#even though i tried to leave out as much as i can

[leyiorr]

he’s my little ponyboy .ᐟ

mdni.

“this isn’t fair.”

you turn around, spinning on your heel to look back at your boyfriend. there’s a gorgeous pout on his face while he pulls at the cuffs that bind him to the chair, long legs taking up copious amounts of space as he manspreads lazily.

satoru’s face is as handsome as ever, even with his bright eyes covered by a dark blindfold that you’d brought from the store earlier that day.

“this is so unfair and mean,” he continues, moreso to himself than you.

you hum, turning back to the mirror again to run the straightener over the last section of your hair. you hear the jangle of the metal cuffs again, stifling a laugh when you hear him curse under his breath.

“yeah? how so?”

he scoffs loudly; you can practically hear the sarcastic eyeroll. you hike your opaque tights up your legs - though opaque is a stretch, they’re practically transparent - smiling to yourself as they hug your figure.

“you have me tied to a chair with a blindfold over my eyes!” he complains dramatically, clicking his tongue.

you snicker. of course, you do have good reason for tying him up. it’s one of your best friend’s birthday parties, and to you, college parties were everything. dolling yourself up was always so much fun, especially when you knew it’d drive satoru mad.

the only issue was, when you were dolled up, satoru was bricked up. last time you tried to leave for a party you were late. not fashionably late, a whole three hours late, because satoru was too consumed with drilling his dick into you to notice the time.

rightfully, you’d been mad, but it didn’t even last a day - one look at his face and you’d caved.

this time however, things would not be the same. not if you had anything to say about it. with him tied up, he couldn’t let his hands wander. with his eyes covered, he couldn’t ogle you. see? problem fixed!

he whines, bottom lip jutting out as he sulks. “i just wanna look... i won’t even touch!”

“you know that’s a lie. i just wanna get changed in peace, baby,” you explain, and he hears you rummage through the wardrobe, “i actually want to be present for this party.”

he mutters something unintelligible but settles down, clearly acknowledging the fact that it was his fault that you were late the last time.

“...and i’m butt naked right now, i don’t think you could keep your hands to yourself.”

you watch him as the words leave your lips, revelling in the sharp inhale they cause. he shifts uncomfortably, licking his lips. he pulls at the cuffs in a pathetic attempt to release himself, “really?”

“kidding!” you say sweetly, close to his ear so you have a full veiw of the shudder that runs up his spine in response.

“i hate you,” he mutters, biting his lip at the mere image of your body. there’s a growing tent in his pants.

you laugh, pulling on a black, strapless minidress before twirling in the mirror happily. it grazes your midthigh and shows off the skin of your collarbones. there's a single silver necklace clasped around your neck - a tiny diamond heart that was one of satoru’s many gifts.

“oh, i look good,” you say proudly, and you catch your boyfriend groan.

“let me see,” he half pleads from the other side of the room.

you shake your head even though he can’t see it as you sit on the bed, slipping on your heels.

“be patient, baby, i’m almost done.”

his knee bounces impatiently, suddenly frustrated by his lack of senses. satoru can feel his hands getting clammy - he hopes the blindfold miraculously disintegrates so he can at least look at you.

the minutes pass by and his blood turns to molten lava, dick straining against his sweats. it suddenly feels so much hotter in the room than it did before.

“a or b, handsome?” you call from somewhere, and satoru sighs breathily.

how could you ask him to pick something he couldn’t even see?

“b,” he says eventually.

“wrong, the answer was c!” you sing, putting a pair of stud diamonds into your ears and leaving him to sulk.

at least he thinks, before he’s feeling your lips against his. he leans forward, chasing the sensation before you away leaving him slightly disorientated.

“you’re doing so good, baby,” you coo - it goes straight to his dick, “i’m almosttt done.”

satoru groans, irritation and need filling his lungs like water. were you even almost done? what he would give to pry off these cuffs and blindfold.

“...i wanna see you, beautiful.”

he can feel his ears turning pink.

“...please.”

the laugh that you let out makes him want to die and so undeniabley horny that it fucks with his brain.

“not yet.”

his head follows the sound of you walking around the room, moving back to the mirror, where you apply your finishing touch; lipgloss.

the day you’d found the perfect lip combo you jumped for joy. now, you wear it everywhere.

your boyfriend hears you smack your lips together twice, before sensing you approach him. you strategically place yourself between his legs as you untie the blindfold.

and as you do, satoru thanks every god in existence that he gets to exist in the same timeline as you.

because when his vision is finally cleared, his breath catches in his throat.

your hair is expertly done, not a hair out of place as it grazes your midback; makeup emphasizing your natural beauty with mascara lengthening your pretty lashes. and don’t even get him started on the dress. he should start charging people for looking at you.

“pretty?” you ask, but you can already tell from his dazed, lovesick expression that the answer is yes.

he doesn’t answer for a moment, his eyes doing multiple appreciative runs over your figure.

“yeah,” he breathes finally, “real pretty, baby.”

satoru leans forward, nuzzling into your stomach. you smile, raking your manicured fingers through his messy white locs.

“i wanna fuck you,” he mumbles into the fabric of your dress, “bad.”

a laugh bubbles from your chest as you point at the clock, “we don’t have time, love, you know that.”

he groans, looking up at you with those cerulean irises that you were so disgustingly weak to, “just a quickie?”

“no.”

“c’mon baby, i’ll hold back!”

“you won’t.”

his head tilts to the side, veins in his neck showing as he strains against the restraints. the high of his cheekbones and ears are dusted pink; his lips are red from how much he’s being chewing on them.

“please, love.”

you don’t answer him, instead your fingers glide down the back of his neck, satisfied when the hairs raise in anticipation. you lean down to meet his mouth and he reciprocates with the sloppiest kiss he can muster from this position as your other hand cups his jaw.

the mucles in his biceps cry from the force he’s putting in while he tries to break the cuffs; the veins ripple under his skin. he’s desperate to have his hands anywhere on you.

he can taste the flavour of your lipgloss but it does nothing to deter him - instead encourages him to strain his neck further, back flush against the back of the chair as you begin to straddle him. he can feel your nails raking across his scalp; his dick twitches with interest.

you pull back far too quickly for his taste. it takes everything in your power not to drag him into bed like a bitch in head at the fucked out expression his giving you.

he watches your fingers pass over your lips, sighing to yourself as you bring them away to see smudged lipgloss.

satoru pathetically whines at the loss of contact when you get off him, throwing a heatless glare over your shoulder.

“you ruined my makeup, baby, i guess you’re gonna have to sit there and wait til i finish it again before we can go!”

oh, fuck you. literally and figuratively. he’s going to fuck you in that dress, hell, he would probably do it in front of an audience at the party. but you wouldn’t allow that... right?

[starkeysprincess]

kissing u for giving me this idea cause I love frat daddy as stepbro!rafe! what if reader is 18 but in her last year of high school (I know even with age of majority that’s still kinda icky but it’s the only way this scenario would work��) so when rafe’s away for his first year at college before the events of s1, she knows it’s wrong but she’s always worried and jealous of what he could be doing there or what other girls he could be seeing, especially when she sees his and his frat brothers’ instagram pictures. he doesn’t always get back to her texts or calls, and even though she has needs too, she feels guilty for hooking up with any of her friends or trying to date to distract herself. so when he comes home for the holidays, she’s all mad at him and pushes him away and they get all angsty and he apologizes because you were always willing to wait for him and his approval and with him being as nasty as he is he has to remind you that you come first because “you’re my sister”🫠✨

— stepbro!rafe is away for his first year at college

warnings: stepcest, reader is 18 + rafe is 19, indent is a flashback, jealous!reader, mention of hooking up w jj, choking, hair pulling, spanking, mirror sex, degrading, praise, gagging, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, 18+ mdni !

a/n: i hope it's ok that i tweaked a few things such as rafe apologizing & reader graduated high school but doesn’t go to college cause she isn't sure what she wants to do!

“gonna miss you,” you frown into your stepbrother’s chest, hugging him tightly. he rested his chin on the top of your head, “i’ll miss you too, but hey, i’ll be home for the holidays, and i’m only a phone call away. you could call me or text me anytime, i’ll make sure to get back to you when i can, alright?”.

when rafe left for college, he responded to you when he could, just like he said he would. talking to him nearly every day almost made it feel like he wasn’t hours away from home. however, a month passed, and you started to hear less from him until your calls and texts were unanswered. at first, you assumed you weren’t hearing from him because of how busy he may have been with classes, and it wasn’t until you came across instagram posts from him and his fraternity brothers that he was too busy partying to get back to you.

it was his first year at college, and you knew you shouldn’t be upset; you had no right to be. especially when it was the only time he had freedom away from home, specifically from ward. it didn't stop you from missing rafe; you couldn’t help but think about what else he could be doing, and no matter how much you tried, knowing it was wrong, your mind started to wander over who he could be with.

when two more months had passed and still no communication from rafe, you sought out a distraction through jj maybank, who was unknowingly helping you take your mind off your stepbrother. the more time you had spent with jj, the less you thought about rafe and the promise of not running to anyone that wasn't him.

the promise you made was pushed into the back of your mind until one night, as you were about to sneak out of the house to see the blonde pogue, you received an incoming call from rafe. you could feel the guilt consuming you the longer you stared at his name, itching to answer. but your bitterness got the best of you, your finger tapping 'decline' before quietly leaving your house, not knowing rafe was calling to tell you he'd be home for the holiday.

a week later and yet another late night with jj, you tip-toed up the stairs, ensuring not to wake anyone up. just as you were about to reach your bedroom, you froze in your spot, looking like a deer in headlights, when the door to the room across from yours swung open. "sneaking back in?", his hand encircled your wrist, pulling you into his room and shutting the door behind you. “rafe, what are you doing here?” your brows furrow, more than confused as to why he was home.

“missed you, princess," his hands slid up your waist, walking you back until your lower back pressed against his dresser, "if you had answered when i called, you would’ve known i was coming home for the holidays.”.

your palms pressed at his firm chest, pushing him away when he started peppering kisses along your jaw. "what? what's wrong?" rafe asks, "don’t tell me you’re upset cause i made you promise not to go to anyone else while i was away on campus.”.

“i can't be upset over that when i’ve been seeing jj,” the words rolled off your tongue with ease, “i don't know why it matters anyway when you've been ignoring me for the past few months, probably too busy sleeping around with sorority girls every weekend”.

rafe’s nostrils flared the second jj's name slipped from your mouth, “what did you just say?” he gritted his teeth, removing his hand from your waist to grab your throat. “what?” you bat your eyes innocently, “don't act all innocent, you've been fucking around with maybank, huh?”.

"what happened to being my good girl? guess your poor, needy little pussy couldn't handle being empty for a few months, hm?" rafe snickered, "and now you wanna push me away all 'cause i've been too busy?".

your mouth gaped open to speak, only for him to cut you off, "is that why you're pushing me away, acting like you didn't miss me and your panties aren't soaking wet right now? ".

rafe spun you around to face the mirror of his dresser, bending you over. his large, warm hands slip under your skirt, pushing the article of clothing around your waist. his fingers hooked into the elastic of your panties, pulling them down to pool around your ankles. "step out of them," he ordered, delivering a sharp smack to the fat of your ass; when you didn't oblige, "don't make me tell you twice.".

rafe bent down, grabbing your panties before standing back up. his hand reached around, cupping your jaw, your lips parting when his fingers dug into your skin as he squeezed your cheeks. rafe shoved the silk material into your mouth and his lips brush against the shell of your ear, "you want an apology? fine, here's your apology.".

his free hand dipped between your legs, chuckling as he ran his fingers through your slick folds. “i’m sorry, princess…” he cooed, extending his thumb to rub circles to your clit, pulling a soft moan from you.

a desperate whine bubbled in your throat at the loss of friction on your puffy clit, your heart racing in anticipation at the sound of fabric rustling behind you. rafe nudged your thighs further apart with his knee, slotting himself between your legs. his palm rested on the small of your back as you squirmed under him, feeling the thick head of his cock sliding up and down your folds.

he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to make you look at him in the reflection, watching your eyes roll back as his thick cock stretches you deliciously, “sorry that my poor girl was so fuckin’ needy to the point she had to run to a pogue of all people.”.

“shit…missed being buried deep in this sweet cunt,” rafe groaned, "guess i gotta ruin this tight little hole; make sure you don't go runnin' back to jj, huh?" he taunted, slowly pulling back, leaving just the tip of his cock inside you.

"don't worry, by the time i'm done with you, all that pretty little head and pussy is gonna think about is how much she missed and ached for my dick," rafe sucked his teeth, your body jolting forward, biting down on the pair of panties stuffed in your mouth as he slammed himself back into your willing cunt.

your hands grip the top of his dresser, eyes barely staying open. a loud, muffled yelp forces its way through the flimsy silk fabric stuffed in your mouth when rafe harshly tugged at the roots of your hair, "did i say you could close your eyes? keep 'em open, want you to watch me fuck you like the needy little cockwhore you are.".

rafe removed his hand from your hair, snaking it around your throat to hold your head upright. he buried his face into the crook of your neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave bruises on your flesh. he leaned forward, putting all his weight onto you and pressing his chest to your back, "this s'all you wanted, yeah? just wanted to be stuffed full of my cock again?".

drool soaked through the silk as his cock pounded into you relentlessly. you grabbed onto his arm, struggling to keep your eyes open, and your nails bite into his skin as the tip of his cock repeatedly hits your cervix. rafe’s eyes flicker to look at the two of you in the mirror, “look at how pretty you look takin’ my dick,” he praises.

“came way too many fuckin’ times to the thought of you…been craving feeling your pussy around my cock again since the day i left,” rafe rasped. “especially feeling you cum all over my cock,” he groaned as he felt your walls flutter around him.

“c’mon, princess, cream all over my cock and make a mess like you used to,” he nipped your ear, holding you steady as your legs trembled. your pussy convulses around him, his hand clamping around your mouth to further muffle your cry of pleasure as you cum all over his thick cock.

your orgasm triggers rafe’s, his hips slowly pumping into yours as they become sloppy. he gives you one more harsh thrust, his hips stilling, pushing his cock deep inside you, and letting out a moan as thick ropes of cum spill into you, painting your walls white.

rafe removes your panties from your mouth, your chest heaving, small pants filling the room. your breath hitches in your throat when his hips slowly rolled into yours, “how’s that for an apology? or you still need some convincing?”.

taglist: @oceandriveab @babygorewhore @cameronsprincess @starkeysbabygirl @bloodibambiidoll @fallbhind @sematarygirls @nemesyaaa @ilovefiction4lmen @zyafics @sturnioloshacker @heartsforvin @cxrrodedcoffin @rafeyscurtainbangs @rafesthroatbaby @jjslaybank @kisses4angels @littlelamy @rafesangelita @starkeygirlposts @drewsarms @hallecarey1 @fallrafwe @sturnskiss @blckbrrybasket @wearemadeofstardust0 @honeybunniesoobin @starkeysbebe @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @starkeysheart @rafeinterlude @starkeyisthelastname @flvredcas @emilysuperswag @proxy-princess @hyperfixationgirl @ijustwanttoreadlols @slumnit @cl4uus @coco-cinnamon @stoned-writer

[alastorthirsty]

Hooray For Makeup Sex! - Alastor x f! fallen angel!reader

Request: Hi! I recently read one of your alastor pieces & ohhhh my god! It was amazing. I was wondering if you would do something alastor x f!reader where they have an argument, add some angst, some fluff, some heavy heavy smut? Almost like alastor begging for reader & wanting to do anything for her to forgive him ?? Just a little idea. :) thank you so much for your wonderful work!’

Hey nonnie! I’m absolutely thrilled to fulfill your request. I hope this hits the mark! Let me know if it does! 😘

Word count: 6678

Warnings: established relationship, breakup, angst, fluff, Alastor is a very jealous and possessive but also in love man, thigh riding, (angelic) bloodplay, vaginal intercourse

Please like, comment, and reblog to sustain me! Let me know if you'd like to be on my tag list and remember that requests are open!

‘Sorry’ is not a word in Alastor’s lexicon. He stares at the heatless green fire in front of him, whiskey in one hand, the other tapping against the arm of his chair.

That was Charlie’s unsolicited advice, a rehash of old material. It starts with sorry, Al.

Well, he stubbornly doesn’t believe he’s in the wrong to begin with, so why should he go and grovel at your fucking feet?

‘Sorry’ is not a word in Alastor’s lexicon, and that’s that.

He throws the whiskey across the room suddenly, with such force that the crystal crashes into the opposite wall, forcing him to look at it.

Oh, it’s luxurious. A four poster bed with a white linen canopy. A mattress that adjusts itself to your whims, night by night. Silken sheets in the exact shade of your favourite colour. All of it for your benefit and yours alone—for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t even sleep! He doesn’t need to sleep, he just needs…

Alastor stares at the bed, imagines how he’d sit next to you as you slumbered, glancing over at you occasionally for the sake of your comfort and security. He remembers how you’d snore lightly and how he would push hair out of your face as you snoozed. He remembers smiling…

He remembers smiling.

He also recalls other little activities the two of you got up to in this bed, satisfying a hunger he’d never known before you, but that isn’t something he craves anymore. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

‘Sorry’ isn’t a word in Alastor’s lexicon, even though��� even though…

It needs to be.

He sits there thinking of everything from the beginning. The day you first met, all those mysterious luminous creatures floating along, moving your furniture past the lobby. Your soft and kind smile, the one that sickened him at first. That damnable dress you wore the first time the two of you hit the sheets, and how fun it was to rip it off your body. The way his shadow always tried to steal feathers from the wings of your shadow. The first time you yelled at him for that.

He thinks of where things went wrong, the man that caused that incredible din, but the only thing he can think of, if he is finally honest with himself, is himself. His own jealousy, his controlling nature, thinking he knew what was best for you. That was what sparked the argument, wasn’t it?

It his fault, certainly, but ‘sorry’ is not in Alastor’s lexicon, period.

The lilies are still on the bedside table. They are dried, desiccating, the little leaves and petals falling onto the surface. He had gotten the lilies to say ‘sorry’, in his own way, but you never did come back to his room.

He lays back on the bed and plucks a dying lily from the bouquet, keeping it in his hand. It's not difficult to imagine you there beside him, your arms wrapped around him as he presses his face against your shoulder, and oh, that’s when it really hits him.

Your scent. He remembers it so well that he smells it now, a phantom chased by nothing. His eyes close and he rolls until his head meets your pillow, breathing in your scent deeply.

‘Sorry’ is not in his lexicon, but goddamn it, there are lilies.

What would it take, what flowers would fix things, if lilies were not enough? Pink roses? White orchids? Tulips? A hundred dozen daffodils, flooding the entire hotel?

Alastor notices now how his hands are shaking at his sides. He clenches his claws into fists and closes his eyes, breathing in your scent again. The best thing to do is to incinerate the pillow, the bed, the lilies…

No, no. His jaw tightens. No, that would be the easy thing to do. Not the best, or even the smartest. It was the cowardly thing to do.

‘Sorry’ is not in Alastor’s lexicon, but he’s no fucking coward.

He can almost hear your voice in his ears, whispering his name with such sweet affection. He remembers your laugh, a sound like music to him. A laugh reserved for him and him alone. Something special.

He's never needed anyone else's company before. He never bothered with the emotional needs of other people. You’re the only person he's ever cared for, the only person who has ever truly meant anything to him. He feels weak and vulnerable over your absence. He doesn't like feeling like this, but you’re the one woman that can break down his walls.

Alastor doesn't like needing you, he doesn't like letting you have this power over him. But at this moment, he doesn't care. He'd give anything to just hear your voice again, even if it’s just to yell at him and tell him to fuck off.

Again.

The sound of your voice, the way you looked into his eyes, your little imperfections that only served to make you all the more perfect in his eyes. He remembers how your lips felt against his skin, the soft warmth of your touch.

He doesn’t like to need you, but he does love it.

He opens his eyes, clutching the now withered flower so tightly that all but a few brown petals fall from the stem. He stares at it for a long moment, trying not to let the memories overwhelm him. A green fire erupts from his palm, scorching it first, then turning it to ash. He stares at it, the lightness of it in his palm.

He's always had such strict control over himself, even under stress or grief, but not anymore. Not when it comes to you. You’ve always been able to cause feelings of weakness and helplessness within him. He hates himself for feeling this way, but at the same time, he can't bring himself to hate you. No, never you.

He closes his eyes again, imagining you lying beside him. You would have wrapped your arms around him and pressed your lips to the side of his neck. Sometimes, you’d start leaving the tiniest of kisses down his neck. It would make him shiver, it would make him…

Just like that first night when things turned physical. Your hands would always find a way under his shirt, running your fingers over the muscles of his chest and stomach, your fingers tracing reverently over his scars.

He can almost feel the softness of your skin, the warmth of your body.

Alastor sighs in consideration of his current position. One of, if not the most powerful Overlord of hell, lying in a bed he does not need, pining after a fallen angel who once (admittedly, accidentally) broke a horn off his shadow. He breathes in your scent again. A fallen angel who made his mama’s jambalaya for him. A fallen angel who was never once intimidated by him. A fallen angel who created life, “along a certain slant of light”, as you put it, most of them visible only to you, except for shimmers of light, like oil on water.

A fallen angel who wouldn’t speak to him even if he said sorry.

Alastor sighs, sits up, holding her pillow like a child holding a fucking teddy bear.

“Fuck.”

He smacks himself on the forehead and drags his hand down his face.

“Fuck.”

He says it again, getting a taste of the word, the pride of it in its coarse formation and meaning.

Alastor sighs, holding the pillow, looking at the bouquet of dead lilies. “Fuck.”

He wants to feel the softness of your lips again. To feel the warmth of your skin, the press of your body against his. But more than anything, he wants to hear you laugh again. He wants that beautiful smile back, the smile you give to him and only him.

But he doubts that will happen. You’ve probably already moved on from him, and honestly, he wouldn't blame you for doing so. Well, that’s a lie.

He knows he's difficult, and demanding—sometimes too demanding. You’ve always been far more patient with him than anyone else, but even that has its limits. And he's certainly pushed those limits.

You’re probably in the arms of some other man right now, maybe even him, laughing as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. You probably don’t even think about Alastor anymore.

‘Sorry’ may not be in his fucking lexicon, but like hell he’d ever allow another man into your bed, and certainly not…him.

Alastor makes sure he’s impeccable before riding the dark to your room. He decides it would be a rather stupid idea to appear inside your room without permission, so he settles on the hallway and knocks on your door.

“Come in!”

The sound is muffled, and he feels the sharp need to lecture you on not checking who is at the door before letting them in, but he refrains. He turns the doorknob and walks into your room for the first time in a while and finds you—

Down on the floor, halfway underneath the bed.

“This seems like a cliche pornographic film,” he comments as he shuts the door.

Herbert, the only one of the little light creatures that he can see, floats towards him.

You try to sit up right when you hear Alastor’s voice, banging your head. You get out from under the bed and stand up.

“Herbert, leave him alone,” you say.

“Nonsense! Hello little creature,” Alastor says to the glowing bastard he had tolerated at best before the breakup. He summons up an apple for the mischievous little son of a bitch to snack on and Herbert quickly zips away with it, disappearing under the bed.

“How did you know that being stuck is a porn cliche?” you ask, sitting on the edge of the bed, your arms crossed. “Been watching a lot of it lately?”

“I think you know that I have not,” Alastor says, leaning forward on his staff. “We just so happen to live with an adult film star who tries to pull the ‘help me I’m stuck’ routine on Husker at least twice per week. What were you doing under the bed, darling?”

“Herbert! He’s been stealing from me,” you say. “I knew I didn’t lose those emerald earrings you gave me. I found those and then some in his little nest under the bed.”

He can’t help but swell with pride. One of his favourite things to do was present you with gifts and he loved seeing them on you every time.

“What do you want?” you ask, and that deflates him a bit.

Alastor takes a breath, his chest rising. “I need you to instruct me in something.”

“Go ask literally anyone else.” You open up the door, gesturing for him to leave, but with a bit of boldness Alastor flicks the door closed again.

“I’m afraid there’s no one better to ask than you, my dear.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Alastor, I broke up with you so I wouldn’t have to deal with things like this anymore.”

Alastor pauses for a time. Honesty tumbles its way past his lips. “You are all that I love.”

The room goes silent, save for the sound of Herbert cronching his apple.

You give a sigh, a pained expression on your face, one that he hates to see. All of him wants to go to you, but you wouldn’t want that—not yet.

“Goddamn it,” you whisper. “Is that what you needed instruction for?”

“No,” he says immediately. “No, loving you needs no instruction.”

You let out a breath. That’s all you can do before your head is in your hands.

“My dear, may I sit beside you?” Alastor asks after a moment’s silence.

“Oh, fuck you!” You stand up and circle around him once. “Fuck you, Alastor!”

His eyebrows rise. “That is not the response that I anticipated or desired.”

“Oh it’s not?” you ask mockingly.

He’s never seen you act like this before, and it is surprising him. An unseen variable, one that choked him. His grip on his staff increases.

“My dear, I sense that you still harbour quite a lot of animus—“

“Shut up! Shut up!” You pace back and forth the length of the rug, also a gift from him. “Fuck you! Fuck you for saying the right things the wrong time!”

