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lessbienlesbian · 9 months ago

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mizu x fem!reader nsfw a-z relationship headcanons

i’m sorry this took so long for me to write, but i hope y’all enjoy!

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

after both you and mizu have reached your peak, she is honestly quite clingy, although she would never admit this to anyone else. she would hold you protectively and press gentle kisses to your forehead and hairline, all while whispering about how well you did and asking if she can get you anything.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

mizu loves her hands. she loves what they look like, how they feel, and most importantly what she can do with them. she is proud of the calluses that cover them and she is proud of the skill and nimbleness with which she can use her sword and make you come undone. her favorite part of your body is your eyes, more specifically the fact that she can look into them and see so clearly that your intentions and love for her are genuine.

c = cum (anything to do with cum)

mizu loves to eat you out. she genuinely thinks that you taste so good, and will bury her face in your pussy until your juices are dripping down her chin as she looks up at you with that stupid adorable cocky smirk. sometimes she will even hold a glistening finger up to the light for you to see.

“look at this baby, is this all for me?”

“god, you smell so good. stay still sweetheart, let me taste you.”

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory)

honestly, mizu’s dirty secret is just how horny and absolutely whipped she is for you. she’s got it so bad and she would do absolutely anything for you. i know that’s not really dirty per say, but she’s pretty open about most other things.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

mizu is not very experienced at all. her only partner before you was mikio, and the sex she had with him was pleasing to her but not particularly outstanding. it also didn’t involve much action or movement on her part, so she would have a lot to learn when first being intimate with you. however, mizu is a very quick and eager learner. it is almost frustrating how naturally good she is at knowing how to touch you in just the right way.

f = favorite position

mizu is a fan of any position where she gets to be as close to you as possible. she really values the closeness and physical intimacy that goes along with having sex. bonus points if she can easily hide her face because she gets hella shy.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

mizu can actually be pretty lighthearted in the moment. i wouldn’t go as far as calling her humorous, but the playful and teasing side to her personality is definitely present. she also enjoys a playful “fight” for dominance at times, she just can’t help it with her competitive nature.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

mizu has very dark brown pubic hair that matches the hair on her head. she has a full bush and doesn’t do anything along the lines of hair removal.

i = intimacy (how romantic are they in the moment)

oh dear god mizu is so romantic. she’ll hold your hand while you fuck her, make eye contact for as long as she can, and whisper sweet nothings and intimate confessions into your ear. like by day mizu is slicing people up on the hunt to kill her potential father, and by night she’s blushing and trying to hide her face while you gently kiss her cute little pink nose. like damn, get you a girl that can do both.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

it is my personal opinion that mizu does not masturbate outside of a brief period of self discovery as an adolescent and then maybe after getting together with you if the two of you are separated for a lengthy period for whatever reason.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

i am a firm believer that mizu is very into praise, both when it comes to you and her. she LOVES to be told that she’s doing a good job and that she’s pretty because let’s face it, this girl does not hear that kinda shit very often (or at all). god she’s just so cute, shyly hiding her face in your shoulder so you can’t see how much she is blushing, biting her lip to silence the small whimpers she’s letting out, tentatively reaching over to interlace her fingers with yours. and those shy little “shut ups” mumbled in your ear are just the icing on the cake.

l = location (favorite places to do the deed)

mizu doesn’t really have a preferred location. as long as the two of you are safe and not in the view of other people, she’s good to go.

m = motivation (what turns them on)

she gets very turned on when/if the two of you spar together. the combination of competition, physical closeness, and playfulness just does it for her.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i’ll just list some off. blood, bondage (her receiving), intense degradation, exhibitionism, cnc, threesomes, intense humiliation, and breeding kink (i’ll explain this one at the end of this section). basically, she is pretty opposed to anything that makes her feel unsafe or like she doesn’t have control over what’s happening to her. that is not to say that she would be unwilling to submit if she really trusted you, she just greatly fears being taken advantage of. okay now to explain the breeding kink. i know this may be an unpopular opinion and while i do think our girl has MAD strap game, i do not think she would be into the idea of breeding. at her core, mizu feels resentment towards those who conceived her because of her hatred for and the stigma towards being mixed race. it is because of this that i believe that anything suggesting the idea of creating more people like her (even if it couldn’t actually happen) would be a major mood killer.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

mizu can be a bit sloppy when she eats you out, but she definitely prefers to give. her lack of experience combined with her tendency to just get fully pussy drunk leads to her eagerly lapping up your cum for as long as you’ll let her.

