#on the edge of it every eve

[janumun]

Misty Affections [The L&DS Boys - NSFW]

Rated: NSFW/18+ 🌶️ (Take note of all warnings before you proceed) Pairings: L&DS Men/Reader Word Count: 6k+

Tags: polyandry/polygamy, bath/shower friskiness, multiple orgasms, oral, anal and vaginal sex, body worship, porn with little plot, double penetration, consensual somnophilia, edging, passing hints of breeding, scent kink

Summary: At the eve of your anniversary, you let the men, most precious to your heart, show you exactly how they love and cherish you. Slow and measured. Piece by piece.

Author’s Notes: I have been driven so insane ever since the drop of that crazy trailer, all I’ve been able to fantasize about are these beautiful men. Did so individually at first before they eventually converged within my mind into this behemoth romantic-sexy fest. (If you know me or my stories, you know I cannot go a second breathing without a little love in my sex LOL) 

This one’s for all my harem loving folks who’ve been left thirsty after the “Misty Invasions” trailer. Happy reading!

You oscillate at the entrance to the penthouse suite, fingers tracing the sleek outline of the key card your boyfriend had provided you with, earlier; eager gaze skittering back towards the door. Heart within your throat and a swarm of butterflies flittering within the base of your stomach.  

An entire year had passed you by; the day of your relationship anniversary upon you now. And you’d decided amongst you, in distinct words and heated whispers, that you’d make it a day well worth commemorating.  

You smile at the recollection of Sylus’ amused gaze — blood-red garnet — as it had met your surprised one, a few days prior. He’d had you search up his entire house for an elusive Mephisto, on the pretence of having lost sight of him. Finding him at last, perched atop the silken pillows of his bed. And held within his beak, a sleek black card the bird had let drop into your palm, obedient, before taking flight.  

A key access to the penthouse suite of one of the most luxurious hotels in Linkon City.  

Sylus had tugged you close — his warm breath, a sweet caress against the shell of your ear — stating the date and time for you to be there, without questions asked. Your heart had thrilled at the time in nervous anticipation.  

Just as it does now as you move to hoist your umbrella — damp still from the outpour outside — onto your arm, clutching a bouquet of flowers close to your chest.  

Reaching to swipe your card, at long last, against the room’s digital pad—  

Before the door sways open on its own. Your gaze skipping, immediate, to meet the owner’s: scarlet, warm in amused affection. “How much longer were you planning to dither at the door?” His hand curves about yours as he steers you inside. Reaching to help you out with your coat and umbrella.  

“How did you even—”  

Sylus angles his face in mute indication, at the door, just in time for you to catch sight of Mephisto sweeping across the hallway, disappearing just as swift around a corner, with a triumphant crow. 

“I am going to cook that bird one of these days,” you mutter, discomfited at the thought of Sylus having been standing privy to your entire vacillation session outside. 

A large hand curls about your jaw, insisting your gaze upwards, just as you feel the heat of Sylus’ mouth on yours. “Don’t fret any longer,” his lips brushing each word right against yours. Every stroke tending sparks of fire against your skin. “you’ll make me want to tease you. And I promised them I’d be kind to you today.” The thick baritone of his quiet laughter sinks, hot, into your chest; down into the depths of your belly.  

Your hand curves about the back of his neck, heaving that infuriating mouth back against yours. “Please do be quiet for once.” Fingers grazing at the base of his hair before they card upwards, tugging at the strands.  

His mouth pulls into a wider smile, just as you all but force the large bouquet of flowers you still carry, against the firm expanse of his chest.  

“Happy anniversary, Sylus.” You murmur softly, flushed gaze fixated upon the flowers — snowdrops and lilies, roses and clematis — a representation of each of their colours that had painted your life brighter, over the course of your years together. You truly hoped your boyfriends would love them.  

Garnet gaze narrowing in quiet affection, Sylus coaxes your attentions back to him with a call of your name. “And to you.”  

“Now,” He winds an arm about your waist, dragging you flush against his torso. “let me find a place for these beauties while you go hop into the shower. You’re cold to the touch.” And when you move to protest, he silences it with a delicate brush of his thumb against your lip before he too bows forwards, to murmur, just shy of your mouth. “I promise you won’t miss me long, sweetheart.” 

Leaving you in the stewing solace of your own indecent thoughts. 

Your relieved exhale breaks in soft wisps of white curling into the air, well comforted by the heat of your quick shower. Your eyes drifting absently towards the bath you’d drawn, your favourite scent now permeating the space of your bathroom. 

Petals rippling across the surface of placid warm waters; you knew how your artist appreciated the romanticism of your relationship. When you let yourself go and allowed yourself free expression of your adoration, for your Lemurian beloved. The colour, it never failed to bring flush to his cheeks at your simple gestures of affection, he so deserved. He had waited, and for so long.  

A mere speck of his patience, against your current restless wait, ever since his message had lighted your screen earlier this evening, indicating he’d be there to join you, soon.  

Sooner, you whisper into the air, slinking a cautious hand down the line of your stomach and towards your mound.  

It was so incredibly difficult to have all your lovers, gathered together in one place, owing to how busy each of you were with your respective schedules. Tonight, hence, was a rare, precious occasion and you intended to make the most of it.  

“Why so distracted.” A deep voice resonates at your back; a swift curl of pulsating red capturing your wrist before your fingers have the chance to brush in between your legs. Heaving your wrist up and back, depositing it prisoner into Sylus’ waiting palm. “You barely noticed me.” The roughened pads of his digits graze at the tender skin of your wrist in soft warning, before he lets go. “Couldn’t wait even a moment for me, huh?” 

You turn to face him, a puckish smile you know is already teasing at the corners of your mouth. “Just engaging in some personal time.” 

Sylus stands before you, body bare, save for the towel that keeps him from you, wrapped about his waist. A sturdy arm reaches past your shoulder, turning the shower off. Motions entirely unhurried. Deceptively tranquil, you do not miss the blood-red heat that simmers at the edges of that observing gaze.  

“Oh?” He crowds you a step closer into the wall. Your fingers coast in tense anticipation about the knot of his towel. “You wouldn’t mind if I turned that into a private time for two, would you, kitten?” 

You put on a deliberate show of pondering the question; a patient raised brow your lover keeps focused upon you. 

Until you tip a coquettish gaze his way and answer. “I suppose I would no—” Your response, Sylus pilfers from your tongue before you can utter it, pulsing a quick kiss of violence against your lips. 

Your digits impatiently work to release him from the final confines of his towel, absently tossing it aside. And onto the gnarled vines of red lurking at the edges of your vision, immediately reach to snatch up the cloth, discarding it into a wash bin close by.  

Laughter in between heavy breaths; coveting fingers, free at last, skate down the strength of his thighs, skimming past his stiff arousal. A small gasp of appreciation you break against his mouth just as Sylus lurches his hips forward, once, into your grasp to better let you admire the effect you have on him.  

“It’s been too long.” you murmur into the space he spares you in between wet kisses. 

“Darling,” he exhales; a small, rough sound of pleasure. “Not yet.”  

Sylus’ hands stir down the length of your body, fingers finding target, and pulsing into the soft of your ass before you can try and bribe your case with him, to give you what you want. Hefting you up entirely onto the corded strength of his arms, stifling your sound of surprise against his mouth. 

He bids you wrap your legs about his waist, as he walks you both over towards the luxurious bath. “Now,” Settling down into the warm, scented water, he eases you back against himself. “Let us get you washed properly.”  

You eventually relent and let him do as he pleases for the next several minutes. 

Drifting a careful hand about the expanse of your legs, you try not to squirm too much when that devious hand skirts about your inner thighs. Across the arc of your clavicle, down the slope of your breastbone. His palms bear down against your abdomen in provocative press-release motions. You're not quite sure what kind of bathing Sylus assumes he’s doing except just keying you higher, the longer you endure his hands upon you.  

Hands that grow unrepentant and bold with time, the self-pleased skew of those infuriating lips following soon after, down the slope of your neck, along the curve of your shoulder. You tip your face sideways, smoothing a quick kiss onto his jaw. “You keep this up any longer and you’re going to have an incredibly frustrated woman on your hands.” 

He buries his grin into your shoulder.  

“And I’m not sure what I’ll do then.” you threaten mildly.  

“Is that so? I’d certainly like to see you try.” He accepts your provocation.  

You reach an arm up, winding it about his neck. Fingers splaying against the damp brush of his hair as you angle your head up and he obliges, head canting for your mouth to catch against his. His tongue sweeps against yours in immediate insistence, your eager allowance in the slack fall of your mouth as he presses into you.  

Sylus’ indolent digits change tune then; a large palm he curves about the weight of your breast and squeezes. The roughened pads of them toying at the pert apex, until he coaxes your moans out for himself.  

The muted click of a lock sounds within your surroundings; quiet, save for the gentle ripples of water and your damp sounds of pleasure.  

“Ah,” Sylus murmurs in between kisses. “He’s here now. We would’ve ended up using the little princeling’s entire bath for ourselves if he’d turned up any later.” 

A thrill of pleasure and adoring desire crests itself within your chest, calling your approaching beloved’s name on a long sigh of pleasure Sylus wrenches out of you. “That’s it, sweetheart, tempt him on higher sounds next.” 

Restless within his lap, you wrench your mouth away from his, raising yourself onto your knees to turn, capturing him in between your thighs. 

Just as Rafayel steps past the threshold of the baths, appearing to be in the midst of wresting himself out a long sodden shirt. You absently muse how he must’ve forgotten to carry an umbrella with him, yet again, out on one of his painting expeditions, despite your reminder to him just last night. “It’s pouring crazy out there and I’m drenched to the bone—”  

His words nicked mid-sentence with the slow rise of those bluish-florid eyes — taking in the lascivious scene in front — along with your thoughts torn into jagged shards of pleasure with the firm catch of Sylus’ teeth against your breast. A large hand he splays at your back, enticing you closer into his mouth. 

Your eyes, refusing to stray from Rafayel’s, even as he remains rooted to the threshold. A flush beginning to colour against the arch of his cheeks to witness how Sylus augments your pleasure further underneath his enraptured gaze. 

Pleased joy ripples through you, to be putting on a tantalising show for your beloved Lemurian, entreating him closer on soft sighs and broken moans of his name.  

“Please,” your next gasp of pleasure scatters under the prick of stimulated tears. “Rafayel, my heart, come to me.” 

And like a beautiful marionette pulled upon by its strings, he obeys your request, striding towards the two of you. Bestowing mercy upon your poor heart, you feel, could pound right out of your chest.  

He tips downwards, long, graceful digits sweeping delicate beneath the cut of your jaw to raise. Brushing a sweet kiss of greeting against your mouth. “I’m here, beloved.” 

Fingers refusing to cease his exploratory touches, his thumb glides past your cheeks, dusting right beneath your eyes at stray tears.  

“Welcome home,” you greet, your own fingers curving about his jaw in hazy affection.  

“You’re late,” Sylus speaks, his hand trekking a careful path about the flare of your hip.  

Rafayel frowns at that. “I know. Not like I didn’t try to be here sooner.” Fingers tinkering at his belt buckle before he slides it, smooth out of its confines. Your eager hands reaching to assist, rushing down the line of buttons at his shirt, divesting him of his impediments.  

“You’re freezing, Rafayel.” You observe, palms pressed up against his naked abdomen. 

He catches one of your hands within his, feathering a kiss onto your knuckles. “Warm me, then.” An irrefutable instruction as much as it is his soft request.  

Relieved entirely of his clothes, he steps into the bath, fingers entwining against yours in a firm hold, coaxing you onto his body instead.  

“You're so cosy.” He appreciates in between hungering kisses. “Share more of your heat with me.” The soft squish of your breasts mould against the solid expanse of his chest the deeper you try and press against the other, your arms encased about his neck, fingers carding greedily through the wet strands of his hair.  

Rafayel shifts your positions, guiding you back against Sylus’ chest by your threaded digits. The hard heat of Sylus’ cock presses against the cleft of your ass as Rafayel drives you further in by the urgency of his kisses. 

His bond shimmers to life — a scarlet vow — right above his heart, your own thrilled by the rapidly dissipating chill of his body, replaced with passionate warmth. 

“I’ve missed you.” He drags your intertwined digits closer, directing your hand to press against the thrumming of his heart. “And especially today, being so important. I wanted to be next to you for the entirety of it.” 

Rafayel’s eyes, misted in desire and affection so acute, your breath catches at your throat at the sheer intensity of it. He secretes a gentle kiss into the fold of your palm. “I want us to make this a memorable anniversary.” 

“You already are.” You keen softly, in assurance, fingers stroking down the length of Sylus’ thigh. “I desire you both so very much right now.”

He returns your fervent regard in the thick digits that skim past the curve of your spine, fingering in sparing strokes at the rim of your ass. You gasp at the sensation, body clenching in on the emptiness it has long been subjected to. 

You need them both; the carnal strength of your want winds you breathless. 

Sylus had left you suspended upon a torturous precipice for so long, you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on for.  

“Hey,” Rafayel prompts. 

Garnet binds immediately spring to life, streaking towards the bottles lined up neat atop a marble slab. Plucking one up as if by rote memory, before depositing it into Rafayel’s grasp. “As our princeling desires,” Sylus speaks; the raw amusement you can hear within his words.  

Rafayel’s response is all but a raised brow — they have learned to synchronize well against each other, you realize with a shaky exhale. You are glad, as you are nervous, for the state of your body; the havoc they wreck onto you, once your boys are in tandem.  

The lubricant well-smeared across Rafayel’s digits, he reaches in between your bodies to run his fingers against the same place Sylus does, two sets of different fingers they ease, gentle, into your ass. Rafayel’s low groan of pleasure, you lunge forwards to drink against your lips.  

“I need—” you cry out against him, just as Rafayel withdraws from you entirely to leave Sylus to press his fingers deeper into you, a slow, caressing slide; eased by their gentle loosening of your hole.  

Rafayel hums a low, euphoric sound. “Do you need him deep inside you, my love?”  

“Yes.”  

“You’re almost there for me, sweetheart. Breathe.” Sylus’ grunt of approval at your compliance, he drowns into a relishing bite at your shoulder.  

Rafayel’s mouth descends upon your breasts, pulsing open mouthed kisses right above the expanse of your thundering heart, his fingers finding their way towards your neglected slit, mercifully pressing into you. A loud, broken moan wrenched out of your throat, pleasure now far palpable after having been edged for so long.  

“You’re so wet. So very captivating when you are like this.”  

“I love you, Rafayel.” you gasp, tears gathering at your eyes to feel so full of them both.  

He pulses a kiss against your mouth in heated devotion, tongue warming against yours in between urgent breaths, “I am yours. Call for me, my beloved bride.”

“Rafayel.”

“Ah. Once more, so I know I am entirely yours to have.” he entreats, gaze heated. 

His fingers gather pace — in tandem with Sylus’ controlled assault — striking rhythmic against your frontal walls on each thrust. A spot he gathers at, one that incinerates itself against his adept motions, insistent thumb gliding its touches about the sweet area of your apex, hurtling you faster towards a vehement finish.

“And that you are mine. Call my name, call for me.” 

“Rafayel, my Rafayel.” And you tumble over the edge at that final delightfully sensual push, quivering nerveless, in between your lovers.  

“There’s more of where that came from, kitten. Don’t give up on us now.” Sylus coaxes, extracting himself from the instinctual clench of your body, whimpering at the keen emptiness of his loss.  

“Give yourselves to me,” you beg, “I need to feel you inside me.”  

“And you shall have us,” Rafayel soothes, pressing the head of his cock against you.  

“As many times as you need.” Sylus allows; the swell of his arousal striking heavy against the cleft of your ass.

The slow ingress of their cocks deep into your body, sends explosive stars skittering across your vision, the overwhelming fullness already throttling you into another orgasm so intense, they have to hold your body still against theirs. Propelling into you in tandem with each other until they set a rhythmic, burning pace within your swollen holes.

Rafayel’s fingers cup about your jaw, dragging you into a fervid, wet kiss. His moans of pleasure he drowns against the heat of your tongue. 

Before Sylus lunges forward in a demand for your attentions next, strong digits threading through your locks to guide your head towards him, catching the string of pleasure that stretches thin in between your and Rafayel’s lips, as soon as it forms, against his mouth in a violent kiss.

The thick strength of his cock pulses firmer within your body, each swollen stroke of arousal you feel zip right up across your spine from how Sylus has taught your body to fit his daunting size, well. Each propulsion he carves deeper into your walls, a striking reminder of how intimately your body remembers the shape of him.   

Rafayel takes to painting littered marks of pleasure against your neck, their lengths already throbbing in impending release, searing within you. 

You squeeze about them at the sole, ruinous thought of their wet heats, flooding you soon. Moaning against Sylus’ mouth when their pacing turns reckless.

“Close,” Rafayel grits in need, cleaving your thighs up and open to constrain against Sylus, the man behind spares no mercy; hot scaffoldings of his own palms, he curves above Rafayel’s, so your sole choice is but to take. 

“I’m almost, fuck—” Sylus groans a filthy, guttural sound, “you’ve gone so tight, sweetheart.” Burying his face into the stretch of your shoulder, just as Rafayel’s mouth finds yours at the apex of his pleasure, spurting hot within you. 

Sylus’ own release, almost immediately after, his cock pulsates its thick release into your body, surge after surge of it, your body unable to accommodate it entirely. Their combined pleasures, the frenzied brush of both their fingers against your clit, sends you hurtling into your own orgasm, sobbing against Rafayel’s mouth.  

Emptying them both, of their seed, for yourself.

You fall breathless against Sylus, strength and consciousness both seeming to flee with the final sparks of quivering pleasure that jolt about your limbs. Letting yourself rest against the strength of Sylus’ body as he soothes a kiss onto your damp temple. “A job well done, sweetheart.” 

His final words, you accept in immense bliss, before entrusting yourself to your men in your vulnerability.  

A long time has drifted by you, it seems — minutes or hours — you cannot quite tell the difference as your mind edges the cusp of awareness. You recall the sensation of your lovers’ hands upon you, phantom breaths that persist against the expanse of your skin, still. Words of adoration, grunts of desire, the press of their lips you feel within each sweet ache of your body.  

The glancing touch of a hungering mouth, at the places you were weakest. The luxuriating stretch of silken sheets at your back — body coddled in soft fabric — as you shift, eyes drifting open on a haze of lust that still chokes your mind, a simmering wet heat kindling in between your legs. Flowing from you and onto an insistent tongue.  

Your breath catches in your throat at the sensation, gaze rushing down the expanse of your body to snag at the sight of a silver-haired head buried in between the space of your legs, moon-pale strands brushing the skin of your thighs in ticklish strokes. “Oh. You’re awake.” Xavier speaks, right into your pussy.  His fingers pulse about the catch of your legs, keeping you steady for a slow sweep of his tongue into your slit. Sending your fingers grappling forwards, into his hair, your hips lurching up into his mouth. 

Cheeks flushing fast into crimson at the realisation of how wet he’s made you, in your slumber alone. 

Xavier relents at last, rising from in between your legs. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” Your slick drenches his lips, smeared across his jaw; the sight sending a fresh jolt of arousal straight in between your legs.   

“Xavier,” your voice sounds hoarse to your own ears. “starlight.” 

He nuzzles his cheek, obedient, into the palm you stretch out for him. Pulses a wet kiss onto the expanse of sensitive skin. “We’re home.” He murmurs, clear cerulean eyes meeting yours. 

“How have you been?” The quiet baritone of Zayne’s voice reaches your ears from above, you notice your head lies cradled within his lap, the pads of roughened fingertips scraping gentle circles into your scalp. You shift yourself upright onto the bed.  

“Well. Now that you’re both here.” You curve coveting fingers about his jaw, luring his face closer to brush a gentle kiss against your lover’s mouth.  

Zayne’s long changed out of his stifling attire, clad in a loose robe — he’s eased himself by your side. Carding absent fingers through the fall of your hair to hold steady, as you greet each other in chaste kisses.  

The day’s harsh lines marred across his bow, softening with each kiss you flitter against his mouth, his cheeks, his lids apiece. He hasn’t had a proper weekend off from the hospital in ages; you’re determined to make the most of it now and help ease your beloved’s nerves tonight, and over the course of your rare days off. 

You all deserved it, this short moment of reprieve, a chance to celebrate and enjoy what was purely yours.  

You inch up across his lap, body much too aware of the moisture that soaks past swollen folds and leaks onto your thighs, an obscenity barely concealed by the flowing frills of your flimsy nightwear, caressing just past your ass. A fact, Xavier has not let you forget, owing to how his hands haven’t deprived you of their warmth, even when his mouth has — slow, stimulating touches across the stretch of your thighs, fingers tickling at the sensitive skin underneath your knees.  

Xavier advances up the length of the bed, with you. His torso draping onto your back, careful hands gathering your hair to shift onto your other side, he grazes a demure kiss onto the crescent of your exposed shoulder. 

You sink down upon Zayne, securing your much needed support, in the palms you press against the hard expanse of his chest. “How was your day?” Murmuring the question into the give of his neck.

“I had a graft and by-pass surgery planned earlier this afternoon.” Zayne replies, fingers trekking a measured path from your throat, down, along the slope of your clavicle; you shiver underneath his scrutiny. “It went well, so I was able to join you sooner rather than much later.”  

“Owing all to your brilliance surely, Dr. Zayne.” Your affectionate smile, you secrete against his mouth. “Xavier, however. I expected you sooner, starlight.”  

He hums — a sound of morose defeat — into your skin. “I nearly dozed on my feet during that unnecessarily long briefing.” Burying his face into the side of your neck, to breathe; his next murmurs stifled. “They could’ve just mailed the mission details to me. I wanted to head back with you too.” 

You laugh softly, sinking your fingers indulgently into the silken strands of his hair. “Captain Jenna would be so upset if she heard you right now.” 

“And you.” Large palms cup about the pliant flare of your waist, your breath hitches at Zayne’s provocative touch. “It certainly looks like those two did a somewhat decent job of taking care of you in our absence. The colour’s back in your cheeks.” 

You smile, sheepish, at the remembrance of your last meeting; his displeased frown, vivid, from across the barrier of his work desk, as he’d prescribed a few vitamins for you to take, owing to the sallow pallor that had taken your face, an aftermath of long sleepless nights chasing Wanderers.

“Oh, they have.” You assure, “Speaking of, where are my missing two?” 

Xavier’s teeth sink into a testing bite at the flesh of your neck. “Fixing a meal I think, Sylus mentioned.” He murmurs absently. 

“Ah. We should all have—” your voice fractures. “dinner together.” 

“Later.” Zayne leans forward, mouth skimming a gentle kiss in between your breasts. “Right now, I require you sate a different hunger of mine.” Teeth catching at the gauzy fabric of your lingerie. “Don’t make me wait any longer.” The low rugged quality to his request, pooling arousal deep into your belly.  

“I like how she looks in this,” Xavier smooths a touch down the length of your thigh, fingering, gentle, at the frilled garter of the stocking encasing it. “I’m almost jealous of you, Doctor.”  

“It is becoming on her,” Zayne agrees, large fingers cupping about the shape of your breasts, rolling at the peaks. You shift your hips in a grind upon his thigh, in an anguished effort for further stimulation. “But does the recipient herself approve of my gift?”  

“She does,” you gasp. “If it gets you looking at her with such need, she does—” The rest of your words, Zayne pilfers right into his mouth in an engulfing kiss. 

Strong fingers ghost the pliance of your body, down in between your legs to meet Xavier’s. Hot, glancing touches across your quivering pussy, coating their fingers in copious slick.  

“The doctor looks so wound up,” Xavier comments mildly. “Help him relieve some of that pent-up stress, baby.”  

“You—” Zayne grunts, just as Xavier steers your bodies until you lie, pliant, upon Zayne’s lap, the straining outline of his arousal barely concealed under the modesty of his robes. You moan enthusiastically, fingers undoing the fastenings of his robe to release him, free against eager lips.  

“That looks painful,” Xavier comments with an insouciant shrug, hands firming their grip about your ass to raise. “How long have you been holding back?” 

