#good for him though like he still looks good

[poisonf0rest]

Intertidal Zone

♱⋅── rafayel x reader

♱⋅── about: Nightly Rendezvous card, but now we finally understand why rafayel was so desperate when he came back to the hotel room.

♱⋅── word count: 6.7k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, porn with some plot, the belt scene, slight exhibisionism, sooo much kissing, slight oral fixation, Lemurian mating bond, needy raf

art credit to @/khouxy on instagram

You swear Rafayel is doing this on purpose. 

The first time it happens is right after your flight, the two of you only just managing to check into your hotel and change for dinner.

It's a fancy restaurant overlooking the vast desert, and the outdoor patio offered a clear view to gorgeous sunset. Furious spirals of orange and vermillion cast their light across the sand, making it appear to glow as winds kick up waves of golden dust along the horizon.

It’s beautiful, almost as much so as the man across you, who is still staring longingly into the distance as though committing every color to memory. As if repainting it entirely in his mind. 

Not hues of warmth, but those of the deep sea. Blues and purples and colors so dark they’d only come to life in the night. 

“How’s your drawing?” 

Rafayel sighs at your voice, tossing his pen across the dinner table with a huff before leaning back against the sofa. A stack of crumpled sketches litter your table among half-finished plates of food. He insisted on traveling here to relax, and yet he seems to be doing everything but. 

“If a few lines count as a drawing, then wonderfully.” Sassy as ever.

He sighs again, but this one sounds more pained, and you notice the red tinge highlighting his ears and neck as he leans against your shoulder. 

“You still don’t feel good?” You ask, voice hushed as you place a kiss against his temple, the skin burning beneath your lips. Raising a hand, Rafayel immediately nuzzles into your palm as you pull his chin up towards you, feeling the rising temperature along his cheek and forehead. “We can head back if you’d like. Take a bath, or shower?” 

You hoped the together was implicit by now.

But Rafayel only nods, placing a chaste kiss against your exposed shoulder. “What about the sunset? I saw you admiring it, and squandering a beautiful view is unacceptable for an artist. It’s one of the greatest offenses.”

Rafayel’s breath is minty and dry against your ear, and when you turn to look at him, his face is doused in the fiery hues of the sunset, each one casting deep purple shadows that only make his features all the sharper, half his face veiled in darkness. 

Some days you wish you were an artist as well, if only to capture moments like this—to show Rafayel just how gorgeous he was. 

Perhaps it’s only natural for a god. After all, no mortal could ever need beauty so violently arresting, so worthy of worship. 

You’re leaning in despite yourself. 

Rafayel meets you halfway, one hand on your waist as the other traces your jaw and bottom lip. But as soon as you feel the brush of his lips across yours, he pulls away. 

You open your eyes in confusion. Rafayel’s never denied you before. 

When you look at him in question, he only gives you a tired smile and pulls you to your feet with a chaste kiss on your cheek. “Sorry. I’ll feel better as long as I’m close to you like this.”

The second time it happens is when the hotel reception mixes up your and Rafayel’s rooms, leaving you to deliver some sort of formal invitation to him. 

But the letter is soon forgotten; you can’t be bothered thinking about it, not when Rafayel still looks so absent.

He’s right next to you, knees brushing yours as you sit side by side on the couch, and yet he seems to be miles away, gazing out the window as the dunes shift and rise like waves under the moonlight.  

"I used to really enjoy scenic spots before," Rafayel says, voice barely rising above the hum of the heater. "Catching sights of subtle things that might be easily overlooked used to feel like enough. More satisfying than finishing a painting, even."

A laugh. Dry, humorless. 

His fingers grazed the edge of his glass, tracing the condensation absentmindedly. A droplet trails down his wrist. "But now, sometimes, I forget why I even decided to travel in the first place.” 

You watch him, waiting. He doesn’t meet your gaze.

"I think," Rafayel continues, "somewhere along the way, I stopped just... noticing things. And I started needing them. Like the world wasn’t worth looking at unless I could turn it into something. Capture it, hold it in my hands, and call it mine." He shakes his head, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. "It’s not a very generous way to live, is it?"

"You don’t need to be generous with everything," you say carefully. "Some things are just... for you to enjoy."

"Enjoy," he repeats, like the word doesn’t quite fit in his mouth. A pout. "It doesn’t feel like enjoyment anymore. It feels more like... hunger.” 

Like he’s always fucking starving.

Rafayel finally turns to look at you, eyes eclipsed in the dark. Nearly dilated black. 

“Sometimes I’m afraid that if I feed it, it’ll only grow worse.”

You turn to face him on the couch, sliding your leg between his thighs before perching yourself on Rafayel’s lap. It’s not lost on you how his heartbeat picks up, chest rising and falling rapidly as each shallow breath hits your lips. Perhaps it’s cruel, but you can’t help but touch him again, fingers tracing his full lips, up his jaw, fluttering against his eyelashes and into his hair.

“You think hunger gets worse when you feed it?" You finally ask, voice quiet, slow, daring to push back. "Doesn't it stop when you're full?"

Rafayel’s mouth quirks, a sharp, fleeting twist of a smile. "Not always. Sometimes it makes you realize just how much more you want. Or how much more you could take."

You frown. “You’re not demanding anything. Not from the world, not from me."

"Maybe not yet. But, if one day, I become someone who only takes… If I were like that, would you leave me?"

The confession hangs for a moment, the truth of it hidden. Something about the way his shoulders tense under your touch— like he's bracing for something, but it hasn’t yet arrived. A phantom pain from centuries ago, and a pain to come for a thousand years more. 

“Silly fishie, I’d never leave you.” 

Rafayel smiles in a way you know all too well, lopsided and teasing and empty.

“Thank you…” he hums, finally pulling you closer as his lips skim alongside the curve of your neck. “for accepting me the way I am.”

His breaths come out in desperate huffs against your skin, and he inhales sharply, freezing, before finally placing a kiss against the crook of your neck. And then another, and another. 

“You’re just anxious,” you whisper, sucking a mark into Rafayel’s neck as he moans so sweetly against your ear. “I can help you relax.”

You wiggle your hips to better balance yourself on his lap and Rafayel looks almost near tears, one hand forcing you still while the other grabs your wrist, trailing kisses from your fingertips back up to your neck.

More. You need more. Rushing, your hands fly up into his hair, about to tug Rafayel to lay down on the couch when a crack echoes behind you. 

The glass lays shattered against the floor. 

Panting, Rafayel stares at the spilled water for a long moment before pulling away. You feel his erection digging into your thigh, the warmth of his fever spiking yet again as his skin burns against yours, yet he still refuses. 

“As you said, I’m anxious…” Still panting, Rafayel picks you up, gently lifting you up as he stands from the couch. “Or, more like restless. In every sense of the word.” 

The need in his eyes almost makes your knees buckle. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he could ever crave, like a bite would both be salvation and leave him hungry forever. 

“But see, now I can’t stand the idea of letting you go again, and you don’t want me to either.” He sets you down just a little farther than necessary, but his hands don’t leave your waist, trembling, waiting. “What should we do?”

“Rafayel…” You want him. You want him so badly it hurts. 

“Fuck.” 

You nearly jump at that. Rafayel curses again, his head falling onto your shoulder as his breath hitches. “I can feel your concern. That and…” another convulsion, his body burning up. “Fuck. You have to leave.”

You don’t even have time to retort before you’re pushed out of his hotel room, and the door slams shut behind you. 

By the third time, you know something is wrong. 

It’s not that you and Rafayel haven’t kissed yet. Hell, you’ve had sex before. The last time was quite literally on the night before you were supposed to leave for this trip. Obviously, Rafayel suggested that you stay at his place for the night—insisting he was closer to the airport and getting an Uber would be quicker this way—and one thing led to another, as is what happens nearly every time Rafayel and you are left alone for too long. 

But now it’s been nearly a week and Rafayel has barely touched you, let alone picked up on your not-so-subtle clues. 

So yes, it's safe to say you’ve become rather pent up. 

You’ve fallen asleep in the off-roader the two of you rented out for the day, bobbing up and down the dunes like waves flecked white not with seafoam but snow. There’s a chill as you drift off, but your dreams are anything but, plagued with memories of Rafayel. 

His hands, deft and talented with a brush, are even more so when teasing your skin, knowing exactly how to trace delicate circles against your thighs before roughly curling into your cunt. His tongue, every smartass comment and teasing grin now silenced as he licks and sucks against your clit. His body, the warmth of it, bearing down on you with every thrust, or perhaps writhing beneath you as you take him again and again and again— 

It’s the cold that wakes you up. 

Your eyes flutter open, first noticing the dim light of the hotel parking lot, and second, the burning desire still aching between your legs. 

“Rafayel?”

A shuffle makes you turn, and you find said man still seated in the driver’s seat, unbuckled as he sits with his head resting on his hand. 

“Yes, cutie?” Rafayel’s tone is teasing, but the way he stares down at you feels like anything but. The hunger is back. 

Sitting up, you clear your throat. “How long have I been asleep? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You seemed like you were having such a nice dream, I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

You inhale sharply. Glaring, you try and see if he’s teasing again or being serious, but Rafayel doesn’t let you read him for long, already leaning over the middle console. 

He places his lips gently on your temple, brushing over the skin, and then moves down to your cheek, his breath warm against your neck. He whispers your name, so softly you almost think it was a trick of your imagination.

Your mind goes blank when he kisses your jaw, a small noise escaping the back of your throat as you feel his hair tickle your skin.

"Raf," you mumble under your breath, but you know he hears it because he exhales sharply against you.

Rafayel trails a series of kisses up your neck, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, cutie." His body temperature is rising again, and the air in the van feels dangerously thin as he sways in your grasp. "I'm trying."

The hunger is back, all-consuming and hot as you genuinely fear you might burn up. A wave of dizziness washes over you, and you finally cup Rafayel's jaw, leading him towards your lips.

Yet again, he stops you halfway.

“Do you want to go back to your room first?”

At first you think he’s suggesting moving there before continuing, but you know better at this point. 

“You’re not coming with me?” 

Rafayel pulls out the invitation from before, waving it between the two of you as if all this was the letter’s fault. “I still have to attend my friend’s salon thing.”

“But you’re still burning up! Forget this, I can’t let you go out to who knows where when you’re still acting strange. Maybe we can see a doctor—”

“Cutie…”

“—No, no. Or maybe I can come with you.”

Rafayel says your name this time. Firmer. Cutting off your rambling as he places his forehead against yours. 

“Do you want me to turn into a sea creature that’s beached on the sand after the ocean recedes? Leaving me to suffocate when I come out of the water?” 

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, feeling his desperation in every word even as you struggle to make sense of it.

Rafayel continues, pulling away from you again. “Don’t you trust me? How about we make a promise?”

“What kind of promise?”

A smile. “I promise… I’ll be okay without you tonight.”

There’s no joke, no hidden meaning, just Rafayel who so violently hopes that this promise will hold true. 

So you relent. “Okay, just take care of yourself.”

Finally, Rafayel opens the car door, letting the desert night winds sweep in with a biting chill as he leans back against the driver’s seat. He lets out an almost inaudible sigh. “You can head back. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Rafayel promised he’d be okay without you tonight, but you don’t think the opposite could hold true. 

Not when the dizziness Rafayel caused remained. Not when you still feel the phantom touch of his lips and hands all over your body, burning you up, leaving you cold and empty and aching. 

You’ve been burning for the better part of a week now.  

Something stuck between a laugh and a cry of pure frustration leaves you as you fall onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “This is pathetic.”

Even the damned sheets smell like Rafayel, pillows deeply laced with his shampoo and the smell of his cologne—amber, yuzu, and something salty like the ocean—surrounding you as though this were his hotel room and not yours.

Desert nights were cold, but even the room's chill could do nothing to quell your desire, arms shaking with it as you quickly stripped yourself of your shirt and bra. The room spins as you stumble around, leaving your clothes on the floor, another delirious whimper seizing you as you sprawl against the silk sheets. 

You need him. 

Fuck, you need him, and you hate him for leaving you while the growing ache between your thighs threatens to swallow you whole.

The sheets are deliciously cool against your flushed skin, and you turn your head to rest your cheek in the cool embrace of the pillow. But it only needs a second to heat from your desire. 

And then the room is all too hot once again. 

Kicking off your pants, your hand snakes down your bare torso, leaving half-hearted squeezes to your breasts and hips, failing to replicate the touch Rafayel already has you addicted to. The memory only makes you more frustrated. 

A hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and fuck, you’re dripping enough to ease your fingers in already. You force yourself to slow down, rubbing slow circles around your entrance, the mere friction enough to have your hips bucking up against nothing. 

Inhaling sharply, you slide a finger into your weeping cunt, a moan pushing from your lungs as you do. Not enough. It’s not enough.

You force yourself to draw each movement out, the curl of your wrist accompanied by your muffled cries and the slick, obscene sounds echoing alongside your ragged breath. Withdrawing your finger nearly to the fingertip, two plunge back in this time, and your back arches off the bed with violent tremors as you imagine it was Rafayel's hand instead.

How he’d tease you in the early mornings to wake you up, how he’d take special care of every sensitive spot on your body, how he’d draw his fingers along your clit just the way that will make you come undone.

And as your fingers find that sensitive bundle of nerves, the way you cry his name into the empty room is no different.

Your head is spinning, falling, your thighs shake, and it's not long before you're gasping out, "Rafayel, please.”

Still not enough. Every rough thrust of your fingers brings you higher and higher, but without the pressure of Rafayel's chest pressed to yours, or his hot breath ghosting across your ear, his voice, his lips, his touch—

Without him.

A sob rips from your throat, your hips bucking uselessly against the air as you fuck yourself harder, deeper. But your fingers are only so long, and your free hand, fisting the sheets, is unable to make up the difference. "No, no please," a whine, and your free hand rushes to circle your clit, the other picking up pace.

You're close, so close, sobbing his name when the dizziness from the car returns tenfold, overtaking your body in waves as your eyes roll back. "Please, ah! Rafayel, m’cumming-"

The world goes silent as pleasure surges through you, muscles convulsing, a choked, garbled sound escaping as you come. Collapsing back against the sheets, you struggle to catch your breath, the stickiness of both the heat and your orgasm coating your thighs. 

There’s another tug, a violent pull against your chest, but the dizziness remains. 

You know you should change the sheets or at least move them aside, but you can’t manage to do either as you rush to shower before Rafayel returns from his friend’s exhibition. 

It’s only when you stumble into the bathroom that you notice it. 

Shit. This is Rafayel’s room. 

You must be trying to kill him.

Surely, this is the gods' cruelest trial—a final test of his resolve—to see if he’d bow once more, forsaking divinity and succumbing to the temptation of you.

Because it’s been barely an hour, and Rafayel has already resigned himself from the party, passing blank smiles and empty compliments as he quietly counts down the minutes until he can return to the hotel, when suddenly he feels it.

The tug of your bond flashes through his body as his dick aches.

Rafayel freezes mid-sentence, the polite smile he'd been wearing slipping from his face. The conversation at the bar around him, something about chiaroscuro in the artist’s latest piece, become muffled static as the chains tighten, digging into his heart. 

It’s unmistakable now. The rhythm, the rising intensity, the waves of pleasure that don’t belong to him but still manage to spark delirious heat up his veins.

Rafayel’s breaths quicken, body temperature rising as his Evol flickers out of his control. He glances around the room, feigning interest in the conversation, the glittering glasses of champagne, the faint hum of the crowd. It doesn’t work. The only thing he can focus on is you.

He should leave. Go outside, breathe in the night air, and let the tether between you both loosen, just to regain control. Just to prove to himself it’s not too late.

But the bond tightens, as invasive as it is intoxicating, demanding Rafayel’s attention like a leash coiled around his neck. It’s not gentle. It’s not kind. It’s primal, every nerve in his body pulled taut like you’re screaming his name over and over into the depths of his soul. 

It’s not fair.

No god can deny the prayer of a worshipper.

Your pleasure becomes his, and when Rafayel closes his eyes, he swears he can feel your phantom hands on him, dick already heavy and throbbing, leaking through his expensive trousers.

Are you in bed, thighs trembling as you grind against your own palm? Or maybe the shower, steam curling around you as you chase release? Or worse—are you riding something of his? His shirt? His pillow? Is this vengeance a cruel punishment meant to shatter what little resolve he has left? 

Shit. He’s hard.

“Hey man, what’s wrong? You good?” 

The slam of a glass brings him back. Gods, he hates these rich socialites. 

The champagne glass Rafayel was holding is now covered in cracks, blood trickling down his ring finger. He’s unraveling, composure fracturing with every pulse of your pleasure surging in and out as violently as a full moon’s tide. 

Rafayel looks up, smiling. “Stress. And apparently a very needy pet.”

The man laughs at what he assumed was a joke, but Rafayel sees his hesitation, the type animals give when they pick up rustling in the bush. Fear. 

Rafayel’s grin only widens, all teeth. “I should probably go check on her. Wonderful party,” he adds, lifting his glass in a half-hearted toast before setting it down with a sharp clink.

As he steps outside, the desert air does nothing to soothe him. If anything, the dryness makes it worse as the pull becomes sharper, like you’re reaching for him, your need coiling tighter around his chest.

A growl, almost feral, rumbles low in his throat as he staggers down the cobblestone streets. He doesn’t need directions. He doesn’t even need to think. His body moves instinctively, guided by the bond, by you. 

Rafayel swears he can feel you all across his body, your heartbeat picking up as you get closer, the smell of your skin and arousal, the cries of his name that only become more and more desperate as you fail to bring yourself over the edge without him. 

You’re begging for him in a way his bond mistakes for worship, because Rafayel’s body feels like it’s burning. Like blood spilled on his altar, an offering of yourself to your god, your husband.

The thought that you might be doing so unintentionally only drives him further into madness.

But, beneath the frustration, there’s something else. A glimmer of something Rafayel hates to name but knows all too well: relief.

Because as much as he might deny it, Rafayel could never leave you. And now that you’ve reciprocated, now that you’ve begged for him oh so sweetly, he would gladly submit to his bond and become chained to you once again, forever at your mercy, unable to escape the inevitability of his fate.

He doesn’t even knock when he reaches the hotel room door. It swings open under the force of his hand, and the sight of you standing there—wide-eyed, startled, only in a bath towel—hits him like a blow to the chest.

There's a soft click as Rafayel locks the door. A hurried shuffle of shoes as he all but stumbles toward you, closing the distance between you in one hurried, unstoppable motion. A startled gasp as he grabs your face in his hands.

It's the last breath you take.

An arm wraps around your waist, blocked by only a flimsy hotel towel as Rafayel violently spins you around. Your surprise is swallowed by his lips as you’re pinned against the window, the chill of the desert snow, frosted against the glass, a harsh contrast to the burn of his touch. His hand pins yours at the wrist as he stares down at your fingers.

“Rafayel? What are you doing here?” 

The question barely gets out, not before he rushes forward to claim you in a kiss, if it was even that. A desperate, consuming need overtakes him, Rafayel pushing you back so insistently that your head hits the window with a thud, pain immediately distracted as his clothed knee grinds up between your bare thighs. 

Holy fuck, just a towel. Right.

You try to push him back, one hand pressing against his chest as the other flies back to tighten the towel. “Wait–”

Rafayel kisses you again. And again. And again. 

You can feel the cloth slipping.

But Rafayel makes it very hard to care. His hand traces your throat, your heartbeat, then drags you closer by your hips as he thrusts forward in time, still caging you against the window. He’s relentless, every kiss only broken with a ragged breath or gasp as though he’s given up on breathing entirely, content to consume you instead, his tongue sweeping against your lip before it coaxes yours to meet it halfway, licking and sucking into your mouth.

It’s obscene, animalistic, and you swear that there has to be something wrong with you because the dizziness is back, and this time it’s enough to make your knees buckle, the two of you blindly stumbling across the hotel room.

So you bite him. 

“Why–” Breathe. Remember how to breathe. “Why are you here?”

Rafayel almost looks offended, thumbing his bitten lip before licking away the smudge of blood with a lopsided smile. 

Fuck, he’s hard. You feel the heat of his cock jolt against your thigh, pressing into you as he surges forward again, kissing you as his hands squeeze and cup your waist, lifting you up.

"Why?" Rafayel laughs, roughly grinding up against you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. "This is my room, remember? You’re the one who decided to come in here." He growls the last part, licking, biting, sucking at your throat. 

“Or was that intentional?”

The look in his eyes is feral. 

There’s no hesitation left, no half-riddled questions, no sweet praises, no semblance of your devoted lover. Just hunger. He’s rushing, pushing forward even with nowhere to go, almost in revenge. In punishment. Your teeth click together, foreheads bumping, unable to talk because when you try to open your mouth his tongue only slides in deeper. 

The wet sounds echo against your ears alongside your racing heartbeat, only causing you to grind harder, rougher, before Rafayel ungracefully drops you onto the bed. 

Your body bounces on the mattress, but it gives you a moment, and you scramble to cover Rafayel’s lips with your palm before he can begin devouring you again. 

“What I meant was, shouldn’t you still be at that art salon?”

He all but collapses into your touch. Lips parted, he grabs your wrist, tongue darting out as he licks up your middle and ring fingers, moaning against your skin. 

“I tried. I tried going, leaving.” He's panting, breathing in your scent before biting your palm. “But you called me back, you cruel, selfish human. And now I’ll never leave again.”

Your words come out between moans, unable to look away. “I called? I didn’t do—” You’re cut off as Rafayel licks up your skin, sucking lightly at your fingertips as his eyes, half-lidded and blown out stare down into yours. 

Oh.

A hot flush of embarrassment seizes you and Rafayel must sense it because his eyes flutter closed. His hips snap forward, grinding his erection into the side of the bed, and he lets out a low whine.

Gods, the taste of your cum lingers in Rafayel���s mouth. Every dry swallow, every inhale, every damn breath tastes like you, and it makes him want to submit to every horrid urge and simply consume until—

“You don't think I know? Don't think I can’t tell?” Rafayel goes back to kissing your wrist, needing something more, something stronger. His hand ventures to the edge of your towel. ”Can feel everything you do, no matter how far away I go. Gods, I feel it, feel everything, and it drives me insane. Need you so bad, need to hear you, feel you, taste you..."

A shudder runs up Rafayel’s spine at the mere thought, and he can't stop himself anymore, leaning down to suck your fingers into his mouth, tongue curling around the digits, saliva coating your fingertips. He rips the towel from your body.

"Say you need me too," He’s begging, sinking down to your knees. "Say you need me just as badly. I–ah fuck—I can smell how much you want me."

Throwing the towel to the floor, Rafayel runs his hands down your chest, rougher, long fingers cupping and massaging your breasts as his mouth trails wet kisses down your stomach, his tongue dragging against the smooth skin, a clear goal in mind as he settles between your thighs, looking up at you as though you were a thing worthy of worship. His Goddess. 

He’d offer himself to your alter time and time again. So long as he was the only one who got to bleed for you. 

“Yes.” You’re already soaked, the sight of Rafayel panting between your thighs enough to have you babbling, ”Yes, Rafayel. I needed you so, so badly all week. Couldn’t help m’self, please.”

He freezes at that, pouting. “Right, you already came, didn’t you. So mean, cutie. Leaving me out.”

Before you can argue, Rafayel dips his head, dragging his tongue up your cunt before sucking roughly at your clit. 

Your legs thrash above his shoulders. “Ah– wait, not so!” It’s too much too soon. Still sensitive from your prior orgasm, your back arches violently off the mattress, but Rafayel pays it no heed, deaf to your cries as he sloppily makes out with your pussy, drool and slick connecting his lips to you in sticky strands even as he pulls away just far enough to talk. 

“She’s already so sensitive, s’not fair,” he pouts, mouthing against your thigh as he flicks your throbbing bundle of nerves. You jolt, gasping at the sharp jolt of pain. At the same time, Rafayel fucks his tongue into your cunt, just barely dipping in before he moves back to rub nonsensical patterns on your clit. “But this is mine. I don’t want you touching it without permission anymore.”

Fuck, if you had any semblance of a coherent thought you would have argued, maybe even laughed at the sheer audacity of the man.

Instead, all you can manage is a pathetic whine of his name, because the strange swirls and harsh lines he’s licking into your clit aren’t patterns at all but letters, spelling something over and over and over again. 

R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y—

The ring of the hotel phone buzzes from the nightstand. It’s the artist whose party Rafayel left only minutes ago.

“Tch,” Rafayel scoffs in annoyance, whipping his chin as he goes to decline the call.

But this gives you a moment to breathe, and all you can think of is getting revenge. Especially on the bastard you tried to take Rafayel from you tonight. 

“Wait,” you grab his wrist. “You’re just going to hang up? What if it was something important?”

Rafayel turns to you with narrowed eyes, knowing there’s no good intent behind your wicked smile. It turns you on more than you can admit, the sight of his glare, mad at both the call and you interrupting his feast. But Rafayel can't deny you anything and does as he’s told, pressing accept. 

“The guest of this room is unable to answer. Please leave a message.”

Instantly, you have Rafayel on his back. 

His neck looks far too bare, and you climb onto his lap, enjoying the way his pulse kicks up under your palm. Ripping his shirt’s buttons off you begin biting dark spots down the pale expanse of his chest and neck. You’re about to aim right for the glowing mark on his chest when the phone beeps again, playing a voice recording of a clearly very drunk man. 

“Why did you leave, bro? Come back here r’now. One more round of drinks a—” Incoherent laughter and sounds of clinking glasses. 

No. No, Rafayel’s not allowed to leave you, not again. 

You don’t know where the fear comes from, but you force yourself closer on top of him, breasts pressing into his abs as Rafayel shivers beneath you. Leaning down, you kiss the glowing mark atop his heart, admiring the way it flickers and glows when Rafayel bucks into your touch, moaning as you begin to nip and suck in earnest. 

And then you’re flipped onto the mattress once more. 

Rafayel’s heaving, arms trembling to keep himself up. Away. “...Are you sure?”

“If I don’t, then you might actually leave. What will you say if you’re asked why you didn’t go back?”

Rafayel smirks, and you catch a glimpse of fangs as he sits back on his knees. There’s a click, the rough sound of metal on metal as he undoes his belt, unzipping his trousers with one hand as the other cups the inside of your thigh, yanking it over his shoulder as he drags you down the bed. “I’m busy.”

And then he’s kissing you. 

You’re lost, so hopelessly lost in each other that you fail to notice the phone beep once again, the monotone voice of the machine saying, “Please leave a message at the tone,” before flashing twice, still running. 

Again, Rafayel seems to forget the concept of breathing, gasping into your lips as he ruts his hips into yours. “You’re not leaving me, right?” Fuck, he’s leaking all over his stomach, pre-cum splattering across your thighs.

“Never. I’ll never leave you, Rafayel.”

“Then tell me you’re mine. Tell me, please, please—hah—tell me and I’ll do anything, promise cutie, promise.” He’s all but gasping between kisses, cock trapped between his body and yours as he grinds forward, voice a pitch or so higher than it usually would be. “Say it, say you're mine, tell me, I need to hear it again."

He's talking in circles, rambling, the desperation in his voice palpable. Grasping the base of his cock, he sloppily fisting himself once, twice, before thumping against your entrance.

“I’m yours, Rafayel.” You writhe, grinding yourself up against him in hopes that he’s just hurry the fuck up.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, yours Rafayel.”

“Again, ah—again,” he’s nuzzling into your neck, lifting your leg higher and higher, pinning it to your head as he folds you into a matting press. Still, he refuses to press in, cock throbbing against your clit as he hugs you tight, every muscle in your body screaming in protest and pleasure. “Again, please, please.”

“I’m-” You’re either gasping or crying, words flooding out, ”Rafayel’s, I’m Rafayel’s.”

At that, Rafayel’s entire body convulses. He sobs, finally thrusting forward, bullying up into you bit by bit, forcing you to count every inch as the entirety of his weight bares down onto you. 

You can feel the way his muscles shift, the way his arms bulge and contract as he holds himself above you, hips flush against yours. The desert air must be infecting him, because Rafayel is dripping sweat, flushed from his ears to his chest as he begins to pull out and slowly grind himself back in. 

