#i want to take back what i said about me dancing i think i was just feeling too awkward at the bachelorette party to really enjoy myself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rivalsispunk · 2 days ago

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Inappropriate (Chapter 4 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), mention of female orgasm, pussy pronouns, smut smut SMUTTTT, jealous Declan, all the good stuff

Word count: 11.4k

Chapter summary: Happening across your boss pants down only spells the beginning for you and Declan, but neither of you are expecting a surprise visitor to muddy the waters.

A/N: Thank you all for being SO SO patient with this one. I could've easily released this chapter in two parts but didn't want to disrupt the flow of the story (*ahem* smut). This has had a brief edit in my hastiness to publish so any mistakes... Shhhhhh!

Chapter Four: Inappropriate

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had an inappropriate thought or two about Declan O’Hara in the time you’ve been friends with Taggie, perhaps more frequently since he’d become your superior, but that had nothing on the unadulterated filth that had infiltrated your brain in the hours since leaving The Priory. You can barely recall fleeing down its staircase or the drive home, what unfolded at the forefront of your mind until a self-induced orgasme lulled you into a deep sleep. Now, you’re permanently marred with the visual of Declan — your best friend’s father, your boss — fucking his hand with your name on his lips. You should feel dirty. You should feel violated. You should feel the way you do when Tony Baddingham’s beady eyes drink you in across the office. Like you need a scalding hot shower and to scrub yourself down to the bone. But you don’t. You feel like somebody’s doused you in gasoline and lit a match, your whole body burnt to flames — and it’s exhilarating.

How many times has he done it?

Was that the first time?

And why do you want to watch him do it again?

“Did ya stay late last night?” Declan asks you the next day while you’re sifting through old newspapers in search for more dirt on Rupert, at your boss’ request. “Went straight up to bed once I got back, so didn’t hear ya leave.”

Liar, you think.

“Not too late. Eleven, maybe,” you respond, eyes glued haphazard clippings across your desk.

“Not that I would’ve heard you anyway,” he continues. “Not with the wailing guitar riffs at full volume on Taggie’s stereo.”

Only then do you flit your gaze up to look at the man on the other side of the office. Acting professional after that murky moment with Declan in the hot tub was one thing, but pretending you don’t know what your boss looks like with his pants dropped and cock in hand is a whole other kettle of fish. Under normal circumstances, you’d be awkward. Uncomfortable. But now it’s as if having his secret affection has allowed you the permission to challenge him.

“Do you have something against Bon Jovi, Declan?”

“Under normal circumstances, no,” he responds, lighting a cigarette. “But when it feels like Jon is in bed with me screaming in my ear while I’m trying to sleep, I’m inclined to think otherwise.”

Let alone when you’re dancing around all but naked to it.

“So, can we count you out of belting Livin’ On A Prayer at Bar Sinister tonight?” you chide, reminding Declan of the invite you’d all received from the Joneses. Smoke plumes from his lips as he rears back from a drag.

“Yep. I’ll not be going anyway. Got too much work to get done.” “You always have too much work to get done,” you tell him. “You have to take a break sometime.”

“That’s what sleeping is for,” he counters, a slight smirk rising from under his moustache.

“Oh, come on, Declan. It’s one night.” You’re staring at him all doe-eyed across the room and your innocence, faux or not, does the heavy lifting of your convincing. “Come to Sinister. It’ll be fun.”

It’ll be fun, you’d said, voice all but a whiney beg that zapped like a rod of lightning straight to his crotch. But Declan’s struggling to find the enjoyment in spending his evening watching a revolving door of men try their luck with you, in that impossibly short merlot-coloured dress that’s befitting of Bar Sinister’s name. First, it was Bas Baddingham; the younger, kinder, though no less leery half-brother of Tony. Declan had noticed the pair of you when he arrived, his attention magnetised to you the moment he walked through the door. Bas had you cooped up in the corner by the floor to ceiling wine racks, his frame bowing over you while you chatted.

Declan wasn’t prepared for the twist in his stomach, nor the prickle of heat that scaled his body until it reached his cheeks while he watched you giggle with Bas, eyes sparkling under his attention. It was almost as if he were a child watching someone play with his favourite toy, unwilling to let anybody else have a turn, even though he was well aware it wasn’t his to keep in the first place. You slung another one of your dazzling smiles Bas’ way, and it was enough to have Declan beelining for the bar to order a wine and a whiskey to keep his envy at bay. After a while, Bas was called away to assist with a kitchen catastrophe. He was quickly replaced with Rupert Campbell-Black, all smiles and slime as craned his neck to whisper in your ear. Whatever words he was imparting on you — undoubtedly dirty — saw you blush, a stunning flush of fuchsia flooding up your neck to your cheeks. This goes on for a while — too long, in Declan’s opinion — and every grin Rupert shoots your way, coupled with you staring up at him all starry-eyed like you’ve been touched by the hand of God, has Declan grinding his teeth to near-dust.

He’s too old for you, he thinks. Certainly not good enough. The journalist had already been forced to warn the former Olympian off Taggie. He ought to do the same for you. But who was he kidding? He has no claim over you. You’re not his daughter.

The idea has him downing his whiskey in one gulp.

No, you’re definitely not his daughter.

Filthy hypocritical git.

You felt Declan before you saw him, his gaze like daggers slicing into you as you spoke with Bas, then even more so when while you chatted to Rupert. In all honesty, you had no interest in either men, but you made sure to ramp up the flirty act, particularly with Rupert, because you knew how much Declan disliked him. You weren’t entirely sure why; perhaps you wanted to see whether it bothered him, or how much it bothered him, but you could never get a good enough look at him to gauge where his head was at. You weren’t even talking about yourself, save for Rupert once again trying to coax you into a dinner date. Instead, you’d geared the conversation towards your best friend, whom you knew had a burgeoning crush on her neighbour despite her failed attempts to deny it.

“Are you expecting someone?” Rupert asks partway through gushing over Taggie’s catering at a recent hunt. “Or am I just boring you?”

His question falls on deaf ears, and you scramble to make up for your rudeness. “Sorry, Rupert. What was that?”

“Your eyes have been darting around this bar like you’re watching a tennis match.”

“I’m not—”

“Trust me, you are. It’s not often that a woman can bear to take her eyes off of me,” Rupert peacocks, cheeky grin blooming at his shameless confession. “So, who’s the lucky sod?”

God, he’s nothing if not perceptive, you think, chewing the inside of your cheek. Finally, you clock Declan by the till, his eyes stuck on you while Lizzie Vereker chats animatedly at his side.

“So, are you going to tell me or are you going to make me guess?” Rupert tries again.

Turning your attention back to him, you make a show of laying a hand on the sleeve of his navy sports coat as you lie through your teeth. “It’s nobody. Nobody worth worrying about.”

“Are you trying to burn a hole through him?” Lizzie wonders aloud, cheeks already flushed from her half a glass of wine.

“He’s just… everywhere. It bothers me,” Declan tells her, not taking his eyes off you.

“Bothers you that he’s here, or bothers you that he’s here with her?” She looks at him quizzically before her sight slices to you.

“You know I can’t stand him, Lizzie. Sorry, I know he’s your friend but, God. Always lurking, trying to shag anything with a pulse. Even that might be too restrictive to the lengths he’ll go to.”

“She’s an adult, Declan. A strong-headed one, at that. She can make her own decisions.”

“Well, she’s making the wrong one with him. He's got all the charm of a burst hemorrhoid."

Lizzie swats Declan for his off-colour description. “And what do you suggest the right one to be, then?” She’s staring up at him, lips pursed like she knows something. Like she’s pried his skull open with a crowbar and all of his dirtiest thoughts about you have leaked all over Bar Sinister’s maroon carpet.

“Someone her own age,” Declan decides, as much as it pains him to admit. “Someone that’s not Rupert Campbell-Black.”

“Someone like Patrick?” Lizzie poses, and Declan’s head whips towards her at the mention of his son.

“Patrick? My Patrick?”

“It’s not that crazy an idea. He’s a perfectly lovely boy.”

“He’s also at university, Lizzie.” Far away from you.

“Was at university,” a familiar and all-too-missed voice sounds from behind the journalist, and he just about spills his Pinot Noir as he turns to greet his son.

“Patrick!” Declan pulls him into a hug, clapping a hand against his back. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I had a few days between exams. Thought I’d pay a visit.”

“Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Come on, Dad. I’m here to have fun. You should try it sometime,” Patrick jests. There’s that word again. Fun. Despite your earlier promise, so far, Declan’s having anything but. “Hello, Lizzie,” Patrick leans down to drop a kiss to her cheek. “So, what are we talking about over here? Though with you Rutshire lot, I suppose the question should be who are we talking about?” he asks, taking the wine glass from his father’s hand and polishing off what’s left of the heady liquid.

Lizzie steals a quick look at Declan, who feigns disinterest. “We were just talking about that glorious young lady over there,” she tells Patrick, pointing with her wine in your direction. “Rather beautiful, is she not?”

Patrick’s eyes narrow as he spots you across the dim-lit room, still deep in conversation with Rupert. “Isn’t that Taggie’s friend? I remember meeting her at my birthday party. Rupert hasn’t eaten her alive yet?”

“Seems she’s one of the only women in this town that’s immune to his charms,” Lizzie conveys, and Declan wonders if they’re watching the same scene; Rupert laying it on thick and you seemingly lapping it up.

There’s a soft, almost curious tilt to Patrick’s head, lip pursed over as he watches the pair of you. “She might stand a chance after all,” he announces, then he’s away as quickly as he appeared, swerving through the crowd as he makes his way towards you.

Freddie is eight minutes through Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell and the whole bar is loving it. You can’t recall a time you’ve had this much fun out, your throat is stinging from how loud, how ferociously, you’re singing along with the electronics businessman. Freddie’s off-key and lack of rhythm is long forgotten under the haze of alcohol, and even Declan has slid off his broody perch to join the sing-a-long. Before the unmistakable first riff of the song blasted from the speakers, you’d spent the last half an hour chatting to Patrick, who’d surprised his family for a weekend home from university. You’d met him once before at the O’Hara’s most recent New Year’s Eve party. It’d also doubled as his twenty-first birthday, though you’d barely exchanged more than a hello and goodbye on the night and he was yet to venture back until this evening.

The only son of Declan and Maud, and it isn’t hard to see where the majority of his genes descend from. Hickory curls wisp every which way, nougat eyes flecked with black just like his father’s. While Patrick is far more idealistic than Declan, he’s just as foolhardy and exudes the same charm. He’s funny, too, much easier to joke with than his dad, you find, and though he can’t hear what his son is whispering to you over the roar of the crowd, the way you lean into him and laugh between lyrics grates on Declan. He silently curses Lizzie for setting Patrick’s sights on you. He knows — yes, knows — she was doing him a favour, in some roundabout way, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially when he has an unwilling front row seat with you standing between him and Patrick. To compete with Rupert and Bas was one thing, but his own son? Even if the whole thing was complete mental game, it wears on him, reminding him how fucking absurd his affection for you is.

The bar erupts in applause as Freddie wails along with the song’s final chord, his voice landing nowhere near the note Meat Loaf intended. Beside Declan, you cheer for the businessman while Patrick hollers in a way that’s more suited for a football match

“Right then, you randy bunch,” Freddie shouts, his cockney accent impossibly louder under the boom of the microphone. “Which one of yous dares to follow after the King of Karaoke?” The machine, some high-tech gadget flown in from Asia, fades into the next song, and the first couple of lyrics from Don’t Go Breaking My Heart appear on the screen.

“Oh, Daddy loves this song!” Taggie squeals from behind you, hands coming to shake Declan’s shoulders.

“What? No, I don’t,” he scoffs. “Where on earth did you get that idea?” “I’ve heard you singing it in the shower,” she says, shouldering her way between the two of you. “Both Elton and Kiki Dee’s parts.”

Declan playfully swats his daughter. “Oh, shut it, Tag. Can we have no secrets?” Their repartee makes you smile, even more to see Declan without that far-etched scowl he’s often sporting.

“Kiki Dee fan, hey, Dad?” Patrick teases, waggling his eyebrows.

“Not enough to get up there and sing it.”

Nobody else has jumped at the opportunity yet, and Freddie’s still trying to hype up the crowd to find a taker as the instrumental track rolls into the chorus.

“You’ll sing it with him, won’t you?” It takes you a second to realise that Taggie is talking to you. “You were saying on the way here that you wanted to step out of your comfort zone a bit more.”

You shake your head. That’s absolutely not what you were referring to.

“I meant professionally! Not…” you gesture haphazardly to the stage. You hadn’t mentally prepared to get up and perform. It also wasn’t exactly the activity you had in mind when you thought about you and Declan.

“Oh, go on, you two!” Taggie eggs you on, hopping with excitement.

“I’ll give you ten quid,” Patrick wagers, and Declan slices a dark look his way.

“Anyone?” Freddie is still trying, swinging the microphone around by its cable. Then, you feel a hot breath sluice over your cheek. The scent of whiskey emanating from Declan gives away the dangerous amount he’s consumed this evening, which could be why he drops his mouth to your ear.

“I’ll do it if you do it,” he murmurs, the deep timbre of his words racking through you. You rear backwards, nearly headbutting Taggie in the process.

“Are you joking? Two seconds ago you didn’t want to get up there either!”

Declan gives a half-hearted shrug as if to say why not. “It is a duet, after all.” His gaze holds yours and walks a fine line between pleading and defiant. There’s something in it now, a dare lurking beneath the surface, like he’s waiting for you to rise to the challenge. The look hits you sharp, suddenly; a flash of lightning tearing through the dark, and one final daring tilt of Declan’s head pushes your reservations aside.

“Okay, fine.” You snatch his glass from his hand and throw back the rest of the thick amber. A swell of pride burns through his chest, watching you pitch up the courage — even if it’s liquid — to get up on stage. “Freddie!” you shout towards the host. “Start it up again. We’re doing this.”

“Woohoo!” Freddie pumps a fist in the air, winding up the crowd until their cheering and applause hit deafening heights. Between the whiskey and the support of Taggie and Rutshire, you should be amped up enough to get through one measly song. But not even the heat blooming from where Declan’s hand rests on your back as he guides you on stage is enough to distract from the terror gnawing at you.

Despite the small set-up and there only being forty-odd people in the crowd, you might as well have been performing at Wembley. The relentless stage lights make it seem like you’re just metres from the sun and your heart is pumping a frantic, runaway rhythm that just won’t quiet. You blanch, surprised the microphone doesn’t slip from your clammy palm as Freddie passes it to you, the object a heavy weight in your hand. Just below you, Taggie pumps a thumbs up, and Patrick claps supportively. And then there’s Declan, standing beside you, his presence both grounding and electrifying as he leans in, voice low but steady as the intro to Don’t Go Breaking Your Heart starts back up again.

“Just breathe, love,” he tells you. “The worst that happens is we both end up looking like idiots.”

The first four bars pump out of the speakers, and you barely hear Declan apprehensively sing the first line because you’re too focussed on not regurgitating the cacio e pepe you’d consumed at dinner. You’re already a beat off when you murmur through your round of the lyrics, but Declan does a fine job at making up for your lack of stage presence. He’s side-stepping to the beat, putting his hips into it and clicking with his free hand. He’s still rigid in his movements, because he’ll be damned if performing for his peers this way is a regular occurrence, but it’s all he can do to get the attention off you, to calm your nerves without pulling you into a storage cupboard and fucking the anxiety out of you.

By the time the second chorus rolls around, you’ve loosened up enough to follow Declan’s lead, your feet no longer paralysed by fear. You move about the stage, pointing dramatically at Taggie and wiggling your body. The gesture is small, but swinging your hips in a circle has Declan stumbling over his words, his trousers tightening over his crotch.

Ooh-ooh, nobody knows it (nobody knows), the entire bar is singing along now, and Declan’s welcome for the distraction because the song is right. Nobody knows just how far gone he is for you, and this little love song performance isn’t helping anyone. Thankfully, the music begins fading out, signally the end of your time up on stage, and you clamber down the two rickety steps to resounding applause.

“See?” Taggie says when you return to your rightful place out of the spotlight. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You ignore your heart leaping at the base of your throat and ignore the urge to steal a glance at Declan, who’s made straight for the bar. Again.

“No, not all bad,” you give in, smiling between your friend and her brother.

You stay for one more drink and a few more songs, finally calling it a night once Charles coaxes half the broadcasting staffers into a Les Misérables sing-a-long. You and the O’Hara’s venture outside, the crisp night air pulling all of the hairs on your arms to their ends. While the four of you wait for a cab, Patrick sloughs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, an almost silent that’s better slipping into the darkness. Lighting a cigarette, Declan tries — tries — to mind his own business. But his ears prick up at the mention of you and dinner.

“What do you say?” Patrick is asking you, voice competing with the sound of tires on wet bitumen and the chorus resounding from inside Sinister. “Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up?”

The words hang in the air. Simple. Loaded.

You feel Declan’s gaze like a weight on your shoulders. You should want to go on a date with Patrick, right? You’re supposed to; he’s smart, funny and, more to the point, not nearly two decades your senior. But all you can think about is how Declan’s attention makes your skin flush, how he’s standing right there, probably watching this all unfold. You swallow, pressure mounting as Patrick’s invitation still hangs between you. A few steps away, Declan shifts, just barely, but enough to catch your attention. When you glance back at him, he busies himself with his lighter, like its manufacture is the most fascinating thing in the world.

Would he even notice if you said yes to his son? Would he care at all?

You nod before you can second-guess yourself, your words tripping out like they’re not even yours. “Yeah, sure. Dinner sounds good.” Patrick beams brightly as a taxi pulls up to the curb. Declan’s unreadable as he stubs out his cigarette, while the energy pouring from Taggie is hard to miss.

“I’m so excited!” she whisper-shouts, her hands coming to wrap around your left arm as you approach the cab. “If this works out between you and Patrick, we’ll be sisters!”

Behind you, Declan pales at his daughter’s comment.

You and Patrick. Working out.

You and Taggie. Sisters.

The idea makes him sick.

“Is that thing broken?” Declan stabs a finger at the clock hanging in The Priory’s kitchen. He’s positive something is wrong with it. Every time he looks to the wall, the hands appear unmoving, perpetually stuck at eleven-fifteen.

“It’s working perfectly fine,” Taggie assures her father while kneading a mound of dough that would soon become dinner rolls for tomorrow’s black-tie event at the Baddinghams’. “I think the issue is you keep checking it every five seconds.” Declan shakes his head, boots scraping along the floor as he paces up and down the length of the room. “Daddy, can you stop for a moment? You’re making me motion sick.” “Patrick should’ve been home by now,” he says, ignoring his daughter while his eyes flick to the clock again.

“He’s on a date, for goodness sake,” Taggie says, and the reminder of his whereabouts — your whereabouts — feels like an infected scrape across his heart. “Just leave him be. He’ll be home when he’s home.”

Declan barks out a laugh. “Leave him be! Thanks, Taggie. That’s just grand parenting advice. I’ll try that one with you when you’ve got kids galavanting around God knows where at all hours of the night.”

“I’d hardly call eleven all hours of the night,” she counters, and the comment stops Declan at the head of the kitchen bench. She keeps stretching and folding the dough, almost unphased by her father’s agitation. Declan smiles, just for a second, recognising that Taggie’s become far more outspoken, less inward, since having you around. He’d be proud if the situation wasn’t so infuriating.

“I’m just—” he stares at a crack in the timber benchtop. “It’s just getting late and he has to drive back to school tomorrow.” It was a cheap excuse. Declan knew full well that Patrick would have no issues making the two-hour drive back to campus, even on little sleep. In truth, he could roll in at four AM and he’d not bat an eyelid.

But this isn’t really about Patrick, is it? No, it’s you. You, out there with his son, doing God knows what, God knows where. He could feel the weight of it— the resentment, the jealousy — settling deep in his chest. What if you’d kissed? Worse, what if you’d—No. His fingers tighten around the edge of the bench, knuckles coming up white. His mind deceives him again, and there you are, entwined in your bed sheets with Patrick, your laughter mixing with the sound of something more. The thought burns hot and quick through him, and the longer you’re out with Patrick, the harder it is to shake.

Then there’s the slam of a car door. The whine of hinges at the entrance to The Priory. Declan and Taggie both glance at each other before racing to the foyer to greet Patrick.

“Are you guys waiting up for me or something?” he chides, unravelling himself from his navy scarf.

“No,” Declan is all too quick to answer. Yes.

“So?” Taggie, flour marring her right cheek, is just about levitating with the way she’s bouncing on her feet. “How was it then?”

“Lovely,” Patrick says. “She’s really great. So intelligent.”

Yeah, I know, Declan dares to think.

“Did you kiss her goodnight?” Taggie wants to know, gazing up at her brother like a toddler waiting on a fairytale.

A quiet chuckle rumbles from Patrick as he slings his coat over the staircase bannister. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, my dear,” he muses, thumbing his sister’s chin.

“You know I’m going to find out from her anyway,” Taggie warns him.

“Then you’ll just have to wait until you see her tomorrow, won’t you?”

She rolls her eyes, and Declan’s stomach churns in a similar motion. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but Patrick wasn’t usually one to play coy. The only reason for his self-effacement must be because he really likes you. And, as Declan trudges up to bed, throwing a tetchy goodnight over his shoulder to his children, he worries you likely feel the same.

The date was…fine. Patrick was twenty minutes late, but it was quickly made up for with the bouquet of roses, twice the size of his head, that he arrived alongside. After a quick peck to the cheek, he ushered you into the Clubman he’d borrowed from his father for the night. The car reeked of stale smoke and the leathery wood smell of Declan’s cologne. If you allowed yourself, you could almost hear the rasp of his voice and the sharp click of his lighter. Beside you, Patrick chatted away about his literature class at university while he navigated the quiet streets, completely unaware of how his father’s presence seemed to haunt every inch of this car. You bypassed Bar Sinister and town completely, ending up at Le Petit Chêne — The Little Oak — a small, family-owned French bistro fifteen minutes down the road. The food was delicious, the wine even better, but as the night wore on, you couldn’t help but compare Patrick to his father, even though you were well aware it wasn’t fair. Patrick had that same tapered jawline, those dark eyes, but where Declan’s gaze felt like a bolt of electricity, Patrick’s was softer, warmer. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were like something familiar, comfortable, like you could just keep moving through the motions and never have to think too hard. But Declan... Declan made you feel every. Single. Glance.

