlight.

Yn reached out and grasped the Marquis's proffered hand. He pulled her to her feet with surprising gentleness, his grip firm yet careful. She wobbled slightly on unsteady legs, her knees still bearing the marks of the hard floor.

To her shock, the Marquis then took a few tissues and bent down before her. With tender motions, he brushed away the dust and grime from her knees and legs, his touch feather-light against her skin. Yn stood frozen, unsure how to react to this unexpected kindness after the brutal assault on her body and dignity.

When he finished, the Marquis rose and looked at her with those piercing eyes. He simply tossed the used tissues aside and spoke to her, “Now, go home. Or would you like one of my bodyguards to bring you home safely?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you, sir.”

A smile spread across the Marquis' face as he placed both hands on her jaw, gently holding her in place. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before pulling back to admire her once more with a pleased smile. He nodded in contentment and said, “Take care, ma lapine. Send me a message once you get home safe.”

Before Yn could comprehend what was happening, she found herself sitting on the bus, headed back to her run-down apartment. The usual commotion of her coworkers chatting and laughing surrounded her, but today, no one seemed to acknowledge her exhausted appearance. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own responsibilities in the casino and their own personal issues.

She arrived at her apartment, numb and exhausted. Barbara, her cousin who had been watching Sydney, greeted her with a concerned frown. “Yn, are you alright? You look tired.”

Yn forced a smile, not wanting to burden Barbara with the truth. “I'm fine. Just tired. Thanks for taking care of Sydney, Bar.”

After seeing her cousin out of the apartment, Rosie, her cat, padded over and nuzzled against Yn’s legs, her soft fur brushing against her ankles. Yn bent down, scratching gently behind Rosie’s ears, trying to find some small comfort in the warmth of her purrs. Rosie was blissfully unaware of her owner’s turmoil, and Yn envied her for it.

Yn went through the motions of feeding her, though her mind was still elsewhere. She filled the cat’s bowl and made her way to Sydney’s room to check on her. The small figure of her sister was curled up under the covers, fast asleep, her breathing soft and even. Sydney’s hair splayed across her pillow, and her small face held a peacefulness that seemed to ease some of Yn’s own tension. For a moment, Yn stood there, simply watching, her heart aching with a fierce protectiveness.

Her fingers brushed a strand of hair from Sydney’s forehead, careful not to wake her. She whispered, “Sweet dreams, Syd.”

With Sydney safely asleep, Yn slipped back into her own room and prepared for bed. She changed into her nightclothes, the familiar fabric a small comfort after the tension of the day. She let out a long breath as she slid under the covers, hoping to find some rest finally.

But just as her head touched the pillow, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message. The text, short and disturbingly familiar, appeared from an unknown number, but it didn’t have to tell her who it was.

“Did you get home safe, ma lapine?”

Yn froze, her fingers trembling as she stared at the message. The Marquis. It was like he was still watching her, like his presence lingered over every part of her life. For a moment, she considered ignoring it, pretending she hadn’t seen it. But she knew better. Not answering him meant risking his anger, and she couldn’t afford that – not when her family’s safety depended on her compliance.

With a shaky breath, she forced her fingers to type out a response. “Yes, sir. Thank you for your concern.”

She set the phone down, her stomach twisting with unease. She hoped that would be enough to end it for the night. But seconds later, the phone chimed again. Another message, bold and clear across the screen.

“I will be busy tonight, so I can’t sleep over or take you to my mansion. But I expect to see you tomorrow night. Don’t disappoint me.”

The words sat heavily in her chest, the “expect” as binding as any chain. She put the phone down slowly, her appetite gone, and lay back on the pillow, her mind racing with the familiar dread.

As Yn thought back to the Marquis’s last message, an odd sense of relief flickered in her mind. At least tonight, he was occupied. It meant, however briefly, that she had a night to herself, a small pocket of time to think without his shadow looming over her. It was strange, but she realised that on these rare nights when he was busy elsewhere, she felt the smallest glimpse of hope. If he wasn’t watching her every move, maybe - just maybe – she could start laying the groundwork for a plan.

Something. Anything to free herself from his grasp.

Sitting up, Yn grabbed her phone, her fingers hovering uncertainly over the screen as she tried to steady her thoughts. Where could she even begin? The idea of fighting against him felt impossible; the Marquis’s power extended into every corner of her life. He seemed untouchable, someone with influence that couldn’t be shaken.

But perhaps that was just the image he presented. Maybe there were cracks, secrets—things he didn’t want the world to know. She swallowed hard, fingers beginning to type as she searched his name.

“Vincent Bisset de Gramont.”

