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writeriguess · 2 days ago

Note

Hi author! I hope your day is going/has gone well. I was hoping you could write an angst Dabi x fem!reader. The reader is a civilian who’s got a secret thing going on with Dabi. He usually comes twice a week but the reader hasn’t heard from him for almost a month. One day, he finally shows up and tells her about the war they’re planning and that he may not come back. Then, he disappears and two weeks later you see him on tv, on the brink of death.

This seems like a lot to ask this is my first time but thank you for your time!

author's note: I'm so sorry for breaking everyone's heart. I had to stop writing this like five times because was sobbing so hard every time while writing this and I hope to transfer that feeling to all of you <3

Ashes in the Wind

It had been twenty-six days.

Not that you were counting.

Except you were.

Dabi never made promises. He never said when he’d come, only that he would. Twice a week, like clockwork. Until he didn’t.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. Maybe something had come up. Maybe he was lying low. Maybe he was just being an ass and making you sweat. He’d done it before—gone a little longer than usual just to see how you’d react.

But never this long.

The first week, you told yourself to stop being paranoid. The second week, you barely slept. By the third, you were sick with worry, stomach twisting into knots every time you glanced at your phone, knowing full well he never texted. And now, at twenty-six days, you weren’t sure if you were more afraid that he was dead—or that he had simply left you behind.

You left the window unlocked, just in case.

You sat up late into the night, staring at the door, at the shadows shifting under the streetlight outside. The city was never quiet, but the absence of him made it feel like a void had opened up inside your chest.

Every sound made you flinch.

A creak in the hallway. Not him.

The wind rattling the window. Not him.

The distant scent of smoke from someone’s cigarette outside. Not him.

The first time he hadn’t shown up, you tried to tell yourself it was fine. But the days stretched, the silence became suffocating, and you stopped pretending.

Something was wrong.

You tried to be rational. He wasn’t normal. He wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t even really yours. He didn’t owe you anything. But that didn’t stop the sick feeling in your gut, the fear curling inside you every time you imagined the worst.

You imagined a fight gone bad.

A trap he didn’t see coming.

His body somewhere in an alley, cold and alone, with no one to mourn him because he had never let anyone close enough to care.

Except you.

And you didn’t even know if you had the right to.

Because he had never said it. Never said what you were to him, never said why he kept coming back. But he had. Again and again, until you had let yourself believe that meant something.

You pressed your forehead against the cool windowpane, staring down at the empty street below.

He wasn’t coming back.

You whispered his name under your breath like a prayer, but there was no answer. Only silence.

And twenty-six days of nothing.

You had given up.

After twenty-six days of waiting, of aching, of staring at the unlocked window and hoping, you had finally let yourself believe the truth—he wasn’t coming back.

You forced yourself to move on, or at least pretend to. Forced yourself to sleep, even if your body jolted awake at every imagined footstep. Forced yourself to eat, even when the worry curled in your gut like a sickness. Forced yourself to stop looking for his face in the crowd, in the smudges of ash on the pavement, in the distant sound of sirens.

And then, on the twenty-seventh night, he was there.

You didn’t hear him come in. You only noticed the change in the air—the scent of smoke, of something burnt and bitter and so achingly familiar that for a second, you thought you had finally gone mad.

Then a voice, low and rough, broke the silence.

“You look like hell.”

Your breath caught. Slowly, disbelievingly, you turned.

He was standing by the window, just like always. But he wasn’t the same.

He looked wrecked.

His coat was torn, his staples dark with dried blood. His hands were shaking, just slightly, but not from pain. His eyes—burning blue, too bright in the dim light—were unreadable.

He was real.

You barely had time to think before you were on him, fists balling into the front of his jacket, gripping tight like he’d disappear if you let go.

“Where the hell have you been?” Your voice cracked. “I thought—you were gone. I thought you were dead—”

His hands came up, hesitating before settling on your waist. Not pulling you close, not pushing you away. Just holding you there, like he didn’t know if he had the right.

“Almost was,” he muttered. “Would’ve been easier.”

The words sent ice through your veins. You pulled back just enough to see his face, searching his expression for something—anything—that would make this hurt less.

“What happened?” you whispered.

He exhaled, slow and sharp. His gaze flickered to the floor, like he was trying to decide how much to tell you. Then, finally, he spoke.

“There’s a war coming.”

The words felt heavy. Final.

Your stomach twisted. “What—?”

“It’s time.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “We’re making our move. Shigaraki, the League. Me.”

He paused, then, quieter, “I finally get to finish this.”

You didn’t have to ask what “this” was. You already knew.

Endeavor.

His father.

His revenge.

You had always known he carried it like a wound that never healed. That everything he did, every reckless fight, every burned bridge, was leading to this.

But knowing didn’t make it easier to hear.

“Dabi—”

“This is what I’ve been waiting for.” His voice was calm, steady. Too steady. Like he had already made peace with it. “I finally get to make him pay. And if it kills me? Fine. Worth it.”

No hesitation. No doubt.

He had always walked the edge of destruction, but this—this wasn’t just flirting with death. This was throwing himself into the fire and refusing to crawl out.

Your grip on him tightened. “You don’t have to do this.”

A ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips. “Yeah, I do.”

You shook your head, eyes burning. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

For the first time, something in his expression wavered. He swallowed, jaw clenching, before he muttered, “Wanted to see you.”

Your breath hitched.

You came back.

“You’re telling me you might die, and I’m just supposed to—what? Say goodbye?” You bit your lip, trying to keep your voice steady. “Like this doesn’t matter?”

His fingers twitched against your skin, like he wanted to pull you in but didn’t know how.

“It does,” he admitted. Barely a whisper. “That’s the problem.”

Your heart cracked.

You had never asked for anything from him. Never asked him to stay, never asked him to put a name to whatever this was between you. But you had never thought it would end like this, with him standing in front of you, telling you he might not come back.

“I don’t want you to go.”

He exhaled sharply, eyes squeezing shut.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered. “Don’t make this harder.”

Your throat tightened.

You wanted to beg. You wanted to scream. You wanted to shake him and tell him that his life wasn’t something he could just throw away for the sake of revenge.

But you knew him.

And you knew that nothing you said would stop him.

So instead, you reached up, pressing a shaking hand against his scarred cheek. His eyes fluttered open, something breaking in them as he leaned into your touch.

“You don’t have to say it,” you whispered.

His breath shuddered out. “I know.”

And then, just for a moment, he let himself have this.

He kissed you.

Desperate. Rough. Like he was trying to carve the memory of you into his bones, something to take with him when he walked into the fire.

And then, just as quickly, he was pulling away.

A step back.

Then another.

And just like that, he was gone.

You didn’t stop him. You didn’t run after him.

You just stood there, hands clenched at your sides, listening to the sound of the city outside.

And you waited.

Twenty-seven days.

Twenty-eight.

Twenty-nine.

He didn’t come back.

You hadn’t moved from the couch in hours.

The flickering light from the television cast long, ghostly shadows against the walls. The air in the room felt heavy, thick, like you couldn’t breathe properly. But maybe that was just the weight pressing down on your chest.

The news anchor’s voice was a dull hum in your ears, words blending together in a blur of static. The only thing that mattered was the screen.

The footage.

The image of him.

Dabi—no, Todoroki Touya—collapsed on the battlefield, his body barely holding itself together, surrounded by frost and blood and the shattered remnants of his own destruction.

The first time you saw him again, it didn’t feel real.

You had been in the middle of something mundane—washing dishes, trying to force yourself through the routine of existing—when the emergency broadcast cut in. The words “HEROES AND VILLAINS COLLIDE” flashed across the screen, and then suddenly, he was there.

Or what was left of him.

He looked like hell. Worse than you had ever seen him. Worse than you had imagined in all your sleepless nights spent worrying about where he had gone. His body was charred, his skin barely holding together, and his breathing—if he was even still breathing—was shallow, barely visible under the weight of ice pinning him down.

Shoto had stopped him.

You hadn’t known much about his brother before. Just bits and pieces, the rare scraps he let slip when he talked about his family. When he talked about the man he hated enough to destroy himself over.

And now, on national television, the whole world was seeing the culmination of his hatred.

The news replayed the footage again. And again.

Him screaming.

Him trying to drag himself forward, even when his body had nothing left to give.

Him standing in the middle of the flames, ready to end it all, before Shoto’s ice swallowed him whole.

You felt sick.

You had known this would happen.

Had he known?

Had he realized, when he stood in your apartment that night, that he wouldn’t survive this? That this was always the end he was heading toward?

He had warned you.

“If it kills me? Fine. Worth it.”

Liar.

If it had really been worth it, then why did he look so lost in those final moments?

Why had he looked like a boy reaching for something he could never have?

A lump formed in your throat, hot and suffocating.

You had spent thirty days waiting for him to come back.

And now, the whole world was watching as he bled out on a battlefield, barely clinging to life.

Your fingers dug into your arms, nails pressing deep, desperate to ground yourself in anything but the crushing weight of helplessness.

He had told you not to make it harder.

But this—watching him like this, knowing you couldn’t reach him, couldn’t do anything—was unbearable.

Somewhere, in some hospital or government facility, he was lying unconscious, maybe even dying, surrounded by people who saw him as nothing more than a villain, a monster, a cautionary tale.

But he wasn’t just that.

Not to you.

And if he died now, if this was really the end, then he would never know—

Never know that you had loved him.

***

The room was suffocatingly silent except for the rhythmic hum of the machines. You sat in the stiff plastic chair beside him, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes hollow from lack of sleep.

Dabi was awake. Barely.

His eyelids drooped, too heavy to lift, but he could hear you. The way your breath hitched every now and then, the soft rustling of fabric as you shifted in your seat. You were still here.

He should have told you to leave.

He wanted to tell you to leave.

But his throat was raw, and even if it weren’t, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to say the words. Not anymore.

His body was a wreck—less than human, more of a ruin. The burns had carved him down to nothing, and the restraints bound him like a corpse waiting for burial. Was this all he was now? A barely-living ghost?

“Dabi.”

Your voice pulled him from the abyss.

He forced his eyes open. It took too much effort. Everything took too much effort.

But when he managed it, the first thing he saw was you.

You looked worse than yesterday. Dark circles hung under your eyes, your lips were dry, and your hands were clenched so tightly your knuckles were bloodless.

“Still here?” His voice was sandpaper, scraping, worn.

Your lips twitched. “Still here.”

“Idiot.”

“You’re one to talk.”

A slow, excruciating smirk tugged at his lips. Even now, you could still fight him. He liked that about you.

The silence returned, stretching between you both, but it wasn’t empty. It was thick, heavy—choking you both with unspoken words neither of you had the strength to say.

Then, suddenly, you moved.

You shifted forward in your chair, closer than before, hands trembling as they hovered over the thick glass casing that separated you from him.

Your fingertips brushed against it, ghosting over the transparent divide.

“I want to touch you,” you whispered.

Dabi’s throat tightened.

You couldn’t. You both knew that.

There was nothing left of him to touch—only charred, ruined flesh barely clinging to life. He wasn’t the man you used to hold anymore.

But still, your fingers pressed lightly against the glass, as if that alone could bridge the space between you.

Dabi swallowed. “I’d burn you.”

Your shoulders stiffened.

“Doesn’t matter.”

His breath hitched.

Didn’t it?

You should be disgusted. You should look at him like everyone else did now—a walking corpse, something to be discarded, pitied, feared.

But you didn’t.

Your eyes were wet, desperate, filled with something that burned worse than any flame he had ever conjured.

Dabi forced himself to look away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered.

You inhaled sharply.

“I know.”

And yet—you stayed.

Dabi’s jaw clenched. He hated this. Hated that you had to see him like this.

“I don’t—” He stopped, breath faltering.

I don’t want you to see me like this.

I don’t want you to wait for me.

I don’t want you to grieve over something that was already lost.

But none of those words made it past his lips.

You leaned forward, voice trembling.

“Why did you come back?”

Dabi inhaled slowly.

“…Dunno.”

A lie.

He knew exactly why.

He could have died on that battlefield. He should have. That was the plan, wasn’t it? He’d burn bright, let himself be consumed, and end it all in the way he always intended.

But at the last second, when his body was breaking apart, when the flames were eating him alive—

He thought of you.

He thought of the way your hands used to brush against his scars, unafraid. The way your lips curled when you called him an idiot. The way you waited, even when you shouldn’t have.

And suddenly—dying didn’t seem so easy anymore.

“…I wanted to see you.”

Your breath caught.

Dabi exhaled slowly, shutting his eyes. He hated saying things like that. It made his throat burn worse than the fire ever had.

But it was the truth.

And right now, he didn’t have the time to lie.

You were quiet for a long time. Then—

“You’re the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”

Dabi let out a weak, breathy chuckle. “Yeah.”

Your head dropped, and for a moment, it looked like you might cry again.

But when you finally looked up, determination burned in your eyes.

“You’re going to make it,” you said, voice shaking but firm. “I don’t care what they say—I don’t care if they think you won’t survive. You will.”

Dabi stared at you.

God.

You were still so stupidly stubborn.

He smirked. “You always were a bad liar.”

Your lips wobbled.

And then, softly, eyes wet with unshed tears—

“…Then I guess I’ll just have to make you prove me right.”

Dabi’s breath stilled.

Your fingers pressed against the glass again, holding on to whatever of him was left.

And for the first time in a long time—

He wanted to hold on, too.

***

The air in the room was the same as always—sterile, cold, empty.

But when Dabi cracked his eyes open, you were still there.

You had fallen asleep at some point, curled up awkwardly in the chair beside his containment unit. Your arms were folded on the edge of the glass, head resting against them, body rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep.

He shouldn’t have woken up. He should be dead.

The thought wasn’t a new one, but lately, it felt heavier than before.

Dabi turned his head slightly—just enough to look at you properly. You were exhausted. It didn’t take a genius to see that.

Your skin was dull, dark circles hanging under your eyes, lips chapped from dehydration. You probably hadn’t eaten much either, not with the way your body looked thinner than he remembered.

How long had you been sitting here like this?

He should tell you to leave. He should want you to leave.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his lips parted, voice rasping through the thick silence.

“…You should go home.”

You stirred, groaning softly as you lifted your head, eyes still dazed with sleep.

“…’M not leaving,” you murmured.

Dabi huffed weakly, amused despite himself. “Stubborn.”

You blinked blearily at him, rubbing at your face before straightening up.

“So are you.”

His lips twitched.

You stretched, bones cracking as you forced yourself to wake up properly. It was obvious you weren’t getting enough rest.

Dabi watched you, something unreadable flickering behind his half-lidded gaze.

“You look like shit,” he muttered.

You exhaled through your nose, giving him a tired smile. “You’re one to talk.”

Dabi chuckled weakly—or tried to. His breath stuttered halfway through, throat too raw to handle even that small movement.

You noticed. Your brows furrowed, concern creeping into your expression.

“…Are you in pain?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Of course he was in pain. Every second of every day was pain. The flames had eaten away at everything that made him human, leaving behind nothing but a skeletal, charred ruin. He shouldn’t be alive.

And yet—

“I’ve had worse,” he finally said, voice hoarse.

You frowned, but you didn’t argue. You knew it was pointless.

Instead, you shifted in your seat, leaning forward slightly. Your fingers hovered near the glass, as close to him as you could get without actually touching.

“…Do you want me to talk?” you asked quietly. “Or do you want me to shut up?”

Dabi swallowed. His throat burned, dry and sore, but—

“…Talk.”

Your lips twitched, just barely.

“Alright.”

And so, you talked.

You told him about small, stupid things—things that shouldn’t matter, but somehow did.

You told him about how the vending machine downstairs ate your money and refused to give you your drink, how one of the nurses had nearly dropped a tray when she saw you glaring at it like you were planning murder.

You told him about the news, the reports, the things they said about him. The way they called him a monster, a villain, a cautionary tale.

But then, softer—

“They don’t know you,” you murmured.

Dabi’s breath stilled.

“They don’t know anything about you.”

His eyes flickered, something breaking behind them.

“…Maybe that’s for the best,” he muttered.

You shook your head. “It’s not.”

Silence stretched between you again, but it wasn’t as heavy as before.

You tapped your fingers against the glass absentmindedly.

“They’re treating you like you’re already dead,” you whispered. “Like you’re not even worth saving.”

Dabi exhaled slowly.

That’s because he wasn’t.

But you—you didn’t see it that way.

You never had.

Your fingers pressed a little harder against the glass.

“But I know better,” you murmured.

Dabi swallowed.

“Yeah?” His voice was quieter now, rough but… softer.

You nodded, gaze steady.

“You’re still here, aren’t you?”

His breath hitched.

Yeah.

Somehow, he still was.

And for the first time in his life—

He wasn’t sure if he regretted it.

You knew this day would come.

But knowing didn’t make it easier.

***

The room reeked of antiseptic and scorched flesh. The walls were white, pristine—too clean for someone like him, someone who had always been stained with soot and blood. A soft hum filled the air, the sound of the machines keeping him alive. But you knew they were just prolonging the inevitable.

Dabi was dying.

And they wouldn’t let you see him.

"You can’t go in," the doctor repeated, his tone flat, as if he had said it a dozen times already.

"Why not?" Your voice was hoarse, raw from arguing, from begging. "He’s dying. What harm could it possibly do?"

"It’s not about harm." The doctor sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "It’s about… making this as smooth as possible. He’s unstable, and even though he can’t use his quirk anymore, his body is still—"

"I don’t care." You took a step forward, and two nurses exchanged wary glances. You weren’t a threat, just a desperate, grieving civilian fighting for the last moments you’d ever have with him. "I need to be there. He shouldn’t be alone."

The doctor hesitated. "He’s a villain."

You swallowed back the lump in your throat. "He’s a person. And he’s the person I love."

That made him flinch.

There was another long pause, filled with unspoken words. Then, finally, with a reluctant sigh, he nodded.

"Fine."

The nurses moved quickly, unfastening the leather restraints that had been binding him down. They had been necessary before—when he still had the strength to resist, to struggle, to burn. But now, they were pointless. The pod was the only thing keeping him alive, and the moment they turned it off, he wouldn’t have the energy to so much as lift a finger.

You stepped forward as they gently adjusted him, helping him into a slightly more upright position. He sagged into their hands, barely conscious, his breath coming in slow, ragged gasps. His skin—what little wasn’t already charred—was pale and stretched too thin over his bones. He looked… fragile.

You had never seen Dabi look fragile before.

"Go ahead," the doctor murmured, stepping back to give you space.

With trembling hands, you climbed into the pod. The warmth of it wrapped around you, but it wasn’t comforting—it was suffocating, a painful contrast to how cold he felt when you finally touched him.

"Dabi," you whispered, brushing your hand on his covered cheek.

His eyelids fluttered, unfocused cerulean eyes barely finding yours. His lips were cracked, dry, the staples along his jaw pulling at his ruined skin. It took a long moment before he finally managed to speak.

"Y/N," he rasped. His voice was weak, hoarse—nothing like the cocky, self-assured drawl you had fallen for.

You swallowed past the ache in your throat. "I’m here."

His breath shuddered as he exhaled, his body sagging against you, too weak to hold himself up.

"How…?"

You knew what he was asking.

"The doctors let me in," you murmured. "I fought for it. They didn’t want me here at first."

The faintest twitch of his lips—maybe an attempt at a smirk, maybe just the last of his strength flickering out. "‘Course… you did."

Your throat tightened.

Carefully, you wrapped your arms around him, cradling him as gently as you could. His body was unnaturally light, like he had already started fading away. The thought made your heart clench.

"I want to hold you," you whispered. "How… how do you want to go?"

His fingers twitched against your arm, a weak, almost nonexistent grip. His head lolled slightly, his breath coming in uneven puffs against your skin.

"Close," he murmured. "Warm."

You swallowed hard and adjusted your position, pulling him fully against you. His head rested in the crook of your neck, and you felt the smallest sigh escape his lips. The weight of him, fragile as it was, settled into you, and you held him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

The doctors stood nearby, watching, waiting. They wouldn’t rush you, but you knew they couldn’t delay much longer. The pod was the only thing keeping him alive, and once it was turned off…

Your arms tightened around him.

"I love you," you whispered. Your lips pressed to his temple, to his burned skin, to the place where, once upon a time, he had been whole. "I love you so much."

His fingers twitched again, gripping your sleeve as tightly as he could. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say it back.

Then, in the weakest, softest voice you had ever heard from him—

"Love you… too."

A single tear slipped down your cheek.

The machines beeped softly. A hand touched your shoulder—a silent warning.

It was time.

The doctor moved to the controls, flipping a switch. The pod let out a slow hiss as the systems shut down, one by one. The warmth faded. The machines slowed.

Dabi’s body grew heavier against yours.

His breath hitched once.

Then stopped.

And the flames went out.

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #todoroki #touya x reader #todoroki x reader #touya #touya todoroki #dabi #x reader #x you #x y/n #my hero academia x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader

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hyunjincanraptoo · 2 days ago

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So, since college is kinda ruining my life... I mean... I'm busy 😅 and have not been posting lately, I came here to show you guys a sneak peak of my next prompt 🤭

3. Flirting with Hyunjin during his insta live

[...]

Stop”

“Why? You like it”

You listen to his breath turning heavy

“You really said moan” he mutters, disbelieving, “I almost threw my phone across the room. My manager texted me with question marks”

You laugh softly, “What did he say?”

“‘Was that meant to be public?’” Hyunjin mimics in a mocking voice. Then, he adds lower, “I told him it was improv”

“You’re welcome for the material”

Another pause.

You hear him exhale

“I had to sit still for ten minutes before calling”, he confesses, “I was so hard it hurt”

You bite your lip, “And now?”

“Now I’m on the edge just from hearing your voice”

He sounds wrecked already, like the tension hasn’t left his body since the second you typed that last comment.

“Say something else”

“What do you want?” you murmur, “Something filthy, or something sweet?”

“Something that’ll make me lose it”

You smile into the phone.

“I’m picturing your hand right now”, you whisper, “Fisted in the sheets or wrapped around your cock… I don’t know which, but I know your eyes are fluttering. You’re biting your lip. You’re wishing it was my mouth, aren’t you?”

A strangled sound escapes him, halfway between a groan and a curse.

You go on, just a little devilish

“Bet you keep replaying my comment in your head. Wondering if they could hear it when you moaned for me last night”

“Fuck”, he breathes, “You need to come over. Now”

“Why?”, you tease, “So I can finish what I started?”

“No”, he says, voice shaking, “So I can shut you up with my mouth”

Another silence falls between you.

Then, he adds

“I’m not even touching myself yet. I’m just hard. Just… imagining your voice and trying not to come in my sweats like a desperate loser”

You hum, “Then let me talk you through it”

He groans when you say it. His reply is barely audible, more breath than sound, “Please…”

You hear rustling, clothes shifting, probably the slide of his sweats down his hips. Then another sound— skin on skin, a slow stroke, a long exhale

“God, I’m so hard” he whispers, “Feels like I’ve been edged for hours”

“Is it leaking?”

“Of course it is! You ruined me on live and now you ask like you're innocent!”

You hum, smugly

“Wrap your fingers around the base. Squeeze just a little. Pretend it’s my hand”

To be continued...

Well... that's it

Probably gonna release it on Friday (May, 23th). Please, expect a lot

See ya 😊

#stray kids #skz #hyunjin #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids smut #stray kids imagine #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin hard thoughts #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x you #hyunjin one shot #stray kids hard thoughts

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leonalovesalot · 1 day ago

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Make me feel

Dealer!Patrick x Reader

18+ Minors DNI

wc: 7.7k

Also, lots of negative self-talk so proceed with caution!!

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

Patrick was your town's ne'er-do-well.

He sold drugs to anyone who had the funds and didn't care that every dollar he made was dirty. A man's gotta eat, right?

Molly, grass, poppers, speed, crack, bump.

You name it, he sold it.

He was well-known and those who had interacted with him, always took a liking. He was charismatic and he knew it.

But all that street-smart prowess didn't translate to 'school smart' since Patrick was held back in his senior year. He was pissed because he didn't get to share his graduation with his friends, who all moved away to big, pretentious— sorry, prestigious— universities, while he rotted in this stupid town. There was a silver lining though. He expanded his clientele through people he met while repeating senior year, and made more paper than he ever could've imagined.

The summer after graduation was spent getting high and partying until he felt numb. That was the lowest he had ever been and it got worse when his parents threw him out. Something about how he needed to get his shit together because he couldn’t just live off of them for the rest of his life (he wasn’t really listening).

Patrick was lost. He spent the next few months couch surfing until he got enough money to rent a tiny studio apartment above a corner store. He was still proud that he afforded it all on his own, but it wasn't enough.

Eventually, the dealing became a side hustle when he got a bartending job at a seedy pub down the road from a motel and a gentlemen's club. His coworkers would invite him along, after their shift, to the strip club. He went the first few times but then began declining because of the second-hand embarrassment he'd get when his coworkers shamelessly flirted with the strippers. Though Patrick loved women, and never passed up on an opportunity to flirt with a pretty lady, the strippers were just working and he didn't like to interfere.

That's what his life was like in a nutshell. Most days were identical to the ones that came before them, but he didn't mind. He was making decent money and living independently with no one to answer to.

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

You were an empty shell.

Another long day made you plummet further into your numbness. Pleasure, love, laughter were all a distant memory that you’d find yourself holding tightly in your hands to keep yourself from slipping over the edge. The edge of what? You didn’t know yet. But you had a gut feeling that if you kept going on like this, you would meet your undoing.

You weren’t depressed, no, you had no reason to be. You were just an average student with a shit sleep schedule and a stacking debt that you actually began having recurring nightmares about. In those dreams you were always standing next to a pile of money that you needed but could never reach. You’d reach out to grab it and it was always out of your arms-length. You’d run towards it but never get there because you were running in the same spot. Although running and not moving was scary, the main fear you felt from those nightmares was how alone you were. No one else was in those dreams. Just you, struggling, screaming, panting. Then your alarm would pull you out of it and you’d head to the bathroom to put your face on.

A good night’s sleep was beginning to feel like a myth. Something that you heard of, but knew wasn’t real. Not to you anyway.

After cruising through high school without breaking a sweat, you assumed university would be the same. You were cocky, and had every right to be. But the universe likes to prove you wrong, and so you had no idea you were gearing up for the worst years of your life.

For everyone else, it seemed easy. Commuting, living alone, studying, hanging with friends — the ideal student experience. You were nowhere near that crowd. You hadn’t made friends, no connections, you’d even lost passion for your major. You were a bitter and lonely person.

Stupid, idiot.

And it would be fine and you could get over it, if your self worth wasn’t tied into your academic performance. Those letter grades, the GPAs, the feedback, was all a direct reflection of you. On a day you’d get a bad mark on something, you’d come home and look in the mirror only to find that you’d grown uglier. Hands would be all over your face — touching, picking, scratching— anything to vent your frustration whilst punishing yourself. If your grades were ugly, you’d make yourself uglier. You didn’t deserve to feel good on the outside. Not until you got your act together.

“You’re a waste,” you spat, disgusted at your reflection in the mirror. You slammed your fist on the counter and left the bathroom.

Toxicity was your roommate.

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

It was almost reading break. A full week without class where you're finally allowed to take a breather. That was its intended use anyway— but you had an exam on the first day back, which completely defeated the whole purpose of taking time to yourself. Whatever, you didn’t have it in you to care.

Your last lab of the week had taken the life out of you. While you waited for the lab facilitator to check your station for cleanliness, you almost fell asleep standing up. A four hour lab was fucking criminal and you wanted to find whoever was responsible for bringing this nightmare into existence, and rip them to shreds.

But leaving late meant your bus was basically empty and that made you feel better. You liked to sit near the middle, right next to the door, so you could be out right away. You had an irrational fear that you wouldn’t make it to the door on time and the bus driver would laugh and just drive on anyway. Irrational.

Usually after such a long lab you’d rest your eyes for the duration of your journey home, but today you just stared out the window as your headphones softly played Chopin. It was cold out, despite it being spring. But spring in your city didn’t mean flowers and dresses. It meant rain. A whole lot of it. But tonight, it was just breezy, the rain stopped around the evening time and left behind numerous puddles.

Your eyes watched the scenery pass you by. The bus was going through a particularly sketchy area that you’d never want to step out in at this time of night. Not for any real reason other than, well, the vibes were off. It was that kind of area where you’d see mostly men, which was enough for you to avoid it. You could make out a bar and a motel a little further down. You wondered what would happen if you just got off the bus right now. It was going to stop anyway.

One small decision and maybe something would change.

It was an intriguing thought.

Mostly because it would make your numbness go away, even just momentarily. That was enough to convince you. Look at you, a thrill seeker.

Your body was getting up, before your mind could overthink and shit on your spontaneous plan. You walk to the door and hang on to the thin yellow pole as the bus comes to a halt. The doors slide open and you take a deep breath before calling out a “thank you” and stepping off.

The doors shut tight and the loud whir of the bus began fading into the background.

Now what?

It was chilly, probably around 9°, and you cursed under your breath for not wearing a warmer jacket. You turned your head to look around but didn’t see anyone outside.

Well, this was pointless.

But you wanted to feel something. Even if that feeling was fear or anxiety. It was stupid, but it would be worth it. This was like a test for you. An experiment.

You finally pick up your feet and begin walking towards the bar before you. A bright neon open sign was on display with the “E” flickering. You took your earbuds out, shoved them in your pocket, and pulled the door open.

It was exactly as you’d imagined; a little more barren though. Only a small group of older men huddled around the pool table to the left of the entrance. They all paused their game to size you up and you could tell they shared the same thought: you didn’t belong here.

But when you turn away to walk in further, they go back to focusing on the game. You hesitantly walk to the bar as all the tables had the chairs stacked on them.

You prop yourself up on the stool and look around. There was no bartender in sight, maybe they were busy with something else.

You sat there staring at the counter and drumming your fingers to the rhythm of some song you couldn’t remember the name of.

Your little recital stops when you hear a door swing open and eyes dart to the side at the sound, immediately widening.

Patrick Zweig?

Shit.

You hated seeing people from high school.

You were panicking which wasn’t numbness, but surprisingly worse.

Seeing old classmates made you regress to your teenager- self, whom you despised. She was puny and antisocial and all the things you wanted to convince yourself you weren’t anymore.

Usually in these situations, you’d either suck it up and shoot a tight lipped smile then go about your business, or you’d quickly run away before any interaction took place.

Seeing as this was Patrick Zweig, you settled for the latter.

But just as you were about to slip off the barstool, a voice called out and stopped you.

“Sorry, for the wait what can I get you?”

Shit. I should’ve just stayed on the bus.

You slowly look up and force a small smile, “no worries.” You paused to see any sign that maybe he’d cut you off and call you your name. But he didn’t.

Oh, he didn’t recognize you.

So you continue, “could I get the menu?”

He nods, “of course. But just so you know we already cleaned up the kitchen for the night, so a few of the items may not be available.”

He walks to the end of the counter and grabs a small lamented booklet off the top of a pile and places it in front of you.

You nod, mumble a thank you, and get to reading. It was awkward. You knew you hadn’t stood out much in high school, but you didn’t know it was to this extent. Were you that easy to forget? Was your presence really so insignificant?

Your eyes skimmed the page and you got hungrier as you read the options.

Should I get a grilled cheese with fries? Or a chicken sandwich?

“Quick question,” Patrick’s voice makes you snap your head up to meet his lively gaze. “Did you go to Gray Coast Secondary?”

He asked with a half- smile. It hadn’t changed at all, even after almost four years.

Your eyes widen slightly at the question.

So you weren’t a total nobody after all.

You nod almost like you wish it wasn’t so.

His eyes light up, “I knew it! I knew you looked familiar, it’s- I’m Patrick,” he points to himself and grins at you like he was genuinely happy to see you.

It made you feel… warm.

“I know,” you try to mirror his smile but your face wasn’t used to it.

He stared at you clearly waiting for you to introduce yourself because although he recognized your face, he had no idea what your name was.

“I’m Y/N,” you say after a beat of silence.

He repeats your name a few times and you laugh softly, liking the way it sounded coming from him. He said it so… relaxed. Casual. Like you were old pals.

“It’s been a while,” he walks over to the shelf grabbing you a glass and pours you some water. He puts it next to your arms on the counter and you smile at him.

“It has, yeah.” You weren’t sure what you else you could say. The antisocial trait made itself right at home inside you again.

He notices your lack of response but doesn’t mind. He just chuckles and asks if you know what you want to order.

“Oh, I think I’ll just get the grilled cheese.”

He nods, “Got it. Instead of the fries, do you think you could do wedges?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“And what can I get you to drink?”

You think for a moment and look at the menu again. You weren’t that experienced when it came to drinking, only ever trying wine, and one time a mimosa.

“I think I’m good for now.”

"Okay, I'll be right back."

Patrick disappears out the back and you assume there's a kitchen behind the doors. You stared down at your palms and noticed they were sweaty. Unsure why you were so nervous, you wipe them on your jeans and gulp down the water he brought earlier.

It was actually nice seeing a familiar face. You felt like you understood him because the two of you were a part of the very few kids from your graduating class who didn't move onto bigger things. You wondered if that disappointed him like it did you. Did he feel like a failure the way you often did? Sure, you were doing fine in university, but you just didn't feel anything about it. Your degree threw million hurdles your way, and although you got through them, you didn't come out stronger. You considered giving up at times, but what good would that do? There was no plan B.

You stare into the glass of water that you were chugging. It was almost empty. You swallow the rest and feel the cool liquid all throughout your neck and chest.

Patrick returns with a plate of your order in one hand, and two cold beers in the other.

Your stomach growled at the sight of the food and you felt your cheeks get hot from embarrassment. But, Patrick didn't draw attention to it and just set the plate down, along with the beer you didn't order.

"Bon appétit," he takes a bottle opener out of his pocket and pops the lid off of the two drinks.

"Thank you." You reach down and take a bite of a potato wedge.

Another silence came between you two. All you heard was the conversation of the men who were by the pool table. You could make out that they were bidding each other farewell.

You really hoped that wasn't the case because you didn't want to be left alone with Patrick.

"See you later, Patrick."

"Bye, kid."

Deep voices call out and you hear the creaky door open and close.

Great. Now you two really were alone.

You just keep your head down and take a bite of your sandwich. Oh, this is good. It had been a while since you'd eaten a hot meal. You were always in a rush and had to pack food everywhere you went, only to eat it cold when you got the chance.

"How's the sandwich?" Patrick asks you softly. He was clearly an extrovert, you thought.

You nod and swallow your current bite, "really good, thanks."

Met with more silence, you clear your throat and try to make conversation.