Still, the comfortability and Patrick’s friendliness made it easy to lose track of time as you traded tales from your time at university and compared your favourite novels, arguing over the crux of Of Mice and Men — you find it majorly depressing, while Patrick thinks it signifies hope. You agreed, begrudgingly, to disagree, the squabble wrapping up as your date pulls up outside your flat.

“I had a really nice night,” he confessed when you reached your door.

“Yeah, me, too,” you responded, shrugging off his jacket he’d once again loaned you. “That restaurant was lovely. Thank you again for paying.” “You’re worth it.” Patrick shuffled from one foot to the other, the subtle movement signifying the first time you’d ever seen the eldest O’Hara child anywhere close to nervous. You knew what was coming next, with the way he looked up from your doormat with hopeful eyes, blush pinching at the apples of his cheeks. “Can I kiss you?”

You should want to kiss him, the young, likable man standing in front of you. Going against your better judgement, you said yes and tried to enjoy his soft lips against yours. His touch was gentle, one hand on your waist, the other cupping your cheek, but the spark that should ignite at having a handsome man like Patrick wanting you was missing. It didn’t help that you could still feel the ghost of Declan’s presence, like the heat from his stare was still burning into your skin. No hairs stood on end. No rush of warmth flooded your chest. Nothing like the way you felt when Declan’s gaze lingered on you just a little too long, or when your hands brushed, the way they had that night in the hot tub. The gnawing comparisons followed you into your flat once you and Patrick had said goodnight, and tucked themselves into bed beside you, marking the beginning of a long night of fractured sleep.

The next evening, you find yourself in a sea of black tuxedos and satin gowns, the clink of glasses and low murmurs of conversation filling the ballroom in the Baddingham manor as you celebrate Four Men Went To Mow dominating the winter ratings. Early that morning, Taggie called to hear details from your date with Patrick, revealing that her brother remained mum about the night you’d spent together. You kept it top-line, telling her it was fun and that there was a peck, which was met with squeals from the other end of the phone. Taggie then dished that Patrick had extended his stay in Rutshire and would be attending that night’s festivities, and whatever excitement you held for the party dissipated.

After your date, you’d expected Patrick to return to university, taking whatever fleeting attraction he held for you with him. You found comfort in that, knowing you wouldn’t have to let him down easy and that Taggie would stop prematurely planning your wedding to her brother. Yet, here he is, looking dashing in a three-piece tux and already the life of the party. So, you push any awkwardness aside and focus on the night ahead. Patrick told you he was definitely leaving tomorrow morning—no harm in enjoying his company tonight, right? You can smile, have a bit of fun, try not to think too much about it. The music plays, the conversation flows, and you laugh, genuinely, pretending for a moment that everything is simple. But through it all, you can feel Declan observing the pair of you across the grand hall. No matter the conversations he finds himself amongst, whether it be with board members about his show, or colleagues exchanging gossip about interoffice affairs, a portion of his attention is always attuned to you. He winces every time your laugh rises above the chatter and he’s desperate to know what words his son is crooning to justify such a heavenly sound. There was something in the way you looked at his son — a softness that went beyond polite attention. But who was he kidding? Why wouldn’t you be interested in Patrick? Lizzie was right. Patrick is the right choice, and judging by the smile pinching at your cheeks as you look up at him, a choice you’ve gladly already made.

After two rounds of canapes have made the rounds, Taggie manages to steal a few minutes away from the kitchen to join you and Daysee on the dancefloor for the YMCA, the three of you giggling between the iconic moves as you try to decide which of the Corinium men would be each of the Village People. Despite the low temperature outside, sweat slides down your spine and the hairs framing your face stick to your forehead. “I’m going to get some air!” you shout, gesturing to the doors in case your friends can’t hear you above the music. As the song fades into a Hall and Oates hit, you push through the throng of guests, ignoring the way Tony Baddingham’s eyes rinse over you in your baby blue dress as you pass by him and Freddie Jones in the corridor. When you step outside, the pulse of music and chatter drifts into the cool night, mingling with the quiet conversations and laughter of guests convening among the manicured hedges and flower beds. The air is thick with the scent of damp grass and the faintest trace of woodsmoke pumping from the manor’s chimneys and many roaring fireplaces.

Down the far end of the house, you spot Declan in the shadow of one of the sky-reaching pillars. He’s still, watching the party through the large windows, light from inside flickering softly across his face. It catches the curve of his cheek and the edge of his stubbly jaw in bursts, and battles with the glow of the cigarette he lifts to his lips. Smoke curls up into the night, and only when it shifts does he finally catch sight of you. He doesn’t say a word, just lets the silence stretch between you for a few moments until you ask him, “Are you hiding?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” he says, taking another drag.

“With lungs full of smoke?” you dare.

The cigarette tips towards the sky as Declan smirks. “Watch yourself.” You take the cheeky lilt in his voice as an invitation to join him, your heels echoing off the concrete pavers as you walk. “Are you having fun?” he wants to know when you fall into line beside him.

“Yeah, it’s a great party. I just hope Freddie hasn’t brought that bloody karaoke machine with him,” you say, only half serious.

“I’ll say,” Declan agrees, dark eyes still fixated on the window. Beyond it, Patrick is talking animatedly with a group of six or so guests gathered around him, all of them ogling the young scholar over their drinks like they’re the disciples to his Jesus. As if he’s just relayed the punchline to a joke, his onlookers throw their heads back with laughter, and the man to Patrick’s left claps him on the shoulder, unable to contain himself.

“People are just drawn to him, aren’t they?” Declan wonders out loud. He doesn’t mean it as a test, but he’s curious to see if you open up to him about the night before.

“It’s not hard to see why,” comes your answer, and it’s clear you’re keeping your cards as close to your chest as Patrick.

“He’s a good boy,” Declan forges on, nudging his chin in the direction of his firstborn.

“You told me that boys don’t know what they want.”

“Not my son. He’s known what he wants since he was in the womb."

“And what about you? Do you know what you want?” The question is playful and doesn’t probe in the way you wish you could ask, but it’s enough for Declan to debate answering.

What does he want?

You.

To not want you.

“He likes you a lot, you know," he pivots, as much as the facts pain him.

“Oh, yeah?”

Declan nods. “He was out here not long ago, banging on about your celestial light.” The phrase makes him chuckle while he shakes his cigarette, ash flickering from orange to grey as it drifts to the ground.

“Celestial light?" you scoff, breath turning to fog in the air. "You’re joking. I have about as much celestial light as a flickering lamp post.”

“Don’t do that.” Any amusement in Declan’s voice is gone with those three words.

“Do what?”

“Put yourself down. Make yourself small.”

“I don’t know what you’re—“

“Don’t you?" Declan presses, head quirked. You don't fool me, is what he means. "You don't have to do that with Patrick. Don't have to do that with me."

"And the rest of them? I'm not naive enough to think that I'm more than some young thing expected to keep quiet and look pretty. That's just the way it is. All those men in there," you nod towards the sprawling windows that separate you from the party. "They don't think anything of me. They just see me as —"

“Smart? Witty?” Declan interjects, trying to meet your eye as you toe a stray leaf that's blown onto the concrete. “Beautiful as you may be, you have a hell of a lot more going for you. Believe me.” He’s being earnest, you can hear it in the way his voice dips to barely a whisper. In this way, his words are intentional and just for you.

You abandon the leaf in favour of his face. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Be crazy not to."

"Declan..." You don't know where your sentence is going, or why you step towards him, but you do, the confession — as minor as it is — digging into you like a hook and Declan's eyes, pinned to you, reeling you in.

"So, how was your date then?" The question throws up a wall between you. An unscalable, Patrick-shaped wall. A red flush spreads over your chest and blooms up your neck. You don't want to talk about this. Not really. Not with him.

"Patrick didn't tell you?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, is what he said." There's a strangled edge to his voice, a frustration, like his son being cryptic was the most inconvenient thing in the world. "Did you —"

"There you are, Declan!" The voice has you skittering you across the pavement away from Declan, your heart tugging like you're still attached to him by that imaginary hook.

"For fuck’s sake," he mutters, snuffing his cigarette out under his dress shoe as Tony Baddingham saunters towards you, sly smile poisoning his lips.

"And here you are," he croons your name. "Never far from Declan, are you?"

"I told ya, Tony. She's my right hand man," your boss says, and you snuff the smile threatening to crack across your face at the thought that Declan’s talking about you, needing you. He’s trying to sound aloof, but he hates watching Tony sniff you out like a wolf stalking its prey — circling, picking up every subtle scent of your discomfort, eyes glowing with that predatory gleam.

"So, it would seem. I must admit, your show has taken quite a spectacular turn in the ratings since this one's come along," Tony continues, coming to stand beside you. His cool hand slides too comfortably around your bare shoulders, his fingers pressing into your skin with an air of ownership. You flinch and try to mask it with a forced smile, but Tony doesn't seem fazed, chuckling as he leans in closer, eyes trailing down the front of your chest. "This dress is something rather spectacular itself. How did you know blue is my favourite colour?"

"Lucky guess," you tell him, stiffening under the weight of his arm. Declan's jaw tightens, and while he's trying to stay composed, tension radiates from him in violent, crashing waves. Your eyes dart about as you shift uncomfortably — something that doesn't go unnoticed by Declan.

He digs into his pocket, retrieving a small, stainless steel case that he holds out to Tony. "Cigarette?"

"Ah, I told the lady of the house that I would try to quit," Tony explains, referring to his wife, Monica. "But I suppose one never killed anybody." It feels like a tonne has been sloughed off you when Lord Baddingam unravels himself from you, moving towards Declan to light up.

"Thank you," you mouth behind Tony's back, and Declan returns a wink that goes straight to your warm centre.

Inside the house, the party erupts in hoots and cheers as La Bamba starts over the speakers, and you catch sight of Daysee beckoning you back to the dancefloor from the other side of the glass. Tony begins rattling off competitor numbers and other industry secrets well above your pay grade, so you take the opportunity to slip back inside for another champagne, another dance.

Before too long, you’re swept into a conversation with Valerie and Lizzie — well, more Valerie, who is probing you for gossip from within the walls of Corinium. She’s a total fiend for a scandal. You’d heard through the grapevine that she’d told Monica Baddingham about her husband’s sordid rendezvous with Cameron Cook, and no doubt Valerie was well across the fact that Lizzie’s own husband was spending a great deal of time pants down in his dressing room with his co-host.

“Well, there’s got to be something,” Valerie whines when you tell her you tend to keep your nose out of other people’s business.

“Oh, leave her be,” Lizzie tells her before turning to you. “How are you, love? More to the point, how’s Patrick? I heard the two of you went on a date last night.”

Jeez, word travels fast around here, you think.

“You and Declan’s son?” Valerie clarifies, tweeting at the revelation. “Handsome boy, him. God, Declan’s genes are strong, aren’t they?”

The mention of Declan has you searching for him through the windows, and you catch him just in time to see him storm away from Tony, disappearing from view until he barges back into the party with a snarl contorting his mouth. Most of the guests are too drunk to notice him stalking through the ballroom, or swipe a glass of whiskey off the tray of a waiter in one brisk snatch he doesn’t even slow down for.

“Oh, God,” Lizzie mutters, turning away from Declan as he shoves past your trio, the sleek material of his jacket scraping across your upper arm.

You call after him to no avail before Lizzie touches your wrist lightly, shaking her head. “Leave him, darling.”

“Why?” you ask, searching her face for some shred of a clue. “Lizzie, what’s happened?”

“You didn’t hear it from me —”

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Valerie squawks, her cockney twang exacerbated by alcohol. “The whole bloody country’s already read about it in the paper this morning.”

“For God’s sake, read what?”

“Declan’s wife — Maud — well, she’s got some big flashy part in some famous play in the city,” Valerie is all too excited to tell you, while Lizzie takes far too much interest in the ice melting at the bottom of her empty glass. “Three month run if it all goes to plan, the article said.”

“At least,” Lizzie finally pipes up, crimson colouring her face immediately after. “Poor Declan.”

Yes, poor Declan.

Taggie and Patrick, who are dancing to a completely different song to the one that’s playing, are none the wiser that their father’s just come barrelling through here like a bull in a china shop. And, given that Taggie’s yet to mention anything about her estranged mother, your bet is that they have no idea about her new role, either. Your heart breaks for your best friend, for all of them, which is why you trail after Declan once Lizzie and Valerie have found another unsuspecting guest to pry information from.

The first few doors you try are no-gos: an office space that looks rather untouched, a sitting room decked out with floral upholstery complete with a couple you’ve never met going at it on a sofa, and an ornate guest bathroom. It’s not until the fifth door that you find Declan looking forlorn in the Baddingham’s library. He’s sprawled out in a dark armchair, tall frame filling it out. Legs spread like he’s waiting for someone to kneel between them.

“Hey,” you say quietly, closing the door softly behind you.

His voice is groggy with liquor when he responds, “Where’s Patrick?”

“Dancing with Taggie, I think. It’s nice seeing them together, I know she’s missed him,” you tell him, adding, “You’ve raised some good kids.”

Declan scoffs. “Dunno how. Workaholic father, absentee mother with a chronic wandering eye.”

Your stomach dips. “I heard about Maud. Are you okay?”

“So, everyone’s talking about it.” He sinks impossibly lower into the chair, its leather whining as he splays his arms out to his sides. The whiskey in his hand splashes over the edge of his glass with the movement. “Am I okay? What’s it look like to you?”

He looks like shit, inky hair disheveled from raking a frantic hand through it, but the frustration already emanating from him stops you from voicing it. The man just found out his wife has no intention of returning home anytime soon. The least you can do is give him some grace.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Declan snaps. “And I shouldn’t be discussing this with you. It’s…” he ponders on the right word before settling on, “Inappropriate.”

You drag your bottom lip between your teeth. “Because I’m Taggie’s friend?”

He laughs incredulously. “Yeah, because you’re Taggie’s friend. You’re my employee. You’re…” He gestures haphazardly in your direction.

“I’m…?” you prompt, taking a few trepid steps towards him.

Insatiable. Infallible. Interminable. Indomitable. How could he ever settle on just one?

“Insufferable,” Declan eventually mutters, chasing the confession with a slow swig of his drink.

It’s your turn to laugh now. “I’m insufferable? I’m not the one that’s stalked off to sulk and—” You stop, shake your head. “Actually, I’m not going to argue this with you. If you want to sit in here alone instead of spending time with people who actually care about you, people who are actually here, so be it.” After shooting Declan a pointed look, you stalk to the door, but there’s a buzz in your veins that knows you’re not ready to let up just yet, so you turn on your heel to face him again. “And I don’t need you telling me what is and isn’t appropriate. Your moral compass is far too gone for that.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Declan wants to know, sitting a little more upright in his seat.

“You’re kidding, right? I heard you, you know. The other night. Saying my name while you were touching yourself.” Declan’s whiskey glass freezes at his lips, black eyes locked on you. “Not very appropriate considering I’m Taggie’s friend. Your employee,” you confess, throwing his reasons for not opening up to you back in his face. Your chest heaves with shallow breaths, like spilling the secret of you watching Declan come undone has stolen every bit of viable air from your burning lungs. You half expect him to deny it, but his face is blank, and his silence is aggravating. Time, what feels like minutes, stretches between the two of you, gazes set on one another while you silently duel across the library.

“Nothing to say, Declan?” you press. “That’s a first.”

Leather ripples through the room as he stands, abandoning his glass on a side table before stalking towards you. He doesn’t stop until you’re toe to toe and your back presses into the cool wood of the door. Whiskey, aftershave and a lick of sweat consumes you as Declan regards you down his nose. “Like I said,” he croaks. “You’re insufferable.”

Your jaw unhinges as you go to bite back at him, to tell him that he’s the one making things unbearable, but then he tuts, jabbing his forefinger into his chest. “You’ve said enough. It’s my turn to speak.

“Hiring you is up there with the worst things I’ve ever done, and believe me, love, I’ve done a lot of shitty things. That night in the hot tub? Ruined me for all I’m worth. I can’t go to sleep without seeing you. Can’t go to work without wondering what it’d be like to bend you over the desk. Can’t bear to watch you bat those fucking eyes of yours at Rupert or Bas or Patrick. Then there’s Maud…” His eyes slip shut as he speaks, a small shake of his head revealing shame eroded in the space between his unruly eyebrows. “Every moment she pulls away from me is a moment that pushes me closer to you, and I hate it,” he confesses. “And seeing you with Patrick is fucking eating me alive, because what kind of man — what kind of married man — wishes the worst on his son over a woman that he has no claim over?”

“Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”

“Jealous,” Declan repeats. He can only laugh. “Did you fuck him?”

You pull back, head softly ricocheting off the wood behind you. “Did I— you can’t be serious, Declan.” “Answer the question. Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

“Of course not!”

“No?” He sounds surprised, and you’re almost offended.

“No!” you spit. The thump of muffled music vibrates through the door, matching your heart trying to break free from your chest.

“Why not?”

“Declan, stop—”

“No, tell me,” he probes, hot breath fanning over your face. “Is it because he’s not smart enough for ya? Not manly enough?” You divert your gaze, blurred vision locking onto some benign object in the distance, because you don’t trust yourself to keep looking at Declan. You can’t tell what his angle is, whether he’s jealous at the attention you’re getting from other men, or annoyed that you’re not interested in his son. Eventually, he cocks his head to meet your sightline, finger coming to your chin to turn you to face him. “Tell me why you didn’t fuck him.”

“Because he’s not you!” It flies out of your mouth before you have the sense to stop it, breath catching in the back of your throat as you await Declan’s next move. The energy caught in the mere inches between you continues to crackle, but the fire burning under him seems to have subsided as his shoulders fall from their tense fixture, his suit jacket sagging with his muscles. He looks down at you with heavy eyelids. He’s tired. So fucking tired. Of pretending he doesn’t miss Maud, that he doesn’t want you. That of both those unspoken truths piled together makes him feel like a right failure as a husband, as a father, as a boss. He was already broken, and your admission was the final crack that made him shatter.

Shaky hands come to cover your mouth, a barrier to keep any more secrets from polluting the fragile silence that hangs heavy between you. Declan shuffles back, just a hairbreadth. He’s got his head viced, one hand through his hair and the other gripping his jaw. “Fucking hell.”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Even if it’s the truth?” He’s just barely looking at you, sheepish. Like he’s waiting for permission. Or a denial. The torture draining the colour from his face is making it hard to tell what’s going on in that gorgeous head of his.

“It’s not fair. On either of us.”

“You’re damn right it isn’t fair. None of this is fair.” He’s back at you, crowding you against the door, one large dress shoe pitched between your platform heels. You’re certain that if he took one deep breath, his belt buckle would make impressions on your stomach. You can see the indentations in his lips, the miniscule patch of dry skin at the corner. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? I’ve exercised more restraint in the last month than I’ve ever had to in my life. You’re fucking ruining me.”

The disclosure has thinned his voice to barely a whisper. Heat bubbles low in your stomach, the pull of wanting to close the gap between you warring with the consequence you know wait for you both if you give in. Still, the way he’s staring at you, with wounded eyes like twin black holes, how could you ever stand a chance?

It’s why you let another confession slip, for better or for worse.

“You think I don’t feel it, too?”

Declan reaches to tuck your hair behind your ear, his hand trailing back to caress your cheek. The minute he touches you, your whole body goes lax, completely pliable for him. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, and you can practically taste the liquor on his tongue. Black eyes zigzag across your features while his palm moves to cup your jaw, the pad of his thumb meeting the swell of your bottom lip.

“This okay?” You only nod because you don’t have the strength, the gall, to betray Taggie by vocalising how desperately you want her father to keep touching you in ways you’ve only dreamed about.

“Need to hear you say it,” he urges. “Gotta make sure you really want this.”

He has no fucking idea how much you do.

“Please,” is all you manage to muster before an animalistic growl scrapes up the back of his throat and Declan O’Hara is kissing you in a way that’s going to screw you up forever.

You’re folding like the world’s flimsiest house of cards the moment his mouth hits yours, all teeth and tongues, whiskey, tobacco and him. If it weren’t for him scooping an arm around your waist to hold you to him, you’d be in a heap on the floor. Declan’s faint grunts resonate around your tongue as his own explores your mouth with fervent jabs, only breaking the erratic rhythm to suck your lip so sensually it peels a whimper from you. His arm is scorching against the bare skin that sits above the low-cut back of your dress. His hips flex into yours, and you feel the cool metal of his belt through satin. Then you feel it. His hard length, constricted by his suit trousers, pressing to your stomach. Excitement and desire pulse through you, the feeling of his arousal against you intoxicating, knowing you’re the cause.

“Ya feel that, darlin’? Feel what you do to me?” Declan asks, each word heavy with need and muffled into your neck, tongue flickering over the salty skin there. Your hands twist into his curls while he sucks a kiss into your collarbone. It pulls blood to the surface, most likely noticeable, but you don’t care. Not when Declan branding you feels so fucking good. After a few good moments, he pulls back to take you in, his lips puffy from working over your decolletage. His eyes skim over your face, drinking in every detail — the pale lipstick smeared around your mouth, your glassy eyes, the pink flush staining your cheeks.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucked out for me already.” Any shame that previously coloured Declan’s features has evaporated, the pity drowning his eyes flushed out by incessant need. He kisses you again, though it’s not so much a kiss as it’s a collision, only slowing down his movements once he’s confident this isn’t one of his fleeting, filthy dreams. It’s been so long since another person has kissed you like this, touched you like this. It’s everything Patrick’s kiss wasn’t, intimate and intentional despite the roaring laughter and music on the other side of the wall.