To her frustration, there was barely any real information about Vincent Bisset de Gramont. The few articles she found only mentioned his philanthropic gestures – donations to select companies, mostly efforts to support the arts or “improve communities.” The profiles were sparse, the details vague. And any mention of his title, “Marquis,” was treated as little more than an exotic label, a lingering remnant of French nobility without any real bearing. Nothing, absolutely nothing, hinted at the man she knew—the one who controlled her life with invisible chains.

She scrolled through yet another article that praised his contributions, his “quiet charm” and “respectable reserve,” and Yn felt a wave of irritation bubbling up in her. It was a facade, all of it. But she couldn’t tear down the walls around his reputation with frustration alone.

She leaned back, letting her mind drift. Maybe he was so careful with his image because there was something to hide. The thought brought her a sliver of hope. Men like him always had something – everyone had a weakness. Maybe his was hidden in the connections he kept out of the public eye.

With a few deep breaths, she started a different approach, digging into forums, old message boards, and anywhere that didn’t depend on mainstream news. She scanned through threads buried in obscure forums, focusing on posts from those who hinted at elite circles, the kinds of people who might cross paths with someone like the Marquis.

Eventually, she stumbled across an old post that caught her eye. One user left a cryptic, subtle comment that immediately caught Yn's eye:

“The underground world is crumbling. Thanks to Baba Yaga.”

Baba Yaga? Yn opened a new tab to search for what it meant. Boogeyman.

Yn sat still, her eyes widening in remembrance of Mr. Gabriel's words.

“There’s been a... shift. A big one. A high-ranking figure in the criminal world – one of the untouchables – was murdered. By a rogue. And everything started to fall apart. The whole network... it’s crumbling.”

She thought about it, letting the idea settle. Baba Yaga was behind the recent chaos in the syndicate. Sure, she didn’t have much to go on. But it was something. This mysterious figure – it wasn’t impossible they could be… well, good. A just and honourable person. Someone willing to stand up against the worst in this world, tearing down that dark empire from the inside.

After staring at the screen for a while, Yn felt a spark of something unfamiliar – a thin thread of hope. The “Baba Yaga” could be more than a mere myth or threat. Could this person truly be tearing apart the network of untouchable criminals? She sat back, processing the idea, her mind racing. Maybe this figure wasn't just another ghost in the criminal underworld. Maybe Baba Yaga was a vigilante. Or someone working in the shadows with the power to dismantle the syndicate piece by piece.

It was a far-off notion, but the thought refused to leave her. What if this shadowy figure could be... an ally?

She doubted herself almost immediately. After all, what did she really know about this Baba Yaga? He might have collapsed in the underworld, but he might also be a serial killer. He could possibly kill her. It felt foolish, even dangerous, to think that help could come from some unknown rogue in the criminal world.

Yn let out a heavy sigh, despair creeping in as she opened a new tab on her screen. This time, she wasn’t searching for information on the Marquis or the elusive Baba Yaga. Instead, her fingers typed in something else – a list of hotels in far-off cities, scattered across the country. She browsed through different locations, city by city, hotel by hotel. Maybe it was pointless, maybe even desperate, but if things got worse… if the Marquis grew even more possessive or dangerous… she needed a plan. A place to run, to hide. Somewhere she could take Sydney and her mother where they could be safe, even if just for a little while.

Aside from escape plans, Yn also found herself digging into something else: ways to hide her identity. She searched for anything that could help—how to alter her name, replace her information, even vanish from records altogether. Whatever it would take to keep the Marquis from tracking her down. The articles and forums she found were daunting, full of legal terms and methods that felt out of reach for someone with her limited resources.

Still, she skimmed through, taking mental notes, searching for anything that might actually be doable. Fake IDs. Disguises. She even looked into digital guides on changing up her online footprint. She needed to be careful; anything she left behind could be a breadcrumb, a hint leading back to her and, worse, back to Sydney.

After a while, it dawned on her just how hard it was to sift through all this information on her phone’s tiny screen. The small display made everything harder to read and harder to process. She needed a laptop – something bigger, faster, and more practical for her constant, quiet research. But she didn’t have one. And the thought of buying one was laughable, considering the little money she had tucked away.

Then, like a dark cloud, the Marquis’s face surfaced in her mind. Just ask him, a voice in her head suggested. Get him to buy you a laptop.

Immediately, she recoiled from the idea. No. She wouldn’t. She had fought him for so long, resisted every attempt he made to pull her closer, to buy her obedience or loyalty. Asking him for a favour now, especially something as costly as a laptop, felt wrong. It would feel like... giving in. Or worse, like using him for his money.

But as she argued with herself, another thought pushed forward, small but stubborn. After everything he’s forced on you - her mind whispered, don’t you deserve something back?