“So, how are you? I mean how’ve you been since uhm high school?” You avoided eye contact with him, not really understanding why.

He was happy to answer your question, and grabbed a small rag to wipe down the countertop.

“I’ve been great, actually. Yeah. I have my own place,” he says with a small smile on his face feeling a sense of pride. “I like working here too. The regulars are pretty nice.”

You listen attentively to his every word and were quite surprised at his answer. You thought that the both of you could bond over how shitty your lives are. ‘Misery loves company’ and all. A little pang of guilt struck you because you assumed that just because he was a little rough around the edges, he lived an unfulfilling dead-end life. No, that was just you.

“That’s— wow— that’s impressive. Good for you.” You take another, larger bite, of the sandwich.

Patrick snorts and you look up at him a little confused.

“That didn’t sound very genuine. You okay?”

You blinked, slightly worried, that maybe you’d somehow come across as bitter. That was the last thing you wanted. You truly were happy for him as it seemed that he’d turned his life around. But, it just made you think of your own situation.

The two of you were on opposite ends of the high-school-student spectrum. He was type B, never doing his homework, no extracurriculars, and honestly he was a dick to his teachers. He sold drugs for God’s sake, and everyone knew! You, on the other hand, were as goody two shoes as they come. Spending weekends buried in textbooks and assignments, working towards a bright future. The hours you put in got you into a good university, but now you were just so… unhappy.

That’s not what was supposed to happen. He was careless and irresponsible and was still doing way better than you. No! No! Your hard work was supposed to pay off! When would it pay off?

“Earth to Y/N?” Patrick stood on the other side of the bar counter waving his hand in front of you.

You snap out of your badgering thoughts.

“Sorry,” you take a sip of water, “I’m just tired.”

He didn’t buy it. And he was always shamelessly nosy, which was something his friends found annoying but forgave when he’d apologize with his charming half-smile.

“Oh that’s bullshit. Come on, you can tell me.” Patrick puts the rag in a little basket below the counter and walks around the bar. Your eyes follow him as he pulls up a stool next to you. Not too close, but a very comfortable distance. You liked it. From an outsider, you would’ve looked like friends.

You take in a deep breath and decide to tell him anyway. There was nothing to lose. After tonight, you’d go back to your life and he’d go back to his. You’d never get off at this bus stop again.

“I guess I’m just a little surprised. Uhm- you were- in high school you were kind of…” you couldn’t string together a coherent sentence that didn’t make you sound like an asshole. You clear your throat, “just didn’t seem like you were going anywhere.”

Oh God, had you forgotten manners?

Patrick’s brows shoot up and his smile fades a little but not fully. He wasn’t offended, he knew you didn’t mean to hurt him. You were genuinely curious. But he couldn’t resist the urge to tease you about it.

“Shit, Y/N— you sound like my Dad." He reaches out and grabs one of two bottles on the counter. He pops the lid off of it and takes a swig.

You stayed quiet.

You saw his parents once in the hallway during parent teacher conferences. They were quite the opposite of him. Walking from classroom to classroom with a sense of purpose. The type of people you'd see and immediately step to the side to not get in the way. They were intimidating and you could picture Patrick sitting next to them, while his math teacher was red in the face complaining about how disruptive he was. His parents would sit there and politely listen to Mr. Murphy, and would shoot glares at Patrick every other minute.

His Father had a permanent scowl settled on his face. Is that who he was comparing you to? Shit.

You force an apologetic smile, trying to show him that you weren't all bad. You look down at your plate and finish the sandwich.

"I think I'm just kind of angry these days," you said each word super spaced out, like it was a sinful confession.

"At who? Me?" He tilts his head. Eyes twinkling under the dim lights.

You shake your head, "At the world... at myself."

The beer bottle he brought you earlier was having a staring contest with you. You weren't much of a drinker and didn't want to indulge since you had no idea how you'd get home tonight. But, after deciding that tomorrow you wouldn't go to class, you grabbed the bottle and brought it to your lips.

Patrick nods, thoughtfully.

"I don't know. It's just that everyone seems to be moving onto bigger, better things— you know? Like," you take a gulp feeling it move down your throat. You didn't care for the taste. You scrunch your nose at the strong taste. Patrick chuckles.

"Like there's this ladder, and everyone is climbing it. Step-by-step, they all accomplish small things and get closer to- to becoming well rounded individuals."

Patrick leans in and rests his chin on his palm. He was listening to your every word and soaking in the sound of your voice. So gentle and soft, with a little rasp on the edges— you sounded exhausted.

"And I was on that ladder," you pause and eat one of the salty wedges. "until, I got to this one rung, and it was like faulty." You take a shaky breath in, feeling your eyes beginning to water. But you didn't feel the need to freak out and change the subject. You were comfortable around him. It really was easier to confide in strangers. "It broke off the second my foot landed on it. And, right away, I fell off."

You stare off into a space, "And at first, I tried to grab onto something—anything— to catch myself. But it was all air. And I feel like I've just been falling since."

You let out a heavy sigh and quickly rub your eyes, glad that there wasn't too much moisture.

"You think too much." Patrick says after a while.

Your face fell further at that comment, so Patrick quickly chimed in, "That's just what everyone experiences in their 20s. We're all lost, Y/N. People are just really fucking good hiding it."

He was right, but you were so deep into your self-loathing that his words went in one ear and out the other.

You finish the wedges and wash them down with the cold beer.

"So, is this it?" You cough, awkwardly, wanting to shift the subject from you to him.

"Elaborate." He tilts his head leaning further on his palm.

"This. Like is this your plan?" You sniffle and gesture to the whole bar. "Bartending forever… mixing drinks… forcing conversations with your coworkers until, well, the inevitable happens."

He snickers, "hm, well I’m only 24. So, I’m sure I’ll figure something else out. I don’t plan on settling down just yet anyway."

"Gotcha." You take another sip of your drink. It was starting to go down easier, and you didn't mind the taste all that much anymore. Or maybe you were too distracted by the fuzzy feeling Patrick had stirring inside you. It was truly something: how being seen could make you want to live.

"And you?" He grabs your empty plate and walks around the counter to rinse it in the sink. He leaves it there, reminding himself to wash it first thing tomorrow morning. He turns back to you and wipes his hands on his jeans. "Do you plan on just being a tortured academic… days and nights wearing a snow-white lab coat… until you spill—what?— like hydrochloric acid on yourself, and the inevitable happens."

That pulls a genuine laugh out of you, "Yeah, cause of death: hydrochloric acid. You're funny." You shake your head. "I mean who knows though, right? Anything is possible."

"Yeah," Patrick walks back to you, pulls the barstool closer, and sits on it with his knees touching yours. "But then you can join me— down there."

Your smile widens and you scoff, "I am not going to hell, Patrick." You reach over and jokingly push his shoulder causing him to giggle. "Not that I believe in heaven or hell but if they exist— I’m going to Heaven." You shrug cockily and he quirks an eyebrow, entertained by your sudden playfulness.

You continue, "I mean, just yesterday, I gave this kid— he lost some money his mom gave him for ice cream and he was crying with like snot everywhere— I gave him money. Bought him a nice, cold rocket pop. So if anyone up there was watching, I’m pretty sure I secured my seat."

Patrick was finding you infatuating now. He plays along and nods. "Yeah I’m sure that’s all it takes for a nice warm welcome at the pearly gates."

"It is," you exclaim, almost jumping out of your seat. Almost. You didn't want to move because you'd miss the feeling of his knees bumping against yours. "But in your case I mean… selling drugs? Yeah, you should pack for a hot climate."

You instantly regret mentioning it when his nose twitches at your words, like he wasn't glad to be reminded of his side-business. He shrugs, "I don’t know. I feel like no matter what you do to make money... it'll always be somewhat unethical— whether it’s directly or indirectly." He takes a big gulp of the beer, tilting his head back. He had a nice neck.

"Yeah, that’s true." you reply softly.

A silence fills the bar. Not an uncomfortable one because you found yourself at ease around Patrick. You never thought this is where your night would take you. Drinking beers with an old classmate. One whom you never got close to. One whom you just observed from the sidelines, worrying he was too cool for you. This moment felt like a movie— picturesque.

Before you knew it, you were speaking up again.

"Why didn’t you ever talk to me in high school?"

His eyebrows knit together like he had no idea what you were talking about. "What? That’s not true."

"It is." You chug down the rest of the beer, placing the empty bottle next to you. "I mean, even today, you didn’t remember my name."

"I’m not good with names."

You narrow your eyes, not believing him. "Fine, but answer my question."

Patrick finishes his beer too. He shrugs, "Why didn’t you ever talk to me?"

You scoff at his avoidance of the question. "I would've. You know I was assigned to be your tutor right? For calculus?

To your surprise, he nods.

"I waited everyday, dude. Well— every week. Mondays and Wednesdays. I was in the library for an hour." You emphasize, "And not once did you show up. I even fell asleep and the librarian was like shaking me awake." You bring your hand to Patrick's thigh and shake it, making him laugh. "She was livid. Lectured me about how the library is for learning and that I insulted her and all the books in there. It was horrible!"

He snorts and places his hand on top of yours before you could pull it back. It was warmer than yours. It felt natural, and you didn't feel all that panicky about literally resting your hand on his thigh. Maybe it was the liquor.

"I know. She always had a chip on her shoulder." He stares down at his hand on yours and rubs slow circles with his index finger.

"So? Why didn’t you come?" You press him for an answer you'd wondered for an embarrassingly long time.

"I did. But I never had the- the guts to walk in."

Your eyes widen and your hands reflexively tighten on his thigh. "Really? Why?"

"I don’t know." Patrick smiles softly at your shocked expression. "I've always hated asking for help. And I was ashamed. Or, embarrassed. I mean you— a girl who's a younger than me— would be teaching me about the absolute value of whatever the fuck. It was just embarrassing. So, instead, I just switched out of that math. Did an easier one. Passed it— but barely."

Another moment of silence envelopes you two. Feeling ashamed and dumb were all too familiar to you. You understood exactly where he was coming from.

"It’s all in the past now but … if it’s any consolation, I don’t think it’s embarrassing at all. I mean no one’s good at everything. We all have to get help from others where we can. It’s just— I don’t know. It’s human."

He nods.

You nod.

And then you're both leaning in.

You weren't thinking about anything. It was the first time in years where your mind was vacant. All you wanted was to feel his rosy lips on yours— the rest didn't matter.

Patrick, on the other hand, was intrigued the second he laid his eyes on you. When you weren't looking, he was using the opportunity to check you out. Respectfully, of course. He had been hoping that something would transpire between you two. Something that would make him feel like a carefree teenager again.

Your lips met and you melted into him. You hand moved up his thigh while his came up to cup your cheek. It was so sweet. You felt your eyes moisten underneath your lids. He tilted his head to get a better angle and kissed you deeper. You parted your lips and his tongue came out to find yours.

You wanted him closer and you kept trying to bring yourself forward until your shaky stool tipped forward causing you to stumble onto him.

You gasp, scared that you were going to fall but Patrick's quick movements had his hands wrapped around you, holding you still. You were disappointed that your kiss was interrupted but Patrick's breathy laugh washed that away.

"You okay?" He unwraps his arms and brings his fingers to your chin to tilt it up. Your glossy eyes meet his.

"Yeah," you whisper.

"You wanna get out of here?" Patrick leans down and softly pecks your cheek.

You were nodding before he finished asking and he chuckled at your eagerness.

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._..

Patrick locked the bar up and the two of you staggered your way down the road to the motel. The vacancy sign was lit bright with big red neon letters but that didn't make the place seem inviting. However, in that moment, you didn't want to be anywhere else. In that moment, you realized you'd go to the ends of the Earth with Patrick.

He holds the door open for you and you both walk right up to the tired looking concierge. An older women with short hair who was engrossed with her computer— probably playing solitaire.

She was cold, not bothering to acknowledge the two of you even when you were clearly waiting for her attention.

Patrick clears his throat, and the lady lets out a sigh finally turning to face you both.

“Yeah?” She brings her cigarette to her lips.

“Could we get a single room, please?” Patrick reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet.

The concierge’s skeptical eyes look you up and down and then Patrick.

“We don’t charge by the hour,” she blows out a puff of smoke.

Your face heats up and your jaw drops at her gratuitous remark.

“Excuse me? Do I look like a—”

Patrick wrap his arm around your waist in a comforting manner and forces a laugh to cut you off. He wanted to kiss you more tonight (and maybe do some other things) and he knew that bitching at the concierge would only hurt his chances.

“Single room. Please.”

She scoffs and types something into the computer while you clenched your jaw out of anger, still not over her comment.

Reaching over the counter, she hands Patrick a key with a worn out key chain. He mutters a ‘thanks’ and hands her his card.

After the transaction is over, he pulls you along to the room and you two whisper about the displeasing interaction.

“I’m literally carrying my backpack- like I couldn’t look more innocent.” You laugh.

“She just wanted to fuck with us,” Patrick unlocks the door and ushers you into the room.

The room was a little smaller than you expected. Fit for two people and no more than that. The curtains draping the windows had a few cigarette burns along with a mysterious yellow-ish stain. And the bed? The bed didn’t look comfortable at all. Just a mattress with a thin cover and a blanket folded in half, at the foot of it. Your head snaps to the wall across from the door when you hear the plumbing creak when someone flushed next door. You weren’t expecting the Ritz or anything but come on!

“Home sweet home,” Patrick drops his bag and walks over to the bathroom, opening the door.

You grin and go to sit on the edge of the bed. Hands clasped in your lap, like you were getting ready to pray.

Your eyes wander to Patrick’s bag on the floor and a question crosses your mind.

Just then, Patrick opens the door and begins washing his hands.

“Patrick?” You call out as you stared at the bag.

“Mhm?” He turns off the tap and dries his hand on the beige hand towels.

“You still deal, right?”

He walks back into the room and finds you staring at his bag.

“I do. But it’s mostly a side thing now. Just until I start saving enough from bartending.”

You turn your head slowly to face him, “what do you have on you right now?”

He freezes not expecting you to bring any of this up. Were you asking just out of curiosity? Or because you wanted to get high? He really hoped the latter wasn’t true. He wanted you. He wanted you to be fully there and to remember tonight. Patrick had slept with many people under the influence, and as fun as it was then, he didn’t want that anymore. He wanted real connection— real emotion.

He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant, “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

"I was thinking," you turn to look at him, "maybe you could give me something. I'll pay, of course."

Patrick resists the urge to roll his eyes. Is that really all you saw him as? Even after the conversation back at the bar?

"I uh... I don't know, Y/N." He chokes out a chuckle, feeling a little nervous.

You furrow your eyebrows and stand up, "what? Why? I told you I'd pay."

"I heard you," He snaps.

Taking matters into your own hands, you stride over to his bag and pick it up. You didn't understand why you were being so stubborn. But the tipsy effect of the beer was wearing off and you could feel yourself reverting back to your miserable self.

You'd never tried anything before— besides an edible once, but it just made you anxious because, well, of course it did. You wanted something stronger, but didn't know where to find it. Now that Patrick was in front of you, you knew you should at least try.

His eyes widen as you pick up his bag so he crosses the room and yanks it out of your grip.

"What the fuck, Y/N?" His knuckles turned white as his tightened his grasp on the bag.

You scoff, "what? What’s the big deal?"

Patrick doesn't respond right away and just stares at you in disapproval. As if you weren't aware of how pathetic you were being.

You really didn't have anything to lose though. So you reached out for his bag again and wrapped your hand around of the of the straps. Frustration clouds his mind and, without thinking, he shoves you away. It catches you off guard and you trip over your foot and your rear lands on floor with a thud.

You were shocked and stared at the floor as tears brimmed your eyes. Humiliation creeps under every inch of your skin. You wished you'd never gotten off the bus.

Patrick gasps and drops the bag, quickly making his way over to you. He squats next to you.

"Fuck, are you okay? I didn't mean to do that— I'm so sorry." He brings his hand up to your cheek to brush the hair out of your eyes, but you swat it away.

He backs off for now. But when he notices the drops of tears streaming down your face, he reaches out and wipes them with his thumb without hesitation. You let him.

A few seconds passed and you only cried harder. Your body trembled and Patrick wrapped both his arms around you, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head.

Your hand claps around his forearm and he can feel your fingers digging into his flesh. He didn't mind.

After a few moments, you felt that your sorrow was enough. You pull away from him and wipe your face on your sleeve. You take deep breaths trying to calm your racing heart and Patrick continues rubbing your back.

“I wasn’t always like this, you know?" You choke out. Your voice was hoarse and your throat stung as you spoke, "I used to be a whole- a whole person. I was so full. My mom told me the other day, that I was a very happy kid,” Your hands were shaking and Patrick brings them hands into his. He leans down and places soft kisses on your knuckles. “I don't know what happened. I mean, I can’t remember the last time I felt even like a sliver— a fucking lick of satisfaction.”

His heart was breaking at the sight. He wanted to make you laugh again, like he did before. He wanted to make you feel better. Maybe, give you a taste of that satisfaction you craved.

"This is just a rough patch, Y/N. Soon, it'll be a blurry memory." Patrick's words did a good job soothing you.

You nod and slowly pick yourself up off the floor. Patrick's hands instantly fly up to your hips to help you.

"I should- I think I should go."

Patrick quickly stands up and shakes his head, "no- no. Stay, come on." He places his hands on your waist, gently. He'd do anything to make you stay.

You blow out a huff of air, “I just- I made things so fucking weird.”

“No, no you didn’t.” He pulls you closer until both of you were against each other. You had to tilt your head quite far back to see him. He brings one of his hands up to caress your cheek.

After a moment of thinking he gathers the courage to say, “I want to help you. But— not by giving you something— I… I want to make you feel good.” You could feel his breath on the tip of your nose.

Your eyes were filled with tears and desperation. Patrick notices your bottom lip quiver and brings his thumb to brush it.

You gulp and nod slowly, "make me feel like I'm human."

That's all he needed to hear. Patrick's hands drop to your face and grasp your wrists, pulling you towards the bed. Your feet drag on the floor and your eyes stayed lost in his. You were entranced. The vulnerability you showed him didn't scare him away. If anything, it only made him want you more. He could handle you.

"Lay down for me." He says lowly.

The motel room didn't seem all that dingy anymore. It felt comfortable, and you didn't want to be anywhere else. You don't know how you'd return to your dull life after tonight.

You did as you were told. No thoughts in your mind because this was something you were sure you wanted. There was no doubt in your mind, for the first time... ever. You crawl onto the bed and lay down with your head on the pillow, staring up at the popcorn ceiling.

Patrick walks to the foot of the bed and reaches forward to take your shoes off. You look down, surprised at his action. It felt too domestic, like you guys had been together for years and he'd done it many times before. When he finishes untying your sneakers, he pulls them off your feet and tosses them onto the floor.

Patrick, then, kicks off his own shoes and finally climbs onto the bed. He crawls on to and hovers over you, staring at your lips. This time, you took the lead and pulled him down by his collar into a kiss. He immediately kisses back and you both fall back into the rhythm that you had perfected earlier. Your back was beginning to arch and your pelvis rubbed against his growing erection. Patrick pulled away to exhale shakily into your neck. He needed to calm down because tonight was about you. Not him.

He backs off and you try to pull him back against you. But he was stronger and moves down until he comes face to face with the hem of your jeans. Without wasting time, he unbuttons them and impatiently pulls them off. You lift your hips to assist him for which he shoots you a small smile. You blush and let your head fall back on the pillow.

Patrick tosses the jeans onto the floor too and licks his lips at the sight of your panties. They were simple, dark blue. No bows, no lace, just plain cotton. But right now, he couldn't imagine anything hotter.

He tests the waters and brings his thumb up to rub you through the thin fabric. You instantly gasp and push yourself against him, chasing the friction. Patrick loved how reactive you were.

He didn't want to tease you; he was here to give you exactly what you wanted. He hooks his fingers on the hem of your panties and tugs them off too.

You inhaled deeply, a little embarrassed for when he sees how wet you are. You could even feel a drop of your arousal dribble down your pussy.

Without hesitation, Patrick dives in and buries his face in you. He wanted to be covered in your wetness. You gasp and almost clamp your legs shut but he stops you by gripping your thighs to keep them apart. He was freakishly strong, and you had to stop struggling.

He lapped up all your juices and his nose brushed against your clit as he did. You had your eyes shut tight and your back arched as you moaned a string of curses that you would never say out loud. Your hands busied themselves by clutching the bedsheets so tightly, the wrinkles would never come out. Patrick let go of your thighs and reached up to your sides to interlock his fingers with yours. It was so intimate you realized you'd never felt this close with anyone before.

"Oh my God, Patrick- fuck!" your fingernails dug into the back of his hands and he hoped there would be crescent shaped marks left behind. Proof that tonight wasn't a dream.

His tongue worked skillfully as he fucked your core. Patrick was confident. He'd made plenty of girls cum by just his mouth or fingers.

He pulls back and you let out a cry missing the stimulation.

"Look at me, Y/N."

Your eyes were half closed and your body was exhausted. You try to raise your head to look at him. Patrick's hands let go of yours and places them under your thighs. He, then, lifts them up so they rest on his shoulders. You gasp and prop yourself up on your elbows to stare down at him.

"Please," you say, breathlessly.

He obeys and, this time, goes after your clit. Licking and biting like a starved man. Your response was a lot more intense this time. Your head falls back with a whimper from the built up pleasure. Patrick looks up through his eyebrows and slaps your thigh, leaving a red mark. Your eyes shoot open and you face him with shock etched on your face.

"I told you to look at me. I wanna see your face when I make you cum."

You nod quickly like you were apologizing and assuring him you'd never make the mistake again. He returns his attention back to your pussy and spits on it. His tongue was back and swirling around your clit like he was memorizing your taste. Your legs twitched.

The small room was filled with sounds of your mewls and the squelching of your pussy against Patrick's tongue. You worried that maybe you were being too loud but Patrick didn't seem to mind. You didn't notice your noises alone had given him a hard-on. He wanted to ignore it but then his hips started rubbing against the mattress.

Patrick's tongue moves quicker, flicking your clit and making your legs twitch out of control.

"I'm gonna- Patrick, I'm gonna cum," you could barely finish your sentence before the knot in your stomach bursts and you feel yourself release on his lips. You cry and your elbows give out. Your heads hits the pillow and you close your eyes because the room was spinning.

Patrick groans when he reaches his finish too. He pushes himself against the mattress one last time and then licks your pussy clean.

You both pant after the euphoric orgasms you shared. A few seconds pass, and Patrick climbs onto the bed and drops down next to you.

Neither of you say anything. But you knew he didn't regret it because you didn't either. If you went back in time and told your high-school self that you'd one day hook up with Patrick Zweig, would she believe you?

Something told you that this wasn't just a hook up, though. You saw Patrick for who he was now, and you liked it. He was a good person and he made you feel alive.

You were so glad you got off the bus.

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

Thank you for being patient with me!

This is now the longest fic I’ve written so far!!

Thank you for reading, as always <33

#challengers #challengers fic #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig angst #challengers smut #challengers fanfiction #josh o'connor

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cowgiri · 3 months ago

Text

ᝰ 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐍 .ᐟ

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. he is a man of the cloth. a man of devotion, of restraint—or at least, he tries to be. but you, with your sweet mouth and sinful words and scandalous clothes, have driven him to the edge of madness.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. priest!zayne, temptress!reader, blasphemy, corruption, loss of virginity, mastrubation, oral sex (f! and m! receiving), fingering, clit stim, slight voyeurism, sex in public place, sexual intercourse, no protection, cervix kissing, panty sniffing, creampie, overstimulation, slight breeding kink, lots of nasty talk in confessionals, pussy whipped zayne

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 6.5k

the church was a furnace, the air thick and heavy with the heat of a relentless summer day. sunlight softly spilled through the stained-glass of the church, casting hues of red, gold, and blue across the worn wooden pews and the stone floors. the air was scented with aged hymnals and beeswax from candles that flickered at the altar. the heady aroma of incense created a nearly intoxicating atmosphere.

you sat beside your grandmother, who silently recited prayers under her breath with rosary beads in hand. your mind, however, was very far from divine and holy thoughts. you had been coming to the church for a month now—don't get me wrong, you were the furthest thing from religious. matter of fact, a month ago you wouldn't have been caught dead in a church unless it was a funeral and you were the one in the casket. but for the sake of your grandmother, you decided to try and make an effort, even if that was just showing up for sunday mass.

your eyes wandered to the front of the church, where father zayne stood. his deep voice echoed through the sanctuary as he delivered the sermon, each word hanging in the air. he stood at the pulpit, his tall, commanding figure bathed in the warm, golden light streaming through the stained-glass windows.

the high white collar at his neck was pristine, but it did nothing to hide the faint sheen of sweat that glistened on his skin, catching the light as he moved. the tight black cassock he wore was perfectly tailored to his lean frame. the fabric clung to his broad shoulders and emphasized the definition of his chest. the heat had caused the fabric to stick to him in all the right places, and every shift of his body revealed just enough to make your imagination run wild.

his almost always perfect hair was slightly damp and tousled, the strands falling across his forehead in a way that was effortlessly disheveled. his skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat. a bead of sweat trailed down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the white collar, and the sight was enough to make even the most devout parishioner's thoughts stray into dangerous territory.

when his gaze landed on you, your breath felt trapped in your lungs. it was as if he could see the sinful thoughts swirling in your mind, the way your heart raced every time he spoke, the way your skin prickled with heat that had nothing to do with the summer sun.

after the service, you lingered in the church, pretending to light a candle while your grandmother chatted with some of the other parishioners. you found yourself seated at one of the pews as your eyes followed zayne moving about the sanctuary.

even as he conversed with the other churchgoers, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, probably due to your "inappropriate" attire for church. it was like he could tell with each visit you made that your skirts were growing shorter and your shirts were getting tighter. you noticed father zayne to be an extremely observant man.

he was a man of god, and you were the complete opposite.

he approached you, his shadow falling over your own. "you've become a regular here at saint mary's," he remarked, clearing his throat.

"my grandmother drags me here every sunday. she says that i've 'lost' my faith," you replied. he was playing right into your hands by speaking to you first. you had been plotting on him and little did he know what was to come.

"lost it?" he asked, his brows furrowing slightly. anyone could tell by the way that you were dressed in a church that you had long lost your faith. but who knew maybe he was one that didn't like to judge a book by it's cover.

"well, never really had it in the first place, i think," you shrugged indifferently.

"interesting." he nodded, taking a seat at the bench beside you. his eyes settled on the candle you'd lit, then back to you. "but you come every sunday, nonetheless. why is that?"

"i like listening to you talk, you have a nice voice," you replied shamelessly. "and you are quite easy on the eyes, father."

"i'm flattered," he laughed as his lips quirked into a slight smile. "you seem to enjoy the sermons, but you never take communion. you never participate in the service."

"that's... true," you agreed. "it's not something that i believe in."

his eyes seemed to take in the sight of you. he glanced at your breasts, which strained against the tight white fabric of your shirt. you saw the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. man of the cloth or not, at the end of the day, he was still a man.

"well," he began, his voice lower than before, "do you believe in god?" he asked, his gaze flicking to the hem of your skirt. you fought the urge to fidget beneath his stare.

the way his eyes raked over your body was not that of a man of faith, but a man of flesh.

"no, i don't," you replied honestly, feeling goosebumps spread across your skin. "i think that maybe people just use the church as a crutch, a way to justify their own wrongdoings. i think that religion has the power to tear people apart."

"that's a dangerous way to think. i could have you excommunicated for such thoughts," he warned, a dark undertone creeping into his voice. it was as if he knew your words had been a way to bait him, to draw him in and tempt him to sin.

"but i'm not one of your congregation," you countered with a smile. "so i'd rather not be punished for my beliefs," you added. the sound of your voice seemed to draw his eyes to your mouth, and he stared at you with an intense hunger in his gaze.

he finally looked away, clearing his throat. "well, i should be on my way. enjoy your sunday," he murmured before turning to walk toward the back of the church.

"you as well, father," you called after him, smiling to yourself. you knew you'd see him again. maybe it was the thrill of the forbidden that challenged you, but something in you craved his attention. you wanted to know what happened to men of the cloth when they finally broke their vow of celibacy.

and you knew exactly what to do to get that reaction from him.

a month went by and your visits to the church became more frequent. you'd sit in the sanctuary praying or at least pretending to pray. zayne would sit at the front of the sanctuary, doing what priests did, sometimes occasionally checking in. but his focus seemed to waver whenever you were near. every now and then, his eyes would flicker up, catching yours with a look that was hard to decipher. it wasn't just disdain, though that was certainly part of it. there was something else simmering beneath the surface.

you could feel his gaze like a physical touch, lingering on you longer than it should. it was as if he was trying to figure you out, to understand why you kept coming back when you so openly rejected everything the church stood for.

his jaw would tighten, his fingers gripping the rosary beads in his hand a little tighter. the way he looked at you was almost accusatory, as though you were deliberately testing his patience, his resolve. almost like a devil lying in wait for a moment of weakness.

you would watch him as his eyes darkened with something that looked almost like...lust. you craved that look on him. you craved the way his breathing slowed, the way the beads in his hand clicked faster when you were near. you craved it all, every bit of reaction you could pull from him.

and so you began to make a show for him, slowly bending over in your short skirts, or adjusting your tits in front of him. your actions had gotten bolder over the weeks.

there were times when you swore you caught a glimpse of something, just a flash of something perverted and more sinful in his eyes. you wondered if he even knew he was revealing himself, showing his true nature. but it wasn't enough, he was a tougher nut to crack than you thought.

it was time to try something different.

the following sunday, you returned to the church before mass, this time alone. you slipped into the confessional and waited for him to join you. the confessional was small, cloaked in shadow, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and faint incense. you could hear the soft rustle of fabric as he shifted on the other side of the screen, his presence palpable even through the thin screen that separated you. his voice, deep and velvety, broke the silence.

"speak, my child," he said, his tone calm and soothing.

"bless me, father, for i have sinned," you began, "this is my first time in a confessional."

"what kind of sins have you committed?" the sound of his voice is huskier than you've ever heard before.

"well, father...i'm not quite sure how to put this delicately," you murmured as you fidget, your thighs pressing together. your cunt was already fluttering and all it took was hearing that voice of his. you heard the soft rustle of his cassock as he shifted, awaiting your confession.

"but there's this man," you began, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart in your ears. "and he's very devout. i'm sure he's very pure too," you said as your palm slid over your bare thigh. your clit was throbbing against the fabric of your panties, the ache growing with every passing second.

he remained silent but the sound of his breathing grew heavier, the click of his rosary beads against each other grew faster.

"well," you continued, your thumb slipping beneath the hem of your skirt as you trailed it higher and higher, "this man...he's very handsome. and so holy." your eyes fluttered closed as your fingers slipped between your thigh, teasing your needy clit over the cloth of you panties.

"sometimes i imagine him touching me," you whispered as you slipped your fingers into your panties and brushed your finger over your swollen pearl. your nerve endings sparked to life, his presence alone had your arousal more heighten than usual. you imagined the look on his face as he pictured it in his mind, you sitting there in the confessional touching yourself.

"what do you do, father? when a man of cloth such as yourself finds himself devoured by lust, " you whispered, the sound barely audible between your ragged breaths. you teased your finger against your entrance.

oh, the amount of money you would pay to see the look on his face right now. was his jaw clenched the way it did when you teasingly bent over in your short skirts? were his knuckles white from gripping his rosary beads the way he did when he trailed his eyes over your skimpy shirt? or even better was he leaning closer to the screen, listening to the slick sounds of your cunt.

you slipped your finger into your heat—a low whimper slipping past your lips. the sound seemed to echo through the confessional.

"do you confess them, father? do you beg forgiveness?" you taunted as you began to tease yourself, the faint sounds of your finger moving in and out of your cunt, the squelching and lewd noise filling the space between you two.

"i beg for strength," his voice was strained, and the words sounded like they had been torn from his throat against his will. you smiled to yourself as you continued to chase your orgasm, your moans growing louder.

the feeling of his gaze through the screen, the knowledge that he could hear you and knew exactly what you were doing, was enough to send your senses into overdrive.

"i don't think we should continue this conversation," his voice came out thick and heavy. you heard a slight click in his voice that betrayed his arousal. you were finally able to hear that thickening of his voice, it made you want to push him further and further, it was like music to your ears.

"why father? it's just between us."

his breathing came out harsher, almost labored. "because you're a temptress," he gritted out, the words leaving a thick, heavy tone lingering in the air.

"oh? so you don't touch yourself?" you asked. you leaned your head against the screen, your hand moving quicker against your cunt. the screen was thin and you knew he could smell your arousal, the sweet, heady scent of it.

"i don't believe that's an appropriate question to ask," he responded almost too quickly. but you noticed the way his voice cracked with his answer. just the thought of you being the first to touch him, to milk his neglected and heavy cock drove you closer to the edge.

you were so close. the air was thick in the room and you knew that he could practically taste your orgasm.

"i want to touch myself for you," you whispered. "the way you look at me...it's like you want to taste me, father. and i want you to."

your words were cut off by a sharp gasp as you tipped over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like waves, your body shuddering beneath the pleasure. you kept your eyes shut until your breathing had returned to normal.

when you opened them again, father zayne was gone.

as you stepped out of the confessional, you glanced back to see him standing at the altar, his back to you, his head bowed as if in prayer. but you knew better. you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides. he was fighting it—fighting you—and that only made the game more thrilling.

you walked out of the church, the summer heat wrapping around you like a warm embrace. this was far from over, and you knew it. zayne might have ended the session, but the look in his eyes, the tremor in his voice—it told you everything you needed to know. he was tempted.

and you were just getting started.

"father, if i didn't know any better, i'd say that you are avoiding me," you purred into his ear. your body brushed against his back as you snuck up on him. he had been avoiding you since you'd made your confession a week before. it had been long enough that you'd grown restless.

he stiffened in place, his spine straightening as he gazed straight ahead. but his voice, when he spoke, was tight with tension. "perhaps i am."

the church was empty except for the two of you. mass had ended and the sun was setting. the shadows were growing longer, stretching over the church floor, darkening everything. you had snuck in while the other parishioners had filtered out, intent on confronting the priest who had been avoiding you all week.

you wouldn't let him get away that easily, not yet.

"why?" you whispered, your lips brushing the curve of his ear. the air in the church was thick with heat and with anticipation, a heavy tension settling between the two of you.

the muscles of his throat convulsed as he swallowed. "because...i'm afraid i don't trust myself around you."

that was progress. that was an admission that meant a lot more than he probably realized. you stepped closer, your breasts pressing against his back, your thigh slipping against his. his breathing quickened as he fought against whatever temptation you'd stirred within him. you watched the muscles of his jaw clench, his hands curling into fists. he looked like a man fighting for the last bits of control that he possessed.