Declan’s large hand leaves your hip and you immediately miss it as his fingers brush over the cool doorknob. They don’t linger, there’s no hesitation before the click of the lock vibrates through you. You don’t hear it, though. Not over your pulse thrumming in your ears. It’s a purposeful, unspoken decision to shut out everything but the heat building between you, then his hand is back at your waist, pinning you in place against the wood. The other grazes down your body until he reaches the hem of your dress, sliding it up your leg until he has it gathered in a pool of azure at your hip. Your breathing hitches at the feeling of his skin on your hip bone. Under the flood of material, Declan’s fingers find the waistband of your underwear, thumb trilling over the flimsy lace holding your thong together. Your breaths mingle, lips barely grazing while his mind runs ragged with thoughts of what colour the garment is. Black to match that sinful bra you wore to your interview? Red like the pair you were wearing in his dream last night? He hooks a finger under the elastic, pulling the panties away from your body then letting them go so they snap against your skin. You let out a sharp gasp at the sting but he’s already soothing it, one step ahead of what you’re needing.

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so fucking long,” he groans. His hand finds its way under the lace material again to glide over the bulb of your arse, kneading the flesh there.

“Declan,” you whine, jutting your hips into his, desperate for friction.

“What’s that, darlin’?” Even with your eyes clamped shut you know he’s smirking, relishing in your neediness. You arch forward again but he’s far stronger than you, his brawniness keeping you in place. “If you want something, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Please,” you sigh, following up with a strangled, “Touch me.”

Declan wastes no time in finding you bundle of nerves, but as soon as he’s there, it’s like time slows to an excruciating speed, his fingers featherlight over the thin material. You’re already soaked. Have been since he started berating you about how much him wanting you was fucking him up. Declan knows it too, groaning as he applies more pressure, your slick seeping around the pad of his finger.

“Christ, you’re wet,” he grunts. “Is all this f’me?” Your head cants incessantly, mind and heart and pussy chanting more, more, more. But it doesn’t come. He just holds his finger to you, steady, waiting, like a finger on the trigger of a gun. The only relief you’re getting is from you squirming under his touch, and even then, it’s just not hitting in the way you know Declan could if he would just. Move.

A chuckle rumbles in his chest and as sexy as it sounds on a regular day, under the circumstances, it almost has you seeing red. “Oh, there she is,” Declan says when you finally look at him. “Needy little thing, aren’t ya?” His eyes are glued to yours, half-lidded with a grin tugging under his moustache. It’s not a challenge. It’s a promise. He has you right where he wants you, and you can feel it in the air, thick with his quiet confidence. Your mouth goes slack when Declan removes his finger from the outside of your underwear, instead using it to push the material aside, granting himself full access to your swollen centre. Then it’s back to square one: unhurried, languid movements as he traces your folds. Up and around, not once sliding over your clit despite your unintelligible splutterings begging him to do so. Declan’s lips fall back over yours with a quiet, charged kiss as his hand comes to cup your mound completely, his tongue seeking purchase against your own. You stay like that for a moment, tongues battling each other, his hand covering your pussy like he already owns it. Every single one of your nerve endings is alight, every inch of your skin acutely aware of his presence as his moustache grazes your top lip, as his middle finger ever so slightly dips between your folds. Then finally, finally, he slides a thick finger into you and you clench around him, the unfiltered pleasure enough to never want to be without the feeling of him inside you again. You both moan, the sound disappearing into your kiss, your hand disappearing into his hair, holding him to you.

The hard peaks of your nipples create little blue buds against your dress, and they rub against Declan’s chest while he drags his finger from your body, in and out, in and out, each movement as deliciously slow as the last.

After a minute, he breaks your kiss, letting his forehead rest against your own. “You’re so tight,” he grits, adding another finger despite his observation. The new addition allows the palm of his hand to jut against your clit, and the friction almost has you levitating. “Oh, you like that, huh?” Declan teases, pushing into you harder, faster. The change in pace has you jerking like a live wire. Totally unhinged, the world feels like it’s spinning off its axis, more dangerously the longer he keeps that unforgiving pace. All this pent up frustration and teasing and longing bucks you closer to the edge, pins and needles edging their way from your toes up your body until—

Knock knock knock.

The door thumps into your back, scaring your orgasm away with it. Declan’s fingers freeze inside you, your clit pulsating against his palm, your eyes locked on one another as you will away the intrusion. The doorknob jostles next and all you can think is thank God Declan locked it when he did.

“‘S occupied!” he growls.

“Dad? Is that you?” Patrick.

The whites of your eyes blow out as you glare at Declan, panicked by the arrival of his son — your date, not twenty-four hours earlier — as you conjugate just mere inches away. Declan lifts his free hand to his lips, pressing a single finger into the supple flesh. Shh.

“Dad? Are you in here?” Patrick asks again, trying the door for a second time.

“Yeah, son. You alright?” Declan responds, and your eyes go impossibly wider at him answering while his fingers are still buried in your pussy. While his steely length presses into the crease between your thigh and crotch.

“Are you alright? You’ve been gone a while.”

Declan’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving a devilish smile in its wake. “Everything’s grand,” he drawls, fingers slipping out of you to stake claim on your clit. The subtle movement yanks a gasp from you, a mix of embarrassment and arousal pumping through you as Declan begins to trace circles there. You’re caught between wanting to disappear and wanting more as Declan keeps talking, Irish accent laden with lust. “Just needed a few minutes to myself. Needed to…” he pauses, licking a stripe up the side of your neck before latching his teeth onto your earlobe for a hair of a second, “Decompress.”

“Mmm,” you moan, too loudly, because Declan claps a hand over your mouth to keep any more desperate sounds slipping from under the door. There’s a moment pause, and you panic, thinking you’ve given the pair of you away, but then Patrick is chattering away again, asking after you.

“Have you seen her? Could’ve sworn she came down this way.”

“Nope,” Declan lies, picking up pace as he strums your clit, like he’s getting off on holding a conversation while trying to take you to the brink of no return. “Haven’t seen her.”

The knot in your stomach mounts again, your whole body buzzing at high frequency. Patrick says something else, a goodbye, you think, but for all you know he could be speaking gibberish, the rush of blood to your ears blocking out anything that’s not Declan.

The slight savour of sweat he’s worked up and how it tangoes with the cigarette smoke still lingering on his suit jacket.

How his mouth hangs slightly open, his tongue resting loosely against his bottom row of teeth, completely dumb for you.

The grunt wrapped in a sigh that pushes out of him when he plows two thickset fingers inside you again, and the matching moan you hum into the palm of his hand, the metal of his wedding ring cool against your upper lip.

“You’re making me crazy,” he says lowly. “Turnin’ me into someone who steals his son’s girl.” Your response comes out distorted, muffled against his skin. Declan’s hand slips from your mouth, finding its way to the nape of your neck and tangling its fingers into the frizzy hair there, the slight tension making your scalp tingle. “You got something to say, darlin’?”

“Not… his… girl,” you pant, words punctuated by Declan pumping his fingers impossibly deeper into your cunt.

“You’re damn right you’re not his girl.”

The subtext is clear. You’re not Patrick’s. You’re his. The feminist in you should balk at the insinuation but who are you kidding? Every stolen glance. Every car ride. Every solo orgasm you’ve yanked from yourself in the dead of night to the thought of him. Everything has led you to this.

Your mascara flakes over the apples of your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut, Declan’s fingers expertly twisting and careening until the coil in the pit of your stomach is wound so tight you think you’re going to crack in two.

“Fuck, Declan,” you mewl, gripping his biceps to keep yourself steady. “So close.”

“Look at me, love. Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come.”

You could’ve fallen apart at those words alone, but you do what Declan says, gaze fluttering to his face as the butt of his hand against your clit works in tandem with his fingers until there’s a sharp and sudden snap, breaking you apart in a violent burst.

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” your expletives are swaddled by his hand yet again, eyes pricking with tears as you chase your high. Even through the blur, you see Declan grinning down at you with pride, nodding, quietly egging you on.

“That’s it, darlin’. Good. Good girl,” he whispers, thumb at the back of your head stroking tiny circles while his opposite fingers slow down with your breathing. It’s only when you stop convulsing completely that he drops his hand from your face. Your feet scream in pain as you come back to yourself, the weight of digging your heels in to keep you upright making itself known. Meanwhile, Declan slips himself from you, gently rearranging your underwear over your folds and allowing the skirt of your dress to float back down your legs. He shuffles backwards, allowing you space to gather yourself, to ground yourself, breaths still shaky as you step away from the door you’d come to be far too intimate with. You don’t speak, not yet, just watch as Declan peers down at his right hand that’s glistening with your slick, then to his left hand, where his wedding band glints under the library’s chandelier.

“Are you—” okay, is what you intend to ask, but Declan cuts you off, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“I should go find Taggie and Patrick. Can’t have them hearing about their mum through some idle party gossip,” he says, voice steady but marred with a tinge of uncertainty, as if he’s trying to make sense of everything. He maneuvers around you awkwardly, all that cockiness from moments ago melted away. He pauses at the door, the heavy silence between you so palpable. His hand rests on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn it. “This was…” he trails off, eyes searching the room for the right word.

"Yeah," is all you can manage, because you can’t find the words either. For how he just made you feel like every single one of your synapses was on fire. For the way he's treating you now, all cool and distant, like he's casually asking you to grab him a coffee. Declan forces a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and nods. Just once, stiff. With one final glance, he slips out of sight, laughter and clinking glasses and whumping music replacing Declan in the room before the door clicks closed behind him. And almost immediately, you feel irrelevant and unsure of what to do next. At least, you think it best to let a few minutes pass before you leave the library, so you shuffle over to the large mirror hanging above the fireplace to take in your dishevelled form. You look utterly wrecked, all puffy lips and smudged mascara. All at the hands of Declan O’Hara.

Oh, God, you think, doing your best to wipe away the fallout of the last twenty minutes from your face. What have we done?

When you’re satisfied that you don’t look like…well, like your boss just plied an orgasm from you, you trace Declan’s footsteps and step back into the party, hoping to go unnoticed by the sparse guests mingling around you. Just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed, you catch Rupert’s eye at the end of the hallway — sharp, knowing. He tilts his glass of champagne towards you, slight smirk with the quiet gesture. It’s not a greeting, but an acknowledgement, and you wonder if he saw Declan leave the library, too.

If you got this far, thank you for reading!!!! Let me know in the comments what you think, and what you predict might happen next?!

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview, Chapter 2: Beneath The Surface, Chapter 3: Driving Miss Crazy

#declan o’hara #declan o’hara imagine #declan o’hara smut #declan o’hara x you #rivals smut #declan o’hara x female #best friends dad!declan o’hara #boss!declan o’hara #declan o’hara x assistant!reader #declan o’hara x reader #declan o'hara #rivals imagine #rivals fan fic #rivals fanfiction #declan o'hara fanfiction #sexy jealous declan #filthy filthy irishman #aidan turner

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lady-lostmind · 19 hours ago

Text

GIVE A SHIT

Written for @steddiebingo Kissing Booth Prompt: Dress Up

Rating: T | WC: 631

Thank you @oh-stars for betaing!!

“This is stupid, Buckley. I look like an idiot. This is never going to work.” Eddie’s face scrunches in disgust as he stares in the mirror, tugging at the secondhand suit jacket Robin shoved onto his shoulders.

Robin rolls her eyes, “You always look like an idiot.” She pulls Eddie to face her and wraps a tie around his neck. “You guys have been dancing around each other for too long. It’s getting ridiculous.”

Eddie scoffs. “And you think this–” He gestures to himself in his best, non-ripped black jeans, black dress shirt, and the stupid fucking jacket. “Is the solution?”

Robin glares at him while she ties the tie. “No. I think you getting your head out of your ass and actually making a move is the solution.”

“And this is the move? Dressing like some yuppie in a suit!?”

Robin flicks him on the forehead, grinning meanly when he yelps and rubs the sore spot. “I think actually making an effort and showing Steve you actually give a shit, is the move.”

Eddie’s face drops. “Is that what he thinks? That I don’t give a shit?”

Robin sighs and she smoothes out his tie. “Steve doesn’t think anyone gives a shit about him.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Even I have to constantly remind him or he gets all in his head about it and pulls away.”

Eddie shakes his head, looking down at his ridiculous outfit with a sigh. “Do I buy him flowers?”

He glances back up and sees Robin smiling widely. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Eddie shows up at Steve’s house with a bouquet of roses, and a baggie of weed, feeling ridiculous as he knocks on the door. He wants to be with Steve. And Robin is right. They’ve been dancing around this for close to a year. But he doesn’t know how to do this. He’s not– He’s never really had a relationship. He’s never really cared that much. He’s never–

Steve opens the door, eyes going wide when he sees Eddie. “Eds, what–”

“I give a shit.” Great. Really solid start, Eddie.

Steve’s brow furrows. “Okay–”

Eddie sighs, pushing past Steve and pushing the flowers to his chest. “These are for you.”

Steve’s eyes go all sparkly as he looks down at the flowers in his hand, a little smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Eddie starts pacing. “I’m not good at this, okay? I know I’ve probably been fucking this up, majorly, and I’m sorry about that. And I know you deserve better than a trailer trash freak but–”

Steve’s face goes soft. “Eds–”

Eddie shakes his head. “I know, I know. But please, just hear me out, okay? Robin said I have a shot. And I figure she knows. And I know this–” He gestures to himself and the flowers. “Is all a little cheesy and over the top but I do give a shit. About you. I give a lot of shits about you. All the shits, honestly and–”

Steve takes a step forward. “Eds–”

Eddie shakes his head holding his hands out in front of him. “I know I’m probably not what you imagined for your life. I know this is–” He sighs. “I just want you to be happy. And I think that maybe– Maybe I can make you happy. If you give me a chance.”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest with a sigh and Eddie’s heart sinks. “Are you done?”

Eddie stops pacing in front of him, his body slumping in defeat. He knew this was a bad idea. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Steve smiles, wide and cocky as he strides forward. “Good.” He cups Eddie’s jaw and leans in close. “Because I’m going to kiss you now.”

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #lady lostmind #steddiebingo #steddiebingo2025 #steddiebingokiss

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rhiannonsknife · 17 hours ago

Note

I’ve never seen someone write Jackie and Rhiannon like you do! They’re such complex characters and you do an amazing job capturing that, even in just a one shot. Just wanted to tell you that I love your blog!

If you’re still taking requests, would you mind writing a Jackie one where her and the reader come out as a couple at Doomcoming like Tai and Van did? Maybe they’ve been together for awhile but Jackie wasn’t ready to come out until then? I think a plane crash would really put things into perspective lol!

-🦈

── MEET ME IN THE WOODS TONIGHT

— summary: doomcoming with jackie taylor.

— warnings: fluff. implied internalized homophobia. secret relationship. fem!reader. nsfw content. mdni.

the makeshift decorations sway in the breeze, the clearing glows with warm lantern light and, despite everything, despite the crash, the wilderness, and the gnawing hunger, there’s laughter.

for the first time in weeks, the mood is light, almost joyful in a way that’s more genuine than anything any of you have experienced since the plane went down.

you stand near jackie, your shoulder brushing hers just so as you watch the others dance. she looks beautiful tonight, as she always does: her crown of wildflowers slightly askew, her cheeks flushed from the drinks misty’s been passing around. she’s smiling, but you know her too well to think she’s as carefree as she looks: jackie has always been good at pretending.

you’ve been together for months now, sneaking touches and stealing kisses when no one is looking your way. she had made one thing clear from the start: no one could know. she’d framed it as self-preservation. “it’s not that i don’t care about you,” jackie had said one night, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. “i just…i don’t want to make things harder for us out here”

so, you learned to love the mask she wears just as much as the girl jackie is beneath all her pretense.

you’d understood, or tried to; her fears weren’t all baseless. she was used to control, to the certainty of her old world where she’d been whs’ golden girl, the one everyone admired. out here, though, her carefully constructed image had been crumbling from the start. the others had turned on her in subtle ways; side glances, muttered comments, the slow loss of respect. she couldn’t risk giving them more fuel.

now, as you’re watching taissa and van kiss in front of everyone, something seems to shift.

it’s not a grand declaration; they just kiss, laughing against each other’s lips like they’re the only two people in the world. the group doesn’t stop them. some cheer, but no one judges. it’s all…normal. contrary to the events of the past weeks, but normal.

you glance sideways at jackie, expecting her to look away or maybe make a comment to cover her discomfort. but she’s watching them, just as everyone else is, her eyes wide, her expression both soft and unreadable. there’s no jealousy there, either, no scorn. just a quiet longing that makes your chest ache.

“jackie?” you ask gently, leaning closer so only she can hear.

she blinks, pulling herself back to reality, and gives you a shaky smile. “it’s nothing,” she assures quickly.

“are you sure?” you press, keeping your voice soft. “you can talk to me, you know?”

jackie’s smile falters. for a split second, she looks like she might say something. but then she shakes her head, looking away. “come on! let’s dance!”

you follow her to the makeshift dance floor, letting her spin you around with surprising enthusiasm. the two of you laugh, swaying surrounded by the other girls. for this short while, it’s easy to forget everything that comes with the looming uncertainty these days. but then jackie slows, her movements faltering as her gaze locks on yours.

“what?” you ask, unable to brush it off this time.

she hesitates, her hand tightening around yours. “i just…” she glances over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the crowd. no one’s looking at you, their attention scattered all across the clearing. jackie takes a shaky breath. “i don’t want to hide anymore,”

“jackie, you don’t have to-“

she cuts you off by cupping your face and pressing her lips to yours, as easy as it would only ever come to her behind closed doors and the comfort of knowing you’re unseen. the kiss starts tentative, like the very first time jackie had kissed you, with her hands trembling against your cheeks. when you don’t pull away, when you lean into her, your own hands finding her waist, she deepens it. it’s soft and warm and open, jackie’s lips moving with a kind of desperation that you feel all the way to your core.

the entire world around you fades, you don’t hear the murmured conversations and laughter that surround you. all you can feel is jackie, her hands moving to your shoulders, her thumbs brushing your jawline. when she finally pulls back, her cheeks are tinted in the softest shade of pink.

“jackie,” you whisper, breathless, your forehead resting against hers still, hesitant to withdraw.

“i mean it,” she murmurs, the side of her nose nudging yours. “i don’t want to hide anymore. not with you!”

her gaze flickers shyly to the other yellowjackets around you.

there’s a moment of quiet as the others catch on, realizing what they’ve just seen. it’s van’s loud whoop that breaks the silence. when jackie looks back at you, there’s something new in her eyes. relief, maybe, or pride.

you smile at her, your fingers squeezing her waist through the fabric of her dress. “i guess the plane crash really did put things into perspective, huh?”

jackie laughs softly. “yeah. something like that.”

she doesn’t step back. if anything, she moves closer, her hands sliding down to rest on your hips as you rest your chin atop her head and pull her into your embrace.

“come with me,” she murmurs eventually.

your heart skips. “where?”

jackie’s smile turns coy. she doesn’t answer, instead she takes your hand and leads you away from the group. the warmth of the fire gives way to the cool darkness of the woods, and then, once you reach it, the cabin door creaks behind you.

inside, the room is dim, for once completely empty with the team still celebrating outside. jackie turns to face you, her eyes catching yours in the low light. she doesn’t say anything, but the way she steps closer, her free hand reaching for the back of your neck, speaks volumes.

when her mouth finds yours this time, it’s slower, deeper, her movements no longer tentative. it’s not just about showing something to the others now. it’s about you, and her, and everything that had been unspoken until now.

jackie steps closer then, backing you up until you hit the wall. her hands move to your neck, fingers sliding into your hair. the full length of her body presses against yours, caging you in as the kiss deepens.

for months, she had to hide her desire for you. now that it’s all out in the open, it’s like a dam has broken. jackie kisses you desperately, all the pent-up longing of the last poured into the collision of your mouths.

you can’t help but gasp, struggling to keep up with the demanding motion of jackie‘s lips. they trail from your mouth, down the side of your neck, nipping and kissing hungrily as her hands tug impatiently on the fabric of your clothes.

“jackie” you pant with your head tossed back against the wall. “we- we’re still-”

she pins you harder to the door, one of her legs slipping between yours. for a moment you allow yourself to get lost in the friction against your center, your hips rutting back and forth instinctively.

then, finally, you repeat, “jackie!”, breathless when she breaks away from you. her hazel eyes are dark, her chest heaving with the force of breath.

“did i do something wrong?” she asks, her voice quieter now, a hint of insecurity threading through the haze that’s come over you both. “i’m sorry, we don’t have to-“

you cut her off before jackie can overthink it.

your hand finds hers, squeezing just enough to ground her. the others could come in at any second, loud and stumbling, forcing you back to your new ‘normality’. you don’t want to forget this, don’t want to let the moment pass.

“attic. now”

you’re on top of her. chest to chest with a bare body that arches up against yours to meet you halfway.

jackie’s arms are draped over your neck, her ankles locked around your waist, pulling you in close. impossibly close, because you don’t think it’s possible to be any nearer unless you merged into her completely, lost yourself in the press of her skin, the curves of her body against yours. maybe that’s exactly what she wants. maybe that’s what you both need.

to forget where one ends and the other begins.

your clothes are scattered all around the makeshift bed you’re sharing. her dress, neat and beautiful, crumpled up on the dusty attic floor alongside your own.

it’s the most intimate you’ve ever been together: in all the months you’ve spent dating in secrecy, you never got jackie like this. you’ve imagined it, sure, pictured her at the absolute crack of dawn after making sure the other girls were definitely asleep, with a hand shoved down your pants. but even your poor attempts at masturbation in this absolute hellscape could never compare to having her underneath you.

you know, from the occasional stories she’d tell you -secrets, exchanged in hushed whispers- that jeff hasn’t either. that she was never quite ready to go all the way with him, never felt comfortable enough to.

with you, that has changed. jackie seems very comfortable now. she’s reassured you at every shy check-in between layers of clothing slipping away: “are you sure?” you’d asked when your fingers pushed up the hem of her dress. “is this still okay?” as you struggled with the clasps of her bra.

now, with the restrictive clothes gone, her lips are everywhere; against your own, the side of your neck, wandering as low as they’ll go in your current position, never getting past the swell of your breasts. jackie pulls you in absentmindedly and traces soft lines up your naked spine as her lips move down your throat. one of her hands finds yours, threading your fingers together.

this is different from all the stolen moments and careful touches you’ve shared so far. there’s no fear of being heard, no risk of being interrupted. jackie is different, every soft sound raw in a way she’s never been capable of before.

her hands roam with purpose, memorizing every single inch of your skin. her mouth traces a path from your collarbones to your shoulder as she whispers “i need you” with both her eyes closed. you can’t stop your hips from grinding into her all over again, bare skin sliding together.

you break away, blinking down at where jackie is sprawled out. “are you sure?” you manage. she bites her lip, but nods determinedly.

for months, she’s been so focused on what she should need -the validation, the approval, the status- that she’s almost forgotten how the simple act of being wanted feels like.