His voice is wrecked, breathless as he tries to kiss you, missing slightly as he sucks against your bottom lip, drooling. "I'm yours too, I'm yours." At the same time, his cock jerks in you, burying deeper with every filthy roll of his hips, throbbing against your sweet spots. 

Then something snaps, Rafayel’s lips sealed back on yours, and the rhythm he sets is brutal.

Rafayel's cock drags over your walls, molding you in ways you never thought possible. Each thrust is hard, deep, and leaves you gasping, eyes rolling back into your head as you arch off the mattress, nowhere to go as his body folds yours damn near in half, weight bearing down on you.

It's all you can do to wrap your arms around him, nails scratching into his back, drawing thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades as you try to stay grounded, keep your mind from being swept away as the dizziness returns.

But the pressure building up in the pit of your stomach makes it hard.

Harder still as Rafayel begins mumbling into your lips, the filth pouring from his mouth making you clench, cunt fluttering around his cock as he pounds into you.

He can see and feel everything like this. Unable to look away from your face only inches away, watching every expression with love-drunk eyes, hugging you closer, fucking you harder.

"Can feel you, can feel you getting tighter. You're close right? Say you're close, please, mhm fuck." he's panting, and if you focus hard enough you can hear the sloppy noises of him sliding in and out, wet and obscene, the harsh slap of his balls against the curve of your ass.

But then Rafayel’s pushing himself lower, your legs dangling uselessly in the air as his chest is pressed so tight against yours you can barely take a breath.

"You're mine, only I can touch you like this, feel this. My wife. Say it, say you're mine, wanna hear it, please. Please, ah, I’ll do anything, say it."

He's barely pulling out anymore, resigning to quick, deep grinds as though he can’t bear to part.

Too uncoordinated to kiss you, Rafayel's head falls to your neck, sobbing into your marked-up skin before messily kissing atop the bruises.

"Yours. Yours. I'm yours, your wife," the words spill from your lips before you can even think, and Rafayel nearly passes out trying to stop himself from cumming then and there. 

It’s like you’re trying to milk him, hugging him closer and ankles wrapped around his neck as he’s lifting your hips right off the bed. But now he needs to see it.

Needs to know the way you'll cry out his name, how your eyes will glaze over and roll back into your head, the way your chest will heave, the sweat that will pool at the valley between your breasts, the way the skin will flush from a soft pink to a burning red as you lose yourself in the feeling. To him.

It's the only thing he's able to concentrate on, the only thing he's able to think of. The feeling of your body beneath him, the sound of his name on your lips. 

And that alone is enough.

Rafayel’s orgasm is sudden, a jolt of pleasure that surges up his spine with enough intensity to have him collapse, pinning your body beneath him. You can feel it, the way his cum splatters against the walls of your womb, painting your insides, filling you up until the excess squirts out around his cock and your intertwined thighs. He can't stop his hips, can't stop the way he grinds his pelvis against yours, trying to get deeper and deeper still. 

"Mine, mine, mine," is all he can say, eyes wide and pupils blown out as he watches the way your body twitches, a mixture of sweat and cum painting your body as you nearly pass out in exhaustion. "Gonna- gonna fill you up, fuck, so pretty, my pretty girl, pretty wife, gonna make sure it sticks, so I’ll never leave. So you’ll never leave me again."

You're cumming.

He can feel the way your cunt spasms, the way your walls lure him back in, the way you tremble and shake as you throw your head back with tears. 

Rafayel can't stop himself from leaning down and biting, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, his hands grabbing at any bit of flesh he can find. All the while he fucks you through your orgasm, the mess of fluids creating the most obscene noises as they squish and bubble out, pooling out from between your bodies. 

As you’re swaying in and out of reality, you think you see it. A field of red flame lilies, a poison so sweet that when you drink it, you lick your lips and thank the gods. 

God. Just one, the one of the sea and the flaming sun. 

The one who's still kneeling before you. 

The one who you love. 

"Maximum voicemail length reached, recording sent."

♱⋅── a/n: Uber now canonically exists in the lnds universe, thanks. Also, I would have included the absolutely gut-wrenching aftercare included in the card with MC asking Rafayel to sing for her, but honestly I would not change that scene in the slightest and am content to believe that is exactly what happened next.

Oh the things I’d give to hear Raf sing~

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon: chapter four | formula one imagine

chapter four: matchstick men

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

the cocktail party is fun while it lasts, late guests throw y/n’s decision into question but also show her just who she’s a mentor to.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | SERIES MASTERLIST

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there was a january chill in the monaco air as max and y/n exited the dutchman’s apartment complex and started their short walk to kimi’s place. y/n pulled the shawl around her tighter, the light material of her slip dress doing nothing to keep the heat in.

“i told you you were going to be cold,” max teased, pulling her into a side hug, rubbing his free hand up and down her arm, “are you sure you don’t want me to run back and get your jumper?”

y/n leaned further into the dutchman’s warmth but shook her head, if she was really that cold by the time they made it to kimi’s she’d just had to steal something from them.

“sometimes you have to make sacrifices to look this good maxy,” y/n said, poking her tongue out at him, “and that includes hypothermia!”

“you don’t need to do anything, you’re perfect the way you are. i should’ve known you were still the same diva from karting when you still managed to look perfect in that ghastly shade of orange.”

“a dutchman who doesn’t like orange, now this is a scandal!”

“i like my orange, my shade - not that ugly papaya. i like you in my orange.”

“well if you play your cards right i might just wear some in zandvoort. they might be paying me a lot, but no one can pay me enough to wear that ugly uniform.”

max tightened his grip on y/n as they turned the corner to kimi and ollie’s place. there, in front of their door, stood the pair… in suits.

“did i miss the memo of this being a black tie event?” max yells, making the two boys jump, “now i look like i just rolled out of bed!”

“you always look like you’ve just rolled out of bed, we’re lucky i put all of your red bull merch in the wash so you’d wear something different tonight.”

kimi came to stand by y/n, she looked down at the italian and fixed his collar.

“are the suits too much? we wanted to make a good impression but… are they all going to laugh at us?” his voice was small and the way he craned his head to look at y/n made him look even smaller.

“no! it’s cute, you guys are going the extra mile and that means a lot. plus if they have a problem with you dapper gents, then they’ll have a problem with me!”

kimi giggled as the pair started on their way to charles’, ollie hung back and turned to max, “thank you for convincing her to say yes, he hasn’t stopped bouncing off the walls since.”

max slapped ollie’s back, “he convinced her all himself. that letter had her immediately, i think she has this weird belief that we’re not all over the moon she’s back. she’s been more herself in these past few days since meeting him than she has in three years. trust me mate, she was a shell of herself. hell, i would’ve given him the second red bull seat years ago if i knew he would bring the real her back to me.”

“i don’t think you have the power to give out the second red bull seat?” ollie pointed out, max shushed him loudly, “that’s what we want you to think.”

up ahead, y/n and kimi had linked arms like they were old friends.

“i don’t want you to be nervous going here tonight. i know my whole retirement to solitude may look like i don’t like anyone in formula one but truth be told they’re all big nerds. i expect you thought max was this big massive asshole before you met him properly but we all know he’s a big softie inside.”

kimi let out a deep breath, “i know i’ve technically met all of them, i mean i’ve been to countless race weekends now, but i’m still scared - i don’t want them to treat me like a kid, i’m a competitor!”

y/n laughed even though truth be told she was guilty of treating kimi like her long lost child, hair ruffles and cheek pinches, the lot. kimi tugged on her arm, “what was it like when you first met the drivers? not like on the grid where everyone is on their best behaviour, but when you truly met them?”

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march 2020 - bahrain testing.

“i’m nervous! what if they hate me!”

y/n whined, throwing the entire contents of her suitcase at george sat on the bed. despite having meticulously planned about a million different outfits for the annual post-test party, she was at a loss for what to wear.

“did you smash into them during preseason? did you piss in their coffee? no! so you’ll be fine, stop worrying.”

“but what if they still hate me?” the look on her face was so genuine that george’s heart broke a little.

“no one can be angry at you for too long,” george laughed, “i’m sure that even if you shunted them into the first wall you they’d be here grovelling first thing.”

pelting another piece of clothing at george’s head, “what like you? i remember monaco last year. how long did it take you?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, i’m a broody, stoic stallion, i don’t grovel.”

“your delivery of artisan croissants and a teary monologue about how much i mean to you says different…”

a blush breaks out over george’s face at the memory. he’d hardly covered himself in glory in monaco he’d admit that, but every ounce of common sense left stage right when he saw y/n lean in and lick the line of salt off of mick’s hand.

“i treasure our friendship, i didn’t want to lose you over a dumb drunk argument,” george said, taking her hand in his, “i’m older now and i know when i should and when i shouldn’t step in. you’re old enough and ugly enough to look out for yourself.”

the pair had been friends since they first started karting against each other. y/n was nervous, lining up against a grid of boys for the first time but george had come right over and introduced himself, prim and proper handshakes and all.

y/n finally found the dress she had been looking for in the worryingly big pile of clothes, jumping up with a pleased grin. she ran to the bathroom and pulled it on, a short black sequin dress with boots and a black leather jacket on top. y/n thought she looked mysterious enough without looking like she was attending a funeral.

“what do you think georgie? does it scream ‘don’t take me out on track or i’ll kill you’ but also a healthy amount of ‘i’m a scared little girl don’t be mean to me or i’ll cry’?”

george was speechless, his mouth open but no words finding their way out. y/n did a little spin but he was still sputtering and running his hand through his hair like a mad man. he cleared his throat and stood up abruptly, “you look amazing y/n, i mean seriously amazing but i just remembered that i think i left the iron on in my room and i don’t want to burn the entire hotel down!”

he rushed towards the door, flinging it open, “williams definitely can’t afford that, i’ll see you later!”

he took off running down the hotel corridor, very nearly barrelling into alex who was on his way to y/n’s room.

“where’s he off to?” alex asked, coming into the room and making his way straight to the mini bar.

“he said he left the iron on in his room? i don’t know. he just started freaking out for like no reason. i just asked him whether this outfit is cute enough for tonight and he just sat there like i told him his whole family is dead and bolted.”

“weird.”

“so weird, right?” y/n made her way back to the bathroom to start her makeup, “i don’t know what came over him, is my outfit really that offensive? alex, you’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

“i think it might have been too much for george, but he’s being a weird puritan maniac recently, so?”

y/n poked her head past the door, “you’re so right. he’s posted about a hundred topless photos since making it to formula one but got so angry at me for licking mick’s hand!”

y/n was so close to the point it was right in front of her, but much to alex’s disappointment it looked as if she was just as useless as the rest of them. he tried to hide his annoyance on his face, but y/n still caught onto it.

“did you think that was bad too?! have you people never done tequila shots? so do you think this is too slutty for a driver party?”

alex shot up, nearly spilling his drink all over y/n’s bed, “no! george was being a weirdo about the tequila salt thing, had a proper bee in his bonnet that night. you look great, don’t change. i think he’s going through boy things…”

alex did not sound convinced by his own words, but he would work with it. y/n was confused until alex picked up a pillow and mimed putting it in a very specific spot and it finally clicked.

“he got a boner?!”

alex barked out a laugh, “oh tell the whole floor why don’t you? be quiet!”

y/n could not keep her laughs in, folding over with tears streaming down her face. this would definitely explain the emergency exit.

“you cannot tell him i told you, swear it!” alex hissed, grabbing y/n’s hand, “please, he’ll kill me and you know him he’s weirdly sadistic he’d go all dexter on me!”

the two linked pinky fingers, “i promise to never tell george that you told me he got a boner from me in a leather jacket”

“didn’t have to go into that much detail, but yeah i promise too.”

y/n touched her makeup as alex finished off his drink, “but you’re sure this is okay? everyone knows that the real time you meet the grid is when they’re all drunk.”

“you look great, stop worrying. i think george would agree, little george as well-” y/n pelted a pillow at him.

“i just fixed my makeup, don’t make me cry laugh again!”

y/n slipped her shoes on and the pair made their way down to the lobby and across the street to the bar. it was very laidback, completely empty bar the other drivers and some of their significant others.

“about time you guys turned up!” daniel called out from the table most of the drivers were huddled around.

“sorry all, um, we had something to iron out - ouch!” alex said before an elbow to the side from y/n cut him off. the rest of the table were none the wiser but george was suddenly infatuated with his drink, hoping the small umbrella in the glass could cover his blush.

amongst all of the chaos of welcomes, lance pulled up a chair for y/n and asked what she would be having to drink. “just a tequila sunrise for me lance, if they do them. thank you.”

the canadian gave her a little salute before heading to the bar. pulling up his own chair beside her, alex grumbles a little ‘don’t ask me if i want a drink then’ and gets another shove.

daniel claps loudly, silencing the table. he turns to y/n theatrically, wiggling his eyebrows. “so, to our lonely rookie of the season here, a couple of questions.”

the table all turned to her and y/n let out a nervous chuckle, fiddling with her jacket - where was lance with that drink?

“we won’t be hazing you, no worries. no that’s actually illegal, although i am curious as to your karaoke song of choice… we’re getting off topic! my burning question is… growing up with half of the grid you must have a rolodex of embarrassing stories about them. spill. i’m talking embarrassing falls, pissing in their karts or awkward boners, i want all of it!”

daniel looked at her earnestly, waiting on her response. this was a little overwhelming, lance had returned with her drink, alex was trying to keep his laughs at the mention of boners and charles was fixed on her with a death glare - guess the waterpark story was out of the question.

all of the focus was on her and it was overwhelming. y/n was somewhat used to having people watch her every move, you get used to that as the only girl in paddocks where people are just waiting for you to fail.

“i don’t know if i want to make enemies on the grid this early on,” y/n said, looking shyly at daniel to see whether this would be considered a good enough answer.

“very diplomatic, very diplomatic indeed,’ daniel said, pondering, “you’ll do well with the media with answers like that.”

“you learn quick as a girl in this sport.”

the entire table quietened again, although a lot more awkward this time. great first impression. daniel broke the silence once again, “not that we’re going to haze you, but just out of interest, what IS your go to karaoke song?”

“man i feel like a woman,” y/n answered without hesitation, seeing a wide smile break out on daniel’s face, “i think we’ll get along very well, rookie,” daniel replies. the aussie stands up and drags her to the bar, proclaiming that they ‘simply must do some shots together on account of being his new best friend’. y/n was not complaining, this was the first driver outside of the 2019 rookies and max who was expressing actual interest in friendship.

max had always gushed about daniel during and after their time at red bull together. y/n was surprised she hadn’t seen the dutchman yet that evening, but recalled him saying that he wanted to let her get to know the others, not wanting to hover over her like an overprotective parent.

another figure slipped in beside her at the bar and when she turned she came face to face with none other than sebastian vettel. the german gave her a soft smile and said, “i hope tonight wasn’t too daunting for you, we’re all very excited to have you on the grid, though some more than others.”

y/n raised her eyebrow, imploring him to continue. “the way max insists on praising you at every turn i thought your name was already on the second red bull.”

she let out a short laugh, “max does like talking…”

“oh he’s been showing us your formula two highlights all season, gushing about your lines and how we’ll all have to watch our backs this season.”

daniel finally got their shots and butted into the conversation, “max literally hasn’t shut up since you started in formula two, he’s all in on the y/n train.”

y/n smiled. she knew max was a big supporter of hers but hearing it from others made her heart swell.

the trio headed back to the main group who in the short time at the bar had managed to consume a worrying amount of alcohol. there was something surreal about seeing world champions struggle to string a sentence together or keep their heads up straight.

“oh my god what happened? how are they this fucked? we were gone for like five minutes?”

sebastian chuckled, looking over to fernando who was practically sat on a very bemused kimi raikkonen’s lap, “some of us have tasted the glory of winning the championship, so when you know that your car is nowhere near that this season, you cope in your own way.”

the bar had descended into chaos, looking closer to a renaissance painting than a sophisticated night out amongst high performance athletes. alex was sat in the same seat but now found himself flanked by two of his rookie class who now closely resembles a pair of clingy cats. y/n was sure she even saw lando, for the lack of a better word, nuzzle alex’s neck.

when checo appeared with an entire platter of tequila shots, alex took that as his cue to take lando and george home before they got their hands on any more alcohol.

“do you want some help with them?” y/n asked, watching alex wrangle the two drivers towards the exit.

“no, i can handle them. if you think this is bad, you should’ve seen them last year, proper made a fool of themselves. stay and get to know everyone, soon they’ll be so drunk you’ll have some good blackmail material on them.”

y/n hadn’t thought about that. not that she’d ever blackmail a fellow driver…

“well good luck getting them back to their rooms, see you tomorrow!”

y/n turned back to the mess in the bar. max was pouring pure gin in pierre’s mouth, charles was trying (key word, trying) to slow dance with sebastian despite the only music playing being edm and kevin magnussen was already asleep at the main table with nico hulkenberg and lance stacking coasters on his head.

“enjoying the circus?” a voice asks her from behind, y/n turned to see none other than kimi raikkonen. trying not to show her nerves, y/n took one of the drinks kimi was holding.

“i think i am. it’s a bit overwhelming.”

kimi nodded. there was a silence between them but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“are you excited for your first formula one race?”

“i am. i just want to show mclaren that they made the right decision on me.”

“you’ll be fine, trust me. i watched you in testing. i know that doesn’t mean much when it comes to the actual pace of the car, but you already had good control over the car. have faith in yourself.”

all of the praise from everyone else was nice but to get that many words out of kimi, it all was real now.

“thank you kimi, i hope we get to race this season. you’re a hero of mine.”

“that makes me feel old.”

“oh! i didn’t me too-”

“i’m kidding. most people would’ve chosen seb or lewis as they’re heroes.”

“oh i admire them, but there was only one blonde i loved in formula one.”

kimi let out a little laugh. the two sat there, observing for a couple of moments.

“don’t trust anyone,” kimi said suddenly, turning to y/n. “huh?”

“don’t trust anyone. i’m sorry that it’ll likely be worse for you, but these people they’re not really your friends, not when you’re in the car and everything is on the line. you can’t take it personally but you can prepare yourself. you’re a girl, so people will take their side more often than not. just know you’re here for a reason, they can’t push you around without repercussions.”

y/n took a second to let it sink in. there were things that managers and friends from outside the sport had warned her about, but a reminder from someone like kimi made it really resonate.

“i guess i’ll just have to be so fast that they can’t get near me.”

kimi laughed, properly this time. they clinked their glasses and went back to watching the mess unfold before them.

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yourusername

may 2020.

liked by alexalbon, lewishamilton and 1,289,409 others

tagged: georgerussell63, fernandoalo_oficial & landonorris

yourusername: that’s one way to get introduced to the grid

view all comments

user1: the way i’d actually give a kidney to have been here

user2: so much i need to know, so little information

user3: george and lando are never getting rid of the lightweight allegations

yourusername: as long as i am living and breathing those allegations will live on

landonorris: and when i sue you for slander

yourusername: come for me baby i know the law

landonorris: bring it on, the mclaren legal team love me

yourusername: they’ll take one look at my camera roll and laugh in your face xxx

landonorris: CAMERA ROLL?

yourusername: sleep well

landonorris: i will ruin your life rookie

user4: mclaren duo you are so precious

user5: now i have them, i can never see them at different teams

user6: they’re my prediction for biggest surprise this season

maxverstappen1: who keeps leaving bottles of gin unattended around me

yourusername: why can’t you control yourself around them

maxverstappen1: gin talks to me like the green goblin mask

yourusername: that much is clear

yourusername: poor pierre was sent into a different dimension that night

pierregasly: still better than my red bull experience

user7: this girl has chemistry with everyone damn

user8: bro sees a girl having banter with someone and loses his mind

user9: this is why the ‘friend zone’ exists because you guys mistake a girl being nice or funny for flirting

alexalbon: i miss out on so much because those dumbasses can’t handle liquor

yourusername: you should’ve just left them to die?

alexalbon: i fear both mclaren and williams know my address

georgerussell63: i don’t know where this is all coming from?

alexalbon: you threw up in the shower?

georgerussell63: i don’t recall this therefore it didn’t happen

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“george got a boner? can i use that as blackmail for a quali tow?” kimi gasped, clutching his metaphorical pearls.

“do not tell him i told you that,” y/n thought for a second, “or you can, i don’t really care.”

the four of them approached charles’ house and could already hear the hustle and bustle from inside. y/n went to ring the bell but kimi grabbed her hand quickly,

“you’re sure this will be okay?”

the italian had a little shake in his voice.

“you’re going to be fine, everyone will love you, okay? stop doubting yourself.”

she finally rung the bell and the group could hear the silence sweep throughout the house. the door swung open to reveal charles who was already pink in the face, telling y/n that the monagasque had already been amongst the drinks.

“well look what the cat dragged in,” charles said looking her up and down. the three behind her were suddenly weary, charles’ face had hardened when his eyes landed on y/n. “i’ve fucking missed you!”

charles pulled her into a tight hug. the world had stopped. y/n hadn’t spoken to charles since the crash and three years of silence was suddenly pouring out of both of them. tears slipped out from both of them, pulling each other so tight like they were trying to fall into each other’s bodies.

“as touching as this all is, it’s fucking freezing out here and i’d love that cocktail i was promised?”

max broke the silence in his typical fashion and charles finally acknowledged the three others. his smile turned wicked when he realised what kimi and ollie were wearing.

“oh mon amis, those suits are just too cute!”

y/n peered over charles’ shoulder with a very clear ‘i told you so’ written on her face. charles pulled on ollie’s hands, muttering about how well dressed his son is, and ushered the rest of them into his home.

kimi, ollie and max continued down the corridor and into the common space with the other attendees but y/n and charles hung back.

“i’m being serious, i really missed you,” charles said, “i really haven’t been the friend i should’ve been during all of this. i know i hurt you and i don’t expect you to forgive me, but know i am sorry, truly.”

the tears had returned to charles’ eyes once again. y/n tried to summon the anger that she had festered in for three years, but here, stood face to face with charles, she just couldn’t. the monegasque looked so wrecked and she knew that wasn’t a lie. y/n, through common sense but also the advice of her therapist, had never seen the race that ended her career. however, in a weak moment of social media addiction, y/n had stumbled upon a clip of charles’ radio. it was a compilation of his radios across the year, including grosjean’s fireball, pierre’s near miss in japan a couple years ago and finally, silverstone 2022.

“holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck! is that y/n?”

“i can confirm it is y/ln, we are waiting for news from mclaren”

“is she okay? has she responded on the radio?”

“no news yet charles, stay in delta and come to the pit lane.”

“anyone but her, god please. please be okay, please, please, please. not another one, don’t take another one.”

shivers had wrung up her spine when she had heard it. the weekend had been so traumatic that she had hardly stopped to think about anyone else. the crash had unleashed such an ugly anger within her, so powerful that just a glimpse of a formula one car made her feel so vulnerable to her emotions. instead of facing it head on, it just felt easier to hide and to try and forget.

“hey, hey,” y/n took charles’ face in her hands, “look at me okay, i have no hard feeling against you. you don’t need to be sorry, these things happen. i did what i thought i had to do and that was hide. was it healthy? no, but i hate that my silence might have made you think that i blame you in any way.”

charles let out a wet laugh and y/n continued, “i heard your radio, for the first time a couple months ago. i know what you’ve been through, i should’ve spoken to you.”

charles shook his head, “you did what you needed to do, i won’t ever hold it against you. i’m just glad you’re here now, we can make up for lost time now. although i am pretty offended that you didn’t come back for me but for this kid?”

“kimi is a lot nicer than all of you dummies,” y/n poked her tongue out, “and once he looks at you like a lil puppy, you can’t say no.”

y/n smiled to herself, and charles replicated it. the two just existed together for a moment, listening to the greetings down the hall. a small shiver of doubt made its way up y/n’s spine. the reunion with charles had gone well, but would everyone else look past her three year silence?

“they’re looking forward to seeing you,” charles said, nudging y/n closer to the action. she took a small breath and made her way to the common area.

all conversation ceased when she took her first step in the room. max, kimi, ollie and alex all smiled at he, trying to ease her into the room. carlos looked happy to see her, but as always there was something off in his eyes, like he didn’t quite trust her and oscar was there? y/n had never met the aussie but had heard he was a little standoffish.

oscar couldn’t even make eye contact with her, he looked anywhere else, charles’ white ceiling suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. that was odd.

“welcome back!” alex yelled, making everyone else jump, “i have missed you so much, so much has happened. please never disappear again!” he said, wrapping her in a hug. y/n snuggled in closer, breathing in the familiar scent of her friend. drawing back she looked up at him with a strange look,

“have you changed your cologne?”

“well, i’d like to think i have changed a lot in three years, but yes i have?”

“do you have a girlfriend?”

“tell me you don’t check my instagram why don’t you? yes i do, you’ll have to come to dinner at some point. lily is very excited you’re coming back, she says we don’t shut up about you.”

y/n was so happy for alex, “you smell like a girl, she’s done wonders for you.”

alex’s smile fell immediately, “i didn’t miss this, you didn’t get any nicer in your break huh?”

“still a bitch i fear.”

everyone was back engrossed in their conversations, with carlos keeping his distance from y/n by busying himself with charles at the bar. y/n saw oscar again, hovering by ollie, trying and failing to conceal his staring.

“is oscar usually this weird with new people?” y/n asked alex, “he’s staring but also can’t make eye contact without looking like he’s going to shit himself.”

“oh he’s got massive survivors guilt, which is a weird way to put it considering he wasn’t in the race that day, but…”

oh. now it makes sense. “i see, i should probably talk to him shouldn’t i?”

“you can if you want to but you also don’t owe anyone anything? it’s your choice.”

y/n looked over again and oscar again quickly diverted his eyes. here goes nothing. making her way to the other group of drivers, oscar started looking for his escape.

“hi guys, are you okay if i steal the aussie for a second?”

the rest of the group didn’t care but oscar sputtered out a, “really? i’m okay, you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to?”

“come on,” y/n took ahold of his arm, “let’s go talk somewhere else.”

the aussie looked nervous but he followed y/n through charles house. after trying a couple doors, the finally found a study and the pair sat down. oscar couldn’t stop fidgeting, he felt the sweat beading at his brow and the collar of his shirt was starting to strangle him.

“do you want to tell me why you’re so nervous?” y/n asked, “as far as i’m aware, you’ve done nothing to warrant this?”

oscar didn’t say anything. he didn’t know how to word it without sounding like an idiot.

“i just thought you would maybe resent me for taking your seat? i’m sorry for being such a weirdo about it. i know it was a dick move from me to not even bring you up but there was this whole thing with mark and zak, but i should’ve listened to myself, i’m sorry…”

it all spilled out at once and oscar just looked at her horrified. did she even know about mark and zak?

“oscar, i don’t resent you for taking the seat. i can’t say i’ve watched much more than just the races, so i can’t say for sure you’re the greatest guy off the track, although the fact you were even invited here tells me so, but you more than deserved that seat. yes, it’s unfortunate the way it became available, but i’ll never resent a racer for following his dreams.”

oscar let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, “thank you, you don’t know the amount of sleepless nights i had after i took the seat. i thought that maybe you would come back and either i’d have to give it up or i’d keep it and stop you from coming back. i mean you’re a hero of mine and all i could think was ‘am i an asshole for taking this from you when you’re still in hospital?’”

y/n sighed, “i won’t lie, it hurt. but not because of you. a full lifetime of work was snuffed out in one second. i understand formula one is a business but i don’t think zak knows that i could hear everything while i was in the medically induced coma.”

oscar’s head shot up at the mention of zak’s name and this told y/n everything she needed to know.

“he was on the phone just five minutes after the nurse told him i’d never be able to get in a formula one car again. my racing body wasn’t even cold yet. i do know it was mark on the phone. i’ve not held it against him, unless there’s something you’d like to tell me?”

was it betrayal if he told y/n? everything had already happened and the truth was y/n knowing wasn’t going to change anything. but if he didn’t say then y/n could decide to go back and watch interviews and videos and see what a big liar he was.

“him and zak had this weird thing they were stuck on. like i said you’re a hero of mine, and i still wanted to honour you in any way i could. i had a plan to have a 13 on my helmet, i even wanted to dedicate my first win to you. but i wasn’t allowed. they said i needed to leave you in the past or it would make me look weak.”

tears were falling down oscar’s face as y/n pulled him into a hug. the aussie shook with the strength of his sobs.