"you may think me a temptress, father, and you may not agree with my ways but i am not a liar. i think a man such as yourself deserves to experience love and desire and everything between," you whispered in his ear and before he could respond, you slipped around to his front.

you pushed onto your toes and your lips brushed against his, softly.

"allow me to make one more confession to you, father. if you don't change your mind, i will leave you be and not return," you murmured. there was no way you were letting him go that easily. you'd already gotten this far, why stop now.

his eyes narrowed as he searched your face, and you could practically see the war happening within him. he knew that you were tempting him, that he was walking into a trap.

the confessional booth was dark and warm, the scent of aged wood filling the small space.

"proceed," he bit out, his voice sharp with restraint. you didn't wait any longer, diving into your confession.

"father, i have done many things i am not proud of, but my greatest sin is lust. a lust for pleasure. a lust for you," your words were barely above a whisper as you continued, the sound of the rosary beads clicking against each other the only sound between you and him. his breathing had already quickened, the beads clicking faster against each other.

"and when i think of you, father, i think of how i would touch you," you murmured, the sound of your breaths heavy in the small space between the two of you, "i imagine my hands sliding over your hard stomach. i imagine pushing up your cassock and wrapping my hand around your cock," your words left you both breathless. you could here the shuffling of his cassock over the silent buzz of the fan.

"what i truly desire is a taste of your cock, to hear the sounds of your moans and to see the sight of you coming undone, your seed dripping down my chin. to feel the heavy weight of your body on top of mine. i desire to take your virginity, your innocence, your purity."

"are you okay, father?" you asked, "you're breathing awfully hard," you teased.

you didn't dare imagine the expression on his face. you didn't have to. you could feel his eyes on you, boring into the screen. you could practically hear his heart racing, the blood rushing to his cock. the thought of him hard for you had your clit pulsing, your cunt clenching.

you squirmed beneath the fabric of your skirt, your nipples hardening against the fabric of your bra.

"yes, i am fine," he answered, his voice gruff with restraint. the sound of cloth shifting against cloth echoed through the space between you two, his breathing was suspiciously shallow.

you rose to your feet and exited your side of the confessional. you pulled back the curtain of the confessional on his side. the faint light streaming from the sanctuary illuminated him enough for you to see the look of arousal on his face. his cheeks were flushed, his eyes heavy with lust, his lips parted with shallow breaths.

the restraint of father zayne had simmered down to the faint shade of pink on his cheeks that spread to the tips of his ears. he looked like a man on the edge of madness, his eyes wild with something unspoken. you smiled to yourself, enjoying the effect you'd had on him. for once, it was good to know that you weren't the only one being driven to madness.

the air in the confessional seemed to grow hotter, the heat emanating from him enough to set your pulse racing. your heart pounded in your ears as your eyes traveled his body. he'd removed his cassock, sitting before you in a thin white shirt that was soaked with sweat. the cotton clung to him, revealing the definition of his hard body.

the fabric was nearly translucent, revealing the hard lines of his chest and the faint outline of his abdomen. his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the corded muscles of his forearms, and his face was flushed. you could tell it wasn't from the heat of the blazing summer—it was from arousal.

he sat on the bench, his thighs spread wide, his cock already hard and heavy, straining against the fabric of his trousers. the sight of him in such a state was enough to leave you breathless. he said nothing, merely gazing at you with a hunger in his eyes.

you didn't hesitate, stepping forward and dropping to your knees before him. he reached out to grip your wrist, pulling you closer until you were wedged between his knees. his hand cupped the back of your neck, drawing your head closer until your mouth was nearly flush with his, breathing softly against your lips. the heat radiating from him was enough to make your skin tingle with awareness. the thick scent of arousal surrounded you both, making your senses go into overdrive.

he traced the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. he seemed to be savoring every inch of you, committing your features to memory. he licked his lips before leaning in, and the first brush of his mouth against yours left you both groaning.

his hands slid beneath your shirt, sliding over the bare skin of your back as he pulled you closer. he didn't waste any time, his tongue dipping into the warmth of your mouth. the kiss was deep and hungry, filled with all the desire he'd been fighting for weeks. you clutched at the front of his shirt, twisting it in your fingers as you melted against him.

his hands roamed your body, his palms sliding over the curve of your hips, dipping lower until they were beneath your skirt. he gripped your ass, his fingers kneading the flesh as he deepened the kiss. you were panting against his lips when he finally released you. your fingers slid through his hair, keeping his head tilted up so you could press another kiss against his mouth. but then his hands moved, sliding around to the front of your thighs. his fingers trailed over your pussy, the thin fabric of your panties the only barrier between you.

he groaned into your mouth, his hips jerking forward at the contact. his cock strained against the fabric, eager to be freed. you didn't make him wait, your hands reaching for the hem of his slacks as you pushed them down, revealing his straining cock.

it was long and thick, the head swollen with arousal. you couldn't help yourself, your hand reaching out to wrap around the base of his cock. his eyes fluttered closed as you stroked him, his head tipping back. a low groan spilled from his lips as you teased the tip of his cock, smearing the fluid that had gathered over his slit.

you took your time, enjoying the sight of his pleasure. your lips trailed over his chest, sucking at his nipples until they were red and swollen. your tongue trailed lower until you were licking a path over the length of his cock. he gripped your hair, tugging your head back as he gazed at you with a wild look in his eyes.

"please," he whined as you settled between his knees, his cock at the entrance of your lips. never in his thirty years of life has he ever been this desperate. he wanted those plump lips of your to be the first and last to milk his virgin cock.

you opened your mouth and his cock slid inside, the head resting against the roof of your mouth as your lips wrapped around him. your tongue swirled over the head of his cock, your throat fluttering with a moan as he began to thrust his hips.

his hand tightened in your hair as he thrust into your mouth, a string of curses falling from his lips. he muttered a litany of curses under his breath, his hips working into a frenzy as he fucked your mouth.

you pressed a palm to his thigh, holding yourself in place as he thrust deeper into your mouth. your eyes watered but you didn't let that stop you. the sounds of his moans, the feeling of him losing control with each passing second. it was music to your ears, and it made your pussy wetter.

you hollowed your cheeks as he began to fuck your throat, the tip of his cock bumping against the back of your throat. the pressure built in his balls as he neared his release, his movements becoming erratic and wild. you moaned around his cock as he pressed deeper into your throat, your fingers digging into his thighs. the sound of you choking on his cock seemed to push him over the edge.

he moaned loudly, his cock spurting against the roof of your mouth. you swallowed down his cum, greedily drinking it all. you sucked him through his orgasm until he was spent, his cock slipping from your lips with a wet sound.

he collapsed back against the confessional, his breathing ragged and loud. you rested your head in his lap for a moment before looking up at him.

"lord, forgive me," he panted, his breathing slow but returning to normal. but the look on his face was far from asking for forgiveness, he wanted more. his hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb trailing over your bottom lip.

"perhaps this is your first sin, father," you teased as you shifted to your feet. you stood up and removed your panties. he watched you, his gaze raking over the curves of your body.

"what do you want me to do to you?" he asked as you tossed your soaked panties on his spent cock before turning towards the exit of the confessional.

you glanced back at him, your smile devious. the sight was one to behold, his eyes were drowning with desire, his cheeks blazing with lust. his cock adorned with your lace panties and still twitching from his release.

"oh, father, i've already gotten what i wanted from you. the rest...well, that's for another time," you winked at him before stepping out of the confessional. the darkness enveloped him once more and you slipped away, disappearing into the sanctuary. you knew that this was only just the beginning.

the thrill of temptation had turned into the thrill of something more. you'd finally managed to tempt him into sinning. the next step would be much harder. he'd have to break his vow of celibacy with you.

the following week, you didn't return to the church. you didn't show up to mass on sunday's. you didn't come to confessionals in the early mornings. you left him alone to dwindle with his thoughts.

soon zayne found that the memory of your lips wrapped around his cock was only thing in his head. his body ached for more. the taste of your cherry lipgloss, the feel of your soft skin beneath his fingers.

he knew it was wrong, it was unholy to think of such things. but he couldn't help himself. the memory of you had consumed him whole. he could swear that he could still smell the scent of your arousal mixed with your floral perfume. as if it was engraved in his soul and etched into his skin.

it had been too long, much too long without your touch. he needed it to breath. your absence was like a knife stabbed straight into his heart. he couldn't even look at the confessional booth without having flashbacks of you fingering yourself and sucking his cock.

everywhere he looked, there was a lingering reminder of you. when he looked amongst the churchgoers in the pews, he would think of the way you'd inch your skirt up higher whenever his gaze landed on you.

he couldn't sleep, and when he did sleep it was your lips he saw haunting him. his cock throbbed at the thought of you and you only. he would have to give in to you, but he would never admit it to your face.

he'd spend his sleepless nights fisting his cock to memories of you. when that wasn't enough he drown himself in the scent of your panties and imagine that it was your hands rubbing his cock instead of his. he would remember how your cunt smelled, sweet and heady and more potent than anything he'd ever experienced.

you had won.

the temptation was no longer just a sin, but something more. a need. you had unleashed a monster on the loose, and he would not stop until you had given him everything he wanted. and he wanted all of you. he wanted your cunt, your ass, your mouth. he wanted it all, and he'd have it if it was the last thing he did.

and so he waited for your return, his body restless for the touch he'd grown accustomed to.

his eyes would be scanning the sanctuary each sunday, watching as the other people filtered in. he waited for your smile, your voice, your eyes. he would wait forever if he had to.

you were a temptation, a demon he couldn't resist. and soon he'd give in. the devil had him on a leash and you were holding the other end. and at your first command he'd kneel.

the summer days had begun to dwindle, the autumn winds rolling in over the hills. the leaves had just begun to fall from the trees, blanketing the ground in a warm shade of red, gold, and orange.

you'd returned to the church one evening and patiently laid in wait in zayne's study. you'd known that his resolve had grown weak, that his body yearned for yours.

his study was small and dim, the walls lined with bookshelves and the room lit by the flickering flame of a single candle. the heavy scent of aged books and leather clung to the air, filling your lungs as you inhaled. the shadows that danced across the walls gave the room a romantic atmosphere, but you'd never been one for romance.

the door clicked open, and father zayne stepped in, his movements quiet as he glanced around the room. he seemed to take in his surroundings before his gaze found you.

"father," you greeted, sauntering toward him. he stood, frozen in place, watching you with a look that was almost predatory. you stepped closer until you were toe to toe, and the feeling of his breath against your face made your cunt pulse.

"i've been waiting for you," he admitted, his voice a deep rasp. his hand reached out, cupping the curve of your ass. you shivered beneath his touch, the feeling of his palm against your skin enough to light a fire in you. he pulled you against him, his hips cradling yours. his cock was hard and straining against the front of his cassock.

"have you now, father?" you teased, your hands sliding over his chest. you'd missed the feel of his body against yours, had missed the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips. you pushed his cassock open, your hands sliding down his stomach until you felt the head of his cock. he groaned, his breath hot against your neck as you began to stroke his cock through his pants.

"yes," he admitted, the word barely above a whisper. his lips pressed against your neck, his mouth trailing over your skin until he was sucking at the curve of your throat. you tipped your head back, his teeth nipping at your skin and sending a jolt of arousal through you.

the way his mouth felt against your skin was like magic. you wanted that mouth on other parts of your body, parts that you'd been craving his touch against.he pulled you back by the hair, his eyes dark and hungry.

"i want to taste you," he groaned, the sound rough with arousal.you stood on shaky legs and began to undress, removing your clothing until you stood in nothing but your panties. he watched you hungrily, his hand reaching out to brush against your breasts. you smiled as you slipped your panties down your thighs, kicking them to the side. his eyes were trained on your naked body, and you could practically see the hunger growing in him.

you stepped closer, and his hands went to your hips. he plopped you down on his desk, settling your thighs on his shoulders. you watched as he dropped to his knees, his face hovering just inches from your pussy.

the first touch of his tongue against your clit sent a jolt of electricity through your body. you arched your back, your breath catching in your throat.the thought of a man so devout being brought to his knees by your cunt was enough to send you spiraling over the edge.

he laved at your puffy clit, his tongue swirling around the small bud with hungry strokes. he seemed fascinated by it, exploring every inch until he was sure he had it memorized. the first stroke of his tongue against the slit of your cunt made your toes curl. he licked you like a man who had never tasted heaven before, but now had his chance and wouldn't let it slip away.

he pressed a palm against you, spreading you wider for his tongue. he dove in, licking you with long, hard strokes. his tongue was magic, the way he ate at your cunt like a man starved. you writhed against his tongue, your eyes fluttering closed as he worked you toward an orgasm.

your cunt clenched around the feeling of emptiness, your body searching for something to fill you. his fingers brushed against your entrance and you almost wept with relief. you wanted them inside you, wanted to feel the thick length of him.

you leaned back against his desk, watching him as he fucked you with his fingers. he began to eat at your pussy with a hunger that would leave you breathless, his tongue sliding in and out of your pussy with hard, wet strokes. your clit throbbed against his tongue and you tipped your head back and screamed as the pleasure rolled through you.

he didn't stop, he didn't even pause as he fucked you through your orgasm. the feeling of his tongue and fingers moving in and out of you sent you into overdrive. your pussy clenched around his fingers as he continued to eat at you. it was like he was in a trance, only focusing on bringing you pleasure.

you gripped at his hair, pulling him up from between your legs. his face was red and flushed, his eyes glazed over with arousal. he was breathless as he gazed up at you, his lips and chin wet from your arousal.

he rose to his feet, his cock straining against his pants. you reached down to unzip him and freed his cock, the thick head springing free. you pumped it slowly with your hand, his cock growing even harder in your hand as he watched.

"i want to be inside you," he whispered, his hands cupping your breasts. he squeezed at the flesh and you gasped, the feeling of his cock against your thigh enough to make your cunt clench. he'd been a man of god for so long, but the touch of you had brought him back to life. he was a man again, with a man's desires and needs. you had been the catalyst for his descent into sin and he had no intention of stopping.

"then take me," you answered, your lips pressing against his. he moaned into your mouth as you guided his cock toward your entrance. he paused for a moment before pushing in, the head of his cock stretching you open. you gasped, your pussy clenching around him. his face pressed against your throat, his breathing coming out in shallow, ragged breaths.

"oh god," he gasped as he pushed deeper inside you. you had never been with a virgin before and the thought that you were his first sent a thrill through your body. he stretched you wider as he pushed inside until he was seated at the hilt.

"move," you gasped as he paused. he began to move, his strokes slow and deep yet inexperienced. his hips worked against yours in slow movements. his breathing quickened as he began to move faster, the sound of your cunt sucking him in filling the room.

you clutched at him, wrapping your legs around his hips as he began to pump into you. his breathing grew quick, his thrusts becoming erratic. you gripped at him, holding onto him as he fucked into you. the sound of your breathing mingled with that of his, echoing off the walls of the study.

his fingers reached down and gently strummed your overstimulated clit. your orgasm was immediate and intense, your cunt squeezing around him as you came.

his cock felt like magic, the feeling of it rubbing against your walls making you shiver. the friction was enough to bring you back to the edge and you knew you wouldn't last much longer. his breaths came in pants as he fucked you harder, his grip on your hips tightening as he began to lose control.

"you feel so good," he groaned against your throat. his words sent shivers down your spine. "gonna fuck my cum into your pretty cunt."

he began to rut into you, his breathing coming in pants as his thrusts turned wild and erratic. the thick tip of his cock bruising your cervix at a brutal pace that hurt so deliciously. you clutched at his back, holding on as he began to come inside you.

his release set you off and your orgasm crashed over you. your pussy clenched around him, milking every drop of his cum from his cock. you rode the wave of your orgasm, your cunt pulsing with pleasure. he collapsed against you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder.

you held him in place, running your fingers through the thickness of his hair as his breathing began to return to normal. his cock slipped out of you with a lewd squelch—his eyes transfixed on the mixture of his cum and your cream that painted your cunt and his cock.

"i can't resist you," he whispered against your skin. you ran your fingers through his hair.

"who said you had to?" you murmured back, running your fingers over the curve of his jaw.

you tilted his chin up until he was gazing up at you. the look in his eyes was one of pure adoration, and that was what had sealed your fate. you had never thought to want to keep him, but there it was, a new feeling stirring to life inside you.

he was the one man you could never resist and you had a feeling that he would always be so. you'd have to keep him, keep him locked away for yourself. because the truth of the matter was, you could never let him go. he was yours and yours alone. and you would make sure of that.

he would be your little secret.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader smut #lads #zayne smut #zayne x reader #zayne x you #lads smut #zayne fic #zayne #lads x reader #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader smut #zayne imagines

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gojosconsort · 2 months ago

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VIRGIN!SATORU // college au

⁀➷ content. satoru’s a nervous wreck, barely holding it together as his long-time crush—you—steps into his room. one touch, one smile, and he’s done for, desperate and clumsy, trying to fuck you right.

pairing. afab!reader x virgin!satoru (college au)

warnings. mdni. virginity loss (satoru), unprotected sex, breeding, lots of cum and satoru has a big dick. this is nasty but i regret nothing.

word count. 1,900

satoru’s losing his goddamn mind in his dorm, pacing like a caged animal, white hair a mess from running his hands through it a million times. his glasses are fogged up—fuckin’ nerves—and he wipes them on his shirt, only smearing the lenses more.

you’re coming over. you.

his crush since forever—smart as hell, gorgeous, so far outta his league it’s laughable—and he’s about to have you in his space. his dick’s already half-hard just thinking about it, and he hasn’t even seen you yet. he glances at the clock—five minutes late. is that bad? good? fuck, he’s spiraling.

a knock. his heart stops, then hammers. he stumbles to the door, nearly tripping over a pile of manga, and swings it open. there you are, smiling, “hey, satoru,” all casual in a tight-ass shirt that hugs your tits and shorts riding up your thighs, showing off those legs he’s jerked off thinking about too many times.

“uh, hey—come in,” he stammers, voice cracking like a dumbass, pushing his foggy glasses up his nose. you step inside, scanning the chaos—textbooks stacked on the desk, comics spilling off shelves, empty ramen cup. “you ever leave this cave?” you tease, flopping onto his bed, legs crossed, shorts riding higher.

he laughs, shaky as fuck, “not much,” and rubs the back of his neck, blue eyes glued to you. he’s trying not to stare, but shit, it’s impossible—your shirt’s clinging just right, and he’s imagining peeling it off. his dick twitches again, and he shifts, praying you don’t notice.

you pat the bed next to you, “sit,” voice light but commanding, and he freezes for a split second before obeying, stiff as a board. his thigh brushes yours—soft, warm, fuck—heat shooting straight to his groin. “you okay?” you ask, tilting your head, and he nods too fast, “y-yeah, just—uh—nervous.”

“why?” you lean in, close enough that your breath grazes his neck, and he’s done for—dick fully hard now, straining against his sweats. no hiding that. “’cause—fuck—you’re you,” he blurts, cheeks flaming, “been wanting this forever, and now you’re here, and i’m—shit, i don’t know what i’m doing.” his voice cracks again, and he wants to die, but you just laugh, soft and warm.

“you’re cute when you’re freaking out,” you say, and his brain short-circuits. cute? cute? he’s about to fucking die. then you shift closer, knee brushing his, and his hands twitch, itching to touch you. “so, what’s ‘this’ you’ve been wanting?” you murmur, teasing, and he swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing.

“you—fuck—just you, all of you,” he admits, raw and desperate, and your lips twitch up. “then do something about it,” you whisper and that’s it—game fuckin’ over. something snaps in him, and he grabs you, clumsy as hell, hands shaking as he pulls you onto his lap. you straddle him, thighs clamping around his hips, and he groans, feeling your heat through those tiny shorts.

he crashes his mouth into yours, sloppy, needy. lips mash, teeth clash, and he’s kissing you hard, like he’s starving for it. his glasses slip down, digging into his nose, but he doesn’t care, too lost in how you taste—sweet, hot, fuckin’ addictive. “sorry—shit—too much?” he pants, pulling back, spit stringing between your lips, but you shake your head. “keep going,” you breathe and he dives back in, tongue shoving into your mouth.

he’s groaning into you, hands fumbling up your shirt, brushing bare skin—soft, warm, fuck—and his cock throbs under you, aching to feel more. “you’re so—goddamn perfect,” he mumbles against your lips, voice thick, and he’s already a wreck, virgin nerves and all, but he’s not stopping now.

poor boy's a fucking wreck, heart slamming in his chest as you sit on his lap, your thighs squeezing his hips, and he’s trying not to lose it before anything even starts. his hands tremble, sliding under your tight shirt, fumbling like he’s forgotten how fingers work, and then he finds them—your tits, soft and warm and perfect.

“fuck.” he cups them, thumbs brushing your nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. “you’re amazing—shit, these are amazing,” he mumbles, squeezing gently, obsessed with how they fill his hands just right, like they were made for him. he’s dreamed about this—your tits, your body, you—and now it’s real, and his dick’s throbbing so hard in his sweats he’s scared he’ll fuckin’ cum right there.

you smirk, peeling your shirt off in one smooth move, tossing it aside, then shimmy out of those tiny shorts, leaving you bare. he’s staring—staring—mouth half-open, glasses slipping down his nose as he takes you in. your tits sit pretty, full and round, nipples begging to be touched, and your curves—fuck, your hips, your waist—drive him insane.

“you’re so goddamn pretty,” he chokes out, voice raw, hands hovering like he’s scared he’ll ruin you if he moves too fast. he’s dying to touch, but he’s frozen, like you’re some untouchable goddess.

“your turn,” you say, tugging at his shirt, and he snaps out of it, fumbling like an idiot—arms tangling in the sleeves, glasses nearly tumbling off his face. he yanks it over his head, revealing pale skin stretched over lean muscle, a faint trail of white hair disappearing into his sweats.

you hook your fingers in the waistband and pull ‘em down, slow, teasing, and—fuck—his cock springs free, long and thick, tip flushed red and leaking pre-cum, twitching just from your eyes on it. “satoru—you’re huge,” you mutter, half in awe, and his cheeks go scarlet. “i—uh—hope that’s okay?” he mumbles, scratching his neck. “more than okay,” you say, pushing him back onto the bed.

he flops down, propped on his elbows, staring as you climb over him, straddling his hips. your pussy brushes his cock—wet, hot, slick—and he jolts, a low “fuck” slipping out, hands flying to your hips, shaking like he’s about to explode. but then his eyes lock on your tits again, bouncing slightly as you settle, and he’s mesmerized.

“can i—shit—can i touch ‘em more?” he asks and you nod, leaning forward so they’re right in his face. he groans, loud, cupping them again, thumbs circling your nipples, and then he’s leaning up, pressing his lips to one. “so fucking perfect,” he mutters against your skin, kissing your tit soft at first, then harder, sucking the nipple into his mouth. his tongue flicks over it, sloppy and eager, and you moan, threading your fingers through his messy hair.

he’s obsessed—squeezing one while he sucks the other, lips smacking, spit shining on your skin. “been dreaming about these,” he pants, pulling back to watch them jiggle as he kneads them, “so soft, so—fuck—perfect for me.” he dives back in, biting gently, then licking like he’s starving, and your pussy clenches, dripping onto his cock below.

“satoru—c’mon,” you murmur, grinding against him, and he snaps out of his tit-trance, eyes flicking up. “wait—fuck—i’ve never—” he stammers, hands tightening on your hips, trembling harder, “don’t wanna mess up.” you lean down, kissing him deep, tongue sliding against his. “you won’t,” you whisper, pulling back to line him up, your pussy hovering over his tip.

you sink down slow—so slow—his fat head stretching you, burning in the best way, and he gasps, loud and ragged, “oh—shit—you’re tight.” his hands slide to your ass, gripping hard as you take him deeper, inch by inch, walls fluttering around his length. he’s whining now, high-pitched and wrecked, head thrown back, glasses fogging up again.

“fuck—fuck—you feel so good,” he babbles, hips twitching like he’s fighting not to thrust up. your tits bounce as you settle, fully seated, and he’s staring again, moaning, “god—you’re—fuckin’ perfect.” you start moving, up and down, slow at first, letting him feel every slick drag, and he’s a mess—panting, groaning, “you’re gonna kill me—look at you.”

“satoru,” you moan, voice shaky, and he loses it, hips bucking up—clumsy but hard—slamming deep, making you gasp. “sorry—shit—did i—” he starts, panicked, but you grind down harder, cutting him off. “no—do it again,” you beg, and he does, thrusting up with no rhythm, just need, hitting that spot inside you over and over.

your tits bounce wild, and he’s transfixed, hands roaming from your ass to your chest, squeezing again, muttering, “love these—fuckin’ love ‘em,” before pulling one back to his mouth, sucking hard as he fucks into you. “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he babbles, sweat beading on his forehead, glasses slipping down his nose.

he’s nervous as hell, blue eyes darting over your body like he can’t believe you’re real, but he’s already buried inside you, and fuck—his cock’s massive. long, thick, a fat fucking cock stretching your pussy so wide it burns, veins pulsing against your walls, tip kissing deep spots you didn’t know you had. “always wanted you—fuck—dreamed of this,” he groans, hips twitching like he’s barely holding it together.

your thighs tremble from the stretch, feeling every inch of that huge dick splitting you open, tip bullying your cervix with every move. he’s clumsy, thrusts stuttering, but damn, he’s good—hitting right where you need it every fucking time, like he’s got some sixth sense for your body. “satoru—oh god,” you whimper, head tipping back, and he moans, loud, “love hearing you—say it again.”

he grabs your hips, fingers digging in, and thrusts up harder, desperate, like he’s tryna prove he’s worth it. that fat cock slams deep, stretching you ‘til you’re gasping, pussy fluttering around him, and he’s staring, sweat dripping down his pale chest.

“shit—look at you,” he pants, hands sliding up to your tits again, squeezing ‘em rough, thumbs flicking your nipples. “so fuckin’ perfect—been jerking off thinking about this forever.” your nails dig into his shoulders, heat coiling fast in your gut, and he’s watching you, eyes blown wide. “you gonna cum? please cum—wanna see it,” he begs, thrusting up harder, fat cock filling you so full.

“yeah—close—fuck,” you nod, breathless, and he groans, “so damn hot,” grabbing your hips tighter, slamming up—hard, deep and you lose it, cumming hard, pussy clamping down on him. “satoru—shit—” you gasp, shaking, walls pulsing around his massive dick, and he moans, “oh fuck—fuck—you’re perfect.” he feels you milking him, slick dripping down his balls, and his thrusts get messier.

“gonna—shit—gonna cum,” he whines, voice high and frantic, and you pant, “inside,” ‘cause fuck, you want it—you want him. his eyes widen, “you sure?—fuck—you’re too good,” and he’s losing it, hands trembling on your hips. one thrust, two—then he slams up hard, burying that fat cock balls-deep, and he’s gone.

“oh—shit—cumming,” he gasps, and it’s a fucking flood—hot, thick cum pumping into you, so much it’s spilling out around his shaft, coating your thighs, dripping onto the sheets. he’s groaning, unloading more than you thought possible, his dick pulsing with every spurt.

“fuck—there’s so much,” he mutters, dazed, watching it leak out, and he doesn’t stop—grinds up slow, pushing his cum deeper, obsessed with it. “gonna fuck it in you—shit—keep it all inside,” he says, thrusting again, sloppy and weak, like he can’t let a drop go to waste.

you’re trembling, overstuffed, feeling how heavy he is, how that fat cock sits inside you, still leaking, and he’s babbling, “you’re mine—fuck—so pretty like this.” his hands slide up, cupping your face, pulling you down into a kiss—soft, sloppy, spit-slick—gentle now.

he’s panting hard, glasses crooked, blue eyes soft but still hungry. “was that—uh—okay?” he mumbles, nervous again, like he didn’t just fuck you senseless. you laugh, breathless, “way okay—satoru, you’re good.” he smiles, shy but proud, “really? ‘cause—fuck, you’re everything,” and pulls you close, chest to chest, still hard inside you, his cock twitching like he’s ready for round two. “wanna keep going—can’t stop now,” he whispers, kissing your neck, loving you too much to let go.

#—amy writes : satoru gojo ★#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujustu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #divider by cafekitsune

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madamechrissy · 6 months ago

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✞ Forgive me For I have Sinned ✞

✞ Pairings: Priest Gojo x Fem Reader

✞ Word count - 5.7k

✞ Content/Warnings- You keep having dreams about Father Gojo, and he decides to try to save your slutty soul <3 NSFW, sacrilegious, confessional fucking, rosaries as bondage, lots of filling you w/love and light, oral (both receiving) fingering, explicit church sex, reader is a lil bimbo and innocent fr, Gojo has a HELL of a God complex (canon tbh) overall kinky asf

A/N- Booking the tix to hell-who's coming with!? I based off this drabble of mine: Priest! Gojo (you can read it first if you want!) Reader and Gojo are in their mid 20s. Enjoy!

It was hot outside, a scorching summer day, the type that made you want to jump in an icy cool lake naked, but in the sanctuary of this pristine church which is kept rather cool, you still have a drip of sweat beading down your collarbone. You’re wearing a pretty red summer dress, your little hat right next to you in the pew, as you watch him with avid attention.

Father Satoru Gojo.

The entire church is in love with him, enamored by him, there are admiring whispers even amongst the most vigilant catholics, the ones who would judge you for coming not in your Sunday best. They hid it well enough, acting as if they only cared so much because his sermons were so powerful, because he was so young and profound already.

But you know better, and they know better deep down, that Father Gojo was just gorgeous, a face chiseled to perfection, tall and broad shouldered, swoon worthy by all accounts. His husky voice and insane presence that shines brilliantly like a million diamonds certainly helps, but his face itself is so pretty it’s angelic.

When he looks at you with those brilliant blue eyes, swirling like a moody storm, all glittery behind those snowy white lashes? Well you feel…

You’re going to hell.

Last night you’d had this insane dream of him, where he has asked you to serve him on your knees, just as he would offer that eucharist and wine to you, but instead it’s his cum you’re swallowing. And you’re a good, God fearing girl, so, you certainly should not do or think of such things! And worst of all, with your priest, Father Gojo. He has vows too, yet you’d committed much sin already.

Just last night you’d awakened throbbing, having dreamt of pleasuring him, on your knees before him, and you’d been soaking wet and dripping down your shorts, even the sheet had a wet spot. You’d rubbed your swollen little clit in circles, gasping and arching your back, feeling fevered as you committed such sins, as picturing Father Gojo had you climaxing all over your own fingers.

You’d been so ashamed this morning! You’d splashed cold water on your face, staring at yourself in your mirror, shivering as the cool water dripped down your skin, knowing you should stay home, find some new church. You are full of impure thoughts and sin, and it’s all because of him, how could you confide in him that you feel this way, think this way?

What would he do if he knew? Cast you out or…

Stop it.

But as you’re crossing your legs, shifting your hips, you see Satoru Gojo’s full, pouty lips part, his eyes directly on you. You pause then, eyes wide, you must be imagining it, your sin surely is carrying over too far… but you test it, crossing your legs once more, and sure enough, his eyes follow your legs up, between your thighs, surely seeing your panties.

That gives you a fucking thrill you can’t describe, as does him licking his thumb, going to another page as he continues his sermon, women all over are fanning themselves, enamored by him. But perhaps none so much as you, picturing what’s under that cassock, under those white robes he wears, what that long, lithe body would feel like against yours.

You imagine your dream vividly later when he’s giving you the eucharist, placing the biscuit on your tongue as you hold your mouth open on your knees, then you see it, the hunger mirrored in his eyes. You tremble when he brushes a thumb over your lower lip, and your eyes drift to his lap, where you clearly see he’s hard. You gulp it down, looking up at him and taking the wine now.

Father Gojo looks down at you, white hair falling over a brow, finding your beautiful eyes are affecting him as much as your stance on your knees, his thumb finds your chin now, imagining shoving his cock between perfect lips. Surely, you are here to tempt him, to ruin him, you are sin itself, haunting his dreams, making him hard in the middle of church, right in his own service.

You look at it then, his cock under the cassock that’s becoming too tight, before licking your lip, eyes back up to his hungrily. You look like such a good girl, but your eyes tell another story, a story of wanting to get fucked hard, to be filled by him, wanting to have his cum all over your pretty face. He imagines that as the wine drips down your lips now.

Fuck he’s going to hell if he stays around you, surely even he has rules to uphold even if he certainly is God’s chosen. But… perhaps since he is God's chosen, it’s his duty to help a little sinful girl like you. And as you rise, holding his hand, and your breasts brush against his chest, you’re far too close, he vividly pictures yanking them out of that dress, tempting him to no end.

Of course you ask for confessional, and he’s dying at the thought of being so close to you, when all he thinks of is how good you look, how good you smell, and he is left to wonder, do you taste that good? Your pretty neck, your delicate collarbone, your pussy? Surely he should not think such things, but as he looks at you through the lattice of the confessional separating you both, he cannot stop his mind.

“Father Gojo… I fear my confession is most wicked.” Comes your breathy little voice, only serving to make Father Gojo’s thick length harden, picturing what your little moans must sound like when properly fucked.

“Go on, my pr- my child, you may tell me anything.” He says, coughing a bit, because he’d rather call you a pretty little slut, and he has no clue why the devil likes to try him so hard. It’s all your fault, truly. Pretty little thing.

“Okay… but…” You take a breath. “I have dreams of someone fucking me, someone I should not.” You say nervously, and watch him shift in his seat, you can smell his cologne so much in here, making you thirst more for him.

“It’s natural to have thoughts, my child.”

“No, Father Gojo… I’m playing with myself, thinking of him. Of… sucking him, or of him laying on top of me.” You hear Father Gojo making a choking sound, and you panic. “I’m so sorry! I…”

“Ahem, no, no… continue.” Father Gojo’s cock is straining, he can already feel precum sticking to his tip, picuring you touching your pussy, he bets it’s so pretty, bet it tastes so-

Sinful girl, aren’t you?

Surely that’s all this is, not… him wanting to sin! Father Satoru Gojo certainly is perfect, he’s God’s perfect creature, so if he wants this, it must be on you. Sin in a perfect little body with a perfect little face, and a voice that drives him to utter distraction. Surely, Father Gojo must try to save you.

“Father, I cannot stop thinking of him, he’s in all my dreams. What should my penance be, how many hail marys?”

Father Gojo has to stroke himself to adjust his huge, throbbing cock now, as he watches you through the lattice, biting your full lower lip, your head falling back, hair cascading. Hair he wants to pull as he fucks you from behind, making you arch your back to take more of his cock.