“mizu please” you groan with your hands tangled in her hair. “my clit, i need you on my clit”

p = pace

the pace at which you have sex with mizu really depends on how much time you have on your hands. she prefers to take her time with you, spending as long as possible worshipping every inch of your body. if mizu is feeling frustrated or stressed, her pace becomes more frantic and desperate as she seeks her and your release.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

if necessary, mizu will have a quickie with you, but she much prefers proper sex. realistically though, quickies are often all that there is time/proper security for, so she makes the best of the circumstances.

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

honestly, after everything that she has been through, mizu is not a risk taker when it comes to her sex life. she would be pretty vanilla when it comes to physical safety.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last?)

when mizu is on top she can go for a very long time. she takes pride in how good she can make you feel; teasing you, edging you, and making you cum over and over until you’re a quivering mess beneath her. however, she is a different story entirely. despite her incredible physical strength and stamina, mizu is so incredibly sensitive and it does not take very much stimulation or very long for her to cum.

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

mizu does not own any toys when you first meet her, as pleasure was not necessarily a priority. however, if you suggest it to her, she would DEFINITELY be open to using a harigata (dildo/strap on) and maybe even a tagaigata (double sided dildo). wearing a strap would boost her confidence an insane amount, and she’d take great pride in how well she can fuck you.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

mizu loves to tease you but is not a fan of being teased. she relishes in the way that you squirm beneath her and beg for more as that cocky little grin spreads over her smug face. but when it comes to her pleasure, as much as she is embarrassed to admit it, mizu is quite desperate and impatient.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

as evidenced by that one scene with mikio, mizu is actually pretty loud. her voice is high, feminine, and desperate. when she is trying her best to be quiet, she will express her pleasure through whimpers, gasps, and soft whispers. when volume is not a concern, the room will be flooded with loud moans and cries.

w = wild card (a random headcanon)

i think that mizu has incredibly sensitive nipples and if she let you touch them for long enough, she could cum from nipple stimulation alone. the first time this happens she is absolutely mortified, but you reassure her that it is perfectly alright.

“w-wait, y/n!” mizu whimpers, her back arching in desperation. her slender body writhes under your unrelenting touch, small gasps leaving her lips as you tug on her aching nipples.

x = x-ray

mizu is slender, toned, and lean. she is incredibly muscular and slim because of the intensity with which she trains and she is about 5’6 or 5’7. she has firm a-cup breasts with average sized pink nipples, but they are typically hidden under the fabric she uses to bind her chest. her pussy is an innie, and unless her legs are fully spread, you can only see her outer lips. when she opens herself up to you, her small clit is hidden beneath its dusky pink hood. her glistening hole is tight and small, and much to her chagrin, clenches and flutters desperately at even the slightest bit of stimulation. the poor girl is just so sensitive and needy.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

as much as she hates to admit it, mizu has a very high sex drive. she gets turned on super easily, especially when it comes to anything involving you. you could literally brush your fingertips against her hip and she would become a flustered mess.

z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

mizu can fall asleep pretty quickly, but she prefers to stay awake until you are asleep. if you catch onto this habit and decide to question her about it, she will deny it. watching over you to make sure that your sleep is restful and you are under her protection for as long as possible doesn’t exactly fit her image in the beginning. then, by the time you’ve gotten to see her softer side, she will deny it more for your sake. she doesn’t want you to know how much she worries about you for fear of teasing, being a smothering presence, and being admonished for sacrificing her own basic needs to make sure that yours are met. as much as mizu fronts as a combative, snarky, and abrasive person, she is also deathly afraid of conflict and abandonment with/from those she truly loves and cares about. that is to say, she wouldn’t want to get into an argument with you about how she needs to take care of herself better. she prefers to close her eyes and just listen to your breathing as it slowly evens out, leaving you unaware of her ploy. unbeknownst to her, you are aware of this “secret” scheme, and you let her get away with it. after all, it’s just another way that she tells you that she loves you, without expecting anything in return.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #bes mizu #mizu #mizu x you #bes mizu x reader #mizu x fem!reader #mizu smut #mizu x y/n

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gladoswantscake · 2 months ago

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Condemned to Repeat - Dracula x Reader (DBD)

Summary: You haven't quite escaped from him.

Warnings: Horror, blood, and mild suggestive themes (the blood makes him freaky lol)

A/N: Continuation as the previous one, but you don't really need to read the previous story unless you want to. This can serve as chapter two or a standalone.

