#in all honesty though I LOVE HIM WITH THE GREY

[kenzies-scream-blog]

oh.

oh.

[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

[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.

[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 ˚

[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

[missydior]

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."

[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

[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.  

[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.

[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 ♡

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

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. 

[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.

[silantryoo]

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — wonyoung's l/n y/n.

jang wonyoung, before first year.

WARNINGS ; mentions of toxic household, mentions of self-sabotage (1.8k)

jang wonyoung knew it wasn't right to run from her problems.

she wasn't the fastest on the team, not by a long shot. she lagged behind her soon-to-be teammates, always running a mile thirty minutes slower than them. her legs, although powerful, were only good for jumping up, never forward.

still, it never deterred her from trying, the constant reminder of her mother in the mirror and her father in her name. no matter how much she failed and how often it scarred her, she always ended up running.

wonyoung was tired of running.

victor's hall.

trophies scattered the walls, ribbons and banners waving in the air. a collection of all suma's best, their achievements immortalized for the centuries to come. the cases were in pristine condition, glowing in the soft back light that emitted behind the multiple enclosures.

a place in victor's hall was no small thing. after all, suma only took the best of the best, evident in the overwhelming number of olympians and professional players that were alumni.

getting into suma was a victory in itself; being one of the SKYS.

but wonyoung didn't feel like it was a victory. it didn't feel like she won some grand prize, or that she finally got into her dream school, on a scholarship in her dream program.

it felt... hollow.

she had sacrificed too much to not continue. her relationship (although there was barely anything there) with her father, her chance at a 'proper' university, her knee, her diet, her stress, hannah...

god, she even left hyunseo in that horrible, greyed out house with her father who only loved her during the good, when her baby sister reminded him that she was the creation of real love and not whatever the hell wonyoung was.

hyunseo was a lee, she wasn't born under the circumstances of business, not as a jang.

she knew her mother would do everything in her power to protect hyunseo, though. there wasn't much that wonyoung could ensure jiyoung with, but they both wanted the same thing. they both wanted to protect their younger sisters in one way or another, or in jiyoung's case, whatever's left of it.

wonyoung looked at last year's banner, the emptiness settling in her stomach once more.

'FINALIST'.

she couldn't help but wonder if it was her fate would be the same this year. her father was sure to pull her out of suma if that were the case. he'd pull all the funding from under her feet, take her off his will and leave nothing in her name.

she couldn't have that, not until after university. she was on a full ride scholarship, but how was she going to survive? would she starve? wonyoung couldn't work a job on top of being on the volleyball team. in all honesty, wonyoung had never even touched a cleaning rag.

wonyoung poked on the glass, sighing to herself.

was this even worth it? was she worth it?

"are you allowed to get fingerprints on that?"

wonyoung jumped, flinching so hard that her hand retracted from the case at lighting speed.

was she already in trouble? it was barely her first week as an official suma spartan, yet she had already done something that could get her kicked off the team.

was this the moment she was going to get expelled?

"i-i didn't...!" wonyoung frantically wiped the mirror with her sweater, cleaning it of any marks she left. "i was just looking, i swear!"

the volleyball player turned around.

"i'm not gonna tell." a soft smile appeared on the person's face, and wonyoung could feel her knees buckling. "i don't even go here yet."

oh... wow.

part of wonyoung wanted to speak, she wanted to introduce herself like she always did; 'wonyoung', without the jang, of course. for some reason, the air in her throat seemed to get stuck, feline eyes staring at her in wonder.

"i swear, i'm not lying." the girl chuckled. it felt like music, like a lullaby. "i was just wandering around. one of my coworker's told me the bookstore was down victor's hall. i didn't expect it to be so... big."

wonyoung blinked.

she was absolutely lost. would a laugh ease the tension? a smile? maybe a thumbs up was enough, or would that make her look like an idiot?

all wonyoung managed to do was let out a soft 'huh?'.

"the bookstore..." the girl cleared her throat, looking wonyoung directly in her eyes. the taller girl could feel her entire neck burn with a blush. "do you not go here...?"

"i-i do!" wonyoung blurted out, her words jumbled and rushed, just like her thoughts. "i go here, i mean."

the girl giggled once more, and wonyoung blushed harder. the mystery girl was pretty, wonyoung towering over her shorter stature. she was dressed in nice clothes, a little under the radar and not what wonyoung was used to seeing, but still nice. she even fidgeted cutely too, rubbing her knuckles together as if she were...

"are you cold?"

wonyoung bit her lip, cursing at herself internally. she was no good at talking to pretty girls, not when they looked like this. part of her wished her yujin-unnie was here to help her out.

the mystery girl smiled. "maybe a little?"

the volleyball player tugged off her sweater, feeling her sweaty back hit the cold air.

"i-it's a little sweaty." the one time she didn't take a shower after practice was the one time a pretty girl came up to her and decided to be cold.

"i shouldn't-" the pretty girl refused, a bright blush on her face. it took everything in wonyoung to not slam her head into the glass cabinet, feeling too giddy to even breathe properly.

"i'll be fine." the athlete managed to squeak out, suppressing her shiver. "it's cheap anyway."

it was about 100,000 won, give or take. it was cheap to wonyoung, but definitely not cheap enough that anyone without her background would give it out.

she knew at this point, the girl was sure to be curious of her status.

"thanks, um..."

"wonyoung," she said simply.

she prayed that this mystery girl wouldn't ask about her last name. the shorter girl didn't know the implications it held for wonyoung; the pain and the tears that hid behind the word. wonyoung couldn't blame her if she asked, but she didn't wanna think about it right now.

right now, she just wanted to be wonyoung. just wonyoung, talking to a pretty girl (and pretty much landing horrible on her face).

the shorter girl smiled, her eyes studying wonyoung's face with curiousity.

the athlete felt her hand twitch, an overwhelming urge to straighten her hair and put on a camera-ready smile. she wondered if the pretty girl recognized her through the grapevine, or perhaps was debating whether or not wonyoung was worth talking to.

(she was actually admiring wonyoung's beauty, but wonyoung didn't need to know that yet.)

"i'm y/n."

wonyoung grinned. she finally had a name to the person.

it was y/n, who was pretty, and who had a nice smile. she was the pretty mystery girl who giggled like wonyoung's favourite lullaby, currently drowning in her volleyball sweater that seemed a size or two too big on her. y/n was who she met a mere ten minutes ago, with striking eyes and a beauty mark on her nose.

and she was someone who wonyoung couldn't function around.