“I have to ask how you’re doing it… so that I can tell you your penance, so that I may try to save you.” He says, husky now, and you whimper softly, shifting on the bench, your pussy throbbing around nothing, picturing his cock filling you.

“How I do it, Father Gojo?”

“Yes, it’s… important to confess.”

“Well, I take my fingers, and I find my pussy with them, I roll them around my clit over and over, I get so wet that they slip- Father are you okay?” Satoru can’t stand it, he’s stroking his bare cock under his robes, resting his head against the wall, struggling not to cry out as he’s pumping.

“Ahem… indeed I am. So you finger your little pussy then?” At his words you’re a blushing mess, breaths coming more rapidly, your hands gripping the bench, dying for friction as you’re soaking your panties.

“Y-yes.”

“Do you slip your fingers in?”

“I… no! Um… no.”

“And you cum?”

“I… yes. I do cum. Imagining him.” You’re watching those robes rise and fall, then you know it, Father Gojo is stroking his cock right next to you.

“I see… I think I can help alleviate some of this, perhaps give you some guidance so that you do not afflict yourself so.” You want to touch yourself now, when you hear those breathy pants, your fingers clinging to the lattice.

“Yes, father, I need your guidance.” Cock, fingers, mouth… fuck you’re a full sinner, aren’t you!?

“Then come here, let us have our first attempt at saving you.”

Now you’re standing in front of him in the itty bitty room, face to face with Satoru Gojo, your Priest, and fuck if your nipples don’t tighten up, if your tummy isn’t clenching with desire. You’re nervously fiddling with your hands as he leans back, spreading his long legs as wide as they can in the tight quarters, his glittering blue eyes dilated as he licks his lips, making them glossy.

“You must show me how, and do not fret, sweet girl, it’s through god’s will of course, through me.” Father Gojo says, your breaths come faster as you slip up your sundress, and his eyes hungrily drink the sight of your bare thighs in. He leans forward, sliding those panties down, eyeing your glistening cunt now, his breath almost hitting it, making you jerk.

“Father… I cannot show you…”

“You can, I am here to help, have no fear.” He notices you’ve drenched your panties, a wet spot formed, sticky little strands of your arousal apparent as he pulls them down, hands touching the smooth skin of your thighs.

You put your hand on your pussy now, the other nervously holding up your dress, and you run your fingers in circles on your clit, crying out softly, as he lets out a low, guttural moan. You’re getting wetter as you play, as his large, sexy hands clench, the veins popping up out of the thin skin, and you’re trembling, imagining his long fingers working you instead.

Satoru is close to cumming as he watches your pretty face, your brows drawing together, your lips parted, eyes so dilated your pupils are taking over, just a thin ring of your iris left. Your lashes are lowered, and his hand stops yours now, as it’s playing with your soppy little cunt, you tremble before him.

“I see, I must help you, guide you. To get this… affliction taken care of. Yes?” You nod eagerly, then Father Gojo pulls you to his lap, and you’re straddling him, your hands sliding up to feel his strong shoulders under his robe, and he is touching your pussy instead, making you whimper. “Need me to save you, pretty little sinner?”

“Please save me. Please. Ah!” Satoru sinks two long fingers deep inside your eager little entrance, you gasp at it as he slips into your gummy walls, drippy and so tight. He’s paused, moaning and looking right into your eyes, you drown in his blue gaze, as your cunt drools down his hand. “Father Gojo… please…”

“Begging for it, are you? So tight, it’s so… have you had anything inside this perfect little pussy?” He huffs, feeling how you’re squeezing his fingers, then he hits some spot that makes you see stars, pumping up and down over and over. You cling to him, eyes fluttering shut. “Answer me, be a good girl for once, would you?”

Good girl for once.

There’s no hope for you.

“Nothing… no one… just you, Father Gojo. Mmm!” You’re covering your mouth as he keeps pumping, and he moans, dreaming of breaking you in all the ways he could, taking your innocence for himself. It’s surely what god is wanting, and who is he but god’s disciple himself? He thrusts those fingers knuckles deep, watching you fall apart over him.

“There, you’re loving this, fingers stretching your pussy, don’t you?” You nod weakly, gushing down his hand, you can hear the squishing wetness of your pussy as he now slides a thumb, rolling it over your clit.

“F-father Gojo!”

“Sinful girl.” He huffs, as you’ve buried your face against his neck, rocking against his hand, those long fingers fucking you so good it’s painful, moaning.

“Mmm! Father Gojo, I will… be good… for you…”

“Will you?” You nod weakly, as Satoru rolls your clit expertly, and you feel the pressure building, you’re panting, ready to combust. “I feel it, you’re so close, aren’t you?”

You’re nodding, hips grinding, now you’re soaking his robes, he’s picturing sliding his cock inside you, breaking you, until your sins are cleansed, and you’re picturing him taking you, defiling you in every way your hectic mind can picture. Both of you are about to cum, you’re not even touching Satoru though, you want to, fuck you want to.

“Close, m’close… p-please…” You’re begging for release, seeing stars as he works your now sloppy cunt.

“I've got you, you can let go, you're safe with me, let me see your sins so I can cleanse them.” He urges you on, bringing you higher and higher with those long, slick fingers.

“Father, it's... I'm gonna... mmm!” You're so close, soaking the sleeve of his robe now. And he's so ready to slide into your eager cunt, looking up at you behind snowy lashes.

“Show me how you sin, let me watch you cum, so I can... help you.” He whispers, and you fall apart then, pulsing around his fingers, and he groans as he watches you, pressing up so deep. You’re gushing so much arousal, he can smell your sweet scent, as you scream out into your little hand, shaking.

Satoru is now sliding his fingers out, you whine, wanting more, especially when he is sucking your juices off his fingers, making you gasp. His cheeks hollow, his eyes fluttering shut as he tastes you, your mouth drops open, breaths making you quicken, your heart pounding in your ears as you try to come down.

Your thighs are trembling over him, entire body lit up from cumming so hard, his snowy lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, before fluttering up, looking at you, your arousal coating his lips. “Oh my God.”

More sinning.

“You’re not being a very good girl.” He admonishes, but then his lips quirk up. “But, you taste too sweet to be bad. Or perhaps you yourself are sin.” Father Gojo whispers to you now, and you’re leaning closer, rolling your hips, making him groan, his hands gripping your little waist as your heat brushes against his cock. “Has it alleviated some of your… need, my child?”

He’s smirking at you, in a way no priest should! You sigh then, shaking your head. “No, Father, it’s only made it worse! You must help me more, I’m afraid now I’m thinking of sinning even more, and who I’ve been dreaming of.” You say then, it’s a whisper, as the room is hot from your breaths, smelling like sweet arousal.

Satoru blinks then, thin white brows going together, jaw clenching. “You’re thinking of fucking your own priest? That is a sin.”

“I know! It’s a terrible affliction. Oh Father, I’m going to hell.” You whisper, blinking back tears, still reeling from the aftershocks of cumming. Satoru arches his hips now, brushing his cock against your pussy, and you nearly scream out, head falling back, exposing your throat to him, and he pictures his hand wrapping a rosary around your neck, pulling tight.

You’ve dreamt of him too!? Surely this must be a sign.

A temptation.

But does he want to fight it? Your taste is all over his mouth now, as he feels your sexy little body against him, his hands brushing against your breasts, watching your nipples perk up. You look at him with intoxicated eyes, lips parted, your tiny hands clinging to his robes as you grind again, and he shudders at how fucking good it feels, your heat on him.

“I see… Well you must come to me tomorrow, and we will have to try harder, to save your soul.” He says huskily, you nod eagerly, as he helps you off him, his cock close to cumming, already twitching, he slides your soaked, ruined panties into his robes, you surely do not need them anymore.

“What if I have another dream father!”

“Do not touch yourself, I will help you when you come in, that’s so we can try to save you, yes?” You nod then, leaning close to his lips.

“Father, is it a sin to kiss your lips?”

“Not if you feel a calling, surely God wishes you to.” He murmurs, and you peck a sweet kiss on his lips, tasting yourself on him, before forcing yourself out of the cramped quarters, body on fire, leaving Satoru to finish stroking his cock, cumming as he shoves your panties against his face.

******

You’re dreaming of him again, of Father Gojo, this time his snowy white hair is brushing against your thighs, his tongue is lapping up all the dripping wetness, his big hands pressing into the plush of your thighs. You wake up throbbing, crying out, seeing how wet you are, as the ceiling fan whirls, failing to cool your overheated flesh. Father Gojo’s fingers made it worse, your affliction!

The next day you’re painfully turned on, pussy aching for more, you followed his instructions and did not touch yourself, instead you forced yourself to go back to sleep, now you’re in the nearly empty church, knocking at the door of Father Gojo’s office. You hear his deep voice speak.

“Come in.” You nervously walk in, you are wearing a shorter blue sundress today, and no panties. You know Father Gojo will see how sinful you are, but when you see his perfect face, and him wearing a thinner, lighter white robe, your pussy is already making your thighs sticky. “My child, lock that door, so we can have privacy… we would not want your confessions judged.”

“Yes, thank you Father.” You lock the door with a click, stepping to him, your heels clicking on the wooden floor of his room. He’s sitting in his chair, fingers steepled, studying your body carefully.

“Do you have any updates on your affliction, pretty girl?”

“Pretty girl…” You’re blushing worse now.

“I feel I must call you what the lord is telling me. Is that alright with you?” You nod nervously, standing before him, the desk separating you. “So how were your dreams last night?”

“They were of you again, Father Gojo. I’m so sorry!”

You cover your face in embarrassment, hearing the soft thumps of his shoes as he comes to you, taking you by your wrists, big hands enveloping the delicate wrists entirely. Your head tilts back to look at him, he’s so tall and big… you’re drinking in the sight of him, his black rosaries hanging across his broad chest.

“You must tell me these dreams, so I may help you. Perhaps they’re some sign that we must see.”

“You… you were licking me, between my thighs.” His nostrils flare slightly, those swirling blue eyes thirsty as he studies you, your thighs shift, his hands still tight on your wrists.

“Your slutty little pussy, I was licking it?” Your pussy is clenching, tummy coiling, at his nasty, sinful words, from such a pure man. You nod then. “I see, there’s no choice, we must see what enacting your dreams does. To try to save you.”

“Y-yes, father, I think so too.” You whisper, hands sliding up and down his chest, watching his Adam's apple bob under that white collar. “Does it ever get uncomfortable, Father Gojo?”

“At times. Take it off for me.” He turns and you undo the collar, when he turns back you see it, his strong neck, the muscles corded, you bite your lower lip, earning him pulling it from your teeth. “This dream, describe it, so I can help you.”

You’re a flustered mess, especially after his fingers yesterday, and all the dreams you’ve been having. You take several breaths now. “You were licking me.”

“More descriptive.” He murmurs now, sitting you up on his desk, shocking you, then he slides up your skirt and smirks, wicked priest that he is, blue eyes darting back up to yours. “No panties, your soul is so slutty.”

“I… well… Father Gojo!” Satoru’s rubbing your clit with his thumb, watching you writhe on his desk now, as he sits back in his black chair, scooting up, his breath right against you.

“You wanted this, to be bare in front of me, didn’t you pretty little sinner?”

“Y-yes, I told you, I’m going to hell, mmm!”

He’s kissing your thighs, your hands enwrap in his silky white hair now, his breaths higher and higher, eying your perfect, glistening pussy. He’s dying to feel you dripping down his tongue, dying to drink your sweet nectar flowing when he’s opening up the lips of your pussy, and you’re making those pretty sounds, you’re so pathetic already, he thinks.

“No, I will save you, don’t you believe in me, pretty? I alone speak for God, I’m the honored one.” His words along with his eyes, those glittery blue storms that see right through you, as if they know your every sin, wreck you now. He surely must be the honored one.

“You’ll save me, I know you will.” You whisper, caressing his cheek now, and he moans softly, just urging you on more.

“That’s a good girl. Now tell me, what did I do in this dream?”

“You licked me, here.” You touch your slit, and he slides his tongue up it now, making you gasp, his tongue is so hot and wet, you’re gushing just from that. Satoru moans, kissing right over your clit before swiping his tongue again. “Father!”

“Shh, lest they hear your sinful mouth.” He whispers, and you clench your teeth, nodding as you watch him, he is placing your feet on either arm of his chair. “And you did not play with yourself?”

“I swear I did not, Father Gojo! I listened. Please…” You arch your hips up, full pussy in his face, and Satoru begins to devour you now, spreading your lips and flicking his tongue on your little swollen clit over and over. You have to slap a hand over your mouth, his rosary is cool against your inner thigh as he works your pussy, just like your dream.

Satoru’s tongue is wicked, for such a holy man you think, and it does the most wicked things to you, no dream could prepare you, even his fingers had not. He sucks your clit into his hot open mouth, moaning as your juices coat his tongue, looking up at you as you cling to his hair with one hand, the other muffling your cry as you feel yourself begin to cum.

Soon you are cumming right on Father Gojo’s face, your thighs shaking on either side of his head, pussy pulsing around nothing, and he’s drinking you up, so lewd in the quiet church office. You’re jerking now, as he leans up, half his pretty face shining with your slick, making you flush at how much there was. Your hand eases down, now just gasping for breath as you look at him.

“And now, my child, how is this affliction?” He whispers, leaning up and laying atop you, pressing you into the wooden desk. You lean up, kissing him once more, earning his moan, tasting yourself all over him, he grabs you by the throat then, long fingers wrapping as he pulls back. “How hard do I have to work to save your slutty little soul, hmm?”

“I’m sorry, Father Gojo. It was so amazing… but I just want more, I fear I’m having more lustful thoughts of you now.” Your hand slides down now, cupping him where he’s thick and hard, and he squeezes your throat harder now, his thumb on your racing pulse.

“And what else is in that little brain of yours? What lewd fantasies of your priest, hmm?”

“Sucking your cock, that’s what.” He groans now, pulling you down and putting you to your knees. You look up eagerly, now Satoru is undressing, and you finally get glimpses of his body, of hard muscles and planes as he’s taking off his robes, now opening his pants for you, revealing a huge, thick cock. You gulp as you drink in the sight of it.

“And do you know what to do, how to serve me, my child?” He asks, you shake your head. “Yet you’ve dreamt it?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Then it’s surely meant to be, hmm? First, slide down your top.” You do as he says, and he moans as he sits back in his chair, gripping your bare breasts. “My God, you’re made to ruin me. Come here, open your mouth.”

You do as he says, and Father Gojo now guides you by your hair, hair he wraps around his fist, guiding you down on his cock. His curved pink tip is leaking white pearly substance, which you tongue out, earning his grown, his head falling back. You suck him eagerly, swirling your tongue, as his eyes watch you, lidded and dazed, tasting his saltiness and sweetness eagerly.

“You’re far too good at this, are you sure you haven’t been sucking cock, like a sinful brat?” You pull back with a pop, saliva dripping down your lips.

“No, I only want to serve you, Father.”

“Mmm, you’re so precious.” He whispers, before shoving your mouth back on him, and you’re bobbing up and down as he pulls your hair, using it to glide you up and down his length. Your eyes water, your nose starts running as his cock is choking you, your pussy throbbing even more. “Fuck…”

“Father, did you cuss?” You ask, pulling back, with a shy little grin, earning Father Gojo’s smirk.

“I’m allowed to, it’s all God’s words. Now are you finally satisfied, or do we need to go further? Do I need to break your pretty little pussy?” He murmurs, his words like a drug, running his thumb across your lower lip. You nod then, weakly, and his lips part, eyes studying you. “Then ask me, on your knees so pretty, like you’re praying.” He puts your hands in prayer position, blue eyes lighting up.

“Please, break me, Father Gojo.” He pulls you up now, kissing you deeply, tongues so unpracticed and messy, you’ve never really even kissed, but now you feel him, filling you once more with those two fingers as he bends low.

“Turn around and bend over, sweet sinner.” You turn, and now Father Gojo has slid your dress down, leaving you in just your heels, his big hands gliding down every line and curve of your bare body. “I said bend over.”

He smacks you sharply on your backside, making you gasp then whine out, as he presses your upper back between your shoulder blades, your face against his desk. He then takes your hands, putting them behind your back and wrapping them with his black beaded rosary. You whine out at the sensation, he pulls it so tightly it’s digging in, shoving the cross in your palms.

“Hold on to that cross while I fuck your innocent little pussy. Feel it against your skin as I do.” He says, whispering in your ear. You nod, feeling the sharp cool silver digging in, as the beads dig into your bound wrists. “Good girl, spread those thighs.”

You do as he says, and then his tip is in, stretching you, and you’re shivering, breaths coming faster and faster. Satoru shoves his cock inside you, tearing at your little barrier. You cry out at the pain, and he pauses for a moment, moaning, letting you adjust. “H-hurts…”

“Just a moment of pain to fill you with my light.” He murmurs, sinking deeper, and your walls are fluttering around his cock, earning his groan. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you? Did you want me to take it, your innocence?”

“I’ve w-wanted you, so long… played with… a long ah- time.” He moans now, sliding back out and in, you’re so wet and ready the pain eases quickly, as he takes you from behind now, pulling on your neck, pressing your bound hands firmer against your back, whispering in your ear.

“You sinned so long, playing with this pussy thinking of me?” You nod weakly, hiccuping on a cry as he’s pumping now, taking you over, stretching your tight cunt out so much, your skin burns, but you crave it.

You’re going to hell, surely.

But it seems worth it to be stretched by his cock so well.

“Y-yes… a long time. S-sorry Father…”

“Just Satoru when you cum all over my cock, hmm?” You nod weakly, then he fucks you harder now, thighs smacking your skin, his pelvis smacking your now sore ass cheeks, balls smacking your clit. “Ah, and you’re close already and your first time? You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Satoru!” You scream out so loud he’s palming your mouth with his huge hand, taking over your face, shoving his cock in and rolling his hips, making you climax so hard you cannot see. You weakly drool out of your lips onto his hand, as he feels your velvety walls fluttering around him.

You are made for this, for his cock, to take him. Your sweet virgin pussy is getting so filled by Father Gojo’s huge cock, but you’re already taking him so well. Father Gojo knows then that your dreams and his must be for a better purpose, to fuck you and fill you with all of his light, surely. You’re taking him more and more, cumming so hard your cunt is drooling everywhere.

He lets your face go, looking at your fucked out expression, your mouth is wide open, that drool dangling out the corner, your eyes are rolled back, lashes fluttering, your ass arching up for more. You’re such a sinful creature, but he knows your innocence was made for just him, clearly. You would not have anyone else, he would surely see to it.

It’s God's calling.

You’re pounded and stuffed by his huge cock, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, ass jiggling with the force, then Satoru pulls your chin to face him, he’s so fuzzy, you keep shutting your eyes.

“Look at me, my child, now.” He whispers, and you open your eyes, staring into his weakly as his thrusts slow.

“Y-yes, Satoru…” He moans at the use of his name from your pretty lips.

“I’m saving you, through… mmm… God’s wisdom.”

“Thank you, thank you!” You’re trembling, he’s rolling his hips and that tip is dragging on your spot, you struggle to focus on his pretty face, the sun from the blinds filtering in behind his head, and then he looks like an angel. The cross is digging in so much your hand is bleeding just a bit, but you truly couldn’t care, his cock feels too good inside you.

“Do you want me to… fill you…” He’s crying out then, grabbing you so tightly you can’t breathe. “With God’s love… and light?”

“Please, fill me Father- ah!” Satoru starts pumping faster and faster, yanking on your rosary so hard it breaks as he begins to cum, the beads flinging and clattering all over the wooden floor, the cross still digging into your broken palm.

“Going to put… so much… light in you… fill you-” He moans loudly then, and you feel hot liquid pumping inside, bringing you to cum with him, as it coats your walls, hot and sticky. “Feel it? Feel me filling you with it?”

“I do! I do… Father Gojo… feel it.” You whine out, rolling your hips to milk him for every bit of his hot white ropes.

“Oh… Mmm…” He’s pumping more cum inside you now, but you’re so wet and still convulsing, so it’s dripping down his cock with your arousal. Satoru exhales, pulling out and then wiping you up, turning you gently, gulping as he kisses you once more. “You were sent here to destroy me.”

“Father, I’m afraid… I only want to do it more.” You whisper, he groans, cupping your face, as you bring up your hand to him, where the cross has left red marks on your palm, he traces it, the perfect symbol of the cross, with little blood drops streaking. You wince in pain.

“I see, it’s a sign we must continue.” He says, and you nod eagerly, as he holds your hand in his.

“We must, Father Gojo.”

*****

The next Sunday, you’re sitting in the very front for the sermon, watching as Father Gojo is licking a thumb and turning a page, his blue eyes darting to your thighs, today you’re wearing a pink summer dress. Father Gojo has stolen a pair of your panties, he thinks you don’t notice, but you do, so you decide not to wear any again, opening your legs for a moment.

Father Gojo gets a glimpse of your bare, glistening pussy right in that church, making his cock hard in front of a room full of hundreds of his followers. Luckily the brown stand in front of him covers up such evidence, as he looks over at your face when you cross your sexy legs, you smile up at him, blinking innocently.

But you’re not innocent, not anymore, are you? No, you’re the worst sinner he’s tried to save, and he thinks he’ll have to work harder to save you. And when you’re riding his cock in the confessional later that evening, and he’s biting on your breasts, you’re riding him so well, moans muffled in the tiny room, he’s not sure he can save you truly, you’re too full of sin.

Father Gojo enjoys your slutty soul and your soaking wet pussy on him far, far too much, especially filling you with his cum light.

Serving Father Gojo is perfectly fine, it's God's will after all 🙏 Nanami and Geto drabbles coming some time too <3 Reblog if you're a sinner <3

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60569476

#gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jjk smut #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #priest gojo #Priest Satoru Gojo #gojo satoru smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x female reader

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redcherrykook · 5 months ago

Text

──𐙚 bad boy, good girl / highschool sweet♡s

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content: highschool sweethearts, parking lot blowjob, backshots, they r lovebirds, dirty talk, praise, big cawck JK, creampie, desperate seggs, getting chased by cops, jungkook smokes and sells weed, is tatted UP, oc is a quiet good girl nerd

note from cherry: this request is MONTHS old but i finally wanted to write smth fluffy and sexy, hope u guys like it!!

@rockstryoon 4 u <3

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the backseat of his makeshift hot box, ford taurus smelled like sweat and weed,

fogged up windows that blur the beautiful sunset behind the barrier, strangely, the best views are always on random gas stations or parking lots,

much like this back alley parking spot of a local grocery store,

"fuck angel, just like that" jungkook groans, his full sleeve tatto glistening with wet droplets that spurr from his worked up, heated body

"yeah? like this baby?" you mumble through the soft licks to his fat mushroom head, pink and swollen, leaking with his arousal,

you bat your lashes up at him, squeezing his heart in the meantime,

"so fucking good, imagine everyone knew what a slut you are f'me" clenching around nothing, you shift between his spread, muscular thighs, shoving his length into the back of your throat- fuck, he fills it out so well, hitting the very back

"you take me so well sugar" his hand combes through your long strands, slicking them away from your face while you work your hot mouth on his cock, he moans- a long, desperate moan as the grip tightens

your slick practically pools in your panties, clinging to every crevice but hidden beneath the plaid, light blue skirt

his half lidded doe eyes flicker down to your messy, half opened blouse where your tits sit perfectly, full view of the small swells that fit inside his large, rough palms, your stiff buds standing proudly, begging for his attention,

he reaches down to cup your tit as best he could, groping it, toying with the fabric that covered your nipples while he rolls his fingers over them

Jungkook was nothing like you, and that's certainly why you love him,

While you spend your weekends studying for your advanced literature classes, he drives around selling weed, getting little addtions to his sleeve tatto, skipping classes to go escape the world for a little, only to sneak into your room by your window, roughed up and with his signature leather jacket, a little scratched by the tree he needs to get on to knock down the window he knew would be open,

he loves that about you,

That you're so good.

Nothing about your sweet, innocence smile smells like danger- like a police report or a chance of rebellion,

he adores how you get shy everytime he stares too long, how he never needs to worry about having to pick you up drunk out of your mind but god- does he love how much you care,

how you sit on his lap and clean up his rough skin after a fight, how your eyebrows wrinkle in concern when he lights up yet another cigarette

"m'so fucking close angel" your boyfriend mutters, lip tucked beneath his teeth, the long, shaky digits on his hands yank your messy hair, gripping it so tightly your pussy aches for relief,

like a primal instinct, his hips start rutting into your mouth, chasing, running after the wet, squeezing sensation of your body engulfing his,

It only takes your soft, manicured hands gripping the muscles of his thigh for him to snap, stuttered hips that paint your throat with a coat of his cum,

your almond, ombre nails do it for him every time, how small your palm is compared to him, how feminine you are- smell, look, feel

"good girls swallow sugar" he winks and you roll your eyes, knowing that you loved to taste him,

slightly salty, but it tasted like adoration nonetheless, you lick it off your bottom lip as well, before meeting his exhausted, loving eyes

"c'mere" nose burried in your jumbled hair, he takes a second to inhale your scent, soft, fresh laundry with a hint of cherry that resembles your beloved shampoo,

you can feel his quickened heartbeat, body crunched up in the confined space but you need more, if you could crawl in his skin, you would, needing him everywhere

Jungkook showed you that love is sometimes unconventional, and that's the most beautiful part

"you did so good, so good at sucking dick aren't you?" jungkooks whisper lingers in your ear, husky, still out of breath from his high,

"oh god- please be quiet"

one hit to his chest, another,

"okay, okay sugar, let me make it up to you" he chuckled, catching your wrist before you could throw yet another soft punch to his toned chest,

he manuvers excellently in the small space, manhandling you like it was the easiest thing he'd ever done, until you're plump rear is pointed up, arched back perfectly on display and decorated by the bunched up skirt you decided on today,

"you're so perfect you know? So pretty" you can feel his hands round over your ass, spreading them to reveal your dripping femininity all bare to him, the thong you wore now pooling at your ankles,

"i love these little things, they make you look so sexy" refering to the white thigh high socks that squeeze your thighs, he taps them,

"gguk please" your hips wiggle tesingly beneath his hungry eyes, he can see your hands pressed on the seat and your head hung down in anticipation,

one harsh slap,

"be Patient pretty, you're a good girl right?"

onther one, your skin slowly shifting into being covered in a girlish pink hue,

"are you not hm? are you a little slut after all?"

just as he's about to deliver another harsh spank to your skin, your softened, desperate voice sounds all around him, making his lips elicit a small groan,

"no gguk, i'm a good girl"

"that's right angel, such a good girl" he breathes out and finally joins his body in with yours, his stiff, angryly throbbing length held heavy in his hand,

"feel how big i am?" he teases, watching with his mouth hung open while he guided his tip between your soppy folds, grinding between them to coat himself in your stickiness, he nudges your clit, thrusting against it to watch how you clench around nothing,

"mh.. gguk.." you whine once more, biting down on your lip to not yell in desperation,

"I know pretty, i know" as he says this, his tip aligns with your entrance, pushing all the way in with one go,

"god you're so fucking tiny" jungkook moans, gripping your hips to pull you back against his pelvis, his abs flex at the contact, stiffening once he's nestled his entire girthy cock inside of you,

you could feel everything, his raw, throbbing cock filling out every crevice inside your flush walls, veins bulging against your warmth

he's ruthless with how he fucks into you, giving you no time to adjust to his size that will remain a stretch forever, snapping into you with force as you rock yourself back on him, tumbling out whimpers from your open mouth,

"yeah.. so good, my pussy, all mine, made for my cock" his torso connects with your back, wrapping his muscular arms around your trembling form as he reaches deep into your cunt, embracing the overwhelming pleasure you can only whine, moan, and hope that he wouldn't stop now,

"fuck, fuck baby you're so sexy" its now his turn to whine, he's becoming restless with his movements, moans growing more high pitched and needy with every deep push into you, his lip ring grazed by his tongue over and over again,

it's becoming too much- too much to feel your soft, small back colliding with his half revealed, sweaty torso, feeling your walls squeeze him, sucking him in so well,

Jungkook's head is spinning when he catches a glimpse of your face, red cheeks, shut eyes and a drooly mouth that begs for him, the soft strands of your well kept hair now messily falling over your shoulders and features,

but he completely looses it when you decide to grind your hip up and down, everytime he'd thrust back in, you'd keep him there a little, only pathethically grinding into his burried cock even more,

"no fuck- sugar, if you keep doing that i'm gonna fucking burst" he whines, attempting to stop his rapid orgasm but it feels too good, way too blissed out to really try and stop you,

"gguk please, i need it" you cry out, only now he notices your shaky hand thats poorly trying to play with your clit, he replaces it quickly, drawing tight circles on it while you keep grinding your hips,

"cum for me pretty, let go, make a mess on my cock" begging, pleading with you to make it messy for him, make him feel how you fall apart on him,

and god, you do,

trembling underneath his body that fully surrounds you, your knees buckle as they dig into the fabric beneath you, you practically collapse on your forarms and tits, hips held up roughly by the manly hands that still them,

"oh fuck sugar, you're so cute" he rasps, fighting the urge to cry out of joy, he'a watching your eyes wet with overwhelming pleasure but all you can do is moan, stumble out his name and feel him, feel him coat your insides in his milky release,

he swears in that very moment that he never, ever wants to stop making you feel good

"that's it baby.. that's it.. such a good girl.." jungkook speaks against your skin, his tired hips halting inside of you but he's fully wrapped you in his arms now, kissing your delicate shoulder, stroking your hair to slowly ground the both of you,

you feel his fluttered kisses collide with your skin and the spotty vision slowly returns to a normal one, the sun has set entirely now, leaving a small glow to illuminate your boyfriends face and body,

"hi" you giggle, pecking his nose when faced with the handsome boy again,

"there she is" he smiles, pulling your lips in for a deep, slow kiss

"my little treasure" he mumbles into your lips, words getting lost in what the both of you call only call love, a stronger word not having been invented yet

"okay but, i promise you i could beat jake Paul in a fight" the laugh that rumbles deep inside your boyfriends chest brings a fond smile to your face, even though he's ridiculous, you would never tell him that

"Course you could, look at that bicep"

"Right? I knew i wasn't crazy!" Jungkook exclaimes, flexing the very muscle you're fingers attempt to curl around,

"pass me the lighter sugar"

He takes the small object from you, igniting the weak flame to light up the brown cigarette in between his fingers,

"A blunt? Now?"

Your round eyes widen, melting his poor heart,

while you knew he loved to smoke weed, he doesn't really do it often,

given that he mostly sells it to whoever asked him for it, as long as they were at least sixteen

he hums, taking the blunt to his lips before dragging a long puff of smoke out,

"never a bad time" while smile slightly, he presses a few kisses to your jaw, nuzzling his button nose against yours afterwards,

"Don't we wanna leave soon? It's cold gguk"

he contemplates for a secod, but as his mouth opens to reply, sirens start blaring, a blue, radiant light right with it

never a bad time huh?

"shit" he reacts quickly, putting the blunt out and starting up his engine,

panic sets in, your heart thumps like crazy inside your chest and you could feel the cortisol pouring from your neurotransmitters,

"gguk what-"

"shh baby, buckle up, don't be scared" as he says this, he quickly takes off from the parking lot, speeding down the empty street while the siren keeps blaring, cop car closely following behind,

Jungkook is no stranger to the police and of course, you try to grow acustom to it, but you've never been directly woven into his escapades, not like this

anxiously, your hands fumble with each other, images of your boyfriend in handcuffs flooding your head in rapid time,

"hey, relax pretty, i got you, i got you i promise" he says, almost too reassuringly while reaching for one of your hands,

the other one continues steering, his foot steep on the gas petal but the cops don't back off yet,

"This is scary" you whine, whipping your head back to see you've managed to create a safe distance,

"Well not my first, don't worry" jungkook chuckles and if it weren't for him driving you would punch him in the balls right now,

"Somtimes I forget you're crazy" you tell him in all honesty, relieved when after a good 8 minutes, the road is starting to grow quiet again

"Okay miss perfect" your boyfriend teases, sticking his tongue out childishly

But you don't mind, sticking yours right back out just when you both fall into lighthearted laughter

"I love you sugar" he says, squeezing your thigh softly,

"I love you too ggukie, by the way.."

"Hm?" he hums, licking his lips while his eyes trace the road attentively

"Where are you driving to?"

"Wendys, you need to eat and I know your precious brain must be all jumbled from our little adventure"

you smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek, biting it afterwards

he truly knew you all too well,

"Best boyfriend ever"

Jungkook laughs, nodding in agreement

"Gonna have desert in your bed though"

#redcherrykook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic

3K notes · View notes

sutorus · 2 years ago

Text

THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.

PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader

WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms

A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?

reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:

it is said that those who cannot do, teach.

geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility.

but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do.

to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man.

but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you.

he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—).

when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like.

(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)

it was slowly starting to consume him.

the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year.

god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—

he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it.

everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives.

everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him.

but you damn well managed to.

and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair.

“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”

bullshit.

the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately.

and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class.

it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!

but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there.

however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.

you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours.

his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.

his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed.

under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are.

but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know.

but you knew for a fact that it was personal.

“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”

you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”

he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”

“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance.

“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively.

“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”

megumi lifts an eyebrow.

“you need to get one for each,” he says simply.

you grin. “deal.”

suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class.

it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious.

watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test.

he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you.

the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well.

the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak.

he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class.

when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild.

he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another.

you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages.

you smile, waving at the screen.

“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”

your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.

“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.”

you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying.

“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”

you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had.

“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”

you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip.

“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”

as always, satoru is no help.

“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”

suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”

satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.”

suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you.

“that won’t fix anything.”

satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.

“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”

suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.

at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong.

it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself.

he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again.

it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that.

suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this.

your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest.

the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know.

damn right it’s personal.

you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation.

geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off.

he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.

“to what do i owe the pleasure?”

your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over.

“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”

the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.

“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“

“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”

“miss—“

“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger.

geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“

“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”

he sits up, straightening his posture.

geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”

you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on.

“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”

there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair.

he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet.

“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you.

you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”

the man hums.

“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”

you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“

“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.”

your mouth goes dry.

before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from.

it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo.

you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction.

you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently.

but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you.

“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest.

he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”

you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom.

you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.

“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue.

“what a shame.”

your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”

he smiles sweetly.

“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now…

now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.

those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun.

you could so easily forget what you came here for.