Enjoy @nathscalet 😌 The wait is over. I hope you and everyone else like it.

(It's a shame they didn't add his castle to the game 😔)

Available on AO3

"𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺." (𝘙𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 21:4)

The warm tears grew heavier when you realized there was no escape from him. The gentle grip on your jaw eases as you lower your head to hide your tears from him.

"Please look at me." The tone of his voice saddens. "It greatly pains me to see you in such distress."

You shook your head in reply. Words couldn't come out of your mouth as you were losing more of your composure. You then felt his arms wrapping around you, pulling you into his embrace.

"It'll be alright." He whispered.

That's when you lost it. You sink your loud, muffled cries into the crook of his neck, and your hands reach for his shoulder, tightly gripping him. You felt his sharp nails run through your wet hair in an attempt to calm you down.

"Please don't weep." He kisses the top of your head. "I promise you after tonight, you will no longer shed tears. For you will be contented with me forever."

The last thing you remembered that night was he guided you to a spare bedroom to help clean you up and rest, and then you blacked out.

After that, you woke up in the middle of the dark forest laying against a tree. A woman named Claudette was the first person to discover your unconscious body. A few other survivors were sitting at a campfire upon being brought.

There were many others, you were told, but they were in different realms serving their 'trials.' That's what the others called it. Realms created by "the Entity" to watch for enjoyment. You remembered seeing the supposed Entity right after your car accident. It must have gotten you before you had the opportunity to escape. You learned of the other's names from the campfire: Nea, Alan, and Gabriel. They somehow came from different alternate worlds that you never knew existed. They briefly filled you in on what you needed to know and what to expect. Most importantly, they reminded you that getting everyone out of the trial was the number one priority.

Unfortunately, it doesn't always happen.

It didn't take you long to be transported to a trial for the first time. But this realm felt too familiar to you.

Then it hit you.

You found yourself back in Dracula's castle. Your heart sank at the familiarity. That meant he was here, too.

The castle this time was eerie, dark, and much colder. The occasional running footsteps of your teammates and generators drowned out the silence of Dracula's home.

Your teammates were getting slaughtered fast, which meant there was a possibility of no one escaping the trial, but you were lucky you hadn't run into him yet.

You remember one of your teammates mentioning a hatch. It only appears when one survivor remains, guaranteeing an escape from the trial. Their only advice was the fastest way to find the hatch was to keep your ears peeled.

All three of your teammates were massacred. There was one last blood-curdling scream before the castle went utterly silent. Only you and Dracula remained in the trial. You had to find the hatch and fast.

You ran and ran until your chest was heaving, lungs were burning, and legs growing heavier the longer you ran. The castle felt like a maze. You swore you had looped around the main entrance twice. Your heavy footsteps and panting alerted your presence, but you were more focused on escaping. The quicker you find the hatch, the less time you'd spend in your captor's manor. You prayed for this to be the last time you had to relive it.

There was a faint sound in the distance. A high-pitched rapid clicking sound was drawing closer to you down the hallway. You turned around to investigate the noise. A swarm of bats were heading your way. You took off again. Running with whatever energy you had left in you. The sound of bats soon became fast footsteps. With your stamina used up, a hand reaches for your mouth and pushes you up against the wall.

The force of your body being thrown against the textured wall causes you to yell out in pain. You look up at the person who did it.

Dracula.

It almost looked like he was a rabid animal within the state he was in. His eyes were now a red crimson color, and his mouth and white beard was covered in blood. His fanged grin was mad. "I was afraid I would never see you again."

His clawed hand finds your jaw and tilts your head to examine your neck. He leans into your ear to listen to your pulse. His bloodied tongue then drags against your skin. The uncomfortable grip on your jaw tightens.

"If I let your friends escape, I wouldn't have any alone time with you." You could smell the sweet metallic scent of your teammates' blood from his breath.

"Are you going to kill me too?"

He looks back at you, chuckling. "I would have done that earlier if you were another worthless mortal."

He takes a moment to listen to the pounding of your heart in your chest. His gaze darkens as he grins. "I hope your heart is pounding because you're delighted to see me."

Tears trickle from your eyes. "Please let me go." You beg.

He ignored your cries. Instead, he takes in the rhythmic beating of your pulses and the feeling of your body close to his. The sensations were driving him mad. He wanted to take his time. He wanted to express how much he was devoted to you. The Entity can wait.