“i’m a grown man, i should’ve told them no, but i had just gotten there. i’m sorry, i wish i had a back bone.”

y/n ran her hands through his hair, comforting the younger driver, “oscar, don’t worry. i don’t take any offence. you forget i raced under zak, i know what an asshole he can be. you don’t have to do anything to make it up to me, just don’t be a stranger in the paddock. i may be there for kimi, but you can still come to me.”

y/n wasn’t sure how lando was treating oscar, had he started off kind with him and flipped on his head as well? it couldn’t hurt to check.

“i know lando can be difficult, so don’t think you’re alone okay? i know how it feels, so come complain to me if you need to.”

oscar laughed, “i know exactly what you’re talking about. did you watch hungary this year? that was a mess, it was so awkward in the garage after that. it’s creepy how he can turn it on for a video right? i don’t know what happened between you but it’s almost like he knew i wanted to dedicate it to you? he asked me like ten times whether i dedicated it to anyone.”

okay, that was a problem. y/n had stupidly thought that maybe lando going cold turkey from her for three years might have made whatever weird vendetta he had against her disappear, or at least lessen.

“if i’m being completely honest, i’m not sure what happened between us. we obviously grew up together and were close from that, we all were, but as soon as the racing started he just switched up, and by the sounds of it, it hasn’t gotten better in my absence.”

the pair moved to the bathroom to get oscar some tissues and make him look a little more presentable. fixing his hair, y/n said, “i’m serious oscar, there’s no hard feelings. i’m proud of you-”

y/n was cut off with some commotion coming from the common area. the pair looked at each other and hurried to the scene of the noise. there stood george and lando, they both looked like they had grown up, lando sporting some facial hair and george in a suprisingly formal getup.

both brits locked on y/n and oscar as they returned.

“so one mclaren driver wasn’t enough for you? you had to go and seduce oscar as well?”

lando accused, a look of pure disgust on his face, “he’s got a girlfriend as well, do you have any respect for yourself?”

y/n burst out laughing, looking bewildered at lando. “is this guy serious?” she asked looking around the room, most of them looking just as shocked as her at his outburst.

“i don’t know what you’re laughing at,” lando said and turned to oscar, “i really thought you’d last more than five minutes mate.”

“lando, i don’t know what you’re problem is, but we were clearing the air about me taking the seat after her crash. you know, we spoke, like normal fucking people. just because you couldn’t spend more than five minutes with the one girl in the sport without wanting to fuck her doesn’t mean i don’t see her as an actual person.”

oscar replied, standing in front of y/n who was shocked but also impressed by the aussie’s take down of his own teammate. lando glared at his teammate, “you know having her on side will do nothing for this bullshit bid you have to be the number one driver this season. in fact i remember her launching a plot like that herself, and look how that ended.”

one second lando was smirking in front of oscar and y/n and next he was on the floor, all courtesy of kimi. the italian was looming over lando, the angriest anyone in the room had ever seen him. ollie tried to grab his hand, but he yanked it back and set his sights back on lando.

“you really are the dumbest person in the world aren’t you?”

lando was speechless, still on the floor.

“she could’ve said so much about you, your team and the bullshit you both put her through, but she didn’t. we all know you were an asshole to her, she could’ve ruined this dumb boy next door act you’ve got going, but she didn’t. so you should think yourself lucky.”

kimi felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see y/n. he stood up, moving away from lando and let y/n lead him towards the exit just as the other one decided to pipe up.

“she’s a bit old for you isn’t she, buddy?” george’s voice rung out, “or are you really going for the max verstappen route, problematic older woman and everything?”

that was a low blow. kelly was a sore subject for max, y/n didn’t really know much about her, just that they got together and broke up during the time that y/n was first moved to london. max had been the only one to know where she was, but that was only months after she had moved. y/n never met her and only heard about her when max had visited and gave her a life update that included a whirlwind romance.

“that’s a bold choice george,” max said, getting in his face, “isn’t kimi like a son to toto? you really think he’s choosing you over him? you were just a bed warmer for him when lewis had pissed him off. we all know he’d choose kimi and well, that he’d do anything for me, so are we really the ones you want to try and go toe to toe with?”

george narrowed his eyes at max, “i went through so much trouble for that girl back then, i hope you’re not getting your hopes up. she’ll just lead you on like she did to us, you’re just a stepping stone to her.”

“i am right here, you know? you don’t have to talk about me like i’m not?”

george’s head whipped around to her direction, “you were fine not talking for three years. why now? why come back now? there’s nothing for you there? or do you have an ulterior motive? are you using kimi to sabotage me?”

y/n let out another laugh in disbelief, “are you being serious right now? you can’t be this seriously delusional. despite popular belief, to you, not everything i do, is to do with you. both of you seem to have such an inflated view of your place in my life, please sleep well knowing i don’t want anything to do with either of you.”

charles interrupted, “i invited you two because i thought you would be happy to see y/n, why are you ruining my night? i brought olives and you’re bringing the mood down!”

“yes, i think it’s time you guys left.” max said, ready to escort them himself, with force if necessary.

the two gave y/n a final dirty look before storming out of charles’ house. y/n didn’t understand how it had gotten so bad between them, she longed for the times when they’d sneak out for ice cream at karting competitions and tell each other ghost stories. she wanted those times back so badly, but with displays like tonights she wasn’t sure if it was worth it. maybe those bridges had burnt the moment her car hit the wall.

the atmosphere in the room was thick, no one knew what to say following what ever they just witnessed.

“i guess we don’t outgrow the pettiness. ever.” ollie said, downing his drink, “if that’s what formula one does to a man i need another drink.”

charles started working behind his home bar and with the silence broken, the conversation started again.

“y/n i’m sorry i brought you back into this. i just wanted to have you as a mentor and try and get you to fall back in love with the sport, i didn’t want to bring you into a civil war where you get accused of seducing everyone.”

“kimi, i am happy to be here and we will work together. they don’t mean anything to me, okay? the things they say is water off a duck’s back for me now.”

“as long as you’re sure, i want you to enjoy it.”

“there’s enough of you i love to stick around. i’ve only known you for a short while, but the way you go for the things you want and stand up for what you believe makes me believe. they don’t matter to us. what matters is you and your car, and we will prove them all wrong.”

max slipped his arm around her shoulder as she spoke to kimi. “do you want to go?”

y/n looked back to kimi, “are you okay if we go? you and ollie can stay and enjoy yourself, rinse charles for as much as he’s worth.”

kimi nodded and hugged y/n. “see you soon, thank you again.”

“no worries, bunny.”

y/n and the dutchman grabbed their stuff and made their way to the door. charles escorted them out, “sorry it became such a downer, but i still liked seeing you again. we’ll have to get lunch some time before testing, arthur has been bothering me about meeting you.”

the pair ventured back out into the wind, a strained silence between them. “you know none of us believe what they said, right?”

“unfortunately, i’m very used to it maxy,” y/n said, leaning into him, “but it doesn’t bother me anymore. the people i care about know me, that’s all that matters.”

“just say the word and i’ll make their lives hell.”

“that’s noble, max, but i’m okay.”

“you let them get away with too much, y/n. seriously, what they just did was fucked up.”

“maybe to them i did do those things?”

“don’t say that,” max said stopping her, “they’re being childish. they can’t act like they have and expect that you’ll just fall into their arms.”

“do you think i’ll fall into your arms?”

“no. maybe? i don’t know, i want whatever you want. you know how i feel about you, but i just want you in my life. you’re the only one who has always really known me. we were so young and you saw me, not my dad and not my driving, but me. i will forever be grateful for you, it’s in your hands.”

“it’s all so confusing, max. if i do anything i just prove their point. at this moment i just need to exist. but i’d like to exist with you.”

“i’d like to exist with you too.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: it's the drama mick i love it! a big bust up chap for you all, and boy have i been tired this weekend so this took a lil longer than i wanted it to. testing next!!!

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[maskedbyghost]

part 2 to Simon marrying another woman. there will be one more part.

That dreadful day, you didn’t stay for the reception. You couldn’t.

The sight of Simon’s lips pressing against hers, his hands on her waist, was more than you could bear. The weight of it settled in your chest, as you pushed through the church doors and into the biting cold. You told yourself you just needed air, but you kept walking, your heels clicking against the pavement as the world blurred past you.

It’s been seven months since he married her.

Seven months since you watched the love of your life vow to cherish someone else for the rest of his days.

Not you like he promised.

Her.

You tried moving on—tried dating, tried sleeping with other men. But no matter how hard you tried, no one compared. They didn’t know how you liked your coffee after a mission, or the songs you hummed when you thought no one was listening.

They weren’t him.

The team had noticed, of course. How could they not? Soap was the first to say something, pulling you aside after a particularly grueling mission.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

You lied, of course. “I’m fine.”

But Soap wasn’t buying it. “Fine, my arse. You’ve been off for months now. We’re worried about you.”

We.

The word stung more than it should have. You knew they all meant well—Price, Gaz, Soap—they were your family in every way that mattered. But the one person you wanted to notice, the one person who had always been able to read you like an open book, wasn’t yours anymore.

Simon barely looked at you these days. He kept things professional, as though the years you’d spent breaking down each other’s walls had never happened.

You hated him for it. You hated her for taking him from you. But more than anything, you hated yourself—for still loving him despite it all.

Why wouldn’t you? You and Simon were perfect for each other. Everyone saw it. The team had long accepted that you and Simon were a package deal, even when neither had put a label on it.

Everything was great—until she arrived.

She was an old friend of Simon’s, someone he’d known long before the Task Force. You remember the day she was introduced to the team, handpicked for her unique skillset, and vouched for by Simon himself.

Captain Price welcomed her without hesitation, and the rest of the team quickly followed. She was smart, capable, and annoyingly charming.

You wanted to like her. You really did. But something about her never sat right with you.

At first, her friendliness seemed genuine, and her interest in Simon was understandable given their history. She would tell stories about him from the past. You noticed how he seemed to soften around her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he listened. It stung, but you told yourself it was harmless.

Then the games began.

She found ways to insert herself into moments that were once yours and Simon’s alone. If you were paired with him during training drills, she’d casually request to swap partners, laughing it off as wanting to “catch up with an old friend.” On missions, she’d position herself as his backup, leaving you to work with others.

Her manipulation was well calculated. When she slipped into Simon’s good graces, it was so gradual that even he didn’t see it happening.

During a team meeting, she’d mention how Simon had always been the one to “clean up after reckless partners” in the past, glancing at you just long enough to make her point. Or she’d joke about how “some people” needed constant saving in the field, her tone light but her eyes sharp as they flicked in your direction.

Simon rarely reacted to that. But you could see the doubt creeping into his expression, the seeds she was planting beginning to take root.

It wasn’t just her words, either. She had a thing for orchestrating situations that made you look bad without ever appearing to do so intentionally. During one mission, she “accidentally” overlooked a key piece of intel you’d flagged, leading to a delay in the operation. When Simon asked what happened, she apologized but subtly implied that your instructions had been unclear.

Another time, she volunteered to handle a critical piece of equipment, only to claim later that she thought you had already taken care of it. It was small things—barely noticeable—but they added up, each one chipping away at the trust you and Simon had built.

What hurt the most was how easily she slipped into Simon’s world. She knew how to talk to him in a way that made him feel understood, playing on their shared history to create a bond you couldn’t touch. She’d bring up memories from their past, reminding him of a time when life was simpler, safer.

And slowly, Simon began to change.

He second-guessed your decisions in the field. When you tried to talk to him about it, he brushed it off, saying you were overthinking things.

The worst part was that she always made sure to maintain her image as the perfect teammate—loyal, competent, and supportive. To everyone else, she was a godsend, a valuable asset to the team.

But you knew the truth. You saw through her façade, the way she manipulated situations to her advantage, the way she slowly turned Simon against you. And no matter how hard you tried to hold on, to remind Simon of the bond you shared, she was always there, pulling him further away.

And by the time Simon announced his engagement to her, you barely recognized the man you’d fallen in love with. The man who once held you with such tenderness now looked at you as though you were a stranger.

You started to fight with Simon often, because he was a dumb, stupid man who didn’t realize he was being manipulated. You tried to make him see it—the way she twisted things, the way she subtly undermined you—but he wouldn’t listen.

“She’s my friend,” he said once, his jaw tight. “You’re overreacting.”

You hated the way he said it, as if you were imagining things. The man you knew better than anyone, was slipping through your fingers, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The fights grew worse, spilling over from arguments in private to tense exchanges on missions. The team noticed, of course, but no one said anything. They kept their heads down, unwilling to get involved in whatever was happening between the two of you.

Then, one night, while you were on leave, Simon came home to the apartment you shared and started packing his things. You didn’t understand at first, standing frozen in the doorway as he folded his clothes and stuffed them into a duffel bag.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He didn’t look at you. “Leaving.”

“Why?” You stepped closer, trying to put yourself between him and the door. “Simon, please. Just tell me why.”

But he wouldn’t. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor.

You begged him to stay, tears streaming down your face as you pleaded for an explanation, for anything that could make sense of the sudden shift. But Simon—your Simon—had already made up his mind.

A month later, you saw the photos—Simon and her, sitting side by side at a café, her hand resting on his arm like she’d always belonged there. The smile on his face was small, but it was there, and it broke something inside you.

A few months after that, they were engaged. The wedding followed soon after.

“They want to have a small ceremony,” Soap said. He hadn’t looked at you when he spoke, as if he couldn’t bear to see your reaction.

And now here you were, seven months later, still trying to piece yourself back together while Simon lived a life you were supposed to share with him.

One night, during a late briefing, you caught Simon looking at you. It was just a flicker, his gaze lingering a moment too long, his expression unreadable.

For a second, you thought you saw something—regret, maybe even sorrow—but it was gone before you could be sure. You told yourself you imagined it, that your mind was playing tricks on you, desperate for any sign that he might still care. But the look stayed with you, in your memory next to the happy moments with him.

And so, you wanted to continue living your life normally, and tried to move on, but it was hard. You kept telling yourself it would get easier with time, but time seemed to stand still.

The memories of Simon lingered everywhere—his voice in your head, the way he used to call you “love,” the small habits he’d left behind in your shared life.

You threw yourself into your work, drowning in the chaos of missions and training. But even in the most hectic moments, there was always an ache in the back of your mind, serving like a fucking reminder of the man you’d loved and lost.

You tried dating, fleeting distractions that always ended the same way—with you staring at the ceiling, wondering why no one could make you feel the way Simon did.

But then, one day, something happened.

Price called you to Simon’s office. His tone over the comm was urgent and it made your stomach twist. He didn’t explain, only told you to come immediately.

You hurried down the corridor, your mind racing. Something about Price’s voice told you this wasn’t about a mission or a routine debriefing.

Something was wrong.

When you reached the door, you hesitated for just a moment, hand hovering over the handle. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and pushed it open.

The sight inside made your heart drop.

The office was in ruins—papers scattered across the floor, the desk overturned, a chair broken and lying in pieces. A crack ran through the mirror on the wall, distorting your reflection.

And there, amidst the chaos, was Simon.

He was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, knees drawn up slightly. His mask was gone, revealing a face filled with exhaustion and pain. His eyes were fixed on the ground, as he muttered the same words over and over, barely audible.

“She ruined my life… she ruined my life…”

Price stood near the door, arms crossed tightly as he watched Simon. When he saw you, his shoulders relaxed slightly, as though he’d been waiting for you.

“Please,” he said quietly. “Talk to him. You’re the only one he might listen to.”

Your throat tightened as you stepped closer, every movement feeling heavy. You knelt a few feet away, your voice soft, almost trembling.

“Simon…”

He looked up at the sound of your voice, his gaze locking with yours. He managed a weak, bitter smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Sorry, love,” he murmured, the words barely more than a whisper.

And then, before you could react, he raised the gun to his head.

PART 3

-------------------------------------------

yup. this is a perfect place to stop. gonna go hide now hehe

(sorry if you didn't want to be tagged)

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[motorsportbarbie13]

A Package Deal - Epilogue 2

In which Lando learns just how mean kids can be

Warnings: pregnancy talk, bullying(kinda?), time hop to two years later. Pairing: lando x singlemom!reader Word Count: 2.3k

Master List - A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - A Package Deal - Part 3 - A Package Deal - Part 4 - A Package Deal - Part 5 - A Package Deal - Part 6 - A Package Deal - Epilogue 1

2 years later 

The front door slams so hard the windows in the living room shake. You’re yanked out of the deep sleep you had slipped into after Lando had left to go pick Stella up from school. 

“Lan?” You call from your place on the couch, not bothering to get up. It would take too much energy for you to even attempt to sit up with how big your bump was now. Instead you just swing your feet to the ground so you can sort of sit up to see the front door. “Everything okay?” 

From the entryway, you hear a grunt in response but nothing else until there’s the unmistakable sound of feet pounding their way upstairs. “It sounds like someone had a good day at school.” You mutter, waiting for Lando to join you in the living room. 

Moments later, your husband shuffles in, frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, that was fun.” 

He flops down on the couch next to you, hand immediately finding your bump. 

“What in the world was that?” 

Lando shrugs, hand tracing lazy circles as the baby boy in your belly does a few soccer kicks in response to the sudden movement and sound outside. He had given you a break the last few hours, seemingly taking a nap with you but if there was one thing this little boy shared in common with his daddy, it was the fact that he very rarely settled down. You were used to the somersaults in the middle of the night and the feet stuck in the middle of a rib while you’d be attempting to have a conversation at work. Even the tap dancing on your bladder was routine now. 

When you had found out you were pregnant just a few months after your wedding you had been a nervous wreck. Your first pregnancy had been difficult, both mentally and physically. Getting pregnant accidentally while still a teenager had been humiliating, the people in your small town mucked up gossip about you for months. Stella’s dad had tried his best to be supportive but he was just a teenager himself and hadn’t done a very good job at being there for you. Most of your pregnancy had been spent alone, isolated, and grieving the loss of your freedom while you watched everyone else continue on with their lives. Not that you would have changed anything for the world looking back. The challenges you had gone through had brought you Stella and in some way, it had also brought you Lando. 

But being pregnant again? The old trauma and memories had resurfaced and it had taken you longer than you cared to admit to come to terms with the fact that you were having a second baby. 

Lando, on the other hand, had been ecstatic from the moment you showed him the pregnancy test the morning you had realized your period was weeks late. He had been waiting (not so) patiently to finally get you pregnant for what felt like a lifetime. Lando knew you were anxious though, he saw it in the way you shied away from talking about the future the first few months and found himself bound and determined to make this pregnancy a good one for you. You had told him about the gossip that had followed you the first time, the challenges of being pregnant and not having the easiest go of it physically so he had made a decision the morning you had showed him that pregnancy test: make this pregnancy and all of your future ones as easy and stress free as possible. 

And so far he had made good on that promise. Anything that you wanted or craved was yours. Ice cream and pickles at 3 in the morning after he’d just gotten home from a race in Brazil? Done. Chicken noodle soup followed by a giant bowl of cereal for lunch in your office? He was on it. Putting Stella to bed while you watched a movie in bed and inevitably fell asleep before he was even done reading to her? That was a common occurrence in your house these days. 

Lando wanted to do anything and everything he could to make this pregnancy miles back from your first one. Which was why you were still on the couch and Lando had made the trek to school this afternoon to pick Stella up. It was an off week from racing late in the spring so you had taken the day off from work to spend the day cuddled up in bed with Lando while Stella had been in school. You were about six weeks away from giving birth, having somehow timed it nearly perfectly with summer break. If baby boy listened to the doctors, he should make his appearance right around the time F1 took it’s annual summer break. 

“She seemed pretty upset.” You observe, listening to the stomping that Stella was doing above your head in her room. 

“Something happened at school but she refuses to tell me what.” Lando grumbles, hand slipping underneath your shirt so he can rub at the smooth skin of your belly. If there’s one thing he’s become completely and utterly obsessed with over the last few months it’s the way you look while pregnant with his baby. It’s a feeling that’s so primal, seeing you all big and round because of him. You’ve always been drop dead gorgeous to him, but pregnant? Pregnant, you were a masterpiece. 

Ever since you had told Stella you were pregnant, she had been having mixed feelings. Finding out she was going to be a big sister to a little brother had gone not gone over very well as she had wanted a little sister to dress up and play with. But lately, she had been warming up to the idea of having a baby brother more and more so you hoped this little temper tantrum wasn’t baby related. 

Reaching behind you, you pitch your weight forward, desperately trying to navigate around what felt like the biggest pregnant belly you’d ever seen, you struggle to get off the couch.

 “I’m going to need a forklift by the time I hit my due date if I ever want to sit down comfortably again.” You grumble before Lando reaches out and pulls you back. “Lan!” You whine, smacking him on the chest. “I was nearly up, you jerk!” 

“Stay where you are, mama. I’ll go take care of it.” He orders before leaning over and kissing you on the temple. 

“Are you sure?” 

Lando stands and your momentarily jealous of how easy that was for him. He looks down at you, warm smile playing on his face. “Of course. Stella’s my daughter too.” 

You grin, thinking back to the court date last month where Lando had officially adopted Stella, both of you now sharing the ‘Norris’ last name with your husband. 

“Okay. But I’m going to get dinner started in a few minutes anyway.” 

“We can order, you need to rest.” 

You roll your eyes but don’t say anything, knowing arguing with him is totally useless. 

Lando leans down to press another kiss to the crown of your head before heading towards Stella’s room on the second floor. When he had picked Stella up at school earlier, the little girl had been a storm cloud of anger and irritation, refusing to talk to Lando about any part of her day. This was incredibly unusual because normally when he picked Stella up from school, she didn’t stop chattering the entire drive home. 

Stella’s door is shut tightly but all it takes is a soft knock from Lando to have her calling out a soft ‘come in!’ Lando is surprised when he walks into the room, still tidy from the round of nesting you’d done earlier in the week. On one side of the room, Stella’s bed was tucked up against the corner of the wall, purple and cream quilt that Lando’s mom made for her last Christmas spread neatly across the expanse. A small creamy white desk and dresser are on the opposite side, Stella’s laptop and iPad sitting discarded on the desk. The only thing Lando can hear when he walks in is the soft sniffles of Stella’s crying. 

“Stelly Belly.” Lando coos, crossing the room in a few strides once he realizes she’s still truly upset. “What’s wrong, baby girl?” 

“I’m not your baby girl!!!” Stella sobs into her pillow. 

Lando’s chest tightens at her words, her wailing continuing while he sits himself on the edge of her bed. Stella doesn’t  respond when he lays his hand on the small of her back, rubbing small circles like the way he’s seen you do before when she’s upset. “Shh…baby girl. What happened that’s got you so spun up? You can talk to me, you know that.” He murmurs. 

Stella lifts her head, craning it around to look at Lando. “I’m not your baby girl.” She spits again, anger and betrayal sitting heavy on her small features. 

“Well, that adoption certificate says otherwise, missy.” Lando shoots back, pointing over to Stella’s dresser where the framed piece of paper sits beside a photo of you, Stella, and Lando from a few weeks ago. After the wedding, Lando had broached the subject of formally adopting Stella, and idea that had been fully embraced and celebrated by everyone in your lives. It had taken months to do all of the paperwork and get everything in order but that day had been just as emotional as the day you had become Lando’s wife. 

“Well, Georgia from my class says you’re not my real dad and that when the baby comes you’re going to forget all about me and only love the baby, mister.” Stella flips over before sitting up, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at Lando like she’s daring him to argue with him. 

Everything clicks into place for Lando then, understanding flitting across his consciousness like a quick snap of a whip. “Stella, you know that’s not true.” He reasons. 

“Do I?” She practically wails, tears spilling over once more. “You’re not my real dad but you’ll be the baby’s real dad and only his real dad and you’ll forget all about me just like Georgia says and I’ll have to go live in the ATTIC!” 

Lando reaches out for his daughter, because that’s exactly what she is: his daughter, and pulls him close to his side. He waits patiently, something he’s had to work on in the months since marrying you. Living full time with two women, one of whom is pregnant and the other nearly a tween and also very emotional, has been a minefield that no one warned Lando about. 

“Okay, first of all, we don’t even have an attic in this house so there goes that theory.” Lando murmurs into Stella’s hair, barely suppressing the urge to laugh at how silly her worry was. If there was one thing Stella could be counted on for it was the dramatics. “And second of all, you are my baby and you will always be my baby, just like you’ll always be your momma’s baby. And you know what else?” 

Lando pauses, waiting for Stella to turn her blue eyes that match your own up at him. They’re still a bit watery but the tears have stopped for the most part when she finally chokes out a strangled “What?” In response. 

“You are my first baby, the baby that made me a dad and you chose me to be your daddy, you know that. Nothing can ever change that or take away from that fact, not a baby brother or baby sister or a stupid little girl named Georgia who needs to mind her own business.” Lando pauses, his sharp gaze softening into something that has Stella leaning against him, head burying itself into the warmth of his side. “You are my baby girl and you always will be.” He whispers as he pulls your daughter into his lap, allowing her to bury her head in his neck like she did that very first day all those years ago when she was sick and Lando picked her up from school. 

“I promise you, you will never have to move to the attic, okay sweet girl?” Lando says, the bite of laughter sitting just at the edge of his voice, toned down just enough so that Stella doesn’t pick up on it. 

“Okay.” Stella sniffles before raising her head. “I won’t have to go the basement either though, right?” 

Lando chuckles as he stands up, reaching to take Stella’s hand in his own. “No my love. You will always have your room right here, okay? No one will ever make you live in the basement or the nonexistent attic ever, I promise. Now, your momma was on the couch talking about making dinner but I bet if we hurry we can convince her to let us take her out to dinner so we don’t have to do the dishes, sound good?” 

“Only if we can go to Pizza Palace!” She declares, leaping off the bed and running for the door. 

Lando slowly follows behind, heart full of love for the little girl that came crashing into his life and heart and never left. “Anything for you, Stella Belly.” 

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[arabellasleopardcoat]

Autumn (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Unreliable narrator!!!! Mature language. Descriptions of grief.

A/N: I was not expecting the response my silly little idea has gotten. I am very thankful for all of you who decide to read it, and would love to hear what you think of this chapter. Series masterlist here.

YOU CRUMPLE THE letter in your fist, hearing the parchment wrinkle with a satisfying sound. Then, you throw it into the flames, watching as the fire grows slightly bigger, and the ball uncurls, alight for a second, before it is fully consumed.

It doesn’t soothe you as you thought it would. The odious parchment offering you an honor guard from your future husband might be gone, but you still have to journey North before a moon since Luke’s funeral has passed.

At the thought of your brother, a sharp, stabbing pain, manifests in your chest. You choke down a sob. You had not realized you had started to measure time like this. Before and After Luke’s death, as people did with Before and After the Conquest.

Your grief only serves to fuel your rage, though. How could he? How could he demand you be wed when you were still in mourning? When you were still thinking of your sweet brother, not of keeps, and lords, and men?

“You dare!” You screech, barging inside Jacaerys’ rooms. Whatever he is doing, hunched over his desk, is interrupted. “You cannot do this to me! Mother will not allow it.”

Jace sets down his quill. He turns to look at you, his expression calm. You would think him indifferent, were it not for the fact that there is the slightest furrow of his brows.

“We need men.” He states, simply, and when you are about to interrupt him to say there are many more in the realm, he keeps speaking. “We need his men. The North is the largest kingdom, you know this as well as I. And when a Stark calls the banners, they are the only ones who respond in full.”

Your hands ball into fists. You hate that he is acting so composed, so rational. After Luke died, you felt like a chained dragon, roaring your grief and wishing to be freed to set ablaze those that had wronged you. Once, you had been as gracious as him and mother, composed even in the height of emotion. But grief has made you into live lighting, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

Your emotions are out of control. You know this. You get angered at the barest hint of an insult, you cry as easily as a newborn babe. Knowing it doesn’t stop you from lashing out, though. It only makes you regret it later.

“Our mother promised I was to have my pick of suitors, not that I would be sold like a cow!” You point an accusing finger to his chest. Jace sighs and gets up, surrounding the desk.

“I understand you are upset.” He tries offering you a hug, but you jerk away. His face hardens slightly. “But this is war.”

As if you do not know. As if you haven’t lost a sibling, too. Your face crumbles, and Jace calls your name, but hearing his voice, how similar Luke and him sound, only makes you cry harder.

