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eupheme · 10 months ago

Text

— sugar, sugar

[part ii] | [part iii] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 6.5k

tags: asshole friend!wade, (sorta soft) roommate!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, flirting, mutual yearning, immature humor, a reference to while you were sleeping, wingman!wade and the worse way to meet someone, light angst, oral sex, swallowing, fingering, v. light ass play, unprotected PiV, appearance of The Claws, what’s a refractory period, sorta audible voyeurism (brief/humorous)

a/n: includes spoilers for deadpool & wolverine (which omg I loved - what was your fave cameo?)

Your eccentric neighbor Wade may drive you a little up the wall… but, you’re willing to put up with him if it means he’ll introduce you to his new, grumpy-looking roommate.

“You gonna introduce me?”

You’ve cornered Wade in the apartment’s laundry room - the door to the front-loading washer hanging open as he holds a bundle of red fabric up to his chest.

“You think this will wash out?”

The suit in question looks like it had been run over by a truck and then set on fire, with the rips criss-crossed in the leather and the numerous charred holes scattered across the chest.

“Definitely.” Your eyes flicker down, and then back up, “So, will you?”

He bundles the suit up - flinging into the back of the washer, the laundry basket still tucked under an arm.

“Really? Not even ‘hello, Wade’? ‘Looking good, Wade’?” His voice pitches up, imitating yours, “Does our friendship really mean nothing to you?”

You wouldn’t necessarily call Wade Wilson a friend.

In fact, he’s honestly the worst neighbor you’ve ever had.

Loud, obnoxious. Persuasive - the first night you met you had been banging on his door at three in the morning, yelling at him to shut up as music and a caterwauling voice blared through the shared wall.

Ten minutes later you were playing the drums on his late night session of Rock Band, using a banana and a wooden spoon in place of sticks. Only for Althea to stomp out of her room and shut everything down, scaring both of you out of your skins.

But sometimes, you think - remembering the times he came through for you, a shoulder to cry on, helping him this slump he’s been digging himself out of - he might just be the best, as well.

And maybe that was friendship, after all.

You sigh, leaning against the row of washers. Eyes flicking over him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You do look good, Wade,” There’s a tilt of your head, the smile widening, “Glad you lost the toupee, that really wasn’t your color.”

“Ah, ah. Repurposed,” He chides, cupping his crotch, “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed-”

“Ew, stop.” Your face scrunches, a hand covering your eyes as you shield your vision, “Will you please just answer my question?”

He throws a handful of shirts in the washer, “Which was...?”

Your head shakes - a hand on his arm as you reach for a glint of gold in the pile of clothes. Cringing as a handgun appears, held gingerly between thumb and forefinger as you set it on the side table.

“Good call,” He nods, “Dry clean only.”

You can't help a laugh then, even as your hands brace on your hips, “I want to meet your roommate.”

He frowns, “You’ve met Blind Al.”

“Jesus, Wade. Not Al." A hand waves, " I mean Mister Tall, Dark, and Brooding.”

You’ve seen the stranger in the hallways a few times in the month since he’s moved in. Scruffy and scowling the first time, a silent shadow behind Wade’s endless chatter.

But in the weeks following, that look had softened. You’d stopped by twice with cookies to welcome him, but every time you’ve just gotten Al.

Not that you dislike Al, that’s not it at all. She’s sweet enough to you when it’s not 3 a.m. or if Wade doesn’t have her annoyed half to death.

But you certainly weren’t harboring a crush on her. Maybe even secretly hoping that maybe the new neighbor will get a little lost and end up at your door, instead of his new place.

“Ooh,” The syllables draw out - detergent flung in, before he’s leaning against the washer too, facing you. “Yeah, Logan. He's great, got a mean ‘Hugh Jackman’ vibe, just without the singing. You’d like him.”

Something like hope flutters in your belly, but then he’s raising a finger - wiggling it at you, “Just one question though. What’s in it for me?”

That has you scowling, “What do you mean? You owe me. I covered for you when you had that barqueue in the stairwell.”

“God, that was great sausage.” Wade groans, thinking back, “Mmm, but I think Peter covered for me.”

“Who do you think got Peter?”

“Well, I don’t remember seeing you.” He shrugs.

“I was right-,” You pinch the bridge of your nose between thumb and forefinger, a sharp exhale of breath, “Fine. If you do this for me, I’ll do that thing you keep asking me to do.”

Wade gasps gleefully, “You mean you’ll make the triple decker-”

“-chocolate caramel cheesecake chimichangas. Yes.” You finish with him, arms crossing over your chest, “You’re lucky you heal fast because that should put you right into a food coma.”

“Right. Lucky me,” He smirks. A second as he thinks, before he snaps his fingers, “I’m having a little get-together tonight! You should come. Was gonna invite you anyway.”

The pounding in your head ratchets up at the thought that all this could’ve been avoided.

“Logan sleeps on the couch, though,” He adds, sagely, “So just letting you know that if the two of you decide to get your fuck on in my bed, according to the state of New York I am legally allowed to join you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” You grimace - even if you’re certain that cannot possibly be true, “But I do have my own apartment.”

“Oh, right.” There’s the faintest edge of disappointment in his tone, paired with a sigh.

You give him a sideways look, then.

“I saw Vanessa leaving yesterday. Things getting better?”

He sobers at that, eyes moving towards the sliver of a window. The glimpse of the street outside.

“Yeah.” Wade manages, “Yeah, I think so.”

There had once been a flicker of something. In-between your annoyance and exasperation, there were tendrils of tenderness. Long snuffed out, when you had seen just how banged up his heart was. How it’s always belonged to another.

You had gotten over it. Gotten to a place where seeing him now, like this, makes you smile.

“I’m really glad to hear that.”

He smiles, then.

“Thanks. Me too.”

“Hey, hold on.” Wade darts in front of his roommate, a leg kicked up high to block the doorway, “Where are you going? You can’t go out.”

Logan scowls, an arm already shoved into his leather jacket, “Sure I can.”

The blow against his shoulder might move a lesser man, but Wade’s fingers just grip the frame even tighter, “But I promised-, I got a friend that wants to meet you. There is some really important shit at stake here. I can’t let you go.”

An eyebrow cocks, “Can’t? I think we both know how that would go if you tried to stop me.”

It would be easy to get into this right here and now, but his suit is still in the dryer and he’s not about to spend another hour cleaning up blood.

“Wait, wait, wait,” He throws a hand up, “Aren’t you listening to me? A girl wants to meet you. She’s hot, she has a job, and she has an apartment. You’re only one outta three there. Can’t you see what a good opportunity this is? This is totally in your favor!”

Logan scoffs, his tongue tucking against his teeth. Hesitating for just a second, but it's enough that Wade knows he’s got him.

“I’ve met your friends,” He eventually acknowledges, “They’re good folk and all, but there isn’t anyone there I’d like to ‘get to know better’, yeah?”

“You haven’t met this one. She lives next door.”

The pause stretches longer this time. Dark eyes dart out into the hallway, and Wade can practically hear those rusted gears turning.

“Apartment 16 or 18?” Logan finally rasps, his arms crossing.

Oh, he’s definitely got him. Just call him Wade Wilson, New York’s own personal Cupid. New life goal - get his friends laid.

He nocks a mental arrow - aiming, and then firing with his answer.

“18.”

Another beat passes, and then a sigh.

“Alright.” The leather sleeve slips from his arm, drooping in his fist.

“Five minutes. That’s all I’m staying.”

Wade’s fist pumps.

Bullseye, motherfucker.

The apartment is packed and it’s been well past the allotted five minutes. Logan’s been nursing a beer for the last fifteen, eyes flicking over the people he’s grown to know well.

Offering a tight, half-smile when the big man claps him on the back, followed by Opposites Attract. Almost tempted to find that damn dog, just to have something to do.

Or maybe, just bail all-together.

Starting to think this was all an elaborate prank. Some fucked up aspect of this Earth, unknown to him until now.

He’s too old for this shit. If he heads for the bedroom now, he might make it out the fire escape before anyone notices.

Logan is still entertaining this new thread of thought until he hears his name - called out over whatever fuck-face bullshit boy-band music Wade’s been playing.

Ambiance, his ass.

The muscles of his crossed arms flex. Catching the way his roommate hauls a girl across the floor - the look of panic on her face as she tosses a container onto the nearest surface.

Wade hadn’t been lying, after all. It was Apartment 18 - that was about as much as he knew about you.

Other than the color of your eyes. The smell of your perfume in the hall. Your hair, your schedule - waking in the mornings to hear your door opening at 5 a.m., five days a week.

A baker. A damn good one, from the bits of cookie he’s snuck when no one was home.

Had never thought to introduce himself, because he’s been through all this before. Knows better than to reach out in the first place - still nursing the old wound of heartache, one that still flares to life in his chest.

Better not to hope, or even think, at all.

You stumble when he lets go, and Logan’s hands only curl tighter. Afraid to touch, now that you’re so close.

A pretty young thing compared to him. This was a fucking stupid idea, his eyes darting away as Wade claps, his hands spreading wide.

“Logan,” Wade’s tone is cordial, as if discussing the weather, “This is our neighbor, Sugar. She bakes a mean penis cake and likes emotionally unavailable men.”

A dejected sigh as he regards you, “Which is why it’s never worked out between us. I am just too available.”

Penis cake?

Logan shoots you a sideways look, an eyebrow cocked. Caught off guard by this unexpected intro, and it seems you are the same - gauging by the way your mouth drops open.

Your face swimming with regret, as you hiss, “Oh my god. Wade. It was one time. Why do you have to put it like that?”

Wade’s smile widens, his tone still innocent, “Just skipping over the ‘getting-to-know-you’s, so you can know if you’re compatible.”

Already pivoting to face Logan with a little wink, his own scowl already deepening. Something like nerves flickering to life - as he wonders if this will all be over before it ever begins.

“And this is Logan. He’s from another Earth, is two-hundred years old, and has a metal dong.”

Jesus Christ.

Logan’s teeth grit, before he snarls, “It’s not made of metal-”

Out of the corner of his eye, catches the curious dip of your gaze. Past the folded twist of his arms, the flannel, down to his thick belt buckle.

A knock rings out then, interrupting him from any further clarification.

“Ooh! Door,” Wade thumbs over his shoulder, “Go on now, we’ve got some good energy going here. Sugar and spice, I love it.”

A spin on his heel, and he’s leaving them alone. Silence a lingering companion for a long moment, before Logan turns.

“Nice to meet you.” He seethes, jaw working as he shoots daggers at Wade’s back. A hand extended - he’d manage that much at least.

Waiting for you to make an excuse and run, but all you do is fit your hand into his. Soft and strong and a near perfect fit.

Logan doesn’t touch people much anymore unless it’s a hand around a throat, or claws buried deep into a chest. Had almost forgotten what it was like, even if this meeting is close to his own personal version of hell.

“Nice to finally meet you, too.” Your smile is wry. Hands still clasped a moment longer, until he’s withdrawing.

Your hands shove into your back pockets. The tilt of a head as you regard him, and he lets his eyes meet yours.

They’re pretty, like the rest of you. Captivating even, if he could use such a word, and Wade’s words ring out in his head.

She wants to meet you.

He’s wondering if that’s still true. Maybe you’re wondering the same, with the way you look at him.

“So,” You begin, awkwardly - another unconscious flick of your eyes,“How does-”

“Uh-uh.” Logan’s head shakes. He’s picked up a couple things living with Wade. Never used to be a bargaining man, but he has to admit it has its uses.

“If you wanna know, you gotta go first.”

He hates you.

He must, with the way he’s scowling. Thighs spread wide as he sits on the couch you had gestured to, fingers in a vice grip around the bottle. No doubt plotting a dozen ways to ditch you the second he can.

Who wouldn’t, with a meeting like this? You could kill Wade, cheeks burning as you sink into the worn cushions next to him.

That is, until your knee knocks against his. The muscles in his thigh flexing - but Logan lets it rest, instead of pulling away.

“You gonna-?” His voice is gruff, a low rasp that makes goosebumps raise across your skin.

“Uh, sure.” Your fingers twist, “Which part did you want to hear about?”

His eyebrows lift. Those dark eyes beneath, almost a hint of amusement in them.

“Right,” The little laugh that bubbles from you is self-conscious, “Well, I don’t really like emotionally unavailable men, they just have a habit of finding me.”

His voice is low, “How would Wade know that?”

“Mm, how would he know about your-?” Your eyes flicker down for the third time, and he shifts.

“You first.”

“Alright.” You huff, but you’re smiling now. Some of your discomfort easing.

Logan is even more handsome than you had thought. You like the way his eyes dart away, only to come back and linger.

It’s starting to make you think that maybe it’s not dislike that has so much of him hidden away. Maybe it’s just been a long time since someone tried to peel any of him back.

Maybe he’s as nervous as you are.

“Well, he’s had to scare an ex or two away.” You shrug, “He only knows because I told him. And the cake, oh-, that was him, too.”

You turn then, to face him. A shoulder brushing the arm he has thrown across the back of the couch, a flicker in his eyes as you get comfortable beside him.

“Well, Wade had gotten ripped in half a couple years ago,” You nose wrinkles, a wave of your hand, “And it all like, has to grow back, right? It’s so creepy.”

Logan grimaces at your explanation, and you wonder if he understands. You think he must - you had thought he was like Wade, in some ways.

Different. Special.

“Well, he uh, finished growing everything in,” You make a sweeping gesture over your lower half, “And the next year to celebrate his dickiversary, he ordered a penis cake from my shop.”

“His… dickiversary.” Logan repeats slowly.

The heat is back in your cheeks, but you nod, “Yeah, because it like, it came back and all. And he paid in cash, I couldn’t say no.”

There’s the smallest twitch of Logan’s lips, and it feels like a victory.

“Right. What flavor was it?”

Your smile widens with relief, “Strawberries and cream. It was so good. I’ll have to make it for you sometime.”

A second before you cringe, adding, “I mean, a normal one. Not…”

He hums then, close to a laugh.

“Sure. You do that.”

You smile, letting your shoulder bump his, “And with that… I think it’s your turn.”

The bit of humor in his expression flattens. A searching look thrown your way, before he inhales a breath.

Setting it free.

“I’m a mutant.”

Logan waits there, as if expecting something. You only nod, thinking of the ones you know. Colossus, Ellie, Yukio, Domino. Wade.

“Wade said you were similar to him. I had assumed-” You encourage, waiting.

“Right,” He seems relieved, some of the tension ebbing, “My powers are regenerative, like his. But unlike him, I have these-”

There’s the jerk of his wrist, and three sharp metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. Your gasp is caught in your throat as you cling to his flannel shirt - the surprise bleeding into worry.

They glint in the light, as his fingers flex.

“Adamantium instead of bones. All of me is like this.”

The claws sheath themselves inside him again. His wounds smoothing over seconds later, as he scrubs his knuckles across his jeans, wiping away blood.

Offering out his hand, after. Letting your grip unwind from his shirt, and press against his skin instead. Feeling the tendons in his hand, his wrist. The skeleton beneath utterly unyielding, a weight to his limb that is so unlike your own.

“Metal…” You trail off, as pieces click into place, “I get it now. So does Wade really think there’s like, an actual bone-?”

Logan huffs again, “Guess so.”

You laugh then. A thought sobering you after, as a fingertip drifts up to the dip between his fingers.

“But doesn’t that hurt?”

It makes you wince to even think about it. Much less how casually they sprung from him, no different than breathing.

He shrugs, and it’s heartbreaking.

“Doesn’t even phase me anymore.”

“And, the two hundred years,” Another facet you put together out loud, “You’re still alive because you keep healing? Will it be that way forever?”

His hand flexes in your grip.

“Not forever. Apparently my powers will run out, at some point.” His eyes meet yours, “The Logan in this world is dead. Wade pulled me from another.”

Your brow furrows - always trying to keep up with the snippets that Wade has told you across the years - stories about time-traveling and mutants and even how he came to be. But this seems too deep. Surely Logan must be joking.

“Another world, huh?” You ask, head tilting - trying your best to roll with it, “Won’t they miss you in yours?”

Only now does his face falter. That sharp mask cracking, as his hand pulls from yours. Resting again on the back edge of the couch - his answer low and rough.

“No. I don’t think so.”

Another jolt racks through your heart. You don’t know him know him yet, but you already can’t believe that could possibly be true. Your fingers fan out, hovering - before it folds into a fist.

“Well then, I’m glad you’re here.”

He doesn’t reply.

The room is darker now, dim with the setting of the sun. Street lights outside pouring in a golden beam that cuts across his face.

His eyes are hazel, you can see that now. A fading rim of green spilling into the brown, beneath the near-permanent furrow of his eyebrows.

Yours caught in the glow of the flamingo string lights that curl out from the kitchen, stapled to the walls.

He breaks the silence, the words coming slowly.

“Let me ask you one more thing.”

“Sure. You know some of my worst secrets already.” You smile, a shoulder lifting.

His hand twitches, where it rests near your shoulder. The tip of a finger ghosting against skin.

Just the slightest brush but it feels like it radiates out, lingering after.

“Why’d you tell Wade you wanted to meet me?”

His voice is still low, rough. But it’s lost that sharp edge. The combination has your stomach tied up in knots, suddenly more nervous that you’ve been the whole night.

Surely he must know?

“Well…” You hedge. It’s your turn to look away, but then there’s the brush of his fingers again.

“Because I did want to meet you.” You admit, “You, you seemed like someone I wanted to get to know. In whatever capacity you’d like.”

“Is that right, Sugar?” Logan husks, and the nickname sounds even sweeter on his tongue, stealing your breath.

All you can do is nod, as his eyes darken.

Voices rise behind you, ripping you out of this little bubble you’ve found yourself in. Nearly forgetting just how many people are here, how many eyes have been glancing your way since you’ve arrived.

“Not strip poker Wade, please.” The rough rumbling plea of Colossus’s voice rings out above the others, “You never wear anything under the suit-”

You didn’t even realize when he had changed, but he had - patches of bare skin on his ass showing through the holes. Your nose scrunches, before you turn back to realize that Logan’s eyes are still on you.

Dropping when your tongue peeks out to wet your lips - your words coming out in a soft hush.

“You want to get out of here?”

You want him. You can only hope that he might just want you, too.

The corner of his lip twitches.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

It’s strange to have someone like Logan in your space. You can remember the last time you’ve wanted someone here.

His fingers still entwined with yours, from where you had reached back for him. Leading him through the dim corners of the room.

Thinking you had made it, only for the rousing cheers to rise when you had cracked the door open to slip through.

His grip tightening when you made to tug your hand free, in an urge to press it against burning cheeks. Letting you fumble with one hand, to open the lock next door.

It’s quieter here. A low echo of the music next door, as the darkness wraps around you again.

Here, his fingers move, but it’s only to skim up your wrist. To tug you between him and the front door, until your back presses against it.

His nose brushes yours as he steps into your space, your lips already parting. Holding himself there for a moment, inhaling the scent of you as his arm braces above your head.

Leaving you to be the one that closes the gap. The tilt of your head and the press of your lips against his.

A rough hum when your arms wrap around his neck, fingers buried in his hair. His hand gripping at your waist, pulling your hips against his.

Tugging and pushing. A messy path from the front door through the small living room - a mirror-image of the apartment next door.

Through to the bedroom, wandering hands and the brush of his tongue against yours as he deepens the needy kiss. Until his knees are hitting the edge of your bed, and he’s letting you nudge him back onto the mattress.

He brings you with him - your hips cradling his as you settle yourself astride him. Hands flatten against his chest as you rock down - drawing a rough, mumbled “fuck”.

Grinding yourself down where he’s hard, the curve of his cock straining against his jeans. Letting your hands follow, as his own cup your ass. Squeezing, before slipping to press the heel of his hand against the seam at your clit.

You moan into his mouth, as your fingers curl around him. Eyes blown wide when you pull back, scooting your hips down.

It’s here that he comes back to himself.

Going tense as you fit yourself between his thighs, fingers at this belt as the other still cups him.

“You shouldn’t want this.” He rasps, those eyes glinting in the dark, “A man like me. You know that, right?”

Propping himself up on an elbow, so he can see your expression. So you can see the way his jaw grits, nostrils flaring.

It’s a warning, wrapped up in silk. A last ditch effort to scare you away - knowing that once he has you, he won’t want to stop.

Your fingers slow - his zipper half-undone, baring skin and a dark shadow of hair beneath.

The other pulling away, “You want me to stop?”

He catches your wrist, jerking your hand back. His hips bucking into your palm, grinding himself into your touch.

“The last thing I want to fucking do is stop.” It’s almost a growl, “But on my Earth, I-”

You sigh then, impatient, “Logan, this Earth isn’t all that great either. I lost five years of my life to the blip.”

He frowns, not understanding - but your head shakes as you continue, “I’m tired of being too scared to take chances. I’ve been trying to live each day to the fullest, and I’d like to end this one with you.”

And out of everyone - Logan knows a little something about second chances.

“Yeah,” He manages - the grip of his fist leaves you, “Yeah, okay.”

"Thank you,” You answer primly, just as you finish yanking the zipper down.

His hand beats you in the race to ease himself out, fingers curling around the base. You can’t help it - you inhale a breath at the sight of him.

Heavy, with the way the flushed tip bobs in his grip. Thick enough that you’re already wondering if you’re going to be able to take him.

The huff he makes turns into a groan as you start small - engulfing the leaking head with your lips. The first inch turns into another as his hips lift, feeding his cock into your waiting mouth.

Only when he’s halfway inside you, bumping against your throat, does his hand drop. Letting you replace it with your own - squeezing, as drool slicks up his shaft. Your head bobbing in time with the twist of your fist.

That brief hesitance is quickly forgotten. Fingers brush at your cheek, curling around the base of your head as he guides you.

Leaving you eager for more. Another hissed groan when your mouth leaves him, your hand loosening as you strip your clothes away.

“Oh fuck yes,” He coaxes, when he realizes what you’re doing, “Let me see you, baby.”

Your shirt and pants left to pool on the floor. A second of boldness as you unclasp your bra next, leaving you in your panties as you focus on his cock again.

A bitten-back moan when your tongue slips across his swollen shaft - an low throb between your thighs as you rub them together, clenching around nothing. Resisting the urge to slip your hand beneath the hem to ease the ache.

Instead, your keep your hands on him. Goosebumps raising as your nails scratch against the deep v of muscle at his hips. The others working him into your mouth, as he slowly comes more undone.

His hips flex with each bob of your head, lips parted as he pants. The words a rough mumble, becoming almost desperate.

“That’s it sweetheart.”

Another moan when you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, “Oh fuck, gonna fill that pretty mouth.”

His hand cups your jaw, holding you steady as he bucks into your mouth. Those dark eyes fixed on you in wonder, all that pretty skin bared for him to touch, to taste. He’s mesmerizing like this - the weight of gaze. Jaw slack with pleasure, eyes aflame.

You did this to him.

It sends something warm flooding through you, as his eyelashes flutter. The tipping back of his head, muscles ticking in his cheek as his teeth ground down.

A sound still slips between them, as he floods your mouth with the next flex of his hips. Pulsing between your lips as you swallow him down, a choked sound ripping from his chest when you cup his sack to gently squeeze out every last drop.

Logan melts into the mattress after, an arm thrown over his eyes as he catches his breath. His gaze focusing on you when he feels you squirm - dark, and hungry.

A lithe stretch of muscles as he moves - legs easing from beneath you.

“Hands and knees,” He commands, head tipping towards the bed next to him, as he rolls off. Kicking off his jeans as you listen, watching over a shoulder as the flannel and white tank underneath joins your clothes on the floor.

Your eyes widen at how toned he is - muscles rippling, the bed dipping as he fits himself behind you.

His broad hand at the small of your back, pushing your torso down against the mattress. A pleased hum then, fingers trailing just along the elastic edge of your underwear.

“Could smell how much she needed this.” The tips of two press against the damp fabric between your thighs, making you gasp, “Even next door. You want it that bad?”

It should be embarrassing that he could tell how much you desired him, but at the moment all you can think about is him touching you more.

“Yes,” You agree, “Please, Logan.”

“So fuckin’ polite,” The fingers withdraw; but only so his nose can replace them. A ragged inhale, just before his tongue drags against your clothed slit.

A groan against your skin as you cry out, before a finger hooks around the fabric, baring you for him to taste.

The heat of his tongue flattens against you - lapping at where you drip with need, a rough rumble in his chest.

“Sweet, too.” Another flick of his tongue, “Your name. ‘s fitting.”

You can’t manage words. Only his name, muffled against the sheets as your fists twist in them. Back arched as you resist the urge to grind yourself against his tongue, as it flicks against your clit.

It’s messy, how he eats you. You don’t think you’ve even had someone take you like this. Hungry, desperate even, as he devours you. The rumble of a groan against your cunt as his tongue delves inside you, stretching you open. Letting your slick smear into his beard, with how close he presses his mouth.

That need inside you thrumming. Winding tighter as he yanks your panties down your thighs. His palm flattening against your ass, holding you open as he licks you from clit to hole, then higher. Humming as you squeak, when his tongue flattens against your tight rim.

A thick finger nudging against you then, as his tongue dips back to your clit. There’s no resistance as it slips deeper, into slick walls that clamp down around him. It’s what you needed - that little bit more.

Unable to help rocking into the crook of his finger now. Whining when a second joins it, spearing deep and curling. Dragging against your walls, loud and wet and filthy with each plunge.

Your whimpers only grow louder. Needier, as his lips wrap around your clit. Fingers pounding deep, stretching you out. Leaving you babbling, your words slipping together.

“Don’t fucking stop.” Tears prick at your eyes, each breath a rattling gasp, “Oh my god you’re gonna make me come-”

He has you gushing, with the next flick of his tongue. A pleased groan as he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, hearing the wail that is muffled into your pillows. That sharp pace slowing, his thumb replacing his tongue to draw your orgasm out until your legs are shaking.

His fingers sticky when they pull from you, only to slip between his lips - tongue curling around his knuckles, sucking them clean.

It leaves you floating above yourself. You can’t remember ever coming this hard, even by yourself. Only the tintest thread of disappointment as you drift, and it’s only that you won’t get the pleasure of his cock filling you tonight.

You would’ve liked to see what he can do with the rest of him.

Perhaps you can convince him to stay until morning.

But he moves behind you, instead. His knee pressing against yours, spreading your legs further. The rhythmic shuffle of skin against skin, as his hand slips from between his lips to fist around his cock.

“Tell me I can fuck you.” It’s not a plea, not with the harsh rasp of his voice. But it’s as close as you’ve heard, as he swipes the tip against your leaking pussy.

Smearing your slick on him, teasing at your waiting hole.

You don’t know how he’s hard again, but at the moment you really don’t care. Not sure if you’ve ever felt a need like this, your back arching further as you present yourself to him.

A twist of your neck, so your eyes can meet his.

“Fuck me, Logan.”

He groans, broad hands squeezing at your ass. Slipping up to sink his fingers into the flesh at your hips. Holding you steady as he lines himself up.

Your breath held, when you feel his cock start to breach you - muscles stringing tight.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He grits out, though not unkindly, “You can take it.”

Trying to hold himself back from filling you with a single thrust, with the way you’re already gripping him.

Easing himself into your heat. Two inches forward and then one back, and with each one you think you’ll feel the press of his thighs against yours. A low whine as your cunt makes room for him, that sharp stretch as it feels like he’s reaching into your belly.

Feeling full when he finally is flush, the weight of his sack kissing against your clit. His shoulders following the curve of your back, as a hand slips up to plant next to your head.

“Feels fucking incredible,” It’s mumbled against your skin, almost as if it hadn’t meant to say it.

“Mm,” You grin, your face tipping up to his, “Should’ve met you weeks ago.”

He smirks, a low sound in his throat as his mouth presses to yours. Starting a slow rhythm that drags his cock against your walls. Slipping until he’s halfway out, only to sheath himself again. Pushing the air from your lungs as he flattens himself, knees digging into the bed as your thigh spread wider - forcing him deeper.

It’s almost too much.

You hand shoots out, reaching. Wrapping around his wrist, nails biting against his skin.

It feels like he’s surrounding you. Each thrust a heavy weight that presses you into the bed. Splitting you open, until all you can do is squirm beneath him.

That pressure in your belly building again, as his hips pound. His breath, hot and panting in your ear as he chases his own end.

“Fuck, Logan.” You sob, “Harder-”

His tendons flex under your grip. Knuckles pressing flat against the sheets as he makes a rough sound in his throat.

Those claws unsheathing with his next thrust. Punching down into your mattress. Anchoring as he loses himself to the feel of you beneath him.

How tight and wet and warm you are, your arousal still sweet on his tongue. Fighting the urge to sink his teeth into your throat, as everything tightens up inside him.

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning, rasped out.

“Come in me,” You whine, “Wanna feel you.”

He does growl then, at the thought of filling you to the brim, until he's leaking out of your pretty little pussy. Hips snapping faster, pinning you to the bed as he ruts into you. Each squeak of the bed paired with the sharp rip of fabric as his claws dig in.

Feeling how your body strings tight beneath him, how you clench down in anticipation. Wanting to feel you once more, before he gives in to his own desires.

“Come on, baby,” It’s hushed, murmured against your skin, “Fuckin’ give it to me-”

The sharp point of a canine scraping against your skin, his groan rough and throaty in your ear.

Your fingers work down to wedge themselves between your thighs. The tips brushing where you’re speared open, before circling your clit like his tongue had.

He has you mindless. Fucked out - that soft glow from your earlier orgasm shining bright as he tips you towards a second.

Burning at that tightly wound thread inside you, until the ends fray, and then snap.

It has you coming with his next thrust. A wail ripped from you as he buries himself deep, feeling the way your pussy clenches down around him.

Fingers still swirling, drawing out the deep pulses that fan out from your core as your toes curl, vision going hazy.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He rasps, those sharp thrust slowing to a sloppy grind, “Make a fucking mess for me, there you go-”

Panting, as he groans. Another roll of his hips before he’s coming with you - teeth bruising skin as they sink into your shoulder. The sound he makes is broken as he spills into you, muscles clenching with each pulse that paints your walls.