Alastor takes a chance and sits down on your bed, watching you closely. “Do you want more earrings?”

You immediately go to your armoire and start throwing jewellery at him. He’s quite literally stunned by this behaviour. Herbert comes out from underneath the bed and snipes a few rings.

“Darling.”

You say nothing, you just keep throwing things at him.

“Darling.”

“Just take it. Take it all back. Give it to someone else.”

Now he looks offended and straightens his posture. You run out of jewellery to throw at him.

“You know there can be no other,” he says, somewhat angry. “You know I’m not capable of having any such enjoyment with anyone else. You are all I love and all that I desire to love. All I can love. There’s none but you and nothing will ever compare, never come close. Do you understand?”

“Then keep them for yourself. Or let Herbert have it all, enable his fucking kleptomania.”

“They belong to you and you will have them. Every last jewel.”

“Alastor, you shouldn’t be here,” you say.

“That is a consideration I undertook before coming.” He leaves his staff on the bed and goes to you. “I need your instruction.”

“On what?” you snap.

He lets out a deep breath. “How many lilies will it take to be forgiven?”

You stare at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Forget the lilies then,” he says quickly. “Just disregard the matter of florals altogether. What token is needed?”

“Token?”

“It doesn’t need to be a physical object, not a coin one inserts into a slot in exchange for heroin or soda,” he says quickly. “I am explaining myself poorly. I’ll be truthful and direct, if you will allow me.”

Your arms cross again, a defensive posture. “Okay.”

“I need you. I don’t know how to be without you anymore. It’s maddening. I find myself missing you in all these vacant spaces that were not vacant before you. You created space in me that only you can fill, and now it is…empty. You made me this way, and it is your fault,” he says quickly. “And what am I to do, now? Accept that I am now empty? Accept that I will walk through eternity alone, with all this space within me, space that you and you alone can occupy?”

“And you hate it, don’t you Alastor? And you hate me for it.”

“I considered that,” he admits. “I tried to insist it to myself, that I did not need such adulations and that I didn’t need you, specifically. I tried not to need you, but your absence insisted upon you. I do not hate you. Nothing could force me to feel that way, not myself, not you, not Herbert.”

“Herbert?”

“Correct. Herbert.”

You sit down beside his staff, touch the microphone knowing you were the only person ever allowed to do so. You sigh. “I love you, too. And just like you, I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I know exactly what to do with it,” he responds.

“Yeah?”

Alastor nods. “We just…go back to before. Move forward. But together. I would sooner die than see you with another man.”

You lift a warning finger to him. “You’re not helping yourself.”

Alastor huffs. “It is the truth. You value honesty as well as I do.”

Now you scoff. “You deal in subterfuge, not honesty.”

“Not with you, and you know that,” he says, pointing at you. “I am a flawed man, but I’ve given you my very best. Better than I thought I had capacity for. Can you truly say that it was never enough?”

“Of course it was,” you say softly.

Alastor sighs and sits beside you. He thinks to put an arm around you, but manages not to.

“You are so used to getting everything you want,” you say. “You have the power to get whatever you want except me.”

He winces. “Please do not put it that way, darling. Please don’t say…we’ll never find a way. Please.”

Slowly, you reach over and touch his hand. When it curls together with his fingers, he places his other hand firmly on top, squeezing.

“Four hundred.”

He waits for you to explain, but you don’t.

“Four hundred what, dearest?” he asks.

You look at him and smile. “Four hundred lilies.”

Alastor snaps his fingers and four hundred lilies arrange themselves in vases on top of every surface in the room. Smelling them, Herbert whooshed out from underneath the bed and floated all along the flowers, playing with the tiny white bells in a way that Alastor could admit might be considered ‘cute’ by others. He looks back to you.

“Do you want to count them all, darling?” he asks.

“I don’t need to,” you say softly. “I feel like I should tell you something.”

“I do not like that,” Alastor says immediately. “I do not like the sound of that. Is it him?”

“Don’t bring this full circle to the last argument,” you warn. “There is no other man. I just thought…you really came in here and said things that I didn’t think you could. You really laid it all on the line and I feel like you deserve the same from me.”

Alastor nods along slowly. “No other man?”

You shake your head. “No other men. Will you stop? Will you please stop? Will you let me talk now?”

“I suppose,” he says, pulling you closer. He settles so that his head rests against your chest. “I am listening.”

“It’s not exactly easy for me to open up either,” you say before clearing your throat. “There’s a wealth of differences between us but similarities that are significant. We both struggle with making space for other people in our lives and typically won’t.”

“That is true,” he says, fingers running along your shoulder.

You start to play with his hair, the fuck-ass bob you only came to love because it was his preference. You’re tempted to touch one of his ears, but now’s not the time for that.

“Sometimes it’s simply hard to believe that there’s this perfect person that really…loves me,” you say softly, quietly, almost wishing that you hadn’t.

Alastor tightens his hold on you. Neither of you could handle personal vulnerability quite so easily, but yours makes his heart clench. “Do I make you feel…less loved when we argue over other men?”

You sigh. “Alastor, it’s not just an argument about men, it’s you basically calling me a whore—“

“No, I didn’t,” he interjects quickly. “No. I have never called you that or thought it of you. You are my favourite, my treasure, my prize, and I would never think so lowly of you. Never, not in all of eternity until what you call ‘the inevitable heat-death of the universe’. I would argue that heaven and hell are a different universe but that is yet another argument we should never cross again.”

“Agreed,” you say, nodding your head. “Just like the argument about—“

“Horses running on their fingers, I know.” Alastor can’t help the fondness in his smile. No matter how heated the arguments, the passion between the two of you manifests itself in all ways possible.

You smile back at him and decide to take the chance to kiss him again. Just once. Just to show him he was still loved, cherished, longed for. It was only right.

Alastor cups the back of your head to keep you there. Fuck once, now that he’s gotten to kiss you he chooses to interpret it as carte blanche to take as many as he wants. Damn, how he had missed this…

You gently remove his hand and pull away. “I’m not done speaking.”

“Apologies,” he mutters.

You nod and continue. “I want to be the one you love. I want to be the only one you love, just as much as you want to be the only one that I love. You just can’t treat me like a soul that you own.”

Alastor’s eyes widen at that. Had he really…?

He looks you dead in the eye. “If I ever do that again, correct me with a good slap.”

You shake your head. “No. I won’t lay my hands on you with anything but affection and…shall we say, intimacy.”

“Intimacy,” he repeats, and almost moans then and there. It has been…too long.

“I know,” you say. “I know.”

“Will you ever be…comfortable with the idea of it again?” Alastor asks.

“I’ve practically undressed you with my eyes since you came in here.”

He goes to make a move but you rebuff him once more, sitting up in the bed. “The fact remains that I am hurt by you when you start questioning me about the attentions of other men, attentions that I do not notice more often than not, if they exist at all. Especially not from him. I keep telling you, he does not look at me that way, he doesn’t think of me that way.”

He nods several times in thought before sitting up beside you, turning to face you. “I am afraid.”

Your eyes widen. You’ve seen him express all sorts of emotions in front of you before but never, not once, had even alluded to fear.

“W-why?” you ask with a bare whisper.

“I’m not a good man, and you know that. You know what I do almost better than anyone else. You are too good for me, therefore I fear another man will come along, catch your fancy, and leave me with the choice of either killing him and devastating you or simply languishing in my own self-pity. Why are you so far?”

(Obviously he would kill the other man.)

Alastor drags you into his lap and you give no resistance. He holds you tight, intending to never let go, not now when there was a chance.

You lay your head on his shoulder and breathe him in. You’ve missed his scent, too.

“I’m not too good for you,” you mutter against his neck. “And I won’t hear of it. Understood?”

He smiles begrudgingly. “Fine. You will have it as you wish, my dear.”

“So,” you say. “What now?”

“Move forward,” he says again. “Be with me again. Allow me to present you with jewels. I will…continue to put up with that little abomination eating the lilies.”

You gasp and look towards Herbert. You clap your hands together loudly. “Herbert! No! They might be poisonous to you, and besides, they’re mommy’s!”

Alastor can’t help himself but laugh. “Mommy’s, you say?”

“I made him, I’m mommy!”

Maybe…maybe it was possible. You’re not a sinner, after all, and Charlie does exist…

Maybe he can give you fawns, bond you to him for all eternity, heat-death of the universe be damned.

Alastor chuckles, lets that thought slide by (for now). He whisks the lilies away before the little bastard can make himself sick and throws another apple at him. Herbert gasps softly, takes it, and back under the bed he goes.

“See?” Alastor says. “I am suitable.”

You smile at him softly. “Promise?”

“Yes, dear. I do promise. There are many things I can’t. We will continue to argue over pointless things, that’s already in the cards. We will bump heads and piss each other off. I will be jealous, I will certainly be possessive, but I will never express it to you in a way that makes you feel like a harlot. And I will try not to over-analyse every interaction with him. Perhaps I will never express it at all, that would be best, I know…

“And I will fail. And you will, too. We will have our… fuck-ups, as you often call them. However, for all the fuck-ups we ever had before, not a moment passed when I did not know that I loved you. You created space in me, made my lungs full. I cannot be without you now, and I think you…I think that you are the same. I hope you are the same.” He pauses. “Please, darling.”

You kiss him, and in that he understands your acceptance of this. Of him, his words, the explicit and implicit promises. Words were difficult sometimes.

He grabs you tightly and rides the dark to his bedroom, to the bed he made for you.

You break the kiss with an air of incredulity. “You know I hate when you shadow whoosh me!”

“And you know I have exactly one rule about where we are intimate.”

You sigh. “Not above Herbert’s nest.”

“Indeed. Not above Herbert’s nest.”

“And who said anything about being intimate?” you ask, a hint of mischief in your eyes.

He smirks. “There she is.”

“Tell me what you want to do to me,” you say.

He grins, his eyes burning with a dark, sinful desire as he responds huskily, his lips against your ear. “Ah, my love, I want to do everything to you. I want to touch you, taste you, explore every inch of you until nothing exists to either of us except each other. I want to hear you moan and gasp my name, to make you feel things you've never felt before.”

You give him a wicked smile. “We should do that.”

He grows in agreement, his eyes burning with need and desire as he responds in a low, guttural voice. “We absolutely should. We will. I’m going to explore every inch of you, to make you feel things you've only dreamed of. Are you ready for that, my love?

He pulls you so that your back is snug against his chest, not a bit of space between your bodies. His clawed fingertips run from your knee all the way to your hip. He can hear that little gasp you try to hide, can feel that little shiver. The hem of your dress hiked up, his hand moves to cup your mound. He smirks to himself when he feels you rub against it.

“Be a good girl,” he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing against the shell of it. He rubs against your underwear for a few moments, allowing you to rock your hips against his hand, and oh, there it was again. Control. Control over you, the greatest prize of all, and you gave it to him so willingly.

His hand slides his hand inside your silken undergarments easily—ones that he bought for you. It’s gratifying as hell, almost as good as feeling your slick folds against his fingers. He blunts his fingertips and rubs against you.

Alastor’s teeth catch on your neck and he’s more than tempted to bite down, but not just yet. You moan and he relishes it.

“You like that?” he murmurs against your ear. “You love it, don’t you? Being a good girl for me.” Alastor uses his free arm to wrap around your hips to stop you from moving. “Now, be very good.”

You give a soft little whimper when he won’t let you move anymore, knowing you’re at his mercy when he’s in a mood like this. Fingers slide inside of you, his thumb rubbing over your clit.

“Be still, and be quiet,” he instructs, smiling against your ear.

He can sense the struggle almost as soon as he says it. That little tremble in your thighs. The hand that shoots up to cover your mouth.

“Oh, no dear,” Alastor says, pushing it away with his free hand. ”Don’t test me again. No cheating, no tricks. No magic, no power. Only me.”

Listening to you trying to contain all your little sounds is priceless. Alastor knows how to play your body like a Stradivarius. His fingers move lower, deeper.

“Who makes you feel like this?” he asks, sucking a dark mark against your neck.

You’re not sure if it’s a trick or not until his little ministrations pause, causing you to whimper again. “You!”

“Atta girl,” he says affectionately. “You’re so wet for me.”

He chuckles, his breath warm against your skin, his chin rubbing against your neck as he kisses and teases you. "My love, I can feel. You like it, don't you? You like how I can make you fall apart in my hands, helpless to my touch."

He bites your neck softly, his teeth scraping against your skin.

You take a few shaky breaths. “Am I allowed to speak now?”

Alastor pauses, as if deliberating, and the lack of movement in his fingers is excruciating. Your pussy throbs at the loss, clenching around them, and you’re near the point of begging.

“No,” he says momentarily. “No, you are not allowed to speak yet. Good of you to ask, darling, but now is the time for you to listen, not to speak. Now, stand up.”

Confused, you manage to get up from his lap and stand one rubbery legs before him. Your eyes give the inquiry your lips cannot.

Alastor parts his knees wide and pulls you to straddle one of his thighs.

Oh!

Your cheeks warm and your jaw opens slightly. You almost shake your head, but Alastor reaches for your chin and holds it between his fingers. With his other hand, he grabs one of your hips and forces you to start moving, the grind against your wet, clothed pussy causing you to gasp.

“I’ve missed you in more ways than one,” he says, slapping you on the ass to encourage to ride his thigh on your own.

“It was my own fault, I know that,” he continues, and places both hands on your hips to support you as you move. “I was insane with jealousy, yes, and that is also my own fault. I cannot tolerate the mere notion that someone else would get to see you…like this. You are so very beautiful, darling. You are so very, very much mine.”

He could never let anyone else have you. He knew that he never would. Surprisingly, his possessive words seem to make you grind harder against him, your hips working more quickly. Alastor welcomes this with a grin.

“Ah, my dear.” His hands move from your waist to your ass, squeezing, making you moan for him again. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you fall. Come for me.”

Still unsure if you’re allowed to make any sound, you bite down on your lip hard, your eyes on his when a little golden rivulet drips from your poor, abused lip.

With a growl, Alastor lunges at you, though you are still in his lap. You fall down to the rug and he’s on top of you, licking up every trace of golden blood. Nothing could ever compare to it, he’d once said, and it turns him feral every single time he sees it or smells it. He kisses you, gently sucking at that tiny wound until it closes way too soon and his fist pounds the floor in anger. He raises his head, looks at you, and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, okay, but in bed,” you say.

Alastor picks you up quickly and tosses you onto it. He takes off his coat and throws it across the room. His bow tie is next, but you hold your hands out.

“Wait!” You say, reaching for him. “The shirt is my job.”

He grunts in his feral state, but he allows it, and soon his shirt is off and on the floor, forgotten.

“Where?” he asks raggedly.

“Where do you want?” you ask with a shrug. “This is your thing, but I’m happy to oblige. A bit. Not enough to make me dizzy.”

Permission granted, Alastor falls on top of you and goes straight for the jugular, literally. Just some sharp teeth and bam. He was drinking golden blood straight out of your neck, and you gave him the extra sensory delight of playing with his ears while he did so. He’s moaning, again and again, and you can feel how hard he is, pressed up against your body.

Eventually you decide he’s had enough and push his head away gently. Alastor kisses you instead, still giving animalistic energy, and rips away every article of clothing that separates you.

You can taste your own blood on his lips.

Somehow in this state Alastor remembers that he told you to come but didn’t let you and he quickly works to remedy that. His fingers enter you again. He knows your body well, he knows how to make you come in moments and you do, your legs shaking uncontrollably. Alastor finally leans back to look at the wreck he’s made of you and he smirks.

He holds one of your thighs against his waist and enters you fast, all at once, and the pace he sets is equally feral. Any time your blood came into the mix he truly could not help himself. His strokes are hard, deep, enough to make your knees wobble.

You hear him take a deep inhale and look up at him.

“My darling, the way you react to me, the way you react…Fit so perfectly, like your cunt was made just for my use.” Alastor bites at your neck again, but he won’t try to draw blood.

You grab one of the pillows and put it underneath your hips. This was an especially careful operation, considering how he was pounding you, but it tilted your hips and allowed for a more delicious angle.

Alastor’s clawed hand grabs your other thigh and squeezes hard. “What do you think, darling? Do you think this pretty little pussy was made for me?”

You nod several times, finding it harder and harder to catch your breath, but he’s without mercy this time. “Jesus…”

“Not an acceptable response, dearest,” he says with a little groan of exertion. He squeezes your thigh again. “Now, I believe I asked you a question. There’s only one correct answer, so give it to me.”

The sheets twist beneath your hands. There’s a decision to be made. Be forthwith and tell him yes or tease him until he’s out of his right mind.

“Damn it, darling,” he says impatiently.

You smirk. Let the teasing begin. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Alastor’s claws on your thigh almost drew more golden blood.

“You asked if my pussy was made just for you,” you say, your words coming out through pants because of his force.

His antlers grew larger, longer. His glare was menacing. His voice was dark.

“Then I suppose I must show you.”

The bed began to shake, and his tone shifted.

“Ah, my sweet darling, what I want to do to you right now is beyond description. I want to feel your softness, your warmth, your very essence against me, writhing under my touch. I want to take you, claim you, make you mine completely, with no doubting.”

“And how will you do that?” you ask playfully.

His hands grip you tighter, pulling you completely against him. He leans in, his lips trailing along your neck, his voice a low, dark growl in your ear.

“How will I do that, my sweet darling? I'm going to make you feel so good, make you scream from the pleasure of it. I'm going to kiss you, and touch you, and taste you, until you're so lost in pleasure you don't remember your own name or where you are.”

Your breath comes more and more harshly. “Did you soundproof the room?”

He gives you a look of pure incredulity. “Of course the room is soundproof! These precious little moans and gasps, they’re all mine, understand? Only I get to hear them, they belong to me!”

“Yes, yes!” You gulp for air.

“You do things to me, darling,” he says, “things that drive me absolutely wild. Your touch, your scent, your responsiveness, it all makes me ache and desperate for you. And you know it, don’t you?”

“I do my best.” You wink up at him. “Out of curiosity…what do I smell like?”

Alastor growls. “Ah, darling, you smell simply divine. I can't get enough of your soft, sweet scent. You smell like honey, like flowers, like the fresh air of a sunny day. It's intoxicating and completely addictive. I can't get enough of it, and I can't get enough of you. There will never be enough.”

“Keep me,” you whisper.

“Oh, darling,” he says. “Let there be no doubt in that. Yes, you're all mine. Mine to touch, mine to kiss, mine to have. I'm going to make sure you never forget that, darling. You're mine. Do you understand that?”

His hand comes up to gently squeeze at your throat, a warning.

You swallow, knowing he could feel every movement, and nod. “Yes, Alastor! Yes!”

His grip on your throat softens somewhat. “You just love to be under my control, don’t you?”

“I love being at your mercy,” you say with a moan.

“Is that so?” There’s a grin on his face that presses against his voice, dark and velvet. “And why is that? Tell me.”

Your eyes flutter closed. “Because I’m the only one safe at your mercy.”

“You’re right about that,” he says, pushing your thigh higher against your chest. “Look at you. Hair all mussed, lip swollen, bruises on your throat. And I did all of it. Tell me, darling. Tell me.”

“You did it. You did all of this to me, you’re the only one I want…”

That was what he truly wanted to hear, you knew. His jealousy is a problem and in all likelihood will continue to manifest itself, but at the root of it he just wanted to be the only one you had an appetite for. He fucks you harder and harder until you start screaming for him.

“Yes, yes,” he says, rubbing at your clit now. “Go on, make all of those beautiful, lascivious noises for me…”

You huff and gasp for breath. “Alastor, please, please let me come!”

He chuckles. “Yes, darling. That is the goal.”

When it hits you, you gasp first. Your hips grind against his, moving through it, along it, until it’s just too much—

But Alastor doesn’t stop. He holds you down, fucks you harder, draws it out for as long as he can. He smirks down at you as you shake for what he is doing to you—for you. His thumb circles your clit one last time before he’s finally merciful.

“So tight for me, darling,” he says, sucking the words between his teeth. It’s almost more than he can take, and he knows that it’s coming fast. He just…he needs something first.

He speaks in a gentler tone now, watching the bulge in your stomach move as he fucks you. “Darling…"

You’re still gasping for breath. “Yeah, honey? What is it?”

“Promise me that I’m…enough.”

“Enough?” You laugh, a raspy sound. “You’re too fucking much.”

Alastor lets out a gravelly moan, its intensity changing the pitch. You could almost swear that you can feel his cum inside you, all white and hot. When he finally stops moving, he leans against your thigh, chasing his breath.

“Bravo,” you say, putting your arms around him when he lays down beside you.

"I thought perhaps I had pleased you," he says, shuddering when you rub the base of his ears.

You laugh softly, breath finally caught. "Reconciled?"

Alastor nods. "Indeed. We are reconciled. If...you'll have me, anyway."

"I think that I will," you say, and from the corner of your eye, you see something on the wall and sit straight up, pointing. "That son of a bitch shadow of yours is stealing my feathers again!"

The smiling spectre flaunts his new feather and cuddles closer to your shadow. Maybe they were reconciled, as well.

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - Part 4

In which you escape to paradise with the love of your life.

Warnings: nothing unless you hate happiness. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 2.4k

- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 3 - Master List

Phulay Bay, Thailand July, 2025

yourpersonalinsta posted

456,938 likes liked by taylorswift, redbullracing, alexandrasaintmleux, and others. yourpersonalinsta out of office tagged: maxverstappen1 kikagomes omg where are yoooou? >>>yourpersonalinsta thailand! he planned literally everything. all i had to do was show up. user928 max is never beating best boyfie on the grid allegations now redbullracing bring us back a coconut! >>>yourpersonalinsta hahahaha think max can smuggle one out in his backpack??? >>>redbullracing if he tries hard enough, he can do anything!

"Max, where'd you go?" You call, voice echoing out over the empty terrace of the beach villa Max had booked for you two during F1's summer break.

Last year, the two of you had spent a few weeks on a boat off of the Amalfi coast with some of your friends but this year, it was just the two of you. This entire trip had been a complete surprise, Max having planned the entire thing. You had gotten a text one afternoon just a few days into the month long F1 break from Max telling you to pack a bag (heavy on the bikinis and lingerie, as personally requested by your boyfriend) and to be ready to leave the apartment in Monaco in an hour.

You had bustled about, a mix of excitement and anxiety twisting in your chest. To be quite honest, you had been looking forward to having some down time at home, just the two of you. It had only been a few months since you had permanently moved from New York to Monaco and you were far from settled, having spent most of the first half of the year traveling with Max.

The moment Max burst into your shared apartment though, all of your anxieties evaporated into thin air. He had never looked more relaxed than he had that morning, telling you he was taking you on a trip and to not ask any questions. You, of course, dutifully obeyed.

Which was how you found yourself at one of the most private and romantic beach resorts in Thailand, currently looking for your seemingly missing boyfriend. You'd been here for a few days now, soaking in the sand and sun and quiet peacefulness the resort had to offer. Mornings were spent slowly in bed, breakfast often skipped in favor of time spent underneath (or on top of) Max. Afternoons scuttled by slowly, spent under the sun on the beach in your bikini being oogled by Max. And nights were spent together, either in the media room of the villa watching movies or under the stars talking about anything and everything with the man that had completely stolen your heart.

It was in those quiet moments, while you sat snuggled up between Max's legs, back pressed firmly into his chest, on the beach where you were in awe of how much your life had changed in a little over a year. How quickly Max had swooped into you life, into your heart, and never left.

The villa is quiet and empty, you assume that Max has wandered down onto the beach or out near the private pool while you had taken a quick shower before your dinner reservations. Something on the bed catches your eye though and you cross the wooden planked floor to read the note that sits on top of a white linen dress.

My love, I know we had reservations at the resort's resturant tonight but I took the liberty of moving that to some place a little quieter. Put on the dress and meet me out on that little bluff where we always watch the sunset, dinner is waiting. all of the love my soul possesses, Max

Tears prick at your eyes when you finish the note. Laying on the bed is a white linen dress that you had no idea was even in the villa. It's brand new, you'd never even seen it before. The moment you pull it on over your head, you can't help but be impressed. It fits like a dream and when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you can't help but smile. The dress is cut perfectly to your figure, the neckline scooping down low to show off an extra bit of clevege and the hem hitting just below your knee. You're not quite sure how Max did it, but the dress fits you like a glove.

Your hair is still a bit damp, but you're eager to find where Max is and what he's up to tonight so you opt for a long braid down your back.

When you step out on the back veranda of the villa, the sun is hanging low in the sky, just above the sparkling blue water that stretches out in front of you. The resort sits on a little bluff overlooking the ocean, romantically tucked into the side of rolling green hills and a lush forest behind you.

Just beyond the edge of the villa's back yard is a little outcropping of land that juts over the beach below. Every night since you had arrived, Max had insisted on making a point to sit on this little private bluff and watch the sun go down. No matter what you were doing or what you had planned that evening, watching the sunset tucked deeply in Max's arms, became a tradition you wanted to continue forever.

The cool grass tickles your bare feet as you cross the lush green lawn. For a moment, you don't even look towards where you know Max is standing because you're so distracted by the crash of the ocean waves and glimmer of the sunset on the water. When you do look over though, you stop in your tracks, pupils blowing wide at the scene before you.