“Hey, hey, it’s not so bad.” He hugs you, pressing your face against his doublet. The material is soft against your skin, and you feel tempted to let go of your rage against him and sink into his arms. Jace is barely a man, too, just as you are barely a woman. He is doing as best as he can, spread too thin by the weight of responsibility that comes with being heir. “Cregan is a good man. I got to know him during the time…”

Yes, he was doing as best as he could. But it hadn’t been his own hand that he had bartered away, had it? The insidious voice in your head asks. It isn’t him who is making a sacrifice. And such a hollow one. He claims to need men, but he won’t be getting even the full northern army.

“You sold me for a few Greybeards! Not even a proper army! Good Gods, you are a fool.” You cry out.

“Lord Stark assures me…” Jace starts, with the tone of someone who has already had this same argument. Were you thinking clearly, you would pause and realize why. Instead...

“He has put a wife in the grave already.” It is the only thing you know about him. Not much is whispered about Cregan Stark, at least, nothing concerning. You would remember it. The only thing that you know, though, is that he is a Stark and his wife is dead.

“You make it sound as if he killed her himself with his bare hands.” Jace scoffs. “I assure you, he dearly loved Arra Norrey and would have never harmed her. You know the dangers of childbirth. Perhaps even better than I.”

Perfect. He hadn’t killed the damn woman, he was just still in love with her. By the Seven, Jace was a fool. You hated being second in anything. Here, at home, you were already second to Jace, and you resented it. Being a twin meant having to share everything, including the love of those around you.

When you married, you had hoped to be the only woman in your husband’s life, not to be compared to a ghost. You had seen exactly how that went. King Viserys had never forgotten his first wife, calling for her years after her death, even as Alicent was the one to nurse him during his illness.

“He is still a widower.” You repeat, stubbornly.

Jace pinches the bride of his nose, before letting out a deep exhale. His next words are spoken extremely slowly, as if talking to a child. It makes you bristle.

“You said you were afraid of childbirth, and he already has an heir. There is no better solution.”

It would be thoughtful, were it not for the fact that:

“His first wife died in childbirth!”

As Jace prepares a scathing comeback, face scrunched up in mirrored displeasure to your own, the voice of your mother startles you both.

“What is going on here?” She asks, mouth pursed in an expression identical to Jace. The Queen looks as regal as ever, and it only serves to make you feel a tad embarrassed. With wild hair and eyes, face flushed from rage, you are sure that next to her, you must look like a wilding. “Why can the whole castle hear your quarrel?”

“It’s his fault.” You accuse, pointing at Jace.

“My fault?!” He says, placing his hands on his hips. “Apologies, I think they didn’t hear your screeching about Lord Stark in Driftmark!”

“So you informed her?” Your mother asks, calmly. Too calmly for someone who has just found out. Had it been her plan all along?

“Did you knew all along?” You whisper.

Rhaenyra turns to look at you. As always, your mother has a smile ready for you, but as of late, they are laced with sadness. This one is no exception.

“I did. I think it is for the best. You will be safer next to Cregan Stark, in Winterfell, than you could ever be here.”

You examine her expression. Her eyes are swollen and red rimmed, grief clouding her regal face. There is a certain determination in her features, a calm acceptance in her eyes, that tells you that her mind is already made.

Her face is not one of a distraught mother who will soon give her daughter away. You know her too well to mistake it for that.

“You hoped for this.” You keep your voice dangerously low, your anger threatening to bubble up in your throat. “You did because I have no dragon. I bet you are scheming to send Rhaena away too!”

Your mother doesn’t answer.

Her silence is damming. You turn to look at Jace, disbelieving. Of course the two of them had been scheming behind your back. Your brother had always been the closest one to your mother.

“And neither of you could tell me to my face?” You ask, letting out a hysterical laugh. “I had to find out from a letter from fucking Cregan Stark. I am not leaving. You cannot make me. ”

Suddenly, your mother grabs you by the shoulders. Her face is frightening, like an avenging goddess of Old Valyria. Her lips are curled back, teeth bared, and her eyes are as wild as yours.

“Listen to me!” She says, shaking you hard. Tears begin to fall from her eyes, but she doesn’t seem to register them. “Listen to me! Luke is dead. He is dead, and you will obey me because I cannot bear to lose any more of my children. You are going North. Your Queen commands it.”

She turns on her heel and leaves, leaving you standing on still shaking legs.

CREGAN HAD BEEN lingering near the entrance of Winterfell ever since his men had spotted the Queen’s banner on the horizon. Back then, they had expected the party to arrive in half a day. He didn’t care if he appeared too eager, his usual stoicism was failing him in the face of his nerves.

The first time Cregan had married, he had known the bride for a long time. Arra had been his childhood companion, and they had spent many moons together, playing Come-into-my-castle and Bears-and-maids. Cregan had unfortunately been the maid many more times than he preferred.

He had not feared marriage then. Spending forever chained to another person wouldn’t be so bad if that person was Arra.

Now, he did. Cregan had been content on his own, and had no desire to remarry. Even if he had, a southron princess wouldn’t have been his first choice. Though Prince Jacaerys had been honorable and dutiful, he was still naive. They were nearly of an age, but when Cregan had stood next to him, he had felt as old as his Greybeards.

A naive little princess would never survive in the North. His lords would eat her alive. The Lady of Winterfell couldn’t be some frail little thing, she had to be strong. Strong enough to hold Winterfell in his absence if needed, were the threat from beyond the Wall come to pass.

Arra had been the only woman he had thought of marrying because she had been the only woman he had thought fit to the task. She had been of the North, as he was, and it had helped him envision a future together where they ruled over the very same land that had birthed both of them.

It was only adequate that the Lady of Winterfell was a woman of the North. Southron Princesses, especially those who had been groomed to marry inside the family, could be of little help running a keep. If he had to remarry and choose a southron, Cregan would have preferred a stronger one.

Yet if wishes were dragons, beggars would soar through the skies. Prince Jacaerys had seemed a bit insulted at his offer of Greybeards, but with winter coming, it was all Cregan could spare. He was no stranger to political games, though, and knew he had to smooth down the feathers his offer had ruffled.

Hence, the offer. To receive the toothless dragon in his home and keep it safe. A favor, from an older brother to another. The Gods knew if Sara was near war at all, Cregan would do everything in his power to send her somewhere safe. He would be forever indebted to the man who aided him to do so.

And Prince Jacaerys, showing himself to be the dutiful prince and brother he was, had understood the offer for what it was. A true alliance. A Pact of Ice and Fire, to bound their bloodlines and keep the beloved, but defenseless sister safe.

It had impressed Cregan. Jacaerys was a serious man, no matter his dubious parentage. He could picture himself following him. After all, his Targaryen blood and character were the important part. That was what made him a worthy King.

Without a dragon of your own, your journey had been perilous. He knew you had ridden without banners until you had safely arrived into northern territory, a feat that had taken you a whole moon. Cregan had offered to have his men meet you halfway, but his letter doing so had gone unanswered. It had only prompted new anxieties for him.

What if he failed to fulfill his promise because you were abducted or harmed in the journey? What if the people riding with Black banners weren’t truly your honor guard, but an ambush prepared by the enemy?

Cregan doubted he would be at ease until he saw you emerge out of your wheelhouse, whole and unscathed. Hence, his waiting by the door. He would not be nervous a moment longer than he needed to.

The first thing Cregan saw was that your honor guard was smaller than he expected. He had known you would travel with a sparse escort, as to not attract undue attention. It was a miracle you had made it here with only ten guards, though. The wheelhouse and the men carried so many packages that Cregan would have known you were a Princess even without expecting you. Anyone would have known.

In contrast, the woman who stepped out of the wheelhouse wasn’t miraculous nor was she what Cregan envisioned when thinking of a Princess.

You were… Pitiful. Cregan understood now why Prince Jacaerys was so desperate to protect you. You wouldn’t survive a winter in the North, hells, it looked like a strong breeze would blow you away.

Your hair and eyes were as dark as the ones of your brother. You wore a pretty wool dress, in mourning black. The lacings on the back were done too tightly, a lot of the ribbon hanging limply, and the dress was loose around your chest and hips. It was clear you had recently lost weight, probably during the journey because the gown hadn’t been altered to fit you.

There were dark circles under your eyes, which were also red rimmed. Your skin was pale, your dark hair braided back in a severe style. Grief didn’t suit you. You looked small and sad, despite having a pleasing figure.

It didn’t help that the dress you had chosen was one far too thin for a sensible northern woman to wear. The day wasn’t even that cold, but you were already shivering. It was barely snowing, for the Gods’s sake!

Cregan approached you and gave you a bow.

“Princess.” He extended his arm to you. You took it, shivering. “I trust your journey was pleasant?”

“Pleasant enough.” At least your voice isn’t frail. The last thing Cregan needed was a soft-spoken southron lady. You even manage to smile at him, which makes you look considerably more attractive.

Cregan would admit one thing, and one thing only: Queen Rhaenyra made pretty children. Both you and Jacaerys had sinful mouths and bewitching dark eyes, though he found yours far more pleasing.

“I am sorry for your loss.” He says, as he escorts you inside Winterfell. Your trembling intensifies, instead of subsiding in the warmth of his hall. You say nothing.

When he risks a glance at your face, your eyes are suspiciously wet. You avoid meeting his eyes, even as he offers you the customary salt and bread.

“I remember when Arra got here.” Cregan offers, awkwardly. He isn’t quite sure of what to say to a grieving Princess, so he decides to share something about himself in hopes that you will open up too. He desperately needs to change the subject. Or to start a subject. He is not picky, anything that keeps you from crying will do. “She brought less of a procession than you did. And less luggage.”

“She was quite closer to home than I.” You reply, and your tone has regained strength. You no longer shake, body stiffer. Cregan decides to take it as a good sign. You are clearly struggling to get a hold of yourself, which is why you turn so tense, so he decides to keep speaking to give you some more time.

“She was. By far a more practical woman.” He smiles at you, teasingly. “But if the fuss makes you happy…”

You laugh. When he gets to know you better, Cregan will realize that your laughter wasn’t genuine.

He will also realize this had been the moment your heart iced over.

YOU PAGE THROUGH your book, in silence. Winterfell doesn’t have court musicians, and for that, you are thankful. Silence has always been your preferred companion right before bed. That, and a good book.

Your obsession with Valyrian history and traditions had been carefully nurtured by your stepfather, Daemon. Neither your mother nor siblings had much interest in your shared heritage, beyond the ability it gave them to ride dragons.

While Baela and Rhaena spoke fluid High Valyrian, the same could not be said for your brothers. As the only girl in the household, your lessons had been spent with the former and not the latter, forcing you to improve. Once you did, you had found reading the tales of old was a pleasant pastime.

You enjoyed laying in bed and imagining all the stories about magic, dragons, and empresses. When you had turned four and ten, Daemon had gifted you your very own book with Valyrian tales, a beautifully bound and illustrated edition that had followed you in your journey North.

“For you to read to your future children.” He had said, back then. You had barely flowered, so you had laughed. “I mean it, Princess. Out of my three girls, you are the only one I envision doing so.”

The day he had acknowledged you as one of his daughters, even if you didn’t share blood, was the happiest nameday you had had. He was right, too. As much as you loved the twins, you couldn’t picture them being motherly. Baela would have to have a son, to inherit after Jace, but you believed that it would be him who took charge of the more fatherly duties while she dedicated herself to statecraft. Rhaena, instead, had a thirst for adventure, to travel and know the world. Her ambition wasn’t conducive to motherhood either.

You, instead, had always dreamed of marrying a man who loved you and starting a family of your own. You envisioned yourself as the lady of a great keep, where you would rule fairly, and raise your children without wet nurses.

Those dreams had already been shattered. The man you had married didn’t love you. He had only done so to secure an alliance. And the man already had a child of his own, an heir. There was no need for you to be a mother anymore.

You turned another page of your book, watching the beautiful illustrations. You had dreamed of reading this to a little girl who looked like you, or perhaps a boy that would have looked like the man of your dreams. They would have learned High Valyrian, and spoke it as beautifully as your mother and stepfather did.

It would not come to pass. Not any longer.

A soft knock on your door makes you set down your book, closing it with great care. Then, you get up and put on your robe over your sleeping shift.

“You may enter.”

Your husband steps in, dressed for bed already. He is a handsome man, you think, biting your lower lip. Tall, dark and handsome, Cregan is the sort of man your childhood self would have pictured marrying.

He could have been the perfect man to fall in love with, were it not for the fact that he would never love you back. He already loved someone else, someone who you could never aspire to match. His first wife, Lady Arra.

As Alicent had learned, it was impossible to overshadow a ghost. Dead as she was, she could never make mistakes. He would forget all her imperfections.

She gave him a child, she was the wife he chose. The one he married for love, not duty. A practical, northern woman his bannermen had surely liked far more as a match to him than a soft southron princess who didn’t even have a dragon.

“I was wondering if you would welcome my company tonight, Princess.” Your husband says, voice emotionless. He is only here because of duty, it seems. “We could share the bed.”

“You said we could wait to consummate our union.” You keep your voice firm. It is not a task you anticipate eagerly, but you are not afraid of it either. You had seen enough of your mother and Daemon to know bedding someone can be pleasing. It is only the awkwardness of doing so with a stranger that puts you off.

“I was not referring to that.” Your husband says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “The nights are cold in Winterfell. Is it wrong for a man to seek closeness to his wife?”

You frown. His behavior is most puzzling. He intends to share your bed… To sleep? Your mother shared her bed with Daemon, but she also bedded him. It makes no sense to you that he wants to sleep next to you without touching you. Most marriages don’t do that. Much less if they are political matches.

“It is not a sin. But why would you..?” You question, but your Lord Husband is getting up already, huffing. He seems angered that you are unable to understand his message, whatever it might be. He storms off, leaving you confused over his behaviour.

That night, Cregan dreams of running. Of having a snout covered in blood, of jumping into the river, trying to trap a seahorse.

He never manages to. Wolves aren’t meant to hunt seahorses.

[syluss-littlecrow]

night of secrecy

<Sylus x fem!reader>

the extension of Nights of Secrecy card by syluss-littlecrow ♥️

warnings: smut, pwp, unprotected sex, steamy fucking, pussy eating, overstimulation, orgasms for sure, Sylus should be a whole ass warning by himself!, extension scenes for LADS card, canon events (TO ME!!!),

a/n: I'm back!!! At least for now... Also happy new year my little crows. I apologise for the extreme inactivity. Life caught me by the throat and flung me unfortunately not into Sylus's arms 😔🙏🏻 nonetheless, I was the happiest person on earth when we finally, FINALLY, got a spicy card for Sylus!! It was... WOO. definitely needed to extend the in-between scenes because thats what I wanted and y'all are suffering with me. Love you all as always and take care ♥️ also! Please give me a while to go through my inbox!! I'll try to answer your messages as much as I can! 🙏🏻

w/c: 2.8K

“Looks like we’re on the same page on not wanting to waste time.” 

His voice pulled your attention back to him. You watch the way his eyes are pretty much devouring you whole, and you've suddenly forgotten what he tastes like. And obviously, you’re ready to go in for seconds.

Your mind is slowly clouding from the desire seeping into your veins. The intensity of Sylus’s gaze on you suddenly dawn's onto you and you're briefly distracted by the snow pattering against the windows, your gaze grazing the midnight sky with snow looking like glitter, dousing the whole area outside of the warmth you're enveloped in.

Before you realise it, Sylus snaps your attention back to him. 

Your eyes are back on him, and the way he's staring right into you sends you fucking shivers. 

“Don't get distracted at a time like this, kitten.” 

Your hands wrap around his neck and you yank him closer, not missing the way Sylus’s eyes widen for a split second before he’s tasting you again.

God, you taste so fucking good.

The kisses grow deeper and more desperate, just like the first round on the couch, but this time, Sylus wants to make sure he's the one eating you whole. You let soft moans slip out between exchanging tastes, and you hear Sylus take a deep inhale. He’s got his weight pressed onto you, but he's trying not to crush you, and you feel his thick cock pressing hard against the inner of your thigh.

Who's gonna drive who crazy first? 

The silk bedding beneath you only grows warmer, completely taken over the heat both of you are emitting.  

“No looking.” 

His palm blocks your vision, shutting off your sight, the intensity of your other senses slowly setting ablaze. 

His kisses are relentless, sprinkled with soft bites along your bottom lip. His fingers find yours on the bed, tightening your grip, his moans and breathing growing in intensity against your lips. You want to keep this sensation and him in a jar and lock it up forever. 

Sylus lifts his palm off your eyes, knowing he's had his fill for now and knowing that he has you soaked and sticky, he watches you catch your breath, your eyes in a daze. The faint smear of your lipstick on his lips from ruining yours catches your attention. 

Maybe you should wear red lipstick more often.

His eyes are back on you now, his breathing still heavy. Even though the lights are dim and warm, the way you have his cheeks dusted with red all the way to his ears makes your heartbeat accelerate. You've never come this close to seeing the leader of Onychinus look like this.

Your fingers trace below his left eye, and a rush of possessiveness bleeds through your words, barely a whisper. 

“Am I being too greedy…if I want you to keep your eyes only on me?” 

A soft chuckle comes out of Sylus. He catches your wrist before it falls and presses his lips gently against your palm before he locks his eyes with you again

“You've always had that right. Which means you could be even greedier.”

And his lips dive for your cheek, and trails down to your jawline, and down to your neck, setting the patches of skin he kisses ablaze. He bites and sucks, making sure he leaves his mark, hiding his satisfaction whenever he hears you whine his name.

You feel the warmth of his palm slide down your thigh, and it gives you goosebumps. You watch the way he kisses the top of your knee as he lets his fingers trail lower down. 

“Do you want it, kitten?” 

The “yes” that spills out of your lips almost instantaneously draws a smirk from Sylus. He's ready to leave your clothes in pieces. But your palm presses against his bare chest just before he gets a chance to go further, as if stopping him. Sylus pouts slightly, grabbing your thighs once more. 

“You haven't changed your mind, have you? You just said yes?” 

Only when he catches the playful grin you wear that he realises that you're painfully teasing him. Nonetheless, he plays along with you–spoiling you with kisses as he pulls you by your legs closer to him.

“I'm hoping your answer is still yes…”, he mutters, switching his gaze between you and your supple thighs. 

“…because I'm not holding back anymore.”

His fingers hook the waistband of your panties, and he slides it off your legs, his lips curled in a satisfied smile when notices the glistening sheen of your panties. 

He thinks you're so fucking pretty when you're unraveled and wet for him. 

Sylus has his palms pushing your legs apart, his attention now on your soaked pussy, practically inviting him for a taste.

He presses his lips against your pussy lips, his tongue then gliding up and down, brushing against your clit, over and over. You hate how he's so perfectly precise at finding your weakest spots. But then again, you let him into your territory, and that's your problem to enjoy.

Your breathing gradually staggers, your fingers curling against the soft white locks of his hair. Sylus is forcing your hips to stay onto the bed while he fucks you with his tongue. He hears you whimpering his name every time his tongue flicks against your clit, the pleasure shooting up your spine over and over again. 

“S-Sylus..”, you mumble, your pussy pulsating once more when he sucks on your clit. “Gonna cum. Fuck.”

Sylus doesn't directly respond to you, but rather, his fingers that aren't holding your lower body down circles the entrance of your soft pussy, and then he pushes his fingers in. 

You gasp, your body jolts slightly from the pressure. Now you're clawing the bedsheets and your moans pour out of you freely, competing with the squelching and wet sounds coming from your cunt.

His muffled moans vibrate against your cunt, as if beckoning you to just let it all out, and it drives you over the edge topped with his fingers fucking your pussy, long enough to hit your most sensitive spots. 

“Fuck, fuck! Sylus I'm cumming-”, cutting off when your orgasm hits you fucking hard in waves, the pleasure tingling down your spine, your mind in a beautiful, horny mess, only filled with Sylus. 

Only when your body settles down, and your legs snap together by instinct, does Sylus slowly lift his messy lips off you, and his fingers, covered in your cream, staining the red bedding in the process.

He really pulled every single orgasm out of you–you’re left catching your breath, and trying to stop your thighs from shaking.

In a haze, you watch Sylus drop his shirt onto the floor, his fingers unbuttoning his pants impatiently. He slides both apparels off swiftly, letting his thick cock free from the fabric tightness. 

You swallow at the size of him, but at the same time, you just really want him to fuck the thoughts out of you so fucking bad.

Sylus combs his hair back, the red flush on his face growing more obvious. 

Then he's back to distracting you with his kisses down your thighs, slowly going back up to your lips, not forgetting to give your tits a nice squeeze. 

You feel his cock brush against your pussy, drips of his precum mixing into your mess. 

Your fingers stroke his hair as he deepens the kiss. You feel the cold metal of his necklace pressing onto you, and it's definitely heating up. 

His lips hover near your ear.

“Could I, kitten? Please?” It almost comes off as a beg and it tickles you ears so good. 

Honestly you couldn't say no even if you wanted to, you're as hungry for him as he is for you.

You push him away. For a second, Sylus is ready to cease in case you really aren't ready. 

Instead, you slowly spread your legs once more in front of him, the initial shyness replaced by boldness.

“It's all for you Sylus. Didn't you say I could be greedier?” 

Sylus knows he's the luckiest man in the fucking world.

He bends and pushes your legs, almost folding you into half. His cock is lined right at your pussy hole, almost teasing you. But before any words could come out of your mouth, he pushes in, filling you instantly, stretching your hole open. You take a sharp inhale, grasping Sylus’s outstretched hand, and Sylus pauses, waiting for you to adjust, even though he's only half way in.

“You're so fucking tight for me, kitten. I'm only half way in.” 

You squeeze his hand in retaliation, and Sylus is amused by the pout you wear on your face. 

“You're too big..” you mutter. 

Sylus only chuckles, stroking your thighs in an attempt to comfort you. 

He feels you relax, but he watches for your reactions, and when you give him the green light, he stretches you out with the remainder of his length, knocking the wind out of you. He leans in, mostly hovering over you so he doesn't crush you with his weight.

“You gotta let me in, sweetie. You're squeezing me a little too good here”, he teases, his lips trailing down your neck. 

You're practically breathless and filled to the brim. It feels like fucking heaven–squeezing against his cock and hearing Sylus gasp when you tighten around him. 

You catch his lips with your palm when he's about to bite against the skin there.

“No biting here.”

His hands release your thighs at the same time, instead, taking both your wrists above you and holding them down with one hand.

“First you want it rough, now you want it soft. Aren't you a hard one to please tonight, kitten?” 

He opts for kisses instead, and it melts into your skin, once again sending shivers.

“Why won't you be a good girl and tell me what you want you really want kitten?” 

The way he's calling you a good girl with a voice velvet and drizzled in honey sends you shivers. 

“I'm not falling for your tricks…” you mumble. 

Sylus kisses your ear and his low groans whenever he feels you tighten around him.

“Then I'll start moving, kitten.” 

You nod. Unfortunately, your hands are still bound above you, so that's the most you could do. 

When Sylus begins thrusting slowly in and out of you, your mind slowly goes blank. All that's flooding in is how fucking good he feels in you. Your greed grows into a bottomless hole at an exponential speed. His name spills from your lips like a mantra, and you call him over and over again, sometimes getting cut off with a moan when he hits the perfect spot. 

“I love it so much when you call my name, sweetie. It sounds like heaven in my ears.” He's barely able to form his sentence when you squeeze him again, sucking him back into the endless rounds of euphoria. 

“Feels good. Sylus, you feel so good,” you whimper, realising you're letting yourself get lost into his heat. You feel him smile against your skin while he presses more kisses all over your face and neck. He pulls out momentarily, leaving you empty and slightly frustrated. 

The tension builds, and he releases your hands in the midst of his kisses, letting you switch positions–landing yourself above him. 

Your ego swells up slightly when Sylus casts you a suprised expression. But it quickly turns into a smile.

“Ah, so what you wanted was control?” 

His cock is just resting right at your ass and you feel the warm, sticky fluids slide right down to your pussy. 

You watch him lick his lips. 

“Unfortunately, I can't give it to you”, he says. “At least, not yet.” 

His hands glide upwards to the round of your ass, pressing his cock right at your pussy hole. 

You lift your hips slightly, his cock pushing into you the second time, with much less resistance thanks to how wet the both of you got. It still takes your breath away when he fills you up. You swear he's bulging in you. 

Sylus’s warm hands rub circles from your hip to your waist to soothe you, despite the fact that he almost could break just from watch you take his cock right in front of him. 

“That’s my good girl. You're taking all of me so well.”

Your mind is threatening to fall apart from the pleasure once more. It's dizzy and thick, building a thick haze in your mind once more. 

You lift your hips and he pushes you down, his cock filling you up again. 

And soon enough, you're bouncing on his cock. 

His grip on your waist is firm yet tender. He guides your hips, and peppers words of encouragement while he fucks you from below.

“That's it, kitten. Like that. Just for me.”

“Feels good hm? Of course it does. Look at your pretty fucked out face.” 

“Good girl–hng–! you're such a good fucking girl for me.”

You watch the ways his eyebrows knit in pleasure. At times, he’d barely have his eyes open, from the way he's doing everything in his power not to explode in you. Not yet. He wants to be a little more greedier. 

Maybe just a little more. He doesn't want it to end so quickly. 

After all, greed can't be satisfied. Only momentarily. 

Sylus knows that all too well. And god forbid he'd keep you locked up in here with him as long as he wanted. 

Shit. You're taking so much from him and it feels so fucking amazing. 

Your thighs are trembling from riding Sylus. It's too much yet not enough at the same time. His thickness presses against your g-spot endlessly, and Sylus swallows hard when you throw your head back, the sweat trickling down your neck, past your tits, all the way down, while your whole body shakes in sheer pleasure, accompanied by the obscene wet noises. 

“Look at me, kitten.” His voice lures you back to him, like it always does. 

You make eye contact with him, your eyes so pretty and glazed, as if in a spell. Under his spell. 

“How are you feeling?” His finger traces down your chin.

“So full. I’m feeling so full of you”, you manage to reply, lifting your hips, letting Sylus see the full view of the wet, creamy, sticky mess you've made on his cock. You still have the rest of him stuffed deep in you, and you're not lasting any longer. 

Every thrust he pushes into you drives you closer to the edge a second time. 

Sylus groans and bucks his hips when you lower yourself on him once more. At this moment, he realises nothing in this world could be better than this. 

“Feels weird, Sylus”, you mutter, pulling your pussy lips to take more of him in. You're grinding slightly more desperately, the tension builds. Fuck, you're gonna cum again. 

The sounds of skin slapping only grow wetter, thicker and louder. Sylus bites his lip when he feels you go tight on him, his hands now on your ass, taking a handful and guiding you to fucking him.

“Fuck. Feels so good, kitten. You're gonna cum all over me?”

Too delirious, soaked in complete pleasure and begging to chase the high, you nod. 

He listens to you sob and cry when your second orgasm washes over you, fluttering all over his dick. Sylus cups your cheeks and pulls you in for another wet and messy kiss. 

“Cumming too, kitten. Be a good girl and take it all.” 

Unfortunately he doesn't give you a chance to answer, mostly because you have your tongue out for him to devour and he doesn't hesitate. His low moans flood through your ears, his warm and thick cum filling you up so much that it leaks out of you before he pulls out. 

He hears you squeal but the sounds of wet kisses override it, and he still makes you bounce off his cock until he's satisfied with emptying everything in you. 

The air is thick and still for a moment when the both of you pull away, pants filling up the room. 

The both of you have red flushed on your cheeks. His grip on you loosens. Instead you move in for a kiss on his forehead, which takes him by surprise.

In the second, he realises how much he adores you. 

You're his first love, and you'll be his last. 

Your phone pings in the middle of the day, just as you reached home after dropping Sylus off from cleaning up his mission.

There are two messages–one from Sylus and one from…Luke and Kieran? 

The message preview from Sylus stating to call him when you're home safe. But your curiousity is piqued with Luke’s message. Before you could respond, Kieran’s messages pops into the groupchat with the three of you in. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion at first, but then you laugh it off.

Luke: Did you know if something happen to boss-man? I've never seen him glow like this before. 

