#minor comfort at the end if you squint

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Revenge

Notes: Again, pulled this off my phone's notes, and it has been seen by most ppl on the gc, but for anyone else, here you go. I'm sorry, but ISTG high schooollll. . .ughhhhh

TW: blood, death, violence, past trauma, restraints, bone fractures, kidnapping

"I'm not a sadist, no. I don't enjoy the infliction of pain. Especially on innocents. The concept makes me rather sick."

Hero circled the room languidly, in a rather preditorial fashion. "But if I'm being completely honest, I do have a bit of a thirst for revenge."

"Revenge? Who even are you?" his captive asked.

He let out a shrill, cold cackle. "Don't you remember your little nightingale? Your favourite pet?" he spat. He lifted his hood, revealing his face.

And sure enough, it was him. He used to be a skinny, little thing, but now, he towered above him easily, and even though he remained somewhat slender, he obviously had a much stronger build. His face went from being somewhat childlishly soft even in its bony countenance to being harshly contoured with sharp lines. The nightingale had grown up. He wasn't an adult, no. He looked about sixteen, maybe seventeen.

Even if Supervillain was bound harshly to the chair with relentlessly tight ropes, he was determined to have the upper hand. He had a hold on this kid, he'd marked him, scarred him enough, and through all of his pride, he'd made him beg. It didn't matter if the intention was to escape, it still happened. One blissful time. And it was this boy's utter refusal that made him so beautiful to break. It was rarer, scarcer and thus more valuable.

"Oh, so you got all big and strong just to fight me, nightingale? How thoughtful of you!" he chirps with misplaced enthusiasm.

The crime-fighter laughed again, and it almost looked genuine as he wiped tears from his eyes. "Don't give yourself so much credit. You don't occupy that much space in my head. I trained for myself. I got stronger because I wanted to. You didn't inspire anything in me aside from this visceral urge to rip everyone who ever wronged me to shreds. I'm not giving you a taste of your own medicine. I'm giving you a taste of my most bitter poison."

"But you still made the effort to show up, no?"

"I told you. I'm into revenge. It's nothing personal. You're a liability to me. Means to an end. Basically, I'm a bored cat and you're my plaything. You've stripped yourself of the right to be treated like a human being." He shrugged casually as though they were talking about what they liked to order at a coffee shop.

"Well, what lovely activities have you got planned for me, nightingale?" the evil-doer crooned sweetly.

Hero swiftly sliced through the ropes with a knife. He grabbed him by the collar and threw him harshly across the room. He wasted no time on kicking him down roughly with the heel of his boot. He didn't give him any chances to recover. Aiming cruel punches to his face and kicking his ribs so many times he'd practically smashed his entire ribcage. All while the older man let out maniacal laughter.

"What a beautiful show you're putting on! Wondering what you might want with this?" he wheezed.

Cartwheeling and letting his boot smash mercilessly into his chest, the boy let out a downright animalistic snarl. "What I want, is to give you what you ultimately deserve. I was just some kid. Hurt, broken and naïve, and you turned me into a goddamn toy. And maybe sick people like you think it's funny, but none of your victims share the sentiment."

He wheezed again, sputtering blood. "Are you going to kill me, nightingale?" Supervillain let his voice drop down to a stage whisper.

"Of course I will. But this theme park has rules. Can't experience the giant roller coaster without going through all the other rides now can we?" His voice dropped dangerously low, dripping pure venom.

He ended up breaking almost every single bone in his former tormentor's body. All with nothing but his own hands smeared in blood that wasn't his and his feet that were clad in heavy combat boots. And endless cycle of throwing him against the wall "Like a single player game of catch," he'd stated, and he never gave him a chance to breathe, let alone get up.

He'd made sure every movement was an absolute pain. He'd rendered him useless now. If he'd thought he could power through this and break the boy's spirit once more, he was horribly mistaken.

"Nightingale, don't you think you've had enough fun for today?" he rasped out breathlessly, words feeling slow and heavy on his tongue that was now slick with blood.

His-previously-captive-turned-assailant laughed again, a sound almost as grating as nails on a chalkboard. "You better hope God has mercy on you because I don't. I am just a mere human being, lacking God's capacity to forgive atrocities. And this is far too personal."

He pulled out his knife and stabbed him in the chest so many times that he lost count. All the rage, pain, humiliation, just all of it fueled his every hit, blinding him with a flurry of pure, unrelenting hatred, like a monster drunk on its lack of mercy.

"N-never. . .never forget that I broke you before nightingale."

"Oh, and never forget that I built myself up and came back to break you, permanently."

He walked further inside, kicking the rusty himges of the ancient door down to find a little girl, same age as he was when he got taken by that sick freak. She tried to squirm away, useless against her restraints.

"Hey hey hey, relax. I won't hurt you. The man that took you, he's gone now." He crouched down to her level, expression soft and voice soothingly gentle.

"G-gone? When's h-he coming back?"

"Never, sweetheart. He's gone for good."

"Y-you killed him?" she whispered, terrified.

He bit his lip, not wanting to emphasise that he'd just committed first-degree murder to an eleven year old, but he nodded slowly.

He cut through the ropes, trying his best not to freak her out. The child got closer to him slowly, and as if on instinct, she wrapped her arms around his waist, or at least she tried to, and sobbed into his hoodie. He slowly reciprocated, taken aback by the gesture and surprised by how trusting she was. She was probably in shock, the poor kid.

He didn't let go until she did. "Do you remember any of your parents' numbers?" he asked.

"My mum's."

He talked to the mother, explaining exactly what happened as per the child's story. All the while he let the girl, frozen with fear, cling to him as they waited. Whispering words of comfort to try to get her to at least calm down.

After getting the location, she was eternally grateful to him for getting her daughter back.

And that was more than enough to outweigh any inkling of guilt he may have had for killing this psycopath. He'd spared so many kids, not just her, the hell he had been through.

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[razrbladekiss]

CRAVE | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: there’s only one thing that joel craves, and it isn’t the mental fucking torture of an overly stubborn twenty-something teasing him ‘til he’s blue in the face. and balls.

PAIRING: dbf!joel miller x afab!reader. legal unspecified age gap.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT. alcohol consumption. pervy old man joel. reader’s dad (i’ve named him sorrrry) is there before joel gets pervy. some religious themes and also descriptions of religion in a negative light (this is MY experience with christianity, if you do not agree then please don’t read), no explicit smut but descriptions of what joel wants to do to youuuu so: mentions of piv, cock-riding, oral f!receiving, choking if you squint, dirty talk asf, joel being cocky which leads to his cock being sad and alone. reader is cunty. not proof-read ‘cus, once again, i’m a lazy bitch and i don’t have time for that. enjoy. 🫶🏻

An end to craving is an end to suffering.

Today’s last stream of sunlight fulgurates through the branches of your father’s prized Texas Ash, hitting perfectly the dime-sized crucifix situated comfortably between two pert tits sheathed in sheer black cotton.

Joel tries not to stare, but it’s impossible. He’s been watching you all fucking night. Every time you get up, he’s been glued to your ass. Whenever you lean over, Joel can’t seem to pry his eyes away from your cleavage. The more he’s been drinking, the more brazen he’s been with his stolen glances.

When your father rambles about some work-related spiel—and you’re sitting so innocently across the way—he can’t help affixing his eyes to the swell of your breasts. Wondering what it’d be like to touch, and grope, and suck on them.

Your mother was right about him. For all of the years that she knew Joel while your parents were together, she’d always say that he was trouble. A good-for-nothing, splenetic, perverted old-man who was but a bad influence. And you never noticed, never cared. You always thought that he was a great friend, and a stand-up guy.

Until today. Until you saw him scrutinizing your form—in front of your dad—you had a lot more respect for Joel. But now you realize that your mother was right. He is a perv. But—fuck—do you love that.

You’re not sure what you enjoy more—disrespecting your insane Catholic mother, or knowing that Joel is undressing you with his eyes—but you can’t help yourself feeding into his fantasy.

“Daddy?” Your father hums, not entirely bothered by the fact that you’ve just interrupted his conversation. He smiles. “Do you want another beer?”

“Please, hon.” He hands you his empty bottle, mumbling something about how he was going to get himself one and that you don’t need to. But you insist.

The blanket over your thighs is being discarded, hiking your dress up with it. Joel gets a glimpse of your lace panties that he likes to imagine you wore just for him, and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Bare, supple skin is on display as you get up from the deck chair. You turn to him with a prurient twinkle in your eye, and ask if he wants a drink too. “Yeah, another won’t hurt. I’m already pretty—“ he hiccups, “pretty far gone, anyway.”

Dad laughs while you saunter to the cooler and make a big show of bending over, completely unaware of the way Joel is trying to conjure up a plan to get you alone tonight. But then…

“Same ‘ere, bud.” He laughs before he’s nodding toward Joel. “Stay the night, if ‘ya wanna. I mean, you’re in no fit state to drive—none of us are—and I got a spare bedroom.”

His nose scrunches up, as if to decline, before you’re turning around with two unopened beers and a small bottle of wine. Your hand wraps around the neck almost romantically, leaving very little to his imagination.

“Yeah, you might as well stay, Miller.” You put down the beers on the table, still holding firmly the Merlot. “I’m stayin’. I got nowhere to be in the mornin’, and dad bought breakfast stuff.”

Two brown eyes are latched to each of yours, and you feel beads of perspiration roll through the valley of your breasts. Despite the evening cooling down, you’re stifling beneath his unyielding gaze.

“Alright, I’ll stay.” Joel concedes. He takes his can and cracks it open, lifting it up to cheers your father. “S’long as you’re makin’ me breakfast, Gary.”

Dad salutes and you smile, sinking into the purple cushion with a satisfied hum. You ogle Joel, biting fiercely the skin of your bottom lip. And it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel swigs his beer—letting your dad drunkenly ramble—and doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Wondering how he’s going to make you pay for torturing him like this.

But this hadn’t been your intention when Joel showed up to watch the Cowboys v Browns game this afternoon. In fact, him staying past nine o’clock was completely unintentional and if it weren’t for your dad pumping him full of Coors and Old Milwaukee, he’d be fast asleep at this very moment.

He supposes that he doesn’t mind, being here. Especially because he’s buzzed—still able to speak and think coherently, which is surprising—and gets to spend some rare time with you. Even if it is with your dad.

You watch them converse—the way that friends do—admiring how patient Joel is with him despite him being a little bit too inebriated for his own good. He’s the kind of friend that your old man needs; understanding, forbearing. And it baffles you that they’ve not known one another for longer than seven years, but surmise that they’d definitely be best friends in every other timeline because they just work so well.

But it’s the thought of them being friends—brothers—that urges feelings of unease. Trepidation. Gary’ll have a cow if he finds out the way that his so called buddy has been making googly eyes at his little girl’s titties for the last eight hours.

Joel senses the shift in attitude—you’re not teasing him now—and turns the topic of conversation to you. Dad doesn’t mind, though. Never minds talking to—or about—his kid.

“What made you stay in with us oldies tonight, huh?”

Wine is being swiveled around the glass before you take it back in one swig. A grimace flits over your features, but they both catch it.

“Didn’t feel like hittin’ the bars.” Candidly, you say. It’s refreshing. “Can’t be dealin’ with pervy old men tryna touch me.”

Less refreshing.

Joel’s blood runs cold, and you smirk. He swallows thickly the liquid acrimony bubbling from the chasms of his throat. He wants to screw that stupid grin off of your face—stuff his cock straight between those plush lips and throat fuck you ‘til you’re crying and gasping for air.

He just nods instead of saying anything.

“I’ll kill anyone that touches you.” Dad says, not sensing Joel’s sudden frigid state. “Seriously. ‘Specially if it’s an old fuckin’ degenerate asshole—“

“Alright, Gary.” You halt the hate train, pouring the last few dregs of wine into your glass. “No need to get all protective. No old coot is comin’ anywhere near me.”

You look directly at Joel when you say; “old men can’t do what guys my age can, anyway.”

Dad grimaces. Joel scoffs. You can’t help smiling, feeling very proud of yourself.

“Y’know, you’re still my kid? And hearing this shit is nasty.” Your father tells you around a burp, and realizes that this might be the time to call it a night.

He’s never been able to handle his alcohol, especially after being married to your psychotic beer-loathing, hymn-signing, prayer-group-leading, holier-than-though moronic fucking mother.

He lets himself get too drunk too fast, now. Ever since she went back to Kansas—which was totally code for I fucked the priest and got extradited from the church—he’s really let his hair down, and you’d be lying if you said this version of your old man wasn’t the very best. Because he’s living his life the way that he wants to, now.

It’s nice.

“It might be nasty, but ‘least you don’t have to worry about me bringing home a man your age. Or even worse; older.”

Gary gets to his feet—knees clicking and cracking as he does so—and nods. “‘Spose that’s true, kid.”

Joel. Is. So. Fucking. Pissed.

As you say your goodnights—and put on a few lights so that your dad doesn’t trip over his own feet—Joel is mentally counting down the minutes until he gets you alone on this damn patio. He’s determined to make you regret the few little comments that you’ve made tonight.

“Don’t stay up too late. Y’know how cranky ‘ya get with no sleep.” Dad reminds you. “You too, Miller.”

You hum your response, lifting your empty glass and indicating that you’ll be retiring to your room soon, too.

“Night dad.”

“Night, pumpkin.” He turns to Joel. “Make sure she ain’t up too late.”

He nods and shifts his gaze to you, eyes darkening. “Yessir. I’ll put her to sleep.”

Your father grunts and slides the patio door to close. Leaving his daughter and best friend alone together might be the biggest mistake that he’s ever going to make.

Joel watches him intently behind the glass door, heeding him stumble across the tile. He might be about to rearrange your guts, but he at least wants to be courteous.

Your legs squeeze together, for the only sound you hear is the reverberation of Joel’s I’ll put her to sleep in that sexy, beer-slick tone.

He sees it.

“She makin’ ‘ya squirm?”

You blink at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your pussy.” Joel—as candid as ever—elaborates. “Is she flutterin’ ‘cus ‘a me?”

The fallout of a chemical bomb would be much more appealing than having to look Joel in the eye after such a lewd statement.

“Don’t worry if so. I have that effect on the ladies.”

“Makin’ yourself sound like a slut, Miller.” Coolly, you respond. Your hand is reaching for a can of beer, twining fingertips around the base while another pulls the tab.

Two eyes screw shut when a spritz of alcohol is flushing over your face, neck and chest. Droplets of Bud trickle between those perfect tits that Joel’s eyes have almost burned fucking holes into; forcing even the horniest man on planet earth to render himself utterly speechless.

You trail a finger through the valley of your breasts, collecting the sticky liquid before you’re putting it straight into your mouth; sucking it clean. Your eyes are locked on Joel’s.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. The sight before him is truly one to behold; his friend’s sweet daughter with her fingers between her tits out in the patio. Nobody’d ever believe him if he told them this. Joel probably wouldn’t even fucking believe himself.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ’ya?” Is what he says in response. He’s quick witted, you’ll give him that. “My tongue stuck in your pretty little pussy—“

Heat flashes over you.

“You’re fucking vile.”

“Ain’t that the way it’s meant’a be?” He lurches forward, and your eyes travel to the small opening of his shirt’s midsection that highlights perfectly the fact that he hasn’t a base layer beneath the flannel.

You see a small patch of hair; brown, and gray and seems a little fuzzy. It’s a sudden reminder that this man is a smidge too old for you. But you can’t find it in yourself to care very much.

“Don’t think so.” Trying to out-douche him, you respond. Joel’s thick fingers are twined together, hands resting over the peaks of his knees. “Think youre meant’a have some kinda respect for me. Y’know, as my dad’s buddy, ‘n all.”

Joel snorts a laugh.

“I’d have respect for ‘ya, but the way that peachy fuckin’ ass was in the air when ‘ya bent over the cooler tells me that daddy’s ’lil girl is more of a slut than me.”

Your jaw rolls. Reaction: gauged.

He inches nearer to you; slimy grin plastered across rough, rugged features. “Only pullin’ your leg, hon. I know you’re no slut. Too much of a prissy bitch—“

“Oh, really?” Irked, you spit.

Joel nods. Pushing at your buttons has never been much of a difficult feat. It’s something that he quite enjoys, actually.

“Mhm, yeah.” The man is leaning backwards in his chair, now. Arms folded behind his head; hands pressed against his dark curls. “Gonna have to prove that you ain’t like your mama.”

Your blood boils. And then it runs cold.

“Don’t gotta prove shit to you.” You defend. Very defensively.

“No, that’s right. Don’t gotta do nothin’, kiddo.”

You see the outline of his dick as it stiffens within the confines of his dark, navy-denim jeans. He’s actually getting off on this.

“Unless you want to—“

“Nah, I’m good.” You’re leaning back, now, lifting your legs to sit criss cross applesauce. The barely-covering-your-crotch sheer fabric of your thong catches his eye; a glint of something wicked flickers through them as he clears his throat.

If you’re playing the long game, then so is he. He can out-stubborn anybody.

“So I’ve heard.” He jabs, insinuating that you’re a prude. Again. “Can prove ‘em all wrong, if ‘ya wanna.”

It’s killing him, this. It’s torture. But he’s strong. Ish.

You shake your head, reaching for your almost-empty can of beer. You’re taking another long pull, making a dramatic show of tilting your head back and puffing out your chest as you do so. His lips purse.

“I’m good.” You tell him again with a syrupy smile. “Rather we just talk. Y’know—be civilized, ‘n all.”

His arms are moving to the sides of his deck chair, now. Joel’s tongue runs along his bottom lip. He gives a quick bob of his head.

“Yeah, we can talk.” His eyes zone in on your pussy; the engorged wet patch situated on the part of fabric that kind-of clothes your cunt. His mouth waters. “But what’ll we talk about, baby girl?”

Another surge of pleasure oozes out from between your thighs, turning what was once a purple thong into a jet-black one. Joel doesn’t mind, though. The sight is sweet; it’s prurient, in some sick way.

“Hm.” You pretend to think, all the while spreading your legs a little bit more. He sees perfectly the outline of your folds as fabric hugs and highlights the inner workings of your beautiful anatomy. “Why don’t we start with what you’re thinkin’ about, Mr. Miller?”

A weakness of his, that is. You referring to him as Mr. Miller has always gotten him hot. It’s innocent, almost. It’s like that’d been engrained into your brain by the god-fearing fruit-loop that brought you up, and you can’t quit saying it in these situations.

“Oh, doll. Not sure you’ll wanna hear what I’m thinkin’ of.” His tone is rough, now. Like 180 grit sandpaper against the wooden walls inside of your fucking brain. You hum.

Mentally, Joel’s cock is spearing open the tight hole between your legs; making you scream his name. He’s thrusting his prick up into your cervix while you ride him like he’s the last cowboy on earth, desperate to feel a kind of pleasure that no man your age could ever bestow upon you.

In his head, he’s picturing your crucifix dangling in his face while you’re pleasuring yourself on his length; glistening with sweat, and cum, and Sierra Nevada. Howling at his girth, speechless at the size of him.

He wants nothing more than to wrap a hand around the base of your throat and fuck you into next week; feeling damp walls contract and seize around his cock—

“No.” You snap him back to reality; halting his train of thought. “No, you can tell me. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure she can.

“Fine.” He clears his throat. “Just thinkin’ of stufin’ that warm ‘lil cunt with my big ‘ol cock, ‘s’all.”

“Oh, is that all?” Your tone is teasing.

Joel does not like to be teased.

“If you’d shut your fuckin’ mouth, I’d be able to finish.”

In a moment of pure, unapologetic submission, you nod. The skin of your bottom lip is getting fucking gnawed at by your teeth in an attempt to conceal a moan.

It works. Kind of.

“What was I sayin’…” He strives to recall his last few words; and then he remembers. “Oh, yeah. Stretchin’ out that cute pussy ‘a yours.”

That cute pussy ‘a yours, is twitching. Fuck that, it’s pulsating.

“And you’re so sure of that? You being able to stretch me out, I mean.”

“Dead sure, angel face.” He quips. “I know for a damn fact that you’d be havin’ trouble takin’ my fat cock all in one go; be cryin’ for everyone to hear.”

Through long, thick lashes, you stare at him.

“You’d be seein’ stars; and not just the ones above us right now.”

You look up to the sky and hope to alleviate some of the mental pain being bestowed upon you right now. Which is entirely your own doing, of course.

Joel shifts in his seat so that he’s a little bit more sunken, able to heed clearly the sickly sweetness blanketing the chair you’re on.

“I’ll eat your pussy, too.”

Your attention is snapped back down to Joel, now. Your brows raise.

“Suck your soul right out from between your legs.”

“Oh, Joel.” You moan, a little. He lets his eyes shut for a brief moment, only to open them again to find you taking off your panties.

It’s like Christmas fucking day, this.

“I’d love for you to take me right here; fill me up on one ‘a the sunloungers.” You’re getting off your chair, and Joel’s heart is starting to pound within the chasms of his chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You’re walking toward him; thong in hand. Fingers wreathed through soaked purple cotton.

“Can’t think of anything that’ll bring me more pleasure than you fuckin’ me ‘til I’m crying. Or gasping for air.”

“You ‘n me both, beautiful.”

You smile. You give Joel your underwear, before you’re running your fingers through his hair and he’s letting a hand glide up the meat of your thigh and beneath your skirt.

“Just a shame, ain’t it.”

“What’s a shame, sugar?”

The feeling of his fingertips—calloused and covered in rough skin—is almost orgasmic. But you’re stronger than what he is. So you pull yourself away from his hold, and begin to feel an unwavering sense of need. You shirk it, though.

You’re leaning into him now, breasts pressed against his shoulder, lips touching the shell of his ear. Goosebumps prickle over his neck and you assume that they’re making their way down south, too.

“Huh?” He says to get your attention, for you still haven’t answered. “What’s a shame?”

Fingertips trace over broad shoulders enveloped in soft, warm flannel. You’re leaning closer; hot breath on his skin. Your lips part to whisper:

“If daddy ever found out about this, he’d kill ‘ya.”

“Baby—“

You’re taking the panties from his hand, and tucking them into the breast pocket of his shirt. Fighting a blush—feeling very proud of yourself—your face remains straight.

You tap at his chest and walk away, but not before throwing a “night, Miller” over your shoulder.

Joel looks down at the ground, presently wallowing in some sort of self-pity. But then remembers the visible effect that his words had—and the way he looked at—you, and he can’t fight the stupid fucking grin pushing its way onto his face.

He might’ve just experienced blue-balls at his big age, but to see you submit to his gaze was absolutely worth it.

He just hopes you’ll never tell a soul about his dirty-talk. He has a reputation to uphold, these days.

[becgenius]

bolted - sylus x reader

three weeks after you had broken up with sylus, you run into each other at a gala. his issue, however, is the fact that you came with a date. 

!! nsfw, smut, fem!reader, exes to lovers, pwp, 18+

!!! not set in l&ds universe, reader not mc, pet names, cursing, might be angsty idk, jealousy, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, mirror sex, dirty talk, teasing, hair pulling, creampie, unprotected sex, fluff if u squint really hard, lightly proofread

wc. 2.4k

reblogs appreciated!

nsfw under the cut. minors dni

For the months you were dating Sylus, every one of your Friday nights had been reserved. Your own weekly ritual of being dressed in matching designer brands and attending various events: corporate galas, charity balls, and black-tie parties, to name a few. 

For the past three weeks, every one of your Friday nights has been spent alone, completely free of plans. 

Three Fridays have passed since you have shown your face at the social gatherings you so frequently attended. Three Fridays have passed since you officially broke up with Sylus. 

Admittedly not your wisest decision. Sylus was a man of endless wealth, influence, and power. Your own status in society is not at all insignificant; but there is a part of you that still feels inferior.

Because you heard the cruel gossip about your relationship behind your back: whispers of she doesn’t belong here and Sylus would be better off with me. Because you felt as though you were holding him back. Because you were scared that he would be the one to leave first. And though you love him, you left because he deserves someone better. 

But for the first time in three Fridays, you finally allow yourself to regret leaving. You allow yourself to miss your comfortable routine: Sylus buying an entirely new outfit for you to wear, sneaking out of parties together long before they were set to conclude, and ending the night on your couch with whichever takeout meal and show fit your mood that night.

The only reason you have the strength to drag yourself out of your weeks-long slump now is because of the invitation you received not long ago from some gentleman in your network, asking you to accompany him to tonight’s event: a fundraising gala at one of the city’s many national museums.

Of course, you have absolutely no interest in entertaining the man who invited you, you only know for certain that you would see Sylus tonight. 

It doesn’t take long for you to lose your date. As adamant as he was about getting you to go with him, he proved himself to be quite inattentive now that he had gotten your agreement. 

You are by yourself now, in spite of the crowd of event-goers drifting around where you stand in the extravagant ballroom, moving from one conversation to another.

The heels you wear add a few inches to your height. Not enough, however, as you can hardly see over the head of whichever wealthy socialite is in front of you.

You’re embarrassed to acknowledge the growing disappointment brewing in your chest as you fail to spot a familiar head of white hair. 

Never mind the embarrassment of admitting that you are here for Sylus in the first place. You were the one that ended things, after all. What would you even say to him if you do happen to run into one another? Maybe seeing him would be enough. Enough for what? This was a bad idea, you begin to think. 

That is, until you are suddenly very aware of Sylus’ presence. 

It is first the undeniable heat radiating from something, someone, behind you. It’s then the penetrating scent of bourbon and cinnamon invading your senses. Rather, the scent of trouble. 

“Looking for someone, Kitten?” It is finally his rich, husky voice that breaks through the crowd. Your heart skips a beat. 

You don’t give him the satisfaction of turning to face him just yet. “I’m not your kitten.”

“Oh? But you are, don’t forget.” His voice becomes dangerous, and his sly hand sneaks itself around your waist from behind, “Done running away from me yet?” 

Sighing, you turn, simultaneously facing him and shifting just enough to make his hand slip away.

“What do you want, Sylus?”

"You've always given me so much attitude.." He ignores your question. If he notices the desperation in your tone, he doesn’t show it. “Are you having fun going about your night with your arm around that moron?”

“He’s not a moron. And yes, I’m having plenty of fun, not that it’s of your concern.” You don’t know why you feel the need to defend your date or why you feel the need to lie to Sylus. After all, you weren’t having fun. 

“Lies,” he immediately accuses. “Do not think that I have forgotten what you look like when you are being dishonest with me. Especially when you are doing so in an outfit that I bought you myself.”

The low purr of his voice easily sends shivers down your spine. He had gotten nearer as he spoke, his face now mere inches from your own, his eyes bearing into yours. 

“Everything you do concerns me.” He comes impossibly closer, speaking directly into your ear now. “Besides, anybody here can tell, Sweetie, you are too out of that idiot’s league. Not your wisest decision.”

Sylus is right. No one can miss how your date’s eyes unfocus, zoned out, whenever you speak. Or how he never introduces you when he goes to greet the other party guests. He hadn’t even noticed you leaving his side and blending into the crowd just moments ago. 

“I could say the same for you.” You counter. He pulls back, curious, “you don’t seem all that interested in your date either, and she’s your type, isn’t she.” 

You don’t hide the fact that you’ve seen the various magazine articles and social media posts, all featuring Sylus and the new woman by his side as the main image. She’s obviously gorgeous. And, you discover with a quick web search, is also from an extremely well-off family with much more influence than you could imagine.

Though you hadn’t seen her tonight, you don’t need to be a genius to figure out that Sylus is here with her tonight as well. 

“I have no romantic feelings towards that woman, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“But you’re still here with her.”

“She isn’t you, you know.”

“I didn’t know that mattered.”

Now it’s his turn to sigh at you. His turn to be the defeated one.

“Come home, Y/n,” his voice nearly begging as he gets straight to the point, “it’s always been you.”

How could you bring yourself to deny him like this?

You don’t know if it was Sylus’ persuasiveness or your own willingness to go back to being his that brought you to where you are now: locked inside one of the museum’s many private restrooms, the noises of music and chatter from the party now a distant murmur. 

You’re also: bent over the bathroom’s sink, thanks to Sylus, with the skirt of your dress hiked up to your waist and your underwear pushed down around your knees.

“Sylus,” you whine, your legs feel weak with each lick he makes to your pussy. 

“Keep still.” He commands, tightening the grip on both of your thighs that both kept you in place aa well as spread out for him. 

“You taste so fucking good, Baby.” He doesn’t move away to speak and the breath from his hot mouth stays directly on your cunt as he does so, the heat eliciting a loud moan from you. 

His tongue fucks into your hole from where he is crouched behind your open legs. The squelch of your arousal on his tongue and your moans fill the quiet atmosphere of the bathroom. 

You feel him chuckle behind you before feeling the cold air hit your wet core at the sudden loss of contact. 

“Y’know, for someone who was just playing so hard to get, you’re really enjoying this aren’t you, Kitten?” He teases, and though he stopped eating you out, his hands keep their position on your thighs, massaging them up and down. 

“Shut up.” You push yourself back so that you were practically sat on his face. He, thankfully, doesn’t object and gives your clit some much needed attention, sucking hard.

You can feel your climax sneaking up on you and so can Sylus, recognizing the way your moans got breathy and the way you clenched around him when he inserts his fingers into you, intensifying the pressure between your thighs. 

He continues sucking your clit, lightly grazing his teeth on your sensitive bud. The stimulation startles you at first, he’s never done this before, but it soon turns into euphoria as the pain mixes with pleasure. 

It all becomes too much for you and your walls finally come crashing down on Sylus’ tongue. He takes you through your orgasm, making it last as long as possible, until you couldn’t hold yourself up any longer. 

He’s quick to get up on his feet behind you. You immediately come to his understanding and slouch against him, letting him hold up all your weight. 

“Look at us,” he gestures to your reflections in the mirror. You’re a mess: your dress straps cling to your upper arms and your face is covered in bliss. Sylus nonetheless towers tall behind you, annoyingly put together as he always is. “It’s like nothing ever changed between us, hm?” 

You have to agree with him. The sight is not new to you, and you’re overcome with a sense of fondness for all the times you’ve stood like this before. 

On the outside, your physical states are pure opposites. However, you know that right now, Sylus is as aroused as you are. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that he has yet to come. 

Still in your post-orgasmic haze, you try your best to reach behind you to where you assume his crotch is. 

“Already can’t get enough, Dear?” He teases you but even so, he moves back and pulls out his dick from his pants, simultaneously guiding your body so you’re bent over in the same position you were previously in and sliding his erection between your folds from behind. 

“Relax. You can take it,” he coos before slamming into your walls without warning. 

“Sylus!” You gasp at the intrusion. It’s a miracle that you even have the effort to scream his name, it was as if all your breath was taken away.

“Still so goddamn tight as I remember, Sweetie, I thought I told you to relax?” He begins to hammer his dick into your pussy, not sparing you and your sensitivity at all. You squeeze your eyes shut, and your moans and yelps with each thrust fill the room.

“Sy, ‘s too much!”

“You can handle it. After all, you wanted this.” His tip finds your g-spot and hits it at that same brutal pace. “Are you still thinking about that asshole that you came here with? Hm? Even as im fucking you like this? Have you forgotten him yet?” 

In the midst of being fucked, it takes you a second to figure out what, or who, he’s talking about. The truth is that you had forgotten all about the other man once you entered the seclusion of the bathroom you are now in. You don’t get a chance to reply before he continues.

“Can he fuck you like I do? Do you think of me when he’s this deep inside of you?”

Your eyes widen at the crudeness of his words. 

“I- never- we don’t-!” You’re quick to deny his accusations, albeit struggling to get the words out between moans. 

“Spit it out, Princess. Are you saying he doesn’t fuck you at all?” His hips smack against yours, hard this time. “Or are you saying that his dick can’t go deep like mine can?”

As he interrogates you, a hand reaches down between your thighs and begins circling your clit. The stimulation is all too much, and you’re still unable to properly speak. 

“Sylus-”

He takes a fistful of your hair and nudges your head up, forcing you to face the incriminating scene reflected in the mirror. “Answer me.”

You watch yourself shake your head rapidly, still being held up from your hair. “No! It’s not like that.. He and I never did it..”

“Oh yeah?” He still has the same smirk from earlier in the night on his face, but now his eyes are shrouded in a devious darkness. “That’s a good girl. If I had found out that he fucked you I might’ve had to kill him.”

He snorts, seeing your shocked expression. “I’m kidding sweetie,” he clarifies. Sylus then lets go of his hold on your hair and your head falls forward with more of his thrusts. “Now keep being my good girl and come for me.”

The exchange is pushed to the back of your mind and you’re reminded of the physical situation that you’re in.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your whole body jerks up and down from bouncing back from his. 

You uncontrollably spasm as you cream around Sylus’ dick, squeezing around him just right. Overstimulated, your jaw hangs open as screams burst from your throat. Afterwards, you become fully limp in his hold.

“Fuck. So fuckin’ noisy, huh? You’re doing so good for me, sweet girl..”

You feel the exact moment he reaches his climax. He thrusts himself one last time into your sore cunt before you’re filled with his cum. 

You stay there for a while, neither of you bothering to move. 

After what feels like hours of standing still, Sylus finally pulls out of you. And last moan escapes your lips as he does so. 

He kneels, pulling up your panties from their bunched up state around your ankles to over your sopping hole before any semen could leak out. 

“You think you can keep it inside until we get home?” He asks before leaving a kiss on your clothed cunt and standing to fix your dress, erasing any evidence of your sexual encounter. 

“And when are we getting home, exactly?” You don’t comment on the fact that he said ‘home’ as if it was the same place for you. As if nothing had happened between you two. You don’t comment because you want both of those things to be true. 

“Now.” It isn’t a suggestion, nor a question, but a statement. 

“Wait, you’re not staying until the gala ends?”

“No, Sweetie. We’re not staying until the gala ends.” He laughs as if it’s obvious, “we both know that I could buy out this whole fundraiser if I wanted to.”

“What about our dates?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re my date, and I’m yours.” 

[briseroyawritingsblog]

𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 — 𝑨𝑼

𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒓!𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

• +21 minors do not interact. this is actually taboo, mutual flirtation, desire, inappropriate thoughts, large age gap, heavy kissing, professor is so horny in this (beware), darkish AU, light stalking (if you squint) mutual pining (little) mentions of rough sex, thinking of unprotected sex.

𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 / 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

dividers by @anitalenia

Yes it happened, he’d overwork so he didn’t have to return home. That home of his was nothing but cold, empty, and lonely. Another evening of sitting in his office and marking the last semester papers. He’d secretly drink some whiskey out of a coffee cup and remove his shoes to feel comfortable. Stretching his limbs he’d sigh and think what happened to his life. Children grown up and wife somewhere out there with a new man. Yes- divorce was messy but at the end the feeling in his chest could’ve been compared to elation, maybe freedom. Divorces ended up being messy because of the heartbreak but man in his age? He desired peace- adjusting the reading specs on the bridge of his nose and sighed coming across your semesters quiz. Naturally loving the way you curved the font of your name on his papers. Reading your essay only to the half way and marking it ‘excellent’ because to be truthful you were a very creative writer. Thoughts drifting to many places as he touched the coffee cup to sip on his whiskey. He could also definitely just retire because being a teacher in his late 50’s was quite challenging. Not because of the age range, he lost patience. Yes… it happened. Secretly hating his colleagues guts, but oh god when he saw you… there it was. The weak spot- what he liked the most that you’d always catch his gaze. Sitting at the back of the classroom leaning on your elbow and catch his gaze. Seeing you press your thighs together under the desk, at the praise he gave you for your test results. He liked praising you.

Being newly enrolled, finding new friends which you did instantly and they were cool people. Sharing mutual interests and forming a little study sessions in the library. It was honestly so good. But the moment you saw him passing by holding that green smoothie in his hand from cafeteria you loved so much. You caught yourself staring, goodness he was tall. That hair slicked back, and the specs, your chest felt like giving up. A breath caught in your throat as he locked his eyes with yours. Gripping the book against your chest you ran up to him “Mr..” stilling his feet he acknowledged you “Y/N” a smile greeting his features and you grew weak in your knees. Secrets… secrets again. You had tons of them. “Did they have any different flavors?” You pointed at his smoothie and he chuckled shrugging. “I’m not entirely sure, but this one caught my eye today.” You nodded “it’s pretty great. I get it all the time.” He moistened his lips as you spoke. “Oh don’t say, that good?” Bringing the straw to his lips he tasted it. The sweet flavors leaving his tastebuds dancing. “Very healthy, it’s sweet” he hummed. “Walk with me?” He motioned to his office at the end of the corridor. Your heart needed to calm down because god, you couldn’t stop the feelings. Holding the book against your chest forgetting about your study session and your friends soon finding yourself sitting in his office. Leaning back against his chair he sighed. Finally having you for himself- it’s been days since he last time saw you. “Read your essay, i must say it’s amazing” he praised. “Really? You think it’s good?” You relaxed your shoulders taking a breath. “I know it’s very good, you don’t have to study so hard in that library you already have it.” Answering you with so much confidence your attraction level towards him spiked off the roof. “Thank you Sir..” you smiled, eyes sparkling. “Most welcome” the Sir part definitely surged through his body and straight to his cock. You had no idea…

Throwing his briefcase on the passengers seat, it was time to go home but he didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to walk into that cold empty house alone. Maybe divorce was fine but he didn’t expect to feel so goddamn lonely whenever he was at home. He could eat out, join his awful work colleagues because they constantly invited him. About to start his car he noticed you running across the road, he leaned back in his drivers seat adjusting his specs, your skirt bounced as you ran flashing him a sight of your thighs. You got in the car with a man he figured it’s your father. How much he wanted to drive you home, maybe hold your inner thigh with one hands and maybe- only maybe touch that sweet pussy of yours. He would trace your little folds and make them wet. He wanted to fit his cock right between those folds and fuck it until you’d cry for him to stop. Maybe a little rougher- maybe causing you a little lust filled pain. Snapping his hips right into you, faster and faster gripping you around your neck. These thoughts ran through his mind, making his cock heavy in his dress pants. Hissing softly as he touched his growing cock through his pants shifting in his seat, god he hated this. He hated not having you for himself and pound that little pussy of yours at every chance he’d be able to. Fill you right up with his cum, and stuff it back in you as it would leak out of you.

Seeing your professor sitting in his car, on the other side of the car park you waved. He seemed to be looking down perhaps reading something- and in fact yes he was reading a book because what else he’d have to do to make his little ‘problem’ suffice away. You told your father that you’d rather walk, the car park was nearly empty and it was getting dark maybe it was your chance to tell your professor about your new story what you were writing. No harm in that right? Getting out of your father’s car waving him goodbye, you ran back across the road to your professors car gently knocking on his window. He looked up, and god his heart sunk in surprise seeing you there. Sliding his window down slowly you stuttered at first “I-I just saw you sitting here thinking you were reading and yes you’re.” He nodded slowly masking the awful need in the pit of his stomach. “Hop in.” You excitedly did- getting on his passengers seat. “It’s actually a novel by my favourite author.” Handing you the book locking the doors. You eagerly read the info about the plot and bit your lower lip. “Have it. It’s from my library at home, I really don’t borrow books from the campus.” Your eyes grew wide. “Really?! I can read it?” He smiled nodding. “Of course! Give it back once you finish.” Your heart thumping against your chest cavity not containing yourself anymore kissing his cheek telling him endless thank you’s. Closing his eyes the moment your lips touched his cheek his breath hitched. He chuckled lightly giving your hand a gentle squeeze. Then it hit you- you kissed your professor even though it was not allowed at all you felt like breaking the rules. “I can show you.. the book, umm- in my home.” He offered, and you swallowed. Was this happening? Really? “I - I cannot accept it Sir. Honestly.. you’re too sweet.” He hummed at your words but not saying anything. “What if I like being sweet with you?” He then answered. Your cheeks deepened in red, lord… what on earth was happening to you?

“First editions? First official printings?” You gazed in utter awe tracing the books in his library. He was leaning against his table, arms folded in his chest. “What’s this?” You asked innocently trying to reach for a book much higher not aware that your professor was sweet enough to sneak up behind you reaching for it your hands touching. Alone just you two in his house. Tilting your head towards him your faces inches apart, your heart was jumping and juddering in your chest as his cologne hit your nose. It was woodsy, hint of spiciness, perhaps even a little tiny bit floral. “Here” whispering taking a whiff of your hair. “I should go-” you realized that this hole you were about to fall into would be hard to get out of. “So soon?” He whispered giving you some of his warmth, his chest pressing to your back. Warmth radiating from his body- your lips parted. Dropping the book by your two feet turning around his large hands capturing your ribs. Leaning down his mouth was on yours kissing you fiercefully. You moaned gaining him the access to your tongue and he kissed the hell out of you. Wet kisses, full of cravings and desire painting your soul in reds and oranges. Your hands finding rest on his back as you indulged yourself in the warm feeling, his large body pressing you against the books his hand hiking your thigh around his waist. The way your tongues glided and touched in your mouths the saliva strings connecting your mouths as you both hungrily kissed again and again moaning in sweet lust. Tilting his face to one side as he devoured your lips, you couldn’t stop the mewls which escaped you making his cock possibly harder. Your panties getting in twist pussy leaking with wetness drenching your own panties you both found pace rubbing against each other. The rough material of his belt buckle giving your clit a cold touch causing you gasping for air against his lips and his large hand gripped the back of your neck. His grunts and groans, surged through you. “S-Sir” gasping at the neck kisses wrapping your arm around his neck pulling him down on you feeling his kisses on your soul. His arms wrapped around you “let me make you feel good angel, i wanna take good care of you” your brain was telling you to stop heart telling you to give yourself to the man who was so passionately ravishing your mouth. Your body betraying you- you were so lost. “Been needing you so much lately” admitting all these things while touching your body in ways hand on your breast kissing your chest sniffing you his thumb circling your hardened peak through your bra and blouse. Your hands holding his back, wanting him all over you. “M’so scared this is not allowed but I want you” admitting making him kiss you passionately touching your pussy through your panties. Those kisses and touches were unforgettable that’s why it took you everything to gently push him away and run out of his house with tears spilling down your cheeks because this was not allowed. You might’ve loved your professor yes and he might have loved you back- but this could not happen at all. Wiping your tears with the back of your sleeve you ran as fast as you could. Even though your heart hurt immensely- you both knew you’d steal moments to be together.

My secret lover… my secret- only mine. “To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.”

-

(Apologies for any mistakes and typos in advance)

[qlossytbh]

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 in which you and spencer almost say i love you four times and one time where you actually do.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 16+ minors dni!, fem!reader, established relationship, spencer is down bad, so is reader tho, idiots in love, they’re both lowkey rlly hormonal bro, pet names (love, handsome), this one’s a rollercoaster, fluff, angst, lots of suggestiveness because reader likes to tease lol, allusions to smut (didn’t actually write it tho sorry!) fighting, spencer kinda acts like a bitch, makeoutshesh, mentions of reader being insecure of her physical appearance, mentions of typical cm content, mentions of blood, mentions of reader getting hurt, protective!spencer, derek and reader have a cute friendship, lots of mentions of maeve so spoilers on that end, pls let me know if i forgot anything!!!,

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 8.1k (damn)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 so i had many cute loose concepts and i kinda meshed it all into one fic. this is also loosely based on birds of a feather by billie eilish! im in love with this piece ugh

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The first time

“You look different,” Derek mumbled, mostly to himself, but loud enough to catch on. You turned towards his voice. The only thing different was that Hotch had let you come in later than your usual schedule since you had a random doctor's appointment— Oh, and the recently purchased light-blue button up you were wearing.

Your brows furrowed at Derek, one hand adjusting the strap of the purse that hung loosely on your shoulder as a light brown bag sat comfortably in the other. “Different..?”

Emily followed Derek, joining in as she glanced over at you from her own respective desk. “Actually he’s right,”

“I’m wearing a new shirt..?” You fiddled with the first button of your shirt, pursing your lips in bewilderment.

“No—“ Emily squinted at you. “It’s something else..”

Your mouth hung slightly open, not really sure how to respond to their prying eyes. They both were glancing at you, then at each other, then you again, but this time up and down—

“I hope it’s a good difference,” You commented as you waltzed past them and towards your boyfriend's desk. Spencer was hunched over at his desk, eyes practically burning holes into the files that sat in front of him.

His lips were pursed familiarly, just like he always did when he was so concentrated, along with the familiar furrow in his brow. His hair was tousled, a strand or two falling flat in front of his forehead. He looked so good it made you dizzy.

An instinctive smile had already reached your face once you made it to his desk. You leaned over him, slapping the brown bag on top of the files he was reading. He flinched slightly, but nevertheless, was finally pulled out of his deep concentration pool. You placed your palms on his shoulders, running them down his chest as you leaned over to hug him from behind.

You placed a kiss underneath his ear. “Hi handsome,”

He sank in his desk, realizing it was only just you and immediately easing. He hummed placidly, entranced by the sound of your sickeningly sweet voice. You pulled away to which he took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder at you.

You gave him a soft smile, one you used that made his heart soar. How your eyes grew lenient and lips curved gently upwards as you scanned as much of his features as your brain could possibly take in.

You placed both hands on his shoulder and nudged your chin towards the bag. “Brought you your favorite,”

His hands were already on the bag before you could say anything else and when he looked inside he was in fact correct on his suspicions when he saw two chocolate sprinkled doughnuts.

They smelled heavenly and he knew they were enough to cure his very major and very much present sweet tooth he had woken up with this morning. A large uncontrollable smile slapped right onto his face as he opened his mouth. “I—“

He stopped, clamping his mouth shut abruptly.

Thank god. He swallowed those three words that had nearly left his mouth, pushing them right back into the back of his throat before the damage could be done.

It wouldn’t necessarily be the first time this week where he let the confession accidentally slip. He realized that as of recently, he would catch himself with more and more of a necessity to tell you how he felt.

The two of you started seeing each other romantically about six months back. It was completely out of nowhere when he asked you out for the first time. The second— and third, and fourth and continuing times after were more than expected.

It didn’t take much for the two of you to realize how much of an importance the other partook in your day to day basis, even despite being friends for so long prior to the dating.

And everyday he saw you he felt this big tightening in his chest that made it actually impossible for him to breathe. He felt all this pent up emotion that was getting harder for him to manage with every passing day.

It scared him, how much he cared about you. How much he wanted you to be a part of his everyday life and how much he wanted to tell you how it made him feel— how you made him feel.