There, right on your little plot of paradise, stands your boyfriend. He's surrounded by what looks like hundreds and hundreds of white hydrangeas arranged in a large circle. Clusters of candles dot the edge of the circle casting a soft glow over the entire scene.

Max stands in the middle of all of this, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his khaki shorts. He's wearing the navy linen shirt you bought him for his birthday last year, top few buttons undone at his throat. The breeze off the water tugs a bit at his hair, long from a busy season with little time to stop and get a haircut. The fact that you liked his hair longer also had a lot to do with him refusing to cut it lately, but he'd never admit that to anyone but you.

When Max sees you walk out of the villa for the firs time, he thinks he might just pass out right there. The dress Kika and Alexandra had helped him pick out was the prettiest thing he'd ever seen you wear, besides that navy and red lacy lingerie set you had worn for his birthday last year, of course. He had been planning this for months now, much to Daniel and Lando's surprise. His two friends were the only other people who knew what this entire trip was really about. They had expressed their surprise at the plans since you hadn't even celebrated your one year anniversary when he had set all of this in motion. Max had simply replied with 'when you know you know' and no one had questioned it again.

The red and gold ring box sits heavy in his pocket, his fingers tracing anxious patterns over it's smooth surface. He wasn't nervous about what he was going to do. No, what he was about to do was the most confident and self assured decisions he had ever made. What he was nervous about was you saying no. He wasn't sure if his heart would be able to take a rejection.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you approach Max. Unsure but confident about what's about to happen all at the same time. The conflicting emotions whirl around in your stomach in a hurricane of anxiety and shock.

"Hi baby." Max murmurs as soon as you step into the circle with him. His arms reach for you and to his great relief, you melt into him eagerly.

"Hi." Your voice nothing but breathy whisper. A smile that could power most of Europe shimmers across your face. "What's all this?"

"I know I said we were going to eat dinner out here, but I wanted to talk to you first." Max buries his head in your hair, inhaling the sweet and spicy scent of your shampoo, still lingering in your hair after your shower.

He takes a few moments and you are simply content to enjoy the feeling that settles over you. Outside of this little bluff, nothing else exists and you could stay here for the rest of your life and be completely content.

When Max pulls himself together, he pulls back a little so he can see you without craning his neck. "The moment you smiled at me the first time, my entire world shifted beneath my feet." His voice is rough, Dutch accent becoming more prominent the more emotional he gets. "The first time I kissed you in my drivers room in Miami, I knew I was done. I have never met a kinder, more ambitious, or more confident woman than you. Just being able to exist in your orbit has been the blessing I never knew I needed. I know it hasn't been long but I can't figure out how I ever managed to exist before you and I never want to find out what it feels like to exist after you."

Max pauses then, drawing in a shaky breath. Blood rushes past your ears as your knees threaten to buckle. You had hoped this day would come for you and Max but you had never expected it to be so quickly. Like Max, you had known pretty fast that he was it for you. You had tried to fight the growing feeling that your relationship could work its way into marriage but as you continued to settle further into life with him, you fought the feeling less and less.

He sinks to his knee then and looks up at you, those ice blue eyes that you dream about shining up at you. "I want to see you walk down the aisle towards me in a white dress. I want to see your belly grow when you carry our babies. I want to hear my children call you their mama and I want your babies to call me daddy. I want all of this and an entire lifetime of love with you and only you. Will you give me that, baby? Will you marry me?"

For a moment you're completely unable to breathe. The words Max said to you etched themselves onto your bones, words you'd never forget until your dying day. They were words that were to be written down. Words that your grandchildren would cry over one day when they stumbled upon your old journals in the attic.

Those kinds of things, those words, deserved to live in the universe alone for a bit, they're so powerful. You gave them space and respect, allowing what Max had said to you wash over your body.

"Oh my God. Of course. Yes. Please." You babble, really unable to make your mouth move in the way you want it. All you know is that you had never been so certain about anything in your entire existence.

Max slips the massive rock onto your finger before standing up to his full height. The diamond that winks up at you in dim candlelight is something that could be compared to the iceberg that sunk the titanic. Once the ring is secured on your hand, tonight's second perfect fit, Max catches your chin in his fingers to tip your head up towards him. When he kisses you, lips meeting yours so achingly tender, the entire world goes quiet. Everyone who could have possibly existed simply vanishes.

You stay like that for several moments, caught up in your boyfri- no, not boyfriend, fiance's arms and simply kiss him with every ounce of love you can wring out of your soul. His tongue licks into your mouth, eliciting a kitten like mewl of pleasure from the back of your throat. It's a sweet and tender kiss, soft and celebratory after what's just occurred.

"I love you." You say against his lips when you need a moment to breathe.

"I love you too. More than life, lifeje." Max's hand comes up to frame the side of your face, rubbing his thumb across your swollen bottom lip.

All you can do is stare up at him, pupils blown wide open. "How long have you been planning this? I can't believe you did all this...for me? Just for me?" For someone who has often gone unseen in their own family, being doted on like Max does is sometimes confusing.

"Months. I've had help. Danny and Lando helped decide where and how to do this." You can't help but chuckle at the thought of Daniel and Lando, two of Max's most unserious and unmarried friends, helping him plan a proposal.

"Alexandra and Kika too. They helped with the dress."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "Those two bitches knew and didn't tell me!"

Max tilts his head back and laughs heartily. The sound sends a zing down your spine. "No, although I suspect they might have figured it out. I just told them I was taking you on a surprise date and needed help with an outfit."

"And of course I did all of this for you." Max continues, face turning serious. "I did this all for you because I wanted you to know how important you are to me. How much I need you in my life. You're my everything, baby."

Emotion clogs your throat as you fight to keep the tears from falling. "I can't wait to be your wife, Maxie."

yourpersonalinsta posted

1,293,938 likes liked by kikagomes, yourdad, danielricciardo, and others. yourpersonalinsta girlfriend < fiancé 💍 kikagomes ahhhhhhh congratulations pretty girl!!! you are going to make the most beautiful bride. WAIT OMG, is this why Max had Alex and I help buy that dress????? >>>yourpersonalinsta yes 🤭 love you kiks >>>user928 i'm sorry but am i reading this right? max had alex and kika help buy the dress that he had her wear to her own engagement. idk if i'll ever recover from this. user02938 MOM AND DAD ARE GETTING MARRIED landonorris glad he finally did it so i can stop hearing about how excited he is. >>>yourpersonalinsta love you too, lando >>>landonorris ❤️ maxverstappen1 can't wait to start calling you mrs. verstappen >>>user0283 i cannot be normal about this >>>user0029 i have no one to send this too redbullracing our favorite couple together forever!!! congrats you two (liked by author and maxverstappen1)

tags: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley

[vampiresbloodx]

Arcane imagine.

Arcane characters react when you take a hit for them.

Characters included: Mel medarda, Caitlyn, vi, jinx, sevika.

Trigger warnings: fluff, angst, reader getting hurt, injuries, yearning, implied smut, gross m*n, harassment

Mel medarda;

It was a seemingly normal night for you both, you had decided to take Mel out for dinner, nothing too luxurious (in her own words) but you wanted nothing but the best for your Mel, she appreciated that, god, she never looked more beautiful when she's standing in the moonlight in her red dress she especially wore for you and only you

The night was going just as planned, it was perfect, there was much laughter and smiles that hurt both of your cheeks, as you held hands and walked together, occasionally sitting down and kissing one another, when of course, a drunk man happened to be near by, and he didn't like what he saw, the famous Mel medarda kissing someone that wasn't a man

He ended up becoming furious, stumbling over as he started shouting nonsense, Mel wasn't having it, she used her authority voice that turns stern to control the situation, she does this when she's nervous, and you can tell when she grips onto your hand tighter

When you see the man raising his hand in her direction, you immediately shield her and take the hit, your cheek stings as you even taste blood, that was Mel's last straw when she saw him hit her lover, you've never seen her this angry, it was a sight to see her cussing out the man and ruining him to pieces, he ended up walking off, leaving you alone as you felt a little ashamed, but you were happy that you had stopped him from hitting Mel, no one hits her

"why'd you do that?" Mel had asked, bending down on her knees as she takes your face in her hands, checking to make sure you're okay. "Why did you do that?" She keeps on asking, her eyes wide with fury and worry.

"Because I love you" was all you said.

She smiled, laughed, you laughed with her, she had tears in her eyes, though you wouldn't bring it up, you wiped some away with your thumb, as she kissed you hard

Caitlyn;

Caitlyn was out doing her duty when you were supposed to be at home, relaxing, waiting for her return, things have been getting rough fast, much to her liking as she had to deal with it all

She knew there was no going back once she went down this road, it had to be done, you had tried convincing her to stop and think, you know her grief has been eating at her, you've felt it, you know what it's like yourself

She tries to hide it, but you can see it

You try to be there for her in any way you can, whatever she needs, you'll give

While she was out one night, alone, you know she's capable of taking care of herself, you don't doubt that at all, the one time she didn't have her gun with her is when shit happens, you don't like guns, she knows this, so she tries not to carry them around you, unless absolute necessary

Then out of no where, she's attacked.

And she stumbles, for the first time in so long, she's nervous, scared, thinking about you

They came out of no where, taking her off guard as they had their masks on, it was dark out, she couldn't see much

Then you appear all of a sudden, like a knight in shining armor, she watches you in awe before she realizes what you are doing with the way you jumped at them, with fury on your face as you raised your fist, ready to protect her, she shouted your name, you looked, and you got hit

Caitlyn lost it

They were all done by the time you opened your eyes again, embarrassed, you couldn't look at Caitlyn in the eyes but she had picked you up in her arms, carrying you home, she was silent, thinking you were still out, you admired her, reaching out to caress her cheek, she smiled, looking down at you as that tells you enough

Vi;

You hadn't seen vi all day, you knew she'd come home eventually, you two had plans, a date she promised, but something didn't feel right

Vi doesn't fuck around when she makes a promise to meet with you, you know that, she knows that, others might not, but you do

When she doesn't answer your calls and texts, you get worried, eventually you went out of your apartment to go and track her down, you know a few places she'd always be at

When you find her in a tight situation, in a dark alleyway, just a few blocks away from home, as it looks like she was on the way back to you, you felt frustrated as you watched three big, tall guys who clearly had a bit to drink pick on her

Vi had fought the worst of the worst, you know that, but you weren't having it

She didn't let you join in on fighting, scared for you, she worries sick, that she might lose you, but she doubts you enough, you know it wasn't doubt though, she just cared

She cared so much

It was a surprise when she saw you running at full speed at one of the guys and taking a huge hit when he got a hand of you, shoving you off, vi was pissed

Anger was all she felt as she kicked all of their asses

She was muttering while checking in on you, she patched you up and took care of you, making sure you were okay, in her eyes, she couldn't help but admit that it was hot, and that made her fall in love harder with you

Jinx;

Jinx had always been the one to fight for herself

She wasn't used to others stepping in, unless it was for work

Like if silco had ordered them too go with her, that wouldn't make a difference

Jinx was always going to be doing everything herself, that was until you came into her life, when everything went shit when silco died, you were her light

And Isha

You two meant more to her than she could ever imagine

She began to look forward to tomorrow

The one time you, Isha, jinx all decided to go out for an adventure, she wanted to impress you with her new projects that she was working on, you always listened to her ramble and she liked it, not many people did aside from sevika, Isha and you

Though sevika just tolerated it

Everything was going perfect, when a group of idiots came out and she didn't even have all of her fancy weapons on her, the one time she doesn't, because she just wanted to have fun with her favorite people, she was actually enjoying herself, which why she got so angry when they attacked

She knows she's got plenty of enemies, that's nothing new, but what she doesn't like is when any of them go for Isha or you, you two shouldn't be involved in this, even though you and her are together together, you were more vulnerable now

She was amazed by you

What she didn't expect was to watch you stand in front of her and take a huge hit to the face just when she was handling the guys her way, that caught her off balance

She raged at them

Once she was done with them, she took your hands as she was filled with worry, her anxiety buzzing, her thoughts too loud, thinking the worst, Isha helped you stand up, she also looked concerned, wondering what had happened, why you got hurt

Jinx didn't waste anytime pressing a kiss to your lips as she took you home with Isha alongside her

Sevika;

Sevika just wanted to take you out on a nice date, as best as she could offer, she knows you'd appreciate it regardless, but she wanted to give you everything she could

You had made everything better for her the moment you stepped into her life, she wanted to do you good

The date was going perfectly, just the way she had planned, it wasn't often sevika was pleased with herself, but tonight you looked good enough to eat

Just when everything was going fine, someone had to ruin it

Someone who was upset with her

Sevika knew she made a name for herself, people knew her, they weren't always the nicest

Usually just wanted to try and fight her, to see if they'd beat her, they never do, it ends up written on all their faces

But of course, her first date with you got interrupted, and Sevika wasn't having it when this guy was trying so hard to get with you, she hated how uncomfortable you looked, he didn't even recognize her there the entire time as she stared him down with a cold glare, she made her presence known

He looked flabbergasted at the sight of sevika having a date with someone like you, you two were different, sure, she didn't care what others think, especially if they targeted you

You said you were used to it, guys coming up and flirting with you, making gross comments, she wasn't having it, she didn't care how used to it you were

"are you done here?" Sevika asked, taking a bite of a cherry as you watched, admiring her, she smirked at you.

The guy huffs, unimpressed, "the fuck are you doing here, bitch?" He slurred, leaning closer.

The moment you heard him call her a bitch, you immediately stood up, as the both of them got heated, fast, you know sevika doesn't back down from a fight for anyone, especially a sloppy moyherfucker like him who runs his stupid mouth

You spotted him getting closer and raiding his hand at her, no, you weren't going to have tonight end up blood spilt, as hot as that'd be, you wanted your date to be perfect

Just before he could even punch your Sevika, you were able to get in between them fast, his hand hitting hard on your check as you fell against her front

She stared at you with wide eyes, and raged at the guy

She knew you didn't want her fighting anyone on your date, but that set her off

The pain stung as you knew it was gonna bruise, fuck, but you wanted to make sure it wasn't always her getting the first hit

He ended up on the floor, passed out fast

Sevika had you in her arms, kissing you rough, you tasted blood, it was everything, she never looked more beautiful as she stared at you with so much love

"I'm gonna treat you so good, baby."

Tonight was far from over

[tan1shere]

Her Favorite - Pt 3

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: this is the last part of this series I hope you all enjoyed it !! This was one of my favs to write <3

Summary: you're the teachers pet. Her. Favorite.

Warnings: smut, tension ? A small tiny argument, fingering, strap, r sucks billies tits, teasing from both parts, slight angst ??? Scissoring - let me know if I missed anything !

Tags - @trulyy-yourzz @eilishslut @brat-at-the-disco @iluvapplesxh @chrissv4mp @n0vabug @dollyvuu

Masterlist - pt 1 , pt 2

You didn't want to believe it, but she had been distant. Why? It was bugging you because all you wanted was her. Just her. And the more the time passes that's all you could think of. Her. Your God damn teacher. You could barely focus with the thought of her recently so when she had started this weird distancing. You were a bit hurt. But, you decide to try your best to ignore it. "Hey Y/n!" You hear Silvi say, approaching you. You turn to face her. "Oh hi!" You say cheerful. "Since we didn't get to hang out that one time I thought I'd invite you to this party I'm going to tomorrow night." You think for a moment.

"You know what yeah, I'd love to." She smiles and goes about her day. This couldn't hurt anyone right? That was unconvincing, you knew it'd bother someone. But then again that someone doesn't really seem to care currently. Why the hell not!

It was a Saturday and you were in her bed, things were quiet like they have been. Until she turns over and wraps her arms around you. "Sorry I haven't been that present. End of the year so it's hectic as a teacher." You look up into her eyes. Oh.. That's why, now you felt bad about going to this party. But why, you deserved to have fun. You just nod, going to kiss her cheek and sit up. "I uh, I'll just get going." Her brows furrow. "You know you can stay another night babe." You bite your lip. "Yeah but I just don't have a change of clothes here." She looks at you. "Those are fine, no?" You sigh. "I'm going somewhere."

Her head tilts with a grin. "What, no invite?" You stand up, causing her face to shift. Her features changing at your body language. "It's uhm, a school party. So it'd be a bit you know." She caught on. "Right, gotcha." Billies fear was infront of her, she didn't want to believe it. She was 9 years older than you ofcourse you needed to be around people your age. But she wondered if that was romantically too. She didn't want that, she just wanted you. "You hate parties though." It was true, you did. Then that jealousy kicks in. "Shes going to be there isn't she." You stay silent for a moment as you put your pants on, leaving her baggy t-shirt on.

You grab your keys,but she's up and out of bed. "Hey." She says when you don't respond, coming over and making you look at her. There was more silence as she finds the right thing to say. She wants to tell you to be careful and to not do this at all. But shes better than that. "Have fun ok?" You nod again, kissing one another before you leave. The kiss lingers on your lips, and you miss it. Did you even want to go to this party?

It was too late you were already there with Silvi, having a few drinks but never too much. You really didn't like parties but, you hadn't ever been to one so why fight something you haven't even tried. Laughing, talking, music. Honestly it was boring and you'd rather be spending it with Billie, in your underwear in the comfort. Eating crap, watching movies. That's all you'd want right now. But something pulled you out of that little day dream, you feel a hand on your thigh. Your senses going off, growing uncomfortable. You turn to see it was Silvi's you look at her as she must've done it subconsciously. Talking to whoever infront of her. But her next move wasn't so subconscious. Her hand slowly glides upwards making you get up from your seat.

Her face turns to you. But before anything else you go to find your way around into a room, not realizing she had followed. "Shit, I'm sorry I didn't even-" You shake your head. "It's fine. I just think I want to go home." Not think. You were certain. "You sure?" Your brows furrow slightly. Feeling uneasy. "Positive." She comes over and sits by you. "We could go soon, you got somewhere to be?" Yes. At our teachers house. "No I just, don't really want to be here." She gets closer. You felt icky. "Please just take me home." Her demeanor changes. "Fine." Your brows furrow again, what the fuck was up with her.

You were close to Billies place. "Just let me out here." She slows down. "This isn't your place." You go to open the door. "I know it's a friend's." She didn't seem to really care. Wow, Billie was right she wasn't any good. "Bye." You say closing the door, watching her zoom off. You felt gross, wanting to get in there and find some sort of comfort. You knock on the door, getting greeted by a slightly sleepy Billie. "Hey, no fun?" You shake your head, noticeably seeming down. You step in. Being greeted by the smell of her place. It was such a beautiful smell. "Something happen?" You give it a moment. "Nah, just wanted to be in comfort tonight." She sensed something was up, but going to let it be for now.

"Ok well, the beds missing you." You smile at her. "I'm missing the bed." She puts a hand over her heart. "You and my bed might as well date, you like it more than me." You giggle, shoving her lightly. She loved making you laugh or even smile. It made her feel powerful that she could make that happen, it made her heart happy to hear and see. You both get into the bed once you get out of that annoying dress. You eventually fall asleep in one another's arms.

Wednesday, Wednesday. Wednesday. Things seemed to be normal again, which you were thankful for. Today was a stripped shirt and tie day. And she looked tasty as ever. You were in a very playful mood so today you went with yet another short skirt. Her eyes land on it instantly. Giving you a look, but you just returned it with an innocent smile. The shirt you were wearing wasn't helping either. Tight. You were honestly thanking the universe that Silvi wasn't there today. You don't need some repeat of a few weeks ago. At the end of the lesson you slowly get your things, everything was so slow, intentionally so. You go over to her desk, her eyes not meeting yours just yet even though everyone's gone.

"Hi!-" "What are you wearing." Her tone was calm, knowing good and well she was far from that. "Well hello to you aswel." Your eyes roll. "And I thought you loveddd my skirts." She stands. "Why are you testing me today hm?" You shrug. "Good thing Silvi wasn't here to drool over it." You cringed slightly, remembering she was right about her. But you soon roll your eyes again. "Whatever I seriously-" But her hand was around your neck, you tense slightly but only for a moment. It was just her, you didn't need to worry. You had actually been doing that alot recently, that whole interaction had frightened you to say the least, you felt weak and out of your own control in that moment that night.

It was frightening without a doubt. "Don't test me babygirl." Her tone was full of warning, you gulp. Clenching your thighs. Her head motion down as you do, letting out a dry chuckle. "Really? You like me doing this?" Your words go. But her hand soon leaves, causing you to whine. You wanted more. She goes back over to her desk. "I'll just finish that up then we can head to mine." You had forgotten it was the end of the day. Score. You think for a moment. "Yes ma'am." She laughs a tad, shaking her head. She thought you were being silly. No, you were dead serious. So when that doesn't work you resort to your next trick. Your eyes scan her desk.

Seeing a pencil laying there, your fingers go to move it off. "Oopsies, my bad." She wasn't really paying attention, she was finishing a few things. But her head turns as shes faced with your ass. Her eyes widen as she spots the second fucked thing you did today. Her eyes look around as if someone would see. Everyone left. Her eyes return as you slowly stand up. She grabs the bottom of your skirt pulling it as much down as she could. "Are you serious?" She then says. Your head turns to her. "Whattt?" Her eyes widen again, brows furrowing tremendously. "You were sitting there. For almost an hour with nothing on!?" You giggle. "Nooo, I just took them off. But you weren't looking sooo." Her temper shines through. "Jesus fucking christ."

She's surely worked up from seeing your bare cunt on display for her. "Office. Go." You bite your lip. And boom, you got what you want. So you thought. She locks the door behind her, coming up behind you and pushing you over her desk. Causing you to bend over. "Might just tease the fuck out of you and leave you here." Your head turns to look back at her. "You wouldn't." - "Oh yeah?" Her finger makes contact with your folds. "Imagine if someone had walked in." She was still mad, making her finger retract. This was going to piss you off sooner or later. She grabs her tie, bringing it over your exposed ass.

"Out in the open like that." It travels around to your neck, she wraps it around tightening ever so slightly. "With this stupid fucking skirt." It tightens more, you gasp. But it then loosens as she grabs your wrists, tying them together. Causing you to fall further into the desk, the coolness hitting your cheek. Her hand makes contact with your hair, pushing just a tad. "Please, I'm sorry." You then plead. She chuckles maniacally. "Bad girls don't get treated nicely." You bite your lip as you think of a response. "Teach me to be good then." You say, your voice soft. It was her turn to bite her lip. "You gunna listen?" You nod. "Answer me." - "Yes, Ms O'Connell." She lets out a breath, finding the way you say it so hot.

Her hands fiddle with the belt around her waist, pulling out your favorite one of her straps. It was the second most large one she owned. And in an instant it's prodding your hole, ready for access. Your back arches, moving around to try get it in. "Don't dig your grave further." She says stilling your hips. "B-" You stop yourself. This was already bad you couldn't make things worse. Little did you know. The tip slides in, not fast enough but you keep your mouth shut. No whines, no protests no nothing. Not until she bottoms out inside you. Your mouth hangs open at the feeling. "This fucking skirt." Her fury was still evident. Very. Evident. Especially when she snaps her hips hard against you.

The stretch made your eyes squeeze shut, your legs almost doing the same but her hands make sure that doesn't happen. Your brain went into a frenzy, biting your lip so hard you draw some blood. Your tongue swipes over it, letting out a small hum. She looks at why you had done that, seeing your blood lip. She looks at it for a split second, then your eyes. The way they roll back as she's giving you backshots on her fucking desk. You were like a drug to her, she found you to be the most precious thing ever. "Gunna cum? Can feel you getting tighter." Her body leans over yours, her hands on the brown wood. Either side of your body. Her thrusts were ungodly. "Mm, yes!" You gasp as it hits your g-spot. "Found it." You moan. Cumming immediately.

She pulls out bringing you up and making you sit on the desk. Kissing your lips, tasting that same thing you tasted moments ago. Slowly pushing you back, feeling the cold desk against you. She was hovering over you, no words being said. She gets up close to you. "Maybe you should get it into your head..." Her voice low. Her hand moves to wrap around your neck her strength pulling you up and off her desk just slightly. Your eyes widen as she does. "You're mine." But you smirk, sealing the whole situation with one last kiss.

Fridays were probably your favorite, not only was it the end of the week, but you got to see your hot girlfriend. As you enter you're blinded by today's outfit. How would you ever focus. The dang glasses. The way her top fit perfectly, the long skirt. You sit down in your spot. Fixated on her cleavage. You needed to stop this was bad. Then you thought for longer. Was this pay back? Was she giving you a taste of your own medicine from the other day? Your heart skips a beat when she makes eye contact with you. Your thighs squeeze. She was so evil.

You were begging for this to be over and soon. You were also begging to suck on her t- "Y/n? You with us?" You gulp quietly, but her eyes watch your throat. She knew. "Oh, yes. Sorry." This was absolute torture. But you let out a relieved sigh when it was finally time. Everyone goes to leave as you go over to her. "Hi!" You say happily. She smirks. "Hi babygirl." That fucking nickname. "You good today?" Oh God the way she was speaking. "Yes." You knew she was asking how you were feeling, not how you would be acting for her. On your knees, obeyi- "Earth to Y/n?" Your head shakes. "Huh?" She smiles. She's got you right where she wants you. "I asked if you were ready to go my love?"