The next day, Yn found herself surprisingly free from any messages or interruptions from a certain Frenchman. She welcomed the silence, savouring each hour. It felt like she was living a slice of her old life, a day untouched by his looming shadow. She spent the morning caring for Sydney, chatting up her coworkers during her shift at the café, laughing a bit too loudly at Edric’s jokes, and letting herself relax. For once, she let herself breathe.

After work, she picked up Sydney and swung by the hospital to visit her mom, who seemed brighter that day, her face lighting up at the sight of them. It was one of those rare days Yn wanted to freeze in time, where everything felt almost… normal. But as they made their way back to the apartment, reality crept in again, reminding her of her other obligations.

The casino awaited her that evening like a haunting echo she could never escape. Yn got ready slowly, pulling herself back into that guarded version of herself, the one with calm smiles and cautious words. She made sure Sydney was settled, checking and rechecking that her cousin Barbara had everything she needed to care for the little girl. As she prepared to leave, Yn lingered at the door, pressing a gentle kiss to Sydney’s forehead before turning to Barbara with a grateful nod.

“Be safe,” Barbara called softly, concern laced in her voice. Yn forced a smile, offering her cousin a reassuring wave before stepping into the hallway.

Yn arrived at the casino and made her way to the dressing room, where the familiar scent of hairspray and powder filled the air. She went through the motions, slipping into her bunny-girl costume and sitting down in the mirror to start her makeup. Just as she was reaching for her eyeliner, her friend Emily sidled up beside her, a sly grin on her face.

“Hey,” Emily nudged her shoulder playfully. “So… what did you and the Marquis talk about last night? In his office.”

Yn’s hand stilled, her heart skipping a beat. She forced herself to keep her tone light, glancing at Emily in the mirror with a practised smile. “Oh, not much. Just some work stuff. The usual.”

Emily raised a brow, looking unconvinced. “Uh-huh. That’s all? You mean to tell me a man of royalty, a Marquis, who pulled you into his office last night, barely says a word to you outside of ‘work stuff’?”

She paused as she went to her make-up table beside her. “I thought he had dragged you into that room and made out with you. It was clear to everyone that he was jealous when he learned that you were with another VIP. He likes you that much.”

Yn shook her head incredulously. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t understand why he became angry when I was just trying to do my job.”

Emily rolled her eyes, clearly amused. “Yn, the man’s used to getting what he wants. And right now, that happens to be you. He’s probably not thrilled seeing you pay attention to anyone else, even if it’s just part of your work.”

“But he’s got his pick of women,” Yn replied, a note of frustration in her voice. “Women with power. Real status. People in his world. Not… someone like me.”

Emily leaned in closer and said with a low voice. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Sometimes people with all that power want the one thing they can’t have.”

Emily paused to give Yn a pointed look. “Maybe you’re the mystery he can’t solve.”

Yn fell silent, her gaze fixed on Emily as she pondered the possibility that the Marquis' possessiveness towards her was due to what Emily had just said.

With their makeup done, the bunny-girls filed out of the lounge and slipped into their roles on the casino floor, each one assuming their stations with the practiced ease of a long night ahead. Yn took her usual spot at the roulette table, pasting on a smile as she welcomed the first players of the night.

An hour into her shift, she spotted a group of men striding into the casino. Dressed in black suits and dark sunglasses, their expressions cold and unreadable, they moved with a purpose, cutting through the crowd. Every step seemed calculated as they made their way directly toward the Marquis’s office, where Chidi, the Marquis’s trusted bodyguard, was already waiting by the door.

The tension thickened as the men exchanged brief, hushed words with Chidi. Yn glanced over at Sophia, who was standing nearby, greeting patrons.

She leaned in, keeping her voice low. “Sophia, who are they?”

Sophia’s eyes followed Yn’s gaze, and a frown crossed her face. “I don’t know. But they look like trouble. But if they came here to meet with the Marquis, then I guess it’s normal. It’s his type of people.”

Yn instantly remembered that the Marquis probably had ties to the underworld of crime, so these men were probably from that kind of world too.

“It’s better not to ask, Yn,” Sophia whispered. “Better to just do your job and keep your head down.”

As Yn stood behind the roulette table, she watched as Chidi signalled for additional bodyguards to join him. He knocked on the door and swung it open, motioning for everyone to enter the Marquis' office, including the suspicious-looking men. They disappeared into the room, leaving Yn to ponder the topic of their conversation.

The minutes ticked by slowly, each one feeling like an eternity. Yn kept herself busy, calling out bets and spinning the roulette wheel, but her mind was elsewhere, lingering on that door and the people hidden behind it.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of suspense, the office door opened. Slowly. Too slowly. Yn’s heart was in her throat as she tried to act casual, pretending to be deeply interested in the game in front of her, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting to the scene unfolding across the room.