Marking you thoroughly with teeth and come, the saw of his hips slowing until you both finally go still. A breath finally caught.

Blissed out, when he rolls you both to the side. His thighs still mapping yours, cock still notched deep. A thick arm thrown across your waist, his breath ragged in your ear as he catches his breath.

Your fingers drift, as you bask in your afterglow. Dipping into the rips in your mattress, knuckle deep.

There’s a grunt as you wiggle, the words low in your ear, “I’ll get you another, sweetheart. Just lost control for a moment.”

The thought doesn’t bother you as much as you’d think. In fact, you wouldn’t mind if happened again.

Only as your imagination runs wild, do you hear the muffled moan from the brick wall behind you.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

Dramatic and drawn out, paired with faint rhythmic noise.

A beat - before you hear mumbled protesting. The voice of someone talking with their mouth full, “No. Back the fuck off Peter, I’m not going to share.”

Eating. The fucker was eating his end of the bargain, ear pressed to the wall.

The next louder, “Alright, pay up everyone, Operation ‘Get Sugar Some Sugar’ was a success!”

You grimace, eyes rolling. Logan grunts behind you, the words mumbled out sleepily.

“Wish I could sew that goddamn mouth shut.”

There’s a faint “they already tried that!” before Logan’s fist bangs on the wall, shutting him up.

But you can’t help the smile. Your fingers fitting between the ones that rest just below your breasts, squeezing.

“He’s not so bad,” You admit, “Wade, I mean.”

Logan groans, “Don’t say his name while I’m fucking you.”

“You’re-” You start - but then you can feel him.

Still hard - as his hips cant slowly against yours. Your joined hands slip up to cup a breast - as his lips press against your neck, stubble scraping you skin.

“Again?” You breathe, disbelieving that he’d be up for a third time - your hips rocking back to meet his. The sound lewd with how he drips from you - but it only has him grinding himself deeper, “You sure you’re two hundred?”

“Regenerative powers, sweetheart.” Logan husks, the flash of teeth with a knowing smirk.

“Can’t say it doesn’t come with perks.”

I used to have the biggest fucking crush on wolverine, haha - so fun to watch a new movie with him!! 👀💕 thank you so much for reading! And please me know if you'd like to read any more for him! (like more one-shots,etc!)

#phew this got away from me - i can't remember the last time I wrote this much in 2 days #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut #logan howlett #james logan howlett x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x f!reader

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robinsgrl · 5 months ago

Text

rafe with a clingy and weird girl.

weird girl masterlist

main masterlist

rafe wasn’t always so buff. when you two first started dating he was sorta lanky. you would pinch his thin arms and tease him. when he starts buffing out? holy shit you can’t get enough of him.

he’s come home from the gym and the first thing you do is shove your face into his chest, inhaling him as you rub your face against his pecs. he wraps his arm around your head, practically suffocating you in him. “mell goo.” you mumble into his chest. your hand slowly trails up and you squeeze his pec. like it’s a boob. he hisses and smacks your hand away, shoving you playfully.

you pout, “i wanna squeeze.”

he snickers out a laugh, smacking your hand away from him again. “leave me alone.”

this brightens you up. “are you ticklish?” your tone is teasing, fingers twiddling at him.

he lets out a full bodied laugh at this, pushing your hands away again. “get off, weirdo.”

“just let me honk your tit and i’ll stop”

“i don’t have tits.”

“dude, they’re staring right at me”

“im not your dude”

“okay my beautiful dude let me honk it”

“im feeling very sexualized”

another time when you guys are getting ready for bed. he’s brushing his teeth and you’re applying under eye cream. his arms look absolutely delicious, flexing soflty as he keeps brushing. you can’t control yourself.

you chomp down on his bicep. he stares at you completely bewildered. “did you bithe me?” mouth full of toothpaste

“you looked yummy” you say it lamely. as if it’s no big deal

“you’re like a dog”

“only like? Let’s solidify that” you chomp the air

he laughs, playfully shoving your face away from him.“get away from me”

“come on, it’s just cute aggression. I need to get it out”

“cute aggression? you think im cute??”

you shrug again, nodding. “i’ll show you cute baby,” he scoops you up trodding you over to your shared bed as you laugh happily. “it’s my turn to honk and bite you”

#rafe cameron thoughts #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron blurb #obx blurb #outer banks blurb #idky this came to me #but it did #weird girl!reader

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magicaloneandmystery · 22 days ago

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crush

pairing: tfatws!Bucky x fem!reader

summary: Bucky was just trying to live as normally as he could given his history. he never thought a teenage-like crush would be part of that normalcy.

tags: idiots in love, sorta friends to lovers, fluff, slightly ooc Bucky? this is not proofread

masterlist

he was in deep shit, he concluded. that, or he was going insane. out of his mind. schizophrenic, even.

Bucky was on his bike, reflecting back on his evening with you. specifically, the way his heart had raced when the two of you were lounging with you just a little closer than friends were supposed to. or maybe, he was reading too much into it? had you meant to sit that close?

I mean, it wasn't even that close, actually... he thought.

that wasn't the concerning part, though. the concerning part was that he wanted you to sit closer.

in fact, much closer.

the characters in the movie they had been watching, in a particular scene one of them was sitting on the lap of the other, and he remembered thinking, "wish that was y/n on me."

he had immediately choked on air at realising the insanity of that thought.

so, Bucky's only two conclusions were:

a) he was undergoing a psychotic episode.

b) he was developing a crush on you.

option b was, frankly, just as insane as option a.

because Bucky was over a century old, for fuck's sake. how ludicrous would it be if he starts developin crushes like he was in high school?

and, lastly, he cannot ruin the friendship he has with you. nope. that was not allowed.

you were the light in his dark life, the thread that holds him to normalcy of adjusting to 21st century life, the sun to his gloomy sky-

yeah, he was in deep shit.

so, naturally, he was left with no other option than to knock on Sam"s door to ask for some advice. he wasn't about to fuck this up and he had no idea how these things worked anymore. the last time he went out with a woman was 80 years ago.

that was another horrible, horrible idea, Bucky realised, when Sam started wheezing and laughing and sputtering out his water at the words, "I think I have a crush on y/n."

"Bucky Barnes... developing a crush?" Sam had raised his eyebrows, before he descended into his laughing fit.

"are you done?" Bucky sighed after a while. "I came here for real advice, you know."

"sorry, sorry," Sam wiped some tears from his eyes. "what do you want my advice on? I think I can contact my nephew for some advice on crushes with girls..."

"if you're gonna be an ass about this I'm just gonna leave," Bucky grumbled.

"okay okay," Sam raised his hands. "I'll behave. for now."

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and looked back at Sam. "how do I... tell her? uh. should I tell her?"

"you think she might like you back?"

Bucky told him about last night, the way you curled on the couch next to him, your fingers almost touching his, both of your hands splayed between you two. he told Sam about the shy smile you held around him whenever he was flirting with you - as a friend, of course - or the way she had almost cancelled a date because Bucky said he was feeling bored and wanted to know if she was free.

"she what?" Sam asked at the last one.

"yeah, I called her up one day when I had nothing to do and thought we could hang out. she was ready to blow off this guy she was seeing to hang out with me until I told her that I would find something to do, she needs to go out." Bucky must say, the warmth in his chest felt quite pleasant when he said those words out.

"and?" Sam pressed. "is she seeing anyone, then?" presently?"

"not that I'm aware of."

"we have good intel to work on," Sam nodded. "I have a plan."

✿✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠

Bucky was acting... weird.

good weird.

incredible weird.

weird in a way that made your heart flutter and the butterflies in your stomach flap around wildly.

he has been flirting a lot with you recently. small remarks about your beauty, hair, voice coupled with that charming smile? yeah, you didn't stand a chance.

you didn't understand how to interpret his behaviour. was he just opening up to you more, letting his charming side out? or was he flirting to...

you didn't let yourself complete the sentence. you couldn't let yourself hope that your feelings were reciprocated. that sort of hope could ruin your friendship with him.

all of those thoughts went out the window when Bucky put his arm on the couch behind you, his fingers almost - but not really - touching your shoulders. you could feel the heat of his body, smell his cologne even better. it was becoming hard to focus on the weekly movie you had picked out, a classic to help Bucky catch up to the world slowly.

after a while, your breathing evened out and you could move, so you opted to pretend and move just an inch closer. test out the waters, and all that.

it was a really slow night, but by the time the climax was nearing, you were pressed into his side, his hands resting on your shoulders and your thighs pressed to each other.

something shifted that night.

the two of you became bolder with your physical affection.

longer hugs, more cuddles on the couch, casual hand holding while walking through crowds or crossing streets.

that went on for about two weeks before your friends had encouraged you to do something more, take a risk. they swore they were 100% sure he liked you back. said it would be a 'calculated risk' bound to end in success. so you obliged them.

because maybe, just maybe, you believed Bucky really did like you back, too.

"would you want to go out tonight?" you asked him. "I was thinking how we've been hanging out too much at the apartment lately. let's go out! have some fun. what do you say?"

"yeah, sure. where do you want to go, doll?" Bucky leaned back, the phone pressed to his ears while he shot a confused look at Sam, who raised his eyebrows in return.

"have you been to the cafe near my place, the one with the best cheesecake ever?"

✿✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠✿⁠

so here you were.

on Bucky's motorcycle, your arms wrapped around his waist, while he took you to all the cafes that you swore he needed to try.

you were wearing a simple, long dress that had Bucky staring at your frame for a while longer than usual, while he was wearing a dark leather jacket and faded jeans, looking handsome as ever.

after a night of cafe hopping and good food, the two of you were returning home.

"I had a good time," you hummed when he stopped his bike in front of your apartment.

"me too," he replied, kicking out the stand and parking his bike while he walked you to your door.

"you know," you said, nerves overtaking you, your hands wringing together. "I had a much better time with you than with any of my dates in the last six months."

"yeah?" Bucky breathed out, stepping closer to you. he took a deep inhale before saying, "maybe you shouldn't go on any other dates."

your mind went in an overdrive at his words. did he just-?

"maybe we should have more of these nights," he continued, leaning his face closer to yours to catch your eye. "I know I would love that."

you stared in his eyes, their waves shining brightly in the moonlight. "I- I would love that too." you said.

"yeah?" he cupped your cheek with one hand, his other one resting on your waist. "can I kiss you, doll?"

"please."

and that's how you shared your first kiss with Bucky Barnes. your hands on his shoulders, his holding your face gently. it started out as a hesitant brush of the lips, until you pressed closer, wanting more. it was slow, a lazy tango of your lips as you two explored each other with racing hearts.

you separated for a quick breath before diving back in, another kiss that felt more passionate, holding each other closer, his hands now around your back, pulling you closer to him, yours around his neck, playing with his soft hair. that one left you breathless in a whole different way than just lack of oxygen.

after a quick and final peck, he stepped back a little. your head was swimming with thoughts of Bucky and all you could do was bring your hands back to his shoulders, keeping him close.

an awkward tension descended upon the pair, neither knowing what to say.

"so are we... dating?" you immediately panicked, wondering if this was the right question to ask right after you kissed a guy.

but it isn't any guy. it's Bucky, your heart whispered.

"I guess so," he chuckled. "would you like... that?"

"I would love that." a grin spread across the two of you.

he nodded. "I should go," he said, though he tightened his hold on you for a second. "a good night kiss?"

"yes please," you didn't wait, kissing him once more.

"have a good night, doll," he spoke afterwards, lips just inches apart.

"you too, Bucky," you said, staring at his lips then eyes.

"I'll call you tomorrow?" he asked, not knowing what dating today looked like. he'll have to ask Sam about that.

"okay," you said.

"bye," he said.

"you know you actually have to move away from me and to your bike to leave?" you teased.

"what if I don't want to leave?" he retorted with a roll of his eyes.

you laughed, slapping his shoulder lightly. "go, Bucky. we'll talk tomorrow?"

"yes." he said, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheeks one last time before he walked towards his bike.

you entered your apartment, waving to him as he sat on his bike, looking at you. he waved back with a grin.

after he rode away, you closed and locked the door, leaning against it as you touched your lips and cheeks, all the places his lips had touched you. your heart was racing wildly, the butterflies in your stomach refusing to slow down, the memories of the night replaying in your head. Bucky Barnes might be the death of you, you thought.

you were in deep shit, you concluded.

this was longer than I usually write but thank you so much for reading! likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3

#sr writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky fluff #marvel #marvel fsnficition #marvel imagine

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traumaone · 30 days ago

Text

Keys

pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Senior Resident!Reader

wordcount: 1.2k

warnings: age gap (late 20s and late 40s), sorta established relationship

synopsis: Robby misses you, but lucky for him, you just so happened to leave your keys on his desk after your shift last night (or, you come by to pick up your keys and Robby feels you up in the ambulance bay)

masterlist

!! not proofread so apologies for any mistakes !!

Are my keys on your desk?

It’s the first Robby actually hears from you all day.

You responded with nothing more than a thumbs up to his message this morning, sending a clear message that you did not plan to be very reachable today.

Robby knows exactly where your keys are. They’d been the first thing he’d noticed this morning, your clunky collection of keychains somehow strewn across his keyboard. He snaps a photo of them before texting you back.

*image attached* These keys?

Your response is immediate.

Yes!!! Are we horrendously crowded today or can I come grab them from you??

Robby ignores the way his chest clenches at the thought of seeing you, even if it’s just so you can get your keys.

Never too crowded for you

You thumbs down his message.

Kiss ass See you soon :p

Robby smiles at his phone, the kind of smile only you seem to be able to pull from him, the kind that makes his cheeks ache. He tucks your keys into his pocket for safe measure, not just to keep them safe but to guarantee you can’t slip in and grab them when he’s not there to see you.

“What’s got you so smiley?”

Dana leans over the edge of his desk, not so subtly trying to peer at the screen of his phone. Robby is quick to lock his screen, dropping his phone back into the pocket of his cargos.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

Not subtle at all.

“Lemme guess…” Dana gives him a knowing smile, tapping her finger on her chin in mock concentration. “Does it have something to do with a certain senior resident who is absent from our ED today?”

Bingo, but Robby keeps his features schooled, the epitome of professionalism. “Don’t you have work to be doing, or something?”

“Ooh, so touchy.” Dana laughs. “But since you asked, Myrna was looking for you.”

Robby groans, a little dramatic, but he could’ve gone at least another hour without hearing the words fruit cake. He clings to the knowledge that you’ll be walking through the doors of the ED within the next hour.

He’s in the middle of charting when Lupe buzzes you in, glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose as he squints at the screen.

“You’re gonna get a headache if you keep doing that, old man.” Despite the tease, there's nothing but fondness in your tone.

Robby looks up, stunned by the sight of you looking so not doctor-like, so domestic.

Freshly washed hair pulled back, rogue strands falling out to frame your gorgeous face in a way that drives him absolutely crazy. A baggy hoodie hangs from your shoulders, an embroidered patch with the name of your school that’s fraying around the edges plastered on your chest. And Jesus Christ your shorts. He’d never seen you in them for obvious reasons, cut well above the mid-line of your thigh, showcasing a pair of legs so fantastic Robby’s sure he’ll be dreaming about them for weeks.

“Y’know the glasses are there to help you see, right?” You lean against the edge of the counter, propping your chin up on your elbow as you gaze at him with a smile that can only be described as smitten. “Not just to sit there and make you look pretty while you frown over them.”

“You’re really going to poke fun at the guy who’s holding on to your keys right now?” Robby asks, leaning forward so the two of you are only inches apart. “I might just hold onto them, make you sit around and wait till my shift’s over to get them back.”

You catch onto his ploy instantly. “You like me so much you can’t even spend one shift without me? I’m flattered, Robby.”

“You should be.” Abbott cuts in, tapping into the computer next to you to check a chart. “He mopes around like a kicked puppy when you’re not here.”

“A kicked puppy, huh?” You ask, turning to look at Robby with a glint in your eye that’s entirely too smug.

Robby shakes his head. “If you guys ever wondered why you’re not scheduled on the same shifts anymore, this is why.”

Abbott lets out a chuckle. “Whatever you say, fruitcake.”

He’s gone before Robby can get another word in.

“But on a serious note,” Robby focuses his attention back onto you. “Your shift been okay so far?”

He’s still not used to this, used to having someone who cares so much to hear what he has to say, what he’s feeling. Sure, Dana and Abbott had always offered him a shoulder, but with you it felt different, felt like you genuinely wanted to know every time, not like you were asking because you thought you should.

“It’s been good.” He answers, and the words feel honest for the first time in a long time. “As good as it can be with Myrna here, anyway.”

That pulls a laugh from you. “I ran into her in chairs, she told me my ‘ass looks tight in those shorts, cupcake’.”

From what he’s seen, Robby’s inclined to agree with her. “Let me walk you out, I’ll give you your keys outside.” He needs you to himself for a moment.

Your brows pinch for a second but you nod.

He follows you through the maze of desks and gurneys, lingering a few steps behind for a moment to get a proper look at you in those shorts. Yeah, Myrna was right.

By some stroke of luck the ambulance bay is currently unoccupied, and Robby takes full advantage of the privacy, pulling you against his chest with one swift tug. You laugh at him with a shake of your head, but your arms still wind around his neck. His hands find their home in the dip of your waist, savouring the heat that seeps through the fabric of your sweater.

“You sure you just brought me out here to give me my keys?” There’s a teasing tone in your voice, but Robby can see the way your eyes keep catching on his lips.

“Do you want me to just give you your keys?” He asks, leaning forward just enough for your noses to brush.

“... No.”

Robby feels you lift up onto your toes to press a kiss against his lips. It’s not chaste or quick, the type of kiss he should be having at work. No, there's an urgency in the way your lips move against his, the way your hips press against his.

He takes advantage of your eagerness and lets one of his hands fall from your waist, his fingers finding purchase in the skin of your thigh right where your shorts end. You let out a noise of surprise that only spurs him further, his tongue slipping into your mouth for a brief second before you’re forced to pull back.

“I can hear a siren…” You whisper against his lips, your chest slightly heaving. “Which means I should probably get out of here.”

Robby nods, pressing one more kiss against your lips before fishing your keys out of his pocket. “Wait for me at my apartment tonight?”

You grab your keys from his hand. “Definitely.”

With one last kiss, Robby watches as you wander back out into the streets of Pittsburgh, a pep in your step that you didn’t have a few moments ago. He bites back a smile, slipping back into the ER with a smile on his face right as an ambulance pulls into the bay.

#michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch #dr robby #dr robinavitch #the pitt x reader

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ronearoundblindly · 9 months ago

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Big Pharma

Steve Rogers x doctor!Reader

Written for @stargazingfangirl18's Birthday Bonenanza--HAPPY BDAY, SIRI!--using the scenario prompt ~quick, frantic, secret sex in an almost public place + babe's hand over your mouth to keep you quiet~ and the dialogue prompt "goddamnit, will you just f***ing let me do this for you?" with free use kink for good measure. Why not?

Summary: The extreme drug cocktail you devise to save Steve Rogers has one major side effect.

Warnings for smut 🥴, sorta dub-con because it's like sex pollen, F E E L S, Steve being the most chivalrous gentleman while railing you (do it for your country, babes 🫡), completely unintentional dirty talk from Steve but 😮‍💨 we'll allow it, Tony being Tony, and--as always-- terrible puns. (There are no mentions of any medical instruments, except an IV, which is not used.) MINORS DNI. This is a mature gift work; see my Light Masterlist for all-age fanfic that is fine for minors. WC 2k

The constant photoflash burns into your retinas obnoxiously, and you’re not even the subject of the paparazzi.

Captain America is alive—all thanks to you—though he could easily have been six-feet under by now. The mysterious infection was so bad and spread so far, the drug regimen you administered constitutes one of the Avengers’ biggest Hail Marys to date, but it’s working. That’s all that matters…to the world. Behind the scenes is a different story.

As Captain Rogers turns to the next hand he must shake, his sharp blue eyes find you, twinged with a familiar fear.

This stupid event scheduled by Stark to boost morale, to show Cap is just fine and back in fighting form, has gone on too long. It’s happening again.

You worried Rogers might not make it when suddenly Stark showed up hours earlier than the initial, planned press conference—because, of course, there’s meet-and-greets, quick interviews, and these damn handshakes. He’s only gone so long between treatments for the last week.

You nod at Cap and make your way in the small crowd back to Stark. You tell him you’ll need a room, somewhere private to put in the IV, and at least thirty minutes to administer the huge dose. Rogers’s super-metabolism makes it necessary to use approximately forty times the prescription average for antibiotics and steroids. In theory, the side effects are well worth his speedy recovery.

Well, the only side effect.

Stark looks horrendously annoyed. “Can’t you just shoot him up with it and be done?” He doesn’t need your lecture repeated though. “Fine, there’s a greenroom thing over there, but you’ve got fifteen minutes at most, you hear me?”

“Twenty-five, Mr. Stark. He’s not a water balloon.”

“Twenty or he can wheel the damn thing around with him.”

You gulp in nervousness, but the problem isn’t Stark’s attitude. Rogers isn’t going to like rushing this. He feels shame enough already.

“I’ll make it work,” you assure the stubborn playboy. If he only knew…

“Good. A team player. We value that here.”

You have no fucking idea how ironic that is, you scream internally, but you follow him to a door off a back hallway, a room that shares a wall with the space all those people are gathered, and thank Stark.

“Oh good, he’s heard the dog-whistle of treat time,” Tony quips, and you swivel to see Cap trailing behind you.

He’s already made his excuses to step away, too. It must be bad.

You’re sure to pull out your props of a saline drip and tubing from your bag while Tony can still see, but you drop the act the instant the door clicks shut.

Cap take one step forward to flip the lock, immediately unzipping the fly of his iconic leather suit.

See, the only side effect of the drugs is Rogers gets hard, often, and can’t find relief from his efforts alone. Through trial-and-error, the clear solution has been help—discretely—from the only medical professional allowed around him until his condition improved.

Of course, he fought it. Of course, you wanted to preserve his dignity. Of course, you tried to keep it as perfunctory, methodical, and uninspired as possible, but the thing is, that didn’t last.

The more distant and cold the experience, the faster he became desperate and wanting again, and now you have just twenty minutes to make sure Captain America can hold out for hours.

Steve, you remind yourself. He prefers you not use respectful address when engaging is what he deems entirely disrespectful behavior.

You need to get him off in essentially no time at all, so you’ve decided: go big or go home.

Bag tossed to the floor, you unbutton your pants and shimmy out of everything from shoes to panties, letting the longer tail of your dress shirt barely cover your modesty.

Steve looks dumbfounded. It’s bad enough he has to run to you for a handy every few hours, but this?

“Doc, no,” he breaths.

“I understand the procedure,” you say calmly, echoing his harrowing consent from that first night he needed you.

Steve’s brow furrows in strain. “We shouldn’t…”

‘We’ are way past ‘shouldn’t,’ buddy.

“Can’t ask you to…“ but he also knows time’s a wasting.

He’s already fisting himself, struggling to be the gentleman he never stopped being, which at the moment is a huge problem because both of you need to get through the day—you without losing your job and him without popping a boner on national television.

It’s your job to break him and break him right now.

“Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?”

There’s a flat smack on the door.

“Do whatever the lady wants and then get back out here,” Tony yells from the other side. “Put us all out of our misery,” he ends with a grumble.

That is by far the most helpful thing Stark has said in the last week, so you mouth “see” and begin undoing your blouse from the bottom, giving Steve his first peek of you. His hand speeds along his length, adam’s apple bobbing in concentration.

“Here, I’ll make it easy for you,” you whisper. You walk to the far corner of the room, put your hands up, shirt rising over your bare ass, and face the wall. Your voice is soothing, pleading even. “Just take what you need.”

In some ways, you feel responsible for his predicament. You are the prescribing doctor, he isn’t in a relationship where a partner could assist, and he insists no one else know. He doesn’t deserve to be poked and prodded more than necessary, and you can’t give him any other meds in combination. None of it is his fault same as none of it is yours. You only intended to heal him.

Truthfully though, none of this is just about his release anymore, much as you’d like to dismiss your feelings.

You can’t deny, however, that each time the air gets a little thicker with tension, the body language a little more intimate. Steve has kept his eyes open, clutched your free hand to his chest, rolled his hips open, and thrust up into your fist. The greater the satisfaction of his climax, the longer he retains control.

“When this is over…I swear,” he grits out, getting closer word by word until his deep voice is right by your ear.

He tugs your shirt up to dip his fingers between your legs. “Been smelling you for two days. Can’t do anything until—” Steve growls, feeling how slick you’ve become in anticipation “—you’re ready for me.”

His concern washes away when two fingers easily breech you to the knuckle and are immediately replaced by the blunt head of his cock dragging between your folds.

You didn’t expect him to give in so fast. You didn’t expect him to have known this aroused you. The idea he might want to continue, to go further, races down your spine, following the opposite path of Steve leaning into you. His forehead presses your occipital as yours presses the wall. The heat of him makes you arch in luxurious proximity.

Steve fucking forward to enter you in one smooth motion makes you forget to be quiet, but before the whole shout of ecstasy escapes, his hand covers your mouth.

“Shhh, Doc,” he breathes at the base of your neck. “Be good for me.”

That only gets you moaning into the seam of his gloves.

His hips start a staccato rhythm, a second of loud friction for each second of silent, fulfilling pressure.

Steve slips his still wet fingers under your shirt and beneath the cup of your bra to swirl a smooth pattern over your nipple. Instead of voicing your approval, you shove yourself back into him faster.

You notice the muffled chatting of Tony and someone else outside while your eyes roll. The slap of your skin against the Cap suit becomes the loudest thing in the room, but that’s not what Steve minds.

He pulls out and spins you around, pausing to see the cream you’ve created at the base of him drip to the carpet below.

Deep sea eyes meet yours through golden lashes.

“If I can’t hear you…” Steve hoists you up to his waist, threading one arm through the bend in your knee, spreading you wide and diving in swiftly.

Your body curls forward automatically to grasp at him and smother yourself in the leather of his shoulder pad. This pace is much faster, purposeful, utterly unravelling you. The position delivers more range of motion, all of the buildup and less of the noise, with the added benefit of his tool belt nudging your clit repeatedly.

Tony pounds on the door. “‘Bout done in there, guys? Let’s go.” How apt, the unknowing jester.

Steve pants, open-mouthed, against your temple.

You smile but can’t stop your own ruin.

A groan gets buried in your disheveled hair. “Are you…close?” His hips snap brutally. “Are you—“ he sounds wrecked “—you gonna…come on my—uungh.”

You tip over the edge, clutching him tight and fluttering for him in every way. The detonation of your orgasm burns red behind your eyelids like camera flashes, a dirty snapshot for you alone.

“Mercy,” Steve begs, gripping your ass to rut into you, desperate to join. His neck tenses as he spills inside you, pulse throbbing in time with his cock.

He leans against you and the wall, his steady weight stilling your shaky legs. Slowly, your feet are guided to the floor and Steve steps away to wipe away any evidence of his ‘therapeutic treatment.’ His breathing settles much faster than yours, and by the time he’s tucked back in with his suit righted, you’re simply sliding down the wall to catch up.

He hurries over to the small vanity and mini fridge—usually ‘guests’ for speaking (or interrogating) wait here—to bring you supplies.

A box of tissues is set by your side.

“So…” he hands you a bottle of water “…maybe…dinner tonight?”

You set the water down in favor of cleaning yourself, glancing up to offer a reassuring dismissal. “This morning was your last dose,” you remind him. “It should be over soon.”

Steve may not need this anymore, may never need you again, but he doesn’t miss a single beat.

“I’d like—I want to take you some place nice, but…” He chugs his whole water then quickly unclasps the glove on his left hand, rolling up his sleeve, veins jumping over a thick forearm.

“I don’t know what food you enjoy.”

Arguably, he knows a few other things that you enjoy.

There’s another impatient bang at the door.

“I—“ Your heart soars with the soft sincerity of his face, no trace of fear left behind, no hesitation. “I’m gonna need a minute.”

Steve stands, smoothing a hand over his hair. “I’ll lock it behind me…and, um, thank you, Doc.”

It’s the first time he hasn’t apologized this whole week.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Steve flashes you a dopey smile and shakes his head. “See you out there,” he chuckles.

You can’t be seen when the door opens just enough for Steve to step out, but he makes a show of rolling the suit’s sleeve back down like he really did have an IV infusion, selling the lie like a pro. He keeps Tony talking while shutting you back into your debauched bubble.

Through the wall, you still hear “could you have gone any slower?” followed by a curt, “yes,” and have to stifle a laugh.

“What’d you do, blow a vein?”

You’re picturing an incredibly ironic look on Captain Rogers’ face.

“Just be grateful she puts up with us, Tony…” and their voices disappear down the hall.

His treatment may be finished, but Steve wants you to stick around. He wants you.

Would having dinner with that man really be so terrible? No. Not at all. Even the ‘worst’ of this situation has been a great fucking experience. You don’t want to give that up yet.

It seems you’re both addicted now.