"nice to, um..." wonyoung stumbled over simple words, her brain screaming at her to finish her sentence. "...meet you, y/n."

as the name left her mouth, wonyoung couldn't help but blush. she couldn't believe that a pretty girl was wearing her sweater, and now she knew her name.

next thing she knew, y/n would be her friend.

wonyoung could only hope.

y/n smiled with a hint of fondness, and wonyoung wished that it was because of her as a person and not because of her current inability to speak proper words.

"nice to meet you, wonyoung."

the volleyball player could feel her ears burn the same shade of red as her sweater, her brain nearly exploding at y/n acknowledging her as wonyoung and just wonyoung.

she was just wonyoung to y/n.

wonyoung watched as y/n fished something out of her pocket, a phone in her hand. the shorter girl opens it with ease, handing it to wonyoung with a smile.

wonyoung looked at the open phone app. what was she supposed to do with this?

"for your phone number." y/n clarified, and wonyoung sore she burst a blood vessel somewhere in her brain. "so i can return your sweater."

the taller girl could feel her ears ringing. she was sure she was dreaming, and she'd wake up to her half empty dorm with yujin banging on the door, yelling at her to hurry up for practice.

she waited a moment for her eyes to open, but all she found was her still staring at y/n in front of her.

"r-right, um," wonyoung cleared her throat, desperately trying to remember her phone number.

wonyoung put it in shakily, reading the numbers over and over again to make sure it was hers and not yujin's or yena's. knowing those two, they'd swoop at the opportunity and wonyoung was not about to let this pass, even if it led to nothing in the end.

the athlete saved it with a sigh, handing it back to the girl in front of her.

"i'm gonna go catch up with the group." y/n smiled, placing her phone in her pocket. "thanks again... i'll see you around, hopefully?"

oh god, wonyoung didn't even think about seeing y/n again.

"yeah..." she nodded stiffly, mirroring a robot from some sci-fi movie she saw yujin's sister watch some time ago. "uh, around sounds... nice."

y/n shot her a look, shaking her head with a smile.

"yeah..." wonyoung missed the way y/n's eyes lit up with adoration. "it does."

the shorter girl wandered away, the opposite direction from wonyoung. she waited until y/n was out of earshot before she groaned, sliding down the wall into a puddle of her own embarrassment.

"'around sounds nice'? are you stupid, wonyoung?" she could die right there, evaporating into nothingness. it would definitely save her pride. "oh god... i'm stupid!"

she was never gonna live this down, but she would definitely try to, even if it meant avoiding the most beautiful girl she'd ever seen.

(but a week later, as if by divine intervention, y/n turned out to be wonyoung's new roommate.)

masterlist | next

taglist (CLOSED)!!

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[kaisers-house-of-desires]

For the Malleus x Vampire Y/N, I mostly thought it would be fun if the reader was freshly turned, perhaps by Malleus or Lilia, and as a result wished to test the limits of their sexual relationship with their boyfriend/husband

- J

Hmm...I think this is doable~! A bit of a lengthier one but I do hope you enjoy~

Title: Love Bites

Characters: Malleus x Vampire!m!Reader | Lilia Vanrouge

Contains: Vampirism, clothing sex

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

Reblogs > likes

Thirsty...you were thirsty.

Your throat felt severely dry and raw, like you were swallowing nothing but cotton and razor blades. Eyes, once your usual color, were now a bright bloody red, slitted pupils blowing out. Looking up, you saw the one that did this to you.

The frightened Lilia sat just some feet from you, his lips and chin stained with your blood. He looked just as frightened as you, just as confused. Neither of you were sure of what was going on. All you could remember was you offered Lilia your wrist for a quick drink, as he hadn't had anything authentic in awhile, but after that, your mind went blank.

"L...Li..." Speaking was a task all on its own, your voice barely coming out in a squeak. You felt like if you couldn't get something to drink soon, your very body would just give out. You reached over to him, using your body to plead for help.

"D-Don't move!" Lilia frantically stood up, panting lightly as if he wasn't breathing that whole time. "I-I...I know what to do, h-hold on!" You had never seen him so scared or run off so clumsily.

You kept your breathing slow, trying desperately not to swallow again. Though it felt like breathing was making it dryer and rougher. Your vision blurred and darkened at the edges as you waited, the sound in your ears slowly becoming nothing but your own heartbeat, which soon faded as it ceased to beat. That only spiked your worries more.

My heart's not beating...my heart's not beating, my heart's not beating--

"...(Y/n)...?" The new voice jarred you out of your thoughts, and as you looked up, your vision no longer held that dark border and tried to focus itself. The one that stood before you was none other than your partner Malleus, who looked even more confused than you did. "Wh-What...?"

"M...Mal..."

"H-Here!"

Lilia's voice now grabbed your attention, tearing you away from Malleus as he came running back, sliding down beside you as he held a glass thick red juice.

"I-It's some of my tomato juice. I-It may not be the real thing but...d-drink this."

You didn't need to be told twice as you practically ripped the cup from Lilia's hands, gulping down the liquid. You didn't care what it was, in all honesty. All you cared about was getting something wet down your throat.

Whatever conversation Malleus and Lilia were having didn't register to you as you glugged down the drink. Luckily, it was enough to satiate a bit of your thirst, though you wouldn't get to feel the satisfaction of it as you finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

---

It was like you blinked.

Your eyes opened to a new room, one of grey bricks and green fire candles. A scent made you bolt up, and you sniffed the air, as if trying to find what that...delicious scent was.

"Ah, (y/n), you're awake!"

Your head snapped over to Malleus, who was staying beside the bed. He looked relieved to see you, but you...you didn't see him, not in the way a typical person would.

Your colorful vision turned a desaturated color as red, smokey whisps slowly spiraled from Malleus. Him. You were smelling him. That wonderful scent was coming from your boyfriend.

Unable to think your hand shot out at him, only for him to grasp your wrist and pin it to the pillow. You whipped your other hand out, him catching that as well and pinning it. You uncontrollably thrashed your legs, attempting to break free from his hold, but once he swung his own leg and straddled your hips, you were trapped. There was no way of escaping the strength of Malleus.

"(Y/N), you need to listen," he stated firmly, his voice calm but demanding, "but to listen, you need to calm down. Please."

His words slowly registered with you, and you did your best to relax despite your bared fangs.

"Lilia seemed to have transformed you...and we're unsure how it happened. However, along with supplies of tomato juice, I have decided to stay with you while you finish the transformation and offer you my own blood."

"It's...not done...?" You did your best to speak, but thankfully your thirst was more quenched due to the juice Lilia gave you before. It did still hurt to speak a bit, however.

"Apparently not. I believe he said your organs are still changing, and your mind is losing its humanity and temporarily reverting to a more primal state. You are dangerous while you're like this, hence one reason why I offered to watch you."