The suspicious men came out first, still dressed in their sharp, dark suits, but there was a change in their demeanour. They were talking amongst themselves, quick, hushed words that Yn couldn’t make out, and their expressions were grim. Serious. Chidi followed them, murmuring something to one of the guards before stepping aside. And then, the Marquis appeared.

He was calm, almost eerily so. His suit was immaculate, not a hair out of place, but there was a sharpness to his gaze that hadn’t been there before. He looked around, scanning the room until his eyes landed on Yn. She felt a chill run down her spine. It was as if he could see right through her, right into the thoughts she was trying to suppress.

Out of nowhere, the Marquis raised his hand, a simple but unmistakable gesture, beckoning her to come to him. Yn's pulse quickened. For a moment, she froze, her feet glued to the spot, as if unsure whether to obey or pretend she hadn’t seen him. But there was no avoiding it. Not with those eyes on her. She took a breath, forcing a calm she didn’t feel, and quickly waved over another bunny-girl to cover her spot at the roulette table.

As she made her way across the floor, weaving through the crowd, her mind raced. What did he want? Why now, right after that meeting? She approached him slowly, trying to keep her steps steady, even though her heart was pounding.

“Yes, sir?” she said, her voice coming out softer than she intended.

The Marquis smiled. He stepped closer, and before she could react, he reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for just a second too long. It was a simple gesture, almost intimate. The way his presence seemed to command her attention, her compliance.

“So good to see you,” he murmured, his tone smooth as if they were simply exchanging pleasantries. “I have a task for you. Come.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he turned on his heel and began walking toward the office, expecting her to follow without question. She hesitated for a split second, but then her feet moved, trailing after him.

The Marquis pushed the door open and stepped inside, holding it for her to follow. Yn’s breath hitched as she crossed the threshold, her eyes darting around the room. Not one thing was amiss. He closed the door behind them with a soft click. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He just stood there, studying her, as if trying to decide something. Yn shifted under his gaze, feeling small, exposed.

“Yn,” he said finally, his voice low, almost gentle. “I need you to do something for me tonight.”

“What is it, sir?” she asked softly.

“Sit down on the table.”

Puzzled, she glanced over at the massive mahogany table that dominated the room. It was littered with paperwork, a half-empty decanter of brandy, and a touch of dust in the corners. Surely, he didn't mean for her to sit on that?

She walked over to the table and gingerly hoisted herself up onto it, wincing as she upset a small stack of papers. The Marquis strode towards her in haste and said, “Wait.”

He wrapped one arm around her waist and swiftly cleared the table with his other hand to make sure she wouldn't sit on anything. As he moved closer to her, their faces almost touched. When he finished, he turned to face her with a smirk and asked in his thick French accent, “Are you comfortable?”

Yn could only avert her gaze to the side and nodded, “Mm-hmm.”

She was stuck perched on the edge of the mahogany table, her feet dangling above the ground. The Marquis stood before her; his hands went to rest firmly on the surface of the desk on either side of her hips. His face was close to hers, a small smirk playing on his lips as he looked down at her. The room was dimly lit, casting intimate shadows across their faces. Yn couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as she realised she was trapped between his hands and the intimidatingly large desk behind her.

“If it’s just us two together in a room,” the Marquis said, raising one hand to remove the mask on Yn’s face, “you can remove your mask.”

Yn did not have to do anything as the Marquis himself took off her mask and tossed it behind him without a glance. Her entire face was now revealed to him and that made her feel somewhat bashful, suddenly aware of her vulnerability and shyness.

Out of nowhere, he gently placed his hand on her chin and lifted her face towards his. She was unable to resist as he slowly leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. She stiffened, her eyes widening in surprise, and his warm breath, mixed with a hint of brandy, brushed against her skin.

His kiss was firm but gentle, demanding yet almost tender, a stark contrast to his usual cold, commanding demeanour. His thumb stroked her cheek idly as if to reassure her. It contrasted sharply with the intensity of their situation, and it took Yn a moment to comprehend what was happening.

As his kisses ran down her neck, she finally found it in herself to speak up, “Sir, you said… you have a task for me…?”

“Yes,” he answered breathily as he laid kisses around her neck. “Your task is to stay still.”

His lips made soft, featherlight noises as they travelled down her neck and along her collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses that sounded like tiny pops as they connected with her skin. Yn's breath hitched as she tried to hold back a soft sigh, her heart pounding in her ears in time with the gentle rhythm of his movements. She could also hear the slight rustle of his clothes as he leaned closer, his touch sending small shivers down her spine. It was a symphony of sensations, one that left Yn's mind in a blissful haze, to her surprise.