"I cannot let you go, I'm afraid." His hot breath hits your ear. "You have no idea how long I've yearned for you, my love." His kisses are applied with more emotion. His kisses travel from your jawline to your shoulder. His breathing becomes irregular as his arousal grows. The blood of your teammates was making it worse. Their blood was good, but not as pure and rich as when he tasted yours for the first time. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep himself from losing self-control.

His intimate thoughts abruptly stopped when he heard your voice.

"Vlad…" He listens close when he heard you call him by his real name. Your warm hands reach for his pale, cold face to force him to look at you. He stares deeply at you, feeling inattentive and relaxed by your touch.

"Please…" Your eyes glisten. You were tired and exhausted. You were ready to get it over with. You've come to terms once again with the fact that there was no way out. Maybe dying by his hand was a better option than to be sacrificed to the Entity. It would be quick. You prayed that your death would take you to the afterlife.

He hesitated for a moment with your request. He couldn't let you go nor kill you. It would hurt him deeply. He couldn't live without you. Instead, he pulls you away from the wall, gripping your waist.

"Forgive me…my love." He slightly lowers your back.

He presses his lips against yours. A mixture of blood and saliva enters your mouth as his kiss quickly deepens. The sharp nails of his fingers lightly dig into your scalp as his fangs gently poke your upper lip. Your back lowers more, and your hands grip the neck of his cape to prevent yourself from falling.

Suddenly, your eyes widen, followed by gasping pain coming from you. Your body froze as you now realize his teeth are plunging deep into your neck. The ringing in your eardrums grows louder as you lose sight of your surroundings.

"V-Vlad…" Your voice quietly croaks. "Stop… Please." Your voice slowly trails off.

He felt your body go limp. He accomplished what he wanted to do. "You will join me soon." He kisses your forehead. "I promise to keep you safe."

#finished this up at nearly 2 am 😮‍💨#dead by daylight #dbd #dbd oneshots #dead by daylight oneshots #dead by daylight x reader #dbd x reader #dracula x reader #dracula #vampire #castlevania #castlevania x reader #castlevania oneshots #vampire x reader #dracula vlad tepes #dracula vlad tepes x reader #my creation

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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Dead Man Walking || LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader Summary: A night out with your best friend ends in her brother's bed. For my sweet, @morgan108 and the nonnie who introduced me to the song Dead Man Walking by Jon Bellion Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, fingering smutish, fluff, angst WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist || One || Two

You were halfway into the strapless dress you had chosen for the night out when the door swung open and Lando stepped inside with a package in his hands.

“Flo, can you please stop ordering shit off my Amazo-”

You gasped as you dropped the material to cover your boobs but the thin satin just fluttered to your feet, baring even more to him. The lace thong did little to hide anything and his eyes drifted down over your body, down to the heels you wore and back up again before he realised he was checking you out.

The package fell from his hands and he covered his eyes as you both winced at the sound of something shattering inside. “I didn’t see anything.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Norris,” you stated as you swiped the dress up and covered yourself properly.

“I swear,” he cleared his throat and peeked between his fingers to see you were dressed before his hands slipped into his pockets and he rocked on the balls of his feet with a smirk. “I absolutely did not see the cute little tattoo on your hip.”

You turned around and closed your eyes so you didn't have to see the hungry look in his. He was your best friend's brother, you had known him since you were three years old. You shouldn’t even hazard to think about him the way you did, and you definitely shouldn’t enjoy the way he looked at you. Well, the way he looked at you these past few years at least.

Somewhere along the way he stopped seeing you as the annoying little girl who would steal his snacks on movie nights and started seeing you as…something more.

“Unless you want your sister to strangle you, I suggest you get out of here now.”

He threw his hands up at the idea. “It’s my house.”

You cocked a hand on your hip and he bit his lip at the memory of the dainty little constellation inked into the skin that lay beneath. He hadn't been close enough to see it in detail but he was certain it was your star sign. “It’ll be an estate sale if she catches you in here.”

With a sigh he backed up, murmuring under his breath as he left, “Last time I let her hide out here for the holidays.”

Every surface of the house was littered with Flo’s belongings. She had spent the last two weeks in Monte Carlo with Lando and you were joining her for the last weekend before summer break was over and it was back to university. You were going to make the most of the trip and planned on seeing just how wild the nightlife could get in the small city.

It was only moments after Lando left the room that Flo swept in and she stumbled to a stop. “Holy shit, babes, you look gorgeous! Don’t let Lando see you in that.”