You understood what he was saying, you really did, but Great Seven, was his scent was so intoxicating.

"C-Can I...just one...just a bite..." You were practically drooling with the desire to taste him, the desire to sink your teeth into his pale skin and stain the area red.

"One bite," he answered with no hesitation, "but if I say that's enough, you stop."

You nodded eagerly, just excited that he allowed you this.

He released your wrists, trusting you not to act out, to which you laid there, patiently waiting, staring. Malleus removed the decorative piece from his neck, exposing the pale skin. You shot up, but he kept you back with one hand. There were no words from him, just a glare that he gave you that actually sent chills down your back. It was like your urges were nearly halted just by his body language alone. He appeared large, dominant, and--if there was one thought that managed to sneak through your clouded mind--attractive.

"You will be patient, understand?"

Great Seven...

You nodded, now resting yourself back on your forearms as he continued to fix up the area, removing his coat to work around shirt collar and moving it further to the side so the spot of his neck. Your fingernails, turned tallons, clawed at the bedding below you, your body aching to strike. Malleus moved his hair to the side, and, after gazing at you, he nodded, allowing permission to drink.

You didn't think. You rose up wiggling yourself from between his legs and grasping him, nails digging into his clothes as you sunk your fangs in. Malleus let out a pained gasp, his own body now shuddering. You both held tightly onto each other: you to keep Malleus close, and Malleus due to the pain he felt.

Though one thing was for certain, you both felt a sense of bliss.

Malleus wasn't sure why, but to have you on him like this, well...he would dare say this felt exhilarating. You would say his blood was divine now that you've gotten a taste of him.

The two of you fell back into the bed, you on top of Malleus with one of your legs precariously placed between the prince's legs. Scrunching up to feel even closer to him caused your leg to press up against his groin, earning you a soft moan and, strangely, a change in the taste of his blood.

Though you wouldn't get to pinpoint it as Malleus practically ripped you off of him, gazing up at you with blown eyes. You looked down at him with equally blown eyes, both of you panting softly from the event. One thing was for certain...

You both needed each other now.

You two fell into a heated kiss despite the blood on your lips. Malleus didn't seem to care as long as he had you on him. You tore at his belt as he grasped at yours, unhooking it and practically tearing the zipper off. He pushed both that and your boxers down, to which you stopped your actions to fully remove your bottoms. You were quick to return to your task, digging around to spring Malleus's cock from its fabric prison.

You didn't want to wait any longer, and frankly, neither did Malleus.

The two of you got in position, you straddling Malleus as he positioned his cock. You lowered the same time he started to move up, and insertion was made. Malleus was quick to begin thrusting while you lightly bounced your hips against him, arching your back as he hit all your deepest spots.

"M-Malleus~!"

Once he hit that special spot, you hunched back over with a gasp, planting a heated kiss on his lips before diving back in on the bite you had left. Luckily for you, Malleus didn't seem too fazed by this.

You finally got to taste that change. He tasted sweet, almost flower-like, though there was some bitterness to it, a fermented fruity bitterness. It was intoxicating, like a wine.

"(Y-Y/N)...~" Malleus breathed, tugging on your hair as his thrusts never ceased. "Th-That's enough."

The tugging of your hair sent shivers down your body, your head following his motion as you moaned by his ear, filling him with a rush of energy. He flipped the two of you over, pinning your wrists as he let all of his desires out. The sound of skin slapping skin mixed with both of your moans. A heat curled in your stomach, your legs trembling as you neared your climax.

"M-Malleus~! G-Gonna...I-I'm gonna--~!"

One final buried thrust was all you needed as he stuffed his cock deep in you, releasing his hot seed as you shot out hot streams between the two of you, dirtying your shirts. Your legs trembled visibly, jerking on occassion as you panted heavily.

Malleus carefully moved some hair from your face, his own body trembling as he let out his own, spent panting. His lips moved, but you couldn't make out any sound. You had expanded too much energy since the transformation, and doing so had caused you to pass out once more. Malleus watched as your eyes closed, chuckling softly as he cleared the blood from your lips with a thumb.

"Don't worry. I've got you, love."

[mullermilkshake]

Twelve days of fluffmas

On the third day of fluffmas, my true love gave to me...

Yakuza!Geto being a family man.

Day four

Yakuza!Suguru x Wife! reader

Tags: Yakuza!Suguru x Wife!reader, fem!reader, Yakuza AU, fluffy goodness, Suguru and you have twin daughters, Mimiko, Nanako, festive baking cookie decorating, kissing, gosh I love this AU so much

"No Daddy, that's not how it goes!" Nanako laughed at Suguru's design on the cookie.

Suguru thought the way how the green and red icing that was way too runny merged into one to make a vibrant mud brown was artistic, it seemed his five year old daughter did not agree.

"Nanako that's rude. Daddy's trying," oh the honesty of a five year old...

"But the icing goes like this, Mimiko..." Nanako squeezed the icing from the bag so hard it began to squelch in between her fingers as it dripped indiscriminately over the cookie. "See? A smiley face."

"Oh, of course," Suguru shook his head in agreement. "How could I do a different face other than a smiley one? It's Christmas after all."

"See?" Nanako wiggled her fingers covered in icing.

Suguru moved to get something to wipe it off her hands though before he could hand her anything, she was licking her fingers and staining her face with icing colour.

The girls had spent the morning baking with you, mixing and cutting the gingerbread cookies in different shapes to festive music.

It was all much more cohesive whenever you did messy things with the girls yet somehow when Suguru attempted it with them, they got more food on themselves than the actual cookies.

Now Mimiko was much neater and had more of knack of keeping inside the lines when she concentrated. Nanako however was much more wild and often chased her attention when she lost it frequently. She had the clever ability of getting mess everywhere without really trying.

"How's it going girls?" you emerged from the living room, leaning against the open door threshold of the kitchen. Your eyes were widened at the mess.

"They're so cool Mama."

Suguru wiped his hands and stepped over to you whilst they turned to see you and smile. "Keep going girls, I'm going to show your mama the other cookies you did."

The other cookies they'd decorated were on a cooling tray dripping all over the counter top, the colours merging together in a grey-brown and mash up of coagulating sprinkles and sugar.

He kept his voice low under the festive music from the next room. "How on earth do you manage to keep the mess contained?"

You smiled with a smugness only you could pull off and watched the girls adoringly. "That's great, Nanako. They look very cool, keep up the good work you two," then you leaned into him and kept your voice down too.

"Lots and lots of practice... amateur."

He stifled his laughter and wrapped his arm around you until he was behind you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. "I guess I have a lot to learn in the art of cookie making then, huh?"