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers One-Shots; Ko-Fi]

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rafesangelita · 3 months ago

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♡ not only is rafe cameron your mortal enemy, but he’s also, unknowingly, your nsfw tumblr mutual??

warnings: mean!rafe, enemies to ???, sexting, dirty talk, sending and receiving of nudes, mentions of death, very light angst, mentions of social status, insults used as flirting loll, small time skip

a/n: this is sorta canon, only in the sense that ward is dead and rose is off somewhere with wheezie. i might just make this a mini series, let me know what you think <3 part two is out now!!

links: next | mini series masterlist

wc: 1.8k

rafe hated you.

maybe not all of you, because in his eyes, along with everyone else’s.. you were hot as shit. there was no denying that. your bitchy attitude not only amused rafe more than half the time, but it turned him on too. he’d watch you from a distance as you cleared the couch for you and your friends to sit on with a single glance, everyone making way for you like you were some kind of princess. which you clearly were, he just couldn’t understand why.

why did you turn him on so much? his best bet was because while everyone bent to his will, he knew that you’d never even spare him the time of day, and if you did it was because he had to work for every single ounce of your attention. no one else on this island would ever make him do that, no one on this island wouldn’t dare challenge him, but you? he’d take your bossiness and catty remarks any day.

the real question is; why did he hate you at the same time?

for starters; you had your family. your picture perfect mommy and daddy were plastered on every single newspaper in both the island and the mainland, the two of them getting praised for their line of successful businesses and work ambition. you were the only child, which was something rafe fantasized about being when his dad was still here. it irritated him that you had all of the attention and recognition that he never had. he felt even worse about it because unlike him, you didn’t even have to do anything in order to get praise and appreciation from your parents. you just got it for simply existing.

rafe on the other hand was nothing but a disappointment to ward when he went above and beyond just to get nothing, not even a single ‘i’m proud of you, son.’ before his dad up and died. rafe was already fueled by rage, but now? now that he had an entire island looking at down on him everywhere he went with false pity? he was out for blood. getting in meaningless fights, purposely doing stupid things that he knew he’d get hurt doing just to feel something.

he grew reckless and raised hell in every establishment and party he attended, figuring there was no use in keeping the family name squeaky clean with a good reputation when he technically didn’t have any family anymore. rose took wheezie and dipped as soon as rafe got tanneyhill and his hefty inheritance, and sarah decided to leave the island altogether and live her own life in god knows where.

everyone left him.

rafe was simply just a bystander now, an observer, and you had it all. the popularity, the socialite status, the family, the friends, the list could go on. it wasn’t long before he had to find some kind of outlet; something where he could express things and share thoughts to an audience that didn’t know him.. little did he know, you had also seeked out the same thing.

your distaste for rafe came about once you heard he was going around the island calling you a ‘spoiled little brat’ and a ‘prissy bitch’ whenever your name came up in conversations. obviously, what he said was true, but who was he to speak about you? he didn’t even know you. “call me a bitch to my face next time, ‘cameron. i hate pussies.” you had went up to him in the midst of him having a conversation with topper, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the way your hips swayed when you walked away, your mini dress paired with those heels of yours had him tonguing the inside of his cheek.

“did she just bitch you out, bro?” topper looked genuinely shocked as rafe laughed. “nah, she’s flirting.” from then on, you two would shamelessly stare at each other from across the room, keeping your eyes locked on one another even while you had people at your side who were more than interested in taking you home. rafe would pass by, muttering an insult just loud enough for you to hear and you’d laugh, dismissing him as if he was nothing but a fly on the wall.

you’d be lying if you said the so called ‘princess’ treatment didn’t get old after a while. rafe was the only person who seemingly didn’t care about your feelings. and you liked it. naturally, you craved something different, something that no one out here in the real world had the guts to do— degrade you and make you feel small. like you were nothing. turning to the only thing you could in order to keep your anonymity, you made a tumblr blog, easily racking up followers by posting your deepest and darkest desires and fantasies.

not even your best friends knew this side of you. you could be as depraved as you wanted to be on the app, and even if the whole point in you making your blog was to be anonymous, you still posted your own photos on there. of course your face wouldn’t be showing in any of them, but reading the comments as they flooded in filled the void you didn’t realize was there to begin with. a particular user, however, always left comments on your posts that had your thighs rubbing together.

it wasn’t long before you decided to check out his account, deciding to follow him back once you read through some of his posts. truthfully, you were the only girl he followed on the platform, he couldn’t help but feel like a lot of other accounts were ran by robots. you actually interacted with people on your blog, you had a personality. when he got the notification that you followed him back, he wasted no time in sending you a message.

[10:01 PM] countryclub: wsp

[10:15 PM] brattydiaries: ew.

[10:16 PM] countryclub: ???

[10:16 PM] countryclub: i just want to talk to you.

[10:25 PM] brattydiaries: yeah i can see that lol

[10:26 PM] brattydiaries: ‘wsp’ is so icky though. it kinda gives me high schooler vibes

‘high schooler vibes’ rafe snorted when he read your reply, internally cringing as he read back his previous message. you had a point.

[10:28 PM] countryclub: can i start over?

[10:30 PM] brattydiaries: can you?

[10:31 PM] countryclub: may i?

you smiled when he corrected himself.

[10:33 PM] brattydiaries: ugh i guess..

[10:38 PM] countryclub: 1 attachment

[10:38 PM] countryclub: hey i cum to your pictures all the time. here’s a picture of my cock and the mess you made me make.

usually you’d immediately block when an unsolicited dick pic found its way to your dm’s, but this one was unlike any others you’ve received.

your jaw was on the floor.

this wasn’t the ordinary ‘no-effort’ kind of picture. he wasn’t obnoxiously holding his length as if he was presenting it to you, instead he had his fist wrapped around the base, his aching tip standing on its own as his cum adorned his abs. his skin was also glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, your chest blooming with pride as you realized just how much your blog riled him up. he was very well groomed, the underside of his cock slick with the aftermath of your most recent photos.

this was just different. you felt your bitchy resolve crumbling down with every second you stared at the details, the sight of the veins in his arms and hands had you pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, your brain going blank as you tried to come up with a response.

[10:50 PM] countryclub: you done being a bitch and acting like i’m not good enough to talk to you? or do i have to send you more pictures of what you do to me?

yeah. you were totally fucked.

from that point forward, you two sexted day and night, your phone basically living in your hands as you went about your everyday life. soon, all of your posts became about him, both you and rafe seemingly dancing circles around each other. while you two lived for pissing each other off and did everything to be a nuisance to one another in real life, you were actually, literally getting each other off behind the screen.

you were surprising him with photos throughout the day, his dirty talk making you fall asleep with a sticky mess between your thighs. it was only a matter of time before he started wanting to hear your voice, even going as far as asking for your number so you could call and actually talk to one another. of course, you were hesitant, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish to hear those filthy things he says in your messages in your ears instead.

so you agreed. you gave him your number and waited for him to call.. and nothing. for the first time in your life, you waited for a phone call from a man, and he never delivered. your ego was in shambles. even after you came up with excuses as to why he didn’t call, none of them made sense. the next day you woke up to no new messages, your heart clenching in your chest when you went to his profile and saw that he deleted all of his posts.

what the fuck?

deciding to stay off of the app for the time being, you hated how a few months of sexting made you think about him every chance you got.

you didn’t even know his name for crying out loud!

if your friends noticed something off about your attitude, they didn’t point it out. even rafe was more irritable, both of you getting in full on arguments if you two spent too much time together in a social setting. your comebacks would have him on the verge of dragging you out of the room by your hair, wishing so bad that he could just put you in your place. it wasn’t until you got home from another one of topper’s parties that your phone lit up with a message.

from him.

[1:00 AM] countryclub: hey

you scoffed. ‘hey’ that was all that he could say? after all of the time that passed, he could only spare you one fucking word? you were about to block him before you got another notification.

[1:07 AM] countryclub: i’m really sorry for ghosting you, alright? i just freaked out.

[1:09 AM] brattydiaries: you sent me a picture of your dick when we first messaged each other and you’re barely freaking out now? don’t you think we’re far past that point already?

[1:12 AM] countryclub: we definitely are, it’s just when you sent me your number, my heart dropped to my ass.

[1:12 AM] brattydiaries: you asked for it and i gave it to you. i’m confused rn.

[1:14 AM] countryclub: no it isn’t that

[1:15 AM] brattydiaries: then what the fuck is it?

[1:19 AM] countryclub: we have the same area code.

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illou-sainte · 4 months ago

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Had to tell her that dick off limits I hop on it at night, I'm a menace.

pairings: rafayel x possessive!reader

cw: unprotected sex, cowgirl, overstimulation, whiny!rafayel, crying, dom!reader, cum play, sub!rafayel, playing with paint, needy!rafayel (come on, it's him we're talking about), possessiveness, jealousy (sorta), he loves possessive women sm

You can't convince me that Rafayel isn't a whiny sub while you're riding him.

You didn't like the way women were so touchy and flirty towards him during his art exhibition earlier. But you know damn well, that Rafayel is still going to be the one crying later.

His back was laid against the floor of his studio. He panted heavily, trying to catch his breath. His white-collared shirt fell off his shoulders, buttons not in place. He whined against your touch-- body reacting to every move you make.

He flutters his lashes, eyes glassy as he looked at you with his blue orbs, his gaze filled with love and lust-- face flustered as he whimpered. His lips quivered, feeling his gritty cock inside your warm pussy. Just right after Rafayel entered your tight hole, he immediately came.

Can't resist how it sucks his whole cock so good--your walls clenching him inside. Resting his head against your bare chest, whimpering like a puppy, apologizing to you like a blabbing mess.

You did this to him.

This man will let you; use him, make you do everything to him--just to please you.

Oh god, what would the sea even react if they found out how freely and unhesitantly their sea god submits himself to a mere human?

You can't help but grin, adoring his pitiful state. Feeling his cum leaking out of your throbbing hole, dripping down to his cock. You leaned over and pulled him into a heated kiss, earning a moan from him between.

Hot tongues dancing inside as he savors the taste of your plump lips.

You pulled back from the sloppy kiss, his lips swollen as he looked at you with his lustful eyes. Saliva connected your lips and his--the look on his face was begging for more. You then caressed his cheek with your hand; Rafayel leaned into your touch as he placed his hand over yours, moving his head and placed a soft kiss on your palm.

You leaned back, the way your tight hole swallowed his whole cock, the way it clung to it--makes it hardened more as it twitches inside of you. Your soft hands resting over his pelvis--soothing it circles with your thumb as you smeared his cum and your juices together.

"Mon amour, p-please... 'lease, use me as you please." He begged, as if he were pleading you to take control over him. His mind went hazy; he was in pure ecstasy. Keeping his pace--pounding his cum deep inside your womb.

He's so desperate--to feel you, touch you, and be inside you.

Trying to catch your breath, you placed one hand on his chest while the other reached out for the brush with wet paint. Holding it, you positioned it against his pelvis, which was already smeared with his cum and your juices.

Fuck, he finds it hot when you're in control-- dominating him as you please. And most especially--how possessive you are.

As you ran the brush against it, you wrote something with bold, capital letters. Rafayel pursed his lips, his body quivering with every stroke of the brush.

After finishing, you threw the brush away. He leaned in to see what you had written:

"MY PROPERTY. ♥"

He loves possessive women!

masterlist

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #lads #lads x reader #lads rafayel #rafayel x mc #rafayel x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x you #rafayel #lnds x reader #lnds #lnds rafayel #lads smut #love and deepspace smut

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tangerineastronaut · 3 months ago

Text

Let's Put the End in Friends | Jackson Wang (Part 2)

Part 1

The one where your best friend/sort of boyfriend really wants to fuck you.

Pairing: Jackson Wang (GOT7) x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, SMUT, BestFriend!Reader, idiots to lovers Requested: Yes w.c. 7.8k Warnings: reader is bad at feelings, jackson is in love, two horny weirdos, "begging" for sex (but not in a bad/manipulative way there's a mutual understanding ok), oral - fem!receiving (the man eats it like cake even after he hits), unprotected sex (don't do it unless you're best friends with Jackson Wang and I'm guessing you aren't), discussion of contraceptives, breeding kink sorta kinda heh, brief talk of having kids in future, banter, teasing, name calling, dirty talk, I think that's all?? they're still really annoying except just horny now A/N: Ughhhh here's the part two that I desperately wanted to write and finally people requested it!! This chapter is like 15% feelings and 85% smut, but it's all kinda mixed in so I apologize in advance. Jfc I love these two so much. If this is bad I'm sorry! I love writing where it takes me and it all felt right. I love my readers so much. <3 Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

You hadn’t really known what to expect.

In dramas, after a confession, things were usually a little awkward, shy, sweet. But the day after Jackson confessed to you, he nearly bit your hand off when you tried to steal one of his dumplings. Granted, you bit him first, but it was his job to be chivalrous, not yours.

“Um, maybe eat your own before you try to steal mine?”

“I’m literally just a girl, Jackson.”

A few weeks after said confession, things were still mostly the same, as you were awoken by someone pinching your cheek. Bleary eyed, you squinted, looking up at a very hot, very annoyed face.

“Where the hell is my academy sweatshirt? I’m gonna be late for my shift,” he huffed, giving you another pinch. Jackson worked part time at an MMA academy, teaching a class of young children. Unfortunately, that meant three days out of the week, he had to wake up at 7 in the morning to be ready by 8. And if he was up, so were you.

“I dunno,” you whined groggily, rolling over. “I didn’t wear it. Promise.”

“Liar,” he accuses.

“Mmn. ‘m not lying, check my laundry.”

You hear shuffling, the sound of your hamper being opened (filled with clean clothes, because dirty clothes go on the bathroom floor of course), and quickly tug the blanket over your head as Jackson calls your bluff.

“At least it’s clean,” you attempt to plead your case, but the covers are yanked off. You yelp as Jackson flips you onto your back and begins to tickle you.

“Didn’t wear it, huh? Seriously, of all my clothes?” he snarls, fingers digging into your sides. You can’t speak; you instead make animalistic noises of possession as you attempt to free yourself. You wrap your legs around his waist and shove at his chest, shouting apologies in between fits of laughter.

At last, the tickling ends, and you all but collapse against the sheets, sprawled out like half a starfish.

“I’m going to start charging you for the things you steal,” Jackson says, breathless himself from the efforts of torture. Only then are you made aware that his hands are on your thighs. You don’t think he’s doing it on purpose, until you do, when he squeezes them beneath his palms and brushes his thumbs under your pajama shorts.

“Hey,” you warn, wriggling beneath him. He laughs and leans over you.

“What?”

“You know what. Get off of me.”

He sighs, letting his head drop down as though weary.

When he looks at you again, his eyes have gone all soft, and it makes you feel warm and tingly inside. You swallow and force yourself to look away. You weren’t completely immune to his charms and didn’t want to risk it, answering the question he hadn’t asked.

“Nope.”

That was the deal.

Kissing was alright—as long as it wasn’t too long or too deep. Touching was fine too, just avoid any erogenous zones. Truthfully, you weren’t sure why you’d placed such heavy restrictions on your…relationship? Whatever this was. Probably because at the end of the day, you were still terrified of losing him. Of crossing a bridge that crumbles behind you, never being able to return to where you were.

Right now, the two of you could still be around your friends, could still shamelessly flirt and insist it isn’t flirting. When you’d shown up to dinner with the guys, your hand clasped in Jackson’s to test the waters, no one said a word. Youngjae crinkled his nose and said it was cringe…and that’s it. That was the only reaction. The only people surprised about this development were the two of you, apparently, mostly you. And, you hadn’t realized how horny you were for one another.

When you’d stare at him after a shower, when he had the audacity to drink juice from the carton wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, you noticed that…you’ve always stared. That wasn’t new. It’s just that you were now aware of it, and also very aware of how it felt to see his throat working as he swallows, beads of water dripping down his chest and following the dip of his abs like a treasure map for your tongue—

But it went both ways, fortunately, as Jackson’s playful way of grabbing your waist when you were busily bent over no longer felt fun, but rather, made you want to push against him, feel his hands sliding elsewhere, because god had they always been so big? Had his fingers always been so long?

Presently, Jackson rolls his eyes and kisses your cheek. You refuse to look at him still, so he tilts down, where his lips brush your throat; when your head snaps up to scold him, he takes the opportunity to catch your lips with his, sighing as though relieved.

Kissing him feels so normal that it’s almost painful, like every second his lips are against yours, you ask yourself why you were so stupid, why you hadn’t noticed before, why you hadn’t understood that the feelings you’ve had for him were being confused for platonic when they were much, much closer to something akin to lo—

“Mmff…ou’re ‘unna ‘ee ate,” you mumble, though Jackson doesn’t stop kissing you. You giggle as your words are slurred by his mouth, which in turn makes him smile, which in turn makes you wrap your arms around his neck and consider begging him to let the kids down just this once.

You know he wouldn’t hesitate. So that’s why you groan and push him away. You squirm from beneath him before he can snatch you up, fixing your pajamas as though you were preparing to walk the red carpet. When you look up at Jackson, he’s on his knees on your bed, hands gripping the covers and head tilted to the side. Oh.

“Stop looking at me like that, puppy boy,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. You cross your arms, taking on the weight of the world’s strongest soldier as Jackson fucking Wang silently begs to bend you over the mattress

Jackson lets his legs slip over the side, feet planted on the floor as he tugs you toward him by the strings of your shorts. You whine in protest—losing a drawstring was so—

“I think you like it when I beg,” Jackson says, voice too low to be good for your health. You look at him in surprise, his expression hasn’t really changed, but why did he have to do this to you?

“I think you’re gonna be late,” you huff, feeling your cheeks redden.

“I think you’re cute when you blush.”

“I think—”

“I think we’re gonna be good for each other.”

“It was my turn,” you pout. “I think you need a cold shower.”

Jackson mumbles something you don’t catch as he nuzzles his face against your stomach. His arms hang loosely around your hips, and you’re once again left with emotional whiplash as the man somehow goes from fuck me~ to hold me in the span of a few seconds. You swallow and rake your fingers through his hair (which he pulls at less nowadays, thanks to your nagging).

“I want to,” you say quietly, nails scratching at his head. “But I’m scared. Like…we could probably bounce back from this, and from holding hands and even kissing. But I’m afraid that I’d never be able to, you know, not hurt around you the further we go if things turn out bad. We just don’t know what’ll happen if we commit. That’s scary.”

To your surprise, Jackson squeezes you tighter. He tilts his head back to look up at you, his chin resting just above your belly button.

“What is it gonna take, pie?” he asks softly. Your brows furrow, though he continues. “What’s it gonna take for you to realize I’ve been yours this entire time?”

Your breath catches in your throat; you know he can feel it from the way your stomach tightens. He noses at the material of your top, planting a kiss there. Then the bastard opens his mouth again. You can taste his words.

“You own me, baby.”

You wake up confused and sweaty, fumbling around for your phone. You grab the device and groan—it’s not even five in the morning, and it’s a saturday.

The dream woke you up. You and Jackson had an idea to conserve water, apparently, sharing a shower too small for one person let alone two. Your brain filled in the blanks for the missing information, unfortunately for you, though you had no doubt he was as beautiful in this reality, too.

It was almost impossible for you to go back to sleep after waking up usually, so you throw the covers off with much more attitude than necessary before quietly stepping out of your room. The light beneath Jackson’s door is off, and you tiptoe down the hall, but when you round the corner to the kitchen you gasp in surprise.

Jackson raises a brow at you, taking a sip from the bottle of water in his hand. He’s wearing nothing but black boxers, showing off the lean muscles he works so hard on. So very hard.

“You’re up?” he asks, and by his raspy tone it’s clear he woke up not long before you. You nod and shrug for no reason at all other than to distract from the fact that your eyes are eating him alive. He has the sexiest bedhead, and the thin chain he wears glints as it drapes over his collar bones.

“Thirsty,” you lie. You move past him to reach the fridge, but an arm hooks around your waist. You inhale sharply as you’re tugged against his chest, the warmth of him shooting tingles down your back. You swallow, and he holds the bottle in front of you.

“Here,” he mumbles. He sounds so casual, like his actions hadn’t just made your soul briefly leave your physical form. You take the water from him and tilt your head back for a sip, not having realized how thirsty you were until you’ve finished half of it.

You turn around, though he doesn’t release you, so you remain pressed to his bare chest. You have no idea why, but you lean forward and kiss him just below his collar bone, realizing too late how cruel you were being. In an attempt to make it chaste, you kiss the other side, right above his heart, though Jackson’s hand flies to your hair. He cups the back of your head and refuses to let you move.

“Jackson,” you protest, but he whines.

He fucking. Whines.

“Please, pie. Just keep your lips on me. Please,” he breathes. You exhale a shaky breath and nod.

“Okay,” you say quietly, and you swear he sighs with relief. You watch his face, tilting in again and pressing another kiss to the same spot as before. Jackson nods, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips.

You kiss the center of his chest, lips dragging over his skin to his left pec. When you move a tad bit lower, this time where his heart beats, he hisses and tightens his grip in your hair. You gasp for all the right reasons, though he doesn’t know that.

“Fuck, sorry,” he whispers as though the two of you are sneaking around rather than doing…whatever this was in the middle of your shared kitchen. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you giggle softly. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

Jackson looks down at you, his expression morphing completely into…calmness? But it still puts you on edge.

“What’d I say?” you ask with a frown.

“I haven’t had sex in almost a year,” he admits.

You blink.

“You…what?” you breathe, shaking your head. “But, you’ve had tinder…you’ve gone on dates.”

Jackson pulls you close again, silently asking for more kisses. You realize he might’ve been right…you like when he begs. You kiss him as he asks, this time close to his nipple, and he shudders.

“I’m not gonna fuck a girl who wants more than I can give her,” he says. You mouth over his skin, tongue reaching the edge of his areola. You like his answer.

“Why can’t you give her what she wants?” you ask, knowing what he’ll say but wanting to hear it all the same. Jackson knows this too, but he’s more than happy to give you what you want.

“Because she—fuck—”

Your tongue lathes over his nipple and he grips the counter tight.

“—’cause she’s not you,” he finishes. “None of them are. Can’t be anything for anyone except you. Wanna…wanna be everything to you.”

“You are…you are…” you mumble carelessly, barely kissing him, but rather rubbing your mouth on his chest. He seems more than okay with that, his head falling back, though he shakes it.

“I’m not, baby. I’ve got so much to give you, gonna show you what it’s like to be loved right, fucked right, needed right. I need you, y/n. I-I fucking need you so bad. Always have.”

You were supposed to be turning him on, not getting choked up, but you pulled back and covered your face. Jackson was still a little breathless and out of it, but he grabbed at your wrists.

“Sorry, fuck, was that…was that bad? I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you mumble, wiping helplessly at tears that slide down your cheeks. Jackson pulls you forward, crushing you to his chest. He wraps both arms around you so tight you can barely breathe. You love it.

What else do you love?

You love that you can feel his cock pressing against the inside of your thigh, that you can feel how much he wants from you. You swallow your tears and reach between you, your palm finding the thick outline beneath his boxers and squeezing.

Jackson’s reaction is visceral and downright sinful. He jumps, then buries his face into your hair.

“Again, p-please,” he mumbles. You do it again. There’s a weird mix between sadness and horniness between you, but you keep going, sliding your hand up and down his clothed length. He’s definitely thick and a little longer than average, but not frighteningly so.

Thick enough to make you choke, but not enough to bruise your cervix. Perfect. Somehow, you think you know exactly what it feels like to be fucked by him.

“Jesus fuck—I don’t care if I get to fuck you, just please…let me taste you, baby,” Jackson grunts, hips lazily bucking against you.

That…sounds alright with you. You take your hand off his cock and grab his wrist to pull him to his room, but he twists you around so that your back is to the counter. You open your mouth to ask what he’s doing, but the words die on your tongue when he drops to his knees.

“J-Jackson, you don’t have t-to…”

“Shh, baby,” he mumbles, cupping the backs of your thighs. You feel dumb, forgetting how to speak. “Let me make you feel good. Wanna hear those pretty sounds you make when you play with yourself.”

Your cheeks flush pink, Jackson’s words hardly registering in your brain. He hooks his fingers into the elastic of your pajama shorts, leaning forward to kiss the front of your thigh before he begins tugging them down.

“W-What do you mean when I pla—oh…”

Jackson doesn’t hesitate, going face first between your legs and groaning. The vibrations ring through your inner thighs and go straight to your clit, nearly sending you down. He hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“If you tell me you didn’t want me to hear you fucking yourself, I’m gonna call you a liar,” he whispers. His lips graze over the hair you keep trimmed—you could be a little self conscious about that at times, a couple past partners even commenting on it, but Jackson is worshipping your pussy without words and you’ve never felt so perfectly adequate.

You think over what he said once you regain a little bit of consciousness. And fuck.

You were tired of this sort of hindsight ability you had now, the way you felt when you thought back to the times you were so obviously head over heels in love with him and had convinced yourself you were friends.

Like fucking yourself with your favorite toy, back to the wall splitting your rooms. Moaning loud even though you didn’t do that when he wasn’t home.

“S-Sorry,” you whimper, because what the fuck else are you supposed to say? You feel warmth as Jackson breathes a laugh against your thighs, teeth grazing the sensitive skin near your labia.

“It’s okay, baby. Just do it again for me, hm? While I’m in the same room at least?”

Did he have to be such a fucking brat? You thought “pie” and his attitude would disappear after all of this, but you were sorely mistaken. You opened your mouth to complain.

Jackson pushed your thighs open wider, settling between them and looking up at you from his knees. You squeaked, and the last thing you saw before his face disappeared was that smug grin underneath his pretty brown eyes.

You learned two lessons very quickly. One:

Jackson Wang ate pussy like his life depended on it.

And two, you were immediately jealous of any woman who’d ever had him like this, on his knees between their legs. This should be illegal.

His tongue slid between your tender pussy lips, expertly finding your clit and daring to flick at it beneath the hood. Your knees did buckle, but he hugged your thighs and kept you upright, taking the opportunity to squeeze and knead at your ass. You reached down and gripped his hair for purchase, tugging, eliciting a groan from him that felt better than any dick you’d ever had. You did it again, and this time he practically sang praises into you—he was literally fucking you with his moans.

“Jesus fuck, Jackson?” you ask, unable to do much else other than feel and squeak out your needs. His fingers dug into the plushness of your thighs, though one hand slipped beneath your shirt. His thumb grazed over your nipple before gently pinching it, and you were ready to die.

When he sucked the tender flesh of your clit into his mouth, you stumbled forward, nearly sending him back until he caught you by the waist. You whimper and tug at him to let you go until finally, he pulls away from your cunt, looking far too pleased with shiny lips. He licks them and you fall into his lap, shuddering as you cling to him.

“That bad, huh? Should I keep my day job?” He teases you gently, one hand cupping the back of your head while the other hugs you tighter. You can still feel his cock straining against his boxers, nearly perfectly aligned as it presses against your ass.

“S-Shut up, a-asshole,” you stammer out, gripping his shoulders tightly for comfort—or maybe dear life. Jackson chuckles in a way that makes you feel safe and annoyed—because how can he send you to fucking space and then try to convince you it’s all good and dandy with the same mouth?

“You okay baby?” he asks softly. When you nod, he pulls back enough to kiss your temple, though keeps his lips there. You swallow, having a feeling that he wasn’t done with you. Not even close.

“Was it good?” he asks.

“Very c-classy,” you manage to huff, but Jackson only laughs.

“Mmm. Knew you’d taste good. Knew you’d love me on my knees,” he hums. You shiver, and he moves to your ear, nipping at your lobe. “Knew you’d look so pretty while I eat it.”

You let out a soft whine, your hips rolling into his. You’re spreading your sticky juices along his clothed cock, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he grabs your waist and bites his lower lip.

“Are you done? Hm? Or can I take you to my room and finish you off?” Jackson asks, tilting his head to kiss below your ear. “Lay you down and hold you open until that pretty clit is nice and swollen…”

“F-Fuck,” you whine, digging your nails into his shoulders. “N-No.”

“M’kay, need me to run you a bath then? I bought some new bath bombs—”

“No I meant…” you breathe, letting your head drop to his shoulder. You were dizzy, but your thoughts had never been more clear. Not necessarily a decision out of desperation, just…it needed to happen. You needed it.

“I-I don’t want you to eat me out, Jackson,” you say as you swallow.

You lift your head, relieved to see there’s no frustration in his gaze, no disappointment. God, he’s really just here to make sure you’re happy, safe, comfortable.

“I want…I want you to fuck me.”

“Why are we in your room?”

“My bed is bigger.”

“When’s the last time you washed your sheets?”

“I don’t know, pie. When’s the last time you washed my sheets?”

You crinkle your nose, but Jackson just rolls his eyes. He drags you onto the bed with him, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it in your face. You sniff, your eyes immediately narrowing.

“Have you seriously been washing your bedding regularly now under the implication that we’d fuck soon?” you hiss, sitting up to glare at him. He was sprawled out, looking much too happy for your liking.

“Yes,” he says gleefully. You grab the pillow and make an attempt to suffocate him, but he doesn’t fight back, and that’s not very fun.

Oh yeah! You’re also only wearing his a t-shirt, and he’s only wearing boxers, and his cock is very hard and you’d very much like to put it in your mouth now that you’ve recovered somewhat from his tongue.

“You’re such a boy,” you groan, throwing the pillow back to the headboard. Jackson nods, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

“Yeah. Take this off and sit on my face please,” he hums, lying back as though preparing to be sacrificed to the thigh smothering gods.

“How romantic,” you scoff.

“Come sit on my face so I can make you cry the only way a man should make a woman cry, please~”

“Better.”

With the back and forth out of the way, you can’t bring yourself to smile, pulling your knees to your chest. Jackson sits up, reaching out to take one of your hands in his large one.

“Hey, no expectations, remember? You wanna stop right now, we’ll stop and never do anything like this again. You want me to finish you off, that’s fine too,” he says, thumb brushing the back of your knuckles. You shake your head.

“No. I think…I think we should. We need to, I mean, otherwise we’re gonna be in limbo forever. But…” you pause, feeling your eyes burn a little damn it. When you look up at him, his boyish charm is gone, replaced completely by a concerned man who almost looks in love with you.

“Hm? What is it, pie?” he asks, coaxing you gently. Ugh—why did sex have to be so god damn complicated?

“Promise me,” you say, biting your lower lip as you gather your words. “Promise me if we hate it, if it’s bad, just…stay with me? Like, forever? Please don’t move out? I mean if you have to get married just try to find someone who’s nice enough to let me stay? I’ll do the laundry. We can be like a throuple except you both just have to feed me and nothing else.”

“I love you, y/n.”

“Nevermind, let’s just do it.”

Jackson laughed as you flopped onto your back, though he leaned over you and caught your chin in his hand. You avoided looking at him, but he tilted your head down and pressed his forehead to yours to prevent you from escaping his eyes.