Kieran: holy shit he actually smiled and greeted us when he came in 🤔 is the world ending? 

[bbokicidal]

But What Do I Know? | SKZ [Virgin!OT8]

Just some odd headcanons I've got regarding Virgin!SKZ. Some things I think they're into, how they behave as virgins, etc. But again, what do I know?~

Members are grouped into categories for these headcanons.

Warnings: 18+ Content; Oral sex, fingering, spitting/spit mentioned, dry grinding/humping, cum, makeouts, biting

NSFW Masterlist | SFW Masterlist

Group Number One : The 'I swear I didn't know it would happen!' Boys [The Pants Cummers]

Virgin!Minho swears on his life - to himself, of course - that he WILL NOT come in his pants the first time the two of you have a heavy makeout session - but it happens anyways. And he realizes after that, that he kind of.. likes it? He learns if he grinds on you a little he also gets the friction from his jeans and that helps him come even faster. Forget being put down because he reaches his high in just a few minutes - he's trying to makeout with you as long as possible to see how many times he can come.

Virgin!Jisung is WILDLY embarrassed when it happens, until he realizes you never noticed. Even if he'd gotten all blubbery and started to whimper in nervousness, you'd though he was just enjoying himself and whining into your mouth because he was happy. But then he excused himself to the bathroom to clean up and took nearly half an hour, his ears still beet red when he returned to you. You'd asked what happened and when he was honest, you reassured him it was fine that it happened - and that you thought it was kind of hot. Now, he lets it happen to please you because he knows you like it - which makes him love it even more.

Virgin!Jeongin isn't really sure what happened the first time. He was making out with you, you were on top of him - and then his thighs were trembling and you were sitting up in shock. As soon as he realizes he'd just nutted in his boxers, he's flushed in the neck and chest with embarrassment. How did that happen - WHY did that happen? He's all whiny and whispering about how he's so so sorry that he'd just done that with you on top of him. But when you shush him and whisper that it's okay while kissing his neck and tugging his collar down to mark him up, he'd begun to think maybe it wasn't that bad. And if you kept kissing him like that it was definitely going to happen again.

Group Number Two : The Masters with their Hands

Virgin!Chris doesn't really have full confidence in himself when he slips a hand in your panties for the first time, but he'd done as much research as he possibly could before his date with you earlier that night so he was sure he'd be fine. And his confidence only raised after you let your head tip back and moaned out his name. He'd let out a sigh as he pushed two fingers into your warmth, new to the feeling of being inside of you but enjoying it nonetheless. And your reactions, your whining of how much you loved his hands and how big his knuckles are, how good they feel on your walls - Yeah, he's a bit cocky after that and no longer worried about if he'll be able to please you.

Virgin!Hyunjin knows what he's doing in theory - not in practice. He did no research but it can't be that hard; and for him, it's not. It seems to come to him naturally (after you having to guide his thumb to where your clit actually is), with his middle and ring fingers pushing deep into your pussy until your thighs were quivering against his hips. He's a master at multitasking, able to rub your clit with his thumb and pump his fingers into you almost too quickly too well. And all while hovering above you, biting his lip and looking so good, too? Almost a bit mean of him to be this pretty and talented in bed.

Virgin!Seungmin really only is good at this because he plays games on PC. He's use to clicking the keys quickly, using multiple fingers at once - so you'd best bet he's good at fucking his fingers into you so quick it's got you nearly crying against the sheets. Also another who's good at multitasking - again, because of gaming - but it's with his other hand this time. And his mouth. He'll lean down to suck on your clit, fuck two or three fingers into you, and reach up to grope and tug at your chest with what feels like practiced (even though it's not) ease. Also mean in bed but.. in a different way. ;]

Group Number Three : The 'I can't help it' Boys [The Bed Humpers]

Virgin!Changbin swears that he didn't even realize he was grinding against the mattress while making out with you until he was making a mess on the sheets. Usually it's you he teases about your orgasm hitting early or the way your legs tremble in need when he sucks on your chest during heavier makeout sessions. But this time? This time it was him being teased, plump cheeks rosy pink and eyes darting over the sheets where pre had leaked from his tip and smeared on the mint of your bed. He's pouty, swearing up and down he didn't realize he had done that, before being welcomed back into your waiting arms with a shy smile. He waits until he has your reassurance that it's okay and it's nothing to be embarrassed about before he lets it happen again - and even blushes and gets shy when you ask him a few weeks later why he isn't humping the blankets while he sucks on your neck and chest. You think it's cute - and he's happy to please.

Virgin!Felix is.. kind of shameless about it. He's happy to let you know he's into you by touching and kissing and whatever - but he's a little too shy, and inexperienced, to even think about grinding on you. Your hips? His hips? Not connecting just yet. He's waaaay too shy to do anything like that. But he does want the friction, does crave the touch and grind of it all, so he'll go for the next best thing - laying between your legs while he kisses you all nice and slow in the early morning and rolling his hips down against the mattress. The feeling of his pajama pants rubbing on his cock is perfect, and the stiffness of the mattress... It's enough to satisfy him without getting too touchy with you just yet. And you seem to find it cute, too, that he humps the mattress all shy and sweet. If he notices you looking or watching he'll probably stop but any other time he's happy to keep going. Though there have been a few times he's gotten closer and humped your thigh instead. Not that you were complaining.

Group Number Four : The '*moans while neck deep in pussy*' Boys [The Messy Eaters]

Virgin!Hyunjin looooooves eating pussy. It's his favorite past time actually. Not busy? He's on his knees between your legs while you watch a show. Getting ready for sexy time? He's on his knees at the end of the bed waiting. Getting home from work? He's kissing you in the doorway and pinning you there so he can go down on you right away and relieve any stress. Honestly just a househusband with a nasty mouth who CANNOT keep his spit in it. It's like he's feral, almost. The type of guy who growls when you try to pull away or who bites at your thighs, nipping at your clit when you squirm too much. Again, so inexperienced that he's honestly not super great at eating you out - but does his best and is more than enough to please, at the cost of spit dripping down his chin and your thighs.

Virgin!Jisung. I've said it before, I'm saying it again!! Jisung likes to eat you out but really only when it's something casual and lazy. At first he was SO nervous because he was afraid he'd mess up or be bad at it - but then he realized, you're.. pretty chill about it all. You'll be on your phone and he'll be between your legs, sucking on your clit and dragging his tongue through your folds like you're the sweetest ice cream he's ever tasted. He's sweet when he eats you out and he's really careful about it, but he's.. drooling everywhere. Maybe even builds up the courage to spit on it if he thinks you're not paying attention, only to apologize and giggle when you flinch in surprise.

If y'all want a part two let me know - I have like 4-5 other groups already written in my notes lol.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Chapter 4: Dazed.

Previously // Next - (chapter list) / (AO3 ver)

Jack sat slumped on the living room couch with a TV remote in hand, the screen flicking from one channel through the next. With his attention still mostly focused on the man in the bathroom, his ears twitched as they picked up the noise of the faucet being turned on.

He sniffed. That sharp, metallic tang of blood clung stubbornly to his nose still.

Jack had already called in sick earlier, using last night’s downpour as a convenient excuse. The few days off will give him some breathing room and time to watch over his new guest, though he couldn't help but feel a little guilty about shifting his workload onto his colleagues. They're good people, he knew they wouldn’t hold it against him, but still, the nagging thought lingered.

His nose itched. “ACHOO! Oh!” Jack sneezed loudly, startling even himself. He rubbed his nose, muttering a soft “bless me.”

The apartment felt too quiet now. Jack glanced toward the hallway leading to the bathroom. He sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions as the tension from earlier lingered. The encounter had left him feeling a bit more muted than usual, but at the same time, he knew he wouldn’t have acted any differently.

“What have I gotten myself into…?” he mumbled under his breath.

His dulled eyes fixated on the TV screen, though the flashing images barely registered in his head.

"What now?”

Some Toon actor was bouncing around, spouting catchphrases in a voice too cheerful for his current mood. Jack's thumb hovered over the remote, but he didn’t bother changing the channel. The noise was better than silence at least.

He supposed he should be grateful the Grim hadn't turned this situation into some Toon-Noir crime scene, though he was surprised it hadn't already, especially with what happened earlier. Still, how long would this last?

The thought made him groan softly, dragging a hand down his face as his impulsive decision slapped him in the face once again. "Sweet," he murmured in frustration, though it was mostly directed towards himself. "Just wing it with a literal Grim-mob-boss-looking guy in your house. No big deal."

The flickering light of the television danced across his face, but his expression was devoid of any response, like the static had seeped into him. The thoughts churning in his head felt distant.

Why does he always have to care so much?

Sure, the Grim guy looked like he was on the verge of death when Jack found him, but wasn’t that all the more reason to take him to a hospital? Or the authorities? Somewhere, anywhere, better equipped to deal with a situation like that? Jack had no business dragging him back to his apartment like this!

The memory of that night was blurry, tinged with adrenaline and rain. Jack’s fingers twitched slightly at the thought of how cold the man’s skin had felt, his weight on Jack's back as he carried him through the downpour, the blood that seeped into his suit. His decision had been made in a split second; impulsive and reckless.

What if the Grim man died in his apartment?

The thought settled over Jack like a heavy, suffocating blanket, but even that couldn’t stir much from him. His breath came out soft and steady, not quite a sigh but close enough.

What would he have done if the man's blood had soaked into the floor and left a corpse behind? Call the police? Try to explain why there was a Grim dead in his apartment? Would they even believe him?

What if it was him who got killed? Shot in the head with that gun in the man's suit, the one Jack took away and hid from him when they arrived in his apartment.

If he had, mummy and daddy would be sad if they heard about it. He felt apologetic when he thought about how his parents would react if news reached that their son had been left for dead in the city they thought had been the safest for him. He knows not to worry them, yet here he was.

Thoughts continued to circle lazily in his mind, but none of them seemed to matter all that much. Not really. None of them had mattered back then either. It had been raining, he saw someone dying, and he’d acted. That was all there was to it, even if the decision felt dumb now. Still, was it the right thing to do?

The TV show's laughter filled the room, a stark contrast to his blank stare.

Jack was pulled from his spiraling thoughts by the faint sound of footsteps. Turning his head toward the source, he saw the scarred man standing in the corridor entrance.

The clothes Jack had left for him were a tad bit tight on the mobster’s muscular frame, but he didn't seem bothered by it, which was good. The Grim's sharp eyes looked around the apartment, taking in every detail with the same wariness that hadn't left him since he woke up.

Jack snapped out of his pondering, and offered him a tentative smile. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Ah, sorry if the place looks a little… unkempt," he said, his voice lighter than he felt. "It's usually a bit more put together, I promise. Just haven’t had much time or energy lately to clean up."

The man didn’t respond right away. His gaze lingered on the coffee table, where a few cans of beer sat among scattered wrappers and an empty cup of noodles. They looked like they hadn't been taken out in a while. Then, his gaze shifted to the bedroom doorway where Jack had hastily cleaned up the remnants of the spilled food from earlier.

His eyes finally met Jack's. The Toon resisted the urge to shrink under the weight of that gaze. Instead, he smiled at him. "My place ain't much, but make yourself comfortable."

The silence stretched between them as the Grim's expression didn't change and went back to looking around the small room. It wasn’t exactly the warmest start to a conversation, but Jack supposes he should start getting used to that.

Still, something about having the Grim man standing there, alive and fully clothed, was oddly grounding. It's a bit amazing seeing him able to get up and walk around in that condition, actually.

Jack's smile faltered, slipping away as he found himself staring at the man without realizing it. His gaze trailed over his big frame and drifted to the scars etched across his skin. He'd seen them while he was tending to his wounds, running along in numbers from his face down to his ankles.

How does someone end up with scars like that? It was the kind of curiosity that gnawed at him, the kind he knew better than to voice aloud. Whatever had left those marks behind probably wasn’t the kind of thing the Grim would ever want to talk about, let alone to someone like Jack.

Noticing Jack's staring, the man’s sharp gaze shifted, landing back on him. Jack blinks, realizing he’d been caught staring. He mustered up a sheepish smile, just a slight upward tilt of his lips that teetered on the edge of awkwardness.

“Uh. There’s food in the pot,” Jack offered. He gestured toward the kitchen with a quick nod of his head. “And some leftover rice in the rice cooker. Help yourself if you’re hungry, okay?”

The man said nothing, his expression impassive, but his attention lingered on Jack for a moment longer before finally glancing toward the kitchen. Jack's smile fell once the man’s gaze moved away.

He had put together something simple earlier, something that wouldn’t upset his injuries or require much effort to chew. The deeper cuts were across the man’s stomach and sides, they looked like wounds that would make eating anything too heavy or dense a painful experience, or so he assumed, at least. He's honestly never done anything like this before, he only recalls the first aid training and recalls none of the book stuff.

A basic porridge seemed like the safest option. Rice simmered in broth until it was soft, with just a bit of shredded chicken and a few vegetables tossed in for flavor. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was warm and filling. He hoped his guest wasn’t a picky eater.

He noticed the man lingering in the corridor, as if debating whether to follow Jack’s invitation or retreat. Catching on, Jack decided to turn his focus back to the TV.

He lazily changes the channel and the screen flickered with images of a car accident somewhere near the city, the voice of the reporter droning on about casualties and road closures. Jack wasn’t really paying attention.

He’d never been exposed to a Grim before. Were they all this unfriendly or was it just this one?

Jack yawns, a bit groggy. Maybe he was overthinking it, or maybe he wasn’t thinking enough. Either way, he was exhausted, especially after spending the whole night awake taking care of that man.

His body slowly slid down the couch, lying down with an ungraceful sprawl, his consciousness slowly slipping into sleep. _

Previously // Next - (chapter list) / (AO3 ver)

[hencheri]

young lust

18+ mdni.

You want Mark so badly, but he thinks you’re too young for him. With a little more convincing though, he eventually gives you what you want— in a less than gentle way.

pairing: rapper!mark x fem!reader

warnings: mean mean mean mark!!, legal age gap, noncon/dubcon, degradation, reader is mean to mark as well oops, unprotected sex, choking.

a.n.: this is just self-serving atp. hope it serves y'all too <3

.

Mark thinks he’s never been eye-fucked this hard before. He’s flattered, of course, but something’s off. 

You’re hot and very tempting, too, there’s no need in denying that. The little dress you’re wearing clings to your ass and he honestly can’t stop looking at it, especially with your back turned to him, occasionally glancing over your shoulder to meet Mark’s eyes. 

Your gaze is so obviously flirtatious, you don’t even try to be subtle. The finger stuck between your teeth and the look you send him tell Mark everything he needs to know; you want him as much as he wants you. 

He imagines your smaller body pressed against the bathroom wall, his hips clashing against your ass roughly, listening to your moans muffled by the loud music playing throughout the club. He sees it, that slutty mouth chanting his name like a prayer as he gropes your breasts with his palms through your dress. 

Mark looks at you before taking a sip from his alcoholic drink, then shifts his gaze back to Jisung standing in front of him.

“You know each other?” 

He’s taken off guard by the question, taking a second to respond. 

“Uh, no,” he thinks about what to say, but he really doesn’t have a clue on how to explain this… exchange. “We… we don’t.” 

Jisung sports a perplexed yet amused expression on his face. “So where is all that tension coming from?”

Mark raises a brow, eyeing you one last time, but you’re not looking at him anymore. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits, a faint smirk drawing on his lips. “Do you know her?” Mark asks in return, a little curious. 

He won’t lie that he likes the mystery of all this, not knowing who you are adds to the desire, to the inexplicable lust that draws him to you. He wants to mess around, do what he wishes just because he can. And that includes you. He wants to do you so bad. 

“Yeah, of course, we’re in the same company,” Jisung tells him, “she’s in this new girl group, you know. Up in the charts, just right under you,” his friend grins, looking at Mark to see his reaction.

He’s surprised for a second, uttering a “really?” and Jisung nods his head as a yes. 

Mark never pays attention to the charts, even though he gets reminded of them practically everyday. He’s aware of his success—way too aware of it—but he’s not the artist obsessed with numbers. He knows he makes good music and it’s all that matters to him. 

“I don’t know how you still haven’t heard of them already,” Jisung continues, “of her, especially.” He tilts his head in your direction, now both men’s attention on you. “Everyone’s fond of her.”

“Are you?” Mark wonders, narrowing his eyes at his friend. 

“Sure,” Jisung agrees, “she’s a sweetheart. Seems down to earth, for the few times we’ve talked.” 

This intrigues Mark. Does a sweetheart usually act so slutty with strangers? Perhaps he’s not a stranger to you, you very probably know him—everybody does—but he doesn’t think he’s ever gotten a girl this bold with him. And surely not someone who’s proclaimed to be a sweetheart, in this industry where anything opposite to pureness is unacceptable. 

He can feel your gaze on him now and he doesn’t hesitate to lock eyes with you once again. You laugh at whatever the person you’re talking to said, almost having Mark envious for not being the one making you laugh right now. 

You’re good at this, he thinks. Really good. Staring straight into his eyes, making him feel like he’s the centre of your attention when in reality you’re talking with someone else. If he could, he would take you with him, bring you to his car and fuck you directly onto his shiny leather seats, door wide open. He knows you’d love it. 

“Is she your age?” he says, taking a sip of his drink, eyes still on you until he hears Jisung’s answer.

“Uh, no, not exactly,” his friend responds, “younger, in fact.” 

He immediately breaks eye-contact with you, looking back at Jisung. Mark feels his heart starting to beat a little faster, suddenly anxious. Or is it embarrassment? Concern? Whatever it is, the desire he once felt, has now shifted. 

“What? How old?”

“Well, I’m not sure, Mark. 21, maybe?” Jisung frowns, trying to recall what you’d told him, but it wasn't information he really registered back then. 

Mark gulps down. He knew something was off, why didn’t he listen to his intuition?

He’s 25 and you’re 4 years younger than him. You’re barely an adult. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft now,” Jisung chuckles, noticing the deflated expression on his face. 

“Barely.” 

He empties his glass, settling it down on the counter near him after. He tells Jisung he’ll come back in 5, heading for the bathrooms. 

—-

Mark washes his hands in the sink, drying them off with a towel. He looks at himself in the mirror, leaning over the counter. The music is loud, making the ground vibrate under his feet, making it almost impossible for him to think. Maybe it’s a good thing, he can’t overthink, then. 

“You’ve abandoned me,” he hears a voice saying, lifting up his head just in time to see you entering the bathrooms. “I was wondering where you’ve been gone…” 

Your voice is as sultry as your eyes, as sensual as your body in this ridiculously tight dress. He can’t help but wander his eyes over your figure, looking at what now feels so immoral. If it wasn’t for that—morality—he wouldn’t stop himself from taking you right here and there, but something has to stop him. 

If nothing ever does, god knows all the things he would’ve done since now. 

You approach Mark with slow steps, a teasing smile on your lips, a very precise idea in mind. He wants to back away, leave, forget about everything, but he doesn’t. He’s curious, tempted. 

“Or maybe that’s where you wanted me to be?” you grin, putting your hand around his bicep, the other leaning on top of the counter. 

He stares back at you, unconvinced. “I was about to leave,” he explains, and he sees the glint in your eyes changing. You don’t like rejection. 

“Really?” you utter, the tone of your voice a pitch higher— sounding somewhat bitter. “I swore there was something between us… With the way you were looking at me,” you say, your hand lingering on his arm before removing it. “Do you often look at women like you want to fuck them and then leave them, Mark?”

This confirms that you know him. For some reason, he feels uneasy about the fact that he knows nothing about you but you know all about him. 

You get even closer, only a few centimetres before your body touches him. 

Truthfully, you were the only ever girl he was about to do this to. It didn’t feel like a big deal when he thought about it, but now that he’s been caught, he feels a little guilty. 

“I didn’t take you for a coward,” you whisper.

Mark arches his brow at that, wondering how in the hell did he get in such a situation. Getting called a coward by a brat? By a spoiled little girl who didn’t have to lift a finger for success to find her? 

“You should go back to your friends,” he carefully advises. 

But you find it funny, laughing softly. “So you are a coward, Mark Lee,” you mockingly say, tone condescending, tongue pressing behind your bottom teeth as his name leaves your mouth. “Are you afraid of something? Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless you’re into it?”

He keeps his hands away from you, as if the mere feeling of your skin under his fingertips would break down his barriers. He turns his head to the side, away from yours, as you roughly pull on his belt, your chest finally pressed down against his. 

“I know you want me,” you whine, “to touch me… Fuck me.” 

If he could only fall into temptation… Maybe it’d be easier to just follow his desires. Well, in the meantime it would be, but after? What if he regrets it? What if you regret it? He can’t sleep with every girl he sees. 

He never goes for anyone that is younger than him. Not that much, at least. What kind of man would he be? 

But goddamn, why are you so insistent? Why are you making it so difficult for him?

“You’re too young, okay?” 

You take a step back, letting go of him. Your eyebrows are frowned and you look at Mark like he’s the biggest idiot on earth. 

You scoff. “So that’s what you’re afraid of? My age?” 

You cross your arms over your chest, Mark turning his head toward you now that you’ve put some distance between you. 

“What did Jisung tell you?”

“That you’re 21,” he answers, wondering what you’re going to tell him. After all, what Jisung said could have been bullshit. He hopes, for a moment, that it was. 

Your lips quirk up, a chuckle leaving you. You look to the side then back to Mark. “I’m 20.”

His eyebrows knit together, annoyed that you find this funny again. What else can he expect from a 20 year old anyway? That you take this seriously? 

“You find this funny? Do you realize how much older I am?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, “and that’s why it’s funny. You’re scared of what? A five year difference?”

You step forward again, but Mark backs away this time, hitting the counter behind him. 

“You’re a fucking puss,” you insult him, full of arrogance. 

But something you didn’t expect happens; Mark knocks his body into yours, making you stumble back as he follows you until your back is flushed against the bathroom stall. His hand goes fast to your neck, squeezing. 

He leans in, the expression on his face furious. He doesn’t feel guilty anymore.

“You act like a spoiled little bitch and you wonder why I don’t want you?” For the first time tonight, you’re speechless. His nose brushes over your temple, so close you feel his breath fanning across your face. “Fucking learn how to accept when people tell you no. Learn to shut your mouth from time to time because they won’t like your ass in this industry if you keep this entitled attitude up.”

You’re looking down as Mark’s eyes bore into your skull, blood creeping up to your cheeks. You gulp, not having a word to say in return. You’d rather not talk back.

He eventually lets go of you, turning around and walking out, leaving you alone and… turned on. 

—-

“Hi, Markie.”

The last person he expected to see when entering his studio is certainly you. The only person supposed to be here is Jisung, and yet, here you are, smiling, eyes glinting teasingly. 

He looks at you, then at Jisung, sitting in front of his computer. He turns around on the rolling chair, totally unfazed by the fact that he brought a stranger into Mark’s studio. 

“What is this?” 

“This?” you question, but he ignores you, walking straight to his friend.

“Uh, well, you’ve already met I believe, no?” Jisung asks, slightly confused. He says your name and it’s all it takes to irritate Mark. “She wanted to come see us work, learn a thing or two. I thought it was a great idea.”

Jisung’s innocence is a good thing sometimes, really. It’s refreshing, quite funny, too, but right now, Mark wishes he wasn’t so credulous all the damn time. 

“It didn’t come to you to, maybe, ask for my permission?” he whispers, leaning in so you don’t properly hear him. 

Jisung’s brows raise up, simply shrugging. “Not really,” he admits, “I thought it wouldn’t bother you. I told you, she’s a sweetheart, and she promised to not interrupt too much. Right?” Jisung turns to you and your smile gets bigger, bobbing your head. 

“Absolutely.”

Mark looks hard at you, not believing this one second. Has god sent you on this earth to test him? 

You stare back at him sweetly, and he swears, if it wasn’t for Jisung’s presence, Mark would have made you regret it. Bitterly. 

Surprisingly, you did keep your promise. You didn’t disturb them once, even pretending to care about what they were working on. You seemed close to Jisung, actually being kind to him, the total opposite of how you were behaving the other night. You’re good at playing pretend, Mark realizes. 

Your eyes were on him the entire time, though. You had the same look as he recalled, eye-fucking him right here in his studio. He was pissed off, to say the least, but he didn’t make a comment. That would’ve been weird to say anything in front of Jisung and the last thing he wants is him thinking there’s something happening between you two— because there’s nothing.

He just hoped the end of the day would come rapidly, and it did, to Mark’s relief. 

With Jisung and you gone, he can finally work peacefully, nobody undressing him with their eyes. 

That is until he comes back into his studio.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” 

He’s lost all of his patience to be respectful to you now. He really doesn’t give a shit. How can someone be so stubborn?

“Told Ji’ I was going to call a taxi,” you explain, getting up from the sofa you’ve been sitting on. “I lied,” you smirk. 

Mark blinks at you, too shocked to say anything. You use the opportunity to get closer, bringing him to you, and then pushing him onto the sofa behind him. 

“Call me ‘too young’ all you want, I recognize a pervert when I see one.”

You don’t think twice before straddling his lap, sitting down on his thighs. Your hands come to rest on his shoulders, and even though Mark sends you the most murderous glare in the world, he does nothing to push you away. 

Curiosity, temptation. 

“If you didn’t know my age, you would have fucked me right against the bathroom stall if I had asked you to,” you affirm confidently, and there’s truth behind your words. Of course there is, Mark knows what he thought of you at first— what position he imagined you in, the sounds you’d make.

“Get off of me,” Mark barks back, his frowned eyebrows giving him this angry look that you like so much. 

You roll your eyes, sighing. “Here I thought I was the whiny little one, but you’re whinier than I am, Markie.”

“I’m not fucking whining, I’m giving you an order.”

“Get me off then,” you propose, grabbing both of his wrists and putting his hands on your hips. “Go on, do it. Or are you too scared to touch me?” You provoke him further, knowing you’ll eventually make him break down, sooner or later. 

“You don’t want me to, believe me.”

His threat has you shivering… and excited. 

“Why’s that?” you wonder, subtly moving your hips over his lap. “You’re sure you’re not the little bitch, hm, Markie?”

You should have expected him to snap sooner, because the moment you say this, he pins you down on the couch, you underneath him. His hold on your wrists is nothing gentle and you can’t even move them. If before you felt like the master of your own game, well now you’ve lost all sense of power, being Mark’s puppet and not the opposite. 

You’re shocked. Scared.

His hand closes immediately around your face, squishing your cheeks between his fingers. “Be disrespectful to me once again and I’ll break your fucking jaw,” he spits at you. “Has anybody ever told you to respect your elders, huh? I bet fucking not,” he snorts, “I’ll teach you some manners myself.”

You don’t understand until he reaches under your skirt, pulling down on your panties. Your eyes widen, letting out whines of protest.

“Stop, stop!” you stress out, trying to grab Mark’s hands now that yours are free. 

But he merely laughs, probably the first time you’ve ever heard him. “Ah, now you want me to stop? After all the begging you did so I’d fuck you.”

Mark doesn’t stop, working on his belt, undoing his pants. 

Your heart accelerates, and despite the worried look on your face, your eyes starting to water, the turn of events please you all too much. 

You briefly fight with him, pushing on his chest like a little girl, whimpering pathetically. Mark stays unfazed, easily taking both of your wrists in one hand and pinning it down above your head. He grunts as he pushes his hard cock into you, a gasp escaping your lips as you feel your walls expanding. 

You blink multiple times, taking a deep breath, and the tears roll down the side of your face, disappearing into your hair. It burns, but you’re so wet. 

You ask yourself if Mark knows you’re faking it, but with how delighted he seems to be forcing himself on you, you doubt that he does. Whatever pleases him. 

“It hurts!” You cry out, wiggling your legs, attempting to close them—to no avail—while he pushes himself all the way inside of your pussy. 

Mark snickers. He couldn’t care less.

“Oh, it hurts?” You nod, gulping down. “Tell me why it hurts.”

He doesn’t wait to move his hips back and forth, using you for his own sick pleasure right away without any second thought. You wanted this. You asked for this. Why should he be careful of you now? You shouldn’t have been so eager. Shouldn’t have acted like such a slut. 

“It-” you begin, but a moan of pain cuts you off, Mark’s hips slapping violently against yours; it has your body moving up, your head hitting the armrest of the couch. “You’re- You’re too…”

“Am I going too rough on your virgin little cunt? Poor girl,” he coos, almost laughing in your face. “Too bad I don’t give a shit, huh?”