"Just clear up as you go and you'll be just as efficient as I am," that was the kicker, when you pointed to the kitchen sink piled with utensils and dishes.

"Oh..."

It was going to take ages to clean all that up after. Sticky dried icing and colourful smudges over every surface.

"Girls? What do you say we play the washing up game after we finish these cookies?"

Even Mimiko groaned, licking a dab of icing from her dolly's head, wiping the wet away on her dress. Nanako slumped over and ended up rubbing icing all over her hair with her reaction.

"But washing up is boring daddy!"

It really was.

You stepped in the middle and held up your hands to each side. "I think what you two need is a bath. And then I will help daddy with the dishes before I get dinner sorted, and the girls have a hot chocolate on their hands."

"Yes!" Nanako jumped off of her little step. "Come on Mimiko!"

Their little slippers tapped along the floor and not long the little thumps climbed up the stairs towards the bathroom.

"Don't get icing everywhere, wait for me in the bathroom!" you called out and they probably didn't hear you, their excitement to much to bear.

Suguru let out a long exhale at the mess and rerolled up his shirt sleeves to make a dent in the catastrophe. Icing was even dripping off of the counter and onto the floor, the icing bags squeezed within an inch of their life.

If he started now, then maybe he'd be finished before morning.

"Oh, you missed a spot."

Suguru had barley wiped a spot with a damp cloth. "Hm-"

You dabbed a clump of icing on his nose and edged towards the living room. "Right there, see? You missed it."

No. You weren't getting out of it that easy. "I did, didn't I? Come here mama, can you get it for me?"

"No. Don't even think about getting icing on me. I just got the flour out of my hair."

"You brought this on yourself," Suguru edged towards you, arms out for a bear hug.

It was only then you must have realised what you had started, because you edged back further too. "Don't."

Suguru gave it three seconds before you would bolt for it right up the stairs to run the bath for the girls as an excuse to get out of an icing kiss.

You were fast, but not as fast as him and he managed to get a hold of your wrist and pull you close, wiping his icing covered face all over your own face.

"I love you so much mama, so very much and this kiss is just for you."

You cringed and wriggled around but in the end, it was futile. After a moment, you gave up and looked up at him. "You're such an ass."

"Yet you married me."

"I think I might regret that now," your sarcasm did not stop Suguru stealing a kiss, which then turned into a loving embrace.

"Ew! Daddy stop eating mama's face!"

"I said wait in the bathroom young lady!" pulling away, you marched right on over to the bottom of the stairs and laughed at their sudden squeals and thumps back up the stairs before following them yourself.

Suguru stopped for a moment in the happiness of his little family. It was perfect.

Then he turned backwards the kitchen to see that the mess had not disappeared.

And now he had icing all over his face.

[writememysticfalls]

Three's a Crowd | Damon Salvatore x Elena Gilbert

Summary: Elena is dying to ask Damon if Katherine ever had a threesome with him and Stefan. Will she ask the naughtiest question?

Genre: Suggestive, set around S1 when Delena were frenemies.

Word Count: <1k

“You better be ready for round two, Stefan, because I-” Elena started to say as she walked into the kitchen in Stefan’s dark grey dressing gown, her hair dripping from the shower. She froze when she saw who was standing there.

“Morning,” Damon said with a smirk, resting his elbows on the kitchen island. “Stefan ran out to get some bacon and eggs. You’re getting the princess treatment, you know.”

Maybe she was mistaken, but Damon’s eyes seemed far too comfortable resting on her body. She wrapped the dressing gown tighter around herself.

“Stefan didn’t tell me you’d be around,” she said, trying to look calm although her face was burning.

“Don’t look so worried, Elena,” Damon said, his eyes flashing. “Stefan and I are pretty used to… sharing space. ”

He passed by Elena, apparently to put his empty glass in the sink. However, this forced their bodies to brush as he passed through the small space. Elena caught a whiff of whiskey and something oddly fragrant, like old roses.

She couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by “sharing” a space with Stefan. She had a feeling it was to do with how they had once been in love with the same woman.

Damon suddenly spun and looked at Elena. “I can feel you staring at me. It’s disturbing.”

She gulped. “I wasn’t staring.”

Damon crossed his arms. “Yes you were, and it wasn’t just because I’m a hot piece of ass. You’re curious.”

“Curious?” she said, her mouth dry.

“About Katherine,” Damon said. “You want to know what it was like dating the same woman as Stefan.”

A chill ran over Elena's skin, and she wondered if some vampires could read minds. “I’m not curious about you, Damon,” she said quickly. “You’re a jerk, and that’s all I need to know.”

Damon shrugged. “Fine. I was going to tell you, but if you’re not curious…”

He turned as if to walk away again, but, her cheeks burning, she was forced to say, “Fine. Maybe I do have… a couple of questions. Like - weren’t you jealous?”

Damon grinned at Elena. “Of course. There were times I was so jealous I hated my brother. I couldn’t watch him and Katherine in the same room. Every word she said to him, every look - it physically hurt.”

Elena wondered how he could talk about such pain like it was nothing. “How did you deal with it?” she said quietly.

Damon smirked. “Well… let’s just say that the walls between my bedroom and Stefan’s were very thin - and I knew for a fact that Katherine had more fun when she was in bed with me.”

She was shocked by Damon’s honesty. Another, much more inappropriate question came to her mind, but she shut down the thought.

Damon’s smile grew. “Oh, you’re just dying to ask the question, aren’t you?”

Elena opened the fridge door and got the orange juice, just to hide her face from Damon for a moment. “My curiosity has been satisfied. Thank you.”

“Oh no no no,” Damon said. “I’m not letting you off that easily. If you want the answer, you have to ask.”

Her heart raced. She knew this was beyond inappropriate to say to her boyfriend’s brother, but she couldn’t resist. Elena leaned on the counter, so her face was inches from Damon’s.

Elena lowered her voice. “Did Katherine ever… have sex with both of you at once?”

Damon’s pale eyes pierced into hers. Elena found herself admiring the strong line of his jaw, the ripple of his long neck. He said nothing for a long time, and for a moment, she thought she'd offended him. For the first time in their whole conversation, he looked almost serious.

“No,” he said. “I was always afraid she would ask, but I think Katherine was too possessive to even consider it. She needed all the attention to be on her, always.” Damon stood up, all the seriousness melting from his face again. “She did love watching us fight, though!“

Elena wondered why Damon’s tone had abruptly changed, when she looked to the door and saw that Stefan was standing there, shopping bag in hand.

She froze, feeling like a little kid being caught with her hand in the cookie jar. To Elena's relief, Stefan looked relaxed - he must have not heard what she was saying.