“I know you’re allergic to that word—”

“I am not—”

“But I love you. I love y/n and I love pie and I love the girl who thinks ‘coinkydink’ is an appropriate alternative for ‘coincidence’—”

“It is but okay—”

Jackson rolls his eyes, cupping your cheek under the romantic guise of making you shut up by pressing his thumb to your lips.

“Do you know why I want to fuck you?” he asks, his voice oddly gentle for such an erotic question. You blink, he lifts his thumb.

“Um, ‘cause I’m hot?” you offer with a shrug. His thumb goes back to your lips.

“Yes, but the truth? I want to make love to you but I assumed your reaction to that phrasing would be…”

Jackson lifts his thumb.

“Cringe?”

“Correct,” he smiles. “I’m gonna do what I can so the next man you meet has to climb to fucking heaven to reach the lowest bar for you. I’m nowhere near perfect, but I’ll be damned if you leave my bed able to call your best friend and complain that your inner thigh got more action than you did.”

You pout and push his hand away.

“That was one time,” you mumble. “If sex with you sucks, who am I gonna call? Yugyeom?”

“I dare you to fucking try,” Jackson says, narrowing his eyes. You beam, attempting to boop his nose, but he leans forward and kisses you instead. “If you leave this bed and hate me after, I’ll move out before sunset. And if you want me to l-o-v-e you for the rest of your life, I’ll do that too. I told you, pie. I’m yours.”

You kiss him this time, turning into him and cupping his jaw. Why couldn’t he see that the more of this he showed you, the less you wanted to risk it all disappearing?

You tilt your head to the side, nuzzling your face against his throat to plant kisses there. He inhales, leg sliding between yours as a hand strokes your hair.

“Mm…what do you want, y/n?” he asks, groaning when you suck beneath his jaw.

“Wanna suck you off,” you mumble against his skin, relishing in the heavy groan you feel from him. “Then I want you to fuck me.”

“I can do that,” Jackson nods, licking his lips. You release him and sit up, looking over his stretched out form. He was so fucking gorgeous, and you were in his bed.

You place a hand in the center of his chest, and Jackson sits up on his elbows, his thighs parting eagerly. You giggle, gently kneeing his side.

“Patience,” you hum, dragging your hand down to his abs, letting your fingertips dip between the muscles. You remembered all those times you fantasized about drawing your tongue against them—realizing you can. So you throw a leg over his, sliding down until you’re hovering over his thighs, face level with his hips.

One hand rests on the elastic of his boxers while the other palms his abs. You look up at him as you drag your finger through the lines, following the shape of his muscles. He’s tense, but still coherent, so your other hand slides down to palm him again.

Jackson curses under his breath, eyes never leaving yours. So you lean down and flatten your tongue below his navel. He gasps as you lick down the thin trail of hair that disappears beneath his boxers, kissing the sensitive skin there before moving up again. Jackson whines, and you lift a brow.

“You’re not being very patient,” you say, kissing his stomach before licking up to his chest. Jackson’s head falls back, one hand moving to your hair.

“It’s been almost a year, pie,” he groans. “Want this…want you…”

You giggle softly. When you palm him again, curling your fingers around his constricted length, Jackson practically flies off the bed, grabbing your wrist.

“Baby, I will let you suck my cock until the sun explodes, just…please not now, I’m so fucking close, wanna be inside you…” he breathes. You’re surprised to see his chest flushed and heaving, not having realized how worked up he was over just a few light touches. You swallow and nod.

He smiles in relief, pulling you in for a kiss before sitting up on his knees, gently guiding you back. It’s a little jarring, suddenly being underneath your best friend, but Jackson immediately gives you gentle kisses, whispering your name and promises to make you feel good. You believe him.

You lie there awkwardly as he reaches over you to the bedside table, removing a foil packet. You feel your cheeks redden, which makes him chuckle, and you mumble a quiet shut up. When he holds the condom packet between his teeth and thumbs the waist of his boxers, you realize that you should probably be naked, too. So you cross your arms over the hem of the t-shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it to the side.

The condom drops and bounces off your thigh as Jackson’s lips part in shock.

“What?” you mumble shyly, bringing your arms to your chest. He clears his throat and fumbles for the condom, shaking his head.

“Nothing. You’re gorgeous. Knew you were, just..." he sucks in air through his teeth.

You blush harder, resisting the urge to tell him to hurry.

Jackson manages to slide his boxers down to his thighs. His cock, once freed, smacks his toned stomach and you grip the covers at your sides as you watch an enticing bead of precum slide down the shaft. It’s exactly as you’d imagined; a little bigger than average, thick, and so beautifully veiny. God it’d feel so good on your tongue, but later. The idea that, hopefully in the future you could suck his beautiful cock whenever you wanted to, made you happier than you’d ever admit to anyone.

You watch as he rolls the condom down his length, swallowing down your doubts as he drops to his forearms on either side of you.

“You okay?” he asks, no humor, no teasing, just genuine concern. You nod and lick your lips.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you say with a shaky breath. Jackson smiles, leaning forward until your noses bump. The action makes you giggle until you realize he’s fitting your mouths together, and suddenly he’s kissing you.

It’s gentle and soft, his lips sucking at your lower one but moving no further than that. Your arms move to loosely hang around his shoulders, where both of his slip beneath you. You feel the head of his cock brush over your clit and jump. Jackson chuckles. It happens again, but this time, the swollen head catches against the opening between your folds, and you can already feel the stretch, wriggling your hips as if to wedge him in.

Jackson begins to push.

The stretch is slow, heavy, delicious, both of you releasing sounds of relief with eyes rolling back into your skulls as though you’ve both spent four years pretending you don’t want this. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, he squeezes you tight beneath him as he sinks deeper and deeper. At last, his hips meet yours, and Jackson Wang, your best friend, is balls deep inside of you. You squeeze your eyes closed, overwhelmed by the sudden and intense sensations and emotions.

“Are you okay? Feels okay, baby?” he asks softly, clearly restraining himself. You nod, licking your lips.

“Mhm. It’s good. So good,” you babble. Jackson chuckles, nodding as he kisses you again. It’s sweeter this time, moreso as he begins to slide out. The drag of his cock makes you shudder, and you clamp your thighs tight around his waist.

“That’s it,” he hums, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Lock me up inside you, baby. So fucking pretty.”

You purr in response, arching your back. Jackson takes this as a go ahead, pushing himself up to his palms as he begins to fuck you properly.

You feel your mouth open in shock as he thrusts rhythmically, the switch between emptiness and fullness making your head spin. Every time his hips smack the backs of your thighs, another grunt escapes his mouth, and fuck if you couldn’t listen to that sound for the rest of your life.

Jackson leans down and kisses you. This time, you make sure it’s not as sweet, sucking his tongue and letting him lick yours. You taste his groan as he bucks heavily, pausing to collect himself. Your legs hook around his waist, heel digging into his lower spine, making him moan.

“F-Fuck baby, gonna make me come already,” he breathes, letting his head hang down. You smile, cupping his face and pulling him into you.

“So sensitive,” you purr. Jackson huffs.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” he hums, wincing at his own sharp thrust. “Maybe I should pull out and leave that gorgeous head to wonder what it’d be like.”

“You won’t,” you reply, calling his bluff. “If I begged you, I bet you’d go raw.”

Jackson surges forward, hands moving behind your knees as he folds you nearly in half. You choke on air and look up at him, wondering why the fuck you've forced yourself to wait for this.

“You don’t have to beg for shit. Don’t fucking tempt me, y/n.”

Your mouth opens at his tone, but he begins to fuck you harder, gripping your form against him as he gives you everything he has. Your whines turn into muffled cries as he tucks your face into his shoulder.

“Shh…let’s not let the neighbors know I’m finally inside you baby…that’s it, quietly…take it for me, yeah?” he hums, and you whimper, digging your nails into his skin. Your legs bounce uselessly where he holds them in place, giving him room to be flush against your ass each time he bottoms out.

“Can’t wait for you to let me lick this sweet little cunt until you cry,” he murmurs, leaning back to slip a hand between you. You jump when he immediately finds your clit, index and middle finger repeatedly alternating pressure. He’s a god damned expert, and you feel yourself clenching tight around the obstruction of his cock.

“Fuck…is that all it takes? You’re squeezing me like a fucking vice, y/n," Jackson groans. “More, baby. That’s it…fuck. So fucking good.”

“J-Jackson,” you huff, squirming beneath the pressure of his weight. “Nng…f-feels so good…”

“Yeah, princess? Just like you've dreamed about?"

Fuck. He always knew, knew you too well, were you made of glass?

"Y-yeah," you whimper, choosing not to lie. "B-Better."

Jackson kisses you again, his hand slowing its movements to match his hips.

“Show me,” he says roughly, obviously close himself. “I wanna feel you cum, baby. Want my cock shiny and sticky like my tongue was.”

“Mm..don’t stop, ‘m close,” you breathe. You tuck your hands into his hair, tugging at the strands, knowing what kind of response you’d experience. He groans, as expected, though pulls back and pushes your thighs apart.

He looks down at your cunt swallowing his cock whole as he rubs at your hooded clit, cursing and biting his lip. Your cheeks flush despite everything, and when his eyes flicker to your face—you’re not sure what to call that expression if not love.

You want him to cum first. You bring his hand away from your clit and up to your lips, kissing the wet pads of his fingers before slipping them into your mouth. Jackson lets out a high pitched noise that you can’t wait to tease him over later as he watches you suck them.

He swallows and leans forwards, pulling your fingers away from your mouth to kiss you. You think it’s an accident, the intimacy, but the kiss is soft, so soft that he stops thrusting and you stop trying to make him cum, so soft that you’re suddenly crying and hugging him and apologizing for being a fucking idiot.

“Hey, ‘s okay baby, I’m here,” he whispers, his own eyes wet. “Stop crying, y/n. I’m right here. I’m yours. I’ll still be yours tomorrow. Shh...”

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you breathe, burying your head against his throat despite the fact that his cock is kissing the opening of your cervix currently. “I was scared, Jackson, so fucking scared, I-I think I loved you so much that I scared myself into thinking I couldn’t.”

“Huh?” he asks, knowing damn well what you said according to the stupid grin on his face. You roll your eyes, using the back of your hand to wipe at your tears.

“I said I love you, asshole,” you whisper, sniffling. “And ‘m not gonna say it again.”

“Okay,” he chuckles, pulling your hands down to wipe your tears himself. “Fine. I’ll just memorize the way you sound when you say it and play it over and over until we live in a nursing home together."

"You roll your eyes, smiling through the teariness. Only you would cry in the middle of sex, but Jackson seemed to love this, taking it as your not-so-silent confession.

He eventually shifts again, making you shudder despite the fact that he was only getting comfortable. He prepares to ask—you already know—want me to stop? So you shake your head before he gets the words out.

“I want it, you know, without,” you say instead, shyly looking up at him from your elbows. Jackson looks a little confused, and you sigh, gesturing around as if that’s helpful at all. “You know. Without.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying, pie—”

“I’m saying I want you to fuck me, and then I want you to tell me you love me so I can say it back without dying, and then I want to go to the pharmacy with you and get plan b even though I’m on birth control because we’d make cute babies but I wanna wait like 10 years probably. So, like, without? If you want?”

You finish your monologue, your cheeks burning hot. You flop to your back and cover your face, once again forgetting about the cock buried inside of you. Jackson doesn’t, of course.

“Are you asking me to hit it raw—”

“Must you be so unromantic—”

“Shut up and c’mere,” he mumbles. He leans down, pulling you up enough to kiss you. You feel him shuffling between you, embarrassed by the gasp that slips out when he pulls back. Jackson smirks. There’s a snap of rubber and he winces as he removes the condom, tossing it into his desk trash can.

“Easy, baby. He’ll be back,” he chuckles.

“I’m actually going to kill you,” you groan. But then he’s pushing into you again, and fuck if the look on his face doesn’t make you want to buy a first class ticket to hell.

“Fucking…jesus…baby…” he gasps. You giggle, though he just pushes you back to hide the apparent blush on his cheeks.

“That bad huh?” you mock him, feeling him bottom out, completely. He curses and dips his head to kiss you, but it’s messy and desperate and feeds the fire that’s been burning inside of you for too long.

“So fucking…nng…so fucking pretty,” he says with a sharp snap of his hips. You gasp, clinging to his shoulders as he leans down. He kisses you again, hard, palms flattening on the bed on either side of your hips. He uses the leverage to fuck you harder, leaning over you until you’re pinned beneath him.

“D-Didn’t know it’d turn you into an animal,” you giggle breathlessly, hand fisting his hair. He groans and tilts his head to the side.

“You turn me into a fucking animal, baby,” Jackson grunts. “Makes me…makes me want to do stupid things, like fuck you without a condom and cum so deep the pill doesn’t do shit to stop it—”

“Jackson—”

“You said it first. Still gonna make you swallow the pill with my cum dripping down your thighs.”

You squeak and tug him down for a filthy kiss, tongues barely missing the mark as his thrusts become loose and sloppy. He’s fucking himself dumb, gripping the sheets and whining against your mouth like a dog.

“G-Gotta make you cum. Gotta make it good for you,” he breathes, reaching between you. You pull his hand away, shaking your head. He begins to argue but you squeeze your thighs around his waist, making him shudder and stumble. He falls against you, cursing into your hair as he continues his thrusts.

“Want you to cum first,” you whisper, hugging him tight. “Want you to fill me up like you said, so fucking deep—"

He groans, leaning on you and thrusting heavy as he snaps his hips forward. His speed remains the same, but you can hear the sound of his hips meeting your ass like he's trying to bury himself in you indefinitely.

"T-That's...fuck..." you whimper, nodding. "Good, that's good."

“Ah…ah…” Jackson whines, shaking his head. “F-Fuck, baby…gonna cum, is that…is that okay? Fucking…ah…c-can I cum?”

Oh. Oh.

You were going to explore this later, him asking permission to cum. But not now.

“Please, Jax. Please cum for me, in me?” you beg softly. “Promise, I’ll take it so good."

“Fuck, I know you will, princess. Know you’ll take it all so good for me…so perfect, so fucking beautiful…all mine, baby…”

Jackson clings to you so tight you have trouble breathing, but you feel him shudder, hear him gasp, and you squeeze him back just as much. He releases a sob into your hair, his muscles tensing as he cums hard. You feel his cock pulsing, the warmth spreading inside of you, and realize with a start that you’re feeling his actual cum seeping into your womb.

You rub his back for a few minutes while he recovers, until he finally sits up and hisses at the sensitivity of his softening cock still buried in you. When he tugs away, it’s your turn to gasp, shivering at the cool emptiness you feel.

“Was that okay?” he asks quietly, hands pushing your thighs apart. You nod.

“Yeah, ‘s good. What are you—shit.”

Jackson knelt between your legs, lips first kissing your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. You all but scream, trying to clamp your legs together, but his easy strength prevents that.

“F…Jackson...fuck, w-what are you doing?” you whimper again, trying to push yourself up to look at him. He uses a hand on the soft of your belly, pushing you back down. He pops off of your clit, free hand taking over the strokes.

“My babygirl didn’t cum. I’m gonna make sure she does,” he explains as though it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“B-But you…your cum…”

“Mhm, keep reminding me,” he moans, tongue slipping beneath the hood of your clit while two long fingers prod at your sore hole. You wince, but he slowly eases them in, his own cum working as lube. Rather than move them, he holds them there, gently stroking inside of your walls while he laps freely between your labia.

In a frighteningly short amount of time, you’re coming off the bed (literally) with a cry of surprise, mumbling his name over and over again as though he could save you from the crushing pleasure you felt. Your thighs clamped around his head, though he made no move to escape, apparently right where he wanted to be as it allowed him to continue sucking and licking the sensitive bundle of nerves until your legs trembled violently.

It stole your breath, and you saw stars, mixed in a few moments later with a boyish grin and someone peppering your face with kisses. It was the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had, definitely if you were comparing him to other men. Well. There was no comparison.

You could only imagine how it'd feel with his cock as deep as it was. Next time. You'd suck his cock, cum on it...maybe make him beg to do the same.

Jackson is patient enough to wait until you’ve mostly returned to your body before he smugly proclaims that he was right, the sex was great, and you owe him a backrub (don’t you usually have to make bets to win them in the first place?) but whatever, because you were fucked out and your boy was happy and probably planning your wedding.

But once you attempted to sit up, wincing at the soreness of keeping your legs open, Jackson kissed you sweetly and urged you to lie down again. He left for a few minutes, returning with boxers (darn it) and a bottle of water, which he forced you to sip whilst he ran you a bath.

You were helped down the hall, feeling like a frail old lady after you insisted you could do it—and had to catch yourself by the doorframe as you walked like a baby deer. You informed him it wasn’t polite to laugh at people you’ve nearly fucked to death, regretting your words immediately as a somehow cocky Jackson became even cockier.

He guided you into the bath, telling you to relax while he ran to the pharmacy. Before he left though, he knelt beside the tub, fingers tapping at the lava-like water you were soaking in.

“Do you like the smell?” he asks, resting his chin on his fist. You nod, letting your fingers find his and trying to pull them beneath the water. He compromised by pulling yours out, kissing the back of your knuckles. “Good. It’s strawberry scented.”

“Fucking me doesn’t make my bath bombs free real estate,” you say pointedly.

“Fucking me doesn’t make my clothes free real estate.”

You open your mouth, then purse your lips.

“Touche.”

“I have something to ask,” he sighs, resting his lips on your hand. “It’s really important.”

Oh god. What.

“Yeah?” you ask, your voice shaky. Jackson grins.

“Just…did you like my cream, pie?”

You stare at him for a few seconds, contemplating the last hour and four years of your life. “I want a divorce.”

“I love you.”

“How…how long have you thought of that joke?” you ask. You didn’t really want to know the answer.

“Um…about 20 seconds after I called you pie for the first time? Not with you of course.”

“Well why in the god damn hell not with me!?”

“I mean? Yes with you?”

“Creep.”

“I love you.”

“I still want a divorce.”

“I still love you.”

“Nng.”

“That means I love you in worm?”

“...Yeah.”

“Heh~”

“Hey Jackson?”

“Mm?”

“Your lil sperms might be kinda fast? So like? Maybe leave now? I do love you but I will not have your babies right now?”

“Oh. Yeah. Be right back. Try not to make a baby with those in the meantime, they’re not ripe yet, you know?”

"...Hurry."

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nereidprinc3ss · 1 year ago

Text

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were.

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you.

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive.

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later.

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost.

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go.

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question.

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you.

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet.

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong.

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours.

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms.

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close.

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want.

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel.

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart.

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you.

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you.

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure.

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger.

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes.

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies.

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch.

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes.

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way.

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak.

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear.

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you.

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you��wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to.

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him.

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise.

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important.

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra.

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him.

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked.

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands.

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“Not right now,” he agrees.

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides.

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown.

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range.

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff.

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight.

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles.

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing.

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs.

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought.

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning.

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you.

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together.

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles.

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage.

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair.

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess.

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you.

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you.

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this?

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself.

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches.

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply.

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone.

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck.

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him.

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff.

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again.

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod.

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze.

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction.

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him.

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions.

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core.

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry.

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious.

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest.

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him.

Thankfully, he delivers.

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl.

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you.

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds.

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second.

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh.

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer.

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit.

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light.

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous.

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning.

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan.

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it.

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection.

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna�� taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat.

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core.

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first.

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

part three

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

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norrisainz33 · 2 days ago

Text

pr || ls18

summary: fans are convinced lance and his victoria secret model gf are just a pr stunt but they’re actually just two best friends in love

pairing: lance stroll x model!reader

fc & warnings: barbara palvin x some hate comments

requested: yes!! thank you for your patience!

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, and 10,334 others

f1gossip: looks like our very own lance stroll has been spotted with a mystery woman out in montreal ahead of the grand prix this weekend. this is not the first time these two have been spotted together either… perhaps they’re getting a bit more serious and we’ll see her this sunday? if anyone recognizes her, let us know!

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user1: nauuurrrrr lance that was supposed to be me

user2: we lost another one to a model chat

user3: you mean to tell me you lot don’t recognize the vs angel ynuser when you see her?!

user2: mate all we’ve seen is blurry pics of her hair

user3: she’s got recognizable hair!!!

f1gossip: timelines seem to line up with her posts and where we’ve seen her and lance together! i think you cracked the code user3

user4: it’s giving pr stunt bc how did he manage to get a vs model….

user7: no fr!! either that or she’s with him for daddy’s money

user8: yes this has pr written allllll over it

user5: i hope we DONT see her sunday

ynuser has made a post

liked by yourbff, miumiu, iamrebeccad, victoriassecret, vspink, lance_stroll, flavy.barla, yoursibling and 200,235 others

ynuser: montreal i think i might love you

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yourbff: holy moly i’m obsessed

user3: mother is mothering (also i called this)

lance_stroll: nice flowers

ynuser: thanks! the person who got them for me is even nicer

f1gossip: 👀

user4: what sorta pr nonsense interaction is this

user12: oooo you’re so effortlessly gorgeous

flavy.barla: 😍 wow!

ynuser: 😘

f1gossip: 👀 x2

user18: i can give you flowers too ya know

lance_stroll has made a post

liked by astonmartinf1, estebanocon, ynuser, chloestroll, robertomerhi, scottyjames31 and 234,456 others

lance_stroll: thankful for the two weeks at home! always great to see the crowd out here in montreal. merci beaucoup canada- on to austria we go 🤍🇨🇦

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user1: holy heck you are so fine

user2: maple syrup making the dump is sending me

astonmartinf1: maple syrup ✔️ refreshing time at home ✔️ ready to get some points in austria ✔️

ynuser: face so pretty they should be putting YOU on magazine covers

lance_stroll: 🤭 oh stop! we both know you’re the only one fit for magazines and runways

user4: ohh look pr getting even more interactive i see

user11: you look so good in am green

estebanocon: 💪🏻 great weekend mate! thanks for taking me and flavy around canada

lance_stroll: of course mon ami! we love spending time with you guys 🤍

user3: WE?! who is WE

user22: cutie patootie

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, and 11,344 others

f1gossip: in a recent interview where model, y/n y/l/n, talks through the upcoming vs fashion show she was also asked if there was anyone special who would be in attendance…. she blushed and said: “my partner is going to be there! he has yet to come to any of my shows so i’m really excited that it finally works with his schedule!” we can only assume she’s talking about a certain f1 driver 🤔

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user1: wow how did i not realize how stunning she is

user8: how long do you think we have to put up with this fake relationship

user4: it’s already been way longer than i would have wanted

user3: if it’s pr why are both of them being so secretive? can’t 2 people just be happy? like leave them be

user3: omg lance at the vs show?!?!?!? ain’t no way i can’t WAIT to see him there

user33: f1 driver try not to date a model challenge failed

user4: at least she’s a real model 😭

user12: you lot are miserable in these comments fr. i don’t follow f1 but my girl was mentioned and i do NOT like how yall talking abt her.

user18: welcome to being a lance stan. we live in the trenches but we all love y/n here!! it’s the other fans who are annoying

user12: whelp…. seems i will be going to war for lance

ynuser has posted to their story

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user1: this is hot wtf

yourbff: oh!

ynuser: 🤭

yourbff: he got any single friends so i can get this sorta treatment too or.......

ynuser: HAHA i'll ask

user18: a tear just ran down my ….. nvm i’ll keep that one to myself

yoursibling: princess can’t walk on her own?

ynuser: these shoes hurt my feet

yoursibling: of course they do hahahah well im glad hes coming in handy

ynuser: lance is simply the best

user55: just disappointed this ain’t me fr

lance_stroll: i love you baby girl

ynuser: i love you too sweet boy

lance_stroll: you promise?

ynuser: what? of course i do!!

lance_stroll: i've been reading too many of the comment on our posts :(

ynuser: ohhh baby don't do that!! no one knows what our relationship is like besides us and i love you more than words could ever express

lance_stroll: i know its just easier said than done to ignore it sometimes

ynuser: i get it baby i really do and i'm sorry. people will always have an opinion an we can't change that but don't ever doubt just how much i love you 🤍

user16: glad whoever this is is treating you like the queen you are

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, and 15,674 others

f1gossip: and just like that! it's official. lance has arrived to the victoria's secret fashion show red carpet alongside the gorgeous vs angel, y/n y/l/n.

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user18: the video of them arriving might be the happiest we’ve seen lance look in like years

user22: this makes my heart so happy

user8: fake fake fake

user12: adopting him and starting to watch f1 was the best decision i made man look at my mom and dad

user18: the strookies are so glad to have you 💚

user4: contracts gotta be almost up after this!!

user3: this is jobless behavior user4

user88: wow she looks incredible and honestly this is one of his best outfits in a while. gf effect is real

lance_stroll has added to his story

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chloestroll: how in the world does she always look so perfect

lance_stroll: i ask myself that every day. shes truly beautiful inside and out

chloestroll: my baby brothers in love ❤️‍🔥🥰

lance_stroll: as the kids would say, i'm down bad

user18: hold on is she wrapping your hugo boss jumper around her legs in the second slide!? brb crying

ynuser: thank you for being here! these shows make me so nervous

lance_stroll: there is no place i'd rather be!

flavy.barla: CUTIES!!! did you make sure she got the flowers from este and i?

lance_stroll: of course i did! she cried real tears and said she was going to call you after the show 😘

user8: you and your pr fling ❤️

astonmartinf1: the couple of the century holy moly

lance_stroll: 😉

user12: you better close your eyes every time another model walks by that isnt our queen

ynuser has made a post

liked by lance_stroll, yourbff, astonmartinf1, zendaya, victoriassecret, adrianalima, yoursibling and 324,220 others

ynuser: another vs fashion show in the books! thank you to everyone who made this possible - to the team of incredible stylists, to vs, to my friends for supporting me through this journey and to my darling lance who is always my biggest cheerleader and never says no to milkshakes at midnight. see you same time next year 🤍

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chloestroll: my favorite angel

ynuser: my favorite stroll 🤍

lance_stroll: hello??????

chloestroll: lance look away this is a private convo

lance_stroll: yeah i’ll be having private convos with you both 😘

ynuser: god forbid the girlies are besties 😔

user12: the milkshake photo im sobbing 😭

lance_stroll: i love being your cheerleader 😘

ynuser: and i love being yours my handsome man 🤍

user24: i’ve never seen someone so gorgeous

flavy.barla: wish este and i could have been there! so proud of you beautiful 😍

ynuser: thank you!!! i can’t wait to see you in cannes 😘

user18: only watched that show for you and god was it worth it

yourbff: IM SO PROUD OF YOU

ynuser: THANK YOU

user27: this is my version of the royal couple

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

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letjungk09k · 28 days ago

Text

Fang and Flame

Main Masterlist

.ᐟ pairing. ⤑ Prince!Rafayel x Vampire/Bodyguard!Reader (no use of y/n).

.ᐟ synopsis. ⤑ Rafayel, a Prince soon to be King, corrupts his perfect bodyguard.

.ᐟ word count. ⤑ 30k (she's a long one) posted on my ao3. READER'S BACKSTORY IS NOT IN THE TUMBLR VERSION.

.ᐟ WARNINGS, mdni!!. ⤑ explicit sexual content, it's a lil filthy, rafayel is in his god of tides outfit!! LOTTT of sexual tension, male masturbation, blood drinking, praise kink (phew), includes a brothel, finger sucking, forced orgasm, p in v sex, vampire biting, possessive rafayel, drug use sorta, neck kissing, human/vampire relationship, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, rough sex, hand kink if you look hard enough, fantasy au, rafayel is a bit of a lil shit... its just filth idk what else to say

.ᐟ A/N. i'm so down bad for god of tides rafayel my GAWDD. this is a lil shot at me tryna make my own universe..it might be a bit confusing but hey. i TRIED. this is also my first LADS fic. so enjoy ^.^

On the ao3 version, there is a backstory to the reader and how she became a vampire!

Timeline aid: AF = Age of Fire

525 AF

The grand courtyard of the palace was lined with mourners and the air thick with the weight of loss.

The king was dead.

It had been days since the news reached every corner of the Whalefall city but today, the reality of it settled into the palace. The funeral was an event unlike any other, with royal beings from different kingdoms and common folk alike arriving to pay their respects. The sheer size of the gathering was overwhelming, an endless sea of faces each one draped in black, all of them here for a man they either feared or respected.

You stood at the edge of the procession, just a few paces behind the prince. His presence alone demanded attention, even without the crown on his head. His black attire blended seamlessly with the mourners but there was something about him that set him apart. Perhaps it was the way he stood, his back straight and eyes forward yet there was a distance to him. An air of control, of calculation that seemed unnatural for someone attending his father’s funeral.

You had been by his side for nearly three years now, watching him as his bodyguard, his protector, his knight, his shield. But despite all that time you still couldn’t fully decipher him. You had never been able to understand the prince’s true desires. At times he acted carefree, as though the throne meant nothing to him. Yet there were moments when a darker hunger flared in his eyes, moments that made you wonder if he truly desired power, if he thought only of the throne.

You had learned long ago that in the midst of death and mourning, a vampire (let alone one like you) did not belong. Your presence here was more a quiet formality than an act of respect. For five centuries death had been something you lived with, yet never truly embraced. But it wasn't just the death that hung in the air, it was the tension. The kingdom was in transition and Rafayel was at the centre of it all.

You stood beside him alert, watching the gathered nobles and sensing every shift in the air. But you couldn’t ignore the fact that something was different now. He was different.

The moment his father’s body had been laid to rest, the kingdom’s attention turned to him. You could feel the subtle change in the air, the tightening of the strings around his future. His face was unreadable, his eyes cold. Even his posture betrayed nothing of the grief or anger you might have expected from a son at his father’s funeral.

It was as though he were some distant observer, a prince watching from the outside as the kingdom mourned it's fallen ruler. Every word he spoke to the court was measured, careful. It was as though the weight of his father’s death had forced him to mask everything else beneath a cold exterior. Was he grieving? Did he even care?

You didn’t know. It made you uneasy.

As the ceremony continued you couldn’t help but observe the subtle shifts in the crowd.