"Mhmm!" You say wanting to get out of there as fast as possible. You needed her. So bad. So when you get to hers your legs rush to her room, her slowly following. You whine at how long she's taking. "Billieee." She laughs. "Yes pumpkin?" You glare at her, getting frustrated. But you were just so needy there was no room for your bratty remarks. "Pleaseeee." You say, from your spot on the bed. She comes over, getting ontop of you. Thankfully there was a slit in the skirt so she could maneuver properly. Her hand moves over your body, moving to your soaked underwear. She hums to herself. Knowing exactly what she's upto. And glad she's succeeding.

Her finger slips past and enters you a little bit. You gasp. "Remember to breathe." ..... "Good girl." Her fingers enter you slowly. But your eyes are glued to her tits. They just looked so incredibly good in that outfit. Your hands move to touch but she grips them. "Uh uh. Since you didn't have a proper punishment the other day you need to learn your mistakes." You huff, is she serious? She can't be. You just wanted to wrap your lips around them and you wanted to do it now. "That's not fair." You mumble. Her brows raise.

"No? Not fair huh? Let's circle back to you wearing that tight, shirt and tiny tiny skirt. I had to focus on teaching, I had to refrain from fucking the living shit out of you because you indeed looked God damn hot in it. I had to wait a whole. Hour. You can't wait that, and a bit more. Can't you?" You swallow. Having no words. "Bu-" "Uh uh. Don't but me, you know good and well." You let out a moany, huff. "Come on now, don't be like that angel. You'll get what you want. You just have to work for it." You wriggle. "Ah! Lesson learned, I won't do it again." She doesn't even let your hand move to touch before she's pinning them down. "What, did I say."

And you caved, you were too far gone with need to care. "Please, Billie I'm sorry I wore such a revealing skirt like that in public, you know I won't do it again. I promise and if I break it you can do such horrible things and I'll have to take it just please. Please let me suck them." You were almost on the verge of tears, but man was she enjoying every bit of this. "You want to suck them huh?" She ponders as you nod manically. "Please, I need to so bad." She still thinks. "No wonder you were so wet." You whimper. Oh that sweet whimper. And within an instant that shirt is loose. Her tits spill out right before your eyes.

Your thighs sqish tightly as your mouth latches so fast. Closing your eyes. She bites her lip, watching you suck. Bite. Do it all. You were too far gone. Incredibly far. The way you swirld your tongue made her grunt. The feeling so good. Her hand makes its way into your hair, stroking it as you do so. "You are a good girl, shit." She breathes. But she nearly goes mental with your next words. "Mmm, mommy." Her eyes look at the headboard processing. She grabs your face, kissing you with such hunger. Your subby state makes it sloppy. Moaning into the kiss. "Say that again." She says against your lips. And as you were about to. Her finger is back in your pulsing cunt. "F-fuck! Mommy." - "Mm, good. Louder."

Her fingers speed up as you go to again. "Mommy!" It was music to her ears. If she wasn't inlove before she sure as hell is now. "Cum for me, go on." Her fingers enter deep. Making your head spin, and eyes roll back. Gushing all over her fingers. Her eyes look down, looking at the white substance. "You, my girl. Are just one sexy thing huh?" Your head rests back out of breath. "You're sexier."

Weeks pass. Things were back to how they were a few months back. Everyime something beautiful happens it gets ruined and by what? It was eating at you. Was it you? What was going on. You wanted to ask but that'd just opened room for her asking what had happened that night. She had asked the day after if you wanted to talk about it but you declined and said it wasn't important. Maybe you should've told her. You didn't want her freaking out or even saying- 'I told you so.' But when she notices your strange behavior over the last few days its making her want to know more.

The other day.

You had just woken up, making some food, when you hadn't heard her come in. You had on her t-shirt and some underwear, humming away to yourself. When a hand touches your thigh, the same thigh that she touched. You jump back, turning to look at her. She was about to apologize for giving you a fright, but then she remembered. She's done that dozens of times before. You always knew it was her and you always put your head on her shoulder. So when none of that happened she gets more confused. "You've been doing that alot recently angel, everything ok?" You're silent for a bit. "Yeah! Just didn't hear you come in." Such a lie. Even if that was true, she knew something had to be up with the way you reacted. "Okay.."

She thrusts into you slowly, it was all sweet. Everything was. The eye contact, the intimacy. Her thrusts soon speed up, wanting to get you to that bliss feeling. Loving how she always could. She was getting closer to. But everything in the room changes. She touches that sane spot on your thigh making you tense up and gasp. She hadn't noticed at first seeing as you gasp all the time. What was it with that thigh. It wasn't even because of Silvi. But for some reason she triggered it. Something happened ages ago and it was slowly coming back to you. Your hand wraps around her wrist.

Causing her attention to be on you, her brows furrow as she sees your discomfort. She would never ever want to hurt you in any way. "Too fast?" You think for a second, you had to lie you couldn't tell her what was truly bothering you. You then nod, her hand moving to your hip. Soothing any further discomfort. "Sorry babe."

She begins the lesson for today, writing on the board. After that one night things were still dry in the air. You honestly hated it, but it was probably all your fault all along. That's what you'd been telling yourself. But it wasn't all you. Billie was in fact distancing. It was the last thing that she wanted but she was falling hard for you. One half of her didn't care about the fact she was falling for someone so amazing. She loved it, and then the other half wondered if you could do better. When your in your early 30s she will be in her 40s. It didn't sound that bad but it was intense to think about. Let alone the fact she's still your teacher. Even if the year was ending for you this year, you wouldn't have to be as secret atleast.

This was her brain constantly, weighing out the pros and cons. But why should she, she knew what she felt was real despite all of that. But she cared too much about you. She just wanted you to be happy and she didn't know if that was with her. But she definitely looked good today. It made you miss how closer you were before the weird change. You hardly went over to hers anymore and it hurt. It really hurt. "Sorry I'm late." It was Silvi, she had been gone for over a month. You had no idea why. But you avert your gaze, feeling uncomfortable. Remembering that night so clearly. "That's alright, take a seat." Billie gives her a kind smile. Continuing to talk about today's lesson. When her eyes land on you, she notices that sane discomfort like the other night. All she wants to do is comfort you. But she had to stay professional.

She can deal with this afterwards. As the class nears the end she spots how you shift in your seat when Silvi walks past. Her brows furrow, now she was determined to figure out what had happened. Did she do something?

The car ride was silent. It was bugging the both of you but none of you say a thing. As the night goes on it proceeds to consist. Until she speaks up, finally. "You've been weird lately, especially that night that you came home strange from that party and you'd refuse to tell me what happened. And even the other night when-"

"Not now Billie please." - "So you admit something happened?" You stay quiet continuing to take your makeup off. "If not now when? Huh? You keep putting it off whenever I ask you if you're ok. I worry about you for fuck sakes." You turn around so fast. "Bull fucking shit. You've been distancing yourself again! I know damn well its not school. So what is it?" Now she's silent. "What, happened. At. That. Party." You turn to face the mirror. "If you won't tell me why you're distant I won't be telling you that." She was seething, you'd never seen her so angry before. But you didn't care you were getting annoyed too.

Then within seconds her hand Flys to your wrist, you jump getting a fright. She stops in her tracks. "She touched you. Didn't she." You Avert her eyes. "No." Hers squint, not believing that for even a second. "Did she?" - "Billie."

"Did she fucking touch you?"

"Yes. But I stopped it God, why are you so worried." Her brows furrow. "Because, you didn't give her consent to do that! That stupid bitch just thought she could do whatever."

"Why are you so worried when I stopped it." - "She could've pressured you." You shake your head. "Do you think I'm stupid or something?" She puts her weight on her left foot. "You know I don't think that." - "Again. Why are you so fucking worried when you're the only one I want touching me." The room fell silent, a slight need creeping in the air. Her face moves, eyes locking into your own. Her feet move, but so do yours. Lips instantly crashing on the others. Everything grew heated. "Only one?" You nod. "Only one." You both say between kisses. "It's only ever been you." Those words fuel everything in her.

Backing you up out of the bathroom and onto the bed her kisses trail down your neck, down to your cleavage. She takes all that you were wearing off, seeing you all. She then takes her clothes off, leaving you in awe about the special moment that was about to happen. Just you and her, closer than ever. When her cunt slots perfectly into yours you both let out a long well needed moan. This was all you ever wanted, it's all she ever wanted. To have you close in this way. She moves against you, her body moving closer to your own as your breasts touch. Her lips meet yours as she kisses you.

It was the sweetest kiss ever. Full of every emotion. As her movements pick up she pulls back loving how this all felt. "I love you." You were taken aback for a second. But that soon goes away. "I love you." You then reply, she was so happy. Your hands go to her face. "I'm inlove with you." Her heart melts, that's all she ever wanted. She just had no idea if you'd feel the same. "Together." She says softly, putting loose strands of your hair away from your face to see you better. You nod as she picks up momentum, feeling that amazing feeling building up. She feels it too, she feels it all. And with one last move of her hips your both gushing against one another.

You grab her face going to kiss her again, both smiling into it. She lays back on the bed, holding you in her arms. "Why I was distancing honestly had nothing to do with you. It was just my fucked up brain scared I'd ruin things and I nearly did." Your hand rests on her shoulder as you're both on your sides. "Bills. You could never ruin things, I think I've loved you for a very long time, but I too, was afraid. I'd never want you to feel like you had to choose me." She shakes her head. "I'd choose you in a million life times, over and over again." Her hands hold your face. This whole moment was just perfect. It was good to clear up things and communicate. Her eyes wander to your thigh. "I hope you know you can tell me anything at all. I'm here for you, always."

You nod as she says that. You trust her, which was hard for you. You thought this whole school would change that and it had. All because of her. You grab her hand moving it to that exact thigh. You let out a small breath as she watches your face, scans it. Her thumb moving over it soothingly. "Did something deeper happen to you?" You look at her. Thinking for a moment. "Nothing you need to worry about."

Except there was something deeper. Massively, that you knew youd have to tell eventually. And you would. Youd tell her everything. She was now your everything.

[transformers-spike]

"Is this why the Autobots are fond of humanity? To indulge their sweet heat cycles? How many human mates has Optimus taken for himself? It seems as though their motives to protect them were never altruistic, much less noble." PLEASE, PLEASE GIVE US A SUB-STORY WHERE THIS TIME IT'S OPTIMUS AND A HUMAN SO IN THEIR HEAT CYCLE PLEASEEEE

Idk am I creating a humans in heat universe for the TF Fandom? I know people like making the bots go through it but I think the humans being affected is so much funnier. Just begging these massive robots to fuck us lmao

How must it feel to burn from the inside out? Betrayed by your own body, rendered unable to function by the fire in your core. You described it as an aching, an insatiable need to appease the hormones overtaking your nerve endings. A mere touch is enough to worsen the ache, it’s what your body dictates in the throes of a heat cycle.

Cybertronians are forged by Primus Himself, their interfaces exist for recreational pleasure and bonding, but your species is biologically programmed to reproduce, like most of the fauna of your planet. It’s a systemic sacrifice, one rendered obsolete by the sentient status of your species. Drugs have been produced to suppress your heats, or at least lessen the effects. Unfortunately, among a dozen varieties of medication, you are either allergic or completely immune to them, leaving you susceptible to your hormonal whims. He is sorry. You must go through so much pain every few months, but you barely show it, brushing off his concerns with a laugh, saying “it is what it is” and moving on as though your body isn’t on a timer. He admires you for it. In spite of your discomfort, you haven’t given up. Once, you told him: “So what if they don’t work on me? I just gotta roll with the punches and hope for the best, it’s been my M.O. since I got the damn thing.” Meeting them for the first time… was turbulent to say the least, but you’re safe and sound, relocated to Jasper, having adjusted to your new life with the help of Agent Fowler. You’ve told them many times you’re infinitely grateful to be in their lives (barring the near death experience at the servos of an Insecticon). For them it’s a pleasure to ease your burden. You’ve eagerly established your consent, although only Arcee is the right size to properly take care of a human. Digits and glossas can only do so much compared to a spike. He tries not to pry, your privacy is yours to divulge at your leisure, but he cannot ignore the charge building up behind his interface when he sees you with the others. Yes, he is an occasional participant, but he will rather cover shifts and allow them some well-deserved respite in your berth. They deserve it. He dares not imagine Arcee’s spike pumping in and out of you, satiating your aching body, filling you to your limit as you beg for more. 

Your scent lingers in the air, caressing his sensors, a gentle hand tugging him along by the servo, pulling him in your direction. They try to keep it to themselves, but his team is beyond a doubt intoxicated by your presence alone. Thankfully, it has (almost) never impeded their judgment during missions; perhaps it has even served as motivation to make it back to base in one piece. He tries to ignore the gleam in his old friend’s optics after quelling your urges, if only for a night. Or Bumblebee's praises coming to you as a slow stream of beeps while he nuzzles your face. Or Bulkhead cradling you to his chassis like a precious artifact as you discuss what late night movies you should watch. Or catching Arcee kissing you over the mezzanine and pulling back with a smile she hasn’t worn since Cliffjumper’s death. You bring them together in your own special way, even if you blush and sheepishly deny it, claiming you should be thanking them instead  Recent discoveries have yielded an impressive increase in energon and brought forth new opportunities. With unparalleled quantities at their disposal, they can now mass displace. The transformation is no small feat, it exhausts their system and rapidly drains their energon level. But he will not forbid Bumblebee from using it to play with the kids as long as it’s not in excess. Nor to join you during heat cycles. Much like Bulkhead. And Wheeljack. And especially Ratchet. Primus forbid, his old friend has every right to enjoy himself to the fullest after all of his back-breaking work. He’s been meaning to pay you a visit, but he hasn’t found the time until now. In the temporary abode you set up in the base, away from the prying eyes of the kids, you prepare yourself for another heat. Some refurbishing was done to meet your needs (in no small thanks to June Darby and agent Fowler’s financial help); the mattress and the mini fridge was a given, but you’ve added a variety of personal belongings and entertainment; a television, a writing desk, a few “bean bags” here and there, and a pile of old magazines to scrapbook. He wonders if you consider this place your home more than your actual house in Jasper. You greet him while downing a bottle of water, holding up your hand to signal for him to wait. Once emptied, you place it next to the mini fridge, among a wide array of bottled water crates. That would explain the groceries June had brought in with Arcee’s help. As a medical professional she’s especially fretful over your condition, doing her best to prevent the risks of heat cycles, bringing you plenty of calorie dense fuel to combat the massive loss of nutrients. He has not forgotten the fear they experienced when they found you shaking from the deficit, having completely overlooked your hunger in a midst of desperation. In this form, he can appreciate the full extent of your body without fear of hurting you, kneading the supple flesh beneath his digits as you giggle and pull him into you. He does not tower over your reclined form as much as he encases you in a careful hug, hearing the rapid thrum of your human spark directly against his audials; he may sense your pulse rate, but experiencing it is a new wonder of its own. You tell him you missed him and you wish he would let himself go and come out to “obliterate your pussy” more often. He nods and apologizes for his absence even as you shush him and insist he enjoy himself as well. He is… the largest Cybertronian you’ve taken, you remark while adjusting to his size.

“Except maybe Wheeljack,” you add cheekily, already bucking into him. Your composure evaporates as he works you up, not to say that he is much better. He steadies himself over you, charge trickling down his interface as your walls clench around him in a vice-grip. You beg him for more, plead that he frag you until you can’t take it anymore, but he has grown used to your requests and knows when your body has reached its limit. You whimper and claw at his back plates, flush against his frame yet dragging him closer as though to merge your human spark to his.

If only he could.

Slow and steady, he frags you through your overloads, each one adding a new surge of spark down his frame until he comes to his end. You are small and shaking, but in this form he can properly hold you against his chassis and comfort you through the afterglow, bringing you another bottle of water and a Clif bar (chosen for the human scaling a mountain with “If you eat this you can kill God” in big bold letters).

You stir and sit up on shaky knees to accept his offerings. Halfway through your meal, you eye him up and down.

“Are you going to stay some more?” you ask with hopefulness, still chewing on the “ultimate nuts and banana power” concoction advertised on the packaging.

“I’m afraid not, Ratchet has been hard at work deciphering Decepticon encryptions, I will be taking on his duties for the night,” he tries to break it gently, expecting crushed expectations, not your bemused expression looking up at him.

“So you’re sending him my way?” You give a chuckle. “Wish we could have spent more time together, but work is work. Just…” you crawl into his lap and hug him as tight as you can, head resting against his chassis. “Please come back tomorrow. Or after tomorrow. I miss seeing you this way. I won’t get between you and… whatever you have going on, but please visit me more often. You have no idea how nice it feels to be around you.” His gaze softens, glowing faintly against your hair. “So I’ve been told,” he says, a smile on his lips. “As long as it lightens your burden.”

[tetragonia]

Let It Roll

JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

JJ Maybank would give anything, but he won't give up on you. He'd say anything, but not good bye.

warning: uh, angst? they're fighting.

note: I took the title and the summary from Train's song, Let It Roll and Words. would be nice if you take a listen!

words: 1.5k

It had started weeks ago, small things piling up like the sand that collects on a boat until it makes everything feel heavier. JJ had been distant, disappearing without a word and dodging questions when he came back. You’d catch him staring off into the distance, his jaw set, shoulders tense, but whenever you’d ask what was going on, he’d just brush it off with a laugh or say something evasive.

At first, you tried to be understanding. JJ wasn’t the kind of person to open up easily, and you knew he had a lot on his shoulders—too much, really, for someone so young. But as days passed and he kept pulling further away, the frustration grew.

You’d text him, and hours would pass before he’d reply with something vague. You’d make plans, and he’d show up late or sometimes not at all, leaving you with the sense that he was slipping through your fingers, like sand you couldn’t hold onto.

Tonight was supposed to be different. He’d promised to meet you by the docks after sundown, a plan he’d made himself. You were excited, even hopeful, thinking this would be the night he’d finally open up about whatever was weighing on him. But as the sun sank and the stars filled the sky, there was still no sign of JJ. An hour passed, and then another, until you were left alone, hurt gnawing at you as the breeze grew cold.

When he finally showed up, his face flushed and eyes stormy, he mumbled an apology. It was the same routine—vague promises that didn’t really ease the sting of waiting alone. You’d reached your limit, and suddenly, everything you’d been holding back came spilling out.

“You’re here now, but for how long, JJ?” you said, your voice trembling with frustration. “I’ve been waiting for you to let me in, to talk to me instead of shutting me out, but you keep disappearing. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“You’re always doing this, JJ,” you continued, your voice wavering as you tried to keep steady. “Pushing everyone away, saying it’s no big deal, that nothing gets to you—but it does. And I’m just supposed to sit here and watch you pull further and further away?”

JJ ran a hand through his hair, clearly taken aback. “Look, I’m doing my best here, okay? It’s not like you understand this life, this… mess.”

“Then make me understand,” you pleaded. “Tell me what’s going on. I want to help you, but I can’t if you keep pushing me away.”

He looked at you, his jaw clenched tight, and shook his head.

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice rough. “You don’t get it. I’m not good at this—at… needing someone. I don’t know how to just talk it out, alright?”

You took a shaky breath, fighting the ache that had settled in your chest. “I don’t need you to be perfect, JJ. I just need you to be here. With me.”

He looked down, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of everything was pressing down on him all at once. For a moment, he didn’t respond, and the silence between you grew heavy, filled with every unspoken word and missed moment.

"No, I... I can sort this alone."

"There you go again!" you were frustated.

He looked at you, his blue eyes clouded, jaw clenched. “I’m trying, alright? I don’t know how to—how to do this stuff like you do. You know me. I mess up, I get it. But you act like I’m not here, like you’re waiting for me to say it’s over so you don’t have to.”

The accusation stung, but maybe it was true. Maybe you had been waiting for him to let you go.

“I don’t know how to keep this going if it’s always going to feel like this, JJ. I don’t know if you even want me here. I can’t be the only one fighting for this.”

“I don’t want you to fight for it alone!” his voice broke as he took a step forward. “You think I don’t want you here? That I don’t think about you every second of every day? I’d give anything to fix this—anything, alright? Just not… just not this.”

“Not what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not goodbye,” he said, his voice softer now, but his tone stubborn, like he was digging his heels into the ground and refusing to budge. “I can’t say it. I won’t.”

Your heart felt like it was being pulled in two directions. You wanted to let go of the anger, but you couldn’t ignore the hurt.

“JJ, sometimes it’s not enough just to want something. We need… more. I need you to talk to me, to tell me what’s going on inside instead of just running off when things get hard.”

“I don’t run,” he shot back, his gaze steady and filled with something fierce. “I stay because of you. Because I don’t want to let you go. I know I’m not great at the talking part, but I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying to tell you that I’m not giving up, even if you think I should.”

Your eyes stung, and you blinked back tears, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. You wanted so badly to believe him, to trust that he wouldn’t push you away again, but it was hard. You’d been here before—on the edge of leaving, only to be pulled back in by the sheer force of your feelings for him.

He took another step forward, close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“I’ll say anything you need me to say, do whatever it takes to make this right,” he murmured, his voice softer now, pleading. “But I won’t say goodbye. Not to you.”

There was a desperation in his words, a crack in the armor he always wore. JJ was staring at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground, his face tense and unguarded. It was rare for him to let you see him like this—raw, unfiltered, his defenses dropped.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand finding his, your fingers intertwining with his as you tried to breathe through the ache in your chest. You didn’t have the strength to walk away from him, not when he was looking at you with that fierce determination, like he’d rather burn than let you slip away.

“I don’t want to say goodbye, either,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

For a moment, the silence wrapped around you both. He brought your hand to his chest, letting you feel the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingers.

“Then don’t,” he said softly. “We can figure this out, I promise. I just… I need you to believe in me. In us.”

The air was heavy, filled with unspoken promises, but as you looked at him, really looked at him, you could see it: the way his gaze softened, the way he was holding on to you like you were his lifeline.

Slowly, you nodded, squeezing his hand. You didn’t have the answers, and maybe neither did he. But for now, you were both here, grounded by the weight of everything you’d fought through to get to this moment. And it was enough.

As you stood there together, the tension between you faded into something warmer, something hopeful. Maybe things weren’t perfect, but you knew he was right — you weren’t ready to say goodbye, either. Not tonight. Not yet.

[jweekgoji]

Can you do another part of yandere D-16, please 😭 I love the stories so much! Make us pleasure him so bad until he's wimpering, then tons of aftercare! And make us love him, not just a one-night stand 😭

Yandere!D-16/Reader

tw: some minot changes in canon, slight yandere themes, valve fingering (MDNI), gn!reader, D-16 has a valve, sub!D-16, soft dom!reader, power dynamic cogged!reader/cogless!d-16. word count: ~1650 a/n: this can be considered as a second part to this. but I think (??) it also can be related to this. probably somewhere between the other two I wrote before. there are a few similar requests about d-16, but I want to do all of them differently as much as my creativity lets me. tagging since I was asked: @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main

The day D-16 met you felt like experiencing one of those vivid dreams he constantly had. His whole body was in pain; the loud ringing in the processor made his optics see the tiny stars circling around him in the air. Thank you, Pax, this is exactly how he wanted to spend his day! And totally not to ogle your sleek, shiny alt mode from his seat..!

Oh no, oh, Primus. You probably saw it all too, aren't you?

D-16 groaned in pain as he tried to sit up. He leaned his frame against the wall, holding onto the dented shoulder. Orion left him waiting here, all alone, as the blue-and-red mech tried to endlessly explain the situation they were in. The optimism this guy sometimes had...he can only pray in his mind that somehow you hadn't seen him failing on the race.

Maybe you had never noticed him, just passed through without paying attention. Yeah, this is more like true. After all, he's so  gray in every sense of the word; among all the other miner bots, how is he any different? Too small in this world to be noticed.

The day was a disaster of any means. The cold looks he received from other racers as he waited for the repair, that awkward meeting with Sentinel, and of course, Darkwing just had to be there too. The moment Orion and him leave this area and go back to mines, there's no escape from their supervisor. How much more lucky does he get today again?

D-16 was nervous to the core of his spark. The thoughts of “Why did I even follow him...especially on the day when Sentinel Prime arrived?” or “I hope they don't know it was me” flooding his mind.

Another worst thing was, you hadn't even won the race! Chromia got before you just in mere seconds, and the possibility of him, being the reason behind this fail only made D-16 sigh in disappointment. 

“You and your friend put on quite a show today,” your voice suddenly came from beside him.

D-16 almost jumped up from his seat at the sight of you, and for a moment, his spark stopped beating. He barely had time to process what you told him before suddenly, the little miner rises to his feet and looks up at you with those big optics.

You saw that his mouth was open, but not a single word came out from his mouth. The poor thing was so scared, he had so many thoughts running through his head, but he couldn't pick a single one to voice it to you. You could only calm him down slightly by holding your hands in the air, trying to show that you didn't mean any malice.

“I'm sorry, I probably ruined your chance of winning this race,” his optics ran his eyes around as if he was trying to find the right words to say to you. “I'm a big fan, and I would never want-”

“I was going to say that you two actually made this race a little more interesting than usual,” you interrupted him. “Racing against the same bots isn't as interesting as it used to be. I admire that.”