“okay...okay”

jackie strokes over your bare shoulders, her thumbs digging into the skin there. “can i-“ she begins, blushing under your attentive gaze. “can i touch you?”

when you nod, she brings both of her hands up to your chest. you exhale shakily. this is all so new, so sweet, even in the mess that you’re in. it’s a blur of shy touches and breathy murmurs of approval, and, for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re happy. truly, undeniably happy. happy that it’s jackie. happy that she’s the one you get to share this with.

her thumb brushes over your nipple and you arch your back forward, a quiet moan drawn from your lips. the floorboard creaks under the weight shift and you laugh into each other’s mouths.

“you like that?”

your eyes flutter shut and you manage another nod. as if to test it, jackie repeats the motion, applying just the right amount of pressure.

“oh-“ you gasp, your full body shuddering.

jackie smiles, satisfied. she leans up again, her hips jerking against your leg as she moves to press kisses to the hollow of your throat while simultaneously playing with your nipples. only when she lets out a soft noise of her own, do you realize that your thigh is pressing right between hers with the way your bodies have moved together.

momentarily caught off guard, you breathe out and jackie opens her eyes to look up at you. eager to get a similar reaction out of her, you experimentally flex the muscles against jackie’s cunt, grinding carefully. her hands grasp the thin sheets beneath her body instantly, her fingers curling up in the fabric tightly. her head falls back as she gasps: “oh my god”

“does that feel good?” you drop one hand to hold her hip.

jackie nods, her jaw slack when she gives her hips a couple of gentle rolls, dragging her wetness over the length of your leg. you watch in awe when the first actual moans spill from her lips, her voice unusually high-pitched.

you press your forehead against jackie's again, anchoring yourself to her like you're afraid of losing this moment the second there's space between you. her breath is warm but uneven, ghosting over your lips as she tilts her head, her fingers threading through your hair to pull you closer.

her open mouth brushes yours, barely, just enough to make you dizzy and press your lips to hers.

the temperature around you is rising steadily as jackie moves against your body, your breathing tangling together.

this is better than anything you’ve ever imagined already, but it is not enough.

“jackie,” you whisper. immediately, she stops the movements altogether, her brows raising in concern.

“are you okay?”

her attentiveness makes you smile. “more than okay, i just-“ you bite your lip. “i want more,”

“oh”

“is that okay?”

jackie smiles in response, shifting backwards and maneuvering you both into a new position. after some more rustling movement on the blankets, you find yourself kneeling face to face with her. the way jackie’s eyes fall to your bare chest doesn’t go unnoticed: they widen as if she’s still struggling to believe that any of this is really happening.

she takes your hand in hers, gently pressing it against the valley between l own breasts so you feel the racing of her heart against your palm.

“touch me,” jackie instructs. “and let me touch you too?”

suddenly, your position makes a lot more sense. you don’t have to be told twice. instead, you bite your lip and nod. “please”

both of you reposition your knees so your legs are spread wider, and jackie’s delicate fingers trace down your front. when they reach the hemline of your underwear, you watch her, catch the way her mouth falls open as her fingers brush over the wet patch on the fabric.

“you’re so wet” jackie murmurs in awe.

hearing those words from her is enough to set you into motion too. first, your jaw drops and you feel yourself clenching around nothing, painfully aware of the emptiness where you want to feel jackie the most. then, after a soft cry of “touch me,” you drop a hand between her thighs. jackie’s arousal is damp, soaking through the lace of her panties as you cup her carefully.

she moans your name, and her head falls against your shoulder while she simultaneously fumbles with your underwear and pushes it aside. you copy jackie’s motions, panting as you look down the little space that’s left between your bodies.

you don’t even have it in you to feel embarrassed about the moan that falls from your lips when she finds your clit and starts circling it with her index finger.

“god, jackie-“

“it’s okay,” jackie promises, her free hand cradling the back of your head. “you- oh!”

whatever she was going to say is cut short when you press your fingertips against her clit, rubbing it the same way you know you like. judging by the sharp intake of breath through her nose, it seems to be working for jackie too.

she’s the one to pick up the pace first, rubbing quicker circles. you can feel your thighs trembling already, struggling to support the weight of your body as you try to focus on touching jackie too. her wetness glides against your fingertips, practically dripping from her. occasionally, you dip lower, where her arousal pools, so you can gather it and bring it up to jackie’s stiff clit.

when she feels you there, she leans back, her pupils dilated as she looks at you in the dim light of the attic. her fingers press against your entrance. “can i?” she breathes, sounding surprisingly pleading for someone who’s just asking to touch rather than be touched. in response, you do the same for her: a singular finger toying at her throbbing hole.

when jackie pushes two of her own into you, you immediately follow suit, shuddering as she slides in with ease. your moans mingle together in the thick air, only half aware that, if any of the others come back inside now, they will definitely hear you through the floorboards.

“more,” you whine.

jackie pulls her fingers out slowly at your request, until only their tips are still inside, then pushes them back as far as they’ll go, tearing a soft cry from the back of your throat. “oh, jackie!”

her own walls throb around your still finger -which you have almost forgotten about until you feel her squeeze it. weakly, you curl it forward against jackie’s g-spot, trying to make up for your lack of movement. her eyes roll back in her head instantly.

"oh-“ she whines softly. “oh my god-“

you manage some gentle thrusts into her before you slide in a second one. jackie easily takes it.

regardless of your efforts, she doesn’t stop moving and her thrusts don’t falter. jackie, unlike you, keeps up with ease, her fingers reaching deeper than your own ever did. when she curls them in a come hither motion, you reach for her and jackie pulls you in closer, pressing her lips against yours to stifle your sounds.

it doesn’t take long at all until you feel a knot forming in your abdomen, tightening with every press and thrust.

when you part from her to catch her eyes, there's a string of spit connecting your mouths. the sight, the sensations, the knowledge that you’re hers in a way not even the wilderness can undo is all so much, and enough to have you on the edge of the first orgasm in months.

you know exactly what it’ll take for her to finally make you cum. and, even though her touch feels too good for you to string together coherent sentences, you manage a quiet: “jackie, god, i’m close!”

jackie, bless her, seems to understand: she finds your clit with her thumb while still pumping her other two fingers into you, and rubs it just like she did before, studying your face for a reaction.

"right there!“ your head lulls back, each breath coming high-pitched and every muscle tense. your hips rock against her hand and she starts circling your clit faster, adding just the right amount of pressure.

that, and her other hand sneaking up your body to roll your nipple between two of her fingers, is all it takes.

“jackie-“ you never get to finish what you were going to say. instead, you feel your orgasm washing over you in pulsing waves. a breathless moan dies in your throat when the world around you shifts out of focus and your thighs shake violently around her wrist.

just like that, you come, coating her fingers in your release as your legs give out beneath you. somewhere through the sensations, you hear jackie’s whine when your fingers slip from her, but you’re still too caught in the pleasure to really care.

finally, when it fades, you open your eyes to look up at her. jackie is panting and removes her hand from between your legs. she’s still kneeling over you but is quick to settle down in your lap now that you’re no longer holding your weight on your knees.

“here,” she pants, wrapping one arm around your shoulders as the other guides you back between her thighs. you know what to do without any more instructions: you give yourself to her, letting her use your fingers to get herself off too.

jackie slides down onto you, jaw going slack as you slip into her with ease. you hold her by the waist to support the gentle rocking motions that make the floorboards creak.

her nails dig into your skin, leaving half-moon shapes on your shoulder blades, and she cries out quietly. you watch the scene through heavy-lidded eyes while jackie rides your fingers, getting closer and closer to the sounds of skin slapping against skin. she picks up her pace until she’s practically bouncing on top of you, her chest heaving erratically.

jackie is beautiful, you knew this about her already, but -as you watch her cum- you doubt anything else could ever compare to this sight: she pulls you closer so that her mouth is right by your ear and her face is buried in the crook of your neck, repeating your name like a prayer, not stopping even as her body tenses.

her fingers clutch at you desperately, as if you're the only thing that's keeping her grounded, but she doesn't stop. doesn't let up until she's all spent and collapses into your arms. you hold jackie through it, pressing your lips to her temple, your hands steady where she needs them most.

it takes long until you’ve both fully recovered. neither of you recalls how you ended up lying in the messy sheets, with jackie’s head resting on your chest and your fingers combing through her hair. she has her arm draped over your waist, gently stroking across your side. you don’t speak.

eventually, she shifts, pressing her face further into your chest. “we should probably go back down,” jackie murmurs, though she makes no effort to move.

you hum. “do you want to?”

she’s quiet for a moment before shaking her head. “not yet,”

you smile, letting your hand settle on her back. “then we won’t,”

#˙💌 ̟ !! ─ my works #˙🔞 ̟ !! mdni #jackie taylor #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor x female reader #jackie taylor x fem!reader #jackie taylor x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #🦈 anon

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benz12313 · 2 days ago

Text

Delirium Part 2/3 - Ridoc x Reader 🌶️

{Images are not my own}

Summary: You and Ridoc have been dancing around each other for months, just on the cusp of becoming something more. All it takes is a rough week and a bit of liquor to have you become putty in his hands, and he's been dying for the chance to carry you to his bed. [Takes place during Iron Flame]

Warnings: ‼️(MDNI) 18+ explicit content‼️, smut, oral female receiving, p in v, smut with feelings, swearing, fem!reader, drunkenness, unprotected sex, angst? if you squint?

Part 1/3 - Part 3/3

Authors Note: This took me waaaay too long to write but goddamn was it worth it in the end. Can't wait for the final part to wrap things up and deliver a happy ending for you all. :)

Word Count: 2,847

It took us longer than it really should have to make it back to Basgiath, but two make-out sessions in particularly dark hallways, one particularly hard staircase to conquer (ironically one of the few with railings), and about fifteen minutes worth of giggling together drunkenly and we’d somehow made it to Ridoc’s room. It took him three tries to lock the door in place, but he was finally able to channel enough that we both heard the locks click in place. And then he was consuming me.

His delicious mouth on mine, pushing and pulling, but ever in control as I wrapped my arms around his neck, fingers threading through his curly brown locks. Gods how did he get them this fucking soft. I whined as he slipped his tongue in my mouth, and then let out a surprised squeal when I was suddenly being hoisted into the air, his hands firmly on my ass. I wrapped my legs around him and he squeezed his hands, groaning into my mouth as he hastily turned us, pinning me deliciously between him and his door.

“Gods,” I whined when he moved from my mouth to my jaw, nipping and biting, then smoothing over the marks with his tongue. Keeping me hovering between pleasure and pain in such a maddening way.

“Ridoc is fine.” He said, voice husky and strained. And then he was biting down on the juncture where my neck met my collarbone, making my vision blur and my body arch. My core rubbing over his stiff cock through our clothes, Ridoc’s hands digging into my ass so hard I knew he’d leave bruises, holding me against him.

“Fuck! Ridoc!” I yelped, glad for the standard sound shields on the rooms, because any restraint I’d ever possessed was long gone.

He pulled back, and my heart ached. Gods, he looks so fucking handsome. Plump, kiss-swollen lips coated with saliva, lightly panting as he stared down at my neck. Eyes so dilated that his normal chocolate brown eyes were nearly fucking black, and scanning over my neck so possessively that it made my thighs tighten around him. He was flushed, whether from alcohol or exertion I wasn’t quite sure.

“That should be good enough.” He muttered to himself, even going as far as to nod, before his eyes met mine again. I didn’t even have time to ask what that was about before he started speaking. “How do you want this to go Princess? Quick? Slow? Painful? Sweet? As long as it involves you, me, and my furniture I’m down. Ask and you shall receive.”

“I want you Ridoc.” The confession comes out a lot more raw than I mean it to, but I don’t have time to think about that, not when he’s begun to smirk again, like I’ve said exactly what he wanted to hear. A smirk that makes me way wetter than it really should.

“You’ve got me Y/N.” He said, but then we’re turning, and in the next moment I’m on my back, his arms on either side of me exactly how they’d been behind the tavern. Except this time he was grinding into me, making my head spin as I desperately tried to calculate how big he was, because the absolute monster in his pants had to be smaller than I was thinking. It must be drunk calculations right? There’s no way he was as big as he felt.

He tilted his head down at me, thinking, before sitting up, leaving me gasping and wanting. He chuckled, hand flying out and pressing my chest down, back into the bed when I’d started to chase after him. He clicked his tongue, “Tsk. Don’t worry now. I’m not going anywhere. Not when I’ve finally got you exactly where I’ve been wanting you, looking so fucked out and pretty in my bed. I wish you could see yourself right now Y/N.” He took his shirt off then, and I was wholly distracted. A thin layer of sweat glistened over his ripped muscles. Over the past year and a half I’d watched him go from lean and barely muscled, to the absolute powerhouse straddling me right now. The man over me could overpower, could dominate, could kill, easily,and the thought only turned me on more.

“How about I turn that pretty little head of yours to mush, yeah?” He was back down in my space, lips ghosting over my own as one of his hands laced through my hair and the other sliding under my shirt by my waist. “You’ve had such a rough week Princess, how about I use my fingers or tongue to ease your worries?”

“Oh,” I panted, “Is that tongue useful for anything other than making smart ass remarks? I wasn’t aware-EEK” I screeched, then tumbled into giggles as he bit down on the top of my cleavage before shooting a mischievous grin up at me.

His eyes danced with emotion, and I couldn’t help but push back the curls getting in his eyes, as my chest warmed. “Let me get your clothes off and I can show you exactly what this tongue can do.” He teased, pecking me on the lips a few times before letting his tongue loll playfully, causing me to giggle. “Quit being so cute,” he muttered into my jaw, “It’s gonna make this hard when you try to run away in the morning.”

Before I could even process his words his hand had left my hair, joining his other on my waist, and pushing my shirt up slowly, kissing every inch of skin that he’d newly exposed and effectively wiping my brain. “You’re so soft. How the fuck-“ He groaned as his mouth met my ribs and my breathing faltered. His mouth feels so fucking good. He pulled my shirt up over my head, tossing it behind him. I arched to let him unclasp my bra, and that quickly joined my shirt. Then his mouth was on my chest, taking one breast in his mouth like a man starved, his other hand grabbing the free one and squeezing, rolling and pinching so expertly I could barely track the movement through the waves of pleasure.

“Fuck! Ridoc pleassse.” I whined, begged, and writhed, all while holding him to my body, wanting him closer, as close as he could get. “I need you.” The words were broken, begging. “Stop teasing, I need you.” It was a downright plea, and his eyes met mine. Flickering over my face, assessing, and whatever he found there made him took pity on me because he sighed, resting his chin in the valley between my tits, eyes fond and warm.

“Still want my tongue first?” He asked and I nodded, maybe too eagerly, because he let out a depraved chuckle, “Course you do. Bet you’ve been imagining my head between your thighs more than you’d like to admit.” I flushed bright red, because of course he was right, he’d starred way too many of my fantasies. His fingers hooked under the waist of my leathers, and in seconds he’d tugged them off. Expertly one might say.

That’s all it took for me to be bare beneath him, quivering with excitement, or pleasure, or nerves? Maybe all three at this point. I bit my lip as his mouth moved down my body, sucking, nipping, licking any spot that he deemed worthy, which felt like all of me. Anticipation built, until I was ready to shove him down where I wanted him myself, sick of waiting as he took his sweet ass time.

“Fuck Y/N, you’re so fucking wet for me,” He hissed, eyes drinking in my soaked pussy, “Thank you Loial.” He grunted before diving into my heat like it was a damn buffet.

Then my entire world crashed around me because Ridoc, fucking, Gamlyn finally put his mouth to good work. My body was flame, ironic enough as a palpable chill had consumed the air in the room. I thanked the gods that my signet wasn’t one of fire, because Ridoc’s bed would have surely caught flame. Every flick of his tongue over my clit sent shudders through me, pleasure coiling again in my gut, but with much more intensity than it had when I’d fucked his thigh.

All I could comprehend was him, as one hand held my waist down to keep from squirming away from him and the other sunk one of his long fingers into my dripping hole. Gods, he felt so good. I’d had plenty of good sex, at least I thought I had, but no one had ever used their tongue and a single finger so skillfully on me before. Sloppy yet precise, curling and coaxing until I was a mewling mess, eyes shut and clutching at his sheets and pillows like they could keep me from floating into absolute weightless bliss.

He added another finger, sucked harshly on my clit and then I snapped. Not even the headboard grounded me as I flung my eyes open, only to see that delicious white light as my body arched and thighs clenched around his head. Pleasure blinding me as he continued, never even pausing as I drenched him in my release. Only letting out a moan, and adding another finger, overstimulation clouding my thoughts, but I didn’t dare stop him. Not when everything he was doing felt so good.

“Look at you Princess. And those pretty moans. You like my tongue like this? Making you feel good?” He was babbling, so obviously pussydrunk already, making me moan and clench on his fingers as they curved deliciously hitting that spongy spot that made me see stars. He dove in again, moaning, groaning, and rubbing his hips into the mattress. Trying to seek the pleasure he was giving me.

“Ridoc,” I whimpered and he groaned, shaking his head, and I let out another string of moans, “P-p-please Ridoc, I need you in me.”

“O-one more, Princess.” He grunted, barely meeting my gaze, “One more and then I’ll fuck you until the only word you know is my name. Just one more. Please. Just…fuck…eyes on me Y/N.” He dove in again and I did as ordered, locking eyes with him as he let loose once again. It was different this time though, his eyes soft and coaxing, as he shattered me completely, making me squirt all over his face as my climax hit me hard, vision going black.

I came to with Ridoc gently kissing my neck, whimpers getting his attention as his eyes quickly found mine again. “You back Y/N?” He asked, thumb so gently running over my cheekbone, his other arm propping him up, keeping him from pressing his weight on me.

“Was I gone?” I whispered, voice cracking, which surprised me. Had I screamed?

“For a minute there? Yeah.” He smiled cheekily. “Kinda an ego boost if I’m being honest.”

“As if you need anything more to inflate your ego.” I breathed out and he laughed, making my heart swell.

“Still want more? Or are you done for tonight?” He checked in, eyes hopeful, but I knew he wouldn’t push if I was. Gods, he could be so sweet sometimes it made my chest ache.

“I still want you Ridoc.” It was true, I felt so heartbreakingly empty now that his fingers were gone. “I need you.”

He smiled, kissing me and then eagerly reaching down, kicking off his leathers in seconds. An expert maneuver that surely had taken time to master and had me staring in surprise. Then he was reaching down, and my eyes curiously followed his hand’s movement. My eyes widened in shock. He was fucking huge. I thought it was bluster. Jokes. Maybe a bit of cockiness. But it definitely wasn’t, and honestly? I wasn’t even sure that it could fit.

“Scared Princess?” I nodded, still frozen in shock as he pumped it once, twice, three times, and drool dripped down my chin as his cock weeped out the tip. His cock head deep red and begging for attention. “Damn Y/N,” his voice was absolutely dripping with male satisfaction, “Really working hard to inflate that ego of mine, huh?”

“Can I taste it?” The words tumbled out before I knew what I was saying and he laughed, lighthearted, but definitely still teasing.

“Fuck baby, you’re not even listening anymore are you? Whip out my cock and all you can think about is wrapping your pretty little lips around it, huh?” My face reddened as my eyes snapped back to his. He was grinning from ear to ear, “How bout this? You let me stuff it in that tight little pussy of yours tonight, and then if you feel up to it, you can suck it whenever you’d like any other day?”

I was nodding, not caring what I was agreeing to, just knowing that if I did, I’d get to taste him eventually. I could wait right? No matter how delicious he looked?

He pushed my thighs open, staring back down at my soaked pussy before his eyes found my own again. Soft, inviting, and way too fucking sentimental. “Ready?” He whispered, bending over me, to place a sweet kiss on my stomach.

“Please,” I whimpered, resigned to beg more if I had to, but he had mercy on me. He ran his thick length along my entrance, thoroughly coating himself in my slick before he lined it up, and pushed in, in one hard thrust.

“Fuck! Ridoc!” Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes at the sensation of the delicious sting. I was so full, so wonderfully whole, now that his cock was within me, taking up space within me like no other had before. The alcohol in my veins had nothing on the high that his dick was giving me, just from filling me.

“It’s okay Princess-“ He groaned and dropped his head to my shoulder panting as his hands flew to my hips, gripping so tight I knew I’d find bruises tomorrow. “Godsdamnit, you’re squeezing me so fucking good Y/N.” He nuzzled into my neck, peppering it with kisses. “You’re so wet and warm for me-fuck-“ He groaned as I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him close as I gripped his shoulders for support. He started moving then, groans tumbling out as he started up a punishing rhythm, losing himself in the feel of me.

I wasn’t much better though, in fact, the moment he started moving, all thoughts had ceased to exist. Everything beyond this bed faded, and suddenly all that mattered in this world was Ridoc Gamlyn.

Ridoc. The way he smelt of sex, pine, and something else distinctly male. Ridoc, and the way his rough hands tugged and pulled at me, yet worshipped me with every touch. Ridoc, and his mouth, curses, praises, and just pussydrunk babble tumbling from his tongue that I couldn’t understand, because I was just as cockdrunk. Ridoc, and the way he held me, cradling me like I was made of fucking glass while he relentlessly pounded into me. Ridoc Gamlyn, making me fucking love him with every thrust into me. Every touch. Every whisper and groan and half-formed joke as we both chased our highs together.

“R-ridoc.” I stuttered, unable to get anything else out through the delirium. My pleasure rose, until I was teetering on the fucking edge again. Gods, if he kept it up at this pace it wouldn’t be long-

“Cum for me, I’m right here, I got you.” He assured, hand flying down to rub quick circles on my clit. “Let it go.”