“I’m glad,” she heard the Marquis say. “You still wear the necklace I gave you. I assume you love it.”

His fingers trailed down her neck, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. Yn shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin despite the warmth of the room. She could feel his breath, hot and heavy, against her throat as he worked his way lower.

Lower and lower, until his lips brushed the swell of her breasts, peeking out from the low-cut bodice of her costume. Yn inhaled sharply, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. This was wrong, so wrong. She had never given him permission to touch her like this, to take such liberties with her body.

But she couldn't deny the way her heart raced, the way her skin tingled wherever he touched. It was a traitorous response, one that filled her with shame and confusion. How could her body betray her like this, responding to the attention of the man who forced himself on her again and again in the past? She wanted to hate him.

The Marquis’ hands slid around to her back, fingers splaying across her skin as he pulled her closer. Yn squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sensation of his touch, the scent of his cologne filling her nostrils.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, stop.”

But the Marquis ignored her, his mouth trailing lower, lower until his teeth grazed the sensitive skin just above the neckline of her costume. Yn gasped, her back arching involuntarily.

It was too much, too fast. She felt like she was drowning, suffocating under the weight of the Marquis’ attentions. Her mind screamed at her to fight, to push him away, but her body wanted to drown more in this pleasure.

Instead, she sat there, trembling and helpless, as the Marquis continued his relentless assault on her senses. Each brush of his lips, each nip of his teeth, sent sparks of unwanted pleasure coursing through her veins.

The Marquis grasped the neckline of her bunny-girl outfit and tugged it lower, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze. Before Yn could even think to protest, he had latched onto one rosy nipple, sucking it into his mouth with a ravenous intensity.

“Ah!” Yn cried out, her back arching at the sudden sensation. It was too much, too fast. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of unwanted pleasure, her body betraying her at every turn.

The next thing she knew, she was on her back on the table. The Marquis lavished attention on her breasts, his tongue swirling around each sensitive peak. He bit down gently, sending jolts of pain-tinged ecstasy shooting through her nerves. Yn's hands flew up to grip his shoulders, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

It was wrong, so wrong. But God help her, it felt good. Too good.

The slurping, suckling sounds of the Marquis' mouth and tongue exploring every inch of her exposed skin rang in Yn's ears, a mix of pleasure and discomfort. The occasional moan or grunt escaped his lips, accompanied by the sound of Yn's sharp intake of breath or a whimper. The bite on her nipples elicited a faint gasp followed by a sharp cry of surprise and pleasure.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as the Marquis continued his relentless assault on her senses. She could feel herself growing wet, her body responding to his touch despite her mind's protests.

Shame burned through her veins, hot and acrid. How could she let this happen? How could she allow this man, this monster, to violate her in such a way?

The Marquis pulled away from Yn’s breasts, leaving them glistening with his saliva. His eyes, dark with lust, travelled down her body, lingering on the curve of her hips. With a wicked grin, he hooked his fingers into the panty-shaped bottom of the bunny-girl costume and tugged it aside, exposing her thin panties.

Yn’s breath caught in her throat as the cool air hit her heated skin. She squirmed on the table, trying in vain to maintain some modesty, but the Marquis simply laughed at her efforts. He hooked his fingers into the centre of her panties and pulled them aside, revealing her most intimate parts to his hungry gaze.

“No,” Yn whispered, shaking her head in denial. “Please, don't...”

But her pleas fell on deaf ears as the Marquis lowered his head, his hot breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. Yn gasped as his tongue made contact, a jolt of unwanted pleasure shooting through her core.

He licked and sucked at her folds, his fingers spreading her open wider. Yn's hands flew to his hair, torn between pushing him away and holding him in place. It was too much, too intense. She could feel herself growing wetter, her body responding to his touch despite her mind's protests.

The wet, lewd sounds of the Marquis's mouth eagerly feasting on Yn's most private area echoed throughout the room, mingling with her soft moans and whimpers of pleasure and discomfort. Each slurp and suck was like a symphony of forbidden desire, suffocating any rational thoughts or protests Yn tried to make. The sound was both arousing and repulsive, a twisted melody that consumed both of their senses. It was wrong, so wrong, but she was powerless to stop it.

Just as she teetered on the brink, the Marquis pulled away, leaving her desperate and wanting. He grinned up at her, his lips shiny with her essence.

“Not yet, ma lapine,” he purred, his French accent thick with desire. “We're just getting started.”

With that, he dove back between her legs, his tongue delving deep into her folds. Yn cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily as he lapped at her most sensitive spots. It was too much, too intense. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of release, only for the Marquis to pull away at the last second, leaving her desperate and wanting.