“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”

he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”

“geto—“

“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”

you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn.

you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“then… push me, professor.”

it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest.

he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together.

it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two.

he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh.

geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief.

you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips.

if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.

but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.

geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan.

his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core.

“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”

he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.

god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin.

“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.

geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside.

you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips.

the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you.

“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”

you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again.

“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”

you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.

not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.

you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat.

he looks so good like this, just edible.

you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue.

he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.

geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive.

he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock.

it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds.

“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly.

“tastes better on your tongue, prof.”

geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of.

he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees.

you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper.

“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face.

he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants.

you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved.

you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside.

he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth.

god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would.

you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.

you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones.

“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”

“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”

and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man.

but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo.

so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks.

“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“

and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time.

he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over.

geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.

“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt.

you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.

“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“

“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core.

you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.

it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you.

“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs.

his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else.

geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear.

“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt.

you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn.

you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him.

longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you.

he notices you looking.

“do you need more prep? i can—“

“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk.

he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”

you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip.

“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”

geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him.

“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head.

his spirit is so unbreakable.

here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better.

geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair.

“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized.

“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”

he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers.

“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—

fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this.

he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth.

“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle.

a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.

you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back.

when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening.

“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts.

he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out.

“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”

you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in.

the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you.

you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade.

“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“

“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go.

he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin.

your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.

he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt.

“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“

he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips.

geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you.

“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“

you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.

“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom.

you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.”

“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”

geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you.

“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”

“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”

“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”

you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts.

“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”

you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you.

you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you.

your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer.

the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release.

geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got.

“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“

it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you.

he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure.

it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you.

geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of.

when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy.

“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows.

“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”

“…is probably going to happen again, right?”

he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.

maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.

you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips.

“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?”

the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession.

so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles.

and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.

12K notes · View notes

sweetshuga · 5 months ago

Text

𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝟐 ✧ 𝑪.𝑺

𝒃𝒔𝒇.ᐟ𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔! Giving him head after midnight. "That’s it... Jus’ like that–oh, fu—ck, you’re takin’ me so deep."

𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂. «𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕» «𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕» «𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕»

𝒘𝒄. 𝟐.𝟒 𝒌

𝒂𝒏. My bad for the wait, and since there were quite a few requests for a part 2, here it is my pretty gals<333

𝒑𝒔𝒂. English is not my first language! || Every part can be read as a standalone!

The car ride back was full of laughter – as per usual, and you had switched seats with Matt since he was the one driving, but as you talked with Nick, you couldn’t help but notice how awfully quiet Chris was.

Both Nick and Matt seemed to notice that his usual outbursts of energy were gone, somehow. He was fidgety and looked like he was in agony. His expression was one of frustration, and he shifted in his seat every few minutes, avoiding eye contact.

"You okay?" Matt asked, glancing briefly at Chris before shifting his gaze back to the road.

Chris hummed, totally unenthusiastic as he replied. "Yeah, just..." He breathed out, "Jus’ a bit tired." 'Classic, chalking it up to exhaustion, great job, totally believable Chris.' He thought to himself as he shifted again, letting out a quiet annoyed groan.

Matt nodded, "We’ll be home soon," he said reassuringly. Even though he didn’t quite buy the excuse, he knew better than to ask more questions since Chris seemed genuinely frustrated so he simply decided to drop it for now and focused on driving.

𝟏𝟓 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓

The moment Matt killed the car engine, Chris practically hopped out of the car and rushed inside and straight to his room, calling out to you three about needing the bathroom or something along those lines.

He immediately got inside his bedroom and locked the door for good measure and plopped on his sofa, letting out a small shaky breath.

"Fuck, what’s wrong with this thing," he mumbled to himself – referring to his rock hard dick. "Can’t fuckin’ believe this shit," he groaned before quickly pulling down his sweats until mid thigh. His hefty length sprung free, bobbing obscenely before he wrapped his long fingers around it.

Chris let a satisfied moan slip before remembering that you and his brothers are probably inside the house by now so he opted to bite his lips to suppress those needy moans.

He didn’t even need any lubricant thanks to all his precum oozing out of his tip. He slowly spread his dripping arousal all around his shaft before starting to move his hand faster.

Chris’ hand moved feverishly over his aching cock, the head already raging red from neglecting it for so long. He leaned back against the backrest as he stroked himself faster, groaning lowly and mumbling profanities.

"Fu—ck, feels s’good," he whispered to himself as he imagined your hand jerking him off instead. His eyebrows knitted together and eyes closed shut as his head fell back, thumping softly against the wall.

He brought his free hand to his cock, palming the tip as his right hand moved faster, gripping himself a bit more.

He was starting to have difficulty staying quiet.

"Oh fuc--- fuuuck," he let out a quiet chocked moan as he neared his release rather quickly. His hips jerked and thighs trembled as he worked himself closer and closer to that euphoric feeling. The band in his abdomen was taut, ready to snap any moment and one particularly hard swipe of his palm on his tip did it for him.

Oh, fuck, he was coming, and a lot at that.

Milky rope after rope of cum shot out of his tip, landing on his hand as he finally let out a moan. The sound of unadulterated pleasure and satisfaction slipping past his lips involuntarily. His hips bucked slightly with each rope, bliss etched on his features as he stroked himself slowly to prolong his high.

After a few seconds, the aftershocks finally subsided and his body slumped against the sofa. His breathing was still ragged as he reached over for the tissue box and took a few tissues before wiping his hands with it. Tossing it in the trashcan, he finally acknowledged what he just did.

Post-nut regrets.

He couldn’t believe he got rock hard, jerked off and came to fantasies of his own best friend. "What did I just do?" He mumbled to himself, putting his head in his hands as he groaned in annoyance.

This is so not helpful, not at all.

𝑨 𝒇𝒆𝒘 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓 – 𝟏𝟐:𝟒𝟑 𝒂𝒎 (𝟎𝟎:𝟒𝟑)

Matt and Nick both had (surprisingly) gone to bed and were already snoozing away, but Chris was still playing games on his computer. Still hung up and worrying over his newfound feelings and desires.

He sighed and slumped back against his gaming chair when his character died in the game. The screen showed a slight reflection of the uncertainty etched all over his face.

"This is bad—" "What is?" He jumped in his chair, not having heard you enter his room.

His eyes were wide and a hand on his chest, "Don’t you fucking know how to knock? You fuckin’ scared me, nearly killed me bruh." You raised your eyebrows at the defensive tone he was using, awfully worked up over the scare like he was hiding something he should be guilty of.

You chuckled and walked over to him, standing behind him as you leaned down slightly to look at what he was playing.

'Fortnite? Typical him.' You thought as you unconsciously moved closer to him, your chest almost flush against the back of his head.

Chris froze, the proximity was dangerous and he could feel himself slowly getting a boner.

Not again.

He shifted in his seat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in an unconscious habit. He swallowed thickly, his breath hitching when you practically pushed your breasts against the back of his head when you reached for something on his desk.

"C-can you like move away? You’re too close, kid." He cursed internally at the slight stutter and overall nervousness exuding from his tone and words.

You took the half-full can of Pepsi from his desk, "Can I have a sip?" Chris nodded, "Yeah, jus’ hurry and get out and go to bed or sum’." You took your sip and put it back on his desk, brushing your breasts against the back of his head yet again.

Just as you were going to say something, your gaze dropped down to his lap. Your eyes widened like saucers when you saw the clear bulge in his shorts.

Chris’ gaze dropped down as well, seeing what you were seeing, and his face paled. "Fuck," he groaned aloud as he quickly put his hands over his boner.

His head shot up and he looked at you with nervous eyes, his lips slightly parted to say something, but closed as quickly, not knowing what to say.

After a few awkward seconds, he finally mustered up the courage to talk. "I can explain."

Cliché.

What could he say otherwise? That your boobs grazing his head made him act like a hormonal teenager? Or that he sooo desperately wants to bend you over his desk and—

"Should I help...?" The question hung in the air, dispersing all thoughts from his head.

Chris stared at you for a solid minute, long enough to make you regret your words and just as you were about to backpedal, he spoke again. "What?" He asked dumbly.

You fidgeted with the hem of your thin cotton sleep shorts, suddenly feeling nervous as well as you cleared your throat and spoke in a quieter voice. "I mean, I can help... should I? It looks painful..." your voice trailed off when your eyes darted down to his boner yet again, now covered by his hands.

"Actually, that– never mind, I don’t know why I just asked you that, sorry I’ll uh... I’ll get going, good night." You rapidly babbled, looking away, and turned your heel before starting to walk away.

"Wait!" Chris shouted, causing you to jolt in surprise and halt in your step.

You slowly turned around and tilted your head to the side in pure bewilderment. "Uh... Yeah? What’s got your panties in a twist?" You tried to joke, but even a toddler would be able to tell that you were extremely flustered.

"I... Uh... Just–just come here will ya?" He whispered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet as he cleared his throat and looked away. "Please?" He looked at you again, this time with clear need in his eyes that made your knees weak.

You found your body unconsciously moving towards him and before you knew it, you were standing beside him.

Chris turned his chair to face you fully and gently grasped your wrists, pulling you so you were standing in between his spread legs. He looked up at you, his pupils dilated and pink lips parted slightly as his chest heaved slowly with ragged breaths. His gaze drifted to your lips and back to your eyes a couple times.

"I don’t mind, you know... your offer to help," he whispered, his gaze was locked on your lips the whole time before finally making eye contact again. His eyes, alone, plead for you to go through with your offer.

𝟓 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓

You sat on your knees on the ground, a pillow under your knees for more comfort. Your hands rested on his thighs as you looked up at him. "You ready?"

Chris nodded, lifting his hips slightly when you reached to tug down his shorts. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in anticipation and excitement. He let out a low groan when his aching dick was freed from the fabric of his clothes. Standing tall and proud at attention.

"Oh...?" you breathed out, genuinely impressed by his size as you tentatively wrapped your hand around it. "You’re huge," you mumbled, more to yourself than him, but it reached his ears nonetheless and your words only added to the desperate need for your mouth on him.

"Please, ma, please suck me off, I need to feel your warm mouth around me, please?" All dignity was gone in that moment, he didn’t even feel the slightest bit of embarrassment when he begged.

He was too far gone.

You complied, wanting to taste him as much. You leaned down and licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, flattening your tongue as you did so. When you reached the tip, you swirled your tongue around his head, eliciting muffled moans from him.

This was exactly what he needed, what he craved.

You teased him for a bit, licking and kissing his shaft, but not quite sucking him off yet.

Chris could feel his abs tighten slightly, each lick from you making him more and more needy. "Fuck, stop teasin’ me, you’re playing unfair." He groaned as he gently gripped your wrist.

You finally relented and wrapped your lips around his tip and slowly started to bob your head. Each movement eased more of his length in your mouth until you took almost all of him before pulling it out of your mouth with a wet pop, gasping softly for air as you pumped his shaft with your hand before taking him in your mouth again.

You looked up at him as you bobbed your head, seeing his face contorted in such ecstasy as he bit down on the back of his hand to muffle his needy moans made your pussy throb and your knew your panties were definitely drenched at this point.

You kept the rhythm, humming around his length encouragingly when you felt his hips buck slightly and he took it as a sign to let loose and held your head in place before starting to fuck up into your mouth.

You gagged slightly at first from the sudden depth he was reaching, but quickly relaxed your throat muscles and let him face-fuck you.

"That’s it... Jus’ like that–oh, fu—ck, you’re takin’ me so deep." Chris rasped as he pushed himself balls deep, holding you there until you slapped his thigh repeatedly. He slowly pulled his length out of your mouth, letting you cough and gasp for much needed oxygen.

"Sorry," he whispered as he wiped a small bit of saliva on the corner of your lips. He stood up from the chair, holding the base of his rock hard cock right in front of your face.

He guided the head of his cock to your lips again, nudging against it, "C’mon, ma, open those pretty lips up f’me, yeah? Take me deep like that again, wanna feel you suffocatin’ on my cock."

You obliged, parting your lips and wrapping them around his tip as he held your head with both hands, ready to fuck your face again and see those pretty eyes looking up at him with tears in them.

Oh, he could come so many times just from the image alone.

He started to thrust into your mouth again, feeling your nails dig into his thighs as he sped up his movements, but you weren’t complaining, not all. In fact, you were letting him use your mouth however he liked.

Chris’ movements slowly became more jerky as he neared his orgasm, his breathing quickened and so did his pace. His balls slapped against your chin as he fucked your mouth with reckless abandon.

With a final brutal thrust, he spilled deep down your throat, his pelvis nudging against the tip of your nose as he held you in place, making you swallow all of his spend.

You coughed when he finally pulled away, slowly slumping back down onto his gaming chair as he shuddered in aftershocks.

He sighed in contentment as he pulled up to your feet and onto his lap, nuzzling his face in your chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Holding you tightly against him as he caught his breath.

"Thank you..." he whispered after a while, lifting his head to look at you.

He chuckled with mirth when he saw your flushed face, "You look all hot and bothered." He joked, but you were all hot and bothered so to prove it, you took his hand and led it to your intimate area.

His breath hitched when you guided his hand down to your sleep shorts, which had a wet patch on the crotch area from your arousal. You looked away in embarrassment.

"All this f’me baby?" he tilted his head to the side to catch your eyes, "Getting so wet after suckin’ me off huh?" He chuckled, smirking as he lifted you up and walked over to his bed before gently placing you in the middle.

Chris slowly pushed you down into a laying position with your back flush against the bed. His eyes never left yours, he kept eye contact even while he pulled down your shorts and underwear.

His gaze was absolutely one of hunger as it raked over your half naked state. Settling in between your thighs, his hands gently, but firmly held your thighs in place, not letting you close them.

"Lemme make it up f’ya, let me make you feel good baby," he cooed before dropping his head down to show you heaven.

𓆩♡𓆪

1K notes · View notes

buckyschair · 3 months ago

Text

FLIRTING NEVER GOT YOU NOWHERE

Pairing: Azriel x Day Court! Reader

Summary: You’re an archivist from Day Court visiting Velaris, what happens when you visit a nightclub and things go wrong? Or do they go oh so right? AKA you flirt with Azriel in a bar and sex ensues !

read part 2 now - AFTERGLOW

A/N: I’m lowkey tired of shy insecure self insert fics so I wanted to write a piece about a bold unapologetic bitch who gets what she wants :) This is a very self indulgent fantasy based on rude things men have said to me at bars and how I wish someone had shown up for me. Like yeah I can stand for myself but also what if Azriel stepped up. I also made her bisexual because I’m gay 💅

Content Warnings: smut, cunnilingus & oral (so like m&f receiving), unprotected PIV sex (I am not going to spend my one precious life researching faerie contraceptive methods, so just imagine you’re on magic birth control or whatever. Or don’t, if you’re into that!), female reader (w nipple piercings ooo), gross liberties taken with whatever Day court has going on, unwanted advances from a guy in a bar, uhhh minor gay slur, it’s maybee more OC than self insert cause I gave her a lot of personality, shamelessly self indulgent, no use of Y/N

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. AND I MEAN IT !

Word Count: 12.4k

read on AO3

The flashing lights and lively music that had been a tonic just minutes ago now pounded through your skull, as jarring as the words you’d exchanged with some dipshit at the bar moments ago. You set your eyes back on the dance floor. Where was that group of females you’d mixed with earlier to save you now? You’d come to Rita’s to let loose a little after being cooped up in dusty corners of libraries for weeks now. You wanted to experience Velaris’ famed nightlife. Despite this place coming highly recommended, you were beginning to wonder if you shouldn’t have trusted that shy priestess’ taste in nightclubs.

“Come on, what’s wrong with you?” The male’s whiny voice didn’t quite hit the macho tenor he was aiming for as he yelled after you. You whip back around, incredulity written on your face.

“What’s wrong with me?” you snarl. “I’m so glad you asked, buddy ,” you see his pretty boy attitude shift into a sneer at the moniker, “cause I am not the one. What the fuck is your problem?”

Two steps and you’re back up in his space, just as he had invaded yours moments earlier when you’d rejected his advances. He didn’t seem to enjoy the treatment either, now that it was clear you wouldn’t stand for his shit. You could buy your own liquor. Especially when the other offer came from someone who thought appropriate eye contact involved breasts and an introduction equated to wandering hands.

“What, are you one of those carpet munchers or something?” he tries to deflect. Your eyes narrow. This fucker is in for it now. You can’t blame a guy for wanting to get his dick wet. However, you can blame him for being an entitled bigot about it.

“You son of a bitch,” you start, your face hardening into a sneer, your stance subconsciously shifting to a defensive position. At this, his eyes widen and his mouth parts but before he can speak– “You think just because someone doesn’t want you, they must be categorically repulsed by males?” You snort, eyeing him up and down. “I’m surprised you haven’t been laughed out of this bar yet. I’ve seen dog’s piss land more artfully than your attempts with females tonight. If you’ve somehow hidden some sense behind that ego, I suggest you take it with you when you leave.”

He chokes on air, eyes wide and face taught. Okay. Weird. You know you can be ruthless, but typically your feminine stature in a mini skirt meant you had to work harder than that to make a bastard sweat in fear.

His glassy eyes are focused over your shoulder. You turn your head, keeping the corner of your eye on the sorry male in front of you. When you catch the hulking Illyrian form behind you, you lose that focus as you take in wide shoulders and simmering rage. Rage directed at the whelp still pissing himself behind you at the bar. This new male’s face is a hard mask, his lip curling in disdain.

“You heard the lady.” Your stomach drops at his voice, deep and resolute. “I suggest you take her advice.”

Azriel watches the slimy bastard hightail it out of the crowded club. You miss the pathetic scene of his flight, only catching how the male in front of you relaxes when his target finally makes an exit. You’re glad he’s been keeping his eyes on the other guy, cause you’ve been staring in shock. His muscled arms, toned chest, looming wings, thick thighs– okay. That you could handle. Under ordinary circumstances. But two shots deep, in your most revealing outfit, and through the swirling lights, seeing the tattoos that peak out over the top of his vest at his collarbones and pecs… you swallow, forcing your mind back to the situation at hand as his eyes shift from the figure disappearing behind you.

His pinched brows relax as he takes you in. “Looks like you had it under control,” he says, raising one eyebrow- one glorious eyebrow, a hesitant grin making its way onto his face, as if he was impressed.

“Not the first time I’ve had to put someone in their place,” you shrug, off balance from the abruptly ended confrontation. Before this male appeared, you’d been gearing up for a fight. Boundaries are simple for you. Cross one and you remind them where you stand. He nods, his face solemn in understanding.

“I saw things getting heated. He looked like he was about to… grab you.” His lips twitch, like he still hasn’t decided if he should do something permanent about it. “Then you were removing yourself from him. And here we are.”

“Here we are,” you repeat. His words, simple as they were, made your spine itch. “Thanks for having my back.” You meant it. You know you could have handled him on your own, but nonetheless, it was nice to have the cavalry arrive right on time.

He flashes you a brief tight lipped smile, the picture of courtesy, “Anytime.” He shifts, like he means to leave you to yourself now that the drama had concluded without any blood.

“Can I buy you a drink?” you blurt out, almost in reflex at the male now in front of you. “As thanks.”

His eyebrows raise momentarily in surprise. Curious, you think. Surely the hunk of male was used to females showering him in liquor and more. You notice the lights around him go blurry– oh shit. Those are shadows. Fuck.

Realization hits you. No fucking way you just asked the High Lord’s inner court shadowsinger if you could buy him a drink. You kick yourself inwardly, but keep your face a mask of coy request.

“There’s no need to thank me,” he says genuinely, slightly shaking his head, even as his cheeks flush lightly, his eyes skirting up your figure. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Of course I don’t,” you smirk, confidence rushing through you at his reaction. “Consider it an unnecessary but kind gesture, tit for tat,” you tease, since you both know that his presence alone certainly scared off the unwanted male, even if he didn’t need to lift a finger. He cracks a grin at that, the minor barb landing exactly as you’d intended.

“Sure,” he shrugs.

A simple acceptance, so casually offered, lands you deeper than you ever could have expected to get with a high ranking member of a foreign Court. He lets you order him something neat, grunting in appreciation when he catches a whiff of the dark liquid in his glass, same as yours.

“Cheers.” You clink your glass to his, hiding your smile with a drink. It burns down your throat, grounding you. His hand had gently hovered over your lower back as you’d taken your seat at the bar again, ready to help but also blocking anyone’s view. Even though he hadn’t touched you, the ghost of his hand may as well have scorched your skin for how you felt it.

“What’s your name?” you ask, suddenly realizing that while you know who he is, you’d never caught his name. Was it confidential information?

“Azriel,” he replies. “Yours?” You tell him, and he hums, repeating it. Your name on his mouth makes your insides burn, but you remind yourself it’s probably just the liquor.

“Am I allowed to say your name out loud? Or is it a court secret?” you ask, and he graces you with another grin. He looks around conspiratorially before leaning in, which sends a thrill through you.

“My friends call me Az,” he murmurs lowly. “Just to be safe in the eyes of the law,” he adds with utter seriousness, only betrayed by the glimmer in his eyes. You laugh at that, excited apprehension making you sensitive to his every word.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Az.” You swear his shadows twitch at your words. You’re enjoying sitting here with him next to you, his body curved towards yours, knees almost touching. Your body relaxes, all the tension of the evening’s events replaced with a pleasant thrum of vitality.

“Likewise,” he says gruffly. You wonder if he feels the same intoxicating energy between you. His hazel eyes blaze even in the dim light of the quiet corner of the bar, his soft hair sticking slightly to his forehead in the heat of the packed bar. You want to brush it away, but you resist the sudden urge. You’re not sure what to say next. Ordinarily, you’re adept at conversation, but the powerful presence before you renders your mind blank.

You’re relieved when he says, “I haven’t seen you here before.” His gaze pins you. What is he seeing? What is he looking for? You’re not sure what he finds that causes him to elaborate, “I would have noticed you.”

“I would have noticed you, too,” you breathe.

“Doubtful,” he drawls in a playfully contrarian tone. His shadows dance along his wings over his shoulders, swirling almost in arrogance around the horns at their apex.

“What? Do they normally keep you hidden in the shadows?” you prod, flashing your teeth. He exhales sharply from his nose, rolling his eyes at your ridiculous implication. Encouraged, you place your hand on his knee under the bar top.

“Do they bully you?” you ask sweetly, dropping your voice quietly in mock concern.

He coughs a little laugh at that, then schools his features into a pained expression.

“Yes. Yes, they bully me.” You bite your lip at the image of him playing fragile, wounded. Your hand on his thigh is on fire. “Horribly,” he adds, voice wobbling.

“Let me know if you need help with that,” you tell him, with equal sobriety. “I could lend you my services, I have a certain skill in intimidation.”

His composure breaks at that, and he laughs from his gut this time, and you join him. The sound is prettier than any music.

“My hero!” he exclaims, gasping through his laughter, grabbing the hand that you pull away from his knee. You giggle as he grasps your hand securely, bringing them to rest together at his knee. His thumb brushes your knuckles while he smiles at you. It takes all your discipline to fight the shudder that threatens your body.

“This is my first time here,” you answer his initial prompt, gesturing around the lively bar. “I’m actually visiting from Day Court.” He quirks his head at that. He looks strangely adorable like this, curiosity cracking his typically closed off expression.

“You’re from Day?”

“Yeah.” Several of his shadows break away from his form to explore you, like you’ve suddenly become an irresistible object of interest to them. “I was an archivist at one of the central public libraries, and recently… I’ve been brought on to work in my Lord’s personal collection.” Azriel looks curious at that, so you continue, “Lord Helion is a generous boss.” His eyebrows shoot up at that.

“Not like that!” you defend, blushing, aware of his reputation. “He trusts me,” you amend.

“So I’m here for your libraries. After…” You’re remiss to mention Amarantha, despite her destruction coloring every sphere of your work. “Well. We all lost something, didn’t we? Now my role is to see what information can be recovered and preserved in my Court once more.”

Azriel listens intently, seeming to understand exactly what gave you pause. He nods as you finish. He also works in information, he tells you, although his intelligence operates in a different arena. You tell him more about your research when he prompts; the long hours in dimly lit rooms, the sweet but introverted colleagues, and, despite what an endless endeavor it was, the excitement when you discover just the right source.

If someone had asked you that morning, you’d have been certain that an archivist’s work would bore anyone with such a high profile role as his, but he sees the heart of your contribution, the valuable work of recovery.

His concentration on your every word would be unnerving, if it weren’t so enthralling. He maintains eye contact even as you gesture wildly with your free hand, snorts at all your jokes, and asks questions to keep you talking. It doesn’t escape you how he poses these questions just as the conversation might have naturally turned towards him. He deftly pulls information out of you with subtle cues, a question here, a curious look there. Once you’ve dazzled him with stories of your life back in Day and bored him with the details of your work, (although you did your best to pepper in your favorite stories, like the time you discovered an entire catalogue of ancient erotic court poetry), you dare to ask him about his own life here at the Night Court.

You expected him to continue deflecting, as he’d been so fascinated by your home court, but he actually responds with some substance. Azriel pauses before pointing out his family, a group of equally breathtaking and imposing fae in a booth at the other end of the bar. He keeps it brief, but shares how he met Cassian and Rhys in a training camp and hasn’t known a moment's peace since. Despite his harsh words, you catch the tenderness even as he grumbles on about Mor and Feyre, and Amren, who isn’t here tonight, which he says you can detect by the lack of frightened screams. You’re equally shocked and delighted by the casual humor with which he treats them all.

It’s not lost on you that he’s just told you about his family when you had asked about him. Yet between his calculated words and their meaningful tone, he’s actually sketched quite an intimate picture of his life and his values.

You like the rhythm of his curt words, how he says a lot with a little. Occasionally, his dry humor will catch you by surprise, and he’ll grace you with a wry smile as you laugh. The spymaster can be quite unexpectedly cavalier at moments, much to your delight. He meets your playful verbal sparring with just as much fire.

After chatting amiably for a while, a comfortable silence falls between you as you nurse your drinks. Azriel surveys the crowded room, ever on alert. You take the chance to brazenly observe him. You can’t pick what to focus on. The slope of his nose fascinates you, you wish you could reach out and trace it. The elegant planes of his face are punctuated by strong features, his brows, chin, and jaw all bold. You wonder how he’s such a successful spy when he’s built so distractingly. Especially with such expansive wings, currently tucked behind where he perches on his stool. His careful arrangement of them does little to hide their imposing glory. You suddenly wish you could see them splayed out in full spectacle.

Over the duration of your research at Night Court, you’d come across descriptions of Illyrians, read about their culture, their physical traits. Their wings were closely guarded, sensitive parts. You were curious about flying, what it felt like, if they enjoyed it. You feel his rough hand on yours still, noticing their size and the thick veins under his scars. You force yourself to reel your mind out of the gutter, instead diverting to wonder at the marks that cross his hands. When you look back to his face, his unreasonably fashionable lashes flutter as he finally catches you observing him. You see high color in his cheeks, but he doesn’t call you out. You finish your drink, noting that his glass is also empty.

You motion your glass to the bartender, chatting briefly while he pours you two fresh ones. You can barely focus on the pleasantries you exchange, aware of Azriel’s eyes on you. His expression is soft, yet heady. Intense. His gaze traces your features in the same way you had just admired him.

You turn back to him eventually to push his drink into his hand. His eyes reluctantly move from your exposed back and briefly over your lips before meeting your eyes. You immediately look away, scanning the bar absentmindedly as you flick your hair over your shoulder. The motion exposes your neck, testing, aware of his gaze still on you. He takes a long, slow drink, his eyes never leaving you. When you swallow, you see his eyes follow the movement of your throat.

“Is this a gay bar?” you ask abruptly.

He chokes, coughing into his arm. “What?”

“Is this a gay bar?” you repeat, your nose scrunching in a wince at his reaction. You’ve never seen him so caught off guard, didn’t know it was possible. He catches your grimace, and quickly recovers, wiping his nose as he recovers from his coughing fit. He nods in confirmation.

“You must think us horrible,” he says, referring to his court, compared to Day, which was much more open around sexual attraction and orientation, he guessed, if their High Lord was any indication. He thought of Helion’s history of advances to him, and Mor and Cassian for that matter. “First, that bastard talks to you like that. Then–”

“No!” you interject. “No, your people are just more… reserved. I didn’t see anything indicating it… but I noticed a few ladies sitting together like we are. So I wondered…” you flounder. It’s his turn to wince.

“Why?” he asks. “Are you looking for a lucky lady?”

“Not tonight.” You hide your grin behind a sip, as his eyes widen almost imperceptibly at your meaning, his pupils dilating. You’d enjoyed your fair share of females, males, others… Your eyes narrow on him then. “Wait, why are you here then?”

“It’s Mor’s favorite club.” He shrugs. “And I don’t mind playing security in case any oblivious males wander in with big ideas in the wrong way.”

“Ahh. So you don’t usually come to the gay club to pick up females?”

He just snorts at that, shaking his head at your nonsense. You don’t miss how his shadows perk up at your choice of words. You grin, showing him your teeth as you prod further.

“So I should feel special then?”

You hear his sharp intake of breath, the only sign he understands your implication. He sets his drink down, his eyes on yours, questioning. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest as you watch his motions, tense with anticipation. You meet his gaze, confident and steady. You’d seen how he had devoured you with his gaze moments ago.

“What are you implying?” he grunts, voice thick.

“I think you’re smart enough to figure it out,” you whisper, your eyes on his.

He only hums, his hand coming to cradle your face, caressing your jaw. The touch arouses your senses, a slow flame flickering to life in your abdomen. His pupils are blown wide, like he’s found a mystical reality in your eyes. It’s his gaze flickering to your lips before finding your eyes again, imploring, that causes you to break. “Are you gonna make me say it?”

“Yes.” He squints, unyielding.

You whine. You whine . You’ve never whined for a male in your life. There’s a first time for everything, you suppose. After all, you were sent here for research. A new experience such as this could certainly fall within that wheelhouse. Azriel was generously helping you with your research, exploring your capacity to keen for someone in desperation. You take in his capable hands, his broad shoulders and wings, his delicate lips. The fantasies flashing in your mind force you to confront your desire. It’s been brewing all night.

“I want you,” you speak with utter clarity.

That’s all it takes and he’s tossing back the rest of his drink, his hand sliding down to catch your arm, unwilling to break contact. And then he’s ushering you out of your chair, ever the gentleman, and rushing you through the crowd until you hit the fresh air, your feet on the cobblestone street for the barest moment before he sweeps you up again, one hand gripping your hip, the other placed firmly on your jaw. His breath comes in short pants as his flared eyes meet yours, again questioning, allowing you control.

In answer, you angle your head up to meet his mouth in a furious kiss. Your hands circle his neck, grasping his hair, blindly trying to find purchase as your lips connect. All your sensory experience fades save for the burn of his mouth on yours, and the feeling of his hands pressed to your body. You taste the lingering spice of the liquor you’d shared and beneath it, something earthier, the taste of him. You pour all your passion and need into the contact, and you feel the same charge from him. His ravenous kiss is a window to the tempest inside, his desperation evident in every move of his powerful jaw against yours.

When he pulls away, he’s panting hard, a grin threatening to overtake his majestic features, his lips swollen and shining in the starlight.

“We doing this on the street, or…?” you prompt breathlessly.

He takes in the thankfully deserted street outside the noisy club. “Good a place as any,” he shrugs.

You scrunch your nose and tug his hair. His laughter dissolves into a groan at your actions. “Fuck. You’re killing me,” he breathes.

“I’m about to,” you say, exasperated with the delicious male entangled with you.

“My place?” he asks. You nod quickly, in desperation for his touch as much as desire to get out of the public area. He hums again, “And here I was thinking that you Day Court fae were so much more open and shameless about these things.”

You scoff at his words.

“You’d better be worth the trouble,” you grumble, hiding your mirth. He flashes you the cockiest grin, and you’d smack him if you didn’t want to preserve his mouth’s function for better uses.

“Trust me, baby, I am.”

“Prove it.”

His eyes flash at your taunting. “Hold on,” he growls.

You swallow a scream as his wings extend, and his legs bend briefly before leaping into flight. His arms wrap tightly around your frame, and you cling to his neck fiercely. You recall your fantasy about his wings from earlier in the evening. As you soar into the night sky, you find yourself admiring them once more, their power and his deft command of them.

“I can’t believe you’re admiring me instead of the view.” His voice interrupts your thoughts.

“If I look at the view, we might be seeing some of that whiskey from earlier again,” you admit, your stomach dancing from so many different stimuli on your nervous system. The flying, the anticipation of sex, the sheer proximity with the stunning male who carried you now.

“We’re not far away,” he assures. Sure enough, when you risk looking away from his elegant, aerodynamic form, you see the city below rising into the cliffside where the court’s residence was perched.

You barely have a moment to take in the magnificent columns and lavish ornamentation of the palace balcony after he sets you down before he reconnects your lips. His blistering appetite sets your own aflame again, his hands sliding along your form, pausing briefly at your exposed midriff.

When he first appeared behind you in the bar, he had been gallant and polite, the perfect picture of a noble courtier. As you’d flirted over your drinks, his wry humor had surfaced, and now this unbridled passion had emerged. There certainly was more to the shadowsinger than met the eye. Your insides fluttered at the intimacy of your insight into the divine male who you were currently swapping spit with. You thanked the Mother that you’d dedicated yourself to flirting all these years in good faith, without ever knowing that your dedication would be rewarded in such fine form. Against your will, your mouth began to curve into a smile against his.

With backbreaking effort, you break away from his lips. He goes to follow your lips, but you stop him with a chaste kiss before pressing kisses along his jaw and down his throat.

“Sorry for the turbulence,” he gasps out as you continue your assault on his neck. “I needed us to get here. F-fast.”

Your only acknowledgement of his words is the flick of your tongue over the spot under his jaw you’d just marked. How considerate of him. Even when he’s melting beneath you, he maintains his manners. The devil inside you wonders what it would take for him to abandon his civility. Between kisses, you glance down to see his leathers barely restraining him. You figure you might not need an elaborate plot to find out after all.

He growls as you notice his arousal. You look up from the crook of his neck, and his expression turns your core molten, desire written plainly across his face. His hands had wandered down to your ass, where he now taps gently, urging you up into his strong arms. Your heart leaps as he picks you up, but he doesn’t take off flying this time. He carries you further into the interior, your legs coming to wrap around his midsection, your arms secured again around his neck. He’s holding you by your thighs like your weight is nothing, causing you to burn in anticipation of how he might throw you around later.

Fire throttles through your veins at the incessant touch of his wet lips on your neck. He’s dedicated to returning the favor of your vicious attack on him moments ago. You have no idea how he successfully navigates the hallways despite being buried under your jaw, for all you know he’s using your moans and whines to echolocate.