“Quiet, Xavier.” Zayne reproaches, voice throttled in raw need. 

Your heart and body immediately melting for him, you put your mouth to the head of his cock, taking him in.  

A quiver rips across his abdomen at the first lap of your tongue on him, his fingers gentle, encouraging within your hair. A vehement desire cascades forth: to see him make more of that expression, just for you.  

“Wet him for yourself, just like that.” Xavier encourages on a soft catch of breath, tapered fingers curving into your drenched slit to stroke against your frontal walls. 

Working your tongue steadily, about the generous girth of him — Zayne’s digits remain a patient point of pressure against your scalp — until he hits your throat, pleasant and full, at long last. You groan around him, Zayne swallowing heavily at the vibrations of your throat.  

“Don’t be gentle.” Xavier speaks, releasing himself from the wet confines of your clenching walls — fingers he unfurls forwards, to smear across the free length of Zayne’s cock, your throat could not accommodate.  

You feel Xavier settle heavy, upon the cleft of your ass; the head of his own cock he glides, indolent, in between your dripping folds.  

And just as your insides flutter in impatient emptiness at the baiting stimulation, he enters you on a swift stroke, your garbled sound of pleasure, sending you deeper onto Zayne.  

Xavier sets a furious, punishing pace for the three of you, your mouth working diligent against the hard strain of Zayne’s arousal. Your smothered cries of delight mixing with theirs, heated into the air; Zayne’s low guttural groans stirring deep into your belly, within the same space Xavier works open with his cock.  

Your silver beast descends upon you, mouth working a steady path along the length of your spine, tongue sweeping a cool, wet trail in its wake.  

His fingers reach to tuck stray strands of hair away from your face — easing them behind an ear before he gathers the fall of your hair into a gentle fist, granting an obstructed view of your ruination, to your lover in front. 

The pleasured flush dashed across Zayne’s cheekbones, hurtles higher to witness the wreck of desire you know is upon your face. He looks at you as if he wants to love and ruin you, it sends a jolt of inundating slick, right between your legs.  

Xavier grunts at your tightening walls, licking a strip up the curve of your ear. “Can I—” His voice ruptures in overwhelming arousal. “—inside? I want to. Let me?”  

Your answer; a moan of vehement assent, intermixing with Zayne’s responsive groan. Come for me, Xavier.  

His grip upon your hips turns bruising, pelvis driving hard against your ass until he’s releasing himself; hot, pulsating strokes of come, painting into you.  

He pulls almost immediately out of your quivering walls, palms shifting underneath your body to lift, until he positions you, right atop Zayne’s drenched cock. His seed still spilling out onto the swollen head of him, just as he coaxes your hips down to take Zayne in, the two of you groaning out in concert at your union.  

Zayne surges forwards, sweat soaked forehead pressing against yours; a low, inarticulate curse tumbles from his lips at the clench of your walls, still sensitised from Xavier’s release. 

“You’re burning up.” Long, thick digits curve beneath the nerveless stretch of your thighs, guiding you in deep, measured thrusts over his cock.  Xavier’s ministrations having had you well-prepared to accommodate Zayne in a single stroke. 

On usual days, your body able to accept him only in gradual, pleasurable propulsions, he works deep into your pussy.  

“Lean on me.” Zayne speaks.  

You do as he asks, appreciative of the reprieve allowed to let go and let Zayne guide you both into bliss. His fingers stroke about your entrance, a thumb he grazes against your clit, in an electrifying jolt of pleasure. 

“Come now.” He instructs the man at your back. Soothing a hand down the curve of your spine when you feel Xavier’s arousal, firmed into solid stone once more, at your entrance. You moan at the prospect of what’s to come. Never having accepted any of your lovers into the same space, when Zayne is inside you. 

“Breathe for me.” He asks of you. “Look at me.” And you do, in willing love; gaze finding his, coddled in the comfort of his verdant eyes — steady — even in the heated throes of your combined passion. “I am here for you.”  

Just as the head of Xavier’s cock presses, insistent at the base of Zayne’s, your body beginning to give into him. Zayne hastens to curb his grunt of pleasure into your mouth, tongues moving against the other as Xavier steadily strokes a slow path into you. 

Both your men settling whole and so incredibly full within your body, you sigh in shuddered stimulation when they navigate a rhythm in between your bodies, never leaving you empty for even a moment’s reprieve. A stretch so good, it stirs satisfaction deep into your stomach. The desire for them to leave you drenched up to your womb as you voice it on incoherent whispers, head rolling back onto Xavier’s shoulder.  

Their hands; gripping about the shell of your hips, down upon the flare of your thighs. Across the pinching stimulation of your breasts, your throat. Xavier’s fingers brushing to feel the desperate thrumming of your carotid beneath his hold.  

Sweeping an index across your damp lip, end to end, before he slips a finger into your mouth, toying at the pink of your tongue as it darts out for a taste.  

The fever of your desire streaks higher, passion so incinerating, it only takes Zayne a thumbing caress across your clit before you are convulsing, violent about the two of them in a loud, sobbing cry. Wetness slicking down your thighs despite the way they plug you, their pacing climbing faster with each swift second of inundating pleasure your clenching walls force upon them, chasing a high they seek to release into your body alone.  

And when they come with bated breaths and strangled groans, your combined essence overflows from in between your legs, staining the sheets wide and dark beneath. 

It is only several breathless moments later that you are able to move, body wasted and draped upon your chosen seat — Zayne does not look as if he minds much, smoothing a kiss onto the sweat-slick stretch of your breastbone. “Happy anniversary, my reckless Hunter.” And then in slower, softer words. “I love you.” 

You kiss your response against his mouth; a happy, languorous sound leaving your throat. Curving an arm tighter about Xavier nuzzled into the side of your waist, your gentle beast having settled into a short slumber, after having murmured of needing your warmth close by.  

The doors to their bedroom slide open just then, to admit Sylus, carrying what looks to be an expensive bottle of wine and a set of glasses, nestled onto a salver perched across his arm. Rafayel, following close on heel, with a large tray on hand; the pleasant scent that wafts from the steam laced spice off the fresh spread of food, triggers your bout of hunger.

“Reckless brutes,” Sylus comments, an amused brow he raises upon witnessing the utter disarray of your wrecked states. A smile that skews only wider with the distasteful knit to Zayne’s brow.  

As if he was one to speak, you would’ve snorted in defence, if you weren’t so drained. 

Xavier, too, stirs beside you at the commotion just as the last two men of your heart move to join you upon the vast bed. “Get up and eat.” Sylus instructs, rapping his fist against Xavier’s prone form. 

“You alright?” Rafayel questions, the moment he is seated at your side, reaching to entwine his fingers in between yours, a hoarse sound of approval you respond with, at his pleasant touch.  

In between Zayne and Rafayel, they guide your body into an upright position. 

Your head coasts sideways and onto Rafayel’s shoulder, in languid stupor, as he brings a spoon of hot broth to your lips. “Start with this, you’ll feel better once warmed from the inside.”  

“Warm her, they did already… from the ‘inside’ that is,” Sylus’ licentious whisper reaches your ears from the side, setting your face to an incandescent glow at the recollection. 

“Crude.” Rafayel reproaches — you do not, however, miss the scandalised red that seeps across his ears at his provocations.

You join in quiet laughter at Sylus’ words, burying your face deeper against Rafayel’s skin. A cosy arm he immediately brings about your shoulders to hold you close, as he continues to satiate your other, necessary hunger. 

His scent soothes and settles deep into your lungs, gaze trekking, absent, to the stretch of skin exposed beneath his unbuttoned shirt, from where you smell his perfume strongest. A sudden, stray thought of wanting to lap a path up against him, assaults your mind, sore body responding in feeble protest.  

A shadow falls upon you; Sylus’ thumb brushing, delicate, at the corner of your lips. “Eat well for now. Replenish your strength.” A kiss he nips onto your ear, you shiver at the muted stimulation. 

“Sylus—” 

“You’ll have your fill of us, as much as your heart desires, after.” He promises in decadent whispers.  

Your men, proving true to his words; the rest of your long night spent in seeking love against each other’s skins and within their embrace. 

Until they engrave proof of their existence — devotion and desire — scattered like scarlet jewels along the canvas of your body.

End Notes: This is my first foray into writing this kind of relationship for my favorite media and I enjoyed each excruciating second of agonizing over positions and 🍆s. Although I adore a hot poly romance just as much as the next person (cough Him&Him&Him), it certainly isn’t something I’ll personally be trying again any time soon LOL.

Likes, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated, if you are so inclined, and never fail to put a smile on my face.

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Visit my Master List

[eph3merall]

dealer!chris x innocent!bff!reader <3

—

"yeah, s'okay mum," your voice is soft in the quiet of chris' room, lounging on his bed with your legs tucked to the side of you. a blanket lays over your legs, nodding your head softly when your mom says something back.

chris is pretending to not care. he's pretending to not listen in to your quiet voice, thumb mindlessly scrolling through his instagram. posts from his best friends, from his brothers, some posts from the chick he hooked up with a week ago. with a double tap on the post, he left her a like and commented a few heart eye emojis.

"no, 'm at a friends house," a pleasant call from your mom had you smiling—eyes crinkling at the corners and lips curling up. she's asked about school and how you've been in general, if you're up to anything. the topic of your living space came up and she questioned if you've been socializing more lately.

"no not maya's— i'm not even friends with her any– no it isn't lilah either.. mom," you're sighing as the sound of your mother's exasperated voice fills your ear. she keeps on listing off names, multiple of which you've forgotten or haven't spoken to in years.

you sit up a little, shoulders slumping gently as you flick your eyes towards chris. the back of his chair is facing you so you can't see what he's doing—but you hear the subtle click of a lighter and soon smoke is drifting up into the air.

"his name is chris. y'know. the guy i told you about? his brother nick introduced us—yes.. nick has brothers," you keep talking. chris listens. he doesn't catch every word though, having ended up zoning out for a second or getting caught up in his texts or something on his phone.

his chair creaks as he gets up from it, blunt in hand as he eyes you on his bed. you two lock eye contact before you just sigh at the sound of your mother rambling. "no, no he's a good guy. we're friends, mum, stop. yeah, no—okay, i gotta go. i'll call you soon."

you're blinking rapidly and sighing once you hang up, relaxing back against chris' headboard. he couldn't help but snort at your words, 'a good guy.' yeah, alright. he brings the blunt back up to his lips as he stalks towards you, taking a seat on the edge of his bed and reaching for a pair of shoes.

smoke filters out of his lips as he glances back to you and gives you a knowing look. "what's up w'you? lookin' all.. upset or somethin'. were y'not happy to talk to your mom or..?" his brows furrow slightly and he just blinks at you as you shrug a shoulder.

"she just kept questioning me about you. like, she kept asking me if we were dating. and like, it's annoying you know?" chris just snorts and turns his head back, sliding his shoes on and lacing them up. he was gonna head out to meet up with matt and nate, go to a party to make some money or something.

"didn't tell your mum i was a drug dealer, huh? big bad chris isn't a good influence on sweet lil—" you're shoving his shoulder playfully and shaking your head as a grunt sounds from him. settling back onto his bed, the image of him finally catches up to you as you see him in a pair of blazers and a hat fixed on top of his head.

"where are you going? thought we were gonna watch a movie or something," your brows furrow in confusion, staring up at him through your lashes. chris glanced back at you for one second before looking away quickly, letting the blunt hang out of his mouth in between his lips. fuck you for being so cute.

"yeah, i know. sorry baby, matt n' nate invited me to go to some house party," your cheeks involuntarily heat up at the pet name, even if you know he just lets it slip sometimes and it isn't anything special. rings of smoke waft up into the air as chris speaks, your nose scrunching at the smell as you frown in disappointment.

"oh," was all you managed for a second. you were kind of looking forward to finally getting to hang out with your best friend. alone. only for him to blow you off and say he's going somewhere. chris is at house parties almost every day every single week, why can't he just spare one extra day for his best friend?

at least, you hope he sees you as his best friend.

"well, can i go w'you?" the words are out of your mouth before you register what you said. horrible idea, actually. you hate parties. the loud music and sweaty bodies were always too much, and your parents always told you to stay away from people who did drugs or got wasted every day. and people at parties did that, a lot.

chris just blinks at you slowly, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. until he just nods and shrugs a shoulder, hand reaching up to grasp the blunt to take another huff.

"if y'wanna.. sure. hurry up n' put your shoes on, don't got all day kid."

—

@ferdzom @st7rnioioss @sturniolosarethebest

©eph3merall 2024

[ervotica]

“C'mere, sweetheart-“ & “Breathe, just breathe-" with finnick please 🤍

a life of our own

pairing: finnick odair x reader

summary: finnick helps you find yourself again when you’re rescued from the capitol. you’re desperate to trust him again.

warnings: hurt/comfort, a lil fluff, a lil angst, r was tortured and brainwashed in the capitol after catching fire (i got sooo carried away with this but i luv it! hope you enjoy, please remember to like/comment + reblog!)

hunger games masterlist

Your chest is red-hot with anguish; it’s all you feel lately. Confined to this white room, locked in, spending all your time waiting for something that won’t come.

Nothing is real anymore. Your life is a thick fog that you can’t decipher, can’t tell which bits of it are real and which were planted by the Capitol. They made you a weapon against the revolution, against Katniss and Coin and Finnick.

You know him, that much is evident in your unconscious reactions. The way your chest tightens and squeezes when he walks into a room, how your breath catches and you hunger after his touch despite not knowing exactly why. But you know that he’s familiar and that - at one point or another - you loved him.

He visits routinely like clockwork, every day at around the same time. And each time you don’t push him away, don’t flinch at his touch like you do the others, his confidence grows.

Your doctor has been practicing memory games with you, which parts do your life are real and which are fabricated. You repeat them in your head over and over and sometimes they slip out when you’re talking, too. You’ve been incorporating opinions on top of the basic facts you know, and you’ve been including what you know about him.

You rock on the bed with your knees to your chest, feet tucked underneath you as you recite everything you can remember about him. You mutter it under your breath, tongue clicking as you whisper.

The door creaks and you stop dead mid-sentence. Finnick slips in without a word, pulling a chair up to sit by you. He doesn’t miss the way you eye him warily, watching every movement, every tick of his jaw and twitch of his muscles. You’ve always been perceptive- it’s one of his earliest memories of you. How you watch people.

He sits and watches you in return; you trace every inch of his body with your eyes, the bruises on his arms, the points of his shoulders, the slope of his nose and chin, the curve of his jaw.

“Finnick,” you say. He smiles; his fingers rest on the edge of the bed.

“That’s right.”

You reach out to touch him; he stays dead still as instructed by your doctors, but lets you lift his hand to place it in your own much smaller one. You turn so you’re sitting cross legged facing him, holding his hand in your lap. His heart could burst with the way you’re looking at him, a cocktail of fear and longing in your eyes. Something else lies deeper than that, like you’re being pulled through the rubble of your own mind and to the surface. Something a lot like love.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice is small, more timid than he’s ever heard from you.

“Anything.”

“You love me. Real or not real?”

“Real,” he murmurs.

“I think I love you, too. I know I did before. I just don’t know which parts of my brain are real.” You fiddle with his fingers, the pad of your thumb rubbing over his knuckles methodically. If this is the only way you’ll ever touch him again, he’ll take it. He’ll take every scrap, every morsel of affection he can eke out of you. Whatever you’re comfortable with.

“We can figure that out together.” He’s soft as he speaks to you and it’s a voice that you remember. A very distinct one in your memory.

“Finnick,” you say again. He nods and shifts closer.

“Sometimes you call me Finn,” he starts, pressing lips to your knuckles. “Or honey. Or idiot if you’re mad at me.”

You smile and he catches a glimpse of you in there, engulfed by everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve been told. But he knows he can pull you out.

“I don’t think I’d ever be mad at you,” you mumble. He purses his lips thoughtfully.

“Well, sometimes I am an idiot. And I know you tell me that because you want to keep me safe.”

You’re in agreement there, not knowing everything but knowing undeniably that you would do anything to protect Finnick.

You shuffle over in the bed and tug at his arm. He tilts his head curiously, knowing what you’re asking but not wanting to be presumptuous.

“You want me to come sit up there with you, sweetheart?”

“Yes please.”

“Okay.” He settles himself next to you, legs outstretched where yours are tucked up tightly to your body. “If it gets too much, you tell me and I’ll go, okay?”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Then I won’t.”

You shuffle round and swing your legs over his own so you’re almost completely in his lap; his arm comes up and over your shoulders automatically, like muscle memory. This is how you are in your clearest memories- together, a tightly knit partnership. He’s holding his breath, waiting for you to realise what you’re doing and lose composure, but that moment doesn’t come. You just sit and close your eyes, ear to his chest, listening to his heart beat.

“I’m tired,” you croak.

“You want me to leave you to sleep?”

“No.” Your voice is thick and uneven where you’re full of all these new emotions that you can’t quite place. “Will you stay?”

“I’ll stay as long as you want.”

He pulls the thin blanket over your body and smiles as you needle in close to him, face in the juncture of his neck. Hiding with him instead of from him.

“C’mere, sweetheart.” You relax at the pet name, your body going lax against his own as you start to fall asleep.

You can’t be asleep for more than 30 minutes before you start to stir. You’re muttering in your sleep as you start to twitch and reach out for something.

Your brow knits and it forms a crease in the middle of your forehead as you start to cry.

“Honey, c’mon,” Finnick murmurs, his hand pressed to your neck in an effort to rouse you. “It’s just a dream.”

His chest aches; he can’t bear seeing you in this state, knowing there’s not much he can do to make it better. Thinking it’s his fault for not getting to you in time.

You scream and wake with a start, wide-eyed and frantic. Your eyes flit around the clinical looking room as you try to gauge your surroundings and reorient yourself.

“Honey, it’s okay. It was just a dream, you’re safe.”

You scramble back and push him away, curling yourself up into a ball at the foot of the bed. Tears paint your cheeks and they shine in the harsh white lights, hiccuping sobs. He crouches a metre or so away, palms up, arms outstretched in hopes you’ll make contact again.

“Breathe, just breathe,” he says. “You’re okay. I’m here, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

You’re like a wild animal the way you look at him- panic-stricken and agitated, frenetic in the way you move.

“Honey, it’s me. It’s Finn.”

You swallow thickly and nod, your body slowly starting to unfurl.

“Finn,” you sniffle, holding out your arms. “Finnick.”

He creeps closer still and you practically throw yourself into his arms, face against the hollow of his throat, arms locked around his middle like a vice.

“I have you. I’m right here,” he says, over and over like a mantra. A promise.

“I don’t wanna live like this anymore.”

“You’re not going to,” he whispers. “I’ll be here until you feel well enough and then we can start planning our life. Together.”

“Okay.”

Your fingers card through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, wet eyes meeting his.

“I love you. I know it now, I can remember that.”

“I love you too,” he says, craning his neck to meet your eyes. “You’re my girl.”

You’re hesitant as you tilt your head up to press a kiss to his lips but he welcomes it, his thumb and forefinger holding your chin in place as he pecks you a few more times.

“We’re gonna have a life of our own, I promise.”

“A life of our own.”

[raekensluver]

ᴅᴀʏ 𝟶𝟾 — ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀ sᴇx

october 15th | spencer reid x fem!reader

contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, mirror sex, slight praise kink vaginal sex, p in v from behind.

word count: 700+

kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

spencer's body pressed into yours, a wall of warmth and strength, as his legs tangled with yours. the feeling of his bare chest against your back sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, a thrilling reminder of his presence. his breath was hot in your ear, a gentle contrast to the coolness of the air, as he whispered sweet nothings that sent shivers down your neck. your eyes locked with your reflection in the full-length mirror, watching the scene unfold as if you were a spectator in a silent film.

his hand traced a path down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, as he murmured, "you're so beautiful." the words were simple, but the sincerity in his voice made them resonate deep within you, causing your heart to flutter. you felt the heat of his gaze as he took in the sight of your naked form, his eyes speaking of admiration and desire. you blushed under his scrutiny, the intensity of his stare making you feel both vulnerable and powerful.

his hand reached the curve of your hip, his fingers digging gently into your flesh as he began to move inside of you, setting a rhythm that mirrored the racing of your heart. your eyes never left the mirror, watching the mesmerizing play of your bodies coming together in perfect harmony. you could see the tension building in his jaw, the way his muscles flexed with every thrust, and the raw passion etched across his features. it was a heady sight, one that had you arching your back and pushing against him, eager to feel every inch of him.

you felt his teeth graze your earlobe as he whispered, "tell me what you want, tell me how it feels." your breath hitched, and you murmured, "spencer," his name slipping out like a desperate plea. his grip tightened on your hip, his movements becoming more urgent, as if the sound of your voice was the catalyst he needed to unleash his own desires.

his other hand slid around your waist to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple. the sensation sent a bolt of pleasure shooting through you, making your legs tremble and your pussy clench around him. you leaned back into him, letting your head fall against his shoulder, exposing the graceful curve of your neck to his hungry mouth.

his kisses grew more fervent, teeth grazing your sensitive skin, making you gasp and arch your neck further, giving him better access. his hips ground against yours, his cock sliding in and out in a delicious rhythm that had you panting and squirming. the mirror showed the flush of arousal spreading across your chest, your hard nipples peaked and begging for attention.

his hand slid lower, his fingertips grazing the wetness that coated your inner thigh before finding your clit, the center of your pleasure. a soft cry left your lips as he began to rub it in circles, his touch feather-light at first, then growing firmer with every beat of your racing heart. the sight of his hand between your legs, the way your body responded to his touch, was almost too much to handle.

spencer's breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling against your back as he watched the show in the mirror, his eyes dark with desire. he could see every expression that flitted across your face, every twitch of your body as he brought you closer to the edge. "look at us," he whispered, his voice thick with arousal. "look how good we are together."

you nodded, unable to form coherent words as his skilled fingers worked their magic on your clit. your eyes locked with yours in the reflection, the haze of passion making them look almost otherworldly. your cheeks were flushed, your hair a wild mess around your face, and your lips swollen from his earlier kisses. it was a side of yourself you rarely saw, raw and uninhibited, and it only served to make you feel even more alive.

kintober taglist: @multi-fandom-imagine, @imamexican, @majaduzejaja, @moony-artemis, @emma-e-a, @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @indigoangel77, @froyofreya, @weirdothatwritess @dale-kobbles-wife @mattheoriddles-slutt

[leneemusing]

HYPER SPECIFIC SMUT PROMPTS

note: some of these may include kinks and fetish dynamics which might be squicks for some (tw for power imbalances, dubious consent, breeding etc), proceed with caution and please feel free to cross out what you don't want to write when reblogging <3

ALTERNATE UNIVERSES

[ ARRANGED ] muses are in an arranged marriage and now have to consummate the union

[ EXES ] our muses broke up a few years ago, they run into each other at a party and end up having sex again

[ INFIDELITY ] our muses used to date but it didn't work out, they're now both in relationships but end up in an affair together. this prompt is for their first time entering the affair.

[ AFFAIR ] our muses have been having an affair and receiver tries to stop but ends up having sex again, claiming it's the last time.

[ POWER ] sender is receiver's boss and knows receiver has a crush on them. they decide to act on it late night during closing.

[ CRUSH ] receiver is sender's boss and knows sender has a crush on them. they decide to act on it late night during closing.

[ TEACH ] receiver is sexually inexperienced and approaches sender to ask them to teach them and help them get more experience after they had a bad date.

[ TAUGHT ] sender is sexually inexperienced and approaches receiver to ask them to teach them and help them get more experience after they had a bad date.

[ TUTOR ] muse A has been tutoring muse B in a subject they struggle with. after a long session which has both of them frustrated, they end up having sex on the table and ruin the books.

[ TUTORING ] continuing the above scenario, the tutor quizzes the pupil while stimulating them. every time the pupil gets a question wrong they are edged or punished in some way.