Three circles and I was screaming again. His name I think. Honestly too gone to know for sure, but I clamped down hard, as he fucked me through it and slammed his mouth to mine, swallowing my cry. His hips were stuttering, and then one orgasm crashed right into the next one as warmth filled me. He’d found his own release in mine. His hands swept up my body to cradle me, pull me into his body as he let his body collapse onto my own.

He lazily thrusted a few more times, kisses dwindling into mere touches, before we stilled completely. Panting, sticky, and completely wrapped around each other. Ridoc. My mouth couldn’t find words, which was probably best, because everything I wanted to say felt like too much and not enough at the same time.

He groaned and snuggled closer, before gently maneuvering us so I was laying on his chest, and we were still connected. His dick was soft but still nestled within me, and it didn’t seem like Ridoc had any plans to remove it as he wrapped his blanket around us both, taking care to make sure I was extra comfy, before he buried his face in my hair.

Exhaustion pulled at me, and Ridoc sighed. “Just stay tonight at least, please?”

“Mhm.” It was all I could muster, before I could no longer fight my drooping eyes, and I succumbed to sleep.

@xadenswhore @littlemissmelodie

#ridoc smut #ridoc x reader #ridoc fourth wing #iron flame #ridoc gamlyn #ridoc iron flame #ridoc gamlyn x reader #onyx storm

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starconstruction · 3 days ago

Text

Equilibrium and The Beginning of the End

Yena x Male Reader(smut)

Part 3 of Hypothermia and The Cosmos

read part 1 and part 2 if you havent already :)

thanks for all the support on the previous two parts!

smut tags: ass eating (f receiving) , blowjob, riding, soft, throatpie, cum on body

WC: 4087

feel free to send me asks! i'll happily answer most of them!

not proofread

The abyss of the vast array of space was more comforting than the last time you two, you'd begun a voyage towards anywhere. She was the commander of the ship, sat in her chair, fiddling with controls on her complicated array. You were taking inventory again, the fight on those planets dwindled vital resources, food, water and fuel was no issue. The problem came with the lack of entertainment for the potentially endless expedition. You walked towards Yena, clanking metal as your hand coiled around her chest.

"How's it going Yenie" you teased, a silly nickname to break the thick emptiness of space.

A light slap came to your chest, her face scrunching in her soft features as she grimaced about the abhorrent nickname, "You are never calling me that again, understand?" she replied, her voice a mockery of seriousness as she pretended to be offended.

"It's going good Y/N! Can you believe it?! We are back on track, and your alive!" Her energy was contagious, a smile appearing on your face as she hopped around in her chair. Hitting a tiny dance as Yena celebrated your joined success, god she was truly perfect.

Her hands returned to the console, hitting buttons and pulling levers, colours lighting up as she performed tech magic. You felt a seed of pride bloom in your chest as you watched her movement, none of it made sense to an observer, only those who studied the books of the Technocrat from old earth. Something Yena referenced a lot, from what you could gather it was a legendary pilot who invented easier space travel before the world went dark with smog.

Yena finished her button mashing, kicking herself out of the chair. Approaching you, arms wrapping around your neck as she gave you a quick peck on the lips, pulling away as quickly as she arrived.

"Come onnnn! It's in autopilot, let's go cuddle!" she pleaded, dragging you by your arm as she pulled you towards your makeshift couch, the pillows from the company provided beds. Multiple blankets laid down on the ground. Covering up the cold metal of the ship floor. What really made the setpiece was the plushies Yena had in her box, seemingly endless as she stored more and more unauthorised items that came to light.

Yena pulled you down, your body made contact with the soft blankets. Pressing backwards into the pillows, Yena followed as she sat down next to you. You threw the thickest blanket you two found over each other, the soft cotton bounced the shared body heat around. You two were in relative bliss, Yena leaned into your body, head against your chest. Looking down as your arm draped over her shoulder. Her body naturally fit into yours as you two stayed connected like two puzzle pieces.

Yena was the first one to break the silence, adjusting to get more comfortable. "So, I was thinking, maybe I can figure where they went, yknow the other people?" she said.

"You think they're still alive?" You replied.

"I mean, if we landed with no engine chances are they landed with one." her hands rubbed circles on your leg absentmindedly as she pondered.

"You're probably right, we could have a look. Civilisation isn't going to rebuild with just two of us."

Yena gave a small nod from her position and you two sat there, bodies interlinked as you enjoyed each other's company. For the first time not against an arctic inferno, a planet that wanted everything dead. A memory that strengthened your bond together.

Hours passed sitting there, the expanse of space gave you two all the time in the world, you two were both burning up in the climate of your intimacy, neither of you two wanting to be the one to break the connection, but both of you wanting to get out of the scorching hug. You broke your connection, lifting Yena away as you stood up, going off to do whatever.

Yena fiddled with the strange terminal on the side of the ship, something you couldn't even read. Glyphs that Yena tapped and observed as a diagram of a ship came up. It was a life like model that wasn't entirely too dissimilar, fingers pressing into the screen, moving the model of the ship looking for something. You watched in awe as she did her magic, she was truly incredible and you couldn't stop repeating it.

"Ah hah!" she beamed, "I've got a lock on their location" tapping as an image of the planet appeared, how much strength was reliant on this engine? It looked similar to an image of a poster of old earth, dominantly green with trees cut through with a deep blue, creating swirls around the image. A potential home for you and Yena.

Your leg surged up in pain as you fell to the floor, propping yourself against the wall of the space craft, a expression of worry etched into Yena's face as she came down to sit next to you. Skin touching as her hands enveloped yours. "It's gonna take a few earth days to reach their orbit, I'll take care of you until then." she smiled brightly at you.

"Thank you, my love" you replied.

You woke up sometime later, unable to identify how long it's been by the lack of any sun, similar to your time on old earth. A strange noise filled the ship, the sound of metal tearing other metal apart and forging something new. Large sparks flew out through the air, Yena was working on something, clearly an active mind.

"What ya working on Yena?" you asked, limping as you approached her workstation.

"it's a rock smasher thing. Names still pending yknow?" she replied, picking up the framework of her creation, lifting it to the light. A large wooden handle was resting between her hands, thin scraps of metal residing around some stone from the mine you two found the engine stone.

" I see, needed something to do?"

"Yeah, we got a few days. I thought I'd make one so we can do whatever we need to build our new home."

"Good idea Yena. Let's hope all goes well"

Excess fuel burned as your ship dived down into the atmosphere of the hopeful planet, the darkness of space replaced by the brightness of the sky, a strange pastel green. This planet was much larger and lively than the previous, dark green leaves spotted over the wide green plains, this planet was so green.

A small ship could be seen as you two descended lower, the signs of life obvious as wooden buildings laid around it. Herds of cattle enjoying the grass as they roamed near the tiny village. You two lowered down beside it, a puff of smoke consuming the floor as you two landed.

The air was crisp and refreshing as you two landed, walking down onto the grass, weapons in your bags as you walked towards the settlement made by the other flight crew members. It was much larger up close, giant wooden walls propped up everywhere as a massive watchtower observed over the centre. You two approached the gate, shoddily made out of wood and metal scraps.

"Hey! Boss it's them! The other two! Yeah I'll let them in to talk" The gatekeeper said, screaming at the top of his lungs to the mysterious "boss".

The gate was opened and you two walked in, holding hands as you followed the guard, there was a faint glimmer of hope within your heart, could this be the start of civilisation?

The guard had stopped in front of a door, it had a sign that read "Commanders office", Yena squeezed your hand in worry. The guard walked off without saying a word. Gesturing for you to go in.

Your hand pushed open the door, giving way to the office, silent for the scratching of pencil, a familiar face was sat at the desk. The other pilot, the one that nearly cost you and Yena's life. Anger boiled inside as your hand clenched into a ball.

The pilot looked up, a sense of surprise filled his face. Pencil dropping against the desk as he sat backwards, smugness radiating from him.

"Oh. You made it, congratulations." Sarcasm dripped from his voice thickly like poison. You could feel Yena's anger pooling up by the way she gripped your hand. Before you could intercept she fling at him, jumping over his desk as she slammed him into the wall. A strong thud shaked the wall with tremendous force.

"You fucking asshole! We could have both died before you couldn't drive! Did you not learn or were you too busy to pay attention?!" Her arm pressed further into his neck, his fear evident as he struggled to breathe. Yena looked so hot when she was angry, but she couldn't kill him or else you'd both be fucked.

" Yena, lay off a bit honey. We won't be able to do anything if we both get killed." You said, keeping your voice soft. You could feel the tension lighten as she softened her impact.

"Get your fucking hands off me, you lived. No big deal, now. If you want to talk business, we can talk. If not, get off this planet before I get mad." He spat. You pulled Yena back into your arms.

He continued, "Good. You can listen, for the record we were playing spin the bottle. But if you want to help build the future. We could appreciate the help in getting more resources. Get out of my sight, bring back woods, metals whatever. Do it in the morning though, it's getting late. Don't want to run into revenants." God he spoke way too fucking much.

He kicked you out your office as you and Yena went back to the ship for tonight, hooking up your shower and sink to the local fresh water pond.

You and Yena were laying down on the makeshift couch again, the night sky coloured a strange pink as you two stared at it. No words have been shared in a few long minutes.

"I love you Yena" You let out accidentally.

"I know, honey you say it a lot." She replied, still staring at the sky.

"I know, I just think it is worth repeating, I love every inch of you Yena. I am so glad I met you."

"Every inch?"

"Every inch."

"In that case, theres something I want to try."

Yena was pressed up against the pillows of your "couch", clothes laid discarded to the side in a large pile. Legs spread open as she left herself open to your shared desires. Her arousal was irresistible, body open for your next move, one guided by her earlier confession of her interests. You rested just below her, body next to the inches she wanted you to prove you loved.

You reached your destination, locking eyes with hers as you took your first lick of her asshole, starting slow, teasing her as you breathed in her body wash. The same company provided scent from infi-soap. Mixed with her arousal, creating an intoxicating cocktail of scents you couldn't get enough of. Your licks remained slow and deliberate as you circled her asshole, becoming wet with your saliva as she let out delicate gasps.

"Hmmm fuck.. That's really good.." Yena let out, her voice breathy and empty.

You kept licking, getting more ambitious as your had moved up to her clit, rubbing softly, soft gasps turned into loud moans as they pierced your ears. A sweet chorus filling the room. Your mind was clouded with only thoughts of her as you devoured her awaiting asshole.

Minutes passed as you two enjoyed each other, your tongue grew tired as she grinded her cunt against the bridge of your nose, you could feel her closeness, legs tightening on your shoulders.

"Fuck! Y/N baby, I'm gonna cum fuck!" she screamed, her orgasm hit her like a fright train as her body stopped moving, your tongue kept moving while she came undone. Moans slowed down as the world came to a halt.

"Every inch Yena, I told you." You said cheekily.

"Y-Yeah. I think I've got that" she replied, struggling to get the words out.

You didn't bother to tell her about the agonising pain in your leg.

The first major expedition to find resources begun the next morning.

The brisk air wrapped around the trees, endless forests were in front of you. Strange yellow and black creatures flew between the large trees, landing on a small lilac flower. You limped behind Yena, she carried both axes while you held onto food, small scraps incase someone got hungry.

"Here, There's a good amount of wood and I don't see anything dangerous, let's get cutting" She said, an axe suddenly appeared in your hand.

The wood was difficult to cut, leverage was difficult as every swung nearly knocked you over due to the instability of your leg. Worry filled your body, if it came to it. Could you save the person you loved?

You looked over at Yena, already on her sixth tree as you hadn't even cut your first, her elegance was undeniable as each swing was optimised to cut wood down in as few strokes as possible. Leaving nothing but logs in her wake.

Your axe penetrated the surface of the wood, slicing it in half as it fell into the ground, another slice, dividing it again as your arms burned. The wood finally divided into pieces of usable material that could be reshaped, picking it up as you moved to the next one.

You and Yena finished cutting wood for the day, but you didn't go home yet. Pulling out the blanket from your food box Yena made out of spare materials on board the ship. Laying it down gently on the ground.

You two took some bread and cheese out the box, food generously given from one of the nice members of the settlement. Yena sat crosslegged, combining the food together as she took a bite, face beaming with joy as she ate non-bland food for the first time in weeks.

She brought the food to your mouth, pressing it against your lips as you opened, accepting Yena's offer, the crunch of the bland bread contrasting the salty cheese. It tasted divine, most likely because you shared it with Yena.

You two sat in each others company, like most of your time. Not a single day since this expedition had you removed from Yena, and you liked that.

Yena pouted slightly, "Are you not going to offer me food?" her voice whiney as she made pleading eyes. Your hands reached towards the food as she slapped them away.

"No, not that food... I want something a bit more.. Personal" Her hand went to your crotch, pressing it slightly as she looked into your eyes.

"God your insatiable" You chuckled as you gave her easier access. Kicking the basket out the way to not spoil the meal.

"You love me for it."

"I love you for everything."

She smiled as her hands started to undo your pants, unzipping them quickly as she tried to free you from your confines. Pulling them down and leaving them half way down your legs, her eyes locking with yours as she made out with your clothed tip, saliva wettening the fabric as she teased you. She moved up, her teeth grabbing the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down in one delicate motion as your rigid shaft went out to greet her. Tapping her nose slightly.

Her hand gripped your base, the sudden feeling caught a shocked gasp out of your throat. She licked at your tip rapidly, several short bursts of pleasure ruptured out of the spots she blessed with her holy tongue, contrasting the sinful actions she administered.

She went lower, performing longer more deep strokes of her tongue. Licking up and down as she pressed your dick firmly against her tongue, her mouth releasing delicate hums as she reveled in your pleasure. Her head game has improved tenfold from her first time by that campfire. Her spare hand going down to rub your balls, compartively like ice compared to the warmth of her mouth. Slowly rubbing in circles as it brought you further into heaven.

Your hips instinctively thrusted into Yena's mouth as her lips were penetrated by your length, sucking her cheeks in as her walls pressed into your cock. Her hands moved away, pressing against your back. Providing enough leeway to press her mouth to the hilt, a few soft gags cams out her mouth. Bobbing up and down as she dragged her mouth from the top to the bottom. Slamming violently against your crotch, tears cropping against her eyes as she gave you the best head of your life.

Your hands grasped at her hair, finding leverage in the silky strands, thrusting stronger as she braced your impact, you knew you weren't going to last any longer, holding her into your base as you shot ropes of semen down her throat. Giving her the meal she wanted.

Her face withdrew, spit connecting you two as she caught her breath. Smiling slightly as she stroked your sensitive length, trying to prevent it from softening. You let out painful gasps as she continued.

"Thanks for the meal" She smiled, before hastily removing the bottom half of her outfit, leaving her cunt fully exposed to nature, you immediately felt ready to go again. The song of nature was playing in your ears, sounds of birds and the wind all around you. It was beautiful, you never got to hear this before. Old earth had no birds when you arrived, all long since dead due to the lack of oxygen.

You were took back out of your thoughts as Yena hovered over you, pressing down impatiently as she took you inside her, her walls gripping on you tightly, you two let out a shared moan with the overpowering sensation, thrusting upwards. Meeting her halfway as you ignored the pleading from your leg.

She leaned forward, clothed breasts in front of your face as Yena kept bouncing, there were no words for her beauty, no words for the shared passion you two engaged in. You greedily pulled off her shirt, Yena providing assistance as you threw it over her head. Taking her bra off revealing her boobs. Something you've indulged in countless times, each time a spectacle as you took one into your mouth. Holding her close as you sucked intensely, moans launching out her mouth as she kept bouncing. Keeping the same pace for several minutes, feeling like hours as you enjoyed the pleasure.

Your hands ran down to her ass, providing firm squeezes as you played with her flesh. Alternating minor slaps between her cheeks, every inch of her was perfect.

"Ugh, oh my god! Y/N, I'm cumming!" Her pussy gripped on you even tighter than before, squeezing you roughly as she came undone.

You felt the familiar pressure creeping all you, shuddering as you pulled her off. Frantically stroking your shaft up and down as you dribbled semen all over her midriff, some splashing on her breasts. You two smiled as you admired the specs of white on her body.

"God, Yena you are incredible.. I love you" You said.

"I know I know, goofball. Let's get home so we can clean up." She replied, putting her clothes on, ignoring the semen that pressed onto her shirt. Picking up her things and you two walked home.

Weeks passed as you two provided contributions to the growing society, providing materials that made new buildings, everyone now had their own personal home. Including you and Yena, you two chose to live in the same one. The house was cozy, constructed out of the wood you two had gathered, taking the parts out the ship that was viable to slot into your new home. The main improvement was the bed, significantly bigger than the ones the company had provided, Yena had done her usual decorative work on it, putting the plushies she had earlier on the sides.

The village felt full of life, everyone got along with you two except the boss. Who seemed to still resent you. But you two were happy.

You two completed several resource hunts, but you were always warned to never go out at night. You two were already inseperatable, only tightening together more by the time you spent.

You and Yena were sleeping, the day long over as you two rested in each others arms. "AHHHHH! FUCK THERE'S A LOT OF THEM! GET BACK" The loud sounds of screams tore you from sleep, shaking Yena frantically out of dreamland, looking at you in confusion as she rubbed her eyes.

The screams grew louder, "Yena, we've gotta get out there!" you two jumped into action, limping to your desk as you grabbed your knife. Yena right behind you with her axe, desperately opening the door as the sights petrified you.

Light fixtures knocked over as strange beasts approached the village, they were a deep brown, covered in horrific amounts of fur. Large in stature as they towered over you, large sharp nails dug out from their hands. They slowly charged the heart of the village, ready to wreck destruction in their path.

You looked at the gate, undamaged but open. Shit.. "Yena! The gates open, they'll keep coming if we don't get it closed!" You yelled. She nodded as you two started to rush towards it. Another scream rippled out from the other side of the village "HELP! WE CAN'T HOLD THEM OFF!" You two stood at a crossroads, they couldn't die. "Yena, listen to me! Help them! I'll get the gate! Go!" You commanded, she ran off in their direction.

A storm broke out overhead, loud tears of thunder as rain dropped down overhead, drenching the dirt floor, saturating it in water creating a thick mud. Every step stuck to you as you desperately pushed forward to the gate. Approaching the large structure, monsters came into frame out the woods. It was now or never, grabbing onto the handle. Struggling against the wet floor as you pulled it towards the right.

You were nearly done, just a bit closer..

A large hand appeared in the small crevice left in the gate, grabbing onto your arm as it cut through your clothes. The surge of water even colder as it landed against your skin. You pulled out your knife, struggling against the grip of the monster, you panicked. Jabbing against the vein of the monster as you tried to get away. It roared in pain as your knife went further in, dark maroon poured out the wound as you stabbed again, and again, it resisted against your actions.

One final jab and the monster's arm withdrew out the gate. Slamming the gate against the wall as you let out a sigh of relief, grabbing a small plank of wood to trap the handle. Slashes of claws banged out through the gate, it'd hold, it would have to hold.

"HELP!!!! SHIT!" It was Yena, your heart dropped as you turned. Her neck was being held by one of the disgusting monsters, desperately struggling against it's grasp. You ran towards her, knife at the draw. The burning singe of pain in your leg knocked you into the ground, coating your clothes in a thick sludge of mud as you couldn't move. Yena was in danger and you couldn't do anything.

"Get off her!" You looked up, the boss dived a knife into the monsters knee, a large wail came from its throat as it threw Yena into a wall. A large crash rolling out as she fell unconscious, tears pickled at your eyes as you tried to hold it together.

The monster jabbed it's claws into the head of the pilot as his knife slit the monsters throat. Falling down together in a pile of death. The village went quiet, only the sounds of rain filled the air. The beasts by the gates no longer present as their roars disappeared.

You got up, entire body covered in mud as you frantically got to Yena. Her body slumped over against the wooden wall, you picked her up. "SECURE THE VILLAGE, IM GOING WITH YENA!" Carrying her over your shoulder. Bringing her home. The rage of the night now over.

Please be okay.

Yena.

----

A/N - part 4? Hope you enjoyed!

#smut #male reader #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #imagines #izone yena smut #yena smut #soloist smut #soloist fic #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic

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neeeooon · 7 hours ago

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heyyy can you do blue lock guys with reader who adjusts with any situation without complaints or making demands because reader thinks they don't deserve their love? For example, if the guys cancel dates, forget an important date or can't make enough time for them. I hope you understand what I'm trying to say lolol 😭

okay i think i got it but i struggled a bit so if not pls lmk 😭🙏 thank you for the request!

when you go with the flow ;

bf bllk x gn!reader

itoshi sae

-> “where are you going?” “out. i’ll be back later. do you need something?” “… no, i’m good. have fun!”

-> you shouldn’t be surprised that sae forgot your anniversary, but it still hurt

-> sae appears at your door an hour later with flowers and a wary smile. “… i’m sorry i forgot our anniversary. i know it’s late notice, but can i still take you to dinner?”

yukimiya kenyu

-> “i can cancel, y/n, i don’t mind—“ “no, don’t cancel! we can go out some other time.”

-> you were not about to let your boyfriend miss a doctor’s appointment, even if it meant having to cancel your date

-> you didn’t mind waiting, but kenyu suddenly grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet. “do you want to come with me?” you smile was genuine as you said, “yes.”

barou shouei

-> “i’m sorry, y/n. maybe next week?” “that’s okay! really, i don’t mind :)”

-> you do mind. you just refuse to complain about it to barou because you feel unworthy of his love

-> thankfully, he’s not an idiot. “no, it’s not okay. i promised you we’d go out today, so we’re going out today.” “i really don’t mind waiting—“ “they can wait.” “… okay <3”

kiyora jin

-> “is it okay if we hang out next week instead?” “… sure! everything okay?” “yeah, just dance stuff. i’ll text you.”

-> you were used to getting blown off like this, but you didn’t mind. just getting to call kiyora your boyfriend was enough for you

-> the next time he had practice, you didn’t ask where he was going. “y/n?” “yeah?” “… do you want to come with me?” you try to keep your excitement contained. “yeah!”

nagi seishiro

-> “i’m tired. can we call instead?”

-> you sighed but responded that it was fine. nagi sent back a simple “:)” and the date ended there

-> on your call, you were listening to nagi talk about his game when he suddenly got quiet. “… does it hurt your feelings when i’m tired?” “sometimes? but there are times where i feel like i don’t deserve you, so even this is enough for me :)” “… okay.”