It’s a short trip, but right when you were about to beg for him to just take you in the hallway, he walks you into a simply furnished room with expansive windows and another balcony that offers a sweeping view of the city. Starlight streams in, painting the room and the male carrying you in a silver glow. The breathtaking midnight ambiance does nothing to distract the soldier currently working through your meager defenses via bruising open mouthed kisses to your collarbone. His fervor makes your skin dance, it's been a while since your body has received such attentions.

“Fuck, am I glad I caused a scene with that bastard earlier. Got your attention an’ all.” You mean it as a joke, but his expression darkens with reserved aggression.

“That was meant in jest,” you clarify.

“He was leering at you all night,” Azriel growls, between wet kisses to your neck. “I still might tear his throat out.”

His words go straight to your core.

“He’s long gone,” you force yourself to say casually, despite how his words affected you. Between that and his tongue, it’s a wonder you’re still stringing together coherent syllables. “How would you even find him?” you laugh, attempting to divert the male’s intensity.

He pulls away from your neck and gives you a pointed look. “It’s… kind of my job,” he says.

“Oh,” you say foolishly. Right. Azriel is the court’s Spymaster. He probably has his shadows tailing the bastard at this very moment to make sure he doesn’t bother anyone else. He could easily eliminate anyone he so chose. “Right.”

He shakes his head at your antics, finally walking you over to the bed. In your research, you never came across anything about shadowsingers, so you’re not sure if his shadows had read your mind – but he throws you on the bed exactly as you’d fantasized, powerfully and precisely, your body bouncing as you gasp in shock and delight before he follows you, crawling onto the bed to hover over you.

His wings flare slightly as his legs settle between yours, one of his knees hooking under your leg, exposing your clothed core to his every brush.

“Do you want me to kill him for you?” he purrs into your skin. You gasp, at his words as much as the twisted thrill they send through you. You look into his eyes, and slap his shoulder at the mischief you see in his expression. He laughs at your indignation.

“I would if you wanted me to,” he reiterates, an arrogant grin spreading across his face. “I might do it just because it seems like it would turn you on.” You gasp again at his words, face flushing in embarrassment. “No need to be embarrassed, baby.” He returns to placing lazy kisses along your neck as you moan beneath him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice heady. You almost can’t bear it. He’s making you feel so good with just his mouth on your neck. You’re not sure how you’ll survive the night.

Azriel must be determined to take you within an inch of your life, you think. His next dizzying move is to grab your hands from where they’d begun exploring his body to trap them above your head. To your relief, he ends his siege on your neck, instead serving slow torture as he reconnects your lips in a sensuous kiss, your body singing as you lay pinned beneath him. You feel his hard length press into your thigh. By his quiet moans, you recognize the same ardor he displayed earlier, though at an easier pace now that he has you where he wants you. That just wouldn’t do. He can’t have all that muscle mass just to keep it covered, poised tantalizingly out of sight above you.

He’s reading your mind again, you think, as his fingers toy with the hem of your top in silent question. You sit up rapidly, his quick reflexes narrowly avoiding your head colliding with his nose.

“Yes, please! Finally,” you nod, his laughter echoing in reply at your eagerness. “You want to help?” you ask. His face is flushed from your activities but you swear it deepens at your words. You raise your arms, allowing him to lift the silky black material from your form. He’s silent, starlight flashing on the dark expanse of his pupils, blown wide. You would be unnerved if it weren't for the way his chest is rising and falling dramatically, the hunger in his gaze, in his parted lips. You see him start to crisply fold the slim fabric before his brain kicks in and he throws it aside haphazardly. While you love a tidy male, you do prefer one with such a proper sense of priorities.

“Good boy,” you coo absently, preoccupied with absorbing every detail of his reaction to your lace clad chest.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he sighs finally, his eyes flickering to yours as his hands hover above your breasts. You bite your lip and grab his hands to connect them to your waiting chest.

“Touch me, Az. Don’t be shy with that mouth either,” you order as he scowls playfully, already palming your tits with zeal. You see his eyes widen as he feels them, specifically the bars in your nipples. His mouth falls open, and it's your turn to flash him a smug grin even as he has you writhing from just his rough hands playing with your chest.

“I’m not shy,” he grumbles brattily. You allow his attitude given how he quickly follows it up by placing his mouth back to your chest, this time exploring further from your collarbones, moving to skim the tops of your bra and the valley between your breasts.

“It’s not my fault you make me crazy,” he groans, his eyes glistening like the spit dangling deliciously between his mouth and your skin.

You just moan in response. How are you supposed to respond to that coherently? Especially as he cruelly pulls away for a brief moment to shrug off his vest, revealing the inked expanse of his chest and the curling hair trailed low on his stomach to disappear beneath his leathers.

“Can I taste you, baby?” Scratch that thought. How are you supposed to respond to that coherently? “Gonna let me make you feel good, huh?” Azriel begs, his voice thick with need. You nod, delirious at the mere suggestion.

“I need to hear your words, angel,” he smiles, seeing the fog in your eyes, needing to know it's all for the right reasons.

“Yes, Az. Yes, please,” you manage. He presses a quick kiss to your lips, humming in satisfaction, before moving his touches down your body.

He handles you like you’re the most cherished thing he’s ever beheld, but not like you’re fragile. You can’t remember the last time a male handled you with such awe and respect. You whine as he kisses your stomach, making your center melt. You’re sure you’re dripping at this point, but you can’t be bothered to feel embarrassment in the presence of the Illyrian kneeling before you in reverence, his mussed hair a dark halo, his leathers conspicuously strained at his crotch.

He tugs you to the edge of the bed, carefully situating you with a pillow as he kneels on the floor. You feel like a boxing dummy that he’s strategically setting up just to destroy.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all night,” he admits as he sets your knees over his shoulders, your feet kicking his wings lightly. You realize you haven’t even taken off your boots, you’re not even sure when he took his off, but as you go to mention your shoes and your skirt, he kisses the inside of your knee and the words die in your throat.

He rubs his hands over the tops of your thighs, pulling pretty moans from you as he kisses along the inside of your legs, towards where you need him most. You’re really not sure what his plan is with your skirt and underwear– until he dives right in, licking you over your clothed center, eliciting a garbled sound you hardly recognize as yours.

Your skirt is so short it offers no real barrier, except slightly obscuring the tip of his nose as it digs salaciously into your clit. A shadow curls around his ear, and he makes eye contact with you as he hikes your skirt up slightly, so you can see his every move.

“Eyes on me, angel,” he commands softly, and any response you might have had chokes and dies on your lips. He deftly hooks his fingers in your undergarments, aggressively pulling them to the side. And then his mouth is back on your core, and it’s an overwhelming sensation, his warm tongue licking a stripe up your center, then relaying to repeat the motion down to your opening. You grip the sheets in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. One of his hands strokes your thigh while the other keeps your wild hips pressed firmly into the mattress.

He pauses only to murmur soft praises as you tremble at his caresses. At this point you’re seriously concerned about your erotic future. What if this male ruins you for everyone else? What if you can never successfully pleasure yourself again? You know you’ll never be able to replicate the bliss he’s currently delivering. His mouth scorches you, he’s taken on a slow and steady rhythm, lapping and sucking, that’s unstringing your body from your soul. You’re not sure that you’ll ever recover. You’re grateful that you have no plans tomorrow because you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk. Maybe you’ll be able to roll yourself down the palace’s endless steps and to the library where one of the priestesses might take mercy on you and nurse you back to health. You could pay them by recounting this experience, surely this prime fuel for fantasy would equate to some kind of currency. With a generous exchange rate.

Your eyes shoot open as his mouth leaves you, your moans taking on a pained note at the visceral loss.

“Baby,” Azriel chides. “I asked you to keep your eyes on me.”

You hadn’t even realized you’d closed your eyes as you’d been calculating the exchange rate of sexual fantasy fodder to gold. You will yourself out of the delirium, but his glistening mouth isn’t helping.

“Stay with me, angel,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing encouraging circles on your inner thigh as you babble something rude about his upbringing while he takes the moment to slip your ruined undergarment down your legs.

He’d given up on holding you down, so you grind into his face as he resumes his merciless consumption of your molten pussy. The vibrations of his moans on your core multiply your pleasure delectably. The whole glorious sky of the Night Court seemingly flashes across your vision as he lowers his rough fingers to add pressure to your sensitive bud, swirling pleasure explosive as shooting stars.

“You taste so good, baby,” he praises. “This all for me?” he asks as he gathers your slick with his fingers before resuming his strokes. All you can do is moan helplessly in affirmation.

When he finally sucks your clit into his mouth, the pressure has you gasping, gripping his hair to anchor yourself to him, to the pleasure he’s delivering straight to your weeping core. He alternates between licking and sucking your clit while he teases you with his thick digits. He looks utterly engrossed, devoted to your trembling form, working you meticulously.

“Azriel,” you warn. Your breath quickens just before your body stills, broken noises escaping your lips, falling like a beautiful reward on his waiting ears. The release is more powerful than anything you’ve experienced in recent memory, rocking you to your teeth.

He works you through the aftershock of your orgasm, continuing to lick and thrust until your spasms quiet, your breathing calmed from its fervent staccato as he cleans you out.

“Hey, are you still with me?” he asks, concerned.

You realize you haven’t said anything and he’s been sitting rubbing the tops of your thighs softly while you come down from your high. Too tired for words, you bend to guide his head up to meet yours in a luxurious kiss. It invigorates you, languid as it is, his tongue exploring the backs of your teeth as he sucks in a long breath before moaning into your mouth.

His arms come to cup your face, dislodging one of your legs that remain thrown over his shoulder. It falls with a loud thud as your booted heel meets the floor, your limbs like lead. The sound makes him jump and pull away guiltily as he takes in your state of collapse.

“I’ve never been better,” you confess candidly.

He smiles at that, ruddiness in his cheeks deepening at your declaration.

“I can’t believe they let you walk free about the lands,” you continue, egging him on, shaking your head. “You’re a goddamn menace! That mouth should be regulated! I should have gotten security clearance to have that experience.”

He buries his head in your knee, his shoulders shaking in mirth as he hides from your praise. He kisses your knee and you curse the rubber feeling in your legs, wishing you could kick him for his insolence. Instead you pet the back of his neck, soaking in the sight of him between your legs.

You don’t know it, but he’s soaking in your image as much as you are his. You look ethereal splayed out above him, his shadows skirting around the silver light glowing on your scalp, creating a kinetic halo fit for a queen. In your bra and hiked up skirt, catching your breath on his bed, your vitality is on full display for Azriel’s keen eyes, your pulsing life form beating and raw to his senses. Even in your state of undress, your appearance is regal, striking in command above him. He feels his shadows writhing in excitement, thrilled with your energy, matching the gravitational anomaly in his gut.

Azriel is reminded of the gravity of battle, how for centuries he has waded through enemies time and time again in a familiar yet shapeless pattern of destruction. Despite the wrathful chaos, there’s a rhythm he’s come to anticipate. Amidst the waves of common soldiers, every division or so, he will fall into the gravity of a real threat, usually an enemy commander, an opportunity to face a real contender. Their paths of destruction will orbit briefly before colliding in gruesome ruin. He knows he’s been lucky to emerge in the land of the living after these conflicts.

At this moment, he’s strangely reminded of that repulsive kind of attraction, of power to power, as he once again faces a real contender. It’s a total inverse, yet your magnitude presents a similarly brilliant polarity. The aftershock of your pleasure is a welcome sequence compared to the grim aftermath of such a battle. He much prefers your sacred subversion of that profane impact. As you stroke his hair, it feels like redemption. It feels like his twisted history of bloodshed could be transformed and redeemed as justice under your tender hand.

He kisses your knee once more, blinking away the stinging in his eyes. His thoughts return to the present as you shift above him, sinking to his level on the carpet to capture his lips with a kiss once more. You hum, tasting yourself on him now that your senses have recovered from his euphoric torment.

The impatient male lifts you up effortlessly, and you let him stand the two of you, until he moves to take you back to the bed. You twist, and Azriel allows you to spin him so that you’re backing him towards the cushions. He groans into the kiss as your fingers brush his lower abdomen, skimming the edge of his leathers. You feel the reverberation of it in your own stomach.

“Are you going to let me return the favor?” you ask with a devilish grin. The sight of your soft tongue and sharp canines makes his wings twitch, willing his shadows to relax their riot, but they betray him. His eyes shine with need, breath hitching as you dip a finger under the waistband of his pants.

“I need to hear your words, angel,” you mimic his earlier words.

“Do your worst,” Azriel grunts, instantly regretting his words as he catches your wicked look.

You push his shoulders so he throws himself dramatically against the bed, wings flared slightly in anticipation. His mouth falls open as you move away from him, but his protests die as he sees you reach behind your torso to unclasp your bra, finally revealing your chest to him fully. His throat thickens, fists clenching in the sheets as you run your hands along your form, massaging your breasts, relieved to be unconstricted at last. The moonlight glitters on the jewelry in your hard nipples, attractively ornamenting some of your favorite features. Looking at the male barely restraining himself in front of you, you almost feel bad for how riled up he is.

Taking pity on the simmering Illyrian, you cut your strip tease short, planting a slow kiss on his lips before kneeling before him. If Azriel was concerned about your magnetism earlier, he’s certain it’s fatal now. Your fluffed hair, dislodged skirt, and bare chest all poised to drive him insane with want. When you finally slide his leathers down his thighs, he’s relying on his centuries of training to keep himself under control. The sight of his impressive length, swollen and rigid against his stomach, has your thighs clenching.

You stroke his upper thighs, kissing along the inside of his knees. His dick twitches as you wrap your hand around its swollen girth. Your first experimental tug elicits a deep stuttering groan from the male. His expression is almost flustered, skin flushed and damp. Despite the sweat you’ve both broken, it’s not doing anything for the chafing. Dissatisfied with the dry friction, you use your brain, quickly locating the nearest source of wetness, which happens to be between your legs. Azriel’s jaw looks like it's about to break from tension, his eyes wide as he follows your hand disappearing under your skimpy skirt. When you grip his cock again, it’s to spread the slickness along his member. You look up at him innocently as you continue pumping, finding a satisfying rhythm.

“You like that?” you ask teasingly.

“You’re gonna kill me, angel.” He can’t contain the shudder that racks his body at the image and sensation of your firm hand pumping his dick. He’s worried about losing brain function with the lack of blood circulating anywhere else in his body. His chest heaves, and he forces himself to focus on breathing regularly as you drag your hand up and down him, squeezing occasionally at the base. When you lick flat along the underside of his length, his wings flap in a brief frenzy.

“Just like that,” he cries.

You grin at his reactions, his broken moans and spasms only encouraging your actions. After he just rewrote your pussy’s worldview with his tongue, you’re delighted to serve him the same experience.

“You look so stunning on your knees for me.”

He grasps your scalp, keeping a light hold on your hair as you bend to place shallow licks at his head. His strangled groan has you wrapping your lips fully around his neglected tip.

“Fuck,” he exhales.

The salty musk of him fills your mouth as you breathe through your nose to focus on his sensitive head. You use your hand to pleasure him from the shaft as you suck lightly on the end of his cock, swirling your tongue. His moans of rapture send thrills through you. You look up at him, entranced by the pleasure written on his face. You bob your head, taking him in further, causing him to curse again. You don’t bother with taking all of him, you’re not trying to choke and die even on this divine dick, and your mouth is full as it is, tears threatening your waterline. Your saliva mixes with your slick, coating him, delivering layers of pleasure through Azriel, vibrating from his spine to his toes. The wetness of your mouth and the warmth of your hand ease him stroke by stroke into his ecstasy.

When Azriel feels his wings seize up and his toes begin to curl, he tightens his fist on the back of your neck, pulling you abruptly off of his cock. You glance back up at him, appreciating his delirious arousal, his flexing thighs. His inked chest shines, slick with exertion, his whole form sharpened into an enticing point fit just for you.

“Sorry,” he wheezes. “I didn’t want to finish like this, I want to feel you.”

You nod, biting your lip.

“This isn’t over,” you promise in a whisper to his furiously hard member, placing one last tender kiss at the base of his cock. He shudders at the abrupt touch, and you laugh at your own antics. His eyes shine with humor and lust.

“Come here,” he begs, pointlessly, since he pulls you up to his lap effortlessly, and you offer no resistance. Your bent knees rest on either side of his thighs, your cores separated by mere inches as you straddle him, your feet coming to rest against his shins. He presses kisses into your mouth, jaw, and collarbone in manic succession, your hands coming to tangle in his hair.

“Fuck. Don’t tease now,” you chastise him as his mouth finds your nipple, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud, your back arching instinctively into his touch.

“What do you want from me?” he retorts, continuing his biting caresses.

“I want you to fuck me, Azriel,” you order, emphasizing your words with a sharp tug on his dark locks. He snarls against your chest, hips bucking involuntarily.

“I thought you liked putting in some work, baby. You sure seemed to enjoy being on your knees for me just now,” he taunts.

“You need me to do the work, huh?” you muse, and his motions pause at your jab. “Fine by me,” you sigh, swiftly gripping his length and sliding over him before he can comment. His head whips up from your chest, fiery response dying in a whimper at the sensation. You notch him at your entrance, pausing to make sure he approves your actions.

He catches your look, but instead of replying he takes advantage of your hesitance to grab your hips and rub himself against your folds, both of you groaning at the delicious feeling of your collision.

“Come on, baby. If you’re so tough, have your way with me,” he coaxes, the brazen words lacking any real bite as he strains beneath you. With shaking hands, you reach between your bodies, your skirt ridden up again to fully expose your dripping core, where you finally guide him to your entrance. His head falls into your shoulder as you take him in, moaning noisily as you adjust to his size and girth.

“Shit,” you pant, overwhelmed on all fronts between his groans nuzzling into your neck, his strong hands grabbing at your hips, and his delicious length stuffing you so completely.

“Baby. Oh, angel,” he chokes, equally impaired with pleasure.

You shift your hips tentatively, gasping. He throws his head back in bliss, his hands tightening on your hips.

“You feel so good around me. You feel so good,” Azriel chants.

His eyes squeeze shut as he rides the waves of euphoria from you swiveling in his lap. As absorbed as he is with his own pleasure, he’s still acutely aware of your body’s every response. Your breathy whines and moans, your clenching walls, your stuttering hips. You find a rhythm rocking against him, not so much thrusting as grinding, but your choking walls and the spectacle of your chest bouncing in his line of sight are doing it for him just fine.

“That’s it. Use me, baby,” he urges, moaning filthy encouragements as you ride him.

When your hips start to falter, he coos in sympathy, seeing your frustrated need. He uses his hands to guide your hips over him, leaning back so he can angle thrusts to meet each motion.

Your body feels like it’s fully alive, awakened by his actions. He meets your urgency with an unrelenting pace. His concentration is dead set on where your bodies join, watching his cock disappearing into you over and over. He loves this feeling, of giving himself over to you, using his body to create pleasure instead of pain.

“Let me hear you. Is this what you needed, huh, baby?” he coaxes.

The familiar burning sensation builds in your abdomen. When he hears your cries pitch higher, your restraint spent, he knows you’re close. It takes all your concentration to meet his blistering kiss as he fucks into you at a frenzied pace. You cry into his mouth as one of his hands comes to circle your clit, sending waves of pleasure deep into your core. There isn’t an inch of your body unaffected by his assault. You feel the pull of pleasure even in your teeth as it burns in your thighs and licks up your spine.

The pressure in your core builds until one particularly hard thrust has you seeing stars behind your eyelids, bringing your release crashing over you.

He fucks you through it, concentration moving to your face, to see every stage of your satisfaction play out. The severity of his gaze only heightens your sensitivity as you ride out your second orgasm of the night. You might have to give him an award or something if he keeps this up. You’re still shaking when his hands release your hips to rest on your thighs, stroking them in reassurance while you catch your breath. You feel him still hard inside you. You’re not sure what else you’re in for tonight, but you know your tenure on top is just about over, your stamina exhausted. He must see it written on your face because a lazy grin spreads over his stupidly charming face, his thriving male ego on full display.

“Don’t start,” you blush.

“What? I didn’t say anything,” he laughs, looking at you playfully from under his eyelids. You see a shadow slipping away from his ear. The fuckers! Have they been informing him on your feelings all night, telling him exactly what will drive you crazy?

“Okay, big boy,” you drawl. “How about using that endless stamina for a good cause,” you suggest wolfishly, signalling that you’re not waving a white flag just because you got a little winded.

“Is this arrangement contingent on the boots staying on, or…?” he searches, quirking a brow, still stroking your thighs that rest atop his. Your heart leaps, you totally had forgotten that you were still half dressed. You’re still wearing your skirt– well, you suppose wearing would be a generous description, seeing how it had scrunched into a thin band at your waist– but your boots were decidedly still on your feet. You’re surprised that your aggressive physical activities hadn’t dislodged them.

“Yeah, sorry. Boots stay on,” you shrug, swallowing a laugh. “Why? Aren’t you into them?”

Azriel laughs at that, and the sound and its vibration remind you that he’s still very much buried inside you. You clench around him and he groans, capturing your hip with a hand as he twitches.

“I’m very much into them,” he sits up fully to murmur into your cheek, humor muted by his evident desire. “You look dead sexy. I just wonder if they might hinder our joint agility,” he begins tactfully.

You laugh at his diplomatic words, and he chuckles along.

“I can’t believe they didn’t come off!” you admit.

He laughs at that, and soon the two of you are reduced to howling tears at how long you’ve managed to keep your shoes on. He wipes his eyes, shaking his head and mumbling about what an inappropriate yet compelling endorsement you could make for the responsible cobbler, sending you into another fit as he lifts you off of him, perching you on the edge of the cushions.

He stands to pull the laces of your stomper boots, delicately slipping them from your feet, your socks following, his hands rubbing soothing patterns along your calves. His actions are innocent, yet the look in his eye is anything but. He looks ravenous, but he’s giving you a moment. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy this bit as much as what came next. Azriel just made you come twice and then belly laugh in quick succession. You know he’s fully employed too. He is turning out to be a man of many useful talents. This is dangerous territory.

“I am a little sad to see them go,” he sighs, jokingly, once your shoes were finally sitting on the floor next to him.

“You know, if you want me to wear them in your bed, you could just fly me all around the city so they never get dirty,” you joke from your position laid on the cushions. He rolls his eyes, but he’s beaming at you as he comes to stand between your thighs, and you can’t help but grin back. It’s been a while since you’ve had this much fun with someone. Nor is it lost on either of you that you’d just implied you might end up in his bed again. You don’t mind the admission, even as it hangs in the air. He’s a spymaster anyways, one way or another he’d figure out what you’re thinking.

“Noted,” is all he replies to that. “Lift your hips for me, angel.”

You feel your breathing hitch, affected in unladylike ways by his respectful words. You lift up slightly so he can slip your skirt down from your waist.

The simple movement dissolves the momentary limbo of your activities, and all the passion of the evening returns to you in full effect as you lay nude before him. He leans over you from where he stands, his hulking form and silhouetted wings imposing. His appetite is apparent, his massive length waiting and ready at his abdomen, angry at having been abused without satisfaction. Azriel has been fighting all night, you realize, and now he’s poised to claim his rightful glory.

You reach out to pull him towards you. As he crawls over you, his wings flutter shut, as if he means to tuck them safely behind his form for the rest of the night.

“Don’t you dare put those away!” you huff in frantic offense.

“What?”

“Your wings!” you exclaim.

“My wings?” he repeats.

“I’d like to look at them,” you request, quite nicely, you think, as he settles between your legs.

Azriel isn’t fooled by your innocent expression. He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, jaw working to claim every inch of fleshy territory. Without warning, his wings flare out, fanning your face with a rush. Your eyes shoot open to see your spoils, the leathery panes blocking the dim light from reaching your entwined forms. Heat rushes through you as you examine them, the thin veins and small scars whispering of stories he has yet to tell. His mouth works along your jaw as you revel in his illustrious form above you, fully claiming you into his world of shadows. He pauses by your ear, scraping his teeth along the sensitive shell before speaking lowly.

“You think wings and murder are sexy, you keep your boots on while you’re getting fucked… My girl is a freak.” Your heart soars at his words.

“Your girl?” you question. He freezes in his next kiss, ego vanishing, as if he’s not sure if he should be bashful. “I like it,” you declare. He pulls back to see the honesty of it in your eyes, and you know your face is sporting a twin banner of blush.

“Of course you do, you freak,” he says affectionately.

Your resounding grin fades into a groan as he runs a scarred hand up the inside of your thigh. He looks at you expectantly, the question in his eyes.

“I do think your wings are sexy,” you admit. He snorts, and you know that’s not the answer he was looking for.

“Are you planning to just lie there, perfect and naked on my bed all night, or are you going to let me fuck you properly?” he huffs out in desperation, not one to be outdone.

His hips grind against your thigh in emphasis. He is well and done with your larking.

“Well, gods, let me think about it, at least!” you shoot back mischievously.

You’re just toying with him now, but in your defense, he makes it so fun.

Azriel’s head falls to your shoulder, growling. But his gnarled hand vanishes from your thigh and his hips pause their motions. You feel a rush knowing that if you decided you were done, he would stop everything, despite his evident need. All night, he’s been so generous with his energy, from defending you back at the bar, to helping you get off as you struggled to ride him. Your pussy throbs at the power he’s offering up to your pleasure, freely and without expectation. You don’t quite know why you’re being mean, he certainly hasn’t earned it.

He looks up at you, his cheeks ruddy, his shining eyes searching, and you find your answer. It was simply empowering to see Azriel, a male usually so meticulous in his presentation, fall entirely apart for you. Everything about him was tantalizing, but watching him wield his historic power for your pleasure was the most grievous indulgence.

“Tell me,” he urges, seeing the whirl of emotions on your face.

“I need you inside me,” you relent.

His growl is the only warning you get before he sheathes himself inside you in one swift movement, relieved to obey your command. Groans fall from both your lips at the feeling of him pressed into you so spectacularly.

“Oh, oh , Az,” you revel in the feeling.

“That’s it, baby,” Azriel coaxes.

He eases you into it with gentle thrusts, placing kisses down your chest. His pace is slow, languid, like he wants to take his time with you, tearing you apart with precision, thrust by thrust. His hands clutch your hips in an attempt to still your thrashing.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he coos.

Your hands are all over, his hair, his shoulders, his arms, urging him to move, move, move. He blows a hot exhale across your breasts where he’s been occupied, steadying himself mentally before looking into your face. What you see only fuels you further. In his gaze is raw desire, desire that he’s keeping carefully controlled as he gives you what he thinks you need. Even buried inside you, he reigns himself in, commanding his passion in preservation of your comfort. His mind is screaming at him to drive faster, so much so that it drowns out your sounds of agreement in his ears. His slow strokes are a torment to you both, a needless sacrifice on his end.

Typically, you might appreciate how considerate he was being. But also, typically, you didn’t have a male buried inside you while you claw at whatever part of his largeness you can reach. What you need right now isn’t his courtesy, what you need is the full force of his passion, unchecked, to do battle with your own. You aren’t used to settling for less than what you want, so everything in you feels confident when you pull his face up to yours, noses brushing as he gasps into your open mouth.

“Az. I need more,” you state clearly. His hooded eyes flare as he finally sees the enormity of your fervor, how it matches perfectly blow for blow with his own.

“Hold on,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your mouth in acknowledgement.

You don’t know if he means it literally or not, but you’re taking no chances as you cling to him. He pulls out slightly more, just enough to give him room to angle your leg up, his muscled arm holding your bent knee, allowing his hips unfettered access to your center. The shift has you whining against him, writhing as he gives you exactly what you asked for. You’ve never felt anyone so deep inside you, kindling that burn so deliciously.

And then he’s pounding into you at full charge.

“Come on, baby, give it to me,” he gasps.

In the throes of your pleasure, you note how his chest heaves, though the steadily punishing pace of his hips never falters. Your legs are numb in some places where you had feeling earlier. You chase your high together in an uphill battle, both worn and equally dedicated to seeing this through to its fateful conclusion.

“Doing so good for me, angel,” he encourages, and you mumble curses at his tender tone while he sets a brutal rhythm on your cunt. Your hot breath mingles, his forehead pressed to yours, like he needs every part of you to be connected, like when he draws out of you, he’s acutely pained for that moment it takes before he’s enveloped by you again. Watching him is intoxicating. Raw, starved agony tightens the elegant planes of his face as your leg scrapes lightly against the edge of his wing over his shoulder, and he shudders.

The contact evidently rouses something deep within him, his shadows writhing impishly along his wings. They slip invisibly over his shoulders, under the canopy of his wings to trace infuriatingly over your torso. One ravishes your breast, phantom pleasure coursing down to meet the brimming well of your desire. Their delight at your convulsing form under their ghostly caress is only matched by Azriel’s own fixation. His stare borders on obsessed, eyes blown out. He blinks, failing to clear his carnal fixation, pressing a maddening kiss to your mouth in drunken bliss, muttering your name like a prayer.

“That feel good, baby?” he grunts.

“Yes, Azriel, please,” you cry, not even sure what you’re asking for.

His pace is ruthless, and, far from quieting your own ache, it's successfully unpinning your every inhibition. It's as if his shadows are scouting every crevice of your being to shake out a thrill from any and every forgotten corner. Something shakes loose deep inside your chest as his brutal magnetism pulls pleasure from you. You set it aside to focus on the ecstasy being painstakingly, greedily delivered to your drenched core. You moan his name at the heat pulsing through you.

Azriel looks fucked out, his brows slick with tension and his mouth gaping as he absorbs you with equal adoration. You see your own need reflected in his face, and you feel like you’ve taken a hand mirror into a reflecting pool for how endlessly your bliss echoes between you. It’s mind bending, how it drives you crazy knowing he’s crazy for how he drives you crazy– you could almost laugh at the absurdity of it if you had any remaining breath. And if it didn’t feel so riveting, the symmetry of your hunger.

“I’m close,” you hiccup, body heavy with expectation, the smoldering heat growing to a fever pitch as he pummels you.

“I’m with you, baby. I’m right here with you,” he gasps.

One of his hands snakes down to encourage your clit with tight, fast circles. His attention, though, is on your face, watching the way elation plays across your features. The added sensation sends you over the edge, your third release blowing through you in scalding waves.

You cry out as your orgasm staggers you, hands blindly tugging his hair, holding him to you as you shatter. The pulsing grip of your cunt pulls him along the edge as he works you with quick thrusts.

At the sharp scrape of your nails on his scalp, his own pleasure snaps, waves of bliss cresting over you both in lock step, smoothing twin grooves of delight in your souls. He fucks you through it, his face buried in the side of your neck, his kiss biting with teeth as he tries messily to stifle his groans. The guttural noise of his cries shakes the room, your own heartbeat barely perceptible in its wake. When the quaking stops, he slumps down over you, totally spent.

You lay there in a daze for gods know how long, struggling for air together. He presses kisses into your shoulder until your cries quiet down and your breathing comes more easily. Azriel has definitely fucked before, so he doesn’t know why his heart is beating so wildly at this encounter, why he’s still greedily tasting your skin, why he’s so reluctant to pull out of you. When he feels like he has it under control, he peeks his head out from your neck. A grin is plastered on his gorgeous face, his hair sticking up in a stupidly charming fashion, his eyes shining with frightening levels of energy and mirth despite his limp form atop you.

“I can’t believe I found you in a gay bar,” he states. You flick his ear, nose scrunching at his audacity.

“You are ridiculous. Is that really all you have to say?” you accuse breathlessly, still gone soft in a delicious haze.

Azriel chuckles, shifting over you, so that his head hovers over yours again.

“No,” he says carefully. He slides his hand to move yours from his hair, bringing it to rest on the cushions above your head, his fingers twining with yours. Your brows furrow at the delicate gesture, you’d blush if he wasn’t literally inside you still.

“I just thought ‘holy fuck, please marry me?’ might be a little intense to lead with,” he offers, and what you see dancing in his eyes holds too much gravity to be mistaken for pure humor.

Your insides flutter again at his words, dumbfounded.

He means it as a joke, but there’s something in his eyes you wouldn’t mind waking up to every day for the rest of your life that feels dangerous. This was a fun, sexy adventure with a fun, oversized Illyrian, you rationalize. You’d reassess that flicker in your chest again after you were fed, rested, and bathed.

Azriel has similar ideas it seems. He slips out of you, your body protesting at the loss. He must sense this because he places a mollifying kiss to your stomach as he gets up from the bed. He returns shortly to find you still splayed out in total content, and hands you a tall glass of cool water. You didn’t realize how parched you were until you drank half the glass in several gulps, refreshing your dry throat. Azriel appears again with some towels.

He takes the glass when you offer it back, but instead of setting it aside he brings it to his own lips, finishing it off in one long drink. Your mouth goes dry again at the sight. You’re well and truly fucked if the sight of him finishing your water gets you excited. It’s not like you hadn’t just swapped spit with him in more exciting ways. You’re certain he notices you staring, but he doesn’t comment.

“Can I clean you up? Or do you want to…” he gently motions with the damp towel once he’s done torturing you with his pornographic drinking. You allow him to wipe you down, his gentle motions confident and efficient. It makes your body hum in a new way, how he handles you with casual reverence, hands skimming your flesh to check for tender spots before he cleanses there. You see your own glow reflected in him, one of utter contentment.

He crawls onto the bed with you, pulling back the blankets and cushions around you in a swaddled sort of cocoon before settling on your chest, his arms wrapping around you, wings coming to rest on either side of your form. You brush his wild hair from his forehead, and he hums as he nudges his head more firmly into your palm. He lets loose a long sigh when you brush your hands through his dark locks, eyes closing in contentment. His sore muscles loosen as he curls into you. It’s a powerful image, the hulking Illyrian sprawled lazily atop you in utter calm.

“Bed time,” he declares, much to your amusement. His nose brushes your sternum, and he sleepily kisses your skin before cracking a yawn. His swirling shadows quiet as he drops his guard for the night. Your eyelids begin to sink, despite your determination to memorize your position tangled with him. You swear you hear a whisper in the dark, a wordless plea in your ear, stay . Not that you have much choice with his bulky form practically trapping you against his bed.

“Good night, Azriel,” you murmur.

Sleep must have taken you seamlessly after that because next thing you know, the cool light of dawn is streaming in his open windows, illuminating the peaceful figure still resting on your chest. You wonder what the protocol for this is, if he expects you to slip out before he awakes. On your occasional hook ups, you’d never slept over before. Usually you would have left after, or woken up in the night and skipped. This time, you didn’t have the same avoidant fear marching you out the door.