[ LEARN ] our muses are in college together, muse A is popular and socially adept but has bad experiences with keeping a romantic partner. muse B is shy and has a smaller friend group but the friendships are more emotionally deep than anything A has experienced. the two muses are in a study group together and strike up a conversation in which they come to a deal: muse B will help A become more academically cultured and emotionally sensitive enough to get the partners they want. in return muse A will help with muse B's social standing. they begin a sexual relationship under the guise of helping muse B come out of their shell but really muse A just has a crush on them all while B thinks they're being used.

[ FIGHT ] our muses are leaders on opposing sides of a war. they have known each other before the war and now their sexual tension is worsened while trying to negotiate a truce. while disagreeing on terms they have rough sex, each one trying to dominate the other.

[ BATTLE ] our muses are soldiers and on the eve of a battle they might not survive they have sex together

[ CAPTIVE ] receiver is sender's captive and has been trying to wear them down over time by connecting emotionally. they initiate sex in hopes it will buy them freedom. (up to you if it's genuine on both sides or only manipulation)

[ CAPTIVATED ] sender is receiver's captive and has been trying to wear them down over time by connecting emotionally. they initiate sex in hopes it will buy them freedom. (feel free to specific circumstances of captivity)

[ FRIENDS ] our muses have been best friends for a long time. lately one or both have had bad luck with dating and just want some comfort so they decide to have sex.

[ SPELL ] our muses must have sex for a magic ritual which requires multiple rounds from 3 am until sunrise.

[ HEIR ] muse A is the leader of the nation and has not been able to produce an heir (feel free to specify reason), muse B has been selected by their doctors and council to try and bare their children.

[goldfades]

HAUNTED BY YOU──FATHER MAYHEW (part 2)

part one!!!!

─ summary | father charlie grapples with his intense attraction during the church event. they shared a passionate kiss that reignites their forbidden connection, despite the undeniable chemistry, charlie wrestles with guilt and the reality of their situation, ultimately pulling away as the risk of being caught looms over them. the tension between desire and moral obligation leaves them both longing for more, even if they face the consequences of their actions

─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x fem!reader

─ warnings | nsfw under the cut! mdni! oral (f!receiving), p in v, pretty rough but not as nasty as part one, praise (?), pretty soft/vanilla in comparison to part 1

─ ev's notes | my requests are open if you wanna send anything in! (please do btw i'm obsessed w nicholas LMAO). also i feel like there should be a part 3 but i'm not sure where it would go sooo

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

After your encounter with Father Charlie, your world had turned completely upside down.

You no longer wanted to attend seminary, not like you wanted to begin with. It had always been someone else’s dream for you, a path laid out by your parents, by the expectations of the community, by the life you thought you were supposed to live. But now, every time you stepped into the church, all you could think about was him. The way his hands had felt on your skin, the way he had murmured your name with a mixture of reverence and desire. It was as if the weight of everything you had ever known had shifted beneath your feet, leaving you standing on uncertain ground.

It wasn’t just the guilt, though that was there, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. It was the confusion—the way you felt torn between the life you had always been told you should want and the inexplicable pull that had drawn you to him that night. You hadn’t planned for it to happen, hadn’t even fully understood what was happening as it unfolded, but now there was no denying it: something had changed inside of you.

You would be lying if you said that you weren't teasing the poor man, but you never expected it to go that far. His mean words, his rough touch... it was unexpected but welcome.

However, you avoided Charlie in the days that followed. But that didn’t stop the memories from replaying in your mind, unbidden and relentless. The rough sound of his voice, the way his breath had hitched when he looked at you, the feel of his lips against your skin—it haunted you, drawing you back to that night over and over again.

And yet, for all the confusion and turmoil, there was something else, too. A part of you that felt more alive than you ever had before. You couldn’t ignore the thrill of it, the way your heart raced when you thought about him, the way your body responded to even the thought of being near him again.

But what did that mean for your future? Could you go on pretending to follow a path that no longer felt like your own? Could you return to the person you had been before all of this?

You didn’t know.

All you knew was that something had been set in motion, something that couldn’t be undone. And as much as you tried to push it aside, to tell yourself it was just a fleeting moment of weakness, the truth lingered, heavy and undeniable: your encounter with Father Charlie had changed everything.

──

"I've just been worried about her." Your mother sniffled as she glanced up at Father Charlie. Her eyes were watery as your father nodded along, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

Charlie did his best not to roll his eyes─he assured them that their daughter missing a few days of Church was nothing to worry about, she was simply exploring and that she'd come back if her heart was in the right place.

He wasn't sure if that was true though, he knew the true reason for your sudden absence—it wasn't that you were losing your faith. It was that you were avoiding him. And in a way, he couldn't blame you. After what had happened between the two of you, things could never be the same.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling the weight of your parents' anxious gazes on him. He offered them a reassuring smile, the same gentle, composed expression he had worn so many times before. But beneath the surface, a storm raged inside him.

"I appreciate your concern," he said softly, clasping his hands together. "But give her time. Sometimes a little distance can be healthy. She’ll find her way back, if it’s meant to be."

Your mother dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, her worry evident. "But Father, she's never missed church like this before. She's always been so devoted. I just… I don’t understand what’s changed."

Charlie swallowed, the words catching in his throat as he forced himself to maintain his calm demeanor. He could feel guilt clawing at the edges of his composure, the weight of the secret the two of you now shared hanging over him like a heavy cloud. He had tried to rationalize it, tried to convince himself that it was a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment that would pass. But the truth was, every time he closed his eyes, he saw you.

"I understand your concern," Charlie continued, his voice softer now, more reflective. "But maybe she just needs some space to reflect on things. Sometimes, when we're too close to something, we can't see it clearly."

Your father sighed, rubbing his temples. "She's been so distant lately. I just don’t know what’s going on in her head anymore."

Charlie nodded sympathetically, though inside, he felt the sting of his own hypocrisy. He had been the one to create that distance. He had crossed a line he never should have, and now both of you were suffering the consequences. The temptation had been too great, the connection too deep to ignore, and now he was left trying to navigate the fallout, unsure of how to reconcile his role as a spiritual leader with the undeniable pull he felt toward you.

"Just give her some time," Charlie said again, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince—your parents, or himself. "She’s strong. She’ll come around."

Your mother smiled weakly, though her worry remained evident. "I hope so, Father. I really do."

As they stood to leave, Charlie felt a familiar sense of dread settle in his chest. He bid them goodbye, offering them one last reassurance before they stepped out of the church. But as the door closed behind them, the air in the sanctuary seemed to grow heavier.

Charlie exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as the silence pressed in around him. He had tried to distance himself from you, convinced himself that what had happened was a mistake. But no matter how hard he tried to push it away, the memory of you lingered, seeping into every corner of his mind.

And now, standing alone in the empty church, he found himself wondering if there was any way to make things right again—if there was any way to undo the damage that had been done.

But deep down, he knew the answer.

There was no going back. Not for either of you.

Later that night, Charlie found himself thinking about you once again. Particularly, how you looked that night. On your knees, so eager to please and your doe eyes gazing up at him. He couldn't get that sight out of his mind, no matter how hard he prayed. He clasped his hands together, leaning over the edge of his bed, his head bowed as if in prayer.

But the words weren’t coming—no matter how hard he tried to focus, the familiar rhythm of his nightly prayers refused to take shape. His mind was somewhere else, tangled up in thoughts that shouldn’t be there, lingering on images that made him feel as though he were coming apart at the seams.

He cursed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as if that would somehow banish the memory. But the more he fought it, the more vivid it became—your wide, innocent eyes gazing up at him, filled with a mix of longing and devotion that made his chest tighten. The feel of your skin, soft and warm beneath his fingertips, the sound of your voice, so eager to please… it haunted him. The way you had knelt before him, lips parted in anticipation, had driven him to the edge of his restraint.

He should have stopped it. He should have turned away, sent you home, reminded you of your faith, of his vows. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had given in, swept up in the heat of the moment, in the way your body responded to his touch, in the softness of your breath against his skin. And now, no matter how much he tried to pray, no matter how often he begged for forgiveness, the memory of that night refused to leave him.

Charlie’s breath came shallow as he stood, pacing the small room in frustration. His fists clenched at his sides, the fabric of his robes suddenly feeling too tight, too constricting. He could feel the familiar ache building in his chest, spreading lower, and no matter how much he tried to deny it, the pull was too strong to resist.

He glanced toward the small crucifix hanging on the wall, a wave of guilt washing over him. He was a man of God—he wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to let his thoughts linger on sinful desires, especially not desires for you.

But the truth was, no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your name echoed in his mind, and the memory of your touch seemed to burn hotter with every passing moment.

But when he closed his eyes again, all he could see was you—on your knees, so willing, so eager. The memory of your lips sent a shiver down his spine, and the guilt that followed only fueled the fire inside him.

And he knew, in that moment—the worst part wasn't the fact that he did those sinful actions—it was that he wasn't sorry, not one bit. Not even a sliver of remorse.

A chill ran through him at the thought, his stomach twisting with a blend of shame and something else, something that made him feel even more unsettled. It wasn’t regret that filled him when he remembered that night—it was a strange, unwelcome satisfaction. A hunger that hadn’t been sated, not entirely.

He had broken his vows, crossed a line he swore he never would. But now, in the stillness of the night, with only his thoughts to keep him company, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the truth. He wasn’t sorry. Not for the way you had looked at him, not for the way his body had responded to yours, and certainly not for the way his hands had roamed over your skin, desperate to claim you as his.

The worst part, the part that filled him with guilt and dread, was that he would do it again. Given the chance, he would fall just as easily. There was no penitence in his heart, only desire. And that terrified him more than anything else.

He had spent years dedicating himself to his faith, to his congregation, to being a beacon of moral strength and guidance. But now, the very foundation of everything he believed in was crumbling beneath him. How could he stand in front of his parish, look your parents in the eye, and preach about virtue when he knew what lay inside his own heart? How could he ask for forgiveness when, deep down, he wasn’t ready to give up the sinful thoughts that had taken root in his mind?

Charlie stood abruptly, crossing the room to the small mirror hanging on the wall. He stared at his reflection, searching his own eyes for the man he once was. But all he saw was the shadow of someone who had allowed himself to be consumed by temptation. He touched the collar around his neck, feeling its weight like a noose tightening with each passing second.

The worst part wasn’t the act itself—it was the knowledge that he would do it again. He would welcome it, crave it. You had awoken something in him, something dark and uncontrollable, and no amount of prayer or penance could change that now.

A soft knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. For a moment, his heart leapt into his throat, fearing that it might be you. That somehow, you had sensed his weakness, his need, and had come to him again. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he crossed the room and opened the door.

It wasn’t you. It was another member of the congregation, a kindly older woman who often helped with the church's charitable efforts. She smiled at him warmly, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside him.

"Father Charlie," she said, her voice gentle. "I wanted to thank you for your sermon earlier. It was so uplifting. We’re blessed to have you."

Charlie forced a smile, nodding as he thanked her for her kind words. But as she turned to leave, he felt a hollowness settle in his chest.

He didn’t feel like a blessing. He felt like a man on the edge of a precipice, teetering dangerously close to a fall he might never recover from.

And the worst part? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be saved.

──

Father Charlie stood at the pulpit, his voice steady as he delivered the sermon to the congregation. The stained glass windows bathed the church in a soft, multicolored light, the hum of his words blending with the occasional creak of wooden pews. His hands gripped the edges of the podium, knuckles pale, though his calm expression gave nothing away.

"And though we may walk through the valley of shadows," he said, his voice resonating through the high ceilings, "we must remember that God’s light will guide us, if only we choose to follow it."

His eyes swept over the familiar faces before him—devout, attentive, hanging on his every word. For a brief moment, he felt the usual sense of peace that came with leading his flock, of being their shepherd through life’s trials. But then, in the midst of that calm, the heavy oak doors at the back of the church creaked open.

You stepped inside, late.

Charlie’s heart faltered.

You moved quietly down the aisle, slipping into a pew near the back, trying to draw as little attention as possible. But he noticed you. Of course he noticed you. His breath hitched in his chest, and for a moment, the words on his tongue stumbled.

You didn’t look at him right away, your eyes scanning the prayer book in front of you as you settled in, but he could feel the electricity of your presence, like a whisper of something forbidden trailing through the air. His mouth went dry as he remembered, vividly and all too easily, the feel of your skin under his hands, the heat between you, the way your lips had parted in that fleeting moment of sinful indulgence.

His mind, usually sharp and disciplined during sermons, began to unravel, his thoughts wandering to places they never should have. His gaze lingered on you as you sat there, your expression neutral, but there was something in the way you held yourself that made it impossible for him to tear his eyes away. He noticed the way your hair caught the light, the soft curve of your neck as you bowed your head slightly. His pulse quickened against his will.

Charlie cleared his throat, trying to refocus on the words he had prepared, but they felt distant now, hollow in his mouth. He was no longer preaching to his congregation; he was struggling to hold onto his composure, his resolve crumbling with each passing second.

"Temptation," he began again, though his voice was softer now, as if the word itself held a deeper, more personal meaning. "It is something we all must face. It whispers to us when we are weak, it pulls at us when we are vulnerable. But we must find the strength to turn away, to resist the allure of sin."

His eyes found you again, and this time, you looked up. Your gaze met his, and in that single glance, he felt everything crash into him at once. The air between you seemed to thicken, heavy with the weight of what had passed between you. His breath caught in his throat, and he forced himself to tear his gaze away before anyone could notice the tension that hummed just beneath the surface.

But you didn’t stop looking at him. He could feel your eyes on him, a silent challenge, a reminder of the line that had already been crossed. He fought to keep his voice steady, but the sermon felt like it was slipping away from him, the careful words he had crafted now little more than a veil over the chaos inside his mind.

"We must… stand firm in our faith," he continued, though the conviction had drained from his voice. "For in times of darkness, it is only through faith that we find salvation."

Salvation. The word felt bitter on his tongue. Could he even claim to believe it anymore, after everything that had happened? After what he had allowed to happen?

The sermon dragged on, each word a labor, each moment a battle to maintain control. And all the while, you sat there, your presence like a burning flame in the cold of the church, drawing him in, tempting him with a kind of heat he knew he could never touch again.

When he finally reached the end of his sermon, the relief was almost palpable. He offered the closing prayer, his voice quiet, barely able to focus on the familiar verses. As the congregation murmured their amens and began to file out of the pews, Charlie stayed rooted at the pulpit, his eyes lingering on the spot where you sat.

But you didn’t leave with the others. You stayed behind, waiting until the church was nearly empty, until the last whispers of conversation faded away into the stillness. And then, slowly, you stood and made your way toward him, your footsteps soft against the stone floor.

Charlie’s heart pounded in his chest, the air between you charged with unspoken tension as you approached. The church was quiet now, the last of the congregation having departed, leaving only the echo of their footsteps behind. The light filtering through the stained glass seemed softer, casting shadows that flickered across the empty pews. But there was nothing soft about the way his pulse thundered in his ears, about the tightening in his chest as you closed the distance between you.

He should have walked away. He should have left immediately, before anything more could be said, before the unspoken words between you could turn into something neither of you could take back. But instead, he stood there, frozen in place, rooted to the spot by the weight of your gaze.

“Father Charlie,” you said softly, your voice low and sweet, like a secret meant only for him. The sound of your voice sent a shiver through him, and he fought to keep his expression neutral, though he could feel the cracks in his composure growing deeper with every passing second.

“Yes?” His voice came out rougher than he intended, strained.

You took a step closer, and the scent of your perfume reached him—something soft, floral, intoxicating. “Your sermon…” you began, but the words trailed off as your eyes met his again, and in that moment, he could see the truth in them. The same hunger that gnawed at him was reflected in your gaze, the same forbidden desire simmering just beneath the surface.

He swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He couldn’t allow this to happen. Not again. Not here, in the house of God, where his entire purpose was to be a guide for the people, to resist temptation, to be the moral compass for those who sought him out. But standing this close to you, feeling the warmth of your body, seeing the way your lips parted slightly as you looked at him—it was as though the air itself was charged with electricity, pulling him in.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” you continued, your voice softer now, almost a whisper. “About temptation… about resisting it.”

His throat tightened. He knew where this was going, knew he needed to stop it before it went any further. “You should,” he managed to say, though his voice was strained. “We all must resist.”

Your eyes flickered with something—amusement, perhaps, or maybe defiance. “Is that what you’re doing right now, Father?” you asked, stepping even closer, so close that he could feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Not like this.”

“And yet,” you replied, your voice teasing, “here I am.”

He clenched his jaw, every muscle in his body taut with restraint. He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t give in to the desire that gnawed at him, no matter how strong the pull. But as you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm, the warmth of your touch sent a jolt through him that made it nearly impossible to think clearly.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” you whispered, your voice low and sultry. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it, too.”

He closed his eyes, struggling to find his breath. Of course, he had been thinking about it. He hadn’t been able to think of anything else since that night, no matter how much he tried to push it away. But acknowledging that would only make it worse, would only open the door to something darker, something he wasn’t sure he could come back from.

“I can’t…” he started, but the words stuck in his throat.

You stepped even closer, your body now just inches from his, and he could feel the heat radiating from you, could smell the faint sweetness of your perfume. “You don’t have to resist,” you whispered, your lips so close to his ear now that he could feel the warmth of your breath against his skin.

Charlie’s hands trembled at his sides, his heart pounding in his chest. He was standing on the edge of a precipice, knowing that one more step would send him over, would plunge him into something he couldn’t take back. He opened his eyes, his gaze locking with yours, and in that moment, he knew.

The worst part wasn’t the temptation. The worst part was that he didn’t want to resist anymore.

"Sweetheart?"

You both immediately jumped, putting some space between you two. You looked back to see your mother standing, looking between you two with suspicion. Charlie’s heart nearly stopped in his chest as your mother’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. His breath hitched, and he took a hurried step back from you, creating what little distance he could in the small space between you both. The panic coursing through his veins was almost palpable, his mind scrambling for an excuse, an explanation—anything to justify the intimate moment your mother had just interrupted.

You spun around, your cheeks flushed, eyes wide as you faced her. “Mom…” you started, your voice shaky, barely able to form the words.

Your mother stood just a few feet away, her eyes narrowing as they flicked between you and Father Charlie. Suspicion danced across her face, her arms crossing over her chest in a way that made it clear she didn’t believe for a second that what she had just walked in on was innocent.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, her voice tight with concern, but laced with an edge of disbelief. “Why are you here alone with Father Charlie?”

Charlie swallowed hard, doing his best to regain some semblance of composure. He stepped forward, trying to project the calm and collected demeanor he was known for.

His hands fidgeted behind his back, where no one could see the way they trembled. “Mrs. L/N,” he said, forcing a small smile, “I was just… offering some spiritual guidance. Your daughter has been struggling with her faith lately, and I wanted to make sure she was alright.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. She glanced at you again, her suspicion deepening. “Spiritual guidance?” she repeated slowly, her tone skeptical. “That’s all?”

You nodded quickly, your face burning with embarrassment, desperate to put her at ease. “Yes, Mom. That’s all. I’ve just… I’ve had a lot on my mind, and Father Charlie was helping me work through some things.”

Your mother didn’t look satisfied, but she didn’t push any further either. Instead, she sighed, her eyes softening just a little as she looked at you. “Sweetheart, I’ve been worried about you. You’ve been distant lately, and I just want to make sure you’re okay. I’m your mother—I know when something’s not right.”

Charlie took a deep breath, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation away from the dangerous ground it had been treading. “You have every right to be concerned,” he said gently. “But I assure you, your daughter is fine. She’s just been searching for some clarity, and sometimes, that means taking a step back to reflect. It’s a normal part of spiritual growth.”

Your mother seemed to hesitate for a moment, her eyes lingering on him as if weighing his words. Finally, she nodded, though the unease still lingered in her expression. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But… next time, sweetheart, maybe talk to me too. I’m always here for you.”

You smiled weakly, giving a small nod. “I will, Mom.”

Your mother’s gaze softened further, and she gave you a gentle smile before turning back toward the door. “Me and dad are waiting outside,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t take too long.”

As soon as she was gone, the tension in the air shifted, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence. Charlie let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his shoulders sagging with the weight of what had almost just happened.

“That was too close,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you turned back to him.

Charlie nodded, running a hand through his hair, his thoughts still racing. “We can’t keep doing this,” he said quietly, though even as he said it, part of him knew it was a lie.

You stood there, staring at him, your breath unsteady as the reality of what had just happened sunk in. Your mother had almost caught you, and the danger of the situation wasn’t lost on either of you. And yet, there was still that undeniable pull, the heat between you two simmering just beneath the surface, refusing to die down despite the risk.

Charlie’s words hung in the air, a weak protest against what both of you knew was inevitable. He had said it before—he couldn’t keep doing this—but neither of you had stopped, even after that night. Even after everything that had followed.

You took a small step closer to him, your heart pounding as you fought against the voice in your head that told you to walk away. “You don’t mean that,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He closed his eyes, his jaw tight, clearly trying to hold on to whatever shred of self-control he had left. “I should mean it,” he muttered, his voice strained, but he didn’t move away from you. If anything, he seemed to lean in closer, despite his own protest. “This is wrong. We both know that.”

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles as he wrestled with himself. “Maybe it is,” you admitted, your eyes meeting his again, “but that doesn’t mean I regret it. Do you?”

Charlie looked at you, the conflict plain in his eyes, but the more he stared, the more that tension seemed to fade. “I don’t regret it,” he finally admitted, his voice low and hoarse. “But I should.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping even closer to him, the space between you almost non-existent now. “Then why don’t you?”

Charlie’s breath hitched, his gaze flickering over your face as if searching for an answer. The heat between you two was almost unbearable now, every inch of space crackling with tension, and you could see the exact moment his resolve began to crack.

He exhaled sharply, his voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a rush of warmth spreading through you. You moved closer, your hand sliding down his arm, feeling the way his skin shivered beneath your touch. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered back, your lips dangerously close to his now.

For a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. It was just the two of you, standing there in the quiet, the tension and the desire between you growing stronger with every passing second. Charlie’s breath quickened, his eyes dark with longing as he stared at you.

But then, just as quickly, his expression shifted, a look of torment crossing his features. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” he whispered, his voice trembling with both desire and guilt. “You deserve better than this.”

You swallowed hard, your heart clenching at his words. But you shook your head, refusing to let him pull away now. “What I deserve,” you said softly, “is you. And I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

Charlie’s eyes flashed with something—a mix of longing and torment—and for a moment, he looked like he might resist again. But then, something inside him snapped. He reached out, his hands grabbing your waist, pulling you closer in one swift motion.

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips crashed into yours, and for a second, all of that guilt, that tension, melted away in the heat of the kiss. His hands gripped your waist tightly, holding you against him as if afraid you might slip away. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the church, not your parents waiting outside, not the fact that what you were doing was forbidden.

All that mattered was the way his lips felt against yours, the way his touch set your skin on fire, the way everything else seemed to fade into the background when you were with him.

The kiss deepened, an electric jolt shooting through you as Father Charlie held you close. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your heart race faster than you thought possible. You felt the heat of his body against yours, his grip possessive yet gentle, like he was trying to hold on but afraid he might break you. It was a contradiction, just like him—full of restraint, but also full of passion.

You let out a soft gasp as his hand slid up your side, brushing against your ribs, and the sensation made your knees weak. You had to remind yourself that this was real, that this was actually happening again, despite all the reasons it shouldn’t. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it any more than he could.

Charlie broke the kiss first, his breath ragged, his forehead pressed against yours. His eyes were squeezed shut as if he were fighting an internal battle—one that he was quickly losing. “This can’t happen again,” he whispered, though the way his hands still held you told a different story. His resolve was crumbling, just like it always did around you.

You nodded, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, but you couldn’t bring yourself to agree out loud. The tension between you two was still thick, and the temptation was too strong, too intoxicating to resist.

You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, mirroring your own, and it was enough to make you lean in again, brushing your lips against his one more time.