#requested!#return of the wheel ii #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock headcanons #blue lock x reader #bllk x you #itoshi sae #yukimiya kenyu #barou shouei #kiyora jin #nagi seishiro #bllk sae #bllk yukimiya #bllk barou #bllk kiyora #bllk nagi

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soneybeee · 2 days ago

Text

Prim & Proper

Summary: Frat!Rafe sees a new face at one of the parties thrown by his fraternity. That girl from his stupid philosophy class.

Frat!Rafe x Fem!Reader <3

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, kinda dubcon? (reader absolutely wants everything but Rafe doesn't really give her a chance to say it out loud), 18+ please :]. Alcohol consumption. Minimal, badly written plot. Dom!Rafe x sub!reader, virgin!reader, very slight corruption + innocence kink, loss of virginity (it's not very romantic lol), kinda primal play?, public + outside sex, slight overstim, dirty talk, unprotected PIV (please use protection!), creampie, choking, biting, marking, reader sucks + gags on Rafe's fingers, fingering (F receiving), let me know if I missed any!

If it was up to you, it would be a frigid, icy day in Hell before you ever stepped foot in this building. But, alas, you have the backbone of an invertebrate - which is to say, you don’t have one.

A guy is leaning into you, his hand on the wall next to you, holding him up as he whispers in your ear. You’re pretty sure he’s in your math class, his name something like Jacob or Noah, something biblical, but he sure as hell doesn’t recognize you. He wouldn’t be doing this if he did. You guess you can’t blame him for it - Jenna made sure you looked very different than your everyday. She all but tied you to a chair, forcibly curled your hair, and did your makeup. You used to do these things all the time in high school, but college is a fresh start, and that means fresh priorities. Education! Education is wonderful and valuable and you want to dedicate the next four years to nothing but education!

Jenna said “fuck that” and now you’re here, under the arm of Abraham or David, wearing a dress even sluttier than one you would’ve worn to homecoming junior year.

You take a sip of whatever godawful combination of alcohol and juice is in your red solo cup. It makes your face scrunch and your eyes twitch with annoyance.

Fuck fraternities, especially Sigma Chi or Omega Pi, or wherever the hell you are right now.

Rafe is in a similar and yet very different situation. He has a pretty girl, he thinks she might be in a sorority but he’s not sure, dancing and giggling all over him. But he’s only looking at you, his eyes squinted in your direction as he tries to make his inebriated brain remember where he’s seen your face before. Your pretty, bored face.

You look so clean, even though your eyes are rolling and you’re taking the vodka in your cup like a pro. Rafe would’ve loved to just fuck the girl dancing on him, kick her out in the morning, and move on with his life. Instead, he finds himself walking over to you.

Elijah or Joseph fucks off pretty quickly when he sees Rafe approaching. Maybe he thinks you’re one of Rafe’s many hookups or his sister or maybe he’s just really scared of Rafe. You don’t know. You don’t know if you should be grateful that Gabriel or Jeremiah is gone or if you should be annoyed that Rafe has replaced him.

“Haven’t seen you before.” He murmurs, his hand finding your hip like you’re his girlfriend or something. Pulling away is an impossible task - He just keeps grabbing you again.

“You have,” You turn your head away when he leans down to kiss your jaw. What the fuck is he trying to do? Is this how he greets people? “We’re in the same philosophy class.”

“Mm… Pretty sure I’d recognize such a pretty face.” His eyes flick from feature to feature, roving over your face with a sense of familiarity. You roll your eyes again, and that only makes it worse. Both his groping and the look in his eyes. One hand grabs your ass. “And such a nice ass.”

Oh, this brings you back, doesn’t it? It’s just like senior year prom! Except instead of your boyfriend, it’s some random frat boy. And instead of telling him to keep his hands to himself, you’re starting to enjoy the touch.

“Y/N.” You tell him, wondering if he knows your name from class or just truly doesn’t recognize a thing about you.

Oh. You see the recognition in his eyes.

“Y/N.” He echoes, smiling like you’re an old friend. He grabs a handful of your tits.

“Hey,” You flush, trying halfheartedly to squirm away from him. It only makes him more encouraged, big hands grabbing and squishing flesh like he owns it. He’d like to.

“Philosophy, huh?” He kisses your earlobe, catching the golden earring between his teeth for just a second. “Pointless fuckin’ class. Hate the professor.”

Your disagreement is met only with featherlight kisses along your jaw. He keeps it up until your words fade into breathless babbling, and then he pushes his hand into your hair and forces you to look up at him.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, Y/N.” He bites your cheek until you flinch away, an evil little chuckle following right after. He gets the feeling, just by looking at you, that no one’s ever done this to you before. It makes a twisted, predatory sense of enjoyment flood his system. “You wanna leave?”

You’re not sure if he means leave with him or leave him, but you nod anyway.

“If I give you a headstart,” A bite on your jaw. “How far do you think you could get?”

It’s a difficult question to answer. If you’re running, you could make it to your dorm. If you’re walking, waiting to get caught, you’re not sure you could make it around the corner.

“Not far.” You whimper, sighing as he bites down harshly on your neck, smoothing his tongue over the sore skin right after.

“Good,” It’s more a purr than a word. “How’s ten seconds sound? Fair?”

You get the feeling you’re not supposed to answer. Instead, you take a deep breath and pull away from him. You don’t look back, wading your way through the crowd and counting under your breath so you know how much time you have left.

At four seconds, you open the door.

At seven, you make it outside.

At ten, you’ve barely made it down the stairs.

Being out on campus at night has always freaked you out. You’ve watched one too many Dateline episodes to leave yourself so vulnerable like this - Drunk, half-naked, not looking behind you.

You’re still counting even though your headstart is over. It’s twenty seconds when you duck behind the fraternity building, breathing hard and fast and holding a hand over your heart. You feel like an antelope, a lion hot on your tail, his claws on your legs, his hot breath on your skin. Your nervous system apparently can’t tell this is a voluntary chase. Your palms are sweaty, you’re shaking, your heart is racing. Your eyes shut and you try to calm down.

And then someone grabs your upper arms, holding them bruisingly tight.

“Found you…” Rafe whispers, his mouth back on your neck like no time has passed. Barely any has.

You gasp and instinctively try to wriggle out of his hold, but he doesn’t give you an inch. He pulls your hair to line your lips up with his, and then he kisses you. Harder, rougher, than you’ve ever been kissed. He kisses with expertise, but that doesn’t surprise you - What does surprise you is the way he finds pleasure in your clumsiness. He groans when your teeth brush his lips. His hips jerk when you tilt your head the wrong way.

His hand absentmindedly wraps around your throat, squeezing in a pulsing rhythm that makes your head feel fuzzy. Rafe’s cock twitches in his pants when you squeak, your jaw dropping open uselessly. He stops kissing your lips, pulling back to admire the face you’re making as he chokes you.

“Oh, that’s it,” He growls, roughly pushing you up against the wall behind you. He keeps you there by your throat and by a thigh that he slots between yours. His free hand pushes your dress up until it bunches around your hips. “That’s a good fuckin’ girl…”

“Rafe…” You whine, squirming and rubbing yourself against his knee.

The hand on your throat squeezes one more time before it moves up to press against your mouth, his salty palm keeping you from making any more noise.

“Shut up.” He’s undoing his belt with one hand. It makes your pulse spike.

He catches himself, leaving his belt in the loops. His hand moves to your panties, lacy and white, warm and wet. He presses the pad of his middle finger into the damp cotton, slowly dragging it back and forth.

The helplessness you feel is strangely pleasurable. You can’t do anything but squirm, whimper muffled little cries into his palm, and dig your nails into his biceps. They flex under your hands.

“Shh,” He growls again, pressing his thigh into yours to keep you still. “Hold still.”

There’s nothing you can do but comply, your eyes fluttering shut with reluctant obedience. He takes it as a sign that you’re more than ready for more, pulling your sticky panties out of the way with his thumb. His middle finger collects your wetness, spreading it up towards your clit, parting your lips to make space for his ring finger.

“Think we can start with two?” You can’t answer. Even if you could, he wouldn’t take a no. He coats his fingers in your slickness and prods at your hole. “She gonna let me in?”

Oh, yeah, she is. It’s a stretch for you and a fight for him, but he pushes them both in. His fingers are almost uncomfortably thick, much thicker than yours.

“Fuck, Y/N,” He groans as if it’s his cock inside you and not his fingers, panting as he scissors you open. He pumps them into you, hooking them to nudge against that spongy spot inside you. Your knees go weak. “There we go…”

You’re practically squealing as he begins repeating the same movement - You’ve never made a sound like this before in your life. It’s embarrassing and makes your face feel hot, but it’s nothing compared to the heat pooling in your stomach. It’s almost nauseating how tightly your stomach has knotted itself.

More wet gushes onto his fingers as you clench around them.

“Mm… Y’like this, huh?” Rafe attaches his lips to your neck, ducking his head under his arm to reach your skin. He doesn’t need, or want, a response from you. He’s more than happy to keep talking to himself. “So wet… S’all this for me?”

You’ve never been fingered before. You almost let a boyfriend do it once, but you chickened out. The most you’ve ever had inside of you is your own fingers and, only a few times, the handle of a hairbrush. Neither of those can compare to this - It’s like Rafe can see straight through your skin and see your G-spot.

“Ah, ah… there it is…” He coos, holding you up as you thrash, your back arching and legs trembling with an orgasm. It’s difficult for you to make yourself come, but here he is, doing it like it’s nothing. “That’s my girl…”

You shakily push his hand away when the overstimulation starts to hit you. He laughs and catches your wrist, his other hand releasing your mouth to grab the other one.

“Rafe-”

“Shut up,” He puts both your wrists into his left hand, his right one coming up to your mouth. His middle and ring fingers push past your lips. “There we go. Clean ‘em for me, Y/N.”

Yeah, that shuts you up. You close your eyes and suck on his fingers, tasting yourself and his salty skin.

“Good girl.” He pulls them out of your mouth, wipes the spit off on your dress, and finally pulls his belt from its loops.

You squirm. “I-I don’t know if-”

“If what?” He asks as if he didn’t interrupt you. He drops his belt onto the ground and pops open the button on his jeans. “If this is a good idea? If you can take it? Too fuckin’ bad.”

That shuts you up again. But it’s not like you really want to complain anyway.

“I’m a virgin.” You whisper, instead. That catches him off guard. His head falls forward and he has to support himself by putting a hand on the wall.

“Shit, you are?”

“Mhm…”

He groans. “Shit… Fuck… Oh, I’m gonna ruin you…”

Maybe he is. He collects himself and turns you around, using his hand as a barrier so he’s not shoving your cheek into the wall. Your dress is already hiked up and you’re plenty wet, so nothing is stopping him from pushing into you once he’s lined up.

Just the tip, at first. “Fuckin’ virgin pussy… Jesus Christ…”

You gasp. He pushes in further, breathing down the back of your neck. Your back is at an awkward angle, everything vertical until your ass, which is pushed out for him. He’s big, definitely bigger than the handle of any hairbrush you’ve ever seen. Even your orgasm wasn’t quite enough to prepare you for it all.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” Rafe growls into your hair, pressing himself further into you. “It’s insane… Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight…”

“Rafe…” You pant, pussy pulsing around his cock.

“Oh, shush, baby,” He suddenly thrusts all the way in, shuddering as you cry out. “You’re so fuckin’ dramatic… It feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod mindlessly, mouth hanging open and legs shaking. You’d be on the ground if he wasn’t holding you up.

“Thought so…” He smirks, biting down where your neck and shoulder meet. He only bites harder when you try to pull away, using your shoulder to keep himself quiet as he sets his pace, only pulling out halfway before thrusting back in. “Y’feel too good, baby… I can’t even pull out all the way…”

“Rafe…” You whine.

“Shhh…” He pushes his fingers into your mouth again. “Fuck… I’m gonna cum in you, ‘kay, babe?”

You give a halfhearted attempt at a disagreement, only because it’s the sensible thing to do. No one would say yes to that without a little fight, right? He shoves his fingers further down your throat until you gag.

“I thought you’d say yes,” He murmurs before biting your shoulder again. He speeds himself up, humping into your pussy instead of giving proper thrusts. “Gonna get this virgin pussy filled with cum, aren’t you?”

You moan around his fingers. His hips stutter.

“Yeah, you are…” He kisses the teeth-shaped indents on your skin.

He moves his free hand down to your hip, digging his nails into your skin and holding you in place as he fucks you. He already made you come, and he’s feeling a little selfish at the moment, so he uses you solely to get himself off, rambling in your ear about how good your pussy is, how pretty you are, how warm your mouth feels around his fingers. Your eyes are filled with tears, your body trembling on the brink of an orgasm, when he comes.

His jaw goes slack and his fingers press down onto your tongue, holding you tightly against him as he fucks his cum deeper inside you, flooding your cunt with his warmth.

Just the thought of him filling you with cum makes you shudder, let alone the actual feeling of it. You clench around his cock as you tip over the edge again, sobbing around his fingers. You try to push his slowing hips away when you come down.

“Hold on, I’m gettin’ there,” He huffs, pushing your hands away. He slows to a stop and carefully pulls out, quickly putting your panties back into place to catch any cum that might bubble out of your hole. He pulls your dress down and gives your ass a finishing tap. “There we go.”

You press your palms into the wall to hold yourself up as he takes a step back, pulling his pants up from his ankles and grabbing his belt off the pavement.

“You feelin’ alright?” He places a hand on your shoulder blade once he’s put himself back together. “Need help gettin’ home?”

You look up at him. A complete mess. You’re trembling, your hair is disheveled, your mascara is smeared under your eyes. You nod.

Rafe’s gonna have to make use of you again. He loves philosophy.

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #dom rafe cameron #dom!rafe #frat rafe #frat!rafe #frat!au #smut #virgin reader #female reader

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catiroll · 7 hours ago

Text

A Dance for Two °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Synopsis: When your daughter wants to attend the Daddy-Daughter Ball, Sevika reluctantly agrees to take her. What begins as a simple favor turns into something far more meaningful than either of you expected.

Warning: nothin rlly

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The tiny bow on Mira’s dress had come undone again.

You knelt in front of her, fingers carefully retying it, making sure it was straight. She stood perfectly still, her small hands gripping the soft folds of her dress, eyes locked on your movements with unusual intensity. Normally, she would have been talking—about the colors, the music, the way her shoes made soft clicks against the floor—but tonight, she was quieter than usual.

You noticed.

You always noticed.

“There,” you said, adjusting the bow one last time before pulling back. “Perfect.”

Mira didn’t respond right away. She turned slightly, lifting her dress in her little fingers and watching how the fabric shimmered under the warm glow of the lanterns. You could see the wheels in her mind turning, but she hadn’t yet found the words she wanted.

Then, finally—softly, hesitantly—she asked, “Mama… do I get to go even if I don’t got a daddy?”

Your hands stilled.

It wasn’t the first time she had asked about fathers. It wasn’t even the first time she had noticed she didn’t have one. But it was the first time she had linked it to something she might be missing out on—something other kids had and she didn’t.

Your chest tightened, and you forced a small smile as you tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Of course you get to go, sweetheart. You don’t need a daddy to dance.”

Mira nodded slowly, but her grip on her dress remained tight. “The other girls said their daddies are taking them.”

Your throat constricted.

Before you could say anything, she looked up at you, something hopeful flickering in her wide eyes. “Could Auntie Vik take me?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

Sevika.

It wasn’t that the idea was bad—far from it. It was just… unexpected.

Sevika didn’t do things like this. She wasn’t soft, wasn’t gentle—not in the ways most people would recognize. But Mira saw her differently.

You saw it too, sometimes.

Sevika was the one who let Mira sit on her shoulders to reach the top shelf. The one who wordlessly passed her a piece of whatever she was eating, even if Mira never asked. The one who grumbled endlessly about how ‘kids were too much trouble’—only to let Mira fall asleep curled up in her lap minutes later.

Maybe… just maybe, this could work.

“You want me to do what?”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Sevika stared at you from across the table, one brow arched, her metal fingers drumming against the worn wooden surface. You’d just finished explaining the situation, and judging by her expression, she was either irritated or amused. Maybe both.

“Take Mira to the Daddy-Daughter Ball,” you repeated, this time a little slower, as if that would somehow make it sound like less of a ridiculous request.

Sevika let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You do realize I don’t fit either of those words, right?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “You’re not an idiot, Sev. You know that’s not what this is about.”

She leaned back, exhaling through her nose. “Kid needs a dance partner? Take her yourself.”

“She doesn’t want that.” You hesitated. “She wants you.”

That got her.

Her fingers stilled against the table. Her jaw clenched—just slightly—but enough for you to notice.

“I don’t know how to do this shit,” she muttered, looking away. “Dancing. Balls. Dressing up like some… proper person.”

You took a step closer, lowering your voice. “She doesn’t care about any of that. She just wants someone who makes her feel safe.”

Sevika scoffed, shaking her head, but you saw the tension in her shoulders, the flicker of something you couldn’t quite place in her eyes.

“You’re good with her, Sev,” you continued, softer this time. “Better than you think.”

Silence.

Then, finally, a long exhale.

“Fine,” she muttered, rubbing her temple like she was already regretting it. “But you owe me.”

A slow grin spread across your lips as you reached up, fingers lightly brushing her jaw. “Oh, I’ll make it up to you.”

She shot you a look, but there was something warmer in her expression now, something less guarded.

She was going to do it.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ When Sevika arrived at the door that evening, Mira gasped so dramatically you thought she might faint.

“Auntie Vik!” she squealed, practically vibrating with excitement. “You look so pretty!”

Sevika grimaced.

She stood stiffly, dressed in a deep navy vest over a crisp black shirt, looking like she had been physically forced into it. Her usual rough edges hadn’t disappeared—the scars on her hands, the imposing metal arm, the ever-present air of someone who had seen too much—but there was something undeniably striking about her like this.

Sevika scowled, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. “Don’t start.”

You only smiled, stepping forward to adjust her tie, fingers lingering just a second too long. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary before clearing her throat and looking away.

Mira grabbed her much larger hand and started tugging her toward the door. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late!”

Sevika sent you a desperate, help me look.

You just waved. “Have fun!”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The ball was something out of a storybook—glittering chandeliers, soft melodies, rows of little girls spinning in their dresses.

Mira fit right in.

Sevika… not so much.

She was stiff at first, clearly uncomfortable under the warm glow of the ballroom. But Mira didn’t seem to notice. She grabbed Sevika’s hands, practically dragging her onto the dance floor, and demanded to be twirled.

And—surprisingly—Sevika did.

Not gracefully, not skillfully, but in a way that made Mira laugh, bright and loud and full. Sevika let her stand on her feet to waltz, rolling her eyes but not pushing her away. When the music shifted to something livelier, Mira pulled her toward the other children, insisting Sevika had to play tag.

And she did.

She let Mira sit on her shoulders to ‘catch’ the other kids, smirked when she won, and even—reluctantly—let her place a tiny, flower-shaped sticker on her metal arm as a ‘prize.’

It was a perfect night.

But then, near the end of the evening, as the last slow dance played, Mira—sleepy, warm, and utterly content—rested her head against Sevika’s shoulder and murmured, “I wish you were my daddy.”

Sevika froze.

Your breath caught.

Mira didn’t say it with sadness. There was no longing in her voice, no ache for something she felt she was missing. It was just a statement. Simple. Honest.

Sevika swallowed hard.

She could’ve brushed it off. Could’ve ignored it, changed the subject, made a joke.

But she didn’t.

Instead, after a long pause, she murmured back, “You don’t need a daddy, kid. You’ve got your mom.” A beat of hesitation. “And you’ve got me.”

Mira didn’t say anything else. Just snuggled in a little closer.

And Sevika held her a little tighter.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ When they arrived home, Mira was fast asleep in Sevika’s arms.

You expected her to pass the little girl off and leave. Instead, she carried Mira inside, walking straight to her room and tucking her in without a word.

When she turned back to you, there was something in her eyes—something raw, something hesitant.

“She called me her dad,” Sevika said, voice gruff, but there was something thick in it, something heavy. “Can you believe that?”

You smiled softly, reaching up to touch her cheek. “She loves you.”

Sevika exhaled sharply. “She’s a little brat.” But her voice cracked, just slightly.

You kissed her.

And when you whispered, “Stay?”

She hesitated.

Then—finally—she sighed and muttered, “Yeah. Okay.”

And just like that, she was home.

Masterlist

A/N: i havent made one in so long my bad sorry yall but here we go we got sevika with a duaghter cuz lowkey i can never see her with a son. have a good day wherever u aree

#sevika headcanon #arcane art #yandere x reader #arcane series #sevika smut #fluff #arcane fluff #ambessa medarda #mel medarda #melvika #sevika #sevika x yn

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whowhatwhenwhereandwhynot · 2 days ago

Text

“He knows your name,” the words echoed in Sirius’ head as the struggled to process what just happened.

It wasn’t like he could play it off. Sirius wasn’t a very common name at all, wasn’t a name outside of the Black family lineage.

James wasn’t still running his finger over the rim of the shot glass and Sirius really wished he’d just down it and forget about the entire encounter.

But James was looking at him with intent eyes. Questioning eyes.

James was standing in front of him in a crop top and booty shorts in a gay bar and asking him why the bartender knew him well enough to remember his name after a year of not coming.

And aren’t Gryffindors supposed to be brave?

“Ah yeah, didn’t know he’d be working tonight but that’s Sam. He’s been bartending here for a couple of years. Surprised he remembered me after so long.”

“You make an impression,” James said, his eyes still on Sirius, his brow still furrowed.

“I guess,” Sirius chuckled and rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. He turned to look at the crowd of dancers. He could say it. He could just come out and say it.

He’s a Gryffindor and Gryffindors are supposed to be brave.

Instead, he looked back to James and shrugged, “You gonna drink that or do you want me to?”

James ignored the question. “Sirius, this is a gay bar,” he said. Sirius didn’t respond, instead looking back at the dance floor. The dance floor full of men grinding on each other. In the gay bar. That he took James Potter to.

“Pads—“ he started again.