In the night, Azriel had shifted, so now he lay with only one leg slotted between yours, his grip on your waist loosened. You try adjusting your back so that your head can lay more comfortably on his pillow– his soft and supple pillow, you note. His grip tightens on your waist at your movements, his brows furrowing in irritation in his sleep.

A grin blooms on your lips at his unconscious gesture. You relax into his large bed, pride singing in your veins. He was certainly decisive about your spending the night, and now with the prospect of a quiet, intimate morning before you... You know it was an involuntary movement, but all the same. You’re starting to think he might be into you. And you’re definitely into his mattress, you muse, closing your eyes to submit to the allure of his plush bed. Though it’s his pleasant weight resting over you that really lulls you into sleep.

When you wake up later in the full light of morning, you find Azriel watching you with appreciation.

“Good morning,” you mumble, feeling your face flush.

“Good morning,” he agrees, his voice rough with sleep, pulling you into his chest.

Your muscles protest, still sore, but it's a pleasant sting, you decide as you relax into him. You could spend all morning like this, wrapped in his strong arms.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks sweetly.

You nod, sleepily praising how comfortable his bed is. He’s shifted to press you against his firm chest, his hand coming to rest on your back. As you shift to nuzzle into his shoulder, you feel his half hard cock digging into your hip. His words from the night before rise to mind amid the heated memories of your shared activities. My girl , he’d called you. You figure you should act like it. If you work this right, this could be the first of many mornings spent in his bed.

You press your hips into his growing erection, and his eyes flash in warning. The sleep fades from his gaze as his hand at your back holds you in place against him.

You begin meaningfully, “I don’t have any plans today–”

“Thank the Mother!” Azriel growls, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. Warmth flares in your chest at his eagerness. Little do you know how Azriel is plotting similar schemes even as you lose yourselves to the magnetic bliss of your connection. You’d always been a flirt, but it had never earned you such a glorious reward.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” you ask teasingly.

“You know I did.”

“Well don’t push yourself now, I don’t expect you to be able to outdo last night,” you sigh mockingly.

His expression unnerves you, the challenge registering on his face in a slow, wickedly sensual smile.

“Oh, but I intend to.”

A/N: THANKS FOR READING!! This is the first fic I’ve ever "published"! I really enjoyed writing Azriel, he’s fun to play with. Also yeah maybe I implied that they were soulmates cause I am a lover and casual isn’t in my vocabulary, baby! Let me know what you think, I meant it to be flirty and then smutty and then it became kinda sweet, so hopefully you enjoyed the ride :) Let me know if you want part 2 ??

#pls comment if you enjoyed reading #and if you didnt enjoy reading #keep that shit to yourself baby #azriel smut #azriel fic #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #upon reflection #i think the title is stupid #but i think its funny so #here we are #ao3 saw it firstttt :P #my writing

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angelbarelywritesslashers · 1 year ago

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♡ slashers scenarios | sharing a bed

♡ fandoms; The Boy, Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), House of Wax, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Vincent Sinclair

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; very suggestive content, implied smut

♡note; swapped out billy in this one bc i can’t imagine him sharing a bed with someone and not getting literally pornographic

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Brahms Heelshire

> Once he decides he wants to share the bed, he finds the biggest guest room bed and brings all of the comfiest pillows and blankets he can to make it perfect

> For you more than him, but he doesn’t feel too hurt when you push half of them to the foot of the bed

> It was a lot even for a king bed

> You’re reluctant at first, not used to sharing a bed

> But you find he’s very hard to say no to once you’re in that deep

> He tries to give you space, but it’s not long before he’s wrapped around you, clinging for dear life

> And he almost immediately falls asleep like that, head tucked into your chest

> You sigh and try and relax, petting his hair

> And you fall asleep with your hand still tangled in his black locks, holding him close to you

> You wake up to him nuzzling your neck and practically whining

> “Baby…wake up…”

> You’d ask him what the problem was…if you couldn’t feel it against your leg

> You spend most of the morning still in bed, lazily fixing his predicament

Micheal Myers

> He doesn’t get why you want him to do this

> You know he doesn’t cuddle

> You know he usually gets restless and wanders at night

> But there’s no reason to say no, and even he can’t stand how sad your pout is

> You hum and stretch, tucking yourself in and look at him expectantly

> He takes off his boots and lays on top of the covers beside you, stiff as a board

> You have to coax him to even take the mask off, but he still won’t relax

> You quickly realize he’s used to high security psych ward bunks, not big comfy queen beds full of stuffed animals

> “…do you…wanna sleep on the floor?”

> He pauses.

> Shakes his head and closes his eyes.

> After you finally fall sleep, he sits up, intending on leaving

> But you look so peaceful…he can’t help to stay and watch you. Just for a little while.

> When he touches your cheek, you press into his hand. Maybe a while longer.

> When you wake up he’s still staring at you, hand long gone from your cheek

> But once you blink awake, it creeps somewhere else..

Thomas Hewitt

> He’s almost nervous of the idea

> Y’all are certainly intimate with each other - just as intimate as you would be if you were married like his mama was planning

> But what if the family noticed you were in there? He’d kill Hoyt for calling you anything nasty-

> When he sees you in skimpy PJs, he immediately forgets his worries

> He has a huge bed because he’s a huge guy, so when you curl up in it alone, it’s almost comical

> He’s staring at you as he climbs in after you, cautiously removing his mask

> His shoulders relax a little when you smile up at him, still so amazed you can stand to look at him

>“Hold me?”

> He grunts and takes no time in pulling you flush, spooning you. He’s more relaxed than he’s been in a while, sure he’ll fall asleep in no time

> Until you give a tiny sigh and shift your hips, innocently adjusting

> It doesn’t take much for you to set him off- he’s touch starved and obsessed with you.

> Along with feeling him against your ass, you can literally hear his breathing change.

> “…Tommy baby? Want me to take care of that?”

> It takes another two hours before you fall asleep, both sticky with sweat and sated, your head laying on his broad chest.

Bubba Sawyer

> He’s so happy to have a sleepover- even if you live right down the hall in the same house (I cannot imagine you dating him and being allowed to leave the farm tbh)

> He gives you an updated tour of his room- he’s very happy to show you the collection of polaroids of you he hung up.

> You were wondering where those went

> Finally he drops you on the bed, giggling quietly

> It’s old but comfy, and he has plenty of stolen pillows and blankets, and even some stuffed bears

> He strips right on down to his heart boxers, leaving his mask on for last

> He takes it off slowly, giving you that shy look he always does

> You grin and open your arms and he’s more than happy to scoop you up with a coo.

> By the time you’re settled, you’re curled around his back

> He loves being the little spoon, even if he’s a big brute

> When you wake up he’s bursting back into the room with some slightly burnt toast for breakfast

> It’s a sudden wake up call, but a welcome one

> And you repay him in tons of kisses, all over

Vincent Sinclair

> Like some of the others he’s hesitant

> But you want him to relax, he’s been working so hard- so you take him away from the studio, and into your room

> You’re not even letting him so much as sketch until he sleeps

> He tilts his head and is almost pouting, trying to guilt you - even more so once you help him remove his wax

> Until you coax him into his stomach so you can massage his back, that is

> You’re clumsy and certainly not a professional, but your hands on him is enough to melt away the stress

> He suddenly rolls over and grabs your hips as he hears you yawn

> It’s your turn to pout down at him

> But eventually you relent and let him cradle you close to his chest as he hums a nonsense lullaby

> You keep him trapped in bed the next morning as revenge, again straddling him before he can get up to leave

> But this time, you’re most certainly not yawning

4K notes · View notes

aeralux · 6 months ago

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"My Sweet Little Niece" - Daemon Targaryen

Summary: You foolishly thought that no one would find you pleasuring yourself in the midnight hours...

Warnings: SMUT; typical targcest (reader is Daemon's niece and it is mentioned a LOT); use of the terms 'uncle' and 'niece' during sex; degradation (slut, whore etc.); light spanking (like one/two spanks); doggy style; quite rough sex (but both like it); breeding kink (Daemon finishes inside reader); dirty talk (use of the words cunt and such)

Notes: Reader is Daemon's niece (Rhaenyra's sister) and has white hair, but nothing else is specified. No specific time frame or mention of marriages/other relationships.

Words: 4.2k

-- aera xx

As Daemon Targaryen paces the cold, stone floors of the council room in Dragonstone, his footsteps echo softly against the walls, a rhythmic cadence that punctuates the heavy silence of the chamber. The room is austere yet grand, its walls adorned with tapestries depicting the sigil of House Targaryen — a three-headed dragon — woven in threads of crimson and gold. Tall windows line one side of the chamber, their panes frosted with a thin layer of ice, allowing slivers of pale winter moonlight to filter into the room and cast ethereal patterns upon the floor.

As Daemon's thoughts whirl in the chill air, his attention is suddenly drawn to quiet sighs and moans from a nearby bedchamber.

The castle was asleep at this hour, and it possibly couldn’t be a maid. Curiousness got the better of Daemon, and he went to investigate against his better judgment.

Once he reached the source of the sound, he smirked to himself. Of course. Who else could it be besides his sweet niece? Acting all innocent and loving before the eyes of the court and making sounds like a whore from the Silk Streets during the night.

He wondered who the lucky man between her plush thighs could be. Was it Aemond, or perhaps Aegon? What if it was Helaena, and this was the only time the two girls could show their desire for one another?

Already starting to walk away, something stopped him. The hardness in his breeches made it uncomfortable to move. He sighed and wiped across his face to compose himself.

Daemon needed to see. He needed to see his niece being pleasured by whoever it was. Be it a knight or a maid. Agonisingly slowly, he pulled open your door. Making sure no sounds betrayed his presence.

At first, you didn’t even notice his intrusion, too lost in the pleasure of two fingers circling your clit and two in your tight hole knuckles deep. But once you heard the familiar creak of the venerable wooden door, its aged hinges announcing a timeless entrance, your head instinctively snapped up. The air around you shifted, thick with expectation.

"Uncle Daemon!" you exclaimed, hastily pulling the sheets up to cover your bare form beneath. "I…I didn't expect you!"

You could feel the heat of embarrassment rising to your cheeks, mixed with a twinge of annoyance at having your private moment interrupted. Your long silver-white hair was tousled against the pillow, strands clinging to your sweat-dampened skin.

"I was just…" you fumbled for an excuse, your voice trailing off lamely. There was no hiding the truth - you had been caught in the throes of self-indulgence, fingers buried knuckle-deep inside your dripping cunny as you imagined being taken roughly by one of the handsome young knights in service to the crown.

Your mind raced as you tried to find the right words to explain yourself, but your tongue felt heavy and clumsy in your mouth. You knew that your actions were scandalous, especially for a highborn lady of House Targaryen, but you couldn't help the thrill of excitement that ran down your spine at the thought of being caught in such a compromising position.

Your fingers were still buried deep inside your sopping wet cunny, the evidence of your shameful desires dripping down your thighs and staining the fine silk sheets beneath you. The air was thick with the musky scent of your arousal, mingling with the faint smell of lavender that clung to your skin from your earlier bath.

Daemon's eyes widened slightly at the sight before him, his gaze flickering over your dishevelled form and the obvious signs of your recent activities. For a moment, he was struck dumb, caught off guard by the raw, primal desire that radiated from his niece's body like a physical force. He could feel his cock stirring to life in his breeches, thickening and hardening as he drank at the sight of you.

But then his training kicked in, and Daemon schooled his features into a mask of stern disapproval. He crossed the room in a few long strides, the heavy tread of his boots muffled by the plush carpet. Leaning down, he grasped your wrist firmly and withdrew your fingers from between your thighs, ignoring the way you gasped at the sudden loss of stimulation.

"Darling," he said, his voice low and cold. "What in the seven hells are you doing, girl? Playing with yourself like some common whore? Is this how you spend your nights, indulging in base carnal desires?"

His grip on your wrist tightened, and he brought your hand up to his face, pressing your fingers against his lips. The taste of your arousal exploded on his tongue, sweet and musky and utterly intoxicating. Daemon's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savouring the flavour of his niece's essence.

"You're a Targaryen," he growled, releasing her wrist and straightening up. "You should know better than to give in to such shameful appetites. Especially not with your uncle standing right outside your door."

Despite his harsh words, there was an undercurrent of something else in Daemon's tone - a dark, simmering heat that belied his stern exterior. He could feel the pulse of his own need, throbbing in his loins and demanding to be satisfied. The sight of you sprawled out across her bed, flushed and wanton and ready to be taken, was almost more than he could bear.

Daemon took a step back, putting some distance between them. He raked a hand through his golden locks, trying to calm his growing hunger for you.

Your heart raced as you watched Daemon lick your essence from his fingers, his eyes closing in bliss as he savoured the taste. The sight sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins, and you couldn't help but spread your thighs wider, inviting him to take a closer look at your dripping cunny.

The guilt that churned in your stomach was nothing compared to the raw, primal desire that consumed you. You had done far worse things behind closed doors, indulged in darker, more forbidden pleasures. This was merely a taste of the debauchery that coursed through your veins.

“Daemon," you breathed, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. "Please, don't be angry with me. I… I couldn't help myself. The need was too great, too overwhelming to ignore."

You batted your eyelashes at him, hoping to soften his stern demeanour with an innocent, pleading look. You knew the power of your beauty, the way men were drawn to you like moths to a flame. It was a gift, one you had learned to wield like a weapon.

"You're the only one who truly understands me," you continued, your words dripping with honey.

As you spoke, you reached out with trembling fingers, tracing the hard planes of Daemon's chest through his shirt. You could feel the heat of his skin beneath the fabric, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. It called to you, urging you to press herself against him.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you awaited Daemon's response, your dripping sex exposed to his piercing gaze. You could feel the weight of his stare like a physical touch, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. The vulnerability you felt at that moment was both terrifying and exhilarating, a heady mix of fear and desire that made your head spin.

Daemon's eyes darkened as he drank in the sight of your glistening folds, his nostrils flaring as he caught the intoxicating scent of your arousal. He could feel his cock straining against the confines of his breeches, throbbing with the need to bury itself inside your tight, wet heat.

He took a step closer, looming over your prone form on the bed. "You're playing a dangerous game, little one," he growled, his voice low and rough with barely contained lust. "Teasing me like this, exposing yourself to me. Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

Your breath caught in your throat as Daemon reached out, his fingers grazing along the soft skin of your inner thigh. You could feel the calluses on his hands, the strength in his grasp as he slowly inched higher and higher, until his touch was mere inches away from your aching core.

"I… I wanted you to see," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. Although it wasn’t entirely true, you did still however want him to take you. And with these sweet words, he would cave in no time.

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain control over his raging desires. He knew that what he was about to do was wrong, a betrayal of every moral code. But the temptation was too great to resist, the allure of his niece's forbidden fruit too powerful to deny.

With a low, animalistic growl, Daemon surged forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. He plundered your mouth with his tongue, claiming you, possessing you, marking you as his own. One hand tangled in your long, silver hair, tugging it.

You moaned into the kiss. It was like a siren's call, luring Daemon further into the depths of depravity. With a growl, he allowed himself to be pulled onto the bed, his muscular body covering yours as he claimed your mouth with renewed hunger. His hands roamed over your curves, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh like a man possessed.

Your fingers scrabbled at Daemon's linen shirt, desperate to feel the heat of his skin. You tugged impatiently at the fabric, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank the garment over his head and toss it aside. Your eyes widened at the sight of his toned chest, marred only by a few silvery scars from battles long past.

"By the gods, Uncle," she gasped, your hands greedily exploring the planes of his back and shoulders. "You're so strong."

Daemon's lips curled into a smirk as he ground his hips against yours, letting you feel the hard length of his cock straining against the confines of his breeches. "And you, my little girl, are a temptress beyond compare," he growled, nipping at your earlobe. "So soft, so ripe, so ready to be plucked."

Your back arched off the bed as Daemon trailed his lips down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. You could feel the heat pooling in your belly, the ache between your thighs growing more intense with each passing second.

"Please, Daemon," you whimpered, your hips rocking against his in a primal rhythm. "I need you, I need to feel you inside me, filling me, claiming me."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his control hanging by a thread. With a low growl, he captured your lips once more, swallowing your moans as he reached down and tore at the laces of his breeches. His cock sprang free, thick and hard and throbbing with need.

Your eyes widened as you took in the impressive sight of Daemon's manhood, your breath catching in your throat at the sheer size of him. You had always known that your uncle was a proud, confident man, but now you understood the true source of his cockiness. His cock was a work of art, thick and veiny and pulsing with an almost palpable hunger.

Unable to resist, you reached out with a shaking hand, wrapping your fingers around the hot, velvety length. You licked your palm, spitting into it to provide some lubrication as you began to stroke him slowly, marvelling at the weight of him in your grasp.

Daemon let out a low, guttural moan as your hand moved along his shaft, his hips rocking into your touch. "Fuck, that's it," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Stroke me, princess. Show me what that clever little hand can do."

You smiled up at him, your eyes shining with wicked delight. You shimmied closer to him on the bed, watching with rapt attention as Daemon stood before you, his cock extending out obscenely from between his legs.

The blood coursed hot and heavy through Daemon's veins as you worked his shaft, your delicate fingers gliding over his throbbing flesh in a slow, torturous rhythm. He could feel every nerve ending screaming for more, for the tight, wet heat of your cunt wrapped around him.

"You like that, don't you?" You purred, your hand pumping faster, twisting your wrist on the upstroke. "You like feeling my hand on your big, hard cock. I bet you've dreamed of this, of fucking your sweet little niece, filling her up with your seed."

Daemon let out a feral snarl, his hips snapping forward as he fucked your hand, chasing the pleasure that only you could give him. "You have no idea what I've dreamed of," he growled, his eyes burning into yours. "What I've planned, what I'm going to do to this tight little body of yours."

"Mmh, yeah? Why don’t you tell me then?” Your words and actions grew bolder as you saw his reaction to your touch, your arousal gushing out of you at the erotic sight.

Your daring words and bold actions ignited a fire in Daemon's loins that threatened to consume you both. His cock throbbed and pulsed in your grasp as you started to tease the tip with your tongue, your lips forming a tight seal around his engorged head. The sight of his niece's pretty mouth stretched obscenely around his shaft sent a fresh surge of heat straight to his groin.

"Fuck, you filthy little minx," Daemon growled, his fingers tangling in your long silver hair. He tugged at it roughly, forcing you to take more of him into your hot, wet mouth. "You want to know what I'm going to do to you? I'm going to ruin you for any other man. I'm going to fuck you so hard, so deep, that you'll never be able to forget the feel of my cock inside you."

You moaned around his length, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through Daemon's body. You could feel the sticky wetness of her arousal coating your thighs, the musky scent of her desire mingling with the taste of his pre-cum on her tongue.

"Mmmph, yes Uncle Daemon," you slurred, your words muffled by his thick cock filling your mouth. "Ruin me, use me, make me yours. I want to feel you in every inch of me."

"That's it," he growled, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper into your warm mouth, throbbing. "Take it all, baby girl. Take every inch of your uncle's big, hard cock."

You moaned around him, the sound sending shivers down Daemon's spine. You relaxed your throat, allowing him to slide deeper until the head of his cock was bumping against the back of your throat. Your nose nestled in the thick, wiry curls at the base of his shaft, inhaling the musky, masculine scent of him.

"Gods, you're a natural," Daemon praised, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his release. "Such a good little cocksucker, so eager to please your uncle."

Your eyes fluttered closed, lost in the haze of pleasure as you worked Daemon's cock with your mouth and hand. You could feel the heavy weight of it on your tongue, the pulsing heat of it against the roof of your mouth.

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his breath coming in short, sharp pants as he fought to maintain control. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, the urge to bury himself to the hilt in your tight, dripping cunt becoming more and more overwhelming with each passing second.

"Enough," he snarled, yanking you off his cock with a lewd pop. "I can't take it anymore. I need to be inside you, need to feel you wrapped around me like a vice."

With a swift, brutal movement, Daemon flipped you onto your hands and knees, kicking your legs apart to expose the glistening folds of your sex.

The sudden shift in position caused you to let out a surprised yelp. You felt Daemon's strong hands grip your hips, lifting your rear end high in the air. You instinctively arched your back, presenting yourself to him like a bitch in heat. The cool air of the bedchamber kissed your bare flesh, sending goosebumps racing across your skin.

The depraved display sent a bolt of pure lust through Daemon's veins, his cock twitching with the need to claim you, to make you his in the most primal way possible.

"Gods, you're a vision," Daemon growled appreciatively, his emerald eyes roaming hungrily over your upturned ass and dripping cunny. "So wet and ready for me already."

He gave you a sharp smack on the rump, relishing the way you jolted and let out a gasp. The reddening handprint on your skin looked deliciously obscene.

"That's it, present yourself to your uncle like a good little whore," he commanded, lining up his swollen cockhead with your entrance. "Show me how much you need my cock filling this greedy little cunt."

You moaned wantonly, reaching back with one hand to spread herself open for him. Your puffy folds glistened with arousal, practically begging to be stuffed full. The shame of what you were doing only served to heighten your arousal, the taboo nature of your relationship sending electric thrills down your spine.

"Please, Uncle Daemon," you begged, your voice high and needy. "I need you inside me, stretching me, filling me up. I'll do anything, be anything you want me to be."

Daemon let out a low, appreciative chuckle as he stepped up behind you, his large hands gripping your hips with bruising force. "Anything, hmm? We'll see about that."

Without warning, he slammed his cock into you, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You screamed in ecstasy, your walls clenching around him like a vice as he filled you.

"Fuck, you're tight," Daemon grunted, his hips snapping against your ass as he set a punishing pace. "So fucking tight and wet for me, baby girl. Your little cunt was made for my cock."

You could only moan in response, your body rocking forward with each powerful thrust of Daemon's hips. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with your cries of pleasure and Daemon's grunts of exertion.

As Daemon pounded into you, one hand snaked around your waist, his fingers finding your swollen clit. He rubbed it roughly, the calloused pads of his fingers sending jolts of electricity through your body.

A broken sob escaped your lips as you felt his fingers rub tight circles around your swollen clit. Hips jerking from the stimulation.

"There she goes," Daemon growled, his fingers working your clit with merciless precision. "My sweet little niece, so responsive, so desperate for her uncle's touch."

You could only moan in response, your head hanging down, your long silver hair cascading over your shoulders. The wet, obscene sounds of your coupling filled the room, a lewd symphony of flesh slapping against flesh and the squelch of your dripping arousal.

You shivered at his praise, your body still humming with pleasure. Despite the shame that threatened to overwhelm you, you couldn't deny how much you had enjoyed being used so thoroughly.

Daemon angled his hips, hitting that sweet spot inside you with each powerful thrust. He could feel your velvety walls rippling around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.

As he looked down he could see a ring of white cream coating the base of his cock, your arousal so evident. He smirked to himself and sped up his pace, fucking you almost brutally.

Daemon's brutal pace showed no signs of slowing, his hips pistoning in and out of your tight heat with relentless force. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed off the stone walls, mingling with your wanton moans and whimpers.

"Look at you," Daemon growled, his voice rough with lust. "My sweet little niece reduced to a mewling, cock-hungry slut. You love this, don't you? Love being used like a cheap whore, love having your uncle's cock stuffing your needy cunt."

You couldn't deny it, not with the way your body was responding to his harsh words and even harsher thrusts. Your back arched, pushing your hips back to meet him thrust for thrust, your nails digging into the fine linens beneath you.

Daemon's hand left your clit, moving up to fist a handful of your long silver hair. He yanked your head back, forcing you to look at him over your shoulder. His eyes were wild, burning with a primal hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

"Who does this cunt belong to?" he snarled, his voice a dark promise. "Who owns your pretty little body, baby girl?"

"You do," you gasped out, the words spilling from your lips unbidden. "It's all yours, Uncle Daemon. I'm yours."

"Damn right, you are," Daemon growled, releasing his grip on your hair to wrap his arms around your waist. He pushed you down onto your stomach and lifted your hips, shifting the angle of his thrusts to strike even deeper, harder, faster.

The new position had you seeing stars, your cries of pleasure resonating off the stone walls. Each thrust sent ripples of ecstasy through your body, your muscles clenching around him like a vice.

"Say it again," Daemon demanded, his voice strained. "Tell me who this pussy belongs to."

"You," you sobbed, your voice high and breathy. "It's yours, Daemon. All yours."

"That's right, baby girl," Daemon growled, his hips slamming into you with renewed vigour.

Your body was trembling beneath him on the silky sheets of your bed. Your tight hole spasming around Daemon's big cock, creaming all over his length. Like a bitch in heat you screamed in pleasure below him, cunt gripping him in a vice.

Daemon's grip tightened on your hips as he drove into you with pure animalistic lust, your cries of pleasure mixing with his grunts of exertion. Bed creaking beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each violent thrust. The feeling of your tight, dripping cunt spasming around him was almost too much to bear. Daemon could feel his release barreling towards him like a freight train, his balls drawing up tight against his body. The filthy sounds of your cries and the obscene squelch of your arousal filling the room only served to heighten his lust.

"That's it, princess," Daemon growled, his hand coming down on your ass in a sharp smack. "Take it all, take every inch of your uncle's big, hard cock."

You moaned wantonly, your hips bucking as he hit that sweet spot deep inside you. Your juices coated his shaft, easing the way as he pounded into you relentlessly.

"Uncle Daemon," you gasped, your voice strained with pleasure. "It's so good, so deep. Don't stop, please don't stop."

Daemon grinned savagely, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigour. He could feel the tension building in his lower belly, the tell-tale tingle in his spine that signalled his impending release.

"Oh, Gods! I'm gonna cum!" You managed to squeal into the sheets, tears starting to stream down your face from the intensity of his thrusts.

"Aw, fuck yes, you are," Daemon growled, his voice a dark promise. "Cum for me, baby girl. Cum all over your uncle's big, hard cock."

His hips snapped forward, driving his cock deep into your convulsing channel. Your cries of ecstasy filled the room, your body shaking with the force of your release.

You could feel your juices squirting out around Daemon's shaft, your inner muscles clenching and fluttering as you rode out the waves of your orgasm. It seemed to go on forever, your vision blurring at the edges, your mind numb from the sheer intensity of it all.

Daemon held you close, his arms wrapping around your trembling form as he continued to thrust into you, prolonging your pleasure. His release was fast approaching, his balls drawing up tight against his body.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice strained. "Gonna fill you up, gonna pump you full of my seed. Gonna make you mine in every fucking way."

With a final, brutal thrust, Daemon buried himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilt his hot seed deep within your womb. You could feel it, the way his thick, potent cum coated your inner walls, marking you as his.

As you both came down from your high, Daemon pulled out of you with a lewd pop. He flopped down onto the bed beside you, gathering you into his arms and pulling you close.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat as you basked in the afterglow. Despite the taboo nature of your relationship, there was a rightness to being here with Daemon, a sense of belonging that you had never felt with anyone else.

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callsign-fox · 17 days ago

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Hands to Yourself - Bob/Robert Reynolds

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

No warnings, just lots of sexual tension

So many more to come...have any ideas? Let me know HEREx

Thanks for all the love, I love you guys xo

The New Avengers Tower was meant to be a monument—an icon of strength and stability. Sleek, modern lines. Reinforced titanium walls. Floors that didn’t groan beneath the weight of gods or legends.

None of that stopped the way she always felt him.

Robert Reynolds—or Bob, as most of them knew him—never announced his presence. He didn’t stomp like Thor or mouth off like Stark. No—he moved like a thunderstorm on the verge of breaking. Quiet. Dense. Charged. Every step deliberate, every breath like it had claws.

When he walked into the training room that morning, damp from a run, sweat clinging to the defined lines of his chest, golden hair wind-tousled like he’d just stepped out of some myth—something primal in her kicked to life. The air changed. Tightened.

She didn’t look at him. Wouldn’t. But she felt his gaze settle on her like gravity.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, voice smooth and low, like velvet dragged over a blade.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She dropped deeper into her lunge, ignoring the warm twist in her stomach. “You’re imagining things.”

“I don’t imagine,” he murmured, voice dipping into something darker—something that curled around her like smoke. “I know.”

She rose slowly, unhurried, brushing hair from her face. She felt him watching every movement, tracking her like prey. “You psychic now, too? That’s new.”

Bob didn’t answer. Just stepped closer. Not touching, not inappropriate. But close enough that the heat from his body rolled off him like a promise.

“I hear your pulse when I walk in,” he said, voice softer now—intimate. “It spikes.”

She fought the urge to react. But her body betrayed her—heart kicking like it wanted out of her ribs. Her eyes flicked to him. Brief. His gaze was dark and amused.

“Sounds like a you problem,” she said coolly. But her voice had a rasp. Damn it.

His mouth curled into that maddening half-smile—slow and sharp, like he knew too much. “Doesn’t feel like a problem to me.”

She raised a brow, letting her lips tug into something flirtatious—mocking, almost. “You want to spar? Or just stare at me all day?”

“Why not both?” he drawled. “I heard you’ve been bored, looking for someone to knock around.” He paused and tilted his head. “I’m volunteering.”

For a second, she considered walking away. Cutting the tension before it strangled her. But instead, she stepped forward with a grin, dropping into a fighting stance that let him see every inch of her ready and waiting.

“No powers,” she said.

Bob nodded, and moved into a fighting stance.

She struck first—fast, sharp, a calculated series of blows that pushed him back a few steps. He moved like water. Smooth, reactive, dangerous. But she was quicker than he expected, and she knew it. Her fist caught his ribs with a satisfying thud, and when she spun low to sweep his legs, he barely avoided the hit.

His grin flickered, more real this time. “Didn’t peg you for a brawler.”

She didn’t answer—just pressed forward, unleashing another flurry of strikes that had him shifting defensively. Still, she got a few good hits in. His breath hitched after one particularly vicious jab to the side, and for a second, he looked…impressed.

Then he caught her wrist.

It wasn’t rough—barely more than a touch. But the second his fingers closed around her skin, her body betrayed her. Heat flushed through her, sharp and sudden, racing down her arm like lightning. Her breath faltered. His hand was hot—warmer than it should’ve been—and it sent a pulse straight to her core.

His eyes caught the flicker of surprise in hers. “Huh,” he murmured, thumb dragging across her pulse. “Interesting.”

She jerked free, spinning out of reach before he could say more, masking the flush in her cheeks with a glare. “Hands to yourself, golden boy.”

“You’re good,” he said, breathing harder. Admiration flickered behind the tension in his eyes. “But not good enough.”

In a blink, he caught her wrist, spun her, and swept her legs out from under her. She hit the mat with a gasp, breath stolen—only to find him already on top of her, pinning her effortlessly.

He wasn’t pressing her down. Just... hovering. But the weight of him, the heat—everything—wrapped around her senses like fire.

His lips hovered just above her throat, the warm brush of breath sending a shiver down her spine.

She could shove him off. Should.

But her body didn’t listen.

His mouth skimmed the curve of her neck—barely touching. Teasing. Her breath caught, a soft, involuntary sound slipping free.

For one electric heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her.

She was almost certain she wanted him to.

Instead, his lips brushed her ear, his voice a low rasp. “You’re not gonna make this easy, are you?”

Tension coiled like a spring between them. Her pulse thundered.

She smiled, lips parted, breath catching. “Where’s the fun in easy?”

For a moment, it was just breath and heat and the thrum of something wild. Then—

She moved.

A twist of hips, a shift in leverage, and suddenly he was on his back with her straddling his waist, hands on his chest. Her thighs caged him in, her grin smug.

His breath left him in a surprised huff, but the look in his eyes was all heat and approval.

She leaned in slowly—close enough to feel the rush of his breath against her collarbone.

“You were saying?” she murmured, her lips brushing over his—so light, so slow it burned.

His fingers flexed on her hips, and it took everything in her not to melt into him.

“Still hearing my pulse… or is that yours I hear now?”

Bob let out a sharp, rough laugh. His hands slid over her thighs—firm, possessive. Holding. Her restraint wearing thin.

“You play dirty,” he muttered.

She met his eyes, mouth a breath from his. “Only when it’s worth it.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. “You’re trouble.”

She grinned.

Then—

Bob surged up, flipping them again. Fast. Fluid. Dominant.

She was beneath him again, his forearms bracketing her head, his entire body pressed flush against hers—hard muscle, warm skin, and intent heat. She could feel him between her thighs, thick and wanting. All she could think about was what it would feel like to be with him, it made her vision go blurry.

His eyes had gone dark. Fixed. Hungry. Not just watching her—consuming her.

“You know what happens to trouble?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, lips brushing along her jaw with maddening slowness. “It gets handled.”

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her breath caught when his mouth trailed down her neck, slow and claiming. Lips parted, tongue flicking lightly over her skin before his teeth grazed her collarbone—enough to make her hips buck involuntarily beneath him.

“Your body is betraying you.” He whispered.

Then his hand slid down her side, fingers splaying wide as they curved over the swell of her ass—possessive, firm, like he’d been thinking about it for a long time and wasn’t planning to let go now.

Y/N arched into him with a sharp gasp and in turn he pressed harder between her legs. She felt every inch. Her hands found his hair, threading through the brown strands, tugging just enough to earn a low, appreciative sound from deep in his chest.

Her mouth brushed his—a bare kiss that wasn’t really a kiss at all. A promise. A maddening tease that made him freeze above her.

“Seems your body is betraying you too,” she whispered, her voice a breathy challenge against his lips.

“I had no intentions of hiding it, sweetheart.”

His growl rumbled through her, primal and wicked, vibrating against her chest. Then his mouth dipped again, trailing lower, hot and open-mouthed along the top of her breasts, pulling her shirt lower. Every pass of his lips left her burning, her skin hypersensitive under his touch.

“Oh my God.”

They both froze.

Bob’s jaw tightened as he slowly turned his head. Y/N groaned, head thunking back against the mat.

Bucky stood in the doorway, arms crossed like a disappointed dad. Next to him, Yelena chewed a toothpick, clearly enjoying herself.

“Well,” Bucky said dryly. “That answers so many questions.”

Bob didn’t move. Just stared at them. “You guys ever knock?”

“Door was open,” Yelena said sweetly. “Also—this is technically a public space. You two wanna dry hump in the middle of a government-owned mat, that’s your call.”

Y/N slapped a hand over her face. “I hate you both.”

Yelena grinned. “Love you more.”

Bucky walked past them like it was just another work day. “Try a closet next time. Or, I don’t know—lock the damn door.”

Bob finally rolled off her with a groan, lying flat beside her. “So close.”

Y/N turned her head, still breathless. “So very, very close.”

A beat passed between them, the charged air refusing to settle.