You sob out when he keeps on with the assault of his hips, his cock defiling your pussy like you’ve never imagined before. Mark knocks the air out of your lungs, panting heavily above you, his already short nails digging into the fat of your thigh. 

You squirm around, pulling on your wrists, none of your attempts are successful— not like you want them to be anyway, but giving Mark a little of a fight is more fun. 

“Please, Mark, I’m sorry,” you beg, lips trembling. 

His eyes, filled with lust and hate at the same time, lay on you. 

“You should’ve thought about it before pushing me over the edge, if it’s pity you wanted.”

[pacofprunes]

my house, your house, aka, my girlfriend, your girlfriend. (mi casa, su casa)

thanos x fem!reader, nam-gyu x fem!reader

warnings — noncon, cursing, lowercase, drugs, injections(1), oral(fem), needles, nam-gyu and thanos argue like children, 3sum, protection not specified but you can assume none, thanos is referred to as su-bong by the reader, nam-gyu calls thanos “T-dog” once, lowkey nam-gyu is manipulating thanos or some shit im ngl, too much to count

“come on bro, cut me some slack, i’ll pay you back, you know im good for it.”

thanos stood in front of his good friend and dealer nam-gyu. desperate for some more drugs. he didn’t have the money though and was damn near about to get on his fucking knees just to get one more pill.

“i cut you slack everytime i sell to you thanos. i’m cutting you slack right now actually and you still don’t have enough.”

thanos runs his hands through his hair about to lose his cool. despite needing more, thanos would never allow himself to actually run out. he always has something on him. if he ever truly runs out, you’ll catch him with a shot of mouth wash in his pocket or some random ass prescription meds.

thanos opens his cross up, frowning at the little amount of pills left before popping one in his mouth. after sitting for a few seconds he shakes his head back and forth intensely before he jumps up.

“alright man! how bout you let me pay in some other way, huh?”

nam-gyu scoffs before he starts to laugh.

“you tryna sell yourself to me?”

thanos pushes him back by his shoulder.

“nah bro, what the fuck? i ain’t that bad! now you? you are an absolute junkie, i could see you doing that. you’re worse than me! stickin’ needles in your arms and shit.”

nam-gyu just scoffs again before biting his lip back. him and thanos were close friends. best buds. in fact, he lost a lot of ‘customers’ due to the fact that he’d sometimes give shit to thanos for free and they all wanted a piece of that. he was thinking of a way he could let thanos pay it off before you pop into his head. god you were fucking gorgeous. perfect face, perfect body, and such a perfect girl. despite dating a junkie and hanging around junkies, you yourself didn’t really use. only thing he’s ever seen you do is vape and smoke some weed. he’s expressed to thanos numerous times how perfect you were, and thanos was probably too high to give a fuck. and he’s high like 90% of the time. you were the one girl thanos actually wanted to date and stay with and not just fuck a couple nights of the week or whenever he hit you up. clearly you were perfect.

“give me a turn with your girl.”

thanos looks at him confused.

“my girl?”

“yes, your girl. i want a turn. you know, fuck, hit it and quit it, whatever you wanna say.”

thanos scoffs at him before looking away for a second. he was never opposed to sharing a girl in the past but you were different. you weren’t thanos’s fuck toy, no, you were thanos’s girl. and there’s a difference. a big difference. but nam-gyu was his bro. his best bro. he could share you with him.

“i’m not opposed to it but she’s not gonna want to, i mean look at you.”

now nam-gyu hits thanos and he just laughs. saying he was joking.

“okay, but seriously. my girl isn’t gonna wanna sleep with you. for one, she’s loyal, she loves me, and,”

nam-gyu stands there waiting for him to say something else and finish his sentence before saying a sarcastic ‘and?’ back to him. thanos shrugs his shoulders.

“that’s all i got.”

nam-gyu rolls his eyes before throwing a shoulder over thanos.

“cmon, you haven’t ever taken no as an answer, huh?”

thanos pouts his lip out to the side and thinks for a second.

“i mean, from her, yeah.”

nam-gyu lets out a heavy breath before throwing his head back.

“just for one night. why don’t you treat her like any other bitch you used to do and just force her to let it happen.”

thanos looks offended at that and moves nam-gyus shoulder off of him. wondering if the drugs were really worth it. yeah if it was mutual between all of you he wouldn’t have really cared but he knew what nam-gyu was clearly insinuating.

“she’s gonna break up with me if i do.”

nam-gyu pauses to think before handing him a pill.

“oh man, really? for free?”

nam-gyu snatches his hand back.

“no. give this to her. it’ll make her a little drunk is all’. she won’t even remember by the morning.”

thanos thinks before snatching the pill out of his hand, looking down and inspecting it. he mumbles something under his breath.

“some fucked up shit,”

he lets out a heavy breath before looking at nam-gyu and points a finger at him.

“alright bro! but ima be there the whole time. and ima be getting my fair share with her too. she’s my girl after all, alright? i’m the one who knows how to please her.”

nam-gyu smirks at him before he gives him a nod.

“whatever you say. just don’t touch my dick or nothin’,”

thanos scoffs before taking a hit of his vape.

“not in a million fucking years! you don’t got nothing to worry about.”

—

“cmon babe, i take em’ all the time! just give it a shot.”

you look at your boyfriend like he’s gone crazy. he’s never tried to make you do drugs except for the first few times you met. the most you’ve done was smoke weed with him, he knew you didn’t do that crap. you didn’t even like when he did it but you supported him either way. why he was trying to pressure you to take this pill? you had no idea.

“what’s going on with you? you know i don’t do that crap.”

he playfully shakes you by your shoulders, giving you a fake pouty look.

“please baby…it’ll put you in this trance and make us feel like you’re on cloud nine. it’ll make falling asleep together in bed feel like a magical dream.”

you give him a concerned look before you act as if you’re gonna grab the pill from him but you just push it up to his mouth. he wouldn’t even let it slip past his lips.

“see! you take every drug under the sun and you wouldn’t even take it. why are you trying to give me something that you don’t even want?”

he lays his head on your shoulder and holds one of your hands and massaging it in his hand.

“it’s not that, i just already took one and you can’t take more than one in an hour!”

you deadpan at him.

“just get some alcohol or something if you’re really concerned on making our bedtime magical.”

he sighs before playfully pinching your arm, you let out an ow.

“you always played hard to get.”

you laugh.

“but that’s why you love me, is it not?”

he kisses you before pulling away and looking you in your eyes.

“you’re right.”

he pulls away completely now before making an ‘o’ face.

“oh, right, nam-su’s coming over in a few. kay’? kay.”

you give him a contorted look before complaining that you wanted to go to bed or that he never told you but he just ignores you, skipping away and shutting the bedroom door behind him. you press your palm into your forehead and let out a groan. he was literally going to be the death of you. but you loved him and his stupid antics.

—

“she wouldn’t take it man. i gave her the puppy dog eyes and everything!”

nam-gyu face palms himself before pulling something out of his pocket. a needle.

“hit her with this.”

“oh hell no. that’s that crazy ass shit you use, we’re not using that.”

nam-gyu shrugs before injecting the substance in his arm and thanos gives him a grotesque look.

“look man, just wait till she goes to sleep. she’s a heavy sleeper. i end up on top of her every night and i got some loud ass snores after drinking too much and she still doesn’t wake up.”

“how longs her going to sleep gonna take?”

“like now,”

“now?”

“yes. what are you complaining for? you took an hour longer to get here so she already fell asleep.”

thanos leads nam-gyu to your guys shared bedroom and slowly creeks open the door and peeks in before signaling nam-gyu to follow. on the bed was you sound asleep, not suspecting a thing.

“aw man, I don’t know if i should let you do this. if she wakes up she’s gonna know and break up with me. she’s already pissed at me for tryna’ get her to take that stupid ass pill you gave me.”

nam-gyu just slaps him on the back and brushes him off before he goes to sit next to you on the bed. the bed dipping down and you slightly moving toward the dip. he moves your hair behind your ear and brushes his hand down your cheek to your neck. your actual boyfriend just standing in the corner hitting his vape. the room starting to become a literal cloud. nam-gyu moves down and pulls down your pajamas, viewing your pretty legs, rubbing his hand on the inside of your thigh before pulling your panties down. thanos takes the vape out of his mouth and moves closer before nam-gyu can even put a finger in.

“you’re not very good at…this. i know what her body likes so i’ll take care of it and then you can do almost whatever.”

nam-gyu rolls his eyes before moving away from your pussy, leaving that to thanos and moving his attention up to your torso.

“could you cut the good protective boyfriend crap? you’re letting your shitty drug dealer best friend fuck her without asking just so you can pay for some more drugs. pretty fuckin’ hypocritical if you ask me.”

he laughs and thanos just stares at him blankly before turning his attention back to you. he lays his head on your stomach, rubbing his hands over it before going back down lower in between your thighs. starting to rub you in all the ways he knows you and your body loves.

“you’re all worried about me gettin’ rough but i’ve seen how you’ve fucked bitches before and it certainly ain’t nice.”

thanos looks back up at nam-gyu.

“oh don’t worry, i still fuck like an animal. i haven’t gotten soft, don’t think that for a second. but her, this is thanos’s girl! i let her get her high and i get mine. don’t wanna rip her pretty pussy apart.”

nam-gyu hums in response and snakes his hand under your shirt, groping you and teasing your nipples between his fingers, harsh pinches that if you were awake it’d have you screaming. such harsh pinches that it might as well wake you up. thanos still focused on your pussy, slaps wherever he can manage to hit nam-gyu without seeing, mumbling that he was gonna wake you up.

“she isn’t gonna see me if she wakes up. she’s gonna see you, so she won’t even be mad.”

thanos sits up between your legs and starts fucking with his own pants and boxers, pulling them down. nam-gyu looks over before quickly looking away, slapping his hand over his eyes.

“man, i didn’t wanna see your dick, put that shit away!”

thanos scoffs.

“we’re fucking my girl and you didn’t expect to see my dick? i’m gonna have to see yours! and i know mines bigger.”

he mumbled that last part.

“ugh, please let me go first. i don’t wanna put my dick in after you, that’s basically me fucking you.”

“okay? you should be honored.”

“honored that i’m fucking you?”

“i’m fucking thanos man. you should be honored you even get to see me like this and that i don’t stab your eyes out!”

nam-gyu scrunches his eyebrows together at him.

“yeah, i kinda think i want you to.”

“want me to what?”

nam-gyu slaps his forehead.

“stab my eyes out you fucking idiot.”

thanos ignores him, mumbling some curses before slowly pushing himself into your tight hole. he sits there for a minute before immediately thrusting himself into you fast as fuck and rough as shit. he grips his hands on your hips, to the point where it would definitely bruise in the morning. he continues chasing his own high until he abruptly stops due to the huge stir you just made in your sleep. nam-gyu holding in his laugh due to thanos’s ridiculous wide eyes. he was so still you’d think he was frozen from the inside.

“what’s wrong? keep going. you wanted to take her first.”

“shut the fuck up.”

thanos lets out a deep breath before opening his cross and popping a pill in his mouth and throwing his head back just staring at the ceiling, trying to stop himself from being so tense. he pulls out of you and decides to just jack off next to you on the side of the bed so you don’t wake up as soon as they start. pouting to himself because he wanted his girl to help him out instead of his right hand. nam-gyu gets up and places himself between your legs now, not hesitating to slide in, ignoring the stirring that you were doing. it just made his dick twitch even more, all your moving doing the work for him. he starts feeling you up as he slowly moves in and out of you, taking his time before he starts thrusting so hard that you smack the headboard of the bed. thanos drops his dick out of his hand and snaps his head up at nam-gyu?

“are you trying to wake her up?”

“not completely opposed to it. i’m livin’ by ‘if she wakes up she wakes up’.”

“it won’t be an ‘if’ she wakes up if you keep this shit up.”

you start to stir but nam-gyu could careless, keeping his rough pace. your eyebrows scrunching together as you place your hand on your face before propping your arms behind you to push yourself up. but the moment you do that you feel something slide out of you. you felt so full, felt good but at the same time this painful burning feeling. you mumble out for thanos, asking what he was doing and he climbs on top of you, laying his body flat on you before holding your face in his hands, pressing a tight kiss. you’re too out of it, to reciprocate. having just woke up. although nam-gyu stopped for the second you completely woke, he quickly decides ‘fuck it’ and starts slamming so hard into you that you hit the headboard again. you quickly contort your face in pain and thanos snaps his head back at nam-gyu, causing nam-gyu to shrug. he snaps his head back to you, your face still in his hands before you go to move them.

“have you been fucking me while i’ve been asleep? what the hell has gotten into you su-bong?”

he quickly presses you into a kiss, this time a much rougher one to keep you quiet as you press your hands against his chest to get him off of you. he moves his hands back to your face, squeezing it tightly. finally he pulls away and that’s when nam-gyu finally pulls out. you hadn’t even known that he was there.

“ah man, she’s awake. whatever, can i use her mouth now T-dog?”

thanos scoffs at him and your eyes widen even more. wondering what was going on and why nam-gyu was here. you go to open your mouth but thanos just presses a finger to it.

“shh babe. i won’t let him do all that.”

“psh, maybe not today but sure you will at some point.”

you yell at thanos to get off of you so that you can leave and he just groans at you, frustrated.

“shut the fuck up. i’ve been pretty nice, huh? don’t piss me off now baby. he’s still here, i could let him do so much more.”

he leans in closer to your ear.

“and trust me, i know he wants to.”

he moves away from your ear and just looks over you, still completely on top of you before clapping his hands together.

“in fact, he wants to do shit that i’d never in a million years dream of doin’ to you. but if you’re gonna start being a bitch i’ll be a nice friend and let his dreams come true.”

nam-gyu rolls his eyes.

“yeah, a nice friend for once.”

“you don’t consider me letting you fuck my girl a friendly thing of me to do for you?”

nam-gyu throws his hands in the air shrugging.

“idontknow man,”

you were still so confused and couldn’t grasp the situation, feeling hands who you could assume were nam-gyus gliding up your thighs and fingers starting to play with your pussy, quickly going to kick at him before his hands hold your legs down and he settles for using his mouth instead. your eyes start to tear up and you take as large as a breath as you can with thanos still on top of you. you start to hit at him again, not caring what he’d have to say before he just stares at the wall blankly for a few seconds, letting you have your tantrum, before unexpectedly throwing his hands at your throat and choking you.

“shh, you’re good. i’ll make breakfast for ya in the morning, whatdya say? i think nam-gyus staying the night tho.”

he lets go of your neck with one hand, the other still staying on your neck and his now using his free hand he sticks out his tongue and puts his finger on it making an exaggerated fake disgusted look. you continue to try to free yourself, black spots clouding your vision more and more. god, why would you decide that hanging around, let alone dating an insanely active drug user and constantly partying with his drug dealer buddy’s was a good idea? now this crazy fuck was gonna kill you and he was gonna have a whole conversation with you as if nothing was wrong while he did it. he puts his other hand back on your neck while you just hold onto his wrist, not bothering to actually scratch at him, but just holding it and looking at him with the eyes that he fell in love with. the tears threatening to spill that whenever he saw he always took care of. hoping some slither of humanity was still left in the guy you thought you loved. he frees his one hand from choking you before your vision fully starts to fade, feeling his hand glide against your cheek before it all goes dark and he finally lets go, letting out a long shaky deep breath. the effects of his drugs starting to let up and his actions starting to dawn on him, quickly checking to make sure you were still alive before quickly getting up off of you so you wouldn’t have as much trouble breathing.

nam-gyu quickly pulls his pants back up and leaves thanos to slide yours up as well. he goes over to him and throws his arm over his shoulder before flicking the cross pendant around thanos’s neck. thanos looks down, not thinking to heavy on it and just opens it, taking the last pill out and popping it in his mouth as quickly as possible. nam-gyu reaches in his pocket and shuffles around before pulling out a bag filled with the pills thanos has been desiring, dangling it in front of his face. thanos’s eyes immediately widen in surprise.

“you shouldn’t have to bitch to me about needing more for at least two weeks unless you take like fifteen a day.”

thanos shakes his hands, wiggling his arms around a little, hoping the drug he just took takes its course as quickly as possible so he can feel better about what he just did.

“don’t worry man. as long as you clean her up i’m sure she’ll wake up thinkin’ it was all just a bad dream.”

thanos takes the bag of pills from him. nam-gyu gave him so much that he knew they all wouldn’t even fit in his cross. he looks at the bag one last time before he looks back down at you. he starts tossing the bag back and forth between his hands like a ball, thinking about what nam-gyu said. yeah, yeah he was probably right. you’d probably wake up thinking it was just some weird bad dream you made up. yeah. he’d make breakfast for you, apologize for trying to pressure you into taking that pill and you’d think it was all just a dream. nam-gyu coughs before speaking.

“so will there be a next time?”

the drugs start speaking for thanos before he could even comprehend what he was saying. before he could actually even know what he was saying. and he’s sure he wouldn’t even remember what he was saying either.

“shit, if you’re throwing this much around then hell yeah there’s gonna be a next time.”

[simpjaes]

Thinking about Jongseong and his huge cock today. I think he would be really into seeing how much you have to prep yourself to take him. Like having to buy dildos of various sizes kind of prep. Eventually when you do make your way up taking his cock, you still struggle to take him but cum just from having him inside of you completely.

Ah, the classic size training with jay. lets go.

Three dildos ago, you thought you were ready. Then again, those three dildos didn't have the fucking girth Jay has, apparently. Nor the weight, or intentional flicks and pulsing inside of you. You blink up at him, eyes burning as you try to hold back the overwhelming tears of how you truly don't know if you can take it, yet when he looks back at you, he just presses in more. He coos, petting your cheek and forcing you to keep your eyes on him. "Baby, you can take it this time-" He tries to encourage you, though it sounds more like he's reassuring himself if anything. After all, months of dating and never getting to fully fuck you has taken a toll on him to some degree. Not the the extent he'd resent you for it, but at this point with his cock a few inches inside of you, deeper than he's even gotten to be before, he needs it. He needs you to take it so fucking bad. You nod to him, squeezing your eyes shut, feeling him push further in up until he feels you clench, your hole making attempts to push him out in instinct, despite how wet he managed to get you before. It's how twenty minutes of head and three dildos still doesn't seem to be enough for you to relax. He knows he's big, but goddamn, you're so... "Please," Jay nearly whimpers himself, holding back the urge to just..."Fuck, please-" He moans now, fully pressing himself into you in one long, painful plunge. Your mouth falls open as you silently cry out, eyes wide now when you stare at him. He pulls out and then pushes back in again, seemingly lost to the need for it, lost to the pleasure of how tightly you grip him. He's in all the way. You're taking all of it. Fucking all of it. And just as you were preparing to push him away, knowing he'd stop if you so much as asked him to, you...moan? You feel a fluttering in your belly, your clit swelling and confused by how good that pain inside of you is. You shake, skin prickling at the constant pressure on that little spot inside of you.

With you quivering under him, you know he feels it, even with your breathless attempts to moan out and warn him of it. He just stares down at you, halting his hips as he feels your cunt squeeze and pull him in each time he does attempt to pull back for another thrust.

"Oh, that's it," He compliments you, dropping down to kiss you right on the side of your mouth, now letting his hips move freely as he fucks you through it. "Taking it, getting off so well too." He mumbles incoherently, about to cum alongside you solely because all it took to get you there, to get the slide of your pussy this wet, was to just...fucking give it to you.

[plaidcowboy]

છ rafe’s not the jealous type

“man, where’s the rest of it, huh?” rafe brought the bottle to his lips, knocking back the rest of its contents, setting it down on the table beside him.

he looked over to the guy that spoke. he didn’t feel like playing with the guy, so he cut to it. “you see anymore than that?”

the guy’s gaze turned from you to rafe. he chuckled hesitantly. “nah.. that’s what i’m liking” he smirked.

“i like it too.. i told her it looks pretty before we made our way out” rafe watched you mingle with others, giggling at what someone told you.

the guy stilled. “oh.. didn’t know that was yours.. didn’t know she was anyone’s being out looking like that” he tried to keep up the bro talk.

rafe shrugged. “she’s wearing what she wants to” rafe responded, bored of the conversation. he had no problem with any revealing clothes you may wear. you liked it. rafe liked whatever you liked, sometimes even more than you. that’s all there was to it.

“i would just watch out for guys that’ll look.. i know i am” he kept up the smirk.

rafe shook his head, amused with the guy. “look, sure, i know how good she looks. you wouldn’t be able to do anything else”

rafe grinned as you turned a little to show off your dress to someone. why not show it off? he was proud when you flaunted yourself because you deserved it if it wasn’t coming from him.

he was used to people commenting on your looks and making suggestive comments. people admire pretty things, it’s nothing new. you were all his pretty thing. no one else’s.

touching though, was something else. you wouldn’t mess with a pretty painting at a gallery. it’s disrespectful to the owner.

he avoided violence in front of you. and what better way to solve disputes than with words instead of fists.

“that wasn’t so respectful, was it? to me or her”

they would shake their heads silently.

“right.. so it’s only right you apologize. it made her uncomfortable, and i don’t like that. a sorry would make her feel better”

they would stutter. “uh.. i’m sorry..”

“nah” rafe would suck his teeth, shaking his head. “repeat after me.. ma’am, it was disrespectful of me to touch something so pretty i wasn’t worthy of touching.. i’ll be more respectful towards women”

they would relay the apology.

rafe would turn to you, waiting for your forgiveness or rejection. whichever you felt, rafe did as well. it wasn’t his position to choose for you, he wasn’t the lady who received unwanted interactions. he knew this, so how these situations would go was always up to you.

you would look up at rafe, speaking to him rather than the other person. “it’s okay”

rafe would look at them. “say thank you”

or

you would look up at rafe, softly shaking your head.

rafe would look at the guy. “i don’t accept either. get out of her face.”

you skipped over to rafe and he slightly bent down, ready to hear whatever you seemed excited to share.

“rafe, this girl just called my dress pretty” you said, giddily, twisting yourself and the dress.

rafe smiled. “did she? that’s nice of her..”

rafe looked at the guy. “you have anything to say about the dress?”

you turned to the guy expectantly, excited to receive another compliment.

“uh..” the guy shook his head, suddenly awkward. “nah”

rafe frowned. “nah man, you just had so much to say” rafe didn’t repeat his words, not wanting to upset you. whenever he could keep you from hearing the unsettling comments made about you, he would. nothing could dim your happiness when you were with him.

the guy glanced away, scoffing.

“why don’t you just apologize. save her from getting mad at you”

the guy rolled his eyes. “nah man, i’m good..” rafe stopped him, grabbing his arm when he tried to walk away.

“that wasn’t a request”

the guy gulped, glancing over at you. “look, my bad..”

rafe tsk’d, shaking his head. he gave him the prompt, telling him to repeat the words. he did, and rafe turned to you, awaiting your response.

you looked up at rafe with eyes. “um.. should i?” you weren’t ever aware what the guy said after all.

“nah, baby, that’s all up to you”

you glanced between the two in front of you. “it’s fine”

rafe turned to the guy.

“say thank you.”

[bitchface24-7]

FORGIVE ME FATHER, FOR I HAVE SINNED - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: you've always been a good girl. You got amazing grades in school, participated in extra-curricular activities, you volunteered at the local food bank. You were everyone's dream daughter or potential daughter-in-law. You even wore a purity ring on a chain every day. You were allowed to do this since you were a nervous wreck when your parents first gifted you the ring and you were so scared you were going to lose it.

You were the perfect daughter. Until your church introduced two young, handsome priests. Father Viktor and Father Jayce.

warnings: religion (I'm roman catholic pls leave me alone with my dirty fantasies) power imbalance, age difference (reader is 19, J + V are early 30s), corruption kink, innocence kink (girly they go feral when they see the purity ring necklace), loss of virginity, voice kink, hand kink, inappropriate thoughts, mentions of masturbation, confessional, dirty talk, pussyjob, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, risky sex, squirting, semi-public sex (you're at the church but it’s not busy.) two smut scenes (VxR and JxR, the end suggests a threesome), J + V got big dicks, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f (m/m/f suggested at the end)

p.s. I know I don't want to seem like a horny degenerate but this was too good to pass up! If anyone wants fluff, angst, etc. shoot me a request and I'll write it as soon as I can!

You've always been a good girl. You got amazing grades in school, participated in extra-curricular activities, you volunteered at the local food bank. You were everyone's dream daughter or potential daughter-in-law. You even wore a purity ring on a chain around your neck every day. You were allowed to do this since you were a nervous wreck when your parents first gifted you the ring; you were terrified you were going to lose it.

You wear modest clothes every day. A mixture of pants, long skirts (no shorter than just below the knee), button-ups, cardigans, sweaters, long-sleeve shirts, dresses, and the odd high-neck t-shirt. You have to have at least one option when the weather gets hot.

Luckily for you, you weren't picked on in school. But at the same time, you didn't have many friends. People liked you because you’re kind and helpful, but they didn't want to become friends because of how modest and prude you were. They were nervous you’d rat them out if they did something “immoral.”

Life went on as normal. The same old same old. You graduated top of your class two years ago, you just recently got a certificate to be a librarian in a little over a month of work, and you got a modest job at your local library due to glowing references, and the older ladies at the library love you. It's your home away from home.

And you still go to church every Sunday. This Sunday was different though. You knew from the service that was held two weeks ago that Father Paul was going to retire. He had gotten too old to do the necessary duties of a priest, and that he was going to find his replacement before he left.

And it looks like he did.

If you have anything to say about the two, young, handsome men standing behind the altar. Wearing the traditional black uniform and white collar.

You feel like your heart is in your throat as Father Paul introduces the two new priests to the congregation. The two men are… very handsome.

Father Paul gestures to one of the men. He's tall, with long hair, beautiful bone structure, and the most captivating eyes you've ever seen. He's holding a cane in one of his hands. Father Paul says his name is Father Viktor.

The elderly man then gestures on the other side of himself to the other man standing there. He's even taller than Father Viktor, bulkier too. His shoulders are broad, his hair is messy, and he has a beard. Father Paul introduces him as Father Jayce.

You subconsciously clench your thighs together as an unknown heat travels down your stomach and into your private bits.

Oh no, you can't help but think to yourself. This isn't going to end well.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Church on Sundays became very popular. Like… ridiculously popular. You saw people at church that you haven't seen since you graduated high school two years ago.

Father Viktor is leading the sermon. His voice was loud, clear, and captivating. His accent made every word sound like it was dripping honey. Before you know it, its time to take the holy communion and the blood of Christ. You rise up from kneeling on the pew and brush imaginary dust off your simple black skirt. You adjust your small black cardigan, and nervously look down at your white button up. Everytime you've ever worn white, you somehow dirty it and it always ruins your mood.

When it's your turn to reach the end of the pew, you curtsey and do the sign of the cross. Your skirt lightly touches the ground. As you follow in line to receive the body of Christ, you silently pray you don’t fall. Before you know it, it’s your turn; and you’re face to face with Father Viktor.

He holds up a small circular piece of bread and calmly states, “The Body of Christ.” You kneel and say, “Amen.” After that, you open your mouth and lightly stick your tongue out. Father Viktor’s hand goes under your chin as he raises your head, and he lightly places the Eucharist onto your tongue. You close your mouth and Father Viktor’s eyes darken as he swallows lightly.

You stand up and after a few steps, you stand in front of Father Jayce for the blood of Christ. The two priests share a look and it’s almost as if they sighed in relief. Only adults can obtain the blood of Christ.

Father Jayce holds up an ornate chalice, “The Blood of Christ.” You smile and repeat, “Amen.” Father Jayce then brings the chalice to your lips and you take a small swig of the wine. You then walk away doing the sign of the cross as you return to your pew.

Your undies are wet and you don’t know why.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s been weeks and you feel like you’re going insane. Every moment of every day, Father Viktor and Father Jayce are on your mind. They even plague your dreams.

Your undies get wet, your breathing gets heavy, and your body heats up. You’ve started touching yourself to the thought of them.

It feels so good.

It feels so wrong.

You need to speak to someone about this, but how can you? Your parents will have a meltdown, and you don’t have any friends. You sit in your room stumped before an idea comes to mind. Confessional.

