#in all honesty though I LOVE HIM WITH THE GREY

[simpforboys]

Surprise! (3)

Drew Starkey x fem!singer!reader

Summary: reader and Drew celebrate the release of the ‘Perfume’ music video!

Warnings: fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), praise, swearing, male masturbation, dirty talk, missionary position, sex on couch, daddy kink, protective piv sex, boob worship (?), drinking wine, fangirling

Part one, part two, part four

taglist is full :(

Two weeks had went by.

Two long, busy weeks of you not hearing much from Drew, other than the promotions and photo stills you would send him.

It was finally the release day, and within 18 hours, the video had already reached 200 million views.

You were currently sitting on your light grey couch, flicking through Netflix movies when your phone buzzed with a notification.

Drew Starkey: Hey, congrats on the success of the video. I’m still very honored you wanted me to he apart of it. You still down to celebrate?

Oh.

In all honesty you were expecting Drew to stop talking to you after the shoot.

But within those two weeks, you were both extremely busy, so reaching out was hard.

That didn’t mean you two didn’t text at all, it was just two or three messages a day.

Drew was notorious for being a bad texter, not to mention how filled up his schedule was.

So you never took it to heart. Or, at least tried.

But seeing the notification that he actually still wanted to hang out, wanted to celebrate with you…

Your User: hi, thank you so much! i’m still so happy and grateful you said yes <33

Your User: and yes i’m still down to celebrate!! when are you free?

Maybe the double texting was too much, but you were already a glass of wine in, and texting your celebrity crush.

To your surprise, he replied pretty quickly.

Drew Starkey: I’m actually free rn surprisingly, are you?

Oh.

You were in fact free, but ready was the better question.

No, you were not ready to see Drew fucking Starkey, especially looking like how you were currently dressed.

Only wearing sweatpants, a shirt that is three sizes too big, fuzzy socks, and no bra was not exactly presentable to meet the love of your life.

Your User: yes, but i look absolutely horrible rn

Again, another quick response.

Drew Starkey: I doubt that. Can I come see you?

You typed out a message.

Your User: CNEOSHWOSHEODNEOWHSOWBSIFBEOSBAJDBDKDHOSBSKSBDJSHS😜✊👍😜🤭🔥🫶😩

That was what you really wanted to reply with, but instead went for something more nonchalant.

Your User: yeah, you want my address?

It was never good to share your address to anyone online, especially after only meeting in person twice.

But it was Drew Starkey. You would send anything to that man, no questions asked.

Drew Starkey: Yes please

You had spent the last 30 minutes frantically cleaning your apartment. Not that it was a complete mess, but you did want it to be cleaner than what it was.

A soft knock on your door was heard, heart pounding in your chest, hands shaking with nervousness.

Peeking through the peephole, seeing his familiar face was enough to make you almost back out.

Why did you have to be so fucking nervous? He was just a man.

Your fingers unlocked the door, opening it gently.

“Hey, Y/n.” Drew smiled warmly at you, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hi… come on in.” You grinned back, trying to hide the feeling in your chest.

Drew’s long legs guide him inside the apartment and he takes a second to look around.

It was cozy, and definitely you.

“I got these f’you.” He hums, holding out the flowers.

“Oh, these are my favorite flowers, Drew… you didn’t have to do that.” You awed, taking the bouquet as he practically handed it to you.

He knew they were your favorite flowers. He might have looked up y/n l/n’s favorite flower onto Google. Not that he would ever admit that, though.

“Really? Damn, lucky pick, I guess.” He chuckled, scratching the side of his neck a little sheepishly.

Putting the flowers in a vase, you realized that he was wearing sweats and a hoodie. It was 10:23pm on a Friday, and clearly you two were appreciating a night off.

It made you feel better about your outfit.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink? I have white or red wine, beer, vodka, soda, water…” You trailed off your options.

“What’re you drinking?” He hummed.

You nodded over to the coffee table, an open bottle of wine with a half filled glass on it.

“Wine.”

“I’ll just have some of that, then.” Drew murmurs.

You grabbed another wine glass and walked over to the couch, hearing his feet behind you.

Sitting down on the couch, you got all comfortable underneath the blanket again, then reached over to pour him a glass of wine.

“Cheers, to the success of ‘Perfume’, and to you.” Drew says softly, holding his glass out for you to clink.

Feeling your face grow a bit warm, you tapped your glass with his.

“Cheers to you being amazing.” You took a sip of the wine, your eyes locked onto his blue ones.

“You have a nice apartment, by the way. Forgot to say that.” He hums.

“Thank you, I wanted to make it as cozy as possible for those rare times I am at home.” You explain.

"Yeah, I get that. Life nowadays is just so hectic." He agrees, blue eyes trailing over your face, as if committing each feature to memory.

"Well, yeah. You're all big and famous now," you tease.

He chuckles sheepishly, his large hand running along the back of his head.

"You have any big plans coming up?" He asked you.

"Yeah, actually. I'm supposed to be preforming at the iHeartRadio Jingle Ball festival in a week," you nod.

"Really? Damn. That beats me, then." He joked.

"What do you have coming up?" You questioned.

"Variety is going to have Harris Dickinson and I do that Actors on Actors interview thing."

"Yeah? That sounds fun," you hummed.

The two of you spent an hour and a half talking about life, success, and just got to know each other.

You both finished the bottle of wine and were now onto your second bottle, the two of you tipsy as you giggled on the couch.

Your body felt warm and you weren't completely sure if it was from the alcohol or the fact that a beautiful man was sitting a foot away from you on your own couch.

Drew felt the same, and one specific joke you made had him laughing a little too hard. His eyes creased in the corner as he smiled, those pretty dimples on display.

But when his large hand went to rest on your knee, the wine in your system completely fought off your anxiety, making you more relaxed.

You found yourself leaning into his touch, your hand resting atop of his.

"Your laugh is so cute, Drew," you murmured.

"Yeah? You're cute," he responded.

You bit your lip, eyes locked onto his. "Is that the alcohol talking or you?"

He grinned, shaking his head.

"That's me talking."

Oh.

"You're sweet..." you trailed off, trying to ignore how butterflies filled your belly.

He just hummed, a comfortable, tension-filled silence falling between you two.

"So, you really had a crush on me for four years?" He teased, squeezing your knee a little.

"Oh, god. We're back at this now, huh?" You grumbled in embarrassment, although there was no real malice behind your tone.

He smirked, licking his lips. "We never left it."

"I certainly did."

"Yeah? You don't have a crush on me anymore?" He murmured, the playful tone in his voice making your stomach turn more.

"I didn't say that...." you trailed off, picking at the extra skin near your nails.

His eyes trail over your form again, taking in every inch of you he can see that's not hidden by the blanket on your lap.

"Hm? Sorry, I didn't hear you."

You rolled your eyes, face hot. "I'm sure you didn't."

He laughed, scooting a little closer to you so your legs were touching.

"'m just fucking with you," he said softly.

"I know..." you glanced over at him, eyes instinctively falling down to his pretty lips.

It had been too long since you felt them on you.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the boost of confidence Drew had gotten, but he slowly leaned in, his free hand going to run his index finger and thumb on your chin.

"Is this okay?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah... yes..." you breathed out shakily, heart racing.

He hummed, gently connecting your lips to his own.

Feeling that familiar, addictive spark when his skin touched yours. You immediately kissed back, your left hand going to cup his jaw.

Kissing. You were kissing Drew fucking Starkey. And it wasn't for work, wasn't for cameras. He kissed you first.

Within moments, he was laying you back on the light grey couch, the fluffy blanket being left abandoned on the floor.

His tongue was in your mouth, sculpted body hovering over yours. Your thighs were spread for him to nestle in between, left hand still cupping his strong jaw, right hand in that soft brown hair.

On instinct you pulled a little on the strands, making him grunt into your mouth. He disconnected your lips, trailing sloppy, needy kisses down your jaw and neck.

Chests pressed together, it was as if you two couldn't get any closer.

"Mhmm... Drew..." you whimpered softly when he nipped at the skin of your pulse point.

"Yeah? That feel nice, sweet girl?" He murmured, voice muffled from his attention on your neck.

You nodded, legs squeezing him in between your body.

"Can I take your shirt off, baby?" He asked, not wanting to do anything you weren't desiring.

"Please.." you breathed out, heart racing, stomach flipping.

His large hand slipped the oversized fabric off and over your head, a small whine leaving him when he saw your pretty tits.

"Fuck, Y/n... you been hiding these from me?" He mumbled teasingly, continuing his line of kisses and nibbles down your collarbone, in between the valley of your breasts.

"All you needed to do was ask," you panted. Your back instinctively arched up, your chest needing some attention from his warm mouth.

He groaned at your answer, moving slightly down your body until he was eye level with your hard nipples. He swirled his tongue around the bud, blue eyes locked on your face when he sucked your nipple into his mouth.

Your body jolted a little, making him hold your side with his left hand, his right hand massaging the other stiffened bud.

He switched sides after a few moments, relishing in the sounds of your pretty moans and pants.

But something else was throbbing and aching, desperately needing his attention.

"Drew," you whined.

"Hmm?" He hummed, still worshipping your boobs.

"Need you."

"Yeah?" He cooed, reluctantly disconnecting his mouth from your right nipple as he continued to kiss down your stomach.

You nod, breathing short and needy. He got to the waistband of your sweatpants, looking back up at you.

"You can take those off too." You gave permission, already knowing what the man was going to ask.

He wasted no time in slipping the fabric down your legs, readjusting so his face was in between your spread thighs.

"Look how you ruined these panties, pretty girl... you're so needy f'me, huh?" He murmured softly.

All you could do was whine when he pressed a tender kiss to your clothed clit, the fabric absolutely soaked. It had been way too long since you'd had sex.

His large hand slid the fabric down your thighs, leaving you completely bare for him.

"So beautiful, baby. So beautiful..." he muttered, talking more to himself than you.

Your legs twitched when he flicked his tongue against your clit, hands digging in his hair.

"Drew--"

"I know, baby. Let daddy eat this pretty pussy, yeah? Just sit back and relax."

A needy whimper left your mouth, but you didn't respond. Not that you could, as he licked a stripe from your pulsating hole to the top of your clit.

He hoisted your thighs over his broad shoulders, moaning a little at your taste. His movements became more eager, beginning to lap at your cunt like a starved man.

Right hand in his hair, left hand gripping the couch. Your eyes rolled back, hips bucking up towards his face.

He made a grunt directly into your clit, another jolt of pleasure going into your body.

"Daddy... fuck..."

His piercing blue eyes were feeding off of your facial expressions, his cock throbbing in his own sweats.

He slipped two fingers into your cunt, focusing his mouth on your clit. His left hand slid down his own pants, beginning to palm his cock through his boxers.

"Yeah? Is daddy making you feel good, sweet girl?" He coos, whining a little as his own hips buck on the couch, desperate for more friction.

His noise and hips bucking made your cunt clench around his fingers, as if trying to pull him in deeper.

The knot in your stomach was already forming, almost embarrassing how quickly he turned you into a mess.

Legs trembling over his shoulders, hips rocking against his face and chin. You couldn't even announce you were coming, mind fuzzy from the pleasure.

He hummed when he noticed you releasing, continuing to lap up all your juices as he came in his pants.

When your body calmed down, he pulled away from your pussy and kneeled in between your legs.

He peeled his own hoodie off, revealing that perfect, toned body of his again. Your eyes drank in the sight, licking your lips.

“You’re so hot, Drew…” you murmured.

His ears were ringing, need coursing through his veins as he slipped off his sweats and boxers.

You had to physically hold back a gasp when you saw his cock for the first time.

People had always written it differently in all those guilty pleasure Rafe Cameron fanfics you would read when you couldn’t sleep.

But seeing it in person was just a whole new experience.

It was long and thick, which was to be expected. The man radiated big dick energy.

Pretty mushroom tip that was still leaking, his pubic hair slightly fuzzy as if he hadn’t shaved it in a week.

“Holy shit…”

“Mhm? Better than you imagined?” He asked teasingly, a smirk on his face as he grabbed a condom from his wallet.

You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes, a small snicker leaving you.

He rolled the condom onto his shaft, moving to hover over you again.

“Are you sure you want this, Y/n?” He asked softly, eyes gazing intently into yours.

“Yes… please fuck me, daddy.”

He let out a small groan, nestling himself in between your thighs. He used a long, strong arm to grab a couch pillow and tuck it under your hips.

You watched as he teasingly slid his head up and down your slit, tapping it against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Don’t tease me, please,” you beg.

Your pretty begging weakened his resolve as he slowly slid into you.

Whimpers and noises of pleasure left the both of you at the feeling, a course of energy being shared within your two bodies.

He kept pushing until he was all the way inside, giving you a moment to adjust as he captured your lips in his.

Your hands roamed over his biceps and back, loving the way the muscles flex against your palms. His skin was burning, adding to the electric feel.

When he felt you stop tensing around him, he began to slowly pull back, before pushing in, creating a delicious rhythm.

“Fuck… you feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” He moaned.

Your legs tightened around his hips, a noise leaving you as he rubbed right against that spongy spot.

“So deep, Drew… can feel you so deep,” you whined in between breaths.

“Yeah? You take this dick so good, pretty girl.”

His movements were getting a little rougher with every minute passing, both of you needing this.

Your crush on him for four years, the sexual tension you shared in the music video, the chemistry when you first met him on The Tonight Show.

It was all so surreal and felt like you were living straight out of a fanfic or dream.

His head dropped down to your chest, clearly having a thing for your hardened nipples as he nibbled gently.

Maybe one day Drew would fuck you without the condom and be able to feel your warm, velvety walls squeezing him without the protection.

He could dream.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You swore, the pillow under your hips allowing for his tip to kiss your cervix with every thrust.

“Mhm, yeah. Good girl.” He praised breathlessly, feeling a little lightheaded from everything.

The couch creaked a little beneath you two, your nails digging into his back.

He was already close, eyes fluttered shut as he lifted his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

His calloused thumb went to rub your clit, making your legs twitch around his sculpted hips.

Your cunt squeezed around his cock, your belly on fire with your building orgasm.

“You gonna cum f’me, sweet girl?” He choked out, hips snapping against yours.

“Y-yes!” You squeak, mind hazy, body trembling.

“Yeah… that’s it… let me feel you…”

His breathy words, deep penetration, and touch on your clit sent you over the edge again.

You moaned loudly, clinging onto his body as he talked you through your orgasm.

He was also talking himself through it, feeling his cock twitch as he spilled his seed into the condom.

His body was still against yours, both of you catching your breaths from the intensity.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead again, his chest rising and falling.

“You okay?” He asked you softly.

“Mhm… ‘m good…”

You kissed his lips again, more gently this time. His nose brushed against yours when he pulled away, lips connecting to your cheek.

He reluctantly slid out of you, kneeling between your legs again as his blue eyes gazed down at your cunt.

“Did you bring any more condoms?” You ask after a few moments.

He looks at your face, then reaches over to grab his wallet. He pulls out two more condom wrappers.

You grinned, licking your lips.

“So are we going two more rounds or what?”

tags!!

@slut4you @sweetlike-sugarplum @snowtargaryen @fastlovela @christinechickiee @ahgrace6 @evermorx89 @loren8818181 @eddiemuns0nl0ver @sophiesmovingcastle5 @chimchimjiminie16 @amel1ee @reader1402 @tqd4455 @rxeae @caraxes-syrax @shrimpybbq @drewstarkeysbabe @rafeswhoooreee @meropeeonmee @rafeluvrr @marvelahsobx @raeven-marie43 @fallout-girl219 @brendazzlingg @10ava01 @secretsideofbree @drewstarrrkey @p0gue420 @gibson-g1rl @kiiyomei @spiderstyles04 @sexualparkour @vinaluvsu @domainexpandme @mariadu2 @toterry @taliawz @always-reading @angvl3tears @iloveoldermenn @aesthetic-lyss @lover-girl-estxx @cadhlabear @kaiparkerwifes @herbookgarden @luvleyshif4 @caraxes-syrax @mymultiveres @reader1402 @dinnodallas @darkreymbow @vinaluvsu @sarahskywalker-amidala @christinechickiee @hoelesslyt @tincanhat @scenesofobx @james-bucky-barnackle @angvl3tears @belledawnidk @millietozier @vrsluts @chimmysoftpaws @brathwaite444 @urmanicpixieangelgirl

[elysianightsss]

AAAHHHHH! HI! So sorry to bother you, but I read the neurodivergent reader x 141 and AHHHHH I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING, DROOLING, CHEWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE they wont let me out

i have a little idea… how would poly 141 react when they find out your job isnt this cute barista or something along those lines, but just a regular stocking associate or a cashier for some huge corporation. like, they know you work. and every time you leave, they see you die a little on the inside from having to go to *insert shitty job*. They just didnt know that you were working there and now they are trying whatever they can to convince you to quote your job and stay home… i know i would rather stay home and take care of them than going to my job…

Oh anon I love your brain! As someone who used to be a cashier before I got my fucking wonderful, literally no joke amazing office job, I fuck with this. I’m writing them as roommates tho don’t know why just deal with it😘

It starts off with a debate over what time you get up in the mornings given how tired you seemed today. But then they realise, they don’t even know what you do for work. Johnny predicts that you’re one of those cute baristas in sweet little aprons with how good the flavoured coffees you make him in the morning when he’s back from his run, are.

Kyle can’t seem to fathom you’re not the office sweetheart he seems to picture you as. Though you’d been living with them for almost over a year now, the guys were gone before you left for work and back long after you arrived home. Still he had it in his head the whole time that you were putting on tight pencil skirts and heels in the morning before going off to work. Something he argues tooth and nail with Johnny about.

John scoffs hearing the guys argue, usually keeping out of it, but this time he can’t help himself when he interjects with, “Yer both chattin shit. She’s obviously a baker with those mouth watering pastries she makes us.” Now that opens up the argument further.

Simon is the only one who doesn’t speculate, instead he walks right up to you on a Sunday night as the guys are all readying themselves for bed and you’re making your lunch for tomorrow. “Luv.” He calls, you glance at him, eyes honing in on the way his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. Dangerous, dangerous man.

Looking back to the fruit you were slicing, you hum in acknowledgment, “Wot’s ya job?”

You bite back the grin that fights to split your face in two, turning to him you see he visibly softens at your little smile, “I’m a cashier.” You answer, ears tinging red a little. In all honesty you were embarrassed that you worked for one of those big corporations. The dreams you had once but were never able to reach are like a damp on your heart. Like a festering mould that only grows in the worst conditions.

Sometimes you enjoy the people, there are some nice ones that overcome the bad interactions. But everyday you pull on the trousers and trainers, and that itchy uniform top, you wish that a snowstorm would lock you inside the house. You pray to receive a call telling you not to come in due to a fire that started in the bakery. Your heart aches to be told you’re allowed to go home early even if you won’t be paid as much at the end of the month.

Simon hadn’t said much after you told him, his eyes darkened a little when he asked if you enjoyed it and you had answered swiftly and without hesitation; no.

Then suddenly, the guys are leaving for work a little later in the morning. The same time as you. John offering you a lift to work, Johnny making you coffee instead of the other way around, Kyle giving you one of his soft jackets so at least your arms will be comfortable even if your torso is covered in that itchy material.

Simon is the one who places his hand on your forehead and tuts beneath his black surgical mask. You scoff when Simon says he doesn’t think you should go in today, “I feel fine.” You counter with a frown, pushing his big paw away and shoving your feet into the uncomfortable trainers.

John stares down at them like they’ve offended him personally, “You own comfier shoes lass.” Johnny comments and Kyle nods in agreement.

“I have to wear them.” You say quietly wondering why they suddenly have such an interest in your work attire. Have to. Well, that just wasn’t acceptable. The guys didn’t think you should have to do anything.

The weekends were a little weird too. You would usually cook them meals and sweet pastries or cakes with how hard they worked, they deserved nothing less. But Johnny is ushering you away from the kitchen when you walk past the dining table and the marble counter island to make him a coffee.

John says no thank you in the most strained way you’ve ever heard it when you offer to make him a sweet treat. He deflates even further into the sofa when you look offended at his decline. Kyle pulls you close to him on the other side of the couch, putting an arm around you, he continues reading his book but it’s out loud this time.

You sigh snuggling close to him, head on his shoulder when Simon brings over one of the many plushies you’d left on the floor of the lounge, again, and one of the many soft blankets you’d unnecessarily bought for the house. Maybe you could get used to this, you thought as your eyes started to blink slower. It had been a really long week, with lots of assholes. A week of sitting in that uncomfortable chair had done a number on your back too.

You’re just lucky that you’d said from the very beginning that you won’t work weekends, at least you could have those to yourself. The guys became even more attentive, not that they weren’t before, but it increased tenfold. And you wondered why.

Why Kyle is packing you a lunch box everyday now. Why Johnny is cuddling up to you at night just so you sleep warmer, better. Why John is willing to race away from very important paperwork to sit outside the big supermarket you worked at just so you didn’t have to take the bus home. Why Simon keeps buying you lush smelling soaps, bath salts and those sparkly bathbombs he knows you love, you have so many now you don’t know what to do with them. Even when you ask him to stop, he shakes his head and grunts out, “Baths are good for sore muscles.” And that’s all you get.

You just want to know why, what brought all of this on. And most of all why it all suddenly stops.

Almost like a calculated mission, like a big discussion had happened before hand. All of it stopped. They had left long before you got up for work, no lunch ready to go, no soft jacket waiting by the door, no cuddle reading sessions on the weekend, no more new bath stuff, no more lifts and an expectant look in John’s eyes when it gets to dinner time.