You admire him. D-16 falls silent again, but even though he's stopped saying anything then, his optics perfectly captured all the thoughts in his processor. Love.

He never thought he'd ever meet a bot in a higher position than him who would treat him with a speck of kindness. That brief moment when the Sentinel shook his hand was the first such occasion. His idol, standing right next to him, shook his hand. Somebody pinch him harder!

Then there was you. Someone who had always held a special place in his spark. So small, incredibly fragile in your hands, but every time D-16 is near you, it beats so hard, as if your mere presence is enough to give him more strength.

He doesn't know what you see in him. He's an ordinary and insignificant miner, there are hundreds if not thousands like him. Even Primus didn't give him any bright colors.

He never had a chance to think about standards of beauty, certainly there was barely enough time to rest after hours of non-stop work. There were one time he could hear the conversation between the supervisors as they discussed the celebrities of Iacon. Blurr, Windblade, Rosanna, they all just glowed in relation to the dull, battered frames of his coworkers, definitely not the ideal of beauty that exists on Cybertron.

And yet, here you are, right next to him, and your hands are holding him so gently, so close to your chassis. He moans softly as you move your fingers inside him. Only two, no more, no matter how often he begged and whimpered for you to add another, you always denied him.

“Just relax and feel every touch from me,” you kiss the corner of his mouth softly.

Right. Calm down, D. You're already giving him too much time, begging you for more would be wrong, he doesn't want to seem pushy to you. If this continues, you'll just get disappointed in him and walk away.

“Mgggh...!” D-16 instinctively arched his back. A loud, needy moan once again escapes his lips.

Sometimes he feels like, aside from your obvious charm, you can definitely read his mind, and your every slightest movement is calculated to make him forget his rank.

He's so wet, the lube coating your fingers and already managing to slowly flow down his inner thighs. For a second, you think about just flipping him over on his back and burying your head between his legs, making him scream and beg to give him a break from the endless round of overloads you're giving him.

But no, that would be too much for the first time, wouldn't it? You don't want to scare the poor, little miner away with your twisted thoughts. Not now, anyway.

In the time it takes you to give yourself to daydream, D-16 only gets more impatient. Moving his hips, he practically fucks himself with your fingers. His head is thrown back, and the servos cling tightly to your shoulders, squeezing gently, each time he lowers his own body down.

He feels so full, but that small, carnal desire for more can't help but pollute his mind. More, more, please give him more. Perhaps because of a sliver of fear that you're about to leave again, he'll be left alone and with nothing, and all he'll have are memories. He wants to get as much as he can while there's still a chance.

“Careful, or you'll hurt yourself,” you gently lay your other servo on his waist.

Tiny. You can't help but want to run your finger over every little bump on his body, every little rough edge...something about him fascinates you, that slight naivety and eagerness to make you proud. He's just hard to say no to.

You gently guide his movements. He's inexperienced, but the desire for something more, even though he hardly knows what he's doing, clouds his mind. You feel his tight, small valve squeezing your digits like a vise. His initially quiet, needy meows grow louder, and by the little blush on his cheeks, you realize he's embarrassed.

“Can I overload? Please,” he whimpers shyly, hiding his face in the curve of your neck. “Ahhh...I'm so sorry, I can't take it anymore.”

How sweet. You've convinced him so many times that it's okay, he shouldn't have to keep hiding his pretty face every time you hold him like this. You don't care what position he takes, miner or not, you want him to feel like an equal. He deserves to be pleasured just as much. To love and be loved.

You nod, making a mental note to talk to him about it later. His habit of pleasing bots ranking above him just kills you.

D-16 wraps his arms around your neck, leaning slightly closer, as much as he can. He so wishes it was your spike instead of your fingers, stretching his valve with every thrust.

But he'll never admit it, he'd rather take whatever you offer him, because he loves you so much. Every touch from you, every glance in his direction, it's all so overwhelming.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you-” he repeats over and over, his hips desperately meeting every thrust of your fingers inside him.

You feel him squeeze your digits again, his breathing halting for a moment before he exhales heavily and then nearly collapses on top of you.

D-16 leans his forehead against yours, closing his optics to slowly gather his thoughts. You barely move your fingers, still deep inside him, and even a slight twitch earns a whimper from him. Still very sensitive, you should definitely work on his stamina.

You gently take his chin, tilting his head up to give him a small kiss. He moans softly, but reciprocates the kiss.

D-16 has never seemed plain to you. Unusually strong despite his height and lack of t-cog, his body covered in many scratches after cycles of hard work. But now you are treating him with such care.

 He cherishes it so much. Sometimes he wonders if you have any idea how many times he's touched himself, with you in mind? How an embarrassingly lot of pictures of you he keeps plastered all over the wall? I guess that's a question for another day.

You may not have won the race, but you got more than that today.

[op-sys-chaos]

Alfred explains Tim’s birthday to Jason and Damian in a cold, unfeeling manner. As if reciting a long-ago memorized quote rather than recounting a horrific thing done to a child.

Bruce sits there and does nothing.

Jason yells at both of them for it.

Bruce does nothing.

Damian stands up and tells Bruce that Tim is right and Bruce should have stopped Damian from trying to murder Tim. Damian didn’t know better then, but he does now and he wishes Bruce had taught him sooner.

Bruce does nothing.

Jason and Damian lock eyes and nod. Then they leave together. They go to a restaurant - not the Thai one, but one across the street, and they sit in the window where Tim and Dick can see them. Jason and Damian take a selfie, caption it “fuck Bruce Wayne,” and send it to the group chat. When Cass, who missed this whole event, expresses confusion, Jason replies “Turns out B fucked us over more than we realized. He hurt Tim deeply. And Damian too. Tim via some REAL fucked bullshit, and Damian by not teaching him not to kill fast enough.”

Damian adds “I have regretted trying to kill Tim since the moment I saw the harm in it. I am upset at Father for refusing to stop me sooner. Tim has far more right to be upset about it than me, though.”

Dick pulls out his phone and reads the messages, turning to the boys across the street and giving them a small smile. Tim reads it too, but his expression remains blank.

Babs texts back a minute later, saying “hacked the manor cameras and watched what happened. Jason, good on you for screaming at Bruce. You should’ve been far meaner about it, though. That was fucked UP of them to do it Tim.”

Tim’s phone alone pings with a direct text a moment later, giving him the link to Jason’s scream fest and telling him “next time Bruce pulls something like that I’m forcing my dad to adopt you instead of letting Bruce keep you.”

Bruce remains silent in the group chat too.

Jason and Damian are furiously typing. Tim glances at them across the street and sees it, and wonders what they’re typing. He finds out when, half an hour later, the most beautifully written apologies he’s ever seen arrive in his text inbox. Tim analyzes the messages; the two clearly asked for help from Dinah on how to make the apology sincere because they didn’t know how to say it. They even mention that they never said it before because they didn’t know how, and they would’ve tried if they realized how bad Tim was hurting about it. Jason says he was still calling Tim “replacement” as a joke at this point, and thought Tim knew. That he’ll stop now. Damian says the same about the casual insults; he didn’t know how else to act but sees how it’s wrong and will work harder on stopping.

Tim isn’t ready to forgive them. He tells Dick as much, and Dick nods. “I get it,” he tells Tim. And realizing that the time is right to speak up, he finally apologizes for the “giving away Robin” incident. He tells Tim the truth; it was Alfred. He didn’t know how to say it before now, not wanting to shatter his brother’s view of their pseudo grandfather. But now? Now he knows he can say it. And he does. And still, even though it’s not on him, Dick apologizes.

Tim forgives Dick a lot faster.

Bruce still is silent in the group chat.

The meal ends, and Dick pays for him and Tim’s food. Then, Tim walks across the street and walks up to the hostess stand. He doesn’t speak to his brothers, but he hands over his card and asks to pick up their tab.

It’s not forgiveness. Not by a long shot. But it’s a start.

—

The bats, besides Batman, don’t go out that night. They don’t even return to the manor.

Bruce Wayne goes out to work the next day and Alfred goes out to get groceries. They come home to find themselves locked out with a note on the door that says “no jerks allowed” in purple crayon.

Bruce nods and heads for a safe house instead, Alfred in tow. The two sit down and brainstorm. Within two hours, a car catalogue arrives at the manor, with a handwritten note that says “what we should’ve given you for your sixteenth birthday. Pick any one you want, if you want.”

Tim burns it and sends Bruce a video of it burning.

Too little, too late.

—

Jason comes up to Tim the next morning with a handwritten note. He gives it to him. It says “IOU literally any favor you ever want, as long as it’s not doing the dishes”

Tim laughs and pockets it. He uses it an hour later to get Jason to come and get him the remote from two feet away, even though Jason was across the house. Jason does it. Tim smiles. Jason passed his test. Jason smiles. Tim took the step and was willing to ask.

Damian gives Tim a painting that evening. He’d been working on it for months now, but finished it in a rush that day because it was needed now, not on Tim’s birthday. It’s a portrait of Tim and his team, smiling and laughing. Tim hangs it on the wall in his room with a smile.

That evening, since Alfred is still banished, Steph and Jason cook. Damian and Jason eat at the kitchen counter and serve the other three at the table. After a minute, Tim walks in, grabs their plates silently, and puts them at the end of the table. Not their normal spots, not across from him. But at the table nonetheless. It’s a start.

The only bats on patrol that night are Batman and Spoiler. Gotham newspapers can’t stop reporting on Batman being covered in purple glitter the next day. People keep asking what he did, especially since some reported hearing Spoiler shout “Justice! For Gotham!” as she pelted him with glitter bombs.

Cass returns from her away mission the next day. She breaks into Bruce’s safe house, says “I’m disappointed in you,” and leaves before he can say anything. She tries very hard not to laugh at the glitter still clinging to him as she does it. She comes home, gives Tim a massive hug, and refuses to leave his side for the rest of the day. She also hands him a small journal she’d written. She’d kept observations of when her siblings were having a hard time, and she’s marked instances showing how guilty Jason and Damian were feeling around Tim.

Knowing the apologies were sincere, Tim’s leaning more towards forgiveness. He’s not there yet. Not by a long shot. But he is more sure that they’re genuinely remorseful.

—

Tim goes on a mission with his team two days later. Kon mentions how Jason reached out to him to ask for advice in apologizing to Tim. Not realizing Jason had asked more than just Dinah, Tim smiles. At that, Kon also mentions that Jon said Damian asked him for help too. Knowing how hard asking for help is for Damian, Tim’s soft smile widens further. The others ask what’s up, and Tim tells his team.

Bart hears about the birthday thing and makes Tim a promise. If time travel shenanigans ever happen again, Tim can call Bart and ask him to verify them, and Bart will drop everything to check with the Speed Force. Tim appreciates it, and promises to call.

Cassie promises to punch Bruce the next time she sees him. Tim appreciates the thought but asks her not to.

Bruce receives a call the next day. Superman, Wonder Woman, and Flash have proposed a motion to put Batman on Justice League probation. If he cannot get his act together, he cannot be a league member.

Bruce protests the probation. He sends a message asking to be reinstated as a full member, saying this is a misunderstanding.

Black Canary calls him and verbally rips into him for THIS being the thing that gets him off his ass.

After she hangs up, she puts forward a motion to have other league members take over Batman’s duties training the Gotham crew. They all agree, and Batman is removed as a mentor and emergency contact on League files.

Bruce calls to protest this too, even harder now. The league take turns yelling at him, having heard from their protégés about what happened this week in Gotham. He doesn’t know how to respond. So he doesn’t.

Dick gets assigned Superman as a mentor. Jason is assigned Wonder Woman as a mentor, to his delight. Cass gets Green Arrow to learn how to do distance fighting rather than just her short-range expertise. Tim is assigned to Flash because of his detective work pairing well with CSI work, which he’s okay with.

Damian, meanwhile, is assigned to Black Canary, who offers to train him in social situations rather than combat. He accepts enthusiastically after hearing her plan, telling her that he wishes someone had taught him sooner, saying how maybe he never would’ve lost his brother Tim’s love and trust if he’d had these lessons. He would have considered Tim a brother far sooner too. Tim, who Damian doesn’t realize is in earshot, beams. Damian considers him a brother? He’s never said that to him or around him before.

Their emergency contacts are all each other.

The League doesn’t tell Bruce this, but his reinstatement depends on one thing and one thing only. Forgiveness from his children.

Every. Last. One of them.

—

Soon, Bruce is allowed back into the manor, but none of the kids stay there. They decided they can’t keep him out of the house, but they don’t have to stay there. They also take all of their stuff out of the batcave, relocating it to Tim’s safe house (with his permission).

Alfred, a week after Bruce’s banishment from the League and the day after he returns to the house, arrives at Tim’s doorstep with a box of cookies and an apology. A good, sincere apology.

Tim doesn’t forgive Alfred. But he does accept the cookies. And he does let Alfred drop by to hand over homemade dinners every once in a while.

—

A gala rolls around. Everyone notices that none of Bruce’s kids are there. He claims they’re all busy.

That excuse only works twice before people start asking questions.

At the third gala, Bruce shrugs and says nothing at all, brushing past the question. His kids have all been seen in public, just not with him, so rumors start to fly.

Dick, with his sibling’s permission, goes to a newspaper and gives an interview. He tells the paper that his siblings are all mad at Bruce over family drama and refuse to go to galas until it’s sorted because they didn’t want to harm Bruce’s public image. He’s still a good guy and the charity work he does is still important, Dick says. Bruce just needs to learn how to give proper apologies when he makes mistakes, especially big ones, and all of his kids are trying to teach him that lesson, hence them staying away from galas.

News spreads like wildfire. The city still loves Bruce, of course. But they’re all aware that his parenting skills leave something to be desired. They start talking about the importance of mental health and teaching kids, especially boys, about vulnerability.

Bruce is proud of his city.

But he still hasn’t spoken to his kids.

—

Jason and Damian have gone above and beyond for Tim recently. Being the brothers he always wished they’d be to him. He wishes he’d spoken up sooner. And they tell him that they wish they’d gotten the kick in the pants they’d needed to get their shit together sooner too.

Slowly but surely, he forgives them.

—

Alfred is still on thin ice, but whenever Bruce is out of town, the family will go over to have a nice, Alfred-cooked meal.

—

It’s been three months since Tim spoke up for himself. Bruce still hasn’t said a word to his kids. He’s tried to send Tim gifts occasionally. Tim burns the letters and donates the gifts to charity.

Jason, Damian, Dick, and Cass refuse to speak to Bruce. On patrol, they steer clear of him. Babs warns Tim in comms if Batman is approaching so he can leave if he wants. He always does. The only time they’ve helped him is when he was about to die. Jason stepped in and killed all of the bad guys. He later told Tim that he made sure he was the one to save Bruce because he knew Bruce hated Jason’s methods. Tim cackled at that.

Bruce doesn’t go off the deep end like he did after Jason’s death. He has learned that lesson, after all. But he’s not as efficient alone, especially since Babs won’t help him anymore either unless it’s life or death. He can’t help but miss his gaggle of kids. In trying to keep part of his family close, Bruce lost all of his kids in the process. All because he never learned how to say “I’m sorry.”

—

Six months have passed since Tim spoke up. Everyone in the family is closer. Except for Bruce. He’s still not on the League roster, and they’re doing fine without him; any time they’ve needed him, they call his kids instead. They don’t like involving kids but refuse to let him return for his kids’ sake. He keeps trying to get them ti let him come back. They keep telling him to put that energy towards fixing shit with his kids.

J’onn eventually gets sick of it. He knows from seeing Bruce’s mind how much the man regrets it but also sees how much Bruce struggles with remorse. So he gets Clark to drag Bruce to the Kents. They spend a week teaching him how to parent, to apologize, to own up to his mistakes.

Meanwhile, J’onn shows the Batkids how Bruce feels. Tim isn’t ready to forgive Bruce. Damian is for his grievance with Bruce, because he knows that Bruce couldn’t teach him what he didn’t know how to teach. But he still wishes Bruce had recognized it and gotten help teaching it. But Damian holds out on forgiving Bruce until Tim’s ready for it.

After a week with the Kents, they help him draft an apology. He can’t bring himself to say it. He mails it to Tim instead. Tim sends Bruce a video of him burning the letter, same as always.

Tim’s closer to ready to forgive Bruce. The letter was actually very sweet. But until Bruce can verbalize it, Tim won’t know he’s made enough mental progress to never pull that shit again. So he’s still holding out.

An apology without change is manipulation, after all.

That’s the breaking point for Bruce. He cries to Clark, saying how badly he fucked it up and crying about how much he misses his kids.

Clark lovingly tells him to get his shit together. Not to stop crying, mind you, but to let himself cry more. “Get your shit together and stop trying to hide from your emotions, Bruce,” he says. Bruce decides “fuck it” and asks Dinah for therapy.

—

After a month of therapy, he’s finally capable of it. He goes to Tim and offers a groveling apology. For everything, not just what Tim brought up. Bruce apologizes for his behavior after Jason’s death. He apologizes for letting- no, making Tim feel unsafe in his own home. He apologizes for all of it.

Tim tells Bruce he doesn’t forgive him, but this is a start. Bruce accepts that answer with grace, telling Tim he’ll keep trying to make up for it. That helps Tim forgive him a bit more.

At the next Wayne gala, Tim attends. Bruce nearly cries from joy when he sees Tim walk into the room. “Bruce finally learned how to apologize,” Tim tells the gala attendees who ask with a grin. “I went to therapy,” Bruce responds when people ask how he did it. Tim stays away from Bruce the whole night, but he’s there, and it’s a start. Bruce texts Tim to thank him for attending and for giving him another chance. He celebrates Tim’s appearance in his next therapy appointment. Dinah congratulates him, but there’s still more work to do. Bruce tells her he’s excited to do it. This is what he wants; what he needs.

Gotham’s mental health program gets a lot of funding from the Waynes and everyone starts getting invested in therapy, after people start learning how much it helped their beloved Bruce Wayne.

The following gala, all of Bruce’s kids (including Steph and Babs) are there. Bruce doesn’t even mind when Steph pranks him or Jason glares at him from across the room. They’re there.

—

Tim has forgiven his siblings; they’ve made an effort to make Tim feel like their brother, rather than their target.

Tim has forgiven Alfred; he’s continually apologized to Tim and insisted on helping Tim avoid Bruce until Bruce got his shit together.

Tim’s still working on forgiving Bruce. But the more the man goes to therapy, the more he sees what he did wrong, and the harder he works to fix it. Not just with Tim, but with all of them.

—

One year after Tim yelled at everyone, the family is whole again. They have a dinner with their old seating, and Tim is actually okay with it now. After all, those aren’t his attempted murderers anymore. Those boys have made constant effort to be Tim’s brothers, and they’ve earned that title.

Also, Bruce is allowed back on the JL, and insists on counseling for all of them. The JL agrees, seeing how it helped Batman.

Things may not be perfect. But no person ever doubts their place in the batfamily again, and no one harms another family member without instantly apologizing and making up for it.

They’re a family. Thanks to one little conversation.

"I'm angry at you" Tim forces out.

It's been a long time coming, the words that have been circling his mind for years. Rotting the back of his throat.

Jason is Bruce's son in a way that he will never be. It's just a simple fact.

Maybe he could have picked a different time maybe a family dinner wasn't the place, but he was the one that spent year's of his life having to dodge bullets and murder attempts. He had to spend month's in physical therapy after the tower.

The place he felt safe was ripped away because Jason who is traumatized he hasn't forgot that fact, decided to hunt him down and hurt him.

Maybe Robin isn't a child, but Tim Drake was.

He turns to Bruce who's face is of course blank he's the one who wants Jason here yet not an emotion in sight.

Turns back to look Jason in the eye the man who's sitting next to Damian sometimes he wonders if Alfred does it on purpose a way to remind Tim that his murderers will always have something he doesn't.

He will look him in the eye he will not falter today.

"I was a child, I should have never been the exception to your rule. Say what you will about Robin being something else but you didn't care about Robin you cared it was me"

Silence it's funny how comforting it can be.

"I should not have to sit at the same table as two of my attempted murderers and pretend that it's ok. You are both traumatized I understand that but it will never be an excuse for traumatizing me. I see the Red hood and Robin in my nightmares."

He turns to look at Dick who as always is to the right of him once again pointing to Alfred doing this seating on purpose.

"You are a hypocrite who has never shut up about drying but goes out his way to kill another Robin."

He sees Alfred step forward closer to Bruce he wonders what the point is will he say anything, not likely but why move he almost asks yet if he doesn't finish he never will.

"This was your home first it still is, but I have bled and given more than you will ever know to secure my place here. So Bruce I do not ever want to partnered with either one of them in the field. You or Dick are the only options. You will not argue with me this is me laying my boundaries which I am entitled to."

He stares at Alfred loosing the blank look to let some of the anger out. He wants him to know.

"You will also never again force me to sit at a dinner table across from them again. Whatever British Passive-Aggressive gesture this is. You have no right to do. I will never forgive you for my birthday."

Dick goes to interrupt he doesn't let him.

"Bruce and Alfred have my full permission to discuss the psychological torture they put me through as my birthday present. But from now on none of you get to treat me as if I am some replacement or placeholder. I am a person with feelings, I will not be treated like a doormat."

He makes eye contact with each of them Alfred, Bruce, Jason and Damian.

Before turning to Dick for the last part.

"You are the only person here who has never deliberately hurt me, your my brother and I love you. I want to spend more time with you and I am specifically requesting that you come with me when I leave this table. We can get dinner or hang out but I need you to leave with me."

----------

Bruce is speechless.

How did he do this, his child is sitting at his table trembling and he can't move.

His child who just spent ten minutes defending himself and he is doing nothing.

Dick interrupts what he can admit is a pity party.

"Your my brother, I will happily follow you to the ends of the earth and if we leave now we can go to the Thai place that you like."

He can't let them leave he has to say something.

Tell Tim that he loves him, that he can fix this that this isn't the end. That it matters but before he can there gone.

His boys leave.

His precious sons, one loyal to a fault and one hurt beyond measure and what did he do nothing.

What he always does nothing.

[conchcronch]

My Turn

WC: 2816

Pairing: Spite x Fem!Rook

Summary: Lucanis accidentally fell asleep which leads Spite to take over when you come to spend the evening together.

Warnings: a little bit DUB CON but it gets cleared up towards the end.

A/N: PLEASE send me prompts for Lucanis and Spite x Rook, I’m obsessed.

The lack of a moon and stars in the Fade had unsettled you since your first night at the Lighthouse. The sky was lit as though there were some sort of light source but you could never find one as you walked from the main building out to the farthest room at the end of the courtyard. What had originally been your dining hall had been taken over by the Crow, feeling most at comfort in the dank pantry, not something you could fully understand but you also had no intention of questioning it more then you already had.

The door was unlocked, the fire lit in between the two wolf statues. Your partner was not leaning against the mantle as you had expected, but the flickering of candles through the pantry/bedroom door quickly hinted at where he likely was. You noticed freshly brewed coffee, two mugs set out, anticipating your arrival. You cleared the distance from the door to the counter in the small, dark kitchen. Taking your time prepping the coffee, leaving his black so he could taste the flavor notes of this particular blend, but pouring a decent amount of milk in your mug, the thought of leaving yours black made you grimace.

With mugs of coffee in hand you walked past the fireplace, the warmth wrapping around your legs making the cold of the back bedroom all the more jarring. His back was to you, the candle light flickering, distorting his shadow as it danced across the wall. “I brought you coffee, it might be a little cold, but I can warm it up if you want.” You took a quick sip of yours as you held his outstretched, his back still to you.

“Not now” a wave of his hand made you cock an eyebrow but put the mug down on a small shelf nevertheless. You leaned your back against the sturdy oak shelving, sipping your coffee as you tried to output enough fire magic from your palm to warm the ceramic mug rather then ignite it. The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable despite being slightly out of character for him. Ever since the blighted dragon attacked Tarviso he had been different, the sight of such a beast in a town that he and his family were fighting so hard to save must have proved to him just how delicate it really was.

His weight shifted from foot to foot, his hand under his chin, toying with his beard as he so often did when deep in thought. “Neve is still gone” the silence had stretched on much too long for your liking, your anxiety gnawing at you as you watched him. You were hoping he’d reassure you, tell you you had no choice but to make the impossible call, to thank you for choosing his city over her’s. But instead he just stood there, silent, unmoving. “I’m worried she might not come back, Bellara says she will, but honestly I’m not sure I would if I were her.” You tipped your head further back, the last mouthful of coffee warming your throat as you put your mug on the shelf next to his. “Lucanis,” He didn’t budge at the use of his name, his shoulders barely even moving as he breathed. You stepped closer to him, your hand out in front of you to touch his shoulder. “If now’s not a good time I ca-“ He felt cooler to the touch, even through the layers of his shirt and vest, it was as though his body was giving off no heat.

“Smells like waterlily.” The voice was his, but not entirely. His accent was present but the pitch off, the tone heightened. You tensed, preparing yourself for whatever was to come next. Finally the body of your partner turned, his eyes glowing purple as you’ve seen only a handful of times before.