But that fear was exactly the reason why he’d clamp his mouth shut every single time he felt like he wanted to tell you.

“I—uhm,” He cleared his throat. “Thank you, really I—“

You watched him, titling your head to the side with a prying gaze. “Have I ever told you how amazingly perfect you are?”

You purse your lips, leaning over his shoulder and pretending to be deep in thought. “I’m not sure— I think you’re gonna need to jog up my memory.”

He shook his head, huffing a laugh as you leaned down and pressing a long kiss onto his lips. You hummed in contentment, feeling the fuzziness in your chest reach every nerve in your body.

“Hey,” You pulled away, glaring over at Derek from Spencer’s desk. “Calm your hormones or I’m telling Hotch to hit HR up,”

“Actually hormones aren’t something you can consciously control, they’re a biological response to situations we find—“ Spencer quipped, earning a loud groan from Morgan.

You rolled your eyes, looking down at Spencer and reaching a hand up, running it ploddingly through his thick brown curls. “Are you coming over tonight?”

He nodded. “Yeah,”

“Looking forward to it,” You pecked his lips once more. Before rounding his desk and making a b-line for your own.

Spencer scanned you up and down as you waltzed away, not realizing you were wearing the shirt you bought last weekend. The one that enhanced the beauty of your hair and skin color, mapping a perfect picture he wanted to get lost looking at. He also couldn’t fail to avoid the way the shirt deliciously hugged every curve and bump your body had to offer. And those dress pants—

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning internally. He then thumped his forehead onto his desk, cheeks blazing with heat, knowing he was more screwed than anyone in this whole building, a lost cause if you will.

As you strutted past Derek and Emily’s desk towards your own, Emily gasped loudly. “I think I finally got it,”

“Yeah, I completely agree with you,” Derek followed. You looked at them both quizzically.

“Could it be?— No,” Emily gasped once again and you immediately noticed that it was fake, alarming you of whatever game they were getting at.

“Yeah, I think it’s finally happened.” Derek leaned back in his chair, clicking his tongue and smirking over at you. “Pretty girl here is in love,”

Your cheeks turned hot, as your eyebrows shot up defensively. “What?”

Derek liked to say the two of you were still in your ‘honeymoon phase’ and you couldn’t disagree with him— it was the most accurate description of your relationship with Spencer.

But saying in love triggered something— physically and emotionally.

“No wonder she looks so different,” Emily tutted. “She’s got that ‘happy in love’ glow to her.”

“Shut up,” You have the strap of your purse on a death grip as you opened your mouth to protest but failed miserably as all the words died in the back of your throat. Thank god Spencer seemed preoccupied with the donut you had just given him.

“I’m—“ You shuffled, slapping yourself internally. Way to give it away. “You guys need to find a better hobby.”

And with blazing cheeks, a dry throat and a concerning pattering heart blaring against your throat, you stalked your way back to your desk.

The second time

“But that isn’t fair Spencer!” You groaned, gripping your bag as if your life depended on it. “You can’t expect to save everyone and then blame yourself when it doesn’t go well,”

There had been a sensitive case today, clearly an unsuccessful one. Spencer, like usual, jumped at the first opportunity to start blaming himself— for not being quicker, for not being smarter.. Whatever reason he could nitpick at, he was currently doing so.

You tore your purse off your body and tossed it into a small basket by your front door. You roughly tore your heels off, slightly relieved at the feeling off the palms of your feet on the wooden floor.

“There were flaws in the profile— flaws in the geographical profile,” He huffed, frustrated, filling every fiber of his words. He tore his satchel off his body, grabbing his files from it prior and slapping them onto your coffee table. “We couldn’t even correctly pinpoint the Unsubs M.O before he started sadistically killing again, we couldn’t—“

You felt for him, you truly did. Spencer was one of the most kind hearted, considerate people you knew, but that came with a lot of self-demands. He had to be everything at once, and be there for everyone at once and if he didn’t reach the bar he’d set up for himself, this would happen.

He pushed past you and towards your kitchen. “Spence, we aren’t going to solve every case, no matter how good our work may be.”

“You think I don’t know that? The average percent of homicides cleared or "solved" is 60 to 65 but around 35 to 40 percent go unsolved.” You opened your fridge, grabbing a pitcher of water and grabbing a glass from your cabinet as you listened to Spencer.

“35 to 40 percent, do you know how high that is?!” He stressed. You realized his irritation was heavy because he was reaching his peak of rambling.

Spencer just couldn’t stand when things like this happened. When people did horrible things and got the luxury of roaming free— he couldn’t help but feel like he was at fault for that. If he was just quicker, or smarter maybe they would’ve caught whatever bastard was terrorizing people.

“I know you know that!” You huffed a breath of frustration. “But that’s the way this job works Spence!”

“What would you know about how this job works?” He turned, hot on his heels, facing you with an indescribable exasperation pooling around his eyes.

You stopped in your tracks, looking up at him sharply and setting the still empty glass of water and pitcher back onto the table “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes were deeply upset— cold and hard and so much different from the soft and welcoming gaze of your partner. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about being a profiler. You joined the team around three years after the rest of us.”

You stared at him with incredulity. When in a relationship with somebody, as well as learning all of their admirable virtues, you also learn their defects. And one of Spencer’s defects was that he had no filter whatsoever when he got angry. He just said the first thing that came to mind and spit it out and towards whichever person was unlucky enough to fall victim.

Not that the two of you fought often because you quite literally never did— but you’d see him pissed at people and his petty side sometimes felt the need to make an appearance.

You, however, had never had to experience this firsthand. You’d seen it happen at work, with JJ, with Derek, with the press. But two of you had never spoken to each other the way you were doing now. And if he thought you were gonna let him slide, he’s got another thing coming.

“What about Rossi?” You challenged as you crossed your arms across your chest. “I was accepted into the team just months after he was, you’re gonna tell him he wouldn’t know the first thing about being a profiler?”

“That’s different—“

“How?” Your veins were pumping with adrenaline. Your fingers shook violently, and the back of your throat suddenly burned with the need to cry. “I had jobs before getting called into the BAU, and I busted my ass off in college—“

“It’s not the same!” He spat. “You had never worked with the team before, it took you months to learn how we processed things, how we handled them.”

You could visually see Spencer bite down on his tongue only now attempting to reel himself down back to earth. And if you didn’t know him better, you wouldn’t be able to recognize the identifiable regret that appeared in his eyes while you continued on.

“And who are you to hold that against me Spencer?”

He swallowed thickly and let out a heavy sigh. You ran a frustrated hand through your curled hair. “All i’m saying is that—“

“I know what this job is like, which is why I’m telling you to get out of your goddamn head.” You didn’t scream at him, but there was a firmness in your voice that could scare practically anyone off.

“The things that have happened, happened today or will happen are never going to be in our control,” You told him. “Never.”

“Just because you’re angry and pissed does not give you a free card to attack me,” You slammed the glass cup onto the counter and pushed past him, making your way out of the kitchen. Spencer didn’t follow you to your room, he knew it wasn’t a smart idea.

So as your bedroom door slammed shut, he stalked over to your couch, opening up the paper files onto your coffee table, and rerunning them once again. He wasn’t able to concentrate at all though, knowing you were in the other room tossed in bed and probably crying because of him.

A few long hours later, Spencer closed his files and looked over towards your door. There had been no noise emitted whatsoever from your room, which he wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

He felt like an idiot. Presumably so, he was so stupid for just lashing out like that on you. Your intentions were never ill intended, yet he still pushed you away and he hated himself for that.

He stood up, making his way into your kitchen and grabbing the empty glass. He poured some water into it and went over to your door.

You were lying down, blankets wrapped around you protectively as your back faced him. He couldn’t help but smile, feeling the endearment tighten in his chest.

You stirred in your sleep as the bed sunk beside you, groaning softly. Spencer hovered over you, setting down the glass of water on the nightstand beside your head.

“Hey,” His voice was very soft, maybe even enough to send you back into the nap you were in— until you remembered what had happened earlier and thought that maybe talking to him was a better idea.

Your eyes burned and your head hurt. You sniffed away the buildup that the crying had caused. You then blinked away the grogginess from your eyes, along with the slight burning sensation due to the tears you had shed earlier. “Hey,”

Your sleepy voice was enough to send Spencer into a whirlwind. It tugged at the strings of his heart and all he wanted to do right now was grab you in his arms and hold you there forever.

He laid on his side beside you, running a soft hand across your arm with the encouragement for you to turn around and face him.

A slight sense of anxiety was coursing through him. He was scared that a part of you was still mad at the way he spoke to you, and the worst part was that he couldn’t blame you, because he had in fact acted like an idiot.

You blinked up at him from over your shoulder. “What time is it?”

“Around nine?” You hummed, flipping on your side and turning to face him. Spencer slapped at the nerves inside him and shifted slightly in his position.

“Hey,” He reached his hand over to yours and intertwined his fingers with your own. “Were you crying?”

“Yeah,” His tone hadn’t been patronizing or ridicule intended, it was more so concerned. You reached up to rub your eye.“You were pretty fucking mean.”

Spencer wanted to kick himself. Truly. There wasn’t anything else to say but how utterly stupid he had been for causing you any type of harm when his main promise was to prevent you from any of it.

“You should drink some water,” He lifted himself up by his elbow, hovering over you again and reaching for the glass.

“I’m not thirsty,” You mumbled, snuggling closer into your pillow.

“You should still drink love, you haven’t had a single drop of water since we got here and you’re probably dehydrated,” You didn’t look at him. “I added those watermelon electrolytes you like so much.”

You peered at the glass, suddenly feeling deathly thirsty. With a huff, you reached for the glass. “Fine,”

You downed the whole drink in a matter of seconds, melting at the taste of the sweet watermelon tartness on your tongue. Once you finished the glass, you handed it back to Spencer who set it on the opposite nightstand.

“Can we talk?” You nodded. “I’m sorry,”

You looked up at him, opting him to continue. “I shouldn’t have snapped the way I did. You were trying to help me, and by attempting to push you away I said stuff I really, really shouldn’t have and I’m so sorry,”

With a few seconds of silence, you reached down, intertwining both of your hands. Your thumb glided over his knuckles as you listened to him.

You mumbled. “It’s okay Spence,”

He shook his head. “It’s not, honestly. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”

Yeah, good point.

“I know,” You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “But you said that you're sorry and next time we’ll learn how to manage these things a little more efficiently.”

You quickly pulled his arm over your body and scooted forward, too tired to dwell in an emotionally exhausting conversation, nuzzling your face into his neck while his arms instinctively tightened around your frame. “We’ll get the hang of this, okay?”

There was silence after that. One that could’ve been filled by anything, honestly.

Those three words were all you wanted to say right then and there. It had been on your mind a lot recently, how Spencer was making you feel a ton of scary and big and complicated feelings— all amazing but terrifying. And those three words felt the most accurate when it came to telling him how you felt about him.

You really wanted to tell him at that moment. You don’t know where the necessity came from but it hit you like a tidal wave. Strong and capricious. Uncontrollable almost.

But then the fear settled in and you’d obstruct yourself from doing so.

So you didn’t say it, even though you may have wanted to.

Instead you just held him tighter and nuzzled into him as close as you physically could, hoping that somehow the message would get across. He placed a kiss onto the crown of your head. “Okay.”

The third time

You smiled into the kiss, tugging at his hair as you leaned back, supporting yourself solely on his grip around your lower back. Your legs rested on either side of him, sitting in his lap while his hands raked across your back in a way that made you feverish.

His lips moved swiftly across yours. He squeezed your hips, fingertips slipping just slightly underneath your shirt. You shivered at the contrast of his cold fingertips against your blazing skin. Spencer pulled away, voice breathy. “Is this okay..?”

“Yes,” You whispered back before pulling him onto your lips again.

Your relationship with Spencer was something that made your heart feel so light and airy— something so pure and easy. It made you grow dizzy just thinking about his hands on you and all the sweet things he’d whisper in your ear constantly. How he was always so considerate and sweet and perfect.

You were staying the night at Spencer’s apartment, too tired to drive back to your own apartment after work. But some things lead to others and well— yeah.

When having to restrain so much physical contact at work, strictly wanting to remain as professional as possible, you could merely blame yourself for needing him like this once back at eithers apartment.

You hummed against his lips, raking your hands slowly through his hair. The kissing hadn’t stopped for the past half hour or so— honestly you lost track of time.

Spencer pulled away breathlessly and placed a few messy but calculated kisses on your jaw and neck. You smiled almost stupidly. He pulled away, looking at your dozy face and feeling his chest tighten.

Your lips were slightly pinker than usual, and puffier. Your hair was just slightly tousled while your cheeks glowed a beautiful red hue. Your fingers remained tangled in the locks of his curls.

“You look pretty,” He was saying that as if it was another one of his scientifically proven facts, as if no one could say or believe otherwise. You tucked a small curl that had slipped onto the side of his face behind his ear, humming passingly. However, you never found his eyes, only focusing now on the curls that sat comfortably framing his face.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed, fiddling with the hem of your loose shirt. “You do that often,”

You look down at him, questioning him with a hum. “Do what?”

“Overlook the things I say when I compliment you,” He remarked. “Like you don’t believe me.”

You still didn’t move your attention from his curls. You didn’t believe him most of the time.

You weren’t an insecure person, not entirely anyways. You put a lot of focus on your physical appearance, always maintaining your clean look intact to the public eye. To many, you were considered extremely attractive. But unlike popular belief, you had many insecurities that you always tried to overlook. Sometimes it was hard though.

It was just hard for you to understand how he saw you so perfectly, like you had not a single flaw. ‘Beautiful’ and ‘breathtaking’, just like he always says when he sees you at work or back at your apartments. How he’s able to litter you with a million compliments

“I don’t overlook your compliments,” You let out an airy laugh, pulling back slightly to look at him properly, hands resting on his shoulders.

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t..!” You laughed, cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a long kiss. He drew away, only by a few centimeters, desperately trying to get his point across because god forbid Spencer keep his thoughts to himself.

“You’re deflecting,” He whispered over your lips before you laid another feather-like kiss into his lips. You hummed dismissively, assuring him that you weren’t avoiding anything.

But god, if you didn’t stop kissing him so softly and so painfully slowly, if you didn’t stop shifting around on his lap the way you were and if you didn’t stop your hands from wandering their way across his shoulders and chest— he was going to have a hard time remaining composed.

“You’re—“ A kiss.

“trying to—“ Another kiss.

“distract me,” It was as if you were a magnet he was so desperately trying to detach himself from, but failing miserably. Gravity itself pulled him towards you, he couldn’t help nor control it. He couldn’t blame himself either.

“Is it working?” You whispered, voice dangerously close to a taunt. Your hands began fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt, popping the first two undone.

Spencer found himself growing dizzy as his hands dug into your hips. “Unfortunately,”

You kissed his jaw, and Spencer let out a stifled groan. With the willpower of the gods themselves, he reached up and grabbed your hands into his own, stopping their mission at undoing his shirts buttons. You pouted with a glare, pulling away from him as his thumb gilded affectionately across your knuckles.

“So wait,” You pulled back. “Is this your way of saying you don’t want to sleep with me.?”

Spencer choked. “What?— No!”

Spencer groaned as you stifled a giggle. Oh, how you loved teasing and getting him all flustered. “That’s not— No.”

You tilted your head. His hands rested on your hips, as he sighed looking up at you. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

You blushed. “You tell me often,”

“I know you’re beautiful,” He shook his head and sat up, trailing his hands across your back. “Do you?”

“People tell me often,” You smirked and when he glared at you all you could do was kiss it off him. “But I only like hearing it from you,”

“I asked you something,” He let out.

“Sort of,” You admitted meekly, finally responding to his question. His hands came back to the hem of your t-shirt, tugging at it as his lips found yours again.

“You’re probably the most beautiful person I know,” He whispered above your lips matter of factly.

“Probably..?”

“Definitely,” His hands gripped at the plush flesh of your hips in a way that was making you want to fall to the ground and melt into a puddle of goop. It was so gentle yet there was a specific urgency to it.

He pulled away, kissing your cheek immediately after. “You’re also so smart and kind,”

He kisses traveled across your cheek, to your temple, towards your jaw and that damn spot on your neck that he knew drove you crazy. All while whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Your witt was slowly melting away with any trace of self control you had left in you as you closed your eyes, arching yourself into his addictive touch. ”And funny,”

“Spence..” You warned.

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” He looked back at you, reaching up and cupping your cheek in his hand. “I—“

His words failed him as they whipped all the way back into his throat, daring not to leave his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to say it, there wasn’t anything else he wanted to say to you, because no matter how much he’d wash you in compliments, those three words were the closest thing to allowing you to understand just how much you truly meant to him— hell, it didn’t even feel like enough sometimes.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Which is why he quickly thought of the closest thing to those three words and spat them out, avoiding any growing suspicions. “I love the way you make me feel.”

You weren’t gonna lie, the first two words had gotten your hopes up in ways that were too pathetic to admit out loud. But his words had other intentions, so it seems, and you had to force yourself from slouching your shoulders foward in disappointment.

Beside, it’s not like the things he was saying weren’t causing a wonderful heat to pool in the pit of your stomach— and among other places.

You watched him, for a second or two, trying to maybe tell him with your eyes what you couldn’t tell him with your words. But it still wasn’t enough, and if you didn’t release the neediness that was starting to take shape within you, you'd quite literally explode.

You tangled your fingers within his hair and pulled his mouth onto yours in a steady but desperate kiss. He responded pretty well, given since his hands found your waist instantly and tugged them towards himself in a feverish manner.

He began pulling at the bottom of your shirt, signaling he needed it off of you and pulled away, whispering breathlessly. “Can I?—“

“Please.”

The fourth time

“Ouch,” You hissed as Morgan dabbed a piece of gauze onto the now stitched up cut on your head. “Are you trying to give me another concussion?”

Derek deadpanned at you, slightly relieved that you still found the energy to pick on him after being whacked in the back of the head with a pipe by the Unsub.

The team was searching for a local Serial Killer that targeted young women around the area, per usual. You and Morgan were put in charge of entering the Unsubs apartment since Garcia had been able to track it down while you and Morgan were on call.

It wasn’t anything past ordinary. This was your job, you had done this more than a thousand times before— much less carelessly and it wasn’t like you to be so careless. But sometimes you get so comfortable and cocky with your job that you forget about the actual risks of it.

Eventually that cockiness would have turned around and bit you in the ass.

When you and Morgan busted down the door, guns in hand, you split up, each directioning yourselves into different rooms of the apartment— in hindsight that was a horrible idea.

When you walked into what seemed to be an empty room, you stupidly failed to check the back of the door. Which was why a second later, when you opened your mouth to inform Morgan that the room was clear, something solid and cold wacked you across the back of the head, knocking you out unconscious.

You weren’t aware of what happened after that, given how the blunt force had knocked you out profusely and you really couldn't recall anything prior to the attack when you regained consciousness. All you knew is that you were alive and the Unsub had been caught, which was all that mattered honestly.

Derek was now wallowing in the self inflicted guilt of not knowing better. But to be completely fair, you didn’t know better either— you were as much to blame as he was.

But Derek was convincing himself that because of his lack of observation, you had ended up with a concussion, six stitches and a bruised cheekbone.

“Derek—” You pleaded, watching him dump the ice pack onto the counter of the back of the ambulance with an angry toss.

All he was doing right now was huffing in anger. “Come on,”

He turned to look down at you. Shot him a stiff thumbs up and a smile, signaling that you were more than okay. Sure, your head was throbbing, but you weren’t dying.

“Stop doing that,” You rolled your eyes and squashed your eyes shut, attempting to relieve your headache.

“Doing what?”

“The sulking,”

“I’m not sulking,” Derek scoffed. Now it was your turn to deadpan him. He opened his mouth, intending to jump instantly to his defense.

“Where is she?” A panicked voice from the depths of the crowd caused you to grimace, immediately recognizing it to be Spencer’s. Derek suddenly felt dread when realizing he now had to face him.

Spencer could be rather ardent when it came to you and your safety— you knew you were fine, but having to convince Spencer that you were fine as well was a tougher job.

Spencer pushed through the vast amounts of people, finally breaking through the last line of them and finding you sitting placidly in the back of the ambulance. The panic Spencer felt coursing within him was something he wished upon no one.

When Hotch told the team that you were down, Spencer couldn’t help but freak out. He hid it well, knowing he had to stay focused on the case, but god was he slowly crashing. His usual sharp intellect was fogged, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything but your wellbeing. His head was flooded with questions and worries and he needed to know that you were okay.

He strided over to you, quickly crouching and taking your cold hands into his own. His distressed eyes flew all over your face, scanning it as his hand came up to cup your cheek. His thumb gilded gently over your bruise and the deep furrow in his brows was enough to tell you that his mind was going haywire.

“Hey you,” You said, humor glistening your tone while smiling sweetly and oblivious to the gravity of the situation. Spencer forced a weak smile to spread across his own face.

“Hey,” He cooed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine actually,”

Spencer straightened himself out, turning to Derek. “What did the paramedics say?”

“They gave her six stitches for the superficial cut on the crown of her head and some ice for the bruised cheekbone,” He crossed his arms. “They say it’s probable she has a concussion.”

Spencer felt his blood run cold. “A concussion?!”

You could tell Spencer was trying his hardest to remain calm. It was evident in the deep breaths he was taking and the tapping of his fingers against the side of his leg. He was doing a horrible job at it though, although you wouldn’t tell him that because he’d just freak out some more. His voice was getting all pitchy and his shoulders shook feebly. He sucked in a deeper breath, closing his eyes and attempting to regain his composure.

“Spencer,” You didn’t need him panicking more than he already was. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, probably to scold you or maybe even defend himself, Hotch's stoic voice cut through.

“We need to deliver a statement. Morgan, Reid,”

Spencer looked down at you. But you pushed him to head over to wherever your chief needed him to be. “Go. You can—“

“Hotch, I’m going to stay,” He told the chief, almost finally.

“For the first 24 hours after the injury, it’s important for someone to stay with her to keep an eye out for any new symptoms that develop.”

You clamped your mouth shut and looked at Hotch, who remained neutral watching the two of you. You offered him a shrug, and the two of you knew there was no getting through to him. Hotch hesitated momentarily, but knew Spencer would be more of use if he wasn’t with him worrying about you.

Spencer was as smart as they came but god could he be stubborn.

With a final nod from Hotch, he and Morgan pushed through the group of press. You followed Spencer’s movements with a sweet smile glued onto your face. He sat next to you, close enough so that you could feel the side of his thigh warm against yours.

“How are you feeling?” Spencer asked again, voice small, worrying that if he spoke too harshly or too loudly it would hurt you further.

“Surprisingly good for someone who was smacked in the back of the head with a metal pole,” You shrugged indifferently. Spencer, however, did not find your humor amusing.

“How sleepy are you on a scale from one to ten?” He asked urgently. You pulled back, pursing your lips quizzically.

“Like three? I slept like shit last night—”

“How about your neck? Does it feel stiff?” His hands reached up, cupping the sides of your neck as his thumbs traced your jaw.

“No,”

“Are you unable to move any part of your body?” His questions were spewing out of him uncontrollably, and it was getting hard for you to keep up.

“I don’t—“

“What about your pupils? Did the paramedics check them?”

“Spence,” You whined, slumping your shoulders forward while your face still rested in his hands. “The bright lights and harsh noises are giving me slight headaches, but that’s it.”

He stared at you. Long and hard, he just looked at you and wondered what he wanted to say out of all the things swirling around in his head.

“What were you thinking?” He asked finally. You stared at him and his eyes hard with annoyance, but still shining an amount of concern. His voice was barely above a whisper. You let your shoulders fall, licking your bottom lip.

You reached up, grabbing his hands steadily from your face and lacing your fingers with his. “We weren’t,”

“We jumped in head first and didn’t think coherently,” His frustration was rational, but to a certain extent. You really wanted to validate his concern, but he was not allowed to get mad at you. “Spencer.”

As you called his name firmly, he only looked away, jaw and shoulders tense and constricted. You sat there, silently waiting for him to react however it is he needed to in order to process.

“I should’ve gone with you, I should’ve—” His head ducked low. His voice was full of frustration, at himself mostly. It didn’t have to be because this was not something he could have prevented.

“Spencer,“ You gave his hands a firm squeeze and tugged on them slightly. “What did we talk about when it came to personal prevention?“

He remained silent. “I’m serious, there isn’t anything we could’ve done to prevent this.”

Spencer couldn't call to mind the last time he had felt this strongly about someone. Maybe Maeve, but he knew deep down it wasn’t the same. He was almost positive he really hadn’t ever felt this way about someone— he’d been in love, but never like this.

Your entire existence ameriolated his entire being. There wasn’t a moment in the day where he didn’t think of you, where he didn’t wonder what you would think of things, where he wasn’t excited to see you every morning for work. A life without you didn’t exist to him anymore— he didn’t want it too.

That could be the main basis as to why Spencer felt so implausibly terrified at the idea of losing you.

His hand left yours, replacing it with a cold emptiness. His free hand flew up to his eyes urgently, pinching them simultaneously to get rid of the minor tears that had welled upon them. He ducked his head low, not wanting you to notice that he had started tearing up.

Immediately, your whole face softened at the realization that he was crying. It tugged on the strings that held your heart up and made your stomach churn in the worst way possible. “Spence…”

Seeing him cry, possibly because of the fear of losing you, made you feel— funny. It gave you this airy feeling in your head that caused you to feel lightheaded and filled your chest with blithe. You weren’t sure if it was your concussion or the affection you felt towards Spencer that made you feel this way.

You smiled meekly, fondness across every one of your features. Spencer cleared his throat and spoke, voice wobbly and unsteady. He sat up, trying to recollect himself. “Sorry, I— I don’t know what i’m crying for—”

You looked into his eyes, eyebrows swooped downwards. At that second a million thoughts ran through your head, but only those three freaking worlds were the only ones that felt adequate enough to say in that moment.

“I—“ You started.

It was right there. It sat in the back of your throat irksomely. You were ready to jump off the edge, to slip into the abyss— to say those words that you’ve been holding off for the past weeks, months even. Spencer watched you, simultaneously growing nervous because he could tell by the way you swallowed thickly that you were about to say something.

“I think I’m seeing double,” You opted. Just the way his eyes blew wide was enough to make you giggle.

Next time.

“What do you mean?! Like actually double or are you—“ His voice died down at the sound of your snort and soon enough you began laughing. He blinked a few times before he glared at you.

“That is not funny.” It irked him massively how you had the capacity to always joke when he wasn’t at all in the mood to. But it also unraveled the itching anxiety that had grown in his chest and replaced it with a deep affection that surged throughout him entirely as he watched you laugh. “I’m serious.”

“Did you know that you look so cute when you’re mad?” Your hands reached up, cradling his face in your palms. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips.

When you pulled away his frown was still present. The pads of your thumbs rested on both corners of his lips, pushing them upwards and creating a makeshift smile.

“I’ll let you baby me these next few days all you want,” Your voice was soft and sweet, making his head spin as you hovered your lips over his, placing another slow kiss there. “But right now, I’m promising you that I am fine, okay?”

His jaw clenched, eyes flying down to avoid your prying one’s. “Spence.”

You were saying his name one too many times that he was finding it increasingly hard to compose himself. He glanced up at you, nodding weakly. “Okay.”

The fifth time

You leaned forward in the mirror of Spencer bathroom, poking at the scarring on the crown of your head. “It feels weird,”

“It’s scarring tissue, it’ll feel weird for a bit, love” He watched you silently from his seat on the edge of his bed.

“Do you think it’ll leave a scar?” You mumbled, voice tight with concern. “The bruising on my cheek is fading but god help me, if this leaves a weird bump on my head I’ll physically seek this psycho out in jail and give him his own bump to worry about,”

Spencer stopped himself from laughing, finding your pouting adorable.

“After an injury, the inflammatory process signals fibroblasts to lay down new, protective tissue in the form of scars,” Spencer quipped. “But it won’t be noticeable since it’s hidden underneath the rest of your hair.”

You huffed, poking at the bruise on your cheekbone and admitting. “It’s hard to feel pretty when I’m all busted up.”

“You always look pretty,” You continued to poke at your cheekbone to which Spencer stood up, walking into the bathroom and planting himself behind you.

“Stop poking at it like that,” He scolded, reaching behind you and grabbing your wrist. You focused on your face, huffing a breath of frustration.

This past week has been utter hell for Spencer. A newfound persistent anxiety managed to find him after your injury and sink its teeth into him, claiming him victim. You've been staying with him since your concussion, ensuring him that you were safe, but he noticed he’d grown more vigilant to his surroundings when he was at work, more possessive when it came to you and your wellbeing and more conscientious.

You didn’t obtrude, since you understood it was a perfectly normal reaction for him to have.

But he hated it. He hated this clawing anxiety he was having. He hated having the persistent fear of losing you. He tried to decipher whether it truly was all related to the recent events or if there was something deeper. But he knew for sure that the thought of you getting hurt was making him sick to his stomach.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. You grabbed his arms, rubbing soft circles onto it with the soft pads of your thumb.

“Bruises make me feel ugly,” You miffed. “Except the ones you give me, I love those,”

Spencer looked up from your neck, catching your gaze and watching your mischievous smile lighten up through the mirror as he cocked a brow at you. You giggled out a laugh.

Spencer zoned out. He just looked at you, watching your pretty eyes latch onto his through the mirror, seeing your body safe and warm and alive in his arms. His throat tightened and as much as he hated it, his mind immediately thought of Maeve.

Not because he was comparing, of course not. He could never— the two of you meant very different things to him and they were very different relationships.

But he could remember how he wasn’t able to tell Maeve that he loved her— he wasn’t given the chance.

And it made him think about your recent accident, and all the times he'd been stopping himself from telling you. Fear, worry— whatever it was, he had been stopping himself time after time from telling you how he felt.

The thought of him losing you before he could ever tell you how he truly feels is something that made him want to throw up.

“Hotch said I could go back to work on Monday,”

“I love you.”

He said it because he could, he said it because he meant it, and he said it because he didn’t want to live a second longer without you knowing how he felt despite its reciprocity.

He won’t ever forget the way your face just fell. Just stopped moving, mouth hanging open and eyebrows shooting upwards. How your mind just went blank. God, his heart was in his throat and your silence wasn’t helping.

“What did you just say?” You asked, mostly in disbelief— entirely in disbelief.

“I love you.” He’d repeat it for you as many times as you wanted him too. He’d do anything for you.

You turned and his grip around you loosened. Now facing him, your eyes shot around every fraction of his face to determine that this wasn’t a lie or a joke or something cruel he was planning.

“Say that again,”

“I love you.”

And it definitely wasn’t.

You pushed yourself onto the tip of your toes, leaning up and wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a suffocating kiss. One that was desperate, and urgent and full of passion and all over the place.

He pushed you against the marble counter, quickly hoisting you up onto the cold tile as your mouth moved along his perfectly. Your hands dug themselves into his hair, your legs wrapped around his waist, tugged at his body, pulling him impossibly closer to your own.

He pulled away breathing over your lips. “I love you,”

He kissed you again before pulling away and whispering once again. “I’m in love with you.”

He rested his forehead onto you, reaching up and tangling his hands in your hair. The two of you heaved. Your chest was hammering against your rib cages, the oxygen wasn’t fully reaching your head or lungs and you were pretty sure you were going to faint. It was too much. “You are?”

You both peered your eyes open, looking at each other deeply. He whispered, voice crackling slightly. “How could I not?”

You kissed him, this time slowly and softly, wanting to show him how much you loved him back— needing to tell him how much you loved him back.

“I love you,” You said, wavering an unsteady laugh. He opened his eyes and pulled away, looking at you and infatuated with every part of your existence.

“Really?”

“Spencer..!” Your voice cracked in a protest, ludicrously referring to such a stupid assumption— you’d love him till the day you died. You pulled him closer. “It is physically impossible for me not to love you. Don’t act so surprised.”

He smiled. A big, wide and stupid smile that probably made him look like a kid on christmas morning. He kissed your forehead. “You have no idea how much of a relief it is to say it.”

You perched up, hands falling onto his chest. “How long have you wanted to say it?”

He cringed bashfully, letting his hands fall to your waist as he shook his head shamefully. “Too long,”

“Well that makes two of us then,” You leaned forward, placing a relaxed kiss on his jaw. “Was there a point you realized?”

He shook his head. He’s pretty sure that after a month of going out on dates and seeing you consecutively outside and inside of work, he knew he’d fall in love with you. How could he not? “My breaking point, however, was the day you were wearing your new shirt,”

He kissed your neck, giving your hips a tight squeeze. “Which by the way, looked absolutely incredible on you,”

“Is that so?” You mumbled, lips curving up in a smirk.

“I love how it looked on you,” He admitted. “I love you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that,”

“I’m never going to get tired of saying it,” He responded. “When did you realize?”

“It was either that time after our first big fight or on that night on the couch when we,” You shot him a sneaky look, to which his cheeks turned pink, recalling the events of that night. You shrugged. “You know.”

You were going to be the literal death of him.

He kissed your jaw twice more. He loved you and you loved him. It seemed like something too good to be true. “I think I’m going to need you to jog up my memory,”

You giggled at the reference, heart doubling in size at the amount of affection you were feeling towards him at that moment. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, emitting a loud shriek followed by a string of laughter as he hoisted you up and carried you over to his bed.

[grimmsbride]

Girl, I'm into it, I'm into it, I'm into it. RYOMEN SUKUNA

SUMMARY ୨˚̣̣̣୧ periods are shitty, annoying punishments for not getting pregnant. luckily, sukuna is sweet enough to help the pain.

　 ྀི　𓂃 period sex. so descriptions of blood, if you don’t like that please don’t read the fic. | semi mean dom! sukuna | ooc sukuna | rough sex | squirting | minor anal play | multiple orgasms | praise & degradation | sukuna mocks reader’s moans | breeding kink | mentions of getting reader pregnant | dacryphilia | etc.

NOTE ୨˚̣̣̣୧ i’m currently on my period & i also find period sex hot asf so there you go. i know a few people don’t like it, so if you are one of them— turn away! this was originally gonna be either noritoshi or choso (blood techniques) but i decided on sukuna 🫶🏾 please excuse typos & grammar mistakes i posted this late!

“Damnit woman, which one is it?”

“Sukuna, I sent a fucking picture for a reason!” You yelled down the phone, eyebrows pinched close as annoyance flooded through your body. Between your lover’s idiotic tendencies and the fact it felt like a hundred soldiers were tap dancing on your uterus— you had little care if your words were rude.

Still, the man gave a sharp watch your tone; before turning the phone to allow you to see the display case of pads.

“Just tell me which one, so I can leave already.”

You sucked your teeth, bringing the phone closer and squinting at the screen. You couldn’t be entirely mad at the man, given he went to the store for you graciously with only a single eye roll. A few of your female friends don’t have the same luck with their partners. But still, what was so hard about looking at the picture you sent— and then grabbing that pack?

A soft huff escaped, “That one.. it’s uh— the purple one. Long with wings.”

You watched as his tatted hand reached for the correct pack, even pushing it into the camera for further confirmation.

“These are huge..”

You felt warmth flood through your cheeks, giving a sharp just buy the damn pads, before ending the call. You tossed your phone to the side, turning to curl up into a ball whilst your arms hugged your stomach. Soft groans escaped you with each cramp, attempting to find a comfortable position to get into.

You tried a heating pad, a hot shower, and even pills to minimize the pain— and yet, it still remained. At the same exact intensity as it was this morning.

Another groan escaped you, body turning to lay on your stomach and your face into your pillow. The softness of your towel grazed your stomach and bare thighs, the only comforting thing at the moment.

Whilst delving in your own misery, the bedroom door opened, revealing your loving boyfriend and the bag of pads.

Sukuna took one look at your helpless state and laughed to himself, tossing the bag to the edge of the bed. “Cramps kicking your ass, huh?”

You could only groan, rolling onto your back and sinking into the bed. You glanced at the man, spotting his back to you as he snatched the black hoodie off his body; revealing his tattooed back. Your eyes then flicked to the ceiling, lids fluttering shut.

“I tried a shower.. pills, everything Kuna. This sucks..”

“Tried an orgasm?”

You gave a soft sound of disapproval. You were aware of the method, the pleasant feeling sure to rid you of your cramps— but the thought of such a mess wasn’t something you were into. Nor did you think Sukuna was in, either.

Until.. a tight lock around your ankle caused your thoughts to cease, gasping as you were suddenly dragged towards the edge of the bed. Your eyes flew open, staring up at the man who was currently situating your legs onto his hips.

“Sukuna, what..”

“You’re gonna keep complaining about the cramps, might as well get rid of them.” Sukuna claimed, acting as if it was the most obvious thing ever. He leaned down, lips finding yours in an instant, a heated kiss being shared between the two of you.

Your hands found his shoulders, sliding across his bare hot skin— groaning the moment his thick, wet muscle intruded your mouth. Naturally your hands were sliding up, fingers curling into his pink tresses for leverage. Despite how good the kiss was, your mind couldn’t shake the nervousness that surrounded you. Having sex on your period just seemed like a mess waiting to happen.

Surely Sukuna would get grossed out, right? But.. he did offer. You were going through the motions, weighing the options, and absentmindly pulling away from the kiss. You hadn’t realized until a sharp voice interrupted your thinking once more.

“Always thinking so damn hard..” Sukuna spoke, pushing his hips forward. The man grinned as your hand fell to his waist, watching you stifle a quiet groan. He began to reach down, gripping your wrist and yanking it up to press against the bed. The glint in his eyes was all too familiar, something that always caused a heat of warmth to spread throughout your body.

Yet, that still wasn’t enough to shake the anxiety.

“Sukuna..” You gasped as the man moved closer, finding your neck to kiss and nip. Your stomach was stirring, arousal pooling between your legs. “— it’s.. a mess, baby. Are you su—?”

“Would I be touching you if I wasn’t sure?” He interrupted, his free hand gliding down the plane of your body. Without hesitation the man was breaching your shorts and panties, spreading your wet folds to rub at your clit. “Keep interrupting me..” Sukuna warned, biting at your throat— causing you to whine.

Your hips rose into the feeling, his two thick digits rubbing tight circles onto your swelling bud. Your arousal was building, surely soiling both his hand and shorts— but neither of you cared in the moment. Instead, Sukuna seemed to chase this; gliding his fingers down to sink into your entrance, easily.

Plunging inside, curling at your spongy walls— your legs were opening wider as the pleasure began to consume your body, dulling your mind. You hadn’t even realized your hand was free until you felt him flip your shirt up and grab your breast. His thumb brushed across your nipple, it hardening under his touch and the cool air.

Sukuna continued to tweak the hardened bud, scissoring his fingers inside of you all while a grin played at his lips. “You were so against it just a second ago, and yet..” His eyes dipped to where his hand currently was, a third finger pushing inside to meet his other two. “— you’re moving your hips so eagerly.”

Your moans were more vocal at this point, pitching into whines each time his fingers curled to press against that special spot. Your stomach clenched with each thrust, feeling a pressure build inside of you. “K—kuna, mm..!” You could barely speak, hand gripping the towel underneath you as you began to fuck your self on his fingers. A difficult task given the position, but one the man definitely encouraged.

“Mm.. that’s it, keep ruining yourself on my fingers, sweetheart.” Sukuna was clearly enjoying this more than you, leaning down to swipe his tongue across your bud just to watch you shiver. You were sensitive, painfully so, that each movement had you trembling as if he had touched you hundred times. His watchful eyes were eating it all, casting an image to save for a later date.

Soon enough the pressure was forming, becoming too much like a bubble ready to burst. Your head leaned back into the bed, lips parted as soft whines escaped. “Su—sukuna, fuck, fuck! I’m close—!” Your back arched the moment his thrusts became more intense, a blinding white passing through your eyes before you came— legs shaking around his form.

Sukuna’s fingers slowed but didn’t stop, mixing up your fluids and throughly fucking you through your high. The man ignored your sensitive whines until he was satisfied, pulling his fingers out soon after. Your lover was unfazed by the red mess staining his tattooed appendage, simply wiping it against the towel underneath. “Made such a mess..”

“Don’t make make fun of me, Sukuna. That was embarrassing enough.”

Your boyfriend grinned, fingers hooking onto your shorts and panties to slowly tug down. “Embarrassing? I wouldn’t know, given how much you were moaning just a minute ago.” The cackle he released was downright maniacal, tossing your clothes to the side whilst going for his own.

Your body was hot, cheeks puffed as you attempted to glare at him. “Whateve—er..” Your words dragged the moment his cock began to tap against your clit, the man gliding it along your slit carefully.

“You say something?” Sukuna mocked, a hand reaching to your thigh and pushing you up farther onto the bed. He continued to glide himself between your folds, watching your stomach tense each time his tip made contact with your sensitive bud.

The anticipation was welling inside your stomach, fingers gripping the towel as you rose to grind against him— gasping the moment he began to enter you. Sukuna fed you inch by inch slowly, pushing deep into you whilst the reddened arousal was tainted his cock. The thought of doing this.. was gross, weird, and something you definitely wouldn’t do.

But now? While in the act. The only thing you could think about was how good he was stretching you; filling you up so easily and then some. Your legs were shaking around him, his name falling for your lips in a honeyed gasp as you slowly became adjusted.

Sukuna leaned over your body, a hand falling to your throat to direct you; forcing eye contact. “Don’t go dumb yet, I just started.” He grinned, rising you up a bit to snatch your lips in a deep kiss— while pulling his hips back at the same time.

The first thrust was always so deep and harsh, making your legs bounce and your thoughts go slack. Within a minute, Sukuna started a bruising pace inside; fucking you deep into the mattress all while kissing you so sweetly. The differences were making your head spin, unable to focus on a complete feeling before the other fought to take over.

You breathed heavily into his mouth, struggling to keep up with his tongue all while his length fucked into you. His hand suddenly fell from your neck down to your thigh, gripping it tightly and pushing it up.

The raise position caused your head to fall back into the bed, moans escaping you freely as your trembling hand suddenly fell to his waist. “Sh—shit.. Kuna, hah..! Feels so good, fuck—!”

Your cries were music to his ears, even enjoying the way your pretty manicured fingers dragged across his lower stomach with each thrust.

Sukuna leaned even closer, using his body weight to fold you like some damn chair. The stretch in your muscles washed away with each slam into your messy cunt, your walls clinging to him as a desperate pressure formed in your stomach. Your words were jumbling together, moans broken as tears welled in your eyes.

The man grinned at the display, cock twitching in your wet sex with each thrust. “Can’t even fucking think, can you? Should have fucked you dumb like this earlier..” Sukuna claimed, a hand falling between the two of you to press against your stomach. He felt himself inside you, his ego swelling more and more.

You were so close now, back arching up off the bed as your legs trembled. The band inside you was growing thinner and thinner, desperate moans escaping your lips.

And yet, Sukuna stopped suddenly— right when you were about to hit your peak. You felt the disappointment crash down on you in an instant, glaring up at the man with glossy eyes.

“Su—sukuna, why would you do that?!” You whined, feeling your irritation grow when you noticed the grin on his face.

Instead of replying, however, Sukuna leaned up from his previous position; your legs falling to his hips. In one swift movement he was switching you onto your stomach, hooking his arms under your legs to bring you to your knees.

Before you could think he was sinking back inside of you, hand sliding to your back to arch you even further. This position left you far too vulnerable, the man fucking you into the mattress with no way to move away or escape.

Your face was mushed against the wet towel and sheets, crumbling them within your hands as desperate, pleasurable cries escaped you. He was stirring with up inside, hips slamming against your ass and causing your body to shake.

Sukuna’s hands laid a bruising grip on your hips, eyes focused on your body. He was entranced by it; the recoil of your ass, the way a creamy ring was forming around the base of his dick, and the way you not so subtly tried to move away from the thrusts.

“Oh, is it too much, brat? You want me to slow down don’t you?..” Like he would. You and him both knew that wasn’t going to happen. The knowledge solidifying the moment his hand rose to grab a nice handful of your braids, gently tugging to get you onto your hands.

“..Messy fucking pussy— don’t try to run, take this dick.”

You cried out as his free hand suddenly slammed against your cheek, the stinging pain shooting right between your legs; increasing your arousal. Your walls were clinging to him, clenching each time his tip brushed against that perfect spot inside you.

The man suddenly released your hand, your body falling to the bed as he continued to fuck into you. Sukuna’s large hands fell to your cheeks, separating them for the perfect look. “Mm.. shouldn’t neglect this hole either.” Your lover suddenly dragged in a soft tone, one you nearly didn’t catch. Until his thumb was suddenly sliding against your puckered hole, pushing in carefully.

The sudden intrusion caused your body to lunge, shaking as whines escaped you. His free hand massaged your ass as if to soothe you, continuing to push it in until he reach the knuckle.

The foreign sensation took a moment, tight entrance clenching around the digit. But the moment you relaxed, a new found pleasure washing over you; your arousal increasing, and dripping all down his cock.

“Sukuna.. fuck! Please, please, please—!” You were pleading so loudly now, tears trickling down your cheeks, as you rutted back against him; pushing your ass into his lower stomach.

Sukuna grinned at this, leaning over your body; hitting your deep all while mocking your moans right in your ear. “Clenchin’ me so damn much, fucking close aren’t you? Bet you wanted this even more then I did, such a damn freak..” His words came out in a soft hiss, slamming himself deep as his cock twitched, his own climax quickly approaching.

You gripped the sheets, back arched into his hot body as broken babbles of his name escaped. Within minutes you were cumming, making a complete mess on both him and underneath you.

Yet his hips never stopped, the intensity never dulling despite your body going slack against the bed. You whined as the sensitivity began to grow, fisting the blankets for leverage.

“Fu—fuck, Sukuna— I can’t..”

“You can.. was being so fucking good for me, don’t stop now.” Sukuna groaned, fingers digging into you as his thrusts became desperate. “Milkin my dick, shit— want me to fill you up, don’t you? Maybe even put a baby in this pretty fucking stomach, so you won’t have to worry about cramps.”

The thought caused your head to spin, unable to say a word and instead nodding repeatedly. Sukuna chuckled at this for a moment before his eyebrows furrowed, pushing himself deep before releasing inside.