They’d done a total three sixty. Like they wanted to show you how good it could be with their help, how much easier life could be, going to work could be, only just to take it all away.

That’s exactly what their plan had been, Simon’s idea mostly with little suggestions made by the rest of them. They all executed it thoroughly, now all that’s left for them is to compete the final step.

“Doll I think you should quit your job.” John goes first, you frown excessively. What the hell is he talking about, you think.

“Have you gone mad?” You huff. John knows you’re annoyed with them, hell they all know you’re angry by their actions. But it’s a necessary evil.

“Not yet I don’t think,” John jokes and feels a little lighter when the corner of your lip quirks up slightly, “I am serious.” He says simply, his blue eyes burning into you before he walks away. You think it so odd, strange that he says that out of the blue.

And then Kyle says it too. Coming into your room with the same baby Yoda squishmallow Simon had placed in your lap two weeks ago, and the same blanket. He gestures towards your bed, it’s subtle but you nod. Failing to hide his grin, Kyle gets snuggled up under the blanket with you, your arms wrapped around the plushie.

He’s halfway through the book, hand brushing through your hair scratching at your scalp deliciously when he broaches the subject, “Bun?” You scrunch up your nose, blinking your eyes open to look at him accusingly. The sight makes him chuckle softly, you’re screaming with your eyes, how dare you make me open my eyes and be fully conscious.

He leans forward before he can stop himself and rubs his nose against yours sweetly, something he tells himself later was just to butter you up before talking. It wasn’t.

“I don’t think you should go to work anymore.” He says simply, with ease, his voice calm.

“What?” You blink rapidly waking yourself up fully to actually take in what he just said.

“Just something to think about bunny.” He shrugs and goes back to reading with that damn lulling voice. You don’t stop him, don’t interrupt but your mind is swirling the same way it had the day before when John had said something similar.

Johnny is not so tactful, shovelling his breakfast in his mouth. Half masticated bacon and scrambled eggs rolling around in his wide open trap, when he spits out the words. “Quit yer job lass, no one wants to be stackin shelves and scannin someone else’s shit all day.” He scoffs washing his food down with the caramel flavoured coffee you made him five minutes ago. He’s quick to put the plate in the sink and place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. His head bend slightly, eyes level with you, “Think about it pet.” He pats your cheek lightly and earns a much more harsh smack to the back of his head by Kyle on the way out of the house.

And finally Simon…well Simon…um Simon just did what he thought was best, what he thought was necessary, what he thought would get you to comply the quickest…

You pant harshly, fingers gripping onto the light bronde hair painfully hard, yanking with each stripe Simon licked up your cunt. You barely noticed John walking passed your open bedroom door with a smirk, Simon had his face buried so deep in your pussy it was hard to think, hard to conjure up your own name let alone open your eyes and catch Kyle and Johnny pushing your door open a little wider and watching for a moment before Kyle drags Johnny away.

Simon’s broken too many times to fix, crooked nose brushed against your clit wonderfully, tongue fucking into your quivering hole making you buck your hips desperate for the release he’d been denying you for around twenty minutes now.

“Say it.” Simon cooed, encouraging you gently. Shaking your head, teeth biting down on your lip, holding on as tightly to your words as you held onto Simon.

Simon grips your jaw in his big paw, a sharp look comes across his features as though he’s about to scold you when you meet his gaze, thumb rubbing your clit in tight, rough circles to keep the stimulation enough, to keep you there on the edge so he has you right where he wants you.

“Say it and you can cum.” He promises, your eyes widen, stinging harshly with their own promise of tears should you keep this up.

“b-but-“

“No buts. We’ll take of everything sweetheart, oll ya afta to do is write the resignation letter, then stay here as our pretty little housewife.” He kissed your clit before moving his thumb back in its place, circling slower this time. You gasp, a broken sob wrenching itself from your chest as your orgasm starts to slip away with the lack of stimulation.

“Please! Please Si! I-“

“Oll ya afta do is say it. Quit, find yourself a cute hobby, cook and clean for us a little. Oll ya afta do is say yes and I’ll let ya cum luv.” He grins evilly when you whine, blowing on your cunt before licking a hard long stripe from your puckered asshole to your swollen, throbbing clit.

“yes! please yes I’ll quit just pl-“

Simon doesn’t let you finish your plea, devouring your pussy like a man starved. He licks, sucks, and flicks your clit, slipping his thick fingers inside your clenching, empty hole thrusting them in and out doing his best to match the pace he set with his tongue on your clit.

You cum hard, untamed. Back arching uncomfortably, limbs shaking rigorously and Simon slurps up everything you give him. You lay there trying to catch your breath when Simon crawls up your body to hover over you. His eyes meet yours when he grins, “Good girl. Now why don’t we get started on that resignation letter hmm.” It wasn’t a question.

Safe to say you happily quit your job.

[seraphdreams]

TOJI FUSHIGURO. zen’in clan!toji, smut, kinda soft :( i dunno , toji’s just soooo needy here (crazy).

when you first met toji zen’in, he was that of a stray cat — scarred and damaged, broken beyond repair with a tough exterior that not even he could get through. his actions were a result of his past and the segue into his future, mean and grumpy toji zen’in.

he didn’t like to be touched, hated when you’d call his name in that saccharine sweet voice of yours, and in all honesty, he thought of your kindness as a sort of cruel joke sent out by the clan to mock him for his fleeing. he didn’t trust you not one bit and still, there he was. by your side. asking if he could stay over just one more night.

“hm? you wanna stay?” you mumbled in your sleepless tone. there, the two of you rested in your bed, your arm wrapped around his thick forearm because that was the only sense of touch he allowed between you both. it was evident that toji was restless, as though there had been a plague breaking out within his mind that was eating him from the inside. he was anxious, albeit — miserable.

“just one more night ‘nd i’ll be outta your way.” his response is short, though it lingers on his tongue and wafts through the air. as though he’s holding onto something. a soft giggle is sounded from your throat from just how adorable this 6’5 man could be. “you can stay as long as you like, baby. you know that.”

baby..

he feels like a lovesick fool when you call him that. so drunk on the bliss that coils within him from your evergrowing kindness — extended for him, and only him.

his body pulls in closer to you now, barely hovering above your own with just enough of his body weight flush against your heat. he took you in with soft, hungry kisses from your lips to your neck where he’d eventually kiss down your sternum and just above your pelvis. it was worship. toji was worshipping the angel that aided him during his lowest moments and brought him stability that he’d never imagined he’d ever receive again.

with that, he spread your thighs. his nose was mere centimeters from your lace-clad cunt ; and it took everything inside of him to halt himself from pushing them to the side. “can i?” his narrow grey eyes were glossed over with a hue of lust, need. and who were you to deny him?

out of respect, he held his tongue out, circling the muscle against your clit through the paper-thin fabric of your panties. he kept at the ministration until there was a visible damp patch at the seat.

his mouth worked greedily to swallow you up, the hands that rested on your thighs now gripping tight enough to leave a bruise. and he swore he was in heaven. even with the taste of you subdued from the lace garment, he knew that you were all he wanted. all he needed.

in that moment, toji zen’in fell in love.

[crescentofthegods]

DISSIPATION!

pairing: draco malfoy x muggleborn!slytherin!fem!reader

request: devastion overwhelmed you completely once you witnessed how draco, your boyfriend, was unable to defend you after his friend called you a mudblood.

word count: 2,472

warnings: ANGST, swearing as usual hehe, goyle being a cow, draco being a DICK and also calling reader a mudblood but its for your own good woah, a bit of fluff before the angst but there is NOT a happy ending, all this goes down on reader's birthday, unfortunately not proofread again (it's 1am in the uk im SORRY)

author’s note: i looooved writing this request, goodness gracious me. HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANON, i put my own little twist in it if you dont mind, draco DOES call reader a mudblood towards in their argument dw<3 also theres a little easter egg from one of my other fics, youre a real one if you notice hehshhs

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IN THE SPAN OF SIX MONTHS, your private friendship with Draco had blossomed into something more beautiful—a real relationship where you got to call him your boyfriend. However, there was a downside to the two of you dating… Draco made you promise that you wouldn’t tell anyone; you knew deep down that this should’ve been a red flag, that if he really loved you, he wouldn’t be afraid to tell anyone about you, about your love.

            Too bad that your naivety got the better of you.

            Sitting on the cold, stone floor of the Astronomy Tower, you tried to stifle your sobs of despair, but it was no use. Tears of your turmoil trickled down your cheeks like the waterfalls you always adored gazing at whenever you went hiking with your parents—today wasn’t the special day you had planned it to be.

            After all, it was your birthday. Your seventeenth to be precise.

            You weren’t expecting a lot, in all honesty. Just a day of happiness, spent with your closest friend… and even your boyfriend, Draco. Most of all, he had promised you—

            “I can’t believe I turn seventeen in a few days,” you whispered, more to yourself if anything as you burrowed into your beloved boyfriend’s chest, hiding away from the rest of the world… The tips of his fingernails slowly traced a line up your spine, creating a rather ticklish sensation, your quiet giggles sounding like the vocal music of the angels in Draco’s mind. He brought you closer (you didn’t think that had even been possible, not with how close you both already were) his arms wrapping tighter around your waist, his chin making a home in your many locks of hair.

            He had snuck you into his dorm. Since you were both in the same House, it was easier said than done—Theo and Blaise decided to attend class for once, so Draco took his chances.

            “Mhm,” a small smile touched his lips as he hummed, his grey eyes peering at you—he had always cherished how you fit so perfectly against him. Like he was made for you, and you him. “I bought you something, actually.” Though, as soon as those words left his lips, he immediately regretted saying them in the first place, seeing how you sat up within an instant, your wide, bright eyes meeting his.

            “What?—Why? You know I hate it when you buy me things,” you frowned, though it looked more of a pout in Draco’s eyes, his small smile widening into an amused grin.

            “And why is that? Am I not a good enough gift giver for you?” his teasing voice prompted you to roll your eyes, the heel of your hand colliding with his chest, almost like you were shoving him playfully.

            “No, you always buy really… expensive things—don’t your parents wonder where the money’s going?” you asked, your tone sounding a little more serious now. He hated how concerned you grew whenever it came to the people in his life—but, it was basically his fault. Sometimes, he thought about how it would’ve been better if he’d decided not to pursue this relationship with you.

            But, for once, he wanted to be more selfish than usual. Everyone that feared Draco seemed to conclude that he always got what he wanted, but that was not the case.

            He got lucky with you.

            “Don’t worry about my parents,” was all he said; his expression didn’t say much, but you could tell he didn’t want to continue this particular conversation. Initially, your heart dropped, worried that you had overstepped a boundary—though, the way his fingers intertwined with yours, the way his thumb rubbed the gentlest of circles across your skin… it caused your anxious feelings to dissipate.

            They never really go away. They just… stick to the surroundings. Hence why your inner voice used the term ‘dissipate’. Your mind always knew better than your soul, always two steps ahead…

            “Can you at least tell me what the gift is?” your question was much more softer this time, smiling because of how warm he made you feel—how warm his hand felt against yours. You wanted to ask another question; something that probed at your mind recently was how he always wore long sleeved shirts around you now. It wasn’t a problem entirely, it merely sparked worry inside you. In spite of that, you supposed that attempting to ask would only push him away.

            Draco was confusing in that sense. Your love for him, however, overpowered that.

            “Of course not, my heart,” murmured Draco, his grey eyes twinkling with his usual charm. Using that nickname that always made your soul melt like fresh honey. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”

            “You’re the bloody worst,” you groaned, his deep chuckle flipping your organs inside out as you collapsed against him once again, snuggling into the cotton of his grey jumper.

            Tell me about it, was what he wanted to reply, but he stopped himself. It was a happy moment. A moment of peace for once in his fucked up life. He wouldn’t ruin it.

            Not with you, the only person who believed in him.

            —That was before you stumbled upon a conversation with Draco and his friends today. Being a Muggleborn sorted into the House of Slytherin was clearly a set up from bloody Merlin himself. Unsurprisingly, you had more friends outside of Slytherin; a lot of the Hufflepuffs, thankfully, were sympathetic to your situation. That afternoon of your birthday, you had walked out of the girls’ dorms, relieved that you had found your Transfiguration homework, heading straight towards the Common Room…

            And, that was when you heard it.

            Gregory Goyle saying your name.

            “What are you so hot and bothered about?” Crabbe nudged Goyle, seeing how visibly peeved the latter appeared to be after exiting the boys’ rooms. Draco wasn’t particularly interested in the conversation after his little… rendezvous at the Room of Requirement. He simply sat in an armchair, playing with his silver bracelet.

            It had a butterfly charm, actually. Your middle name, translated from Latin, meant ‘butterfly’. For your birthday, which was today, he had bought you a dragon charm since ‘Draco’ meant ‘dragon’ in Latin. However, you wore yours on a sterling chain around your neck, wanting it to be hidden—no one would believe that you could afford something like that.

            “Snape teared me a new one,” he grumbled, plopping himself down onto the velvety green sofas with a huff. Crabbe pulled a face.

            “You mean tore—”

            “—Shut up. Anyway, he saw how shitty my grades were and now he’s forcing me to get a tutor! Fucking unbelievable,” Goyle muttered under his breath, running a hand through his extremely thin curls, leaning his head back as Crabbe replied.

            “Nothin’ wrong with that. I’m being tutored too,” he shrugged, sitting beside him as he fiddled with his watch. Releasing an irritated ebb of air, Draco also leaned his head back, wondering how long he was going to endure this pointless discussion.

            “You’re not being tutored by that mudblood, [Y/L/N].”

            That was when you heard it. Standing under the doorway that led towards the Common Room. It was nothing new, being insulted with that term. Nevertheless, your eyes fell on Draco, seeing the way he picked his head up slightly at the mention of you.

            You waited. For a good few moments. Hoping. Praying that he would defend you.

            And, a few seconds later, he laughed, bearing his pearly whites and all.

            “Yeah, good luck with that. She’s a real fucking brown noser, that one.”

            By that point, your mind was blocking out every sound that followed Draco’s words—you made a run for it, not even bothering to look at your so-called boyfriend, dashing out of the Slytherin Dungeons before fleeing to the Astronomy Tower. You had tried to keep it in, your tears, your sorrow—it was all too much.

            To make matters worse, he had fucking followed you. As soon as he made sure that his lackeys couldn’t question him, he’d tried to catch up to you, but you were always the quicker one. If you weren’t so obsessed with academics, you’d make a real good Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch Team.

            There Draco Malfoy stood, watching your hysteric sobs consume you, your head in your hands—he knew that you’d be upset; in fact, he knew you’d been listening the entire time. He noticed you before you had even become the topic of conversation.

            He always noticed you.

            And now, you had noticed him. Your gaze lifting momentarily, only for it to widen at the sight of your boyfriend standing there with the blankest of expressions. Sniffling to yourself, you stood up from your seat on the ground, your expression one of clear torment.

            Anger. Anger consuming you because you didn’t know why you were putting yourself through this. Dating one of the richest Purebloods a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. When you were only a measly Muggleborn. A Mudblood.

            Even so, the same weight of dissipated dejection weighed over you. Why did he ask you out? Why did he become friends with you in the first place if this was how he saw you? If this was how it was going to be? Him pretending to care about your blood status in front of his good-for-nothing friend group.

            Maybe, after all this time, it wasn’t a pretense. Perhaps this was a prank he’d instigated just to humiliate you.

            Numerous possibilities. Numerous outcomes. They all filled your head like snakes in a vat of thick, torturous tar.

            Your voice broke the silence.

            “I don’t understand you,” your first statement filled the atmosphere like a hot vapour, suffocating not just you, but the other person in the room—Draco. Your tears had stopped, cheeks still wet with your misery as you stared at him, not just with passionate feelings of indignation, but more so disbelief. And he couldn’t handle it.

            I should’ve done this earlier.

            “Really?” His voice was quiet. Almost noiseless, like he was calculating the best way for this to go. “I don’t think you’ve ever understood me, my heart.”

            That nickname. The nickname reserved for you and you only. There was once a time where it would make your insides all warm and fuzzy, where it would make your soul melt like honey. Now… now, it felt like molten; searing, dripping lava scorching your insides, burning you—destroying you from within.

            Those anxious feelings, the ones that dissipated. They came back.

            “Seriously?” you scoffed, blinking away the fresh saltwater that threatened to spill from the very crevices of your heart. “Was all of this just some cruel joke to you? Our friendship? Our relationship?”

            Silence.

            Silence, silence, SILENCE—

            “Oh, don’t go all quiet on me now,” you muttered with a breathless chuckle, stepping forward, only to shove him where it would hurt the most—slamming your heel against his chest, where his heart would feel its impact. He certainly did with the way he turned his head to the side, unable to look at you. “You planned this to embarrass me, didn’t you? You never loved me, all these stupid gifts—” you reached inside your shirt, only to rip the sterling chain from your neck, throwing it at him— “It was all fake?! It was for YOUR enjoyment, wasn’t it, Draco?”

            No.

            “Of course it fucking was,” he finally snapped, glaring at you with those grey eyes—you swore that they had been brighter once, that they had sparkled in the sunlight during those ever so secretive moments in his dorm. Regardless, it was now darkness that devoured those orbs you always pined after. Depravity. Hatred.

            All over a blood status.

            “You’re a mudblood, [Y/N], you’ll always be a fucking mudblood—why can’t you get that through your insipid brain of yours?” he was seething now, catching you completely off guard as he grabbed your shoulders, staring into those wide, dimmed eyes that used to glow every time you saw him.

            “Theodore gave me the idea, you know?” Lies, lies, lies. “Told me to mess with you a little since no one else would dare touch such… such scum,” he laughed—he was fucking laughing. Watching as more tears rolled down your cheeks, like it was automatic. Two natural waterfalls crashing into the warm chambers of your coveted core. “I mean, come on, love—I thought you were smarter than this,” his taunts overwhelmed you like a vice, his grip on your biceps tightening, wanting to hurt you as much as he could—needing to, so you could walk away.

            “You’re just as delusional as the rest of them,” scoffed Draco, his lips, the same lips that locked with yours in the early hours of the morning, holding a barely perceptible smirk, clearly proud at how broken you looked. How utterly devastated you appeared before him. Glass-like tears decorating the apples of your cheeks like diamonds on a dress, eyelashes wet with absolute desolation—the contentment that had embraced you like a blanket earlier today had vanished in less than seconds.

            All because of Draco Lucius Malfoy.

            “Probably shouldn’t have led you on for so long, huh?” he murmured gently, like he was complimenting you. Like this wasn’t eating you up completely; terrorising you. His calloused fingers cupped one of your delicate cheeks, his thumb swiping across your skin to wipe those tears away, the ones you had fought so hard, but had escaped your crevice anyway. A whimper of sheer melancholy was all you could respond with, crying to yourself—your entire life was a lie.

            “Fuck you, Malfoy,” you whispered, shaking your head from his almost-soothing grasp, stepping away once again, feeling rotten to the core. Your eyes met his for a final moment, your bottom lip quivering, as well as your entire body—like you were cold, frostbitten. Betrayed. “We’re done. I hope I never see you again.”

            With that, you shoved past him, your hushed weeps trailing after you as you fled the tower, leaving your ex-boyfriend alone in the tower. Leaving him with his deprecating thoughts.

            She wasn’t worth it.

            Father wouldn’t have approved.

            MUDBLOOD.

            Swallowing the painful lump that grew by the second in the confines of his throat, Draco’s eyes landed on the sterling chain at his feet—the one that he had gifted you only this morning. Holding the dragon charm. Holding him. He bent down to pick it up, seizing it like it was the most delicate thing he had ever felt; and it only held that title because it was purely yours. His heart was yours and yours only.

            “Don’t worry, my heart,” he murmured to himself, the ambient glow of his Dark Mark resonating through the rich cotton of his shirt. His thumb brushing over the silver scales of the charm with an utmost gentle manner.  “You won’t.”

[keehomania]

bad religion — rcm (18+)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut, angst, minors dni, sexually explicit content below the cut, bartender!reader, unrequited love, slowburn, crashout!rafe, nobody understands him like i do, reader lowkey has bob the builder mentality, no religious themes despite the title, dirty talk, gun play, alcohol consumption, drug usage, if it brings me to my knees, it’s a bad religion; this unrequited love

it started off as a way to pay off your student loans—tuition, housing, supplies. the minute you enrolled, you had picked up the job. it was supposed to be temporary, just until you found a better solution, but time had a way of slipping through your fingers. years later, you were still standing behind the counter, wiping spills, pouring drinks, and serving customers whose names you rarely bothered to learn. the debt was gone, long since paid off, but you hadn’t managed to leave. you told yourself it was because the money was decent, but deep down, you knew the truth: you didn’t know where else to go.

the roadside had become something of a second home to you, though a noisy, sticky one. you liked the rhythm of it, the way the nights started off slow and built to a fever pitch, only to settle into a steady hum again by closing time. you liked the regulars, too—the older men who came in after long shifts at the docks or the factory. they nursed beers as if they were lifelines and tipped generously, their wallets loosening with each drink. they were kind, if a little lonely, and they made your job bearable.

the others weren’t as pleasant. there were men with slicked-back hair and gold watches, the kind who brought their wives to brunch in the mornings, but showed up at the roadside every night with someone new on their arm. whiskey neat for him, a bright, sugary cocktail for her—each woman seemingly younger, blonder, and more compliant than the last. they never tipped, and they always left a mess. you hated them the most.

and then there were the tourists. they breezed in like they owned the place, their faces sunburned and shining, and almost always said the same thing: “surprise me.” you never did. you’d pour them a vodka soda with light ice, knowing it would do the job. they didn’t care about flavor or nuance, just speed, and you weren’t about to waste good liquor on someone who wouldn’t appreciate it.

over time, the faces all blurred together. you’d seen so many people come and go that you’d stopped trying to remember them. the roadside was a revolving door, and you preferred it that way. no attachments, no complications.