“Spite” The name feels sharp in your mouth, your tone giving away your hesitation. He leaned forward, sniffing you closer and you remained glued in place. He stepped forward, close enough you could wrap your arms around him if you really wanted to. You can feel his breath on your neck as he inhaled your scent deeply, his face was so close to your skin you swear you could feel his lips against you for the briefest of seconds.

“You came to us for pleasure” You felt your face flush, of course it wasn’t your only intention, but you certainly weren’t going to turn it down if one thing led to another, but your relationship was still fairly new, and despite your longing for a physical component you weren’t intending to push those boundaries. But for your desires to be so bluntly outed there was a wave of embarrassment that washed over you.

“Let me talk to Lucanis.” You stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest but not missing the way the demon’s purple eyes dragged down your form.

“It’s my turn with you.” You couldn't deny how impressed you were at Spite’s fairly calm demeanor, after listening to many of Lucanis’ one sided conversations with the demon you had expected him to be bordering on feral when speaking directly to him.

”Spite, I want to talk to Lucanis.” You added a bit more force to your tone, hoping the demon would grow tired of your insistence and go back to wherever it is he resides when Lucanis is in control. But when you felt hands on your hips, tugging you against the body you so desperately craved it took you a beat before you were struggling against the grip.

His lips were on your neck, lapping more than kissing. Groaning as he did so, every lick finishing with a gravelly moan, his hips rutting against your side as his hands balled the cotton of your shirt. “sp-pite- fuck” You tried to convince yourself to push away from him, but your longing for the Crow was fogging your brain. You could feel your core pulse, his tongue working wonders along your sensitive neck and the slightly distorted moans were making it difficult to resist.

“Spite” You tried to say but it ended up coming out as a whine rather than a demand, receiving what could only be referred to as a purr instead of a hum.

“Can smell how wet you are, Rook” The way he purred your name forced you to swallow a moan. Before you were able to even notice him walking you backwards, your back was against the stone wall of his makeshift bedroom. His fingers trying to unbutton the top clasp of your navy casual shirt, bought from a Crow vendor Lucanis had brought you to not that long ago. His patience lasted about as long as it took you to blink before he ripped the garment open, buttons falling to the ground around your feet.

Before you could chastise him about the now ruined shirt, the words died in your throat the moment his hands were on your bare waist. His blunt, well manicured nails dug into your skin, as he pressed your body against the wall, his lips finally on yours.

This wasn’t the first kiss you and Lucanis would have shared, but it certainly was the most heated. Every kiss with Lucanis had stopped before it went anywhere, his lips pulling away as soon as you tried to deepen it, never giving a reason but always retreating afterwards. But the way Spite kissed you, the way his tongue invaded your mouth, marking what you knew he’d refer to as his territory. You were trapped between him and the wall, his hands slipped down from your waist until he could roughly grab your ass, keeping your hips against his as he rutted against you, moans and grunts flowing from his mouth every time it wasn’t covered by your own lips.

“Had to…” He spoke into your mouth, his words fading as though he forgot he was even speaking “had to watch him. Watch him kiss you. Terribly.”

“Spite” you tried to sound as though his sentence offended, but it ended up coming out far more breathy than intended.

“Could smell you. Can always smell you. I always tell him. Tell him you want this. But he never listens to me.” He’s back to your neck, lapping at your skin, dragging his tongue down to your collarbones, his hands kneading the fat of your ass.

”Spite, I think- ah- I think it’s Lucanis’ turn.” Spite laughed against you, biting at your collar hard enough you weren’t sure if he had drawn blood or not.

“He’ll stop.” His mouth sank lower, nipping at the tops of your breast, “I know you don’t want to stop. Can smell it.”

“Spite, please.” Reluctantly he pulled away from your chest, your eyes meeting his glowing purple sockets, and somehow you could have sworn you saw his expression soften for a fraction of a second. You reached forward, cupping his cheek as you had done countless times to Lucanis, hoping the demon found the same comfort in it that the Crow did. He pressed his cheek into your palm,

“Will I get. Another turn?” You couldn’t resist nodding, finding yourself thinking how cute he was, despite the fact he was still pressing you against a wall and had torn your shirt in two.

You watched the demon blink, his purple eyes closing and reopening with black pupils, brows furrowed in confusion as he stared into your eyes, blinking a few times as though he was trying to clear sleep from his vision. Lucanis’ breath quickened, immediately trying to assess the situation that he had just woken up in. “Did he hurt you?!” His tone was dripping in anxiety as he stepped away from you, your hand falling from his cheek as he hurriedly looked around.

His eyes moved down your body then back up, pausing before repeating the same thing, slower this time. The tips of his ears burned red as he realized what had happened as he unknowingly slept. “Mierda” He looked down at the buttons that lay around your feet.

It was impossible to not notice how he was straining against his slacks, his eyes everywhere but your gaze. “I-I sho- I should go” You wanted to stop him, grab him by the wrist before he was out of reach, but your mind was still foggy with lust and craving more of what Spite had been giving you, but this time you wanted to feel Lucanis’ lips against you.

You stood there for what felt like an hour but you knew it couldn’t have been that long, leaning back against the wall behind you, hoping the cool stone would help clear your thoughts and bring back some reason.

By the time you went to go find the Crow, the sky surrounding the Lighthouse had shifted to black, the pieces of debris still floating around the buildings as though it were as normal as clouds in the sky. As you climbed the rickety stairs that led to the top of the dining hall you glanced around the courtyard, trying to see if any of your companions were out. You expected to see Emmrick on the balcony of the main house where he so often went at night, taking note of the ethers in the Fade. But tonight there wasn’t a soul outside apart from you, Lucanis and Spite.

He stood at the far side of the roof, bent over the railing, his head hung down so his forehead was resting against his arm. No matter how quietly you approached him, he always knew you were there. You could tell he knew by the way his body stiffened, his shoulders tensing and his head moving so he was looking out over the courtyard.

He needed time, time to figure out what had just happened, how far things had gone, time for his unexpected erection to go away, and time away from your intoxicating scent. But of course you were coming up the wooden steps not long after him.

He tried to pull himself together, locking his eyes on the back of the wolf statue in the middle of the courtyard, the cool ‘night’ air was the only thing that was keeping his cheeks from turning pink again. You stood beside him silently, leaning over the edge of the building, taking in the view of the Lighthouse.

You could feel how uncertain he was, his hands clenched the railing, his posture even straighter than normal as he pretended like he was taking in the sights just as you were. The breeze reminded you of your open shirt, which you tried to hold close with one hand while the other pushed through your bangs in an attempt to ease your uncertainty. “I’m not sure what to say.” You laughed awkwardly, desperate to break the silence that stretched between the two of you.

“Then why say anything.”

“Because I’m worried if I don’t start talking, you might never speak to me again.” You hazarded a look at him from the corner of your eye, hoping to gauge his reaction to some extent, but it remained stoic.

The silence stretched on until the sky darkened even more, the colour the same shade of blue as the Crows’ armor when you first laid eyes on him. You fidgeted anxiously, changing positions over and over again as the time passed, until you had your back to the railing, head up looking for any kind of star above you. “I should have been more careful.” It almost sounded like the words were meant for himself rather than you, as though he were reprimanding himself.

“Why?”

“He could have hurt you…I…I could have hurt you.” You couldn’t stop the little scoff that slipped out, turning to look at him with a smile across your lips, meeting his eyes for the first time since Spite had relinquished control. “Is now really the time to laugh?”

“If you think I couldn’t take you in a fight, you’re sorely mistaken, Crow.” You watched his eyebrow raise, the corner of his mouth following, but only slightly.

“Are you trying to change the subject?”

“I don’t know,” You sidestepped, bringing your shoulders closer so you could nudge against him “Why, is it working?”

“This is serious, Rook.” He turned to face you, his hand on his hip as he shifted his weight. “I let my guard down, and you…he forced himself on you.”

“That’s the thing,” You stood up straight, turning to look at him fully while you rubbed at the back of your neck, knowing that the next thing out of your mouth had the potential to end your relationship before it had really started. “He didn’t force himself on me, he more…initiated it, I guess.” You watched his eyes narrow, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece together what you were saying. “I could have pushed him away if I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t?” There was an underlying disgust in his voice, as though the thought of being with him was so vile he couldn’t even pretend to understand.

“I didn’t.” The silence left as heavy as the weight of the world that seemed to live on your shoulders. He broke what little eye contact you had held, shifting his weight as he put more of his weight on the railing, his hair slipping from behind his ear.

“Why didn’t you?” His voice was quiet, if there had been even a bit of a breeze, you may have missed his question all together.

“Because I wanted it.” You watched his hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening so you could see his teeth grind. “But I wanted it from you.”

“From me?” You couldn’t stop the small laugh that slipped from your lips at his clearly, surprised tone.

”Lucanis,” You leaned against the small wall, one hand on the railing the other perched on your hip. “This can’t possibly come as a surprise.” He looked over at you, cheeks just a hint of pink.

“I just- I didn’t know you wanted…that.” He dropped his eyes again but not before dragging along the sliver of bare skin he could see between the seams of your torn shirt.

And to think he had touched you, kissed you, dragged his hands down your bare skin, and didn’t get to enjoy even an ounce of it.

“Consider this your formal announcement that, Lucanis-“ You stepped closer to him, waiting a beat before he too straightened, turning to face you so you could press your forehead to his. “I desperately want exactly what Spite was doing. But I want to try it with you.” The only response you received was a low hum that you felt rubble from his chest and into yours as he grabbed your waist and tugged you against him.

[aventurineswife]

idk if this one is a little too dark or anything

but as a req i liked the idea of a dissociating!reader x aven, who always tries to be there for when it happens. 🤍

i hope in some capacity this made sense 😓 (and i might be calling myself out a bit here oop-)

on an end note-i hope ur doing well and remembering to take care of urselfff!! 💕

I'm With You

Summary: When you experience dissociation, Aventurine stays by your side, offering quiet comfort and patience. Through his gentle presence and soft words, he grounds you, bringing you back to reality and reminding you that you’re never alone in the struggle.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Dissociation, Fluff, Established Relationship, Gentle Aventurine, Emotional Support, Reassurance, Intimacy.

Warnings: Themes of dissociation, implied mental health struggles.

A/N: It's completely fine, anon! It's not dark at all! And don't worry about it, I enjoy a bit of challenges (not really lmaoo). Remember to take care of yourself too!!

The cool, dim evening has settled, casting long shadows over the room as Aventurine sits beside you, his arm resting gently on your shoulder. You’re barely aware of the world around you—an unexplainable heaviness has clouded your thoughts, and the sense of reality feels like it’s slipping away, leaving only a distant, hollow feeling. You’ve been here before, in this numb, detached place. And though you can barely hear or feel it, Aventurine’s presence grounds you, his hand warm and reassuring, like an anchor in a storm.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice low and calm, like a thread trying to pull you back. You don’t immediately respond, but his words have a way of finding their way through the fog. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me be here, alright?”

Aventurine’s presence is steady, warm, filled with patience. He sits beside you without demanding your attention, offering quiet comfort, his fingers lightly stroking your shoulder. Slowly, he reaches over and takes your hand, wrapping it in his. He knows how the dissociation pulls you away from the present, away from him, and yet he never resents it. Instead, he finds ways to help, little reminders that you’re here, that he’s here, that you’re not alone in this strange, untouchable place.

“You know,” he starts, a small smile gracing his lips, “I saw this mooncake the other day that had a little cat face on it. It looked so…well, I thought it was too cute to eat. I even took a selfie with it.” He chuckles softly, and the gentle sound of his laugh breaks through your haze, if only a little. “Imagine that, me, a mooncake, and a cat face. Pretty ridiculous, right?”

You blink, and the faintest hint of a smile plays on your lips. Aventurine notices, and he gives your hand a small, comforting squeeze.

“There you are,” he murmurs, his eyes full of warmth and relief. “You don’t have to come all the way back to me yet. I’ll meet you wherever you are.”

It’s strange, having someone who understands like this, who doesn’t push, who knows how to reach into the quiet, lonely parts of you and make you feel seen, even when you’re fading from yourself. Aventurine is still holding your hand, tracing circles over your knuckles. His touch, his presence—it’s grounding, a small reminder that you’re tethered to something, to someone who cares for you deeply.

After a moment, he speaks again, his voice still low and soothing. “You’re so much stronger than you realize, you know that? But you don’t have to be strong all the time. You have me.” His words wrap around you like a warm blanket, softening the edges of your dissociation. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bit by bit, the room starts to feel more tangible. You’re aware of his arm around your shoulder, the light pressure of his hand in yours, his steady breathing. You turn slightly to look at him, his familiar, comforting smile waiting for you.

“Thank you.” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but Aventurine hears it. His smile widens, and he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Always,” he replies, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “For as long as you need, I’ll be right here.”

You settle back into his embrace, feeling the weight of his arm, the warmth of his presence filling the spaces that felt empty only moments ago. And for the first time in a while, you feel safe, at peace in the comfort of his love, knowing he’ll be there, no matter how far you feel from yourself.

[theorist-fox]

There's no butler in The Usual Suspects

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

18+

Self-indulgent piece because I need some fluff in these hard times

Summary: Simon gets distracted while watching a movie, and then he gets distracted while watching you.

Word count: 2.8k

CW: Kevin Spacey Jumpscare and big fat spoiler for "THE USUAL SUSPECTS". Also, smut in established relationship (Simon is so whipped).

Let me know if you've been cockblocked as well.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“’S Kobayashi,” he mutters.

You give him a look. “Kobayashi?”

“The—the criminal thing,” Simon gestures vaguely at the TV, legs spread in the spot next to yours on the sofa. “Wha’ was his name.”

He sees you connect the dots slowly, head tilted in question, and then you stifle a laugh when it hits you.

“The criminal thing? You mean Keyser Söze?”

He snaps his fingers at you in recognition. As if you haven’t seen the movie already and only sat down on the living room couch to have him watch it—because that’s a great film, you said. One he can't apparently miss.

“Tha’ one.”

“How can it be Kobayashi.” You deadpan as the TV buzzes with dialogues you’re not paying attention to anymore.

He shrugs. “S’always the butler.”

You chuckle, tucking your legs on the cushions. “Kobayashi’s not a butler.”

“Closest thing.”

“Have you been watching the movie at all?”

Simon gives you a side eye, arms crossed on his chest. Thinks. His gaze falls down your legs inconspicuously before rising up and following the curve of your hips, up until the plump of your breasts outlined by the fabric of your t-shirt. It’s a quick swipe you could’ve missed, but he knows you’ve caught him red-handed.

“Sorta.” He replies, though his voice has a certain hoarseness to it, now.

You give him a knowing smile, echoing the word right after him with so much skepticism he tastes it on his tongue.

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning with his fingers, before gently curling them around your forearm to tug you in.

A quick pat on your thigh has you straddling his lap. You take the blanket with you, draped over your shoulders like a soft cape. Simon cups your hips with his palms, thumbs drawing mindless circles at your hipbones.

“The movie, Si.” You say softly, placing your hands on either side of his neck. 

But his eyes are already tracing the fine lines of your face, tiny imperfections he adores because they make you more real and less of a dream. 

“S’the butler, trust me.” He murmurs, and you chuckle under your breath.

“It's not the butler. There’s no bloody butler.”

It makes his lips curl in a smirk, because he knows you like being right—and he’s more than aware that you are, because, as you've told him for the nth time, there is no fucking butler in The Usual Suspects.

But he stopped watching the whole thing thirty minutes in, when he got the gist of the film, instead favoring to focus on you.

Can’t fucking believe he gets to witness this firsthand, eh?

Gets to have a pretty thing like you share her home. Share her meals. Her bed. Her thoughts, her glances, herself. Fuck, how he’d like to show this to his fucking father. Show him that you chose him, no matter how hard that bastard's tried to turn him into the same worthless sack of shit that he was.

So, frankly, sue him if he doesn’t care about this movie when you’re so obviously there—looking divine in your simplicity.

And now he has you exactly where he wants you. Plush thighs sitting atop his, tongue peeking out to wet your lips.

He leans forward and leaves a peck at the corner of your mouth. Then one kiss on your chin, one down your throat, to your collarbones. He's not choosy, kissing wherever his lips land.

He puckers his lips around your nipple, sucking through the cotton of your shirt, and you arch into him, inadvertently grinding your hips against where he’s already hard. You hiss and glower when he sinks his teeth around it, and his shoulders shake with a breathless laugh at how powerless you look, even if you’re trying your best to appear otherwise. 

Before you can chide him, however, he blinks up and gives you the softest of smiles—aware that he rarely offers them. Aware that they melt your resolve easily, like snow under the morning sun. 

So, really, it’s not long before you drop the blanket on the floor, pooling at his feet—his briefs and sweatpants coiled around his ankles. Your own clothes freckle the coffee table, or the armrest of the couch, or the carpet underfoot—he took them off you and tossed them away blindly, uncaring of where they landed.

It’s not long before he’s worked you open with his hand. Not long before he has you fuck yourself on two thick fingers he occasionally scissors inside you, watching you drag your clit across the heel of his hand—your breathless moans somehow louder than the barrage of gunshots blaring from the TV. 

He stuffs those same fingers in your mouth once he's satisfied with how wet you are. Watches how your cheeks sink at the suction. Feels the rough texture of your tongue coat his pads. He takes them out, then. Smears your spit on your lips only to kiss it with his own.

Soft hands are placed on his chest as he holds the base of his cock to help you sink on him. The screen of the TV creates a halo of light around your shoulders and back, and Simon thinks he’s being blessed—he’ll never get used to it, neither the sight of you nor the warmth of your sex.

Within minutes, he has you stretched around him, taking his cock as if you were born to do it. His palm lies flat on your lower belly, thumb rolling circles on your clit. Simon lets you ride him, watching mesmerized all the things you hate about yourself, all the things that make you so real to his eyes. 

He loves to watch you cum, but for selfish reasons. Not only do you feel heavenly clenching around his cock, milking it for all it's worth, but also because, unbeknownst to you, all those details you seem to despise suddenly bloom before his eyes.

The rolls of your stomach, and how they ripple when your orgasm stalks closer.

The lines curling around your mouth, the way they stretch when you stutter your moans, when you whisper his name among them—like a fucking prayer, like you only know how to say his own.

The crow’s feet at the corners of your eyes—you say they came too early, he says they make your eyes smile. 

And fuck if all that doesn’t make you prettier in his eyes, no matter what you think.

You’re entranced. Heavy lashes curtain your eyes, casting shadows on your cheekbones. It’s ethereal to look at you, wonderful thing in his arms, so abandoned in bliss because of him. Nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders, but there's no pain—not when the plump of your rear slaps against his thighs each time you come down to take him to the hilt.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He grunts against the tightness of his throat, “You wanna cum, yeah?”

He feels the knot of your clit getting raw under his thumb, so he grabs your jaw and sticks his finger in your mouth. Your lips close around the knuckle, and he watches with heavy eyes how you suck on it, lathering his pad with your spit, before he returns it to your sex. 

He draws his thumb back and forth on your clit, unsheathing it from its hood so that each stroke sends sparks up your spine. You jolt above him when he touches it right, and he drinks in the sight of you trembling when you try and resume the pace.

“You do, don’t you?” He asks again, "Sweet girl."

Your head bobs limply in a nod, and your lips twitch in a smile, because you know he’s going to comply. He'd never take a thing from you—always giving more, and more, and more.

“Fuckin' hell.” He curses under his breath, mouth dry like sandpaper. “I got you, love. I got you—c'mere."

Simon’s arms wrap around your waist to bring you in, allowing you the chance to rest the tireless work of your hips in order to favor his. Your forehead is in the crook of his neck now, and you’re curled into him as he holds you steady and fucks his cock into you from below. 

He whispers nothings in your ear. Calls you beautiful as you come apart piece by piece, unraveling like a spool of thread between his fingers while his calves burn from the strain. Let him be consumed, for all he cares—as long as you're there, sizzling hot and clammy and soft.

He laps at the sweat like dew on your neck, sucking love bites while being careful not to leave any dark spots behind. Though he would love, if anyone were to ask, to mark you up like you’re his property. Symbolic—someone his, and his only.

However, he figures his cock spearing you open is enough of a statement.

The TV drones muted dialogues, drowned in the slap of skin against skin and your soft breaths in his ear. Sweet fucking sounds, he thinks. Would taste like honey, feel like silk.

Liquid warmth wraps around his cock, a cocktail of your arousal and his. It makes something tighten at the apex of his thighs, makes his fingers twitch against the fat of your hips.

He wants to cum inside you. Wants to see it leak out and push it back in only to fuck you again. He wants your face warm and dizzy, your eyes rolled back, and his name on the tip of your tongue.

So, he bucks his hips and fucks his cock into you again, and again, and again. Until you're a shivering mess and your nails are leaving red marks on his back. Until you stumble over your moans and his grunts echo with your own. Curses, praises, whines pitching upwards and—

A bang from the TV.

You jump in his hold, whining something unintelligible over the ringing in his ears.

His mouth twitches in annoyance as he goes and resumes the pace, trying to give you back the orgasm you've clearly lost. One he's fucking lost, too.

But whatever’s happening in the movie must require some build-up of tension, because the volume suddenly skyrockets. 

He tries to pay it no mind. However, you seem to do.

“Turn off the thing,” you mumble through heavy breaths, gesturing blindly to where the remote should be. 

He huffs and looks around for it, using one hand to keep you still as he slows down with his hips. He finds it tucked between the cushions of the sofa and snatches it off before pointing at the TV. 

There, his eyes land on a scene. A close-up of two shoes, walking with a limp at first, and then straightening their step. Cut to a hand lifting a cigarette being brought to a pair of lips. 

“Bloody hell.” 

His voice is so croaky that it has you lift your head in worry, movements coming to a halt. You palm his jaw, your breath puffing against his cheek.

“What? You alright?” You fumble, brows pinching right above your nose. “Did I hurt you?”

“T’was Kint.” He mumbles, frowning in thought. 

The air still smells of sex, but there isn’t an ounce of it left in either of you. You blink, as if the motion could bring you back to earth, as if it could make you forget how painfully tight you’re stretched around him.

“Wh-what?” You pant, confused. Clearly, blood still hasn't made its way back to your head. “Who?”

“Keyser Söze.”

You almost flinch when he says that. Eyes wide and a big, fat question mark floating above your head. Slack-jawed. Befuddled. 

Only when your fucked-out brain connects the dots do you snort.

“K-Keyser So—what the fuck, Simon?” You chuckle under your breath, “Now? Really?”

He blinks. Drops the hand holding the remote next to his thigh with such abandon one might think he’s just received the worst news of his life. Then, he looks up at you, one arm still wrapped around your side, fingers grazing at your tailbone.

“Really fuckin’ thought t'was the butler.” He mumbles in disappointment, but his lips twitch in a smirk.

You burst into a laugh above him, throwing your head back. It ripples through your stomach in waves that rumble against his own, and he realizes that it looks even better when it happens because of this instead of an orgasm. 

It tugs at his heartstrings, and so he tugs you a little closer. 

When you return your eyes to him and bring your hands to cup his cheeks, he nuzzles your palm and presses a kiss against it.

“Told you there was no butler in The Usual Suspects,” you say a little smugly, but with a smile that could brighten up a room.

Simon holds your eyes for a moment longer, and then he wiggles his fingers against your side to steal another laugh out of you. 

“Yeah, alrigh’ smartarse.”

He lifts you up enough to place you on your back on the sofa, tucking his hips between your thighs. He slides his cock inside you again, but you’re so wet that you barely react to it. His hand comes to cup your cheek, while the other one slips between your bodies to brush against your clit.

It throbs under his touch, asking for attention. He gives it, reverently, as he slides in and out of you at the slowest of paces, rolling idle circles that cause the air to lodge in your throat.

You hold him with your arms around his neck, occasionally grazing his scalp with your fingers. Your lips travel from his cheek to his jaw, until you’re softly biting into the meat of his shoulder when he hits something that feels particularly good.

He fucks you languidly this time, as the credits of the film roll like background noise. Simon makes love to you with each lazy kiss down your neck and each slow drag of his cock—deliberate movements that give your orgasm the chance to build up slowly, coiling around your belly up to your throat in a blazing warmth that Simon feels stick to his chest.

It’s not long before you cum around him, huffing heavily from your nose while your teeth sink deeper into his skin. That does it for him, and the knot at the base of his cock finally snaps, causing syrupy hot warmth to travel all the way to the tips of his toes. Simon cums with a muted groan, and his body gives out until his chest falls flush to yours. He spills inside of you and traps your lips in a heavy kiss—because you taste so much better when you’re still shivering underneath him.

Your breath is hot as it hits the damp skin of his neck. Your mouth is warm when you press it to the shell of his ear. And when he comes back to his senses, he props his weight on one arm and looks down at you, basking in the afterglow.

The telly drones silently as it displays the front page of some streaming service you pay for. It’s the only light in the living room, and it bathes you in soft oranges and ruddy shades.

You look lovely like this, he thinks.

He pulls out of you, careful when you wince as his cock drags against your sensitive walls. He watches with rapt attention as his cum leaks out of your hole—it makes his eye twitch and his cock ache once again.