“Why not?” you asked as you grabbed your perfume, the same one he had once commented smelt good on you.

Flo crossed the room with a peculiar look on her face and she stepped right into your personal space so she wouldn’t be overheard. “I haven’t seen him with a girl the entire time I have been here, like not even on the phone. That's weird right?”

You pursed your lips and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Do you have sun stroke?”

She brushed your hand aside with a roll of her blue eyes that matched her brothers perfectly. “The horndog hasn’t been horndogging.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound how you think it does,” you said as you grabbed her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake so she could refocus her thoughts. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Because you’re stunning and, most importantly, you’re the only female in this house that is not related to him. I know you would never betray me like that but I know that horndog would totally try it on with you.”

“Seriously, Flo, I think you need a drink more than me,” you laughed, shaking your head as you grabbed your clutch and started to tow her out of the room. “I’m sure your brother’s not desperate enough to risk death. Plus, he could open his front door, throw a rock and hit ten supermodels in this place. I think I’m safe.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you compare yourself to supermodels when you are literally the most beautiful person I know - inside and out.”

“I’m not wearing waterproof eyeliner so can we please go before you make me cry?” You looped your arms together before descending the stairs where Lando was waiting with Max, the two watching some video on Lando’s phone before the tap of your heels caught their attention.

“Oh boy, you’re going to be busy tonight. Good luck keeping the guys away from them,” Max laughed as he slapped his best friend's chest. “Ladies, looking lovely as always.”

“Not so bad yourself, Fewtrell,” you said with a wink, abandoning Flo’s arm for his. “Now what’s this I hear about you playing Counter Strike? Who am I supposed to shit talk with in the COD chat room now?”

“Counter Strike isn’t too bad,” he teased as he led the way to the Jolly and pulled the front seat forward for you to climb in the back, “maybe you could come to the dark side.”

“Who kicked your puppy?” Flo asked quietly and you looked away from Max to see Lando looking angry as he ignored his sister’s question.

“You, upfront,” he said with a nod of his head your way.

“I’m fine here.”

“Flo doesn’t need the leg room,” he countered as he snapped his finger, making your brow lift at the action.

“Bro, you're stressing,” Max laughed, reaching for the chair and pulling it back into place so Flo could sit down. “Let’s just get to the club.”

You could feel his eyes on you in the rearview mirror the entire time and it would have been a lie if you said you didn’t enjoy teasing him. The pair of blue eyes narrowed when you shifted closer to Max, leaning across him to point at random shops and monuments, asking him pointless questions about them until you nearly flew forward with the heavy break Lando made. It was only Max’s quick reflexes that saved you, his arms catching you around the middle and tugging you back into his arms.

“Dude, where did you get your licence?” he complained as he kicked the seat in front of him, earning a glare from Lando.

“Fucking Mario Kart,” you muttered as you settled back in the seat.

As soon as you got to the club you ditched the guys and found your way to the bar.

“What was up with your brother?” you asked after ordering some shots. “He was being a bit of a twat.”

“I have no idea, he’s just like Mila - if he doesn’t get a nap he’s a nightmare to deal with.” The drinks were put down and talk of Lando was forgotten. “Bottoms up, babe.”

You groaned as you slowly came to consciousness thanks to the uncomfortable, hard pillow. You knew if you opened your eyes you wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep so you tried to fluff it out with a whack of your fist, only for a pained groan to jolt your senses.

“What the fuck was that for?”

You bolted upright as your eyes flew open and saw the smooth expanse of Lando’s chest, small outlines of your ear shaped into his skin from laying there all night. Your eyes drifted down his body and you held the memory of feeling every inch of it last night.

“What did you do?” you whispered as you covered your mouth only to drop your hands to your body when you found you were equally as naked as he was. “Oh, fuck. Lando…”

“Yeah, you said that last night,” he chuckled as he sat up, his abs hardening with the movement and distracting you from what he was saying. “Though it was a little more breathless and a bit higher pitched.” Grabbing your waist, he pulled you over his lap and tipped your head back so you could see the little smirk on his face. “As for what I did, well, it was everything you asked for, no, begged me for.”

Your skin was too warm against his, the replay in your mind making your eyes shut as you tried to block it out. You had begged him, and he had been more than willing to give you everything you asked for.