“Then stop,” you whispered against his lips, daring him, challenging him to push you away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he kissed you again, harder this time, as if the very act of pulling you closer was the only thing grounding him. His hands gripped your waist tighter, fingers digging into your hips, and you could feel the desperation in his touch. There was no hesitation now, no pretending that this wasn’t what he wanted.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath his clerical shirt, the smooth fabric bunched under your fingers. It was almost surreal, the way everything else disappeared around you, the church silent except for the sound of your breathing and the faint echo of your heartbeats.

But then, reality began creeping back in, like a shadow over the two of you.

The weight of what you were doing came crashing down again, as it always did, leaving you both tangled in a mess of desire and guilt. Charlie broke away once more, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with the effort to steady himself. His eyes were wild with conflict as he looked at you, his voice hoarse. “We can’t… Not here. Not like this.”

You could feel the hesitation returning, his conscience pulling at him once again. But before he could say anything more, you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“I know,” you whispered, nodding. “But don’t regret this, Charlie. Please.”

His gaze softened for a moment, and for just a second, it seemed like the weight of his guilt was lifting, replaced by something softer, something more real. He gently took your hand in his, pulling it away from his lips, and brought it to his chest, holding it there as if to let you feel the way his heart raced beneath your fingertips.

“I don’t,” he said quietly, his voice firm despite the uncertainty lingering in his eyes.

But before either of you could speak again, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway outside the small room. You both tensed immediately, pulling apart in a rush as if the entire world had just come crashing back down on you.

Your mother’s voice rang out, calling your name from somewhere outside, and the reality of your situation hit like a cold shock to your system. You glanced at Charlie, your pulse still racing, your thoughts a jumbled mess.

You sighed, stepping back, your heart still pounding as you adjusted your clothes, trying to make yourself presentable before stepping out of the room.

As you left the small space where everything had happened, Charlie watched you go, his chest tightening with the weight of his own choices. He knew there would be consequences to all of this—there always were. But as he watched you disappear into the hallway, a small part of him couldn’t help but want more.

And that terrified him most of all.

──

Father Charlie’s lips crashed against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you into the small, dimly lit room at the side of the church. The door clicked shut behind you, the quiet sound echoing through the silence as though sealing you both away from the world outside.

Your back hit the wall gently, the cool stone pressing against you, but all you could focus on was the heat radiating from him—the way his body seemed to burn with a need that matched your own. His kiss was desperate, almost frantic, as though he had been holding back for too long and could no longer control the desire that had been eating away at him.

“God, I’ve tried,” he muttered against your lips, his breath hot and ragged as he pressed his forehead against yours for just a moment, as though trying to regain some semblance of control.

But even as he said it, his hands roamed over your body, fingers trembling slightly as they traced the curve of your hips. “I’ve tried to stay away… but I can’t.”

His confession sent a shiver through you, both of guilt and desire. You knew this was wrong—both of you did—but the pull between you was too strong to resist. There was something magnetic in the way you fit together, something undeniable in the way his touch made your pulse race.

You gasped softly as his hands slid higher, brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending jolts of electricity through your skin.

“Charlie…” you breathed, barely able to find the words as your heart pounded in your chest. His name left your lips like a prayer, one filled with both need and hesitation.

His response was a low growl of frustration, his hands tightening on your waist as if trying to ground himself, but his lips returned to yours with renewed urgency. The kiss deepened, becoming hungrier, more reckless, as though the two of you had crossed a threshold you could no longer retreat from. His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, pulling you even closer to him, your bodies pressed together in a way that left no room for anything but the heat of your desire.

“We can’t…” he whispered again, though the words seemed hollow now, an afterthought that barely registered in the heat of the moment. His lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against it, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped your lips. “But I don’t want to stop.”

His words mirrored the conflict that raged inside of you—this was a line that should never have been crossed, but now that you were here, it felt impossible to turn back. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, your body arching into his as his hands explored your skin. The soft rasp of his breath against your neck, the heat of his body pressed so close to yours—it was overwhelming, intoxicating, and it left you dizzy with need.

For a brief moment, he pulled back, his chest heaving as he stared at you with dark, conflicted eyes. “We’re going to hell for this,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with desire, but there was no regret in his tone—only raw, unrestrained longing.

You shook your head, your fingers still gripping his shirt as you looked up at him, breathless. “Then take me with you.”

That was all it took for him to lose whatever remained of his restraint. With a groan, he captured your lips again, his hands moving faster now, more urgently, as though afraid that if he stopped for even a moment, the weight of what you were doing might crush him. You didn’t care anymore, not about the consequences, not about what anyone might say. In that moment, there was only him, only the way he made you feel—alive, reckless, consumed.

His hands slipped beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across the bare skin of your waist as though claiming you entirely. The cold stone wall at your back contrasted sharply with the heat of his body pressed against yours, grounding you even as everything around you spun out of control.

There was no space between you now, your bodies moving together in perfect rhythm, each touch, each kiss driving you further into the dark, forbidden territory you both had sworn to avoid. But neither of you had the strength to resist anymore. His breath was ragged against your neck, your own heart pounding in time with his as the intensity of the moment wrapped around you like a vice.

"Gonna make you cum so many times," he mumbled into your neck as he pushed you harder on the wall.

You let out a small giggle at his words, your head falling back against the wall with a small thud. "Is that a promise?"

Charlie hummed against your neck. "Mhm, you won't be able to walk outta here."

You tangled your fingers into his hair as he spoke, pulling him closer, urging him on. You needed this as much as he did. Needed to feel alive, to feel something that burned beyond the lines of right and wrong. It wasn't just lust—it was a dangerous craving for connection, something that both frightened and exhilarated you.

"Please," you pleaded, breath hitching as his hands roamed higher. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the struggle within him, but his resolve broke the moment you gave him permission.

With a low groan, his hands slid beneath your shirt completely, the sensation of his touch sending fire through your veins. Every nerve in your body was alight, the tension between you mounting to an unbearable high as his lips claimed every inch of skin they could reach. His breath was hot against your neck, the pressure of his body overwhelming, yet intoxicating.

Charlie’s mouth found your ear, his breath warm and labored. “I don’t know how to be anything else around you... it’s like you’re inside my head.”

You gasped as he pressed himself harder against you, your lips brushing the curve of his jawline in response. His words cut through you, filled with the same struggle and longing that burned in your chest. It was reckless, dangerous even, but it was real.

Without warning, his arms around your middle and picked you up. You let out a surprised sound as you wrapped his hips, before he dropped you right on the desk. The sensation of being completely in his control, suspended in the air for a fleeting moment, sent a thrill through you.

Before you could even process what was happening, he dropped you onto the desk behind you. The cool wood pressed against the back of your thighs as your hands flew to grip the edge, steadying yourself. The roughness of the gesture, the way his eyes burned into yours, left you breathless.

There was no hesitation in his movements anymore, no room for doubt or second thoughts. The desk creaked slightly beneath the weight of the moment, but neither of you cared.

Charlie stepped between your legs, his hands immediately finding your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he was anchoring himself to you. His gaze roamed over your face, dark and full of hunger, before his lips crashed back onto yours with renewed intensity. His kiss was deeper now, more demanding, as though he was trying to erase every single barrier between you.

"Charlie," you moaned as you blinked up at him, your whole body feeling like it was on fire.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more of him, craving the feeling of his body against yours. His hands slid up your sides, trailing heat in their wake as they pushed your shirt higher, exposing more skin to the cool air. You shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way his touch set your nerves on fire.

“God, I’ve wanted this,” he growled against your lips, his voice low and filled with raw need. He leaned forward, his body pressing yours back against the desk, the weight of him intoxicating. You could feel the intensity of his desire, the way he held nothing back now, his control slipping with every passing second.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers exploring the firmness of his body beneath the fabric of his clothes. Every muscle tensed beneath your touch, responding to you in ways that made your pulse race even faster. You pushed his shirt up, wanting to feel the heat of his skin against yours, to close the distance between you even more.

His lips left yours for a moment, trailing down your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. You tilted your head back, giving him more access, feeling the way his teeth grazed your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips with almost bruising force.

You could feel him hard against you, his desire unmistakable. The tension between you, the build-up of everything unsaid, was too much to bear anymore. You arched against him, needing more, wanting to lose yourself in the overwhelming heat between you both.

He then spread your legs further before practically ripping your skirt off, throwing it somewhere else in the room. He leaned down to press a sloppy kiss on your stomach before he slowly descended down where you needed him most.

Charlie placed two fingers on top of your clothed wet pussy, letting out a broken groan. "So ready for me, huh?"

All you could do was moan in response as your head fell back, your eyes screwing shut. The feeling of his fingers so close to where you ached, made you wanna scream in desperation. You just wanted him to fill you up and fuck you senseless.

“Charlie…” you breathed, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you felt in that moment. His name on your lips only seemed to spur him on, his fingers pushing deeper into your needy cunt.

Finally, he moved your panties to the side before slowly dipping a finger inside your sloppy pussy. Your back arched to his touch, letting out a pornographic moan.

Charlie shivered at the beautiful sound, his pants becoming impossibly tight. He felt his cock get harder every second, he wasn't sure how long he could wait—but he needed to taste you.

Keeping his finger inside your wet pussy, he leaned down and pressed his lips against it. With the added sensation, you were sure you were gonna pass out. Charlie slipped out his tongue, tasting your sweet juices as he hummed.

"Taste so fucking sweet, baby." He moaned as he opened his mouth to taste more of you. The taste was heavenly, he shut his eyes and began devouring you, his finger slipping in and out.

You were practically sobbing with pleasure at that point, your hand on his head as he ate you out like a starved man. Your pussy clenched around his finger, but you needed more. You needed his cock, desperately. He began rubbing himself against the wooden desk, desperate for any friction as he continued his assault on your puffy cunt.

You felt that familiar tightening in your lower stomach begin to form and you knew that it wouldn't take a lot more to make you cum. You began breathing heavily, your head falling back as you nodded desperately.

"Please, please make me cum," you babbled as you fisted his hair. "Oh, fuck!"

One last push of his finger and you were cumming around him, and Charlie wasted no time—he kept licking your juices until he felt he was completely satisfied. You were breathless from your high, but Charlie was far from done.

As you regained some sense of consciousness, you heard his belt buckle hit the wooden floor with a familiar thump. Then, Charlie’s lips crashed back onto yours with renewed urgency, fueled by your whispered permission. You could taste yourself on his tongue, humming at the salty taste.

His hands roamed over your body, no longer holding back, exploring every inch of exposed skin. You could feel the heat between you intensifying, the air growing thick with anticipation.

His free hand gripped your waist, pulling your body flush against his, and you could feel just how much he wanted you. The desk beneath you creaked again, but the noise was drowned out by the sound of your ragged breathing, the thud of your heartbeat in your ears, and the steady rhythm of his movements against you.

Charlie’s mouth continued to explore your neck, leaving kisses that sent shivers down your spine. He pulled back for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, dark and full of something primal. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered, his voice husky, sending a thrill through you.

Your lips parted, words forming on the tip of your tongue, but they were lost as he lifted you slightly, shifting you further onto the desk. The sudden movement made you cling to him, your legs tightening around his waist, the closeness between you now unbearable in the best way.

Charlie then reached for his cock, you glanced down to see his redden tip leaking with pre-cum. He led his tip to your entrance, and he slowly began pushing himself into your warmth. Charlie let out a sigh of relief as his head fell back; he had missed the feeling of your tight cunt.

You were still sensitive from the previous orgasm, you were shaking at the burning and overwhelming sensation. "Please, Charlie," you didn't know what you were pleading for at this point.

Charlie let you adjust to his size before he began drilling in and out of you, the wooden desk creaking underneath you. You felt so full, you swore you felt him all the way up to your throat. Your hands found his broad shoulders, holding on as his thrusts began more erratic and desperate.

"This fuckin' pussy was made for me," he gasped as he began fucking you into the desk, the power of his thrusts making you cry out. "God made this pussy all for me, like a little present."

All his ramblings were going in one ear and out the other, you were absolutely drunk on his cock. You just moaned in response, unsure of what he was even saying at this point—Charlie wasn't sure either.

Charlie was snapping his hips against yours, he wasn't even thinking straight; he felt like a fucking dog in heat. All he could think of was cumming inside of your tight pussy again and again, until either of you could take it anymore.

"Oh, fuck!" you cried out as you felt yourself drawing closer and closer to your orgasm. Your pussy tightened around him, your eyes rolling back in pure and unadulterated pleasure.

You came again, your whole body shaking as you felt your legs give out. You were practically limp as Charlie kept slamming into you, chasing his own high.

After a few more rough snaps of his hips, Charlie was spilling his seed into you. He rode out his high as he sighed heavily, his forehead falling against yours. You were both breathless, but nonetheless satisfied. His breath was warm against your skin as he rested his forehead against yours, the remnants of shared intensity still lingering in the air.

Both of you were quiet for a few moments, still trying to catch your breath, hearts beating in sync. The room, once filled with hurried movements and ragged breaths, had now fallen into a peaceful stillness.

Charlie’s hand slowly trailed down your back, a soft, gentle touch replacing the urgency from earlier. His fingers danced over your skin, and despite the exhaustion that hung between you, there was a tenderness in the way he touched you now, as if he was savoring every second of this quiet moment.

His eyes, still dark with satisfaction, locked with yours, and a small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You’re incredible," he murmured softly, his voice hoarse from everything that had passed between you.

You smiled back, your fingers brushing through his hair, still trying to make sense of the rush of emotions coursing through you. "Finally made me cum," you teased lightly, though your voice was soft and tired.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body a welcome comfort against yours. For a moment, neither of you said anything, just reveling in the intimacy of the aftermath, the unspoken connection that had deepened between you.

After a while, Charlie sighed again, this time more contented. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips soft and reassuring. “We should probably…get out of here before someone finds us,” he whispered, though there was no rush in his voice.

You laughed softly, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. You were still perched on the edge of the desk, clothes haphazardly discarded, with no sign of the wild passion that had just transpired except for the disheveled state of the room and the lingering heat between you.

But for a moment longer, neither of you moved. There was something comforting in the stillness, the quiet intimacy that followed the storm. Eventually, though, Charlie slipped out of you, shifting slightly and helped you down from the desk with a gentle hand on your waist. You both began to gather your clothes, the silence between you now comfortable.

With one last lingering kiss, you both finally slipped out of the room, the world outside waiting. But something had shifted between you—something that felt like the beginning of something more.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[syluslnd]

hello. may I request for sylus who gets amused or smth when MC gets why when stripping? Whether it be removing clothes, getting naked, wearing a bikini, or stripping down in sports bra and shorts or something? MC is just shy and gets flustered easily. There is something so deep and intriguing about Sylus's gaze that it's hard to explain ><

sylus reaction to you stripping

The room was warm,the soft glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the walls. You stood near the edge of the bed, fingers nervously toying with the hem of your shirt. Sylus was sitting across from you, his legs spread lazily, his arms folded, watching you with an intense, unblinking gaze.

"Come on, sweetie" he said, his voice smooth but edged with amusement. "You don't need to go hide in the bathroom every time. Just change here." His eyes lingered on you, a small, knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

Your breath hitched. Normally, you would have quickly darted into the bathroom, closing the door behind you before peeling off your clothes in private. But Sylus had insisted tonight. He'd said it so casually, like it was no big deal at all. Yet, under his piercing gaze, your skin felt hot, and your heart raced, pounding in your chest.

"I-I don't know..." you stammered, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as if they could shield you from his gaze.

His smirk grew as he leaned back against the headboard, eyes never leaving yours.

"Oh, come on, kitten. It's just me. What are you so nervous about?"

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning. The way he said it-so casual, yet with that teasing undertone-made your stomach twist. You knew he was doing this on purpose, pushing you just enough to make you squirm and there was no escaping it.

But he always had a way of making you feel so exposed, especially in moments like this.

He tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. "What's the matter?" he asked, voice dripping with amusement.

"Shy?"

You let out a soft huff, biting your lip as your fingers tightened their grip on your shirt. "I just... I usually change in the bathroom..."

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a broader smile. "Yeah, l've noticed. But we both know there's no need for that, right?" His voice dropped, becoming softer but still carrying that unmistakable edge of teasing.

"You're beautiful, sweetie. No need to hide from me."

The compliment only made you more flustered. You felt the heat creeping up your neck, your entire body tingling with embarrassment. He was being so casual about it, while you felt like you were standing on display.

"Are you going to just stand there all night?" he asked, his tone laced with impatience but it was the kind of impatience that was meant to make you squirm. "Come on, kitten. I'm waiting."

You hesitated for another moment, glancing at him nervously. His gaze was locked onto you, unwavering, his lips still curled into that smirk that made your knees weak. Slowly, with trembling hands you grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it just a little, feeling the air against your stomach. You paused again, glancing at him and the look in his eyes-sharp, focused, almost predatory-made you even more self-conscious.

"Slow, aren't we?" he teased, his voice dropping an octave. "What's wrong? Can't do it in front of me?"

Your heart was racing now and it felt like every second stretched on forever. You tried to ignore how his words made your stomach flutter, tried to focus on just getting it over with. But the longer he stared, the harder it became to move.

With a shaky breath, you finally pulled the shirt up and over your head, your arms immediately crossing over your chest the moment the fabric was gone. You glanced at him, hoping for some sign of approval but all you found was that same teasing grin.

"There you go" Sylus murmured, his eyes now roaming over your bare skin, taking in every little detail. His gaze was so intense, like he was savoring every inch of you. "But why are you hiding?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with that teasing edge. "It's just me, sweetie. I've seen it all before."

You wanted to melt into the floor. The heat in your cheeks only intensified as his gaze moved back up to your face, catching your nervous eyes with his. "Y-You make it sound so... so easy," you muttered, trying to cover yourself as best you could, feeling entirely too vulnerable under his scrutiny.

He chuckled, low and deep, leaning forward slightly. "It is easy. For me, at least. But for you?" He let the question hang in the air, raising an eyebrow. "You're acting like it's your first time all over again."

Your lips parted but no words came out. His teasing tone sent your mind spinning and you didn't know how to respond. He knew exactly what he was doing-playing with your nerves, watching you squirm under his gaze.

Finally, you reached down for the waistband of your jeans, fingers trembling as you fumbled with the button. You were hyper-aware of his eyes on you, every little movement feeling exaggerated under the weight of his attention.

Sylus's eyes darkened as he watched you his smirk growing as he saw your hands shaking. "A little nervous, are we?" he asked, his voice dropping even lower. He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees, now even closer. "You know, you don't have to rush. I'm enjoying this."

You froze, the button of your jeans finally undone but your hands now trembling too much to move any further. His words made your stomach twist, the way he so casually admitted to watching you, relishing in your hesitation. "S-Sylus..." you stammered, unsure of what to say, feeling utterly exposed.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing.

"What's wrong, kitten? Don't tell me you're embarrassed. You know I love watching you get all shy." His voice was almost a purr now, smooth and teasing, designed to make you blush even harder.

Your breath came in shallow bursts as you finally pushed your jeans down over your hips, the fabric sliding down your legs. You quickly stepped out of them, standing there in just your underwear, your entire body buzzing with embarrassment. You crossed your arms over your chest again, looking anywhere but at him.

But Sylus wasn't about to let you escape so easily.

He stood up, closing the distance between you in a few slow, deliberate steps. You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he loomed over you, his eyes still locked on yours with that same intense gaze. His hand reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before trailing down your arm.

"See?" he murmured, his voice soft and dangerously close. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at him, your breath shaky. "Y-You were watching me the whole time.."

His lips curled into a slow, teasing grin. "Of course I was." His hand traced lightly along your arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

"and you were adorable the whole time, sweetie. So shy, so flustered... You're too cute for your own good."

You tried to look away but his fingers gently tilted your chin back up, forcing you to meet his gaze again. "No hiding” he said softly, his voice carrying that same teasing tone. "I want to see every bit of that embarrassment."

Your knees felt weak under his gaze and the way he stood so close, his hand still brushing over your skin, only made the tension between you even more unbearable.

You could feel his breath against your lips, the heat of his body pressing into yours and it was overwhelming.

"Relax, kitten" he murmured, his voice low and sultry as his fingers traced the curve of your jaw. "You're beautiful. There's no need to be shy." His lips hovered just above yours, close enough to make your heart race but he didn't close the distance-he waited, teasing you, letting the tension between you build.

Your breath hitched, your body tingling with the sensual tension between you. The teasing, the way he watched you with that piercing gaze, made every second feel electric. You were hyper-aware of his presence of every inch of his skin that brushed against yours.

"Look at you, trembling for me” he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "You really are too cute."

You couldn't help but let out a soft, breathless whimper, the heat between you now almost unbearable. But Sylus just smirked his lips barely brushing yours as he whispered, "Don't worry, sweetie. I'm not done teasing you yet."

[wandanatw0rld]

+18 | men & minor denied

beefy!natasha romanoff x pillowprincess!female reader x college!au

warnings: girlxgirl; Natasha being a boxer; rough sex; anal sex; strap on use (r receving); a little bit of praise; fingersucking; brief mention of war; Alexei & Bucky being two assholes; not propfread

b: Natasha's father comes to visit her, but their meeting doesn't go very well, and (un)fortunately for you, you have to pay for her frustration.

I think that's it, have fun ;D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, I love you too, Mom. Bye" You're sitting on Natasha's bed, notepads and books on every surface, you stop writing and look at the redhair.

"Is everything okay, Nat?" She looks at you, her jaw is clenched, her poor phone pressed against her strong hands, she sits on the edge.

"My dad's coming to visit, he wants to take a tour of Steve's gym," you crawl next to her, taking her hands off her thighs and replacing them with you.

"Is that so bad?" You hold her face, green eyes with a hint of desperation.

"Let's say my dad wanted me to be a doctor and not a boxer," Natasha didn't like to talk about her parents, especially her dad.

Her parents are both from Russia, late Soviet Union, and came to America after the war destroyed their home, the United States seemed to be a place to have a new life with more hopes. Natasha was young and didn't remember much about it, but she remembered the bombs, a whole reason why she hated New Year's Eve.

"Do you want me to be with you?" Natasha seems to consider for a few seconds.

"Are you ready to meet Alexei Romanoff?" She asks you sweetly. "One of the founders of this masterpiece?" Natasha pointed at herself in a very silly way.

"Actually, I am. But let's stop talking about your dad and talk about how much I need you to kiss me".

"I agreed," she says, standing up, you laughing as she holds you, her lips pressed to yours.

...

You were nervous to meet Natasha's father, lost count of the number of times you looked in the mirror, even though the redhead said you looked gorgeous as always. At first, Alexei Romanoff seems really scary with his bear, but he's really an idiot like his daughter. He told jokes, shared stories about Natasha wanting to be a superhero, you kissed her red cheek when the old man made fun of her blue hair.

Now the three of you are in Steve's gym, which he closed just so Natasha could show the place to her dad. But the more you listen to them, the more you're worried about Natasha's well-being.

"You're getting too big, sweetheart. And those tattoos, your mom will lose her mind if she sees you," the redhead breathes out, her patience coming to an end.

"I like my tattoos" You watch them very quietly, the way Natasha squeezes your hand and clenches her jaw makes you worry about her dad. "Dad, please. Look at the size of your belly."

"Your mom likes it".

"I bet she does". Alexei doesn't think it's funny, and you only realize that when he say it to her:

"When are you going to get a real job?" His tone is throaty, sharp as a knife, the same tone Natasha uses when she's stressed.

"This is a real job, Dad. I like working here" Her eyes glow with challenge, one more word and she'll explode.

"Yelena is doing great with me, she's really going to run the business one day".

"Yelena was always looking for your approval." You'd never met Yelena before, but Natasha always talked about the blonde with love and affection.

"Someone has to have it" The silence is heavy, you want to say something, but Natasha could kill her father with her eyes.

"Well, my class is in ten minutes, so... Let me walk you to the exit," Alexei seemed shaken, but he turned to you.

"It was really nice to meet you. When Natasha told me how beautiful you were, I didn't think it would be so much". Natasha doesn't look at either of you.

"Thank you, Mr. Romanoff".

"Please, call me Alexei. You make me feel old".

"You are old." The look in his eyes frightened you.

...