Elena brushed her hands through her hair. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey,” Stefan said cheerily. “What were you guys talking about?”

“We were just discussing… the plans for the Founder’s bake sale this weekend, right Damon?” Elena said, glaring at Damon to make sure he went along with her lie.

“Right, right,” Damon said lightly. “Muffins. Buns.”

Elena sighed with relief, grateful that the awkward situation had been passed by.

However, just then, Damon slinked past Elena, and whispered in her ear, “Stefan heard everything. Vampire super-hearing, remember?’

Elena had completely forgotten about that. Her hands flew to cover her mouth, and she stared at Stefan in pure embarrassment.

​—

Stefan didn’t look angry, or even offended about her questioning. He just smirked and said, “Damon’s a liar. Katherine definitely had more fun with me.”

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[queenshelby]

Daddy Issues (Part Four)

Pairing: Dominant!Cillian Murphy & Shy!Reader (& Jamie Dornan)

Warning: Smut, BDSM, Daddy Kink, 4-Somes, 3-Somes, Sugar Baby Arrangements

Summary: Through your best friend, you meet actor Cillian Murphy and come to some kind of arrangement involving intimacy in exchange for being spoiled financially.

Written with: my beautiful wife @darkshelbyfiction

Your PoV

At around eight o'clock in the morning, you woke from your slumber feeling refreshed and pleasantly worn out. It appeared that the entire night's events had left quite an impression on you. In fact, just recalling the events brought forth surges of excitement which you had never felt before. 

The memory of having heated intercourse with Cillian in particular induced goosebumps, sending shivers along your flesh, making you wonder what the day ahead might bring.

When you stumbled into the living room however, only Emma could be found while Jamie had already left in order to go for his usual morning run.

Meeting your eyes, Emma began speaking immediately. "So, did you sleep alright?" She asked kindly, showing genuine concern.

"Yeah, surprisingly enough," you admitted honestly, thinking back to the incredible experiences you had just undergone.

"Cillian did not stay. He never does," Emma explained quietly, running her hands through her messy curls, wondering whether you were upset by how things had ended last night, namely with him leaving. 

"I don't blame him. I hate sleeping in the same bed with strangers anyway," you told Emma lightheartedly, immediately sensing her relief.

"Really? Because I absolutely love staying in the same bed with Jamie. He is surprisingly cuddly," Emma laughed before querying directly how you felt about last night's events.

"Do you have regrets? About last night?" Emma asked, searching your eyes earnestly. There was something unspoken lingering between you two, a bond formed amidst shared experience.

She needed to understand where you stood, emotionally and, much to her surprise, you smiled slightly and leaned closer to her, taking her hand into yours.

"Not really. If I regret anything, it's that our little tryst didn't happen sooner. It was fun and I feel surprisingly comfortable with what happened between the four of us," you confessed casually, raising your eyebrows playfully. "Maybe even too comfortable," you added and, immediately, Emma grinned widely as she stretched herself comfortably.

"I am so glad because I honestly thought I went too far. I never intended to push you into anything like this, knowing how reluctant you usually are when it comes to intimacy," Emma expressed sincerely, cupping your cheek affectionately. Her honesty touched you deeply, and it struck you that perhaps your friendship hadn't changed irreparably due to all the strange occurrences lately.

"No, I didn't feel pushed into anything, Em. We are all good, alright?" you said reassuringly, giving her a gentle smile. You then continued, "I am curious though, Jamie did not appear to be as dominant as I had expected. Is he usually this timid?" 

 Glancing away for a second, Emma responded hesitatingly, "He can be dominant, but most of the time, he prefers to let me lead..." She trailed off, seemingly unsure whether she should continue discussing this or not. 

Feeling somewhat confused, you pressed further, asking "But why is he so generous then? What is his deal if control is not what he is after?" Your expression grew increasingly perplexed as you tried to piece together your understanding of Jamie's behavior.

 Emma shrugged slightly, choosing her words carefully before answering. "Well, think about it like this - a man like him might get bored easily and there is always a risk, considering that he is somewhat famous. He wants security, but without any feelings or strings attached. He has a high libido that needs to be satisfied. He is really into adventurous sex, but he is not Christian Grey. He does not like to exercise dominance. All he wants is to have fun with someone he can trust," Emma explained. 

Your brow furrowed in thought, processing the idea as you mulled it over.  Then you contemplated, "But when he is done with that, doesn't that mean he may stop supporting you sometime, once he wants something more serious with someone else?" These questions seemed pertinent given the circumstances. But Emma, ever resourceful, had answers prepared.

"It's true, Jamie may not stick around forever. However, I believe it's more beneficial for me than harmful," she asserted firmly. "He gives me everything I need right now, and once I'm ready to leave him behind, I will. Until then, it works perfectly for both of us," Emma defended fervently, a stubborn glint in her eye. It occurred to you then that despite Jamie's apparent lack of commitment, his support provided stability and security for Emma during her financial struggle at university.

Perhaps Jamie saw something in Emma beyond mere sexual attraction; something deeper that kept him interested. Maybe it was trust and security that he was after, just like Emma had suggested. Or maybe, he simply enjoyed being able to provide such benefits to someone in return for the pleasure she gave him.

Regardless, your curiosity was piqued about this kind of arrangement, one based solely upon mutual satisfaction and desires. As you delved deeper into conversation with Emma, your initial confusion gradually dissipated, replaced instead by fascination.

"You know, Cillian might be looking for something similar to what Jamie and I have in place, some form of temporary companionship rather than romantic attachment. He just separated from his wife and with this new movie coming out, he is reluctant to continue his usual behavior," Emma pondered pensively, drawing you into the nuances of these unusual arrangements before suggesting that this may be an option for you.

Her proposal was unexpected but certainly interesting. While you initially dismissed the notion, deep down, a part of you couldn't help but entertain the possibility of exploring such an arrangement yourself, especially after witnessing firsthand the dynamic between Jamie and Emma. This type of setup, founded entirely on fulfilling needs and mutual desire, appealed to you tremendously.

But then again, Cillian was much older than you. He had experience and you could not match this experience. He also had a reputation of being a womanizer and you read about several cheating scandals in the past. He was clearly sleeping around and the last thing you wanted was to be one of many. 

"I don't think so, Em. Cillian is extremely gorgeous, but he is not the kind of guy I should get myself involved with. Besides, he's way older than me," you replied, attempting to dispel the suggestion gently. Emma raised an eyebrow at your comment, acknowledging your reservations about age differences, although her gaze suggested a hint of intrigue.

"You are right. Maybe he isn't for you. He is into some kinky shit too. At least so I've heard," Emma murmured suggestively, flashing a devilish smile that made you raise an eyebrow in response.