“I’m gay,” he said and grabbed the shot glass from James’ hand, downing that one as well.

Finally. Brave as a Gryffindor. And as idiotically reckless as one.

He flagged Sam down and held up two fingers and pointed back at James and he. Sam nodded that he’d seen the motion.

James still hadn’t said anything, was still staring at Sirius as if he hadn’t understood the words.

“I’m gay,” Sirius said again. This time more slowly. “I’m gay and I frequent gay clubs so when you asked where I go I told you.”

Sam stopped by and left two shots on the counter. This time he accepted the muffle money Sirius held his way.

“And I should’ve just said. Or should’ve taken you somewhere else but I panicked and didn’t think but obviously this isn’t the right place for you to pick up a girl and forget about Lily.”

James was still just standing there, staring at him. He thought he saw James’ eyes dip down and look at his lips but he knew it was wishful thinking.

“So how about you take these shots and catch up with me and then we can go to a different bar and never talk about this again.”

Sirius had gotten good at faking it. He’d gotten good at the smiles and the flirting and the hinting at women sharing his bed. He mentioned the clubs and changed the pronouns and he got good at it.

He got good at lying to James. He’d never wanted to be good at lying to James.

He’d gotten so good at it that when James and Lily broke up and James needed an outlet to “let loose” that he’d turned to Sirius and asked where he normally went.

And, of course, Sirius had given the name of the only bar he could think of.

One he hadn’t been to in a year, which could be in his best interest now as hopefully none of his old hookups would be there. But still.

He’d very much given the name of a gay bar to newly singly James Potter.

He debated calling in help but Remus wouldn’t understand the urgency. Had never understood why Sirius didn’t go out with it and tell James he was gay. James would understand, Remus was certain. It wouldn’t change anything.

But Remus didn’t know about the countless practice kisses. The times they’d share beds to stave off the cold. Didn’t know that the only reason James couldn’t see Sirius’ feelings was that he’d never thought them possible.

Sirius was a womanizer.

He’d carefully made sure James knew that. Believed that.

Because otherwise, his friend might see. Might see the arms thrown over shoulders, the lingering hugs, the blushes, the smile he couldn’t control at hearing Lily had finally left him.

Things that a straight best friend might get away with. Things that a queer friend wouldn’t.

But then he’d gone and given James the name of London’s number one gay night club.

And he was fucked.

#prongsfoot #bambibelle

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sunrisecaminus · 7 hours ago

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Ollo :>

Could you do a femme seeker reader x Megatron?

The reader is Megatron’s Conjunx and has wanted a sparkling for a long time.

Unfortunately thanks to the war, things make life unsafe to try start a family.

Now, thanks to the nemesis, it’s the perfect time to ask.

The reader is shy about it a first, beating around the bush until she blurts “I want a sparkling”

Cut to Megatron’s breeding kink(if that makes you uncomfortable then that’s ok), being pounded into oblivion into his throne.

Megatron is on his 4th load of transfluids but will not stop until he is sure the reader is satisfied and full.

Thank u :>

Message - When I said you could be freaky, I meant it. No judgement here man. I gotchu!

Megatron x Seeker Reader NSFW

Summary - Seeker conjunx is starting to get really impatient about Megatron not getting her sparked.

Warnings - NSFW, Breeding Kink,

It has been so long sense you and Megatron talked to each other outside of work related things. You have had enough from all the battling at this point and just wanted to be free from all the Autobots for once. You needed air from General Starscream and his arrogance so when you got a scouting mission you knew this was a perfect opportunity to leave.

You have been flying for about 4 hours now, but you didn't want to land. The clouds and the sky were beautiful on this planet and you wanted to take it all in before you went back in that dark ship. Going over rivers, mountains, and even flew over to another state just to see new environment. You ground bridged to the ocean and had fun splashing your wings in the water while going 1,600 mph. You being one of the fastest seekers out there made Starscream jealous, but you didn't care. After landing yourself on a mountain cliff, dangling your legs over to watch the sea waves, you started to think about things you have been wanting. One of the first things that have come to mind was finally having a little sparkling of your own. Every time you try to bring it up to your conjunx, he would just think you are talking about something else. That man, even if he hates you saying it, was the most oblivious man ever. You have even tried FLIRTING, twitching your wings at him, doing some lovely romantic dances with him in the berth room, and even kissing him a few times while telling him about what they should do when the Decepticons wins once and for all. He will never get it! Seekers are very much known for not being down to earth and not saying exactly what is on their minds, so you aren't use to telling him exactly what you want. It would be embarrassing for you if you had to tell him "Hey lets have a sparkling!" You feel butterflies even thinking about telling him so bluntly.

Someone is wanting to speak with you on your com link so you answer for them. "Hello?" Normally it would be Megatron or Starscream trying to reach you, but today it was surprisingly just another seeker. "Good Morning mam, please make your way back as a meeting is about to start in 2 hours." You were getting a bit annoyed about this, another meeting…really?! You thank them and end the call, transforming and going back to the ship. You land on the top to meet Starscream reading on a data pad, probably another report. Even if you don't want to admit it, you and Starscream are very close friends. He may be a bit of a baby, but you help him from getting hit by Megatron quite often and it got you two to get closure and talked more about things. "Hey Star, can I talk to you for a second?" You put a hand on your hip sassily. "Not now y/n I-" He interrupts himself when he looked up and saw you were pissed. He puts the data pad down on a table and turned his whole body to face you. "You ok?" "No, so many things have been on my mind. I have told you before that I have always dreamed of having a sparkling to take care of for the next generation, but Megs won't even look at me in a loving way anymore and I haven't had a kiss from him in 12 years!" You were so frustrated, wanting to get everything off your chest finally and Starscream took a second to load all the information you just told him. "Well have you tried wing communication?" Ah, Starscream also thought Megatron would know such an important Seeker language. He has been known to control the entire Seeker army and for some reason doesn't even know a flying fuck about Seeker culture. "I have literally danced with him and we even were going to kiss…until he said he needed to talk to Soundwave and he would "Dance with me later". Like HELLO!" Your wings were down and twitched a bit in anger. Starscream rolled his eyes to give you a motion that he completely understands where you are coming from. "Oh please, he can't be that stupid. At this point just yell at him. Don't show anymore kindness to him about it anymore. He needs to realize that if he is dating someone from another background, he is going to have to learn a thing or two about who we are." Starscream just pats you on the shoulder and tells you that he will see you at the meeting and leaves. He was right about something…that mech needed to learn a lesson or two.

Before the meeting you wanted to give him one last chance. You walk up from behind Megatron and gently grab his hips. "Boo~" You smile with a loving look as he turned over to you with his angry expression. Once he sees that it is you, his eyes soften and grab your servo, kissing your digits. "How are you dear." You blush a bit, but lovingly give him a boop on his chest. "I was wondering if you would like to do to the next level after the meeting, hmm?" This has to be the perfect hint you good give him. What else would this mean? This was giving "Fuck me alright" energy and your tone said so. Megatron smirks and you wait for something flirty like he always did…but than-. "Well of course. I will put you in charge of the fleet next battle. I knew you have been getting bored about staying in the back. We can talk about your role in the next phase soon. I just need to talk to the others about their newest reports." He lets go of your servo and walks off. Holy Scrap that blew the fuse in your mind. No…No…NO! He has to be doing this on purpose! Megatron is the leader of the Decepticons and yet is so blind that he can't even find a TANK IN A STORAGE CLOSET!!!

You didn't go to the meeting, you needed to show him that you didn't care about his order about being there. You didn't want to hear him speak right now and took your lovely time in the Berth Room you share with Megatron. He noticed immediately that you were not there. Genuinely he were very confused from seeing you just a few minutes before it started. After the meeting he noticed the Berth Room was occupied and he came in to see you cleaning your wings, looking out the window to see the lovely sunset. You looked to beautiful to him, your elegance and lovely plating shined from the light and your eyes were always nice to look at. "You weren't in the meeting." He was the exact opposite with you, down to earth and blunt with what he wanted to talk about. You turn to him with narrow eyes and an angry look, which made him understand that he fucked up in some way and shut the door. "You never got it, for years I have been trying to show you that I was ready…but you never seem to look at me like you use to." Oh did it piss you off when he raised his eyebrow at you in confusion. You just wanted to smack him. You kept talking. "You notice everything else. My needs, the things I love, my support for the cause. Whenever I want to give you a life we both can share, You never seem to turn my way!" Megatron stayed silent, waiting for you to finish, he knew you were upset about something so he let you continue to hopefully hear what you desired from him. He obeyed your wishes a lot, he never knew he was ignoring one that you deemed important. "I want a Sparkling. Your Sparkling!"

Oh boy, did he just get whiplash from that statement. Before the war he has been telling his conjunx about his dreams of him getting you sparked and being able to take care of their sparkling's together. Now Megatron feels like a dumbass…scrap this whole time you have been giving him everything to show him you were ready. His spike was already pressing against his panel, but he needed to know if you were still ready. "I apologize for the torture you must have been going through, sweetspark. Would y-" Before he could say anymore, you sit yourself on the berth and lower your wings in a cute position. "Get over here right now you fragger." Megatron didn't ask anymore questions and grabs you by the neck, forcing you down onto the bed and biting your arm. "Whatever you wish~" His panel pops and you see his spike is fully ready for you to use. He bites your neck and keeps your hips in a good hold as you pull your head back and moan from the pleasure that you are being given now. You wanted him so badly, but you needed him to work for it after what he put you through. Your wings twitch from how good you felt Megatron touching you after years of not interfacing. After a while, your pede presses against his spike, making Megatron stop what he was doing to groan from the pressure you just gave him. "ngnn y/n…" Smiling from what you just did, you push his chest to get him to be the one to lay down as you climb on top of him. You shove your aft in his face as you start to lick the base of his spike with your glossa. You hear Megatron moan a bit louder, but than your panel is opened and your valve starts to get licked. "Ah! Megs! You Aft!" You hiss from how slow he was going and stopped giving friction to his spike, which made him realize that you were going to be a bit of a brat if he didn't do what you wanted. He starts to eat you properly as you feel his glossa going into your walls. Finally feeling satisfied from your valve being used and takes in his whole spike after a few more licks. Both of you were in a daze, trying your best to pleasure each other without becoming a moaning mess.

You feel as Megatron was about to release and you stop, shutting his tip so he didn't drip anywhere and he hissed from being stopped. "You brat!" He growls at you as you turn around, putting your valve above his spike. That made him shut up before he could say anything else and holds your hips again, ready when you wanted to move. You smile, in love at looking at your conjunx's face and lowered yourself on his spike. He exhales from how warm and tight you were; your wings spread to their full wingspan as your walls stretch to make room for him. After a while of both of you trying not to move, you start to go up and down, staring into his optics with nothing but love. He smirks at how you look right now, you were such a mess. "Look at you, craving for my sparklings. They will all be yours." He tells you in a deeper tone, knowing you crave for his sexy voice again. You look up to the ceiling and start feeling like you were going to finally cum. "Megs-ah!" You grab his hands that were clenched around your waist as he claws at your plating, both of you releasing at the same time. You stay sat deep onto his spike, making sure none of his fluids leave your valve. You stay where you were as you finally were at peace with everything. Megatron lays you on his chest and hugs around your body, helping you feel safe after such a vulnerable event took place. "Another Round?" You smirk from him asking such a stupid question. "You don't even need to ask".

#maccadam #tfp #transformers #transformers prime #transformers x reader #transformers x y/n #megatron x reader #valveplug

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st4rgiirll · 18 hours ago

Text

rose petals

evan buckley x firefighter!gf!reader

creds: roseraris for dividers!

today, you had the day off, and evan was determined to make it special.

“alright, i’ll see you in a bit,” you called over your shoulder, grabbing your keys and heading out the door.

the plan was simple: you’d run to the store for some last-minute supplies, and evan would handle the rest. he’d been acting a little mysterious lately, which was either a sign of something amazing or a new firehouse prank.

you got back and pushed the door open, the sight that greeted you made your heart race. the living room was transformed.

candles flickered softly, casting warm shadows on the walls. rose petals were scattered around, and in the center was a blanket laid out with an array of goodies—chocolate-covered strawberries, a bottle of champagne, and a couple of glasses.

“surprise!” evan’s voice rang out, full of excitement.

“wow, you really went all out!” you exclaimed, your eyes wide as you took in the scene.

he was leaning against the kitchen counter, a proud grin plastered on his face. “i figured it was about time we had a proper valentine’s day. you know, without the fire alarms and chaos.”

you laughed, stepping further inside. “this is incredible! I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“just wait,” he said, winking. “there’s more.”

“more? what else could you possibly do?” you teased, arching an eyebrow.

“just sit down and relax,” he instructed, motioning to the blanket.

“i’ve got the next part covered.” you plopped down, sinking into the softness of the blanket.

“okay, im intrigued. what’s next?” evan walked over and poured us both glasses of champagne, the bubbly fizzing to the top.

“to us,” he said, raising his glass.

“to us,” you echoed, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip.

the sweet taste danced on your tongue, making you smile. as you both settled into a comfortable conversation, you couldn’t help but admire him.

his hair fell slightly over his forehead, and the way his eyes sparkled with mischief reminded me of a kid who’d just gotten away with something.

“so, what’s the big secret you’re hiding?” you asked, leaning closer, curiosity getting the best of you.

“oh, you’ll see,” he replied, taking a dramatic pause. “but first, i want to give you something.”

he stood and disappeared into the hallway, leaving you in eager suspense. you could hear him rummaging through a drawer, and my mind raced with possibilities. was it a gift? a love letter?

when he returned, he held a small, intricately wrapped box.

“happy valentine’s day!” he said, his excitement palpable. you took the box and turned it over in your hands.

“you didn’t have to get me anything, but thank you!” you said, genuinely touched.

“trust me, this one’s special. open it!” he urged, bouncing on his heels.

with a grin, you tore off the wrapping to reveal a delicate silver necklace, a small heart pendant glinting in the light.

“evan, it’s beautiful!” you exclaimed, your heart swelling. “you really didn’t have to.”

“iwanted to,” he said softly, his gaze sincere. “you mean the world to me.”

you slipped the necklace around your neck, feeling the cool metal settle against your skin. “i love it. thank you.”

he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating as he brushed a stray hair behind your ear.

“you deserve all the love in the world.”

you felt a flutter in your stomach, the kind that had become all too familiar around evan. “so, what’s next on our romantic agenda?”

“well… i was thinking we do a bit of a… firefighter workout of our own..” evan smirked, ever the nympho he was.

“oh you were?” you grin.

“yeah… so get your ass up those damn stairs and strip, my fire jacket’s in the closet. get that on before i get up those stairs after you.”

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #911 show #911 fanfic #fanfiction #evan buck buckley #evan buckley fluff #911 on abc

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honeybummer · 1 day ago

Text

NO SAINTS HERE - on A03 Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Fem!OC/Tav

Summary/Setting: Tav cheats on Wyll with Astarion when Wyll cannot satisfy her needs

Word count - 6k

Rating: EXPLICIT

The camp was silent, the night air crisp.

Tav stormed out of her tent, her footsteps heavy against the cool earth. She wrapped her arms around herself, pacing before glaring up at the stars, as if they were somehow to blame.

Frustration boiled in her chest. Six weeks on the road with the group. Four of them with Wyll. Four weeks, and he—

“You’ll have a trench dug by sunrise at this rate,” came a familiar, silken voice.

Tav jumped, spinning to see Astarion lounging by the fire, a book in his lap, eyes glinting in the flickering light. His silver hair curled effortlessly behind his ears.

“I didn’t think anyone else was awake,” she said, trying to steady her breath.

“And yet, here I am. Vampires aren’t much for sleep, darling.” He studied her. “Now, what’s got our fearless leader storming about like a bull?”

She shook her head and resumed pacing. “It’s nothing. Go back to your scheming.”

“Darling, my scheming can wait. You look about ready to burst into flames.” He snapped his book shut, leaning in with a smirk. “Go on, then. Misery does adore an audience.”

Tav huffed and started toward the forest, hoping the cool air might clear her head. Maybe a walk, or a dip in the lake—

“Let me guess,” Astarion drawled from behind her, lazily amused. “Our ever-gallant warlock has done something to ruffle your feathers. Am I close?”

“Just forget it,” she muttered, picking up her pace.

Then he was in front of her, hands clasped neatly behind his back, eyes glinting. “You’re practically humming with frustration. Unmet needs, perhaps?”

Her cheeks burned. “I’m not—this isn’t—”

How could he know?

Astarion circled her. “You’re practically radiating unfulfilled desires.”

Tav turned away, embarrassed. “Astarion, please.” She didn’t want to discuss this with him—or anyone.

“Please?” He smirked, leaning in closer. “Please stop? Or please keep going?”

Tav nearly clamped her hands over his mouth. “Keep your voice down!”

Then, just as smoothly, his grin softened, voice dipping into something almost kind. “Oh, don’t pout. I’m only teasing. If you need a willing ear, I’m right here.”

Tav sighed, the fight seeping out of her. She retreated and sank onto a log near the fire, accepting the bottle of wine he offered. The first swig was long, the burn grounding her.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, wiping her mouth. “Just me being selfish.”

Astarion settled beside her with a lazy elegance. “You? Selfish? Hardly. Though, I suppose spending too much time with him might have that effect.”

She shot him a glare, unamused. Astarion didn’t like Wyll, but he didn’t like anyone , really—maybe her, on rare occasions.

“He just…ugh, I can’t talk to you about this.”

Astarion lifted the wine to her lips again, and she took another sip. And another.

“How often does he leave you wanting?” he asked, voice soft, almost conspiratorial.

“How did you know?”

His smile was sharp, predatory. “You keep fidgeting. If he’d made you come once or twice like a normal partner, you wouldn’t be this tense.”

He took the wine back and Tav groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

Astarion arched a brow. “Does he leave you wanting often?”

Tav swallowed, the guilt curling in her stomach.

She exhaled sharply. “He…he fell asleep.”

Astarion’s laughter was rich and delighted.

Tav snatched the wine back, taking a long swig. “You better not tell anyone.”

“Oh, please.” He waved a dismissive hand, still grinning. “This is too delicious to share. But really—our gallant Wyll, falling asleep midway? Tragic.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s wonderful in so many ways, but when it comes to intimacy…he just doesn’t get it.”

The warmth of Wyll’s kindness was something she couldn’t ignore. When he’d asked her to dance after a night of drinking, she’d accepted. And when he’d asked for a kiss, she’d given it. But when things went too far, she hesitated. Yet, when he looked so sad at the rejection, she relented.

The next night, he’d asked her on a proper date, and she hadn’t the heart to refuse. Not when the nights were so lonely.

The first time he touched her, it had felt nice—at first. It had been so long since she had felt anyone’s hands on her that even the smallest touch had sent sparks through her veins. But then his rhythm faltered, his thrusts erratic. Her body had cooled, and she had lost the tempo.

And then he had finished—and fallen asleep.

He hadn’t even asked if she had come.

The next time he tried, he had pressed his fingers against her, clumsy and hopeful. It hadn’t worked. It never worked.

And she never faked it, either.

But what boiled her blood was the fact that Wyll knew . He knew she hadn’t finished, and still, he had simply gone to sleep . Like it didn’t matter.

She would never do that to him. Never take her own pleasure and leave him wanting.

Astarion’s voice cut through her thoughts. “How unfortunate.”

Tav snorted and drank more wine.

“Perhaps…I could be of some assistance?”

Tav looked at him, stunned. “What?”

Astarion leaned in, eyes glinting with intent.She was reminded how earth-shatteringly gorgeous he was. “You need release. I need something to occupy my time. And I do have an impressive repertoire…”

Her breath caught.

Astarion grinned—lazy, confident. “Unless you’d rather trudge back to your tent and spend another night wanting?”

Tav looked away. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” He took a long look at her, up and down. “Such a shame to let you go to waste.”

She shook her head. “I…I’m with Wyll.”

Astarion only watched her.

“I could never do that to him. He’s too…good.”

He shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “Yes, yes, the noble Blade of Frontiers—so devoted, so honorable. But tell me, darling, how devoted can he be if he leaves you wanting?”

Tav inhaled sharply, gripping the wine bottle too tightly. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, but it is.” He shifted closer, his thigh brushing hers, voice dipping, silk and sin. “Why should you suffer for his shortcomings?” His lips curled, firelight casting sharp shadows over his face, making him look almost… dangerous. “You deserve better.”

She clenched her jaw, willing herself not to react. But Astarion saw it all—the flicker of hesitation, the breath she swallowed down.

“Tell me, darling,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Have you ever been worshiped?”

Her breath hitched. She turned away, but his voice curled around her like smoke, thick and intoxicating.

“I mean properly worshiped.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “The kind that leaves you trembling, moaning my name.”

Tav squeezed her thighs together.

Astarion hummed, catching the movement, his grin sharpening. “No? Tsk—what a tragedy.” His fingers ghosted over her arm, sending a shiver down her spine. ��I could teach you, you know. Show you what it’s like to be devoured.”

She swallowed hard. “Oh, please.” Her voice was shaky. “You don’t even like me.”

Astarion laughed, soft and indulgent. “Oh, my sweet girl,” he murmured, shaking his head. “You really think that matters?”

He leaned in, just enough for his lips to ghost over her jaw, not quite touching, but so close. “Liking you isn’t the point,” he whispered. “ Wanting you is.”

His fingers brushed her collarbone, barely there, his touch sending a shiver through her. “And gods , do I want you.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “So tell me, darling,” he drawled, smirking as he tipped her chin up with a finger. “Would you really rather go back to your tent, aching and unsatisfied, all because of some foolish notion that I need to like you first?”

Tav knew parts of his backstory, how he was trained in the art of desire. How he could get anyone into his bed. She shouldn’t fall for it.

“Imagine it, love. My hands on your body, my lips on your skin—making you feel everything you’ve been denied.” His eyes darkened. “Wouldn’t that be… delicious?”

But.

Heat pooled low in her stomach.

“I—” She exhaled shakily, grasping for something solid, something real. “I shouldn’t—”

“Oh, darling.” His fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face to his. “Why shouldn’t you?”

She met his gaze and drowned in it. Red eyes, deep and endless, full of promises she shouldn’t want.