Heavy pants covered the room as you came down from your highs, a sharp groan escaping you as he removed both his thumb and length from within you. Your hips lowered to the bed, cheek brushing against the blankets.

As your legs moved, the sticky feeling between them caused you to cringe— tilting to glance at the man.

“Sukuna..”

He grinned a little at you, hand smoothing across your back. “Yeah, yeah.. I’ll help you clean up.”

comments & reblogs are appreciated

[a-leg-without-fear]

Strange Love

i am so fucking obsessed with this man it ain't even FUNNY. oh btw here's some filth

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 18+ (i need jesus)

Wordcount: 4.5k

Warnings: smut, foreplay, mentions of PTSD, bloodplay, PnV sex, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, logan's teeth, choking, knifeplay, slight voyeurism if you squint seriously this is so dirty i NEED jesus

Song: Strange Love by Halsey

It wasn’t the tossing and turning that woke you. It wasn’t the occasional movement of his hands, the pushing into your side, the sheets being tugged off your body. You had grown accustomed to the flinches and twitches. Those things were typical when sharing a bed with someone. 

It was his breathing. Short, quick, ragged. Like a band of iron was squeezing his chest and restricting his lungs.

Your eyes snapped open and flicked to Logan. He was covered in sweat, beads dripping down his forehead plastered in drenched hair. His teeth were bared, grinding. Sharp canines digging into his bottom lip and splitting the skin before the wounds would seal themselves. Fists clenched in the damp sheets, claws just barely poking out of between his knuckles, fingers squeezing the cotton between them.

Right, a nightmare. He was having a nightmare.

These were a nightly occurrence for him. Logan’s past would dredge itself up in his sleep and torture him for hour upon sleepless hour. Raking his mind through the coals only for him to wake up and not remember a thing. 

It was risky to wake him like this. Once, Marie had tried to get him to wake up only for Logan’s adamantium claws to end up pierced in her stomach. She was fine, having briefly absorbed Logan’s healing ability and allowed herself to live.

That wasn’t a risk you could take. You had a minor amount of healing your body was capable of. Smaller cuts and bruises were your specialty. You could manipulate the rate at which blood flowed and carried the necessary chemicals in order to seal wounds and reverse bruising. Foot-long claws stabbed into your abdomen weren’t something you could easily fix.

You cleared your throat, shifting to the side of the bed opposite him, and said, “Logan?”

No response. He continued to breathe heavily, eyes darting back and forth beneath his furrowed brow. You sat up, determined to end this round of nightly torment. 

“Logan? Hun, wake up,” you said, louder than the previous attempt. A string of incoherent mumbles escaped between his clenched teeth. You sighed and climbed out of bed. Turning to face him and crossing your arms, you braced yourself and yelled, “Logan!”

His hazel eyes flew open as he jolted up, claws shooting out and chest heaving. Silver light glinted off the six razor sharp claws jutting out of his fists. The sheets bunched around his bare waist, his pillow falling off the bed and onto the floor.

“Logan?” you asked, as quiet and calming as possible. Logan’s gaze shifted to you from darting wildly around the room. As soon as his eyes met yours, the claws retreated back beneath his flushed and clammy skin.

He swallowed with difficulty as his mind registered who you were. You could practically see the gears turning beneath his soaked, dark hair.

“Logan? It’s me,” you said. Logan squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his eyelids.

“Shit, I’m sorry, doll. Did I wake you?” he grunted. He leaned back on one arm as he smoothed his hair away from his face. It was hard to prevent your gaze from wandering. A toned, tanned chest peppered in dark chest hair melting into defined abs with a trail of dark hair leading beneath the sheets. It took a lot of willpower to look back at Logan’s face.

“Eh, I’m used to it,” you replied, an easy smile falling across your lips. You kneeled back on the bed and ran a comforting hand along his shoulder. His gaze fell to your hand then met your eyes again. 

“It’s not the best thing to get used to,” he said. You could feel the muscles in his shoulder tensing under your palm. A frown stretched across his face, “I shouldn’t be wakin’ you every night.”

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” you said softly. You lifted your free hand and smoothed out the wrinkles created by his furrowed eyebrows. Logan smacked your hand away as you laughed.

“Seriously. I could hurt you,” he insisted. To emphasize his point, a single claw extended from his right hand, opposite of the side closest to you. He lifted the metal beside his face and said, “When I sleep, I ain’t in control of these things. I… I can’t lose you.”

You raised your hand, running your fingertips across Logan’s arm, before taking his fist in yours. He allowed the action, keeping the claw extended. You moved his hand closer to your face.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked, tugging his hand out of yours. The silver claw retracted back between his knuckles. You sighed while climbing into his lap, straddling his hips with your thighs. You grabbed the same hand again.

“Do you trust me?” you asked. Logan’s glare searched for some kind of trick or fear hiding behind your amused expression.

“Of course I do,” he replied, albeit a little apprehensive. You placed a chaste kiss to his middle-finger knuckle.

“Then extend your claw, handsome,” you breathed into his skin.

Logan’s shoulders shuddered, his eyes falling closed as a strained breath floated from his lips. The hand you had stroking along his neck shifted to bury its fingers in his hair. His back arched, his bare chest meeting your sleep shirt.

“Vampire-”

“Extend your claw. I’ll prove that you’ll never hurt me,” you whispered. Your lips trailed across his knuckles while your fingers tangled in the soft strands at the base of his neck. A quiet groan bounced around inside Logan’s chest.

Slowly, reluctantly, his middle adamantium claw slid out of his fist. Moonlight danced along the sharp edge and gave the claw an almost ethereal glow. You turned Logan’s hand, inspecting the claw at all angles, enjoying the reflections it projected on the walls.

“Do you trust me?” you said, repeating yourself. You needed absolute clarity before continuing. Logan nodded as another shudder worked its way over his chest. You ran your eyes over his expression. His eyes were closed, tense, his lips parted slightly. The hand you had in his hair rested on his jaw, fingers buried in his short beard, thumb tracing his bottom lip, “Yes or no, Logan.”

“Yes. Yes, doll, I do,” he replied.

With the affirmation you needed, you shifted your focus back to the threatening claw in front of you. You considered it for a moment. The length, the width, the sharp edge. Squaring your shoulders and steeling your nerves, you brought his hand closer to your face as you parted your lips. 

You ran the blade along the center of your tongue. The bite of cold metal pierced your flesh and stung as it slid along the muscle. You felt blood pool in your mouth, leaking out of the corners of your lips and down your chin.

Logan’s eyes popped open when the scent of your blood filled his nose. He yanked his fist away as his claw disappeared. Both of his palms clung to the sides of your face. You kept your mouth open, smiling, cradling the pooling blood on your tongue.

“What the shit? The hell’s wrong with you, vampire?” Logan exclaimed. Your smile held steady as his expression grew frantic. You watched Logan’s face closely as you enacted your plan. 

Your blood began to float out of your mouth in small beads, tiny planets chasing each other, flying from your tongue and into the air around you, forming a ring circling your head. Once you’d cleared most of the blood, you focused on closing the wound. You felt the flesh knit itself back together inch by inch, wound stitching itself closed. When the last bit of leaking blood had exited your mouth, your tongue fully healed, you closed your smile and let the droplets orbit your head.

“You won’t hurt me, Logan. No more than others have in the past,” you said. Logan’s expression remained unchanged, still eyeing you like you were fucking insane, hands clutched to both sides of your face. You stuck your tongue out again. “See? No harm done.”

“You… You can heal?” he asked. His thumb glided across your face to run along your bottom lip. You let your mouth fall open so he could see the absence of blood. He scoffed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not nearly as strong as yours. I can heal surface level stuff on anyone, not just me. Blood manipulation and all,” you explained. A fond smile remained settled across your face. You willed the blood floating around you to soar through the air in a stream, like crimson ribbons braiding and weaving into each other, before directing it into an empty glass on the nightstand.

Logan looked like you had told him the wildest theory about the moon landing imaginable. Eyebrows raised to his widow’s peak, nose scrunched, lips parted, eyes wide. It would have been amusing, laughable even, if it wasn’t such a tense moment.

Without warning his mouth was on yours, fingers tangled in your hair, arms shoving your chest against his. His hips rocked up against yours and you felt just how hard this conversation had made him. You gasped into his mouth when he tugged at the base of your neck.

“All this time,” he murmured. One of his hands left your hair and tugged up the hem of your t-shirt. His teeth trailed from your lips, to your jaw, to the soft skin at the crook of your neck, “All this fuckin’ time. I was worried I’d hurt you. That I’d wake up and skewer you like I did Rogue.”

A choked moan escaped your lips when his hand squeezed at your breast. Rough and calloused and almost mean. Logan’s sharp canines nicked the skin above the artery that ran beneath your ear. You whined as blood leaked from the new wound.

“But you? You’re just full of fucking surprises, aren’t you?” he said. He licked a broad swipe across the blood streaming down your throat. You ground down into his cock, the heat between your thighs seeking as much friction as possible. Both of you moaned as the deep liquid coated Logan’s mouth. 

“We’ve got-shit, plenty of time to find them all,” you said through a breathless grin. The fingers in your hair tightened and tugged your head back, baring your throat as Logan lapped at your neck, staining it red. 

You continued to grind into him while your hands gripped his forearms. Your nails dug into his skin, pinpricks of red sprouting around the crescent shapes. You brought a finger up to your mouth and licked along the tip of the nail. An explosion of copper coated your freshly healed tongue. A taste like none you’d ever had before, like a long-aged wine that’d just been opened. 

You needed to have more.

The knife you kept on your nightstand, the pommel a glass ball filled with your blood, swished through the air and landed in your open palm. Your other hand carded through Logan’s hair in an attempt to get his attention.

“Can I cut you?” you breathed. A feral grin spread across Logan’s face. His claw shinked back out of his fist and slashed down your shirt. The cotton separated like butter under a hot knife, your shirt sagging down your shoulders and falling away from your chest. A thin cut was left between your breasts. Like a red clay path between two rolling hills. 

“As long as I can cut you,” he replied, tongue tracing the new wound. Your head fell back as you arched into his mouth, doing your best to focus on closing the bite in your neck. Getting the skin to connect was growing more difficult as Logan coated his tongue in red and his half-lidded eyes met yours.

“Fuck, okay, I’ll take that as a yes,” you said through gritted teeth. You shrugged off your destroyed t-shirt as you felt the cut on your neck close. Your left hand tugged at Logan’s hair, bringing his lips back to yours, bare chests colliding. 

The air between you grew heated and humid. Teeth clashed, tongues darted into each other’s mouths tasting of copper and sin, claws and nails and blade slicing through skin, fingers pulling on hair. Each wound that closed was replaced with a fresh one, tongue and lips following the lines of leaking blood. If you were normal both of you would be covered in more scars than one could count. But, because you were mutants, the skin sealed as if nothing had ever pierced it. Smooth and soft and absolutely covered in blood.

You felt the room spin as you and Logan flipped. He had one hand on your shoulder, pinning your torso to the bed, while the other wrapped around your throat. His broad, warm hand nearly encompassed your whole neck. The power he held over you stoked the flames in your abdomen to burn away at your sense and reason.

His mouth was back on yours, drinking from you like a dying man. Teeth nipped at your lips, your tongue, your chin. Sharp bites that left the taste of copper in their wake. The hand on your shoulder traveled down your overheated body. Passing over swathes of skin painted red and bruises long since dissipated. His fingertips brushed along the waistband of your shorts and a growl reverberated from his throat.

“You have three seconds to get these off before they’re ripped off,” Logan said, the words echoing in your mind like a prayer in an empty chapel.

You had never stripped yourself so fast in your life. Your fumbling hands slipped beneath your waistband, having to concentrate on both getting naked and Logan’s mouth on yours, and you slipped both your panties and your shorts off in one pull. You kicked them off the bed in record time.

“Mm, that was five seconds. I’ll need to see to that later,” he said, kissing down your jaw between growled words. A shiver rolled across your spine at the way his voice thrummed against your neck. You felt the hand gripping your throat tighten, restricting your breathing, making you gasp. Your hands launched forward, seeking anything to grab in their path, landing on the forearm choking you. Logan nipped your collarbone as he said, “Don’t be surprised to see those shorts in shreds tomorrow.”

He loosened his grip slightly, letting warm air back into your heaving lungs. You felt your pulse rushing in your ears.

“Logan, please,” you whimpered. The heat between your legs was unbearable. Wave after wave of arousal slammed into your trembling body and left you breathless. Your thighs were definitely soaked. You could feel wetness dripping off your skin and onto the sheets below you. Logan bit harder at your lowest rib, making you cry out, “Please! I need you. Please, Logan.”

“I’ve got you, hotstuff. Don’t worry,” he purred. His canines dragged along your stomach, leaving fire in their wake, as he shifted lower on your body. The hand gripping your throat slid down your chest and pinned your hips in place, arm slung across your stomach like a lead pipe. His free hand massaged and groped at your shaking thighs. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, grinning, “So polite, how can I refuse?”

The first pass of his tongue through your cunt made your back bow off the bed. Your hands scrabbled against the soaked sheets, nonsense and cries of ecstasy escaping through your kiss-swollen lips.

A low groan passed through his throat and vibrated against your clit. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the shocks of pure pleasure zipping through your bloodstream.

“Fuck, sugar. All this just for me, huh?” he murmured. You weren’t entirely sure if it was meant for you, but before you could decide he buried his face in your cunt. Tongue spearing inside you, nose bumping against your clit, large fingers holding you open. The air inside your lungs shot out of you like a bullet. 

If your mind had any sense left, the sounds you and Logan were making would’ve been obscene. The wet squelching of him licking at your folds, his rough grunts, your breathless moans and airy whimpers. It would’ve made you embarrassed to ever show your face outside of this room again. But with Logan between your thighs and his arm braced across your abdomen, you could hardly care. 

He shifted so his lips could wrap around your clit, sucking and running the blunt edge of his teeth over where you’re most sensitive. A startled yelp kicked out of your mouth. Your hands flew to his hair and tangled in the damp strands. You felt his fingers run along your entrance, gathering slick along the calloused pads.

“You want me inside you, doll?” he asked huskily, sounding almost as wrecked as you felt. It took all your willpower to lift your eyelids and meet Logan’s eyes. 

“Please. Please, please, I need you Logan,” you slurred. Your grip on his hair tightened in an attempt to emphasize your point. 

He latched back onto your clit, eyes still locked with yours, as two fingers pushed inside you. The digits entered you with almost no resistance, you were so soaked. A loud moan fell from your lips as the accompanying noise from your cunt made you feel fucking filthy.

“Fuck, doll,” he grunted against your clit. He started pumping his fingers inside you, slow at first, letting you feel every ridge and knuckle glide in and out, making sure to brush against that spot inside you that made you see stars every time. Your thighs involuntarily clenched around his head. Your head flew back against the mattress beneath you, breath leaving your gaped mouth in quick bursts.

When his pace increased, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. That coil in your core was tightening at a speed that even Peter couldn’t compete with. Your fingers scraped at Logan’s scalp, breathing seeming to be a thing of the past.

“Come for me, vampire,” he said, slipping a third finger inside you. The claws attached to the arm across your waist extended, piercing into the mattress and securing you further on the bed. If Logan wasn’t who he was, you’d be afraid of hurting him from how tight your thighs were squeezed around his head. But that chrome dome was nowhere near perturbed as he shoved you into your first orgasm of the night.

Sparks of white hot electricity short-circuited your brain and rendered you breathless. Your back seized up and arched off the bed, mouth flying open, breath halted inside frozen lungs. Pulsing, neverending, world-encompassing pleasure covered you like a thick, electrified blanket. Zaps of shityesgood sparked across your skin, burrowing deep into your flesh and filling your veins.

“There ya go, that’s a good girl,” Logan said. You barely registered him, the roaring in your ears was so loud. He continued to finger you through your orgasm, placing the occasional kiss on your hyper-sensitive skin, making you jolt.

It took several minutes for the aftershocks to stop, for the blanket to lift off your body. Logan slid his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips. Low groans brought you back to reality as he licked your slick off his fingers.

His claws retracted as he climbed back up your body, placing sloppy wet kisses as he went. You hummed when his lips found yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, tangy and salty and distinctly you. Mixed with Logan’s smoke and whiskey, you felt like you could breathe this taste and grow intoxicated. You whined as Logan pulled back.

“Ready for more?” he asked. You nodded, biting your lip as a smile graced your features.

Logan grinned back as he hiked your legs up onto his hips and positioned himself by your entrance, cock hard and heavy in his hand. Your hands laced in his hair and yanked his mouth back to yours. The wet, hot tip of his cock glided through your folds, making both of you groan into each other’s mouths.

The first push inside stretched you almost to the point of pain, but you were so wet and needy you hardly cared. Your breathing grew ragged, panting into Logan’s open mouth, as he slid inside you. Every vein along his cock dragged against your walls, making you whine and cant beneath him. 

When he was buried to the hilt inside you, hips connected with your thighs, he braced one hand above you while the other held your leg on his hip. It seemed to take all of his willpower to open his eyes and look down at you.

“Shit, you feel good. Doin’ alright?” he groaned. You nodded a frantic yes, gripping his hair tighter and touching his forehead to yours.

“Logan please fuck me, please, please,” you whispered. You were barely cognizant. Just a body made of an animalistic need. A pure, feral, unadulterated need that only Logan could satisfy.

Logan chuckled, “When you ask like that, doll, how could I say no?”

The slow drag out of you made you grieve the loss of feeling completely full. Your nails dug into Logan’s scalp as whiny moans passed through your clenched teeth. He whispered reassurance into your skin as he pushed back inside, a smooth glide all the way in. He tried to set a slow pace, tried to give you time to adjust. But the pleas spilling from your lips and the grip of your thighs around his hips gave him the last shove he needed.

Quick, wet slaps bounced around the room as he rammed into you, over and over and over again. Pounding into you so hard you swore you could feel him in your throat and that if you weren’t mutant, you would break. High moans met choked grunts in the air between you. The bed’s wooden headboard slammed into the wall behind you in pace with Logan’s thrusts. 

And just like that his teeth were on you again. Biting and scraping and marking, drawing blood just for it to disappear under his tongue. Your shoulders, your collarbone, your breasts, your neck. None were left unmarked. And they remained ravaged, your mind too fractured by his relentless fucking to focus on healing yourself. 

“Fuck, vampire,” he moaned against your skin. His eyes were glassy, distant. Like his entire mind was devoted to filling you to the brim over and over again. The hand braced above your head grabbed the back of your neck, lifting your head so his lips could crash into yours. You were a mess of teeth and tongues and blood. Mindless, breathless moans swallowed between you.

You could feel that coil again. It tightened tauntingly at each thrust, each pound into you that drove you further into insanity. Flames of pure need licked and burned along your skin, only satisfied when Logan was filling you to the brim. Jesus, if you couldn’t feel every thrust rattle your teeth and send you further into oblivion.

Logan adjusted above you, nearly folding you in half as both his hands landed next to you on the bed. Like this, every thrust hit that spot inside you. Splitting you open to leave nothing but a moaning mess behind. 

He groaned above you, teeth gritted, and his claws shot out of his fists. The sound of fabric tearing filled your roaring ears. Deep gauges left in the mattress on either side of your head. Threatening, terrifying even. But to your fuck-drunk mind it only turned you on more. The unquenchable furnace burning in your core flamed into a blazing inferno. Your fingers scraped along his skin, searching mindlessly for something to ground you.

Another groan from Logan, reverberating from deep in his chest, as his forehead touched yours again. A spot of gentleness in the undeniably brutal way he was fucking you.

“I’m-Fuck!-I’m getting real close, doll,” he grunted, his pace never slowing or lessening in its ferocity. He unburied his hand from the bed, retracting his claws, and lowered it between your bodies to rub circles into your swollen clit.

“Ah! Fuck, Logan!” you yelped. You could feel yourself hurtling toward your inescapable second orgasm. Your eyes, unfocused as they were, tried to zero in on Logan above you. You felt like you were caught beneath a launching rocket, being blasted by the flames from the metal beast above you.

One, two, three more thrusts and then you were gone. Ecstasy poured into your veins like ink in water, drowning all you were, all you knew, all you felt. Eyes clouding over with swirling spots of black and white, the inferno in your core overtaking you like a forest fire. All you were was burned away, flames inhaling your body and mind, until all that was left was a mewling, breathless, writhing person that didn’t feel like yourself. 

Logan wasn’t too far behind you. The relentless pounding inside you grew ragged, sloppy, his fingers tangling in your hair to let him breathe the same air as you. A sharp groan echoed from his chest as his thrusts stilled, spilling inside you. Hands gripped at the soft flesh on your hips, pinning you against him, prolonging his orgasm.

You felt weightless, like you were floating on the destroyed bed below you and the only thing keeping you grounded was Logan on top of you. Lazy, trembling fingers traced the veins on his forearms, still clutched to your sides. Your hazy vision focused on his face. Blissed out, eyes closed, chest heaving. You felt a lopsided grin stretch across your swollen lips.

“Told you, ya won’t hurt me,” you rasped. You must have screamed at some point, because your throat was scratchy and sore. Not that you minded.

Logan let out a breathless chuckle above you. His fingers massaged soothing circles into your hips as his eyes opened, gaze landing on your post-orgasmic smirk.

He cleared his throat then said, “You sure? I got pretty rough.”

Your eyes fell closed as you used the remaining fragments of your mind to close the wounds across your neck and chest, willing the skin to seal and the bruises to flush away. Once you were satisfied you opened your eyes again.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you said, grinning. Logan shook his head, matching your grin, as he slid out of you. An involuntary whine slipped up your throat at the loss of him inside you. The loss was quickly remedied by him laying down beside you, wrapping you in his arms and tucking you against his chest. You settled in, nestling your cheek against his damp skin, while he hummed above you.

“I know you can, but I’m not so sure about the sheets.”

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks as you observed the carnage around you. The once (somewhat) pristine, light blue sheets were absolutely covered in blood, loose threads, and other results of what the two of you had just done. Not to mention the holes in the mattress that could no way in hell be fixed.

You let out a sigh as your hand covered your eyes, face flushed. Logan smirked and kissed the top of your head.

“We’ll get ‘em replaced, doll. Don’t worry about it,” he said, amusement at your situation laced in every word.

However, the two of you froze in response to the words that filled your heads, the disappointment palpable and tone icy.

“It’ll come out of your wallets.”

i'd like to thank @madschiavelique and @gracethyomen for encouraging my obsession with logan. much love to them both and the rest of the murdock tuna team 🐟

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[i2sunric]

𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓

enhypen hyung line fics based on daniel di angelo’s songs.

DISCLAIMER: these fics may contain heavy themes, smuts and angst. please be aware before reading and minors do not interact. i may change some things of the plots if i get better ideas.

STATUS: only sunghoon published.

a/n: PLEASE like and reblog to spread! i may be slow at writing but i promise i’ll publish as soon as i can + listen to those bangers 💋 COMMENT to be added to the taglist of the fic you want.

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 — 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄

“you’ve fucked with the wrong type, baby i’m the wrong guy.”

PAIRING: ceo!heeseung x stripper!reader

SUMMARY: during your usual shift at the pub on one late friday night, you noticed a gloomy figure sat on a sofa, his whole demeanour screaming broken. you wanted to fix him, you wanted to make him shine, but some things are too shattered to be put back together. be careful or you might get broken as well.

WARNINGS: rough sex. unprotected sex, dirty talk, sex & sex, heeseung is toxic (or at least i tried), gaslighting, mentions of drugs, daddy issues, self hate, happy ending? (more to be added)

PUBLISHED: coming soon.

WC:??

TAGLIST: open

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐀𝐘 — 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

“i miss the way i used to fucking pull your hair, now you’re so far away.”

pairing: ex!jay x reader

summary: after breaking up with your boyfriend, time passed by but didn’t heal as many say. or at least for jay. he fell back in his old habits, drinking and smoking while trying to drown out his sadness; all until you receive a message from him and decide to make things right.

warnings: drinking and smoking. unprotected sex, dirty talk, doggy, toxic relationship, angst, self hate, hurt/comfort? (more to be added)

published: coming soon.

wc: ??

tag list: ??

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 — 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

“fucking all the time is wrong when you’re not mine, baby”

pairing: boyfriend’s best friend!sunghoon x reader

summary: just like eva did in the garden of eden, you fell under the serpent’s court and now are under his spell. you knew you shouldn’t betray your boyfriend, jake, like that when he was (not) so right for you, but seeing that he spent more time out for work made you seek the love and affection you needed, and who if not sunghoon could give you what you deserved?

warnings: cheating (don’t like, don’t read). unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), they fuck everywhere and i mean it, toxic, creampie, masturbating, pussy eating, fighting, kissing, jealousy, doggy, missionary, rough blowjob, angst if u squint? jake is a toxic bf, sunghoon low-key corrupts reader, reader is designed with a weak personality. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

published: 6th August 2024

wc: 13.6k

tag list: closed.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 — 𝐍𝐎 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏

“our relationship was better when we never fucked, like, but just sometimes.”

pairing: fuck buddy!jake x reader

summary: jake should’ve known better than making the drunken mistake of sleeping with his best friend. and he should’ve known better than falling for your tricks and become your friend with benefits. he really tries to talk you out of it but most of the time it’s his dick doing the thinking, and you don’t mind at all. problem is, his heart got tricked as well.

warnings: unprotected sex. dirty talk, fwb, smut, jake is a sucker (like down so bad), creampie, mentions of pregnancy (more to be added?)

published: coming soon.

wc:??

tag list:??

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You always knew deep down that getting involved with the Kook prince himself would result in nothing but heartache. Unsurprisingly, like an absolute sucker you had allowed yourself to get pulled into his orbit, hook, line and sinker.

The two of you were always unlabeled, two people just trying to take the edge off; so it shouldn't have stung when you caught him with another girl on his arm. But it's completely unfair when he comes crawling back as soon as you attempt to move on.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Rafe, 18+ content (so minors go somewhere else), AFAB, fem aligning pronouns, toxic relationships, lack of communication, infidelity if you really squint, stalking, hints of dark!Rafe, Soft!Rafe (because I'm a sucker), Rafe refers to himself as Daddy once (I'm sorry, it's so in character), Oral (F! Receiving), Unprotected sex (reader is on the pill), public sex (they do it in a bathroom at a party), dubious consent (both Rafe and reader are intoxicated).

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: 25K words (the Lana Del Ray and Chase Atlantic continuously playing in my headphones wouldn't let me stop). Not proofread (as per usual, I'm sorry), Pogue!reader.

You love your life. The simultaneous merge of monotony and spontaneity. Sure, it is boring in certain aspects. The schedule of your job demanding that you wake up nearly every day of the week, pulling yourself out of the warmth and comfort of your bed before the sun has even bled across the horizon in hues of pale gold and soft lavender to begin opening up the restaurant; passing through the door that always squeals sharply on its hinges. No amount of WD-40 has managed to correct the offending, metallic shriek, but Deborah, ever the penny-pincher always brushes off the notion of simply replacing the hinges. Huffing and shrugging it off whenever you suggest it. One of these days you plan to go down to the hardware store yourself and buy a fresh set of replacements. 

The ritual of your mornings is often tedious. The one before it the same as the one that comes after; setting the chairs down from their places tucked upside down on the tabletops to be seated on their designated positions on the floor, turning the coffee machines on to begin brewing a fresh pot for the early risers and regulars that stop in for a quick uplift before they head off to their jobs, checking to make sure that you had properly stocked up the night before you left; that the sliced lemons and creamers and ketchup bottles have all been filled. You sometimes have a habit of accidentally skipping out those tasks when you've been on a double. Sometimes on purpose if you know that you're going to be the opener the very next day. 

Though more often than not it ends up with you cursing yourself out for leaving more unnecessary work for yourself. 

You're at your job more than you're at your own home. But with how high Deborah's turn rates are, and how little people do actually come in to retrieve an application, it's practically been up to you to try and hold down the fort as best as possible. Apart from Charlotte, who does her best to cover as many shifts as she can (though that isn't always possible if one of her kids falls sick or the babysitter calls off), and Rusty. But as the main cook, he practically lives in the restaurant to begin with. So much so, that it has become a joke among the staff that he should just call it quits and put up a cot in the back so that he could takes naps in between shifts. He's always at the restaurant long before you are. Piddling around in the back of the house to get a head start on the day ahead and prepping for what he'll need. 

It's dull work, sure, and the breaks that you get are few and far between, but the threat of oncoming bills always looming overhead like a fucking hydra. As soon as you manage to cut off one head, another immediately seems to grow in its place. Plus, you also have a difficult time in saying no to Deborah. You think everyone does honestly. She could be hard to navigate at times, seeming to seesaw between being almost sickeningly sweet and intimidatingly disgruntled. Skulking around the restaurant with a sharp anger glinting in her eyes, a harsh scowl pulling at the wrinkled corners of her lips as she barks orders and huffs over crumbs and stains that aren't there. 

But you try, like the others, not to hold it against her. You know that she's just stressed. Struggling to pick up the pieces that her son had left behind; to keep his dream alive as best as she can. 

Still, you can't help but to revel in any chance you get to have a day to yourself. Even though the reprieve that you do get is typically spent at your own home. Basking outside underneath the warmth while you soak in the small layer of water contained in the old sun faded kiddie pool, reading one of your unfinished books, or reclining against the lip of the hard plastic while the music from your old Bluetooth speaker drifts down from the steps of the small, worn porch attached to the front of your trailer. 

Every once in a while, if your budget is willing, you might head down to the quaint thrift store that lies just on the outskirts of town. Though calling it a "store" is being quite generous. It's pretty much just a shed that had been repurposed as a business in Metilda Clark's backyard; the walls boarded with shelves for books and DVD's and VHS tapes, and racks filled with garments donated from families whose children have grown out of their clothes or family members that have passed on and they can't bear to look at their personal belongings anymore. 

So you suppose that in a sense, it's a graveyard of sorts. A place for people to bury or move on from their pasts without entirely discarding the items that they need to be free from. Given that that a large chunk of the island's population is in part of the working class, a vast amount of the wares and goods found at the store are a little lackluster. Every once in a while, you manage to find something good. A piece of clothing or shoes that have managed to trickle down from the Eight, like a pair of vintage heels that you were able to snag for twenty-five bucks. But for the most part it's just plain knickknacks, fishing lines and old bodice rippers - many of which are wildly amusing to flip through. 

If only you had a nickel for every time you had seen a man's dick referred to as a "pulsing hot member" or "engorged manhood." It never fails to remind you of Ms. Perky from Ten Things I Hate About You trying to write smut in her office. 

Still, it does sometimes prove to yield some interesting finds. Like the magenta lava lamp that now sits on the shelf posted along the far side of your room or the rooster shaped tea pot that you always use on stormy nights. That purchase might have been a little dumb, just maybe, but you had thought it was cute when you saw it. 

But if you're being honest, you mostly go to the thrift store for the small ceramic bowl full of candy that Metilda keeps along the front counter; always full of strawberry bon bons, Tootsie Rolls, and hard caramels. You always make sure to pluck one up as she tallies up your purchase on her archaic cash register, squinting through her glasses as her bony fingers skitter across the buttons while she shares the latest bit of gossip to you. She's always in the know it seems, like some sort of P.I . . . or maybe Batman. It's almost a talent. But you suppose that being a member of the church, the local book club, and attending bingo every weekend would get you in on a lot of the gossip that circles around town. 

It's how you found out the Janice Morty was cheating on her husband of twenty-three years with his own brother, or that Sammy Kennedy has been breeding and selling exotic reptiles in his basement illegally. Sometimes you'd find yourself standing in front of that little desk long after your purchase had been bagged and paid for, just listening intently as she gives you the scoop on everything. Watching the earrings dangling from her lobes quiver and shake animatedly as she passionately recounts all of the drama she's heard - she's always got a new, fun pair on every time you see her. Many of them are retro, 80's style, but a large majority are shaped after everyday objects. One of your favorites so far would have to be the odd pair of small rotating fans, colored in that vintage mint green shade with pink blades. But the fuchsia gumball machines have to be a close second. 

You love to come in and see what pair she's going to be wearing, to hear all of the local drama. But the sound of a single name had made you regret the trip entirely. 

"- all of a sudden the screen had lit up! Just set alight without any warning." She recounted, tucking a book alongside the others inside of the recycled bag, the wrinkles in the plastic causing the smiley face to become disfigured. "Well, one of my customers saw the culprits - or at least who they suspect to be. They saw a big group of them scatter once the chaos erupted; that Thorton boy, and old Heyward's kid was there. And even Rafe Cameron, that spoiled little nuisance -" 

Your brain had blanked then. Falling flat and somehow chaotic like static filming over a TV screen. It had made it difficult to tell what you were truly feeling in that moment as it all seemed to crash over you into a still hush. But the elements of it all was certainly there: irritation, resentment, and that pathetic sense of longing that never seems to truly go away. It sticks to you like a nasty parasite. Burrowed deep and latched onto your flesh, the disease in it seeping into your bloodstream. 

No matter how much you try, it seems that you can't get away from him. The woes of living in a small community. It feels like a sort of damnation. A limbo that you can crawl yourself out of. You've gotten so close to it too. All but throwing yourself into your work - even more so than usual, if that was possible. It was to the point that your coworkers have begun to notice. You can see the way they all watch you curiously as you talk to your tables and flit about the dining room floor. Charlotte had even thrown away any attempts at subtly and had directly confronted you about your "situation." Claiming that you've seemed distracted as of late. Tense. And shit, maybe you have been a little uptight lately. Forcing plastic smiles and pretending that there isn't a hurt that's aching deep in the pit of your chest. You had promised her that you were alright, while the words felt fake, almost acidic on your tongue. She hadn't looked convinced. 

You had been doing good at pretending that you're alright. For the most part at least. With the distraction of your job and lounging around at home, diverting your attentions with old comedies and comfort watching the same old TV shows, you had nearly convinced yourself that you were alright. Though you mostly owed that to your recent proclivity for eating your feelings with Ben and Jerry's and sunbathing. Cliche, maybe. But effective. Indulging and pampering yourself has become your new means of deflecting the heartbreak that you so desperately want to pretend isn't there. And it had been working so well too. 

Until Matilda had to go and ruin it. The sound of his name leaving her red lips might as well as been nails on a chalk board. You know it was well meaning. There is no way that she would know, not even with all of the tabs and connections she's got running through the island. And that had been the point of it all. There was no label for whatever the two of you had been. The only agreement there was that your "relationship" - friends with benefits or whatever you were - was to remain on the down-low. A quiet, airtight secret lest the population of Kildare become privy to the fact that the Kook prince himself had been fucking a Pogue. 

It had been fine in the beginning. Well, not exactly fine. If someone were to ask you how you had begun seeing Rafe Cameron of all people, you wouldn't have a good answer. You yourself aren't entirely sure. It had sort of just happened. Like a wildfire that had grown out of control. The both of you have always been at each other's throats. The bullshit roles thrusted upon you by the divide of the classes on the island seeming to demand that you be enemies. Though he was more interested in maintaining those characters than you. 

You had never cared much for the Kook vs Pogue ideal. It seems archaic, tired and outdated. An unnecessary dissection that often gets grossly out of hand by the other locals.  Sometimes violently so, with the clashes ending in busted lips and bloodied knuckles. Not too long ago a fight had broken out during an after-storm party, where it was claimed that a gun had been drawn and fired. Just another reason why you found the blatant classism in the town to be entirely too much and downright threatening at times. 

But no one else believed in it more than Rafe Cameron. Topper Thronton might give him a run for his money, but you'd still have to give the victory to the prince himself. That's why it came to a complete shock to your own system when your relationship with had gone from scathing, sardonic quips and passive aggressive remarks to something balancing on almost playful. You had seemed to dangle precariously between that fine line, rocking back and forth between a genuine disdain and a delicate sort of camaraderie. 

It was an explosive mix that was just waiting for the trigger. And the anticipation of it had suspended over you like the humidity that taints the air outside, like the heavy quiet before a great storm before the lashing and booming of lightning and thunder rattles across the sky. Still, the both of you had blindly ignored the signs - the fleeting glances, the jealously that would fester in your gut whenever you saw him with someone else, the way that he would seek you out while you worked to hover over you as you poured sugar into shakers or bussed tables after your customers left. Hiding his interest in the guise of immature taunts and corny insults. And you'd do your best to deny the temptation suspended over you, writing it off as hatred and irritation whenever you crossed paths. 

You would see Rafe sparingly in your day-to-day life. Though he would fleetingly come into the restaurant every now and again. Typically to bring his newest fling in for the slices of lava cake or malted milkshakes. The Backyard Grill - or more simply, the Backyard, is a seafood restaurant first and foremost, but one thing that cannot be denied, even by the likes of the upper class, is that it has the best desserts in the entirety of Kildare Island. People of all walks of life come in to get a warm slice of apple pie, or a rich piece of red velvet. 

But it's the floats and milkshakes that are the most popular. Usually among couples that are trying to have a romantic evening. Or as romantic as it can be while in the ambiance of a ramshackle dining room, with scratched, defaced tabletops that have the initials of lovers etched into the (once) polished wood, and an old A/C unit that hisses as it spits out air. 

It's hardly a place that you'd imagine someone like Rafe Cameron frequenting, but he would still pop in every now and again. Usually with a new girl on his arm, trading them out as just easily as he'd change clothes.

It had made you tempted to speak up about it. To dare to make a subtle warning in the guise of a joke to clue the girls in, but he would always look up at you with a knowing gleam in his eyes. As though he was challenging you to spill and make a scene; to give him a reason to lash out with that scornful tongue of his and somehow pin the blame back on you. It always left resentment bubbling just underneath your skin, hot and angry while you forced yourself to hold your words back, all while a sharp, mocking smile threatened to show on your face. 

You had loathed when he would walk through the door. The infrequent nature of his visits making it feel like a sort of roulette as to whenever you'd hear the squeal of the hinges, and the dainty chime of the bell posted above the threshold - if it would be him passing through the door or not. Each time it was him, irritation would flare throughout you, but some traitorous feeling that you couldn't name would quickly follow; light and almost warm. Horrendously close to what could only be considered affection. You'd always shove it down as soon as you would register it. 

Rafe was unpredictable. A notorious hothead with a proclivity towards handling any offence he deemed against him with violence and hostility. The echoes his past rampages are still frequently on the town's lips despite being old news. Much like the time that he had reportedly attacked Matthew Bailey in the hallway of the private school for accidentally brushing against him. In Rafe's words, Matthew had rudely shoulder checked him and tried to walk away without apologizing. Regardless, the beat down that had proceeded had been a complete overkill, with Matt ending up on the flat of his back on the floor while Rafe pinned him down and repeatedly struck his face with a closed fist. He only managed to deliver two blows from what you had heard before he was pulled back, but the force behind it had been enough that Matthew's nose is now permanently bent. 

Everything about him should have repulse you. From his insistent belief that the less financially fortunate aren't as important or deserving as the wealthy, from the downright volatile way that he behaved. Like a rabid dog on a fraying lead. Morality should have been enough to repel you from him. To get you to steer clear of Rafe Cameron and pretend that he didn't exist. 

But that night on the beach, with bonfires burning high along the shore like blazes and the rowdy scattering of people cheering and laughing around you, everything that had been restrained between you both seemed to finally tear free from the grip you had on it. Maybe it had been the influence of the alcohol in your system, buzzing about your veins in a rush of warmth, or a side effect of the excitement thrumming throughout the air, but when you had saw him enter through the mass of bodies, something - some kind of resistance seemed to break.  

It was pitiful how your eyes had found him through the masses, fastening onto him as though he was the only thing that had mattered. But the way that the firelight had casted onto his skin had been gorgeous, panting him in hues of amber and vermillion and dramatic shadow. The traces of it glimmering clearly in his eyes, still visible from the distance that had separated you. A few strands of his hair dangling above his eyes in a way that you found a little too appealing, the glow of the flames highlighted the traces of brown and red in the strands.

It was almost offensive; how attractive he looked. Even while wearing one of those stupid polo shirts that he's so fond of. The color of it was a soft sort of blue. A shade that you knew would bring out the color of his eyes, gunmetal and baby blue. 

It felt like all of the oxygen had been siphoned from your lungs when the pair of them had flickered over to you and the shadows that you had found comfort in while you watched over Becca as she danced with some random guy, her laughter twinkling over the exuberant chaos letting you know that as of now, he was being respectful and minding his manners. But being under the sudden observations of Rafe had caused the dancing and socializing around you to melt into a dull background until it was nothing but the soft sand beneath your shoes and the balmy glide of the breeze shifting over your skin, slightly damp with humidity and tinged with the salt of the waves crashing along the surf. 

You had expected him then to simply alter his path and seek out some of the other Kook's that were mixed in along the crowd, but he hadn't. He kept on his trajectory, walking straight towards you, unworried as the rest of the people around you were too caught up in their own affairs or too intoxicated to notice. 

There was a determination and intensity in his eyes that had made you feel uncertain. Almost awkward in your own body, leaving you to pluck at the neon glowstick bracelet around your wrist and absentmindedly swirling the mixed drink in your red solo cup, that had long since gone warm. Once he had been standing directly in front of you, the conversation that had taken place was almost delicate as it was playful. Something new was stretching out in front of you both, strange and tricky to navigate. 

"Hey, Pogue," had been his greeting. As though he was trying to remind himself of who - of what you were to him. But it had been said so oddly, not laced with the usual contempt, that it nearly sounded endearing to you. It had been enough to warrant a smile, and the sight of your apparent amusement had been enough to have the tension melting from his posture. The rigid set of his shoulders sagging into something more relaxed and familiar, allowing him to settle into that arrogant stance of his. 

"Hey, yourself," you responded and raised the edge of your cup to take a sip of your drink. You had to fight off the urge to wince as the alcohol went down, sharp and stinging on your tongue from the cutting edge of hot vodka and the sickly-sweet syrup of cranberry and orange juice. "What the hell are you doing here, consorting with the enemy. Try not to get to close, yeah? You might catch our diseases." 

He had seemed then, to take your words as a sort of challenge. Like a raise to a sort of bet. He had stepped closer, crowding himself into your space in a way that should have felt invading, but you had only delighted in it. Free of a shirt, with only a bikini top to conceal your chest, your skin was unprotected from the subtle warmth that radiated from his body. His sudden proximity washing over you with the scent of his cologne and the gel in his hair, that seemed to have come unruffled from its usual slick back style. 

You had felt hypnotized as he pulled himself closer into your presence; engulfed by the ardor in his stare. A like of which you had never seen aimed at you - not so unabashedly, at least. You had only gotten glimmers of it. Small doses given behind the cover of hard glares and snide remarks. But then, the want on his face was bare. Shown freely underneath the cover of the dark while he leaned close enough for you to feel the gentle trace of his breath on your neck. His eyes bore into your own, demanding that you meet his stare and bear the weight of it. 

"Maybe I wanna get close." 

It had all been a flurry after that. A rush of playfully passed words and hushed, almost covetous whispers. You had allowed him to tug you into the night, far away from the illumination of the bonfires and the possibility of seeing eyes to carve a space just for the two of you. Guiding you into the thicket of trees surrounding the festivities, far off until the laughter darting over the air and the calming rise and fall of the waves had dimmed; softening so that your focus was fixed entirely on him. 

He'd taken you against a tree, fucking up into you harshly as though he'd been waiting a lifetime to do it. Splitting you open on his cock and driving his hips forward like he hated you, leaving you to claw at his back through the fabric of his shirt, nails catching and slipping up towards the nape of his neck where they left marks deep enough to have him hissing in pain. You could have felt guilty for it, but the subtle agony seemed to spur him on more. Somehow causing him to pump himself into you with a new vigor, leaving you to hang on and take it while he punched the air from your lungs. Pinned in place uselessly while the bark of the tree he had you pressed against scraped and nicked at your back. It left marks on you for nearly two weeks. 

You had thought that would have been the end of it. A night of regret fueled by alcohol and hatred, but the both of you hadn't stopped afterwards. He had begun to seek you out afterwards. Not too brazenly. He couldn't have the locals of the island finding out about your little trysts. But he would often sneak up to your house, around the late hours, always long after your neighbors had tucked in to sleep and the sun was well past the horizon. 

At first, it was fully apparent what he wanted from you. He'd stay long enough for the both of you to get what you wanted. A simple transaction of the flesh. The boundaries had been clear then. Just two people working out their frustrations and using each other to take the edge off. Put then he had started spending the night. You aren't sure when he had stopped leaving and begun staying over, tucking himself next to you in bed, burrowing under the covers while you watched the shitty action movies that he always requested you put on. 

And pretty soon he began leaving pieces of his clothes. Small things. A shirt or two. Because he liked to see you wearing them; that's what he had told you. But then there had been pants, and the odd sock, and a few pairs of his boxers, all of which you washed with your own clothes and then kept folded in a corner of your closet. 

His toothbrush was placed next yours on the bathroom counter, colored white and blue. And there was a bottle of his cologne tucked in the shelf underneath the sink, right next to some of your hygiene products and rolls of toilet paper. He kept spare shampoo in the built in shower cubby, so that he wouldn't have to use yours. He'd smell too feminine, that's what he told you. 

He'd spend the night whenever things would grow to be too much with his dad. Their relationship was always so strained. So full of resentment and insecurity. He had shared that with you one night, while you were held to his chest, your head tucked just underneath his chin while you stared up at the fairy lights strung up around your room. The scent of sex was still heavy in the air, the sweat from it clinging to your skin while you counted the thrum of his heart racing under your ear, gradually mellowing out to a steady beat as your breaths calmed. 

You had tried to nudge him to stop, promising that you didn't expect for him to share any of it with you. Warning him that it was just the influence of sex and the rush of dopamine and oxytocin thrumming steadily in his veins urging him to open up. You didn't want him to regret it. To regret what you had between you. But he had promised then that he wanted to. That he needed to tell someone. There had been a vulnerability in his voice that you had never heard from him before. A mild tremor as though he was trying to hold onto himself. To keep himself from potentially falling apart while he confessed about his home. How his stepmother was always present and yet entirely absent, how his father saw him as nothing but a failure, how Sarah paid him little mind. A psycho, she had called him once. But he was always sweet to you in those simple moments, when he would scatter kisses up your neck, tender and light while he drew you to him with the wide grip of his hands. 