“on the clock?” you looked up, having been lost in thought, polishing a variety of glasses and setting them away. he was sat in front of you, a look of near disinterest playing on his face. he almost seemed ticked off. the scent of his cologne clashed with the smell of gin. he fashioned a buzzcut, a polo shirt, and a pair of shorts. tan, blond—he’d have been disney’s dream if he was just a few years younger. if he wasn’t so easy to recognize, you would’ve mistaken him for a tourist. “unfortunately,” you responded with an honesty that almost made him smile. “what can i get you?”

for a second, he didn’t respond. you stood in front of him, with nothing but the counter separating you, but it did little to stop either of you from staring. his light blue eyes bored into yours without the faintest shade of shame. there seemed to be a grey hue to them that the photos of him never captured. rafe cameron, what were the chances of him showing up? he had gained a certain reputation thanks to his father, and his tendency to act out in public. maybe it was best if you said nothing. so, you broke the gaze.

“single malt scotch,” he answered, leaning forward against the counter. you nodded, doing your best to ignore the way his eyes followed your every movement, paired with the uncanny order that screamed toxic masculinity. you grabbed the bottle of scotch from the shelf, careful not to let your hands tremble as you poured the amber liquid into a clean glass. the sound of the pour filled the silence between you, and you were hyperaware of his gaze tracking every movement. it wasn’t just curiosity; it felt calculated, as though he were sizing you up, deciding if you were worth his attention.

the scotch settled in the glass, and you slid it across the counter toward him. “here you go,” you announced, your voice steady despite the prickle of unease his presence stirred. rafe pulled out a wallet from his pocket and laid a crisp bill on the counter, more than enough to cover the drink. his movements were deliberate, slow, as if he enjoyed the way it kept you waiting. “keep the change,” he muttered, picking up the glass and taking a measured sip.

you tucked the bill into the register, brushing off the way his tone lingered in the air. glancing around the bar, you noticed a lull in the activity. the older regulars were nursing their drinks, and the tourists had either left or were too absorbed in their own conversations to need you. your eyes drifted to the window, catching sight of a dirt bike parked just outside. its sleek red and black frame stood out against the muted colors of the streetlights.

“that your bike?” you asked, your curiosity slipping through before you could stop yourself. rafe’s lips quirked up slightly as he set his glass down. “yeah, ktm. you know bikes?”

“not really,” you admitted, leaning your hip against the counter. “but it’s a nice one. looks fast.”

“it is.” he took another sip, his eyes still on you. “you like fast things?”

there it was—the subtle shift in his tone, just enough to make the question feel loaded. you raised a brow, refusing to let him get under your skin. “depends on the thing,” you replied coolly. “fast isn’t always better.”

the smirk on his face deepened, and for a moment, he said nothing, just stared at you like he was trying to figure out what made you tick. “you’ve got a mouth on you,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with amusement. “i like that.”

you rolled your eyes, reaching for a rag to wipe down the counter. “and you’ve got a way of talking that screams trouble. i’ll pass.”

“trouble, huh?” he chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat. “you make that judgment on your own, or is that what you’ve heard about me?”

you hesitated. his reputation preceded him, of course. rafe cameron, the kook prince with too much money and too much anger. everyone had a story about him, most of them involving fights, drugs, or some poor girl left heartbroken in his wake. but something about the way he was looking at you now—calm, almost bored—didn’t match the chaos you’d heard about.

“a little of both,” you admitted, meeting his gaze again. “does it bother you?”

“not really,” he said with a shrug. “people are gonna think what they want. doesn’t make it true.”

“doesn’t make it false either,” you shot back, unable to help yourself.

that earned you another smirk, sharper this time. “you always this quick with your customers?”

“only the ones who think they’re special,” you said, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

his laugh was soft, but almost genuine, and it caught you off guard. “fair enough,” he said, finishing the last of his scotch. he pushed the glass toward you, the faintest hint of a challenge in his eyes. “one more?”

you nodded, grabbing the bottle again. this time, you didn’t feel the same pressure to avoid his gaze. if he wanted to play games, you could play too. as you poured, you said, “you must get this a lot.”

“what’s that?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“girls falling over themselves for you,” you said bluntly, setting the glass down in front of him. “the charm, the looks, the whole mysterious bad boy act—it’s a lot.”

“act?” he raised a brow, clearly amused. “you think this is an act?”

“isn’t it?” you countered, crossing your arms. “seems a little rehearsed.”

he leaned forward, the movement subtle but deliberate, and suddenly the air between you felt charged again. “if i wanted to charm you,” he said slowly, his voice dropping an octave, “you’d know.”

the heat of his words settled in your chest, but you refused to let it show. instead, you picked up his empty glass and started wiping it clean. “i’ll take your word for it,” you said evenly, refusing to meet his gaze.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. he watched you in silence, his expression unreadable, and you found yourself wondering what was going through his mind. finally, he stood, pulling a set of keys from his pocket.

“thanks for the drink,” he said, his tone cool and detached again. “maybe i’ll see you around.”

“maybe,” you replied, watching as he turned and walked toward the door. his figure disappeared into the night, leaving behind the faint scent of cologne and a lingering tension you couldn’t quite shake. when you glanced out the window again, the dirt bike was gone, its engine a distant hum in the night. you exhaled, realizing only then how tightly you’d been gripping the rag in your hand. he was trouble, no doubt about it. but for some reason, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to regret the encounter.

the walk home was quiet, unsettlingly so. you’d managed to convince one of your co-workers to cover the rest of your shift, citing the lack of customers as a valid reason, but now, as the empty streets stretched before you, you almost wished you’d stayed. the moonlight pooled on the cracked pavement, illuminating a path that felt both too open and too confining. you held your house keys tightly in one hand, the jagged edges digging into your palm like a makeshift weapon. just in case. you weren’t the type to take chances.

your steps were brisk but measured, careful not to echo too loudly. every shadow seemed alive, every sound amplified. a rustle in the bushes had your heart racing, your grip tightening on the keys. it was probably a cat, you told yourself, though your eyes darted back toward the noise every few seconds, just to be sure. the world felt too quiet, too exposed. you hated this part of the night—the vulnerability of it. it wasn’t paranoia, you told yourself, just caution. but still, your mind raced with every worst-case scenario.

when you finally reached your house, relief washed over you like a wave. the sight of the peeling paint and sagging porch might have been depressing to anyone else, but to you, it meant safety. unlocking the door felt like unlocking a barrier between you and the rest of the world. once inside, you locked it again, flipping the bolt twice just to hear the satisfying click. the air inside was stale, carrying the faint scent of cleaning products and something slightly metallic. it wasn’t much, but it was yours. or at least, it was until the lease ran out.

the place was as minimal as it could get. a mismatched thrift store couch dominated the small living room, its cushions worn and sagging in places. a single bookshelf stood in the corner, half-filled with old paperbacks and a few decorative knick-knacks you’d found at a yard sale. the kitchen, visible from the living room, was clean but bare, its counters free of anything that might be considered a luxury. your future depended on saving, on scrimping wherever you could, and every dollar you didn’t spend brought you one step closer to a life that didn’t feel like you were treading water.

you dropped your bag near the door and kicked off your shoes, the weight of the day settling over you like a blanket. collapsing onto the couch, you reached for the remote and flicked the television on. the screen blinked to life, casting a dim blue glow across the room. you scrolled aimlessly through the channels until the news caught your eye.

“...marking the anniversary of ward cameron’s death,” the reporter announced, her voice measured. the screen cut to a montage of images—ward’s face, the cameron estate. “ward cameron, a prominent figure in the outer banks, left behind a legacy of wealth, corruption, and betrayal. his death, which shocked the island community, continues to be a topic of both fascination and controversy.”

you scoffed, sinking deeper into the couch. “apple, tree,” you muttered under your breath, the words bitter and sharp. it was hard not to think about rafe, his cool demeanor and the air of entitlement that clung to him like a second skin. the spawn of the man had left the world behind with a son who seemed a fistfight away from being institutionalized. it was rich people bullshit, all of it, and it infuriated you. they lived in their gilded cages, creating drama out of thin air while people like you scraped by just to keep the lights on.

the reporter continued, delving into ward’s crimes and the ripple effect they’d had on the community, but you tuned her out. it all felt so distant, so removed from your own reality. people like the camerons didn’t have to worry about overdue bills or walking home alone at night. they sneezed, and the rest of the island lined up to wipe their noses.

you grabbed the thin blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulled it over yourself, letting the reporter’s voice fade into background noise. the couch wasn’t comfortable—not really—but it was familiar. it was where you ended most nights, too tired to drag yourself to the bedroom. the faint hum of the television lulled you into a fragile sense of calm, the weight of the day finally giving way to exhaustion.

as you closed your eyes, the image of rafe’s piercing blue stare flitted across your mind, unbidden and unwelcome. you shoved it away, chalking it up to nothing more than an odd encounter. he was a blip on the radar, a momentary distraction in a life too busy for indulgences like curiosity. with a heavy sigh, you let the hum of the television pull you under, the world slipping away as sleep claimed you.

the next day dawned slow and gray, the kind of morning that felt like a continuation of the night before. you went about your routine with mechanical precision, brushing your teeth in the tiny bathroom with its perpetually fogged mirror and peeling wallpaper. breakfast was quick—toast, black coffee, and a glance at the wilted plant by the window you kept forgetting to water. you were out the door before you had time to feel the weight of the day ahead.

the walk to the bar wasn’t long, but it was enough to remind you why you hated mornings. the streets were quiet, but not in the same way as they were at night. this quiet felt temporary, like the city was holding its breath before the chaos of the day began.

at the bar, you fell into the rhythm of the job almost immediately. wiping down counters, setting up glasses, restocking liquor shelves—it was second nature by now. the hours dragged, each one blending into the next as a slow trickle of customers came and went. a few regulars shuffled in for their early beers, their faces as familiar to you as the scratches on the bar top. you greeted them with polite smiles, but your mind was elsewhere.

you didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself, but you half-expected rafe to show up. every time the door swung open, your eyes darted toward it, only to find someone else stepping inside. the anticipation was irritating, like an itch you couldn’t scratch. you told yourself you didn’t care whether he came back or not, but the lie was too obvious to be convincing.

by nightfall, the bar began to pick up. the low hum of conversation grew louder, mingling with the clink of glasses and the faint strains of a classic rock playlist. you stepped outside for a smoke break, needing a moment away from the noise. the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of salt from the ocean. you leaned against the wall, the cigarette in your hand a small comfort against the monotony of the day.

the sound of a motor rumbled in the distance, growing louder until it filled the air. your eyes flicked toward the source, and there he was, pulling up on his dirt bike like he owned the place. the red and black machine gleamed under the dim streetlights, and for a moment, you just watched as he killed the engine and swung a leg over. he took off his helmet, revealing that same buzzcut and piercing blue eyes that had lingered in your mind longer than you cared to admit. he saw you almost immediately, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as he approached.

“you get lost again?” you called out, unable to resist. your tone was teasing, but the sight of him sent an unexpected jolt through you. “figure 8’s on the other side.”

he chuckled, low and amused, the sound like gravel in his throat. “must’ve taken a wrong turn.” his eyes dropped to the cigarette in your hand, and his smirk deepened. “those things’ll kill you, y’know?”

you scoffed, tapping the ash off the end and watching it scatter to the ground. “not fast enough, obviously.”

“let’s hope not,” he replied smoothly, his gaze steady on yours. “not until i get a glass of scotch.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the faint tug of a smile. “two nights in a row, it must be good.”

he tilted his head, the smirk on his face turning downright devious. “among other things.”

the way he said it sent a chill down your spine, one you couldn’t quite shake as you turned and headed back inside. you heard his footsteps behind you, steady and unhurried, as though he knew exactly where he belonged.

behind the bar, you reached for the bottle of single malt without needing to ask. he took the same seat as the night before, his movements deliberate and lazy, like he had all the time in the world. you poured the drink and set it in front of him, doing your best to ignore the way his eyes seemed to follow your every move.

“caught the news last night,” you said casually as he pulled out his wallet. “sorry for your loss.”

the change in his expression was instant, the smirk wiped clean in less than a second. his jaw tightened, and his light blue eyes grew cold. “don’t be,” he said flatly. “i’m not.”

you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes at the obvious deflection. “he’s your dad, is he not?” you asked, more curious than you should’ve been.

rafe’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “sure, why not?” his tone was stoic, detached, and it made you regret bringing it up. the silence that followed was heavy, thick with something unspoken that you couldn’t quite place.

he sipped his drink, his gaze fixed on the counter as though it held answers to questions you didn’t even know how to ask. to you, it was just another reminder of how different your worlds were. but to him, the weight of that silence carried memories he wouldn’t let surface, not here, not now, not ever.

the bar buzzed around you, but for a moment, the two of you might as well have been the only ones there. you busied yourself with wiping down the counter, giving him the space he clearly needed. whatever his relationship with his father had been, it wasn’t your place to pry. but as you glanced at him, you couldn’t help but wonder—what kind of man grew up in the shadow of someone like ward cameron?

you were midway through rinsing a glass when a new customer slid into the seat beside rafe. the man was tall, blond, and sun-kissed, his skin bearing the unmistakable sheen of someone who spent most of their days by the water. his outfit—a white wifebeater and faded shorts—screamed local. rafe stiffened beside him, his easy demeanor shifting as he leaned back in his seat, jaw tightening. the newcomer leaned forward onto the bar, turning his attention to you.

“excuse me?” his voice cut through the background noise, drawing your focus. you walked over, keeping your expression neutral.

“what can i get you?” you asked casually, pulling a towel off your shoulder and tossing it onto the counter.

the man grinned, clearly enjoying himself as he pretended to think. he was already swaying slightly, the telltale sign of someone who’d started drinking well before stepping through your door.

“well,” he began, dragging the word out like it was some profound thought, “i’d ask for a beer, but it depends.” he paused, his smile growing wider. “does the beer come with a phone number?”

you bit back the urge to roll your eyes, a skill you’d perfected over countless encounters like this. leaning forward, you fixed him with a stare so sharp it could cut glass. “a restraining order, actually,” you replied coolly, your voice devoid of humor.

the man laughed, clearly not deterred. if anything, your response seemed to fuel his bravado. “come on, sweetheart,” he said, tilting his head as though to charm you. “what kind of customer service is that?”

you turned away, doing your best to ignore him as you crouched to grab a beer from the fridge. the cool air brushed your skin, offering a brief reprieve from the heat of the room. you popped the cap off the bottle, your back still turned, oblivious to the way the man leaned back in his seat, his eyes glued to the way your jeans stopped below your waist. what you missed, someone else didn’t.

the first crash was deafening, shattering the rhythm of the bar in an instant. you whipped around, the beer in your hand sloshing slightly as your eyes widened at the scene before you.

the blond man was on the ground, sprawled awkwardly, his face contorted in shock and pain. towering over him was rafe, his knuckles already bloodied from the first blow. the air felt electric, charged with the sheer force of the rage radiating from him. “come on, sweetheart,” rafe sneered, his tone mocking as he delivered another punch. “what kind of manners are those?”

the man barely had time to respond before rafe grabbed him by the front of his tank top, hauling him up like a ragdoll. the look in his eyes was something primal, something feral. “i might just make you my bitch if I don’t kill you first,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

the man whimpered, his bravado completely gone, but rafe wasn’t finished. his fist connected again, the sound of impact reverberating through the room.

“rafe, stop!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the chaos. you scrambled out from behind the bar, pushing past the growing crowd of onlookers. it took more than just you to pull him away. one of the other bartenders jumped in, followed by a bouncer, both of them struggling to wrestle rafe back. his chest heaved, his hands still twitching with barely-contained energy as they held him.

you crouched beside the man on the floor, who was clutching his face and groaning. his nose was bleeding, and one eye was already swelling shut. your heart pounded as you turned back to rafe, fury and disbelief written all over your face. “are you trying to get me fired?” you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and adrenaline.

his gaze shifted to you, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. for a moment, he didn’t respond, his breathing heavy, his hands still shaking as they hung at his sides, blood dripping from his knuckles. “yeah,” he said finally, his voice dripping with venom. “because that’d be such a shame.”

his eyes flicked back to the man on the floor, his lip curling in disgust. you saw it then—the side of rafe cameron everyone warned you about. the man who was a ticking time bomb, always seconds away from detonating.

your manager’s glare burned into you, sharp and unrelenting, but the message clear as day. with a sigh heavy enough to rattle your ribs, you turned back to rafe, still seething where he stood, blood dripping onto the floor like a crimson metronome. “come on,” you muttered, jerking your head toward the back. “let’s fix you up before you make this night even worse.”

rafe followed without protest, his steps heavy and deliberate, the energy of the room shifting as you led him through the door behind the bar. the hallway was dim, illuminated only by the flicker of a fluorescent bulb, the walls lined with scuffed paint and the faint smell of bleach. you shoved open the door to a small office-slash-medical-room hybrid—a cluttered, utilitarian space with a desk shoved against the wall and a first-aid kit hanging by the door.

“sit down,” you snapped, pointing at the worn metal chair in the center of the room. he obliged, sinking into the chair with an infuriating calmness, his long legs sprawled out as if he owned the place. he didn’t say a word, but his gaze tracked you as you rummaged through drawers, the scrape of metal and plastic breaking the silence.

it wasn’t until you turned back with supplies in hand that you noticed it: the black grip of a gun tucked into the waistband of his shorts. “are you kidding me?” you hissed, your eyes narrowing. “you’ve gotta be shitting me. second night here, and you’re ready to get me fired.”

rafe didn’t respond immediately, his eyes drawn to the streaks of moonlight slicing through the cracked blinds. the faint silver light caught the sharp angles of his face, softening them just enough to be dangerous. “i have a permit,” he said finally, his voice low and disinterested, as if that explained everything.

you almost laughed. almost. “put that shit away,” you ordered, gesturing sharply.

he smirked but complied, pulling the weapon free and sliding it into his jacket instead. only rafe cameron could make following directions look like a favor. “unbelievable,” you muttered, stepping closer. “hold still.”

you crouched beside him, your fingers deft as you dabbed antiseptic onto a rag. the smell was sharp, stinging your nose as you pressed it to his knuckles. he didn’t flinch, his stoicism unnerving as you worked to clean away the blood and dirt. his hands were strong, calloused in a way that hinted at a life rougher than the one you’d imagined for someone like him.

“you wanna tell me what the hell that was about?” you asked, your tone cutting.

“he was staring at you,” he said simply, his voice devoid of emotion.

you glanced up, caught off guard by the frankness of his statement. “so what? i deal with creeps like that all the time. doesn’t mean you get to knock their teeth in.”

his lips twitched, the faintest shadow of a smirk. “guess i’m not good at letting things slide.”

“yeah, no kidding,” you shot back, shaking your head. his knuckles were raw and split, the blood pooling in thin lines that you carefully wiped away.

the silence between you stretched, thick and charged, until finally, you leaned back and surveyed your work. his hands were still trembling, though whether from adrenaline or something deeper, you couldn’t tell. “all done,” you said, straightening up. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m clocking out before someone else decides to bleed all over my bar.”

rafe stood, towering over you as he adjusted his jacket. “i’ll take you home.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “my legs work just fine,” you replied, your tone sharper than intended.

he didn’t budge, his gaze steady and unwavering. “i wasn’t asking.”

before you could protest further, he was leading you back to the front, where his bike waited. the night air was cool against your skin, the hum of cicadas filling the silence as he handed you a helmet.

“don’t tell me to hold on tight, because i won’t,” you warned as you climbed on behind him, the words almost daring.

he chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “we’ll see about that.”

the engine roared beneath you, and despite your earlier words, your arms instinctively wrapped around his waist as the bike lurched forward. the wind whipped past you, pulling at your hair as the world blurred into streaks of light and shadow.

by the time he pulled up to your house, your pulse was racing for reasons you refused to examine too closely. you slid off the bike, your legs unsteady as you removed the helmet and handed it back to him.

“thanks for the ride,” you muttered, stepping onto the porch. rafe followed, his gaze sweeping over the small, weathered house you called home. you braced yourself for some snide comment, but he said nothing, his expression unreadable.

“it’s not much,” you admitted, crossing your arms defensively.

“it’s enough,” he said simply, his tone carrying none of the judgment you’d expected.

you looked up at him, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow over his features, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones and the curve of his lips. there was something magnetic about him, something that made your heart stumble even as your mind screamed at you to stay away.

no matter how much your mind screamed at you, you knew you wouldn’t listen. when he kissed you, it wasn’t sweet or gentle. It was rough, insistent, a collision of mouths and unspoken tensions. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours, claiming and demanding in a way that left you breathless. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t kind. but it was everything you didn’t know you’d been craving.

“we’re so not doing this,” you exhaled with a shaky laugh, breaking the kiss as reality clawed its way back into your mind. your palms flattened against his chest, as though a barrier of mere inches could hold back the tide of whatever this was.

but rafe didn’t flinch. his hands, rough and warm, rested on your bare waist, his thumbs drawing lazy circles on your skin that sent sparks racing through your veins. his gaze, piercing and unrelenting, locked onto yours like a challenge, daring you to contradict him.

“yes, we are,” his eyes seemed to say, the intensity of his stare enough to make you forget the very air around you. “are you scared?” he whispered, the words slipping from his lips like silk. they weren’t a question, not really. they were a taunt, a gauntlet thrown at your feet.

he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending a shiver rolling down your spine. his nose brushed against the shell of your ear, his lips so close they grazed your neck, and you swore he could feel the way your pulse fluttered beneath your skin.