“Maybe we can continue this another day,” she said lightly, teasing but hopeful.

Bob’s gaze raked over her, heat simmering low behind it. “I was thinking… back in my room. Fifteen minutes.”

Her grin deepened, slow and wicked, the kind that made promises without saying a word. She leaned in just enough for her lips to graze his ear again, her breath warm and teasing.

“Make it ten,” she whispered, then pushed to her feet—leaving him on the mat, watching her walk away like she’d just won the match in more ways than one.

942 notes · View notes

moonlightwritingf1 · 3 months ago

Text

Shattered Trust | LN4

𐙚 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N discovers that she is pregnant with Lando's child. Instead of confiding in him about the unexpected news, she decides to keep her pregnancy a secret and, overwhelmed by fear and uncertainty about the future, she chooses to have an abortion without telling him. Eventually, Lando learns about her decision.

𐙚 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𐙚 word count ━━━━━━━ 7.3k

𐙚 warnings ━━━━━━━ pregnancy, abortion, angst

Based on this request.

It was a Friday evening when it happened: Y/N returned to her apartment, coat still damp from the drizzle, her heart racing with a nameless dread that had been building for days. Standing in the glow of the kitchen’s overhead lights, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the black glass of the microwave door. She set down her purse and a small paper bag—an banal bag to anyone else, but to her, it held a possible turning point for her entire life. Inside were two pregnancy tests.

She had worked her usual shift that day, trying in vain to ignore the persistent knot in her stomach and the unfamiliar heaviness in her limbs. Something felt off. She made small talk with colleagues, forced a few polite laughs, and drank coffee like her life depended on it, but nothing helped chase away that apprehension. So, during her short walk home, she had ducked into a pharmacy, heart pounding, and bought the tests. The moment she walked out, she wanted to turn back and return them, to pretend none of this was happening.

But it was.

Steadying herself against the kitchen counter, Y/N drew in slow, shaky breaths. Every mental pep talk she had rehearsed on the way home slipped away like leaves in a storm. Even though she and Lando had been together for two wonderful years—two years filled with laughter, shared secrets, and stolen glances—this was not what she wanted right now. Not what she had planned. She couldn’t be pregnant. Not at this point in her career.

In the small bathroom adjacent to her bedroom, she carefully unwrapped the first test. Her hands trembled. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, illuminating the pale tiles, her own frightened face in the mirror, sweat glistening on her brow.

She took the test, set it on the counter, and hovered over it like it might spark and burn. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped she was overreacting. Perhaps her period was just late. Maybe it was stress. But the truth stared back in a painfully short amount of time: the telltale cross, positive.

It felt as though the world held its breath. She scrambled for the second test, praying the first was a fluke. But the second test told the same story: positive.

“No… oh God, no,” she whispered.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she sank onto the cool tile floor, back pressing against the wall. The tests rolled away from her trembling hands. A wave of panic descended, bringing with it a vivid vision of an entirely different future—her career hopes overshadowed by an unplanned pregnancy. She closed her eyes, tears stinging, her mind a whirlwind of images: Lando’s laughter, Lando’s bright smile, and the way his eyes might light up at the idea of a baby. But in the next moment, her imagination shifted to her own tears, her own sense of being trapped, her career halted or derailed. She couldn’t do it. She felt certain she couldn’t.

That night, she barely moved from the bathroom floor. Eventually, she dragged herself to bed, the pregnancy tests stuffed into the little paper bag. She didn’t sleep; she just stared at the ceiling, numb, thoughts darting in every direction. When she finally drifted off, it was to restless half-dreams—nightmares of crying infants, undone deadlines, and a future she had never planned.

By Saturday morning, Y/N could think of only one way forward. She did not want this pregnancy. She wasn’t ready—not emotionally, not mentally, and certainly not in terms of her career. Lando’s always away, she reasoned. Even though he spent a lot of time in the UK, he still traveled constantly for Formula One, his life under perpetual media scrutiny. She felt certain the responsibility would fall entirely on her, and she wasn’t ready.

So, she decided: she would get an abortion, and she would never tell him. A trembling kind of finality sank into her veins as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror that Saturday. She hoped her reflection might look resolute. Instead, she looked terrified.

She turned on the shower, letting scalding water cascade over her tense shoulders. She practiced what she might say if a coworker or friend asked about her weekend—little lines like I’m fine, just busy with some errands. A lie, but one she felt she had no choice but to tell.

The weekend dragged by in a haze of secrecy. She thought about calling her parents but dismissed the idea almost immediately; she didn’t want them to worry or, worse, to try to dissuade her. By Monday, her resolve had hardened.

During her lunch break at work, she locked herself in an empty conference room, phone in hand, voice shaking as she prayed no one was outside listening.

“Hello, yes, I’d like to book an appointment,” she whispered. The person on the other end asked for details: earliest availability, whether this was her first time. She swallowed hard at that question, her heart hammering as she confessed that yes, this was the first. They offered her a Wednesday slot.

She wrote down the clinic’s address and instructions on a sticky note, then tore the note to pieces in a wave of paranoia. She would memorize it. No evidence. She was certain Lando must never find out.

The rest of Monday passed in a blur. She forced her usual smiles, tried to gather her scattered thoughts in a marketing meeting, but her mind spun in circles around what was to come. By day’s end, she felt wrung out—physically and emotionally.

Wednesday dawned gray and drizzly, the sky mirroring Y/N’s mood. She had taken the day off, feigning sickness. It wasn’t entirely untrue; nausea churned in her stomach, her nerves coiled tighter than springs.

The clinic’s waiting room was smaller than she expected—quiet, almost too quiet. She filled out the forms with trembling hands, avoiding looking at the other women who were also waiting. Each had her own story, her own reasons, her own heartbreak.

When they called her name, she followed a nurse with shaky legs. The procedure itself was a blur of instructions, bright lights, and a suffocating mixture of relief and sudden, sharp sorrow. She told herself she was certain. She reminded herself that this was what she wanted. Still, flickers of doubt gnawed at the edges of her mind.

Afterward, the pain was more intense than she had braced for. Her lower abdomen cramped viciously. A nurse told her to rest, to avoid strenuous activity, and to call if anything seemed amiss. She forced a weak smile, nodding mechanically, all the while wanting nothing more than to disappear into her apartment.

She stumbled home, barely registering how she made it through the front door before collapsing onto her bed. The moment her body hit the mattress, a sharp, searing pain shot through her abdomen, making her curl in on herself instinctively. The cramps tore through her like knives, relentless and punishing, far worse than what the clinic had warned her about. She pressed her hands against her stomach, trying to breathe through the agony that wracked her body, waves of pain rolling over her in cruel succession.

But it wasn’t just the physical pain that consumed her. The emotional weight of it all settled heavily in her chest, raw and suffocating. Not because she regretted her decision—she didn’t. She knew with certainty that this was the right choice for her, for her future. But as she lay there, body trembling from exhaustion, the loneliness crept in like a shadow she couldn’t escape. She had done this alone. She had made this choice alone. And now, she had to suffer through the aftermath alone.

For a fleeting moment, she considered calling her mother, just to hear the soft, familiar voice that had once soothed her through scraped knees and sleepless nights. But she knew she couldn’t. She knew what her mother would say—how the disappointment would lace her tone, how she might try to convince her that she had made a mistake. And then there was Lando. She thought about what he might have done if she had told him. Would he have been angry? Hurt? Would he have begged her to reconsider? Or would he have just held her, wiped her tears away, told her that no matter what, he would be there?

But none of that mattered now. She had made her choice, and she refused to feel ashamed of it. She had been terrified that if she told anyone, they would criticize her, judge her, tell her she had done something wrong. And so she had kept it to herself. This was her burden. No one else could know. No one else should know.

Still, as she curled deeper into the blankets, pain wracking her body, she wished—just for a moment—that someone was there to hold her through it. But there was no one. So she gritted her teeth, wiped her tears, and endured the consequences.

Thursday and Friday, Y/N forced herself to return to work, ignoring the stabbing pains whenever she moved too quickly or twisted in her seat. She ran on frayed nerves and adrenaline, quietly popping painkillers to get through meetings. She told coworkers she had a lingering stomach bug, which explained her fatigue and occasional winces. Thankfully, they seemed to believe her.

All day Friday, she counted the hours until she could crawl under the covers and rest. But fate intervened. Late that afternoon, her phone chimed:

Lando: Hey, love, you busy tonight? I’m in London—surprise! I want to see you. Text me when you’re out of the office. x

Her stomach dropped. A flicker of warmth passed through her, a reminder of the comfort his presence usually brought. Then panic seized her. She didn’t know if she could hide her pain for an entire evening, and she certainly hadn’t expected him.

Still, she forced a casual tone in her reply:

Y/N: Surprise indeed. Sure, come over. We can have dinner in.

He replied with a string of heart emojis and “Can’t wait.” She took a shaky breath, promising herself she would manage.

By the time Y/N let Lando into her apartment, the sun was slipping behind the skyscrapers. He arrived with a casual jacket, jeans, and that familiar, excited glow on his face. In his hands was a plastic container that smelled richly of pesto and parmesan.

“Hey, baby,” he said gently, leaning in to press a warm kiss to her forehead. The instant his arms circled her waist, a twinge of pain shot through her abdomen, making her tense. He noticed.

“You okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice as he pulled back to study her expression.

“Just a bit tired from work,” she answered, forcing a smile. “Long week.”

He nodded but still looked worried. “I brought dinner, so you don’t have to lift a finger. Just relax.” He held up the container. “My mum’s recipe—pasta with creamy pesto sauce. I promised you I’d learn how to make it one day, remember?”

The sincerity in his voice tugged at her heart. “That’s sweet. Thank you, Lando,” she murmured. A surge of guilt lanced through her—he had no idea that she’d had an abortion just two days before.

She led him to the small dining table near the windows. He portioned out the pasta, adding a sprinkle of grated cheese while she poured water into glasses. She tried to appear normal, but each time she shifted in her seat, her body reminded her of reality.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Lando asked partway through the meal, setting his fork down. His concerned gaze roamed over her. “You look… stressed.”

“I’m fine. Really,” she lied, mustering another smile. “Just a lot going on at work.”

He exhaled, reaching across the table to take her hand. She flinched slightly; the brush of his thumb over her skin stirred a rush of conflicting emotions—remorse, sadness, love, and anxiety, all tangled together.

“Hey,” he said softly, “you can tell me anything, you know?”

Her throat tightened. “Of course,” she whispered, dropping her eyes to her plate. She couldn’t… not this. Not now.

They finished dinner in relative silence. When the plates were emptied, she rose to collect them, but Lando stopped her, moving them himself to the sink. “I’ll rinse off,” he insisted. “You go sit on the couch, okay? I’ll join you in a second.”

Relieved to have a moment alone, Y/N slipped onto the sofa, pressing a hand to her aching lower abdomen. She heard the sound of running water in the kitchen, the faint clink of dishes, and let her eyes drift shut.

Moments later, Lando dropped onto the cushion beside her. “Done,” he announced, a small grin lighting his features. He placed a hand on her thigh. “I missed you,” he confessed, voice low. “You’ve been distant. Hardly texted me all week.”

She offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve just been in my own head.”

His brow furrowed. “Right. Just promise me if something’s bothering you, you’ll tell me.” He paused, swallowing. “I love you, you know. I hate seeing you like this.”

His simple words—I love you—nearly undid her. Her eyes stung with tears, and she struggled to keep them at bay. If he only knew.

He noticed her reaction and tried to lighten the mood. “Wanna watch something in bed?” he asked. “Movie night?”

She nodded, her voice tight. “Sure.”

Hours later, having half-watched a comedy on Netflix, they decided to turn in for the night. Y/N, braced by painkillers, made her way to the bathroom first. As she washed her hands, she remembered the pregnancy tests.

A jolt of panic coursed through her. Oh, God. Where are they? She had thrown them in the bathroom trash, but had she fully disposed of them?

She left the sink running, peering into the small bin under the sink. It was mostly empty, just a tiny plastic bag and some balled-up tissues—except for that faint flash of white plastic. Damn it. She grabbed the bin, intending to quickly transfer its contents to a bigger trash bag in the kitchen, but she heard Lando’s footsteps approaching.

“Hey, babe,” he began, stepping into the doorway, “do you have any—?”

She froze, bin in hand, looking guilty. “Uh, nothing, sorry—”

He frowned, spotting the white plastic in the bin she held. In a disastrous stroke of timing, one test fell out, landing on the floor with a soft clink. Instantly, Lando recognized what it was. He bent to pick it up.

“What’s this?” he asked, curiosity turning to shock as he saw the tiny window indicating a plus sign. “Oh… Wait, is this—?”

His eyes snapped to her, excitement and confusion mingling in his expression. “You’re pregnant?” he murmured in disbelief. “Is that why you’ve been so… off all week? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing emerged. He looked at her, a hundred emotions warring across his features—hope, wonder, fear. But he seemed happy, above all.

“Are we having a baby?” he asked, voice hushed.

Her mouth went dry. She could only shake her head. “No,” she managed hoarsely. “No, we’re not.”

He glanced at the test again. “But… it’s positive. I don’t understand.”

She swallowed hard. “It was positive,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes.

“It was?” His brow furrowed. “I still don’t—”

She realized there was no escape. The truth would come crashing down on them both. “Lando… I had an abortion,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath. “On Wednesday. It’s gone.”

Silence saturated the small space. Lando’s complexion went ashen, his jaw falling slack. Slowly, he set the test on the counter. His eyes, now shimmering with tears, lifted to her face.

“What?” he rasped, hardly able to form the words. “You were pregnant and… you…” He couldn’t finish. His breaths came in uneven gasps as disbelief gave way to deep, staggering hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her head dipped, shame burning in her cheeks. “I was scared,” she admitted, voice quivering. “I didn’t want it. I was terrified you’d try to force me to keep it.”

“Force you?” he repeated, stepping closer, heartbreak etched on every line of his face. “Why would you think that?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You love kids, Lando. You always say you can’t wait to be a dad. You get that look whenever you see children at the track. And I… I couldn’t do it. Not now. My career is just taking off, and you’re traveling so much. I felt like I had no choice.”

He let out a shaky exhale, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t believe you kept it from me,” he said, voice cracking. “We’ve been together two years. Did I ever make you think I’d force you to do something you didn’t want?”

She sobbed openly, tears glistening on her cheeks. “No… but I was scared. I thought you’d beg me or persuade me otherwise. And I wasn’t strong enough to say no if you did.”

The anger, heartbreak, and confusion on his face were almost tangible. He placed the test on the counter, turning back to her with tears rimming his eyes. “What was right for you…” he echoed bitterly. “So I didn’t even factor in?”

She tried to speak, but words stuck in her throat like stones. Finally, she managed to say, “That’s not fair. It’s my body, and I had to make a choice.”

He shut his eyes, tears spilling onto his cheeks. “Of course it’s your body,” he said, voice shaking. “But we’re together, aren’t we? You didn’t even give me a chance to be there for you, to help or… or just hold your hand.”

She choked out an apology. “I’m so sorry, Lando. I never wanted to hurt you. But I was so afraid of losing everything I’ve worked for. I panicked.”

He sank onto the edge of the bathtub, tears still falling freely. She had never seen him cry like this. “When did you find out?” he asked quietly.

“Last Friday,” she admitted. “I found out alone, here, after work. I called the clinic Monday and got an appointment for Wednesday. I was in so much pain afterward, and… I kept it from everyone. I didn’t want to risk anyone telling you.”

He let out a hollow breath. “Days… you spent days alone, in pain, not telling a soul.”

He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shuddering. Y/N felt her heart break at the sight. Ignoring her own discomfort, she knelt on the tiled floor and rested a trembling hand on his knee.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, voice raw. “I didn’t want to break your heart. I… I just couldn’t handle what a baby would mean right now.”

He lowered his hands, eyes red. “Afraid… were you afraid of me?” he asked, voice thick.

“I was afraid of letting both of us down,” she answered, tears hitching in her chest. “Afraid I couldn’t stand by my decision if you pleaded with me. I know you love me, but I felt cornered.”

He let out a shaky sigh, wiping his tears with frustration. “I thought we trusted each other,” he whispered. “We’re supposed to be a team. And now…” He trailed off, voice cracking. “I can’t explain how much it hurts to know you went through something so huge, so painful, alone.”

Her hand found his, and he didn’t pull away. “I know,” she murmured. “It wasn’t about distrusting you. I just… I didn’t trust myself.”

He inhaled sharply, tears still falling. “I’m sorry you felt that way,” he said brokenly. “But God, it hurts. We could have had a baby. And now… we don’t. And you never even told me.”

A fresh wave of guilt crushed her. She inched closer, wrapping her arms around him. He froze for a moment, then sagged into her embrace, the two of them sobbing against each other. The heartbreak was palpable, a heavy weight neither knew how to handle.

Eventually, they pulled away from one another, both of their faces streaked with tears and their eyes red from crying. Lando stood first, then gently helped Y/N to her feet. His voice was rough with emotion as he said, “Come on. You need to rest. We can’t just… stay on this bathroom floor all night.”

She nodded mutely, allowing him to guide her into the bedroom. He arranged the pillows so that she could sit back comfortably, then frowned at the harsh glow of the overhead lamp. With a few quick steps, he switched on the softer bedside light instead, filling the room with a gentler warmth.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Y/N could sense the storm of emotions roiling behind Lando’s eyes: hurt, anger, sorrow. Finally, he cleared his throat, his voice still trembling. “When exactly… did you do it?”

Her breath hitched. “Wednesday,” she confessed. “I pretended to be sick at work and went in the morning. I was home by noon, just… in pain.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly, eyes shutting as anguish pinched his features. “You came back… alone?” he echoed quietly. “No one knew? No one drove you?”

She shook her head, shame creeping over her. “I took a cab. I told no one,” she whispered.

Lando grimaced, running a hand over his face in an attempt to steady his breathing. “God,” he muttered, voice raw, “the thought of you going through that all alone—” His voice cracked, and he let out a shuddering exhale. “I would have been there for you. Even if I disagreed, even if we argued… I would have been there, if you’d just told me.”

Tears slid down Y/N’s cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Truly. I wish I could change it.”

He inhaled sharply, still fighting the turmoil in his chest. “I’m devastated,” he admitted, meeting her gaze. “Not because you chose to have an abortion—I get that it’s your body, your choice. What kills me is knowing you went through all that alone, and worse, that you thought so little of me that you believed I’d try to force you to keep the baby. That you hid this from me… It hurts more than anything.”

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as she reached for his hand. “I was terrified,” she said brokenly. “I was worried about how it might affect your career, mine… everything. I thought if you knew, you’d beg me to keep it, and I wouldn’t be strong enough to say no. I never wanted to lose you or disappoint you.”

“F1 is huge,” Lando acknowledged softly, tears escaping down his cheeks. “But it’s not bigger than you—or the family I hope we can have someday. But only when you’re ready.” His voice trembled as he continued. “I’ve pictured marrying you, Y/N. I’ve thought about us having kids… not now, but eventually. I never—” He broke off, swallowing hard. “I never wanted you to think you couldn’t come to me. I never wanted you to go through something like this alone.”

A trembling breath escaped her. She blinked, her vision blurring with tears. “I didn’t know,” she admitted, voice cracking.

Silence settled over them as each grappled with the weight of their mutual insecurities. At last, Lando reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek. “We both messed up,” he said thickly. “But please… don’t hide something like this from me again. I would have supported you, no matter your decision. I would have carried you out of that clinic myself if that’s what you needed.”

“I won’t,” she promised, tears spilling anew. Her voice wobbled as she added, “I’m so sorry I misjudged you.”

He leaned in, pulling her carefully into his arms. Even in his own pain, he was gentle, cradling the back of her head. She felt his heartbreak in every shaky breath, but she also felt his unwavering love.

“I’m so angry and sad,” he murmured into her hair. “But I love you. I can’t just leave you over this. I just… need time to process it.”

She pressed her face to his chest, her sobs muffled against his shirt. “If you need space,” she began, voice muffled, “I understand.”

Lando shook his head, resting his cheek against the top of her head. “I don’t want space. I just want to figure out how to move forward.” He pulled back enough to meet her gaze. “Are you still in pain?”

“A bit,” she admitted, wiping her cheeks. “Cramping.”

His face twisted with concern. “Let me get you something—a hot water bottle, painkillers?”

She offered him a watery smile. “A hot water bottle would help, yeah.”

He stood up, quickly returning with the hot water bottle and placing it gently over her lower abdomen. Then he climbed onto the bed beside her. She nestled against him, tears falling quietly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“I love you,” he said again, his voice catching in his throat. “Even after all of this, even though I’m hurting. I don’t want to lose you.”

She looked up, eyes swimming with guilt and relief. “I love you too,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I broke your heart. If I could redo it… I’d tell you right away. But I still wouldn’t have kept the pregnancy,” she added, her voice trembling with a fresh wave of emotion. “I’m sorry that hurts you.”

His breath shuddered. “It does,” he admitted, “but I’d never want you forced into something you don’t want. I just wish I’d known. I wish you’d trusted me enough to let me be there for you.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, the regret so palpable she could barely speak. “Me too,” she whispered, taking his hand and squeezing it.

A lingering pause enveloped them. At last, Lando spoke, his voice quiet. “Do you still see a future for us? Maybe a family one day, when we’re both really ready for it?”

He looked at her with fragile hope, grief etched in every line of his face. Y/N felt her own tears threaten again. “I do,” she murmured. “Just… not right now.”

His shoulders slackened, a relieved breath escaping him. “Okay,” he said, voice unsteady. “That means a lot.”

They sat there, the bedside lamp casting a warm glow around them, an island of soft light in a sea of darkness. Eventually, she rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She wondered if they could ever get back the easy laughter and carefree moments they once knew. But for now, she focused on the steady thump beneath her cheek—the sound of him staying, of him loving her through the pain.

And despite the sorrow, it was a comfort she clung to with all her heart.

Sleep was fitful for them both. The weight of everything that had been said, everything that had been revealed, settled over them like an unshakable fog. Around three in the morning, Y/N woke from a restless doze, her abdomen throbbing, cheeks still damp with tears. Lando’s arms were around her, holding her close even in sleep, though his grip occasionally tightened as if, even subconsciously, he was afraid of losing her.

She shifted slightly, wincing as another wave of pain rolled through her. The physical ache was still overwhelming, a sharp reminder of what her body had been through. But the emotional turmoil lingered too—the knowledge that she had believed, deep down, that Lando would have forced her to keep the baby if he had known.

As if sensing her discomfort, he stirred, blinking blearily before his gaze immediately found hers. He brushed a thumb across her damp cheek, voice still thick with sleep. “You okay?”

“It still hurts,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “All of it.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, the gesture so heartbreakingly tender that it made her chest tighten. “I know,” he murmured. “I hate that you’re in pain. I hate that you thought you had to go through this alone. But I’m here. Let’s hold on to each other tonight.”

She nestled closer to him, craving the warmth of his presence, even as her heart ached with the realization that this—this moment of fragile vulnerability—was what she had feared. That he would love her despite it all. That he wouldn’t abandon her, no matter what.

His scent—soap, faint cologne, something unmistakably him—brought back memories of better days. Lazy weekends tangled up in his sheets. Impromptu dates that always ended in laughter. The way he would tease her, endlessly, just to see her roll her eyes and fight back with that fire he adored.

She clung to those memories, hoping they could anchor her through the storm still raging inside her.

They drifted in and out of sleep until the early light crept around the blinds. Y/N stirred, blinking up at the ceiling, only to realize Lando was already awake, watching her. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between sorrow and quiet determination.

She turned her face away, self-conscious, but he gently pulled her back, fingertips brushing her chin. “Hey,” he said softly, eyes searching hers. “I’ve got you.”

Her throat tightened. “I’m scared,” she confessed. “Scared you won’t look at me the same.”

Lando exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment as if the thought physically hurt him. When he opened them again, they were glassy with emotion. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he pulled her even closer, his lips pressing to her forehead in a lingering, silent reassurance.

“I won’t lie,” he admitted, voice thick with emotion. “This changes things.”

Her breath hitched.

Not because she regretted what she had done—but because of how deeply she had misjudged him. Because she had truly believed he wouldn’t stand by her. Because she had been so convinced she was alone.

Lando pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his fingers threading through hers. “But not in the way you think,” he continued. “Not because of what you did. Not because you had an abortion.” His thumb brushed soothing circles over the back of her hand. “It changes things because now I know how much you believed I’d try to control you. That you thought I’d take away your choice.”

Tears burned at the edges of her eyes again.

He shook his head, jaw tightening. “That kills me, Y/N. But I need you to hear me when I say this—I will always support you. No matter what.”

She let out a trembling breath, the weight of his words settling into her bones.

“Together?” she whispered, clinging to that word like a lifeline.

His grip on her hand tightened. “Together,” he promised. And this time, she believed him.

That morning, Lando insisted on taking care of her. He moved cautiously, helping her to the bathroom, making sure she took her painkillers, and bringing her a warm drink. She managed a few bites of toast, and he hovered protectively until she was done.

They ended up on the couch, the morning sun spilling through the windows to illuminate the living room. The hum of traffic emphasised the tense quiet between them. Finally, Lando broke the silence, voice tentative.

“Do you think… we should talk to someone about this?” he asked. “A counselor or therapist, maybe. It feels like something too big to handle alone.”

She fiddled with the edge of a throw pillow. She had never considered counseling before, but the weight of her guilt, his grief, and their mutual pain felt overwhelming. “Maybe,” she agreed softly. “If you’re willing, we could look into it.”

He gave a small, sad smile. “I think it could help,” he said. Then he slid closer and took her hand in his. “I’m still so hurt,” he added, eyes fixed on the carpet. “I can’t pretend I’m not. But we can’t go back in time, and if we just shut down now, we’ll lose each other.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she smiled shakily at him. “I don’t want to lose you,” she said. “I love you so much.”

He was quiet for a long moment, then gently guided her head to rest on his shoulder. They sat like that, taking halting steps toward mending the rift. The grief lingered—a heavy companion in the room—but beneath it, there was love, fragile but steadfast.

Hours crept by in slow motion. Lando stayed nearby, drawing a bath for her, massaging her back when the cramps worsened, handing her tissues whenever tears struck without warning. She apologized again and again; he told her that he forgave her, but also that trust would take time to rebuild.

Occasionally, she caught him gazing at her with tears in his eyes, heartbreak flashing across his features at the thought of the baby he would never meet. Guilt nibbled at her each time, knowing she had kept him in the dark. And yet, he never lashed out in anger. He was gentle, if deeply wounded—proof of how deeply he cared for her. It humbled her and made her chest ache all at once.

By the time night fell again, Y/N was curled on the couch under a blanket, eyes hollow from crying. Lando had stepped away to the bathroom; when he returned, he settled next to her, exhaustion etched on his face.

“Remember when we used to talk about the future?” he asked quietly, eyes distant. “About traveling more, maybe living somewhere else, getting away from the city for a bit?”

She nodded, recalling those late-night talks and the sense of possibility they used to share—how different everything seemed now.

“I still want those things,” he said, turning toward her. “And I want them with you. But I need you to come to me with things—even if you think it’ll upset me or disappoint me.” A tremor of emotion caught in his throat. “I can’t handle being shut out again.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I promise,” she said, voice unsteady. “I promise I won’t ever hide something like this from you again.”

He studied her face for a moment, then nodded, a flicker of relief showing. “Good,” he whispered, slipping an arm around her waist.

She let her head rest on his shoulder, fresh tears slipping onto his shirt. This time, the crying felt like a release rather than a collapse. He stroked gentle circles on her back.

They stared out the window at the glow of the skyline. The silence between them was heavy but not hostile—more like two people trying to piece themselves back together after a storm.

A few minutes passed in silence, the soft hum of traffic below filling the quiet. Then, Y/N cleared her throat, turning to look at Lando with fresh tears gathering.

“I know I keep apologizing,” she began, voice trembling, “but I need you to know something important.”

He watched her intently, his own eyes rimmed with red. “What is it?” he asked softly.

She drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t regret having the abortion,” she said, her voice steady for the first time since this began. “I truly believe it was the right decision for me… for us… for now. And I’m so sorry if that hurts to hear.”

His face flickered with pain, but he gave a small shake of his head. “It doesn’t hurt to hear it,” he said, pressing his lips together. “I promise. I’m not… I’m not upset about the decision itself. I know it’s your body, your choice.”

The relief in her eyes was immediate, though guilt still lingered. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I needed to say that out loud.” Her gaze dropped to their joined hands. “But I’m devastated that I didn’t tell you as soon as I found out. The moment I took that test, I should have… I should have told you. I just—” She paused, swallowing hard. “I was so scared.”

He nodded, his grip on her fingers tightening briefly. “That’s what hurts the most,” he admitted, voice thick. “Not that you ended the pregnancy. But that you believed I’d try to make you keep it.” He exhaled shakily, the corners of his eyes glistening again. “It feels like you thought I’d trap you or force you. That you trusted me so little.”

Hearing the crack in his voice, Y/N felt fresh tears surge. “I didn’t want to think of you that way,” she whispered, “but I… let my fear win. I convinced myself that you’d beg me to keep it, and I wouldn’t be able to stand firm.” She shifted closer, her free hand moving to rest gently on his forearm. “Seeing you like this, knowing how much I hurt you by not telling you—” She broke off, choking on a sob. “I’m sorry, Lando. I’m so, so sorry.”

He swallowed, blinking against his own tears. “I’m hurt because it’s us. We’ve been together for two years, and I thought… I thought you knew me better than that. I would never have wanted to force you into anything, and I would have respected your decision from the start.” His voice wavered. “I would have been there in that clinic, waiting, holding your hand, driving you home. All of it. If only you’d told me.”

That last sentence sent a wave of guilt crashing over her. She leaned in, pressing her forehead against his shoulder as she cried silently. His arm came around her, holding her close.

When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were red, but there was a fierceness in her gaze. “I know,” she said, voice raw. “And I hate myself for letting fear overshadow everything else. For making you feel like I didn’t trust you.”

Lando eased back against the cushions, tugging her gently with him so that she rested against his side. “I understand why you were scared,” he murmured, staring at the city lights through the glass windows. “But it doesn’t make the hurt vanish. It’s going to take time.”

She nodded, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m prepared for that. I’ll do whatever it takes. I just want you to know I’m not… I’m not sitting here wishing I could go back and keep the pregnancy. I’m wishing I could go back and trust you enough to tell you from the start.”

His gaze slid toward her, sad and searching. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I need to hear that.”

She exhaled unsteadily, dropping her head against his shoulder. “You’re so hurt,” she murmured. “And every time I see it in your eyes… It breaks me. Because I’m the one who caused it.”

He pressed a tentative kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll heal,” he said. “We both will. But you have to promise me, from now on, you’ll come to me. Even if you think I’ll be angry, or disappointed, or anything else. Just… don’t shut me out.”

Her voice cracked when she answered, “I won’t. I swear. I’ve learned my lesson the hardest way possible.”

They stayed like that for several beats of silence, the city’s ambient glow lending a soft halo around them through the windows. After a while, Y/N shifted to look at him directly.

“Do you want anything?” she asked quietly. “Tea? Water? Another blanket?”

He half-smiled, a worn expression. “I think I could use some water, yeah.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before standing. Her steps were ginger; she was still sore, but the pain was easier to bear now that the guilt wasn’t crushing her every breath. In the kitchen, she filled a glass with water. She grabbed one for herself as well.

When she returned, Lando accepted it gratefully, taking a few careful sips. She settled back beside him, drawing a throw blanket over both of their laps.

“I promise,” she said suddenly, “I’ll never lie to you like this again, never keep something so big a secret.” Her voice trembled, but her eyes shone with conviction. “I know it won’t erase what I’ve done, but I need you to know that.”

He nodded, setting his half-finished glass on the coffee table. “I believe you,” he said, “but it’ll take time for that trust to feel… complete again.” He glanced at her worriedly, as though fearing his honesty might wound her further. “Are you okay hearing that?”

She swallowed, tears threatening once more. “Yes,” she said, forcing herself not to look away. “It’s what I deserve. I hurt you, and I can’t expect that to vanish overnight.” She paused, taking a ragged breath. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to show you I do trust you… that you are the most important person in my life.”

He gave a short, pained laugh. “Funny how we both felt we were doing what was best for each other—me wanting to be supportive no matter what, you wanting to protect my career and your own.” He shook his head. “But we ended up hurting each other more.”

She rested a hand against his cheek, wiping away the tears on his lashes with her thumb. “I’m done letting fear guide me,” she said. “I want us to heal, Lando.”

Silence fell again, broken only by the quiet city hum and their unsteady breathing. Finally, Lando sighed, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders. “Let’s talk about something—anything else—just for a minute,” he suggested, voice still laced with sadness but carrying a faint glimmer of hope. “Not to pretend this didn’t happen, but… I feel like I can’t breathe if we keep circling the same pain.”

She nodded, understanding. “Okay.”

They sat there for a moment, and she found herself hesitating. Then she mustered a small smile. “I had an idea for a holiday, before all this. Nothing extravagant—maybe just a road trip through the English countryside, or a quick hop somewhere in Europe for a weekend. To get away from the city stress.”

His expression softened. “I remember you mentioning wanting to see the Lake District again.”

She nodded, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Yeah. Maybe we could go there. It’s calm… quiet. Might give us space to just be.”

He reached for her hand again, a gentler hold this time. “That actually sounds… perfect,” he admitted. “No pressure, no big crowds. Just us.”

They exchanged a tentative smile, the first real glimmer of something lighter passing between them since the revelation.

After a pause, Y/N brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For listening. For not walking away. For understanding that… I don’t regret the abortion. Only how I handled it with you.”

Lando studied her face for a moment, then lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss there. “I love you,” he said, his voice still heavy with emotion. “I wish this had never happened the way it did, but I’m still here. And I still want you… just you.”

She blinked back fresh tears, nodding. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like I didn’t trust you. You’re the only person I’ve ever truly loved, and I hate that I made you doubt it.”

He squeezed her hand. “We’ll work through it,” he said quietly. “One day at a time. As long as we’re both honest from now on.”

She breathed out, her shoulders slumping in a mixture of exhaustion and relief. “Yes,” she agreed, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. “One day at a time.”

Outside the apartment windows, the city moved on as always—lights pulsing, cars streaming, life going on. But for the two of them, everything felt changed. They hadn’t escaped the storm entirely, but they had survived its fiercest gusts.

Wrapped in each other’s arms on that couch, they found a fragile peace—not because they had forgotten the pain, but because they had acknowledged it, felt it fully, and decided to keep moving forward together.

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