Glances, whispers and the occasional noble eyeing you with suspicion. The queen’s gaze never strayed far from you. Her eyes flicked between him and you, sharp and resentful. Even after all these years, even with the kingdom on the brink of trouble she still loathed your very existence.

Her eyes filled with hatred found their mark every time, but there was nothing she could do about it. Soon enough, Rafayel would be crowned king and your position as his bodyguard would be solidified.

You'd no longer be the prince's bodyguard, but the king's.

As the funeral came to a close the crowd began to disperse, many retreating to the warmth of the palace halls. Rafayel did not move. He remained, as still as the stone at his feet. You watched him closely, stepping closer to his side, your presence near him not a protection this time but a force of habit.

"You look uneasy" he said his voice low, just loud enough for you to hear.

His words weren’t exactly a question but more like an observation. He didn’t turn to face you but the weight of his presence beside you was undeniable.

"I’m fine, my prince" you replied your voice even, though the words felt like a lie as they left your mouth.

Rafayel hummed, as if unconvinced.

"You always say that"

His lips curled slightly in what might’ve been a smirk though you couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t often so observant, so quick to speak up about things. But today something about him was different.

"I’m not as blind as you might think" he said, his voice steady but there was a hint of something sharper in his tone now "You’ve been on edge ever since we arrived. You’re always watching. The funeral’s over but I can feel your attention on me like a hawk circling prey"

"Forgive me" you murmured, your gaze lowering "I’m simply ensuring your safety, as always"

There was a slight pause before Rafayel spoke again, his voice lower now as if drawing you into the space between you.

"As always... You’re always watching, aren’t you?" he echoed, his smirk deepening. Then, in a quieter tone "Do you think this will ever end?"

Your brows furrowed slightly.

"End, my prince?"

His lips tightened.

"The watching, the waiting. The eyes on me. Every time I step outside... the kingdom is watching, waiting for me to become my father. They want another king. Another ruler to kneel before but I am not him. I will never be what they expect"

You hesitated.

Rafayel was more complex than any crown he would wear. Although you had only been under his wing for three years, he had been the only one in that hall to vouch for you that day his guards captured you. Vouch for what you could be. It didn't settle well with you, as he had only saw you as a weapon but he had trained you, given you a bed, given you food (that you never ate) and despite the Queen's coldness towards you, he himself was never cruel.

"You can’t be your father" you said quietly, watching his profile "But you can be king"

Rafayel glanced at you then, his eyes narrowing slightly. His gaze lingered on you for a fraction too long, his expression unreadable. Then, in typical fashion, he let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head.

"That’s a rather dull answer" he mused, his tone light but there was something underneath it "You sound like one of my advisors. Or worse... my mother"

"If you find my answer dull my prince, you are free to disregard it" You were nothing like his mother. You were not cruel.

Rafayel had always been hard to read. A prince who carried himself with effortless ease but never let anyone see him bleed. He had always spoken of the throne with indifference, as though it were an inconvenience. But now standing at the edge of his father’s grave, something about him was different.

His fingers twitched at his side.

"You said I can be king" he continued, quieter now "but what if I don’t want to be?"

You blinked. The question shouldn’t have surprised you but it did. He had never voiced such doubts before, not to you.

"You know as well as I do, my prince" you continued, your eyes flicking briefly to him "that whether you want it or not, the throne is your burden now. There’s no walking away from it"

There was a brief silence, the sound of wind brushing past the towering stone walls of the courtyard seeming to grow louder in the quiet space between you two. Rafayel shifted slightly, his fingers idly tracing the edge of his cloak, the fabric rippling beneath his touch. He leaned just a fraction closer, not enough to close the distance but enough for you to feel the change in the air.

"My burden..." His voice was low now, almost too quiet. Had you said the wrong thing? Even if you had, his lips still curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more like amusement "I'm glad you see it that way also"

Before you had the chance to ask him if he was ready to head inside, he spoke again.

"And what about you?" he asked, arching a brow "What do you expect of me?"

"I expect you to survive" you said, your tone steady but sharp "The kingdom needs a king, my prince. Whether you want to be one or not it’s your duty"

"You’re as cold as ever" he murmured "You’d think after all these years... I’d have earned something more than the stone wall you put up. Or maybe some sympathy after my fathers death?"

The hint of amusement was there but you weren’t sure whether it was sincere or meant to provoke.

His posture remained deceptively relaxed but there was a tension in his shoulders. He was waiting for your response, his eyes narrowing slightly as he waited for you to reply.

The weight of his words settled into your chest and for the first time in years, you found yourself unsure of how to respond.

"Forgive me, my prince" you said, your voice steady though your words felt strangely empty. It was the only thing you could think to say, the only apology you could offer.

Rafayel didn’t respond immediately. He let the silence stretch between you, both of you alone in your thoughts surrounded only by the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. It felt like a moment suspended in time.

Finally his lips parted again, his tone lighter this time though there was still an edge to it as if he couldn’t quite let go of the rawness in his voice.

"Stone wall or not" he said softly "you’re the only one I can trust right now"

"I don’t know why you trust me, my prince" you said quietly, your voice steady "I’ve never really given you a reason to"

"Is protecting my life not enough to gain trust?"

The question was pointed, carrying the same quiet edge as his earlier words. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with a gaze that lingered just a little too long, as if trying to reveal something buried beneath the surface. You didn’t break the stare, your expression unchanged but inside, his question hit a little harder than you expected.

"Protecting you is my duty" you said, the words coming out like a practiced response as they always did "It’s not about trust. It’s about keeping you alive"

Rafayel didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. He knew.

Then like a switch, he changed.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his shoulders as if the weight of the conversation itself bored him. As if he was bored of the funeral. His posture shifted, the tension melting away as he stretched, a lazy motion that somehow looked effortless. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms with a casual air that only someone like him could pull off in such a moment.

"Really, is that all you have to say? No words of wisdom? No grave warnings about how I should rule?" He hummed, amused "How tragic. My own bodyguard refuses to entertain me"

You resisted the urge to sigh. He danced around the weight of his father’s death like it was a game.

"You claimed me to be a knight, not a jester" Was all you responded.

"Well" he said, his voice returning to it's usual playful tone "I’m glad I’m not the only one trapped in duty then"

His words hung heavy in the air and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of them too. The statement hung in the air between you and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of frustration. He refused to acknowledge what was really at stake. For once, you wished he would take things seriously even if just for a moment.

"We should head inside" you said, finally breaking the silence. It wasn’t a suggestion. The funeral had been long enough, the night growing darker. The air was heavy with more than just the weight of his father’s death now.

"Lead the way miss bodyguard"

────────

The heavy atmosphere of the past few days weighed on the kingdom but the preparations for Rafayel’s coronation continued without pause.

You stood in your usual position, just a few steps behind Rafayel, watching as the prince surveyed the map of the kingdom’s territories that was spread out before him. Rafayel’s gaze flicked across the map but his attention seemed distant. The coronation was only a few weeks away but the weight of his father’s death still seemed to hang over him. Even now he didn’t look ready to step into the role that was thrust upon him but then again, you doubted he ever would be.

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, Rafayel sighed and the sound made you glance up. His fingers tapped restlessly on the map.

"Do you think they’ll listen to me?"

"They’ll have to" you replied simply, your voice even "Your bloodline demands it"

Rafayel’s eyes flicked to you but he didn’t respond right away. The flicker of doubt that had crossed his features was quickly masked.

"And what of the advisors?" He motioned toward the scrolls and letters on the table before him, all filled with counsel and directions for his reign "Do you think they’ll accept me?"

You stepped closer, positioning yourself in a way that placed you between him and the open window, blocking the breeze from ruffling the papers.

"They will fall in line. They may try to test you at first but your position is strong, my prince"

Rafayel hummed in response, though his face didn’t betray much. He didn’t appear comforted by your words but you knew it was what he needed to hear. There was nothing more to say, his power was already set in motion. The kingdom would follow, whether they liked it or not. Rafayel leaned back slightly, staring at the map again but now with a deeper tension in his posture.

"I never wanted this..."

There was a long pause, his gaze not leaving the map in front of him. You could almost see the battle within him, the hesitation between embracing his new role or rejecting it entirely. But you weren’t there to play a part in that internal conflict, your job was to ensure that he didn't falter when it mattered most.

Rafayel exhaled as if steering himself before he turned to leave, with you hot on his heels.

The walk to the council chamber felt like it took hours. You’d spent the past few days watching him wrestle with the weight of his father’s death. The funeral was over, the kingdom was still and yet the true battle had only just begun. Rafayel’s first council meeting as the upcoming king was underway and despite his resolve there was an undeniable tension.

Rafayel no longer had his father to hide behind, he was to be the one to lead them now.

The council room was enormous, the marble walls rising high above, decorated with the Lemurian banners. Rafayel stepped in first, his gaze sweeping over the council with a quiet but unmistakable authority. You stayed a few paces behind him, vigilant as always, your eyes scanning the room for potential threats. You were always alert, even when no immediate danger was present.

You noticed the Queen and the way she was sat, poised at the far end of the table, her eyes never leaving her son. She was still dressed in mourning black, a reminder of the King's passing. But there was something colder behind her gaze now... a sharpness that seemed directed at both Rafayel and you.

Whispers rippled through the air, a mix of curiosity and unease. The room was thick with tension and power and it seemed to hold its breath at the sight of you. You were a woman yes but that wasn’t why they stared. It was because you were a mystery, a being who wasn’t quite human, a "monster" in their eyes and yet somehow, Rafayel had chosen you as his shield.

After three years in the palace, the stares and whispers were a normality to you.

Rafayel sat at the head of the table, looking every bit the king he was meant to be, though there was a flicker of unease in his gaze.

"Now that we are gathered" Rafayel’s voice broke through the room, clear but with an edge of authority that hadn’t been there before "We’ll begin with the state of the kingdom. First, the reports on the southern border"

The council members shifted in their seats, the sound of parchment shuffling filled the air as one of the advisors rose to speak.

"There has been unrest in the southern territories, my prince. There are rumours of rebellion brewing in some of the smaller cities... we recommend a larger military presence to ensure the peace"

"And what of the rest of the kingdom?" Rafayel asked, his voice colder now "Any threats closer to home?"

The advisor faltered for a moment before responding.

"My-My prince... we’ve received word from the capital city that tensions are rising. The nobles are eager to know your plans regarding your coronation and your intentions for the throne"

At the mention of the coronation, the room fell silent.

All eyes shifted to Rafayel, each pair seemingly waiting for his response, anticipating how the new king would handle his responsibilities. Rafayel didn’t immediately speak, his fingers tapped lightly on the armrest of his chair. The Queen, seated at the far end of the room studied him with an unreadable expression, her gaze flickering toward you before returning to her son.

"The coronation will proceed as planned but we will not let ceremonial titles be our sole focus. The Whalefall city and its wellbeing is far more urgent" Rafayel spoke. You heard his heart jump a beat.

A murmur rippled through the room, some council members exchanging uneasy glances. It was clear that Rafayel’s priorities were not aligned with their expectations.

"And what of the nobles, my prince?" one advisor interjected, his tone full of concern "They expect more than just... your presence. The throne requires a union. A queen, heirs, surely you’ve considered your options"

"I have no interest in rushing into such decisions" Rafayel’s eyes flickered toward his mother and then back to the council. The Queen cleared her throat, a sharp sound that pierced the tension.

"You must consider this carefully, Rafayel" she said "The kingdom expects stability and that includes your future as king. We must discuss the issue of your marriage"

Rafayel’s jaw tightened slightly.

"I’ve heard this already, Mother" Rafayel said quietly but firmly "The matter of my marriage is not one I intend to rush into simply because the throne is vacant"

The council members exchanged uneasy glances. Some looked at Rafayel with doubt, clearly uncomfortable with the obvious difference in his approach compared to his father’s. The late king had been decisive, quick in his decisions whereas Rafayel was… different. Though he had the same resolve his solutions were new and unfamiliar to those who had been used to the old ways.

"You may not wish to rush, Rafayel" the Queen pressed, her voice softer but still sharp "You know as well as I do that marriage to the right house will secure the kingdom’s future. A union with the right bloodline could mean the difference between peace and war"

There was a subtle shift in the room, as if the council members were holding their breath waiting for Rafayel to respond. Some of them looked to the Queen for guidance, as if unsure whether to side with the new king or his mother’s expectations.

Rafayel’s eyes flicked to you for a split second, a momentary glance that you knew was more for reassurance than anything else. You had hoped he didn't expect you to speak up. He turned back to the Queen, his voice unwavering.

"I am aware, but I will not marry for the sake of political strategy alone. I won’t allow this kingdom to be just a chess piece"

The Queen’s lips curled into a thin, almost imperceptible smile.

"You are still a young man, Rafayel" she said, her voice softening in a way that felt almost patronizing "You may think you understand the weight of the throne but it’s not only power that matters. It’s legacy, family. Heirs"

There was a tense silence as everyone around the table waited for Rafayel to respond and for the first time, you saw something in his eyes... a flicker of uncertainty.

"I’ll marry when I find the right person" Rafayel said, his voice a little colder than before "Not before"

As the room shifted with murmurs of approval and disapproval, your thoughts drifted momentarily.

In a new world like this, where women were expected to marry for the kingdom’s benefit and to secure alliances, to bear heirs... the idea of waiting for the right person was a privilege few women could afford. A woman’s desires would be ignored in favour of duty. She wouldn’t have the luxury of choice and yet, Rafayel could make that decision.

His freedom was palpable. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy, even if you knew that his path was hardly an easy one.

You let the thought slip away, focusing instead on duty. After all, your place was behind him. Your duty was to keep him safe and though your thoughts lingered on the differences between the two of you you knew one thing for certain, there was no room for your personal desires here.

Not for you. Not ever.

The room seemed to relax slightly but the Queen’s gaze remained fixed on her son.

"Very well but do not delay too long, Rafayel. You know the pressure the kingdom faces"

The meeting continued with various reports on trade, military and the status of neighboring kingdoms but you could see the weight of it all on Rafayel. He was standing at the edge of something terrifying. As the meeting drew to a close Rafayel stood and turned to the council.

"We’ll continue this tomorrow" he said, his tone firm but you could hear the weariness behind it.

The council members stood and began to leave. When the room finally cleared, Rafayel sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. You stepped forward but before you could speak he cut you off.

"Let’s go for a walk" he said quietly, his voice low but carrying an unspoken weight.

You knew better than to question him.

"Of course, my prince"

The marble floors beneath your boots echoed softly as you walked beside Rafayel. The air in the palace was still heavy, the silence only broken by the faint hum of distant voices and the occasional flicker of torches. The palace felt emptier now, as if the loss of the king had shook through every inch of the walls.

You both walked in silence for a while, the weight of the council meeting still lingering in the air. You didn’t need to speak to know what was on his mind. It was in the subtle way he clenched his jaw, the way his fingers tightened into a sharp grip and in the occasional glance he threw toward the shadows of the hall.

Finally he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

"I’m not sure I’m cut out for this"

You raised an eyebrow, matching his pace but not yet responding.

"Not cut out for being king?" you asked, the question harsher than you intended and your voice still as detached as ever "You’ve been training for this your whole life"

Rafayel let out a bitter laugh, the sound dry and devoid of humor.

"Training, yes. But I’m not my father am I? They expect me to step into his shoes, to rule with the same iron fist he did. But I can’t.. I won’t do it the way he did. Not just for the sake of tradition" The frustration in his voice was subtle but you heard it "And the Queen… She only wants me to follow in his footsteps. To marry for power and I just want to fucking live"

"You don’t have to be like your father" you said, your voice steady "You can rule in your own way. You’ll find your own path, you don’t have to follow the footsteps of those who came before you"

Rafayel stopped walking and you did the same, your eyes meeting his. His expression was conflicted, as though he wanted to argue, to protest but instead he just stood there. For a long momentyou both stood in silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Then he gave a small nod.

"that’s easy for you to say" he muttered but there was a trace of bitterness in his words "I’m supposed to be the king, aren’t I? The one who makes the decisions but they don’t trust me.."

"They don't have to. It isn't their choice"

"We’ll see" he murmured

You both resumed walking, the sounds of your footsteps echoing through the long hallway. The further you went the more the palace seemed to fall away into silence and the world outside seemed closer, more alive.

When you reached a large balcony overlooking Whalefall city, Rafayel leaned against the railing, gazing out at the moonlit expanse. His profile was sharp against the pale light of the night and for a brief moment, you saw him as something other than a prince or a leader. Just a man, standing at the edge of everything.

"I used to come out here with my father" Rafayel said quietly, his gaze still distant "Before all of this. He’d always stand there and look out over the kingdom, like he could see everything from here. I used to ask him what he saw... he said he saw strength. He saw a kingdom that would never fall"

You didn’t answer, merely standing by his side watching the city below. Your gaze was fixed on the streets far below, the flickering torches of the night.

"And what do you see?" you asked finally, your voice low and steady. Rafayel was quiet for a moment then he shrugged, the smirk returning to his face.

"I see a kingdom that’s going to change. Starting with me"

────────

The next few days Rafayel changed completely.

A smirk that lingered too long and a laugh that held a sharper edge. The way Rafayel carried himself with an air of carelessness that felt just a little too deliberate. At the council meetings he was still decisive. Still sharp and unwilling to bend but outside of them something shifted. He moved with a careless confidence, his words laced with even more amusement and he toyed with conversation like it was a game and brushed off concerns with a wave of his hand.

If he was tense before, it had unravelled into something looser.

You notic-ed it in the way he moved. Graceful but almost lazy and the tension in his shoulders was gone, replaced by a practiced ease that felt unnatural after weeks of weight pressing down on him.

At dinners he leaned back in his chair, swirling a goblet of wine between his fingers with idle amusement, letting the nobles talk over one another while he watched them like a bored god.

Even in the training yard where his movements were usually precise and calculated there was a new recklessness to him. A tendency to take unnecessary risks in spars, grinning through every near miss like he was chasing the thrill of being caught off guard.

His eyes glinted with a kind of mischief, a gleam that only deepened as the days went on. At times it almost seemed like he was deliberately trying to annoy you, throwing in sarcastic remarks when you least expected them, teasing you with an ease that didn’t quite belong in a prince.

Then, you heard the whispers.

At first they were just that. A murmur behind closed doors, the half glances exchanged between courtiers when he arrived at council meetings later than usual. You had always heard murmurs in the corridors and hidden corners of the palace but now they seemed to follow Rafayel everywhere he went.

Whispers that he had been slipping out at night, sneaking away from the watchful eyes of the royal guards and disappearing into the darkness.

At first you ignored them but as the rumours began to circulate more frequently your unease grew. His usual routine had shifted and though he remained as charming as ever, there was something unsettling about it all.

And then, it wasn’t just his demeanour that had changed.

You had seen him leave more than once after the usual evening meal, his form slipping through the doors and disappearing into the darkness and ordering you not to follow him. He was always gone by the time the moon rose high and when you saw him again at dawn, there were always subtle signs that he’d returned from somewhere.

His Lemurian clothes were hastily thrown on, wrinkled in all the wrong places as if he hadn’t bothered to care about his appearance in the rush to get back and his hands often grazed the edges of his clothes as though he were still trying to adjust to some part of the night that lingered on him.

You noticed the faint scratch marks on his neck and forearms, even on his back. At first, they were easy to ignore... small, almost not noticeable. But they began to appear more frequently, scattered across his skin like evidence he didn’t try to hide. Due to the amount of exposed skin his clothes showed, you were surprised that no one else had picked up on them. Or maybe they did and they chose to ignore it, or minimised it down to him sparing too much.

They were not from sparing or training. No, these marks were more intimate.

He’s sneaking out at night. Slipping past the guards. Some say he disappears into the the Silk Streets.

That name carried weight. A place where nobility lost their dignity and gold in equal measure. A labyrinth of brothels, gambling dens and places that existed purely for indulgence. A place that thrived in the shadows, where reputations were ruined and secrets were bought with a handful of coins.

A place not fit for the new Lemurian king.

You didn't know why he was walking straight into it, if the rumours were true.

Maybe it was grief, maybe it was defiance. Maybe he just wanted to feel something different. Something far from the suffocating expectations of the palace. He was the future king and the moment the wrong people took notice, the moment they realized his recklessness, his carelessness would become a weapon in someone else’s hands.

And then there was you.

People already started to doubt your ability to protect so if he was slipping past you unnoticed, what did that say about you? About your duty? If someone else caught him before you did, if word spread beyond the whispers in the palace, what would that mean for you? You had no doubt that The Queen would have something to say.

You would find out where he was going.

That night, long after the palace had settled into a quiet stillness you stood by the door to Rafayel’s chambers. You were supposed to be on duty, keeping watch but a strange sense of unrest kept you from your usual place. Something drew you to his door, something you couldn’t quite place.

It was then that you saw it.

The faintest movement through the slightly ajar window in his chamber. A flicker of shadow, a small look at his shadow slipping away from the palace walls. He was leaving and without thinking, you followed.

You crept down the hallway, keeping to the shadows as your footsteps were swallowed by the marble floor. There was no turning back now. You had to know, you had to see for yourself where he was going, what he was doing in the dead of night when no one was watching.

The cold night air met you as you stepped outside, if your heart could beat, it would be pounding in your chest. You moved swiftly, staying a few paces behind Rafayel as he walked through the gardens, his figure barely visible in the pale moonlight. He moved like he was used to this, like he had done it a hundred times before. He didn’t turn back, not once and as you followed, you began to wonder if he even knew you were there or if he simply didn’t care.

He passed through the side gates of the palace, his movements fluid and confident. You knew where he was headed before he even reached the main road. The Silk Streets.

The rumours were true.

He was dressed in a dark cloak, the fabric heavy and concealing, draping over him like a shadow. The hood of the cloak was drawn low, covering most of his face and the rest of his features were hidden beneath the folds of the fabric. From a distance, he could have been anyone. His usually regal posture was gone, replaced by the subtle movements of someone trying to go unnoticed.

Now, he was trying to hide. Trying to blend in with the crowds of the Silk Streets, with the people who lived in the shadows.

The moonlight barely touched the narrow alleys of the streets. It thrummed with an energy that felt alive, whispers of soft laughter, muffled music and the clink of coins and goblets.

He moved through the night with an ease that made you feel out of place, his body relaxed, his steps confident as if this dark part of the city were a second home to him. He barely glanced around, unfazed by the lewd whispers that followed him, the women in doorways flashing smiles that spoke of things better left unspoken. You kept your distance, keeping your gaze forward, trying to ignore the way the scent of incense and perfume clung to the air, thick and almost intoxicating.

You, on the other hand, felt the weight of every step. Every brush of a stranger’s arm, every faint whisper that danced through the air like smoke, reminded you that you didn’t belong here.

You wanted to remain unseen, unnoticed but the air here was thick with something else... The smell of the street mixed with the distant scent of sweat and alcohol, weaving into a heavy blanket of scent that nearly overwhelmed your senses. It was intoxicating and the longer you walked the harder it became to ignore the heady warmth that filled the air.

But then the sensation turned into something else entirely. The heat, the press of so many bodies brushing against yours, the constant hum of life in every corner... suddenly it felt too much. Too many people. Too much stimulation. You stumbled slightly, your senses overwhelmed by the presence of so many and for a fleeting moment the hunger crept up on you.

You were surrounded by so much warmth, so many living breathing bodies and the hunger within you was no longer something you could easily control. It was always there, lurking beneath the surface but tonight, it seemed louder. Stronger. You felt the sharp tug of desire and the familiar hunger that always came with being so close to so much life.

You lost sight of Rafayel and for a brief moment, it was almost a relief. He was safer without you. The thought flitted through your mind as you turned your gaze away from the large number of people, focusing instead on keeping your breath steady. It was easier this way, you told yourself. He was safer away from you, far from the monster you carried inside.

You fought the urge. You had to.

The hunger clawed at your insides, sharp and insistent, but you pushed it back, burying the need. The sensation of so much warmth, so many heartbeats pressing against your own cold skin, made the hunger feel alive, tangible. You could almost taste it. Feel it on the tip of your tongue. It was supposed to be manageable.. the witch had promised you that. You hadn't felt this burning need to feed in 500 years, so why now?

You took a step back, your breath shallow as you struggled to regain control. You didn’t belong in this place and yu couldn’t let yourself lose control. Not here, not now.

But with each passing second the pull grew stronger and the longer you stayed in the middle of the crowd the harder it became to resist. Every brush of skin, every whisper in the night seemed to feed the fire inside you. The streets twisted before you, the scent of perfume and incense growing thicker as you walked deeper into the streets. Rafayel. You had to find him and get out of here.

You could hear the laughter from behind closed doors, the shuffling of feet, the creaking of wooden steps but the most intoxicating sound of all? Rafayel’s voice. Faint but unmistakable.

The realization hit you like a brick to the chest.

You should leave. You should walk away.

But the hunger gnawed at you and you knew that if you didn’t move now, it would consume you. In a heartbeat your mind made the decision for you. You stormed through the crowded streets, ignoring the lewd stares, pushing past those who walked too slow in front of you. Rafayel’s scent, it was distinct, almost intoxicating but it pulled you further down the winding alleys, toward the brothel.

The building loomed ahead, its doors open wide promising warmth and sin. The voices and sounds grew louder as you approached, a mix of anger and the need to confront him.

As you stepped inside, the dim light was almost suffocating. The air was thick with the musk of bodies, the sweet smell of alcohol mingling with the pungent scent of jasmine and rose that seemed to pour out of every corner. You forced yourself to breathe slowly but each inhale was heavy.

And then you heard it. a moan. Soft, laced with pleasure and the sound cut through the noise of the brothel and you didn’t have to look far to know where it came from.

You found him quickly, in one of the private rooms at the far end of the building. He was sprawled across a small bed, his usual casual grace replaced with an ease that could only come from having done this many times before. His hands were tangled in the sheets, his bare chest rising and falling with each laboured breath. A woman, pale and completely naked straddled his waist, her face flushed with pleasure.

You didn’t flinch at the sight, not even a hint of hesitation. The hunger in your chest was stronger than any sense of discomfort you might have had. It was the hunger that you focused on now.

Without a word you walked deeper into the room, your gaze locked on the woman. The sound of her soft moans stopped when she noticed you standing there, the air suddenly turning thick with tension. Her eyes darted between you and Rafayel uncertain but you didn’t give her a chance to question.

"Leave" you said coldly, your voice cutting through the room like a blade.

The woman didn’t protest, her eyes flicking to Rafayel but he simply gave her a lazy wave of his hand, not at all concerned by your presence. She reluctantly climbed off him and gathered her clothes, throwing one last glance at the two of you before slipping out the door. Rafayel didn’t move, still stretched across the bed, his body still bare not even a hint of shame in his posture. He looked almost amused but there was a glint in his eyes, a spark of mischief that made your jaw tighten.

"Didn't think you’d follow me in here" he said casually, his lips curling into that irritating smirk "But then again, you always have a way of showing up at the wrong time"

He knew you were following him.

"This place isn't fit for a prince" Was all you found yourself replying. The hunger was growing and you needed to feed but getting Rafayel away from here was your main priority.

But of course, he was being difficult. He chuckled, a mocking sound that filled the room.

"Maybe not but it’s comfortable. No one expects anything from me here, you know? No royal duties, no heavy decisions weighing me down. Just... freedom" He stretched lazily, as if the whole scene were nothing more than a casual affair.

"You shouldn’t be here" you said bluntly, your voice still flat "You’re due to be the king and yet you're playing around in filth"

Rafayel rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered.

"Always so serious. Can’t you just relax a little? The world’s not always as black and white as you make it out to be. Here, I’m just Rafayel. No title, no expectations. Just... me"

You ignored the underlying challenge in his tone, your gaze cool and unwavering.

"You’re wasting your time" He raised an eyebrow at your response.

"Am I? Or am I just taking a break from being who everyone else wants me to be? Maybe I like being... something else for a while. Not some puppet prince everyone pulls at" You’d seen him be reckless before but this? This felt like he was trying to prove something. Or maybe it was just his way of avoiding the weight of the crown that loomed over him.

"You’re still a prince" you said, your voice like ice "No matter where you go. No matter who you bed"

Rafayel’s smirk widened, a flicker of something deeper in his eyes as he sat up and exposed more of his naked body, moving with a slow grace that made your stomach twist with frustration.

"You know" he said softly, his voice a little more teasing now "I always thought you'd be more... possessive. Aren’t you the least bit jealous?"

You didn’t flinch.

"Jealousy is a waste of time”

His expression flickered then that mischievous grin returned.

"My miss bodyguard, so cold as always. I wonder what would happen if I pushed you a little harder"

You held his gaze, unwavering, your breath steady despite the tension building between you.

"Leave. Now"

With another sigh he stood from where he was lying to pick up his clothes. He even left the palace and came here in his Lemurian outfit... he was truly being reckless. Did he really not care what others thought? His movements fluid as he slung the silk of his palace outfit over his shoulder with deliberate slowness.

"Alright, alright. No need to get all worked up. But next time, maybe join the fun, hmm?" He said to you as he picked up his cloak that once kept him hidden. You turned and walked toward the door but before you left, you glanced over your shoulder at him, your gaze as cold as the walls around you.

"Next time, I won’t be so forgiving"

Rafayel simply shrugged, as if he wasn’t concerned in the slightest.

"I’ll keep that in mind"

The door clicked shut behind you but the hunger still burned inside, stronger now with the close proximity of Rafayel’s scent lingering in the air. You had more to deal with than just him.

The cool air of the palace felt strangely suffocating as you returned with Rafayel, the hunger clawing at your insides, gnawing at you with each step. Your mind was distant, the pull of your thirst overpowering everything else. You barely noticed as you walked through the halls, your senses heightened, fixating on the sharp scent of blood that lingered in the corridors.

Once you had returned Rafayel safely to his chambers, you focused on your own needs.

It was a feeling you knew too well... but this time, it felt worse. It felt like you were losing control.

As you passed a group of servants your gaze flicked to one of them. No one in the palace cared about them.. She smiled hesitantly at you, completely unaware of the danger she was in. Your body moved of its own accord before you could even think and she never had a chance to react.