But you seem sated, glassy eyes slow blinking at the ceiling. Chest rising and falling softly.

So, he relents to your wishes and stuffs the thought of having you for a second time in the back of his mind.

And since he knows neither of you can be arsed to clean the sofa in case it stains, he uses his fingers to gently push his cum back inside. You read his mind and cant your hips upward so it won't leak out again.

“Guess perception wasn’t one of the SAS requirements, uh?” You tease him breathlessly, toying with the hair at his nape. A snort escapes you, and you mock his gruff voice. "S'always the butler."

He narrows his eyes and flicks your nose because he knows it'll make you smile. Then, he brings his hand between your faces, watching how his middlemost fingers glisten under the soft light from the telly. 

“How ‘bout you put tha’ mouth of yours to better use, mh?”

“Could clean this up, for starters.” He mumbles with a smirk.

You snort. “Charming.”

He gives you a cheeky side eye, but ultimately moves his hand out of the way to kiss your smile. His chuckle is hoarse against your mouth, inviting and warm, as his kisses turn playfully sloppy just to rile you up and have you giggle underneath him.

And you cherish it—like you do every time—by kissing him in kind.

[steddieme]

this is the steve harrington is seven au i was talking about in this post (warning: it's not finished)

seven has a form of foresight, he gets random flashes of visions and if he really concentrates on it he can even look for specific events. the future is a fickle thing, it's very malleable. he learns very early on that what he says, what he does can shape the world around him. he's very close to eight, he loves her power and she finds his random predictions cool. eleven eventually imprints on them like a little duckling and they dote on her as much as they can. they love her.

but seven sees flashes of brenner ordering the keepers to kill him. says he drops too many references to the outside world, he must escape at one point in the future, and that could jeopardize the entire experiment. he panics and tells eight, and they devise a plan to escape along with eleven. seven's visions are too hazy, he's too scared to really focus. things go wrong and they all get separated during their escape attempt.

for a while seven is convinced both eight and eleven died. he does see flashes of them at one point in the future, after he becomes steve, but he doesn't know how to find them. he becomes steve harrington by breaking into the harrington family's house, scared, cold and starving. mr. harrington is a cold man who wants him gone at first, but mrs. harrington immediately takes to him. they were never able to have kids and mrs. harrington is convinced seven was meant to end up with them.

when he shows them his tattoo and tells them he's called seven, mrs. harrington immediately names him steven instead. they're too scared to ask about why the fuck this random child is numbered, so they never learn the truth about him. they get him papers by paying the right people and steve harrington is born.

eventually, mrs. harrington's love for steve wilts, all the joy sucked out of her by her husband forcing her to go with him on his work trips. she has to leave steve behind, while her husband very clearly cheats on her right under her nose. she becomes too depressed to say no, to leave, she has no one to fall back on. once steve is old enough to understand, he comes to hate his "dad," but his heart breaks for his mom. it's still better than the lab.

as much as he hates it he takes up the role of king steve at school. he figures the more visible he is, the safer he is. everyone knows king steve, everyone would notice if he suddenly went missing. he wears his persona like an armor, tries to act as "normal" as possible. no one would think king steve was anything but a spoiled rich kid. there's nothing strange about him, he's a painfully normal asshole jock.

the hair is just for him, though. his mom teaches him how to take care of it, even shows him what waterproof makeup to use for his tattoo when he can't wear his watch. she's a bit obsessed with beauty, her teachings tip into toxic, he learns to associate beauty with self-worth for a while. but his hair becomes a reminder he's free. every time he looks in the mirror, every time he touches his hair is a reassurance that he's steve and not seven. he smiles when he first hears the moniker steve "the hair" harrington. king steve is for the public, but steve "the hair" harrington is just for him.

at some point he starts having random visions of people in the school. a girl holding a gun. a girl doing her makeup in his car while they laugh together. a boy with wild hair and big gestures. a kid going missing. seven different kids. and one of them is eleven! when he first sees eleven in a vision he cries for an entire day.

he sees monsters and death and pain. he sets out to find each of them and change as much of the future he's seen as possible. he already feels guilty he's recruiting all of them from the start, but how else is he supposed to protect them from something he knows nothing about? his decision to find them all has already distorted his visions. nothing is certain about the future, but there's power in numbers, he knows that much.

he first finds nancy and with her comes her best friend barb. he sets out to become their friend, and while barb doesn't approve of him at first they end up getting along well. he crushes on nancy hard, but then one day he sees visions of her and a guy named jonathan, who will apparently also be involved, and she seems to fit with him so well, he cannot bring himself to ask her out after that.

he finds out the other two people are robin buckley and eddie munson. he knows he cannot get close to them as king steve so he changes. he sheds his persona and sets out to friend the hell out of both of them. he starts with robin, because eddie is a bit too intimidating and he figures he'd take a bit more convincing with the way he seems to hate conformity. steve built his entire persona around the safety of conformity after all.

robin is very confused when he first approaches her. she's standoffish and rude and seems to hate him. but then she sees him tell someone from the basketball team off for bullying another kid. and she decides to give him a chance. and they seem to click instantly after that? he finds his soulmate and he's never been happier. he actually decides to tell her everything after a while.

when he shows her he can levitate stuff, she understandably freaks the fuck out. but after she gets it out of her system she's fully on board, they start planning how to stop the end of the world. steve is not alone anymore and robin cries with him when he starts sobbing at the realization.

they decide to befriend jonathan, since eddie will be much harder to convince. it goes surprisingly well, the guy is lonely and once you ask about his photography hobby he warms up to you. the five of them start eating lunch together, which then turns into hangouts after school as well and steve is grateful to finally have real friends.

he catches eddie staring at him one day. and then it keeps happening. turns out eddie stares at him a lot lately. he doesn't know if that's a good thing or not, but he does know it makes him flustered. his eyes are so big and intense. he talks to robin about it and she says she's like 65% sure it's a good thing and he's just curious about steve's change of heart. but when he mentions feeling flustered, she freezes. he's worried he said something wrong, before robin asks him if he's into eddie.

and. well. he does think he's a hot dude, to be honest. his hair looks so soft, he wishes he could teach him how to take care of it. and he finds his tattoos cool, he wonders how it would feel to touch them. and his eyes just suck him in and - oh my god he's into eddie munson. he stares at robin in shock who wears the same dumbfounded look on her face. then she tackles him and tells him she's a lesbian and she's so happy she finally found someone who gets it and they're truly soulmates.

while steve is honestly just confused. he hugs her back and listens to her patiently, thanks her for telling him, gives her shit for liking tammy thompson. and then tells her he's not gay. he liked nancy. robin rolls her eyes and says he can like both. which - okay, he didn't know you could do that. robin ends up making fun of him for weeks, because his type is just curly haired nerds with big eyes apparently.

but with this new knowledge in mind it's robin that has to do most of the heavy lifting in bringing eddie into their little friend group. because turns out steve wears his heart on his sleeves and doesn't know how to be normal when he has a crush. she finds it hilarious honestly. the only reason he kept his cool around nancy was because they were friends first. or at least he hopes he kept his cool around her. he's not so sure anymore.

eddie is very reluctant at first. he acts like a feral animal that has to be coaxed into trusting you. robin manages to convince him to let them join hellfire. the first session her and steve show up to is tense and awkward, but they do have fun. the two of them play one character, because robin is bad at talking but good at keeping track of stats and all that, and steve is good at talking and improvising. and together they're great at strategizing. the guys look at them strangely at first, but they learn to accept their oddities.

the weirder they are the more delighted eddie looks, actually. especially after they correct jeff that they're not dating. their strange twin-like behavior is what ends up drawing eddie in. they invite him to a movie night with barb, nancy and jonathan, and boom. eddie is finally in the group.

aaaand i lost motivation to continue this. i'm sorry for the cliffhanger ajvhdbkdshs

[venomwrites]

Cait keeping Vi's red jacket.

Warnings: Season 2, Act 2 spoilers, dubious jacket thievery and sexy times.

Vi sneaks into Caitlyn’s room semi-regularly now. 

She doesn’t quite understand how she’s landed in this role, somehow straddling the line between her sister’s revolution and the general desperately trying to quell it while also enabling it. They still hate each other but there’s a grudging kind of truce between them. One that Vi seems to be the lynchpin for. 

Caitlyn always leaves her balcony cracked for her though Vi tells her not to. 

Yes the sneaking in is a sham, the Enforcers that make up Caitlyn’s personal guard know she’s there. Even though Vi wishes they would let her sneak around for real. Letting too many people know is putting the entire plan at risk. Of course the alternatives are equally shitty. Caitlyn going down to her is out of the question and the front door means dealing with Caitlyn’s father. And Vi sure as shit doesn’t want to do that. 

“Special delivery,” Vi says closing the door behind her, “Cait?”

A soft snore greets her. 

Caitlyn is perpetually sleep deprived as she tries to outmaneuver everyone. Her bedroom is more schematics and charts than a bedroom. It’s so clean Vi realizes this is the perpetual state of Caitlyn’s bedroom. Whether she’s saving the world or not. Vi feels like she’s intruding if Caitlyn is finally getting some shut eye. She glances around for a place to leave Jinx’s delivery and maybe a note or something. 

“Vi?” 

“Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Vi says, “I—“ 

Vi’s rarely at a loss for words but it’s really hard to make them when all the blood in your body is going somewhere unhelpful. 

But Caitlyn’s wearing her jacket. 

She’s wearing a flowy silk slip that practically matches her hair. The monochrome of it makes the bright bright red of her jacket just stand out more. When given the option Caitlyn always wears things that are severely tailored. So tight Vi can’t understand how they could possibly be comfortable. Nothing is tight on Caitlyn at the moment. Not the silk. Not her jacket. 

“Sorry,” Caitlyn says, rubbing sleep from her eyes and pushing her hair behind her ears, “I must have fallen asleep,” pink blossoms along her cheeks and it’s somehow making things so much worse, “when did you get here?”

“Just now?” Vi gets out.

Caitlyn gives her a prying look and it seems to occur to her that she’s in just her nightgown. Like that’s the problem here. She quickly pulls the jacket closer, doing the fastening up along the waist. One of the snaps was always sticky, Vi remembers that. But Caitlyn does it up without even looking or struggling. Like she’s done it a million times before. 

“Are those the new—“

“That’s my jacket,” Vi blurts out. 

Caitlyn stiffens and looks down like she’s forgotten she’s wearing it. Vi watches as she goes from pale to blushing to practically a matching shade of red. Neither of them move for a moment and then Caitlyn fumbles for the fastening.

“Sorry, I forgot I had this,” Caitlyn stammers. 

“You sleep with it on?” 

“Not always, I was just cold!” Caitlyn says, holding it out, “here!”  

Now of course that leaves her flushed and embarrassed and wearing a silk nightgown with the thinnest straps Vi’s ever seen. Her bloodflow was bad when Caitlyn was wearing it, somehow it’s worse now that it’s off her. 

“It’s ok,” she says, “you can keep it, you just—caught me off guard,” she scrambles for something, “if you closed the door you wouldn’t be cold,” she points out. 

Caitlyn makes a noise in the back of her throat. Vi shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. Caitlyn looks at her for a moment longer and then drops her hand. She walks over to the bed and puts down the jacket, picking up her robe. There’s something suspiciously like a  whine of protest caught in Vi’s throat, but she forces it down as more blue silk swallows Caitlyn’s form. 

“Let’s start again,” Caitlyn says and looks at the bag next to Vi’s feet, “are those the new gears?”

Vi nods and forces herself to pick up the bag. Caitlyn comes closer to take it. The silk really does match her hair perfectly.  Vi’s eyes trail Caitlyn’s fingers as she slips a piece of hair behind her ears. It’s not the first time Vi wonders what it would feel like to run her fingers through it, but it’s the first time in a while. Caitlyn’s mouth is moving but stops, her brows drawing together. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve made this awkward,” Caitlyn says, setting down the bag, “I never should have held onto this,” she says walking over to the bed, “I was going to give it back—“

“Don’t,” Vi tries to say but the strangled voice can’t be hers. She’s never made that sound before in her life, “it looks good on you.” 

The air between them goes electric. Caitlyn gives her a look that Vi can’t decipher. Vi know she’s fucked up. Of course she has. That’s her speciality. Why the hell is she the one whose holding this whole thing together? She drags her hands down her face. By the time they make it past her lip scar, Caitlyn is at the bed. 

Caitlyn holds her gaze as she removes her robe and reaches for the jacket. Vi doesn’t remember there being a chair behind her. It’s a miracle she drops into it instead of on the floor. Either way her knees are suddenly having a really hard time supporting her. Caitlyn drags it on achingly slowly and Vi wonders why the air is suddenly out of the room. It traps Caitlyn’s hair under the collar. Everything in Vi howls to pull it out. But Caitlyn just stands there and appraises her.

“Better?” 

“Fuck,” Vi can barely get the word out, “Why?”

“It smells like you,” Caitlyn says and Vi doesn’t know how she’s making this even more torturous, “it helped me think straight when you were gone.”

“I’ve been back,” she croaks. 

They both know it’s not the same. Vi still doesn’t know what the hell it is between them. She can’t live without Caitlyn and sometimes being around her is so painful she can’t look at her. It’s such a knotted, awful mess. And at the end Vi knows she’s going to have to choose. Piltover or Zaun, Powder or Caitlyn, she’ll only get to stand on this precipice for so long. Eventually she’s going to have to pick a side. The thought taunts her every time she leaves one place for another. 

Caitlyn is near the desk but she doesn’t come any closer. Whatever has transpired between them, Caitlyn no longer tries to make Vi choose. That’s the thing about prison and desperation and even fucking Piltover. They don’t care what you want. The scrap of freedom she has now still tastes new. But freedom means having to make decisions and sometimes she wishes someone would just try to tell her what to do again. 

“I can’t promise anything,” she says. 

“I’m not asking you to,” Caitlyn reminds her. 

Vi drags her gaze up. Even though she holds herself still, Caitlyn can’t help but reach up and push the hair behind her ear. 

Again. 

Dimly she hears the chair skid as she closes the distance. Caitlyn is already pulling her closer by the lapels. She tastes like Vi remembers. Except there’s nothing soft or gentle about this. Vi doesn’t have the vocabulary for what they’e doing, she wants the ache to go away. One of Caitlyn’s knees touches her side and she hooks her arm around the limb and helping shift Caitlyn so she’s on the desk. All of her senses are swallowed by Cait’s midnight blue. And it’s still somehow not enough. 

“I’m fine!” Caitlyn cries and Vi dimly realizes someone is knocking. 

“I heard a—“ she hears Caitlyn’s dad. 

“I said I’m fine!” Caitlyn repeats, trying not to sound breathless and failing miserably. 

Vi realizes half of Caitlyn’s desk is on the floor, including some ornate paperweight that Vi’s always thought could be used as a weapon. Of course they’ve managed to worry the only parent Caitlyn has left. There’s a jingling sound and Caitlyn’s leg tightens around her hip. Vi presses her forehead against Caitlyn’s collarbone and tries not to think of the cruel words spoken the last time she saw him. 

“It’s just me, Mr. Kiramman,” she says. She can feel Caitlyn inhale sharply, bringing the silk edge of her slip dangerously close to Vi’s lips, “everything’s fine.” 

She half expects him to kick open the door anyway but the jingling of keys stops. 

“Hello Violet,” he says. His voice is tight but he’s not coming in and Caitlyn’s not pulling away, so Vi’s taking it as a win, “how are you?” An almost win. 

“Fine, Mr. Kiramman,” she calls back.

“That’s good. Say—“ he starts.

“We’ll talk to you later!” Caitlyn cuts in, but when she turns it hikes her slip up and puts Vi’s fingers right against the scar on her upper thigh. The ridge stands out against the smooth skin and Vi can’t help but dig her fingers in. “could you go make tea?!”

“Tea?” She rasps. 

Caitlyn rolls her eyes and pulls her back up and up until Vi finds herself fully on top of the desk as well. She knows more stuff gets knocked over in the process but that seems irrelevant as she focuses on touching every inch of skin not hidden by the jacket. Caitlyn manages to get hers off and throw it somewhere. Her fingers rake across the ink on Vi’s back and short out any thoughts Vi might be having. She leans up at one point and reaches behind her neck.

“Don’t—“ Vi starts and Caitlyn hums against her lips.

“Here,” She guides her hand to a knot that holds up the infuriatingly long slip, “I wasn’t going to take off your jacket.” 

Her last coherent thought is that’s the hottest fucking thing Caitlyn’s ever said. 

She doesn’t think for the rest of it. When her hands don’t know what to do, Caitlyn guides them. Her world tunnels and narrows to just Caitlyn and her midnight blue. And then everything goes white and hot as she falls apart with Caitlyn. 

She doesn’t know how long they lay there. It’s so nice. She’s dimly aware of Caitlyn tracing her tattoos, even though she can’t see them. Like she’s got the pattern memorized. Her fingers drag up and though her hair, resting on her chin as Vi starts to lift it from Caitlyn’s collarbone. 

“Your kitchen’s far away, right?” She mumbles. 

Caitlyn laughs. Vi’s always loved her laugh. But now she can feel it where their chests are pressed together. It makes her love it even more. 

“Very,” she says and gives an apologetic look, “but—“

“Yeah, we should let him know you’re alive,” Vi says, shifting up. 

Caitlyn slides out from underneath her. The rush of cool against bare skin makes Vi ache to follow her. The sight of her wearing nothing but her jacket makes her not want to move. Caitlyn disappears into her closet and Vi forces herself to slide off the desk and find her sea legs. And her clothes. She tells herself if the tables were turned Caitlyn would suck it up to assure her dad that she was alright. 

“You can wait here if you want,” Caitlyn offers, fully clothed in only her own clothes. Vi wishes that cleared her head more than it does. But the image of Caitlyn crying out wearing on her jacket is going to override everything for a while, “Or you can go,” she hesitates for a moment, “or you can come get tea.”

She lays out the options simply but they all feel weighted in their own ways. But when she steps closer to Caitlyn and slots their fingers together, none feel quite as heavy.

“Lets go show your dad you’re alive.”

[goblinontour]

Obsession With Death

part 2 | series masterlist

sickness or just human nature?

warnings: mentions of death, implied age gap, intercourse, exhibitionism, daddy’s back, inappropriateness

word count: 6.9k

Obsessed.  

It wasn’t an easy word for him to come to, much less admit. He’d never been one to dwell – well, he was but not like this, not to the point of ruin. But for days — days — you’d been stuck in his head, stitched into the fabric of his thoughts like a stray thread he couldn’t unravel.  

From the moment you’d walked away that first evening, your shape lingered behind his eyes. In the hours that stretched between dusk and dawn, when sleep came grudgingly and with little solace, you were there. And when morning dragged him back into the haze of routine, it was as though you’d never left.  

It’s only a crush, he tried to tell himself. It’ll go away. It’s just like all the others.  

But that was a lie. There were no others, not really. Or if there had been, none of them lingered in his chest the way you did, pressing against his ribs like something trying to claw its way out. Maybe this wasn’t a crush at all. Maybe it was danger.  

He knew it. But you didn’t.  

At first, he prayed it away, kneeling in the spaces between gravestones, the dirt still caked beneath his fingernails. He tried to will it smaller, to clip its wings before it took flight. But whatever this was — it grew.  

It consumed him slowly, a creeping vine winding its way through his thoughts. By the time he realised how deep it had taken root, it was too late. It was the way you moved, the way your voice wavered, the way you leaned into him on the hill like trust had been inevitable, like he hadn’t even had to ask for it.  

Every day he told himself, at the right place, the right time. That was how these things worked.  

Maybe tonight, he thought each evening, his chest tight with anticipation that never seemed to find its release.  

But the days stretched long, and the nights heavier still, and the right moment never came.  

Until it did.  

He wasn’t ready when he saw you again. He should have been. He’d told himself a thousand times to prepare for the moment, to practise how he’d act if you returned, if you dared step back through the gates.  

And yet, when you did, he froze.  

The sight of you felt like a slap to the chest, like breath pulled too sharply through his lungs. He didn’t expect it to feel like this — like fright.  

You walked in slowly, almost cautiously, like you weren’t entirely sure you belonged here. But you came anyway. He watched from the shadows, from the edge of the path, his body rooted in place as his mind swirled.  

What were you doing here again? What had brought you back to him?  

He prayed for something to say, some easy line to carry him through the moment. But his thoughts spiralled, and his hands felt like someone else’s, twitching by his sides.  

You didn’t see him at first. Not yet. But the way the dying light caught the outline of your face, the way your breath hung faintly in the chilled air — it undid him all over again. He thought about running, about disappearing into the rows of tombstones before you spotted him. But he stayed.  

He stayed because you had come back, and that had to mean something. Even if he didn’t know what yet. Even if it scared him more than he cared to admit.

“I can hear you this time, Alexander.” you called out, your voice cutting through the quiet like a soft blade.  

To his disadvantage, the leaves had fallen dry to the ground, betraying the faint carefulness of his steps. They rustled with every subtle shift, giving him away. You’d been ready this time — alert, listening.  

He didn’t answer right away, but when he wanted you to see him, he made it known. Stepping from behind a nearby tree, he was met with your gaze, and the smile on his face seemed involuntary, almost sheepish. When he noticed the faint curl of your lips in return, something in his shoulders eased.  

“Got me.” he said, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. His voice carried that dry, self-effacing humour, but his eyes told another story. They lifted from the ground to meet yours, and you caught something hanging there — something you almost wanted to call shyness.  

“Always here.” you muttered.  

“Surprised?” he asked, shifting his weight to lean against the tree nearest him. It stood at the perfect midpoint between the two of you, a deliberate placement that felt calculated. He might’ve come closer, if not for the way he wanted you to come to him. So badly it almost ached.  

“Not at all.” you said, stepping toward him. “You’re much more predictable than one would think.”  

“Really?” he asked, the faintest hint of genuine surprise colouring his tone.  

It wasn’t a challenge. He didn’t believe you — not fully — but he didn’t seem offended either. There was no sting in his words, no edge. Instead, he seemed…amused. Like he might let you be right, just this once, even if you weren’t. Like he might let you think you’d figured him out.  

For now.  

“Well, you’re-” you started, only to be cut off by him.  

“Always here.” he said, finishing your thought as his lips curved upward into something sly, knowing.  

You laughed lightly, just a soft breath of sound, and kept moving closer. The space between you felt fragile, as though neither of you wanted to close it too quickly, to risk breaking whatever strange rhythm you’d found yourselves in.  

“And why are you always here?” you asked, stopping just shy of him.  

“Why are you?” he countered, tilting his head slightly, his gaze flicking over your face like he might find the answer written there.  

You opened your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, not to silence you but to pause you.  

“No, don’t answer that.” he said. “Not yet.”  

The weight of his words settled over the moment, heavy but not unwelcome. You wondered if he was asking for your silence or your patience. 

He leaned forward just slightly, the barest tilt of his body, enough to catch the faint chill of your breath in the air between you.  

“Maybe it’s the same reason.” he added, his voice softer now, almost careful.  

The same reason.  

His words stayed with you, even as the rest of the cemetery seemed to fall away, and you couldn’t decide if the thought was thrilling or terrifying. Maybe both.

You stilled before leaning closer, and the world seemed to follow suit, freezing in a moment suspended between what was and what could be. Alexander barely breathed, his body wound tight like a string pulled taut, vibrating faintly with an energy he was struggling to contain.  

Your hand — fingers chilled and trembling — brushed against the wool of his coat before landing on his shoulder, tentative but firm enough to hold your balance. A lifeline, or so you pretended, though you both knew the truth. He flinched — not away from you but within himself, the muscles beneath his skin jumping at the contact. For a moment, you wondered if you’d startled him, but no — he wanted this. He wanted it too much, and that was what unnerved him.  

He caught himself, of course, but you saw it. And he saw you see it. It was pointless to pretend now, but the pretence only made the moment heavier, more dangerous.  

His breath hitched again, catching on something deeper, and you felt it pass over your cheek as the cold air curled between you both. The atmosphere pressed in from all sides, close and heavy, as though the cemetery itself was holding its breath, watching, waiting.  

Your breath drifted upward as though summoned by the closeness, soft and visible in the chilled air, and he could feel the warmth of it mingling with the cold that clung to his skin. You leaned even closer, close enough now that he could see the faint dampness gathered under your nose, the faint condensation, a telltale sign of the biting temperature. The detail startled him with its intimacy. It was so small, so human, and yet it felt monumental in this moment.  

His eyes caught on it, lingered there as though to anchor himself, but it wasn’t enough. His gaze fell, unbidden, to your lips. The crack in the armour he’d tried so hard to maintain. He didn’t want to look. He knew once he let himself, he’d fall. There’d be no stopping it.  

Still, he looked.  

And there it was — his undoing.  

They were dry, cracked at the edges, with faint lines of redness where the winter air had worn at them. He noticed the faintest trace of dried blood there, too, caught in the creases of your lower lip like the aftermath of a small wound, so subtle it seemed almost imagined. Had you picked at them? Had the cold done this to you, or had your own hands contributed? Perhaps the former had caused the latter. The thought stirred something sharp in him, something protective and possessive all at once.  