There were so many lines that had been crossed. Lines that just "fuck buddies" don't cross. Not without a clear conversation at the very least. Perhaps it had been your fault, for reading into things that weren't there. For applying meaning to all the little moments you had spent together. All of the times you had ate leftovers together in your small kitchenette, laughing and playfully insulting each other while you ate away at Chinese food or reheated burgers in between jokes. Childishly nudging at him with your foot underneath the table while he complained or made remarks about his day. 

It's just fuck buddies who ask for you to pick a box of Lucky Charms during grocery runs because it's a quick meal to eat after fucking, when the weed gives him an appetite; it was just being a fuck buddy when he would lay in your arms for hours, molding himself against the shape of you to try and burrow himself along your skin, breathing tiredly into your neck; and it was perfectly casual when he bought you a necklace with a pendant of his first initial - 14 karat gold he told you. He wanted to go for 24k, but it would have been too weak and malleable, and 18k wouldn't be as scratch resistant. He wanted it to last. That's what he had said as he sucked and nipped at the skin on your neck, around the thin, golden chain; turning the flesh tender and marked. 

Maybe it truly was all your fault. So you shouldn't have been at all surprised when he had ghosted you for four days straight and then you had seen him strolling around town with Casey Ellis; her head tucked into his neck while she laughed, her hand placed to his chest. She was a gorgeous girl with highlights in her hair and a body that didn't have so much as a hint of a single stretchmark or a dimple of cellulite, wearing Luis Vuitton sunglasses and an outfit that must have cost a fortune. She was perfect, and she wasn't you. 

You were smart enough to connect the dots. To put two and two together. You had been replaced. Just all the girls before you had, and it made you feel like a complete idiot. How you had let yourself be so blinded by affection, to let the wool be pulled over your eyes and tricked into believing that you wouldn't fall to the same fate. Letting something that feels dangerously close to love delude you into thinking you'd be different. It dug deep. Slicing through you and reaching to grip a hold of a vulnerability that you hadn't even known was there. Still, you hardly even thought it over when you had skimmed through your contacts and blocked his number; doing it as though you had been put under a sort of spell, detached and numb while anger seared underneath it all in a burning undercurrent. You sent him a single message before cutting him off and out of your life. Affording him at least that little curtesy, unlike what he had done to you. It was curt. Cut and dry, if not just a little personal. 

it's clear that you've found another person to cry to and fuck. that means we're done. Dont come back 

Was it a little juvenile? Perhaps. But it had felt good, even if you hadn't done it face to face. But he didn't deserve that much. And it was nice to be so detached about it. To do something as shitty as cutting things off over a text message. It was disrespectful, a slap to the face, and you hoped that it had hurt and confused him. That his brows had pinched in the way that they do when he's bewildered, that he had paced around his room and combed his fingers through his hair while he read those letters over and over again as though it would help him make sense of it. 

You had ignored the curious, perplexed stares of your neighbors when you threw his clothes and toothbrush into the containment of the firepit behind your trailer, dousing them with lighter fluid and setting them alight. It had felt therapeutic to watch it all burn. Charring around the edges and turning black as it melted from the unforgiving heat to turn into an indiscernible pile. You'd like wish that the memories with him would do the very same, but you've had no such luck yet. 

But it's difficult to forget someone when they're determined to be remembered. Skulking about like a wild dog in the shadows, wandering up to your door in the night, pawing to be let in. The first week after you had cut ties, he had shown up at your trailer, forgoing all attempts at being quiet to bang his fist on your front door. Loud enough to all but tear you from your sleep, causing you to jerk up with a gasp, your heart thumping wildly in your ears as his muffled voice bled past the walls. 

"C'mon, baby! Listen - I - I know I fucked up, but we can work past this, alright?" A dull bang had punctuated it, and it left you to wonder if he had dropped his forehead against the door, defeated and desperate. Good. "It's not that - can't we just back to the way things were?" 

You had ignored his please to be heard and turned over in your bed. Drowning out the sound of his voice by turning on the TV and waiting him out until he left, deterred only by one of your neighbors' dogs, agitated by the sound of his shouting. After that he only tried to approach you one more time. Turning up at you job and all but ambushing you once you stepped out into the parking lot. You had done your best to ignore him. To keep the venom and contempt that longed to rise up past your lips as he trailed after you like a shadow, demanding that you stopped and just listened to him while you beelined for your car at the far end of the dirt lot. 

He had only touched you once you clutched your keys and turned them into the lock and reached for the door handle, grabbing ahold of your shoulders to shove your back to the driver side door, caging you in with his body while he clutched at you like a drowning man reaching for a buoy in a storm. You swear that there were tears in his eyes then, glinting in the dim cast of the nearby streetlamps. The emotion in his voice had been so raw. Broken, as though he was hanging on by a thread and just barely holding himself together. It made you feel like you were being dragged under. 

"Just look at me - just let me speak, okay?" His words nearly melded together in a quick rush, as though he couldn't spit them up fast enough. But your heart was in your throat, adrenalin running rampant in your veins while you stared into his eyes. Lost in the desperation in them. The dark of his pupils like hollows, threatening to swallow you whole. All the while your hand remained latched onto the door handle, frozen as he sucked you into the raw emotion that could only be described as a sort of anguish. "I fucked up, I know that, but we can get through this. "

His hands had slipped up to your face then. Cradling you as though it might keep you with him, secure in his palms, a fine porcelain that might shatter if handled too harshly. But you couldn't stand to listen to him. To feel him on your skin, to smell the scent of him after trying to wash the fragrance of his cologne out of your sheets. It had you jerking in his grip like a wild animal, even while a pathetic part of you longed to draw him closer. Before he could fully register it, you had tugged the driver's side door open, slipping out of his grasp and into your car. You had yanked the door shut and slammed your hand down on the main button to lock the entirety of the car down. Keeping him out. 

You didn't spare him a glance as he banged on the window, asking that you step back outside in a tone that was so soft. So broken. But you swallowed down the urge to comply. You fueled yourself with the anger buried beneath it all instead as you twisted the key into the ignition and sped off and out of the parking lot, gravel and dust spewing behind while you left him behind. Standing alone in an empty parking lot with only the dim sound of his voice trailing after you like a wounded, violent howl. 

"Fine! Go on then! I don't fucking need you!" 

It's only been a few weeks since then, but you've done well to move on from it all. It was a simple, few month-long fling. Nothing more, nothing less. And that's all it would ever be. Thankfully, eventually, after a few weeks, he had given up. He stopped coming by your house, he quit stalking around the outside of your job. It was as though he had never even existed. All traces of him were gone from your life. For the most part. Until Matilda had gone and opened up her mouth, accidentally drawing up old memories and picking at a wound that had just begun to heal.  

It had been enough to put a blight on the remainder of your day, looming above like the thick of storm clouds. You're suffocating. Being pulled beneath crashing, tossing waves that threaten to fill your lungs with the sting of water and leave you lifeless and adrift. All of the vibrancy and enthusiasm for life that had been there just this afternoon seems to have fizzled out like a sparkler that's been dropped in a puddle. 

It makes you frustrated and tired with yourself. Exhausted by how much you've paled in comparison to the person you were only weeks ago, and here you are groveling in self-pity and loathing all because of an egocentric, insecure man who runs around town with all of the self-restraint of a rabid dog. He doesn't deserve your heartache or your tears. He never cared about you or your feelings. You had just been a hole to fuck, a pair of arms to run into when his life at home fell into shambles. 

For the first time in a while, you found yourself calling Becca in the hopes of wrangling her into going out. There was a party going on tonight, and an invitation had been extended to you, passed on by Allen Thatcher when he had come into the Backyard yesterday for his usual. You declined then. In any other circumstance, you would have accepted, schedule willing. Then the idea of attending a party, as relaxed as the environment might be, had seemed daunting. Far too much, too overstimulating while you still struggle to grapple with the torrent running rampant within you. But now, with anger and betrayal breaking through it all, bursting between the hurt like a fire spreading through a dead forest, the prospect of blaring music and the sting of alcohol sounds like a relief. 

It had been enough to have you dialing Becca and asking if she was free. She had seemed surprised on the phone, and she has a right to be. She's spent close to two weeks now trying to draw you out of the fog that you had fallen under. Doing her best to be supportive and keep you grounded while you try and weather the onslaught of your emotions, often swinging by your place if your work schedules allow to spend hours talking and exchanging some of the local drama with each other and catching up on the little things. She had also goaded you into bleaching and dying her hair late at 3 a.m., a task that you weren't fully confident in, but now the final result isn't too bad. 

She knows what happened between you and Rafe. She's the only one on this entire island that's aware of the precarious fling that had taken place between you and him and the sudden "break up" that had followed. She was the only person that you had trusted to share your secret with, and once your mood had taken a steady decline after cutting him off, you were unable to deny that the shift in your demeanor was entirely obvious, and she of all people, deserved to know the reason why. 

You received about what you had anticipated. A confused, somewhat disappointed stare in turn, as she no doubt processed why you hadn't told her sooner. The shock clearly written on her face as she wondered just how and why you had chosen to have a fling with Rafe Cameron of all people. But thankfully she had kept (most of) her thoughts and feelings to herself. For now, at least. Once the wound in you heals, you know that she'll be poking and prodding for you to give her all the details. 

For now, you can just bask in the sense of freedom that falls over you. It's like breathing after holding your breath for too long and it invites you to be shameless as you allow yourself to sway and move under the guide of the music's rhythm, taking sips of your drink until you can feel it humming in your limbs, making you light and pleasantly warm. People scattered among the space had greeted the two of you as you entered, nodding in greeting and lifting their solo cups to acknowledge you. It was nice to be seen so unabashedly, to be invited into a space without any strings attached or expectations. It just feels like another reminder that you don't need him in the slightest. With all of his insecurities and expectations for how he's perceived in the world. In his version of society. A place that you didn't fit. 

Here you're liked. You're wanted without having to give hardly anything in return. You're only expected to be present. 

It should be suffocating in Thatcher's living room, crowded by the scattered throng of people as laughter rises and falls across the air, bubbling over the 2000's pop song that blasts through the speakers loudly enough to have the walls vibrating. But the atmosphere is purely electrical, thrumming with an excitement that almost seems tangible, gliding along your fingertips and down your spine. It's lively, but comforting in a space that's decently familiar, having spent many a night in these same walls during parties just like this one, surrounded by many a familiar face. You know the people here. You've grown up with them. Many of which you had played with as a child, exploring creeks for bottles made of green and blue glass, skinning your knees from climbing trees, and breaking into abandoned buildings to explore and decorate with spray paint. 

Even if time has grown you apart somewhat, your lives forking from each other to divert you on your own paths, you can easily scan the throng and find at least ten people who you know. It brings you a sort of solace. You community is small, and your luxuries are often just as limited but there's a genuine connection between the lot of you that the Kook's will never have. 

Their relationships come with a check list. Requirements and demands that rests entirely on the number of digits in their bank accounts or how they're recognized by their accomplishments. It's all purely material. It's not a give or take, but a constant influx of give, give, give. You suppose in that aspect, you can pity Rafe. And all the other Kook's on this island. 

But you don't need to worry about all of that here. You're entirely free to do whatever you want. It could have been hours, or maybe only seconds, time seems to have poured into a blur in the middle of Thatcher's living room. Drawing down into a sluggish glide, like a thin flow of water cascading over the bend of rocks. It had taken you by surprise when a girl had run in from the adjoining kitchen, whooping loudly over the music, and she had nearly sent you and Becca tipping over when she brushed past you, tossing a handfuls of confetti as she went. 

Your irritation is only able to flourish for a breath or two before it's snuffed out when the shifting star-shaped silver begins to fall down around you like a soft scatter of rainfall. You have to cover your drink with your hand to keep it from getting contaminated from the confetti as you shift with the music, listening to the elated sound of Becca's laughter from somewhere beside you. Her attentions fixed on a guy that she's been eyeing all night. He's cute in a way, not exactly you type personally, but what you and Becca find attractive has always coexisted on a different spectrum. 

He seems to be watching her too. Sneaking glances from his place on the worn couch, but he hasn't worked up the courage to part from his friends, remaining fixed in his place as he clutches his beer. Either playing hard to get or too shy to make a move. 

"You gonna go for it?" You ask, leaning in towards her ear to be heard over the energetic tempo. 

Her face pinches like she's considering her option, nose wrinkling slightly. She has a tendency on waiting for guys to make the first move. A strategy that typically pays off in a party setting, with everyone boosted by liquid confidence, but this one in particular doesn't seem to be budging from his spot. If she was going to even attempt to approach him then she wouldn't do it without a little, gentle push. But once she works past whatever is giving her hesitation, she's pretty quick to gun for what she wants. Now you just have to nudge. 

"I don't know." She answers, shifting on her heels to get closer to you. You can hear the uncertainty in her voice, even underneath the cover of the swelling music. It has an amused smile tugging at your lips, and you fight off the urge to playfully roll your eyes at her as you dare to look back over to the guy who's been undressing her with his eyes the entire night. 

"Oh, come on," you urge, meeting her doubtful expression with your own confident one. "You've been watching each other for at least twenty minutes now. "

"Then why hasn't he made a move?" She taps her nails absentmindedly along the side of her cup. 

"Maybe he just likes the chase," you shrug. "But I've seen a couple other people here checking him out. Most notably, the tall blonde in the corner. It's only a matter of time before she swoops him up herself." 

She seems to take a pause, falling silently for a moment as though she's weighing her alternatives, but when you catch the hint of a smirk on her face you know that she's finally made her choice. She silently taps her cup to yours in a salute, and a quick, "Alright, I'm going in," as she heads off in the direction of the couch with an inviting smile on her face and an extra sway in her hips. 

As soon as she leaves, her absence is unignorable. Despite the living room being packed with people, it suddenly seems terribly hollow. There are faces scattered among the throng that you easily recognize. People who you went to high school with. A few only live down the street from you, and you see them nearly every day on your drive to work piddling around in their yards; you talk to some of them while you stand in line at the corner store to ring up the gas for your car a fountain drink. It would be easy, in theory, to walk up to just about any of them and strike up a conversation, but that suddenly seems impossible. 

It's like being in the middle of an ocean, clinging onto a scrap of wood left from the remnants of a wreck to keep you afloat in the tossing waves. The colorful array of confetti casted along the carpet, the music humming along the air like a current, the dispersed chimes of laughter floating up around you, it doesn't seem as lively as it did before. The sight of couples mingling in the corners of the room like they're the only people left alive is a nasty reminder of what you've lost. Of what you've never had to begin with. 

It has you glancing down at the inside of your cup, and it's a little frustrating to see the bottom of it, dark with only a thin sliver of what isn't even half a sip left. It has you making off towards the kitchen. Weaving through the sprinkling of bodies, carefully avoiding in accidentally nudging shoulders or running into someone as they mindlessly dance and wave their arms in the air. Lost in their own worlds. 

It's mostly empty when you pass the threshold, with only two three other people present, two of which are little more than strangers and the other is Thatcher; the small group huddled together near the cabinets. The aforementioned man responsible for the little get together perches on the counter, his head leaned against the cabinets while he talks with the pair between swigs of his sweating beer, laughing loudly with his companions. 

You don't let it stop you from approaching the kitchen table posted in the middle of the room, surveying the multiple two liters of soda and bottles of liquor that are scattered along the top, almost lost among the various chips and junk food. There's a lot to choose from, from Tito's to tequila and Fire Ball - the latter of which you can't help but to grimace at. You liked it for all of one night, and now the scent of cinnamon and overwhelming flavor of syrup threatens to make you gag every time. When you first got here, you had let Becca make your drink. A rum and Coke, you think, but it looks like someone might have finished off the bottle of liquor. 

"There's beers and stuff in the fridge," a voice sounds out, drawing your attention up from the table and across the room. It's Thatcher, watching you from underneath the scattered dark strands of his hair. He points in the direction of said fridge with the hand holding his drink. "Some of those seltzers and uh, fruity beers too - Mike's or whatever." 

"Oh, thanks," you say, crinkling the plastic cup in your hands and turning to toss in the trash can that's been blatantly placed near the table's legs. Probably so that it can't be missed. You see him nod towards his friends in your peripheral vision before slipping off the counter, the three of them exchanging words before he shuffles past them, and they leave the room, passing him knowing smiles as they slip out of the space. 

You can guess what they might be insinuating, and suddenly it leaves you feeling just a bit awkward as you move over to the fridge and tug the door open to scan its contents. True to his words there's a pack of Bud Light, the majority of the cans already gone, leaving the box nearly hollow. But the seltzers and alcoholic lemonade is still fairly plentiful. 

You've always known about the small crush that Thatcher has on you. Granted he's always been more than a little obvious with it, always following you with his eyes and popping into the Backyard on his lunch breaks from the docks, always requesting your section without fail, if more than one server happens to be scheduled. He's never been untoward or suffocating in his pursuit of you - if you could even call it that. It's always been more of a quiet admiration. He's sweet. Kind. A hard worker and boy-next-door type. The sort of guy that you should be able to see spending your life with. Except you can't. No matter how much you've tried to convince yourself, or others have tried to talk you into seeing his potential, the feelings never come. 

You can easily acknowledge that he's attractive. With a light dusting of freckles over his warm skin and defined muscles in his arms from his work on the boats. You can almost be mad at yourself for not having so much as a flicker of attraction for him. It isn't a fault of his own. There isn't some awful thing he had done to you as children, or a comment that he had made in the past that rubs you the wrong way, there's just nothing. Not an ember of want buried down deep or a flicker of consideration that maybe you really should give him a try and maybe you'll discover that he's truly the guy for you. He's patient and sweet, and it somehow does nothing for you. 

Being in his presence has never made you feel nervous before, but with the recent gash that Rafe has left in your life, the prospect of Thatcher suddenly coming to you with the insinuation of his feelings seems alarming. Like a wave that you don't have the courage to try and surf and navigate. It makes you almost regret coming here. Of letting your anger and exhaustion get the better of you to cling to an attempt to try and have a sense of freedom. 

"Have you been doin' alright lately?" He asks, and your suddenly hyperaware of his body beside your own. The inquiry has something unsteady prickling along your flesh. To prolong the silent gap between you, you unseeingly sweep your vision along the fridge and grab at one of the first cans you see before closing the door softly. You try to focus on the atmosphere around you for a few more moments, listening to the hum of the music, the ceaseless chatter echoing around you. The scent of vape fumes and weed smoke piercing the air and making it thick. 

"Uh, yeah, why?" You ask, keeping your voice light and leveled. You only pass him a look when you dig your finger underneath the tab and push it down to pop the can open with a sharp, metallic crack. 

He shrugs then, tilting his head as he considers you from his place leaned along the kitchen counter. "I don't know. You seem . . . Different. Distracted, I guess?" 

You've heard that one before. From Charlotte and the other girls at work. Even Becca herself has said that you've been quiet. Withdrawn. It makes you feel as though you're being put underneath a microscope. It forces you to be conscious of yourself. Of how you hold your shoulders, the way your arms hang at your sides, the posture of your spine. If you're smiling too much or too little, and the line between the two sometimes seem like they're merging. 

"Just personal stuff," you reply, occupying yourself by taking a sip of your drink. "It's nothing serious, honestly." 

Another small stretch of silence extends between you two, and you can see him nodding out of the corner of your eye as you shift to properly face him. 

"Okay. For what it's worth I'm here if you ever need someone to speak to. I know it can seem a little lonely when you're dealing with shit. Especially, personal, family stuff. " He clears his throat then, his eyebrows drawing close. "Sorry, I didn't invite you here to interrogate you. You're probably trying to forget it all, and I'm just reminding you-" 

"No! It's fine," you assure him in a quick rush. And it's the truth. You can't deny that the sentiment of it is nice. To know that he does care. You wouldn't consider yourself particularly close to him. You get on well enough. You've been to several of his parties, and he comes in to see you semi frequently at work, but beyond those cordial meetings, your time with him has never really extended beyond that. He was sort of part of an old friend group of yours when you were young. A friend of a friend. But age had seemed to draw you apart. You outgrew each other, it seems. But from what you remember, he was always one of the most doting. A natural part of his personality brought on from being the eldest brother to three siblings, most likely. 

Despite it all, it's a comfort. You can feel the tension that had pulled your muscle taut beginning to fade, allowing you to relax again. There's the impression of a soft smile on your mouth. A product of the relief that melts through you at the small offering of his support. It's probably not one that you'll actually seek out or indulge in, but the thought behind it is a welcome one. 

"I appreciate it." You offer a smile. 

Something shifts in his expression then. It's tender and subtle, but the implications of it suddenly terrifies you. The sight of it gives you a good idea of what is going on in his head. Of what he thinks might be happening, that an opening has just presented itself to him. It's more than enough to have that delicate sense of unease welling up inside of you again, trembling up your spine like a bolt of electricity. It urges you to make up an excuse, no matter how flimsy or paper thin it might be, but the words in your throat never rise. You feel trapped as you watch him shift awkwardly on his feet, the bottom of his shoes squeaking lowly on the fake, linoleum tiles as he prepares to speak, clearly thinking over how to make his approach. 

"Who the hell is this?" 

At first you consider that one of your earlier drinks had been spiked, and that you're suffering from a hallucination before you tip over and pass out on the kitchen floor. That could be the only possible explanation for the familiar voice that has just cut across the energetic atmosphere and uncomfortable tension. The sound of it seems to sever through you like a hot blade. The tone of it and the subtle, almost tired croak that always seems to be present in the edge its inflections searing through you like a lick of fire. 

It has your head jerking in its direction in a sharp snap and so many different things happen in you at once. Your mouth goes dry, you're certain that your heart stops and plummets down to the pit of your belly; time grinds down to a halt. The air is like static, thrumming over your skin in a way that tingles and hums. It forces you to stare like a deer caught in the headlights. 

Something about him looks rough. You can't tell if it's just the oily hue of the overhead kitchen light that's making the bags underneath his eyes more pronounced, but his face looks ragged. As though he hasn't slept properly in days; body pulled up tight with a nervous energy. His hair tousled and unkempt, as though he's been restlessly running his hands through it, knocking the strands loose to hang above his eyes, which look wild. A little blood shot as they dart between you and Thatcher, sweeping down the length of the other man's body as though he's sizing him up. It makes you worried that he's come here coked up. Fueled by chaotic emotions and drugs. 

It immediately puts you on edge, the way that he's openly evaluating him. No doubt, considering what might happen if he crosses the floor and swings on Thatcher. It's enough to rip you from your daze, the very prospect of it snapping over you like the crack of a gunshot. 

"Rafe," you gasp. "What are you doing here?" 

"I had to see you," he answers, as though it's normal. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He creeps forward a little bit then, as though he's attempting to approach a wild animal that might startle and dart at any second. And honestly, you feel as though you might. Your mind is scrambling, whipping around like a storm as a barrage of questions rise and swell. 

"How did you know I was here?" The question tumbles out of your mouth like something molten. Even with the unease seeping at you, you're unable to fight of the irritation burrowing beneath the surface of it all. "Are you stalking me? Do you have someone keeping tabs? What-"

"It was a lucky guess." 

Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, a voice in your mind seethes. He's such a liar. It's like he's allergic to telling the truth. There's no way he had a "lucky guess" for this. There's no explanation as to how he managed to track you down to a house in the middle of nowhere. A place that you know he's never been to before. 

Thatcher stands up straighter beside you, removing himself from the support of the counter to evaluate Rafe. "Ah, do you want me to kick him out? -" 

"Why don't you keep out of this." But it isn't a question or a suggestion. It slips from Rafe's mouth sharp and venomous, a clear command. Nearly a hiss with how much disdain is etched in his words. His vision flickering from you just long enough to pin Thatcher in place. It makes you wonder how he could possibly be so cross with a person that he doesn't even know. But then again, you've seen him snap people for as something as little as looking at him for too long. 

You can practically feel the possibility of a fight in the air. Heavy and charged like the presence of electricity running through the thick of a storm with the promise of a lightning strike. You can see the hypothetical rope that's restraining Rafe fraying and straining by the second. Growing weaker and weaker. Everything about the way that he's holding himself is practically screaming that he's preparing for the possibility of a physical confrontation; shoulders set, and eyes wide and glinting in the glow of the lights in a way that looks feral. 

You hardly think when you step out in front of him, moving yourself away from Thatcher to place your body between the both of theirs until there's little more than a few feet separating you and Rafe. You hardly have time to process how close you are to him. That night in the parking lot feels like a lifetime ago. A murky, faded memory now that he's here in front of you again. You try to shove it all down as you crowd closer, drawing his focus onto you. He watches at you like you're a ghost. Like you might not be real at all. A figment of his imagination. There's a type of wonder in his expression, wide eyed and doused in disbelief. 

"You want to talk, right? That's why you're here?" You ask sharply, in a rapid fire, ignoring Thatcher as he shuffles just close enough to enter your peripheral vision. You have half the mind to warn him to back off, but you don't. 

"Yeah, I just wanna talk," Rafe answers. It sounds like another lie. His eyes are still attentive on you, the joined shades of faint gray and blue boring into you with an intensity that you long to both shy away from and bask under. You can see it now that you have to confront whatever this is. He's made it more than apparent that he won't leave you alone. That he won't back off until he's said his piece. He's a dog with a bone, and he isn't going to relent until he finally gets his way. 

"Fine." You relent, and all but slam the can of drink that you're holding on the edge of the kitchen table, nearly knocking a bag of chips down onto the floor. You swear you can see relief wash over Rafe then, slipping over from his body as though he had been held down by a physical weight. The alleviation burns bright in his stare, and a deep, silent sigh expels from his chest. It's as though you had just saved him. Tugged him out of deep, dark waters and onto solid land. 

It's Thatcher who speaks up next, standing straighter like he might dare to move closer. "Hey, are you sure that that's a good idea?" 

That's all it takes for Rafe to start forward, lunging like a guard dog. "Why don't you stay the fuck out of it, huh? She's not your girl, so do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut." 

You have to throw yourself in front of him again, smacking your hands onto his chest to try and nudge him back. It's probably by the grace of God that he relents, yielding to the press of your hand and allowing you to push him back a few paces. You're quick to look over your shoulder to pass a glare at Thatcher. A silent signal to get him to keep silent, lest this get out of control. It's a plea and an order all once, and thankfully he complies, even while he looks like he wants to do nothing more than to meet Rafe's challenge. 

"It'll only be for a few minutes," you decide and promise; to Thatcher, to Rafe, but mostly, it just seems like you're saying it to yourself. You can see that Thatcher is uncertain. He has every right to be. You should be as well, but you can't find yourself to be swallowed by your doubt and caution. Instead, you move around him, not even bothering to check and make sure that he's following. 

You know that he is. Like a buried instinct, you can practically feel his presence running down your spine as he trails closely like a shadow. Allowing you to guide him through the living room where some people pause and turn with confused expressions as they see Rafe pass. But you do your best not to pay them any mind. Not even when you can hear hushed murmurs manage to trickle past the wild thrum of music; gossip already taking root. 

You were able to get a glimpse of Becca making out on the couch with the stranger from earlier. You wish you had it in you to be happy for her, but you're currently too busy being attacked by a chaotic swirl of emotions as you lead him down the narrow hall until you come to a door on the right. The knock that you harshly tap against the flimsy wooden panel is loud but rushed, and you hardly give anyone time to answer before you're twisting the knob and all but throwing the door open on its hinges. 

Fortunately, it's empty and you're quick to slip into the compact space, slamming it shut behind you once Rafe steps past the threshold and twisting the lock. It's all done with the sharp pronunciation of anger, quick and heavy as you try to control the absolute flood of insults and questions that threaten to spill past your lips, but you settle for leaning back against the sink, watching him with your arms crossed. 

"Well? Go on then," you encourage tersely. 

His eyebrows crease just the slightest. He shifts back, tilting on his heels while his lip's part. Like he's perplexed. "So that's how it's gonna be, then?" 

"Yep." 

He stares at you for a few beats as though he's trying to process your remark, wiping a hand along his mouth in an annoyed gesture. "Y-you just left. Without hardly so much as a word. One minute we were fine, and the next -" his hands raise up in the air in some sort of a flourish like it'll help him articulate better, " - Gone. Like nothing. Do you have any idea what that did to me?" 

For a long moment you can only stare at him. In disbelief. In complete shock honestly. You can feel your face twisting up in a snarl, but probably does nothing to show the true extent of your anger. "What it did to you? What about me, Rafe?" It comes out scathing. Dripping with contempt and it has you leaning just slightly from the support of the sink - just enough to tilt into his space. "Do you even realize how shitty it made me feel, seeing her clinging to you like a tick? No warning from you or anything. You used to sleep in my fucking bed, Rafe. I would wash your boxers with my laundry. And then what? I'm just thrown away? That easily?" 

A laugh bubbles up from you, full of scorn and mocking. You hate the lost look in his eyes. How he shuffles back a few paces, as much as the small space of the bathroom with allow, just until his back nudges with the wall and shakes the small picture frame hung there. Suddenly, he seems like the trapped animal. A nervous, wild thing that's been cornered and threatened, but you can stop yourself once you've started, and it pours out of you in a rush, talking over him as he tries to speak. Tries to defend himself with more lies. 

"I guess it's my fault though, isn't it? I shouldn't have expected anything different. How could the prince of Kildare Island be seen with someone like me, huh? I'm not rich and perfect. How could a Pogue honestly expect to be with someone like you? " Your mouth shapes into a grimace as you observe as he stands to the wall, shoulders hunching like he doesn't know what to do with himself. "What was I to you, honestly? Just a distraction? A little inside joke with yourself? A quick fuck to take the edge off when life with daddy and mommy got too rough?" 

"That's not it, okay!?" He shouts suddenly, moving forward abruptly enough to send you reeling back into the sink. Enough for the press of the porcelain to sting. "Will you just let me speak? Just - " His face pinches again, lips twisting while he draws in a deep breath as a means to steady himself. "Just let me talk." 

It makes you swallow. Burying down the nerves that prickle along your gut and beneath your skin as you watch him. You move your hands to grip the edge of the of sink tightly enough for your knuckles to ache, but you do keep your mouth shut and he seems to take your silence as the go ahead. 

t

"I didn't sleep with her, alright? I tried. But I didn't - I couldn't. " 

"Like that's any better." You scoff. It's childish, but in your defense, he's entitled. So out of touch with reality and the impact that he truly leaves on things. Unaware of the hurt that he's carved into you. You have to distract yourself by looking off; anywhere but him, and you end up scanning over a half-used bottle of body wash and a bar of soap that sits in the bathtub caddy like they're the most interesting objects in the world. 

"When I'm with you, you make me feel . . . things. Things I've never felt before. Not really." The clunky confession draws your attention to him much easier than you'd like to admit. The way that he describes his feelings is always odd. Detached. Sort of messy, like he's trying to come to terms with being a human being and doesn't know how to fully understand the gravity of his own emotions. "It was a lot to deal with. I didn't know how to. And there was all of this shit with my family and that damned Pogue sticking his nose where he shouldn't - I just needed a distraction. But it couldn't have been you. I wouldn't have been able to keep myself - " 

He seems to catch himself short. Biting his tongue to keep it at bay. And whatever it is you aren't sure. But you have to know now. He's not allowed to backtrack as soon as it gets uncomfortable for him. Not after what he had done. How he had left you and tried to pin the blame back on you. 

"You wouldn't have been able to keep yourself from what?" It surprises even you when your voice comes out soft. Far too light for the conversation you're having and all of the pain that it's digging up. But it must have some sort of effect on him. He seems to lean closer to you then, like he longs to dip into your space and is just barely resisting in holding himself back. 

When he looks at you again there's such bare vulnerability reflecting in his gaze. It nearly breaks something in you, but you hold onto your resolve. Gripping tight onto the heat of your resentment while something pathetically tender yearns to surface. It's dim and weak, but even the traces of it are enough to frighten you. To make you angry at yourself. 

Rafe himself seems to hesitate. Like he's reached a physical barrier and doesn't know how to move past it. Something about his aversion annoys you. The implications that his words have left hang heavy in the atmosphere. Thick and prickling just like the humidity outside, and it seems to cling to your skin just as it would. Uncomfortable and sticky. He looks as though he might back away again. His body curling in on itself, clearly agitated, like he means to hide from your stare. 

"Rafe," you murmur. It sounds like a plea to you; just as desperate as he looks. it almost pains you to be so delicate around him, but you can't seem to force the anger back into your voice. 

He swears lowly under his breath, muttering lowly to himself in a tone that's too quiet to make out. He nearly looks as though he's lost his mind, mumbling to himself with some sort of distress clearly visible in his posture. And then in a blur he's on you. He's crowding you into the sink, his hands cupping your face lightly as though he wants to touch but isn't sure if he can. There's something frantic about it all. Like someone trying to catch water and keep it from slipping between their fingers. And there's a glimmer in his eyes that fervent, full of need and want; pupils blown so wide that they almost seem like chasms. Like they could swallow you whole. 

"I think I love you." He says it slowly and yet it still comes out like a mess. Like he's articulating softly to try and sound out a foreign language. A tongue that he's never heard before. There's a confused edge to it. Almost as though he's in disbelief himself. 

It leaves you more stunned that anything that has left him this night. Or in the entire span that you two have known each other. There's laughter welling up inside of you, but it feels like it might be out of hysterics rather than joy, but all you can do is sit and stare at him in total silence. You think you've lost the ability to speak. Your voice is absent. A dead thing in your throat. 

"Baby, talk to me. Say something." His thumbs sweep along the swells of your cheeks, stroking you tenderly like you're something breakable. 

"That's not true." You will it out of you, forcing your voice from your chest and it rises up a pale comparison of its usual tone. Light and weak around the edges. You hate the hurt look that flickers across his face. As though you had struck him or thrusted a knife into his chest. "You wouldn't have hurt me if you did. You wouldn't have done what you did." 

"I know, but I was scared, baby." He nods in agreement. But there's still an excuse. Because there always is with him. He just can't seem to help himself and cuts you deep, prodding the wound that's already there and bleeding. It has you gripping at one of his arms, to pull him away or keep him close you aren't sure. "I was scared of us." 

"There is no us." 

"But there could be." 

He's clinging onto you with the desperate zeal of a starving man groveling at the feet of a savior. Spewing out praises and pleas to satisfy the unforgiving hunger ravaging his body. In any other circumstance, you would have delighted in seeing him so anguished. You would have gloated over it. But it's difficult to find that delight while he's making promises of you've always longed for. A promise that you know he can't really keep. Not when you're worlds apart. It makes it cruel, the way he dangles it in front of your face with so much conviction. As though he believes in his own lies. 

And you want to trust in them. So badly that it aches. It's almost like a physical agony, and it has you resisting the urge to lean into him for a comfort that only he can provide while he causes your pain. 

"Don't do this, Rafe. Please." You know that you must sound pitiful. A far cry from the rage that had possessed you only moments before, and you hate how powerless he's able to make you. How easily he can disarm you with just his presence, the sound of his voice. You're weak against him. You think that you always have been, long before the two of you had begun to hook up; always sneaking quick glances at him when he wasn't looking. Admiring him when you knew that you shouldn't have been. 

"We can do it; just you and me." He insists, curling his body closer to yours as though he's trying to cage you in; his lips nearly brushing along yours. It has his scent wafting over you, filling up the air and tainting every drag of oxygen you take until he's trapped in your lungs; all dark rum, musk, and a blend of something woody and embellished with a hint of spice. It always blends with the salt of his skin and his natural scent. The same one that had stubbornly clung to your sheets and lingered about your trailer like an unwelcome ghost for days. 

"And what happens then? When the friends you're always so worried about see you with me? How do you think they'll look at you then?" You try to manipulate some strength into your voice, but it still sounds too light, even to you. Nearly wavering. 

"They don't matter anymore. Not really. " He promises. The cradle of his hands becomes firmer in its press, sinking the warmth of his palms into your skin. "It's just you; it's always been you." 

You think that it shatters you and snaps your ire back into place all at once. Striking fire around the molten heat that had just begun to dim. But it doesn't manifest in the nature of more scathing words or a slap to his cheek. You just want him to shut up. To stop talking. Suddenly, your lips are on his, your fingers are threading through his hair as you guide him into a kiss that's all teeth and tongue; fueled by the fire and the suffering in your veins. 

A small, startled sound puffs from his chest. The only indication of his surprise before he's matching your passion with an ardor and need that leaves you just as bewildered and breathless; swept under as though a raging surf has crashed over your body. He nips at your mouth, biting at the tender flesh of your bottom lip like he means to draw blood. His nails scratch at your scalp, his fingers tensing like you might slip away otherwise and he's determined to keep you held against him while he nudges his body flush to yours. 

It quickly becomes a tangle of limbs as you both scramble to get closer, guided by the overwhelming sense of relief that smooths over you like a balm on a burn scar. The taste of him in your mouth seeming to soothe you and tear you apart all at once, but you can't find the strength to stop now that you've started. The mere idea of it seems like a damnation. Like hell incarnate. And now that he's here you can't help but to wonder how you've made it so long without him. You feel drunk on him. Intoxicated by the alcohol on your veins and the scent of him; the desire coiling in your belly like something molten and starved. 

You moan into him when he removes his hands from your face sweep them down the length of your body. Trailing them along your ribs and down to cup your ass, squeezing the shape of it as he hauls you up onto the counter and the edge of the sink so that he can wedge a place for himself between your thighs. It urges your legs to part, and you willingly let him settle between them, rucking your skirt up high on your hips as he presses against you. 

Fitting himself so close that there isn't any space left to separate your bodies. 

He already seems restless, his hips working on yours in slow, almost broken grinds. Like he's not even aware that he's doing it. Mindlessly seeking out friction while he breathes into you. It's like he's been starved, and now that he has something to feed that hunger, he's frantic and wanton. His fingers claw at you. Gripping so tightly that you know the skin beneath them is going to smart and sting later, but you almost welcome the pain. The reminder that it'll leave. 

You've been kissing for so long that it feels as though you're beginning to suffocate. The small gulps of air you've been snatching in between the nips of his teeth and the sweeps of his tongue aren't enough. There's a slight pinch in your lungs, screaming at you to pull away, but you wait only till the last second to do so. Only removing your mouth from his once you fear you could go lightheaded and faint. Still, you can't help but to mourn the loss when you break the kiss to come up for air, gasping softly to soothe the mild ache in your chest. 

Rafe's nose brushes against yours, nudging as though he's tempted to seek out your mouth again. But he grants you the mercy of occupying his own by scattering fervent kisses up the stretch of your neck, removing a hand from your hip to grip your hair instead. Using it as leverage to tug your head to the side to offer himself more of your flesh. 

It all feels so overwhelming. As though all of the nerves in your body have come alight and are burning, flaring like embers at the press of his body and the wet glide of his mouth. His tongue traces over you, lashing out to taste the salt on your skin. His lips close around the point on your neck that turns you soft, and just as easily as if he had pressed a button, your muscles seem to go taut and malleable all at once when he begins to suck. Slightly dragging his teeth over that spot, making your hips jerk against his. He's already hard. The weight of him pressing against your cunt. The motion tugs at the fabric of your underwear, and it could be embarrassing when you notice the arousal soaking the material, making it cling to your skin, but you're too deep in the want the licks up your flesh to truly care.  

He groans lowly in your ear, the noise drawing up deep and heavy from the depths of his chest. Spurred on from the restless drag of your hips as you begin to greedily chase after the bright heat that zips up your spine when you do. 

"Rafe." You moan, clinging to his shoulders like it might keep you from floating away. 

"I know, I know. I got you." He mumbles it on your skin, saying it between sharp bites of his teeth. His fingers flex again, like a physical period on the sentence. Then he's moving again. Shifting his focus down your chest to map out a string of kisses across your chest. Nipping at your collar bone and tracing his tongue over the hint of your breasts that peek from the low cut of your shirt.  Your head thumps back on the mirror as you arche towards him, seeking out the wet heat of his mouth when suddenly he pauses. His lips detach from your skin, just near enough that you can feel the light brush of them, but it's not firm enough to bring you any pleasure. 

Your eyebrows furrow close when he still doesn't move. You can't keep yourself from tilting your head down to glare at him with a frustrated scowl, lightly panting as you as you speak. "Wh - why did you stop?" 

He pulls back then, posture straightening just a bit to meet your eyes, and you can't keep the confusion off of your face when you feel something slip from between your breasts. But then a glint of gold passes into your vision, twinkling lowly in the warm light projecting over the bathroom. Dangling from his index finger and still hooked around your neck is a familiar chain. Thin and delicate, but it's the pendant that hangs from it that really captures your attention. 

Humiliation stings at your cheeks at the sight of his expression. All smug and too satisfied as he suspends the charm in front of your face, faintly swinging it back and forth like a taunt. Forcing you to confront the R and its significance; still safe and secure on your body despite everything. You can see his delight and pride glinting clearly in his eyes, and there's a comment on his tongue. 

"Don't," you warn. But despite your best efforts to sound firm, something soft bleeds around the fringes. It's playful but also sensitive. Reluctantly spirited despite all of the hurt. It dips over the heat that clouds over the atmosphere like the light fall of a delicate, scattered rain. It's frustrating how natural it feels. Like slipping into the comfort of your bed after a long day or falling back into the soothing relief that comes with giving into a bad habit. It's like a second nature. That should concern you. It should make worry and maybe even hate yourself a bit too, but the wave of self-loathing doesn't come. You can't seem to find a place for hatred when being so close to him is like coming home. 

"Don't what?" He asks cheekily. Finally, he drops the necklace. But he doesn't break eye contact as he leans forward to plant a kiss between your breasts over the obnoxious barrier of your shirt. You've never wanted to rip off a piece of fabric any more than you do now. It's almost as though he can read you mind once his hands slip beath your shirt, bunching the short, tight cut of it further up your ribs and past your breasts until its little more than a strip of gathered fabric. And then he's slipping it up around your torso and impatiently tugging it free from your arms, which you lift to aid him. Allowing him to toss it somewhere on the floor. You hear it land with a light thump, discarded and forgotten.

There's only the cover of your bra now keeping your chest from being on display, but his eyes zero in on it regardless. Eyeing the shape of your breasts as they heave against the lace clinging to them and the gold jewelry draped over your skin. That starved look is back again, melting with the smug glint in his eyes; gone dark from lust. 

"I've missed you so much." He speaks against you, speaking the words to your skin like it's a prayer. A declaration and plea for all at once. He drops to his knees then. The bottoms of his shoes lightly squeaking on the tiles as he shifts to trail the plush of his mouth down your stomach, pausing in his trail to swipe his tongue along the divot of your belly button. It makes your stomach twitch when he does it. Lurching at the liquid fire that it leaves in his wake. He playfully nips at the hem of your skirt, nosing at the button keeping it secure around your waist. "What about you, baby? Did you miss me?" 

He already knows the answer to that. You can tell by the way that his eyes fix on the pendant glinting just above the joining strip of your bra, between the cups of delicate fabric. But even with the traces of his ego still present, the desperation that was there before is still clear in the dark of his stare. He looks so vulnerable then, with his head cradled between your thighs, staring up at you like a sinner seeking absolution. You know that he's always craved to be wanted. To be needed and seen. 

You could easily tear him down right now, in the exposed state he's in. To exact the revenge that you had wanted so badly. To finally get ahold of the retribution that has haunted you for many sleepless nights. But the desire to truly do so doesn't come. The sting of anger that ravaged you before has dimmed into a weak ember, set to go dark and cold. 

Instead of lashing out, as though it has a mind of its own one your hands reach down to smooth over the side of his face. Your fingers glide over his skin and cup around the shape of his ear. His eye lashes nearly flutter when he leans into the warmth of your palm, seeking out the press of it like he needs it to survive. 

"Yeah, I missed you," you admit. You swear that he shifts closer to you at the confession. Such a minute movement that you might not have noticed it had your attentions not been so heavily fixed on him. There are the traces of a smile on his lips. But it isn't smug like before. It seems like one of relief this time. Happy and at peace. Like a sentence so small as brought him a kind of solace. 

"Yeah?" He presses a soft kiss onto your upper thigh then, holding his mouth there while a puff of what could be a breath of laughter, or a sigh of elation leaves him. "Let me show you. Can I show you?" 

The fervent pitch of his voice is loud in your ears, your dazed mind sluggishly making sense of his rushed beg. But once it connects, you don't take long to respond. Your head nods quickly in agreement, a jumbled string of yeses pouring from you in a steady stream. Anticipation thrums thick in throughout your body, smoldering and intoxicating as it winds through your veins. You've hardly done anything with him, and you already feel drunk. Like your head has been packed full of stuffing and fumes. You feel like a live wire. Running hot and searing; waiting to light up in a barrage of sparks. 

You swear you could already tip over the edge when he shoves his face between the apex of your thighs, laving his tongue over the clothed heat of your cunt without any warning. Licking you through your underwear. It all but crushes a strangled gasp from you and your hands fly to the edge of the counter to support yourself as your body curls in on itself. Doubling over from the zip of pleasure that skirts through you like the wild crack of a lightning rod. 

"You're already soaked," he groans. The vibrations of his voice doubling with the drag of his tongue and making your hips mindlessly grind into the warmth of his mouth. It feels so good, and yet it somehow isn't enough. The barrier of your underwear makes the swipe of his lips and tongue too dull. A faint comparison of what it could be. Of how good you know it really feels. 

"Ray, take 'em off." You beg, arching as he grinds the point of his nose against your clit. 

The look in his eyes is impish as he watches you from his place between your legs. The look of it is always a sign of trouble from him. Especially in situations like this, where he can easily exercise control over you by keeping you malleable and desperate on the caress of his fingers or the glide of his tongue. He'll keep you dangling on that edge for hours if you let him. Pushing and pulling you like the sway of the tide. Working you up to the precipice of something debilitating only to drop you back from it, until your pleasure ebbs away into a dull, frustrating ache. And he'll do it over and over again until your moans meld into the beginnings of a sob. But you can't do that. Not now, at least, with a hunger and want that feels like it could tear you apart by twisting inside of you. 

"Please, don't tease tonight." You pant, still mindlessly chasing after what little pleasure he gives with the roll of your hips. "Not now, Rafe. I can't-" 

"I won't. I promise," he says, placating you with kisses along your underwear, sucking at the delicate skin at the joining of your hip and thigh. "I'll play nice, hm?" 