You slammed her back against the cold marble of the wall, your hand gripping her wrist tightly, your other hand curling around her chin. The world around you faded into a blur. The sound of your own breath, the pulse beneath her skin and the scent of her blood overwhelming every other sense. The hunger that had been gnawing at you all night surged up.

Your fangs appeared, sharp and deadly and before you could think better of it you sank them into her neck.

The moment your fangs pierced her skin, the taste of blood hit you... rich, warm, intoxicating. It consumed you. You couldn’t stop. It had been so long since you fed like this, without hesitation, without restraint. You drank, hard and fast, the pulsing rhythm of her heart slowing as the minutes passed.

But then something hit you. A sharp wave of panic rose within you, unexpected. This was not like the control you had always maintained, not like the careful, calculated feeds you’d taken before. You hadn’t done this in years.

The memories surged back.

The last time you had lost control, when you had slaughtered the last survivor of your village. You hadn’t cared then but now...

You broke away, your breath coming in short, harsh gasps. The woman sagged against the wall, her body limp in your grasp. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at her and at what you'd done. She was still alive, barely but her pulse was faint. You could feel it.

And yet, all you wanted was to run, to escape the guilt that rose in your throat like bile. You didn’t want to look at her. You didn’t want to face the reality of what you'd just done.

With shaking hands, you gently laid her down on the floor, as if trying to pretend that this had been nothing, just another fleeting moment. But the guilt gnawed at you, sharp and relentless.

You couldn’t stay there, not with her, not with the memory of the last time you’d lost control. So, you left.

But still even after feeding and even after wiping away the last bit of evidence away from your face, you still weren't fully satisfied. You needed more.

────────

The days since you’d first caught Rafayel sneaking out had passed in a blur. He still slipped away though not as often, as though his reckless streak had been tempered slightly by something. He came back to the palace each morning with a quiet defiance in his eyes, as if daring the world to ask him about his actions.

But it wasn’t until the council meeting that his habits were mentioned, spoken of in hushed tones by the others, then brought up publicly by the Queen who seemed increasingly angered with her son’s antics.

"You must explain yourself, Rafayel" the Queen had demanded, her voice tight with controlled irritation "Rumors are circulating. They say you’re sneaking off at night. If this continues, I will not tolerate it"

The room had grown silent, save for the soft shuffle of papers as the council members nervously awaited his response. You had kept your head down, knowing better than to intrude on council matters, especially when the Queen was involved.

The door to the council chamber closed softly behind you, the quiet thud of the wood sounding louder than it should in the empty hall. You could feel his frustration, even though he hadn’t said a word yet. His body language was full of tension and the subtle shake of his shoulders betrayed a layer of anger he wasn’t yet ready to show.

As you walked down the hallway the silence stretched between you both. The distant sounds of the palace servants bustling in the background seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of your own footsteps. Finally, Rafayel broke the silence.

"I’m not a child, you know" he muttered, his tone heavy with an edge. His gaze was dark, fixed straight ahead but the tension in his posture was hard to ignore "You don’t have to stand there and let her throw stones at me. You could’ve said something"

What were you to say? The Queen already disliked you, despised your presence, why should you get involved in family matters? You weren't an advisor or part of the council, just a monster there to ensure he is safe at all times.

"it isn’t my place to speak on matters that don’t concern me"

The words left your mouth and you almost almost regretted them the moment they passed your lips. But it was true. You were the bodyguard, not the family member.

But then there was a bitter chuckle.

"Right. As always, the perfect little soldier" He shook his head, his movements sharp and jerky as if he were trying to shake off the frustration that was still gnawing at him. There was a note of sarcasm in his voice but it didn’t feel entirely mocking "I'm not a fucking puppet"

He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge your reaction.

It was the way he said it, as if he were daring you to call him out, daring you to challenge him. You didn’t respond right away. You stood there, watching him. His eyes were still locked on you, searching, waiting for something... maybe an answer, maybe just someone to acknowledge what he was going through.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before you spoke.

"I never said you were a puppet" you replied quietly, your tone still sharp "I just know my place, my prince"

"And what exactly is your place, then?" His voice was low, almost a whisper but there was a challenge in it "To stand by and watch? Watch me make a fool of myself while everyone around me whispers and judges?"

There was something different in his voice now. It wasn’t just about the council meeting anymore. It wasn’t just about his mother’s words. You didn’t have an answer for him, at least not the kind he wanted.

"My place is where you need me to be, my prince" you replied, keeping your voice steady "That’s the only thing I know for sure"

Rafayel studied you for a moment longer, then finally exhaled a frustrated breath. He ran a hand through his hair, looking away from you for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"Then I know where I need you to be tonight" He told you, and for once, the shock was evident in your face "I'm sneaking out again. It would be a shame if my sworn protector were to follow me"

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You should have responded, should have put an end to his recklessness but something in his tone, in the sharp glint of his gaze, told you it would be useless.

He had already made his decision. He stood beside you for a moment longer and then without another word he turned on his heel and walked away. His stride was effortless, it was as if he didn't believe that you'd deny his command. You should have ignored it. You should have reported it but you knew that no matter what you did Rafayel would still leave tonight and if he was going to put himself in danger, then you had no choice but to be there when it happened.

By the time the sun had set and the palace corridors had emptied you were already waiting. It wasn’t long before you caught the familiar flicker of movement. Rafayel, slipping past the guards with practiced ease, his cloak draped loosely around him and the hood pulled up just enough to obscure his features.

Reckless, careless, stupid.

You moved before you could think better of it, slipping into the night after him. The city stretched before you, pulsing with life even under the weight of darkness and he didn’t look back, but you knew he could feel you there. You hated this place, the way it pulsed with the things you had long since forgotten.

But as Rafayel moved deeper into it's embrace you lost sight of him not long after, only this time there was no panic.

You felt the array of bodies surrounding you again, the hunger, the need. Everything was intimate, it was intense and you closed your eyes for a moment. The moment your eyes shut, the world sharpened in a different way. The warmth of bodies brushing past, the pulse of laughter and whispered secrets, the scent of skin heated from too much drink. It was intoxicating in a way that had nothing to do with blood.

It had been centuries since you had been surrounded like this. Engulfed in something so human, so alive. This wasn’t just hunger for blood.

There was a brush of air and a warm gust of wind on the back of your neck before a small voice appeared at the side of you.

"Don't get lost" He visibly smirked at the way you flinched, the first physical reaction he had ever gotten of you from the three years you were with him "Stay with me.. and relax"

He was behind you somehow, the front of his body only an inch away from the back of your own. His lips close to your ear as he spoke but he still kept to himself. You shuddered for a moment before nodding, like you didn't have a mind of your own, like the street and he himself had put a spell on you.

A spell to obey, which a monster like you should always do.

You could feel him, every inch of him so close but not touching it made your breath falter. A sharp contrast to the steady control you prided yourself on. His skin wasn't against yours but the warmth of him seeped into your skin, into your bones and into that part of you that had been frozen for centuries. His breath ghosted along your jaw, his voice low, deliberate.

"You’re always so tense"

A quiet chuckle rumbled from him and you felt it against your back more than you heard it. He leaned in closer, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear, as if testing the waters.

"Is it this place?" he mused, voice silk and sin "Or is it me?"

You swallowed but the street had stolen your words, stolen your thoughts leaving you exposed. A pair of bodies stumbled past, tangled in each other, laughing breathlessly. Another pair further down, pressed against a wall and lost in the heat of their own indulgence. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, wine, desire. The world here moved differently as if the very street was alive and it had chosen you as its prey.

And Rafayel... Rafayel was watching.

"You feel it, don’t you?" he murmured, his voice dipping into something dangerously smooth "The way it pulls at you, the way it calls"

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. You couldn’t let this place get to you.

"So miss bodyguard... will you indulge with me?"

You should have said no. You should have turned away, should have pulled back, should have reminded him of the line that stood between you, the one that had kept you at a distance for three years. instead, your body betrayed you. A slow shaky exhale slipped from your lips before you could stop it. It was lost in the midst of the Silk Street but not to him. Never to him. Rafayel smirked, his head tilted slightly, his gaze flickering over your face drinking in every minute shift in your expression.

"Indulge?" Your voice was quieter than you meant it to be, your throat drier than it should have been "And what exactly do you mean by that, my prince?"

"Whatever you want it to mean" he murmured "But first... let me show you around"

Rafayel stepped past you, the faintest brush of his cloak against your arm as he did. His smirk deepened when your eyes never left his figure. And then without looking back, he walked into the depths of the street.

Will you indulge with me?

Your feet moved before you had the chance to think. The further you walked down, the more suffocating the atmosphere grew. The flickering lanterns cast shadows on the cobblestones and as you followed Rafayel, every step felt heavier. He moved through the night with an ease that made you feel out of place, his body relaxed and his steps confident as if this dark part of the city were a second home to him. It was.

He barely glanced around, unfazed by the whispers that followed him. You kept your distance, keeping your gaze forward trying to ignore the way the your senses were filled with different fragrances. But you couldn't ignore him. A part of you wanted to turn away, to remind yourself of your place. Of your duty to him but you couldn’t shake the sense of awe that crept in. These people weren’t bound by titles. They were free, in ways you hadn’t been in over five centuries. It almost felt like a distant memory.

It wasn’t that you were jealous of these people but there was something about their freedom, their ability to live without restraint that made you feel… small. Small and trapped in a way you hadn’t let yourself admit. You didn't know why it bothered you.

As Rafayel slowed, leading you into an alleyway between two crumbling buildings, you caught sight of the brothel ahead. It was the same brothel where you had found him the other night. A place drenched in everything that should have repulsed you.

But it didn’t.

Rafayel pushed open the heavy wooden door without hesitation, stepping inside as though he belonged here and maybe in some way, he did. The moment he crossed the door, he was no longer the prince, no longer the heir to a kingdom burdened by duty and expectations. He was just a man, another figure in the haze of warmth and pleasure.

You hesitated.

Standing there just outside, you felt the weight of the past pressing against you. Five hundred years of restraint, five hundred years of existing but never truly living and yet you followed him inside. The shift in atmosphere was immediate. People leaned into one another, hands lingering, lips brushing, eyes half lidded with the haze of drink and desire. There were no rules here, no boundaries. Rafayel turned his head slightly, just enough to see you lingering at the door, your hesitation laid bare.

"You don’t have to be afraid" he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear "No one will look at you as they do in the palace. No one will whisper"

It was a taunt, wrapped in something gentler.

You reached the counter where a number of drinks were laid out, free to take. He reached for a bottle, something dark and rich smelling, the scent of honey and spice clinging to the rim. Without breaking eye contact with you he lifted it to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip before extending it toward you.

"Drink"

You stared at him, silent.

"It won't-"

"Affect you I know.." he reminded, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips "Humour me miss bodyguard. Just this once"

His eyes gleamed, watching and waiting. It wasn’t the drink that made your fingers curl around the bottle, it was him. You lifted the bottle to your lips, letting the liquid slide over your tongue. It was warm, rich, deceptively smooth but beneath the honeyed spice, beneath the slow burning heat, there was something else. Something unmistakable and your throat tightened.

Blood.

Not much, not enough for a human to notice but you weren’t human. The taste, the feel of it. It bloomed across your tongue, curling into your senses, awakening something deep inside you. Your grip on the bottle faltered for just a moment, the glass clinking softly as you set it down. A pang of hunger tightened in your chest and your body reacted almost before your mind could catch up.

"You…" The question was barely a breath, barely a whisper but Rafayel heard it.

And he smirked.

"You were about to ask, weren’t you?" His voice was velvet and amusement. He leaned in, elbow propped lazily on the counter, his eyes flickering in the dim light "If it’s blood? Yes"

He finished the thought for you.

Did he... know?

Your body screamed at you to stay still, to keep your expression neutral but the way Rafayel was watching you, studying you made it impossible. He was enjoying this.

"Relax" he mused, his voice almost soothing and mocking "It's not human. If that's what you're worried about"

You felt like breathing a sigh of relief. He didn't know. Your throat constricted, the taste still lingering on your tongue.

"Why?" You asked, though the question didn’t quite escape with the urgency you expected it to. You couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away from the bottle, nor the way his lips curved into a faint smirk.

"Why not?" Rafayel responded, leaning back up "It’s part of the street's… charm. It’s an old indulgence. Mixed with herbs it’s meant to lift you, free you in a way. It stirs something inside, doesn’t it?"

"Does it?" you murmured, your voice lacked it's usual steel and Rafayel knew it.

His smirk deepened like a hunter playing with it's prey. He tilted his head studying you, before his fingers tapped idly against the counter’s surface. He pulled the hood from his cloak down and your gaze flickered over him, taking in the way the dim, flickering light cast shifting shadows over his face.

"It does" His voice was quiet "Even if you won’t admit it"

His gaze flickered downward just for a second, toward the subtle rise and fall of your chest. Rafayel always carried an air of carelessness, of reckless confidence that made it seem as though the world bent to his rules. But here, in the golden glow of the brothel’s lanterns, draped in his regal clothes hidden by a cloak too large for him he was something else entirely.

The silk of his robes was dark, the colour of deep ocean tides beneath a moonlit sky. The embroidery shimmered as he moved, silver waves curling along the fabric shifting like they were alive, and then there was the jewellery. Silver rings, oceanic stones, the delicate chains that glinted against his wrists. An ornamental ear cuff, shaped like a cresting wave adorned one ear, catching the light whenever he tilted his head.

It was unfair how beautiful he was.

Rafayel was beautiful in a way that demanded attention, in a way that made it impossible to ignore him, no matter how hard you tried and right now, he was watching you. You forced your eyes away from him but not before you caught the slight tilt of his lips, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

You thought he'd tease you, thought he'd mention how he caught you staring, truly looking at him like you've never done before but it never came and you were thankful. You took a moment to glance around the room and you noticed there were multiple pairs of eyes on you. You swallowed for a moment, you were used to the stares in the palace.. but in this place? It felt like you were a prize that people didn't want to stop admiring.

"Do they always stare?" you muttered, feeling your skin prickle. Rafayel's laugh was soft, a low sound that held a trace of amusement.

"They don't care about you" he said, his voice casual "It's me they want"

You turned sharply, meeting his gaze. His smile had faded into something more... knowing, like he enjoyed watching you squirm.

"You shouldn't come here" you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

"Why?" he asked, cocking his head to the side "Are you afraid of what you'll see? Or maybe afraid of the kind of person you might become if you stay?"

Your throat tightened and you could feel the flush creeping up your neck. The idea that you could be like the people in this place, slipping into a world of indulgence and desire... It sickened you. But there was no denying the way you felt slightly attracted to the dangerous allure of it all.

"I’m not like them" you whispered, your own voice betraying you.

"You are not like anyone and that is exactly why I brought you here" He told you and for the briefest second his expression shifted. Your head began to spin "My miss bodyguard is one of a kind"

"I-"

Rafayel took a slow step toward you, his presence suddenly overwhelming. He tilted his head, studying you with those sharp eyes that seemed to see through everything, through you. His presence surrounded you, a warmth pressing into your skin without even touching you.

"You're starting to feel it aren't you?" He questioned, his voice quiet. You looked down, eyes settling on the counter, the bottle, the blood.

Yes.

He was right. Whatever herbs were mixed in were beginning to affect you-he was winning. It was affecting you in ways you couldn’t control. Your breath felt heavier in your chest and you subtly gripped the counter again, fingers pressing into the wood as if grounding yourself. You wanted more. More of what, you weren’t sure. It was unlike anything you’d felt in centuries. Not hunger or thirst, it was almost worse. A yearning with no name.

Like you were floating almost and the feeling was exotic. Five centuries you had been nothing but a shell of a monster but now, you felt human. You felt alive, you felt like you could feel the blood that was once drained all those years ago flow into your empty veins. You forced yourself to stand straighter, to regain some semblance of composure but the heat in your chest remained.

"We should.." Go. You should go. Back to the palace, back to being a monster that people feared. Back to doing your duty because any upstanding bodyguard and knight wouldn't be in a place like this possibly endangering the person they were supposed to protect.

Rafayel inhaled sharply, stumbling back a step, his fingers pressing briefly against his temple before dropping back to his side. He wasn’t entirely unaffected either. His breathing had deepened and his lips parted slightly. Then he tilted his head smirking again, eyes half lidded and unreadable. He beckoned you with just a look.

And you followed.

Further into the brothel, further into pleasure and forbidden whispers. The further you followed him the more you felt it and you wanted to smile. The feeling creeping into your body. The intoxication, the warmth, the dizziness-it was unlike anything you’d felt in centuries. It wasn’t hunger but it was almost worse. It was a kind of desire, a yearning but for what you couldn’t say. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have followed him.

And yet, you did.

He led you to a cloak covered doorway and you followed him through it like he had you on a leash and was pulling you along. The air changed the moment you stepped through the veil of heavy fabric. The room was dimly lit and you had to really focus on the sight around you, your vision blurring slightly before you saw it.

Bodies moved in slow rhythms, tangled together in ways that left nothing to the imagination. The sounds.. soft gasps, breathless laughter, sinful moans and words whispered that you had never had whispered to you before. It all pressed in from every side, drowning out the world beyond these walls. There was no space untouched, no corner left unclaimed by the weight of indulgence. No one here was alone.

Except for you and him.

Rafayel stood just a step ahead, his cloak falling down his body and exposing bare back where his royal outfit lacked clothing for his top half. You were seeing him now, really seeing him. The details on his body, the faded scratch marks and the tattoos that made your fingers twitch slightly. He turned slightly, gaze flicking back to you. The chaos around him didn’t seem to touch him, like he was used to it.

You wanted to move. You needed to. The walls felt closer now, the press of bodies suffocating, the sheer intimacy of it all almost too much to bear. But your feet wouldn’t move.

You were rooted in place.

There were couples, there were beds filled with three people, there were men and women on their own bringing themselves to a climax... and you stood and watched. Lips parted, almost dried and screaming for something. The drink still burned in your throat, your skin hot, your thoughts slow and unfocused. It was intoxicating the way that the room felt alive, the way every breath you took carried the weight of something.

Rafayel took a slow step toward you, his expression unreadable beneath the dim lantern light.

"Tell me" he murmured, voice low and teasing but edged with something more "Does it tempt you?"

You couldn’t answer immediately. It was like the world had narrowed to just him and you.

He didn’t move any closer, he didn’t need to. His gaze held you in place, as if every moment you stood there was a game in itself. Your body felt like it belonged to someone else, your senses sharp and dulled at the same time and you couldn’t help but wonder how much of this was truly you. How much of it was the drink, the atmosphere or the quiet pull of his influence.

Rafayel’s eyes flickered down to your clenched hands then back up to your face. He saw it, the conflict in you.

"I..." The words faltered.

"You don’t have to stay" he said, his voice a low murmur, almost a promise as he reached out with his finger to gently tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze "But do you really want to leave?"

You swallowed, trying to bring some clarity to your muddled thoughts. Your mind was a swirl of thoughts and confusion and though you knew you should distance yourself, you couldn’t seem to pull away from him.

"I should never have come" you murmured, almost to yourself but Rafayel heard.

Rafayel watched you carefully and for once, the smirk didn’t return. His expression softened, just slightly and you saw it. He took another step toward you, closing the distance, his free hand resting lightly on your arm just enough to feel the weight of it.

"I know you feel it. You're not immune to this" He said it with quiet certainty like he already knew everything you were trying to deny. Your pulse quickened and the rest of the room seemed to blur.

The bodies around you didn’t matter. The sounds faded away and Rafayel was all you could see, all you could feel. Despite everything, despite the rules, despite the duty that tied you to him there was a part of you that didn’t want to leave. Not yet, not now.

"My prince..." The title in this scenario felt wrong, utterly and disgustingly wrong. So wrong it made your stomach twist in unease.

This wasn’t the palace. This wasn’t duty or responsibility. This wasn’t the prince who carried the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. This wasn’t the future king poised to take his throne. Why were you here, in a brothel surrounded by pleasure with the prince...

Your words seemed to have affected him slightly as a subtle shift passed through his face. His breath caught, a slight tremor running through him and you saw something deeper in his eyes that never left your own. His cheeks flushed, the red creeping up his neck and warming his skin in a way you hadn’t seen before. A stark contrast to the smooth controlled prince you were used to. The blush spread like fire, burning his skin red where it met the soft pink of his ears.

He was human after all. A man, with desires and fears and weaknesses, just like everyone else.

"I think you need to relax, just once" he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing "You’re wound too tight. It’s like you’ve forgotten how to breathe... just let go. Let go for me, your prince, your king"

The way he said it so effortlessly made you want to listen, to surrender. And then, before you could think of a way to pull yourself together, he leaned in.

His lips brushed your temple, the gentleness sending a shiver down your spine. Then, they drifted to the edge of your cheek, soft and slow. The warmth of his touch lingered even as he moved, trailing over the curve of your jaw. Each kiss was light, teasing, as if he was savouring the sensation of your skin beneath his lips. He kissed you as though he had all the time in the world but you could feel the deliberate intensity in the way he moved, he was gentle yet demanding. You hadn’t realized how starved you were for touch until this moment.

Rafayel’s lips brushed the soft skin beneath your ear and the sensation sent a jolt of electricity through your veins. He paused there and for a moment you thought he might pull away but instead he pressed his lips ever so gently against the sensitive spot, just long enough to make your chest tighten. His lips moved down toward your throat and you couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder that coursed through you. You were half frozen, half on fire, the intensity of it leaving you breathless. His mouth was everywhere but where you wanted him most.

And then he hovered. His lips a centimetre away from yours, so close you could feel the heat of his breath against your mouth. You had wanted him to kiss you, so badly that the ache inside you had become unbearable. But when he moved closer, you felt a sense of unease you couldn’t explain, as if you were both too close and too far.

He pulled back at the last moment, just as you thought his lips were finally going to meet yours and there it was again... the smug, cocky smile that curled at the corners of his mouth. He looked at you with that knowing gaze, like he had seen right through you. His smile was infuriating but also undeniably captivating. There was something about the way he looked at you, that arrogant confident glint in his eyes as if he had won the battle before it even began.

"You’re teasing me" you muttered, your voice strained. You hated how it sounded. How weak it made you feel.

Rafayel’s eyes darkened just a shade before his smirk widened. His hand around your arm tightened slightly and his thumb on your chin smoothed your skin. His gaze dropped to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

"Teasing?" His voice dropped to a low murmur "No, my dear bodyguard. I’m simply letting you see what it feels like to want... and I know you want this"

The air between you thickened, the tension nearly suffocating but still he didn’t touch you in the way you craved. He stood just at that edge, where you couldn’t quite reach him, couldn’t quite escape. Your body was alive, aching for him, but the rational part of you screamed for control, screamed for distance.

You swallowed thickly, fighting the rising panic in your chest. You wanted to push him away, to tell him to stop but the words died on your tongue. Instead you stood there frozen, caught between wanting to run and wanting to give in completely.

"You told me to let go" You found yourself unexpectedly saying, hoping and willing that he would pull you closer and give you what you wanted "How... how can I let go?"

He smiled, truly smiled, like you had said something he had always wanted to hear and he had. Three years you had been under his wing, in his palace and by his side but you were always so cold. So distant and blunt but now, for the first time since he claimed you, he was finally seeing what he needed to see from you.

"Let me show you"

He stepped away and you hadn't realised how his proximity drowned out everything around you. It felt like it was just you and him in this room but it wasn't. The air seemed heavier now, the room felt fuller, like everything around you rushed back into focus. The mass of bodies reminded you of where you were and what was happening around you, and the sensation of the noises that echoed around the room has your knees weak.

Or maybe it was just Rafayel.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him as he moved through the haze of bodies, stepping back toward the far corner of the room. You didn’t even know why you moved, but the pull of him was magnetic. Your feet carried you forward, each step slow and heavy as you approached the small and secluded bed in the corner, barely noticeable to the rest of the crowd.

What was he.. doing?

Rafayel sank onto the plush bedding, his form reclining with the ease of someone who had nothing to prove. He glanced over at you, his eyes dark. He leant back, propping himself up on his elbows as his eyes traced over you like he was memorizing every detail, every shiver that ran down your spine, every breath you took.

He moved like he was already in control, like everything was part of his plan.

You moved closer, your knees hitting the bedding. The soft fabric shifted beneath you as you hesitated for just a moment before lying down next to him. The proximity was almost too much to bear, your body feeling the warmth of his, the scent of his skin. He didn’t break his gaze. In fact, he watched you more closely now. He shifted his body as you rested your own on the bed and now you were both lay on your sides, gazing at each other.

His hand shifted just slightly, close enough to you that you could feel his warmth but he didn’t touch you. His fingers brushed the bedding, tracing the fabric lazily as if he had all the time in world. You watched his fingers carefully, the black ink that wrapped itself around his fingers put you in a trance and you watched and watched and watched...

Until his hand drifted lower down the bed and closer to his body, his thumb teasing the waistband of his royal trousers. Your breath hitched, the sight of his abs covered in goosebumps as he teased the skin on his waistband was enough to have your chest rising heavily, as if you still had a heart-as if there was blood pumping through your veins.

His hand slid further down and you met his eyes in a panic. He was watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He watched you bite your lip, he watched your eyes flicker between his own iris' and his lips as if you didn't know where to look. He watched you shuffle forwards ever so slightly, a movement that he would have missed if he wasn't truly staring at you.

Then his hand disappeared into his trousers and he found himself gasping slightly as he gripped his cock in his hand. Your own hand twitched... were you supposed to touch him? Help him? Touch yourself? You didn't know... you didn't know anything right now, your mind was clouded with nothing but desire.

"I don’t... don't know what you want from me" you managed to say, the vulnerability creeping into your voice. Your voice was breathless and it made his cock twitch to see how affected you were.

"Just keep your eyes on me" He told you, his voice close to a moan as you watched him carefully "Just-fuck just don't stop watching"

And you listened.

You watched his trousers strain against his hand as he moved, his strokes going from fast to slow to fast to slow and you were hypnotised. You were enjoying it. Enjoying it to the point of your own thighs clenching together, a feeling you have ever felt before. You were warm, warm everywhere and your teeth refused to let go of your bottom lip.

His thumb rubbed against the head of his cock and he gave you a blissful smile as his eyes closed. He let out a moan and fuck it might have been the hottest thing you have ever heard. He couldn't control himself now, and he only stroked faster and faster until the front of his trousers lowered far enough for you to see what he was doing.

His stomach tightened as he lost himself in the pleasure and you could do nothing but watch. You might have asked him to try yourself, to use your own hand to bring him pleasure but you wouldn't know how. You had never been in a situation like this before... almost five centuries of living and you had never pleasured anyone or been pleasured before.

Rafayel could barely breathe and he found himself opening his eyes again to look at you. Truly look at you.

He moaned again when he saw the way you were staring at his hand, so tranced and fixed on the way he was stroking himself. Fuck should he ask you to touch him? Ask you... for something? He doesn't know, he didn't care, he was too overcome by pleasure and the way you were watching him with your bottom lip between your teeth and your legs shut tightly together.

"I-" You whispered, a single word but it put Rafayel on the edge as you moved closer. Any second now you'd be pressed up against him, body warm against his own and he swore if you touched him he might burst any second now.

"What is it pretty girl? Hm?" He whimpered. He actually whimpered, and you found yourself letting out a small sigh of your own.

"Don't stop"

Gods there was no way he'd ever deny you of that. He chuckled, low and deep and it faded into the room and blended with the moans from the others that surrounded you in the room. He did as you wished, gripping and tugging at his cock as you moved closer to him, or maybe he moved closer to you, neither of you could tell.

You were closer now to the point where his knuckles were brushing against your clothes. Your forehead touched his own and your fists clenched, twitching with the need to hold something, anything. So you gripped at your chest, palming your breast through your shirt and found yourself letting out a moan.

Rafayel lost it. The sound you made brushed his ruby coloured ears and he listened as you made another sound, a whine this time and he couldn't help but thrust his hips forward and further into his hand.

He watched you palm your chest through your clothes and in his mind he was begging you to rip every piece of fabric off your body so he could see, so he could touch. But the pleasure clouded his mind and he could only only let out his own moans as your eyes met his.

"Can you indulge in this with me, miss bodyguard?" He questioned, his voice breathless and your throat turned dry.

You opened your mouth to agree but the words didn’t come. Instead, you found yourself staring at him, at the way his lips parted slightly, at the soft curve of his jaw, the sweat that started to form on his forehead and the muscles on his bicep contracting as he moved his hand faster and faster...

The silence between you stretched, thick and heavy and for the first time, you realized that you were no longer thinking of the palace, of duty, of the cold distance that had always defined you. You were here. With him. And nothing had ever felt more real.

"Show me..." You whispered, your lips less than a few centimetres from his "Show me what pleasure is, my prince"

And with your words, Rafayel found himself finishing into his palm, a low desperate moan following shortly behind. His body twitched and bumped into your own, hips thrusting as if they were begging you to rub your stomach against his cock to milk him dry. The head of his cock slightly rubbed against the fabric that you were wearing and Rafayel groaned deeply.

Your eyes were glossy and there was a throbbing sensation between your legs but you felt nothing but satisfaction. There was no doubt that the remains of his pleasure covered your own clothes but you couldn't bring yourself to care. The sight of your very own prince whining in overstimulation as he continued to stroke his now softening cock was enough to make you forget about all your worries and about your duty.

Because now, more than ever, you felt human.

────────

It was as if nothing had happened.

No words had been exchanged on the way back to the palace. No stolen glances, no lingering touches. Just silence.

You had ensured Rafayel made it safely to his chamber before slipping away into the shadows, retreating to the quietness of your own space. You had washed the scent of the brothel from your skin, scrubbed away the lingering warmth of his touch and convinced yourself that you could forget. That it hadn’t mattered.

And now, you fell back into routine. You were his bodyguard. His soldier.

But Rafayel wasn’t blind.

You knew he had noticed the shift when you escorted him to breakfast that morning. You stood at attention, back straight and hands tight and still at your sides, eyes fixed ahead in unwavering focus. You didn’t acknowledge him unless necessary. You spoke only when spoken to. You were perfect again.