You tilted forward, and your noses barely grazed, the faintest brush of skin, and it was like touching an exposed wire. His chest tightened, his breath snagged, and he couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped him — a mirror to your own. The sound mingled in the air like a single breath shared between two bodies.   

The sound of your gasp was the end of him. He wanted to pull away, to stop this before it became too much, but he couldn’t. Instead, he swayed closer, as though drawn by a force he didn’t fully understand. The faintest traces of your breath warmed his skin, and he swore he could taste it already. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, the phantom of your presence lingering on it. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He wanted more.

Your lashes trembled faintly, blinking in the space between his skin and yours. He could feel them brushing against him like whispers, fragile and fleeting. Your eyes held something unreadable that made his stomach twist in ways he couldn’t name.  

Everything around you seemed to fade into a haze. The trees stood still, their bare branches scratching against the dim grey sky like veins on pale skin. The ground beneath you felt solid but distant and the crunch of dead leaves underfoot muffled, irrelevant. 

“Please.” you whispered, and the word shattered the moment.  

It hit him like a jolt, a crack of electricity splitting the air between you. His eyes fluttered shut, as though closing them might lessen the weight of what you’d just said. But it didn’t. If anything, it made it heavier, more visceral. He felt it sink into his chest, nestling there like a seed he couldn’t uproot.  

Your lashes brushed against his again, and it was maddening, the soft flicker of them against his skin. It was almost cruel, the way you seemed to lean in, barely moving yet pulling him closer all the same.  

He should resist.

He told himself this, over and over, even as his resolve crumbled.  

“Pleasure is an art of resistance.” he murmured, his voice low and frayed, so quiet it barely escaped his lips. He didn’t dare speak louder. Not here, not with the possibility of unseen ears or spirits lingering in the periphery. If they existed, he didn’t want them interrupting now. Not now. Not ever.  

He didn’t know why he said it — perhaps to remind himself, perhaps to warn you. But it sounded hollow, even to him.  

“Is it, Alexander?” you asked, your voice soft and steady, though the tilt of your head brought your mouth so close to his that he could feel the shape of your words against him.  

His body trembled faintly, every muscle locked in place, as though moving even an inch might shatter him. His lips parted, not to speak but simply to breathe, to take in the faint, intoxicating warmth of your proximity.  

“It’s hard to resist sometimes.” he admitted, a confession torn from some deep, hidden place.  

“Then don’t.” you whispered, sinking into him and pulling him forward, letting the words fall directly into his mouth. 

And he didn’t.  

His lips brushed yours, tentative at first, like testing the edge of something sharp, unsure if it would cut. But the softness of it undid him completely. There was nothing cold about you, nothing distant. You were heat and breath and something wild that burned through the frost lingering on his skin.  

The world fell away entirely. There were no trees, no gravestones, no brittle leaves — just the faint, undeniable press of you against him. Just the sound of your breaths mingling, the electric pull between you that he had fought for so long but could no longer resist.  

And he thought, in that moment, that perhaps resistance had never been the point at all. 

The moment your giggle broke the stillness, it cracked something open between you — something both electric and unsettling. It wasn’t loud, your laugh, but it was enough to remind him of the world beyond the thin veil you’d created. You pressed your face against the collar of his coat, nuzzling into the rough fabric like a cat seeking warmth, your nose brushing against his throat with every shift. He shivered at the contact, but he didn’t move. He didn’t know how to move.  

He felt your breath seeping through the layers, warming his skin beneath, and his pulse thrummed in response. It was as if your touch was slowly rewiring him, reconfiguring what it meant to exist in his body. He swallowed hard, uncertain what to do with himself, until instinct took over.  

His hand found yours, tentative at first, his fingers brushing against your knuckles like he wasn’t sure they were allowed to be there. Then he intertwined them, threading his fingers through yours with a deliberate pressure. Your palms warmed each other almost instantly, and it was such a simple gesture, yet it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  

“Come with me.” he said suddenly, his voice firm but low, the words carrying an urgency that felt out of place in the quiet. He didn’t give you time to hesitate, to question him, though his pace was slow enough to ensure you kept up.  

He walked like a man who knew exactly where he was going, though his steps were measured. His grip on your hand tightened briefly as if to anchor himself to you, to be certain you wouldn’t slip away before he could allow it.  

You could sense the shift before you understood it — the way the air grew heavier, the way his silence seemed to stretch taut like a thread on the verge of snapping. His steps slowed, the deliberate cadence faltering. You glanced sideways, catching the faint crease in his brow, the tension in the set of his jaw.  

“What is it?” you asked, the words softer than you intended, as though trying not to disturb whatever was unravelling in his mind.  

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze moved ahead, past you, drawn to something unseen yet inevitable. It was like watching someone step over the edge of a precipice.  

“Have you ever noticed,” he began, his voice quiet, almost contemplative, “how some names linger in your head like a melody you can’t shake? Not because you want to remember, but because forgetting feels impossible.”  

The question wasn’t for you, but it hung between you like frost, delicate and threatening to crack.  

You didn’t respond, unsure of whether he wanted an answer. He took another step forward, then stopped. His hand rose, brushing along the edge of a tree trunk as if grounding himself to the present moment.  

“It’s strange.” he continued, his tone darkening. “How a place like this makes you feel closer to something — someone — and yet further away all at once.”  

You frowned, unsure of where he was going. “I suppose,” you replied carefully, “it depends on who you’re here for.”  

His eyes met yours then, sharp and searching. “Does it? Or does it just depend on what you can live with?”  

You wanted to ask what he meant, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t seeking answers — he was seeking something else entirely.  

And then he stopped, completely still. The clarity of the moment hit you like a jolt as your gaze followed his.  

You stood in front of it — the name etched into the weathered stone as familiar to you as your own reflection.  

“Do you miss him?” Alexander’s voice broke the stillness, as though the question wasn’t one that could shatter you.

Your gaze lingered on the stone, the name, the years carved there like a timeline you didn’t want to acknowledge. “Why-”  

“Do you?” he insisted, cutting you off.  

You turned to him, confusion and something sharper flickering across your face. He shifted, his boots scuffing the ground until the tips of them touched yours. He blocked your view of the gravestone, his hands sliding down to catch yours by the fingertips.  

“Sometimes.” you admitted. “Less now.”  

“Interesting.” he said simply, his head tilting as if he were cataloguing the information, filing it away for some unknown purpose.  

Your brows furrowed. “How is that interesting?”  

“I’ve always been interested in how what we can see and what we can’t see plays with our psyche and perception.” he said, his tone thoughtful, almost detached. “Barriers to gratification unlock the mind in a new way.”  

“What are you trying to say, Alexander?” you asked, your tone sharpening.  

You didn’t wait for his response. Instead, you pushed forward, your knee knocking into his, forcing him to take a step back. The motion caught him off guard, and he stumbled until he was sitting on the cold concrete of the raised plot.  

The wind picked up, tugging at your skirt as you stepped closer. The hem danced just beneath his nose, and he caught the faintest trace of your scent — something warm and almost sweet. He leaned back on his arms, trying to regain some semblance of control, but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on the way your stockings stretched over your knees as you bent down. The fabric framed the barest hint of skin above them, a teasing glimpse that made his breath hitch.  

You climbed over him, settling onto his lap with a confidence that made his pulse pound in his ears. His gaze flicked upward, catching the glint in your eye, the knowing curve of your lips.  

“That you’re interesting.” he managed to say, remembering to answer your question, his voice low and strained.  

You smirked faintly, leaning in until your face was inches from his. “I’m just a girl with daddy issues.” you said, your tone laced with irony, but the truth beneath it wasn’t lost on either of you.  

His eyes flicked to the stone right behind, then back to your face. “Don’t you think it’s disrespectful? On your daddy’s grave?”  

He wasn’t sure where the words came from, but they were barely more than a breath, spoken into the curve of your neck as your hips shifted against him.  

And then it hit him — this was bad. Not the act itself, though the taste of wrongness lingered faintly in the back of his mind, mixing with the sweetness of you. No, what was bad was the fact that he wanted this too much. Wanted you too much.  

At first, it was simple — a small, flickering crush, like the faintest ember. Harmless. Something he could let burn out if he ignored it long enough. But now…now, it wasn’t a crush. Now it was like. Heavy and burning and uncontrollable, clawing its way up his chest and tightening its grip around him, making his pulse race every time you so much as shifted closer.  

He wanted you, that much was undeniable, but it was the kind of want that made him feel crazy, like his mind was coming undone in your presence. He wanted to do things to you, for you, things he shouldn’t let himself think about in a place like this, but he couldn’t stop. His thoughts spiralled faster than he could pull them back, and each one left him dizzier than the last.  

Your scent, the faint rasp in your voice, the way you tilted your head just enough to give him a sliver more of your neck — it was making him lose his grip on whatever composure he’d managed to hold onto before this moment.  

It wasn’t just physical. It couldn’t be. If it were, he could’ve brushed it off, left it behind in the cemetery along with every other moment of fleeting desire. But you weren’t fleeting. You were lingering, like the cold in the air, seeping into his skin and filling the cracks he didn’t even know he had.  

You tilted your head back slightly, your lips parting just enough to let out the softest gasp, and he swore his chest caved in.  

This was bad, he thought again. Bad, but too bad he didn’t care. Not anymore.

His hands, which had been braced against the concrete, moved instinctively to your thighs, his fingers pressing against the thick fabric of your stockings.  

“Maybe.” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a soft, dangerous thing. “But maybe not.”  

And in that moment, nothing else existed — just you, the weight of you against him, the press of your bodies and the unrelenting pull between you that neither of you could deny. 

The cold air bit at the exposed parts of your skin, but it couldn’t touch the heat building between you. Alexander’s hands lingered on your thighs, his fingers curling slightly into your flesh. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, each one a struggle to steady himself.  

“I could get up.” you teased, the corner of your mouth quirking into a faint smile. “If it’s too disrespectful for you, Alexander.”  

His gaze darted to yours, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Do you want to?”  

Your laugh was soft, almost breathless. “No. I don’t think I do.”  

“Then don’t.” His voice was quieter now, less steady, though his fingers betrayed him by pressing a little harder into your thighs. You leaned in closer, your nose brushing against his cheek. Intoxicating, like the moment before a storm.  

“Do you always think about what’s respectful?” you asked, your breath ghosting against his skin.  

His eyes flicked upward, meeting yours with a sharpness that made your heart stutter. “Not always.”  

“No?”  

“Not when I’m with you.”  

The confession lingered between you, weighty and unspoken in all the times before now. You tilted your head, considering him, and he looked back at you like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen, like he couldn’t decide whether to study you or let you consume him.  

“You don’t seem the type to care about rules.” you teased, fingers tracing the edge of his coat collar, testing the waters.

He tsk-ed softly, the sound carrying a mix of amusement and reprimand. “Now that’s where you’re wrong, love.” he said, tilting his head. “I’m very strict about rules.”  

“Not all.” you countered. “Obviously.”  

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, though the ghost of a smile played on his mouth. “I care about some.” he admitted, his voice tightening, edged with a restraint he was fighting to maintain. “But you…you make me forget them.”  

Your chest brushed against his as you leaned in closer, close enough to see the flicker of something in his eyes – something wild, barely contained. “And what happens when you forget?”  

His breath hitched, the tension between you taut. “I don’t know.” he whispered. “That’s what scares me.” 

You didn’t answer him immediately. Instead, you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension ripple through his body beneath you. His hands tightened instinctively, moving up just slightly, fingers brushing over the edge of your skirt where fabric met skin.  

“Scares you?” you repeated, your voice soft but teasing. “You don’t seem scared now.”  

“I’m good at hiding it.”  

“Show me.”  

The challenge hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he exhaled shakily, leaning forward until his forehead pressed against yours. The gesture was intimate, almost tender, and it made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t sure you liked.  

“I can’t.” he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur.  

“Can’t what?”  

“Show you what scares me.” His eyes opened, meeting yours, and they were endless. “Not yet.”  

You let out a soft hum of acknowledgement, your fingers finding his and guiding his hand up to rest against your waist. “I’m not scared of you, you know.” you said, your tone light, but there was an edge of truth that made it land heavier.  “Should I?”  

His thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles against your waist. “No…maybe,” he admitted, “but not for the reasons you think.”  

You shifted again, leaning back slightly, enough to let your weight press into his legs. The concrete beneath him was cold and unforgiving, but he barely noticed it. His focus was entirely on you — the way your eyes watched him, the way your lips parted just enough to invite him closer.  

“Tell me something real.” you said, your tone suddenly more serious.  

“What do you want to know?”  

“Why you’re always here.”  

He hesitated, his grip on you tightening slightly before loosening again. “I don’t know.” he said after a moment. “It feels like…like this place is the only thing that makes sense sometimes.”  

“And me?”  

“You don’t make sense.” he said quietly. “But I don’t need you to.”  

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. Your lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, you leaned in again, your forehead brushing against his as your fingers found their way to the back of his neck.  

“You’re strange, Alexander.” you whispered.  

“And you’re trouble.” he replied, his voice low, almost a growl.  

“Maybe we’re both.”  

“Maybe we are.” he admitted. His eyes stayed on yours, steady, calculating, but less guarded.  

The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but charged. Then he spoke again, his voice quieter, almost pensive, like he was voicing a thought he hadn’t meant to share.  

“Sexuality is powerful,” he said, his gaze flicking downward for a second, before locking onto you again, “and difficult. Morally ambiguous. Rarely easy or safe.”  

You tilted your head slightly, considering him, and then asked, “It’s just a sexual reaction?”  

He studied you for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching, as if he was weighing whether to answer you honestly. “You and me?”  

You nodded, feeling something twist and coil in your stomach as you waited for him to respond.  

“That’s…” he began, his voice dropping lower, rougher, like gravel sliding over silk. “Animal attraction.”  

“Yeah?” you asked, the word slipping out of you, softer than you intended, like a challenge laced with curiosity.  

He paused, his lips parting as if to say something else, but then he shook his head slightly, leaning forward, closer than ever before. “You can shut up now.” 

Before you could respond — or disobey — he closed the remaining distance, his mouth capturing yours in a way that left no room for questions, only answers whispered through the heat between you.

His hand slipped to the small of your back, pulling you closer, and the motion sent a shiver up your spine. You let out a soft sound against his lips, and it was all the encouragement he needed to deepen the kiss, his other hand threading through your hair as though trying to memorise the feel of it.  

He let the strands curl between his fingers, pulling just enough to draw a gasp from you. The noise unravelled him further, and his grip tightened for a moment before he forced himself to stop, his breath uneven as he tugged lightly instead, teasing the edge of his own restraint.  

“You want me to fuck you here?” he whispered against your ear, the words raw and low, sending a spark through you.  

Your nod came fast, almost desperate, as you melted into his touch. His hold shifted, steadying you, his hand slipping from your back to your throat. His fingers curled around it like a collar, possessive but not cruel, applying just enough pressure for you to feel his strength and his control.  

“Do you want me to be your Daddy?” he asked, tilting your head back until your eyes locked with his. There was no escaping him, no escaping the intensity in his gaze or the sheer weight of the moment. He was everywhere, consuming every piece of you.  

“Please.” you whimpered, your voice trembling as it escaped, the sound vibrating against the palm of his hand.  

He felt it — felt the shiver in your tone, the fragility in your plea — and something inside him shifted. He let out a soft, dark chuckle, his thumb brushing over your jaw.  

“I can be your Daddy.” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, soft enough to contradict the roughness of his grip on you. The contrast made your knees feel weak, but his hold kept you steady. Kept you his.

The tension between you seemed to hold the entire world still, time itself pausing to watch. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he added, “But if I am, you’re mine.” 

His free hand drifted to your hip, the rough pads of his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. He guided you against him, letting you feel how much control he was losing, how much he wanted to lose it.

“Say it again.” he demanded, his voice more forceful now, less a suggestion and more a command.

“Please, Daddy.” you whispered, a soft plea that sent a surge of heat through him, making him bite down on his own restraint.

“Good girl.” he growled, and his lips crashed against yours again, rougher this time, more desperate, as though every kiss, every touch was sealing the words you’d exchanged in something far darker than a promise.

“Fuck, I need you.” he said, his voice breaking as though the admission cost him.  

“Show me how bad.” you whispered, your breath shaky, barely audible.  

His eyes darkened further, a flicker of something feral flashing across his face. “Get on your knees.” he ordered, sliding out from beneath you.  

You obeyed without hesitation, sinking to the cold, unforgiving concrete. The loose gravel bit into the bare skin of your knees through the stockings, but you didn’t care. His hands were already on you, pulling your skirt up, exposing the flushed skin underneath. You felt the sting of the cold air, but it was fleeting, because his touch followed, hot and insistent.  

Your heart thundered in your chest as one of his hands moved to tug your panties aside, the fabric stretched taut against your skin. The other worked quickly, fumbling with his belt, the clink of metal sharp in the still air. His zipper hissed as it came undone, and then his pants were lowered in haste.  

There was no pause, no hesitation. He pushed into you all at once, a sudden, overwhelming invasion that knocked the air from your lungs. You gasped, a sharp, desperate sound that echoed faintly around you. 

“That’s it.” he groaned, his voice thick with want. “Take it all for me, princess.”

Deeper. He pushed deeper, his hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. Your knees scraped against the concrete as he pulled you back onto him, setting a punishing rhythm that left no room for thought, only feeling.  

You dropped further, your forearms pressing into the cold as your body yielded to him completely. He seemed to take it as permission, his hips snapping harder, his breathing ragged. Somehow, impossibly, he sank deeper still, the stretch of him almost unbearable, almost.  

He paused for a moment, stilling inside you, his chest heaving against your back. You felt the heat of his breath on your neck, but it was drowned out by the pounding of your pulse in your ears.  

Something wet dripped beneath you, darkening the grey concrete. You blinked, trying to make sense of it — drool, tears? It didn’t matter. Your face was too cold, too numb to tell where the wetness was coming from, but the sensation of him inside you burned hot enough to block out the chill.  

“You’re perfect.” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice low and reverent as his fingers dug into your hips again. He started moving once more, slower this time, like he wanted to brand the feeling of you into his very bones.  

He shifted, his knee pressing firmly onto the grave ledger, unbothered by the risk of scuffing his trousers. His hips rolled, steady and deliberate, and you felt every ridge and vein of his cock dragging against your walls. The sensation was overwhelming, electrifying. He hissed through his teeth, his grip tightening.  

Reaching forward, he caught your wrist, guiding your hand back to your own body. “Hold yourself open for me.” he ordered, his voice low, raw, each word laced with possession. He pressed your palm against the soft curve of your ass, forcing you to pull yourself apart. His eyes darkened as he stared, transfixed by the sight of himself disappearing into you, again and again, his thrusts deep and unrelenting.  

“Fuck-” he groaned, his words roughened by desire, his gaze glued to where your bodies joined. His movements became harder, more erratic, driven by the wet, obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin — hips against yours, balls slapping against your soaked pussy. The sharp cadence of it echoed in the cold stillness, a lewd symphony that made your stomach tighten and your legs tremble.  

The intensity built faster than either of you expected. You gasped, trying to shift forward, to pull away even slightly, but his grip was iron.  

“No, no-” he groaned, the sound almost desperate, his voice breaking with need. His hands caught your wrist again, both of them wrapping around it, his fingers engulfing it completely. Your hand looked so small, so fragile in his grasp, and the sight sent a new wave of hunger coursing through him.  

“You’re not going anywhere.” he growled, pulling your hips back toward him, sinking deeper, harder. “You hear me? You’re staying right here, taking everything I give you.”  

You whimpered, and the sound only spurred him on, his hips snapping forward with a force that left you breathless. His control frayed with every thrust, every cry you made, his nails pressing into your skin, leaving half-moon imprints as he held you steady.  

“Look at you.” he rasped, his voice full of dark admiration. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”  

You nodded, barely able to form words, your body pliant and trembling under his relentless pace.  

“Say it.” he demanded, his voice sharp now, desperate, as though he needed to hear it, to solidify the bond between you in this moment.  

“I’m yours-” you managed, breath hitching. “Yours, Alexander.”  

The last fragile thread of restraint snapped. Whatever boundaries might have existed between you dissolved completely, leaving nothing but raw need in their place. He moved faster, harder, until your chest slammed against the cold, hard surface beneath you. The impact sent a dull ache spreading through your body, but it was quickly drowned out by the intensity of his presence — his hips slamming into you, his hand claiming your mouth.  

“Shh…” he murmured into your ear, pressing his lips against the curve of it as his palm muffled the sounds spilling from you. “Quiet, princess. Let me hear it. Let me hear how wet you are for me.” 

Your muffled cries were swallowed by the graveyard silence, but the obscene, slick sounds of his cock plunging into you were deafening. His hand covered your lips tightly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. The other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he buried himself deeper with every thrust.  

“You hear that?” he rasped, his voice low and hoarse, more to himself than to you. “That’s you, soaking me. Taking me. Every. Fucking. Inch.”  

You whimpered against his hand, the vibrations travelling through his palm and shooting straight to his core. The sound drove him crazy, made him lose control, made his hips snap forward faster and harder, chasing the feeling of your body clenching around him.  

“I can feel you shaking.” he growled, his lips brushing against your temple. “You like this, don’t you? You like being used like this?”  

You tried to nod, but his hand kept your head pressed down. Instead, you whimpered again, and he chuckled darkly.  

“Say it.” he demanded, pulling his hand away just enough to let you speak.  

“I-” you gasped. “I love it. I love the way you feel.”  

He groaned, his head falling forward until his forehead rested against your shoulder. “Fuck, you drive me insane.”  

His free hand left your hip, sliding up your stomach and under your shirt to palm your breast, his fingers teasing your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. “So soft,” he muttered, as if the sensation overwhelmed him. “So fucking perfect.”  

You clenched around him at his words, and he cursed, his pace faltering for a moment before he recovered, thrusting into you even harder.  

“Al-” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his hand slid down, pressing against your stomach, holding you in place as he drove into you.  

“I’ve got you.” he said, his voice rough and possessive. “You don’t go anywhere. You don’t get to pull away. You’re mine.”  

You turned your head slightly, enough to meet his eyes, dark and burning with something primal. “Yours.”

He cursed again, leaning down to bite at your shoulder, his teeth sharp even through the thickness of the barriers. “Say it louder.” he demanded, his voice barely controlled.  

“Yours.” you cried, louder this time, and it was all he needed to lose himself completely. His grip tightened on you, his movements growing erratic as he chased the release building between you, pulling you with him into the abyss.

The shiver that ran through your body had nothing to do with the cold anymore. It was from him — his touch, his voice, his weight pressing into you. Every part of him surrounded you, consumed you. When he felt you tighten around him, his control finally gave way.  

“Come on, come on Daddy’s cock.” he muttered, his voice breaking into a rasp as he moved with deliberate, devastating slowness now. “Just like that- shit-”  

Then came the stillness. Blissfully thundering toward death in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness. An inexplicable poetry to the moment, as he buried himself fully inside you. You felt him tremble against your back, his breath hot on your neck. His hands, once so demanding and possessive, now softened their grip on your body, lingering reverently. His body tensed, every muscle trembling as he let himself go, spilling into you with a groan that sounded like surrender.  

“Stay still.” he commanded, his voice softer but still firm, his hands keeping you in place as his chest pressed against your back. He lowered himself over you, wrapping you in his warmth.

“Okay.” you whispered, though your voice cracked, rough — whether from the cold or from the aftermath of your cries, you couldn’t tell.  

One of his hands slid under your cheek, cradling it gently, cushioning it from the hard surface beneath you, as if it had suddenly become intolerable for him. The gesture was tender, almost jarringly so after the intensity of everything else.

“Close your eyes.” he murmured. His words were a request, not an order. There was a softness now, something stripped raw and quiet in him. He stayed inside you, unwilling to move, unwilling to let go. His body still pressed against yours, his arms bracing you, holding you close.  

“You’re so lovely,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath. His lips found your hair, pressing against it softly, an excuse to inhale your scent, to keep you closer than he’d ever thought he’d need to.  

His hand smoothed over your hair, tracing the curve of your jaw before resting on your shoulder. “Stay with me a little longer.” he added, almost pleading. You understood.

You nodded against his hand, the tension in your body melting under the warmth of his. 

“Do you feel safe?” he asked finally, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.  

“Yes.” you whispered, barely audible but enough for him to hear.  

He sighed, a sound heavy with relief and something else — something you couldn’t quite place. Then he pressed another kiss to the crown of your head, lingering there as though reluctant to part from you, even for a moment.  

“You make me crazy.” he muttered against your hair, and though it sounded like a complaint, the warmth in his voice betrayed him.  

“I think I like it.” you replied, your lips curving into the faintest smile.  

“Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head just enough to catch your eyes when you opened them.  

“Yeah.” you murmured, and his smile mirrored yours, soft and secret, meant only for you. 

a/n: Heavily based on the She Wants Revenge songs in the playlist, you can tell :) I think the smut went a bit too long, but I still have a hard time knowing how much to describe things. Like, I want to make sure you can envision exactly what I had in my mind. And yes it ends a bit abruptly, I guess, but I think it’s a good point. The birds will return in the next part. And it won’t come as fast as this part because I haven’t even started it, but I don’t have self control so I’m just going to post this one and go with it.