You couldn't deny that you had always been curious about experimenting with different aspects of intimacy, pushing boundaries and exploring limits. Was it possible that this was just another opportunity presenting itself to indulge those curiosities?

"What kind of kinky shit are you talking about? I mean, we just had a foursome, and I don't think it can get any kinkier than that," you joked, feigning disinterest. But inside, you knew you weren't telling the truth. You secretly craved more intense thrills, more deviant experiences. Deep down, a small voice whispered seductively, tempting you to consider the possibilities that lay beyond vanilla. Yet, you remained hesitant – partly due to fear, partly due to uncertainty regarding the path laid before you.

"Well, apparently Cillian actually likes some elements of bondage and discipline", Emma divulged nonchalantly, smirking teasingly as she awaited your reaction. "Maybe he should have played Christian Grey instead," she then mused, referencing Fifty Shades of Grey again. 

"How do you even know this stuff?" you asked Emma, clearly caught off guard by this revelation. Emma smiled mysteriously, crossing her legs provocatively as she spoke.

"It came up a few weeks ago when we had this threesome. Jamie mentioned it in passing," Emma giggled softly and your face flushed red instantly, unable to hide your embarrassment or curiosity. Clearly, this topic aroused you greatly, but you did not want to admit this to your friend.

"So, he likes to be the dominant then, I assume? Is that what you call it?" you ventured hesitantly, intrigued yet still apprehensive.

Emma nodded affirmatively, adding with mischievous excitement, "Yes! And trust me, there is no better feeling than knowing exactly what you want and getting it. He was being gentle with you. He was much more dominant when the three of us...you know...never mind...," Emma trailed off but you would not let loose.

"Well, I am not you, obviously.  He was probably cautious, seeing that I was really nervous," you said with blushing cheeks, and Emma went on to explain that, in other aspects of life, Cillian was rather timid.

"He is a nice, caring and somewhat gentle guy, who seems to like rough sex," Emma said with a mix of admiration and amusement, as though recounting a personal experience. Your head spun with thoughts as you processed the information she had revealed. Intrigued by the prospect of engaging in a more liberating, uninhibited form of sexual encounter, you found yourself questioning whether you were truly capable of embracing such a radical shift in your usual approach to sex. You wanted to be more open to your needs, but could you?

"Interesting. Well, I am sure there are many suitable women for this kind of power exchange. But, I am not one of them," you determined in the end, finally voicing your inner concerns.

"Are you sure? Because, I could see how attracted you felt towards him, and you are clearly asking a lot of questions. That alone tells me that this might indeed be worth considering. Everyone starts somewhere Y/N," she encouraged gently, her tone persuasive and compelling.

As she spoke, images of your steamy encounters danced through your mind, leaving you yearning for more intensity and eroticism. How would you react in such a situation?

Would you dare take the leap? Your imagination raced ahead, visualising every detail of such a forbidden scenario vividly. You felt your heart race, pounding loudly within your chest. You looked towards Emma inquiringly, seeking confirmation and guidance. She studied your face closely, reading your thoughts accurately. With a sigh, she acknowledged your internal turmoil, saying quietly, "Of course, only you can decide what is right for you." Emma's calm demeanor served as a reminder that ultimately, the choice rested squarely upon your shoulders.

After all, it wasn't as if you hadn't fantasized about this kind of liaison before. The difference was merely the scale of risk associated with it, compared to the rewards it offered.

The thought sent waves of heat coursing through your body, causing goosebumps to rise along your skin and, yet, you declined the notion to engage in something like this. 

You realized that perhaps you were not quite ready for this change just yet and, with that, you were determined not to take Cillian up on his offer on catching up with him again.

Cillian’s PoV

Meanwhile, after his morning run, Jamie caught up with Cillian at his hotel where, in the neat little coffee shop downstairs, they exchanged some lighthearted banter.

"So, did you have fun with Y/N last night?" Jamie asked casually, sipping his espresso.

"Yes. She is rather cute and we managed to find our rhythm pretty quickly," Cillian responded, equally casual in mannerisms, albeit with a touch of melancholy evident beneath his exterior composure. His fingers traced absentmindedly across the rim of his cup.

Jamie observed Cillian closely, picking up subtle cues which indicated that, perhaps, Cillian wanted to see you again after last night's encounter. 

"Are you going to see her again? You seemed to get on quite well," Jamie probed further, raising a brow quizzically. Cillian considered the question for a moment while thinking about how shy and inexperienced you were.

"We did get on, but she is quite young and inexperienced so it might be a waste of time," Cillian mulled out loud, his gaze far away, likely contemplating memories of the sensuous encounter he shared with you earlier that evening.

Jamie noticed the introspective look on Cillian's face and decided to leave him with his thoughts. After a brief pause, he changed the subject abruptly, hoping to redirect the discussion.

"Hey, speaking of time, let's grab dinner tonight, shall we? It's been ages since we caught up properly, without women being involved," Jamie proposed cheerfully, breaking the heavy silence that hung thickly around them.

Cillian glanced at Jamie briefly, acknowledging the suggestion with a slight nod.

Despite the camaraderie among themselves, both men understood perfectly well why they sought solace in casual affairs and no-strings-attached hookups - it allowed them to temporarily escape the monotony of daily routines. They knew how fleeting pleasures could provide much needed respite amidst hectic schedules.

***

Over dinner, Jamie and Cillian discussed their respective lives, ranging from acting projects to failed romances. Their rapport was effortless, built on honesty and understanding.

Despite the surface conversation about work and women, Jamie picked up on undercurrents of dissatisfaction swirling beneath Cillian’s placid exterior that day.

Cillian was about to divorce his second wife, who was an actress as well but was tired of living in his shadow. He had grown weary of the superficiality that accompanied stardom while she indulged on it whenever she could. As he continued drinking, Jamie noted Cillian's solemn state and wondered what demons haunted him behind closed doors these days. 

He appeared drained – not just physically, but emotionally too. There was an air of vulnerability about him that piqued Jamie's interest even more. It occurred to Jamie that Cillian was essentially similar to himself, searching for true fulfillment amidst an empty world full of deceiving facades. 

Without warning, Cillian began discussing his marriage and its eventual end. As he narrated tales of his failing relationship, his hands moved nervously across the table, giving the impression that his thoughts were almost tangible.

“She’s so… demanding,” he uttered with a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Always wanting attention, accolades, and constant validation.”

"And just an hour ago, she sent me a text. She now does not want to go through with the divorce, claiming that 'we need to try harder'. What's left to try?!" exclaimed Cillian bitterly, slumping back into his chair. This latest development added fuel to his frustration, making the already volatile mixture inside him reach boiling point.