“i’m not scared of anything,” you shot back, your voice firmer than you felt. defiance burned in your chest, even as the sensation of his mouth barely ghosting over your jaw made your knees weak.

“maybe you should be,” he murmured, his voice low, his tone a promise more than a threat.

the words undid you. they stripped away your composure, your restraint, until nothing remained but the white-hot pull that had been simmering between you all night. your fingers moved before you could stop them, wrapping around the back of his neck, the tips grazing the bare skin there. the contact sent a shiver through him that you felt as much as saw.

and then you were kissing him again, your lips colliding with his in a frenzy of heat and need. there was no hesitation this time, no room for second thoughts or retreat. he tasted like scotch and rebellion, smelled like leather and something darker, something dangerous. you weren’t scared, but you should have been. everyone was scared of the devil.

his hand found the small of your back, his touch searing through the fabric of your shirt as he pushed you backward, through the open door to your house. your legs gave out slightly, the doorframe digging into your spine as you kissed him harder. rafe’s other hand roamed up your side, his fingertips tracing the line of your waist, up to your chest, cupping one of your tits through the fabric. your breath hitched, your eyes fluttering shut as he squeezed gently.

“you must do this a lot,” you half-joked as his lips find their way back to your neck, wet and sloppy as they travel down to your collarbone. he grunts against your skin, “could say the same about you,” he retorts. the room spun around you as he backed you further into the house, his hands never leaving your body, his mouth never leaving your neck. you felt the wall behind you, your body trapped between the hardness of the wall and the hardness of, well, him.

his hand slid around your thigh, diving under the fabric of your jeans, fingertips grazing the wetness of your panties. your hips bucked slightly at the touch, betraying your own eagerness. “haven’t been fucked in a while, have you?” he murmured, his voice a dark promise. “what’s the matter, baby? did i turn you on?” you wanted to defy him more than anything, but you were powerless to resist.

instead, you fought fire with fire, raising your knee enough to press it against the center of his shorts. no matter how tough your bones were, they did little to prepare you for just how hard and heavy he felt, throbbing under the thick material of his shorts. “you’ve got it worse than i do,” you do your best to retort, but it’s not easy, not with his fingers rubbing sweet circles against the damp spot of your panties, drawing out every whimper he can from you.

“ease my pain, why don't you?” he murmurs softly. you watched him through hooded eyes as he crouched down, his fingers tugging down your jeans until they're pooling around your ankles. you complied, raising your feet to rid yourself of the blockage. when you did, he took a moment to admire you—pressed against the wall of your own home, standing in nothing but a skimpy top, panties soaked, and a pair of heels he didn’t plan on letting you take off.

when you tried to, he was quick to stop you. “heels on,” his voice was coated in authority, and you’re quick to pull back. “everything else, off.”

“bossy, aren’t you?” you couldnt help but ask him, but it only encouraged him. you watched as he leveled the playing field, peeling his own shirt off, leaving him in nothing but his shorts. he seemed skinny, thanks to his height, but you had clearly been deceived. he was toned, everything about him was toned in just the right places.

your eyes trailed down to the metal tucked in his shorts, and you allowed yourself to pull the weapon out, holding it in front of him. “really?” you couldn’t help but ask. he offered a smile amd a shrug, unable to protest as you sat the gun on the table beside him. better safe than sorry.

you couldn’t help but trail a hand down his chest, your feather-light touch sending shivers down his spine as you traced every muscle and crevice from his collarbone to his hips. youd never admit it out loud, but he was incredible. “see something you like?” he teased, attaching his lips to your neck a final time as his fingers tugged at your shirt, eager to get it out of the way. you whimpered at the feeling, the way he’d bite down enough to make you wince, but run his tongue over the surface a second later. “don’t flatter yourself,” you managed to say.

but he had every intention of doing so. he allowed your shirt to fall to the floor as his lips travelled south, making their way down your collarbone and over your clothed tits. you tilted your head back, fingers instinctively pulling him in closer by the back of his neck, drawing him in further between your tits. he unclasped your bra with ease, giving you the impression he had definitely done this plenty of times, but you were too desperate to care. “should’ve just told me you wanted it rough,” he said, and you swore you could feel his smirk against your skin.

his hand slid down to cup your ass, his fingertips ghosting over the lace of your panties. with a sharp tug, he pulled them aside, revealing the sticky mess that had been hidden beneath. “dripping all over my fingers, huh?” he murmured, his voice low enough to send a tremor through you. his finger slid through the slickness, teasing your entrance before pressing inside. you moaned, your legs shaking, your hips thrusting back against him. “fuck, rafe, too much,” and you wished you were exaggerating. his fingers were thin, slender, hitting all the right spots like they had them mapped out.

his eyes searched yours as he began to pump his finger in and out of you, his strokes measured and deliberate. “not enough, never enough,” he countered, his tone almost mocking. you whined, desperate for more. he smirked, adding a second finger, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with just enough pressure to make your knees buckle. you leaned into the wall, using it for support as his digits worked their magic. you were dripping all over his fingers, wetting them from the tips to his knuckles.

when he pulled them out, it almost felt cruel, a long whine drawn out of you as the feeling of emptiness replaced fulfillment. “so fucking needy, jesus, shit,” he groaned, taking a second to admire how glossy his fingers were, how hard the sight of your arousal had him. “just a second, i promise.” you nodded, watching as he brought his shorts down, leaving him in his boxers, but only for a second. it was enough for you to catch the trailer, to see what awaited you.

when his boxers followed, you really wished for another minute to process the sight. his cock flopped against his abs, twitching. his tip was stained an angry red, beads of pre-cum trailing down the underside of his cock, following a prominent vein before collecting under his balls. “stroke my ego, just like that,” you heard him say, but you didn’t care. you needed him.

his hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking it slowly, teasingly. “you like watching, don’t you?” you nodded, your eyes glued to his hand as it glided up and down. “good,” he murmured, his eyes darkening. “i’ll put on a fucking show for you.”

he stepped closer, pressing the tip of his cock against your clit, hard and ready to split your folds open. you could feel the heat, the urgency, and the promise of what was to come. he leaned in, his breath hot on your face. “gonna take this dick like a fuckin’ champ.”

your cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and desire, his words hitting you in the core of your being. you didn’t know why, but you craved his dirty talk, his filthy mouth whispering bittersweet nothings that turned you into a trembling mess. “yes, please, fuck me,” you breathed, your voice a shaky whisper that seemed to echo through the room.

rafe smirked, his hand still working his cock. “that’s my girl,” he said, and the term of endearment had your stomach doing somersaults. his eyes never left yours, not even as he pushed his cock past your folds, eyes glued to the way your jaw dropped, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sensation of his bare tip splitting you open.

you were soaked, the sound of his skin slapping against yours obscene, filling the room as he picked up his pace. he leaned in, his teeth capturing yours in a brutal kiss that had you moaning into his mouth. your nails scratched at his back, leaving deep red grooves that you knew would scar. his hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he thrust into you, his strokes deep and unrelenting. “fuck, shit, pussy’s squeezing my cock,” he groaned through the kiss, breathless.

the room spun around you, the sensation of his bare length inside you, the feeling of his teeth on your lip, his tongue in your mouth—it was all too much. your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending a live wire ready to spark and explode. “yes, yes, fuck, yes,” you chanted, your voice a desperate mantra that matched the rhythm of his hips.

his hands slid to your throat, thumbs pressing against the pulse that beat frantically. you gasped, the sudden pressure a jolt of electricity that shot straight to your core. his grip tightened, not enough to cut off air, but enough to make you aware of your vulnerability. “you like it rough, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice a dark caress in your ear. you didnt even have to answer, the feeling of your cunt clenching around him told him everything he needed to know.

his hand slid down to grip your neck, his fingers tightening as he slammed into you, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the walls. “you want it harder?” he growled, his teeth grazing your earlobe. you nodded, your breath coming in ragged gasps. you weren’t sure how much harder it could get—with him pounding your pussy, you could feel the way he throbbed, pulsing deep inside of you, but you had to expect the unexpected from him. the unexpected came as he leaned back, hand wrapping around the barrel of his gun. your eyes widened, but you were in no position to resist—you didn’t even want to.

there was something dangerous in his eyes, something you had only seen once, just a few hours earlier at the bar, but it drew you in more than you wanted it to. his pace never faltered, his hips slamming against your flesh as one hand held your leg up high, the sight of your cunt swallowing him whole only adding fuel to the fire. his other hand held the gun, finger to the trigger, as he pressed it to your temple.

“tell me you’re scared,” he murmured, gripping your thigh in a way that told you to expect a bruise or two. the cold metal of the gun you knew had to have been loaded dug into your skin, his fingers locked around the trigger.

“scared,” you barely managed to whisper, tits shaking with every forceful thrust. “i’m scared, rafe,” but your words were like music to his ears, the clenching of your cunt a sign that you were just as horny as you were scared.

he threw his head back, pushing your leg up even farther, enough for it to sting deliciously as he rammed into you, the head of his cock bruising the entirety of your pussy. “you should be,” he hissed, sweat dripping down his chest. he lowered the gun, giving you a temporary feeling of relief, one that didnt last long. he brought it closer to you, tapping your bottom lip with the muzzle. “didn’t i tell you?”

your eyes widened at the sight of the weapon so close to you, his fingers never leaving the trigger, but you knew your best option was to oblige. your lips parted, and he was quick to push it into your mouth. he groaned at the sight, watching your swollen lips wrap around the barrel enough to send him over the edge. “doin’ everything i tell you to, fuck, you’re so good.”

you felt the metal of the gun slide along your tongue, his hips moving with the rhythm of your mouth. you didn’t dare bite down, not with how close he was to climax. his hand tightened around your throat, his other hand keeping the gun in your mouth as he fucked you harder, his strokes becoming erratic. “you’re gonna take it all, baby. all of me. every single drop,” he promised, and the thought of his hot, sticky cum filling your mouth had your pussy tightening around his cock.

you felt your orgasm approaching, the tension in your body coiling like a tight spring ready to snap. you moaned around the gun, the vibrations of the sound traveling up the barrel and into your mouth. rafe’s eyes glazed over, his movements becoming sloppy with lust. “yeah, just like that,” he whispered, his thumb pressing into your neck, cutting off just enough air to make your world spin.

the gun slipped from your mouth with a wet pop, and you gasped for air, your chest heaving as his grip around your neck loosened slightly. his eyes snapped to yours, searching, hungry, as he pulled out of you, his cock glistening with your wetness. before you could protest, he turned you around, pressing you into the wall. his hand found your throat again, squeezing as his cock nudged at your entrance from behind.

the fear and arousal had started mixing in a heady cocktail that had you on the edge of oblivion. with a smirk, he slammed into you, his bare skin slapping against yours in a way that was almost painful. your eyes rolled back as he fucked you mercilessly, his hand around your neck keeping you in place, his other hand pressing against your stomach to keep you steady.

his thumb brushed against your clit, the sensation making you moan, your knees buckling slightly. he chuckled darkly, the sound sending a thrill through your body. “such a sweet thing,” he said, his voice deep and guttural. “letting me fill this sweet pussy up.” you could only moan, unable to do anything but submit to his will. the pressure built inside of you, a crescendo that was only heightened by the way he choked you, the way his cock hit just the right spot deep inside of you.

his strokes grew more erratic, his breathing becoming ragged. “yes, yes, fuck, cum for me, cum all over this cock,” he demanded, his voice a mix of pleasure and command. and like a good little slut, you did. your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your body shaking and convulsing around his cock, your cunt pulsing with every beat of your heart.

his grip on your neck tightened, his thrusts becoming even more punishing as you came. your nails scraped against the wall, leaving marks that would surely be there when the sun came up. you could feel your eyes water, your vision swimming with the pressure he applied, but it only added to the intense pleasure that flooded your body. “fuck, yes, take it, take it all,” he groaned, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside of you. his cum filled you, hot and thick, and you felt the stickiness of it trickle down your legs. he leaned into you, his body pressing you into the wall, his breathing harsh and heavy in your ear. for a moment, you felt it all, right before youe vision betrayed you.

the morning greeted you with the kind of disorientation that made reality feel like a cruel trick. your head throbbed, and your body ached as if every muscle in you had given up the fight. blinking against the sunlight streaming in through the window, you became acutely aware of the rough texture of the couch beneath you. the blanket draped over you was haphazard, your clothes were gone, and a sickening weight settled in your stomach.

it didn’t take long for the memories to come flooding back: rafe’s hands on your skin, his lips on yours, the way he’d devoured you as if you were the only thing keeping him alive. and now? nothing. the couch was empty, and the only remnants of him were the bruises on your neck and the dull ache between your thighs.

you exhaled shakily, pressing your palms against your face. what had you expected? a note? breakfast? rafe cameron wasn’t the kind of man who stayed. he took what he wanted, and you’d been foolish enough to give it to him.

the guilt settled like a weight on your chest as you forced yourself to your feet, rummaging for clothes. the shame was suffocating, curling around you as you dressed in silence. by the time you stepped out of your house, the sun was high, and the day was already slipping away.

at work, the tension was evident. your manager’s icy glare followed you as you prepped for the event that night. “last night was your first strike,” he said coldly, and you knew there was no room for argument. you nodded silently, biting back the urge to snap. the day dragged on, and despite the busy prep work, rafe never appeared.

by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the event was in full swing. the bar was packed, music pumping through the speakers, and you were moving through the crowd like clockwork. but you couldn’t stop the gnawing feeling in your chest, the anticipation every time the door swung open. he still wasn’t there.

frustrated, you stepped outside for a smoke, seeking solace in the familiar burn of nicotine. the beach in the distance was scattered with people, laughter and music drifting on the wind. that’s when you saw him. rafe was leaning against the hood of his bike, his head tilted as a girl’s hands tangled in his hair. her lips moved feverishly against his, her body pressed against his in a way that made your stomach twist.

“it’s not that serious,” you muttered to yourself, exhaling a shaky breath. but it didn’t stop the sting, the ache that settled deep in your chest. you extinguished the cigarette against the wall and went back inside, needing something—anything—to dull the edges of your emotions.

the first drink went down easy. the second burned, but you welcomed it. you poured yourself a third before a light tap on your shoulder startled you. “excuse me,” a voice said, nervous and unsure.

you turned, offering a faint smile to the tall, sunkissed guy standing behind you. “are you on your break?” he asked hesitantly.

you shook your head, setting your glass down. “it’s okay. i could use the distraction. what’re you having?”

he slid onto the stool, rubbing the back of his neck. “a mai tai would be alright.”

nodding, you set to work, your movements automatic. you slid the drink across the counter, noting the way he fidgeted with his fingers. “busy night,” he said, trying to make conversation.

“yeah, i guess,” you replied.

he shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “came with a friend, but he’s with a girl right now.”

you sat beside him, crossing your arms. “sorry to hear that.”

“it’s fine,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “i’m topper, by the way.”

before you could respond, a familiar presence loomed beside you. you turned slowly, your stomach sinking when your eyes landed on him. “this the friend you were talking about?” you asked topper, though your gaze stayed fixed on rafe.

“yeah,” topper said, oblivious to the tension. “you two know each other?”

rafe opened his mouth, but you were quicker. “no,” you said firmly. “no idea.”

rafe’s expression was unreadable, but you didn’t care. you spent the rest of the night ignoring him, focusing on anything but the way his eyes bore into you. when your shift finally ended, you clocked out and stepped outside, only to find him waiting.

“what do you want?” you snapped, already exhausted.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone laced with faux concern.

“fuck off, rafe.”

he grabbed your arm, spinning you around to face him. “is this about sofia?” he asked, realization dawning on his face.

“so she has a name,” you said bitterly, yanking your arm free.

“get over yourself,” he called after you. “you should’ve known it was casual.” his words hit like a slap, but you didn’t look back. you couldn’t.

the next few days were a blur of muted colors and sharp-edged feelings that refused to dull. you didn’t go to work; the thought of stepping back into that bar, facing the memories etched into its walls, was unbearable. instead, you sought solace in the one place that had always calmed you—the beach.

the sand felt cold beneath your feet, even in the mid-morning sun. the rhythmic crashing of the waves usually soothed you, their endless cadence like a lullaby for your restless mind. but today, they felt distant, like a song you no longer knew the words to.

you sat by the shoreline, knees hugged to your chest as the salty breeze tangled in your hair. there was no anger, no fire—just an aching hollowness that stretched out inside you. mourning someone who was never really yours wasn’t a dramatic storm; it was a slow erosion, like the tide pulling pieces of you away until you were left unrecognizable.

you replayed every moment with him in your mind, dissecting every look, every word, searching for signs of something deeper, something real. but the truth was glaringly simple: rafe cameron wasn’t yours. he was never meant to be.

as the day slipped into evening, the sun sinking low on the horizon, you wandered aimlessly along the beach. the golden light painted the world in soft hues, but it couldn’t reach you. the weight of your thoughts dragged you back to the sand, and you sat again, staring at the endless expanse of water, feeling as though it mirrored the vast emptiness inside you.

you didn’t notice the presence beside you at first. the silence had become your companion, so when the soft crunch of sand gave way to stillness, you barely registered it. but then you turned your head, and there he was. he didn’t look at you. his gaze, like yours, was fixed on the water. the sharp angles of his face were softened in the twilight, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. he said nothing at first, and neither did you. words felt too heavy, too complicated for the fragile stillness between you.

“my dad had a choice to make before he died,” he said finally, his voice low and rough, as though dragged over gravel.

you didn’t turn to him, didn’t acknowledge his words beyond the faintest flicker of your lashes.

“he told me he had to choose between me and my sister,” he continued, his tone clipped, detached. “he told me it’d always be her.”

the confession hung in the air, heavy and raw, but you stayed quiet, your eyes locked on the waves that seemed to stretch forever. “the first night i came into the bar,” he said after a pause, “it was the anniversary of ward’s death.”

your throat tightened, but you remained silent, letting him unravel the threads of himself piece by piece.

“i bent over backward for him, y’know?” his voice cracked, but he recovered quickly, masking the vulnerability with bitterness. “did some things i wasn’t proud of for him, but none of it mattered.”

his laugh was low and bitter, barely more than an exhale. “so forgive me if i’m a little hesitant to let you in.”

there was a challenge in his words, a dare for you to contradict him. but you didn’t. you stared at the water, your voice soft when you finally spoke. “i’m not him, rafe.”

he nodded slowly, the movement barely perceptible out of the corner of your eye. “yeah,” he said, his tone heavy with resignation. “but most of them are.”

you could feel his eyes on you, searching for something—what, you weren’t sure.

“i told him once that I knew something was wrong with me,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost distant. “but he told me to keep it quiet. that’s how much he cared.”

the silence that followed was suffocating, filled with all the things neither of you could say. the ocean stretched endlessly before you, its waves crashing softly against the shore as if mocking the turmoil inside you.

“i’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

“for what?” he asked, his tone edged with disbelief.

“for what he did to you.” he didn’t respond, and you didn’t push him. The two of you sat there, side by side, two broken pieces that didn’t quite fit together but couldn’t seem to pull apart.

tears pricked at your eyes, hot and unwelcome, and you blinked furiously, determined not to let them fall. but it was no use. the weight of everything—the loss, the pain, the hopelessness—was too much. a single tear slid down your cheek, then another, until they were falling freely, carving silent trails down your face. you didn’t wipe them away, didn’t hide them. what was the point?

you felt him move before you saw him, his arms wrapping around you from behind. his chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and his grip was firm, possessive. for a moment, you let yourself lean into him, the warmth of his body a cruel comfort against the chill of the night.

but even as he held you, even as your tears soaked into his shirt, you knew the truth. you would worship something that has destruction in its blood, blind and desperate, chasing something you could never truly have. rafe cameron was the kind of man who would burn you to the ground and then light another match just to watch you smolder. and yet, there you were, willingly stepping into the flames.

you stared out at the ocean, its vastness swallowing you whole, and you knew you were lost, eyes dilated as you watched the clouds float. you would practice the worst religion of them all, praying for something you knew you’d never have.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

[redcherrykook]

✰ ooh, come over.

✰ 01 / 02 / 3 / series m.list

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

tags: bestfriendsboyfriend!jungkook, boxer!jungkook, cheater!jungkook (not on oc)

note from cherry: yeah he sucks and so does oc. Are we surprised? I hope not. Im sorry this is so rushed :(

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘Humming beneath the loud beat, inbetween the hustle of intoxicated college students, theres a melody, faint- unworthy of notice to those with ears focused on the song Playing

"You look sexy"

It whispers in your ear, for you, that melody humms on, meets your half lidded gaze with intensity of desire, eagerly brushing against the curve of your waist- merely touching- it burns down your throat as you swallow another shot of vodka

"Drinking heavy tonight?" He asks, boldly wrapping his tattooed arm around your back that's exposed from the satin cut out of your draped dress. A shiver runs down your spine, drifts back up to hammer in your chest in a warning, pouding- get out, get out

"Where's your girlfriend?"

Jungkook smirks, darts his tongue out to wet his lip ring- flicker down to your unsteady hands in a knowing gesture-

"I'm talking to her am i not?" you roll your eyes, shove him with all your playful might that only makes him inch closer- Chuckling, "Am i wrong?" Both of you know how wrong he is, you tune out that there's no word to describe whats between you when its just isolated solitude, disaster of to hot bodies falling into one another

The question remains unanswered, there's no point in wasting breaths on useless words when his lip are busied with your neck and his hands set you down on the bathroom counter, messily wandering under your thighs to squeeze the flesh through greedy fingertips. The lines of vision blurr further into nothingness and every kiss solidifies that your relationship is a mirror or terror and something more, erases the lines in a blindspot of whats thrillingly against the meaningless norm and morally vile to everyone around you.