“This was a mistake. You are a dead man walking if Flo ever finds out.” You covered your face as you shook your head. “Oh, god, she was right, you were desperate. That’s the only reason this happened, why it was me and not some other chick who would blabber to the press. You knew I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“You’re wrong, about everything. I’m not desperate, you muppet,” Lando breathed across your skin and you peeked through the gap in your fingers as he kissed your shoulder. “How could I want anyone else when you’re all I ever think about?”

You could see Flo getting lost in the crowd as she danced with a handsome monegasque, the sway of her hips translating despite not being able to speak the same language. It was a side profile from the corner of your eye that pulled your attention away from her and you spotted Lando making a direct line her way.

“Shit,” you swore as you did what any best friend would do and ran interference. “Hey Lan, I don’t think I thanked you for letting me stay at your place this weekend. It’s really nice of you.”

He looked torn as his eyes darted between you and the space where Flo had been before disappearing deeper into the night club. Without the distraction of the punk trying to grind on his sister he was able to give all his attention to you and you saw the switch as his face relaxed, the hard lines easing and a playful smile gracing his lips.

“I would say anytime, but I think you would get me in trouble,” he teased, dipping his head closer to yours to make conversation easier, at least that's what you told yourself.

“You get yourself into trouble,” you pointed out as his hands found your waist and he pulled your body closer. “This is what I mean.”

His lips brushed your cheek and the gravel in his voice sent goosebumps prickling over your skin. “We’re just dancing, love.”

Your bodies had moved closer and closer with each beat of the song until there wasn’t an iota of space between you. His palms had glided down the satin material to rest on the swell of your ass and your arms had draped around his neck. You could feel his breath on your skin when he buried his face in your neck and grazed his lips lightly over your racing pulse.

“Do you know that you drive me crazy?” he asked with a nip of his teeth and you shook your head. “You do. Seeing you flirt with other guys, seeing the way they look at you…”

You pulled back to see the hard lines return to his jaw as he clenched his teeth and you twirled your fingers around the short curls at his nape. “How do they look at me?”

“The same way I do,” he answered quickly before stepping out of your embrace. “But they have a chance that I never will.”

He started to walk away and you knew you should have let him because he was right. You loved Flo, and she had made it clear from the moment you realised that boys didn’t have cooties that Lando was off limits, just like your group of friends were off limits to him. You should have let him walk away.

“She cannot find out,” you whispered as your body started to respond to the small lines he traced down your spine and over your hip.

He chuckled as his hand reached your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he guided them apart. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Your lips parted with a soft gasp as his fingers reached the juncture of your thighs and you combed your fingers into his hair as he teased your entrance. “Kiss me,” you begged, your voice quiet with the knowledge his sister, your best friend, was asleep on the other side of the wall. “Please, Lando.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he tortured you with slow circles until he sealed his lips with yours and stole the cry of pleasure when he finally curled two fingers into you. “Shh, love,” he chuckled as he brought you the edge of bliss on his lap, his eyes devouring the sight of your undoing right in front of him. “Been wanting this since we played Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

Your ears were ringing as your heart beat erratically and your body flushed with fever. Your legs began to tremble and your toes curled into his mattress as he pinned you to his lap with one arm curled around your waist and the other kept you dancing on the knife's edge.

“You were my first kiss,” he confessed against your lips as the tension in your body snapped and he used his lips to smother the whimpers and moans he swore were the sweetest sounds he had ever heard.

“You were mine too.” Collapsing weakly in his arms, your head rolled into the crook of his neck where it fit perfectly. “I wanted you to be my first everything.”

Click here for part two.

#lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 smut #lando norris smut

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i-love-ptv · 11 months ago

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High By the Beach

Felix Catton x reader

Smut <3

An: AHHH SECOND FIC BBS!! ENJOY! Also, if I was Oliver, the drain wouldn’t be the only thing i’m sucking on…

(ik Felix smokes cigs but i feel like he’ll get high every once n a while :3)

Felix loves to get high. But he loves fucking you even more. Adding the two together makes him feel like he just might have made it to heaven early.

The sight of you, his angel, wrapping your pouty, bitten lips around a blunt makes his cock twitch inside of you. Although, he makes a mental note of not biting your lips as hard. He couldn’t be rough with his sweet baby. After all, he is a gentle, and passionate lover. For now, anyways.

He always became so soft when high; wanting nothing more than to please you, and show you how much he loves you.

His strokes are sloppy, as he messily pumps in and out of you. Even so, you can still feel and see the passion and love he has for you.

Neither of you ever pay attention to how long the both of you remain intertwined. The two of you could go for hours and not think twice about it; but there are zero complaints from either side.