There was a palpable sense of despair and exhaustion hanging heavily in the room as Jamie listened intently, offering nothing more than comforting silence. He recognized these feelings well, having grappled with them countless times during his own tumultuous past relationship. Jamie too was divorced, and this is why this arrangement with Emma came as solace to him as he could be himself without judgment from her.

Having been in this situation himself, Jamie could relate to Cillian's predicament because he experienced it firsthand. It took him several months of therapy post his split with his wife, but eventually, he emerged stronger – wiser. Now, his priorities revolved mainly around his career and maintaining a healthy balance between his personal needs and work.

"You need to find a balance man," Jamie thus suggested earnestly, hoping his advice resonates with Cillian.

"And how will I do that?" Cillian questioned, genuine curiosity lacing his words.

"By focusing less on other people and instead turning inward, examining what brings you joy or contentment. You do not need to make everyone else happy. You just need to look after yourself for now. It may sound cliché, but discovering your own needs can sometimes be the most difficult task," Jamie advised earnestly, knowing that self-exploration isn't always easy.

Cillian mulled over Jamie's advice, reflecting deeply on it. He appreciated Jamie's sincerity, but the truth remained that achieving equilibrium required more than just insightful counsel. One must also possess courage to actively pursue personal happiness. Despite feeling exhausted, a spark of hope flickered within him as he grasped onto the potential of redefining his life.

Meanwhile, outside the restaurant, the streets bustled with people hurrying home from work. Neon signs advertised trendy bars, flashing enticing invitations to indulge in late-night escapades. Jamie stood up from the table, signaling the end of their evening, but suggesting a drink at a local bar named "Soho". 

"Let's go and have a few pints before calling it a day," said Jamie gesturing towards the exit.

"Alright, where to?" Cillian enquired, his tone teetering between amusement and weariness.

"Just follow my lead," Jamie replied with a grin, taking charge. Leading the way towards Soho, he guided his mate through crowded streets filled with pubs, restaurants, and colorful storefronts. Everywhere, there was music blaring from clubs and pubs, adding to the vibrant atmosphere. People passed by them in a blur, seemingly lost in their own adventures.

***

With a familiar ease, they entered the dimly lit Soho bar. Dimmed lights cast warm, alluring shadows upon the walls, creating an ambiance perfect for anyone's mood.

Unbeknownst to Cillian, both you and Emma worked at Soho as part-time employees due to your close connections with the bar's owner, Michelle.

Michelle was a woman in her thirties who, just like you and Emma, attended law school during the day. 

Unlike you, however, she was rather wealthy after having inherited a good fortune from her late father, allowing her to own and operate various establishments throughout London. This included "Soho", which was one of her favorite spots. The bar held sentimental value for her, serving as an oasis where she found solitude amidst the bustling city. 

The pair settled into comfortable chairs near the bar counter, surveying the cozy yet lively interior decorated with exposed brick walls, antique mirrors, and tasteful light fixtures casting a soft glow on patrons.

"Couldn't stay away, could you?" Emma asked Jamie after she had spotted him while, all at the same time, you dropped your utensils when Cillian came into view. For some reason, you had not expected to see him again, but here he was, at your work, having a few drinks with Jamie. 

"No, I couldn't," Jamie teased without showing her genuine affection in public. For what Michelle and the other waitresses knew, Emma was nothing but an acquaintance to Jamie Dornan and, ironically enough, most of them wanted her to introduce them to the famous actor. 

Jamie and Cillian ordered a couple of bottles of beer, taking a seat against the wall. Tired from the evening's events, they sank deep into their seats, watching the crowd move restlessly around them.

Cillian occasionally glanced over towards you, unable to help stealing subtle peeks every once in a while. His gaze then drifted towards the bar, where rows of whiskey glasses gleamed seductively under the low lights.

"Stop starring at her. You are making her nervous, "Jamie joked as he noticed Cillian's frequent glances toward you. 

"I am not starring!" Cillian defensively responded, sipping his beer and averting his eyes.

"You are. But that's okay. After all, you got to fuck her last night. Just calm down and let her work though, alright?" Jamie said, smirking playfully.

Cillian hesitated slightly, trying to suppress his growing desire. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact with you before realizing that hiding his attraction would only become increasingly challenging as the night wore on and the drinks kept flowing. 

"Look, let's call it a night soon," Cillian finally spoke up, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen upon them. "These drinks are starting to get to us anyway," he pointed out just as Emma knocked off and walked over towards their table with a drink in her hand. 

"True," agreed Jamie, nodding along, though a faint smile played on his lips. "Do you want to come to my place? I am sure Emma would like you to join us again," Jamie invited Cillian with a slight pause. 

"Not tonight. I need to catch up on some sleep before my interviews tomorrow," Cillian declined, his eyes betraying a twinge of reluctance while Emma suggested that, at the very least, he should finish his last bottle of beer.

"Sounds like a plan," Cillian conceded, his focus returning to his half-empty bottle while you, too, finished up your shift and joined the trio.

"Hello strangers! How are we feeling tonight?" you asked casually, placing two extra bottles of beer on the table - much to the delight of Jamie who was not yet ready to leave.

Cillian, on the other hand, was yawning and you too were exhausted from your long shift.

After a while and some more conversation between the four of you, you decided to finally excuse yourself and head back to your flat since it was getting quite late. 

"How are you getting home?" Cillian enquired as you made plans to depart, alone.

"I parked out the back. I don't like taking the tube at night on my own," you answered nonchalantly and, much to your surprise, he seemed relieved.

"That makes sense," acknowledged Cillian as he drained the remainder of his drink. "I will walk you to your car and then head off myself, alright?" he suggested to which you nodded agreeably. 

***

As Cillian accompanied you to your car, the night air felt fresh despite the humid summer heat while his body itself was radiating warmth. There was something incredibly attractive about him which intrigued you and he was aware of your attraction too, evident in the way he looked at you — those intense blue eyes burning brightly even under the streetlights, the curve of his mouth hinting at something far beyond simple friendliness.

Yet, you didn't dare say anything. Instead, you chose to walk alongside him silently, cherishing these fleeting moments together, unsure if they would ever happen again after you had already made up your mind not to call him following last night's encounter. 

As you approached your car, however, everything else came to a standstill.

"So, um..." you stammered. "How are you getting back to your hotel? Do you need a lift?" you offered politely, suddenly finding yourself wishing to prolong your unexpected reunion.

Cillian looked surprised but grateful as he accepted your offer without hesitation. 

"That would be grand, thank you," he expressed, reaching for the door handle to open yours for you before walking towards the passenger side of the car and taking a seat next to you.