In your hearts though, as non gulity as they beat against your chest, nothing has ever felt more right.

"I broke up with her" he mumbles into your exposed breasts, sucking the pebbled nub between his lips, groans at his tongue rubs over the sensitive skin, his fingers ride up your thigh in a pristine line.

The very bathroom runs on layers of filth. Decorated in dust of a long forgotten clean no college student has time for.

Corners filled with an old grey whisp, the reflection of your face as youre bend over the sink- the burgundy lipstick stains on the mirror, your eyes staring back into your heart, boldly wrapping its claws into the man that's nose deep into your cunt. Savouring every drop you spare him, making out with your aroused cunt like he yearns for its taste to stain his greedy tongue, the one that tells the sweetest of lies.

Filthy sounds of your shameless moans, laced with every ounce of self respect you muster up to justify what youve done- what continue to do.

Jungkook was conciously a liar as he was telling the truth.

"You taste fucking divine. never wanna stop - hmm- fucking you like this" he sings from the satin sincerity that lights up his lungs, gives him the air to breathe love into your body. Worship your skin with his own, burns your fingertips when reverting back to the lies, "i love you- ngh fuck- i love you baby"

Corners of your lips tilt up knowlingly- he's a terrible liar.

"I love you jungkook - oh fuckk-"

You've never been one of upmost honesty either. But regardless, in a twisted vine of humanity's fatal flaws, there was some truth in every lie. Some love in every lust and perhaps even every bit of hate. Pity for the less fortunate doesn't incline you to make them fortunate- seeing a homeless man you feel sorry for still makes you walk past him, avoiding his begging pupils, his shaky hands that ask for money while your hands can barely hold on to the overflow of wealth you carry.

Your best friend shed tears from a place where many more will come after she admitted to her suspicions. The late nights, the lack of sexual contact, his shirts that, oddly enough, smell just like lavender. The smell you know all to well. Easily slipped into the facade of a good friend, you console her- rub her back with the hand that holds the drops of satisfaction of her lover deep at night. Press a kiss to her temple when your lips were interchangeably attached to her boyfriends before they descended down his body that has grown intoxicated with your very own. Unfortunately, the way she lit up, leaned into your arms with a content sigh only further fed the breeding monster inside of you,

Guilt.

Guilt that you, for the first time, so firmly have something she doesn't

and it most importantly,

that it feels so good.

"I'm gonna come kook- please dont stop" You plead- meeting his eyes in the cloudy mirror, his own satisfaction on the verge of filling you up, he snakes his thumb around to fondle your clit, lips sucking into the side of your neck urgently, possessively, as if to spell his name with every bruise he left.

"that's it doll, come for me, feel so fucking good, youre all mine, mine, all mine"

Maybe he too wanted to possess something for once in his life.

Something, Someone, that no one else could have. Exclusively parading his name stitched into its system, embedded into its blood, sweat and tears- to be the best- the only.

Not to compete to be seen, a blessing, a curse to be cast upon the rest of the world.

You finish with his sloppy mouth clashing yours, saliva dripping down your chin- your thighs trembling beneath the weight of him on your back and his creamy cum oozing from your walls.

He finishes kissing you, licks up your neck, wipes down your soft, unstable thighs and mends your unstable breath with contrastingly gentle kisses that - once again, provide you the breathe that air cannot suffice.

"Let me feel your warmth a little. We can get back out later babydoll" he hums, nibbling the shell of your ear with that same- sleazy, lazy grin he loves to plaster.

You wonder briefly- about her. About the fact she hasnt texted you about their break up yet,

About how you'd normally be partying with her night now,

About her cheating boyfriend who loves venomously.

Because as night fades into the morning,

He repeats the same cycle on that monotone day, presisting their play of a happy couple, slips into the role of a boyfriend as his alarm rings 7 o'clock, reaches for his phone- clicks on her contact Information,

"Good morning baby"

he doesn't forget the claim he laid on you- after her, its your screen that lights up a few minutes past,

"Slept well doll? Miss you already"

Even good things have an end.

Especially when you ruin them intentionally.

[leighsartworks216]

Little White Dove

Sylus x gn!Reader

I've been doing a lot of perler bead stuff lately (I am Procrastinating) and I had the thought of gifting him something, but then had the second of doubt because of how childish it is. I should never doubt this man's love

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, anxiety, embarrassment, comfort, cuddling, kissing, domestic fluff

Word Count: 1,018

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Third Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

"Sy?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

You step into the room, hands behind your back. He quirks a knowing eyebrow as you cross over to his desk. You offer him a smile. It's a poor mask for your anxiety; rocking on your feet, biting your lip, struggling to hold eye contact with him. "I made you something~"

Sylus smiles, silently trying to assuage your fears as he leans back in his chair. "Do I have to guess what it is?" he teases lightly.

You laugh nervously. "No."

"Then, can I see it?"

You purse your lips and nod slowly. Still, you hesitate. It's only when his face drops into something more serious that you feel the window rapidly shutting on giving him your gift. So, quickly, you toss it onto the desk and make your way for the door.

You don't make it very far before tendrils of energy are lifting you off the ground and carrying you through the air. "Ah! Sylus, let me go!"

He tsks. You plop into his lap, his arm wrapping firmly around your waist to keep you there even as you squirm. "You're acting like you've rigged the place to explode. If that's the case, I should keep you here as collateral."

"Well, I didn't, so you can let me go now!" You shove at his arm. It doesn't so much as budge. All you manage to do is feel up his muscles, that he is certainly flexing just to get a rise out of you.

His other arm wraps across your chest, pulling you back into him solidly. He rests his chin on your shoulder. "Then stop squirming, kitten. You're only making yourself look more guilty."

You huff, but you stop. You glare at the floor, the wall - anywhere but him or his desk. Really, it's stupid. You made this damn thing for him, after all. It was your idea to gift it to him. And now you're trying to run away.

He kisses your cheek. You hear rather than see his Evol pick up the gift you left on his desk, as it comes to his hand at your shoulder. He loosens his hold on you to look at the item, his chin still resting on you as he flips it over in front of you.

It's small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. Though, it's dwarfed entirely in his own palm. Little melted beads come together to form a crow, with black and grey feathers. A red eye stares up at him.

He chuckles fondly. "It's Mephisto."

You nod slightly.

"Why were you so scared to give it to me?" His voice is a low rumble, soft and soothing. There's no teasing or judgement. You can feel his eyes on the side of your face.

You sigh. "It's just... I realized how stupid it is."

"What is?"

"To give you something like that. 'Cause it's supposed to be for kids. And you're, like, an awesome, badass mob boss."

You can feel the grin curling his lips as he kisses your skin again. "And you think those are grounds for me to not like it?"

When you don't speak, the answer is all too loud and clear. He holds the bead crow carefully in his hand as he wraps his arm back around you, hugging you closer, pulling you further into his lap so you have no choice but to sink into him.

"I will always love and cherish anything you give me. Whether it's a screaming toy flower or a rock you found." You want to hide in his neck, but he doesn't let you. His forehead finds yours, blocking your hideout and forcing you to meet his eyes. "If one day I don't wholeheartedly appreciate something you give me, don't hesitate to shoot me, because it must be an imposter."

You snort. "What if it is you?"

"Then I hope it's enough to bring me back to my senses. I'll have deserved it."

There's nothing but honesty and love in his eyes. Red irises shimmering with unbridled affection. You follow the line of his nose to his mouth, and the beautiful curve of his cupid's bow, before wriggling yourself loose. Just enough for his arms to be more lax around you, so you can open his hand and look at the little crow inside.

"You really like it?"

He chuckles. "Sweetie, weren't you listening?" He kisses your temple, lingering for a moment, as though he could transfer all his reassurances directly into your brain. "I love it. You should make it into a keychain for me. Then, I could always keep it on me."

You trace a finger idly along the melted beads. Some are more melted than others, a consequence of uneven heat distribution from the iron you plucked out of a closet and holding it on for a little too long. It's charming. You wonder if Mephisto would like it, or if he'd just try picking it apart like a toy.

Sylus's hand closes around the crow and your finger, drawing your attention back to him. "Can you show me how you made it?"

You blink dumbly at him. "Don't you have work to do?"

"It can wait. I'm much more interested in my dove's hobbies."

The embarrassment and anxiety from before feel like distant memories, fading away as you get up from his lap and grab his hand to drag him along to your makeshift setup in the dining room. He listens diligently as you explain the process to him and show him all the other little things you made. The little plastic tweezers look strange in his large hand as he picks the beads out of a container and aligns them on a pegboard. And seeing him carefully ironing the design is all too domestic. You can't help pulling him into a kiss once he's finished and his masterpiece is being pressed flat under some books.

A week later, while you race side by side on your motorcycles, a crow hangs from his keys in the ignition. And from yours, a little white dove.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry

[librababe99]

Echoes of Her

A/N: Nothing like a little angst to start everyones day! As always comments and feedback are appreciated--My asks are open as well! I hope everyone enjoys - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆ Summary: Caught in a painful love triangle with Logan and Jean Grey, the reader confronts Logan about their unspoken connection... Warnings: Angst, Hurt without comfort, love triangle  Word Count: 1146 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · ·

The silence in the mansion's corridors was thick, the kind that presses against your chest, making it hard to breathe. Every step you took echoed off the cold, marble floors as you made your way to the training room. It was late—too late for anyone else to be awake—but you knew he'd be there. He always was when the weight of the world became too much to bear.

You paused outside the door, your hand hovering just above the handle. A part of you didn't want to go in. You already knew what you'd find—Logan, shirtless and sweating, his muscles rippling as he pushed himself far beyond what was necessary. He didn't need to train, not really. You both knew that. It was his way of escaping the thoughts that clawed at him, the memories that refused to stay buried.

And you knew why he was there tonight.

Jean.

The name alone sent a sharp pang through your heart. You weren't naive. You saw the way Logan looked at her, the way his eyes softened, his gruff demeanor shifting whenever she was around. He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke louder than any confession ever could. He loved her—he loved her in a way that was primal, consuming. But Jean… Jean was with Scott.

You weren't sure where you fit into all of this. You and Logan had a connection, something raw and unspoken. But it was hard to define what that was when his heart was so clearly caught between two worlds—between you and the woman he could never truly have.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the small lamp in the corner. Logan was there, just as you knew he'd be. His back was to you, the muscles of his shoulders and arms flexing as he pounded his fists into the punching bag.

"Logan," you called softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't stop, didn't even acknowledge you. His focus was singular, every punch carrying the weight of his frustrations. You walked closer, each step feeling like a mile, until you were standing just a few feet behind him.

"Logan, please," you tried again, your voice trembling.

This time, he paused, his hands dropping to his sides. Slowly, he turned to face you, and your heart clenched at the sight of his face—those deep-set eyes, filled with pain and something else you couldn't quite place.

"Why are you here, kid?" he asked, his voice rough and tired.

You winced at the nickname, one he'd given you long ago when you'd first joined the X-Men. Back then, it had been endearing, a sign of the bond you were building. But now… now it felt like a reminder of the distance between you.

"I could ask you the same thing," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Logan huffed, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Needed to clear my head."

You nodded, though you both knew it was more than that. "I thought maybe… maybe you needed someone to talk to."

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, you saw the walls he'd built up around himself start to crumble. But just as quickly, they were back in place, his expression hardening.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said gruffly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Logan… you don't have to pretend with me. I know you're hurting."

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he looked away. "And what do you want me to say, huh? That you're right? That I can't get her outta my head? That every time I see her with him, it feels like a goddamn knife in my chest?"

Your breath caught in your throat, the raw honesty in his words cutting through you like a blade. But it wasn't just his pain that hurt—it was the realization that you were a part of it. That maybe, just maybe, you were only a distraction, something to keep him from drowning in his feelings for Jean.

"I don't want to be your second choice," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Logan's eyes snapped back to you, surprise flickering in their depths. "You're not—"

"Aren't I?" you interrupted, your voice trembling. "Because that's what it feels like. Every time you're with me, it's like you're trying to forget about her. But I can't—Logan, I can't be that person for you. I can't keep pretending that this doesn't hurt."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm, but you pulled away, the distance between you growing. The look of hurt that flashed across his face was almost enough to make you reconsider, but you held your ground.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "I know you are. But sorry doesn't change anything, does it?"

Logan's shoulders slumped, the weight of your words crashing down on him. "I never meant to hurt you."

"But you did," you replied, your voice breaking. "And I don't know if I can keep doing this. I can't keep being in love with you when you're in love with her."

The silence that followed was deafening, the air between you thick with unspoken words. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle he was fighting within himself. But you knew—deep down, you knew—he wasn't going to choose you. Not really.

"I don't want to lose you," he finally said, his voice raw with emotion.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself. "You already have."

The words hung in the air, a finality to them that neither of you could ignore. And as you turned to leave, you felt a part of your heart break, knowing that this was the end of whatever it was you and Logan had.

You walked out of the room, each step heavier than the last, the distance between you and Logan growing with every second. You didn't look back—you couldn't. Because if you did, you knew you'd crumble. You knew you'd run back to him, and you couldn't allow yourself to do that.

As you reached the end of the hallway, you paused, your hand resting on the wall for support. The tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over, and you let them fall, each one a release of the pain you'd been carrying for so long.

But even through the tears, you knew one thing: you deserved more than being second best. And as much as it hurt to walk away from Logan, you knew it was the only way to heal.

The only way to find yourself again.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

Part two

[magical-reid]

Against All Odds

Paring: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 900

Prompt: 47: “I think I’m falling in love with you.” “I think I’m okay with that.” 

Summary: Draco confesses his growing feelings for you in the cold dungeons of Hogwarts, revealing vulnerability and a longing for something more than the walls he's built around himself. Despite the challenges ahead, you find yourself drawn to him, willing to take a chance on something real, even if it won't be easy.

The dungeons of Hogwarts were colder than usual, or maybe it was just the way Draco Malfoy’s words had left you frozen in place.

“Why are you out here this late?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the quiet crackling of the torchlight.

Draco leaned against the stone wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His hair was slightly disheveled, falling into his eyes, which were shadowed and restless. The usual air of arrogance he carried was gone, replaced by something more vulnerable. His silver-grey eyes fixed on you, sharp yet uncertain, as though he were battling himself just by standing there.

“I needed to see you,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady.

Your heart skipped a beat. Draco Malfoy didn’t need anyone—or at least, he never let anyone think he did. The way he held himself, the way he moved through the castle with that cool, collected demeanor, made it seem like he lived in a world untouchable by things like weakness or want. But here he was, raw and exposed, his presence like a whisper in the cold air.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said, your voice firmer now. You straightened your spine, trying to mask the crack in your composure. “For weeks. You don’t get to just show up out of nowhere and—”

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The words hit you like a gust of wind, stealing the breath from your lungs.

For a moment, you could only blink at him, trying to process what he’d just said. Draco Malfoy, Slytherin prince, the boy who barely let anyone close enough to scratch the surface, was falling in love with you.

“Say something,” Draco murmured, his voice almost pleading. His shoulders tensed as though bracing for rejection.

The silence stretched as you searched his face. He was serious—this wasn’t some cruel joke or a fleeting whim. You saw the raw honesty in his expression, the vulnerability in the way he held himself. He was baring his soul to you, and it terrified you as much as it seemed to terrify him.

“Draco…” You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “I don’t even know how to respond to that. You’ve barely spoken to me for weeks, and now—”

“I know,” he interrupted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’ve been a bloody coward about this. I thought that if I just stayed away, it would go away, but it hasn’t. It’s only gotten worse.” He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re in my head, constantly. You make me want to be better, and that’s not something I ever thought I’d feel.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You had seen glimpses of the person he was beneath the walls he built—the way he defended you in Potions, the quiet looks when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the rare, fleeting smiles he reserved just for you. You’d noticed them all, even if you’d never dared to hope they meant something more.

“Why me?” you asked softly.

Draco stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid you might bolt. “Because you’re…you. You’re not afraid to call me out when I deserve it, but you’re not cruel. You don’t see me as just a Malfoy, or as someone to hate—or pity.” He swallowed hard. “You see me. And I didn’t know how much I needed that until you showed me.”

The intensity in his gaze was almost too much to bear, and you looked down, your cheeks heating. “You don’t exactly make it easy, you know,” you said, half-laughing, half-teasing.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, but it was softer than usual, almost fond. “I never do, do I?”

You shook your head, a small smile breaking through despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. “No. You really don’t.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The distant sound of dripping water and the crackle of the torches filled the silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged, yes, but in a way that felt like the edge of something monumental.

Finally, you took a deep breath and looked up at him. “Draco… I don’t know if I’m ready for this. But I do know that I care about you. More than I probably should.”

He exhaled, and for the first time, you noticed just how tightly wound he’d been. The tension in his shoulders eased, and a genuine smile—small but undeniably real—appeared on his face.

“I think I’m okay with that,” you added, your voice soft but steady.

His eyes lit up, the gray shifting to something warmer, almost silver. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “Yeah.”

Without hesitation, he stepped closer, the faint scent of cologne and parchment filling your senses. His hand moved tentatively, brushing against yours before he laced his fingers with yours. The touch sent a jolt through you, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

“This… This isn’t going to be easy,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“When is anything at Hogwarts ever easy?” you replied, a playful glint in your eye.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and rich. “Fair point.”

You stood there together, hands entwined, the dungeons around you forgotten. In that moment, it didn’t matter that the world outside would question you, that people would talk, or that the weight of expectations and prejudices might try to pull you apart.

What mattered was the boy standing in front of you—the boy who was trying, for once, to be better. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, against all odds, it could be enough.

[fckeddiemunson]

Blurred Lines

Part Two Here:

Summary: Rusty takes a liking to his personal assistant.

Warnings: cheating, so much cheating, smut, coercive sex, maybe dub con elements. fem reader.18+ NO MINORS

Words: 3657

Notes: Omg i've had this idea ever since i saw the first episode. Kind of proofread

You weren’t quite sure of the exact moment the lines were crossed. You couldn’t place your finger on when things changed. Of when the lines became so blurred between a lawyer and his personal assistant that you were on your knees for him, mouth open and waiting eagerly for him. You’re not sure if it was his intense charismatic persona, or his incredible manipulation techniques that made him such a successful lawyer. But here you were, all concerns of repercussions thrown to the wind.

Rusty had hired you because as brilliant as a lawyer he was, he needed somebody to keep track of all the cases and his personal life and keep him in line. And you were an overachiever in every sense of the word. Keeping him on time for meetings and all familial appointments etc etc. In a way, you were like his minder, making sure he didn’t get too carried away and in time he wasn’t late to a single meeting, doctors’ appointment or baseball game thanks to you. You worked hard and often worked late into the nights, on big cases you and Rusty would often eat dinner together in the office. It didn’t seem to bother your fiancé as he was a police officer who worked the night shift regularly. He was going through the cases, and you were keeping on top of his calendar and emails etc. In all honesty, you could’ve done this from home, but you secretly think Rusty was thankful for some kind of company to bounce his ideas off. Or at least so he didn’t feel he was speaking to an empty room all the time.

You kept his life so together, in fact his wife, Barbara, had invited you and your fiancé, Dom, over for lunch on the weekend. At this point you had been working for Rusty for several months and were keen to make some more friends in the city, even if it was your boss who was 10-15 years your senior.

That first lunch could’ve been the first broken line, the first toe into the grey area your life had become. Everything went lovely, you got along with Barbara, or B as she asked you to call her. You two were throwing back cocktails at speeds you shouldn’t have for a midday barbecue.

“You’ve got to tell me how you managed to keep Rusty in line all these months?” B said as she mixed your next cocktail, throwing in sweet fruits and ice before shaking it. Dom and Rusty were out supervising the barbecue and playing catch with the kids.

“Honestly, it’s a lot but I’m very good at organizing and I think I’m very stern with him. Seems to be working otherwise he would’ve fired me.” You shrugged and giggled.

“It’s a very demanding job though, what he does and then of course how you manage it all” B slid your cocktail across the bench.

“It is, I guess my social life has suffered a bit, so I’m thankful for this.” You gestured to the cocktails and B smiled and nodded.

After lunch you and B ended up in the pool, very drunk and giggling like high school girls. It was like hanging out with a cool older sister. Something you didn’t have growing up.

“Dom, baby why don’t you get in? It’s so lovely.” You said to your fiancé as he walked up to your pool.

“No, I can’t. We’ve got to go; I’ve been called in for an emergency.” You pouted at him and swam over to the edge about to get out.

“No, please stay I have so much to gossip about – we haven’t gotten to the juicy work stuff yet.” B called out behind you, and you got out of the pool to be met with a very shirtless Rusty.

“I can drop you home later if that’s okay?” Rusty who was much more sober than you were asked, and you nodded vigorously and told Dom to go and not to worry.

The rest of the afternoon was spent trying to sober up but then being coxed into drinking more with B when she popped open a bottle of red. You hadn’t been able to take your eyes off Rusty since the pool. You knew he worked out but had no idea a man in his forties could be so toned and look so eye wateringly good. You knew it was all the drinks going to your head and the fact that you and Dom had barely had any time to be intimate lately. You pushed the feelings deep down inside of you.

“Looks like you and my wife got on like a house on fire, sweetheart.” Rusty broke the silence on the way home, sometimes it was hard to not talk about work so silence was all there was.

“She’s great, my new best friend in fact. And don’t call me sweetheart its sexist of my boss to do that.” You giggled, looking over to him, smirking.

“Please, we are off the clock. I’ve never seen you like you were today. Sweetheart.” His tone mocked the last word and you giggled again, still drunk.