You quickly get dressed into a neutral plaid skirt that just brushes your knees with black pantyhose, a plain black top, and your black loafers. You make sure your purity ring necklace is centred and protected under your shirt before exiting your house. You get into your car and drive to the church.

It’s not too late, just past dinner time. No one will be at the church, except for you and one of the Fathers.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The parking lot is empty, save for a few cars for the church workers. You park and exit the car, quickly making your way inside.

You appreciate the beauty of the church before finding an empty confessional and ringing a small bell, letting the priests know that someone was waiting for them.

After a few minutes of silence, the other end of the confessional opens up and a priest steps in. It’s hard to tell which priest it is. The lighting is too dark to see.

“Peace be with you.” The priest states. Damn. You can’t even tell which one it is due to their voice, the confessional muffles it too much.

You lightly sigh, “And also with your spirit. It’s been a month since my last confession, Father.”

“And what do you need to confess for?”

Your lips press together as you try to find a way to say this without sounding bad. You can’t. So you decide to be blunt.

“I’ve had lust in my heart, Father. For two men I cannot have. They’re constantly on my mind throughout the day, and plague my dreams when I sleep. I—“

You hesitate to say the next part. You can feel your face heat up as you stutter the next sin, “I touch myself… to— to the thought of them, Father.”

The other side of the confessional is quiet and you feel like crying. Eventually, the priest responds with, “And who are these two men? Are they someone you shall not covet? Such as someone who is married? Someone you’re related to?”

You gulp.

“Someone who is devoted to only one, and that one is God.”

The confessional becomes quiet at that. Before you know it, the door to your side of the confessional is opened. You gasp at the sight of a disheveled Father Viktor. His hair is messy, falling out of the small bun at the back of his head. His face is flushed and his pupils are huge. There’s a small snarl on his face.

“Is this some kind of joke? Do you wish to tempt me to defile you?”

Your eyes widen, “No Father! I speak the truth. Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry for my thoughts and desires!”

Father Viktor enters your side of the confessional booth and closes the door behind him. The booth is just big enough to do small adjustments in; but you’re chest to chest with the beautiful priest.

“Say no, and we can pretend this never happened. You can go home and nothing will have changed.”

You nervously bite your lower lip and Father Viktor growls at that, “And… if I say yes?”

Father Viktor crowds you, until you have no room to move and whispers in your ear, “Then you shall become mine.”

A whimper escapes your lips and that’s all the answer Father Viktor needs. He turns your head and kisses you, it’s passionate, it’s frenzied. It’s a little messy.

It’s perfect.

You pant against his mouth as he touches your skirt, “May I?” You nod vigorously and he hikes the skirt up to your waist, ordering you to hold it there with one hand. You can’t help but comply.

Viktor groans when he sees you’re wearing pantyhose. He grabs the seem at your crotch and rips it, causing a gasp to escape your throat. Your undies get even more wet. A diligent finger taps lightly on the soaked fabric, so soaked you might as well not even be wearing it. The thin, white cotton has gone damn near translucent due to your arousal.

The gusset of your undies is pushed to the side as the handsome priest touches you in places you’ve only started to recently touch yourself.

He rubs your clit until it’s pulsing needily. He drags a finger down and teases your entrance, Father Viktor brings his face close to yours; so that as he speaks his lips brush against your own.

“Can I—”

Before he can even finish his sentence, you whine out a small yes.

Father Viktor chuckles and puts his middle finger into your pussy. It's so much longer and thicker than your own. It's reaching places you didn't even know existed.

“You need to learn patience, darling. What if I wanted to shove my cock into you instead, hmm? I'm not sure you can even handle two of my fingers.”

A whiny moan is what he gets in return to his scolding, “I can take two fingers. You heard me in confessional, I've been touching myself constantly now.”

Father Viktor growls at that and starts to finger your pussy faster, a schlick sound is heard throughout the confessional. Eventually, he adds a second finger and rubs your clit with his thumb. You’re gonna cum. You're gonna cum on the hand and fingers of one of the most handsome men you've ever had the pleasure of meeting. Every time you go to church and obtain the body of Christ you'll remember how fucking good those fingers felt inside you.

At your dirty thoughts, you cum. Trying to muffle your squeal into the palm of your hand not holding up your skirt. Father Viktor fingers you through your orgasm, and licks his fingers clean when he's done.

You feel a large bulge on your hip, “Do you want any help with that?”

Father Viktor chuckles, “You can't handle too much more, but there is one thing you can do.” he calmly states as he undoes his belt and lightly pulls down his pants and boxers; showing off an impressive dick.

Ok, no wonder he said you can't do much. His dick is massive and you're in a cramped confessional. Not much wiggle room.

Father Viktor slaps his cock against your clit and you gasp, “I'll just rut into your pussy until I cum. Is that okay with you?”

You bite your lip trying and failing to hide your smile, “Mmhm.”

He smiles and slowly starts to rock his dick into your folds. The head of his cock brushes against your clit in such a delicious manner, you won’t be surprised if you cum again.

“Hmm, what’s this?” Father Viktor asks as he notices the chain hidden beneath your shirt. The hand he used to finger you comes up and softly takes hold of the chain, pulling it out of your top to lay outside for once.

His eyes widen and his hips stutter once he realizes what he's looking at, “Is that a purity ring?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “Yes?” your tone questioning as it raises in pitch.

The older man groans in an almost feral way before resuming his rutting, going much faster and harder than he was before, “You’re a filthy fucking virgin. Letting a man over a decade older than you rut into your pussy like a common whore.”

You're feeling too much of everything right now. Everything comes to a standstill when the tip of Father Viktors cock catches on the entrance of your pussy. Father Viktor brings a hand down to rub vigorously at your clit and you yelp as you cum for a second time. This time a little dribble of arousal escapes you.

Father Viktor groans as he cums inside you, it’s so warm, and there's so much of it.

You both pant and Father Viktor gives you a final kiss before you both have to clean up to go, this one is much sweeter.

You readjust your underwear and cringe at the cold, wet sensation, you drop your skirt and you ironically thank god that your skirt is long enough that no one else can see the damaged pantyhose.

Viktor redoes his belt and fixes his hair. He exits the confessional and offers out a hand to you, you take it gladly.

You notice his cane is leaning against the outside of the confessional and gasp in worry, “Father, are you okay? I forgot you used a cane. Are you in any pain?”

Father Viktor just smiles at you, “The confessional booth was small enough that I didn't have to worry about moving too much or falling. But thank you for the concern. Also, after what we just did, you can call me Viktor.”

Father— Viktor’s smile turns into a smirk, “Drive safe darling. This Sundays mass shall be quite interesting, don’t you think?”

You giggle as you make your way to the door.

Your footsteps stop when you hear Viktor call out your name, “Shall I tell Father Jayce your confession, or will you do it yourself?”

You coyly look back over your shoulder as you open the churches doors, “You can tell him. I'm curious to see what his reaction will be.”

The last thing you hear before the church doors close is Viktor’s chuckles.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next Sunday mass you go to, you feel as if you have eyes on you the entire few hours you’re there. Every time you look up from your prayer, your singing, your kneeling on the pew, you see Viktor and Father Jayce looking at you.

They’re being subtle. They have to be. If they get caught staring lecherously at a young woman who's over a decade their junior, they'll be the town paraiah.

Everything goes smoothly until the end of mass. When everyone is leaving, Father Jayce lightly calls your name. “Are you able to stay behind? Father Viktor has had a flare-up of pain and I require a second set of hands to clean up the altar and the pews.”

You lightly chew on the inside of your cheek and shuffle on your feet. You think on it for a few seconds before shyly nodding your head. Father Jayce smiles, he has dimples; and his crows feet deepen the slightest bit. He has a small gap between his two front teeth.

Not only is Father Jayce handsome, he's... Cute.

The two of you break apart, going pew to pew, row to row, cleaning up as you go.

You raise the kneelers, place the bibles back on their shelf, pick up little pieces of garbage and bring them to the garbage bin near the front doors of the church.

“Are you done? I need some assistance cleaning up the altar.”

You turn around and hum, slowly walking to the back of the church, going up the few steps to the altar where Father Jayce is waiting for you.

The altar honestly isn't too messy. You just need put away the candles, the candle holders, the wine, the bread, and the lectionary. The massive book the priest reads from during mass.

Before you know it, the altar is cleaned, except for the wine.

“How did you think of mass today?” Father Jayce asks, as he fondles his rosary. You lightly gulp, “It was good. I enjoyed it.”

Father Jayce hums, “I’m glad. You're a very… good person.”

You feel your brows furrow in subconscious confusion, “Thank… you?”

The handsome man purses his lips as he saunters towards you, wrapping his hand around the wine pitcher and dragging it alongside him on top of the altar, “But you're not purely good, are you? No. You sin. Your perfected image is so ingrained into this towns mind that they can't imagine you in any other way.”

Your breath hitches as you lean back onto the altar, trying to put some distance between you two. Father Jayce crowds you against the altar, he's much bigger than you. It’s startling.

It’s arousing.

“You know, Father Viktor told me all about the the little rendezvous you two had. I thought he was joking, maybe he had a dirty dream. Because there’s no way such an innocent, good girl did that within the church. Within a confessional.”

You bite your lip and look down, Father Jayce tilts your head back up with a single finger under your chin. He brings the wine pitcher up to his mouth and takes a large swig.

“But I know he was telling the truth.”

“How?”

“The way you look at us is how the Devil tries to tempt the innocent, and Father Viktor and I are not.”

You gasp when Father Jayce brings the pitcher to your mouth and taps your bottom lip a few times. The glass is cold, and the wine is sweet.

But it’s not as sweet as the way Father Jayce’s eyes darken as you take a gulp of wine.

The pitcher is slammed onto the altar and Father Jayce gives you a passionate kiss. You sigh and lightly open your mouth, and Father Jayce’s tongue caresses your own.

Your arms wrap around him, your hands carding into the hair at the base of his neck. He growls and grips your waist, hiking you up onto the altar.

A gasp escapes your lips, he's so strong. Father Jayce parts your legs at your knees, your dress riding up to an almost obscene level.

His hands drag up your thighs to your hips under your dress, his fingers curling into the sides of your underwear.

“May I?”

“Yes. Please.”

With that, Father Jayce pulls down your underwear, unhooking it from your feet and putting them into his black slacks. He drops down to his knees and you grab his hair in shock.

No way. He's not going to— is he…?

Yes he is, he brings his face close to your core and licks from your entrance to your clit. You jolt, gripping his hair harder as you moan out in pleasure.

He groans and the vibrations make you want to cry. He starts to focus all his attention onto your clit, as he slowly fingers you. The double combo is dangerous. Your pussy is drenched, your face is hot, and your back is curling. Your thighs clutch around Father Jayce’s head and he goes even harder.

Your vision whites out and you cum. Hard. Father Jayce kitten licks you through your orgasm and eventually you shove his head lightly away due to the oversensitivity.

Father Jayce stands up and kisses you, his lips and beard are lightly damp. You feel embarrassed and aroused at that knowledge.

“Take it off.” Father Jayce orders, gesturing to your sage green dress. You gulp, and slowly raise the hem over your head. Your flats have fallen off your feet during your pussy getting ate.

Now you're sitting on the church's altar, only in your basic white cotton bra. Father Jayce is still fully clothed. “All of it.” he demands.

You bring your hands behind you to your back and unhook your bra, your breasts now free for Father Jayce to appreciate.

He unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his slacks and lowers it just enough to free his cock. His cock is also massive.

Jesus Christ, your priests are hung.

Father Jayce lines up his cock to your entrance and slowly pushes in, you moan, your voice cracking at the immense feeling of pleasure. He’s stretching you so much, you’re so full. There’s a minuscule pinch but Father Jayce prepped you so well, there’s barely any pain.

Your parents made it sound like you’d die.

Father Jayce groans deep in his chest when he sees a few speckles of blood on his cock, your arousal making his entire dick shimmer in the lowlight of the church.

“Such a dirty girl. Getting fucked in public by a man who’s over a decade older than her, and giving her virginity to him. You’re a goddamn gem.”

You moan at his words, god you’re fucking soaked. His cock keeps hitting your g-spot, and you can’t help but lay back against the altar. Your tits jiggle as Father Jayce fucks you. He slowly starts to go harder and harder. Fucking you to the point where your skin slaps together.

The altar is shaking, you're moaning, and then Father Jayce grips your hair and turns you over. You plop your hands onto the altar as Father Jayce pulls your head back.

If someone were to enter the church now, they'd see Father Jayce fucking the shit out of a woman as her tits bounce and she moans out in pure pleasure.

Your purity ring necklace bounces with each thrust.

“Fuck. Father! You feel so— so fucking good!”

He chuckles, “I’m balls deep in you right now, sweetheart. You can call me Jayce.”

“Jayce! Fuck!”

Without you noticing, Jayce unhooks your purity ring necklace and it bounces down on to the altar, the metal making a small tinkling sound.

“W— what?”

“You don't need that anymore, sweetheart. You’re mine now, and Viktors.”

With that declaration, you shove your hand in between your thighs and viciously rub your clit. One circle, two, and then you're cumming again, and this time a gush of arousal escapes your pussy.

Jayce moans and pounds into you, before going as deep as he can as he cums inside you. You can feel each pulse of his cock as he dumps his cum into you.

You sigh at the feeling, fuck it feels so good.

Jayce sighs and drops his head down onto your shoulder, he sucks a few hickeys into your neck as he pulls out. You feel some of his cum drip down your thighs.

You pant as Jayce fixes himself and then helps you get re-dressed. You two look somewhat presentable when a very familiar accented voice echoes out into the church.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No, V. You're right on time.”

“It was a good show.”

You freeze, “Wait… you could see us?”

Viktor nods, “The personal office has a perfect view.”

You laugh in disbelief.

“So,” Viktor continues, “Are we only ever able to see you within the house of god?”

Jayce chuckles as your face heats up, “No. I'm more than willing to see you two outside of the church.”

With that, Viktor smirks and hands you a small slip of paper with an address written on it, “This is where we live. Hopefully, the next time we see one another, it's within the privacy of our home. That way we can see how loud you can truly get.”

You smile at the two handsome men. They've truly ruined you for anyone else.

Hallelujah praise the lord! This was filthy and I hope y’all enjoy it! Priest Viktor and Jayce would be so hot, I’d start going to church if they were there LMAO

I started writing this when I was certain JayVik x Reader was going to win on my poll (I know cause I voted for other to see which the percentages, I was too impatient to wait 23hrs 💀)

[th3mrskory]

Unspoken Desires

Pairing: fem!Reader x Old Man!Logan

Warning: 18+ MDNI, SMUT,explicit language, coercion (if you squint), oral (male/female receiving), handjob, fingering, unprotected p in v, missionary, doggy style, anal play, creampie.

Summary: Y/N is always the one taking care of everyone, but tonight Logan decides it’s her turn to let go. Rough, tender, and unapologetically intense, he’ll make sure she doesn’t forget who’s in charge—or how good it feels to be taken care of for once.

Word count: 5.6k

A/N: As @coocoocachewgotscrewed so brilliantly put it, 'As the girl that takes care of everyone: SOMEONE TAKE CARE OF ME.' And that’s how this little fic came to life.

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The world had never been kind to her softness. In her youth, she'd learned early that the only way to survive was to take up space, to become a force others couldn't ignore, even if they didn't understand it. She had built walls from the ground up, stone by stone until they formed a fortress no one could breach. She had everything together—mostly. She had to. People depended on her and needed her strength to carry them through the chaos of life, so she did. She carried it all. Always.

But there were moments—quiet moments, when the world was still—when the weight of it all pressed against her chest, relentless. The loneliness in her veins. The unspoken ache buried deep within her ribs.

She never asked for help. She didn't need it. Her hands were too used to giving. And when she laughed, when she made jokes about being single—"Men want to be babied. I don't have time to raise a child."—it was easier to mask the truth. It was easier to hide the hunger that lingered beneath her words. The hunger for something she couldn't name, something too soft to fit into the life she'd built.

It was supposed to be just another day, another task, another moment in the long string of motions she went through without thought. But then she saw him—Logan, standing there with that quiet, raw strength of his. The way he didn't try to impress anyone, didn't need to, because the power in him was as much in his silence as it was in his actions. There was no pretense. No façade.

And she hated that it drew her in. 

She hated how much she wanted him—him, the one man who wouldn't cower in her presence, the one who wouldn't need her to be anything other than exactly what she was.

She noticed him more these days, more than she cared to admit. She tried to bury the thoughts, to ignore the way her heart would quicken whenever he was near, the way her body seemed to ache for something it didn't know how to name.

Logan saw it, though. He always did. The way she wore that strength-like armor. But he'd spent enough time with it to know what armor looked like—he knew what it meant to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and never let anyone see how heavy it was.

He didn't pity her. Hell, he admired her more than anyone he'd ever known. But he saw the cracks. The storm churned behind her eyes. The way she pulled away just when things might have gotten too real, too close. 

She never let anyone in.

But he wasn't afraid of it. Not of her. Not of that ferocity.

And so, on that night, after a thousand little things had piled up until there was no room left for her to breathe, it came out.

Her words were sharp, and cutting, but they were the truth. The raw, jagged truth that she never allowed to be spoken. She was tired of pretending. Tired of holding the world together when no one saw her crumble beneath it.

"What, you think I don't need help? You think I like doing everything myself?" Her voice trembled only slightly, a crack in the fortress that she had so carefully built.

He didn't flinch. Didn't back away. He'd seen that wall before, and he didn't fear it.

He only stepped closer, his presence as solid as the ground beneath them.

"I think you're too damn stubborn to ask for it," he said, his voice low, but the understanding in it was enough to make her heart catch in her throat.

For a moment, the world paused. The storm inside her stilled, and she saw it—really saw it for the first time. He wasn't afraid of her strength. He didn't want to tear it down. He just wanted to be there, beside her, when it all became too much to bear.

He didn't need to fix her. He didn't need to save her.

He just needed to let her be.

Let her lean into him. Let her rest.

Her breath caught as she stepped toward him, her hands trembling, unsure but desperate. For once, she wasn't the one giving. For once, she could be held, could be taken care of. 

Logan's hands were steady, as they always were, but now, they weren't just offering strength. They were offering safety—something she hadn't realized she'd been searching for all along. 

"Hey," he whispered, his voice low, soothing. "You don't have to be strong all the time. You're allowed to let it out." 

The words broke something inside her. Heat prickled behind her eyes, and her chest heaved with the weight of everything she'd kept buried. 

Logan didn't move. He didn't push. He just let her cry, his hand resting firm and comforting on her back, his presence solid as the ground beneath her. 

"Y/N..." His voice was softer now, laced with something she couldn't quite place. Gently, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears with a tenderness that made her knees weak. 

"You don't have to carry it all, bub. Let me in, just this once." 

Her hands shook as she pressed them to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Grounding her. And when she rubbed her cheek against his palm, the motion instinctive, something inside her gave way. 

Her eyes fell to his lips. The urge to kiss him became impossible to ignore. 

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead, but then he paused, his gaze locking with hers. 

She couldn't stop herself. She leaned in, kissing him hard, desperate for the release, the comfort, the closeness. It was a kiss that broke everything wide open—a kiss that held the weight of everything they'd both been holding back. 

The kiss deepened, the world narrowing to the warmth of his lips and the solid strength of his hands still cradling her face. She felt the tension in her chest unravel, replaced by a need that clawed at her, desperate and all-consuming.

Logan didn't rush. He never did. His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, tracing over her arms until his fingers wrapped around her wrists. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his breath hot against her lips.

"No walls. No fightin'. Just let me.", he murmured, his voice gravelly and sure, sending a shiver down her spine. The words hit her like a hammer, shattering the last of her defenses. She wasn't used to this, wasn't used to handing over the reins, but with Logan, it felt...safe. Right.

Her pulse thundered as she nodded, the tiniest of movements, but it was enough for him.

Logan's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile before he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands guiding hers up and over her head. Her fingers curled instinctively as he pinned her wrists against the wall behind her, the roughness of the surface contrasting with the gentleness of his touch.

"Just let me make you feel good," he said, his voice low and commanding. She exhaled shakily, her head tilting back as his mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping lightly against her skin before his tongue soothed the spot. Her body arched into him, her hips pressing forward, seeking more, needing more.

"Logan..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in the sound of his name.

He hummed against her throat, one hand still holding her wrists in place while the other traveled down her side, his fingers skimming over the curve of her hip. "That's it," he rumbled. "Let me hear you."

Each touch, each kiss, stripped away the layers she'd built to protect herself. She wasn't in control anymore—not of her body, not of her mind, not of the way she melted beneath him. And for once, she didn't care.

Logan moved with a precision that left her breathless, his hand slipping beneath her shirt, rough fingertips tracing the softness of her skin. He paused just below her ribs, his eyes flicking up to hers.

"Say it, darlin'," he coaxed. "Say you'll let me have you."

Her lips parted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I'm yours."

And that was all it took.

His hands, calloused and strong, gripped her thighs, hoisting her up with an ease that sent a shiver racing down her spine. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as her body pressed tightly against his.

"Where's your bedroom?" he growled against her ear, his voice low, gravelly, and filled with the kind of raw command that made her knees weak, though she wasn't even standing.

"End of the hall," she whispered, the words trembling out of her as his teeth grazed her earlobe, a low hum rumbling deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise almost too rough to feel soft, and yet it sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

He moved through her place with purposeful strides, each step a reminder of the strength coiled in his body. She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against her chest, the way his arms tightened around her as if he dared anything or anyone to take her from him.

When they reached her bedroom, Logan kicked the door open without hesitation, the force behind it making it swing back against the wall. The dim light from the hallway framed his silhouette—broad shoulders, wild hair, and eyes that burned as he looked down at her.

The room felt smaller with him in it, his presence overwhelming, and consuming. He didn't glance around, didn't make a single remark. His focus was entirely on her as if the world beyond her didn't exist.

"On the bed," he rasped, his voice cutting through the thick silence.

Before she could even process his words, he was lowering her onto the mattress, her back meeting the cool sheets as his hands lingered, pressing her down as he needed her to stay right where she was.

"Logan—"

"Quiet." The single word was sharp and commanding, and it sent a jolt of heat through her.

His eyes roved over her, dark and smoldering, drinking her in as though he was committing every inch of her to memory. One knee pressed into the mattress beside her, his weight shifting as he leaned closer, his hands bracketing her head.

"Spent your whole damn life holdin' everything together," he muttered his tone a mix of frustration and something darker. "Not tonight. Tonight, you're mine."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out, just a sharp intake of breath as he tilted her chin up with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I'm not askin', darlin'." His voice dropped to a growl, sending a shudder down her spine.

Her heart thundered in her chest as his lips claimed hers again, rough and unrelenting, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp. The sound made his grip tighten, his hands sliding down her sides slowly as if savoring the way her body responded to him.

"You don't have to be strong tonight," he murmured against her lips, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Let me carry it. Let me carry you."

Her resolve cracked beneath the weight of his words, her body trembling as her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. For once, she didn't fight. She didn't resist.

She just let go.

Logan's eyes never left hers as he straightened, standing tall above her. His hands were steady as he reached for the hem of her shirt. The air between them felt charged, and heavy, like the moment before a storm.

"Arms up," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

She obeyed without a word, raising her arms as he gripped the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her sides. He pulled the shirt up slowly, dragging the material over her skin with a sensuality that made her shiver. The shirt caught for a moment, tangled in her hair, and Logan let out a low chuckle, dark and throaty.

"Relax," he muttered, his voice softer now as he freed her, his fingers lingering against her temple, brushing stray strands away from her face.

The shirt dropped to the floor with a quiet rustle, forgotten the second it left his hand. His gaze roamed over her now-bare skin, unhurried and scorching, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every scar, every inch of her that she'd never let anyone else see.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words rough and quiet as if they weren't meant for her to hear, but they landed with the force of a confession.

Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but there was no hiding from him. He stepped closer, his hands moving to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed her skin, calloused and warm, and she bit back a gasp as he popped the button with ease.

"Look at me," he ordered, his tone low but firm.

Her eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch. He was utterly focused as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, he slid the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"Lift your hips," he murmured, his hands curling around the waistband, tugging the denim down with maddening slowness.

She shifted, doing as he asked, and he peeled the jeans away, dragging them down her legs. His fingers brushed her calves, and her ankles before the fabric joined her shirt on the floor. The air felt colder now, her skin hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch.

Logan's eyes raked over her, his expression dark and unreadable. Then he reached out, his hands gripping her ankles, his thumbs running along the delicate bone there. He tugged her toward him, pulling her to the edge of the bed with a strength that made her stomach flip.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, his voice ragged, laced with something almost feral.

Her heart raced as he leaned down, his fingers hooking into the thin straps of her bra, sliding them off her shoulders with an aching slowness. The straps fell away, his knuckles grazing her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You don't need this," he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her collarbone as he reached behind her, unhooking the clasp with a practiced ease.

The bra slipped from her body, and Logan let it fall without a glance, his hands already returning to her, tracing a path down her sides. His palms were warm, rough in the best way, and they left trails of fire wherever they touched.

"Every inch of you," he whispered, his lips ghosting over her skin as his hands slid lower. "Mine."

Her breath hitched, her body arching toward him instinctively, surrendering completely to his touch.

Logan's hands paused at her hips, his fingers slipping under the thin elastic of her panties. His gaze flicked up to hers, holding her there with an intensity that made her pulse thunder in her ears.

She nodded, her voice failing her, but it didn't matter. Logan saw everything he needed in her eyes.

With one smooth motion, he slid the last barrier from her body, baring her completely to him. He stood there for a moment, his gaze raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver.

"Perfect," he muttered, more to himself than to her, before leaning down, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Now let me show you what it means to let go."

Logan knelt between her legs, his hands on her knees, gently parting them as he moved with calm, deliberate intent. She froze for a second, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as she realized she hadn't shaved. Her gaze quickly flicked away, her cheeks flushing with the sudden vulnerability she felt.

But Logan noticed. He looked at her with a reassuring, almost amused smirk, his eyes flickering down her body before meeting hers again.

"Don't," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a thumb along her inner thigh. "I like it just like this."

Her breath hitched at his words, the tension in her body slowly melting under his touch.

He lowered himself slowly, nuzzling his face against her inner thighs, placing soft, teasing kisses along their expanse. His right hand moved to her center, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her sensitive bud. His middle and ring fingers slid over her hole, collecting her wetness, and spreading it across her labia.

"She's drooling for me," he murmured as his fingers slowly began to push inside, allowing her to adjust to the stretch. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, watching her pleasure as his fingers began to pump in and out, each movement deliberate and slow.

His fingers continued their rhythmic motion, working in tandem with his mouth. He moved his tongue over her clit, the tip flicking over the sensitive skin in a slow, teasing rhythm that made her body arch toward him. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, desperately trying to hold onto something as the heat of his touch seared into her.

"Logan... please," she gasped, her voice trembling, her hips pressing closer to his face.

Logan didn't stop. His tongue flicked faster now, tracing every curve, every inch of her, his mouth drinking in her arousal. She couldn't stop herself anymore; her back arched as her body responded to him, the tension building within her like a wave. "So good," she moaned, her voice breathy and desperate.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Logan murmured against her skin, his voice rough, thick with desire. He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look up at her. "I can feel you shaking. Let go."

She shuddered under his gaze, the command in his voice stripping away the last of her resistance. Her body wanted to obey, to give herself over completely to the sensations he was creating. "I can't... I need you, Logan," she pleaded, tangling her fingers in his hair, urging him back to her, wordlessly begging for more.

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down her sides, gripping her hips tightly as he pulled her closer to his mouth, continuing the rhythm with even more force, more hunger. Every lick, every flick of his tongue brought her closer to the edge.

He could feel the way her body tightened, the way her breath quickened. And then, without warning, his mouth pressed harder against her clit, his tongue moving with desperate speed as he drove her to the brink. She moaned loudly, her body shuddering as she reached the edge. "Logan... oh god," she cried out, completely surrendering to the pleasure.

As she caught her breath, her body still humming with the lingering sensation of his touch, a quiet yearning stirred within her. She sat up, her eyes locking onto his as she gently took his hand. Without a word, she brought his fingers to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. She traced them with her tongue, sucking them clean, savoring the taste of her arousal, before pulling back just a little.