He repeated the process again and again, edging her to the point of madness. Yn's body was on fire, every nerve screaming for more. But still, she fought against it, clinging to the last vestiges of her sanity.

“Please,” she whimpered, tears streaming down her face. “Please, stop. I can't take it anymore.”

But the Marquis just grinned, his lips and chin shiny with her essence. “Beg me, Yn. Beg me to fuck you. Beg me to fill you.”

Yn shook her head frantically, even as her body betrayed her, aching for his touch. She sobbed, “No. No, I won't. I don’t want that.”

The Marquis's eyes narrowed, his grip on her thighs tightening. He growled, “You will. You will beg for it, and you will enjoy every second of it. Deep down, you know you want this. You finally want me.”

And with that, he surged forward, his tongue spearing into her core as his fingers rubbed mercilessly at her clit. The Marquis continued his relentless assault on Yn's senses, his tongue delving deep into her folds, his fingers rubbing mercilessly at her clit. Again and again, he brought her to the brink of release, only to pull away at the last second, leaving her crying.

Yn thrashed on the table, sobbing. “Please. Please, stop. I can't take it anymore.”

But the Marquis just grinned, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. He doubled his efforts, his tongue swirling around her sensitive bud, his fingers pumping in and out of her dripping core. Yn's back arched off the table, a moan tearing from her throat as another orgasm was nearing, but the Marquis withdrew again before she could explode.

It was too much, too intense. She was drowning in sensation, in the wrongness of it all. And yet, even as her mind recoiled, her body craved more. More of his touch, more of his attention, more of the forbidden pleasure he offered.

Yn whimpered, even as her hips bucked against his face, “Give it to me. Please!”

But the Marquis was relentless and adamant. He licked and sucked and fingered her until she was a writhing, sobbing mess. Her body was on fire, every nerve screaming for release.

That’s when she recalled what Emily told her a few hours ago.

“I thought he had dragged you into that room and made out with you. It was clear to everyone that he was jealous when he learned that you were with another VIP. He likes you that much.”

“He likes you that much.”

Does he?

“Fine!” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “Please, fuck me. Fill me. I need it. I need you.”

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, a betrayal of everything she stood for. But in that moment, lost in a haze of unwanted pleasure, Yn knew she would do anything, say anything, just to make it stop. To find some measure of relief from the torment of the Marquis' touch.

The Marquis's triumphant laughter echoed in the room as he loomed over Yn's trembling form. With a wicked grin, he crashed his lips against hers, his tongue forcing its way past her teeth and into the warm recesses of her mouth. To his surprise, Yn responded eagerly, her own tongue tangling with his in a heated dance.

The Marquis growled into the kiss, his hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He needed to be inside her, to claim her, to make her his. With a swift tug, he freed his throbbing cock, the thick length bobbing heavily between their bodies.

Yn's eyes widened as she felt the heat of him pressing against her slick folds. This was it. The moment she had been dreading, the moment she had been fighting against, but also the moment she had been begging for. Even as her mind recoiled, her body also seemed to welcome his intrusion.

The Marquis broke the kiss, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts. His voice was low and dangerous as he purred, “You want this, don't you? You want me to fuck you, to fill you until you're screaming my name.”

With tears rolling down her cheeks, Yn nodded her head, her hips canted upwards, seeking his touch. Her voice was small and broken as she whimpered, “Yes, please! Fill me, sir!”

With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her, stretching her walls to the point of pain. However, it also filled her in the most pleasurable, gratifying way. Yn cried out, her back arching off the table as he began to move, his hips snapping against hers in a brutal rhythm.

It was too much, too intense. Yn could feel every inch of him, could feel the way he pulsed and throbbed inside her. And despite everything, despite the shame and the guilt and the wrongness of it all, she could feel herself responding, her body welcoming his invasion even as her mind screamed in protest.

The Marquis's thick, throbbing cock was buried deep inside Yn's slick, tight folds. His hips moved in a brutal rhythm, snapping against her with each thrust. Yn’s back was arched off the table, her body fully exposed to his powerful movements. Her hands were laid on the table beside her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with both pleasure and pain. Her pussy juices coated his cock and flowed freely as he relentlessly pounded into her. Her breasts bounced up and down her body with each pounding.

Yn's breasts heaved with each powerful thrust, rising and falling with the rhythm of the Marquis's hips. Her nipples were flushed and hard, her skin glistening with sweat in the candlelight. They jiggled and bounced, almost mesmerising in their movements. Their size and fullness were emphasised by the force of his movements, and Yn couldn't help but feel a mix of pleasure and pain each time they bounced against her body.