“I don’t have much of a chance to let loose like that, almost never. So thank you I had a lot of fun.” You reached over and grabbed Rusty’s right hand and held it briefly. It was like little shocks of electricity went through your body; you never had much physical contact with him. Rusty sighed and squeezed your hand back before placing it back on the wheel. A warm fuzzy feeling settled in the bottom of your stomach. Rusty pulled into your driveway, Dom was still out, and the house was dark. Something took over you and you leaned across the centre console and kissed Rusty on the cheek. He was warm and you could smell his cologne being this close.

“Sorry, just wanted to thank you for today.” You whispered when he looked at you. You didn’t move away, his eyes staring at you bewildered. Rusty sighed a smirk and looked down briefly seeing you fiddle with your keys, “you’re so drunk, I better help you get in the door”.

Rusty helped you out of the car, his arm linked with yours as you went up the porch steps to your door. You managed to get the key in the lock, “yep, got it I’ll manage from here.” You turned back to Rusty standing with his arms crossed, seemingly amused.

“Do I get one more for the road?” Rusty pointed to his left cheek, and you rolled your eyes, taking a shaky drunk step towards him. You looked up into his gleaming eyes before closing your eyes and peaking your head around left to meet his cheek. Your eyes sprung wide open as his soft lips connected with yours. His arm slung around your lower waist as he backed you up against the front door. You broke away from the kiss, “Ohmygod I’m sosorry I’m so drunk. Fuck” spilled out of you in a hurry, you opened your scrunched eyes to see Rusty smirking. He kissed you again, breathing you in, his tongue teased at your bottom lip, teeth softly nipping as you let out a small whimper his tongue slid in, feeling your bottom lip and mouth. He pulled away, releasing you and taking a step back. You didn’t give him a chance to speak, you turned around and unlocked the door and shouted, “I’m drunk its fine it was an accident ohmygod don’t fire me I’ll see you Monday.” You slammed the door behind you and ran through your dark house to the bathroom.

You laid in the bath half an hour later, feeling mournfully sober and replaying the kiss in your head again and again. “Yeah, I absolutely keep him in line, you fucking idiot. This is all my fault.” you murmured to yourself and slid under the water and screamed.

Yeah, that was when the lines were first crossed.

*

That Monday, Rusty treated you as normal, the kiss wasn’t even mentioned. Everything seemed to go back to normal. Except, a few weeks after that, Rusty suggested that the two of you work at his house instead of the office on late nights.

“Why not?” He had said, “You and my wife get along so well, and I know she would love you over more even if we are working a bit.” And how could you say no? You had to push down that crushing guilt from that night and chalk it up to pure drunkenness and that it wouldn’t happen again. Despite the shame you felt, you were excited to see B more. From then you were over at his house, several times a week in fact. If B was angry about it, she didn’t say anything, and you felt welcomed as almost part of the family after a few times over. You often helped the kids with their homework when you had a spare moment away from Rusty’s home office. That was where you mostly worked, you deliberately made sure you were on opposite sides of the room. There was always an air around the two of you now when you were alone. It was palpable, made you nervous and you thought Rusty had to have noticed it as well. But if he did, he remained nothing but professional. Professional apart from the fact he was bringing you to work in his home almost every night. You had become more than a PA and had started helping him also prepare for cases, doing more legal work than you were probably allowed to. That’s how Rusty justified it to get you to work with him at home.

You sat at home, alone one night with a glass of wine, enjoying a crime show on TV. It was one of the rare nights Rusty didn’t ask you to work late and you decided to not even look at your work emails until the morning. Dom was already at work, not that his presence these days added much to your life, you had drifted drastically with your busy schedules. You knew it was a rough patch and you would work past it. That fact didn’t make you feel less alone though. There was a soft knock at the door shortly after nine that startled you. You got up from the couch slowly, deep down you knew it was Rusty. The thought somewhat thrilled you of being alone with him and the other part terrified you.

“Hi sweetheart. Are-are you alone? Or busy?” Rusty had a small stack of files in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. You suddenly felt very naked in your shirt dress when he was still in suit pants and dress top.

“No. Thought this was my night off?” You gestured to the stack of files in his hand and he shrugged and chuckled.

“That’s why I brought wine? I have a couple of things I’d like to run past you” You opened the door for him and walked back to turn off the tv. You got Rusty a wine glass and sat down on your couch again. The court date for this trial was a few days away. It was the murder of a woman; she was found dumped behind the bar she worked at. Most of the evidence was circumstantial for the main suspect but you continued to bounce theories off one another.

A couple of glasses down, you both seemed to have edged closer to each other. Your knees knocked together, and hands brushed over one another as you gestured to photos and pieces of evidence. Something clicked in your brain, you grabbed a couple of photos and looked at him. “Rusty! I’ve got it! This is how you’re going to nail him.” you were excited and shuffled even close to him, any closer and you would be sitting in his lap. Your eyes beamed as you explained your theory and he got more and more thrilled and scribbled notes down on a pad on his knee.

“You’re fucking brilliant! This is it!” Rusty grabbed your hand and squeezed it. The wine seemed to hit your head all at once. The edges of the room became fuzzy, and everything felt too warm and too close. You stood up and took the bottle of wine back to the kitchen, Rusty followed you silently. You felt his presence behind you, his large frame looming. Rusty’s hand reached out and rubbed it from your shoulder to your hand. You shivered and leaned into it subconsciously and Rusty grabbed your hand and spun you around to face him.

Your eyes met his, his eyes had darkened, and a wanton look had filled them. His warm hand ran back up your arm, his knuckles brushed up your neck and put a lock of hair behind your ear. Your eyes fluttered shut, you enjoyed his touch and you hated yourself for it. His hand lingered and held your face, tilting it up again, forcing you to look at him. Rusty’s thumb ran along your jawline to your bottom lip and pulled, caressing it lightly. Your breath was caught in your throat, you felt frozen in place. You were both dancing on the line, daring the other to jump off. You felt yourself reach out to him, allowed your hand to run through his hair, slightly tugging as you did. A soft growl like sound escaped him and, in an instant, he crushed the distance between you two and his lips were on yours. You bit his lip first, in an attempt to gain more control. He smirked against you and lifted you up onto the benchtop. You bit his lip again, harder and his mouth opened in a soft deep moan was swallowed by your mouth as you pulled him closer, he settled between your legs, his tight jeans pressed up against you. His spare hand ran up your thigh, up past your waist and cupped the underside of your boob. He squeezed lightly, you leaned into his touch, and he squeezed harder, coaxing a moan from you, the first one of the night.

Your hands landed on his belt buckle as your fiddled and struggled to undo it and he chucked against your lips, pulling away to look at you.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said it so quietly, if he didn’t repeat it again more firmly, ‘you’re so fucking beautiful” you may have hallucinated it. His hand ran slowly up your thigh, squeezing and scratching as he went. It made you feel weak. His kissed soft pecks at first at a spot beneath your ear, then his teeth grazed your neck right as he pulled down your panties roughly. You shivered, a hand caressing his head, hand buried in his hair again.

“Rusty, this is so wrong.” A moment of clarity. Your mind cleared for a moment, you pulled his head away from your neck.

“Yes, it is.” His hand pressed against your clit, he rubbed small, taught circles and your eyes fluttered shut again.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, Rusty.” Your voice came out in nothing more than a mewl, Rusty chuckled as his fingers moved down to your cunt, you gasped as he slid two fingers inside of you, curling them immediately. He shifted his hand, his fingers going deeper inside of you as you let out a breathy sigh.

“If you think we should stop, then why are you so wet for me?” Rusty curled his fingers again, caressing that spot you can never seem to reach and started fucking his fingers into you slowly but deeply. It knocked the breath out of you, you hadn’t felt this good in a long time. The kitchen was silent except from the small whimpers escaping your mouth, the sound of your utterly wet cunt and the satisfied chuckle from Rusty as he licked and nibbled at your neck. Rusty picked up the pace and you were rendered useless on the counter, a slave to his touch. You felt your stomach pinch, a low rumbling, tingling feeling took over you.

“Rusty, I’m-I’m going to cum.” You whimpered, his thumb found your clit and rubbed firm tight circles, sending you over the edge. You moaned out loudly, unable to keep quiet, the pleasure vibrating through you, taking you by surprise.

“That’s it sweetheart.” Rusty whispered, his hand working you through it. Every nerve ending exploded, writhed in pleasure as he pulled the orgasm from you. He pulled away and your clit pulsed, and cunt twitched from the lack of touch.

Well, that’s how you ended up on the knees, eagerly awaiting your boss’s cock.

You slid to the ground, looking him in the eyes the entire time as you finished unbuckling his belt and slid his pants down his legs. You pulled his cock out of his pants; he was painfully hard. The veins protruding and the tip was red and smeared with pre-cum. You looked back up at him his breath caught in his throat, as if he was trying to maintain unfazed by the interaction. He let out a sigh of relief when you gripped him firmly, bringing your hand back and forth a few times. He felt heavy in your hand, your eyes flashed between his dick and his eyes.

“Open up for me.” Rusty grabbed the base of your neck and pulled you even closer to him. you opened your mouth, stuck your tongue out and narrowed your eyes up at him. He gripped his hand on the back of your head tighter and brought your lips to the tip of his cock. You licked the tip before eagerly sucking down on it. He released his hand, and a moan escaped his lips, it was low and sweet. You sucked in a breath before reaching his base, your nose almost touching his stomach. His hand went back to your head, almost steadying himself from the pleasure. Rusty started moving your mouth back and forth over his dick, making you take it all the way in and then out again. Your eyes watered and you blinked it away, your vision blurred of the man above you. Rusty pulled you off his dick, you looked up at him again with glassy eyes, he looked down with lust filled ones and bent down to help you up. Before giving you time to breathe, he kissed you again, his tugged your waist toward him.

You started walking backwards to your bedroom, a flicker of thought went to your fiancé but it dissipated as Rusty’s hand snaked down and grabbed at your ass, pulling and spanking as you entered your bedroom. You let him push you back on your bed, standing over you as he stripped down to his underwear. You watched through lusty eyes, unable to stop yourself from biting your lip as you saw his abs. You sat up and tore off your shirt, you weren’t wearing a bra, so you covered yourself out of self-consciousness as Rusty crawled to you on the bed and grabbed your thighs, pulling you closer to him. He pinned your hands above your head and admired your boobs, kissing down your chest, to your belly and kissed once on your cunt.

“Do you have a condom?” You asked in a rush, like this wasn’t your place.

Rusty shook his head as he hooked your legs over his shoulder and lined himself up anyway. You had stopped taking birth control a while ago, not that it mattered as you and Dom hadn’t been intimate in more than a month or two. You sucked in a deep breath as Rusty pushed in slowly, a gasp was knocked from you as he bottomed out, moaning as he did. At the angle he was at, he only had to thrust slightly, and he was so deep inside of you. His dick brushed your g-spot easily and you moaned out, urging him to thrust deeper and harder. You moaned, pulling his closer to you as he thrusted faster into you.

“I’m not going to last long.” He groaned in your ear, you only moaned back, not caring, he felt too good you just wanted as much as he would give. He sat back on his calves and grabbed your hips, lifting and them towards him as he thrusted into you. You moved your hips back against his, meeting his thrusts with your own. You swore when he crushed his body back against yours, he thrusted harder into you. It took you by surprise, you didn’t expect him to be gentle, but his brutal thrusts knocked the wind out of you, all you could do is lie there and take it. His hand slithered down to your clit again and you tensed, feeling the coil in your stomach getting ready to snap again, you whined, spurring him on.

“Come on honey, I know you’ve got another one for me.” He was so sure of himself, it made you believe him. And how could you not when he felt so good inside of you, he rubbed once more before pinching your clit and you whimpered. He did it again and you almost screamed, the elastic snapped, and your orgasm washed over you. It was more powerful than the first and your cunt throbbed as Rusty thrusted into you for the final time before he groaned, lazily thrusting as his seed spilled into you. He stayed inside of you for a minute, catching his breath.

Everything dawned on you at once. Tonight had to be a one-time thing. But you knew with Rusty it was never going to be that way. You weren’t even sure if the lines existed anymore.  

[ladyofmonaco]

pretty in pink ౨ৎ

notes: oscar piastri x girly!reader, est. relationship, protective demeanour, unwelcome attention from strangers, fluff. requested.

a/n: i adored writing this, and it helped encourage me to stop writing for only charles in all honesty. ily.

The aroma of petrichor against warm pastries from the L'Amour du Pain Vieux bakery nearby lingers, skies over Montréal grey with the lull of clouds where hints of the early afternoon light dance through and upon the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve below, a gentle remnant of dampness about the smooth stone streets from rainfall earlier in the hour that has since come to a halt.

With qualifying to commence in a few hours – highlighting the true beginning of the Canadian Grand Prix where your boyfriend hopes to secure the finest result possible – there is a heightening feel about the paddock as you wander through, latte of oat-milk and vanilla balanced in one soft-skinned hand, donned in your favourite, little dress like blushing, pale peonies.

After an early albeit comfortable, familiar morning waking beside Oscar in your shared hotel suite amongst the quiet luxury of pretty, minimal décor – mussed bed sheets of lush cotton, cashmere throws and interlocked limbs – shared, slow kisses and breakfast consisting of sweet, syruped pancakes and coffee, before greeting the true day ahead, you are most excited.

Amongst conversational journalists with inviting, saccharine smiles merely for enticement and photographers who do not hesitate to notice your face, the lovely and pretty diamond that is Oscar Piastri's lovable girlfriend, you have never quite opposed to the media attention so long as you have him by your side.

"Hm." Chanel ballet flats of embroidered ivory and light-pink clicking on the path, comforted by your sweet treat in hand whilst balancing your iPhone in the other – a brief conversation with your lover concluding he would be busy for another couple of minutes at least due to press conferences – you are mostly contently lost in your own daydreams.

"Excuse me?"

It is the sound of a voice addressed in your direction that has you faltering in your gait, pretty head tilting just the slightest to glimpse over your shoulder just as the sudden voice and approach of a male has you somewhat shy.

"Sorry, I feel like I know you from somewhere," He is youthful, perhaps the same age or a year older than the aforementioned by looks, dressed rather comfortably in a clean, white shirt of linen only half-buttoned against the beige hues of his trousers, Française Cartier watch glinting on his wrist.

His mouth curves on a smile, eyes like caramel dancing over your face and lower until he allows himself the fleeting, silent glance at how the neat edges of your mini dress hug your thighs before straightening his stance once again, lithe fingers threading through his styled, light hair.

The words leave you a touch perplexed given you certainly do not recognise him and lack any recollection of his face, laughing uncertainly as you tuck a stray hair behind the shell of your ear with the clink of a rose quartz bracelet about your wrist, the sound sweet as an angel's.

"I'm sorry, I don't think–"

"It's alright, I don't either." The man continues with an amiable shrug as though pretending to understand or assume what you had been meaning to say, countenance turning more charismatic on the edge of a revealed dimple, "My name's Jacques, love."

There is something in his gaze and the execution of his demeanour which has you hesitating, rosebud mouth parted ajar whilst you glance about momentarily even when the hint of a natural, polite smile remains.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Jacques," You reply quietly, the expression you hold towards him is a pleasant one despite yourself, although not enough to reveal the slight discomfort that lurks in the depths of your stomach, "But my boyfriend is–"

"Right here."

As if the mention or mere thought of him was an innate manifestation, you are greeted with the presence of a certain, handsome individual where you recognise the warmth of his aura just as fingertips are felt on the curve of your vertebrae against a splayed palm.

You cannot deny or refuse the immediate beginnings of a soft smile and the ease flourishing within you as soon as his touch is known, the lingering scent of his cologne with hints of patchouli and rosewood permeating, an incline of your head allowing gazes to meet momentarily in mutual greeting.

He stands tall beside you, the limb draped around your waist a familiar presence whilst eyes of an intimate, rich hue that remind you of coffee and autumn dance between yourself and the other man who now stands a touch awkwardly with a dissuaded visage.

"Is this man bothering you, princess?" His tone is honey-like, a smooth and lowered baritone that you adore, though there is the telltale sign of his fingertips that press a touch firmer against your hipbone, and the arch of a brow, that demonstrates the silent brewing of protectiveness in the midst of his affections for you. Oscar Piastri is an affectionate sweetheart, true to his feelings and honest in generosity with the renowned presence of patience, though can be a defensive figure when the subject concerns his girl.

"Not really. He was just being friendly," Your cadence is light and sweet with imploration, the subtle gesture of a kiss left against his cheekbone in comforting warmth as you balance on the edge of your toes momentarily.

You are sweet, almost too much so with your pretty looks and the faint glimpses of innocence there even though you know exactly where you stand; it has Oscar longing to return to the quiet privacy of home where nobody will harass you both for attention, where he can have you to himself even if only for a little while.

Jacques chuckles, almost uncertainly in a manner that juxtaposes his previous incentive whilst tucking one palm into the concealing wool of his tailored slacks when he nods, "I was just saying 'hello', no harm done."

The Australian does not seem particularly reassured though there is no instigation for a disagreement, looking over the other only a moment longer without another word before he's silently coaxing you against his side when he walks with a gait somewhat quicker than his usual.

"Wait," Your kissable lips touch a little downward in uncertain wonder, though you follow his guidance easily, a touch intrigued by his lingering silence that lacks explanation, "Where are we headed? Was I doing something wrong?"

There is no initial comfort or answer to your inquiries as he looks forward, evidently lost to his own thoughts whilst internally calming himself from the dwindling ache of his possession over you, a muscle in the line of his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly.

A boring press conference consisting of being asked the same questions like a repetitive, tedious dance had already left him a touch bitter, and the sight of a stranger trying to steal his girlfriend's attention away only aggravates him further.

Eventually, your shared walk leads to the quieter alcoves of the McLaren hospitality comforts until he's nudging you backwards through a white-varnished door, breathing in the sweetness of your perfume – Good Girl: Blush – with hints of almond against sweet peonies, vanilla and coumarin.

"You weren't doing anything wrong," Oscar murmurs, his arm entwined securely about your figure as his lips ghost over the outer shell of your ear near the glimmer of divine, embellished earrings he gifted you on your birthday after he had seen you admiring them through the glass of a jewellery shop once, swallowing slowly.

It is a quiet, comfortable room – one that he often confides in the refuge of when in need of fleeing from the never-ending attention and demands of his profession, an inviting, plush chaise lounge of white cushioning, shelves and cupboards of various items.

Your glossed lips touch into a delicate pout of mystery, a gentle sound of consideration and acknowledgement leaving the back of your throat whilst arms drape loosely around his neck, the edges of your thumbs tracing along his nape where you feel the soft hairs there.

"Then what was it?"

"Nothing." It is an uncharacteristically brief reply, though the manner his lightly-calloused palms cradle the small of your waist until he cannot quite restrain himself from the tightened grasp there with a brief glance towards the closed door, exhaling through his teeth in some kind of defeat, "I'm... Do you want me to be honest?"

The question is uttered so softly that the question leaves you a fraction breathless, heart thrumming within the interns of your rib cage like a dove locked away as you nod.

"I always want the truth from you, Ossie," You respond in a lull so saccharine it sounds like a sing-song of delight, the edge of your index finger and thumb dancing downwards against the soft fabric of his sweater before pausing when you meet his eyes through your lashes.

Oscar sighs, though there is the slightest of reservations of a smile the corners of his mouth at the manner in which you address him, a nickname reserved especially for when the two of you are alone together and intimate.

He does not immediately bless you with an answer, tilting your head towards him in silent, shared invitation before your mouths melt together. It is slow and sweet, tasting one another and your belongings forgotten on the nearby, makeshift desk of polished oak, a sweetened hint of café au lait on your tongue.

"Seeing that man," He begins between chaste kisses, not quite allowing you the liberty of shying away as he holds you close until your back nudges the ivory-coated wall behind, near drawn photographs of memorabilia from old Grand Prixes, "And how he looked at you, it made me want to–"

He pauses, inhaling audibly as though trying to meditate on his own emotions in that moment, his hands feeling over your body like a sculptor and his finest work before he swallows the remainder of his sentence with a kiss.

Oscar Piastri is an undeniably attractive man when he's possessive over you, touching every inch of you like his belongings, muttered sweet nothings and vows of devotions against your tongue. It is a warm feeling, knowing he will always protect you without hesitance. And he does, cherishes you like the pretty doll you seem to be, because he cares in some earnest, undying reality.

"I love you."

The punctuation of another kiss, "I love you more." And he traces the jut of your ribs through the thin, velveteen fabric of your rosé dress when he holds you close until you're flush together, sighing against your lips, "I will never let anybody hurt you, ever. Understood?"

"I understand."

[in-your-heart-shall-burn]

Veilguard Character Appreciation: Davrin

As mentioned on my Emmrich & Taash posts, this is a very self indulgent post for me to ramble about things that I appreciated about the companion characters in Veilguard. I'm planning to post one per character, loosely following the order of the Veilguard Appreciation Week prompts! Please feel free to reply or reblog with your own thoughts if you are so inclined c:

Davrin is one of the two characters that I was very excited to meet, even from the very little amount of pre-release material I saw. Suffice it to say, I am not immune to the allure of Grey Wardens, nor the allure of extremely handsome men, nor the allure of extremely handsome men with cat-bird sons, so I was super excited to meet him.

And it was funny, because as I got closer to meeting him, I was like, alright, every other character I've met so far has far exceeded my expectations. I love them all. So Davrin is going to have to be the disappointment, right? (Wrong. Very Wrong)

From his very first quest, you get a glimpse at the type of person he is - deeply passionate, deeply compassionate, and extremely self-sacrificing. The fact that in the first quest where you meet him, he reassures every griffin by name - even though he downplays himself as just the bodyguard, it's obvious how much he cares.