But sometimes, after he’s had one too many puffs, his mind gets hazy. That’s a given of course, but this makes him zone out. Makes him forget where exactly he is. Leading to him accidentally sliding out of your soaked cunt.

He comes down from the clouds in his head and realizes his mistake.

“s-shit. oh m’so sorry lovie, s’alright..lemme make it all better baby.” He slurs out in a whisper.

Nothing makes him happier than when he blows the smoke into your face; watching your eyes droop as you inhale softly.

The noises that can be heard in the room are his soft, needy groans; the slight bang of the headboard bumping against the wall; his big, heavy balls slapping against your skin. And most importantly, the sound of your high-pitch moans.

That’s his favorite noise in the whole world. It sounds like a heavenly gospel to him; the sweet melody of his angel. He swears it’s the best song he’s ever heard.

“tha’s right m’sweet angel, sing t’me.”

He doesn’t care who hears, in fact, that’s the last thing on his mind. All he can think about is how he’s pressing on your tummy as your pussy clenches around him. How your whines and cries become more rapid and abrupt; how your back arches while he continues to press you down into the mattress.

“c’mon baby, do it f’me. I know y’can”

His eyes shine as you cum around his cock; your pussy sucking him in. His brows furrow as he feels your delicious cum start to drip onto his cock. He looks down and watches the smoke crowd the bed as the base of his dick and his balls turns milky white from your drenched cunt. His thrusts slowly come to an end.

“ohhhh m’sweet angel, y’did soo good f’me.” He coos as he lays on top of you.

As you go to ask him about what he wants to do when it comes to him finishing, you hear soft snores exit his body.

You finish off the blunt and eventually drift off to sleep, the thought of Felix leaving himself unfinished roaming through your mind.

Felix didn’t think about coming, his goal was to give you the pleasure that you need; the pleasure that you deserve.

After all, he is a passionate lover.

#lee’s writing! ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎#felix catton #jacob elordi #saltburn #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #oliver quick #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #jacob elordi x reader #jacob elordi imagine #felix catton x you #x reader #farleigh start #farleigh start x reader

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ravens-two · 5 months ago

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PAC: How will the aftercare be like 18+

This reading includes:

how the aftercare will be like

The extended reading includes:

what you'll think/feel after sex

what your person will think/feel after sex

Disclaimer: this is just for entertainment purposes, and as a pick-a-card reading it may not resonate for everyone. Also, this content is 18+ only!

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

Seven of Pentacles, Page of Swords - White Light

Hi pile 1, the first thing I'm getting is that you're probably going to feel very tired after sex. Perhaps one of you falls asleep quickly. I'm even seeing that for some of you, you might take a nap and then cuddle and talk after that.

This pile seems to feel really connected to their partner after sex. It's like you two are on the same wavelength and can understand each other perfectly during this moment. I think that despite this tiredness that came up, you two are going to talk a lot after sex. There will be a lot of pillow talk. I just got the words "performance review" lmao, so you two might talk about what you enjoyed or didn't enjoy. Maybe even what you'd want to try next.

In general though, this is such a sweet pile. I see a lot of cuddling, holding each other, soft kisses and caressing each other. There's a funny energy here because it seems that one of you is very practical and pragmatic, like wanting to clean up and sleep because you need to wake up early the next day, while the other is romantic and dreamy and just wants to hold on to their partner for a little longer.

Check out the extended reading on patreon

Pile 2

Ten of Pentacles, Three of Swords - Phoenix

Pile 2, with the Phoenix card here sex with this person is a very intense experience for you, almost transformative. It's almost as if you feel like you get broken down and then put back together again, stronger. For some of you this could even be related to BDSM or a rougher type of sex that needs some more attentive aftercare. I get that there may be physical pain here that somehow helps with any emotional pain that you may be going through.

Your person will take very good care of you. They will be so gentle and loving with helping you to clean up and make sure that you're not hurt. I see them talking a lot to you, making sure to get verbal confirmation that you're alright. They're also very loving with their words, telling you how much they enjoyed it, how well you did, etc.

During sex your partner might have been a bit "mean" to you, so it's important for them to reestablish a loving connection with you again. They will want to hold you in their arms and make sure that you feel safe and loved. In general, this pile is very, very intense and you might be crying after sex.