Natasha is taking you home, the fact that she hasn't said a word is worrying.

"See you tomorrow?" You ask and give her a peck on her cheek

"I don't know. I'm busy tomorrow" But she doesn't look at you.

You know what bothers her. Natasha wants her father's approval, all she ever wanted was to make him proud and not being able to do that is killing her. You don't see her the next morning or the day after, so you ask Clint if he knows anything while you both go shopping for baby stuff.

"I don't know, to be honest, she doesn't talk to me" He's looking at the dipers section in the drugstore, you've been helping him for forty minutes now, one of the professors has canceled the class. "I was going to ask her out for a drink, but she didn't answer her phone"

"I'm going to visit her at the gym today after class," you smile sweet at him. "Clint, these are adult dipers".

"God, I'm a terrible dad".

"Don't put too much pressure on yourself, Clint. These are things you can catch up over time.

"Thank you!" You gave his shoulder a good, enthusiastic squeeze.

"I gotta go. I gotta help Wanda with Billy and Tommy."

"Who are they?"

"Her clownfish, but I think one of them is female".

...

The hours seemed to pass so slowly that you didn't notice anything. You left your things in your dorm and hurried to Natasha's work. You entered, the place is quiet, there are a few people working out on headphones. You approach the reception, Bucky, another employee looks at you. You don't like him, the way he provokes Natasha and worse, his jokes towards you, they aren't funny, but it definitely amuses him.

"Hi Bucky, is Natasha here?"

"She asked Steve for a day off, she's at the arena" You turn to leave, but he calls you. "Can I ask you something?"

"Bring it on".

"Why are you with her?" See, not funny. "I mean, I know she's hot and rich, but-."

"I don't think that's any of your business, Bucky."

They march into the arena, loud rock music, The Marvels really hate somebody. Natasha hits the bag with precision, she growls with every punch, it is fucking hot. She doesn't realize you're there until you turn off the music.

"What the fuck!" You wave to her, she takes off her gloves and grabs a bottle of water.

"Hi to you too" You reache her. "I miss you"

"Me too" Her response is somewhat mechanical.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She drinks the water.

"Not really". Getting close to her, analyzing every single detail in her, sweat running down her chest, on her strong arms, the veins on her forearm drive you crazy.

"You're avoiding me, was it something I did?" Natasha keeps not looking at you and starts to get on your nerves.

"Everything's fine" She doesn't add a nickname, which means she's really mad.

There are a few details people need to pay attention to with Natasha Romanoff and you mastered them quite well.

When she's angry, she gets quiet, refuses to look at or talk to anyone, plus she listens to rock music really loud, just like it happened. When she is jealous, especially of Bucky and his aproaches towards you, her voice gets husky and scary, hands on your waist, pulling you close, and when takes you home, she makes sure of making you hers, every inch of your skin belong to her.

She was angry. In this case, angrier than she had ever been.

"Fight with me" Natasha seemed confused.

"I'm not going to fight with you" You take a few steps closer.

"Why not?" You ask, her woody perfume smells so good. "Are you afraid I'll hurt you?" You know you have no chance in a fight, you're smaller than her, in everything. Natasha Romanoff could destroy you with one blow. "Okay then. Bye, Natasha."

"Wait" She holds your wrist, her breathing at a normal pace, she looks at you. Natasha was so angry that she didn't notice that you were wearing her favorite outfit. "I'm sorry about that. Is just... Never mind, I'm fine".

"You're not fine, Nat. Something is bothering you, you can tell me," but she just avoids looking into your eyes. "Is it your dad?" The grip in your wrist had tightened.

"I don't want to talk about him" Natasha looks at your body, you're dressed only for her amusement and it's a waste not to take advantage. "Wait here," she opens the door to the arena.

"What are you doing?" You ask.

"Steve will be using the arena today. I'll open it for him." After that, Natasha grabs her backpack and drags you to Steve's office, then locks you both in.

"Nat-" She presses her mouth against yours, it's rough, your legs go weak. On your tiptoes you grab her face, her lips a little salty, hands on your waist, nails scratching deep into it. You push her onto the table, paper clips, documents, everything goes down. "You have to use me, okay?"

"What?"

"About your dad." Her jaw clenches again. "You can bite me, I don't know, just do whatever you want." With worshipful eyes, Natasha turns your bodies over and places you on the table, your legs wrapped around her waist. "I am all yours".

"You are, detka." Finally, the nickname hits between your thighs. "First I'm going to eat you up and then fuck that pretty pussy of yours," you moan, grabbing her hands and putting them over your mouth, sucking her thumb. "You're so beautiful," she touches your lower lip with her wet thumb.

"Nat..." You move your hips into hers.

"No, Malyshka. You have to stay still." Natasha kissed you as she took off your underwear, lifting your skirt just a little, her fingers dipping into your wetness. "This soaked already?" your nails dipped into her neck "And I'm just getting started" You raised your arms to take off the t-shirt, the fact that you were without a bra pleases her, but then she remembered the asshole at the reception. "I wonder if Bucky knows you're not wearing a bra today.

"No, he didn't look at me today." You know that's a lie. Bucky always looks at you, especially today, he definitely noticed the lack of underwear. You bite your lip, her fingers teasing through your folds.

"I think it's just the opposite, Malyshka," she states, her tone assertive. "When he looks at you, he wants you all for himself." Natasha's lips find a place in your neck, a finger dipping gently into your pussy as her teeth in your shoulder. "He wants to fuck you, but he forgets that I'm the only one who can fuck you."

"Nat, please." Natasha firmly squeezes your neck.

"I'm going to remind him, remind everyone. I am worthy of everything, even you" Her fingers slide over your breasts. "Every inch of you is mine, Detka. Your face, your body, this fucking pretty cunt of yours. I can wait until you come in my mouth." Her teeth clamp down on your right nipple, and she sucks hard. You drop your head back, fingers scratching her neck. It hurts, but you're both enjoying it. Natasha spreads your legs wide, her thumb teasing your clit.

"Nat, easy- oh fuck" She buried her fingers deep into your pussy with no mercy.

"You want me to use you, Malyshka. I will. I'll use every hole in you".

"Mm... So good." Natasha's tongue burns your nipples as she adds a third finger.

"Can it fit one more, Malyshka?" You nod, grabbing her fist that adds the fourth one. "So hungry"

"Nat, take off your... "Mmm... please" The redhead is all smiles now, her pretty girl is so needy. Her thumb throbbs in your clit, and you're desperate. Your breasts are sensetive, but Natasha doesn't seem to be tired of them. She'll never be tired of them. "Fuck!" You pull her close with one of your legs, toes clenching inside your shoes. "Don't stop. Please don't" Natasha releases your breast with a lustful pop, her hand bumping for the last time at your soft spot, and then you melt away at her fingers. "Nat..." You hide your face on her neck.

"Thank you, Malyshka." She kisses your cheek. "I'm sorry for avoiding you these days. I've been overthinking about my dad, but I'm handling it."

"Forget about him. For now, I'm going to come into your mouth" You lick her lips slowly.

"God, you're perfect." She kisses you, hungry, her lips pressed on yours, hands on your breasts. You moan on her mouth, they're so painful. Pushing her, you take off her shirt, throwing it with your clothes. Her breasts are perfect, all sweaty, her tattoos glowing. Your hand lands on her ass, squeezing.

She gets on her knees and puts one of your legs on her shoulder. She can't get enough of your cunt.

"Nat, just fuck me" You demand, she dives into your pussy, and begins to grind her tongue on your clit. "Fuck!" You grab her hair and yank, pulling her closer. You try to close your legs, but she holds them open, her fingers digging into your inner thighs. "God... Shit" she plunges a finger into your cunt. "Mm... Don't" You're trembling, so grab her free hand and put it in your mouth. She's watching everything with adoration, loving the sensations that she causes in you. You're mumbling nonsense, sucking her thumb, and pinching your nipples. "I'm going... Don't stop, Nat. Please, don't... I'm almost" You bite your lips, hands on her head now, her red hair tangled in your fingers, holding her mouth firmly on your pussy, she rasps her teeth in your bud, that's enough to make you come, hard, body shaking, legs like jelly. "You're amazing at this"

"I'm not to blame for your choice in men" You smile, bringing her close to your mouth, tasting you on her. "But I have a surprise for you" You watch her put down the cotton shirt, your mouth getting wet. Nothing compares to the wetness between your legs. Natasha is wearing a pink strap, your favorite. "I was planning to come to your place to use as an apology for my behavior."

"I accept your apology after you fuck me hard"

"I will, Detka" she says, her voice low and seductive. She comes closer, her hands on your ribs, thumbs in both of your nipples. "I'll fuck you so hard that you'll not even walk away from here" She pinches your nipples, her eyes locked on yours. "You want that?" You nod, your lips curling into a slow, sensual smile. "You want that everyone see your trembling walk, especially Bucky."

"Yeah" you say, biting your fingertip.

"Let's arrange that for you" her husky voice commands, sending another wave of pleasure through your body. Natasha pushes her cock inside you, lying down on the desk in a mix of pain and lust, nails scratching her arms. She comes forward, hitting your soft spot, her lips seeking yours. "You're mine. I'm fucking worthy of you. Of anything. This job." She leans her forehead on yours, her growls making you moan loud. "He will see." She's not talking about Bucky. Her hands hold your waist, nails digging into your skin. You're too caught up in the pleasure to feel the pain or the blood from the slightly wound.

"Nat, too much." Her hips don't stop, it hurts, but you're too overwhelmed with lust to care. Then she stops, and you moan in tantrum. Natasha pulls out the strap, and you look at her, confused.

"Turn around".

"I don't-"

"You said I had to use you. I'm using you, Malyshka. Now turn around" You do as she says and turn around. "I've always wanted to know what it's like to fuck your tiny hole" She bends you over the desk, deep inside you regret saying she could use you, but now it doesn't matter. "Don't worry. I'll go real slow, Detka".

"Nat, I've never done this before," you said, holding her wrist and looking up.

"It's okay, we can stop if you don't feel comfortable. I'd never do anything to hurt you." The red hair planted a kiss on your bare shoulder, her hands gently caressing your waist.

"I don't want to stop, I just..." You look into her eyes and you have never trusted her as much as you do now. "I trust you.

"Thank you, Malyshka." You bring her close, kissing her lips, stroking the red hair behind her ears, you feel her positioning the strap on your entrance. You exhale into her mouth as she squeezes a tip, nails digging into her cheek. "Fuck!" She curses, it's fucking painful, no more than the pain you feel on your ass. "You're so fucking tight".

"Nat, I don't think I'm going to-" But then she pulls everything into you, and she starts moving, all you can think is why it's taking you so long to do it. "Fuck!" Your arm encircles her shoulder, she puts one of your legs on the table and spreads it. "Right there, Nat," you feel the plastic going in and out, her hands holding you still, it's fucking good, it burns, but you don't want to stop. "Don't stop, please. Don't stop."

"I'm not going to" And there's the rusky voice, Natasha leads her hand to your clit, touching it very slow, the base of the strap lightly on her clit, then rubbing real rough while she fucks your ass. "You're doing great, pretty girl".

"Mmm... Nat, fuck, please. Faster" Steve's table starts to slide on the floor, more things fall off it. "Almost" Her hips are much faster than you think is possible, you lose control of everything, you start mumbling nonsense again, you don't know what's happening, but you can definitely hear voices coming from the arena, you don't know any of these people, Natasha doesn't seem to care, she's not loud, but she's not quiet either.

"I'm almost there too, detka" You can feel her breasts on your back, her hands pulling your hair to make room for her mouth to find your neck and her teeth dip into it, fingers entering your cunt. You know it's not easy to do it, but Natasha made it seem easy. "Shh Malyska, people will start to hear you," you can't help but moan. You stuffed your mouth with your hand, the teeth go deep. She adds another finger, but then begins to lose frequency, you feel more and more close to the edge. "I'm coming, pretty girl" A few more thrusts and you almost pass out.

Breathes throughout the office, Natasha laid on your back, hands caressing your arms.

"Natasha, are you still there?" It's Bucky. "I didn't see your girlfriend leave. Is she there?"

"Yeah, we're cleaning, Steve asked me to and she's helping me, why?" You only realize what happened when you feel her cock digging into your cunt, a slow moan leaving your lips, it's too sensitive.

"Steve wants to know if you want to join in" Natasha begins to slowly push against your pussy, you want more, you need more, your hands searching for any support.

"Only when I finish cleaning" She kisses your neck, on the mark she made. "No way I'm leaving you for that." She whispers in your ear. Her hips are frenetic. "Can you get that box for me, Detka?" But you don't answer, you can't, it's too good. "You have to say something, Detka".

"T-that o-ne??" Natasha laughs in silence, her smile playful and cocky.

"Okay, I'll tell him." You don't know if Bucky believes that, but it's too good to pay attention.

"You liked that, huh?" She raises her torso, holding your waist, her movements bursting. "Don't try to deny it, Malyshka, I can't keep my cock inside you"

"I like it" She bites your sholders, her tongue burning your skin.

"Malyshka, you're so good to me" Her nails dig into your waist, her hips bump against your butt, the strap gliding smoothly over your wet cunt. "So beautiful accepting everything from me" You feel her front on your back, her teeth biting hard into the skin of your ribs.

Natasha's fingers rub your needy bud.

"Nat... I'm going to... Fuck!" You bite your hand, the small room insanely hot, the voices of people on the other side of the door adding another layer of lust.

"It's okay, pretty girl. You can cum on my cock," the walls are tightening around Natasha's cock, she's gripping your jaw very gently, very different from what her hips are doing, she kisses you. And then you feel the nod in your stomach to undo.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Your teeth mark your hands.

Her hips slowly stop, you feel her heartbeat on your back. She pulls her cock out.

"That was hot." She says, kissing your cheek.

"I don't know if I can walk".

"That's what you wanted," you look at her, almost offended. "I'm joking, Malyshka. We'll have to stay here for a while.

"As if I'm going to leave with all these people".

You watch as Natasha goes to her backpack, grabs a towel, and wraps the strap to clean it later. She picks up your clothes, you can't move, the orgasm has melted your legs.

"Let me help you, Malyshka," Natasha pushes one of your legs through the panties, then the other. "Okay. Do you need help with your shirt?" You nod, you don't need it, but you have a soft spot for her being so sweet and helpful. You raise your hands, she helps you, then she pulls up your skirt, your shoes. "Come here, let's get you somewhere more comfortable" You hold her like a koala while she leads you to a sofa. "I'm going to put my clothes on and then put everything back. You need to rest.

"I want to help you" You try to get up, but your legs are still wobbly.

"It's okay, I can do it myself." She strokes your hair behind your ears.

"Nat, I don't care what your dad thinks. I'm really proud of you and I'm happy to be your girlfriend" The way she smiles at you makes your heart warm and race.

"Thank you, Malyshka. I'm lucky to have you as my girlfriend," you kissed her, your hands pulling her closer, legs around her waist. "Detka, you have to let me go, otherwise we'll have to stay here forever.

"I'll stay." You wanted to tell her that you loved her, but you were too afraid of being rejected or of her not feeling the same, so you backed off, you didn't want to ruin this.

You just didn't know that the redhead felt the same way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[celuere]

Greetings !! Not sure if your reqs open so I apologize if they are not !! could you maybe write dating hcs for feixiao ? ^^ I love her dearly so I would love to see your perspective on her♡

Hi pooks! Dw for as long as you can request stuff on my page, they’re open <3!

But dating hc for our beloved general… aondlsndksnekwne I think being in a relationship with Feixiao would be like- so soft? I imagine her to be such a lovely partner it makes me SICK.

cw: sfw, FLUFF. UGH., feixiao is a goner for you.

Always. And I mean ALWAY. Properly bids her farewell to you before she goes off to yet another mission of hers. Kissing you gently on your lips as she holds you close to her, nose nuzzled into your hair while whispering the promise of her return against it. She will always make it back to you. No matter what.

Keeps a picture she secretly took of you while you were asleep in her pocket. Taking it out whenever you’re not within an arms reach. Especially when on the battlefield to remind herself of the various reason why exactly she took that weapon into her hand.

Moze is so sick of her. You are everything her ass is talking about. The advertisement on her phone? Oh, it’s the movie you‘ve been anticipating for so long! Walking by a clothing shop? Hold on, just let her fetch this beautiful shirt she spotted in your favorite color!

Goodness, you love your girlfriend. You really do. But she has that tick where she HAS to always visit you after training. Not showered. SWEATING! She quite literally doesn’t get why you refuse to be near her whenever she pulls that stunt. She doesn’t even sweat that much. (She will hug you anyways and laugh at your misery as you try to get out of her arms.)

Walking in on her training? Biceps and trained abs on full display? Oh, just let her wipe the sweat off of her face with the bottom of her shirt. TOTALLY not to further expose herself to you. The sudden pull-ups she has to do are also purely coincidental. Whaaaaaat? Her trying to impress you further??? What are you thinking?

Will try to postpone her meetings for as long as possible when you spend the night together. Which is actually very unusual for her. But who doesn’t love wasting time in bed in the morning with your beloved?

Had a hard day? Just send her a message and she will be there in a matter of minutes, a bouquet of flowers and your favorite snack in hand before she pulls you to bed with her. You will be spoiled rotten tonight.

But when she had a hard day? She‘s just knock at your door. Not greeting you with a tight hug and a passionate kiss on the lips as usual. She‘d just leave out a sigh as she pulls you into a soft embrace, face buried in your neck as the two of you just stand there. There is no need for words to be exchanged. You just gently run your fingers through her messy hair, allowing her to at least leave her guard down every once in a while.

Will take you on dates with her starskiff. She‘d even get you extra out of bed if the sky i pretty enough in her opinion. Legs dangling off the edge as the both of you stare up at the starry sky, finger intertwined, trying to make out various constellations and even making up your own which always ends up with the both of you laughing your ass off at the ridiculous names you come up with

I can perfectly imagine Feixiao to have a S/O that is so utterly normal compared to her, like a nurse at the hospital for example or a receptionist at a local hotel, maybe even the owner of a flower shop. Someone who gives her a break from the constant pressure of the Merlin‘s Claw and the battlefield.

Is going to use every excuse under the sun to visit you at work whenever she has free time to spare, „you forgot this at my place yesterday“- MY ASS. She is just a lost puppy without her beloved. It‘s gotten to a point where even your coworkers stopped being serious about it, they tease you 24/7.

Moze knows better than to fuck around whenever you are with her. He tried it once and it was the first time Feixiao ever got pissed off with him. And also the last time.

her camera roll is 80% pictures of you. All kinds. Sleeping. Eating. Working. Reading. She takes pictures of you ALL the time wether you notice it or not. And every week she has a different lockscreen, she just cannot decide between all the beautiful pictures!!!

Doing something attractive for example maybe some garden work or kneeling underneath the table to clean? Expect to be nearby with a book in her hand. Upside down. She is a very invested reader.

Drunk Feixiao. Will be the end of you. Clinging desperately to you as she counts every single beauty mark on your face while you TRY your best to get this muscle mountain changed into her sleepwear until she eventually just straight drops dead asleep into your chest.

[redcherrykook]

──𐙚 milk and cream - sub!JK request

────୨ৎ────

content: sub!JK, begging, overstimulation, edging, a lot of dirty talk, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, choking with fingers, noona kink, brief oral (male), crying, creampie, praise

────୨ৎ────

"Noona please!" Jungkook whines, he's sitting fully bare, legs spread out on the bed

His red tip leaking precum on his abdomen, big, thick cock standing up stiff

You're kneeling on the floor in front of him, the sight is purely erotic,

Tongue drawn out, sucking on his balls while keeping eye contact with the drooling younger one

"Nghhm fuck noona please pleaseee!" his head shakes, legs trembling while his hands grip the sheets,

His little cries turn into full on sobbing once you start bobbing your head on his cock, Jungkook hopes this time you'd let him cum, having edged him for 15 minutes straight now, always withdrawing when he was about to come

He's almost there, he can feel himself resolve, squeezing his eyes and whining like the sweet release is in reach,

You rip it away from him once more, wiping the spit from your mouth with the back of your hand as you stand up to sit on your crying boyfriends lap

"Shh koo, it's okay, noona's gonna reward you for being so good"

He's so fucking adorable, face flushed, fluffy hair sticking to his forhead from sweat, sniffling from needing his release

Poor baby bunny

"Please noona Please i can't take it anymore please" he sniffles, his small voice so so soft and desperate for you,

You coo, wiping his tears and kissing him softly, soothingly in a way

He needed to feel loved and safe, even when you were so cruel to him and his poor cock

"What do you need me to do bunny? Hm? Tell noona what her baby wants" your lips move to find his jawline, softly placing little kisses in your wake

Small hands caress his trembling thighs, making sure his pressing feeling never gets lost

He's stuttering, the throbbing in his angry cock too overwhelming to focus on speaking coherently,

"Please noona please use my cock, anything, please just use it, it's yours it's all yours just please use my cock i'm begging you noona"

You're slick practically drools out of you from his needy begging, he sounds so good and desperate for you,

Not needing to be asked twice, you sink yourself all the way down on his huge dick, groaning once you've taken every inch deep inside your wet cunt, tightly wrapped around him

Jungkook takes one breast in his mouth, sucking on it while you begin recklessly bouncing dowm on him,

"nnhm! Feels so good noona yes- yes! Please use me noona use my cock! Feels so good- pussy so warm- mhm!"

His cute teary doe eyes look up to your face, words muffled by the fullness of your tit in his mouth,

Whimpering with every harsh clap down on his hips, you could tell he was gonna cum,

"Doing so good koo, such a big cock all for me, my baby, cum for noona, fill my cunt up baby" you're panting too, triedlessly moaning and holding on to his shoulders while you fuck him like there's nothing outside of him,

He's begging for you, for nothing but you and repeating how pretty you are as he releases all of his cum right into you, spilling down from his cock because you keep moving in the same fast space, lewd wet noises accompanying his moans

"Nghmm noona! Noona so good, i love your pussy! I love it so- nhm! Please kiss me, please please kiss me noona"

You crash your lips down on him, kissing him messily with your tongue intruding his mouth, sucking on his tongue

He's completely overwheled by pleasure, shaking entirely, throbbing inside of you and extremly sensitive with every touch but fuck- he feels to good to stop, the warmth of your pussy, the feeling of your kisses way too much for him, way too good to ever stop

He whimpers instead, whining and crying out from pleasure, his hands clutching your sides for all he's worth, messily humping into you from below

Then, with a sheepish smile, you plunge two fingers into his mouth, he takes them immediately, sucking on them even when you push them in deeper, making him gag slightly

"Mhm deserve this baby, deserve to cream me many times after i was so mean" you tell him, pouting when you take him out of you, cum dripping from your legs

Jungkook doesn't have time to protest because you turn around and immediately sit back down on him,

"Thank you! Thank you noona! Hmmnh so good! You're so pretty noona fuck- so gorgeous!" he can't even believe his luck, watching your pussy take his milky cock in again and again, the sight of you driving him crazy

Still oversensitive from the other orgasm, his hands tremble, moaning relentlessly and cumming once again when he feels you clench,

"I'm coming koo, your cock is so perfect, so perfect for me baby, feels so fucking good! Gonna cum all over you baby"

"Noona! Noona please s'too much! Pussy too good! Too much noona please" he sobs, throwing his head back when you start slowing down your hips, letting him ride out the extremly intense orgasms he had back to back, softly caressing his legs when you stop fully

His little sobs have turned into sniffles and moans, you can feel his shaky hands touch your back softly

"you made me feel so good" he whispers while you get off- entirely covered in him, sweaty, bilssful

He smiles a weak, tiny smile when you crawl over to lay on his defined chest, pressing soothing kisses to his body while he strokes your hair, woving his tattooed fingers through your soft, long silky strands

"You were so good koo, did you feel good? Was i too cruel to my baby?" the question is almost obscene, you had him begging and crying to be fucked,

"Felt so good, i'm so tired sweetheart. Just wanna hold you" he replies with a small sigh

"You're so cute" your little kiss to his nose brings a smile to his face,

"Have you seen yourself? You're so so pretty my love.. if i wasn't exhausted l'd eat you out 'till you're crying"

His sudden switch in demeanor flusters you, he notices the small shock on your face and just kisses you with a small giggle, satisfied that he has an effect on you just as much as you have on him

"Come on let's take a shower yeah baby?" you're getting up, tugging on his arm to follow you, he just groans in annoyance,

"I'm sooo tired.. '

"I'll let you wash me" you say, smiling innocently down to him,

"Say no more" he mumbles, already having stood up and guiding his hands to palm your ass

── ‧ ୨୧ requested by @coralpersonflapzipper

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Take me. | joel miller x f!reader drabble, 1k

Summary: Joel always knows what you need and he gives it to you.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, porn without plot, dom!joel, sub!reader, unprotected p in v, spitting, suffocating, praise kink, degradation kink, all is consensual, established relationship, let me know if I missed anything!