And he subscribes himself so fully to the Warden philosophy. This man lives and breathes In Peace, Vigilance, In War, Victory, and In Death, Sacrifice. He is so ready to die in Weisshaupt - the conversation afterwards, where your Rook can ask why it's a problem to not have died - it still gives me shivers, no matter how many times I do it.

And then there's the whole fact that he clearly is so torn on how best to raise Assan, and so passionate about his work as a monster hunter - he sees himself as a shield, as someone to stand in between innocents and danger, and it shows in everything he does. Even the fact that he wants to write his own monster manual, and carves his enemies - it shows not just a deep understanding of his enemies, but it shows a desire to teach, and to correct things that put people in danger.

The practicality of everything he does is so interesting. Like the reaction he has to all the revelations about the history of the elves - all he cares about is how it affects the elves of today if it gets out, which is such a valid take to have and really so important! He cares about advocating for the helpless.

He's also just so honest and frank with Rook. All the companions have levels of honesty, but Davrin is so up front about his past when asked? It's really refreshing - he's not afraid to say what he thinks or what he wants to, but he's also generally not an asshole about it.

I just want to give him a hug, honestly. So much of the game is him finding out all of these horrible, earth shattering things about his people's history, and the Warden's history, and the griffon's history, that I feel like he deserves it.

[elcvatedhorror]

“ please, please, please let me get what i want „

|Summary: Sam had grounded Tara for weeks because of you. Because of this, Tara has been needing missing you.

|Warnings: (Reader G!P) smut, praising kink, p in v

| (Also, this is heavily inspired by user tonyspank I absolutely adore their work!! |

It had been 3:30 when Tara texted you. You two were apart for weeks. You’d been missing Tara a whole bunch, but you being you, you respected her sisters wishes on you not seeing Tara for weeks.

You hadn’t done anything too bad to set Sam off. Ok - maybe you did, but that was besides the point. In all honesty, you thought Sam was just being a big hater of you and Tara’s relationship.

Sure, she had Danny, but they weren’t the ideal couple. You figured she was just dating him to date him. It didn’t seem like she was loving him like he loved her.

Crazy, I know.

But it was okay, because it didn’t stop you and Tara from texting 24/7, and fuck you loved it.

You would do anything for Tara. Her friends often teased you about it, too. You’d follow her around like a lost puppy, and every time she asked for something you wouldn’t even think twice before getting it for her. You’d always be bunched up behind her with your arms around her waist.

It was cute, but hell it was sickening. It was a pretty bad habit of yours. But you didn’t know that.

3:30

Tara🩼 - y/n. come over. now.

Y/N🏃🏽‍♀️ - now? what about sam?

Tara🩼 - She’s not here she’s

out with Danny doing whatever

Tara🩼 - please

The next text was something you weren’t expecting the slightest.

Tara🩼- I need you.

You sat there in your bed with a shocked expression. Tara had never texted you something like this but you sure as hell weren’t complaining.

You hurried up and got out of bed almost tripping over your own feet and put on a nice clean shirt and some grey sweatpants, slipped on your shoes and hurried out of the door.

It wasn’t too long before you got to Tara’s dorm. You didn’t even get to do your additional signature three timed knock before Tara pulled you inside and kissed you hard.

You two hurried to her room and shut the door behind.

Tara’s hands found themselves under your shirt, caressing your stomach. Her doing that sent shivers up your spine.

Both of your tongues exploring each others mouths, the kissing was very heated, and it didn’t stop you from getting turned on.

Tara suddenly stopped and looked in your eyes.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” She said, pushing you onto the bed.

“I’m gonna take all the time I need with you today, Y/N.”

You gulped.

She’s never been like this before.

You were scared.

But it was hot.

She took her shirt off revealing her lacy bra, as well as pulling her pants off showing you the match.

Oh my god. She’s wearing a matching set. You thought.

She slowly walked over to you, her eyes never leaving yours, as she kneeled in front of you newly spread legs, and untied the string on your sweatpants, pulling your pants down slowly, your erection in your boxers standing up. Painfully you squirmed.

Tara chuckled at you, pulling your boxers down in the process, your dick slapping against your stomach with a small sound.

She grabbed your cock, and spit on the tip, creating a bit of lube as she starting stroking slowly, teasing you.

You sighed at her touch. Though she was going slow, you still felt ecstasy.

"F-fuck Tara please." You whined.

"Please what?" She asked, stroking your cock more, rubbing the tip in the mist of it.

"Faster. Please. Fuck - just go faster."

She nodded, and started going faster, pumping you at a great speed. You weren't sure if you could handle it, but you weren't complaining. And soon enough, you came, moaning loudly, you bit your lips trying not to create much noise.

"I'm not done with you yet." Tara said, standing up, taking her panties off, and chucking them god knows where.

You were panting, as she kissed you again, her tongue exploring your mouth, and she then moved on to your neck, sucking and licking eagerly at it.

You were eager for more, but scared of what she was gonna do in this state.

You were embarrassed at yourself for that one.

But fuck, at this point it didn't matter.

You pushed her on her back so you were now the one on top and you wrapped your right hand around her neck and kissed her roughly.

She gasped at the new action, but didn't care nonetheless. You started moving lower, and lower till you got to her thighs. You carefully pushed them open, and found the sight you were eager to see.

Your lips found themself on her clit, and you started sucking and licking, as her moans got louder and louder. Her hands found your hair and entangled her fingers in them, moaning your name.

"Y/N!!" She whined. "Right there! Yes!..."

You took your index finger and put it inside of her hole, curling it, and pumping in and out at a fast rate, without giving her time to react.

She was feeling so much at once, and tears were coming out of her eyes in pleasure.

"O-Oh! I'm close! Y/N, i'm close, fuck!" She moaned out.

You took your finger out of her, and your mouth departed from her clit.

She looked at you weirdly, and before she was able to protest you grabbed ahold of your cock and started to pump your self before filling her up.

You slowly pushed her in, moaning at the feeling.

"Tara you're so tight baby, shit." You panted out.

You started going faster, her nails scratching at your back. You lowered your head into her neck.

"You're doing so good f'me, baby. Pretty girl, taking my cock." You praised her.

You lifted your head and grasped at her hips pushing deeper and deeper into her cunt. You could feel the spongy spot brush your tip as you went.

Your left hand pushed down on her stomach, doing that made her whine even more.

"I'm close Y/N! Please.." She sighed out.

"Please what?"

"Please let me cum."

You nodded, and kept your pace, as she came. She clenched around your cock, and that alone was just enough to make you come undone as well.

"Ahhh.. fuck." Your cock twitched inside of her as you came. Your cum filling her up to the max. Your hand left her stomach, a small bump had formed in the process.

As you pulled out, hers and your cum slowly leaked out of her aching hole.

"You did so well for me baby." You told her.

"Mmmh I was supposed to be the one in control today." She whined.

You chuckled. "Maybe next time, pretty girl. You want me to run a bath for you-" Your sentence was interrupted by a door opening.

It was Sam. A horrified expression on her face.

“What. The. Hell?!”

hope u enjoyed lol

not proofread :P

[capseycartwright]

for my fellow merli girlies - do you remember the whole “all roads lead to bruno” line from the sequel series? well, i thought about that too hard and it caused this. enjoy!

all roads lead to eddie diaz

Eddie inclined his head slightly. “He is,” he hummed in response. “But it sounds more like you’re wanting to pick a fight here than discuss our mutual appreciation for how great a person Buck is.”

Tommy, at least, looked slightly embarrassed. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before,” he admitted. “The way you feel about him.”

or - eddie and tommy have a revelatory conversation about the buck of it all.

ao3 link

The thing is, Eddie doesn’t intend to say what he does. He blames Frank, in all honesty, because if Eddie was less in touch with his own emotions, perhaps he wouldn’t have said it at all – but Frank had worked hard to make Eddie a more open version of himself, a more confident version of himself, and Eddie blames the confidence for how it happens.

It’s a family barbecue. Eddie loves their 118 family barbecues. They’re chaotic, in the nicest way, Bobby and Athena’s garden full of children of all ages, teenagers gathered in the corner, pouring over whatever the latest game they have for their consoles is, Jee-Yun holding court with the littlest of their gang, enough toys to rival an actual toy store gathered around them. Bobby was grilling, Buck standing at his side, the two of them looking altogether very serious as they discussed whether or not the burgers were done yet.

Eddie loved their family barbecues – the way everyone had a role to play amongst the chaos. Eddie’s was to stay far away from the food – though he felt he had long-since redeemed himself on the culinary front – and so he was usually sitting with a beer in hand, observing. Maybe once upon a time it was in an ‘outside looking in’ kind of way, but now it was in more of an appreciative way – Eddie loved this family he had built for himself, the people he had found and the people who had helped him find himself. He liked to watch, drink it all in – because one day, Eddie Diaz would be old and grey (and it was a revelation in itself to want to grow old) and these will have been the good old days, and he’ll miss them, so he likes to observe, and try and commit it all to memory.

Eddie’s attention was drawn by a bright laugh from Buck, and he couldn’t help the way he smiled as he watched his best friend.

“He’s brilliant, isn’t he?” Tommy said, siding up to Eddie. Normally, it wouldn’t be unusual for Eddie and Tommy to discuss how wonderful Buck was – it had long since become a key bonding point of their friendship – but there was an edge to Tommy’s voice that surprised Eddie. Tommy was a fairly calm and collected guy.

Eddie inclined his head slightly. “He is,” he hummed in response. “But it sounds more like you’re wanting to pick a fight here than discuss our mutual appreciation for how great a person Buck is.”

Tommy, at least, looked slightly embarrassed. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before,” he admitted. “The way you feel about him.”

Eddie was quiet, for a minute. “Because I was good at hiding it,” he admitted. “Even from myself. I hid it for so long that I think people started to assume they were wrong to think I had ever felt that way about him.”

“But you do? Feel that way about him?”

Eddie shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like you want to know the answer to that.”

Tommy sighed. “I’m asking you – as a friend.”

“Then the answer is yes,” Eddie said. It still surprised him, how easily the words came now. It had taken so long for him to get to the point of being able to say it, the words coming out in a panicked rush during a session with Frank. It had felt like the most immense task he had ever undertaken, in that moment, but the words had started to come easier, since – when he’d told Hen, and Karen, over a bottle of pinot grigio, the words punctuated by some sad tears. He’d thought it had been too late, then, and Hen had gently reassured him that it would never be too late, not for him and Buck.

Still – it was the wrong time. Buck was with Tommy, and they’d been together for close to five months now, and Buck was happy. Liberated, even, free, and comfortable in himself in a way that Eddie had never seen before. His bisexuality had been the thing Buck had searched for his whole life, and who was Eddie to deny him the joy of discovering his queerness with a relatively attractive man who was kind to him? Eddie was in love with Buck, and in some ways, that love was what allowed him to take a more selfless approach to the whole situation. Eddie was proud of that.

Tommy’s face was doing something entirely complicated.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t want this to affect his friendship with Tommy – really, he didn’t. Eddie knew that if this all went the way he would like it to go, there would be hurt, but he’d sort of been hoping that Buck and Tommy’s relationship would come to its natural end and that hurt would only be momentary, the result of the strangeness that Tommy would feel if his ex-boyfriend started to date their mutual friend. But despite that, Eddie didn’t want to lose Tommy, and he knew Buck wouldn’t want to lose him either.

“Is it going to be a problem for you?” Tommy questioned, in lieu of a response.

Eddie shrugged. “No.”

Tommy’s face got even more complicated, confusion the clear emotion. “How – how is it not a problem for you?”

And this – this is where Eddie probably should have kept his mouth shut. In hindsight, he should have feigned some sort of migraine, and ran away, but he didn’t. Eddie let his newfound confidence get the better of him, and that was a very shiny, new problem for him.

There were lots of reasons it wasn’t a problem, but it all boiled down to one simple thing -

“I know he’ll chose me.”

The words were out, before Eddie could stop himself, and he couldn’t help but internally wince as he looked at Tommy’s face, the confusion turning to hurt, and then, well – annoyance. It wouldn’t be a nice thing to hear, Eddie knew, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt in saying it.

Eddie Diaz knew several different things to be true. The sky was blue, and he loved Christopher with every particle of his being. He was a damn good firefighter – and Evan Buckley would always choose him, over anyone else in the world.

Buck just didn’t know he was an option, yet.

“You sound very sure of that,” Tommy’s jaw was set in a hard line, his annoyance clear.

“I am,” Eddie said. “I want him to be happy, with you. I’m not going to try and ruin what you have. But Buck and I – we’ve been going somewhere for a long time, now, and neither of us were ready before. We’re not ready now, arguably. But I know we will be, one day, and so I know he’ll chose me.”

“All roads lead to Eddie Diaz, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Tommy was quiet. “I’m not going to fight you for him.”

“I’m not going to start a fight,” Eddie retorted. “It’s his decision.”

“Right.” Tommy looked as though he didn’t quite know what to say. “I am – I’m going to go and get another drink.”

Eddie watched as the other man walked away, and although it wasn’t particularly nice of him, he couldn’t help but smirk into the rim of his beer bottle.

The sky was blue, and Eddie was a happy man, now – and Buck would always choose him. He was sure of it.

He was looking forward to it.

[archive-of-ink]

Really Somthing Part 2

(found on pinterest)

Summary - After the events of the night before Joel finds you in the same place.

Word Count - 2.7k

Warnings - mdni 18+, angst, crying, some language, mentions of virginity and f!masturbation. Kissing, groping (none of the fun stuff yet im sorry) difficult conversations

A/N- i kinda feel like this is everywhere but i'm tired of looking at it so i hope its ok. i promise there will be smut in the next chapter, i've never wrote it so im a lil scared tbh but ok here, hopefully this is readable. *i have made a few edits but nothing much changed.

the lovelies who requested to be tagged - @preciosapascal @vixorell

 Your birthday came and went. There was no class that day so you spent the hours at work.  Your coworkers remembered and brought in cupcakes during lunch, your mom brought you a coffee on your break and you even got a text from a classmate. Your family took you to your favorite restaurant and it was nice. As far as birthdays went, it was great. 

Time seemed to move too fast yet too slow and left you with that feeling in your chest like something was trying to claw its way out - a discontentment you knew all too well. There was something different though. It was something new though not completely unknown. Stronger, more persistent. 

 The ghost of tobacco on your tongue and the warmth of his hand spanning your stomach were  the grounding reality to the images your mind conjured. Those lips trailing down your throat, top of those greying curls with your thighs wrapped around his head, him hovering over you, filling you.  

   You couldn’t really know what is was like. Your experience started and ended with your own fingers but lord, a girl could imagine. 

 You spent the entire day wondering, fantasizing at your desk, on the way home, at the dinner table with your parents trying to ask you about your day.  

   You felt guilty, for which part you didn’t know. Sure, you were inexperienced but you weren’t a prude. It wasn’t like any mention of sex had you flustered and stuttering. There was no morality attached to your virginity. It just hadn’t happened yet and you didn’t want to rush it.

In all honesty, you expected it to be awkward - all fumbling hands and clammy skin grating with a stranger, half-drunk and deliriously making the impulsive decision to rid yourself of a label you never cared about or hesitant, unfulfilling and boring with a boyfriend you liked just enough. It  was going to be everything that sent your anxiety spiking through the roof. 

   So you ignored it, it wasn’t like you had a line of suitors down the block waiting for you. If anything you were a shut-in, introverted to the point of parental concern.  

  Obviously, your thing with Joel was another issue of its own. It was all in your head, you knew that. It lived on as some forbidden romance-esque fantasy. He was twice your age and your dad’s closest  friend - anything more than a crush was dangerous territory. 

Last night, you had crossed that line and you weren’t sure how you supposed to go back to pretending this was all in your head. You would have to, you knew Joel never meant for it to mean more than what it did.

  The more naive part of you expected a text, some acknowledgement of what happened. The more logical part knew he didn’t owe you anything. He’d done you a favor more than anything, entertaining some girl’s half-assed teenage rebellion and that was that. 

He was a busy man, there was a multitude of reasons for his silence. Contracting couldn’t be an easy job and Sarah, despite being nearly eighteen, never let the man breathe. 

But still, the disappointment curled in your stomach as laid across the back porch swing, eyes closed and letting the breeze wash over you. Maybe it was better if you pretended that it didn’t happen, move on and forget about it. You could avoid the disappointment and embarrassment of rejection.

   You swore to yourself, no matter what happened you wouldn’t be that girl. The one who makes a big deal out of one little kiss, the one desperately pleading for more than a man wanted to give, you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself in front of him. You were better than that.

   The porch door creaked open. You lifted your head from where it laid on the swing’s armrest, legs still stretched out across the seat and peeled your eyes open. It took a second for them to adjust to the dark and make out the figure in the doorway.  You expected your mom or sister but instead, you were met with those brown eyes, lit by only the moon and faint glow of the porch light. You didn’t know whether to be relived or worried. You adjusted yourself so you were sitting with your legs tucked into your chest, chin resting on your knees.

  Joel had come from work, dirt crusted jeans and boots proof of his labor-intensive day. Arms crossed against his chest, that green flannel rolled up and pulled taut against his broad shoulders, his face was stern but the softness was there in the corners of his eyes, the slight upturn of his mouth. Despite your anxiety and disappointment, mix of relief flooded through you.

  “Hey darlin’” He said, moving closer to the swing gently rocking in the breeze and wrapped his fingers around the chain suspending it, veins flexing on the back of his hand as he brought it to a halt.

  “It's late.” was all you were able to say, not trusting yourself to speak further. 

  He huffed a laugh and shook his head, lowering himself to sit next to you. The chains clanked and the swing rocked against his weight, the tips of your toes brushing the denim of his thigh. 

 Silence lingered though you could tell he had something to say but the only noise that came was the rustle of his hand reaching into his jean pocket, pulling out his carton of cigarettes and a lighter. 

 It was the same as everytime you watched him do it in the last three years, the same as last night. He stuck one in the corner of his mouth, cupped the end to shield it from the air and brought the flame to the colored end and lit it a bright cherry red. 

  “Y’want me t’ go?” He said around the cig, a puff of smoke escaping into the night air. 

  “No!” The words came too quick and heat rose in your face. You had half the mind to make a run for it, to lock yourself and never come out. Instead, you kept talking. “I just- I guess I thought.” 

    “Thought what?”

 He wasn’t looking at you.  

   “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think about any of it.” You said, quiet, arms hugging your legs tighter, you studied his profile.The strong arch of his nose, the little scar across it, those cheeks and that mouth, a curl falling across his forehead. He was so pretty it hurt. And it was like it hit you all at once, the realization of the situation you were in. “You kissed me, Joel.” 

   “Ain’t happenin’ again.” It was more of a grunt the way he said it, like he had to force it from his throat and your stomach dropped. The sting of rejection was one you would never acclimate to though you expected it. Your gut reaction was to yell and cry and ask why he would do that in the first place but you knew why, you knew it was a spur of the moment thing and didn’t mean anything. You let your eyes close and took a breath. “Ain’t right.” 

 You blamed the burn in your eyes on the smoke billowing next to you and blinked hard. 

  “Of course not. I didn’t think you - I understand it’s not like that for you.” You tried not to sound wounded, like a child with her feelings hurt. Instead, you plastered on a shaky smile and ignored the lump in your throat as you tried to lighten the mood.  “As far as birthday gifts go though, it was pretty great.”  

  The words tasted like ash, thick and bitter in your mouth. It wasn’t his fault that what started as an innocent teenage crush had morphed into something more, something twisted and wrong.  

  His gaze lifted to yours. His brows were furrowed, that line appearing between them, lips downturned. You tried to look away in time, tried to pull away from those honey brown eyes tinted against the glow of the dying cigarette but the tears escaped. You turned, hands coming up to swipe them away and let your bare feet hit the wooden planks, trying to make your way across the porch. You needed to go, to move. You needed distance to breathe before you couldn’t hold it together any longer.

 “Oh, baby no.” His voice was quiet and rough, like he felt guilty for telling you what you already knew. He came after you, quick footsteps and a heavy hand on your shoulder. You let him turn you towards him but didn’t look up, kept your eyes focused on the black sky and ignored the tears still streaming. “Hey, look at me.” 

   You shook your head and hugged your arms closer. Embarrassment and shame filled you. This is exactly what you said you weren’t going to do, be the girl who made a scene, who couldn’t let go of one stupid kiss. You were acting like a stupid fucking teenager and that excuse expired twenty-three hours ago.

   Joel’s hands cradled your face, calloused thumbs swiping at the tears that were falling in slow droplets. He guided you to turn to him, eyes meeting without choice. Confusion mixed with your despair at his pained look, there was more emotion on his face than ever before and you didn’t know why. You had to suffocate the small flame of hope that flickered inside of you. 

    “I’m sorry, I didn’t want- “ You were rambling, voice thick with tears. Eyes roaming anywhere but his,“I know it’s not right and that you don’t- I didn’t mean to put you in a bad position. I don’t know what I was thinking last night.” 

  “No, sweetheart. Need ya to look at me.”  You listened despite the anxiety and shame running through you. The sight of him ailed the panic a bit, making it just that much easier to breathe. You braced yourself for the placating, the it’s ok, but we won’t talk about it ever again but it never came. “You ain’t done nothin’ wrong. You ain’t put in any situation I didn’t wanna be in. I mean look at ya.” 

  He said the last bit like he hadn’t meant for you to hear it, like a though escaped. That flicker of hope building as he kept talking, the darkness of his eyes causing something else to kindle. 