It was insulting how easily you fell into place.

And Rafayel, who had always been too observant for his own good, did not miss a thing. At first, he said nothing. His gaze was heavier than usual, lingering on you for moments longer than necessary, as if waiting for you to do or say something. He let the silence stretch, testing you, waiting to see if you would shift under his gaze. You didn’t. You remained standing at his side, as you always did. The same as before.

Almost.

His fingers drummed lazily against the wooden table, the rings on his hand catching the morning light. He leaned back in his chair, an elbow propped up as he studied you beneath heavy lashes. Still, you did not look at him and then, after what felt like an eternity, Rafayel spoke.

"You're quiet today" Weren't you always? It was a simple observation, nothing more. But the way he said it, the weight behind it, it was definitely not a compliment.

"My duty does not require me to make conversation, my prince" You replied, the way you addressed him held a heavy difference compared to last night.

"No, I suppose it doesn't" Rafayel let out a low hum, dragging the tip of his finger around the rim of his goblet.

There was something almost amused in his voice, but you didn’t bite. You kept your breathing steady, your face blank, refusing to let him drag you into whatever game he was playing. Because you knew him. You knew Rafayel. He wanted a reaction. He wanted to see if the woman from the night before was still inside you. But you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Moments stretched between you and then, just as he lifted his goblet to his lips, he spoke again.

"Shame.." Your fingers twitched.

"Excuse me?"

Rafayel took a slow sip, swallowing the dark liquid before setting the goblet down with an infuriating amount of ease. He turned his head slightly, not quite looking at you but you could feel his gaze, burning at the edges of your composure.

"Nothing" he murmured, tilting his head back as if he had already grown bored of the exchange "Just thinking aloud"

Liar.

You inhaled slowly, silently steadying yourself. He was testing you... pushing, prodding, trying to make you slip. You forced yourself to remain still, to remain calm. Because if you let your mind wander, if you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt against your skin, the way his voice had sounded in the dark, the way his hand had gripped his cock in front of you, then you would lose. And you refused to lose, so you said nothing.

You remained at his side, cold and unyielding, the way you had always been and the way he always knew you to be. And Rafayel? He only smiled to himself, as if he knew. As if he had already won.

Later that evening, as the sun disappeared below the horizon and bathed the palace in a golden hue, you found yourself trailing behind Rafayel through the winding halls. His council meeting was soon, but he insisted on taking a walk to clear his mind before he was bombarded with the worries and demands of his advisors and the nobles.

You had escorted him through the palace grounds, through the vast corridors lined with tapestries and torches, your footsteps always a steady rhythm behind him. But yet, despite the physical distance you kept, you felt suffocated because you knew Rafayel was enjoying this. Every time your gaze so much as flickered toward him, he was already watching you. Every time you turned away, you could feel the weight of his amusement pressing into your skin.

Finally, he came to a stop near one of the palace balconies, where the air was crisp and cool carrying the scent of the sea. The distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs filled the silence between you. Rafayel exhaled slowly, bracing his hands against the railing, his fingers curling around the edge.

"Are you going to keep pretending forever?" he asked, his voice was quiet.

"I don't know what you mean, my prince"

"You know exactly what I mean" he murmured, finally turning his head to look at you fully. The last streaks of sunlight painted his features, defining the sharp line of his jaw and the fullness of his lips.

The lips he denied you of kissing.

"Your safety is my only concern" He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

"And yet, last night safety was the last thing on your mind"

Your throat tightened but you didn’t react. Rafayel shifted, stepping closer.

"Tell me, soldier" he murmured, his voice almost teasing "How long do you think you can keep up this charade?"

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

"As long as I have to, my prince" Silence.

And then, he smiled. Did his perfect little bodyguard just... tease him?

And you did, because two could play that game. But Rafayel... Rafayel never played fair. He took a step forward, his sandals barely making a sound against the marble floor.

"You must be exhausted" he mused "Keeping up the performance. Playing the role of my loyal bodyguard, my watchful shadow. Does it ever get tiring?"

You didn’t react, didn’t move but you knew he could feel it. The subtle shift in the air, the way your body tensed for just a fraction of a second too long.

"I wouldn’t know" you said flatly. He hummed, the sound low and amused.

"No, I suppose you wouldn’t" Another step closer. You could feel the warmth of him now "You don’t sleep, do you?"

A pause.

"You don’t eat"

Another step.

"And yet, you don’t wither. You don’t break. You don’t bleed the way you should"

His voice was velvet and steel, wrapping around you, tightening with every word. He was circling you now, slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with it's prey. The teasing tone in his voice had faded into something else.

"You know that they call you a monster in the palace halls" he continued, his voice dipping lower "A ghost. Some say you're a failed experiment, a creature torn from a nightmare"

The words should have stung. They didn’t, yu had heard them all before. But then...

"But I" he exhaled a soft laugh "I think the truth is far simpler than that"

Your throat tightened. You willed yourself to stay still, to not let him see the way your shoulders locked, the way the cold settled deep into your stomach like a stone.

"And what truth is that?" you asked, your voice steady. Challenging. His smirk deepened.

"I think you were about to ask, weren’t you?" he murmured, echoing your own words from that night at the brothel "If it was blood in the bottle?"

Your stomach twisted. The realization hit you all at once, but Rafayel was still watching, drinking in every flicker of emotion you failed to smother, the way your breathing had slowed.

"You already knew the answer before I said it" he continued, his voice deceptively soft. His gaze flickered down just briefly to your lips. Like he was remembering the way the bottle had lingered there, the way you had tasted before you knew "And that was all I needed"

"So say it..." You told him, your voice barely a whisper. Another smirk, the world seemed to still.

He knew.

"You're a vampire"

The words were simple, yet they hit you like a train, your breath catching in your throat.

You opened your mouth but no words came. Your thoughts scattered, trying to grasp at the edges of something you had always hidden so carefully. The cold dread in your chest made it hard to breathe but Rafayel didn’t move. He stood there, watching you with... curiosity? For a moment, you just stared at him, then instinct took over.

"Do you want me to be afraid?" you asked voice low, but somehow still steady.

Should you be afraid? Would he tell them, tell the Queen? That his bodyguard is a vampire, one of the last to ever exist, and she's here she is real, hiding in plain sight for three years.

"You don't deny it" he murmured, tilting his head. His hair, caught in the melting sunlight, making him look ethereal and yet here he was, staring at you like he had just unravelled a mystery that had haunted him for far too long.

"I don't owe you confirmation" you said voice almost fearful "It changes nothing"

He laughed. Soft, delighted.

"Oh, but I think it changes everything" Another step. You should have backed away again, should have put distance between you but you refused "You’re a creature of the night. Vampires, witches... They always intrigued me. The power, the mystery. Those monsters that existed centuries ago, and one of them is my very own bodyguard”

"How long have you known?"

"Too long" he admitted, his eyes darkening "But I wanted to be sure. You think I didn’t see it? The way you watched me, studied me the same way I studied you? You act like you don’t care but I know better"

"And yet you kept me by your side... why?"

"Because you intrigued me" he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours as he spoke.

And then before you could react, he reached up. Swift and deliberate, and brushed his fingers against the side of your throat. Right over where a human pulse should have been. Nothing. Excluding last night this was the first time he was touching you since he claimed you three years ago. His eyes flickered, unreadable, unreadable, unreadable...

For a moment, you thought he might say something else. That he might press further, push you and push you. But he didn’t. He simply let his fingers rest there, against the hollow of your throat where there was no reassuring thump of life beneath his touch. His fingers didn’t tremble. There was no hesitation, no fear.

"How long have you been hungry?" his words settled between you and your breath faltered, caught between a scoff and panic.

"You think I’m starving?" you asked, forcing a sharpness into your voice "You think I’m going to sink my teeth into your throat?"

His smirk returned, slow and knowing.

"Would you? I imagine it would be intoxicating"

"You’re playing a dangerous game, my prince"

"You’d never hurt me" The certainty in his voice sent a jolt through your chest and you hated how easily he used it.

"And how are you so sure?" you whispered.

"Because if you wanted to" he murmured leaning in just slightly, the warmth of his breath brushing your jaw "you already would have"

Your stomach twisted. He was right. You had stood guard outside his chamber for three years, had been close enough to touch him, to kill him, to take from him every single day. You had never once indulged. And yet, his pulse was so close now, beneath golden skin steady and warm. His scent was clean, the heat of him was something you tried not to focus on.

"You’re not afraid of me.." you said, because you needed to hear it. His expression softened, just slightly.

"No" he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world "I never was"

The realization unsettled you more than it should have. You swallowed, shifting your weight ever so slightly but it didn’t help. His presence was everywhere. His scent, his warmth, the undeniable way he was looking at you. And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped past your lips, quieter than you intended.

"That makes one of us"

A breath of silence.

Rafayel didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. But his smirk faded, replaced by something softer and unreadable. His lashes lowered just slightly, his fingers on your throat twitching. You hated how exposed you felt. For three years you had perfected the art of silence. The art of indifference and yet here you stood, confessing more in five words than you had in centuries of your existence.

"I'm not going to tell anyone" His voice when it came was low and steady, before he shifted slightly "And in exchange, you can help me satisfy my curiosity"

"Curiosity?"

"I want to see them" was he asking what you think he was? "I'd be a fool not to take the opportunity would I not? Last of your kind and you're here in front of me. I've heard myths and legends about the sharpness but I can imagine it's different to see in person"

He wanted to see your fangs.

You wanted to push him away, to tell him to stop, to retreat into the silence you had so carefully constructed but something inside you trembled, something you hadn’t felt in years. Fear. You swallowed hard, your throat dry.

"It’s not a show, my prince" you said barely above a whisper, the words tasting foreign on your tongue "I don't... I don't trust you and I don’t know if I can trust you not to use it against me"

His lips twitched and for a moment there was something like sadness in his eyes but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced once more by that steady gaze. For a while, there was silence. Every part of you screamed to keep the secret, to hide, to escape the moment. But the strange pull of him, of the trust you didn’t want to give was overwhelming.

You parted your lips, hesitating only for a heartbeat, before allowing him to see the fangs you’d hidden for so long. You could feel the sharpness of them as your canines lengthened. Dangerous, lethal, but in that moment they were exposed. There was no turning back.

Rafayel didn’t immediately speak. His gaze traced the sharp lines of your teeth, lingering as though admiring something rare, something exquisite. His eyes darkened and before you could even think to pull away, his fingers reached out, brushing against the sharp point of one of your fangs.

His thumb then trailed lower, brushing across your lips with a teasing, deliberate motion. The sensation was too intimate, too personal and yet you found yourself frozen and unable to move. You stiffened, but his touch didn’t waver. It was soft yet it carried an intensity, a command that made your pulse quicken. The faintest flicker of heat spread through you but you couldn’t let him see it.

"You're beautiful" he murmured, his voice like a soft siren song, as if he were in awe of what he saw. His finger traced the sharpness of your fang "So much more than I imagined"

His gaze locked with yours and in that moment, everything seemed to slow. His presence was suffocating, consuming. His fingers didn’t pull away. They remained, pressing just a little harder against your fang... a possessive teasing pressure. You flinched at the added pressure, a shiver running down your spine. The touch was sharp now intentional. You didn’t know whether to step back or lean closer, your body betraying you in the face of such intimacy.

And then a sharp sting.

His thumb pressed into your fang with just enough force to break the delicate skin at the tip. You didn’t have to look to know what had happened. The copper scent filled the air before you could fully process it, the bead of blood forming slowly on his skin.

The temptation was overwhelming. You felt it... a primal hunger rising in your chest, the need to sink your teeth into his flesh, to taste him, to take. Your eyes flickered downward to the drop of blood and the crimson bead that now stained his skin. The hunger surged. His voice, now soft and almost hypnotic broke through your haze.

"Open your mouth" he commanded, the order simple.

Your body obeyed before your mind could process it and without thought, your lips parted further. His thumb dipped lower, pressing against your bottom lip. A drop of his blood fell, warm and rich, onto your tongue. You tasted it before you could stop yourself. Just a brush of it and your senses exploded.

His blood was intoxicating. It slid down your throat like liquid fire, lighting every nerve in your body. It was like nothing you had ever tasted before, sweet and powerful and yet... you wanted more. Much more.

And he gave you exactly that. Before you knew it, he was placing his thumb in your mouth and on top of your tongue before pressing down, holding you there. His breath was on your face, uneven and heavy.

Without thinking, you sucked on his thumb, closing your mouth around it and pulling him closer, your body responding to the need gnawing at your insides. His blood was all you could focus on, it's heat mingling with the hunger that surged through your veins. You pulled him in, your hands gripping his wrist with a desperation you didn’t even recognize.

Rafayel didn’t pull away. Instead, his free hand cupped your cheek with a possessiveness you didn’t expect. His thumb remained in your mouth, guiding you, pulling you closer as the sensation of him, of his touch spiralled through you.

"Fuck.." he mumbled to himself.

His eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite place, watching you with an intensity that set your skin on fire. You didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t stop. Every fibre of your being screamed for more as your lips bobbed around his thumb.

A singular moan, whether it was from him or you, you didn't know.

But it was enough to make you realise what was happening.

You jerked back, panic flooding your senses. You hadn’t meant to go this far. You let go of his wrist and his thumb slipped from your mouth with a soft, almost regretful sound. You gasped for air, your lips still tingling with the taste of him, your body aching with something you couldn't quite name. Rafayel didn’t retreat though. His hand slid down to your waist, pulling you back toward him with a steady, unyielding grip. His touch was firm, possessive but gentle as if he were holding you together when you were falling apart. His eyes didn’t leave yours and in them, you saw something darker now.

"That..." Rafayel said softly, his voice almost too casual "is why I can never have a wife... that alone brought me more pleasure than any other woman could"

His words hit you harder than you expected. You stiffened, shocked by the bluntness, by the rawness of what he’d just said. The casualness with which he spoke of such an intimate moment made you flustered, your cheeks warming. How could he say something like that so easily, so carelessly?

His hand tightened at your waist, fingers curling against the fabric of your clothes. A silent stay. His body loomed over yours, close enough that you could feel the rise and fall of his breath, the steady thrum of his heart. So human. You wanted to pull away, to regain control but your own body was betraying you, pulling you into the moment instead. His proximity felt suffocating. You should have pushed him away, you should have said something.

Instead, your silence gave him permission. His fingers slid up, tracing the line of your jaw before threading into your hair, pulling.

You gasped, the sharp tug sending a thrill down your spine and just like that, your neck was bared to him, your throat exposed in a way that made your instincts scream danger.. and yet, your body refused to move. His lips ghosted over your skin, a slow, deliberate tease. Not a kiss not yet, just a whisper of warmth.

Then, pressure.

His mouth brushed against your pulse point, lips parting just slightly. The warmth of his breath sent a shudder through you. Then, a graze of teeth. Blunt. Human.

He was toying with you.

His mouth pressed deeper, lingering in a way that would have made your heart quicken. Then a bite. Not enough to break skin, not enough to hurt or leave a mark but enough. Enough to make your breath stutter. There was a dangerous draw to him, a magnetic pull that threatened to drown you in it. His lips moved against your skin again slower this time, deliberate and hungry. Not just kissing but nibbling. Small sharp bites, the kind only a vampire would know how to deliver. The kind meant to unravel, to seduce. His breathing was heavier now, his restraint slipping, his hunger mingling with yours in a way that made your stomach twist.

The second time he deprived you.

The first being in the brothel just 24 hours ago. He had kissed every inch of your face and jaw but avoided your lips at all cost and you wondered why, why? Was that too intimate for him? Did he consider that too vulnerable?

But you.. you had shown him your fangs. The way you kill. That was vulnerability for you but he couldn't share his own? Selfish. Too selfish, depriving you of what you wanted and needed. You shuddered as his eyes lifted to meet yours, dark and intense. The air between you was thick with tension, with need and then, as if some invisible line had been crossed, Rafayel's lips parted just enough to whisper.

"Show me more"

You found yourself leaning in. Unconsciously, desperately, your body reacting to the rush of emotions coursing through you, your mind clouded with desire and the taste of his blood. You were intoxicated by him, by what had just happened between you two. You moved closer hesitantly but you didn’t stop. You wanted to kiss him, needed to kiss him. Your lips hovered near his, breath mingling between you and for the first time, you were the one making the move.

But before you could close the gap, Rafayel pulled back slightly, just enough to deny you, just enough to taunt. His regular smirk curling at the corners of his mouth and his eyes gleamed with amusement. You studied him for a moment before you reached for him again, this time with more urgency. But once again, Rafayel evaded you. What the fuck.

He was enjoying this. You wanted to slap him, you wanted to ruin him... you wanted to taste him. You held his wrist again, your nails pressed into his skin but just as quickly as the moment had escalated, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The rhythm of boots against marble echoed through the hallway.

You jerked back, the speed with which you moved nothing short of lightning. The blur of motion left Rafayel blinking, slightly stunned before his gaze followed you, taking in the unnatural speed at which you’d retreated

Before he could speak, a palace guard rounded the corner and his gaze shifted between you both before focusing on Rafayel, eyes respectful but sharp.

"My prince" the guard said with a slight bow "The Queen sent me to find you. You’re late for the council meeting"

Rafayel, still too composed, didn’t spare a glance at you. Instead he straightened, regaining his regal posture in an instant.

"Thank you" he said, his voice calm and composed, betraying none of the intensity from just moments ago "I’ll be there shortly"

The guard nodded and quickly retreated, disappearing down the hallway. You stood still for a moment, the heat of the moment hadn’t disappeared and you could still feel the lingering burn of Rafayel’s touch on your skin. Rafayel however didn’t turn back to look at you as he began walking toward the council chamber. His back was to you now but you could feel the weight of his presence in the air.

The council chamber was far too cold for your liking, the air thick with formality and politics. The long table gleamed under the flickering torchlight, the creak of chairs and the soft rustle of papers filling the room as the advisors spoke in low, business like tones. Rafayel sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed, almost as if he had not a care in the world. His voice cut through the air, smooth and confident, effortlessly commanding the attention of every person in the room.

But it wasn’t his words that held your focus. It was the memory of his touch, his blood still fresh on your tongue, the heat of the moment still searing beneath your skin. You could feel his presence, even though he was across the room. The way he moved, the subtle glint of amusement in his eyes whenever they flicked toward you, it was all too much.

Your mind kept replaying the way he’d smiled at you, the way his thumb had pressed against your lips, his breath just inches from yours. And now here he was, speaking with his advisors as though nothing had happened between you two. He was calm collected and in control. He looked every bit the prince, the future king and yet somehow the casual way he dismissed their concerns made your stomach twist. He had walked away from you without a second thought, without acknowledging the charge between you two.

But you couldn’t forget it. You couldn’t shake it.

"Rafayel" the Queen’s voice sliced through the silence, drawing your attention back to the matter at hand "Have you given any thought to finding a suitable wife? The kingdom will need a queen soon, especially with all that’s going on"

At the mention of a wife, something inside you clenched. A primal, unexpected feeling burned deep in your chest. Anger, frustration, possessiveness? something you had no name for but it was there, an edge twisting in your gut. The thought of another woman standing at his side, of him having someone else... it made your blood run cold. You didn’t want to think about it.

But the thought of him with someone else stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated and you didn’t know how to deal with it. Why did it matter? Why did his future wife matter to you?

Rafayel didn’t seem to notice your internal struggle, his gaze never shifted toward you. He kept his eyes trained on the documents in front of him, his hand lazily drawing patterns on the edge of the table as he listened to his advisors. When he finally spoke, it was with the same casual ease as before as though he had no care in the world.

"I’ve thought about it, Mother" he replied smoothly "But a wife is the least of my concerns at the moment"

"Rafayel" the Queen warned, her voice rising just enough to command his full attention "You’re not a child anymore. The people need stability and you’ll need a queen to secure that. You cannot keep putting this off"

Rafayel didn’t flinch. His gaze flicked toward his advisors, then lazily scanned the room. As his voice rang out again, there was the famous subtle smirk on his lips that never quite reached his eyes.

"Perhaps Princess Tara of Linkon might be a good match" he said casually, mentioning the name of a royal from a neighbouring kingdom "But I’m not sure yet. It’s too soon to decide"

The moment he said her name, a violent knot of possessiveness twisted in your stomach, tightening with each word. Princess Tara. Her name alone made something claw at your chest and the rage you didn’t know you had bubbled up, raw and uncontrollable. She was everything you were not, everything you could never be and the idea of her by his side, holding his hand, being crowned as his queen... it shattered something inside you.

You tried to stay calm, tried to steady your breathing but the anger was there, simmering just beneath the surface and it was only getting harder to contain.

"You must take this seriously, son. The kingdom needs a queen and you need a wife" the Queen pressed, her voice cutting through the tension.

He merely nodded, his posture still relaxed, unaffected by his mother’s words. His gaze flicked briefly to you but it was fleeting, just a casual glance before he returned his attention to the documents before him, unaware of the turmoil churning inside you.

"I’ll make my decision when the time comes"

And with that, the conversation moved on, the Queen’s inquiries dismissed with a flick of his hand.

But as the meeting continued, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being consumed by the anger that was burning inside of you.

You thought of the Silk Street. The brothels. Rafayel had moved through the alleyways with ease, as though he belonged there... because of course, he did. You had come to realise that he loved the danger, the chase. It's why he was there so often, it's why he pleaded to see your fangs and why he had not told everyone of your true nature. Why he had fed you his blood not knowing if you would stop or not. Why he toyed with you.

He liked the thrill of it all.

You couldn't deny that he was a regular in the brothels, that he had spent time in those places more than once. The women there, their laughter, their soft touches, their body language so familiar with him. He had kissed them, touched them, shared intimate moments with them, moments that he hadn't shared with you apart from the one time where he brought himself pleasure right in front of your very own eyes.

You couldn’t escape the image of him in their arms, their voices calling his name, claiming him in ways you hadn’t been able to and somewhere deep within, a dangerous, forbidden thought flickered to life. The sharp instinct of a predator.

What if I could kill them all?

The thought was foreign, unsettling. You immediately tried to push it down but it lingered. What if you wiped away every woman who had ever touched him?

It was an irrational thought, an outburst of jealousy you couldn’t control. But it was there and it burned through you with a fierce intensity. The jealousy clawed at your insides, wrapped around your non-existent heart and it tightened in a way that felt too consuming.

A sickening knot twisted in your stomach. Those women. They had had him. He had kissed them, touched them, taken them in ways you hadn’t been. You could still hear the sounds of the brothels, the murmurs of voices calling his name. You hated them. You hated the way they had claimed him. You hadn’t even realized how far your thoughts had taken you until your fingers curled into fists by your side. Why did it matter so much?

Rafayel's voice pulled you back from your thoughts, but his words were like a needle to your wound. He was speaking again, just as casually as before mentioning Princess Tara. The jealousy returned and you clenched your jaw so tightly it almost hurt. Another woman. Another fucking woman.

He was due to be king, a man of power and it only made sense that he would have his share of women. But somehow, you couldn’t bear the thought of him with anyone else.

You tried to focus on the Queen’s words, on the conversation, but it was impossible to ignore the storm building inside of you. You were angry. Angry at Rafayel for being so casual about something that meant so much to you, angry at the world for making him someone who belonged to others. But most of all, you were angry at yourself for caring so much.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You did care. You didn’t know when it had happened, when the wall you had built had started to crack, but now there was no turning back. The more you thought about it the more you realised you didn't want to share him. You didn't want him to belong to anyone but you.

As the meeting dragged on so did your thoughts. You tried to convince yourself that it was because you had tasted his blood before the meeting, the heat still lingered in your mouth and the taste of him on your tongue. It was too much. Now you knew, you wanted him. Not just for fleeting moments, you wanted him for yourself. Every piece of him, every inch of his attention you wanted to be the one to stand by his side, to be the one who he chose, the one who could claim him.

You would never be the one he chose. You weren’t fit for that not in his eyes, you had always known that. You had been with him in his life but you were never his and now you were mad with it. Mad with wanting him, mad with the knowledge that no matter how much you longed for him, no matter how deeply you desired him to be yours, it would never happen.

────────

After the council meeting, the air between you and Rafayel had changed, at least from your side.

You tried to convince yourself that it was nothing. Just the aftereffects of tasting his blood, of feeling the heat of the moment lingering but no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, the pull between you and him had shifted. The possessiveness had taken root and with it, something you couldn’t control.

You became distant and cold. The walls you had built once again crept back into place just like they did after the night you shared in the brothel. You stopped seeking him out. You no longer waited for him in the hallways after meetings or followed him when he sneaked out at night. Your eyes barely met his anymore.

You convinced yourself it was for the best. This was how it should be. After all, he would never see you the way you wanted him to. Plus, he would soon be king and with it he would need a wife.

He could never be yours.

Not when his future was filled with other women, with the politics of the kingdom. You would always be nothing more than his bodyguard, a shadow in the background and that was fine you could live with that. But it was getting harder. Every day the ache grew and Rafayel, perceptive as always began to notice.

It was a slight thing at first, his gaze lingering just a fraction longer than usual whenever your eyes met, his voice just a little softer but he said nothing. He just watched and waited but as the days passed, it became too much. It built up like a storm, the tension between you two thick and suffocating and then it exploded. The silence in the chambers was suffocating, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as you moved. You checked every corner, every shadow, your senses heightened. Alert and vigilant as you always were. It was your duty to protect him after all and yet tonight, your mind refused to focus.

His coronation was tomorrow so his safety was at higher risk now more than ever.

As you moved across the room, you could feel his presence like a shadow, the weight of his gaze on you even though you refused to meet it. He was sitting on his bed, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable. You had barely spoken to him since that night.

You tried to ignore him. You had to focus. He was a prince and you were his bodyguard, nothing more. But even the thought of it, nothing more, sickened you.

You had no right to feel this way. He had no reason to notice you. The other women, the brothels they were his to claim not you. You were just a monster, just a tool for his protection. You couldn't give him what those other women could, you couldn't give him what any other woman could. You hated yourself for feeling this way.

Your thoughts were impossible to ignore.

But when Rafayel’s voice cut through the room, pulling you from your thoughts, you nearly jumped. His tone was sharp, frustrated.

"You’re not saying anything" he said, his voice laced with irritation "You’re too quiet. Why are you so... distant? You've been acting like this for days now what is it?"

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. You couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see the questioning look in his eyes. Your pulse quickened with each step he took toward you. He was just a few feet away now.

"I’m doing my job" you said curtly, your voice cold. Perhaps colder than you intended.

"Your job?" He scoffed, clearly not buying it "You’ve been avoiding me. Avoiding me like I'm some stranger and not your prince. Not your fucking king"

You could hear the hunger in his voice now, the desperation. He was starving for something... answers, maybe? Or just you.

But you couldn't give him the answer he was looking for. You didn’t even know what it was, the words caught in your throat as you turned around to face him.

"I don’t know what you want from me" you whispered, your voice trembling "I’m just your bodyguard. I’m just here to protect you"

At those words, Rafayel’s expression shifted, his face hardening with a mix of anger and disbelief. He took a step forward, his movements slow. His hand shot out, grabbing your waist in a grip that was almost painfully tight, pulling you flush against him. You gasped, your breath caught in your throat as his presence overwhelmed you.

"This act is pathetic" he told you, gripping you just a little tighter.

"You don’t get to act like this, my prince" you whispered, though your voice quivered under the weight of the emotion you were trying to hide "You don’t get to expect this from me. I’m not some... I’m not your lover. I’m just a tool. A thing. You don’t need to care about how I feel, how I-"

"Stop" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His free hand gripped your cheeks, squishing your flesh and making your lips pucker "Stop pretending you don’t feel this. Stop pretending you don’t want me, you’ve been lying to yourself for far too long"

You shivered, trembling beneath the weight of his words. Your chest tightened with the realization that you couldn’t keep lying to yourself anymore. You did want him.

"I told you" you said weakly, but even to your own ears, it didn’t sound convincing "I’m just your bodyguard"

"You think I haven’t been thinking about it?" he asked, his voice dripping with cocky amusement now "That night. You think I haven’t been thinking about the way you tried to kiss me? Twice? You think I didn’t notice? now you act like you’ve never thought about it, like it was nothing"

The words hit you like a physical blow.

"Because it is nothing" you whispered, but the words felt empty.

"Stop lying to me" he snapped, his voice now filled with authority. The voice of a prince, of a king "It meant something to you. I can see it in your eyes"

"My prince-"

"I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it. And now, you’re acting like it never happened" He leaned in closer, his fingers unclenching slightly but still holding you close "It matters to me. And it matters to you... I can feel it. I can feel the way you want me. I can feel the way you’ve been pulling away, terrified of what you really feel"

"I... I can’t..." You trembled under his touch, but you still tried to pull away.

"You don’t get to walk away from this, from me" His voice was ragged now, thick with need. He was almost pleading, and it broke something inside you "Say it"

His words were a command and you hated how you felt it in your body, your core. You were hot with need, with desire and you wanted nothing else but the man in front of you. You needed him more than you needed blood to survive. Your could feel the words stuck in your throat, the truth you were too scared to admit, to confront but he wasn’t letting you hide anymore.

"Say it, tell me" Rafayel commanded once again and you swear your knees buckled slightly under his gaze, his words, his touch "Tell your king how much you need him, how much you desire him..."

You froze, your breath hitching in your throat as a mixture of fear, desire and guilt churned inside you. Fuck you were so turned on you could barely function a thought never mind a sentence.

A man should never have this much power over you.

You could feel it now, the deep, uncontrollable need burning inside of you. You did want him, you had wanted him for so long, but you couldn’t admit it. Not like this.

He pulled you closer, his lips grazing against your ear.

"Say it, and I will make you forget every damn thought you ever had about being nothing but mine"

It broke. It broke inside you like a balloon being popped or a fire being ignited. Everything you denied yourself of melted away and all that mattered was the way he held you, body against his own, arm around your waist keeping you in place while his other hand held your face a centimetre away from his.