“Tell me,” he whispered, lips just shy of hers. “Do you want me to stop?”

Tav’s heart thundered.

She should say yes.

She should.

The fire crackled, but it wasn’t what made her burn. It was him—his scent, his nearness, the coolness of his skin against her heat.

“I could make it easy for you,” he murmured. His lips nearly brushed hers, teasing, coaxing. “I wouldn’t make you do a damn thing, darling.”

Tav’s fingers twitched. Her breath shook.

“All you would have to do…” he breathed. “Is spread those pretty, little legs for me…”

She shuddered violently..

“Just like back…and let me…”

Tav bit her lip.

“ Have you.”

And then—

She cracked.

With a frustrated noise, she grabbed his collar and crushed her lips to his.

Astarion groaned low in his throat, as if he had been starving for this. His hands were on her in an instant—one threading into her hair, the other gripping her waist and yanking her against him.

Gods. He devoured her.

His lips were soft, insistent, his mouth moving against hers with a desperate sort of hunger. His fangs scraped her lower lip, sending a bolt of heat down her spine, and she whimpered—actually whimpered.

Astarion growled.

In a swift motion, he had her beneath him, the firelight flickering across his pale skin as he loomed over her. “Now, that’s more like it,” he murmured, his breath ragged, lips already red and swollen from kissing her.

Tav barely had time to process before his mouth was on hers again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against hers, his hands everywhere —her waist, her back, her thighs.

And gods help her, she was burning.

His cool fingers trailed under the hem of her shirt, barely touching her skin, and yet it sent a full-body shiver through her.

“Cold, darling?” he murmured against her lips, but his grin was wicked, knowing. “Or is it something else?”

She shivered again, and his fingers dug into her waist, his hips pressing against hers just enough to make her feel—

A gasp tore from her throat, and he chuckled, the sound dark and delighted. “Oh, my sweet thing,” he purred, his lips ghosting down her jaw. “I can’t wait to feel your heat.”

Tav squeezed her eyes shut, trying—failing—to remember why this was a bad idea.

But with Astarion’s mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, his hands exploring her like she was something to be devoured—

She found she didn’t care at all.

Except.

There was a rustling nearby.

Tav scrambled out from under Astarion and got up. She stood there, panting, while her worst fears came true.

The flap of Wyll’s tent rustled and he came into view. He looked around and then spotted them on the far side of camp, by the fire.

“Tav?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and walking closer.

She wiped at her swollen lips, trying to look composed. Astarion, on the other hand, remained utterly unruffled, lounging back on his elbows with an infuriating smirk.

“Tav?” Wyll repeated, stepping forward, brow furrowed. “What are you doing up? I heard something.”

She swallowed hard, panic twisting in her gut. But then—relief. His expression wasn’t one of suspicion, just sleepy confusion. He didn’t see. He didn’t hear.

Before she could string together a response, Astarion beat her to it.

“I woke her.” His voice was smooth, nonchalant, as if nothing had just happened. He shifted up, stretching lazily before giving Wyll an almost bored look. “I needed to feed.”

Wyll’s brow furrowed deeper, his gaze flickering between them.

“She offered, of course,” Astarion continued smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. “And I’d hate to refuse such a generous donation.” He grinned, showing just the hint of fangs. “We were just about to get started.”

Tav nearly choked.

Wyll’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She needs her sleep. It’s late and I—”

“Oh, no need for that,” Astarion cut in, voice silken with amusement. “Tav was very eager to help.” He leaned closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. Casual, but his fingers pressed just enough for her to feel him. “And you know how these things go. Could take a while.”

Tav clenched her jaw, trying not to react.

Wyll sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Just… be careful, alright?” He looked at Tav, something soft in his expression. “Don’t let him take too much.”

Astarion placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “What do you take me for? A savage?”

Wyll didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright. I’ll see you in a bit, then. I’ll probably be asleep, so just wake me when you get back.”

Tav forced a nod as Wyll turned and disappeared back into his tent.

The moment he was gone, she whipped toward Astarion.

“What the hell was that?” she hissed.

Astarion grinned, utterly unrepentant. “That, my dear, was me getting us out of trouble.”

Her pulse pounded. “By implying we were busy?”

He gave an elegant shrug. “Well, weren’t we?”

Tav opened her mouth to argue—only to close it again when she realized she didn’t have a damn thing to say to that.

Astarion leaned in, voice dropping to something dark and wicked. “Now then. We should put on a little show, don’t you think?” His fingers ghosted over the pulse in her neck.

“This is what you offered, after all.”

“Fine,” she muttered, rolling her neck for him.

But he didn’t lean in.

“I say I bought us some time. Come on.” He grabbed her arm and led her deeper into the forest, away from camp.

“Where are we going?”

Astarion said nothing as he pulled her through the trees. The deeper they went, the thicker the shadows grew, moonlight slicing in jagged slivers through the canopy.

They passed the nearby waterfall, the sound making her uncomfortable. She couldn’t hear if someone or something approached.

Tav’s heart pounded—not from fear, not from the dark, but from him.

“Astarion,” she tried again, breathless. “Where—”

But before she could finish, he spun her, pressing her back against the rough bark of an ancient oak. He leaned in, his hands braced on either side of her head.

“I thought you wanted to be fed on?” he teased, his voice a silken purr..

“I…” she started, but Astarion was already moving, brushing his nose along the curve of her jaw, lips hovering over her pulse.

He dragged his lips down the column of her throat, slow, indulgent.

“I could take my time with you,” he mused, voice barely above a whisper. “Taste you properly. Make you feel it.”

Tav’s breath hitched, her hands curling into fists against the bark.

He chuckled. “Oh, my sweet girl.” His tongue flicked out, just the faintest brush against her pulse, and her knees buckled.

Astarion caught her, hands sliding down to grip her waist.

“Careful now,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want you collapsing before we even start.”

And then—he kissed her.

Not teasing. Not playful.

Hungry.

Tav gasped against his lips as he pulled her flush against him, the sharp edges of his body a contrast to the softness of his mouth. His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.

Heat flooded her, spiraling down her spine, pooling in her stomach. She shouldn’t be doing this—she really shouldn’t—but gods, she wanted him.

Astarion nipped at her lower lip, then soothed it with his tongue. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “And I will.”

Tav dug her fingers into his shoulders, her breath coming fast.

She didn’t say a word.

His mouth trailed down her neck and brushed against her collarbones. His quick fingers began loosening the ties to her pants and she let him.

Astarion hummed in approval as her body melted against him, his fingers making quick work of the ties at her waist. “That’s it, darling,” he murmured against her skin. “Let me take care of you.”

His hands slid beneath the waistband of her pants, the coolness of his touch making her gasp, her skin prickling with heat as he grazed the edge of her undergarments.

“Now, tell me: Am I allowed to touch you?”

Tav could hardly speak, but she managed a breathy, “Yes.”

Her head tipped back against the rough bark as his hands slipped beneath the fabric, skimming over bare skin. She sucked in a breath.

He chuckled, low and wicked. “So responsive. I do love that about you.”

His fingers dipped lower, and Tav gasped, her hips jerking into his touch. He grinned against her throat, his free hand sliding up her ribs.

“You poor thing,” he murmured, lips tracing the shell of her ear. “He never even tried to take care of you, did he?”

His thumb swept over that bundle of sensitive nerves and she squeezed her eyes shut, breathing quick.

Astarion’s other hand slid under her shirt and palmed her breast.

Tav squeezed her eyes shut tighter, heat flooding her face. She shouldn’t be doing this. She should stop. But then Astarion’s fingers pressed just right, and all thoughts of Wyll, of guilt, of anything beyond him dissolved.

Wetness flooded past his fingers as he continued to rub against her.

He kissed her again, swallowing the whimper that slipped past her lips. His body pressed fully against hers, trapping her between him and the tree, and gods, she could feel him.

“You’re exquisite like this,” he whispered against her lips, his fingers still working her open, still teasing, still keeping her just on the edge. “Soft, pliant, desperate .” He smirked, nipping at her jaw. “Would you like me to finish what I started, darling?”

Tav nodded.

Astarion’s lips were at her ear, nipping as his expert fingers circled her again and again and again.

Just right.

Tight, little circles.

She gasped in a breath to say ‘faster’, but he already knew.

And then she was clutching his arms, legs weak as she tried to keep herself up. The warmth curled and curled, the pleasure so close to breaking and—

Astarion pulled away.

Tav gasped out a horrendous whine and looked up at him. He smiled.

“Oh darling, I almost got you there, didn’t I? And, oh, how easy it was. I had you falling apart with your clothes still on.”

Tav huffed, suddenly angry. He was making fun of her. He probably never wanted to sleep with her at all. Just to laugh at her.

But then Astarion was lifting her shirt over her head and grabbing her waist.

And then she was on her back, the cool forest floor shocking her as Astarion loomed above. His lips found her neck first, before drifting lower—across her collarbone, down the slope of her sternum.

When his tongue flicked against her navel, she jolted, hips bucking instinctively against him. He only laughed, a dark, pleased hum.

"So eager," he mused. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her pants, pulling just enough to tease.

“Will you be quiet for me darling?” he asked.

She shook her head, there was no way she could keep quiet.

Astarion groaned, low and pleased, and then—her pants were gone.

His hands were everywhere, mapping every inch of newly exposed skin. His mouth followed, trailing heat in its wake, and when his lips finally—finally—settled between her thighs, she lost any hope of staying quiet.

The first lick was like the rapture.

Tav's back arched off the forest floor, her hands gripping into Astarion's shoulders as a moan ripped from her throat.

She writhed beneath him, her hands clenching the grass under them. His tongue licked up her center and then lazily stroked around her clit.

Tav's hips bucked, desperate for more. "Astarion, please," she begged, her voice shaking with need. "Don't stop."

His finger sought her entrance, sliding easily inside her. Her hands dug into his hair when he curled that finger inside her just right. And when he added another, she was moaning loudly, shaking.

He pumped his fingers, curling them expertly. The pleasure erupted.

And then she wasn’t breathing—only writhing, shaking, and spasming against him until the waves of pleasure finally subsided.

Then she gasped for air, body falling back against the forest floor—limp.

And…it was easy to get there. So easy.

Astarion was seductive, attentive, and it made it all so easy.

It made her think…

“I never thought your cunt would taste as good as your blood,” he said, smiling. “But it does.”

Tav opened her eyes to see Astarion licking his lips, the shine of her arousal on his chin.

She could see the straining of his pants, the evidence of how aroused he was. She sat up quickly, feeling her head spin, and reached for him.

“Lie back,” she said.

Tav wanted him to feel as good as she did. She had to repay him.

Astarion hesitated for a moment, his eyes boring into hers with an unreadable expression. Then, he lay back, resting on his elbows, his eyes never leaving her face as she straddled him.

She loosened his stays, releasing him from his confines.

Astarion’s cock was imposing, long and thick, pale and smooth. Her hand wrapped around its girth, a shiver running through her body as she gripped it.

He was far larger than Wyll.

The second she touched him, Astarion's eyes widened with hunger, his breathing quickening as she stroked him. He reached up, brushing his fingers through her hair.

"I thought I was meant to take care of you,” he said.

“You did.”

His cock was like velvet in her hands, the hardest velvet she had ever felt. She stroked him a couple of times, and he shuddered. She was captivated by the way his pale skin moved over his glistening head. The head of his cock was so swollen with blood it looked purple.

She ran her thumb over his head, licking her lips, wishing she could taste him. Gods, he would fill her mouth completely. She could hardly imagine how he would fit inside her.

“Tav,” Astarion gritted out.

She pumped him again in her hand, squeezing harder.

Astarion’s hands found her waist. “If you do not mount me, I will fuck you myself.”

She grinned, feeling like she was in power. She stroked him several more times before Astarion shifted, bucking his hips and lifting her until she hovered over him.

Scrambling, Tav placed her hands on his shoulders and shifted her weight on her knees so she was more in control, but Astarion yanked her down.

Her legs trembled as his tip brushed against her glistening folds. “Wait—”

Astarion leaned in and nipped at her neck. “I am a man of my word, Tav. Now sit.”

Tav swallowed and lowered herself gently. There was pressure as his head pushed against her. His thick cock bowed slightly at the pressure, and then it slid inside. Just an inch.

Immediately she felt that burning stretch.

She had felt it once. One night, when she wasn’t very aroused, Wyll had pushed himself inside her while she was still dry.

But she wasn’t dry this time. She was dripping wet, and Astarion still stretched her.

The vampire’s eyes locked onto hers, his expression unguarded as he watched her struggle—watching her intently as she slowly, slowly descended onto him.

Tav's body trembled, every nerve ending on fire as she tried to ease herself down. Astarion's girth stretched her, filling her in a way she had never experienced before.

She bit her lip against a scream, and for a moment, she froze.

Astarion's hand left her hip to thread through her hair, stroking the strands gently as he whispered soothing words in her ear.

"That's it, darling..." he murmured, "Just relax and let me in... I won't hurt you."

Tav's breath hitched, her body slowly relaxing at the sound of his voice. She took a deep breath and lowered herself further, trying to focus on his words as more of him filled her until she was seated fully upon him. She was unbearably full.

Her eyes watered from the intensity of it all.

"You see, darling?" Astarion sighed against her neck. "I told you it wouldn't hurt."

She let out a noise.

“Yet,” he hissed, bucking up into her once.

She let out a guttural moan and gripped his shoulders tightly. She leaned forward, making it easier for her to control the movements and she began to ride him. Up…and…down.

Slowly.

It was all she could take.

Astarion's hands gripped her waist tightly as he matched her pace, his hips rising to meet each of her thrusts.

Her forehead met his as they continued, skin glistening, bodies tightening.

“Fuck,” she muttered, breathing heavily as she clutched him tightly. He felt incredible, so fucking incredible. She had never felt like this.

Astarion sat up more, using one arm to wrap around her waist so he could better control the movements, and she knew he knew what he was doing.

He was a master at it.

So, when he angled himself differently against her, hitting a sensitive spot, Tav whined so loud she was sure the camp might hear.

Tav’s head tipped back, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she rode Astarion. His hands were firm, guiding her, coaxing her deeper into pleasure with every movement. His mouth was everywhere—her neck, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, teeth scraping just enough to make her shudder.

And then—

“Tav?”

The voice cut through the night.

Astarion went still beneath her.

Wyll.

A sickening wave of realization crashed over her. What was she doing ?

Wyll was kind. Wyll was good . And he didn’t deserve this.

She scrambled off Astarion, nearly toppling over in her rush. He let out a soft, amused tsk but didn’t try to stop her. Her pulse was a frantic drum against her ribs.

The crunch of boots on leaves sent a fresh jolt of panic through her. Wyll was walking nearby.

Tav ducked low, crouching behind a thick patch of brush just as his silhouette came into view. He was holding up a lantern, its warm glow slicing through the trees, illuminating the furrow in his brow.

He was several feet away.

“Where did you go…?” he muttered to himself, turning his head from side to side. His expression was wary but not suspicious. Not yet.

Tav willed herself to stay silent. Through the gaps in the foliage, she watched as Wyll turned the other way, his lantern swinging slightly. He scanned the forest.

A hand clutched her ankle and yanked her back, her breasts flattening on the cold dirt. Before she could yelp in surprise, a cold hand clamped over her mouth, quieting her.

“Hush, darling. We wouldn’t want your sweet, ignorant beau to see you being ridden by a dangerous vampire,” he whispered.

What was he…?

His body climbed over hers, his knee spreading her thighs. Her heart pounded as she saw Wyll slightly turn his head in their direction.

Astarion’s hand was still clamped over her mouth, his body a solid weight against her back. His lips brushed against her ear, his voice a whisper of silk and sin.

“He’s so close,” Astarion murmured, his hips shifting against her in a slow, deliberate grind. “Do you think he’d hear you if I made you moan?”

Tav squeezed her eyes shut, her breath escaping in a ragged exhale against his palm. He was insane . Reckless.

The lantern light wavered, flickering through the brush.

Tav felt undeniable pressure against her backside, and then Astarion exhaled in her ear as he slipped inside of her again. His hand muffled her gasp as he pushed himself deeper.

His other hand was braced on the dirt, the veins in his hand raised as his hips pressed against hers.

Astarion was larger than Tav, and heavier. She tried to raise her torso, to better see, but Astarion’s weight held her down.

“Shhhhh,” he whispered in her ear, his voice so sweet and silky.

Tav swallowed hard, her pulse hammering against her ribs. She could feel Astarion’s amusement in the way he held her, in the way his fingers dug into the earth beside her. He was enjoying this—the thrill of being on the precipice, the sharp edge of danger just a breath away.

Wyll’s lantern swung closer. Tav could see the gleam of his boots through the underbrush. He was only steps away.

They were lucky the waterfall hid some of the noise, but there was no way Wyll wouldn’t hear the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Astarion’s lips moved again, his breath hot against her skin. “Do you think he’d be angry, pet?” he mused. “If he found you like this? Would he be heartbroken?” He punctuated his words with a strong thrust of his hips. “Or simply humiliated?”

Another deep thrust.

Tav clenched her jaw, willing her body to stay still, to not tremble beneath the weight of him. She should be ashamed. She was ashamed. But gods, it was hard to think when Astarion was like this—when he made her feel so alive.

When his cock was sliding through her and it felt electric .

He began to pick up the pace and Tav dug her fingers into the earth,nails biting into pebbles.

No, no, no. They were making too much noise.

Wyll was going to hear.

Through the brush he swung his lantern and walked a few steps to the thicker side of the bushes.

Astarion grinned wickedly, his eyes locked on Wyll's movement. "He might hear you, darling," he whispered, thrusting more forcefully now.

He was fucking her into the earth, just like how a vampire might.

Tav bit her lip. She had to stay calm, focus on keeping quiet. But her walls were clenching, her arousal growing higher and higher.

She had never felt an ascent this intense.

She was going to erupt.

Tav felt Astarion begin to speed up, his movements growing more urgent and desperate. Her name was whispered over and over again from his lips as he plunged deeper into her with every thrust.

A twig snapped to the far side of the forest and Wyll turned his head, and began to walk farther away.

“Finally,” Astarion grunted, and began pounding Tav into the dirt, hand still over her mouth. The slap against skin was audible now. There was no way Wyll couldn’t hear it, even as he was walking away.

Astarion let out a groan, his rhythm faltering for a moment, before picking back up. His pinky caressed her bottom lip, and she could feel the slickness between them as he pushed himself closer, deeper.

“You know, pet. I said I was going to feed. We have to keep up appearances, don’t we?”

His mouth grazed the back of her shoulder, then up her neck. “Should I bite your scruff while I fuck you in front of your boyfriend? Like a wild beast?”

The shame of it all mingled with the dirty delight that coursed through her veins. Astarion was right; she had never felt anything like this before. The devilish thrill of being caught, the illicit nature of their encounter in front of Wyll... It was too much, too intense.

The pleasure was building, her body coiling tighter and tighter.

Wyll turned around and began walking back toward them.

Her panic flared and she writhed.

Astarion’s hand clamped down harder against her mouth. “Shush darling,” he whispered tightly in her ear. “Can you keep quiet while I bite you?”

They were going to get caught.

She might as well give up.

Her head fell against the floor as her body coiled tighter and tighter and tighter.

Astarion’s teeth sank into the side of her neck, biting part of the muscle in her shoulder. The pain was more intense than when he first bit her all those nights ago.

She bit his own hand, body shaking.

Wyll had stopped moving. The light from his lantern flickered in the darkness, casting eerie shadows over the forest floor. Tav could almost feel the glow of the lantern, and she knew that any moment he might see them.

The thought was almost too much for her to bear.

In that moment, Astarion gave a deep thrust, and she felt his cock swell slightly, and his seed erupted inside her.

The heat was unlike anything she had felt before, the pressure of his come making her walls flutter and clench.

Her body reached its peak, the pleasure came in beautiful, powerful waves, and she cried out in spite of herself.

Astarion’s hand instantly tightened on her mouth.

The sound was small, muffled, but it was there.

As if on cue, Wyll whirled around. Astarion stopped moving completely, but his cock was still spasming, and her walls clenched again and again, making her breath in quick gasps through her nose.

Astarion pinched her nose, as well as covering her mouth, so that no noise came from her.

His mouth was still on her skin, and she felt a trickle of blood leak down the side of her neck.

The shine of Wyll’s boots was a few inches away, right on the other side of the bush. And Astarion was as still as stone on top of her.

Her lungs were burning.

The lantern was almost illuminating them. Any second now Wyll would yell at them.

“Where the fuck is she?” Wyll mumbled, and stepped back.

And back.

And then finally, the glow of his lantern disappeared as he walked deeper into the forest.

Astarion removed his hand and Tav gasped in a breath, chest heaving in gulps of air.

Astarion licked up the thin line of escaped blood, savoring it as he slowly withdrew from her. She winced at the pressure, her body still thrumming from what they had done.

She let out a shaky breath. Her limbs felt weak, her heart still hammering in her chest. Gods . What had she just done?

Her fingers reached up and brushed over her throat, where his fangs had sunk in moments before. She could still feel the ghost of his touch—his hands gripping her, his lips at her skin, the heat pooling between them. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to glance over her shoulder at him.

He was brushing dirt off his thighs.

Tav slowly pushed herself up from the ground. She knew she must look disheveled. Hair a mess. Eyes glazed. Face flushed.

Astarion stood there, utterly at ease, a lazy smile curling his lips as he extended a hand to help her up. His fingers lingered at her hips before he let go.

He then pressed her bundle of clothes into her hands. Tav accepted them, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched the fabric to her chest.

She bit the inside of her cheek, shaking her head at herself. Reckless. Stupid. She had let herself get carried away—let him carry her away.

Astarion pulled his pants up and over his glistening cock. Tav couldn’t help but stare.

His seed slipped down her thigh.

Astarion walked up and slid his hand gently against her skin, catching his seed, before plunging his fingers inside her, forcing her to take all of him. To keep him inside her.

Tav gasped and clutched onto his arm.

He laughed, low and knowing. “Oh, darling,” he whispered. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

Astarion sucked at his fingers when he withdrew them from her trembling sex.

He patted her bare bum, smirking as she sucked in a breath, and then, just like that, he turned and strolled back toward camp.

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