Divider by @saradika-graphics

He’s sitting on his calves fucking you slow and deep, rolling his hips to brush your clit with his pelvis every time he bottoms out, right before pulling almost all the way out, hard thrusts melting your heated core.

Your ass rests on his lap as you lay beneath him, his hands resting with a bruising grip on your hips, your knees pulled back and up almost touching your sides. He has you all spread out and he feasts on you.

You look at him in awe, always so beautiful, so strong, so in control, it makes your skin crawl. His head is bent forward, his own jaw slacked, almost touching his upper chest, his brows knitted together in concentration and pleasure. His curls damp around his face, on the nape of his neck, behind his ears, oh you gonna tug them so hard. His eyes are transfixed down where the two of you connect, his gaze hungry and dark, his pupils blown wide, no sign of his chocolate brown in sight.

His cock is covered on your slick, thick and creamy by now, he’s edging you for -you don’t know how long, you feel you might start loose conscience. Your hands clasped together above your head on his command. No restrains, he wouldn’t make it that easy on you. He knows what you can take. And if not, he’s always pushing. And you’re always taking. So eager.

No ability to tug and pull and push against anything. You have to restrain yourself for him. Because he asked. No, he stated. Like he was informing you of the time. And you want, no need to do this for him. Need to be his good girl, make him proud. Any brattiness you have in everyday life you gladly forsake in his bed. And if you choose not to, he makes sure he fucks it out of you. Consistently and relentlessly.

Joel is what escapes your mouth in a wimper; it’s the only word you know when he has you like this. At his mercy. Always at his mercy. For he is mercyful as he is kind. Eventually. That is how much you trust him, that is how you show him. Surrender. He’s your mantra, your cult, your religion, he’s everything you need. Him, him, him.

His eyes snap to yours by the sound of his name on your lips. He sees how spaced out you are, how fucked out, your head pushed back to the pillow, your eyes rolling back, your mouth agape. No, he won’t have that. You need to be there, take it how he gives it. He needs you to choose to take it. Take him.

His hands leave your bruised hips and he leans above you, putting his weight on one arm beside your head and he squeezes your cheeks together with the other to make you open your mouth.

He doesn’t have to say a word. Oh, how you‘d like to listen to his voice. But you know what he silently asks of you so you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. He stops his thrusts, burried to the hilt inside your warmth, he sucks his cheeks and spits forcefully in your mouth. You close your throat to hold it in and then swallow. But before you have a chance, his grip tightens on your jaw, his big hand covering almost all of your lower face. Hold it he speaks now and if you didn’t know any better you’d thought his voice lacked any emotion. Far from it. Slowly this time, he lets another glob of saliva to drop from his pursed lips. He’s so dominant, so large and broad and massive above you, you clench so hard around his cock, it stings.

“You like that, huh?” his eyes piercing into yours almost in a challenge. He doesn’t wait for an answer, “That’s right, hold it in your mouth until I say otherwise.” he commands as he grinds his hips, rubbing on your neglected, swollen clit.

You’re out of breath and his teasing on your sensitive nub doesn’t help you keep your pulse even, but you obey, another act of dominance, you suffocate yourself without him having to touch you. The thought makes you clench again, massaging his throbbing cock.

“You fuckin’ love it, don’t you? Suffocating on my spit like the needy little slut you are?”. You nod, eyes wide, tongue still out, face red from the lack of air, corners of your sight turning haze. He lowers himself on his elbow, cradling your neck with his palm, tugging the hair there and loosening his grip on your jaw with the other, not giving you command to swallow. Another. He wants you to hold it yourself, hoping, believing, despite every instinct of self preservation that he won’t let you faint. Trust.

He brushes his lips against your nose and your upper lip. Instead of trying to breathe all you wish for is that you could smell his scent right now. Smell him. And then he licks your cold now tongue with his warm one. The sensation makes you shiver. You almost come then and there. But you don’t. Not without his permission. Swallow he coos against your lips looking deeply in your eyes, his thumb now caressing your cheek. And you do.

“There’s my girl. There’s my good fuckin’ girl.” he praises you with a proud smile, the one revealing his dimple and your whole world lightens. You smile lazily at him, so full of love and need to be close to him, you almost forget and move your hands to hug him. You restrain yourself and try to raise your chest instead against his. He supports his weight on his calves again and brings one hand back on your hip and the other between the valley of your breasts pushing you back down, because he knows best. You obey. “That’s it babygirl. Take it.” he growls as he starts fucking you again in a punishing pace. “Fuckin’ take me.” And you do.

[reminiscingtonight]

There's People Watching

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Timeline? I don’t know her. Started writing this early 2023. Based on the Jade LeMac song

[WOSO Masterlist]

Everyone always joked about it. About how great a couple you and Alexia would be. 

Every time Mapi would poke fun at the two of you Alexia would just roll her eyes, a dangerous smirk playing at the edge of her lips. 

Every time Leila would ask if there was something hidden in the charged looks you would exchange with each other you’d just push at her shoulders, expertly avoiding your best friend’s question with ease.

You and Alexia were the best of friends, partners in crime. Where she was the Queen, you were her Knight, more content to stand off to the side but still a steady force when she needed you. 

You hadn’t always been in love with her. It crept up slowly on you, the admiration for your friend turning something romantic in nature as the years went on. Your mouth started getting dry whenever she came in the room, her smile set off butterflies deep in your stomach, Alexia became all your senses could focus on. 

You were content leaving it as it was. Alexia has been in your life since you could remember, and you weren’t willing to risk it all on a little crush.

And then one drink filled night Alexia kissed you. 

Your fate was sealed right then and there. 

It made sense when Alexia asked for discretion. Being public figures, no matter how big or small, always came with some degree of scrutiny. Anything that could be kept private could be considered a blessing in disguise, and your budding relationship? Well that was definitely something Alexia wanted to keep to yourselves.

It’s sweet, the way she cares for you behind closed doors.

It’s beautiful, the way she loves you when no one’s watching.

And it’s fun, sneaking around. Stealing kisses when no one’s watching. Hiding in the shadows together.

Your touches were only meant for each other. Your love was only for the two of you to share.

It’s sweet, it’s beautiful, it’s fun.

It’s all those things until it isn’t. 

Somewhere along the line, as Barcelona becomes a club whispered about in awe, as Alexia is pushed more into the spotlight, she starts pulling away from you. In the quiet of your home she’s still every bit the loving girlfriend you’ve come to know. But the second you walk out the door, the second all eyes are on you, you’re no longer Alexia and (Y/N). It’s no longer the two of you shouldering the weight of the world together. It becomes just Alexia. And just you. Two lovers pretending to be less than what they are.

But you love her. So you don’t say anything. You don’t try to convince her to love without abandonment.

Her image is important to her and Alexia is important to you too, so you stay quiet, content to love her in secret.

But there’s only so much one can take. 

It’s on the eve of your second anniversary that the cracks finally start to show. 

The two of you are at a gala, Alexia having to fulfill some of her media duties as captain and you not wanting to be without your girlfriend on such a special day. It’s not weird for your Barca teammates to be at such events so no one bats an eye when you show up together. Alexia usually bars you from going along with her to events, lest others figure out your relationship status, but she’s also slightly clingier given the day. 

You’re careful to keep your distance after arriving. Never brushing hands, never exchanging prolonged eye contact. It hurts you to have to act like Alexia doesn’t mean a thing to you, but it is how it is. 

You’ve been doing a good job. Smiling at the sponsors, exchanging small talk with everyone and no one. And then it happens. Alexia reaches across you to grab a drink from the waiter. On instinct your hand drops to her back, steadying the midfielder so she doesn’t fall over. 

Alexia instantly stiffens. 

You pretend it doesn’t hurt when she pulls away.

She’s quick to make her departure, claiming a need to talk to another one of the sponsors, but you both know the truth. 

You’re internally cursing at yourself, but what’s done is done. You know the rules. You know what you can and can’t do, what she’ll tolerate in public. 

It hurts, but it’s just the way things have always been and always will be. 

It’s no surprise she stays on the other side of the room for the rest of the evening. 

When Alexia’s pressing you against the mattress later that night, later when you’re back in the solitude of your apartment, you try to forget the pain through the pleasure. It’s easy to pretend you’re not just a secret when she whispers sweet nothings into your ear, one leg pressing firmly between yours. 

When you fall asleep after she’s had her appetite sated, warm bodies pressed against one another, you can’t help but start to feel the cold ache of something unpleasant seeping in. 

---

The break up was inevitable. 

No matter how much you love her, you couldn’t deny how much it hurt when Alexia wouldn’t love you the way you deserved. 

“You treat me like a stranger. You can’t even look me in the eye when we’re out with friends.”

Not having the social support that came with most relationships really helped drive this to the ground. Secret meant secret, no friends, no families involved. 

It’s lonely pretending you’re not in love. 

Even lonelier pretending you’re not in love alone. 

“I feel like you’re ashamed of me.”

It’s sharp. It’s loud. 

It’s deafening how much freedom sounds.

“I can’t do this.”

Alexia doesn’t give you another explanation.

You don’t ask for one.

When the door closes behind her, it feels like nothing makes sense anymore.

---

It’s been coming for a while now. 

The nagging feeling that you need to do what’s best for your career. With your playing time dwindling as the season progresses as well as the end of your contract looming near, you know you have to start branching out your options. 

You pretend your break up with Alexia doesn’t play a part in your focus on the pool outside of Spain.

There’s one offer that stands out among the rest. 

Manchester City, the home of the blues. Ona’s already in the same city, albeit playing for a rival club, but her presence is one of the selling points that eventually convinces you to go. You’ve always had a soft spot for the defender, always considering her a younger sister even long after she left Barcelona. Although you’re rivals now, you’re more than happy to be reunited, one of the first bright spots in a couple weeks marred with nothing but sadness and hurt.

When news of your transfer breaks, Alexia’s one of the first to call.

You stare at your phone until it rings out to voicemail. Her contact photo, a beautiful picture of her mid-laugh that you had captured in what seems like another lifetime ago, sends sharp pains through your heart. You yearn for those secret weekend getaways she used to take you on, back before everything blew up in your face, back when this thing between the two of you was sparkling, new and exciting.

Sitting in your bare apartment, boxes piled up by the front door, you can’t help but feel cheated by the startling end to what could’ve been a love story for the ages.

---

Despite being the smaller person, Ona nearly barrels you over when you come out of your gate. 

Laughing, you hug her back with the same vigor, quietly soaking in the familiar presence of a longtime friend. 

She’s talking a mile a minute, eager to catch you up about her life in Manchester as well as try to get updates of the girls back home. It’s only a miracle that you get Ona to lead you out of the airport before she starts digging more into why you decided to leave all you know behind for the English league.

Everything’s so sparkly and new, it’s not hard to get lost in all the glitz and glam of moving to another country. You’re so caught up in all that’s involved with both moving clubs and country that you don’t remember to turn your phone back on until later that night when you’re finally ready to settle down for the night. 

What you see there makes all of the elation you’ve experienced today dissipate. 

Alexia Putellas: [I’m sorry]

You stare at the two words until they blur, until your screen times out and you’re left staring at a person you don’t recognize in the reflection of the dark screen.

---

Manchester is good to you. 

You win some, you lose some, but damn does it feel good to find joy in your favorite game again.

With the way you’re playing it’s not a surprise when you get the call up for the Euros. 

You’re nervous, of course you are, but you’d be lying if you said it was just nerves from representing your country.

The night before you’re set to meet up with the rest of the team you get a call.

On the screen is a name you haven’t seen in a while but one you haven’t stopped thinking about since you left Barcelona.

You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you should answer it. But Alexia’s always been your kryptonite. And a season spent apart would never be enough for that to change.

She sounds surprised when you pick up. There’s a sharp intake of breath, before she whispers your name out in awe.

“I want this.” Her voice is quiet, barely coming through the speaker.

You swallow. Suddenly the phone feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. “Ale.”

It’s one word, but both of you can hear the emotions there. The hurt. The silent plea for her not to do this to you again. 

“I miss you.” She sounds frustrated, on the verge of tears. 

If you close your eyes you can imagine the way she’s pacing back and forth in what used to be your shared living room. Alexia always had a knack for mindless pacing when she was frustrated, trying to work things out. 

“Alexia, don’t.”

“I love you and I want to make this work.”

You tilt your head back, letting it hit your bedrest as you squeeze your eyes shut, ignoring the painful clench of your heart at her admission. The pinch of your nails digging into your palm is the only thing keeping you grounded as your voice comes out strangled, pained. “Why are you doing this?”

“(Y/N)--”

“Cállate, Alexia,” you hiss. You rub harshly at your face, trying to erase the traces of your tears despite your lack of witnesses. “Why? Why now? You had your chance to make me stay.”

Instead of answering your question Alexia returns with one of her own. “Have you moved on?”

Have you moved on? Well that was the question, wasn’t it. 

You’re not sure if you should tell Alexia it’s hard to move on from someone you never stopped loving. Alexia never seemed to care about what you thought about your relationship. Why would she care now?

“Because I haven’t moved on.” It shouldn’t make you feel hopeful, the words she says when you don’t respond. Hope is a cruel thing but Alexia doesn’t seem to care about the turmoil in your head she sets off with just those five words. “Letting you go, that was the worst mistake of my life. I never should have thrown us away. I should’ve fought harder for us.”

It’s everything you wanted to hear, but nearly a year later you’re not sure if it’s too late.

“Tell me you haven’t moved on.” There’s a slight plea in her voice as Alexia all but starts begging. “I don’t know what I would do if you have.”

The seconds tick by and still you say nothing. You’re crying earnestly now, comforted only by the fact that you can hear Alexia trying to muffle her cries on the other line. 

Everything hurts. Your head, your heart, your body. You’re just so sad and just so lonely and there’s only ever been one person who could take away your pain.

“I can’t walk away from you,” you whisper, the truth feeling like sandpaper in your throat. It stings and burns, but you could never lie to Alexia. Not even now. “You’re… it’s like you’re stuck in my veins and I couldn’t leave you even if I wanted to.”

It’s no surprise your torturous brain works slower than your mouth. By the time you’ve begun processing what this all means you’re already telling Alexia exactly what she wants to hear.

And when you finally fall into a tumultuous night of sleep you’re left wondering if love should really hurt this much.

---

“You’ve been driving me crazy.”

Sneaking away at the first possible moment isn’t at the top of your proudest moments, but you don’t find yourself minding much with Alexia glued as close to your body as humanly possible.

You’re a bit ashamed to say the two of you don’t do too much talking before picking up right where you left off. Caught up between preparing for the tournament and fighting for a starting position didn’t leave you with much time to figure out where things stood between you and Alexia.

And you definitely weren’t going to be one to complain as long as it filled the void left behind with your departure from Spain.

“Thank god for hot summer air, right?” You shamelessly grope at Alexia’s ass, grinning when she lets out another desperate noise.

“You’re a vision,” she groans, hands slipping under your shirt to palm at your abs.

“And you’re a tease,” you shoot back, laugh turning into a moan when Alexia turns her lips towards your neck. She peppers feather-light kisses all the way up until you reconnect your mouths again. 

So caught up in each other, neither of you hear the door open behind you. 

It isn’t until there’s a gagging noise echoing in the tiny room that you stiffen in place. Alexia jerks back, almost knocking over the shelf behind her as she tries to put as much space between the two of you as possible. 

“There is such a thing as too much tongue, you know?” There’s a sparkle of amusement in Leila’s eyes as she takes in both of your disheveled states.

“Leila--” Alexia starts, but the defender doesn’t let her finish.

“The two of you are so lucky Mapi was too lazy to come grab the wrap herself. I volunteered to stop her whining but the amount of ammunition she would’ve gotten…” The Catalonian pauses, eyes switching from Alexia to you, finally taking in the look on your face. 

From the moment Alexia leapt back, your face has been stony and unreadable. It’s out of character for you, someone who never hesitates to show your heart on your sleeve. 

It’s such things about yourself like that you’ve had to sacrifice to love Alexia. 

You don’t know if you have it in yourself to do it again. 

Eyes lingering on your stiffened frame, it’s easy for Leila to know she walked in on something more important than a stolen hookup. She blinks slowly. “I didn’t see anything.” Her voice is suddenly serious, no trace of her previous laughter in them. 

Leila gives you a nod of acknowledgement as she reaches past you to grab one of the wraps on the shelf behind you. Her hand gives you a small squeeze before she’s turning away, the door closing quietly behind her. 

It’s quiet for a moment. 

You find yourself wishing the silence would last forever. The knowledge of the only way this will end weighs heavy on your heart.

Alexia doesn’t seem to get your unspoken desire.

The midfielder runs a hand through her hair, letting out a nervous breath of air. “Well that was a close one.”

The smile on her face falls when she spots the way you haven’t so much as moved the whole time Leila was here. 

“(Y/N).”

You step away before Alexia’s outstretched hand can touch you. Her hand falters mid-air, a stricken expression on her face. 

She can tell by the look in your eye the decision you’ve come to.

“(Y/N),” she repeats, now with a slight plea in her voice.

Shaking your head you let out a quiet sigh. “I’m not doing this with you again.”

You only give yourself enough time to pause in front of the door, eyes still looking everywhere but at Alexia. All it would take is one look for you to break. And you can’t break. Not again.

“I deserve better than to be someone’s secret.” 

You slip out, door closing in Alexia’s face before she has a chance to say anything in return. 

---

You’re quiet all throughout dinner. 

After the afternoon you’ve had, you have no appetite, simply pushing the food around your plate, taking a small bite here and there. It’s enough to fool the rest of your teammates, but Leila watches on with concern, your best friend knowing you better than most.

Having decided you’ve feigned eating long enough, you’re just about to get up from the table when a familiar blonde takes the spot right next to you.

You have to fight your sigh, simply turning away from the Catalonian. 

She quietly murmurs your name but you ignore her. Patri’s looking at the two of you with intrigue, confused why you’re not giving Alexia the attention she so obviously wants. By the fifth time you pretend your plate is more exciting than Alexia’s attempts to get you to look at her, most of the table has picked up on the frosty vibes emanating from you. 

Unable to get your attention, Alexia does the unexpected. 

She drops her hand on top of where yours is resting next to your water. Moving softly, she intertwines your fingers together, holding on tight. 

You look down at your hands, mouth parted in surprise.

You try to school your expression, but you can tell by Leila’s raised eyebrow that you’ve failed. 

“There’s people watching.” You keep your eyes fixed at the table, knowing that if you stare into Alexia’s brown eyes you would break down. 

You try to pull your hand away but Alexia’s hand tightens around yours. 

“I know,” she murmurs, discreetly scooting her chair closer to yours. 

Shutting your eyes, you let out a shaky breath. Her hand feels warm in yours, familiar. 

You’re still frozen when she leans towards you, face inching closer and closer to yours. 

“Let them watch.” She darts in to  press a kiss against your cheek, dangerously close to your mouth. 

Alexia lingers and you hold your breath, afraid to make any movements. 

“Let them see how lucky I am to have you.”

When you turn to face her it’s hard to miss the love and adoration shining in her eyes. Alexia gives you a shy smile, hand lightly squeezing yours. 

“I love you.”

You don’t miss the raised eyebrows and looks from around the table, but Alexia doesn’t spare them any time. Her eyes are trained on you, warmth and sincerity shining through her gaze.

.

You’re not ready to forgive her. But for right now, this is enough.

Letting Alexia love you is enough.

[angelplummie]

TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS! 3

ART X TASHI X PATRICK X F!READER

part 1 part 2 part 3

no smut in this one, but homoeroticism and swearing. enjoy yall!

“why are we here?”

“i told you why,” tashi took off her many bracelets into a hotel-issued jewellery box. the room was a dusky cream all over, and smelt of sandal wood. the various lamps cast sloping shells of yellowlight.

art watched, naked and tangled within the duvet.

“you told me we were seeing a physiotherapist. now we’ve come all the way here and he just cancels?”

“i can’t control these things art. he’s very popular, something just came up. think of this as a holiday. we’ll do something relaxing, fun, tomorrow. you crushed in atlanta, you deserve a rest.”

“i didn’t crush. i came second.”

tashi duncan just breathed deeply, not a sigh but something like it. an acknowledgement.

“i know. you work too hard.”

art sniffed and rested his head on the heel of his palm.

“can you just tell me why we’re here? please?”

wrists lighter, she sighed. wrapped in a silk negligé, she began removing her necklace, away from him so that they would not make eye contact but he could still watch her face. she had a defeated look. caught. but still scolding like a mothers, like she was slightly irritated he even asked.

“she’s competing in the open this year. she might win.”

“who is she?”

he asked, but he knew. you were the she. you were her, hissed in arguments, brushed under rugs. their point of contention. they didn’t speak of you, couldn’t. not after the way they got together, not after that final match and the injury.

a certain wildness came across her face whenever you came up, even peripherally, in conversation. like he had reopened a wound, pressed on a bruise that was ripening. she wore that look now, the injured bear look.

“her. if she wins this she’ll have won every major tennis competition in the us. in under 5 years. then what? fucking wimbledon? no. not on my fucking watch.”

she took off her necklace, which clattered against the vanity. she then began on her rings.

“how do you know she’ll win it?”

“i don’t know she’ll win it. but it’s really looking like she will. and she can’t.”

“why can’t she win it?” art soothed, “what would be so bad about that?”

“she can’t win it art.”

he sighed, and watched his wife as she took off their wedding band to sleep. he kept his on, but each to their own. her mouth quivered, and he knew that that was enough of questions for now. she would only get herself worked up if she thought about it more.

“we’ll talk about it in the morning, ok? come here.”

she pressed her long fingers to her temples for a moment, sighed again, and began walking to the bed.

for a moment she perched on the edge, but his pawing hand beckoned her closer. soon enough they were entangled at the legs, and he held her soft head to his chest.

she drew in a nasal breath.

“we have to stop her. make her lose.”

we. so he was a part of this now. did he think that was appropriate? no. he had left you for her, had harboured secret feelings for her your whole relationship. what he felt for you was real, but tashi was his wife. was always going to be his wife. but now, how could he, in good conscience, try and detract a modicum of happiness from you when he had taken so much in years prior? he couldn’t. he couldn’t even think about you. the thought of you being happy away from him made him so soul crushingly, unreasonably sad that he locked it away in a place no one would ever see or graze by mistake. the thought of you sad made him feel even worse. in truth, he avoided you like the plague. he followed your matches religiously to know where not to be. consumed trashy tabloids so he knew where you brunched, where you bought your sports bras, all so he could know never to be there. because he had that life he always wanted. that life he tossed two of the most important people to him away for. he had to be contented with what he had, or else he would die. and he was more than contented. he was everything he wanted. he had a wife he loved, a sky rocketing career, a future. a purpose. but there were aches of the heart, sympathies a man couldn’t shake, even if he had to.

“we have to?”

her grip around his torso tightened, and she raised her head to look at him.

“we have to.”

“what could we even do?”

“fuck with her head. get in there and throw her off. and if worse comes to worse break her knee like she broke mine.”

“don’t joke.”

“i’m not kidding art. she’s not winning. and you’re helping me.”