"I... I hate it" you whispered, barely audible "I hate it. I hate the thought of any other woman touching you. I hate it. I can’t... I can’t stand it. I want it to be me, it should be me. But I... I'm a monster not a lover. You deserve a heart, you deserve love, you deserve better than this"

He cupped your face in both hands then, gentle and his gaze was nothing you've ever seen before. It was genuine, it was hopeful and it was something you needed to see in this moment. It made you yearn for him more.

No one, in five centuries, had been gentle with you the way Rafayel was.

He had never cuffed you. Never mistreated you or struck you. Never spoke ill about you or laughed at you like the others. Never feared you and never doubted you. He had held you like you were piece of glass, gentle and kind, like you mattered. Like you weren't some blood sucking demon who would rip him apart the second she was given a chance.

He made you human.

You didn't deserve him.

"Say it" He pleaded, and your lips quivered slightly "Give me permission. I need your permission to act. I need your permission to show you how good I want and can make you feel"

"I... I shouldn’t" The words were weak, empty. You knew it, so did he.

His hands slid lower, trailing down the column of your throat, over your shoulders, down your arms until his fingers ghosted over your waist once more.

"Then tell me to stop" His voice was barely above a whisper, his lips so close, they almost brushed against yours "Tell me to stop and I swear, I will never touch you again"

You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling beneath his touch. But you didn't tell him to stop, because you didn't want him to.

"Rafayel" you breathed, barely a whisper.

You had never whispered his name before. Never spoke it out loud, always referring to him as my prince. But in this moment, it felt right. It felt like he was just Rafayel, and you weren't a bodyguard nor a vampire, but you.

No rules, no titles. Just two lovers.

"That’s not what I asked for" his lips moving to your jaw, kissing a path down to your neck. His teeth scraped against your skin with pressure, not enough to hurt but enough to ache.

Your hands tangled in his hair, gripping desperately, trying to ground yourself.

"I need you" you finally whispered, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them "I need you, I hate how much I fucking need you"

He lifted his head up, exhaling softly, his breath warm against your lips and it was maddening. But then his lips brushed yours, just the faintest touch, light as air and testing the waters. Your breath hitched, your hands fisting tighter into his hair.

And that was all it took.

Everything around you seemed to vanish. The room, the distant sound of the night outside, even the air itself it all ceased to exist and there was only him.

His lips slammed into yours before you could even process the shift, the urgency in his kiss pulling you closer as though he wanted to drown in you. It was nothing like the soft, hesitant touches from before. No, this was desperate and hungry, as if he couldn’t wait any longer couldn’t hold back another second.

You gasped into the kiss but it only fuelled him more. His demanding tongue slipped past your lips forcing its way deeper into your mouth with an animalistic rhythm. His hands were everywhere gripping your waist so tightly it was almost painful, pulling you against him until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between you.

Your fingers clawed at his bare chest struggling to find something to hold onto as your world spun out of control. His kiss was messy as if he was trying to consume you, take you in all at once. His lips were bruising, hot and demanding against yours and the way his teeth grazed your lower lip made your heart race faster.

He growled, the sound vibrating through your body. His hands slid up to your neck, his fingers tightening around the delicate skin there as he tilted your head back, forcing your mouth open wider for him. There was no gentleness now. Only a raw and desperate need, hunger that clawed at both of you.

"You’re mine" he muttered between kisses, his voice thick with desire "Say it again. Say you want me"

You couldn’t think, couldn’t process his words through the haze of pleasure and frustration swirling in your mind. You could only feel. Feel the hot press of his chest against yours, feel the way his body moulded against yours, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. It felt like the human part of you had been awakened.

His hand slid down to your hips, gripping the curve of your waist as he pulled you even closer, if that was even possible. His erection pressed against your stomach, hot and demanding, and the sensation sent a bolt of heat straight to your core. You moaned against his mouth, a sound of frustration and want that you couldn’t stop.

He pulled away again, just enough to look into your eyes, his breath ragged and uneven.

His lips were swollen, slick with your kiss and the last thing that held you together in that moment was the string of saliva that was evidence of your greed.

You felt dizzy, drunk on the sensation of him, but the more he kissed you, the more you wanted it. Wanted him.

"You feel that?" His voice was a low rasp, a whispered command "That’s me, doing this to you. You feel your pulse, don’t you? That thumping in your chest. You feel it in your veins... your blood rushing, just like you’re human again"

You wanted to deny it. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t feel any of it, that you were a vampire, untouchable, above all these emotions. But the truth was, you couldn’t. You were trembling in his arms, your body betraying you with every second he touched you. You could feel your heart beating hard in your chest, could feel the heat surging through you like it was alive and yet, you were the monster, weren’t you?

"I'm-" You tried to pull back, to speak, but your words were swallowed by his lips. His kiss deepened once more, almost like he couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t satisfy this hunger inside him that seemed to grow with every second.

The force of it made you stumble back, hitting the wall of his chambers but Rafayel didn't stop. No, he took it as a sign to push further, his hands grabbing you tighter, holding you so you were pressed against him fully.

"You’re mine" he repeated, voice thick with possession, as if this kiss, this moment, was the only thing that mattered in the world. His hands roamed again, sliding beneath your clothes, the roughness of his touch touching the bare skin of your back, your sides, as if he needed to feel every inch of you "You’ve been mine from the moment I laid eyes on you you just didn’t realize it"

"I want you" you managed to get out, your voice breaking with raw emotion, with a desperation you couldn’t hide anymore "I want you, my prince"

A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest and before you could even brace yourself his lips were back on yours for a fleeting moment, more desperate than ever.

His hands gripped your own hair, tugging your head back as his mouth trailed down the column of your neck, leaving bruises in it's wake. His teeth scraped over your skin, marking you, claiming you and you couldn’t stop the gasps that left your mouth, couldn’t stop the way your body arched into his touch, begging for more.

Your gasp filled the room as Rafayel’s lips trailed lower, leaving a burning path of possession in their wake. His mouth was hot against your skin, the scrape of his teeth against your throat sending another violent tremor down your spine. The wall was cold against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against yours.

Your hands were desperate. Clawing at his back, his shoulders and gripping the fabric that rested on his waist, you thanked the gods for his regal robes only covering half of his body. You wanted it gone, you wanted nothing between you but before you could move, his hands were already on you, yanking at your clothes with a ferocity that sent heat flooding through your veins.

His fingers trailed down your spine slow and deliberate, igniting every nerve in your body. His touch was fire, and he cursed under his breath as he uncovered more and more of your flesh, the clothes you were once wearing finding themselves on the floor of his chambers. Your top half matched his own, bare and exposed for his eyes to see while your bottom half, the part of you that demanded more attention remained covered.

You shuddered beneath his touch, your hands tangled in his hair and your lips aching from his kisses.

"You have no idea how many nights I’ve thought about this" Rafayel whispered "How many nights I’ve dreamed about you, how many times I’ve woken up cursing myself for wanting something I shouldn’t have"

"You shouldn’t want me" you breathed, but the words were a lie even as they left your lips. You knew it, he knew it and yet the way his hands slid down your sides, the way he pressed his body flush against yours, made it clear that he didn’t care.

"But I do" he growled, his lips were continuous on your neck and you gasped at the sensation, at the way your body betrayed every ounce of logic you had left "And I’m done pretending otherwise"

He kissed you again, slow this time and more deliberate. He wanted you to feel him, to understand just how deep this went. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing them open and you let him in without hesitation. The taste of him was intoxicating.

He made a low sound in the back of his throat before his hands slid lower, gripping the back of your thighs. In one swift movement he lifted you, pressing you harder against the wall, caging you in completely.

You gasped, your arms wrapping around his neck as your legs instinctively locked around his waist. You could feel everything now, every inch of him pressed against you, every sharp inhale, every tremor that ran through his muscles as he held you like you weighed nothing at all.

His breath was still ragged, his forehead resting against yours as he held you there.

"I want..." he began, and you watched him carefully "Drink from me"

Your fingers twitched, grip tightening around him as a wave of hunger clawed at your insides and the taste of him lingered in your memory. You had tasted him once before, just a drop, just enough to know that nothing compared to him and gods, you wanted it again.

But you shook your head, unwrapping your arms and pressing your hands flat against his chest.

"No" you said, even though your body screamed at you to say something else entirely "I don't want to"

His hands slid to your waist once again, fingers pressing into your skin, firm but not demanding. He could feel your hesitation, could see it in the way your lips parted slightly and in the way your breath came faster, in the way your pupils dilated as your instincts fought against your will.

"Liar..." he murmured. A small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You clenched your jaw as he pecked your lips with his own, the smirk not leaving his face. Your nipples grew hard from the cold air and he could feel it against his chest as he held you tighter. You needed to get out of this room, away from the scent of him and away from the temptation burning it's way through your veins.

But then he tilted his head, exposing the side of his throat to you. Inviting you.

Your fangs ached.

"My prince..."

"I remember" Rafayel interrupted, his voice low and teasing "I remember how you looked when you tasted me"

Your breath caught in your throat.

"You looked drunk on it" His hands slid up your arms "Like it was the best thing you’d ever had. Like you wanted more"

You did. You did want more. But you couldn’t.

"You don’t understand" you whispered trying to ignore how close he was, how warm his skin felt beneath your touch "It’s not just... it’s not just feeding, Rafayel. It’s—"

"I do understand" he cut you off, his voice dark and hypnotic "And I don’t care"

Before you could even catch your breath he was walking, his body pressing you tight against his chest, each step slow and purposeful. You knew where he was taking you and you didn’t stop him. Your arms wrapped around his neck when he moved you from the wall, fingers curling into his hair your lips so close to his, his breath hot against your mouth.

"Stop..." you whispered, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

"You need me" he whispered in return, voice like velvet as he lowered you onto the bed, your back sinking into the softness beneath you. Your breath shuddered out of you as his fingers tipped your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze "Are you afraid?"

"I’m afraid of hurting you" you admitted. A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, his breath warm against your skin.

"But you still want it, don’t you?" His scent wrapped around you and you were now hyperaware of everything. How you could practically hear the way his blood was pumping through his veins.

You shouldn't.

You shouldn’t.

Your fingers curled against his shoulders, your breath shaking as you hovered over his throat, every inch of your body pulled taut with the ache of resisting him. Your fangs throbbed with need, your mouth parted, hovering just close enough for him to feel it.

And still, Rafayel didn’t move away.

You swallowed hard, your lips brushing the column of his throat as you forced yourself to stay still.

"I…"

"I remember how you looked that night" he whispered, kissing you gently on your neck while he bared his for you "You were starving for it..."

"Rafayel-"

"You moaned for me" He interrupted, his voice was seduction and you couldn't help but pull him further down with your legs "If only you knew how good it felt, to watch you take from me..."

You trembled and his grip tightened.

"You don’t understand" you rasped, your voice trembling "If I do this, I might not be able to stop"

You were surprised to feel the way he shuddered against you from your words.

"Then don’t" he told you, chuckling against your neck before giving a small bite of his own "I want this, and I want you. All of you. Every dark and twisted monstrous part of you I want to feel what it’s like when you stop holding back"

No one had ever spoken those words to you before and for the first time in your whole monstrous life you felt seen. You felt like you mattered, like you being a vampire, a monster didn't matter at all and that this was the only place where you wouldn't be judged or feared.

Before you could deny him again he lifted his head up, staring into your eyes before giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose. Too endearing, too intimate..

Somehow the soft way that he was looking at you felt more intimate than the way your top half was completely bare underneath him.

"I meant it when I said I hadn't stopped thinking about it.. about you" he told you, eyes not leaving yours and deep down you so desperately wanted him to just shut up and kiss you until the night ended "You think I wasn’t dying to feel it again? That I haven’t imagined what you’d look like on top of me, taking what you need—"

His sentence trailed off as you flipped your body around, causing his back to hit the bed where you once lay. You were growing frustrated now, you needed him everywhere and he wasn't giving it to you. His words were affecting you too much and all this talk about feeding from him made your fangs ache.

He was beneath you now and he could see the way you hid the sharp canines away from him, desperate to hide your need so he wouldn't continue to offer himself to you this way. It's not that you didn't want it, because gods you most definitely did, but from the small taste of him you remember having he was exquisite... you've never tasted anything so rich before.

Your thighs clenched around him involuntarily, your hands pressing against his chest as you hovered over him. His heart was pounding in his chest for you. There wasn't any fear, it was just want and devotion.

He tilted his head just enough to bare his throat to you once more and his pulse jumped, you grew more tempted as the seconds flew past... his skin looked so inviting.

"You should be afraid" you whispered, almost desperate to hear the tremor of fear in his voice and to find a reason to stop.

But he just smiled.

"Afraid?" His voice was teasing as he traced his hands up your sides in a slow and worshipful pace "Of you?"

He shifted just right beneath you, pressing himself against your core which was enough to pull a strangled moan from your lips. You could feel him, he was rock hard against you but he wasn’t demanding. Instead he was giving, practically offering himself up like he was made for you to take.

Your breath hitched.

"If I’m afraid of anything…" he continued, his fingers trailing up your spine "It’s that you’ll deny me"

A growl ripped from your throat that was low and dangerous and Rafayel actually moaned... like he had been waiting for that exact sound. You grabbed his hands from your body before pinning them above his head, denying him of touching your bare skin. Your breasts grazed his chest and he bit his lip at the feeling, enjoying the way he was slowly pushing your limits. His fingers flexed in your hold, testing you almost but he thankfully wasn't fighting you.

"Stop talking" you warned, because if he kept speaking like that you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself.

But Rafayel only exhaled a breathy, shuddering laugh.

"Then give me what I want" he replied, eyes glancing from yours to your lips, your fangs now fully on display the more frustrated you got. Gods you were beautiful.

He shifted beneath you again, grinding his hips up into yours and your eyes closed for a moment as he rubbed you in the right place. Your grip had loosened thanks to his movements and he made the most of it, trailing his fingers softly up your arm before reaching your jaw and grazing his thumb against your bottom lip like he had done a few nights ago when you first tasted his blood.

When he spoke again, you felt whatever control you had left slip from your fingers, announcing him as the winner.

"Obey your King.."

The words were sharp and possessive, more possessive than he had been all night and it was truly the last string that snapped inside you. His tone wasn't an invitation, it was a command and you had no choice but to surrender. Your body was already his, you just needed to let the final part of yourself go.

The hunger inside you flared like a fire, and you didn't fight it. You released his hands and shifted your mouth above his throat again, feeling the heat of his body and the inviting sound of his pulse screaming at you and that was all it took before you finally sank your fangs into him.

You felt the familiar rush at first, the thick blood latching onto your canines before spreading in your mouth and you groaned at the taste. It was everything you remembered but better, sweeter than anything you have ever tasted and more intoxicating that ever. It was rich, definitely the blood of a prince and you felt utterly euphoric.

Rafayel tensed beneath you and it was the first time that he was quiet since this whole ordeal. His body however fought against his silence, hands flying to your waist and gripping the skin there as you drank. He let out a shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling faster with every pull of your mouth.

He was still, not moving an inch or making a sound and you were worried that maybe you had scared him, maybe that he finally realised what he was getting himself into as you lay on top of him tasting him.

But you couldn't stop.

Your grip tightened on his arms, pushing your face deeper into his neck and your fangs further into his skin. The blood on your tongue was consuming every part of your mind and you never wanted to stop, you wanted to suck him dry.

As quick as the thought entered your mind you pulled away with a gasp, meeting his gaze and he watched as a drop of his blood fell from your lip and onto his chest. You swallowed, wondering if you had took it a step too far when he didn't move but his eyes burned into yours, an animalistic look as his chest continued to heave.

He was enjoying it.

"Such a good girl..." he whispered and fuck you felt the praise run through your body "Take what you need.. I'm yours as much as you're mine"

Before you could pull away he shifted again, his hips pressing up into you firmly and his clothed cock rubbed perfectly against your clit and gripped him even tighter.

"Fuck-"

"Mm you feel so fucking good" he groaned. His whole body was screaming at him to flip you back over, take control and take what was his but fuck he wanted to feel you this way for a little while.

He pulled his knees up and trapped your body in place, making sure you stayed just above where he was throbbing with need.

He didn't need to say much more. With the way he was looking at you combined with how his body was responding on top of the taste of his blood you couldn't form any thoughts that weren't filled with him.

And with that, you sank your fangs back into his skin.

His back arched beneath you and when he grounded into you this time, it was reckless. The feeling of it was something you've never experience before and feeling his body tremble below you as he gave into his own pleasure drove you insane.

A minute passed before you were pulling away from him again, mouth still tingling from the blood and his neck was stained red. The pleasure was too much, too overwhelming but you couldn't find it in you to stop. You felt alive and everything felt just right...

Your fingers curled into the sheets beside his head as your chest rose and fell quickly while he groaned and moaned beneath you. Every little movement you made was intense and you felt like someone was in control of your hips from the way they moved.

But just as the haze began you were suddenly shifted. Rafayel moving quickly before you found yourself below him again and you didn't have time to adjust before his lips were diving onto yours again, tongue swirling in your mouth mixing blood and saliva together.

You felt the weight of him on top of you, his body warm and the heat between your legs only rose and ached with pure need. With his chest pressed tightly against yours and his covered cock rubbing against your clit you realised just how much of him you craved.

The kiss deepened, each press of his lips against yours sending a shockwave of heat through your body. His hands moved all over you as if he was memorizing and admiring everything about you, like you were painting and he was the artist.

His eyes found yours and for a brief second you could feel nothing but the weight of his gaze. He didn't move for a moment, just hovered over you while his lips parted with a quiet needy sound.

"You're perfect.." he murmured and you felt embarrassed under his eyes "Every part of you. Gods I want to feel you like this forever"

His hands slid down your sides and you could have sworn he did it in a way that was worshipping. His fingertips traced every curve of you, over the goosebumps on your breasts before pinching your nipples gently. You could feel him losing control second by second as he grinded his hips down into yours, his arousal pressing into you.

"How good does it feel, hm?" his voice dropped to a commanding whisper, his lips trailing along your neck and brushing over where your pulse once was "Tell me you feel it too"

His hips shifted again pressing against you just right. It sent a wave through your body and you couldn't help but whimper at the feeling before pulling him closer, needing more.

"Yes.." you gasped, surprised at yourself for answering. Your hips lifted, seeking more friction and more of him "I feel it.. so much.."

Rafayel groaned as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as yours once did his. His hands had moved further down your body to grip your thighs tightly, pulling your legs further around his waist which only forced you deeper into his warmth.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this... so perfect for me" he whispered, his praise sounding more like a prayer "I want to ruin you"

The small and possessive growl that escaped him made you shiver. You couldn't help yourself anymore, you couldn't deal with the teasing and as much as you wanted to savour this moment you wanted him more. The need to have him inside you was too powerful and your body cried out.

"I want this" you sighed, looking up at him "I want you, I need you-Fuck 'm so empty"

Your body was on fire now. Every inch of you ached to be touched, to feel him pressed against you, to finally give in completely.

His mouth found yours again with a hungry kiss before he began peeling the reminder of your clothes off. It was his turn to feel impatient now, hearing you so desperate for his touch for him, complaining that you felt empty fuck he'd make sure you never felt like that again. He'd make sure to stuff you so full..

It was his turn and before you knew it he was bare above you and the feeling of his bare erection against your thigh had you gasping out loud. You remembered the way he had pleasured himself in front of you in that brothel, the way he moved and pleaded for his release you couldn't help but reach forward and grab the throbbing length.

He whimpered at the feeling of your hand gripping him, his own hand guiding your wrist up and down in a steady pace before his tip was rubbing between your folds as your breaths mixed together.

"You feel so good" He groaned, his voice was a strained whisper against your ear when his head dropped to your neck. He pressed against your skin as if he couldn't get enough of you "So soft.. I could drown in you"

"I've never.. Rafayel I don't-"

"It's okay.. just trust me" He knew what you were trying to say, and your lips parted when you felt him push inside where you needed him most "Just the-fuck just the tip baby"

He was trembling above you and you weren't acting much better. The tip of him rested inside you, your hand still gripping his cock tightly while your other arm snaked around his neck, holding him closer to you. He moved his hips gently, the tip of his length sliding in and out as you adjusted to him.

You could only close your eyes in bliss and tilt your head back into the pillow as the tip of his cock felt so delicious inside you. He stretched you out so perfectly and you could feel your canines growing once more due to the pleasure.

Every so often he'd pull out, rub his cock up and down your folds spreading your arousal and focussing extra on your clit and you've never felt a more euphoric feeling. Even blood couldn't bring you this much pleasure.

For a while he pushed in and out of you, just his tip only while telling you how good you were for him. There were a few extra claims in there, him reminding you that you belonged to him and you wanted nothing more than to tell him that he was yours too.

But then you were startled slightly when he slid further in you without warning.

"Ah-" both your arms were now wrapped around his neck and he groaned as he slid all the way inside you, the feeling of your walls clenching around him caused him to twitch and you whined in pain.

"Fuck-Fuck I'm sorry you just feel so good... I can't help myself" his words were rushed as he rested his forehead against yours, staying still inside you for a moment "Fuck, you’re so tight"

The pain of him suddenly sliding in was very much there but his words soothed you and you knew you would have had to face it inevitably so you kissed him again with urgency, as if he'd float away from you if you let him go.

But he wasn't going anywhere, not with how snug he fit inside you and how well your walls accommodated him. He swore he had never fit so perfectly in anyone before, any woman and not even his palm felt this perfect.

You were his, and there was no way he'd be letting you go after this.

When he finally moved you found yourself biting his lip at the stretch, resulting in a growl from him. He couldn't do anything other than pull out before pushing himself back inside you, slow and steady but you felt every pull and push shatter your body.

He moved quicker as the seconds passed by, his hips surging against your own and you began to lose your breath. Every thrust was possessive, every time his hips met yours again it was a claim, it was a warning that you belonged to him and him only. Your lips broke apart and his eyes never left yours, watching carefully at how you responded to the way his thrusts gained speed and how you arched into him.

"No one else will ever hear the sounds you make... no one else will ever see you like this" he told you, and he felt his heart skip when he saw the brief smile on your face at his words "You’re mine. You hear me? Mine"

You could only kiss him again, your lips melding together as his hips were practically pushing you further and further up the bed. The pain had long melted away and all you could focus on was the way he was so perfectly sliding in and out of you, the lewd sounds filling his chambers and blending with his groans and your whimpers.

If anyone was to walk past his door, they'd know what was happening.

Your legs were around his waist, arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed you more eagerly. Your chests were together and it felt so intimate, your breasts squished against his firm chest and your stomachs grazing every now and then as his thrusts continued. You had a fleeting thought of pressing your hand to your stomach to see if you could feel him there..

He was yours. In this moment, in these chambers he was all yours for the taking and the thought made you claw at his skin.

There was an unfamiliar feeling setting in your stomach and you pulled away from his lips with a concerned face, his eyes watching you carefully as his thrusts slowed.

He figured it out immediately, and with a smile he picked up his pace again, his hips truly slamming into you and you could do nothing but take it. Take it, take it, take it...

"You feel it don't you? You're going cum.." clearly all his restraint was gone by now, because he was moving so quickly in and out of you it was difficult to understand how he kept up the pace when you were losing all control over your body "I feel you trembling. Don't-hm don't fight it"

"Oh..Rafayel-"

"So fucking perfect" he told you and you gripped the sheets tightly "I can feel you, squeezing me so tight like you don’t wanna let me go. You don’t, do you? You wanna keep me buried inside this perfect, greedy little cunt forever"

His voice broke into a whimper as he ground against you, forcing himself even deeper. He needed to be deeper, he needed to be so far inside you that not even the gods could pull him away.

His rhythm was ruined now, his thrusts were desperate and erratic and his hands were gripping you so tightly you wished you didn't heal quickly so everyone outside these walls could see the bruises he made... see the way he claimed you, you wished that you could wear proof of this moment and of him.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing it quickly and franticly as his cock twitched inside you.

"Cum for me" his voice was desperate now, he was practically whining "Please, baby-fuck look at me"

The moment your eyes fluttered open and locked onto his you felt your whole body shatter under his gaze and his words. The feeling of him inside you, the way he was looking at you and calling you his and his relentless finger on your clit you swore you felt like you were starting to float.

The pleasure was too overwhelming for you that when you came you made no sound, your last moan stretching out into silence as your mouth fell open, feeling your walls tighten around his cock as he pushed in you and pulled out at a speed that had your breasts bouncing but you kept your eyes on him.

He was like a siren, calling you to him and putting you under a spell that you could never escape.

"Fuck" his grip on you tightened as he felt you cum, your body flush against him and his hips stuttered for a moment as he gazed down at you "That's it.. that's it baby just like that"

He rode out your high, finishing you with the same pace but it was only when he felt his own release he did as he pleased. His hands gripped your thighs and pinned them to the bed, your legs spread wide as you whined at the overstimulation but it only fuelled him more. Your legs pinned on the bed gave him the perfect angle and you could feel every inch of him.

He leant back and stared down at where you were connected and only bit his lip at the sight of you pushing on his stomach, pleading that you were overstimulated but he needed this... he needed this release.

"Rafayel.." you whimpered and he looked at your face, slowing down his pace and panting thinking he hurt you. But he watched as you bit your lip, lazily looking down at his cock inside you before your own fingers circled your clit "Will.. will you fill me up, my prince?"

Rafayel broke. The second the words left your lips, the last of his resolve shattered.

His entire body jerked and a strangled wrecked moan tearing from his throat as his hands tightened around your thighs, keeping them pinned wide open beneath him. He needed to see you like this, needed to see how you stretched around him, how you took him and how you begged for him like he was the only thing you could think about.

"Oh, fuck—" His head tipped back for a moment, eyes squeezed shut as if the very thought of filling you was too much for him to handle. But then he looked down at you again and fuck he was gone "Say it again"

His voice was nothing but a wrecked whisper, his rhythm turning deep and deliberate. His cock dragged against your walls perfectly, making sure you felt every last inch of him. Your back arched.

"Rafayel—"

His hand shot out, gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze back on him.

"No. Say it. Say exactly what you just said to me, or I swear I won’t let you cum again" His words were a threat but his body betrayed him. He was trembling, holding on by a thread.

You felt powerful.

A lazy, teasing smile spread across your lips as you let your fingers circle your clit again, the sensation making you whimper softly sweetly just to watch the way his jaw clenched, the way his hips jerked against yours. You dragged your eyes slowly down his heaving chest, his toned stomach, the muscles flexing with every desperate thrust he gave you.

And then you locked eyes with him again, completely wrecked and ruined beneath him.

"Fill me up, my king"

Rafayel let out a choked, broken groan, his hips snapping forward hard enough to make you jolt up the bed.

"Fuck...fuck, I’m going to—"

He folded over you, his arms caging you in as he buried himself to the hilt, grinding in deep, deeper, deeper as if he could spill every last drop of himself inside you and still, it wouldn’t be enough. His release tore through him and he let out another ruined moan, his forehead falling to yours.

"That’s it.. that’s my good fucking girl fuck, take all of it" his voice broke as he ground himself deeper, spilling inside you. His hands fisted the sheets as he collapsed onto you, still shaking, still gasping and caging you in like he was terrified you'd slip away.

He hated how he was too caught up in his own pleasure to see you finishing again but at least you were still here. His cum stained your insides, your walls were so tight around him there was no way he'd be pulling out of you anytime soon. His cock was softening now but he stayed still inside you, twitching against your body as his sweat dripped down onto you.

It was then when you smelt the blood again, and once again your eyes opened lazily to see that his neck was still dripping from where your fangs had been and you only started to notice how pale he was.

He was more tired than you, given that he was human, so you rolled him over with a gasp as his softened cock rested inside you. You didn't think twice, gently running your tongue over his wound, cleaning him and ridding the evidence of what you had done.

You had taken so much from him.

He could do nothing but enjoy the feeling of your tongue against him. His breath caught and there was a low, almost inaudible sound of pleasure as you tended to him and you could feel the way his hands weakly gripped your thighs, his touch still desperate in the aftermath of everything. He didn't question what you were doing, in fact he didn't even care if you were draining what remained of him. He really didn't, not when your naked body rested so comfortably on top of his while your cunt warmed his cock. So he laid there, eyes closed and enjoying the feeling.

After a few moments you were done, pulling your mouth away from his skin to see the now closed holes. There was a mark that would clear up in a few days, but for now the bleeding had stopped, and he needed rest.

You sighed after admiring your work, the tension in your chest slowly melting away as you lifted your gaze to his face, only to find him already watching you.

He spoke about you being beautiful, but gods had he seen himself?

His lids were heavy and his eyes soft, so tender that your breath hitched in your throat. You had never seen him so.. relaxed. Then, he smiled and you couldn't understand how he could look at you like that. How was it possible for someone to look at you like that?

To admire you so openly, to touch you so gently even after seeing the parts of yourself that made you a monster?

With a sigh you shifted, laying your head on his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing rocking you into a gentle comfort. His hands found your back, gently running up and down your spine as though he were offering comfort in his own way.

You weren't sure how long passed, but you stayed where you were and his cock had already slipped out from you and you once again felt empty. The feeling of his seed spilling out of you was uncomfortable and you wanted to clean yourself up but you were terrified that if you moved he'd realised what happened and kick you out.

As if he hadn't been the one to seduce you.

"You're still here..." Rafayel’s voice broke the silence, low and raspy as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep. You tilted your head up to look at him, your face close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

"I am" was all that you could mumble.

His fingers slid through your hair, gathering a few strands between his fingertips and he leaned forward just enough to kiss the top of your head, as if to reassure you that you were still wanted, still needed here.

"Don’t go anywhere" he whispered, his voice rough but filled with quiet intent.

His words lingered and you could do nothing but nod your head, admiring him. He kissed you on your lips again, gently and not desperate, as if he knew now that you weren't going anywhere.

His coronation was tomorrow, he would be king, you had no idea what would change between you but for now you enjoyed being held. For now, you enjoyed not feeling like a monster.

It wasn't until hours later in the crack of dawn when the first light of morning began to creep in through the windows that you were ripped from his arms.

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