"Dirty girl…" he said, his left hand cupping her cheek.

"I could be sucking something else", she said seductively.

He looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You don't have to," he murmured, his voice low, steady.

"I want to. Please."

Logan stood up slowly, keeping his eyes locked with hers. There was an intensity in his gaze, an unspoken challenge, and a silent invitation all at once.

She positioned herself on her knees before him. Her movements were deliberate, almost hypnotic, as her hands traced the strong lines of his shoulders, sliding down his chest, and over the hard muscles of his belly.

When her fingers reached his belt, she didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, she unbuckled it, the leather slipping free with an audible click before it fell to the floor. Her hands moved quickly to the button of his dress pants, flicking it open, and she slowly lowered the zipper.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it free from his waistband. Her fingers, delicate yet determined, began to unbutton the shirt, one button at a time. Her gaze never left him, and the way her hands worked with such slow precision sent a wave of heat through his chest. The act was intimate, each button a whispered invitation.

Once the shirt was undone, she moved to the cuffs, gently opening them before pressing a soft kiss to the back of each of his hands. Logan closed his eyes briefly at the touch, the tenderness of it catching him off guard. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek, the touch affectionate, reverent.

There was something magnetic about the way she undressed him—each movement slow and filled with purpose. Her eyes held a quiet hunger that mirrored his own, a silent language between them that made his pulse quicken.

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. She didn't waste a moment, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs in one smooth, fluid motion, letting them drop to the floor as he stepped out of the garment.

He stood there, bare in front of her. His body was exposed, but it wasn't the nudity that left him feeling vulnerable. It was the way his body didn't respond like it once had, the slow burn of frustration creeping in.

But that did not deter her. She braced herself on all fours, the movement full of quiet confidence. Leaning in, she began licking and gently sucking at his balls, the heat of her mouth sending a shiver through him. His breath hitched as her right hand took hold of his semi-hard dick, her touch light but teasing, coaxing him to respond. The softness of her lips, the pressure of her hand, stirred something deep inside him, and he could feel himself slowly hardening.

She licked a long stripe from his balls up to his tip, her mouth hot against his skin. The sudden surge of sensation had him grunting low, his hands instinctively finding their way into her hair, fingers curling into her locks as he pulled her closer.

"Fuck," Logan breathed, his voice low and rough, as his grip tightened on her hair, pulling her in deeper, the feeling of her mouth sending waves of heat through him. "Don't stop," he muttered.

Y/N could feel him growing heavier and thick in her mouth. She released his dick with a loud pop and with both hands began pumping it.

At the sight Logan closed his eyes and let his head fall back, the hold on her hair tightening. She took him in her mouth and, hollowing her cheeks, began taking him deeper.

She gagged around him when her nose reached the grey hairs on the base and pulled back coughing, a string of saliva connecting her to his member.

Y/N looked up and smiled mischievously seeing him fully erect.

Logan pushed her onto the bed, his hands firmly pinning her wrists to the mattress as he hovered over her. His eyes locked onto hers.

"You're trouble," he finally muttered, his voice deep and rough.

She smirked, but there was a glint of challenge in her eyes. "You don't seem to mind," she teased, her breath hitching as his gaze darkened with hunger.

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. Without warning, he moved, pinning her down more securely. "No, I don't," he growled, his voice low as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips over her neck.

Her breath quickened as she felt the weight of his body pressing against hers. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and despite herself, she arched up, meeting the intensity of his gaze. He was in control now, his hands steady as he guided her into place.

He took a breath, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "You're going to beg for it," he whispered. His tone was rough, yet there was a subtle edge of something softer, almost possessive. "And I'll make sure you don't forget who's in charge."

She bit her lip, anticipating what he would do next.

Logan smiled darkly and kissed her again, his right hand traveling down her chest and grabbing her right breast, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He positioned himself between her legs, gripping his member at the base as he ran his tip along her sensitive center, teasing her with deliberate strokes from her clit to her entrance. Each motion made her hips twitch, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

Her moans filled the room, "Logan," she said breathlessly.

"Yes?"

She closed her legs around him pulling him closer. Logan laughed at her antics. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned back slightly, gathering spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto her, aiding his movement.

Her moans became desperate, almost broken, her hands clutching at his forearms. "Logan," she whimpered, her voice raw with need. "Please… I need you."

His smirk deepened as he held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her squirm beneath him. "I told you, you'd beg" he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Her chest heaved, her lips trembling with the words she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm yours, Logan. Please…"

One large hand moved to her throat, his palm pressing gently against her skin, holding her in place. His thumb traced the line of her jaw as his other hand gripped her thigh, pulling her even closer. "Mine," he growled, his tone possessive, claiming.

The pressure at her throat made her head swim, a strange mix of restraint and trust that sent a bolt of heat through her. She arched into his hold, her body surrendering completely.

"You like this, don't you?" he rasped, his lips brushing against hers but not quite touching. His voice was low and commanding, but there was a glint of something softer beneath it, a promise just out of reach.

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky moan, her hands clutching at his wrist. "Yes," she whispered, desperate and trembling.

His mouth curved into a wicked smirk as his hand shifted, loosening his hold just enough for her to feel the contrast. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, dragging his thumb along the curve of her jaw.

The words lingered in the air, heavy with intent but unspoken in full. His free hand slid down her body, fingers tracing her curves with a deliberateness that made her skin tingle.

She whimpered, her body responding to every calculated movement. "Logan..."

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over her ear. "Stop thinking. Just feel," he whispered, the edge of his voice rough yet grounding. "That's all I want from you tonight."

He shifted between her legs, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her with ease as he positioned himself. The heat of his body pressed against hers, and her heart thudded in her chest, anticipation coiling tightly in her core.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she felt the tip of his member pressing against her entrance. With a slow, fluid motion, he eased himself inside, feeling the resistance of her body disappearing.

Y/N threw her head back, a low moan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted to his length, "Fuck," she breathed, unable to hide the raw need in her voice.

She bit her lip at the feeling of him twitching inside of her. Logan leaned forward, his tongue sliding down the side of her neck. He then moved to her breasts, attaching his mouth to one of her nipples and sucking. He released her nipple.

"Breathe," he whispered, his hand sliding up to rest on her waist, grounding her. "I've got you."

He straightened up, his body towering over hers, and braced his hand on the headboard as he drew his hips back, the feel of his withdrawal sending a shiver through her. She barely had time to adjust before he slammed back into her.

She was trembling beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she tried to keep up with the brutal rhythm he set. Every time he pulled out, every time he pushed back in, the pressure inside her built, and she couldn't help but whimper.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts turning faster, more brutal, as he pushed into her with a hunger that matched the fire in her veins. Her hips moved to meet him, desperate for more, and he responded with a growl of approval, his hands tightening on her hips to anchor her in place as his rhythm grew harder, more punishing.

"Fuck Y/N."

She smiled at him.

"You like that, don't you?" Logan's voice was rough, and dark, as he pulled back slightly, only to push in even harder.

She couldn't stop herself from moaning, the sharpness of the sensation hitting her in waves.

"That's right," Logan growled, his grip on her hips like iron as he rocked into her with force.

Her body responded without thought, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, faster as if she couldn't get enough. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mixing with the desperate gasps coming from her lips.

Without warning, he shifted his position, his hands leaving her hips for a moment, only to slip under her and lift her body, pulling her into a new angle. She gasped, the sudden shift throwing her off balance, but Logan's grip on her was firm, and controlling, as he guided her back onto him.

Her back arched instinctively, the new position deepening their connection, and she moaned, her hands reaching for the headboard to brace herself. Logan's thrusts grew slower but deeper, more deliberate now, aimed to bring her right to the brink.

Logan's hand came down hard on her left asscheek jolting Y/N forward.

"Logan…" she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

He could hear it—the desperation in her voice, the way her body was bucking against his. He watched her face, her eyes closed tight, her lips parted in a silent plea for release. He wanted to hear her, wanted to feel her break under him.

He gave one last hard, deep thrust, then paused, letting the sensation build before pulling back almost completely. She whimpered, the loss of movement driving her crazy, and before she could protest, he repositioned again, this time bending her further back, his hands now holding her shoulders down as he ran his member between her asscheeks.

Her breath hitched as she looked back at him, over her shoulder, her eyes filled with raw desire.

Logan didn't wait any longer. He positioned himself behind her, his hands firmly gripping her hips as he pushed into her slowly at first, savoring the tight, intense heat that engulfed him. The change in angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and she moaned, her hands clutching at the sheets in desperation.

"Fuck," Logan muttered, his voice low and full of grit as he began to move, his thrusts quick and forceful, each one pushing her further into the bed.

She gasped with each hard thrust, the pleasure taking over her senses, her body rocking in time with his. The deeper connection from this position sent waves of bliss coursing through her, and she pressed back into him, her hips meeting his with every thrust.

"Does this feel better?" Logan growled, his hands tightening on her hips, guiding her with raw intensity.

She could barely manage a breathless, "Yes, harder…"

His thrusts grew harder, faster, and relentless, pushing her toward the edge.

She couldn't hold back anymore, "Logan …I'm gonna…"

His strokes grew sloppier as he grabbed her neck, angling her face so he could kiss her.

Y/N's moans filled the room. The mixture of his hard thrusts and the slap of his balls on her ass pushed her over the edge as she began shaking.

Y/N fell forward, her face on the bed and her ass in the air. Logan didn't stop. His hands opened her asscheeks as he watched his thick, veiny member going in and out of her hole, creating a creamy ring at the base of his member.

The new angle allowed Logan to continuously hit her cervix. "Be a good girl, come on my dick."

Her hands fisted the sheets and Logan, with his thumb began circling her other hole. The new stimulation tipped Y/N over the edge as she came hard on his member.

Logan didn't stop. Didn't even slow down as he followed her, his movements like a force of nature, unyielding, as he pushed her through the waves of pleasure, every last inch of her shaking with the force of it.

Her mouth fell open as she felt him stilling and his release spilling inside of her.

"Fuck!", he said, throwing his head back.

He remained still for a moment but then pulled out when he felt his member softening. He sat on his knees admiring their joint releases dripping out of her spent hole.

"Jesus, that's a fucking sight.", his index finger reached collecting the release and pushing it back.

Y/N moaned and fell on her stomach. He removed his fingers and lay next to her.

"Did it help?", he asked playfully.

"Shut up Logan."

______________________________________________________________

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[nanenna]

“Then don’t,” Kon replied simply. He threw himself back into the grass, his legs getting thrown in the air before plopping back down to earth. He tucked one hand behind his head and used the other to point up at the sky. “See those three stars in a row?”

The person was silent for a moment before hesitantly answering, “Yeah?”

“That’s Orion’s belt. It’s one of the easiest constellations to find in the northern hemisphere.”

“Just those three stars?”

“Well those two are his shoulders and those two are his hips or knees or something,” Kon said conversationally as he pointed out said stars. “There’s more to it, but I can’t remember the rest.” He glanced over at his stargazing companion, they seemed just a little less see through, glowing a little bit brighter. Guess he did a good job distracting them. He went on to point out the big and little dipper, complete with Polaris. He didn’t know many of the constellations, just some of what Tim had taught him for navigating. Finding which way was north was really useful, if you can find north you can also find east and west.

Kon glanced over again to see his companion’s eyes had drifted closed, their face peaceful. That seemed weird, if they were already dreaming were they dreaming they were asleep?

Wait, were they getting more see-through?

Slowly, bit by bit, they were definitely getting more see through, until all that was left behind was a barely there indent in the grass. Kon put his hand to it and the grass felt cold, not cool, downright cold. The only hints that someone had been there at all. This was definitely something he needed to ask his team about.

Kon gave a jaw cracking yawn.

In the morning, this would be something to ask for advice on in the morning.

✦✧✦

The next time Kon saw his mystery visitor was early evening nearly a week later. He’d prepared for this, he’d memorised all the constellations visible this time of year, several star facts, and a list of information to try to get out of them. Currently they were sitting on a split rail fence, face turned towards the setting sun, feet gently kicking the air. It was odd, watching their feet swing. On the upswing they had a full leg: pants, toes, and all. On the downswing the leg faded to nothing shortly below the knee.

Kon intentionally made noise as he walked closer, not wanting to startle his guest. “Hello again,” he called gently as he approached.

The visitor turned slowly at his voice. Their eyes opened and blinked in surprise, then a smile lit up their face. Literally lit them up. Made them look just a bit more solid too, enough that Kon could guess they looked like a kid, somewhere in their early to mid teens. Maybe. Just because a lot of aliens looked similar to humans didn’t mean they aged the same.

Kon smiled back, both happy and sad to see them again. He leaned against the top of the fence one section down from his guest. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

“Neither was I, but I guess I should've.” They laughed to themself a little at that, already turning to face the sun again, their face peaceful as they basked in the warm rays.

“My name’s Kon, by the way. Kon El, he/him.”

His guest hummed in acknowledgement, though his brows furrowed in confusion near the end. “He… him…?”

“Sure, makes it easier to refer to someone by their pronouns if they’re part of introductions.”

They turned to look Kon up and down in confusion. “... okay?” They turned back to their sunbathing, little that they would have left.

“... And what should I call you?” he eventually asked.

His guest huffed a quiet little laugh before replying, eyes still closed and face turned to the sun, “Danny.” Such a strangely human sounding name. Then again a lot of names sound pretty similar, there’s only so many ways a mouth like theirs can form sounds. After a moment they tacked on, “He/him.”

Kon wasn’t sure if they- if he just copied Kon’s pronouns or if those were his actual pronouns, but until he said otherwise that’s what he was. “It’s nice to meet you, Danny.”

“Nice to meet you too, Kon.”

Kon smiled and let the silence sit for a minute. So he finally had a name, though no family name. He wasn’t sure if one would help, but Tim insisted the more information they had the easier it would be to find where Danny was from and go help him, because anyone who was afraid of waking up, anyone who needed to run so badly he could only do it in his dreams absolutely needed help.

Now to just… find ways of getting that information out of Danny without scaring him off.

He watched for a bit as the sun touched the horizon, the sky changing colors and the golden light beginning to fade. Beside him Danny opened his eyes, the light no longer too bright to watch the show.

“I’ve missed this.”

Kon just nodded, unsure what to respond to a statement like that. Instead they sat in silence, enjoying the sunset until it became dark enough for the first stars to come out. Danny leaned back, slowly floating down until he was settled against the grass and staring up at the stars.

Kon joined him on the ground, staring up at the stars. “You like space, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Danny replied nonchalantly.

“You know which star is yours?”

“No.” He sounded sad as he said it.

Time for a distraction, “So I looked up Orion and I know the rest of the constellation now.” He pointed out the rest of the stars and what shape they made, then finally asked the next question. “What about your constellations?”

“What about them? I can’t show you, they’re not here.” Danny glared up at the sky as if he could move the stars around if he just thought at them hard enough.

“So draw them for me.” Kon pulled out a tablet from his jacket. He quickly turned it on and opened it to a simple art program. When he handed it over Danny stared down at the device with huge eyes.

“What’s this?”

“A tablet. It’s… it’s like a big phone, though it doesn’t have the call function like a phone does.”

“It’s a big phone without the actual phone?” Danny sounded confused, looking the whole thing over. “Where are the buttons?”

Kon laughed, then poked the screen. “Here, it’s touch screen.”

Danny’s face turned greenish, “Oh.”

“Guess our worlds have different tech.” 

Danny was already back to looking the device over, flipping it around and checking the thickness. “This is some real Star Trek shit.”

“Star Trek?”

Danny glanced over with another amused huff. “It's a show back home, really popular.”

Kon just nodded, something else to help them look, he guessed. He quickly ran through which buttons did what and helped Danny get started. Then he just sat and watched over Danny’s shoulder as he worked.

He started by filling the whole thing in black, then making a colorful smear across the canvas, then began putting white dots of various sizes all around. It was obvious he was very familiar with his own night sky, even going so far as to draw both hemispheres. He nudged a few of the stars this way and that, had to resize the canvas a few times to make room for everything, kept adding in more stars as he remembered them, and then did something Kon didn’t expect. Danny changed the color to a bright green and started writing.

While he wasn’t sure giving the names his planet called the stars would be helpful, a written script would really help narrow things down. Tim would eat this up!

“Oh, I guess names won’t help much,” Danny said after writing a few letters.

“Doesn’t stop me from being curious,” Kon said quickly.

Danny shrugged, “It doesn’t matter.” He handed the tablet back to Kon and went back to stargazing.

Kon quickly saved the picture, then sent it to Tim. Even a few letters or hieroglyphs or whatever would be helpful. Though… Kon squinted down at the start of the label for the Milky Way. It looked… kind of like the start of the word milk? Just loopy and the letters strung together? Odd. Probably just a coincidence, right? Pareidolia, he expects the word milk so he sees it.

So he tucked the tablet back away and starts pointing out other constellations. 

DP x DC Prompt/Plotbunny #6

After days? weeks? months? years? in this mercy-forsaken lab, Danny finds himself slipping; his core straining under the weight of what he's been subjected to. In a last ditch effort to save his fracturing soul, his brain simply stops processing the pain and allows his mind to escape into a waking dream.

Danny knows it's a dream. If he thinks about it; he can still hear, see, feel the scientists at work. He doesn't think about it; instead embraces whatever false world his mind decides to concoct for him.

.

Several states away, a young boy opens his eyes to the inside of a strange pod in an abandoned lab. Though he cannot see it yet, a strange metal tag dangles from his ear, stamped on one side with the word 'CADMUS' and on the other with 'R-13'.

[vampstarkey]

provocative mini skirt ୨୧ ⊹ ˚₊‧♡

Masterlist

warnings: pussy slapping, semi-public sex, hair pulling, dick sucking, ass slapping & degradation.

Note: English is not my native language, so sorry for any mistakes in advance.

You and Rafe had been together for a few months, but the relationship seemed like a tightrope about to snap, full of possessiveness and arguments that seemed to have no end. He hated your sassy behavior sometimes, but at the same time, the idea of ​​having to punish you later seemed exciting, and he made sure to make that clear at every opportunity.

The loud music from Topper's party echoed in the background, muffled by the walls of the house, but that didn't stop Rafe's cutting words from reverberating in your mind. You watched him from across the room, leaning against the doorframe, trying to process the weight of the look he was giving you, intense, but at the same time filled with fury, it made you wet.

Rafe paced back and forth, his fingers tightening his glass of whiskey as if he wanted to crush it. The reason for the fight was another of the usual absurdities: the short skirt you were wearing at the party.

— Next time, I'll rip that shit off you and make you change. — He growled, his blue eyes shining with an anger that seemed ready to explode. The sound of glass hitting the table accompanied him as he approached, his breathing heavy and the smell of alcohol already present.

— This is stupid. It's just a skirt, it's not like I'm walking around naked. — You replied a little frustrated, but deep down you found all that jealousy funny.

— You think it's fun to make me go through this, huh? Everyone was staring at your ass, damn it. — Rafe stopped, clenching his jaw.

The blond could feel his blood boiling with your air of indifference. It didn't take long for him to approach you. Rafe cornered you against the wall, not leaving you the slightest space.

— Honestly, I do find it fun. — Your eyes fixed on the lips of the boy in front of you, you were challenging him, after all you knew where this would lead.

— Oh, really? I want to see you find it funny when I fuck this little pussy right here without making you scream.

He ran his fingers up your thigh, massaging the area while he slowly moved his hands up. Your pussy could already throb just imagining all the things he would be able to do to you there in the room that was only occupied by the two of you at that party.

— What are you waiting for? — Your voice came out almost like a plea, he found it comical, the way you always seemed like a desperate whore for his cock, in fact it wasn't a lie. You loved the way your boyfriend fucked you so well, the environment only made you hornier, it was tempting.

Rafe quickly pulled up your skirt, playing with the elastic of your red lace panties. He pulled the thin fabric to the side, placing his fingers on your clit while rubbing it feeling your wetness.

— I didn't even have to try very hard, you're begging for me right here. — He slapped your pussy a few times and then laughed with satisfaction. Rafe could feel his cock almost exploding inside his pants. You were so ready, so wet for him. His fingers slid so easily inside you. It was killing you. It was torturous.

— I need your dick. — You bit your lip hard, then leaned against a small table.

— I'm going to play with you a little bit more. — Rafe quickly slid two fingers inside your soaked slit while his other hand was still caressing your swollen clit. His fingers went in and out inside you so deliciously that it made you hold back your moans, even though you wanted to make the scene he loved. One of your hands went to his wrist, squeezing it as you tilted your head back.

— My little slut is so desperate. — His hands went to your thigh once more, but this time giving it a hard slap on the outside. — Turn your back to me and lean on the table

Without thinking twice, you did exactly what he asked, like the good, obedient slut that you were. Then you turned around, placing both hands on the table while your ass was completely raised for him. Rafe slid your panties down your legs while he analyzed your body from behind, then slapped your ass. He loved doing that.

— You made me really angry today. Don't you understand that I'm the only one who can see this delicious body? — Another slap was given to your ass, this time harder than the last time.

— Fuck, Rafe… — With the tension in the air, your body was completely at his mercy. After the slap, a scream came from your lips.

— Shh, be quiet. — Your ass was turning all red thanks to him. The boy slapped you several times without caring about the pain he caused you. After all, he knew you wouldn't complain. You were a real slut to him. — I'm going to fuck you so good, baby..

Still with your back to him, he moved his hands up to your breasts, squeezing them over your bra and playing with them.

— Be a good girl now and suck your man. — That came out more like an order than a request, and of course you didn't refuse, so you turned to Rafe and got on your knees.

Your hands went to the older man's pants, unbuttoning them skillfully. He helped you unbuckle his belt without much patience. You looked at the large bulge formed in his black boxers as soon as his pants fell to the floor. You salivated just imagining sucking that damn delicious cock.

— Yes sir. — Your said as he touched his erection, groping his thick cock. Without delay, your hands pulled down Rafe's underwear, making his pink cock jump out. Your lips slowly went to his thickness, touching the sensitive head of his hard member.

— Oh, you damn slut, stop beating around the bush and put that cock in your mouth at once. — He grabbed your hair tightly, wrapping it in a tight ponytail.

You soon took Rafe in your mouth, putting every inch of him in your mouth. He was so big, but so tasty that whenever you gave him a blowjob, it seemed like a challenge, but exciting at the same time.

— That's it, good girl. Swallow that cock. — He pulled your hair and tilted your head back, feeling your tongue massage the entire length of his hardness. Rafe moved his hips back and forth, seeking more contact with his hot mouth. — Stick your tongue out.

— W-what? — You asked, a little confused, as you looked at him on his knees.

— Don't ask anything, just obey me. — He said, as he waited for you to do what he told you to do, and so it was done.

Your tongue was now out as you looked at your boyfriend. Rafe quickly put his cock in your mouth again, but this time fucking you. He fucked your mouth with everything he had, with anger and a mixture of lust. The sight of having you kneeling for him was surreal. He just wanted to put you on that table and fuck you until you couldn't walk. Well, since he took your virginity, you've become a thousand times hotter and there was no time or place to want to fuck. You coughed with the thickness that invaded your throat.

— Daddy's girl is so greedy, do a good job and I'll eat all that pussy that's begging for me. — Rafe pushed his hips harder into your mouth once more, your eyes started to water. Your eyes rolled back with each thrust into your throat, your hands were resting on his knees, your pussy was burning, you felt like you could cum just by sucking that dick, your face was all smeared with pre-cum.

— Do you like that? — You asked provocatively as you caressed his balls. Your hand masturbated the rest of Rafe's cock that didn't fit in your mouth as soon as he stopped moving his hips.

— You know I do. — Rafe laughed with that damned rogue smile full of evil. He let out small hoarse moans trying not to lose control completely. — But I need you to stop, I don't want to cum in your mouth.

You just nodded. Rafe pulled you up in a sudden movement, catching you by surprise, and placed you on the table, still facing him, spreading your legs.

— Rafe… — A murmur left your lips as you waited for any action.

Rafe pulled your skirt and fit between your legs, rubbing his hard member against your wet pussy.

— Damn bitch, I know you were crazy for this. — He rubbed his cock against your slit, making your skin shiver all over.

— Yes, yes, please. — Your legs wrapped around the boy’s hips. He soon held your legs tightly, letting himself be enveloped by you.

— I love it when you beg, it just shows what a real whore you are. — Rafe attacked your lips in a burning kiss as he rubbed against you, containing the naughty moans that came out of your mouth.

His tongue swirled around yours, losing each other. Without warning, Rafe thrust his cock inside you, which made you gasp in the middle of the kiss. Your fingers went to his back, scratching.

— Fuuuck — You cursed as you pressed him against you. Rafe broke the kiss as he moved skillfully. He had no mercy when it came to fucking you.

— What a hot pussy, fuck, I’ll never get tired of feeling how delicious you are. — Rafe groaned, looking at your expression of pleasure. He found you so hot, you were a temptation for him.

— Yes, yes, yes, just like that. — You said, feeling every inch of him touch your pussy, he went so deep that it left you in ecstasy.

— You like it like that, huh? You like it when daddy goes deep inside that greedy little pussy? — He slapped your clit as he thrust inside you.

Your body vibrated in small spasms, you could only nod as he fucked you faster and faster on top of that table. The fact that anyone could show up there made both of you even hornier. A loud moan left your lips, hard to hold back.

— Moan softly, you’ll get everyone’s attention outside moaning so deliciously like that. — Rafe pushed your body even further onto the table, making you lie completely on it while he grabbed your legs and fucked you like a dirty little bitch.

— I can't, you're fucking me so good. — The table creaked as it hit the wall, you grabbed onto the cold wood trying to find support. Your moans were muffled by the music echoing from the party outside.

Rafe covered your mouth with his hand as he thrust deeper and deeper into you, increasing the speed of his movements.

— Noisy slut. — A growl came out of his mouth. — This is to teach you not to be a very badly behaved little slut. — Deep down you like it, yeah?

You nodded, completely unable to say anything since his hand covered your lips. He slapped your clit again, making you twitch on his cock. Rafe pounded you deep, making your body writhe.

— Daddy wants to cum good inside you. — Rafe took his hand off your mouth, letting you moan freely now. — Tell me that's what you want, little slut.

— Yes, daddy, I want to feel your cum dripping inside my pussy. — You whimpered. The mascara from your eyes ran down your cheeks, edging the makeup on your face.

— Look at that, so mine, so delicious. — He hit you so deep now that a high-pitched scream left your lips. Rafe grabbed your neck, squeezing it with desire as he thrust his cock in a clumsy way, looking at your face, now not caring at all if anyone could hear your delicious moans. — You're close, aren't you?

— Yes, I need to cum so bad. — Your legs opened wider and wider for him, it was hard to control yourself.

— Then cum for me, you little bitch, cum really good on your man's dick. — He said as he played with your clit, still thrusting his cock inside you.

Your legs began to tremble, Rafe also felt that he was getting closer and closer to orgasm. He rolled his eyes back, moaning hoarsely, holding your soft thighs tightly.

— Fuck, I think I'm going to… — You couldn't finish the sentence, a great orgasm hit you, leaving you totally sensitive.

— That's it, like that, just like that. — Rafe kept pushing his cock into you, wanting to reach his peak. Your body was very soft and full of spasms, the feeling was delicious, you loved it.

Rafe pulled his cock out of you, rubbing it on your clit.

— It's delicious to cum like this, you know? — He kept rubbing his cock on your pussy, leaving you all goosebumps.

— Shit, Rafe, I'm so sensitive. — Your voice broke, but he didn't care, he had fucked you so well.

A hot jet of cum came out of Rafe's cock, smearing your slit. He grunted as he pressed you against him.

— Fuck, you're hot, girl. — He said right after, wiping the sweat from his face. He had finished you.

— You left me dead, Rafe. — You complained.

— It's not like you don't like it. — He laughed, lifting his boxers and pants again. — Let's go to the bathroom, you need to clean yourself.

You got up from the table, putting your clothes back on.

— Okay, I can't deny it. — You bit your lip mischievously.

— Don't think it's over, when we get home I'm going to make you cum again. — Rafe gave your ass a little slap and winked before going upstairs to the bathroom to clean himself.