It's only then that he's tugging your underwear off. Ripping it from you so suddenly that it would have uprooted you from your place if you hadn't already been clinging to the edge of the counter. You can hear the sharp cry of fabric giving a little as he slips it free from your legs. But you don't have time to mourn or admonish him for the loss because you're pretty sure that he pockets it, taking if for himself like the pervert he is. It wouldn't be the first pair that he's snagged from you. His probably has more of your panties than you do at this point. 

He uses his shoulders to shove your thighs far apart, using his hands to lift and drape your legs over his back as he lurches forward, smothering himself in your bare cunt. He groans into you, dropping his mouth open to swipe his tongue, lapping at you like a man starved. 

A loud, startled moan rips free from your lungs and you only have half the mind to swallow it down, making it trail off in a strangled noise. You can still hear the party living on just outside the thin barrier of the door. The music and chatter from beyond it trickling past in a muffled hush. From deep in the living room there would be no possible way for them to know what's happening, but if someone was to walk past the bathroom it would be more than apparent as to what the both of you are doing inside. 

 Rafe isn't having it. He lands a soft smack on the outside of your leg, mostly just to catch your attention, but the subtle sting of it makes you gasp regardless. It forces you to return you focus to him, looking down at him as he watches you with eyes that seemed glazed and almost drunk. He just barely pulls back, his lips still sweeping over you while his tongue brushes over your clit in soft licks as he talks in a slurred sort of tone: "Don't hold yourself back like that. Let them hear you. I want them to." His voice dies down then, falling into an almost crazed murmur in between the drag of his mouth. But you are certain that you can make out scraps of what he's saying in between the messy, wet sounds coming from your pussy and the pants of breath rising from his lungs. Something along the lines of "especially him - I'll kill him." 

Regardless of who he's referring to (even though your addled brain slowly gathers that it's more than likely Thatcher), it should concern you. The threat that easily slips from him as though he's proposing something as simple as taking a joy ride around the island or making a remark about an annoying coworker. It's supposed to be disturbing, especially when you know that violence comes easily to him. Sometimes as simple as breathing. As though it's engraved in his DNA, part of his genetic coding. 

You know deep down, in the pit of your soul that the remark isn't one to simply pass off. It isn't just a product of his mood or a fleeting result jealousy; it could very well be a promise. He's always been protective over what he deems as his. If anything poses a threat to his happiness or comfort, he's quick to lash out. He doesn't shy away from the possibility of violence, bloodied knuckles or busted noses and broken wrists. 

You had seen the way that he had looked at Thatcher earlier. Like a guard dog staring down a potential intruder through the bars of a fence, eyes wild and locked on. You hate to admit that you liked it a little then too. The glimmer of satisfaction that had zipped through you then had been so easy to ignore underneath all of your confusion and frustration, but here and now, with his head buried between your thighs and his fingers tensing around your skin, it's impossible to disregard. 

His jealousy had been clear as day underneath the warm hue of the kitchen light. Naked for the world to see. Thatcher had to have noticed it then. He would have to be an idiot not to. Rafe came here to find you, trailing after you through the crowd of Pogue's and locals just so that he could speak to you. His reasons for showing up to this party in the middle of nowhere was obvious to everyone, and it pleases some twisted little part of you to know that gossip must already be circulating around the rooms just outside. Whispers about you and the prince of Kildare Island himself that would quickly spread beyond these very walls and make their way to town to be scattered amongst the population. To the two-faced old women of the church on Driftwood Parkway and all the way down to the rich men in khaki's as they cruise across the green in their golf carts. 

Just about everyone on this island would know about you and him by the time that the sun sets tomorrow over the waves and douses Kildare in the dark. Just the prospect of it nearly pleases you as much as the glide of his tongue splitting you open does. Dipping inside the entrance of your cunt like he means to drink your soul from you. The combination of it all threatens to make you double over again, and to keep yourself from writhing off the counter you thread your fingers into his hair. Using the grip of it to grind your hips against his nose and the heat of his mouth. Your head knocks back on the mirror with a dull thump as a cry shakes itself free from your ribs, pitching and ragged. 

"Rafe - oh fuck. God." 

"Mmm, nah, not God - it's just me." Comes his response. It's so cliché and corny that you would have rolled your eyes and scoffed at him were you not too busy trying to gulp down oxygen in between your labored breaths. All you can do is manage an exasperated, playful frown in response, but you can see amusement flicker in his own gaze at the sight of it. 

His apparent delight is enough for you to scramble enough air together to form a sentence, but it comes out winded; slow and choppy around the edges while you force it out. "You're so lame, Ray." 

"Well, you're stuck with me. Now don't interrupt me." Then he's taking your clit into the cradle of his tongue and sucking. Laving it with small licks that turn your thoughts slow and syrupy. You hardly notice that he's pressing a finger against you, gathering the slick of your cum before slipping it inside, stretching your walls around the thickness of it; so much longer and wider than your own. It has your jaw dropping at the added pleasure and your hips twist up when he trusts it in deep. Finding that depilating spot that leaves you a mess with a practiced precision, reaching it so easily, just as he's done countless times before. 

He chases after the jerk of your hips. Keeping his mouth fixed to you while he hurtles you closer to drowning in bliss. The influence of your approaching orgasm starts to crest with a speed that's dizzying, and you feel as though you hardly have any time to brace for it. It has your free hand scrambling across the stretch of the counter, blindly seeking for something else to hold on to, but all you succeed in doing is knocking down a bottle of mouthwash, sending it toppling over the edge to clatter on the floor below. 

You can feel it fizzling at your fingertips and toes. Skirting down your spine like a zip of electricity, like a drizzle of scorching honey. Your body is drawing up tight. The muscles in your abdomen already seizing to mangle the pleasure from your body. 

"Ray-Rafe, I'm gonna cum. You're gonna make me cum." 

He doesn't bother coming up for air. Instead, his free hand slips up your thigh and reaches for your own. For the same one that had been mindlessly clawing for something to reach onto, and it makes your heart ache a little bit when he takes it in his own. Threading his fingers with yours for you to squeeze. It's a gesture that's far too sweet for a person who's currently eating you out in someone else's bathroom, but the pressure of his palm on you, the chill of his ring on your warm skin, the intimacy behind it, is enough to throw you headfirst into the throes of an orgasm. 

You moan his name when you cum. Repeating it over and over again like a mantra that might save you as your bliss rips through you. But it's the support of his hair threaded through your fingers and the weight of his hand held in your own that serves to keep you grounded while you coast through the flood of warm and pleasure. It ebbs away slowly. Slipping from your body like melted sugar being poured down the drain and stubbornly catching in place. But it doesn't stop. It stretches out in front of you and begins to shift into something tainted by licks of fire and shocks of electricity. 

It's too much. Blending between the lines of pleasure and pain. You need to catch your breath. To properly orient yourself but Rafe hasn't removed his mouth or his fingers from you. It's like your nerves have been lit on fire and it only heightens when he slips a finger in along the next, curling them together to stretch you out around them. 

"Rafe, I can't." You nearly sob, your back impulsively bows and twists to try and shuffle your hips out from underneath the constant swipe his tongue but he stubbornly keeps himself in place. 

He parts his lips from you only long enough to speak out a harsh reply, his voice firm and rigid while he pins you with a stare that's equally unwavering. "You can and you will. You've done it before; just ride it out and take it, baby." 

And then he's on you again. Smearing your pussy open with his mouth, which suddenly feels too hot. It's a sweet sort of torture. One that you've never fully gotten used to, as much as you like it. It's like grasping onto a pop of lightning; searing underneath your flesh and ravaging you from the inside out. He's gone down on you for hours before, spurred on by the stresses brought on by his family and the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's a sort of stress relief for him, in some way. He gets a kind of peace out of it. From keeping you underneath his mouth and working orgasm after orgasm out of you until you're a wet, incoherent mess. Even while you benefit from it, it's more than apparent that it's mostly for his pleasure. 

A set of your favorite silk sheets had been ruined because of it. Nothing that a cycle in the one of the trailer park's community wash machines hadn't taken care of, but the point still stands. He had kept you there for hours, pinned down on your bed while he used your body, wringing it of its pleasure and getting drunk on the taste. You had lost count of how many orgasms he had pulled from you after the third one. You can only hope that he isn't that starved for it tonight. You don't think that you'll survive it. Not here at least, while you're held up in Thatcher's bathroom. 

But it seems that a small mercy has been bestowed upon you with how another coil of bliss begins to wind up tight, closely trailing after the influence of your previous orgasm. It's running up on you so much quicker than the first. Zipping through your body at a breakneck pace, spurred on by the curl of his fingers, and strengthened by the traces of ecstasy that still flood your system. 

The movement of his fingers flexing and stroking inside of your send little shocks of static zipping inside of you. Still bordering on something almost painful, but it only serves to tip you that much closer to the precipice. Promising to toss you over the edge as he lightly shakes his head while he drinks down your arousal. 

You gasp as you look down, taking in the sight of him through the rapture turning your mind into mush. He looks blissed out, eyes slipped closed and the worried pinch between his eyebrows has smoothed out. The traces of your cum has smeared across his nose and the corners of his cheeks, glinting softly in the light. He seems just as intoxicated it as you. Soothed by the taste of your cunt and the scent of sex in the air. It's filthy. 

You hardly register being swept under by your pleasure, but it tugs you down ruthlessly. Seeming to snatch you by the throat and leave you breathless as you twitch and jerk beneath his mouth, and you're hardly able to hear his words of encouragement as he thrusts his fingers deeper to help ease you through the thick of it. "There you go. Just ride it out and give it to me." 

Your body bends the command like its gospel; hips twitching to the rhythm that his fingers have set to further chase after the dull flickers of heat biting at you at you and sinking in the base of your spine. It turns your blood into something molten, and your muscles go pliant like melted wax, leaving you to sag against the mirror like dead weight; the sink presses almost painfully into your back but you're too spent to shuffle from it. He lets up only once a sharp hiss escapes you, slipping past your teeth in a thin sigh. He's careful when he removes his fingers free from you, shuffling up from his kneeled position on the floor to stand on his feet. His drags his tongue over his fingers as he does so, cleaning the taste of you off of them as he watches you with an intense stare, releasing them from his mouth with a pop that seems to ring out across the close walls of the bathroom. 

He crowds into your space suddenly, his body now flush with yours. His chest heaving as though he had just run a marathon. "You did so good, always such a good girl for me." He murmurs as he places a kiss to your forehead, undeterred by the perspiration that dampens your skin. It's another soft moment between you both. Like an echo of all the ones just like it from the past, hidden under the guise of an odd camaraderie, always dancing around the emotions that truly lied beneath. This feels so much more natural than that. No longer self-conscious or restrained. 

It makes everything seem light and airy. Probably a side effect of the dopamine now rushing through your veins and the remaining traces of alcohol, but there's no mistaking the soft look in his eyes. The peaceful expression on his face, now free of the clear agitation that had drawn his body tight just earlier. It has you reaching out for him. Smoothing your hands up his arms, feeling the texture of his shirt as they trail up his shoulders - a dark black shade. One of your favorite colors on him. Something that you had casually shared with him once, and it makes you smile to think that he had purposely worn it to come and see you. 

Your fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck, carefully scratching your nails along the sensitive skin there. It feels like a reward when a pleased sigh puffs from his chest, and he props his forehead against yours to stare into your eyes. His own hands come up to trail over your bare thighs, messaging the flesh there as he runs them up and down their length, prompting you to lift them to wrap around his waist. Tugging him closer despite the slight tremor running through your relaxed muscles. 

You feel almost impossibly close to him now. As though a pocket has been carved in time and made for the both of you; intimate and private. Even with the dim chatter of the party and the dull hum of music drifting through the flimsy door, and the possibility of people standing just outside, listening in to gawk and recount what they've heard and seen. The Kook prince himself is fucking a Pogue. You'll no doubt get looks once you finally leave this little space. Some will be curious and shocked; others will probably be out of disgust and maybe even horror. But that seems so trivial right now. None of it has a place in this moment. It's secondary. And you can't be bothered to give it any attention while he watches you as though you've created the heavens themselves, the same ones that glimmer and wink above this very island. The striking blue of his eyes seeming to burn with something that seems a lot like admiration. 

"Hi," you breathe. It sounds a little corny. Kind of dumb, even to you, once you fully register what you've said, but it's all that seems fitting. It's like you're meeting him all over again, as dramatic as that may be. Like you're seeing him for the first time. You can only hope that it isn't just from the high of sex - that it won't all wear off and vanish as soon as you both leave this room and face reality. 

"Hey, pretty girl." He returns with a smile of his own. It urges you to lean that much closer to him, drawing your legs up tighter around him to seek out his natural warmth. He complies easily, allowing you to press him flush to you, almost molding your bodies together. It soothes the wounded ache in you that still lies beneath the surface of it all, stinging lowly under the haze of bliss and pleasure. The warmth of him and the pressure of his body smoothing over the hurt like a compress. 

But the press of him against your inner thigh draws everything to a hush, hot and heavy under the material of his pants. It shouldn't be possible, but the subtle weight of it against you has another flicker of lust lashing between your hips. Smoldering and heating up like a handful of embers. And suddenly the scent of him filling the air is tempting, all dark musk and cardamom. It's mouthwatering, settling deep in your lungs with every drag of your breath. 

It's almost instinctual when you slip one of your hands free from the back of his neck to glide it between the press of your bodies, playful trailing your fingers down and past the stretch of his abdomen until you're able to cup him through the material of his pants. A groan rumbles out from his chest, deep and drawn out before bleeding into a low, almost strained "fuck." 

"Still need you, Rafe." You brush your lips over his, gathering the traces of your arousal that's smeared on his mouth onto your own like a vulgar sort of gloss.

"Yeah, shit, okay," he agrees. He nods frantically in agreement, pulling himself back from you just enough to give you the space to start undoing his pants, but your fingers slip on the button, slightly slick from the sweat on your skin and uncoordinated from the zeal of your excitement. Rafe isn't patient enough for you to make a second attempt it seems, restlessly batting your hands away with a somewhat snappy, "Jesus, just let me do it," huffing from him as he reaches to slip the button through the puncture in the material. 

The urge to snap at him rises up, but it's snuffed out just as quickly when the sharp metallic sound of the zipper being tugged down its teeth cuts across the heavy air. It all happens in quick succession after that. He tugs his pants down just enough to free the length of his cock. He doesn't give you the ability to admire him, because he's tugging you forward by your thighs, parting the sliver of space between your bodies to drag the head against the slick entrance of your cunt, still wet and messy from the mixture of your cum and his spit. 

He tilts his face to be able to speak against your lips, gazing into your eyes with a determination and fervency that seems to cut through you, holding your attention hostage even as one of his hands comes up to grip the nape of your neck. All but pinning you in place.

"I want you to scream for me. Don't you dare fucking hold back." 

That's all the warning you get before he's shoving himself inside of you with a single thrust. Burying himself all the way to the hilt, forcing your walls to give and stretch around his girth. Even with the aid of your previous orgasms making you pliant and soaked, there's still a dull ache that zips through you as your cunt clenches around the shape of him. The force of him inside of you all but strikes the air from your lungs, and it leaves your hands to scramble across his shoulders, your fingers gripping and clawing at the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself. 

He doesn't waste any time by starting in a slow pace to gradually work up to something greater. He's moving fast and hard from the very start. Thrusting himself in and out of you like he's desperate. All but punching himself into you with enough force to rattle your head back on the glass of the mirror, and with how many times you've knocked against it tonight, you have to send a fleeting prayer up to the universe that it won't shatter and break. 

It's like he's trying to make up for lost time. Like he's trying to drill all of his frustrations into you; all of his pent-up anger, humiliation and regret; to make you feel what he's feeling. Or maybe he's just trying to prove a point. To himself, to you, and all of the people outside. That you're his. It leaves you clinging onto him. Holding on while he drives himself into you with a passion that's almost brutal. You can practically feel yourself going stupid. Going pliant and dumb on his cock at it drags through you, gliding against your walls in a way that makes you feel all of him, every little detail. Every single inch is heightened by the veins that run down his length, starting from the base to trail down near the head. He used to go crazy whenever you would glide your tongue over them, throwing his head back and moaning with the sound of your name or a curse under his breath. 

You almost wish that you could have him in your mouth right now. To see him break underneath something as simple as your tongue and the heat of your mouth, but you think that you could die if he pulled out of you. It would be a horrendous sort of torture. Worse than death. 

"God, you're such a fucking slut, hm?" He almost croons it. Mean and condescending as he grips your cheeks to get you to look at him. Making you get lost in the flecks of cerulean and hints of gray that's nearly become swallowed by the width of his pupils. "Letting me fuck you like this, in some Pogue's bathroom while everyone stands outside. They're probably listening right now; you know that, right? Standing outside while they listen to you moan like a whore." 

It's downright degrading how he's speaking to you. It should hurt you to some degree, or make you irritated at the very least, but all it does is make you clench around him harder. Your pussy seizing up around his length like it's trying to suck him inside to keep him there. And he feels it too. You know he does based on the nasty smile that breaks across his face; teeth baring in what almost looks like a snarl. All arrogant and mean. 

"Yeah, that's right. Not even gonna deny it, are you?" He uses the hand still secure around you jaw to shake your head for you as though you're a doll. Using how malleable you've been reduced to for his own benefit. "That's right. Cause you're mine. " 

You find yourself nodding out of your own volition then, drawing up enough focus to will yourself in moving your head around the grip of his hand to agree. You can tell that it pleases him. His expression is one of pure, arrogant delight, and you know that he'll be riding the high of having you dumb, and cock drunk like this for days. His ego always manages to find a way to inflate whenever he succeeds in turning your brain into liquid and mush; until you're practically mindless and stupid. It used to have him striding around you trailer with a satisfied glint in his eyes. The traces of a smug smirk on the edge of his lips as he'd rummage through your fridge for leftovers or dig through your cabinets for a snack before he'd leave (unsurprisingly, Kildare's most spoiled rich boy can't cook worth a shit - he's burnt eggs black before and left your trailer tinged with smoke that took a good two days to get aired out). 

But you can't find it in yourself to be exasperated or annoyed with him while you're too occupied surviving the white-hot heat shooting throughout your body, drizzling down your spine like a vat of liquid sugar to settle between the cradle of your hips. It's too much. It's like being torn to pieces but in the most delicious way possible; you don't want it to stop. You want to stay here, suspended in this moment with the scent of sex and the musk of his cologne staining the air. With the warmth of his body seeping deep into your bones while he uses you for his pleasure while throwing you headfirst into your own; the sound of his name repetitively falling from your lips. 

So it's completely cruel that he suddenly pulls out of you, leaving you torturously empty and on the edge of something cataclysmic. A confused, annoyed look crosses your face, and a complaint rises to the tip of your tongue as you openly scowl at him. Though you don't get the opportunity to voice it. 

"Turn around. " He commands impatiently, but he doesn't even give you the chance to try and shuffle free from your perch on the counter. It's all an abrupt rushing blur when he tugs you from your spot and forces you onto your feet. His hands settle on your waist, fingers greedily gripping the shape of them as he spins around you on your heels and bends you over with the firm press of his hand. A gasp rattles from your ribs as he pins you on the sink, leaving you exposed to the gluttonous sweep of his eyes. 

Then he's kicking your legs apart, spreading you open to bare you to him and without any warning he's slipping himself back inside in a single, long thrust. It has your jaw dropping open, your lashes fluttering at the sensation of it ripping through you, all liquid and smoke. Now that he has you facing the mirror, it gives you no other option but to watch you both as he begins fucking you again. It's like a magnet to metal, the way that your vision flickers up to him. Seeking out the sight of him as he works you closer to that debilitating end.

Not even the way that the harsh edge of the counter digs into the bend in your hips is enough to distract you from it. The pinch of it fading into a dull ache. He looks beautiful like this. Even as he does something as vulgar as watching the sight of his cock ceaselessly plunging into you. It's as though he's hypnotized by it, his own focus fastened to where the two of your bodies join. Where the smack of your skin meeting his sounds out from; the wet slap of him thrusting in and out of your pussy. 

There's a blush on his cheeks, and a sheen of sweat glinting softly on his skin like a dusting of pale gold. It almost makes him look angelic. That should be impossible for someone as frantic and violent as Rafe, but there's no denying that there's something gorgeous about him, as volatile and unpredictable as he can be. The sounds falling from past the parted shape of his lips are beautiful. His moans and the almost drunken cursing and rambling douse your nerves with heat and rapture every time he speaks; slurred and low like he's falling apart in the best way possible. 

It took you forever to convince him that it's okay to vocal in bed. That the sound of him groaning is a turn on. For the longest time he thought it was a joke, like you were trying to trick him into embarrassing himself. Some odd form of toxic masculinity, you think. But you had finally succeeded in getting him to be comfortable with it, after what must add up to days of convincing him and getting him to moan in bed, he finally gave in. And now it's almost impossible to get him to shut up - not that you would ever dare such a thing. You wouldn't dream of depraving yourself of it now that you have it. 

He finally looks up from between your bodies, and you don't miss the way that his eyes nearly roll in the back of his skull, lashes fluttering. He meets your stare in the reflection of the mirror, and that mean smile makes its way on his face again. But it's gone nearly just as quickly as it had appeared. His mouth drops open in a deep groan when your cunt clenches tight around his girth, a crease pinching between his eyebrows to make an expression that almost looks pained. 

He leans over you then, hooking his chin over your shoulder to nuzzle his nose against your head to speak into your ear, not breaking eye contact with you even for a split second. "You're not allowed to leave me again. You can't this away from me. You're not gonna take yourself away - not again." 

It's structured like a command. Or manic ravings. Regardless, it would enough to send anyone else running the other way and ducking for cover. Someone with common sense, maybe. But the tone of his voice is so desperate. Fragile and a little distraught. Like the very thought of you slipping from him could send him into a spiral. It has so many different things rising up inside of you: a sick type of satisfaction. The hurt in you pleased to see him in just as much pain. To know that you're not the only one who's been scarred. But there's the urge to soothe him as well. To cradle the parts of him that have been broken and kicked - by the world, his family. To nurse the wounds that have been left on him. They all gave up on him, but you don't think that you can. 

It has you tilting your head back to give him access to your neck, and like a moth to a flame he immediately dips his face to tuck it into the junction of your shoulder. Nipping at the skin with his teeth and breathing in your scent like it's a drug. One of your hands lets go of the iron clad grip it has on the edge of the counter to clutch at his hair, threading through the thick of it and grazing your nails close to the nape of his neck. 

It draws his attention back on you, making him tilt his head just enough to meet your eyes again in the reflection, pinning you with a stare that seems to communicate so much. It's a silent plea and a devout order all at once. A beg that you won't slip away from him. 

"Just as long as you don't leave me first," you answer. Your voice is full of conviction, even as it wavers just the slightest. The sound of it weakened by the breathlessness in your lungs and the brutal pace that he's managed to maintain; still thrusting himself into you as though he needs it to survive.

He speaks into your skin then, answering you in a low mutter. Nearly a whisper: "I won't. I won't, I promise." 

One of his hands shoves your hips down flat on the counter. It slips your hand from his hair and forces your spine to curve into a more pronounced arch that somehow makes him feel deeper than before. Hitting that spot inside of you with every single stroke. Forcing a gasp of air from your chest every time his hips meet yours, making your toes curl in your shoes. The position that he's tiled your spine into almost stings. The ache of it licking up your back but can't find it in yourself to complain. Or even really care. Not with the way that it's rendering you completely mindless. Seeming to knock a thought from your head with each grind and thrust. 

One of your hands flies up to the sink. Your fingers claw and grasp around the shape of it, clenching around the cool steel like it's a lifeline, but it does little to offer any semblance of support to guide you through the high that's beginning to overwhelm you. It bleeds along your toes and sears up your fingertips and up your spine like a current. It has your body going slack, muscles falling weak. It's almost as though you've been tazed when your head drops against the counter. The weight of it suddenly too much for your neck to hold up. 

It's like everything's been plucked free from your skull. Leaving it an empty pocket, a vacant space that only Rafe occupies. You can't focus on much more than that now. You're lost in the pleasure lighting you up from the inside out and eating you alive. It's only the vague details that you're still able to register. Like the smear of your arousal slipping down your thighs, pushed out of you each time he pulls out to fill you up again; the sting of the counter's lip digging into your hips; the smack of his balls hitting your clit with every stroke, sending sparks around your cunt, making it clench and pulse around his length. You think that you might be drooling, but you aren't entirely sure; saliva slipping past your lips as your mouth hangs open.

You can hear yourself moaning over the rush of blood roaring in your ears. Breathless, pitchy moans rising in the humid air each time he pumps into you, rolling his hips in a way that's almost mean. The zeal behind every movement would have the crown of your head knocking into the sliver of wall beneath the mirror if it wasn't the secure grip he has on your waist, keeping you held in his grip so that he can control your movements. Practically using your own weight and pliancy to fuck you back onto his cock. 

You try meeting his thrusts on your own, but his hold on you is rigid, and the rhythm he moves in is punishing. At this point he's just using you, and simultaneously using himself to get you off like it's his job. 

"You're so tight," he groans. You can't see his face, not with the side of your own pressed to the counter and your eyes squeezed shut, but you can hear the smug edge in his tone. He's absolutely thrilled with the state he's reduced you to for the second - third time this night. "You're squeezing me, baby. Gonna kill me if you keep doin' that." 

But he quickly contradicts his statement, gripping onto your hair to pull up and off of the counter. Just enough so that he's able to slip his other one past your hips and the fabric of your skirt to glide his fingers around your soaked cunt, just above where he thrusts into you. Gathering your cum on his fingers, and then his slipping them up to circle around your clit. 

You would have doubled over if it wasn't for the hold he has on your hair, keeping you held in place. A flare of pain bites across your scalp, but it's a shadow in comparison to the ecstasy flooding your system. It might be dramatic, but a small part of your brain wonders if you'll survive the onslaught of it all once it finally slams over you. It's hurtling towards you again. A rising tide that's set to drown you and hold you down. It flares underneath your skin, skirting across your nerves and leaving traces of heat behind. 

It has your body winding up tight again. The muscle connecting you and holding you together seizing up in preparation to wring you dry of every ounce of pleasure, and Rafe is determined to get you there. Working himself inside of you in a way that has your eyes threatening to roll back, his fingers sweeping tight figure eights over your clit, making your abdomen draw up harshly. 

"Shit, Rafe - my God." 

"I feel you about to cum again. I know you're close. " He says it in your ear, slipping his hand from around your ear to grip your throat, using the leverage to tip you back towards his chest. His nose nudges along your cheek and you can feel the brush of his lips glide over the edge of your jaw. "Just let go. You know you want to. I want you to cum on it. Give it to Daddy, baby; let me feel you, pretty girl." 

It's like your body was waiting for his permission, and now that it has it, it's caving in and sweeping you under. Time seems to blank out as a field of stars bursts across your vision. All of it flattening and smearing into a distorted blur with your sense of sound dimming into something dull and muffled. The only distinguishable noise is the roar of your heart thundering in your ears like a warped drum. It makes you lost, muscles lax and completely reliant on him to keep you upright. 

It probably only takes seconds for you to come back to yourself, but deep in the throes of it, it feels like years have passed. As though you've been frozen in place and dipped in hot wax and electricity. It bursts in your bones and the pit of your stomach, making your body tremble with aftershocks as it struggles to ride out the waves of bliss ravaging through you. 

It takes a minute for your brain to orient itself. For you to become aware of your limbs and the support underneath you, the drag of Rafe's cock still splitting you open. It's beginning to border on too much again. The pleasure is leaning on too sharp and bright, making you hiss under your breath. But Rafe is close. You can hear it in the groans spilling from him. You can feel it in the glide of his hips. The once hard, smooth rhythm faltering into something broken. 

"Where do you want it?" He gasps in between raged pants. A glimpse in the mirror lets you see his face and the grimace taking up his expression. Like he can hardly stand the pleasure overtaking him - like it's tugging him apart at the seams and might not leave anything of him left behind. His grip is harsh on the length of your neck. His other fingers squeezing tight on your hip. Hard enough that it's going to smart the skin underneath, and it's with a shaky sense of strength that you manage to lift a hand up to slip over his hold on your hip. Your fingers threading alongside his. 

You feel as though you can hardly breath, forcing your lungs to expand and pull in oxygen. Trying to give yourself enough air to form a sentence, and you just barely manage to do that. You practically have to force it out of your throat. "Inside. I'm still on the pill-" 

That's all you get to say before he's doubling over you with a long groan. Driving himself into you a few more final, sloppy thrusts. They're sharp and heavy from the force behind them as he tries to work out every possible scrap of pleasure, a rush of heat spreading throughout you as he cums inside - thrusting his hips into yours one last time and holding himself there. Making you take every possible drop. 

That's how the two of you stay. Pressed against each other and floating in your own euphoria as the high in your vein's flows and ebbs through your limbs and fills your head with an empty kind of euphoria. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, syncing with your own as you try to level out your breathing. You aren't sure how long you stay that way, with Rafe draped along your back just barely holding himself up with your joined hands now splayed out on the counter. The thumb around your throat idly sweeps along your pulse point, tracing over your skin like he means to count the racing of your heart. 

It all feels thick and syrupy. As though your limbs have been left to soak in a pool of warm water. As pleasant as it is and as hesitant as you are to move, the weight of him simultaneously sagging against you and keeping you held up is straining on your spine and shoulders. The desire to shift from your position is dull, but the ache in your body demands otherwise. You lightly nudge him in the ribs with your elbow, reluctantly mumbling for him to move. To which he complies with a quick, alright, alright, I got it, huffed out, but it lacks any real bite as he detaches himself from you. 

It makes you uncomfortably aware of the sheen of sweat that clings to your skin, and when he finally pulls out of you it's even worse. You both groan from overstimulation when he removes himself from you to tuck his cock back into his pants, the metallic cry of the zipper ringing off of the bathroom walls. You can feel his cum trickling down your thighs, smearing across your skin and beginning to cool. 

Now that the high of it is wearing off, you just feel gross. It has you turning on your heels to face him, the bottoms of your shoes squeaking on the floor as you pivot to lean your back against the counter with an exhausted sigh. You let your head thud back against the mirror again, but you can't find it in yourself to care this time. Not while you can barely hold yourself upright; the buzz of sex still pleasant and clinging in your body. 

You hadn't even realized that you've closed your eyes until a sharp clatter has them opening. Your head also turns on its own, leaning to glance over to your right where Rafe stands alongside you, rummaging through a narrow set of cabinets fixed between the sink and the bathroom door, carelessly glancing around the folded piles of towels and wash cloths. 

Your eyebrows furrow as you watch him while your sluggish brain connects the dots. As soon as you come to the realization, you can feel the opposition on the tip of your tongue - ready to say no. To tell him that you can just wad up a pile of toilet paper instead, but he's already plucking a towel up from one of the shelves and gently nudging past you to run the tap, the knob quietly squeaking as he twists it on. 

You don't hide your exasperated look when he shuffles away from your side to stand in front of you, reaching to spread your thighs open. You hiss when he runs the damp cloth over you, cleaning up the mess you both made with the aid of the warm water he's soaked the fuzzy material in. You appreciate the gesture, but you still don't think that he had to ruin someone else's towel to do it. 

"Really?" You ask, tilting your head as you watch him. 

His eyebrows perk up just the slightest when he meets your unamused stare, but he doesn't seem to be troubled by it in the slightest. Once he's finished, he tosses the soiled cloth across the room and into the bathtub without so's much as a glance.

"What? We already fucked in the bathroom; I don't think a towel is going to do that much more damage." He just shrugs, unbothered and nonchalant as he answers. Then that amused, smug smile is on his face again as he casts a look towards the door. "Unless you wanna walk out of here with my cum pouring out of you. I won't complain." 

You can't help but to roll your eyes at him while you reach down to tug your skirt from where it had rucked up, smoothing it back down to cling over your thighs, but the expression seems much more playful and relaxed than it should probably be. His usual brand of douchie, cocky sarcasm is already making a comeback now that the tension has left him. It should annoy you, probably, but it soothes you more than anything. It's a comfort, as odd as it may be, to see him gradually resorting back to himself. Arrogant, and a little obnoxious, but in a way that you find entirely endearing. 

He notices the traces of the smile on your face. You can tell by the way that his own goes from gloating to a little soft. The tenderness of it reflecting in his eyes as he closes the space between you to settle himself close. His lips are on yours then, drawing you into a kiss that's so much slower than the first. The desperation and the anger between you both having settled and died out like a fire. Now there's nothing left but ease and a relaxing calm. It makes it unhurried and languid as he leads your lips to move against his. 

It doesn't last for long though, eventually breaking off for you to come up for air. His eyes are still a little glazed over when you meet them. Dopey from the high of sex, and knowing him, a line or two. He seems so far off from the nervous wreck that he usually is. Free from the aggression and arrogance that usually taints everything he does. 

But he's soft with you. Gentle when he wants to be - gentle with you. Only you. And it's going to stay that way if you have anything to say about it. 

"Don't ever pull that shit again, Ray." You warn, dipping your voice into something stern despite the affection blossoming in the pit of your chest. " I swear I'll castrate you if you do." 

Something like a snicker puffs past his lips, like he finds the prospect entertaining. Or maybe he just likes you being possessive over him. It's probably that. Regardless, he leans closer to you, pulling you closer by your waist and stroking his hands down your hips. "Yes, ma'am, I'll keep that in mind." 

You don't get to respond to him. A knock rattles against the door, slow and light enough that it nearly sounds hesitant. Still it causes you to flinch a little, nearly jerking you out from underneath Rafe's hands but he maintains his grip on you, assisted by the way that the counter keeps you blocked in place. 

"Hey, uh, I'm not trying to . . . interrupt anything, but you've been in there for a minute, so I just wanted to check and make sure that you're alright." The voice that bleeds past the barrier of the old wood is muffled from the thick of it, but just loud enough that you're able to recognize it as Thatcher's. Embarrassment floods you at the realization. Especially when you briefly think back on your old statement you had promised to him just before leading Rafe out of the kitchen. It'll only be a few minutes. That's what you had told him then. It's definitely been longer than that. Probably closer to thirty - if not longer. 

You let your forehead thump against Rafe's chest, a low, defeated sigh leaving you as you consider what to say next. An apology would probably be in your best interest. Just to be polite, for what little it's worth, considering that you and Rafe have all but defiled his bathroom. It makes you wonder how you're even going to be able to walk out of here without cringing underneath the weight of everyone's intrigued - if not disgusted - stares. 

"I just made her cum three times in a row, man, but yeah, she's 'alright.' " Rafe replies, irritation and contempt lacing his words like a venom. You truly wish that the floor would split open to swallow you whole as soon as you register what he said. All you can manage is pulling yourself back enough to shoot him a withering glare, but he doesn't appear to be affected by your look in the slightest, far too busy scowling at the door. 

"Rafe," you snap. You try to collect yourself, mentally shaking off your humiliation as best as you can and dipping your voice into something pleasant and even to be heard through the door to answer Thatcher. "Yeah, I'm fine. We'll be out in a minute. For real this time." You almost wince when it leaves your mouth. The awkwardness of the situation stretches on when Thatcher doesn't answer immediately. There's a pause and silence before an unsure, stiff "alright" rises up from outside before he presumably leaves. 

A relieved sigh leaves you, the breath you were holding leaving you like a deflating balloon as you allow yourself to lean into Rafe once again, finding solace in his warmth to try and detach yourself from the embarrassment of the encounter. His arms slip around you easily. Shifting to take you around the waist in a loose hold that has all of your thoughts settling down into useless background chatter. 

"Want to go to yours?" he asks suddenly. It makes you look to him again, shifting back on your feet to observe him from the containment of his embrace. There's the hint of something vulnerable peeking through the blue of his eyes as though he's partially expecting you to deny him. To pull the rug out from under his feet - turning him away. Like it was all just a cruel joke to get back at him. 

As wrong as it might be, it feels somewhat vindicating to see him still so unsure. Visibly insecure about where he now stands with you. Mostly because you're in the same boat. This is a new territory for you both, and regardless of the previous words shared, there's still the fear that it was all induced on his part by the high of the moment. 

"Then maybe in the morning we can go get breakfast at Merrick's? Just not dinner there though - if we're going out for dinner, then I'm taking you somewhere nice." 

That grabs ahold of your focus in easily. Rafe's been to your trailer a hundred times. Sneaking in in the dark and making himself welcome in your home. Using your shower, eating your food, sleeping in your bed. All of these intimate things done as easily as second nature. But something as simple as walking alongside you, as touching you openly in the stark daylight, was a boundary that had never been crossed past casual conversation. Whenever you had associated it was under the guise of eating at your work, or because you had naturally happened upon each other in your day to day lives. There was never any intent behind it. Especially not while in a part of the Eight. 

Merrick's is right on the docks, settled in the center coast of the Northside of the island, among the wealthy houses and businesses of the OBX. It's a fairly popular spot among the wealthy locals. Being seen with you there would be a public declaration of sorts. Something that the customers, and employees would take notice of. 

"And you're good with that? Being seen with me?" The question leaves you in a pale version of your usual tone. It's hesitant, revealing the fear that begins to pool in your gut. Settling there like a nausea. Now it's you waiting for him to reject you - to backtrack on his promises and leave you standing here in the middle of this bathroom hurting, confused and heartbroken. You could nearly imagine the scornful smile that would tug at his lips, the glimmer of his teeth, the contempt that would burn in his eyes as he pinned you down with an unforgiving stare. You wouldn't survive it. 

But it never comes. 

"I meant what I said earlier. I don't give a shit what anyone has to say; you're my girl now." Some of his usual hostility seeps through his tone then, biting through the sweetness of it. None of it aimed at you. But it's like he's asserting a challenge for himself and others. Stating a threat to anyone else who may try to oppose him - or you. But it sounds like so much more than just the promise of a possibly verbal conflict. That wild glint is back in his eyes, passionate and determined, and you know now that he's prepared to draw blood for your sake. That he'll break bone and start fires to defend your name if he has to.

It's another one of those things that should repel you - a red flag waving vigorously in the air, but you can't find so much as the hint of an urge to turn and run. To escape and from his explosive nature, but you find warmth and comfort in it. He's like a wildfire. Erratic and starved, lashing out and reaching for anything that might burn and feed it, and like a glutton for punishment, you'll always open yourself to be consumed. Willingly allowing yourself to be licked at by the destructive edge of his nature; picked apart and feasted on. But he'll be there to put you back together again. Always eager to hold you up in his greedy palms, to have you safe in the shelter of them. 

Because he's sweet too. Caring when he wants to be. When he's allowed to be - safe from criticism or disapproval. He's been taught to be harsh. A product of his father's love, most likely. But you'll show him a different kind of love if he lets you. Something gentle and nonjudgemental. The sort of affection that he's been deprived of his entire life. 

You're his now, and he's yours; rough, violent edges and all. 

"Okay," you agree. "Breakfast it is then. And dinner." You nudge his nose up with your own, guiding him to angle his head so that you can place a lingering kiss on the plush of his mouth, feeling the shape of his smile against your lips. 

"Alright, and dinner." He nods, raising his hands to cradle your face. Watching you with a gleam in his eyes that looks like he wants to devour you entirely and hold you close. "Just you and me." 

[juletheghoul]

soak

a/n: Another fantastic request that sent me clean into the sun. I love all the situations you want Marcus and his girl in, you are all feeding me just as much as I'm feeding you! Please enjoy this un-beta'd, barely edited request. All mistake and errors are mine! please enjoy

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, hand stuff (both female and male receiving), praise kink if you squint, talk of war (I think this could be considered hurt / comfort, since our boy needs a massage), master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

The moon was high, owls hooting as the Roman army was returning from another brutal victory. Soldiers entered tents all around, you could hear them and it was with a sinking heart that you waited for him–your general. You wrung your hands, rationalizing that surely he would take longer, he would see to last minute plans, he would have meetings with his Legates, he would take tally of numbers and be the last to seek rest. 

You busied yourself with the water as you waited, boiling it to fill the massive tub he’d been gifted, a tub he’d never use. He saw it as an excess, a waste in times of war but the winces you’d witnessed in days passed spurred you on, urged you to fill it with hot, steamy water and prayed to the Gods that he’d see this in the spirit with which you did it and not as a gross overstep. 

You’d just finished pouring the last, heavy cauldron full into it when the tent flap opened, signifying his arrival. You catch his eye and he frowns at the sight of the full tub, letting out a heavy, annoyed sigh as you approach him cautiously. 

“What is the meaning of this, Girl? I did not command you to do this.” His tone is icy and you can feel the anger, the disappointment in his voice. 

“Apologies Dominus, I know I took a big liberty and I accept any punishment you deem fit, but I have seen how you ache of late. I thought–perhaps incorrectly–that you would do well with a hot soak. I have put the good oils, the salt for your muscles and I would implore you to at least consider it before the water grows too cold.” You bow your head in deference, keeping your eyes on your feet as he stands there, silent. 

He says nothing for a long moment, and you thought the overstep might have been too far, even for him. 

“I will empty the tub and clean it, I beg of you to accept my apologies, Dominus.” You turn, crestfallen at your misstep to begin the process of emptying the tub when he stops you.

“No, forgive my dark mood, Girl. I am weary and you are right in your assessment. My back aches of late. This is probably exactly what I need.” His hand landed on your shoulder, a soft offering of peace. 

“Help me to undress, I will take advantage of the warmth of the water.” he doesn’t smile, but there is a deep weariness on his face and you rush to comply. Once he is completely nude and moving to step into the tub you stop him.

“Dominus—if you would give me just a moment to get most of the mud off of you, we could keep this water clean enough for you to soak.” You rush, bringing his basin and he nods once, watching silently as you dip fresh linen and quickly wipe him down. Once you are done he finally steps in, sinking with a groan to stretch out his legs and lean against the end of it. 

You keep the smile to yourself at the involuntary moan he lets out. 

“I will prepare something for you to eat while you relax, Dominus.” 

“Wait Girl, before all that, I would have you join me. Your healing touch would aid with my aches. Come.” He gestures to the water and you obey, your body responding to both the oasis you’ve cultivated, as well as the promise of his touch. 

He slides forward once you are nude and you slip in behind him. He wastes no time in leaning back into your chest, pulling your legs to bracket his ribs while he sighs into the feel of your hands on his shoulders. The water is perfect, hot enough to almost burn, the sweet smelling steam instantly calming any and all nerves and the reassuring press of him make it hard to stay humble about taking this chance.

The sounds of the water softly lapping mingle with his low sighs when you use the strength in your fingers to work the knots out of his shoulders. His eyes close and you continue your work, moving to the pieces of his back that you can reach, his arms and his sides, your nipples harden at the moan he lets out when you massage his scalp.

“Gods above Girl, I am rethinking this whole campaign.” His hands slide up your shins, slipping softly across your knees before moving back down, a comforting sweep as you focus on cleaning his chest. “I fear I may get too accustomed to this treatment, who would want to leave this to fight a war?” 

You smile to yourself, tilting his head back softly to rinse his hair.

“My heart fills with joy to know you are not angry with me for this Dominus.” You reach for a clean cloth just outside the tub and dip it into the water to scrub at his skin. “It hurt me to see you in pain.” Something about the water, about being wrapped around him gives voice to your feelings.

“I am ashamed at my earlier annoyance, this was very thoughtful, and much needed. I am blessed that you consider me thus.” He moves a little, slipping a little further up so your chin just sits on his shoulder, enough to watch what your hands do and when they slip low to what you can reach of his thighs, you graze his manhood. 

With gentle hands, you cleanse him there, softly slipping across the heft of him before moving lower to hold the weight of his sack in your hands. He groans low when he feels you exploring him, turning his head to where yours sits on his shoulder to press his lips to your temple.

You take it as encouragement and wrap your hands around his cock, preening at the way it grows in your palms. You turn towards his face and press your lips to his, chaste and he reciprocates, breaths humid and mingling while you stroke him under the water. 

He turns to watch your hands move, and you press your kisses to his neck. 

Wordlessly, he reaches down and guides your movements, his big palm covering yours. You let him show you, while your other hand moves to fondle his balls, rolling them and giving them the tiniest squeeze. He lets out a filthy moan before stilling your hands completely and for a moment you fear you may have overstepped again.

“Apologies Dominus—“ he turns, stopping your apologies.

“I would switch places with you now Girl, much as I enjoy your hand, I do not wish to spill into the water.”

You stand at his urging, and he guides you to carefully climb in front of him. No sooner are you settled than his hands slide around to hold onto the weight of your breasts. His lips press against your shoulder as his hands roam, from sliding against your pebbled nipples, down to sweep across the soft skin of your belly and then up to rub at your shoulders much in the same way you had done to him.

It was shockingly welcome, to feel the strength in his fingers working away at your own aches.

“I am to be tending to you, Dominus-“ it comes out as a relaxed sigh as he digs at a particularly sore spot.

“Hush Girl, let me do as I please.” There is no bite in his words, and you smile to yourself as you melt under his touch.

After a while, his touch takes a turn and you feel him reach down to pull your legs up and over his thighs. He dips the tips of his fingers over the lips of your sex, spreading them open lewdly under the water. Your cunt blooms under his ministrations, even submerged he can feel the slip of your arousal coating his fingers as he hones in on the pert little pearl of you. 

“How I miss this little cunt while I’m off fighting, do you know that Girl? Do you know how hard I fight to make my way back to this right here.” He spears his fingers inside, two, thick and full inside of you and you let out a whispery sigh at the feel of it. 

Wordlessly he builds you up, working you open while you lay on his chest, his heartbeat steady and calm under your ear, his thighs firm and strong under your hands. His thumb joins the fray, swirling around your clit and it pulls a louder moan from you, one that makes him cover your mouth with his other hand. 

“Hush Girl, would you have the whole camp hear you moaning for me?” His fingers speed up, giving birth to little waves that die at the edge of the tub. You breathed hard through your nose, heart racing to feel the way he controlled your body, the way his cock pressed hard and hot against your back. You could almost taste the salt as the water dripping from his hand crept into your mouth.

Your legs closed around his hand when you burst for him, ripe as a berry.

“That’s it, didn’t that feel good?” He pulls his hand away from your mouth, turning your face to kiss you while his fingers pumped through your flutters. 

“Yes Dominus, you always make it feel good.” You turn a little in his arms to kiss him harder, to lick into his mouth and despite him not giving you leave, you move to straddle him. “I want to make you feel good now, may I?” You slip against him, your cunt sliding against his cock in the cooling water. 