“tashi-“

“you’re helping me aren’t you?”

and she fixed him with the look. the look she gave when she wanted you to remember that her acl tore and that she will be able to do the thing she loved most in the world, and somehow it’s all your fault. only you can fix it. only you can take the defiance from her eyes and the downturn of her lips, and you can only do that if you go as she says. art had no choice, no choice at all.

“what do you need?”

•••

in, coincidently, the same hotel a few floors up, you shaved your pubic hair. your coach advised you against shaving close to the tournament. he recommended it for your legs, it meant you were more aerodynamic, but pubic hair made no difference. between razor burn and chaffing, it was an unnecessary distraction. but, he also didn’t sanction sweaty, time consuming, exhausting sex with a trifling man slut of an ex boyfriend that dumped you once and was ready to dump you again, so today was the day for rule breaking.

he chewed you out pretty nice when you got back to your hotel room. you insisted on showering even though your physio stayed late specifically for you, and now instead of hurrying out and apologising and being stretched into a peppy, sexy, marketable, rubber-band-legged tennis cunt, you were shaving yourself. because winning didn’t matter unless you were ready for her.

why did being shaven mean being ready? you didn’t know. but patrick’s joy at your bush had sickened you in grim retrospect, and you wanted to spite him. you would always be ready from now on. if tashi duncan was going to try and fuck you over, the least you could do was prepare to be fucked.

you were dry as can be. you hosed yourself down pretty ruthlessly to clear yourself out. evict any traces of that man from your body, scrub until you reached a layer of skin he hadn’t touched. you had one tired foot on the edge of the sink, and angled yourself so you could see everything. you would be so smooth that you could see a reflection when you were finished.

patrick had caught you off guard, had used you, but you didn’t doubt that he told you the truth about one thing. tashi was coming. she was probably already here. that would be an evil thing to makeup, and despite your outburst you didn’t truly believe he was evil. you thought he was weak, slimy and pathetic, but he wasn’t great enough to be evil. didn’t have the forethought.

what would you do when you saw her? it was early days in the tournament, you could afford to be a little distracted while you picked off the weaker ones. but you couldn’t still be this distracted in 2 days time. maybe time would take care of it. maybe you would have to take it into your own hands.

regardless of what happened, the hair had to go. you had shown patrick a soft underbelly, a vulnerability. one that neither tashi duncan or art donaldson would ever experience again. you could never give her the satisfaction.

if she brought art with her, that would give you something to think about. he, like patrick, was a stolen thing. he was the physical manifestation of all she took from you, in it’s fullest form. he was tennis. he was something you had never beaten. tashi duncan pilfered and pillaged, but worse of all she never lost to you. you never looked her in her eyes and beat her, at anything. love, sex, the game, she had never lost. worse, she had lost her ability to lose. a fate worse than death, but a fate that saved her from the shame she so rightfully deserved. while you lived on, you could defile yourself further, could fall out of grace and could become as common as dirt. she however was immortalised as a god, an angel too good, too talented for this world. she was given implicit dignity. you can’t beat her if she can’t play. the conniving bitch.

semenless, hairless and distantly heartbroken, you set the razor down on the side of the bathtub. you left to dress and be scolded by your coach, who would forgive you tommorow when you won, just like you always did. you won by default.

•••

your manager had forgiven you as soon as you picked up the racket. apparently emotional turbulence served only to help your game, as you achieved your second win of the tournament in record time. not distracted by a certain ex boyfriend at the end of this particular match, when you won you felt fully able to celebrate. sweat drenched and vagina raw you shook your fist at your chest and breathed deep, victorious sighs. your opponent smiled graciously, and disappeared to cry and fade into obscurity, as all would in the face of your brilliance.

the air smelt new. it smelt fresh and new and made for your design. the felt of the tennis balls glowed neon in your periphery and bounced gleefully with your triumph. you guzzled gatorade, answered interviewers questions with emphatically friendly responses, and certainly spawned some rumours that the performance enhancing drugs you were so clearly on had unprecedented side effects, like mood swings.

yesterday your soul was crushed. today you got a new one. let’s see tashi duncan try to fuck that up. let’s see her bring you down.

boys didn’t fucking matter, tennis mattered. and you were great at tennis.

these were all things you believed in earnest, with no trace of sarcasm or cynicism. you believed, right until the second, while walking back to your hotel with your team in front of you, lazily enjoying the world, when a deep, slender, ring laden hand touched your shoulder. you jolted up out of your skin. your head whipped round and there she was. there was satan, smiling like your number was up. stopped in your tracks, you turned your body slowly to face her. as you did more and more of her appeared, and you realised she was really there.

she was so beautiful. such a perfectly set face, everything seemed to match. the attractive broad nose, the full pillowy lips, the eyes, which smouldered on their own, naturally. hair that fell in long stretched curls just as it had all those years ago. she hadn’t changed, at least not visually.

you gave her a once over. that fucking body. god, you wouldn’t know she had stopped playing, you wouldn’t know she could be unable to do anything at all. she was so slender, but so strong, muscle caking her bones in delicate, powerful form. she looked invincible, perfect and impermeable. her loose linen shirt hugged and hung from her frame like a fashion doll, like a mannequin of steel. she was taller than you, by a few inches, and made you feel small, in a way so much more infuriating than patrick. she wasn’t suppose to be bigger than you. she wasn’t a lumbering brute, she was your equal. she was your equal.

from the corner of your eye, you noticed something sparkle on her finger, but you had already looked back to her face.

“tashi,” you said, in a tinny voice that didn’t sound like yours. your throat dried within moments.

“hello stranger,” she said, still grinning.

stranger. funny, that’s exactly what you were. she said it like an inside joke, like you two were the closest of friends. you were strangers.

“hello.”

“congrats on your win.”

“thanks.”

you sniffed, and wet your lips. you weren’t going to break eye contact, she certainly wasn’t going to, so you were locked in silent warfare. what the fuck do you want? you urged every second. wait and see, she replied.

“so,” you say, forming the intentions of a smile on your lips,”what brings you to new york? i hear only a few days ago art was in atlanta.”

“we came up to see a physio guy, he’s supposed to be great. great enough that he cancels last minute.”

“hm. ain’t that just the way!”

you smile, with your eyes too, like you mean it. she smiles too, but she’s awful at being fake. she grimaced more than she smiled, she was always devoid of delicacy, of subtly. everything she was she was overtly. overtly beautiful, overtly talented, and confident. overtly ruthless. why she felt the need to smile if that’s not how she felt was beyond you, but you could play along.

“what hotel are you staying at?”

“the boro. you?”

“us too! why don’t you have a drink with me and art at the bar? it would be good to catch up.”

me and art. you narrow your eyes, deepening your smile to disguise it. she was being so normal, it was strange. what game was she playing? was it something you could win? either way you were in.

“sure! i need to check in with my coach and what not first but ill meet you there at 7, is that ok?”

“7 is great. can’t wait,” her voice was mechanical, it couldn’t be more blatant this was a ploy, and you would fall for it hook line and sinker. she came here to fuck you up? you would destroy her, the second she gave an inch. you already had a massive secret. she fucked patrick. five seconds around art and her life crumbles around her.

you smirked, nodding, and a dark look befell her eyes.

“oh, and just to let you know,” she said, voice lowering. she stepped closer, leaned down to whisper in your ear. the smell of vanilla over powered you, and suddenly you felt very gross, putrid in comparison. but you didn’t have to compare yourself to her anymore.

“i saw patrick zweig in the crowd today. i know you guys had a thing back in college. thought i’d give you a heads up,” her soft whisper tickled your ear. you shivered.

“oh, god,” you said,”thanks for telling me. what the fuck is he doing here?”

“I have no idea.”

“what a freak.”

there were several options of why she told you that, and how she might know.

maybe she really did see him in the crowd. you hadn’t seen him, but you hadn’t seen her either. maybe she didn’t see him, but knew he was coming into town, maybe he told her. maybe she got him to come here and warn you. why? to cut you out of the competition early maybe, start the psychological warfare before her feet even touched new york concrete. it hadn’t worked, and that’s why she had been forced to make a face to face appearance. maybe that was it. maybe it was a grand conspiracy in which all parties were mechanised to get you. you would not be got. no way no how.

your paranoia brought the conversation to a screeching halt as your smile became more and more vacant.

“you look good,” she said after a stretch of silence.

“thank you. so do you. you haven’t changed at all.”

“neither have you.”

“well, i think i’ve changed a bit.”

“nah, you’re the same.”

no. you’re different. but how would she know anyway? you wave goodbye as she saunters off, away to a blonde man that she kisses lightly on the cheek. you don’t take in anything more than that because you turn around immediately, and stalk to where your coach is smoking a cigarette by a coffee truck. fuck that bitch. you were going to gut her alive and use her intestines as a skipping rope. art would not extend his neck to receive a kiss when you were through with them. fucking drink at a fucking bar. who did she think she was?

fuck that bitch, tashi thought. you were right, you had changed. your backhand was perfect. impeccable serve. you were deadly. you were harder now too. you didn’t scowl but there was a coldness about the eyes, a disconnect from face and mind. you were fake as plastic, and just as shiny. you had beefed up, gotten more tight and muscular. maybe tight was the word. tight about the eyes. what were you? you were another creature all together. a beast, an amalgamation of all tashi’s hopes and dreams and all her worst nightmares.

she swayed over to art, knowing you would watch at least for a moment as they smiled at each other and took each other’s forearms tenderly, and she kissed the side of his mouth. his hair had been cut only a few days ago, and she told him to wear that white cotton t-shirt out and about. he said it was too casual for such a high level tennis match, she said she knew that. he looked very fucking good. she looked very fucking good, as she always did. she had set the trap, now it was time to get you in it, trapped, and to bash your head in with a rock.

she and art watched from the corner of their eyes as they kissed and you sauntered away, refusing to look back. your skirt swished with the aggravated sway of your hips. you swung a metal water bottle with the rhythm of your steps, like you were trying to hurt the air. you were pissed off. art could tell, and his stomach churned. this was wrong. it was mean, and they were adults now. married adults, who should be satisfied enough in their lives that they don’t need to plan or scheme. but. here they were. and there he was, embroiled and accomplice to a mean spirited scheme. anything to dry tashis eyes. anything to make up for the fact you were tennis cunt extraordinaire and she was arts coach. a fantastic coach, but a coach all the same. he could hurt you if that’s what tashi needed. he didn’t want to, but he could.

she didn’t know if she could, if it was possible rather, but she wanted to. no, she knew she could. she would. you could flick the skirt adidas paid you to wear and walk with a sexy sway and you could guzzle complementary gatorade but she knew what you were and that you were bellow her. you were her subordinate and if she couldn’t make the world see it she would make it clear to you.

your feet hit tarmac harder than they needed to as you found your coach, who clapped a hand to your back and sung your well deserved praises. breaking news, tennis cunt is good at tennis. alert the media, alert the national guard, alert nasa. this is earth shattering stuff. fuck everyone, but fuck tashi in particular. fuck that bitch. and fuck art. fuck him. fuck him.

and yet, only a few hours later you were pulling your hair out trying to put together a cohesive outfit that said i’m not trying to impress you but i’m very impressive. i’m very accomplished and polished and if i was you and i had thrown me away i would kill myself for the shame and regret. tashi duncan is nothing.

but it was hard to find an outfit so articulate. not too dressy, but not overly casual as to downplay yourself, to suggest you think dressing nicely is above what you deserve. a dress. a black dress said sex but it was also classic, simple. a black dress meant nothing, and therefore meant everything. your body itself provided the glamour, your form a kind of jewellery. yeah. that was it. eat your heart out, donaldson.

you sit at the bar, perched with your smooth legs crossed over each other. you sipped a coke, that might’ve been a rum and coke on a different night, but you needed to keep your wits about you. you remember getting drunk one night with art, swaying around his house. his parents were away and he invited you back over spring break. his house was so big. you remember kissing him, so wasted. he wasn’t as drunk as you. he held your waist, and smiled and said,”let’s get you into bed.”

“but art. you’re so pretty.”

“and you’re so drunk. i’ll still be pretty tomorrow.”

art didn’t do drunk. i don’t know. something to keep in mind.

they walked in, looked around and smiled when they saw you. neither of them had changed despite having hours. fucking cunts.

“i see you didn’t wait for us,” tashi smiles.

“oh, sorry.”

they sit, tashi next to you, art in tow. what was arts role in all this? you knew why you wanted him here, to destroy his marriage of course. but why did tashi want him here? what purpose did he serve for her? he just sort of looked around. you watch him as they settle. art. oh art. you felt something in your chest, and hated it. art. he was just that guy, you know. the guy that you can say you hate, but you just can’t. you want to so badly, but being in his presence for even a few seconds has you crumbling. the shape of his nose, the bob of his adam’s apple, the golden dusting of hair on his arm that glints in the boozy light of the bar. he was so… guy. so man. so beautiful. he beats his blonde eyelashes and turns to look at you, smiling with only one corner of his mouth. you smile back, unconsciously genuine. fuck him. what a prick.

you look back to tashi, who watches you bemusedly. half smirking half frowning. her deep eyes glow like ambers. she tossed a strand of hair from her face, orders her and art two sparkling waters as she eyed your coke.

“so,” you say, to divert your train of thoughts more than anything,”how’s life been?”

“let’s drop the pleasantries shall we?”

the smile that had spooked you all day dropped, lips instead set in a line

“we aren’t actually here to catch up.”

“oh. ok.”

that was brief. you understood why she was so quick to give up the falsehoods though, tashi duncan didn’t deal in lies. she dealt in hard cold truth.

“i’m here for one thing. i want you to play art.”

you frown with one eyebrow, and your upper lip curls into a look of disgust.

“what?”

you glance at art, who doesn’t look surprised in the slightest. he looks mournful almost. what a freak. tashi’s face is sullen, serious as the plague.

“you heard me. i want you and art to play each other. art wants to too.”

art didn’t look at you. nodded though.

“and i wanna do it tonight.”

you spluttered a laugh, hands gripping the bar.

“tonight?”

this bitch had lost her mind. you have a tournament, an important one at that, and for her to assert that you should jeopardise that, overexert yourself for the sake of what? assuaging a personal grudge? making her feel better because a significantly larger man beat a woman at a game that tashi hadn’t played in five entire years? what crack was she smoking that made that an acceptable ask? did her arrogance know no bounds?

“i have a match tomorrow.”

“yeah, no fucking shit. that’s why there’s stakes.”

stakes. what the fuck. you almost wanted to laugh. but this bitch was giving you a proposal, a fucking pitch. for what? what could she possibly have to offer you other than sucking on a shot gun and pissing off forever?

“do you have any fucking idea how ridiculous this is? after everything you did to me, you think you have any right to saunter up to me and ask me to waste my time and my energy, the night before a fucking match? you and your fucking husband can fuck off.”

“after everything i did to you? what the hell did i do to you? you broke my fucking knee.”

your confused look fell into seething blankness.

“you didn’t break your knee you tore your ACL. and you broke it yourself.”

“that’s fine, that’s fine. you tell yourself that, but know the only reason you have this fucking career is because i wasn’t there to beat you down and put you in your place.”

“jesus fucking christ, i would’ve beaten you that match and you know it.”

“i don’t know a goddamn thing-“

“and where do you get off pretending like you never did shit to me? you took everything from me tashi. you took everything and now you travel across the country and stumble up to me to make yourself feel better because i can play and you can’t. you want me to try and beat a fucking man? fine. i’m game. i’m in, let’s do it. i would hate to waste your precious time. let’s hear the fucking stakes.”

the gloves were off. both of your backs had straightened like hackles on a cat and your nostrils flared and your chests rose and fell and neither of you broke eye contact for even one second. you hadn’t realised but you had gotten closer, so close that your minty fresh breath fanned tashi’s upper lip, and pieces of tashi’s hair tickled your cheekbone. this was fucking intoxicating. being this close to the woman you had hated for so long, getting the confirmation that she hates you just as passionately, knowing you matter enough to her that she needs to destroy you, it all fills you with the most exhilarating feeling. you want more. her deep eyes glowed with fury. fuck.

art sits hunched over the bar, removed. he drank his drink, slowly facing away. he almost looks bored, or he would if his eyes didn’t flit about all the time. no, art was anxious. he disapproved of whatever tashi planned, but he loved her too much to tell her no. the thought stings you, spitting in the face of your satisfaction. art. he would always make you hurt no matter what.

“here’s the stakes. you lose, i leave knowing that i was always better than you, and you give me $4000, for my troubles. you win, you get to fuck art in front of me.”

he didn’t flinch. he knew. you’re pulled back by an otherworldly force, stone cold sober. your neck twists back and forth, scanning the bar for anyone to help you, save you, give you a moment to chew on whatever that was. no one was gonna help you. even art, who sat and drank his sparkling water, wouldn’t meet your eye.

“what?”

she didn’t reply, just leant back, arms crossed, satisfied. was she honestly, seriously, really, actually whoring out her husband so that you, a girl she barely knew from college, would play him at tennis so she could prove a point? was she that confident he would beat you? or was she a pervert as well as a cunt?

“are you that confident you’ll win? or do you think i’m that desperate? believe it or not, i’ve actually moved on from a man i saw briefly 5 entire years ago.”

a tiny white lie never hurt anyone.

tashi widened her eyes. a silent challenge.

“are you sure? are you sure it wouldn’t feel good to fuck my husband right in front of me? take something from me? hurt me? give me a taste of my own fucking medicine? if i’m such a bitch, if i took everything from you, take something back. beat me at tennis and fuck my husband.”

this bitch was fucking crazy. and yes, it would feel fucking incredible. but you would also have to touch art again. which would dredge up emotions you didn’t know if you could stomach. eugh. no. couldn’t. wouldn’t. won’t.

“i’ll play you. no stakes.”

“no,” art looked at you in the eyes for the first time since that day, that match that ended you two forever. his voice was cold and hoarse. your eyebrow raises involuntarily. look everyone, the puppet can speak on its own!

“agree to the stakes or don’t bother.”

you laugh airily, you search arts face for reprehension. there’s just nothing. you were wrong about him, he didn’t disapprove that strongly. where did he get off in this? did he like being used as a bargaining chip in his evil wife’s evil schemes? was he completely eroded from who he used to be? did you ever even know him? he tongued the inside of his cheek. his mouth curved at the edge. he smiled slightly like he knew you, like this was a game you were all in on. like any of this is funny.

“no. i’ll play you, and i’ll even cough up the money if i lost. but i’m not fucking anyone. end of story.”

tashi leans forward. her eyes twinkle yellow in the soft glow of the bar. her mouth opens with unspoken hunger.

“then lose.”

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 9 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You were trying your best to enjoy the countdown to the arrival of the baby, but your emotions were all over the place. Even on your birthday, you couldn't tell if you were excited or anxious. Bradley planned to surprise you with something special, but he got a different kind of surprise instead.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst, swearing, injury while pregnant

Length: 4500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Your parents' departure after Christmas left you antsy and anxious, and you knew Bradley could tell. All the talk about them potentially moving to California had you on edge, especially since everything was beginning to feel very real now. Your due date was creeping closer and closer, and you were starting to remember one solidly scary fact on an hourly basis now: neither you nor Bradley had any clue how to take care of a baby.

Your husband was so excited, it wasn't like you could feasibly bring up this topic of conversation. Every time you tried, he reminded you that he had watched dozens of Youtube videos. He told you that your parents were always just a call away. He assured you that if he was ever going to be successful at anything, it would be taking care of Rosie.

"I'm ready for the Nugget, Baby Girl," he told you as you got dressed to go out to the Hard Deck on New Year's Eve. He was already wearing the pink shirt you gave him for Christmas. The tiny matching one was tucked away in the closet in the nursery which brought a tear to your eye.

"I know you are," you sniffed, "but I'm still scared." You'd had a headache for the last few days, and food just hadn't sounded appealing to you. Your belly was getting enormous as your third trimester wore on, and everything was tender. "She'll be here so soon."

Bradley looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, his eyes lighting up as he smiled. "Eleven more weeks, but who's counting? Not me," he said, holding up his phone which had a 'Countdown to Rose' background on the screen. When you didn't even smile, he sighed and said, "I know you're nervous, Sweetheart. I get moments where I'm really nervous, too."

You pressed your lips together and tried to hold back the tears. You already knew how much he struggled with coming to terms with becoming a parent when he hadn't had either of his for such a long time. "The whole thing is going to hurt. And then we have to figure out what to do with an actual baby. Like this is going to be way different from nursing Tramp back to health. And I suddenly feel like I'm going to be terrible at this."

He had you in his arms immediately, and you were trying not to get your smeared makeup on his pink shirt. "It might hurt, but I'll be with you the whole time. And then I swear I'll take care of everything right afterwards so you don't have to. I'm planning on taking a few days off from work after Rosie gets here, and you can relax and be an amazing mom while I clean and take care of everything else."

You looked up at him as a tear slid down your cheek. "You're going to cook, Roo?" you asked, finally breaking into a smile.

His eyes went wide, and his lips parted wordlessly. You laughed at the worried look on his face even as you cried a little bit more. "Well, we can figure that part out. Or maybe you can freeze some dinners? I don't think I should be cooking."

"I agree," you hiccuped, wrapping your arms around him awkwardly with your belly in the way.

You were quiet for a bit before Bradley finally asked, "Would you rather stay home tonight?"

Of course you'd rather stay home. Nothing sounded as good as your bed these days. That was where he fucked you until you weren't horny anymore and then let you fall asleep in his arms while he read to you from the Nugget notebook. "No, I want to go out and see everyone," you told him, because you knew he wanted to go out. "We can sleep in tomorrow and do nothing."

He kissed the top of your head and murmured, "It'll be a relaxing week since we're going out for your birthday on Friday night."

"Are we?" you asked, suddenly feeling excited that he always remembered your day and made it special. "Where?"

"Hot sauce restaurant," he whispered. "And maybe a little something extra."

"A cake?" you gasped.

Bradley laughed as he wiped away your tears. "You want a cake? I'll get you a cake, Baby Girl. Anything you want."

-----------------------------

The Hard Deck was absolutely packed for New Year's Eve, and Bradley was getting worried that someone was going to bump into you. He tried to get you and your bottle of Gatorade tucked safely between his body and Nat's, but there were people shoving through the crowd in every direction.

"I've never seen it this crowded before," you said over the music. You'd just been talking to Jake about three feet away, but Bradley could only pay attention to anyone who looked drunk and unsteady on their feet while he sipped his own beer cautiously.

"Seriously," he replied. "Penny and Jimmy look panicked. That new bartender looks like she's going to cry."

You scanned the room, taking a small step away from him and Nat, and that's when you got bumped. "What the fuck, man?" Bradley shouted to some guy he'd never seen before when you stumbled back against him. "Watch where the fuck you're going."

"I'm fine, Roo," you assured him with your hand on his bicep, but Bradley glared daggers at him until he was out of your vicinity.

"You might be fine, but I want you to be safe and comfortable," he snarled, finally looking down at your pretty face as your straw rested on your lip. "I want you to feel as perfect as you look." Just then someone else bumped you into him, and his fingers curled into a fist.

You reached for his hand and shook it until his fingers uncurled and were laced with yours. "I want to tell you to stop, but you're seriously turning me on right now," you moaned, eyes glued to his face as your pupils grew wide. "Like a lot."

Bradley closed his eyes and took a deep breath as his body reacted to your words and the look you were giving him. His hand came to rest gently on your bump, stroking you through your shirt. You looked incredible right now, and you even tasted and smelled impossibly sweet to him. "It's way too early to leave," he rasped, glancing down your shirt as you took another sip of Gatorade. "But when we do, I promise you'll be well taken care of."

"Mmkay, Daddy," you replied, kissing his neck while Nat made an animated gagging face behind you.

"I was going to ask if either of you wanted to play darts with me, but not if you're going to start doing that all night," she said, but you were already bouncing with excitement. 

"I want to play!" you told her, shoving your drink into Bradley's free hand.

Nat grimaced but said, "Okay, fine. But only because you look happy, and the endorphins are probably good for the baby."

For the next forty-five minutes, Bradley acted as a human fence, trying to block anyone from jostling you while you and his best friends played darts. "You want to play, Roo?" you asked him at one point, holding up three darts in his direction.