Your hands trembled slightly as you tried inserting the key into the ignition slot. This small gesture of kindness brought forth so many mixed feelings.

Embarrassment quickly flooded your face, turning redder than usual. Trying hard to regain composure, you attempted to start the engine of your car but your efforts were futile. The car would not start. 

"God dammit," you cursed, hitting the dashboard lightly with frustration. Cillian simply watched, observing how your cheeks flushed deeper with embarrassment as you struggled with the malfunctioning engine before speaking up.

"Don't worry about it. Let me call roadside assistance. They are usually pretty quick in London," he said with a gentle tone while tears started forming in your eyes from pure exhaustion, relief, and vulnerability. It dawned on you – no matter how much you desired to forget your meeting with him, fate conspired otherwise in the most irritating way possible. 

"No don't. I can't...." you began to say, panicking and desperately hoping that he wouldn't notice how utterly disheveled you truly were beneath your professional exterior. "But thanks. I appreciate it." 

"Y/N, you can't just leave the car here. You will get fined if you do," Cillian stated firmly while watching you lose your mind. "It's alright. It's not a big deal. We will just make the call and they will come out and probably replace the battery. I will wait with you. It's all good," Cillian confidently declared, trying to calm you down but you kept shaking your head.

"I can't afford it. It will cost at least a few hundred pounds," you explained with a defeated voice, looking away as Cillian raised an eyebrow, sensing your less than fortunate situation.

He moved closer, offering a sympathetic grimace. "Don't stress, Y/N. I can pay for it," Cillian assured you gently, reaching for his phone and dialing the emergency number as you continued to argue with yourself mentally, debating whether accepting his generosity might compromise your independence. 

"No, I can't accept this, really. Thank you, though. Seriously," you pleaded; however, your pleading fell on deaf ears as he put on his best persuasion tactics.

"Y/N, please. Let me take care of this. Trust me, you can't leave the car here. You will get fined more than the battery would cost, especially if you get towed overnight," he told you and, with little room left for refusal, you caved in, feeling torn apart inside. Despite wanting to maintain your distance from him, there was still something undeniable about the man. Perhaps it was his raw charm, captivating presence, or his sincerity.

"I will pay you back when I can," you whispered quietly, attempting to hide your shame at accepting such an act of kindness from someone you barely knew.

"There's no need," he replied firmly, holding your gaze intimately, but you insisted. 

"No seriously Cillian. I will pay you back

when I can," you repeated resolutely, determined to hold onto what remained of your dignity. Yet, even through the dim street lamps, you could see the intensity in his eyes, burning right through your resolve. He took your hand gently in his, rubbing comfortingly with his thumb.

"Y/N, stop. It's fine," he whispered softly before, finally, roadside assistance picked up the phone.

After providing the necessary information, Cillian handed it over to you. With his guidance, you navigated through the automated system until a service provider confirmed the arrival time. Relief surfaced across your face.

Cillian smiled, recognizing your gratitude. "Thank you," you breathed deeply, feeling calmed momentarily, allowing yourself to relax against the cold leather seat, your heart racing as you realized how close you now stood to him due to the limited space within the confines of the car.

"Do you want to go back inside while we wait?" you asked, but Cillian shook his head head decisively. "No, let's stay out here. I prefer it outside," he stated firmly, pulling out a cigarette packet from his pocket and lighting one up. His eyes turned glassy as smoke swirled around him, creating an ethereal aura surrounding him. Your eyes followed his every move.

"You know you don't actually have to wait around with me. You can go with Jamie and Emma," you said sheepishly, glancing at Cillian briefly, trying to gauge his reaction. He only chuckled softly, shaking his head playfully, clearly unbothered by your suggestion.

"No, I had enough excitement last night and, to tell you the truth, these things are a lot of work," he admitted candidly, blowing out a cloud of smoke before continuing.

"So, you are saying that threesome are hard work, huh?" you questioned curiously, raising an eyebrow while secretly admiring his frank honesty. He smirked wryly, tossing the cigarette stub away into the darkened street below.

"Yes, don't you think?" Cillian asked before continuing this conversation. "I mean, they are fun, occasionally, but not regularly," he admitted candidly, making eye contact with you once more. You couldn't help but feel drawn to him as he spoke with such openness, his words resonating deep within your core. You found yourself unable to resist probing further.

"So, you prefer one on one encounters then?", you queried curiously, amused yet somewhat confused by his admission. "Well, mostly," he responded candidly, blowing out another puff of smoke. "Though sometimes it depends on who I'm with and the chemistry." Cillian added thoughtfully just as, finally, roadside assistance 

arrived to change your dead battery. Their appearance provided temporary reprieve from the escalating sexual tension between both of you.  

The mechanic worked efficiently on your car, carefully replacing the old battery with a new one. While they completed their task, Cillian and you stood outside and you were getting visibly cold. 

He noticed your shivering and pulled off his jacket to drape it over your shoulders, engulfing you warmly. You felt like a bird trapped in a cage - caught up in the magnetic pull that seemed to exist between you two. Unconsciously, your body shifted slightly closer to his, seeking some form of heat from his frame. But, instead of reacting, he merely stared straight ahead, appearing unfazed by your proximity.

When the mechanics were finally

done fixing your car, you silently wondered why he bothered helping you tonight. Hadn’t it been too much trouble for him? Nonetheless, you refused to express any signs of indebtedness or sentimentality and, after he paid the mechanic's bill, you both jumped into your car.  

Despite the late hour, traffic was relatively smooth and quiet, allowing you to navigate the streets together seamlessly. As you cruised along, the mood became increasingly awkward.

You exchanged polite, neutral conversation which did nothing to alleviate the palpable tension. Despite sharing laughter over trivial matters, you couldn't shake the feeling that the air was charged, electric even. You attributed it to the circumstances under which you met – a combination of intense desire and circumstance, but you also couldn't deny that something else lay hidden beneath it all. Something far more potent than simple attraction.

Unphased by this however, you dropped off Cillian at his hotel. After thanking him profusely again for everything, he said goodbye, kissing you on the forehead tenderly before stepping out of the car and heading back inside.

"It was good to see you again, Y/N. Call me know if you ever want to catch up," he said and, with that, the door closed behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sat there for a moment, taking in the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with your own musky pheromones. The memories of your passionate encounter played vividly in your mind, consuming you completely. Your fingers traced light patterns upon your skin where his hands had held you so tightly. Unable to escape the power he held over you, you drove back home, haunted by his touch, knowing deep down inside that you should not be getting involved with this man. It was something you should not pursue and, with that, you remained resolute to avoid him from that point forward. 

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