“Yes Girl, so long as you can keep quiet. I would keep those pretty moans for my ears, and my ear alone.” His hands grab at your ass and you nod while lining him up, sinking onto him with a little gasp.

Wordlessly he pressed his face against your chest, while wrapping his arms around your ribs, the muscles in his arms flexing, slippery and warm.

It’s a soft roll, low tide and a calm ocean the way you fuck him. 

The water, the warmth, his reassuring hold, the sweet smelling scents, the campground full of soldiers separated from you by mere tents alone, all of these things add to the heightening of your senses. Something about the way you’d initiated this whole encounter, a bath he didn’t plan or want is the catalyst for the low moans he breathes against your skin. 

You relish it, you crave it, you need it. Just as he wants the sounds of your pleasure to be his, you want his pleasure to be yours. 

“Give it to me Dominus, please, I desire it, reward me-“ you tilt his face up, almost whispering the words into his mouth as you clench on the downstroke. 

 “It’s yours Girl, take it, it’s all yours—my good, obedient, thoughtful Girl, my favourite Girl, my only Girl—“ he buries his face into the crook of you neck and lets out an almost strangled sound when you feel it. His cock almost swells harder still for a moment before he paints your insides with his seed. 

You clench around him, drawing out his pleasure until he hisses with a low laugh, grabbing at your ass in playful reprimand. 

“You will be the death of me, Girl.” He smiles, tired and satiated as he adorns your neck with kisses, moving lower to take a nipple into his mouth. 

“Shall I prepare your meal now Dominus?” You slick his hair back, moving the tendrils that had fallen into his eyes while he continues his worship of your breasts. He hums around the stiff peak, focused and for a moment you think he might want to wait until he can take you again. 

“Something quick, we are not done yet, and the water grows cold. I would have you on your back next, Girl.” You cannot help but smile as you nod. 

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[redr0sewrites]

Werewolf!Jason Todd Imagine

🥀A/n: veeeerrry self indulgent. happy late birthday jason todd my beloved!!!

🥀Cw: afab!reader, filthy smut, werewolf kink (?), switch!jason todd, dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, very slight sub/ puppy kink on jays end if u squint, breeding kink, porn w no plot, grinding, masturbation, knotting, oral (m and f receiving), size kink

🥀minors dni

Jason was shocked at how well you took the news that he was a werewolf. he expected you to be outraged, or worse, break up with him. intrigue- and maybe even arousal- was certainly not the reaction he had expected.

with you being a human, Jason was very adamant about not hurting you during sex- especially when it came to knotting. he explains that not only is he bigger than most, but during a full moon, or worse, a rut, he changes.

the first time you sleep together, he's so nervous, all slow and gentle, prepping you for at least an hour and making you cum twice before practically splitting you in half on his cock. he's all sensitive and needy, struggling to stay in control as his primal instincts battle against his self awareness.

he wants nothing more than to flip you over and fuck you senseless, breed you 'till your carrying his pups, and yet, he waits. even wheb you both begin sleeping together more frequently, Jason cares about you more than anything else, and he pushes down his desires in favor of your comfort. that doesn't mean they aren't still present, and a horribly timed rut coinciding with a full moon certainly doesn't help matters.

Jason is powerless to his own hormones, and at first he's telling you to stay away, trying to handle it on his own. you can tell he's desperate from the straining rasp of his voice behind the door to your bedroom, and after some pleading on your part, he finally lets you in- and what a sight to behold. his cock is already at full mast, twitching against his abdomen. his hand is still wrapped around the base of his cock, and his most recent release is drying on his tip. he's so hard it hurts, his balls and knot aching to be inside you. the low baritone of Jason's voice rumbles across the room, beckoning you closer. your squeezing your thighs together at the mere sight of him, at how much his dick has grown in his half-transformation.

hes so big, you aren't sure you can even take him, but you know damn well you're going to try.

his heat is growing worse by the minute, and Jason is practically growling at you by the time you make your first move. he moves to the edge of the bed, watching you like an apex predator as you sink down on your knees between his strong thighs, admiring his toned body as you descend. his claws dig into the sheets, and just your breath on his cock has him practicing breathing excercises to prevent cumming too early. he's hot and heavy in your mouth, and you can barely fit his knot down your throat, let alone his entire cock. his full balls slap against your chin, and he lets out a low keen, almost a whimper, when you begin to suck him off.

Jason struggles not to take over and fuck your throat entirely, desperately trying to keep his hips from pistoning up off the mattress as you blow him. a clawed hand nestles on top of your head, gently but firmly controlling your movements.

it isn't long before his first orgasm of the night is approaching, hightened by his hypersensitivity. the sight of you on your knees in front of him, all sweet and innocent and desperate to help him out has him emptying his load down your throat in just a few minutes.

"fffuuck- oh fuck, baby-" Jason moans, thighs twitching as you swallow his cum. his grip loosens on your hair as he moves to cup your cheek. you pull away, leaving a trail of spit between his tip and your lips. Jason growls at the sight, pulling you up onto the bed with frenzied haste.

"i need to taste you..." he murmurs, directing you to lay down. Jason watches you squirm towards the head of the bed, peeling off your own clothes in anticipation. "stay there," you coo, tossing your panties to the side, leaving you completely bare. "wouldn't want you to be an impatient pup, would we?" you tease, and he whines under his breath. he watches your little show with mock amusement, ignoring the desperate ache in his cock when you begin to mischievously tease yourself. at the sight of your glassy eyes and spread folds he groans, your fingers, tiny in comparison to his, rubbing swift circles on your clit combined with your scent overwhelms his senses.

"stop teasing," he murmurs, but doesn't move. "aw, can't have a little self control? what are you gonna do about it?" you whisper, spreading your legs wider and curling a finger inside. you moan out his name and make direct eye contact, watching how his eyes darken as you continue to touch yourself. his self control wavers for a second, then snaps completely.

he crawls towards you on the mattress, animalistic with need as he parts your thighs, revealing your glistening cunt, already wet from your ministrations. you pull your hands away, noting how his pupils expand at the sight of you. your chest heaves as his hand makes its way down your navel towards your clit. his free hand grips hard on the skin of your thigh, holding you in place and leaving crescent marks in its wake.

"should punish you for teasing me like that," he murmurs, his breath hot against your cunt. "y-you wont," you quip, spreading your legs just slightly to accentuate your words. "you're too needy. like a bitch in heat," you coo, and Jason curses before pinching your clit between too fingers. his claws provide extra stimulation, almost painful but not quite, and you let out a yelp of pleasure.

in response, you move to touch him, but he shakes his head. "hands off, 'want you t'focus on me," he slurs, leaning down on his stomach to inhale your scent. you stubbornly oblige, realizing how truly needy he is, and bring your hands up above your head so you can watch him intently.

Jason begins by circling your clit with his thumb, his claws gently grazing your sensitive skin. entranced by the sight of your pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing, he leans down to press a soft kiss against your aching cunt before licking a stripe up towards where he's circling your pearl. his pace never slows as he sloppily makes out with your pussy, sucking and swirling his tongue against your entrance while simultaneously rubbing harsh circles on your clit. his claws tease against your thigh, and you realize that he's humping the mattress as he's eating you out. he's so far gone he doesn't even realize, and the sight of his hips rocking against the bed in time with his tongue makes your cunt clench.

the coil in your gut tightens as you try to warn him of your upcoming orgasm and he shushes you, the soft vibrations of his words against your pussy making you buck your hips. "cmon, baby- ffuck- give it t'me. please... need to taste you.." he moans, grinding down even harder against the mattress. Jason's tongue laps against your aching hole, sucking and swallowing your juices as the coul in your abdomen snaps altogether. with a stuttering moan he cums too, not even pausing as he continues to ride out both of your highs. your bordering on overstimulation as he keeps sucking on your abused pussy, and you try to squirm away, only for him to pull your cunt flush against his face once again.

"one more, please baby, jus' one more, don' wanna hurt you," he moans incoherently against your entrance. you nod, and he lets out a few murmured thank you's against your flushed inner thighs before diving his tongue back into your cunt. slurping and sucking, he works you up slower this time, watching you squirm slightly from overstimulation. your previous orgasm left you even more sensitive than before and he'll gladly use that to his advantage.

removing his hand from your pearl, Jason hones in on your clit with his tongue, swirling in ways that make you see stars. his grip is firm on your thighs, large claws sinking into your soft skin. he's practically purring between your legs, moaning and mewling about how delicious you taste and how badly he needs you.

his fat cock is already hard, but he restrains himself from humping against the bed. he wants to savor the feeling of entering your pretty pussy, and edges himself to the thought of cumming inside of you. his pace becomes more fervent as your orgasm approaches, causing you to whine and buck against him.

Jason whispers out soft praises against your cunt, bringing you to the edge for the second time. your orgasm is even better than the first, and your eyes roll back into your head as a wave of pure bliss washes over you. Jason fucks you through it, unrelenting with his tongue until your squirming away.

your juices coat his face, and he doesn't hesitate to lick up the remains of your orgasm. you watch as he crawls up to you, capturing your lips with his own. you can taste yourself on his tongue, and it only makes you needier as Jason groans into the kiss. his cock is painfully hard and pressing against your thigh, and he pulls away to look at you with a pitiful expression.

"please, need to be inside you, ma," he begs, and you don't hesitate to allow him. "of course, baby, take what you need," you coo, cupping his face as he trembles. the pet name makes his cock twitch, and he struggles to restrain himself from fucking you right then and there. "are y'sure? i don't want t' hurt you.." he trails off, rubbing circles on your hips with his claws. your quite aware of the lust thrumming beneath the surface of his seemingly calm demeanor, the twitching of his fat cock and the consistent, slight rocking of his hips against your thigh gave him away.

"oh jay, you're so sweet, too good f'me, my pretty boy.." you coo, and he swallows hard. you gently push on his chest, flipping him over on his back. he's huge, all muscle and strength, and yet he melts from just your simple touches. you straddle him, and his head short circuits as everything around him starts to become fuzzy. when you take control it's like his head is filled with honey, leaving him all dazed and submissive for you. his eyes are wide and glassy as you situate yourself above his cock, teasing him by grinding down on him before slowly aligning his enlarged tip with your entrance.

"relax, honey. be a good pup f'me and take a deep breath," you coo, slowly starting to sink down on to his dick. Jason twitches at the feeling of your warm cunt beginning to suck him in. it takes everything in him to be a good boy, to not buck up into you and fuck you senseless 'till your drooling and whimpering, fucked full of his cum and begging for more more more-

Jason keens, struggling to differentiate between fantasy and reality while you struggle to take him in. his knott is thick, and his cock is bigger than ever before, which is to say, nearly impossibly huge. you can tell he's already too far gone to realize how much his cock is twitching, or even realize how he's shallowly humping up against you. his head is already so fuzzy, desperate to be inside you, but he doesn't want to hurt you either.

you swallow hard, gritting your teeth through the pain of the stretch as you sink farther down his cock. you're almost halfway there and Jason is already babbling, claws digging hard into your hips and hybrid ears pricked upwards. you brace yourself on his tummy, sinking down further until you've not only engulfed his knot but halfway down his length. Jason lets out a strangled whine, and you meet his desperate gaze.

"ffuck- can i- can i move, please, y'taking me s'well, wanna mate with you-" he babbles, claws digging into your skin in desperation. "mngh- not y-yet, baby, still gotta take you inside me," you manage out, and Jason nods, flushing an even deeper red at how needy he sounds. he's trying desperately not to blow his load and cum too quickly, but you're making it soo hard the way you're squeezing and fluttering around him.

you bite down hard on your lip, determined to take him to the hilt. you can tell Jason is nearing his breaking point, you know how painful his rut can be and you don't want him to wiat any longer. taking a deep breath, you sink down further and further, ignoring the pain of the stretch until your seated fully on his cock. Jason lets out a wanton moan, throwing his head back against the pillows as you grasp your bearings.

you slowly begin to rock back and forth on his cock, letting the pain melt into pleasure as his length reaches places you've never felt before. you let out a sharp whimper as his tip brushes your cervix, and Jason stills.

"wait- am i hurting you?" he gasps out between pants, immediately grabbing hold of your hips. "i don't want t'hurt you-" you cut him off with a kiss, struggling to control your breathing as his length twitches inside you. "no, honey, 'm ok, you're just so big, im not used to it," you admit, and Jason eyes you with worry. "are you sure? we can stop, i- i dont-"

"its okay, Jay, im okay, see?" you reply, trying to soothe his worries by increasing your pace. you immediately let out a soft moan as you grind down on his dick, and Jason follows suit. you can still see the anxiety in his eyes, when an idea strikes. you grab one of his large hands from your waists, bringing it to your stomach where an apparent bulge was forming from his size.

"fffuuck- see Jay? 'm not hurting, m just- o-oh- 'm so full, Jay, y'fill me so well.." you coo, increasing your pace yet again. Jason watches, mesmerized by the squelching sounds of your cunt with each thrust and the growing bulge in your tummy. Jason curses loudly, tears welling in his eyes as you flutter around him. "im so close Jay, fuck 'm so close," you whine, rolling your hips against his with increasing fervor. he lets out a near pathetic mewl, bucking his hips up against yours as tears stream down his face.

"oh fuck- shit, shit please ma im so close- mate with me please"

"o-oh- you can cum, baby, you can cum," you reassure him, grinding down harder as your release crashes through you. every nerve in your body is on fire as waves of ecstasy wash over you. you can barely breathe, barely think, everything replaced with him, him, him. the sight of you gushing around his cock and squeezing him like a vice brings Jason to the edge, and he cums in tandem with you, filling your pretty cunt with his seed and babbling out your name like a prayer.

"y'so good Jay, so so good f'me," you gasp out, slowing to a stop as overstimulation begins to overcome you. Jason, too incoherent to reply, merely nods, and you chuckle softly at his fucked-out state. his cock hasn't returned to its usual size, still swelled inside your heat. you don't make an effort to pull away, and neither does Jason, content in staying joined together for the time being. you lay down on his chest, matching your breathing to his as exhaustion weighs over you.

"thank you," Jason rumbles, hands running up and down your sides. "thank you so- hic- much-" you realoze he's crying softly, and the realization makes you tear up too. "why are we crying?" you ask, and he laughs. "i don't even know- i just love you so much," he replies, and you laugh too. you aren't sure if you're giggling or sobbing, but you do know that you're exhausted. you nuzzle into his neck, and Jason gently kisses your cheek.

"go to sleep," he murmurs. "you're human body can't take much more."

"oh, shut it," you reply, but don't argue. as you melt into his embrace, you let sleep slowly claim you, knowing that you'll clean up in the morning.

hhheeeyyyy guys. my only explanation is im ovulating rn. so. erm. yippee!!! 3k words of werewolf smut!!!!

[chocochipsushi]

𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

NSFW! minors do not interact! 18+ only!

🌸Word count: 8.3K

🌸AU: Toji, your father’s best friend, finally gets to call you his in public

🌸CW: cockwarming, public sex, exhibitionism/voyeurism, unprotected sex, light slapping (just once), indecisive (kinda psycho imo) y/n, fluff

🌸A/N: The final piece to this series!! I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did. thank you for all the support, especially since it was technically my first series here.

<< Part 1 🔞, Part 2 🔞, Part 3 🔞, Part 4 🔞

“Toji!” I squeal, throwing myself onto his hot body that’s been exposed to the sun for a while now. 

I hear my mother clicking her tongue. “Jesus, honey!” 

As Toji pulls his sunglasses up to squint at me, his other hand rests on my waist. Even with the furrow between his brows, his lips are slightly tilted in an affectionate smile.

I grin down at him. “Hi.” 

“Hey, sugar.”

My heart races at the pet name but I reach out to slap his shoulder in embarrassment anyway. As my parents get closer, I get off Toji to snuggle into his side, resting my head on his warm shoulder and my hand on his chest. He slides his arm around my waist to hold me closer to him. 

“How was the drive down?” Toji asks my father as my parents set up their beach chairs next to his empty chair. 

Smushing my cheek on the ball of his shoulder, I get myself comfortable snuggling with Toji. He rubs my waist affectionately while he listens to my father complain about the traffic. 

“Do you want your chair next to Mum?” My father pauses in his reply to Toji just to ask me. Though he knows what my answer would be already anyway, because he stares at Toji and me for a second before he rolls his eyes, “Why did I even ask?” 

I laugh as my mother passes him my beach chair to place it next to Toji’s. 

That eventful brunch that happened a few months ago ended awkwardly, to say the least. Toji brought me out for a drive after and explained what had happened between him and my father. In short, my father was skeptical but didn’t disapprove. He just needed some time to get used to the idea. Which Toji really helped with. He came over a lot, conditioning my parents to be comfortable with seeing him more, especially to accustom them to his lingering touches. Over time, they warmed up to the idea, and stopped skirting around the topic that Toji and I were dating. We still keep it down low, not wanting to scare my parents with our PDA. We don’t kiss with my parents around, and he doesn’t stay over at our home. 

My father and Toji had to do some explaining to their friends, specifically around the argument that Toji basically watched me grow up (which was put down when they explained that that was technically not true since he was out of the country from when I was nine, all the way till I was 24). They accepted the relationship way faster than my parents did, some even swearing that they thought we would have been a better match if I was born earlier or Toji later. But I guess it helps that Toji, despite being my father’s best friend, is a few years younger than my dad, and not to mention that my dad had me when he was only barely 21. My parents weren’t really good with their planning and I always teased them for it. 

“We got some beer, too,” my father announces to Toji as he points to the ice box next to him. “Ice cold.” He winks. 

Immediately, Toji sits up, making me slide off his body while his arm that had been around me falls away. I watch Toji reach out a begging hand. 

“Thank God. The heat is insane.”

My parents laugh. My dad passes him a can and the both of them crack their beers open at once. They bump their drinks before taking long, thirsty gulps. While I watch them, I subtly snake my leg around Toji’s, almost using him as a bolster. After almost inhaling half the can of beer, he turns around and offers me the drink. I shake my head. It’s not even noon yet, and I don’t think I would like to be drunk by four in the afternoon. 

Propping my head on the palm of my hand, I lay on my side as I stare at Toji’s back, observing the hard lines and curves of his muscles moving with every little movement he makes. I don’t know how long I have been watching him, but he turns to me a while later when his conversation with my father has come to a standstill. He stares for a while before he brings up his sunglasses to sit on top of his head, at the same time brushing his hair back. 

“Wanna soak in the sun, Princess?” 

I smile. Holding my hand out, I say, “Yes, but you have to help me with the sunscreen.”

Toji takes my hand at once and pulls me to sit up. “Of course,” he promises. 

So I take off my sundress, leaving myself in a two-piece bikini. I fold it nicely and put it into my bag, only to turn back to Toji to see him ogling at me with dark, mesmerised eyes. It makes me smile, knowing just how much this rock-like personality can be so expressive only when it comes to me. I take my sunscreen out of my bag and hold it out to him, which he takes, slowly. He is still staring at me. 

“You can do my back, Toji,” I chirp, immediately flopping to lie down on my stomach. 

He doesn’t respond and doesn’t do anything for a while. Then I hear the cap of the sunscreen bottle opening and I get myself comfortable. 

Toji’s hands are warm and rough, but so gentle and careful as they spread the lotion on my back. He is slow in his caress, almost like he wants to savour this moment, and I am enjoying it so much that I can already feel myself trying to fight off the brain fog. He even goes under the strings of my top piece, making sure that every inch of my skin is covered. 

And when he gets to my lower half, Toji shifts himself to kneel next to my hip where he lathers the cream down the back of my thighs and calves slowly. He makes sure to get my ankles too. But I have to snap my eyes open to look at my dad when Toji goes back up where he spreads the lotion on my ass cheeks, even sliding his fingers under the hem of my bikini to make sure he has covered all grounds. 

My father glances over then, making my heart pound and my body hot for a whole second before he looks away. I glance down at Toji and realise that he has situated himself so strategically that his broad back would be shielding my parents from the view of Toji fondling my ass. 

I suck in a breath and purse my lips as I turn my head to the other side when Toji starts sliding his hands between my inner thighs. His touch and caress are sensual as he rubs in the lotion, making me feel so many things at the pit of my stomach. He rubs his calloused hands up and down my inner thighs, his thumbs slipping under my bikini piece to give me the full experience of his fondling as he massages the meat of my pussy in circles. 

I am biting hard on my bottom lip when I lift my head and crane my neck to gape at Toji, who is already watching me. As if that is the exact thing he wanted, his lips stretch into an naughty smirk and he finally takes his hands off of me. He takes the bottle of sunblock and chucks it next to me. 

“Princess can do her front on her own.”

I watch in disbelief as he gets up, dusts himself off, and goes to take his seat in his beach chair next to my dad. They are already in conversation as they crack open another beer, and I am left hot and bothered on Toji’s beach towel. 

A little bit annoyed and very much frustrated, I flip onto my back and sit up, aggressively grabbing and opening my bottle of sunscreen. I am probably not as thorough as Toji is in lathering me up, but I can blame him for starting something he knows he cannot finish, leaving me wanting more. Once I am done, I throw my sunblock into my bag and go back to lying down, grabbing my own towel in my bag to throw over my face. 

I can hear my parents and Toji talking about how busy the beach is, how nice the weather is, and how long they haven’t been anywhere close to open waters. Taking in a deep breath, I drown out the conversation happening next to me, soon feeling peaceful and ready to take my nap. 

I don’t know how long later, but I wake up briefly to flip onto my stomach when I am aware of the sweat on my body. I rest my cheek on my hands and easily go back to napping again despite the cacophony at the beach. I am still in my half-conscious state, taking in all the sounds around me, when I feel a warm, wet hand on my ass and a tickle on my cheek. 

As I slowly wake up from the fogginess in my head, I feel a kiss pressed to my cheek, water droplets now on my skin. I hum and nuzzle my cheek on the back of my hand even more. 

“You look so good, baby,” Toji’s husky murmur warms my face as he presses another kiss to my cheek. He kneads my ass, his thumb playing with the hem of my bikini. 

“Wherem’re p’rents?” I mumble sleepily. 

“They went back to the car to get something.” Toji leans back away from my face now, though his calloused palm is still fondling my asscheek. “You guys parked far?”

I hum as I think, though I just end up almost dozing off again so I lift my shoulders slightly to tell him that I don’t know. Toji tsks and slaps my ass lightly before leaning down again close to my face. 

“Give me a kiss, baby,” he murmurs. 

I turn my head and pucker my lips, though my eyes are still shut. Toji presses a long and firm kiss on my pillows and I feel him give me one last caress to my ass before getting up, probably going back to his beach chair again. 

This time, when I try to go back to sleep, I find it hard to fully stay unconscious. So I attempt at continuing my nap for the next 10 minutes before flipping onto my back. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I turn to the side where Toji is still sitting alone, looking all intimidating, topless in his beach chair, the water droplets on his body glistening in the sunlight, his semi-wet hair in clumps. As if hypersensitive to my movements, he tilts his head to take a peek at me over his sunglasses. 

“My parents?” I wonder groggily, my voice hoarse and slurred. 

The corners of his lips turn down slightly as he pushes up his sunnies again. “Dunno.” 

I take a second to shut my eyes again and inhale a deep breath to wake myself up. Toji is already watching the beach goers again when I sit up, his arms resting comfortably on the arm rests, his one hand holding a beer can. 

I get up and rest my palm on his shoulder, making him look up at me as I move to sit on his lap, his wet boardshorts already sticking to my skin. Immediately, he moves his hands out of the way so that I am situated between his legs, sitting nicely on his thigh. Toji circles his arms around me for a second to transfer his drink to the other hand so that he could rest his cool palm on my waist. 

“You went into the waters, Toji?” I wonder as I play with his bangs. 

He hums in reply. That’s a yes. “Had a nice nap, Princess?” I nod to his husky murmur. He grunts and kneads my flesh gently. “Don’t wanna sit in your own chair?”

I shake my head and shift myself until I am leaning into him, my face in close proximity to his. “You’re more comfortable.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re making me lose my shape from eating all your leftovers,” Toji teases as he flicks the underside of my chin. He brings his hand down to rest on my lap now. 

“So you have a literal dad bod.” He doesn’t, but I grin at him cheekily anyway. 

He clicks his tongue and scowls at me, though I know he means it jokingly. Wrapping an arm around his nape, I lean into him and rest my head in the crook of his neck, half-crossing my legs so I can be closer to him. The man sets his beer can back into the cup holder of his chair so he could rest his palm on the curve of my ass. I am enjoying the nice breeze when I feel his hand caressing my mound, his fingers lining and toying with the hem of my bikini bottom. It only makes me hum in content as I move to stick my ass out more, giving Toji more to hold in his hand. 

Taking that as a good sign, he curls his fingers under the fabric and starts stroking my skin with the back of his digits. I lift my head slightly to kiss him on his neck. Toji’s other hand that had been on my lap slithers to wedge itself between my legs, his thumb rubbing a spot on my inner thigh. 

“Toji…” I try to murmur as a warning, except it comes out breathy and sultry. 

His chest rumbles beneath me as he hums. “Hmm? You alright, baby?”

I decide to stay quiet and nod my head, wanting to see what Toji would do next. Not at all to my surprise, he starts inching closer to my crotch, finally rubbing the back of his thumb on my clothed pussy. I cannot help but to rub my thighs together, at the same time allowing Toji to push the crotch of my bikini aside, the back of his thumb sliding between my lips. Forcing his thumb between my legs, he manages to find my lips gradually being lubricated with my juices. He hums in satisfaction, having found what he wants. 

Using his knuckle to rub and tease my lips open, he slides his thumb up and down my slit. He finds his way back up to my clit, smearing the little nub with my cum. Toji tilts his head to press a kiss to my hair, almost like a sweet gesture, before rubbing my engorged clit with the knuckle of his thumb. I sink my teeth down on my bottom lip as I cling onto my boyfriend, my nails digging into his flesh. Toji slips his other hand away from my ass, only to give me a light slap to my ass cheek. As if to soothe me from the sudden jerk my body did, he caresses my waist, running his rough palm up and down my side. 

I widen my legs just a little, giving Toji more access to my pussy and at the same time trying to feel up his erection unsuccessfully. Frustrated by the space restraint for my thigh to be rubbing on his tent, I take a hand away from around his neck and rest my palm on top of his cock, feeling just how warm and hard the bulge in his boardshorts is. Experimentally, I give his erection a stroke. Toji lets out a low groan.

Dipping his hand deeper between my legs, he finds my pussy now seeping with my juices. Squeezing my thigh with his hand, he teases my entrance with his thumb by rubbing my hole before slipping his finger inside of me. I moan at the sensation of his rough digit in my cunt, my hand on his crotch squeezing the rock hard tent in his shorts. Toji moves his thumb in and out of me slowly, fingerfucking me at the beach where my parents are soon coming back to. 

Suddenly reminded of my parents, I widen my eyes and still my body. Toji feels how stiff I have gotten and stops what he is doing. He dips his head so that his lips are brushing my forehead. 

“Everything okay, Princess?”

I move on his lap so that I am properly clinging onto him now and my head is right next to his. I squint into the distance and spot my parents walking back with bags in their hands. Feeling Toji slipping his finger out of me, I quickly turn away and grab hold of his wrist, keeping him there. He looks at me worriedly. But I give him a sweet smile and lean in to give him kisses on his lips. 

“Keep going, Toji,” I murmur softly, sultrily. 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Rubbing the length of his finger along my puffy lips, Toji leans in to kiss the spot below my ear. “You’re getting wetter, Princess,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling my earlobe. 

Seeing my parents getting closer, I bravely whisper back, “Wanna put it in, Daddy?”

Toji is always a daredevil when it comes to sex, but I know that he would never agree to this if he had known that my parents are returning. However, since he can’t see them from where he is sitting, he readily agrees by taking his hand out of my bottom and pushing me gently off his lap. As I get off him, I bend over to grab his towel, only to suddenly receive a slap to my ass. I hear Toji let out a needy groan behind me. 

As I spread out the towel to drape over the lower half of my body, Toji pulls me closer by the hip before pushing aside the crotch of my bikini bottom. I lower myself slowly until I feel his tip poking between my lips. Shimmying my hips to fit his cockhead between my folds, Toji squeezes my waist and pulls me back slowly, allowing me to take his size in. Toji groans, and I don’t even need to turn around to know that he probably has his eyes shut and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He always enjoys the first time he enters me. 

I am still getting myself adjusted to his girth as I slowly take in his cock when my mother shouts my name, sounding just a few metres away from us now. “We got ice cream!”

Immediately, I freeze and my entire body goes cold. Toji, always the one that takes care of everything, tightens his hold on my waist and curses under his breath as he pulls me to sit down, completely taking him in now. I let out the most pornographic moan and Toji lets himself enjoy my pulsing tightness with a low groan before he gathers me quickly towards him. He carries my legs and brings them to rest on his thighs so that I am sitting on him, facing slightly to the side. 

“Daddy—”

“Shh, baby,” Toji hisses, now making sure his towel covers our connected parts well. 

I turn to give him a pout for the tone he used with me. He cups my chin and pulls me in almost roughly in his haste, giving me a quick apology on my lips. It is an unexpected but heart-fluttering act that has my pussy throbbing around Toji’s meat. Embarrassed, I lean into his chest and rest my head on his shoulder, hiding my face in his neck. A few seconds later, my parents finally join us again, this time with a few bags in their hands. Toji squeezes my waist as he turns to them. 

“Got more beer,” my father announces with a grin, lifting the bag in his hand. 

“Good, ‘cause this was the last one,” Toji says as he presents the can in his hand.

“And we got ice cream,” my mother says as she fishes out my favourite ice cream from her bag and holds it out to me. 

I gasp and move away from Toji. “Thank you!” I am so excited that I have a hand on Toji’s abs, pushing myself up slightly to reach out for the ice cream bar. 

Toji’s body tenses up, especially when I sit back down with the ice cream in my hand. I turn to him and see him widening his eyes slightly at me in warning. I give him an embarrassed giggle. Holding the ice cream out to him, he takes it and opens it before giving it back to me. 

“You went into the water, Toji?” my dad asks as he plops down on his chair with a new can of beer. 

Toji takes one last sip of his and crushes up the metal cylinder in his hand. He hums. Before my mother returns to her own chair, she passes Toji a new can of beer. He opens it and takes a long swig of the golden liquid. 

“Yeah. It’s nice,” he finally answers. 

My dad glances at me, realising that my body is not wet. “You didn’t go?”

I shake my head. Before I get to reply, Toji mutters, “She was napping the entire time. Just woke up a few minutes ago, this Princess.”

“She slept on the drive down here, too,” my father mutters. 

Toji clicks his tongue. I stare up at him and he gives me a mock scolding look. “Sleepyhead,” he says, smacking the side of my thigh. 

My pussy clenches around Toji’s cock, making me blush when my boyfriend starts caressing the spot he abused, his eyes dark on me. My father stands up and takes his singlet off. He turns to his wife next to him. 

“Shall we go in the waters too, honey?”

My mother immediately takes off the skirt she is wearing so she is in her bathing suit. She agrees, “It’s so hot today.”

Toji looks up at the two of them standing and says, “The water’s cool so you’ll like it.”

“You two want to come?” my father invites. 

Toji lets me answer for us, to which I shake my head. He turns to my dad and promises, “We’ll take good care of the beer.”

“The only person I’m worried about getting to the beer is you, Toji,” my father teases. Then, he calls out to my mother and they both start towards the sea. 

Now that it is just the two of us, I move away from the hard wall of muscles to look at my boyfriend. His eyes immediately flicker down to my lips where I am giving my ice cream kitten licks. As I start to say something, he pulls me towards him with a hand on my nape, his lips already on mine. I spread my lips as I let a moan into his mouth. Toji’s tongue slips between my pillows and hums when he tastes the sweetness on my tongue. He kisses me with hot passion, with overwhelming love, with gentle caresses. By the time he breaks the kiss, I am heady and dazed from the kiss, my pussy probably slobbering all over his meat. He brushes my hair away from my face as he slides his hand along my cheek, finally leaving his hand cupped around the back of my neck and his thumb resting behind my ear. 

He presses a kiss to my forehead and places his chin on top of my head, my face now buried in the crook of his neck. I can feel the rumble of low voice reverberating through his chest as he murmurs, “Naughty girl. You knew they were coming, didn’t you?” I don't say anything. After all, how do I lie to someone who knows me even more than I do myself? Toji rubs my arm. “Today’s a nice day, huh, baby?”

I nod my head. Toji is quiet as he watches the people on the beach. After a few moments, I move away from his body and frown, “Aren’t you going to touch me?” 

He looks at me over his sunglasses, a teasing look in his eyes. “Huh. Aren’t you a little daredevil?”

I whine and pout, so Toji rests his warm, heavy palm on my collarbone, caressing me gently as he moves his hand closer to my chest. He leans in to drop a kiss on my shoulder, at the same time prodding me in a different spot with his cockhead as he moves closer to me. 

“So many people are watching, sugar,” he mutters, now lining kisses across my neck like an invisible necklace. His hand drops to my tits now, brushing his knuckles on my mounds, over and over. “And this is a kid-friendly beach.”

I tilt my head back with a low moan when he starts making out with the side of my neck, right where he can feel my pulse pounding against my skin. He is fondling, almost playing with my tits now. If it weren’t for the heat of the sun, I would have thought we were in the confines of a private space. Attempting to fight against the tantalising pleasure Toji is swallowing me up in, I dig my fingernails into his skin as I grasp onto his bicep. 

“Toji… Daddy…” When he wouldn't stop, I have to swallow that haze clouding my mind and snap in a terse voice, “Toji.”

Finally, he lets go of my skin with a dissatisfied groan and drops his hand to my lap. His cock is twitching between my soaked walls, harder than he has ever been. I lift his sunglasses to rest them on top of his head. His dark eyes are on mine, almost begging. 

“You asked me to touch you, sweetheart.” 

Is he whining?

I bite back a smile. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn't mean it.” He gives me another pleading look. He looks very stupidly cute for a grown ass man who is pouting. “Heat of the moment and all that.”

Toji lets rip a loud groan, his final tantrum thrown as he crashes his forehead against my collarbone. “Fucking cock tease,” he grumbles under his breath. 

I slap his bicep as I pout at him, to which he only rolls his eyes. I whine and move towards him to kiss him on the lips as an apology. “You weren’t going to fuck me here anyway,” I say, except it comes out more as a question than a statement. 

“Oh, I was, honey. Have I ever denied you of anything you ever wanted?” I think about it, and with a pink tinge on my cheeks, I shake my head. Toji sighs. “Whatever. You’ll just have to cockwarm me until I’m soft again.”

I laugh because that is never going to happen. But I indulge him as I nod, leaning in to drop a kiss on his cheek. Toji leans back and takes a long sip of his beer. I go back to finishing my melting ice cream. Toji’s other hand caresses my back absentmindedly, his fingertips drawing lazy circles. 

“Toji,” I complain. He isn't helping the situation. 

He darts confused eyes to me. “What?” I let out a louder whine when he rubs my waist cajolingly. He is even more puzzled now. “What, baby?”

“Your hand!” I finally groan. 

Toji quickly removes his hand from my body, lifting it in the air in a surrender. “Didn't know you didn't want to be touched at all. Sorry.”

Another groan immediately comes out of me as I throw myself at him, burying my face in his neck. He isn't sure what to do, especially when I’d just scolded him for touching me. But I blindly grab his wrist and slap his palm on my back. So he strokes me gently, almost carefully. He sets down the beer in his other hand to brush my hair behind my ear so he could drop a kiss on my temple. 

“You alright, Princess? The sun too hot for you?” I shake my head. “Hungry?” Another shake of my head. “Tired—? No way, you slept so much. Thirsty?”

I finally give up and lift my head off his collarbone to whisper in his ear, “I’m horny, Daddy.”

“Jesus, baby,” Toji curses, his body relaxing against me, his hand now comfortably rubbing my back. “I thought you were mad at me.” When I huff and rest my cheek on his shoulder unhappily, he asks, “Can’t even wait till we get to the beach house to settle down for the night?” I shake my head. Even if we did get back to the beach house, my parents would be there, cockblocking me from getting fucked real good. “What should we do then? Hide behind some trees?” 

I lift my head with a hopeful look at that idea, which only receives a disbelief chuckle from him. I moan when he gives me a light, teasing slap to my cheek, my gummy walls fluttering at his gently mean action. Is he trying to drive me nuts?

“Not happening, sweetheart,” he states, still smiling, obviously enjoying how much of a spineless slut I become when I am horny. “I have a better idea.”

I am asked to get off of him, much to my dismay and annoyance. But he promises me that I would have my way as long as I am a good girl for him, which I am, though with some sulking. 

Toji packs up our things and tells me to wait there while he looks for my parents. I watch him cross the beach, observing the way women are noticing him. It makes me so smug that this man is mine, especially when he walks back to me with a cheeky smile and takes my hand in his. He picks up our belongings and walks me to his car. 

We’re off as soon as he keeps everything in the boot, heading off towards the beach house where we would be staying for the night. He reaches over to place his hand on my knee, massaging my inner thigh sensually. I lift my legs to rest my feet on the dashboard. 

“What did you tell my parents?” I wonder as I watch his hand creep closer to my core, his veiny hand slipping under my sundress. 

“That you’re cranky and moody, so I had to bring you back.” I whine and smack his arm, though he merely chuckles. His hand finally reaches my crotch. He rubs my pussy over the fabric of my bikini and I eagerly spread my legs. Toji slides my swimwear aside to swipe the tip of his finger along my lips, only to curse. “Fuck, Princess. You’re so fucking wet.”

Sliding two fingers inside me easily, he pumps me slowly with his digits, allowing me to rock my hips against his thrusting motions. I move to press my cheek against his arm as I let out sensual moans. At every stop light, Toji leans in to kiss me, the both of us making out until the car behind him has to honk to make him move on a green light. I have to take several deep breaths as I watch Toji lick his lips and swipe the corners of his mouth with his fingers, his other hand still playing with my wet pussy. 

By the time we are parked outside the beach house we are staying at for the night, Toji is bricked up so hard that he throws me over the shoulder the moment I get out of the car and storms his way into the accommodation. He fumbles with unlocking the door for so long that he almost has to break down the door. But once we are inside, Toji wastes no time. He throws me on the couch and I grin at him as I wiggle out of my bikini bottoms. Throwing the fabric at my boyfriend playfully, Toji catches it and presses it to his nose, giving it a long and good sniff. 

He lets out a long moan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Then, he sets his lustful gaze on me, throws my panties to the ground, and stalks over to me like a predator. With his hands on my bent knees, he slides them under my thighs as he drops himself on the couch, crouching as he lifts my legs to rest them on his shoulders. I have to hold my breath as I watch his face get closer to my pussy. 

He glances up at me through his bangs and with those eyes still on mine, he swipes his tongue slowly along my wet lips. I shudder in pleasure, longing for some dopamine release. Toji readjusts his position to a comfortable one as he drops a line of kisses on my pussy. Then, he takes my puffy lips in his mouth, almost like he is making out with my cunt, his tongue digging between my folds and flicking at my hole over and over. My hands fall to his black locks, my fingers grasping around his soft strands as I arch my back in pleasure, my toes pointed and pressing into his shoulders. 

“Oh, Toji…” I whimper when the man enters a finger into my hole, pumping my wet pussy slowly while his mouth sucks gently on my clit. 

It feels so good being touched and pleasured like this, but I want more. I’ve been waiting since the beach and I don’t have the patience for foreplay right now. Tugging on Toji’s locks, I separate my boyfriend’s face from my pussy just enough to get his attention. My throat closes at the sight of the bottom half of Toji’s face glistening with my juices. He licks his lips, frowning in confusion at me. 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” I whine. Taking a hand off his head, I point to the door-to-ceiling windows facing the quiet beachfront. 

Toji quirks an eyebrow at me. “On the balcony, baby?”

It wasn’t what I had in mind but I still think about it. I shake my head. “Against the window.”

He leans back a little, surprised that I am actually being serious. “You want people to see?”

Moving so that I’m no longer lying on the couch, I flip around to get on all fours as I stare out at the beach facing our residence. “There’s no one,” I reply softly. Toji can’t help but to drop his head to latch his mouth on my ass, sucking and kissing my flesh, while his hand fondles with my other cheek. I look back to see him watching me. So I ask again, “Against the window, Daddy?”

He finally lets go of my mound. As he drops a kiss on my ass, he stands and leans over me, his sturdy arm wrapping around my waist to carry me off the sofa. He sets me on the ground and presses his lips to my ear to murmur, “Anything for my kinky little princess.”

Tapping on my butt, he urges me forward. While I walk over to the window, I turn around to see Toji pulling his cock out of his shorts. Feeling my heart jumping in my chest, I quickly turn back around to press up against the window and perk my ass out. Toji grabs my hip while his other hand reaches out to slap his meat on my ass cheek. Eager to finally be satisfied, I push my ass out even more. Toji lets out a low groan. 

Before he does anything, he leans down to press a kiss on my back. Then, he traces my ass crack with his cock and finally meets my throbbing pussy with his tip. We’re both groaning as he rubs his cockhead up and down my slit, coating his meat with my juices before he fits his tip between my lips, perfectly at the entrance of my cunt. 

With a hand on my hip and the other on my shoulder, he holds me there as he sheaths into me slowly. Toji lets out a long groan as his fingers tighten their grip on me. I just know that he is putting in a lot of effort not to ram into me completely. The moment he is entirely buried inside of me, Toji wraps his arms around my body, pressing me to him. Always wanting to be as close to me as possible every time we fuck, he snuggles his face into the crook of my neck. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet and warm around me, Princess,” he groans into my skin. “So fucking good…”

I let out a deep breath and place my hand over one of his. Sliding it down my body, I position his hand at my crotch. “Gonna fuck me, Daddy?” I pull his finger to rest on my clit. “Make me squirt all over your cock?”

“Fuck, baby,” he swears. He adjusts his stance and grips my hip tightly with one hand. “I’m going to ruin your pussy,” is all he says before he starts ramming into me like a dog in heat. 

With his other hand on my crotch, he begins rubbing at my swollen pearl, making me mewl and moan like a slut. I press my fingers into the glass window as I rock my hips, at the same time slamming my ass back against Toji’s cock every time he sheathes into me. The male lets out low, feral groans with every thrust, clearly relieved now that he is finally relieving all that sexual tension stored inside of him. 

“You’re so fucking wet, baby. I’m going to cum,” Toji growls. “Gonna put a fuckin’ baby in you, Princess. Fuck,” he curses. Feeling my tightening walls, he chuckles breathily. “Yeah? You like the idea of that, sweetheart? Wanna be knocked up by me, huh, d’ya Princess?”

I whine in embarrassment. The house is filled with the sticky, loud sound of Toji’s hips slapping against my ass every time he pounds into me. It is hot, and honestly so dirty that I can’t help but feel sexier. 

So I crawl my hands down the window slowly, until my ass is sticking up in the air and my back arch is so visible Toji groans and leans down to drag his nails over my skin, leaving red marks in his wake. Taking his hand away from my clit, he cups my ass cheek and kneads my flesh. 

“Oh, fuck, baby girl,” he moans, almost whining. His hand on my ass squeezing hard. “I’m cumming, baby. Daddy’s going to cum,” Toji grunts out. 

With his both hands now gripping onto my waist, he makes one final thrust into my soaking cunt and holds my hips pressed up against his cock as he shoots his seeds far and deep into my womb. He moans and whines my name the whole time, almost as if to ground himself. His hips twitch a few times as he empties more of his seeds inside of me. 

Finally, when his breathing slows down and his moans turn into grunts, I lift myself up, only to see a man standing on the beach, staring into the house, his one hand holding onto the leash of his dog. 

“Toji, there’s—”

I stop when he suddenly leans in and nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck, at the same time driving his cock deeper inside of me. He moans against my skin and calls out my name so breathily that my heart stops for a second, only to start racing. 

Feeling his hand creep down to my crotch, he rests his middle finger on my sensitive pearl. Toji rocks his hips just so slightly and caresses my swollen clit with his digit. My walls grasp onto his meat and I have to drive my nails into his bicep as I hold onto him, trying to stay grounded at his ministrations. This time, Toji tilts his head so he has his lips by my ear. 

“You’re so hot, baby,” he moans. His husky voice, his almost-dirty praises, and the way his digit rubs so gently on my clit make my heart soar. “Wanna fuck you all day.” 

He lets out a grunt as he makes a hard thrust into me. Toji pulls out slowly and just before he rams into me again, he adjusts his head to rest his temple on mine. It is at this moment that he must have finally noticed the man and his dog watching us because he freezes so suddenly, his finger no longer teasing my clit. 

“We have an audience, baby.”

“I know,” I answer breathlessly. 

Toji pulls back slightly, making me turn to face him. His eyebrows are furrowed. “You knew?”

I give him my most innocent look as I nod my head. “I tried to tell you but you ignored me.” 

His green orbs slide up and down between my eyes and my little pouty lips. He leans in and licks me slowly from my chin to my pout. Then, with a kiss, he grunts into my mouth and resumes his slow fucking. I whine when he taps lightly on my sticky clit. 

“Kinda hot, huh, Princess?” 

Toji grunts as he makes a slow but hard thrust into me, his tip pushing against my cervix. I let my eyes roll to the back of my head as my head thumps against his collarbone. 

“Having a stranger watch us fuck in your family’s beach house…” He lets out a breathy groan. Dipping his head down to nose the back of my ear, he mutters lowly, “Give him a nicer show, why don’t you, baby whore?”

A small gasp falls from my lips when he bends to bring up a leg, hooking his arm under my thigh so that I am opened wide and bare for our audience as my boyfriend continues fucking me slow and deep. Toji brings his other hand up to lick his digits before poising them on my clit and I immediately brace myself against the glass panes. 

The moment he speeds up his fucking and begins toying with my swollen pearl, my brain turns into mush. I can’t think, I can’t speak. Lewd moans and horny gasps are all that I can offer every time Toji grunts dirty praises into my ear. I know that the man and his dog can surely see the look of intense pleasure on my face. But Toji’s girthy meat is sliding in and out of his little cocksleeve, so tight and warm and snug just for him. The bumps of his veins, the ridges of his cockhead — they feel so good against my wet walls. 