Yn's legs were spread wide, her toes curling in pleasure as she felt the Marquis's forceful movements. Her skin was flushed and slick with sweat in the dim candlelight, the muscles in her thighs tensing with each thrust. Her legs swayed back and forth, following the merciless rhythm of his hips as he took her.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, mixed with Yn's sharp cries and the Marquis's low grunts, filled the room. The creaking of the table and the rattling of the objects on top of it added to the symphony of pleasure and desire. The wet sounds of their bodies joining and separating, slick with sweat and juices, echoed off the walls, creating a primal melody that consumed them both. Through it all, the heavy breathing and guttural moans of pleasure from both Yn and the Marquis could be heard, intensifying with each powerful thrust.

The Marquis, driven by an insatiable lust, maintained his brutal pace, his hips snapping against Yn's with each powerful thrust. The room was filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, mingling with Yn's sharp cries of pleasure and pain.

“Take it, ma lapine,” the Marquis growled, his voice rough with desire. “Take my cock. Take everything I give you.”

Yn could only sob in response, her body shaking with the force of his thrusts. She could feel him everywhere, could feel the way he stretched and filled her, the way he claimed her so completely. It was wrong, so wrong, but in that moment, lost in a haze of sensation, she couldn't bring herself to care.

The Marquis's hands roamed over Yn's body, gripping her hips, her thighs, and her breasts. He pinched and tugged at her nipples, sending jolts of unwanted pleasure through her core. Yn's back arched, a scream tearing from her throat as he hit a spot deep inside her that made stars explode behind her eyelids.

“Please,” she begged, though she wasn't even sure what she was asking for. “Please, more. More!”

The words tasted like sin on her tongue, but Yn was too far gone to care. All that mattered was the feeling of the Marquis inside her, the way he made her body sing with pleasure even as her mind recoiled in shame.

And so she surrendered to it, to him, letting the Marquis take her in the most primal way possible. Her body was his to use, his to claim, his to ruin. And as the pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo, she knew she could finally get it. She could finally cum!

The Marquis's thrusts grew erratic, his hips slamming against Yn's with a force that shook the table beneath them. Yn could feel the tension coiling in his body, could sense the impending release that hovered just out of reach.

“Cum for me,” the Marquis growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Cum on my cock. Now.”

And then, with a final, brutal thrust, Yn's world shattered. Pleasure exploded through her body, so intense it bordered on pain. Her back arched off the table, her mouth open in a silent scream as her orgasm crashed over her in wave after wave of ecstasy.

The Marquis's expression contorted in pleasure; his eyes tightly shut as he reached climax. His fingers dug into Yn's hips, leaving red marks on her skin as he pulled her flush against him. His cock pulsated and throbbed inside her, spilling his seed deep within her womb. Yn could feel the hot rush of his release, could feel the way it filled her, claimed her, marked her as his own.

The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing, the only indication of their end of recent fucking. The Marquis and Yn remained locked together, their bodies still trembling from the intense climax they had just shared. The sound of skin sliding against skin could be heard as they tried to catch their breath, with the occasional low groan escaping from the Marquis’ lips. And then, as the moment stretched on, the soft sound of nuzzling could be heard as the Marquis buried his face in Yn’s hair, breath hot against her neck as he showed his affection for her.

“Mine,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

Yn heard it. She heard it all, even if he whispered. He sounded so possessive and so obsessive. So smitten. Emily’s words rang in her head.

“He likes you that much.”

She remembered a part of her had once told her. Get him to buy you a laptop. After everything he’s forced on you, don’t you deserve something back?

“I…” you spoke up, attracting the Frenchman’s attention.

In his weariness, he gently lifted himself off of you, yet still close enough to feel his warmth. He placed his hands on either side of your head and leaned in, towering over you with an intimate intensity. His gaze was filled with desire as he looked at you with a pair of bedroom eyes.

“What is it?” he asked.

You stared at him in silence, wondering if it was okay to ask him for something. Would he get angry? Would he look at you in disgust? Would he see you as an opportunistic and materialistic bitch?

“Say it, ma lapine,” he told you.

His sweet nickname for you convinced you to do it.

“I want… a laptop,” you meekly said. “That’s all…”

The Marquis's eyes glinted in realisation at Yn's request. Yn, the woman who had resisted him a lot in the past, just asked him for something. She had seen him as a provider. A reliable, dependable man to provide her with anything. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his features.

“A laptop, hmm?” he mused, his fingers trailing lightly over Yn's cheek. “And what do you intend to do with this laptop?”

Yn swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, that the Marquis was not a man to be trifled with. But something about the way he looked at her, the possessive glint in his eye, made her feel that she could do this.

“I... I want to do more,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to learn more on the Internet. It would be convenient for me and my family.”