"Who's going to guard you and Rosie if I play?" he asked, glaring at a woman who came tripping in your direction.

"She'll be fine," Nat told him, but he just shook his head and let you play. This was actually exhausting. He knew he'd be tired once the baby was born, but he hadn't been anticipating starting his protective duties this early. Soon he'd have his wife and his daughter to look after. Not that he minded. He was already living for it, but he didn't want to mess anything up. Your nerves were evident earlier as your hormones were constantly fluctuating, but he wasn't sure he had an excuse here.

"Are you listening?" you asked, patting his abs with the back of your hand. He could feel your engagement ring through his new shirt which made him smile unexpectedly. "It's almost midnight."

"Oh. Should we head home?" he asked, hoping he could get you out of here unscathed. The bar was getting a little wild now.

"Let's stay for the countdown and then head out. Get me a ginger ale?"

He grunted in response, looking for someone responsible to leave you with while he fought his way to the bar, but Bob was already gone on his deployment. Maria hadn't even come out tonight, and Cam was wasted. Bradley glanced at Jake and Cat who were looking quite cozy off in the corner, and he led you in that direction with his hands on your shoulders. "Stay with them," he told you, clearly interrupting the couple as you tried to dig your feet in.

"Hey, Angel," Jake said with a smirk. He had Cat's lipstick on his face and his arm around her waist, but he didn't seem too upset that Bradley dumped you there.

"Can you look after my wife while I get her something to drink? It's a little rough in here tonight. If anyone touches her, just punch them."

"I don't need a babysitter," you complained, but he kissed your forehead as Jake made room for you to stand against the wall.

"Yes, you do. I'll be right back."

Bradley fought his way up to the bar where everyone was reaching for the plastic champagne flutes that Jimmy was pouring. Penny saw him and immediately got him another beer, but he had to lean in and ask, "Can I get a ginger ale too, Pen?"

She shot him a little smile as she reached for the soda gun and a pint glass, and Bradley turned back to check on your current status. This time next year, you and he would be cozy at home with Rose, and there was nothing that could possibly make him want to be out for the night. A soft smile found his lips as he thought about coaxing his daughter to sleep and holding her against his chest while you and he watched New Year's Rockin' Eve on TV with Tramp on the area rug.

"Hey, handsome, you wanna buy me a drink?"

Bradley let his gaze shift down to the woman next to him, and he shook his head as she reached for his hand. "Absolutely not," he replied immediately, annoyed that someone was making his quest to get this drink and get back to you longer than it needed to be. He handed Penny ten dollars and grabbed your ginger ale before heading toward the back corner where you were waiting for him, safe and sound.

"Seriously, as soon as midnight hits, we're out of here, Sweetheart."

You sipped your soda and said, "Whatever you want."

-----------------------------

It turned out you and Bradley wanted the same thing. He had you both undressed by the time you got to your bedroom, and then the two of you stumbled into the bathroom, laughing between kisses. He tasted like beer, and his two day old stubble was rough, and you wanted him so badly you were aching for it. But he took the time to light two of the candles you left near the bathtub for when you wanted to take a relaxing bath, his hard cock bobbing as he walked. 

"I'm setting the mood," he whispered with a smile, the scars on his face intriguingly handsome in the candlelight.

"Bradley, I'm always in the mood at the moment," you reminded him. You could probably handle him four times a day right now if he could manage it.

"Just let me try to be romantic," he whined, pressing your butt against the edge of the vanity before spinning you around to face the mirror. "I want to romantically fuck the shit out of you."

Your giggles turned to moans as he guided himself deep into your pussy before stroking your clit with one sure fingertip and bracing his hand on the vanity next to yours. His abs were hard against your back, and his pelvic bones were sharp, digging into your rear end. He pulled out a few inches before thrusting deep once again with a delicious snap of his hips. His eyes looked impossibly dark reflecting in the mirror as he watched your breasts bounce as he repeated that same thrust once again.

"Look at you," he crooned softly, leaning in to kiss the shell of your ear as he fucked you a little faster. "Oh my god."

He dragged his big hand up from your clit to cup your belly softly, kissing along your neck as you already felt yourself pulsing around him. Those rough fingers soon found your nipple, and you gasped, "Bradley," which just seemed to egg him on.

He was sucking on your neck and murmuring sweetly incoherent nothings. "Baby Girl, these tits. Gonna love them. My fucking god. Massive."

Where you just saw stretch marks and oversized body parts, he saw something that made him go feral for you right now. Your boobs were so tender, but there was something about the way he was grabbing at you that made you just want more. His voice was deep as his teeth grazed your skin, fingers kneading into the side of your breast as you clenched around his cock which was once again shoved deep inside your pussy.

"Your nipples look fucking huge," he whined, his hips starting to stutter after each fluid movement. "Do you see this?" he asked, hand sliding up the valley between your breasts to grab your chin and aim your eyes upwards until you were studying yourself. Your lips were parted, and he was right, your breasts did look pretty incredible as the candle light flickered. And somehow your swollen belly looked almost cute as he slammed into you from behind and groaned your name. "I did this to you," he whispered, hand resting over your belly button. "But the rest of it is just how fucking sexy you are. I can't get enough."

When you met his wild gaze in the mirror, you let your head tip back to his shoulder, maintaining eye contact as you started to come. He held you tight to his body as his hips met your butt and his cock stroked you exactly how you needed him to. "Oh fuck," you gasped, legs starting to shake as you got closer.

"Good girl," he crooned next to your ear, his mustache prickling your skin as your eyes closed. He fucked you through your orgasm, voice mingling with yours, and before you know it, you were standing there panting while his cum dripped down your inner thighs.

You were a little dizzy, but he kept a firm hold on you as he kissed and tasted your neck, cheek and shoulder. His fingers were stroking your furled nipples, and your skin was on fire with pleasurable little aftershocks that you didn't want to stop. But you were so tired, you needed to get off your feet.

"Roo."

Maybe it was how you said it, or maybe it was the use of that pet name in general, but he seemed to know exactly what you needed with just that one word. He helped you to the toilet and cleaned up your legs while you used it. He brushed his teeth while you did yours, and then he waited for you to remove your contacts and wash your face before leading you to bed. When he climbed in next to you, he kissed your lips and let you get as comfortable as you could before whispering, "I love you both." You were asleep before he turned off his lamp.

----------------------------

Leading up to Friday, Bradley kept trying to sneak off to confirm the plans he made for your birthday. But when he tried to call the lounge in Del Mar first thing in the morning, nobody answered, and if he tried later in the day, there was always an interruption. And that interruption was usually you. On Thursday evening, he finally managed to sneak away to the garage where he planned on working out as soon as he made the phone call.

Once he verified that you were nowhere in sight or within earshot, he had his phone pressed to his ear. When someone answered, he quickly said, "Hi, this is Bradley Bradshaw. I just wanted to confirm my rental agreement for the rooftop space for tomorrow night. I have the hour-long private event planned."

"Yes, sir. The space and the DJ are all yours from nine to ten o'clock tomorrow night."

"Great," he replied, head still on a swivel even though he was pretty sure you were doing a load of laundry inside the house. That's when you came strolling into the garage with a snack in your hand, and he quickly ended the call after a muttered thank you. "Hey," he told you as he awkwardly tossed his phone onto the tool bench and picked up one of his dumbbells.

You stood there in one of his old, stretched out tee shirts and a pair of maternity shorts and chewed on an unsalted pretzel. "Who were you talking to?" you asked. He should have known he wasn't going to get away with you not noticing.

"Uh... nobody," he muttered, and you raised one eyebrow in response. He sighed. "I don't want to tell you, because it's a surprise for your birthday tomorrow, okay?"

You smiled and told him, "Okay, Roo. No worries." You bit into another pretzel, and Bradley realized how tired you looked.

"Did you finish eating dinner?"

"No," you replied softly. "I just want a few pretzels. I have like no appetite."

Your next appointment with Dr. Morris was coming up in a week, and he had been wondering if it was bad that you hadn't gained really any weight since before Christmas. Work had been very busy for you the past few days with the arrival of some sort of new scientific equipment that completely baffled him. You were exhausted after one round of sex now, which was definitely a change of pace from a month ago. He almost blushed when he thought about how the two of you spent your first wedding anniversary.

"I think you need to eat something with some substance or protein or something, Sweetheart."

"I can't," you snapped. "Everything else makes me feel awful. You should try being pregnant, Bradley. It kind of sucks."

He didn't know how to respond, because the last thing he wanted to do was piss you off the night before your birthday. "Okay. Well, will you let me know if I can get you anything?"

You nodded as you chewed up another pretzel before yawning. "I came out to watch you get all sweaty for a minute before I head to bed."

"In that case," he said, laying back on his bench, "let me get started, birthday girl."

You were smiling again as he unlocked his barbell and got to work.

----------------------------

You woke up on your birthday to the feel of Bradley's hand on your hip and his voice in your ear, slowly coaxing you from your dream. "Happy birthday, Sweetheart." You rolled over and were met with his brown eyes and his messy bed head, and he collected you in his arms. "It's my second favorite day of the year."

His body was warm, and the last thing you wanted to do was go to work today. "Pretty soon it will be your third favorite day of the year," you croaked. When his brow furrowed, you guided his hand to your belly and said, "Don't even try to tell me the Nugget's birthday won't surpass it."

Your husband shook his head. "It'll be a tie," he whispered, kissing your forehead as the baby thumped around. "Hey, Rosie is saying happy birthday, too!"

You moaned softly. "Rosie is hungry but doesn't seem to like any foods right now."

Bradley ran his fingers along your cheek before kissing that spot. "I'm hoping the hot sauce restaurant will hit the spot for you tonight. Plus I have a fun surprise for afterwards."

It was worth a try. Hot sauce was one of the only things that didn't sound disgusting to you at the moment. In fact, Bradley poured you a little bowl of your favorite kind for you to dip your granola bar into while he made some coffee, and you did feel a bit better. Your stomach gurgled as he plopped down onto the piano bench to play the birthday song and sing to you. 

As ridiculous as he looked sitting there in his boxer briefs with his hair still a mess, you knew you could never love someone the way you loved him. He was going to be such a good dad. He already built the playset and had the nursery almost ready. He had a countdown going on his phone. He picked out an outfit for the baby to wear home from the hospital. And he took care of you all the time.

"I love you, Roo," you promised, wrapping him up in a hug and kissing along the gray hairs at his temple. "I can't wait for dinner later."

As soon as you were dressed in your hideous maternity tent, Bradley drove both of you to work, and you found yourself stifling yawn after yawn. You were beginning to doubt that you could make it through work let alone a whole date night, but you didn't want to tell him that. Not when he was playing your favorite songs and holding your hand while he drove. Not when he had his arm draped over your shoulders as he walked you all the way up to your office and kissed you like his life depended on it.

"I love you," he murmured before dropping down to one knee to press a kiss to your bump. "Be extra nice to Mommy today, little Nugget." You could feel her squirm around as she seemed to recognize his voice. "She's got a busy day planned for her birthday."

Then he was back on his feet, zipping his flight suit up fully, and with one last kiss, he was heading toward the elevators.

After just an hour in the lab, it was evident that the granola bar and hot sauce had not been enough for breakfast. You desperately wanted to sneak back to your office and dig around in your snack reserve in your desk to take the edge off if you could. You were currently waging a war between being hungry and simultaneously appalled by food.

"Are you okay?" Cat asked, nudging your arm with her elbow as Bickel droned on about the equipment that was on loan from Lemoore's engineering department. He was hoping that in the next two months, you and the others would be able to help him build a more streamlined interface for the F/A-18s. It wasn't that you weren't interested, because you were. You just couldn't focus very well at the moment.

"I'm fine," you told Cat who gave you side eye but stood quietly next to you. It would have been beneficial to have taken your birthday off and spent it in bed, but it was too late for that.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Bickel finally stopped talking, but then he called your name. You met his gaze and realized he looked very excited.

"Yes, sir?" you asked him, taking a step forward. You felt awful. Even the sound of your boot squeaking on the floor set your teeth on edge. Your head had begun to pound at some point in the morning, and now it felt like your brain was attacking your skull.

"Come help me test it out," he said, his voice grating on your nerves in a way it never had before.

Your next step was a bit of a stumble, and you tried to reach for the edge of the counter. You were going to throw up. The urge to gag left you reeling, searching for something to hold onto. Cat was calling your name as Bickel's eyes went wide, but when you reached for him, your hand caught on the instrumentation instead. It hurt a lot, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as your knee connecting with the cabinet. You needed someone to reach you before you hit the floor, but you weren't that lucky. You wrapped your arm around your belly the best you could, but as soon as you hit the floor, you were met with blackness.

-----------------------------

Bradley didn't really need practice dogfighting, but it certainly was fun anyway. Especially when he was up against Jake late in the morning. The taunting was comical and getting more absurd by the minute.

"Hey, Hangman, why don't you hang it up, man. You're done," he said as he shot the other pilot down for the third time in a row.

"Lay an egg, birdman," came the response through his helmet that made him chuckle.

Bradley was just pulling up on his throttle to gain some altitude and go again when he heard Maverick's voice crackle through his helmet. 

"Wheels on the tarmac. Both of you. Rooster first, then Hangman." The tone of his voice left Bradley wondering what was going on. The weather was beautiful, and he was actually enjoying this exercise immensely. In a few hours, he'd be feeding you anything you wanted off the dinner menu at your favorite restaurant before indulging you in your very own, private silent disco.

But as soon as he touched down and started to taxi back toward the hangar, he saw Maverick and Nat running his way. Then he heard her voice through his helmet. "Open your canopy. You need to get out now. Your wife is in the emergency room."

A chill colder than ice shot through his body. Something was wrong with you or the baby, and he hadn't been there to help you. "What?" he gasped, saliva starting to pool at the back of his tongue, making it hard to swallow. "What happened?"

Nat didn't respond, but as soon as his jet came to a stop, she had his ladder ready for him. The rush of fresh air that hit him as his canopy opened did nothing to make him feel better as she shouted for him to climb down. Something happened to one of his girls. He hadn't been there. As soon as he was able to control his body, he climbed down as quickly as he could, skipping the last few rungs. When Nat reached for his hand, he could see the alarmed look in her eyes, and he started crying.

"What happened?" he asked again, but she just pulled her car keys from her pocket while she grasped his hand, and he ran with her to the parking garage.

--------------------------------

Omg, why am I doing this? I hope Nat can drive fast. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 10

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[mariasont]

The Manuscript - A.H

a/n: this was supposed to be based on t.s new song manuscript, but it didn't realllyyy turn out like that

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: while unpacking you find a series of letters aaron wrote to you in college

warnings: angst, age gap (reader is 20s, hotch is 40s), haley and jack don't exist in this universe

wc: 1.3k

Your gaze swept over the towering stacks of boxes littering your living room floor, and with a resigned sigh, you began the daunting task of unpacking them. Your hands found the nearest box deftly lifting the flaps as you began to pull out its contents. Your felt the soft crinkle of paper beneath your fingers, and gently, you drew out a stack of letters, their edges softened with time, all neatly tied together with a string. 

Your heart seized a sudden halt as you realized just what they were. Your throat constricted, parched, as tears stung your eyes, threatening to spill over, your fingers coming to rest over your mouth. Instinctively, your body sank onto the cold hardwood floor, gently placing the papers down beside you. You had forgotten these had even existed, let alone made it with you on the move.

You didn't remember seeing them when you packed, did you? Your fingers shook slightly as they picked apart the knot, and with a hesitant touch, you reached for the first piece of weathered paper.

January 5

Honey, 

Your letter was a welcome surprise, far sweeter than any text message could be. I enjoyed spending New Years Eve with you too, and I hope this case ends quickly so I can take you on a real date. 

I'm glad to hear college is going well. Should you encounter any more issues with your professor, please let me know. You're a bright young woman, and I have no doubt he'll see that in time. I am looking forward to your next letter.

Yours,

Aaron

--

March 12

Honey, 

I'm glad you enjoyed our date as much as I did. At times, I find my thoughts wandering to you in that dress, and it's a welcome distraction. 

I'm glad you look forward to our letters, because I do too. And yes, rest assured, I'm taking all necessary precautions in the field. Don't worry, the team has my back, especially Garcia--she's got more eyes on us than stars in the sky. 

Goodluck on your psychology exam. I know you will ace it.

Yours,

Aaron. 

--

May 5

Honey,

I've read your letter several times, and I want you to know that it's perfectly normal to question your path. Trust your instincts--they've led you well thus far. Remember you are allowed to change your mind. Your parents will understand.

No matter what you decide, I have no doubt you will succeed. You have a rare combination of intelligence and empathy that will serve you well in any profession.

Once I'm back, how about we go to that restaurant you love? Consider it a date.

Yours,

Aaron.

--

July 19

Honey,

Summer suits you, I can tell--even from a distance. I'm proud of the work you're doing--shadowing at the occupational therpay office and working with children is no small feat. You'll have to tell me all about it when I get back.

The case is demanding, as they often are. And as for the sweatshirt, consider it yours. I had a feeling it wouldn't find its way back to me anyway.

We should talk about getting you a key to my place. Then you'll have no need to borrow my things--you'll have access to them whenever you wish. 

I love you. I'll say it again when I see you.

Yours forever, 

Aaron

--

January 14

Honey,

Congratulations on your first semester of OT school. I am incredibly proud of you and everything you have accomplished. Smarty pants. 

I'm glad to hear you've been using the journal I gave you for Christmas. I would give you a thousand if that's what you wanted. 

When I'm back, we'll celebrate your achievements properly. Until then, know I'm grateful for you every day. You've made me the happiest I've been, and I cherish every moment we share. I love you. 

Yours forever,

Aaron 

--

May 20

Honey,

Your last letter lingered on the topic of our age difference, and I've been giving it a lot of thought. It's a subject that, admittedly, has crossed my mind more than once. But let me reassure you, to me, it's the person you are, not the years you've lived, that matters most.

I understand the concerns that come with this, and I want you to know that it's okay. Your feelings are valid. We're navigating this together, and I remain certain in my commitment to you and to us. 

We'll talk more about this when I'm home. I love you. 

Yours forever,

Aaron

--

August 8

Honey,

I want you to know that I didn't mean to leave things unresolved, I'm sorry I was called away. I'm not writing to rehash the argument. I understand everything you said, and it's given me much to think about.

You are the most important part of my life, and us being at odds is more challenging than any case I've ever face. I love you deeply, and I'm committed to finding a way through this together. When I return, let's sit down and talk--really talk. I'm sorry for the way things were left, and I hope we can move past this. 

Yours forever,

Aaron

--

December 22

Honey,

I find myself at a loss for words yet compelled to write to you. I've had time to reflect on everything that happened between us. I'm deeply sorry for any hurt I've caused, and how things unfolded. My only wish was for us to want the same things. 

Please know, I will always be here for you, in any capacity you need. I hope you find someone who is worthy of you and can provide the life you deserve. You deserve someone who can walk with you through all stages of your life--someone who can give you the family you dream of. You have so much to offer.

You are an extraordinary person, and I have no doubt you will find great love and joy. And though it may not be with me, please remember, I still love you.

Yours always,

Aaron.

--

You hadn't even realized you were crying until your tears began to soak into the page, each droplet distorting the text as it spread. Your hand moved instinctively to your face, the fabric of your sleeve brushing against your wet cheek. A decade-old ache twisted inside you sharply, as fresh as if it were only yesterday.

You returned the letters to their stack, the bow tied as neatly as it was before, and laid them at the bottom of the box. As the papers found their place, your focus shifted, something else catching your attention--the journal he'd given you.

The sudden patter of footsteps coming down the stairs snapped you back to the present. Hastily, you wiped away the lingering tears and secured the lid on the box. As you turned, your face transformed with a practiced smile just as your seven-year-old daughter came skipping into view, her voice bubbling with excitement, "Mommy, mommy!"

Gathering her up in your arms, you showered her cheeks with affectionate kisses, her infectious giggles filling the empty house. 

"When is daddy going to be home?"

With a gentle smile, you replied, "Soon, sweetheart," while your fingers danced along her side, eliciting more giggles. "Do you want to help Mommy unpack?"

She quickly scrunched her nose and shook her head. "Mmm, no, not really."

You laughed, and your heart swelled with love so intense it almost hurt. The front door swung open, and your daughter's voice pierced the air once more with a, "Daddy!"

Her little feet dashed off as she rushed to greet him, leaving you to resume unpacking. You barely had time to refocus when you felt a gentle touch in your hair.  Aaron was there, kneeling to your level with a tender smile. 

"Hi, honey," he said, his hand pausing as he noted the redness around your eyes. "What's wrong angel?"

You reach for the letters, holding them out to Aaron with a half-smile. "Just revisiting the time you were this close to losing the best thing in your life," you tease, a laugh bubbling up. But as the laughter fades, it morphs into a sob.

Aaron's laughter mingled with yours as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. "Yeah, that was a close one," he admitted, his voice a soft rumble. "Glad I came to my senses." 

[reasonsforhope]

"Clothing tags, travel cards, hotel room key cards, parcel labels … a whole host of components in supply chains of everything from cars to clothes. What do they have in common? RFID tags.  

Every RFID (Radio Frequency Identification) tag contains a microchip and a tiny metal strip of an antenna. A cool 18bn of these are made – and disposed of – each year. And with demands for product traceability increasing, ironically in part because of concerns for the social and environmental health of the supply chain, that’s set to soar. 

And guess where most of these tags end up? Yup, landfill – adding to the burgeoning volumes of e-waste polluting our soils, rivers and skies. It’s a sorry tale, but it’s one in which two young graduates of Imperial College London and Royal College of Art are putting a great big green twist. Under the name of PulpaTronics, Chloe So and Barna Soma Biro reckon they’ve hit on a beguilingly simple sounding solution: make the tags out of paper. No plastic, no chips, no metal strips. Just paper, pure and … simple … ? Well, not quite, as we shall see. 

The apparent simplicity is achieved by some pretty cutting-edge technical innovation, aimed at stripping away both the metal antennae and the chips. If you can get rid of those, as Biro explains, you solve the e-waste problem at a stroke. But getting rid of things isn’t the typical approach to technical solutions, he adds. “I read a paper in Nature that set out how humans have a bias for solving problems through addition – by adding something new, rather than removing complexity, even if that’s the best approach.”   

And adding stuff to a world already stuffed, as it were, can create more problems than it solves. “So that became one of the guiding principles of PulpaTronics”, he says: stripping things down “to the bare minimum, where they are still functional, but have as low an environmental impact as possible”.  

...how did they achieve this magical simplification? The answer lies in lasers: these turn the paper into a conductive material, Biro explains, printing a pattern on the surface that can be ‘read’ by a scanner, rather like a QR code. It sounds like frontier technology, but it works, and PulpaTronics have patents pending to protect it. 

The resulting tag comes in two forms: in one, there is still a microchip, so that it can be read by existing scanners of the sort common within retailers, for example. The more advanced version does away with the chip altogether. This will need a different kind of scanner, currently in development, which PulpaTronics envisages issuing licences for others to manufacture. 

Crucially, the cost of both versions is significantly cheaper than existing RFID kit – making this a highly viable proposition. Then there are the carbon savings: up to 70% for the chipless version – so a no-brainer from a sustainability viewpoint too. All the same, industry interest was slow to start with but when PulpaTronics won a coveted Dezeen magazine award in late 2023, it snowballed, says So. Big brands such as UPS, DHL, Marks & Spencer and Decathlon came calling. “We were just bombarded.” Brands were fascinated by the innovation, she says, but even more by the price point, “because, like any business, they knew that green products can’t come with a premium”."

-via Positive.News, April 29, 2024

--

Note: I know it's still in the very early stages, but this is such a relief to see in the context of the environmental and human rights catastrophes associated with lithium mining and mining for rare earth metals, and the way that EVs and other green infrastructure are massively increasing the demand for those materials.

I'll take a future with paper-based, more humane alternatives for sure! Fingers crossed this keeps developing and develops well (and quickly).