“Oh, fuck, baby,” Toji groans into my ear, his tongue sloppily licking at my lobe. “You’re getting tighter. Gonna cum for me, Princess?” I can only bite on my bottom lip and nod my head. He sucks in a deep breath and massages my red pearl with more passion. I let out a whine, especially when my only standing leg trembles. Toji growls at how tight my pussy has clamped down on his thrusting cock. “You’re so close, aren’t you, little one?” 

I can only use whatever energy I am left with to hold myself up against the window and fuck myself back into his impaling cock. Our chemistry, our rhythm, our bodies, even our breathing, are so in sync that when Toji tightens his hands on my flesh, I throw myself against his body, my arms going behind me to snake around Toji’s neck. His arms wrap around my waist until our bodies are skin-to-skin with no spaces in between. He makes one last thrust into my tight pussy and it is the end for us. 

Toji has to bury his face into my neck as he bites down on my shoulder to muffle his loud groans and shouts. I can feel the pulsing of his balls against my ass, the flood of warm seeds in my pussy. Even through my black out of pleasure, I can hear the pornographic moans and screams from my mouth, my entire body twitching and trembling against Toji’s tight hold around me. I don’t think I have been visited this long by my orgasm. Every time I think I am about to come back down to earth, Toji makes a tiny hip movement and another wave of mini orgasm crashes through my body. 

By the time the calmness that only follows after sex blankets my body, I realise how close Toji and I are. I am still in his arms, the both of us standing before the window. If we just wait for the sun to set more, we might just look like one deformed person standing in the silhouette. 

I look out into the distance and notice the man with his phone out, definitely filming us. I let out a content sigh and turn slightly so my nose is in Toji’s hair. The older man lifts his head just enough so that he can look me in the eye. I give him a little smile. His green orbs flicker down to my lips, just staring for a few seconds before he cups my jaw gently and leans in to press his lips to my smile. I melt into his kiss, just letting him hold me. 

Finally, when we pull apart, I pull his arms away from my body as I give him a cheeky grin. “I think we were filmed,” I say as I stick my finger out in the direction of where our only audience is. Toji tilts his head to glance out the window, only to roll his eyes and groan. I try to step away from him. “But I think I want to keep that video. I’m gonna go—“

Toji immediately stops me, his eyes turning into slits. “You’re staying here.” I open my mouth to argue, but he interrupts me before I get a word out, already knowing what I would be complaining about. “I’ll get the video. You go clean up before your parents come back.”

I perk up with a bright smile. “You would?” 

He slides his calloused hands down my sticky waist before he steps back, now slipping out of me. I watch him walk to pick up his board shorts to slip them on. And just before he leaves for the balcony, he pecks me on the lips and flicks the underside of my chin. 

“Anything for my baby.”

“Oh!” 

I look up with round eyes, startled by the exclamation. Two ladies are blinking at me, looking left and right as if searching for someone. I quickly swallow the tart I am chewing and smile politely at them. They could after all be our company’s customers. 

“Hi.”

One of them gives me a concerned look. “Where is your father?”

I knew it. They’re our clients. 

Smiling apologetically, I murmur, “Sorry, my father couldn’t make it today. However, if you have any concerns, you may speak to me—“

A lady looks confused while the other is frowning. “Eh?” She scans my face for a moment before shaking her head as if to get rid of any misunderstanding between us. “I mean the man that—“

“Hey.” A warm, heavy hand rests on the small of my back, its presence already flooding my being with security and comfort. Even though I am aware of who the newcomer is, I tilt my head to look up, at once meeting Toji’s soft gaze. He leans down and gives me a soft, haste peck on my lips. When he parts from the kiss, his thumb rubs my back as he murmurs, “Mr. Kondo said he would buy us a TV for our new place as a wedding gift.”

“A big one?”

“65-inch, at least, I told him.”

“S-Sorry for intruding but…”

I had totally forgotten about the two ladies that had approached me before. I let out a small gasp as I turn to them quickly. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I apologise anxiously. “You mentioned you were looking for my father, right?” 

There is a long beat of silence and the air around us is electrified by awkward tension. I take in the horrified looks and gaping mouths of the two females, their eyes anxiously darting between Toji and I. 

Ah. 

I tilt my body slightly and place a hand on Toji’s chest. He slides his palm down to rest on the curve of my waist. “This is my fiancé, Toji Fushiguro.”

“Oh— I—“

They are fortunate that someone calls out for them, saving them from their stuttering. With a quick bow, they take their leave. I watch them scurry off for a while longer before glancing up at Toji, only to notice his face coming closer. He gives me a quick, soft kiss on my lips, his hand on my side caressing me gently. He pulls away but his tender gaze is still on me. 

“What was that for?” I wonder, though I am not complaining. 

He hums. “It’s nice to hear you call me your fiancé.”

“Wait till we’re married and I get to call you my husband.”

“I think I would die.”

I giggle, which gets me a squeeze around my waist in return. He leads us back into the house when I complain that it is getting chilly. The familiar interior brings me back to the first time Toji and I were here, the place where all of this had started. 

Stopping at the foot of the stairs going up, I glance at Toji, who is staring into the dark corridor upstairs. Then, he turns to me, a cheeky glint in his eyes. 

“Shall we relive our first time, baby?” 

<< Part 1 🔞, Part 2 🔞, Part 3 🔞, Part 4 🔞

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© chocochipsushi 2024 all works are mine, please do not rewrite/plagiarise

[romanoffsbish]

Trust in Me

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Warnings: Insecurity (R)

Natasha wakes up to the surprise of her life—you were finally settling into your most suited role. | WC: 2,108

Smut: Dom / Sub Exploration | Mommy (R) | Nat’s a brat | CNC Somno (N) | Fingering (N) | Double-Ended Strap / Dick-Riding | Light Degradation

18+ | Minors DNI

Natasha smiled as consciousness tickled behind her eyes, her lids fluttered open as her thighs relaxed into the mattress, giving you even more space to feverishly lap away at her. This was a perfect fantasy fulfilled—completely unexpected but more than welcomed. The redheads cheeks warmed more than she'd ever thought possible and her heart burst with love and warmth for the trust you two have fostered into this connection.

—

To this moment where you surprised her with an act that was so incredibly intimate—one that required consent, and trust to which she'd given genuinely. Natasha had begged for this at one point but it took you time to believe her desire, and to trust her with yours. You made a promise to try but it'd been so long, she'd forgotten, which made it that much hotter to her.

Determined to see you at work she lifted her head but had to squint her freshly opened eyes, in protest to the sun rays trickling in through the slitted blinds. It was only her intention to observe you going at her like a starved animal, but she more so distracted you into pulling away. A bright smile lit up your face, yet she protested your forgoing her pleasure, but she hadn't much time to complain when your lips found hers.

It was rather brief, something else she wanted to protest but your fingers circled the skin of her hips and thighs, furthering her arousal as you trickled trails of her down her jaw and into the grooves of her chest. It was a painful reminder of the sticky mess you left her.

You suctioned your lips to her skin and grazed over the veins in her neck with your teeth, just as your fingers trailed up and down before spreading her lips open.

"Y-Y/N, please," she managed to croak as your finger pads teased her entrance, but never enough to truly please. "Shhh," you coo'd breathlessly into her ear, fingers pressing into her just enough to be felt, but not exactly firm enough to make her lose her composure. You weren't finished speaking, "you don't have to beg anymore baby," your fingers curled as they filled her fully in the same breath as, "I got you." She believed you, her entire body just shuddered beneath yours, but you just kept urging her on, "mommy's precious slut."

Natasha's eyes widened and you chuckled softly, "well fuck me, honey, you're soaked." Feeling the effect of your furthering subservience to her desires had you relish in the warmth of it all as her walls sucked you in deeper. The title had slipped from her lips so many times, but you'd never acknowledge it. You were always softer with her in those moments, so of course she knew you were struggling with feeling confident, or maybe just becoming comfortable with the identity.

Either way, she cherished you differently now that you'd stepped outside of your initial comfort for her pleasure. It wasn't toxic or anything, she just felt a shift and therefore the knot of need tightened within but her body didn't. She only melted further into the mattress and you left her bruising skin to kiss her briefly; sweet.

For a long while, you kept her on edge—words locked up tightly in your throat, but your deep grunts every time she occasionally twitched her thigh into your wet core were making her lose her grip. It was as if you didn't want any pleasure to derive from anything but delivering her own. A shiver ran down her spine at the sheer desire she felt coming from you and she thanked you with her nails scratching down your bare back.

"Let it go, baby," you hummed against her cheek, tongue softly tracing down the salty skin as your teeth gently nipped at her tense jaw, "cum on mommy's fingers like the needy slut we both know you to be."

Natasha's body arched, but you'd anticipated it quick enough to lean back and stabilize on your shins, you loved watching her fall apart like this—keeping up a strong pace even with the distraction of her beauty. Her pretty lips were parted when you met her wild gaze, as you slowly lowered you saw her chest stutter and a jolt of pride rang through you. With your free hand you applied pressure to her tense pelvis and wrapped your lips around her throbbing clit. "Mm."

The release was sweet, in every sense and in the aftermath of her high, you just could not bring yourself to stop from tongue fucking her into another orgasm. Natasha was in no rush to protest either, but then she came to a realization and yanked you up to face her.

"Y-you need relief," she rasped, tired but determined. You cupped her flushed face and sighed, "I'm okay." Even though you were the furthest thing from, not that you'd ever say so. So, she had to do it for both of you. "I'm not," she whined firmly, "I need more, mommy."

"I'll gladly clean you up," you grinned and attempted to return to the comfy space between her thighs. "No!"

You pouted and she nearly caved. "What do you want?"

Natasha thought for a short moment. "A kiss, please." Not a second later did you lay down atop of her with your lips on hers, the kiss was not sweet at all, you were turned on and knew she was aware so you slid your tongue in her mouth and let her thigh feel you. The redhead shoved you back slightly and you were confused until you saw her, eyes clouded with need.

You nodded and smiled in understanding as you stumbled off the mattress, letting Natasha dictate from the bed what toy she wanted to ride as she played with her tits just to taunt you. She eagerly chose the double ended, hot pink dildo with a surprise ending at the ready. Soon enough you took over, with your lips as you let her slide down on your cock. It was a moment for distraction, since it was an uncomfortable stretch.

"I love your perfect tits baby," you praised somewhat incoherently as you never stopped devouring them to speak clearly. Natasha smiled without your eyes on her but she quickly changed that when she pulled you into a kiss that made your stomach drop into a frenzy. A wildfire bloomed beneath your skin; you smiled back. Natasha began to rock her hips, making you lose your composure and moan timidly. "What else do you love?"

Your heart stuttered but your lips didn't, "everything."

There was an airiness to your tone, but Natasha took offense and scoffed, "that's cheap." You chuckled and gripped her hips, guiding her movements as you spoke, "slow down, sweetheart—let mommy finish, first." Her eyes darkened at the double entendres, she nodded so quickly that you couldn't help but to feel truly desired, especially as her tense fingers dug into your shoulders.

The pit in her stomach was slow to form and you both loved that most, the buildup before the glorious fall. Right now though, she was sensitive enough from her first few orgasms, which meant she wouldn't last too long, so her focus was purely on your demand to cum first. Meanwhile you're already in a near similar state—body always on the edge with Natasha around, it doesn't take much more than a look from her to have the fabric of your panties destroyed. Pleasing her is all you needed to cum and her knowing that was a power move she clung to, especially in moments like these, where she had you beneath her—at her harshest mercy.

Natasha softly rocked her hips as you spoke, or tried to she would later say, a smirk of deviance on her face as her powerful movements caused you to get caught up as you tried to stifle your moans enough to answer her. "I love the way you, the way that you, um—fuck, that you love me so—mmm." A quirked brow and slowed movement told you she was expecting more, so much more so you rushed to say, "I would be nothing without it, Natasha—your love is the only thing that keeps me going. You are reserved to the world, a purposefully dull presence, but to me you're a beacon of hope."

The thin portion of the dildo that was nestled against your g-spot shifted and tears slid down your cheeks, you were desperate to accept the nirvana her rocking hips were working to bring but you weren't finished. Nowhere close to it, honestly, but your core disagreed.

"I love the way you care for people without a word," you comment sincerely, "you order takeout on nights that you can tell Wanda's worn down—always stating that you wanted it, but I know you prefer homemade."

Natasha blushed at your catch, but she said nothing, letting her eyes plead with you for more reassurance instead, as if she needed you to remind her that she wasn't a monster. A part of you broke seeing her this way because to you, the woman was a faultless angel.

"I love the curve of your lips whenever someone says or does something funny," you shyly state, not entirely comfortable admitting your naivety, "it lets me know to laugh too, because I trust you to know what's funny."

Natasha giggled softly, you could not only hear but see the emotion behind the act as she locked eyes with you. The humor was gone almost as quickly as it had come, the both of you breathing heavier as you kept moving your bodies in perfect sync, overcome by a deep need.

"I-I love the way you lead with patience," your lips sloppily met hers, a clear sign that you were that much closer to your release. "You've come so far, Tasha, and I'll spend the rest of my life telling you what I love."

"You're close," she husked hotly into your ear, neither of you needed her to point it out, but of course she felt the sudden need to move beyond your praises. She made sure to emphasize the statements as she harshly plopped down into your lap, your head threw back into the headboard with a loud smack but you didn't care.

The sharp pain quickly melded into pleasure as her lips found home in the crook of your neck, she wanted the attention back onto you, so of course she played dirty. Natasha would always reign victorious too, a smirk of completion felt against your skin as you let all of the tension she'd sensually built up within your body go.

All it took was a sultry whisper, tone raspier than you'd ever heard it before, "let go for me, mommy." Natasha reveled in the way that your body harshly trembled beneath her, she felt victorious as her tongue slid up the side of your neck, feeling the racing of your pulse.

Though lost in your own immense pleasure, you would never forget your truest purpose, which was making her scream. So, even with your muddled mind you reached a shaky hand down to squeeze the forgotten about reservoir. Natasha's body harshly slammed forward into yours as she cried for you, now met with an unexpectedly warm, sticky liquid filling her womb.

You smirked as your lips found hers, feeling a sense of pride as she called out to you, her pleasure clear. The both of you continued to rut your hips in perfect tandem, spent bodies rocking in a clear attempt to keep the both of your dwindling orgasms going. "I-I."

You chuckled hotly, "Hm?" Your lips slowly trailed down the column of her throat, where you nipped and sucked at the tender skin until she could think again. "I love you," she finally declared the obvious, "you're the best thing to ever happen to me Y/N." Her strong arms wrapped around your waist as she nestled her face into your chest, body melting in a way that you understood meant she wasn't ready to pull your bodies apart.

In a gentle way, you shifted until you could feel the mattress beneath your aching back, receiving a purr of gratitude from your lover who loved how you two could operate wordlessly like this. Being the brat that she was though, Natasha pressed her pelvis down into yours. "Natasha," you warned in relative amusement and she settled, knowing not to push further. If she played her cards right, you two would finish later...

[luveline]

Maybe colt comforting reader when things for her film aren’t going right 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Colt comes to your rescue (clumsily) when you have a hard day. fem!reader, 1k words

Very minor plot spoilers for The Fall Guy (2024) if any

“I think he’s mad at you.” 

You pause where you’d been scrubbing your eyes with your hands, though you don’t look at him. Colt Seavers seems to follow you everywhere you go, and consequently plays witness to your many breakdowns. “Thanks, Colt. That’s astute.” 

“Are you mad at me? Why are you mad at me? It’s been ten seconds,” he complains. He has a unique talent for sounding flirty and needy at once. 

“No, Colt. I’m tired, it’s been a long day.” 

Colt is grinning when you meet his eyes. He has blood, fake or real undetermined, drying in the scruff of his facial hair. You gesture to yourself in a slow circle in the approximate area, to which Colt smiles again. 

“You look perfect,” he says confidently. 

“You have blood in your beard.” 

“Oh, right.” 

You sigh heavily, taking the few paces back to a stack of safety mattresses for a quick break. You’ll get up and help whoever needs helping as soon as you can feel your toes. Colt stays where he is, squinting against the sun, strands of blonde ends kissing his tan forehead. The summer shoots are good for him, he always looks so beachy. You’re exhausted all the time. 

As he notices. “Are you getting enough sleep?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“‘Cos I was sleeping badly and then I got this new mattress that has four hybrid layers, there’s a foam layer, and then there’s titanium springs,” —he sees your distant expression and his own flickers— “anyways, you could try it if you want. Test it out with me. Or– Not with me. With me if you want. We’d have fun. But not with me if you don’t want to.” 

You’d laugh if you had the energy. “Do you wanna sit down?” you ask. 

“God, yes, please.” 

He has another talent for being insanely handsome no matter the day. You look like you’ve been badly rewarmed before serving, where he looks like he rolled out of bed with a smile. He’s smiling at you now, the foolish kind that’ll fluster you if you let him do it for too long. “Stop,” you say quietly. 

“You’re doing amazing.” 

“Thank you. You’re the only person who thinks so, unfortunately.” 

You smile at him weakly. Worried you look pathetic, you turn your face to your lap and clasp your fingers together. 

“That’s not true. Mayview is old-fashioned, that’s all, he was around when they were still killing horses on TV.” 

You grimace. “Yikes.”

“But it’s the modern era. He doesn’t get to make you feel like shit, or I’ll make him feel like shit.” He pretends to charge a sucker punch. 

You lean forward a touch, not quite hugging your knees but tempted to fold in on yourself nonetheless, the heat of the sun a memory on your neck as the evening begins and cloud cover floods in. 

The safety mattresses beneath you squeak and shush against each other. Your weight and Colt’s slides together slowly. He might be pushing himself a little with his boot, but you pretend not to notice as his hand comes to rest between your shoulders. 

“I just can’t do anything right,” you mumble. 

As soon as you’ve said it you’re hoping he can’t hear you, but he does. He might have injured pretty much anything that can be fractured, sprained, or just plain broken, but he has stellar hearing. “You do everything right. You do!” he says, quietly and passionately at once, “They don’t realise it, but you’re the glue keeping this whole thing together.” 

“What are you?” you ask, bemused.

His hand is warm on your shoulder, unafraid where he hesitates to answer, “I don’t know. The test dummy? The guy who gets set on fire a lot?” 

“How is that?” 

“Warm,” he says, beaming, his face so unexpectedly close that you can see the glucose shining in the blood on his cheek. Fake blood. “You wanna try it? I’m sure I could convince the guys.” 

“No, I’m okay.” 

His voice turns silky. “Good, I wasn’t gonna let you anyway.” 

“Let me?” 

“You could get hurt.”

You give in, melted maybe by his warm tones, or exhausted by a day of playing mom for a director who can barely tell his left from his right. Your face presses to his shoulder and your spine sags under his hand, prompting Colt to pull you flush against his side. He always waits for your signals for stuff like this, no matter how desperate he might confess to being. “Can you make them all leave me alone?” you mumble into his jacket, the fabric rough against your nose. 

“Obviously I can, but… We could run away.” 

“Where would we go?” 

“I don’t know. Somewhere sunny. You can rub sunblock on my back, I can hold the umbrella over your head while you read.” 

“They have stands for that sort of stuff. Or you can shove it in the sand, you know.”

“I wanna do something nice for you,” he interrupts, the sound of a smile in his voice as he gives you a friendly jostle. “That’s the point.” 

“You’re plenty nice, Colt.” 

And he is. He saw you were upset and he came jogging upto you valiantly, and your side-armed cuddle is really pushing the pep back into your life. You take a few deep breaths under the weight of his arm before turning to him, brave, ready to go back to work if it means he’s gonna drive you home tonight. “Thank you for caring.” You kiss his cheek, careful of the fake blood. “You’re super nice.” 

You miss the heat of him the second you stand, but there really is work to do. 

“I’m super nice?” he calls. “How nice is super? Nice enough to get another one of those, or what? Are they by the metre?” 

You bite back a smile. 

“Hello? Can you hear me?” He must catch someone’s eye. “She can’t hear me. It’s cool. We like each other.” 

Nobody saves face quite like Colt. 

[nerdallwritey]

Just to Ruin Me

Summary: “You don’t have to tell me any of this right now,” you said. “A lot has changed in the past few hours and there’s no rush in sharing these things with me. I know how hard it was to talk about your past the first time.” “It was necessary, though,” Astarion looked over at you, his expression determined. “You needed to know what we might be up against. And you might need to know this too.” “If you want to tell me, then I’m happy to listen, but please don’t force yourself for my sake.” Astarion released a puff of air from his nose. “You keep doing that.” “Doing what?” “Asking me what I want. Letting me choose.” OR The morning after you spend the night with Astarion, you learn another thing or two.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 12.5k CW: smut, reader is new to sex, piv sex, vaginal fingering, dry humping, mentions of Astarion's past trauma, blood drinking, mild angst, soft Astarion, porn with feelings, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), the other companions are also idiots, but don't piss of Shadowheart Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 2 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find Part 1 here. Find the masterlist here.

a/n: Thanks to everyone who read Part 1!!! Your kind comments and encouragement spurred me to write Part 2 and I hope it's a sequel that lives up to expectations!! I know the summary is a little angsty, but I promise there's more banter to be had. Everyone is still a goof, after all. Please enjoy :) (Thank you to @kermitwazowski for beta reading!) As a reminder, the last part ended with the following few lines: “For now, you were content to sleep under the stars in Astarion’s arms. It was the best sleep you’d ever had.”

Taglist: @a66-1 @khaleesiofthewolves @khywren @lollipopsandlandmines @minestrones

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the best sleep you’d ever had.

Though you’d grown accustomed to roughing it in the last few weeks since the nautiloid crash, waking up in the forest was still a shock. It had its charms, sure, like the fresh air and the breeze blowing in off the mountains, but the appeal was starting to wane. Especially after one too many nights of having to take a dip in the frigid lake next to camp to rid yourself of gnoll blood. 

This morning however, you found yourself surrounded by blankets and pillows from your camp in the middle of a clearing surrounded by large pine trees, all of which had been thoughtfully arranged by the figure trancing beside you. Your own sleeping figure sighed comfortably, unbothered by the lack of a mattress or a hot bath, just a nice deep sleep-

Astarion whacked you in the face.

Your eyes shot open.

“OW?” You scrunched your nose and blinked a few times to get your bearings. 

It was still dark. The forest around you was painted a delicate shade of periwinkle. You’d hazard a guess that it was just a little before dawn. 

At some point in the night, you’d rolled onto your back, away from Astarion, who was now curled to your right, his back facing you. He must have just rolled over, explaining the harsh wake up from his forearm. You smiled softly and instinctively brought your hand to rub your forehead where he’d made the unfortunate contact. 

Blinking a little more, your eyes were beginning to adjust. From this angle, you had a clear line of sight to the large scar that overran a majority of his back. You squinted in the dark to try and get a clearer view of the terrible thing, but came up short due to the shadows of tree branches being cast from above. Still just a mandala of jagged lines and brutal curves. When you got your hands on Cazador, you’d…

No.

No, that wasn’t your fight. 

But you’d be gods damned if you wouldn’t be there for every bloody moment Astarion faced him, giving support however you could. Though you had to admit that it would be so gratifying to corner the bastard and cast a quick little Otto’s Irresistible Dance… Assuming you’d be strong enough to cast it by then… Gods, he’d look so fucking stupid just before Astarion plunged a knife through his heart-

Enough. Battle strategies and sick, twisted (but satisfying) revenge fantasies later. Right now you noticed that the shifting of the shadows on his back wasn’t from a breeze shaking the branches above you, but because Astarion himself was trembling. 

Your first instinct was to reach out and touch him, but you quickly retracted your hand. Based on the short whimpers he was letting out, it seemed like he was having a nightmare.

How was one supposed to wake someone from a nightmare again? With Astarion you’d have to be extra careful; you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d stowed a knife somewhere within these blankets that he might reach for in a surge of waking fear. 

That… would not be pleasant. 

You shifted to sit up and look around.

Ow.

A dull throbbing made itself known between your legs.

No, that was great. Spectacular, in fact. You’d have to stop and assess later.

Gingerly, you got onto your knees and peered around at your surroundings. Astarion had done a decent job of cleaning up the clearing to make room for this blanket nest, so there wasn’t a poking stick to be seen within reaching distance.

Not that you were going to poke him with a stick… but the thought had crossed your mind. You were still tired! You’d been fucked for the first time last night! There was a lot going on! 

You shook your head to clear the stupid overlapping thoughts and set to looking around for a wayward pillow. You spotted one in the far corner and made your way over to it carefully but with some haste to end Astarion’s unconscious suffering. 

You crawled back over to him. And then backed up a little. Just in case.

“Astarion,” you sang quietly. 

Astarion continued trembling, but you heard him inhale sharply. A good sign?

You raised your voice a little, but kept the same musical cadence. “Astaaaarioooon.”

Nothing.

Okay fine. 

“Sorry,” you said quietly, then threw the pillow at Astarion, hitting him squarely on the back of the head. You leaned forward to grab your own pillow as a protective shield as he gasped and shot up.

“What the hells? What’s happening?” Astarion rolled onto his back and frantically looked around until his eyes landed on you. 

You smiled sheepishly and waved at him lamely from behind your pillow. “Hi.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes, confused. He shook his head, then lifted a hand to the back of his head where the pillow had hit him. “What did you do?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh, I know what I was doing,” his tone was sarcastic. “What were you doing?”

You looked down at your lap, guilty. “I couldn’t remember how to wake someone up from a nightmare.”

“So you assaulted me?”

“I didn’t know if you had a knife!”

“Why would I have a knife? What is happening?!” He sat up fully and brought a hand to his forehead as if he were in pain. 

“Are you okay?”

“Thankfully, I’ll live,” he opened his eyes and looked at you, his hand still on his forehead. 

You huffed. “I meant with the nightmare.”

Astarion sighed and closed his eyes again. “It’s far too early to discuss this.” He tilted his head up towards the sky, which was getting brighter with every passing moment. A practiced smirk appeared on his face and he looked at you once more. “I’d much rather know if you’re okay, darling.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“We had a lot of fun last night, didn’t we?”

“Seeing as how I’m always a lot of fun, I don’t understand why you’re posing this question.” You looked down your nose at him. 

He hung his head and sighed exasperatedly. “Will you simply allow me to work my charms on you?”

You tutted. “Is that what you were trying to do just now?”

“Attempting to, yes.” Astarion crossed his arms. “I’m usually irresistible.”

You snorted. “Okay,” you said, a small smile appearing on your face. “I’m going to ignore your lack of an answer about your nightmare and will elect to wait until you’re ready to tell me about it yourself.”

Astarion pursed his lips.

“But go ahead,” you rearranged your legs, wincing mildly as you moved to sit cross legged, “charm me.”

A look of worry flashed over Astarion’s face when he saw you wince, but the concern was quickly overtaken by an all too self-satisfied grin. “Feeling it this morning, are we?”

You rolled your eyes. “I knew you’d be happy about this.”

“Positively delighted, my sweet.” He leaned forward and kissed you gently, bringing a hand up to your cheek. You brought your own hand up to lay against his. He pulled away and appraised your face smugly. “I was completely enamored by your performance last night.” You were about to open your mouth to say something, but Astarion interrupted. “Don’t even think about mentioning that you’re a bard and that of course you’re good at performing, or something like that.”

You closed your mouth. You were going to say something like that. Instead you said, “You were pretty good yourself.”

He brought his hands up to make air quotes. “I’ve ‘ruined you,’ from what I recall.”

You groaned. “I just said that to make you cum.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, my dear.” His face was still smug, but he motioned for you to come closer. You scooted forward and he lifted you slightly to sit on his lap. 

He leaned up and kissed you deeply, his tongue swiping your bottom lip for entrance. You moaned in response and opened your mouth for him. Though the rest of his body was cold, his mouth was warm and inviting, and you leaned in further to try and get closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tilted your head slightly to get a better angle. You’d been mildly distracted last night; had he always smelled this good?

When Astarion pulled back suddenly, you couldn’t help the whine that escaped at the loss. He hummed in satisfaction, and his voice was low and seductive when he spoke.

“Every part of your perfect body whispers temptations-”

You giggled. “What?”

“Shush dear, I’m charming you.” He cleared his throat, “-it’s as if the gods made you just to ruin me.”

“So now I’ve ruined you?” You raised your eyebrows teasingly.

“Wait, no-”

You leaned your forehead onto his and laughed. “And that one usually works?”

He blew out a puff of air. “You’re an unusual one, I’ll give you that.” 

You shrugged, pleased with yourself.

“But yes,” Astarion continued, “I’ve made plenty of previous lovers swoon with that particular line.”

“Show me what else you’ve got, then,” you challenged.

Astarion tilted his head in thought. “Let’s see… I can’t use the ‘cried from your lips’ line because I used that one last night…” You scoffed joyfully, mockingly scandalized that he’d already used a line on you. He met your eye and smirked. “How about this one: When I’m with you, I feel practically alive, yet I crave only to die again, with you.”

The sultry tone of his voice did send a pang of want through your body, reminding you that you were only wearing Astarion’s shirt and nothing else. You shifted uncomfortably. 

“How romantic,” you said, trying to keep your voice nonchalant. “I didn’t think you liked dying the first time.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes, sensing your deflection and smirked, looking down at where you sat on his lap. He rolled his hips, which made you inhale sharply. “I see that one did do something for you,” he leaned forward and kissed your neck. 

You exhaled slowly, “I blame that stupid sexy voice of yours.”

Astarion growled against your throat and you shivered, bringing your hands up to his back. 

“Astarion,” you sighed and he hummed in response, licking over the twin wounds he’d left the night before. You sat up a little straighter. “Wait.”

He immediately pulled back and looked at you with concern. “What is it?”

“I just thought of something,” you said.

Astarion raised his eyebrows and nodded, wanting you to continue.

“Can I borrow your fangs?”

“My-?” His tongue instinctively flicked over his teeth.

“Because I want to leave a lasting impression on you,” you tilted your head at him to show off the marks he’d left on your throat. You shimmied your shoulders a little for good measure. 

“I’m leaving,” Astarion made to get up with you still on his lap and you laughed loudly.

“No! No! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I wanted to try a dumb line on you, too!” You threw your arms around his neck and hid your face in his shoulder. You felt him kiss your hair.

“You’re lucky I don’t travel with you for your personality,” he joked. 

“I’d say ‘I’m a lot of fun’ again but I think you’d actually stop talking to me.” You pulled back to look at him.

“And you’d be right.” He kissed you chastely and then adjusted you on his lap. You winced a little again and he looked genuinely sympathetic. “I might have a way to ease the pain from last night,” he said. “Do you trust me?”

You smiled at him. “Yes.”

He smiled back. “Good.” He positioned your arms over his shoulders. “Hang on, my love.” You crossed your arms where they hung behind him and waited to see what he would do. 

Without warning, you felt one of his cold fingers slide through your folds. You hissed at the sensation and looked at Astarion. 

“Supposedly, massaging the area can help,” he was trying to sound knowledgeable, but the look in his eyes was one full of lust. Then he tutted, looking down. “You could be wetter, darling.” His thumb began to circle your clit.

Your eyes rolled back at the sensation, and you leaned forward again to rest your forehead on his shoulder. 

“Do you want my cock again, love? You took me so well last night, I was so proud of you,” he’d moved his mouth next to your ear and was speaking with the same sultry tone that he had a minute ago. You whimpered at his praise and rolled your hips to get his thumb to press you harder. Astarion let out a low groan. “That’s it, you’re getting so wet for me, you’re so good.”

After a few more tight circles, you practically sobbed when you felt him take his thumb away from your clit.

“Shh, shh, I know,” he cooed, “but we want you to feel better, remember?”

You let out a frustrated sound. “I already was feeling better.”

Astarion chuckled. “Trust me, would you? Impatient.” His tone was nothing but fond.

His other fingers began massaging the area around your entrance. You winced and bit your lip. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” you confirmed. “I assume this will get better?”

“That’s the idea,” he kissed your ear and you nodded against his shoulder. 

You rolled your hips, attempting to get friction where you needed it. 

“Just a little longer,” Astarion said, moving his fingers gently around your cunt.

You hummed an acknowledgement and kept rolling your hips, trying to combat this weird form of edging that was happening. 

Finally, Astarion ceased his massaging and brought his thumb back to your clit. You let out a long shuddering breath and squeezed your eyes tight, adjusting your hips to roll against his thigh. 

“There you go, my love,” Astarion said, voice still in your ear. “I’ll make you cum for behaving so well.”

You whined loudly as his thumb picked up the pace. You began rolling your hips at an equally fast pace. “More,” you whined, willing your climax to approach faster.

“Not right now, darling. Let’s give you a break there, shall we?” Astarion used his free hand to pet your hair. 

“But you asked if I wanted your cock again,” you whined.

“And while I’m pleased to hear that you’d like it again, let’s relax and get you off like this for now, okay?” 

You groaned but nodded, squeezing your eyes shut again and focusing on the pleasure Astarion was currently providing. “Harder,” you instructed.

Astarion pressed down harder on your clit with his thumb. He swept his index and middle finger through your folds, coating them in your slick. He quickly swapped those fingers with his thumb, changing the sensation by swapping one finger for two and adding more of your arousal to the mix. 

You keened and gripped his bicep. “Harder!” You instructed again, desperate and approaching the edge. You could feel the coil in your stomach preparing to let go.

Astarion pushed again and brought his lips to your ear once more. 

“I just thought of something, precious thing,” he murmured.

You blinked at him, your eyes unfocused and half lidded.

“More of a question, really,” he clarified.

You squeezed your eyes tight, nodding. You were on the precipice of your orgasm and could feel it fastly approaching. You slammed your hips against Astarion’s thigh as he continued to rub your clit brutally. 

“Do you believe in love at first bite?” He leaned forward and kissed your throat, then began to suck a new mark into the flesh there. Contrary to his pun, he wouldn’t drink from you without your expressed permission first.

It did, however, send you crashing over the edge. You moaned loudly, Astarion’s name tumbling repeatedly out of your mouth. The vision behind your eyelids was white and you reached out blindly to grip Astarion’s shoulders. His lips detached themselves from your throat and found your own. His tongue was immediately in your mouth, swallowing your moans and shouts of his name.

When you came down, you disconnected from the kiss and opened your eyes, a lopsided grin on your face. 

“Thank you,” you said. “I do feel better.”

Astarion smirked. “I knew you would.” He brought his fingers, still coated in your essence, up to his mouth and sucked them clean. You watched, mesmerized by the way his cheeks hollowed and his eyes fluttered shut. He pulled them out with a lewd pop. “Delicious.”

You felt your face flush, embarrassed by his display, despite just cumming in his lap. 

“You shouldn’t feel embarrassed about this,” Astarion said, reading your expression immediately. “What you should feel embarrassed about is the fact that you came because I told a joke.”

“I did not!” You protested.

“You absolutely did,” Astarion said. “And it was a particularly bad one, too.” He clicked his tongue. “You must feel so ashamed.”

You groaned. “I came because you started kissing my neck!”

Astarion raised his eyebrows, clearly not believing you. “It’s okay, darling, no one here was under the impression that you aren’t incredibly lame.” He gave you a pitying look, then kissed your nose and you laughed. He pulled back and looked at you fondly, a dopey half smile on his face. Then he looked up at the sky.

The periwinkle you’d awoken to was now vibrant shades of orange and pink. 

“Are you okay if I move you?” Astarion asked.

“Um… sure?” You weren’t sure why he was asking, and helped to move yourself off of him. You did feel a bit less sore thanks to his help. 

He stood up and stretched his arms over his head, then bent to pick up a rag to wipe off his pants. 

“Sorry,” you said.

Astarion shook his head. “Comes with the territory.” You were about to make a joke but he held up a finger and gave you a warning look. “Don’t.”

You held up your hands innocently. 

He tossed you the rag after and then your pants and underthings.

“Clean up,” he instructed, “then get dressed.”

You furrowed your brows, your stomach dropping suddenly. He didn’t expect you to leave right now, did he? He hadn’t fucked you last night, then brought you more pleasure this morning, only for him to send you back to camp like it hadn’t happened, right?

Astarion snorted. He was watching you as he slipped on his shoes. “Relax, darling, I see that face. I just want to show you something.” He held out a hand to help you up.

“Okay,” you smiled, soothed by the pleasant look on his face. “Do you want your shirt back?” You made to lift it over your head.

“Keep it for now, dear,” Astarion said. “I rather like that on you, truthfully.” The collar was slipping off your shoulder as you pulled on your pants, and you made no move to adjust it, opting not to put your bra back on yet.

“Do you want to wear my shirt?” you teased.

“Tempting, but I fear I’d look better in it than you do.”

“Excellent point, don’t do that.” You adjusted the ruffles on Astarion’s shirt and felt a light breeze on your cleavage through the lacey opening at the collar. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he said. You looked up and caught Astarion staring at your chest.

You laughed as he cleared his throat, then gestured deeper into the woods with his head. “This way.” He held out a tentative hand and you took it eagerly, bringing the back of his palm up to your face to leave a gentle kiss. Astarion squeezed your hand slightly at the contact, and began heading further into the forest, away from camp. A pleasant silence hung between the two of you and you rubbed your thumb absently along the back of his hand.

It wasn’t long before the trees started to thin and you heard the sound of rushing water somewhere close by. You emerged from the trees to find a cliff overlooking a ravine below. On the other side of the ravine was more forest, and beyond that, you could faintly see the Sea of Swords. The sun peeked out over the horizon, bright reddish orange in the distance. Its glow was a welcome sight and you found yourself in awe of the view.

Astarion let go of your hand and sat, dangling his feet over the edge of the cliff. You hesitantly stepped forward and sat beside him, opting instead to sit with one knee up, the other leg crossed beneath it. Astarion sat back on his arms. The sun reflected off his skin in the most beautiful golden and magenta hues. His hair, somehow still perfect despite your night together, was being jostled lightly by the breeze. He’d closed his eyes and tipped his head up, basking. You couldn’t help watching him as you rested your cheek on your bent knee. 

He didn’t open his eyes when he said, “I try to come out here every morning.” 

You sat in silence, continuing to watch him as you prepared to listen to whatever he’d say next. 

“After two hundred years in darkness, you forget how lovely the sunrise is,” he said. “I don’t ever want to miss another.���

“I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like,” you said softly. 

Astarion hummed in acknowledgment and opened his eyes. “I’d catch glimpses while lurking around the city for too long before dawn, hopping from shadow to shadow until I made it back to Cazador’s manor.” His eyes didn’t waver from the sun in the distance. “But there were moments where I’d catch a glimpse of it over the Chionthar.” His tone became sardonic. “The promise of a new day emerging! Something that I would never get to participate in.” He sighed. “I’d linger as long as I could in those moments.” 

You nodded, picturing a hopeful Astarion hiding behind buildings and in alleys, trying to get a fleeting look at a phenomenon that occurred every day, one that you took for granted. Your heart ached for him. 

He continued. “I never quite told you what Cazador made his spawn do for him.”

You tried to recall what Astarion had said to you before. Only that he’d been made to go out into the city and bring back “the most beautiful souls” he could find. Then Cazador would make him either drink from a disgusting dead rat, or abuse him for refusing. The thought made you visibly shudder. 

“I know that you had to bring people back to-” you lowered your voice, as if saying his name might summon him, “-Cazador, against your will. And that he’d kill them.” 

Astarion nodded his head once, remorsefully. “I never told you how we lured them.”

You could see pain etched into his features. You reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder. He flinched a bit at the contact, but settled when he looked over at you.

“You don’t have to tell me any of this right now,” you said. “A lot has changed in the past few hours and there’s no rush in sharing these things with me. I know how hard it was to talk about your past the first time.”

“It was necessary, though,” Astarion looked over at you, his expression determined. “You needed to know what we might be up against. And you might need to know this too.”

“If you want to tell me, then I’m happy to listen, but please don’t force yourself for my sake.”

Astarion released a puff of air from his nose. “You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Asking me what I want. Letting me choose.” 

You cocked your head sympathetically. “And I take it two hundred years as a slave hasn’t really afforded you any choice.”

“Correct,” he sighed. “As a spawn, your vampiric master has complete control over your body and your actions. Even in moments where I wanted to defy or fight back, I was powerless to do anything.” 

Your heart jumped into your throat. You hadn’t realized that was how it worked. Having no control over yourself or your actions sounded like a complete nightmare and you were glad that you’d hopefully never have to experience it. Knowing that that had been Astarion’s entire existence for the past two centuries made you sick to your stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, just as you’d said the last few times he’d shared glimpses of his past.

Astarion’s eyes were closed once again as he inhaled deeply, then exhaled. He continued to bask in the rising sun for a few silent moments and you watched as it slowly rose higher into the sky. 

“That nightmare I had,” he said, his voice coming out quiet, “I’ve had it before.”

Again, you said nothing and waited for him to continue.

“I actually had the same one the night you let me drink your blood for the first time.”

“Oh, please don’t tell me that drinking my blood was some sort of revenge plot against me for haunting your nightmares.”

Astarion smiled a little. “No, it wasn’t about you. It was about Cazador.”

“You know, I’m really starting to dislike this guy,” you said, knowing how difficult this was for him and trying to keep his mood up with another little joke. 

“You and me both,” he sounded tired. “In the dream, I’m in the forest. Cazador appears and recites the rules of being his vampire spawn.” He held up his hand and recounted them on his fingers: “‘First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. Second, thou shall obey me in all things. Third, thou shalt not leave my side, unless directed. Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art mine.’” 

You listened patiently as Astarion recited each rule almost mechanically. You scrunched your nose with each passing instruction and rolled your eyes dramatically when Astarion finished.

“What a prick.”

He smiled again. “With an archaic speech pattern.”

“I was going to mention his archaic speech pattern.”

The smile faded slowly as Astarion returned to his thoughts. “The dream ends with Cazador telling me I’m his forever. That I can never escape.” 

You let the words hang in the air for a moment. “And yet, here you are.”

“Here I am,” he said humorlessly. He laid down fully on his back, the sun high enough to bathe him completely in its glow. He rested his arms behind his head and angled himself to look at you. “I realized, if I could walk in the sun, what other vampiric laws could I break?”

You looked down at him, admiring the light glinting off his bare chest. “So you decided to test your theory on me? I’m touched.” You held a hand to your chest, pretending to be deeply moved.

“In all honesty, I thought you were the least likely to kill me if I got caught.” He smirked at you. “And it would seem I was right.”

“I wouldn’t have let any of the others kill you,” you said firmly.

Astarion chuckled. “How sweet. My brave little protector.” He reached over to pinch your cheek.

You swatted him away. “Hey, who saved your ass from a bugbear yesterday?”

He shrugged. “I would have been fine.”

You leaned forward and shoved him lightly, making him laugh and throw his arm forward as a shield. 

When his laughter died down, his face grew a touch more serious again. “When you so graciously assaulted me this morning, he’d just finished telling me rule number three; that I can’t leave him unless he tells me to.”

You thought for a moment. “Which begs the question,” Astarion looked over at you expectantly, “how did you end up out here? From what I recall, the sun was still out when the nautiloid reached the Gate. You didn’t have the tadpole yet, so how’d you escape?”

“I wouldn’t say it was much of an escape.” His eyes shifted up to the sky, his expression thoughtful. “I was looking for new victims for Cazador. It was dusk and I had just been given the order to go out and hunt. I was weaving through shadows, avoiding the setting sun, but there’s only so many places one can hide from a giant tentacle that won’t burn you to a crisp. One of the tentacles caught me when I attempted to flee down an alleyway. A complete accident.”

“If it helps, I tripped while running away.”

“Of course you did.” He sighed. “Figures it would take an alien invasion to finally free me from his clutches. Not some,” he waved his hands in the air, gesturing to nothing in particular, “heroic figure sent by the gods to save me and smite that horrible man down to somewhere further and more vile than the Nine Hells.” His hands fell ungracefully to his sides.

He wasn’t wrong. How could any god worth their salt claim to be holier than thou when such suffering was occuring right under their noses? And you were pretty sure, based on tales you’d heard of Mystra and Shar from Gale and Shadowheart, that the gods hadn’t planned for the nautiloids or the rise of the Absolute. Yet if it weren’t for any of that, Astarion would still be trapped in Baldur’s Gate and your adventure thus far would have looked very different.

“If I’d known, I would have done something,” you said, knowing it was more complicated than that, but still wanting to help somehow. 

“Darling, if I’d met you in Baldur’s Gate, I would not have hesitated to take you to Cazador.”

That hurt. 

You said as much. “Ouch.”

“Well,” he sounded angry, though he directed it up towards the sky and not at you, “I wouldn’t have had a choice! Sure, it would have been a little novel, given how inexperienced you are, but regardless, I would have handed you off to him as soon as I’d made you finish.”

Ah. So that was how he lured people. It made sense, now that you put the pieces together; Astarion was so experienced because he had to be. Of course unsuspecting victims would fall prey to the allure of an eternally beautiful vampire, especially the one laying next to you. Of course the promise of pleasure from someone that sexy would be the obvious thing to agree to. It was a wonder your paths had never crossed before the nautiloid. 

“Once,” Astarion broke the silence that had fallen between you, his tone distant, “in the first decade of my slavery, I found a darling boy who I couldn’t bear to bring back to him.” He finally looked over at you, his eyes full of sadness. “So I ran, instead of hurting that sweet man.”

You reached for his hand, then thought better of it. All his snide “don’t touch me’s” on the road now held a new, terrible weight.

“After Cazador caught me, the bastard sealed me, starving, inside a dusty tomb, all on my own, for an entire year. A year of silence”

A hand flew to your mouth. “Astarion…” you felt your eyes begin to prick with tears and did your best to will them away, fearing that they might make Astarion stop sharing.

He went on. “Months of scratching my hands raw, trying to carve my way out, more months of not moving at all. Months wishing only for death.” He took a deep breath, then blew it out shakily. “So no, I wouldn’t have hesitated, had we crossed paths.”

You opened and closed your mouth several times, attempting to find words that could possibly compose an appropriate response to the horrors you currently refused to picture. “I have no words,” is what you finally settled on, followed by an, “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing can make up for that,” he said quietly. “Not even Cazador’s death.” He paused. “Well, it would help a little, but the coward deserves a fate worse than death.”

“Can I hug you?” you blurted, unable to stop yourself.

Astarion blinked a few times, then sat up. “What?”

“I just… you’ve been through such hell and I want to hug you, but I don’t want to touch you without your permission.”