   “Old man like me ain’t got no business wantin’ you the way I do. ‘m old enough to be your daddy. Hell, ‘m older than ‘im ” He let out a laugh, humorless around the edges. Your heart was in your stomach, mind trying to process what he was saying. “Baby, I ain’t putting you in that situation. Ain’t gon’ let you get hurt like that.” 

  It took a delayed second, your eyes tracking his face before you understood. Realization dawned, tears slowing and a small grin pulled at your face. 

  He wanted you, in some realm close to the way you wanted him. A girlish giddy feeling filled your chest and you leaned into his touch, just an inch. But the longer you stared, the more you understood.

  “Joel.” You whispered, more of a plea, looking at him through blurry eyes as processed what it all really meant. Three years spent pining, dreaming and wondering of something so out of reach was in front of you. It was right there but you ran the possibilities through your mind and there was the catch.  

  It would change everything, ruin everything. This wasn’t only your heart on the line, there were people who existed outside of this. And you saw it, the destruction it would leave when they found out, the disappointed look on your mother’s face, the betrayal on your father’s, the confusion on Sarah’s that morphed into disgust as she ran the numbers and realized. 

   “I know, baby.” He said, pulling you into him as your face crumpled. An arm banded around your waist and a hand came up to stroke over your hair. He engulfed you in warmth, smelling like cigarette smoke, sweat and wood and something so familiar your chest ached.  Your fingers gripping at the fabric of his flannel as your body shook.

And he stayed there, hand rubbing over your hair and murmuring words you couldn’t make out against the top of your head until your breathing evened and the tears slowed. When you were calmed down, you pulled back far enough to meet his eyes. to see the concern and worry written across his features. 

    The urge to ail it, to calm the despair, to smooth away the line between his brow and the frown of his mouth was too strong to ignore. You found yourself trailing your fingertips across his cheekbones, the rough hairs of his beard and tracing over his strong nose, coming to land on his jaw. 

 You should’ve moved away, took a step back and walked back into the house. That night a distant memory that no one ever spoken of again, to be forgotten in time but then you were pushing yourself to your tiptoes and pressing a kiss to the scar that was nicked into the skin there. His shoulders tensed underneath your hands and you thought he might push you away but his arms pulled around you, closer and he sighed quietly, barely there. 

 Its a memorization game of sorts - the way your lips drew a path down his face, the way they moved to his stubbled cheek and down to the corner of his mouth, the need to remember this, to bide more time until you figure out how to make this work.  

    “Baby.” He breathed and you felt his resolve waver. The fingertips against your back flexed, a shaky breath that brushes across your lips. “If we do this-” 

    “I know, I know” 

And you did. This wouldn’t be a fantasy of happily ever afters with family dinners and wishes of congratulations, where everyone got out unscathed, where relationships weren’t beaten and bruised beyond repair. There was no guarantee of anything but hope was persistent, that flicker turned to a flame that licked up inside you until you were burning with it. 

    It would be the end of what you both knew but it was everything you wanted, something you never dared dream a reality for fear of the rejection that nearly shattered you a moment ago and he wanted it too. You couldn’t walk away. 

    There was no more pretense of teenage rebellion or forbidden birthday favor. Whatever this was, whatever it would be was real, tangible. 

  With one last look through your lashes, you were shifting, nudging with the hand on his jaw for his mouth to meet yours - careful at first as warmth invaded you, spreading sparks through you at the slightest contact and pooling in your stomach. His fingertips flexed into your waist, letting out a shaky breath that brushed across your chin and that thin thread holding you both back, the hesitancy snapped. 

  Then you were licking at the seam of his lips, barely there flicks of your tongue silently asking for more. He gave it, mouth opening so you could taste the tobacco that laced his tongue. You wound your hands into his hair, tugging on the curls enough to have him groaning in your mouth, the rumble against your chest sending shockwaves through your nerves.   

   Joel left your mouth to trail open mouthed kisses over the underside of your jaw and neck, your head falling back to give him better access. His lips pressed your pulse point once before his teeth were there, sinking into the skin and biting just hard enough that it had you gasping, a wave of arousal pulsing between your thighs causing your fingers to tighten into his hair. 

   You were hot all over, the kind of hot that had nothing to do with the summer air but with the hands that’s were roaming your body, smoothing over the skin of where your shirt had ridden up, the feel of him half-hard and pressed against your hip, the persistent way he was back on you, devouring you as he licked into your mouth. You felt it before, small and fragile more akin to a flicker than a flame but this was intense - all consuming and threatening to burn you alive. 

   “Joel.” You breathed, you couldn’t wait. You pulled back to look at him, hands sliding down to the back of his neck.  “Need you to touch me. ” 

  You lost the fight the second he stepped onto the porch that night. You wouldn’t be able to justify it when it inevitable blew up in your face, there was no excuse for sleeping with your daddy’s best friend  But Joel was there, wrapped around you all warm and solid and you couldn’t move, couldn’t bring yourself to break away from him, 

   He hesitated, eyes widening a fraction and you were worried he was going to push you away, send you back in the house like the night before but he nodded.

    “Okay, baby.”

[jjklvr9]

ɴᴏᴛ ᴜ ɪᴍ ᴍɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ ( ʟ. ʜꜱ ) 𑁤

18+ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 .ᐟ

𐙚 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 : 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀 x 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𐙚 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ⇢ 𝖨𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾

𐙚 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 : 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, smut- 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀; 𝖽𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀!

𐙚 𝗐.𝖼 : 3.6𝗄 (𝗈𝗇𝖾-𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍)

𝖺/𝗇: 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝖼 ;_; 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍!

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ♡

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Greying clouds and rolling thunders, the stormy weather made you reminisce. Huddled in the comfort of your blanket, your eyes gaze up at the ceiling of your bedroom as thoughts flood in with memories of your youth. It wasn’t that long ago when you left university; a mere 4 years ago, prompting the end of a chapter to move on to the next. That time of your life was unforgettable to say the least, not like you’d ever tried to forget even in the slightest way; the highs and lows of friendship, the overbearing pressure of excelling in your studies and of course, love.

The first time you had your heart broken, it felt impossible that the tiny fragments could ever be picked up again. It was hell for you, the countless nights spent awake and crying your eyes out, the loss of purpose in anything and everything. You chuckle back at the thought of how helpless you were, how young and naive you had been to be falling for someone like Lee Heeseung.

The fresh air of summer with the golden shine of the sun must’ve made you delude in your fantasies that this man wanted more with you. All you ever were to him was someone he could use, someone he could have at his disposal. So why did he do the things he did with you, if all he ever wanted was sex? Why did he treat you like you were his and he was yours, pouring somewhat a level of affection enough to make you feel like it was all real. Surely, he realised this himself, cutting you off as nonchalantly as he could with excuses and avoidance until you couldn’t take it anymore. He got what he wanted. 

So why was his name lit up on your phone screen right now? Where did he get the nerve to even ring you up after all he’s put you through these past few years? You were in disbelief at the audacity this man had, but more so at the effect he still had on you. You didn’t even know he was back in town. The last you heard of him was that he left abroad to pursue his dreams.

“Hey..” his voice was low and muffled like he had his face buried in his pillow as he talked. You weren’t sure why you even picked up in the first place, why you still had his number saved and why he still had yours. 

“Y/n?” he calls out, voice a little clearer this time when you failed to respond. His low, resonant voice saying your name sent a shiver through you, as if you'd been waiting for this moment all your life. “Heeseung.” was all you could muster up to say, fog caught up in your head now that you could not think straight. 

“I missed you.”

Your body froze, yet a rush of heat flooded through your skin, as if you were about to succumb to a fever. It seemed as though all the effort you had put into walking past the memories of him was in vain. With a heavy sigh, you surrendered to the weight of honesty.

“I missed you too.” 

“I know it’s been so long..but I’ve been thinking about you. Can I come see you?” 

His voice, slightly slurred as if intoxicated, echoed in the quietude of the late hour. Despite the lateness of the night, the vulnerability of your state crept into your mind, causing you to falter at his request. The memories of his voice, with its subtle imperfections, stirred emotions long kept at bay. As you hesitated, time seemed to stand still, the weight of his words and the intimacy of the hour enveloping you in a moment of uncertainty. 

"Okay," slipped from your lips almost involuntarily, a breath held for too long now exhaled. With a click, Heeseung ended the call, leaving you momentarily suspended in silence. The phone lingered against your ear as the void of nothingness enveloped you. Yet amidst the silence, the echo of your racing heartbeat echoed, a frantic rhythm driving you into the depths of the apprehension of what you just did. Before you could fully register the abrupt end of the call, your phone screen illuminated with a gentle buzz, signalling the arrival of a new message. The sudden interruption broke through the silence, injecting a flicker of anticipation into the stillness surrounding you.

"I'm outside." 

Your eyes widened slightly as you read the text, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. With a jolt of panic, you rose from your bed, the gravity of the moment sinking in. 

With a quick glance into the mirror, you assessed your reflection and your lack of clothing; only covered in a nightgown that ended before your knees and not missing the faint traces of anticipation etched upon your features. Hastily, you scurried towards the door, your hand hovering over the knob as you hesitated for a moment. Despite the urgency pulsing through your veins, you paused, drawing in a deep breath to steady your nerves before slowly turning the knob to open the door. And there, standing before you, were the eyes that held a magnetic pull, captivating you in an instant. In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as you found yourself locked in a gaze that stirred familiar sensations within you, melting away any lingering doubts or hesitations. After all these years, he still wore the same expression, the familiar boyish smile gracing his lips as his big, deer-like eyes sparkled under the fluorescent lighting of the hallway. Though maturity had softened some of his features, it only enhanced his appeal.

"Hey," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours, conveying a depth of longing as if you were the missing piece he had been yearning for his entire life. How ironic it seemed that despite his past selfish actions, he still regarded you with the same affectionate gaze, and even more ironic was the fact that you found yourself succumbing to him once again, as if nothing had changed.

You parted your lips slightly, as if poised to speak, yet found yourself speechless, overwhelmed by the sudden closeness. Sensing your vulnerability, Heeseung seized the moment, drawing himself nearer, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. With gentle yet firm hands, he guided you back into the comforting embrace of your home, the door closing behind you with a soft thud as he kicked it shut. Pausing, he brought his face inches from yours, your noses brushing lightly against each other, a silent exchange of longing and familiarity lingering in the air.

His gaze flickered down to your lips, and you found yourself mirroring the action, your heart pounding with anticipation. Without hesitation, he bridged the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender yet desperate kiss. With each passing second, he deepened the kiss, his desperation palpable against your lips. It was as if his emotions were pouring out, tangible and raw, seeping through your skin and intertwining with your own. In that embrace, there were no words needed—only the fervent exchange of feelings, each kiss a testament to the depth of his hunger and the intensity of his craving. Your hands instinctively found their way to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, as if unable to get enough of the lingering touch of his piers. Heeseung swipes his tongue against your bottom lip and pushes it in at the brief parting of your lips, licking your cavern wet and continuing to knit both of your tongues together, sucking on them ever so roughly. Breaking the kiss, dishevelled and breathless, traces of mixed saliva lingered on your jaw. The man took this instant to rest his forehead against your own, his dark brown orbs locked with yours in a gaze that felt eternal. 

You weren't sure what thoughts were swirling in his mind, so you sought solace in his eyes and scanned his expression, yearning for any hint to ease the doubts clouding your own thoughts. "Hee-" You barely had time to mutter his name before Heeseung's lips crashed onto yours once more, but this time harsher and intensifying than before. You responded with equal eagerness, matching his vigour with your own as he lifted you effortlessly, his hands securing around the curve of your ass and groping them. With an urgency born of lust, you wrapped your legs around him, drawing him closer as if trying to meld into one another. Without breaking the kiss, Heeseung easily guided both of you back to your dimly lit room, moving with a familiarity that suggested he knew the layout of your apartment like the back of his hand. With gentle precision, he lowered you onto the surface of your soft mattress, maintaining his position above you, the heat of his body a comforting presence as the passion of the moment encompassed you both. 

With one hand supporting himself on the bed for balance, Heeseung's other hand began to trace the soft, bare skin of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. His fingers traced up your skin, reaching the hem of your gown with familiar confidence. You felt a ripple of tension as he boldly pushed the fabric away, his touch climbing higher with each movement. As his fingers made contact with the now-damp fabric of your underwear, a soft moan escaped your lips, betraying the intensity of the sensation coursing through you. You try to lean up closer to him, your body responding instinctively to his touch; his finger resting on your underwear begins to move, the motion slow and deliberate. With each circular rub, he teased you, eliciting soft moans that escaped between kisses. Your hands, now gripping onto his shirt, pulled him closer, your bodies pressing against each other as if he'd disappear if you let go.

"Fuck, you're so wet." Heeseung lowly breathes out into your mouth meshing with your moans, and holds your underwear to the side with his thumb, pushing two fingers into your folds. As everything escalated rapidly, you found yourself swept away in the heat of the moment, unable to recall the last time you took a moment to breathe and process what was happening. Each touch, each kiss, seemed to blur together in a whirlwind of desire and passion, leaving you breathless and intoxicated by the intensity of the experience. The experience you've been dreaming of and longing to relive again for the past four years. 

As his fingers push in deeper and faster in and out of your clit, the grasp you had on his shirt tightens at the feeling of increasing pleasure shortly before they sneak downwards to the growing mound in his pants; gently but firmly grasping its outlines, earning a stifled hiss from him.

"Yeah, yeah, more. I need you, Hee." the said man groans with quick movements of his digits at the sound of his name moaning past your lips, his upper body grinding against your breasts covered by the gown. 

 A smirk lifts up the corner of his lips at your desperate plea only fueling the fire within you. With a sudden force, he pushed his fingers deeper, igniting a surge of pleasure, before withdrawing them completely, leaving you achingly empty for a moment. "You want me? You need me?" he taunted, his words dripping with mockery, as he rose to stand on his knees above you. With a casual flick, he lifted his shirt off and discarded it onto the floor, revealing the expanse of his bare chest, a testament to the power he held over you. 

Despite the blush spreading across the apples of your cheeks at the tone he used, you couldn't help but take a moment to examine him. His chest seemed broader now, his arms more muscular than you remembered, evidence of the passage of time and the changes it had brought; while his tousled hair only added to his allure, making him undeniably more tempting in your eyes. Feeling the subtle twitch beneath your clammy palm, your attention was drawn to the burgeoning bulge, signalling his equal excitement as you gazed down his body. Heeseung takes this beat to pull your underwear down and off your legs completely, flinging it away to the floor and joining his shirt.

"Say it again," he demanded softly but with an underlying firmness, his touch tender as he brushed his hand against your cheek before gently grasping a handful of your hair and pulling it slightly. This caused you to wince, a reflexive response, as the hand that was resting on his bulge instinctively grabbed onto it slightly. Looking up at him, lust overtook your eyes, the intensity of the moment washing over you in waves. It was a view you never imagined facing again, yet here you were, consumed by fixation in his presence. It was as if he had this hold on you, encompassing your mind, your body, your entire life, a force you couldn't escape no matter how much you wanted to and you realised at this moment, you've never wanted to. 

"I want you, I need you, Heeseung," you exhaled firmly which earned an approving chuckle from him. Heeseung withdrew his hand from your hair and began to pull the hem of your gown up and off your body, revealing you to lie there bare between his knees for his sight. You were beyond the usual feelings of vulnerability with him, even in this exposed state. The way he looked at you made you feel wanted and desired in a way only he could evoke. A profound feeling of belonging, as if you were exactly where you were meant to be. Old feelings came rushing in like waves, a flood of adoration and longing for this man overwhelming you. You weren't certain if he felt the same way, but as the tension grew thicker in the air, the look in his eyes, entranced by your bare figure, seemed to confirm that he too was lost in reminiscence. 

"Fuck, you're the most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on." he murmured, and though you weren't entirely certain if he ever meant whatever he says to you but at that moment, it didn't matter. Without wasting another moment, Heeseung swiftly untied the drawstrings of his pants and pushed them down along with his boxers, allowing them to rest just before his knees and springing out his cock free. You gazed down at it for a moment, memories of past pleasures flooding your mind, salivating at the thought of the satisfaction it once brought you. Heeseung lowers his body to hover on yours once again, delivering a firm kiss on your lips as his hands push both your thighs apart and bringing them up to rest each on his shoulders. He positions himself between you, steadying himself with hands gripped on your ankles. He then proceeds to tease you

with the tip of his erection gently brushing against your clitoris before thrusting himself inside roughly without even a warning. The folds of your clit envelope him completely in an instant, with every quickening thrust he pushes in constricting yourself around his cock. As the strands of his hair fell to cover his now hooded eyes, a primal groan escaped past his lips, the sound resonating in the room as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensation coursing through him. You echoed his groans with your own, your eyes tightly shut as you indulged in the comforting waves of pleasure washing over you. Heeseung starts to pace faster, his fingers gripping your ankles tightening. 

"Open your eyes, baby. Look at me while I fuck you." he commanded with a tinge of dominance in his tone. You complied, trying to resist the urge to close them again, locking gaze with Heeseung's darkened eyes as they bore into yours. "That's right, look at who you belong to," he groaned lowly as he quickened his pace; yet you don't miss the smirk forming on the corner of his lips. The slickness of your gushing clit made his movements effortless as he slid in and out of you, overwhelming you with a high you could not replicate without him. Heeseung was like a drug you were addicted to, irresistible even with a sheer brush of his skin. 

Your hands roamed aimlessly over his bare chest, absorbing the warmth of his skin. Time seemed to freeze as he thrust harder with each breath you inhaled, every sensation heightening in your veins. Despite the lingering guilt and regret of letting him use you yet again, they weren't strong enough for you to care. 

"Mmhm..H-Heeseung. Your cock feels so good in me." Your moans grow louder as you squirm around him, fingers now tightly grasping your bedsheets but you made sure to keep your eyes on him. Heeseung released one of his hands on your ankle and gently placed it on top of your belly, applying light pressure as he leaned down to nibble on your earlobe. "You feel so fucking amazing. I missed you baby." his gentle whisper pulled you out of your thoughts, warmth flooding your cheeks at his tender words. Despite the softness of his tone, he continued to slam against you even rougher than before. Both of your chests were heaving rapidly by now, trying your best to catch your breath in between.

Heeseung buries his face on your chest, leaving gentle brushes of his tongue against your nipple before he sinks in his teeth to the flesh of your breasts; leaving distinct marks behind. Marks that showed you were his. "I-I missed you too," you managed to stutter out, your breath hitching as he pulled himself back to tower over you once more. He examined the ecstasy filling your expression, taking in the pleasure he had brought you with a satisfied smirk. 

"Yeah? You missed me fucking you like this baby?" The tip of his cock was slamming against you harder by now, it was getting harder to resist shutting your eyes in pleasure. "Nobody fucks you better than me, yeah?" Faster and harder, he pushes his hand down your belly even more. Taking his other grasp off your ankle, Heeseung gropes one of your breasts harshly as pleasure seeps through his skin. Your knuckles were turning white from gripping the bedsheets tightly as he continued to lace his groans with lustful words, each one sounding like music to your ears. Feeling the tip of his cock pushing itself exactly into your right spot, you whine out his name repeatedly. The back of your body arches, toes curling as the air around you grows hotter with every nerve on edge. A whirlwind of emotions rushed through you all at once, lost in the throes of ecstasy as your vision and mind grew hazier by the second. 

"O-only you, Hee. Only you fuck me this good." Your louder moans indicated you were nearing the climax, the intensity building with each passing moment. Sensing this, Heeseung quickened his thrusts, both of you on the verge of reaching the pinnacle of pleasure together. 

"Cum with me like my good girl, yeah?" Hoarse, low groans escaped from his lips with each accelerated movement, echoing your own whines of pleasure. With one final deepened jab at just the right spot, you cry his name loudly as so does he with yours; feeling the surge of his warmth fluid fill you to the brim. "Fuck." you hear him mumble under his breath as he tries to catch it. Lost in the aftermath of pleasure, you were dazed, unable to comprehend the implications of what had just transpired. Yet, with his chest resting gently against yours and his soft kiss, a feeling of completeness washed over you. With his head now rested on your breasts, you both stay like that for a while basking in the stillness of the moment only to be occupied with controlled breaths. 

The moment Heeseung pulls himself out of you and rests your legs down on the mattress, the momentary feeling vanishes in an instant. You observed his quiet yet swift departure from the bed, his silhouette disappearing into the connected bathroom and back to you with a wet towel. In the quiet of the room, your eyes fixated on Heeseung as he meticulously cleaned you up; and though you wanted to say something, anything, no words came out. What was there to say? You knew deep down that this was how it was going to end, that it was no different from before. What made you think it would be any different this time? This time, you only had yourself to blame.

As Heeseung picked up his clothes, dressing himself in silence with his eyes fixed on the ground, you couldn't help but feel a pang of ache etched in your chest. Once he finished dressing, he approached you, gently pulling the covers over your bare form before meeting your gaze one last time. You searched desperately in his eyes for any sign, any glimmer of emotion that might hint at something deeper than mere lust. Yet, as you gazed into his eyes, all you found was a reflection of your own longing, mirrored back at you with a tinge of guilt. It was a new facet of him, one you hadn't seen before, but it offered little solace in the face of the inevitable farewell. "I'm sorry," his voice finally broke the heavy silence, leaning down to press a fleeting kiss on your temple. With that he turned away, his departure signalling the end of this fleeting chapter in your life once more.

Heeseung was nothing but a ghost in your life. A shadow coming back to haunt you mercilessly, only to leave again like he was never there. And once more, you felt the familiar warmth of tears forming in the corner of your eyes, stinging pain in your heart just like the first time it broke.