The Marquis’ smile widened, his hand cupping Yn's chin and tilting her face up towards his own. “Oh, ma petite. You have no idea how pleased I am to hear you ask me that.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against Yn's in a tender kiss. It was a stark contrast to the brutal passion they had shared mere moments before, but no less intense for its gentleness.

“Of course, you shall have your laptop,” the Marquis breathed against her mouth. “And anything else you desire. You have but to ask, ma lapine. I have the money to provide you with everything.”

You glanced up at the magnificent ceiling above you, your thoughts empty as his words slowly sank in. Then, one thought surfaced in your mind.

You got him wrapped around your finger.

PREV : Chapter 07

NEXT : Chapter 09

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[radioactive-alien-thing]

Wowz,im pretty early XD,Anyways uhhh,What are the survivors reactions when killer!Reader only becomes passive/non agressive when theyre favourite survivor is in the round?Even following them around and guiding them to medkits and bloxy colas,However when their not in the round they become EXTREMELY aggresive???

romantic if ya want:3

꒰ ❤︎ ꒱ forsaken survivors x killer!reader . *

!! thank youuu so so much nonny for the first request!!! yay!!! i love this trope SO much… RRRAAH!!! cheers to the first post guys 🍻 by the way, i only chose a few survivors, so if you guys enjoy this maybe there’ll be a part two!!! 👽

noob 👻

at first noob was very, very confused by your behavior. they mistook your mercy for a cruel trick to try and hurt them— but when they saw your passiveness around the other survivors, even when they tried provoking you? they started to grow… curious, rather than scared. it took a lot of time and effort to actually get to where you’re at now

considering all of the bloxy colas you’ve helped noob find, even medkits and other useful supplies, it’s no surprise that some of the other killers are starting to get annoyed by your favoritism for noob… but you just can’t help it, the spectre hasn’t COMPLETELY taken away all your humanity just yet. plus, you finally got to see them smile for once,, which was a strangely warming feeling.

most of the other survivors are… reasonably pretty terrified of you without noob there to pacify you, and that’s because of your less-than-gentle reputation,, but all you wanted to do was see your adorable favorite survivor!!! the others didn’t matter nearly as much, so why should you force yourself to treat them similarly?? though noob does get a little uneasy hearing the whispers around the campfire about the things you’ve done… it’s honestly a littleee hard for them to believe any of it. you just seem so different when they’re around. almost like you were just another survivor.

builderman 🧱

okay!!! so!! this one’s a little more complicated. builderman was never really scared of you, if anything he was more so intrigued. you weren’t like the others, ruthlessly aggressive and unrelenting. you were calm,, and almost… polite? and that just weirded him out a lot. his big question was simply, why? why not chase the innocent down, guard the generators, or even flinch when you’re stabbed. twice!! you didn’t fight back at all- he was skeptical. but builderman wasn’t afraid to come up and ask. still a little cautious, you know, just in case

your straightforwardness is what slowly made him start to trust you. maybe it was a mistake. maybe it was just a flicker of misplaced hope. because if you were so kind to him, and never laid a finger on the others, maybe… maybe he could save everyone. maybe they could all make it out. but when the others started whispering, warning builderman of what you were like when he wasn’t looking, how your disinterest shifted into a thirst for blood, he just couldn’t believe it. it didn’t make sense. and that was when it got dangerous. because he cared too much. far too much.

it put builderman in a very tough spot. he wanted to save everyone but you were such an anomaly. he knew you had nothing to gain from being so sweet to him, giving up easy kills just to let him walk free. so why would you go savage the moment his back was turned? obviously he didn’t want to lose the other survivors’ trust, but he didn’t want to lose yours, either. and, no, those sentries builderman sets up during your matches never really work. they’re always defunct. but nobody’s really caught on yet somehow.

chance 🎰

it was just his luck. a killer who latches onto him and becomes totally passive whenever he’s around… honestly? chance finds that amusing. maybe even a little flattering, considering how strong you are. but that didn’t mean he was totally comfortable, definelty not at first,, you were still on the other side. and that was a problem… then again, how much harm could a little chat with the weirdly friendly (and kinda cute) killer really do?

okay. welllll. turns out it was going to be KIND of a problem, because now you were practically clinging to him,, and it’s not like he was just gonna tell you to back off! chance sorta fed into it, actually. little flirty comments here and there, which usually caught you off guard. chance couldn’t understand how the others still didn’t trust you. to him, you were harmless, sickeningly sweet, even. the truth of it all was entirely obscured

and even when the other survivors pulled him aside to warn him about you, chance just laughed it off. you… bloodthirsty? and brutal? no way! honestly, they were probably just jealous. chance always had the best supplies, after all, thanks to you. which sort of gave him bragging rights. you had them right where you wanted.

divider by @/strangergraphics ^.^