He looked you up and down and saw the sincerity evident on your face. “I… suppose.” He pulled his legs up from where they were still dangling above the ravine and turned to face you head on. 

“Thank you,” you said, still attempting to keep your tears at bay.

You leaned forward and weaved your arms beneath Astarion’s, hooking your arms up and placing your hands on his shoulder blades. You settled your face between his neck and shoulder and could feel that his arms were frozen rigidly in place in front of him. You took a shaky breath and stayed still, allowing Astarion to move at his own pace. 

His arms finally settled around you and he bent his head so his cheek rested against your hair. 

The two of you stayed like that for a while, relishing in the other’s closeness. You moved your hands back and forth across his back absently. When you caught yourself, you pulled back to look at him and asked, “Is it okay that I’m touching your back?”

Astarion chuckled softly. “Yes, my dear. It’s rather nice, actually.”

You smiled and nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck. Seriously, did he always smell this good?

Despite the pleasant distraction, something was nagging at your thoughts.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmured into his skin.

Astarion sighed dramatically. “If it has anything to do with my fangs, I’ll rip your throat out.”

You snickered to yourself. “No, not another dumb joke, I promise.”

“Then by all means.”

You pulled back once more to look at him in the face. His eyes widened when he saw your nervous expression. You avoided holding his gaze, feeling a little small. 

“Do you… want to be with me?”

Astarion looked taken aback. “What?”

“I mean… well…” You were having trouble sorting through your thoughts. Who were you to make this moment about yourself when Astarion had just been so open with you? And why couldn’t you trust him in what he had told you last night? Still, you had to know. You’d made it clear how much you cared for him and how much sleeping with him had meant to you. 

Given his past experiences, it made sense why he’d sleep with you, but you wanted to hear him say it. If this was all some ploy to manipulate you into doing what he wanted, even without Cazador’s instruction, you needed to know now. 

“Was I… just another conquest?” you asked, your tears reemerging. “Because if that’s the case, then I think we should end whatever this is.”

Astarion’s face was now inches away from yours. He moved a hand from your back and shifted it up to wipe a wayward tear that had escaped. He said your name softly.

“No, my sweet,” his other hand started rubbing soothing circles into your back. He pulled back a little. “Well, yes.”

You scoffed, another tear rolling down your cheek. 

Astarion was quick to correct. “No, no! I mean, at first, yes, it was my plan to seduce you and sleep with you.”

You let out a small whimpering noise and he tried to catch your eye. You kept your gaze glued on something in the distance, unseeing.

Astarion cleared his throat. “You- You’re valuable; someone willing to feed me, someone who advocated for me to stay with you all, even though you knew vampires were dangerous, someone who would protect me in battle, even if it meant sacrificing something important to you.”

Try as he might to get your attention back on him, your face remained blank as you stared into the distance.

“I wanted your continued protection.” He shrugged. “Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in and I thought I could secure that with sex.”

That got you to look at him, a sour expression on your face. “Have you met me?”

Astarion chuckled. “Yes, I have. And that’s what threw me for such a loop.”

You humphed.

“When I realized you’d be more of a challenge, I modified my plan.”

“I don’t love the direction this is headed.”

“Stay with me, darling” he said, “I promise I’m going somewhere with this.”

You exhaled and nodded for him to continue. 

“I did want to give you a good first experience, that much was true, but I will admit that I was still planning on using you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You realize how bad this sounds, right?”

“Will you-” he sighed. “Let me finish, damn you,” he brought his forehead to yours briefly, then pulled back. “So imagine how stupid I felt when I realized I genuinely felt something for you.”

That made you smile softly. 

He groaned. “And yes, it is because I find you to be… a lot of fun.” The last phrase sounded like it hurt coming out. 

Your soft smile transformed into one of smug satisfaction. “And when did you come to this conclusion?”

“Well first of all, look at you.” He smiled slyly and you playfully pushed his face away from yours, just as you had last night. After a moment, Astarion looked up, as if searching through his thoughts. “I suppose I’ve always found you to be amusing. You were so easy to fool in the beginning. I mean, the very first day we met, you thought I had one of those brain things cornered.”

“I had no reason not to believe you! And then you held a knife to my throat!” “Ah, memories,” he sighed wistfully. “But then we started traveling together, and I don’t think I’ve ever laughed more. Killing those goblins outside the Grove, fooling those trolls into working for us, taking out those Paladins of Tyr… you always had a sarcastic comment to contend with my sarcastic comments. Which is saying something.”

You snorted. “As if I wouldn’t have something to say.”

Astarion nodded. “You do talk a lot.” 

You chuckled softly, feeling better. Your arms were still wrapped around Astarion.

“It was when I kissed you.” His tone was thoughtful.

“Hmm?”

“When I really kissed you for the first time, there was something different about it.” His eyes flicked down to your lips momentarily. “Suddenly everything we’d been through came rushing back to my mind and there was this… pleasure I hadn’t felt. In an awfully long time.”

You smiled like a dope, bringing your forehead to his.

“I realized you weren’t going anywhere. And that you genuinely cared about what I thought and what I wanted.” He looked at you almost shyly. “No one in the past two hundred years has stayed.” Astarion pulled back and his inflection became flamboyant and playful: “Not that they had much of a choice, but it was a somewhat shocking revelation.” His tone then returned to one of sincerity: “And no one has cared for me as you have.”

You looked away, embarrassed by the kind words.“What can I say, I’m incredible.”

Astarion blew out a cool puff of air that tickled your face. “Annoyingly, you are.”

You looked back at him and smirked. “For me, it was when you asked me how I’d want to die.”

Astarion snorted. “Pardon?”

“When you asked me how I wanted to die on one of our first nights at camp. I genuinely had the thought, ‘Now here’s a guy who knows how to have a good time.’”

Astarion laughed brightly. You mirrored his grin.

“You said you wanted to be decapitated.” 

“How romantic of me,” he said, raising a seductive eyebrow. 

“Well it did spark the crush I’ve been harboring this whole time,” you felt your face heat up at the admission. “That, and your stupid beautiful face.”

Astarion sniffed mockingly. “Thank you, not enough people mention that.” Then he looked at you fondly. “But that long, eh? How adorable.” He rubbed his nose against yours teasingly. “And here you thought nothing would come of it.”

“Nothing usually does!” you exclaimed.

He laughed and leaned forward to kiss you once. “Not so loud.”

You lifted an eyebrow and gestured to the empty landscape around you. Astarion shrugged. You lowered your voice despite the lack of other people to bother.

“I am glad something came of it this time.” You settled your forehead onto his shoulder.

“As am I, my love,” he kissed your hair. “Though I have something else to admit.”

You pulled back and looked at him curiously.

Out of nowhere, he presented you with a knife.

“I did have a knife.”

You scoffed incredulously and whacked his arm. “I KNEW YOU HAD A KNIFE, YOU BASTARD!” You laughed loudly and pushed him backwards. 

He fell back onto his arms, laughing with you as you crawled on top and kissed him deeply. 

“Careful darling,” he murmured against your lips, “don’t move.”

You paused your movements, your lips still pressed firmly against his own. Astarion turned his head slightly to look over to his left at the treeline you’d emerged from not too long ago. You pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth and felt him grin. Then you felt his right arm come up and jerk slightly, followed by a “THUNK” sound off to your right. 

You waited a moment before you asked, “Can I move?” Your mouth was smushed against his face and your voice came out muffled.

He chuckled. “Yes, you can move now.” 

You sat up and looked to your right, the knife Astarion had pulled was now wedged deeply into the trunk of a nearby tree. You raised your eyebrows at him.

He stretched out like a cat in a sunbeam, his voice straining as he went. “Impressed?”

“Honestly? Yes.” You leaned back down and kissed him again. 

He hummed and his mouth moved against yours at a leisurely pace, his hands coming up to tangle in your hair. You kissed down his jaw and throat before coming to his collarbone and stopping.

“You’re sure you don’t want to fuck me again?” Your words came out a little shy and Astarion laughed. 

He twirled the ends of your hair around his finger. “Delicious as you were, my sweet, I think I’d prefer to take my time with you.” 

You pursed your lips, disappointed. 

“That’s not to say I don’t want to, darling, but…” His fingers stopped twirling your hair as he thought. “Like you said earlier, so much has changed in the last few hours. I’ve only just discovered that I can sleep with somebody because I actually want to.” His hand moved from your hair to your cheek. “I think I need some time to adjust to that.”

You nodded and bent to kiss him. “I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

He smiled up at you. “Thank you.”

You spent a few moments just looking at him, admiring how his eyes sparkled in the sun like rubies. You sighed noticeably. 

“What is it, love?”

You shook your head. “It’s nothing.”

“Darling…” He raised his eyebrows at you. 

“No, it’s inappropriate right now.” You looked away.

You felt his hand in your hair, and his voice was conspiratory, “I love when you talk dirty.”

You sighed again and looked him in the eye. “One of these days, when you’re ready, I’m going to look into your gorgeous eyes as I make you come.”

Astarion sputtered out a surprised laugh. “Easy there, lover,” he gave you a sultry look, “I may just take you up on that.”

You sat up and spread your hands over his chest. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

He brought both hands up to his face and groaned loudly before dragging them back down his face and looking at you. “Come lay in the sun with me, will you?”

You pouted but rolled off of him and curled into his side. 

“There now,” he said, arching his chest upwards towards the sky where the sun had now risen for the day, “isn’t this nice?”

You inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the trees and the sounds of the ravine below. You exhaled and closed your eyes, warmed by the sun and comforted by the presence of Astarion beside you. He himself had his eyes closed and looked peacefully content. You nuzzled further into his side, enjoying how his cool skin contrasted with the warmth coming from above.

Before you could even register that you were still tired from your early wakeup call this morning, you’d drifted back into a comfortable sleep.

~~~~~

You were awoken some time later by a lick to the face. 

You shut your eyes tighter and groaned. “Gross, Astarion, I’m trying to sleep.” You threw an arm over your eyes, the sun now directly overhead. 

“Did you find them, boy?” A voice shouted from the distance.

Your eyes shot open and found Scratch panting above you, wagging his tail excitedly. 

You sat up quickly and immediately leaned over to shake Astarion who appeared to be trancing soundly. 

“Astarion,” you shook him anxiously. 

He scowled, his eyes still closed. He groaned lowly.

“Astarion, my dear, my sweet, my beloved,” you shook him harder and his eyes opened immediately. He sat up, fast as lightning.

“What’s happening? Where’s my knife?” He looked around frantically until his eyes landed on you. “Ah,” he said, calming, “déjà vu.” 

“They’re coming,” you hissed.

“Who?” Astarion narrowed his eyes, thoughts still foggy from his trance. 

“No FUCKING way!” Came Karlach’s voice from the treeline. 

You looked over and found her with an elated grin on her face and her hands on her knees. She started laughing loudly and you hid your face in your hands. 

“You guys did NOT,” she wheezed. 

“Hello Karlach,” Astarion’s voice sounded nonchalant beside you. “What brings you out to ruin our beauty sleep?” 

“Did you find them?” Shadowheart soon emerged from the forest and stopped in her tracks. She surveyed the area and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Astarion, tell me you didn’t.”

“Did what, darling?” He sounded smug and you looked over at him. His expression matched his tone. “You’ll have to be more specific.” He rested his chin on your shoulder.

“I fucking knew this would happen,” Karlach said, coming down from her laughing fit. “Soldier’s had her eye on you for a while now, Fangs.”

“Karlach!” You whisper-shouted.

“Oh, I’m aware,” you felt Astarion turn his head to look at you. 

Suddenly Gale, Lae’zel, and Wyll joined the fray. Scratch ran to them and happily weaved between them as they emerged. 

“We heard a commotion, did you find them?” Gale halted when he saw you and Astarion sitting together on the ground, him shirtless, you wearing his shirt. “No,” he said, shaking his head.

“Yes,” Astarion said, tilting his head against yours. You gave him a dirty look. 

“Chk! Was that filthy nest of our blankets your doing?” Lae’zel asked, cradling her greatsword proudly. 

You groaned and hid your face in your hands again. 

“It would appear so,” Wyll confirmed awkwardly. 

“You vampires have a disgusting way of mating if that nest was any indication,” Lae’zel narrowed her eyes and lifted her nose in the air judgmentally. “Far too soft.”

Astarion scoffed and pulled back from you. “I’ll have you know that vampires mate in the most satisfying- well, we don’t mate, necessarily, we’re not dogs, but we, well at least I, am always an exemplary lover.”

Shadowheart ignored him and walked forward, crouching down and resting a hand on your shoulder. You looked at her. “Are you okay?”

“What?” you laughed in disbelief. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“He didn’t… coerce you into something, did he?”

“Excuse me?” Astarion sounded insulted. “I always ask permission first, darling.”

“Your charms can be quite overwhelming at times, Astarion,” Gale said. 

“And wouldn’t you like having my charms turned on you, wizard,” Astarion sneered. 

“Well, let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Wyll held up his hands, gesturing for the others to relax.

“Everyone!” You raised your voice. All eyes settled on you. “Nothing happened between us that I didn’t expressly and happily agree to.”

Karlach started chuckling again. “Good for you, Soldier.”

“Thank you, Karlach,” said Astarion. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

He shrugged. “What?”

You groaned and stood up, wiping grass and forest debris off your clothes. You adjusted Astarion’s shirt on your shoulders, making sure you weren’t showing off too much to your companions. 

“Is there a reason you all came out here? Or was it just to mortify me? Because mission accomplished!”

“It’s midday,” informed Wyll. “We grew worried when the two of you seemingly vanished and didn’t return.”

“Halsin and the tieflings are coming to camp tonight to celebrate our victory against the goblins,” Shadowheart crossed her arms. 

“Yes, and it wouldn’t be a great look if our leader and the gangly one were missing,” Gale said.

“Gangly?!” Astarion exclaimed, very clearly not gangly. 

“You’re- okay, well, I hadn’t seen you shirtless before now,” Gale amended. 

“Like what you see?” Astarion teased. 

“Astarion,” you scolded. 

He sighed and got up, wrapping an arm around you and resting a hand on your hip. 

You went red as you watched your companions track his hand. 

“Listen, people,” Astarion said, sounding serious. 

You saw your companions’ eyes shift to the vampire. 

“Don’t give her a hard time. This was my doing.” Shadowheart was about to say something but Astarion raised his voice a bit. “While yes, she gave permission in everything that we did, this wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t suggested it in the first place.”

“I could have suggested something much better, surely,” Lae’zel huffed.

“I mean, did you-?” Karlach thrust her hips in the air with her fists at her sides.

“Oh my gods,” you groaned.

“I don’t kiss and tell, darling,” Astarion said, squeezing your hip slightly. 

Karlach smirked smugly and winked at you both. 

You shook your head and looked up, silently begging any god that was listening to kill you and to do it quickly. 

“We should get back to camp,” Wyll suggested diplomatically. “Let these two collect themselves.” 

“So what does this mean?” Shadowheart asked, ignoring Wyll. 

“Shadowheart,” Wyll warned but she waved him off.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“Are you only going to sleep with the pathetic vampire moving forward?” Lae’zel stated bluntly.

You and Astarion looked at each other. You saw the slightest flash of uncertainty in his eyes and smiled. “If he’ll let me,” you said. 

A small smile appeared on his face in return.

Lae’zel groaned. “K'chakhi. Your loss.” She turned and walked back into the forest, slinging her greatsword over her back.

You bit your lip, feeling guilty about Lae’zel’s feelings, but Karlach soon slid into your vision. “Congrats, you crazy kids,” she laughed and pretended to punch your arm, then followed on Lae’zel’s heels, Scratch bounding close behind her.

Gale walked over, his face stoic. He stood in front of Astarion and held out his hand. 

Astarion scowled. “What is this, do you want some sort of handout?” 

“I want to shake your hand, you buffoon,” Gale sounded frustrated. 

“Gale…” you said sorrowfully. 

“No no, think nothing of it,” he waved you off. “The right man won out in the end.”

Astarion took his hand and shook it. “Better luck next time,” he jeered. 

“Astarion,” you scolded again. “You both know I’m not something to win, right?”

“Of course you’re not,” Gale nodded. “Apologies, I misspoke. I’ll see you both at camp. Lunch is bread and cheese to save room for tonight’s festivities.” He stiffly turned and walked back towards the trees. Wyll gave him a sympathetic look, then caught your eye. He nodded somewhat sadly and followed after Gale. 

“Well that certainly doesn’t feel good,” you said, holding a hand to your chest and breathing deeply.

“Not quite finished yet, love,” Astarion nodded over towards Shadowheart who lingered nearby. 

She approached slowly, holding her hands behind her back. Astarion released your hip and moved away, sensing what Shadowheart aimed to do. You looked at him curiously, but your attention was drawn back to Shadowheart as she threw her arms around your neck. 

“You’re happy?” She asked softly.

“Shadowheart…” you smiled into her hair. “Yes, I’m happy. Thank you.”

She pulled back to look at you in the eyes, double checking your expression. When she saw that you were genuine, she nodded. She cleared her throat and looked over at Astarion. 

She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Hurt her, and you will never know a happy day again.”

Astarion held up his hands defensively. “I won’t-”

“You have never known the pain of Lady Shar’s wrath, and you’d be smart to keep it that way, so help me gods, Astarion.”

“I got it,” he said flatly. 

“Our Lady of Loss would not hesitate to strike you where you stand-”

“I think he gets it,” you said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart narrowed her eyes at Astarion before she looked back at you. “I’ll see you at camp. Don’t dally.” She looked pointedly at Astarion who shrugged helplessly. 

When she headed back into the forest, you and Astarion were finally alone. 

You let out a heavy sigh.

“That was a lot,” Astarion joined you at your side.

“Wait, did you know those people?” you smirked at him.

“Vaguely,” he smirked back and caught you in a kiss. “At least I don’t have to hold back from doing that at camp now.” He held you close in his arms.

You sighed again and laid your head on his shoulder. “You were right. I didn’t realize so many of them felt something for me.”

“That seems to be because you block out the advances of others.”

You shoved him playfully. “How dare you turn my pitiful backstory against me.”

He smiled and held out his hand. “Come on, let’s go dismantle that ‘disgusting’ nest.” He did his best to impersonate Lae’zel on “disgusting.” 

It made you laugh. “Okay.”

You took his hand and let him lead you through the trees back to the blankets and pillows that you’d spent the night on. 

When you arrived, you picked up your shirt and bra, feeling mild embarrassment that the others had probably seen them and drawn (correct) conclusions. You removed Astarion’s shirt and threw it back at him, hitting him in the face and quickly covered your chest with your forearm. 

Astarion laughed as his shirt fell into his awaiting hands. “Darling, you don’t have to hide from me,” he narrowed his eyes seductively. “I’ve already seen it all.” He tossed the shirt aside and made his way over to you.

“Feels different in the light of day,” you admitted self-consciously. “Worse, I guess.”

“Now, now,” he said, gently pulling your arm away from your chest, “let me see you in the daylight.” You allowed him to move your arm but didn’t look at him. “Lovely,” he breathed, and kissed you hard. 

You inhaled in surprise, but immediately gave in and slipped your tongue into his mouth and your arms over his shoulders. His hand came up and began massaging your left breast, his icy touch sending a shock wave through you and making you moan. 

Instantly, you pulled away and took a step back. “Careful,” you said as Astarion stared at you wide-eyed, his hand frozen in the air where he’d been palming your breast, “I thought you wanted to take things slow?”

He made a sound somewhere between a groan and a dry heave. “Stop being so nice to me,” he avoided your gaze. “It makes me want to… be nice back.”

“Gods forbid,” you laughed, and bent to pick up your bra which had fallen back amongst the pillows. 

All of a sudden, you found yourself face down in the blankets, the wind knocked out of you and Astarion’s body weight pressed firmly on top of you.

“Astarion,” you wheezed, “what are you doing?”

His voice was sultry in your ear, “If you’ll remember, I said I wanted to take my time with you.”

Sexy as that was, you couldn’t breathe. You reached behind yourself and smacked Astarion’s back with your palm. “Living creatures need to breathe, idiot!”

“Oh,” he realized his error and rolled off of you. You had no time to adjust yourself before he flipped you over and hovered above you on his hands and knees. 

You blew some hair out of your face, irritated. “Did you just tackle me like I was some sort of prey?”

“My dear, I would never,” he bowed his head and kissed your neck.

“And yet I find myself on the ground, even though I didn’t put myself here,” you tangled your hands in his hair, your voice wobbly. 

“You’ve always been rather clumsy,” he murmured teasingly. 

You took a deep breath and pushed him away. His lips were still puckered, making you giggle. “Shadowheart told us not to dally,” you reminded him. “And she threatened to kill you, what? Three times?”

“You forget that I’m already dead,” he smiled. “What’s another little death?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

You snorted. “Bad.”

“I thought that was rather clever, actually.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “We should really head back.”

Astarion whined and hung his head. “Let me have you again, woman!”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said!” He lifted his head and looked you in the eye. “And while I appreciate your concern, right now, I very much want to be inside of you again.”

You smiled cautiously. “Are you sure?”

He rolled his eyes and kissed you, lowering his body to roll his hips against yours and making his erection very obviously. You jolted at the unexpected sensation and he pulled back.

“Unless this is too much for you,” he searched your face for hesitancy. “You’re probably still sore and we don’t have to rush anything-”

You gripped the back of his head and tightened your fist into his curls. “Please,” you whispered, “fuck me again.”

A wicked grin bloomed on Astarion’s face and he kissed you passionately, rolling his hips against yours for friction. You moaned into his mouth, but he broke the kiss after only a few moments. “Like I said, love, I want to take my time with you.”

He rose up onto his knees and began untying the laces of your pants. You watched him intently and bit your lip as he removed them fully from your legs. He made quick work of his own and crawled back on top of you. His thumb hooked under your panties and his eyes met yours. You nodded and he pulled them down gently and discarded them close by. He then laid beside you, his eyes heavy with lust.

“Come here, precious thing,” he purred and you inched yourself closer to him. “Turn around,” he instructed. You gave him a confused half smile but did what he asked. He reached forward and pulled your hips back, causing you to feel his still-clothed cock against your ass.

“What are you doing?” you asked nervously. 

Astarion chuckled. “Not that, fear not.” He kissed your shoulder as he slid his left arm under you and settled his hand on your lower stomach. A chill ran through you as he nuzzled his head onto your shoulder. “Fair warning,” you could hear the mischief in his voice as his right hand made itself known in front of your face. He wiggled his fingers in a delicate wave, then brought it down between your thighs. 

A gasp escaped your throat when you felt his fingers swipe through your folds.

Astarion tilted his head and kissed your throat. “So wet already, darling.”

“You’re handsome,” you said by way of explanation.

He hummed against your shoulder and began to rub your clit. A shuddering breath left your mouth and your eyes fluttered shut. Astarion paused for a moment to lift your leg and hike it back over his. “This will feel good,” he said against your skin and dragged his fingers through your folds again before inserting a digit into your cunt. 

You threw your head back in surprised pleasure, which made Astarion turn and nip at your ear. He began pumping and curling his finger slowly inside of you. Your breath caught when his thumb resumed its spot on your clit and whined when his finger inside of you hit a particularly sensitive spot. He adjusted his angle to hit it repeatedly. 

“Astarion,” you moaned, your head clouded with nothing but ecstasy. 

“Yes, my sweet, you’re gripping me so tight,” his voice was sensual in your ear. “Do you think you can take a little more?”

You nodded, your eyes shut tight. 

“Words, darling.”

“Another…” you said breathily.

“Another what?”

Your voice was sing-songy. “Astarion, if you don’t put another finger in me right now, I’m leaving you.”

He laughed loudly before moving his mouth close to your ear again. “You like me too much.” Then he leaned up a little to catch your eye, his finger still pumping between your thighs. “Right?”

You smiled sympathetically, seeing your words had spooked him a little. You reached a hand up to cup his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere,” you clarified. “But I might kill you.”

“Got it,” Astarion dragged his index finger through your folds, then carefully added it to your cunt alongside his middle finger. 

You exhaled, moving your hand down from his cheek to his hand resting on your stomach. You laced your fingers together and squeezed when he hit a particularly good spot, getting you to moan out an, “Oh, gods.”

“Like that?” He asked cockily, reaching and curling to hit the spot again. 

“Yes, my love,” you sighed, grinning upwards with your eyes closed. 

Behind you, you felt Astarion’s cock twitch.

Your eyes opened and you looked back at him. 

He smiled back at you sheepishly. “It does that sometimes, darling. When something is particularly arousing.”

Your breaths were coming out short and keeping in time with the pumping of his fingers. “Was it… ‘my love?’”

Astarion let out a low moan and hid his face in your shoulder before reemerging and nodding. “Coming from you while you’re in the throes of passion with me is really… something.”

You laughed between whimpers. “My… loooooove,” you sang, squeezing his hand again. “Your fingers feel heavenly, my looooove.”

“Fuck this,” Astarion said, pulling his fingers out of you unceremoniously and curling you forward with his body so he could shimmy out of his underwear. 

“What are you doing,” you winced and whined childishly, “I was so close!”

“Unfortunately, darling, if I’m not inside you within a matter of seconds, I’m going to lose it completely.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” you said, half dazed and still coming down from your almost climax. 

You felt his hand bump your ass as he pumped his cock and you instantly went stiff. “You’re not going to…?”

Astarion let out a breathy laugh. “Oh, my sweet, you’re not nearly ready for something like that yet.”

A relieved sigh escaped you. 

“We could always work our way up-”

“No, that’s okay,” you said quickly. 

“There’s nothing wrong with-”

“No, of course not-”

“But we can-”

“Let’s not talk about this now,” you patted Astarion’s cheek.

“Understood,” he nodded and resumed pumping his cock. “Hook your leg back over mine, darling.” When you followed his instruction, he kissed your shoulder once more. You felt the head of his cock glide through your folds until it prodded at your entrance and you let out a shaky exhale. “Don’t be scared,” he muttered, squeezing your hand. “Are you ready?”

You inhaled. “Yes.”

Just as he had last night, Astarion was slow to enter you. This time you heard him whimpering with his mouth so close to your ear. 

“Fuck,” he murmured, dragging his fangs from your shoulder to your neck, “still so tight.”

“Obviously,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut, but not feeling nearly as uncomfortable as you had the first time he’d entered you. You let out a satisfied exhale when his hips bumped your ass. 

“Let me know what I can move,” Astarion said against your skin, his words barely recognizable. 

“You can move,” you said almost immediately, reaching a hand up behind you and twisting it into Astarion’s hair. You moved it over a little to play with the tip of his ear.

He let out a loud groan and snapped his hips forward, probably with more force than he meant to. “Apologies,” he whispered, “that felt heavenly.”

“Keep going, my love,” you encouraged and he caught your eye with a seductive smile. 

He continued to pump his cock into your dripping hole and brought his right hand down to your clit. He licked a stripe from your neck up to your ear. “You know, I really did intend to take my time with you just now,” he spoke lowly from the back of his throat. As if to illustrate his point, he slowed his hips to take long, languid strokes out, and then moved back into you at an equally slow pace. His thumb on your clit slowed as he disconnected his left hand from yours and brought it up to fondle your breast. He kissed up your shoulder to your neck sloppily and sucked on the fading bite marks from last night. 

You moaned loudly, hooking your foot around his calf and tightening your fist in his hair. “We’d really be dallying, then,” you commented.

He made a frustrated noise. “Don’t even allude to the cleric right now,” he pulled away from your neck. “Unless it’s to tell me I’m a much better lover than her.” He snapped his hips into you, hard. 

“I don’t have much of a reference, genius,” you responded breathlessly. 

“Right,” he said, and picked up speed at your clit. His mouth returned to sucking on your throat. 

“Oohhh,” you sighed. You let out a gasp when Astarion’s left hand pinched your nipple.

“You feel wonderful, my darling,” spit connected him to your neck.

“So do you,” you brought your hand up to cover Astarion’s that was kneading your breast. “You can bite me, if you want.”

He groaned loudly and bumped his nose against your jaw. “Well,” he said between thrusts, “if you insist.” 

He kissed your throat before biting down, his hips instantly picking up speed. 

The ice that shot into your veins was a shock as always, but melted into a fuzzy pleasure that had your eyes drooping in ecstasy. 

Astarion took long pulls of your blood as he continued thrusting, circling your clit, and needing your breast. How he was keeping track of everything at once was beyond you in this pleasant, foggy state. 

“Darling,” he pulled away suddenly, swallowing loudly and seemingly out of breath. “May I taste you as you come?”

Your tongue lolled to the side, but his voice snapped you out of it. You nodded up at him. “Yes, please.”

“What do you need?” He licked the wounds on your neck. 

“As much as I’m enjoying you taking your time,” you said, “harder and faster.”

“Easy,” a cocky grin graced his face as a drop of your blood dripped down his chin. 

His hips picked up a brutal pace that nearly had you reaching your peak, and he pressed further onto your clit, his tight circles picking up speed as well. 

“Oh, Astarion,” you moaned loudly, reaching back again to grip his hair.

“Come for me, dearest,” he spoke softly against your throat, but loud enough that you could hear, “I want to hear you sing again. I want to taste how sweet your blood is when I make you cum on my cock.” He continued leaving sloppy kisses against your neck.

“I’m close,” you confirmed, your eyes shut tight and your body tensing. 

“Go ahead, love, I’ve got you,” his hard thrusts were becoming uneven, but ever the professional, his voice remained mostly even. “You’re so tight and warm, thank you for letting me taste you.” He kissed your mouth. “Darling.” Another kiss. “Beloved.” One more. “Mine.”

You cried out as you fell over the edge, your cunt squeezing his cock repeatedly, only to cry out again as you felt Astarion’s fangs enter your neck once more. 

“Astarion!” You shouted, squeezing his hand and pulling his hair and wrapping your shaking leg around his. Almost simultaneously, you felt Astarion spill inside you as he moaned your name loudly into your neck, his hips pulsing clumsily against you. 

The sensation of him drawing your blood was still pleasantly fuzzy, but you could feel yourself becoming light headed. You tapped his arm twice, your signal for him to stop, and he pulled away, leaning his forehead against your temple and breathing heavily. 

“Still cumming,” he groaned and clenched his teeth, his hips faltering in their rhythm. 

After another moment, his body finally relaxed and he pulled you closer into his chest, catching his breath. “That was… amazing,” he sighed happily, leaning forward to lick the remaining blood from your neck. “If I knew blood could taste that good-” His voice trailed off. “Well, I’m sure I’d do something about it if I could.” He seemed pleased with his own answer and hummed contentedly behind you.

“I’m glad it was to your liking,” you said, looking back at him with a smile. He bent forward and kissed you happily. “I’m like a fine vintage,” you teased.

Astarion pursed his lips. “You’re far from vintage, darling, you’ll have to work on your wine related japes.” 

You laughed and a comfortable silence fell between you. Astarion rested both of his hands on your stomach. Which growled suddenly.

“What’s that like?” He teased, licking a wayward drop of blood from the side of his mouth. 

Your body tensed. “Oh gods, bread and cheese!”

Astarion blinked at you. “Are those some sort of new deities I’m not aware of, or-?”

“No, that’s what Gale said we’re having for lunch.”

“And that’s important because-?”

“Because we DALLIED and there’s a PARTY tonight and now Shadowheart is going to KILL us.”

“I see.” Astarion remained still, fixed in place. Then suddenly he was pulling out of you at a breakneck speed and reaching for his clothes. 

You winced a little at the sensation but scrambled for your own clothes, wiping yourself down with the cloth Astarion provided again and got dressed in what was probably record time. 

Incredibly, you both looked presentable. 

“We do make a gorgeous pair,” Astarion cocked his hip and smirked at you, going in for a kiss.

You swatted him away. “Enough flirting, loverboy, we can talk about us later!” You started reaching for blankets and pillows. 

“Us,” Astarion stood on the sidelines, testing out the word on his tongue. “I do so like the sound of that.”

“Help me, would you?” You threw a pile of blankets at him, hitting him in the face and blowing his hair back. 

He groaned. “It should be a crime to rush after you’ve just made love to the most amazing woman.” He came up behind you and smacked your butt teasingly. 

You stood up straight and tried to look angry. “We are going to die if we don’t head back right now.” Astarion wasn’t buying your anger, so you turned bashful. “You made loooove to me?” You clasped your hands together by your face. “You think I’m amaaaazing?” You twirled some of your hair for good measure.

Astarion sighed. “Be serious, woman, we’re going to die!” His voice was exasperated but he smirked at you. He bent to pick up more blankets and pillows and you did the same until you both had piles you could barely see over and nothing was left behind.

“Ugh, I’m going to have to do so much laundry,” you muttered. “Seriously, how did you manage bringing all this out here?”

“Well first, everything was folded neatly.”

“We don’t have time.”

“And second, multiple trips, darling.”

“We can’t afford to leave camp EVER again.”

Try as you might to rush back to camp, you still had to maneuver through a forest and be careful where you stepped. The pair of you moved as quickly as you could, which wasn’t as fast as was probably necessary to avoid Shadowheart’s ire. 

“Soooo…” You broke the silence after a few moments. 

“Gods,” Astarion rolled his eyes, “what?”

“‘My love,’ huh?” You waggled your eyebrows at him.

“What about it?”

“You liiiiiiked it,” you teased. 

“I-” You could see that he thought about arguing but decided not to. “I’m not used to the pet names turned on me. It’s… nice.”

“You’re cute,” you said, looking over at him affectionately and nearly tripping over a tree root as a result.

Astarion snickered, then made his face serious. “I’m the furthest thing from cute. I’m a horrifying monster.” He lowered his voice as if that would back him up.

“Yeah, but you like being mushy.” 

“I do not.”

“You do!” You moved closer to him and bumped his hip with your own. “You were so sweet to me yesterday. And just now.” 

“It’s different with you,” he said quietly.

“Oh?” You raised your eyebrows.

“It’s… um… This is stupid, I hate it.” He tried to walk ahead of you but you caught up easily.

“No, no! Please.” You gave him a reassuring look. “I, of all people, will not judge you.”

He sighed. “It’s just… nice to feel like something is mine.” He was quick to correct, “Not that I own you but… I don’t know. You’re not a victim. Not a target. Not just… one night it’s better to forget. You’re something entirely new.”

You smiled over at him. “I like you too, weirdo.”

Astarion humphed. “Whatever.” He moved closer and bumped your hip with his own. The two of you shared a fond look, then turned back to the path ahead.

If Shadowheart was going to kill you, at least you’d die together. 

You both quickened your pace to try and avoid that fate, but it was a lovely thought.

Soon, you began to make out the bright colors of your tents through the trees and the sound of your companions chatting by the fire. 

You turned to Astarion. “See you on the other side.”

He nodded, determined. “It’s been a pleasure servicing you, darling.”

“I hope she kills you first.”

You shared a laugh before you took a calming breath. 

And stepped into camp. 

[darkdemeter]

BY THEIR LEASH

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! Female Reader Mafia stuff — mention of death — alcohol consumption (like a lot) — 18+ SMUT, MINORS DNI — Porn with plot? — lesbian sex — threesome — may be some grammar errors and such — slight bondage — little bit of muscle/stomach riding if you squint your eyes, turn your head that way... — I think that's it? ✎ 4.3k

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

  An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true. 

  Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation. 

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration. 

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market. 

  That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay. 

  At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

  Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t worth every single cent he spent on you three years ago. 

  Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs. 

  The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs. 

  Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one. 

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.” 

  You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot. 

  Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment. And not too soon after is it halfway downed.

  “Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particularly deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need another refill and pronto. 

  “People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.” 

  “He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere shot in the back?”

  You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.” 

  Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

  In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women. 

  You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

  In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his hand, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

  The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work. 

  For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless. 

  When Steve casts a hardened stare your way, you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender. 

  “Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

  “Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

  You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your renewed liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress? 

  “Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun. 

  “Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

  “Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.” 

  She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow. 

  Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support. 

  Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs.

  But she never committed to joining forces. 

  You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress. 

  Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand. 

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

  For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included. 

  Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous. 

  She’s facing you, back arched and arse resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, a sweet bouquet of lavender which rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin. 

  “I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow. 

  Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

  “Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress. 

  “You really think she wants a guard dog?” 

  “Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you. 

  “We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

  “No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

  She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

  “I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

  Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

  “And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

  “Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you. 

  You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you. 

  “Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue. 

  At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head. 

  “I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.” 

  Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

  “I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

  This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help. 

  Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing. Refilling your empty glass with more liquor. You’ve yet to scratch the surface of being tipsy. 

  “Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment, for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.” Steve is calm in his approach to reason with her, but if anything, her raised hand indicates her refusal, unswayed by the honey of his words. Your tongue rolls the rounds of your mouth, each time measured by your impatience as you slowly circle around the dealings table, unable to find yourself comfortable against the stiffened wood of your seat. 

  “You do realise that you’re asking for more than your so-called ‘support’ is actually worth.” You blink several times, the blow of it a downright attack on their egos. 

  “No, I want something more.”

  “And I want alcohol to affect me so I can sleep well at night,” you mutter to the glassy rim against your bottom lip. Wanda’s eyes flicker to you, bearing down a sinister glare. “Excuse me?”

  “And we were just about to suggest that very thing!” Tony interjects with a grin, eager to utilise his card, his Ace Wolf as he liked to call you. He gestures to where you stand now at the table’s other end.

  She directs her eyes to look you up and down slowly, gaze polished with keen observation. She hums thoughtfully before she looks to Natasha. 

  “E atât de bună?”

  The red haired chuckles and sitting back in her chair, chest heaving with a breathy sigh, she nods. 

  “Exceptional de bun. Cu o limbă ca asta…”

  Bucky shifts in his seat, a hollow whistle on his lips over the exchange of heated words, and you flash a grin at both women. The words of foreign tongue, however, pass over the heads of the other men, their eyes looking to either you or Bucky only to be answered with a shrug, but knowing that look in your eyes, they can take a good guess as to what’s being discussed. 

  With another passing frame of time, both women pull away from their engrossed conversation. “I’ve been made aware that you intend to bargain your wolf to me,” she says, once again letting her sight fall on you. 

  “And if that is the case, and what I have been told…” She trails off momentarily, finding to correct herself in the midst of something you can smell very clearly on her - or rather between her legs. “Then I’ll accept.”

  Each man present in the room is given pause to revel in the stun before them. Wanda Maximoff, the heiress of Europe’s biggest family, accepts their deal. All at the price of you. 

“You’ll have your answer by tomorrow, Mr Stark,” Wanda says, standing from her chair, she beckons you to follow with a kink of her fingers. One by one and following in unison, their eyes turn to you as you shuffle back on your heel with shrug your shoulders and fanged grin.

  “Animal magnetism, boys.”

  Wanda’s heels bound a steady beat as she wanders over to the foot of her bed, making an elegant show of swaying her hips and drawing your attention to her form. From behind, Natasha slips the dark suit jacket from your shoulders. Tosing it aside, her hands play the form of an enchanting guide, ushering you forward while tracing the hidden curves of your muscles. 

  “As per courtesy, Miss Maximoff wants the first claim.” 

  You huff in reply, “And you?”

  Natasha hums softly and plucks your belt loose from your trousers. “I have you two, I won’t go unsatisfied tonight.”

  Tilting your head to view Wanda who stands idle, fingers playing with the lining of her dress above her breasts, you stalk towards her, her back arching under your touch with a breathless whimper, you trail the zip of her gown down slowly. Falling around her ankles as a fabricated halo, she turns suddenly and your lips collide together in hunger.

  She sinks down to the bed, laying back until her hair fans around her, spreading her legs apart. That feverish hunger boils within your blood, running it hold and thick, the fur beneath your skin bristled in your excitement as you take care to roll the sleeves of your skirt to your elbows. To your knees, you’re brought to the sight of her soaked underwear, the dark patch evidently giving away just how badly she required you between her quivering thighs. Natasha’s hands rake through the length of your hair and scratches at your scalp, earning a low purr of pleasure to rumble in your chest. 

You lean forward and all it takes is a single inhale and you’re let loose of your chain of control, claws shearing the fabric that dares to confine her awaiting cunt any longer. She gasps upon contact, your lips smothering her moistened, slick lips and she gives a deep-noted moan, arching her hips up, your hands wrap around her thighs to drag her to you more. 

 She tastes like the fine wines of heaven, a forbidden savour on the tongue that which you greedily lap, your eyes close as you succumb to the wolf’s hunger, tongue lapping heavily at her clit.

  She whines and cries, breath hot and light in her lungs as her nails rip into the sheets to no damaging avail.  Natasha hovers above, watching on in her own longing and desire. She dips a hand beneath the hem of her dress, aside she pushes her own soaked panties and delicately dances her fingers over the sensitive bulb with a keening breath you hear catch in her throat. 

  Natasha leans down low until the scape of her breasts brushes against your shoulder blade, lips a tantalising thing and moving sinfully to mouth, “I’m touching myself to you.”

  “Watching you please her is making me so wet, Wolf.”

  “Make us both cum.”

  You growl deeply and Wanda’s body visibly shudders in response to the wild vibrations that course through her abdomen, shaking her whole and off centre, her hips begin to jerk as she nears her climax. Both women mingle in their euphoria and your own core comes to life, sparked by the noises they make in unison, an orchestra of pleasure. Suckling and licking at her core, she cries out and the lips of her pussy shrink around absence and she sighs in bliss. In tandem, Natasha moans loudly from behind and you feel her body press against you as her hand works hard as fucking her fingers into her cunt, the sound of slick and skin melding together addicting.

  “You weren’t… kidding, Nat,” she says between laboured breaths. 

  Slowing your advances, you finally pull away with a sigh, her juices glistening on your lips. Wanda looks at you and her cheeks flush at the sight before Natasha’s other hand forces your attention to her. Her lips connect with yours and her tongue darts over the bottom of yours, tasting Wanda with a delicious sound that you swallow. 

  After she pulls from you, she then shares a look with Wanda and the two of them grin. “Shall we reward her?” 

  “I think she’s been a good girl.”

  Oh, how the wolf loves that. Praise for a job well done you can hardly suppress your proud smirk. Buu before you can do much else, Natasha pushes you and your knees are knocked out from beneath you, Wanda having rolled to the side only to follow Natasha’s lead as they both halfway straddle you, otherwise keeping you pinned to the mattress below. 

  Together they peel away your dress pants, giggling and muttering to one another in that alluring tongue, your mind in a haze to catch barely a sentence shared between them but you gained awareness of what they intended when they each stroked their tongues over your stimulated pearl. 

  “‘Sh–shit!” you hiss sharply and your hips buck, the two women giggling at the sight of you writhing. 

  They give no further warning as they duck down. Their mouths work together against your clit, suckling it to draw pathetic whines from that deep part inside you dare not let anyone see, their voices trespass the air with betraying praises that speak only of teases and their tongues lap at the slick of your pussy that clenches at the attention. Your hands grapple the sheets and tear hard, the damage unnoted and not cared for. 

  “Girls– fuck!” you groan at the rise in your core, oh so ready to reach that climactic end that you have been denied for the past several weeks. It’s not too long that your first release has you whining, the nois a higher pitched sound that does slowly in broken notes as you cum, the girls moaning and allowing their lips to graze one another as they lapped and sucked you. 

  Wanda is the first to make eye contact and move towards you, her leg swoops over to fully straddle your stomach, in her hands is your belt. She rips the centre of your shirt apart, buttons flying to discarded corners of the room to be mere pebbles of disregard.

  You see the way her eyes drink in the sight of your toned muscles, the pinky tip of her tongue darting over her wet lips. 

  She adores the way you tilt your head to the side, a curious whine on your lips. “I’ve always wanted something on a leash. May I?”

  You don’t particularly care for the way her question hits a mark submerged deeper into your heart, reaching for something you denied was there. Dignity. Usually people just took from you and you came to accept that. Expect it. 

  You nod up at her and she fixes the belt around the column of your neck, the leather cool against the blazing heat of your skin, but something inside you flutters. Quickly, you push it down. 

  Natasha moves into the same position behind Wanda, your larger size very much able to accommodate both of them, Natasha trails light kisses along Wanda’s shoulder as she fastens the belt and gives an experimental tug. A soft grunt hitches in your throat in retort and you flash her a grin, the sharpened points of your fangs perched against your bottom lip. 

  “The wolf never let me tame her, Miss Maximoff.”

  “Oh, she just needed some reassurance,” Wanda replies gently with a smile. For a moment, you wanted to believe her words were sincere. Your hands run along Wanda’s thighs until they reach her hips and with a roll forward, she grinds her pussy against your torso, feeling the defined muscles press and tense against her, bringing her to moan under her breath. Natasha drapes a hand over your own to roll and pinch Wanda’s swollen clit, her eyes finding yours.

  “Watch her,” she commands breathlessly and you do so, amber glows in fluorescent pulses as Wanda biomes slick with her arousal. The fine artistry of their bodies moving together as they roll and grind against you, you cannot help but reach a hand up, claw catching the thin silk of Wanda’s bra and severing the contraption into two, letting it fall and reveal her plump breasts; her nipples erect. 

  Wanda circles an arm behind her and behind Natasha’s head, her back arching to the pleasure she becomes lost in, and you purely enjoy the show above, admiring the glow of sweat collecting on their skin, groaning as their slick covers your stomach as they ride you. The hand working Wanda’s clit speeds up and then slows, teasing the heiress, she gives you a sly grin. 

  “Do that thing with the claws,” she says and Wanda’s eyes open, as if awakening from her bliss and becoming enlightened with wonderment. 

  “W-what thing?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  You sit by the bed, elbow propped up on the chair’s arm with a glass in your grasp, imagination lost in the reverie of last night’s events with a smirk carved into your mouth. Both women lay wrapped together, bodies nude and pressed up to each other as they continue to sleep. You surely tired them out. 

  Thankfully and mostly dressed when Tony came wandering in, the band of his fellow brothers staying just beyond the room’s threshold, though it still didn’t make to hide the snarl creeping up your throat as the sudden intrusion. You take a sip of your drink as Tony scans the room, gaze flickering between the two women and you who bares an illuminated glare at him.

  “What the hell happened last night?”

  “We got her affirmative answer on the deal,” you answer with a raise of your glass in cheers before downing the last of your drink.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Long overdue, finally knocking this one out before it gets retired to permanent draft status ughhhh... *proceeds to fall face first in tired raccoon*

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz @mathxa @blackbirdv98