Check out the extended reading on patreon

Pile 3

King of Swords, Four of Pentacles - Shoots

Pile 3, the energy here is slightly colder in comparison to the other piles. Your partner seems to be a bit more distant or not so emotional as they usually are after sex. They seem like the kind of person who withdraws a little bit to process their emotions and feelings. Still, your partner has a big caregiving energy. Not to be weird but this is daddy energy, to be honest.

Your partner seems like the kind of person that is more worried about your physical needs, rather than emotional. I see them bringing you food and water, helping you to clean up. With the King of Swords here too there's this energy that your partner is trying their best to be fair and make sure that you're feeling good, but most importantly that they made you feel good. They seem like the type of person who wants reassurance about their performance.

Something just a little unrelated but this pile seems very fertile, if you or your partner can get pregnant please be careful with that. This emotional distance might also be because this relationship is still in its early stages and your connection is still growing. I can see that it grows stronger every time.

Check out the extended reading on patreon

Pile 4

Six of Swords, Three of Wands - Time

Hey pile 4, your partner seems like someone who isn't used to aftercare or someone who tends to "run away" after sex. They might have a bit of trouble in being vulnerable at first, it takes them time to open up and adapt to your needs. For some of you though, it's your person that needs more aftercare than you or it may be you who does more aftercare naturally. I have a sense that, in general, your partner is exhausted, maybe emotionally, after sex.

For others, your partner leaves you absolutely exhausted. Sex is probably very long-winded and your partner always wants to go again and again. They only stop when you physically can't keep up. Because of this they may end up giving you massages or massaging certain parts of your body that are sore. I'm seeing mostly hips and back.

Your partner also seems like they're the type of person who wants to bask in the afterglow. You know in the movies with the guys kicking back with a cigarette? That sort of vibe. Well, they may actually want to smoke afterwards. No matter what, your person doesn't want loose that feeling of calm and relaxation. They won't want to talk about anything too deep or potentially upsetting.

Check out the extended reading on patreon

#tarot #pac reading #pick a card #tarot reading #pac #pick a pile #love tarot reading #18+ pac #18+ readings

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sordidmusings · 10 months ago

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Give (in) and Take (me) - (Beckman x Reader)

Art by shibama_TK9

A/N: *Hasn’t completed a smut in weeks, comes back throwing a niche character at you to spread simpin for him like a virus* plz love him he’s great and while he ain’t my main I’d have nooooooo complaints in partaking 😩 tryin to give the Beckman lovers some content because it is devastatingly scant and he’s quite the treat

Word Count: ~8.7k

Warnings: fem!reader, NSFW, there’s some plot at the front and back, bratty reader, brat-tamer Beckman, he does the Nanami hair grab 👌🏻, semi-public, standing, against the wall, man-handling, clothed sex, p in v, creampie, praise, degredation, lots of teasing on both sides, age gap? (briefly mentioned, ~30 and late 40s), Beckman is a lil mean but don't worry he's Whipped, this some filth filth 🥴 whoops

Now please come enjoy prodding the big gruff man (who just wants to treat you right) until he snaps

(˵¯͒〰¯͒˵)

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

You’ve had enough of the raucous jubilation in the bar, especially now that you noticed your awaited opening unfolding before you. The rest of the Red Hair Pirates were fully distracted in their jovial whirling, hooting, and playing, leaving a certain silver smoke cloud all by his lonesome. You’d been dancing through his whisps all night, enjoying how they’d wrap and curl around you as you went. It was in their nature to do so. Each brush of a hand got a shiver and a sigh and a trailing stare. Each floated conversation was leaned into, breathed in, savored. Each departure was followed with the turn and lean of his chest, pulled to follow from the sure grip on his thumping heart until his doubts rooted him down and resisted the tug.

You were plagued by your own doubts, mostly of what the “after” would look like, but you were certain of one thing: he was attracted. Along with his need to entwine with your presence, you’d noticed the tell-tale sign of his gaze drawn to lips, neck, breasts, hips, and thighs. You’d noticed the hunger growing his pupils so they could better suck in your image on each glance. You’d noticed how he had to keep flicking his tongue out to wet his lips, mouth dry from restrained need. Most importantly, you’d noticed the way he had to shift and shuffle while he watched you dance, fighting the need to pull you away for himself to join and trying to flush the heat from his body. Whatever it was that was holding him in his seat and keeping his hands and lips and tongue off of you, you were going to drag him right through it until he was fully in your grasp.

First thing’s first, you retook your spot on the stool next to him at the bar. Immediately the smoke tendrils embraced you; your drink was scooted back in front of you, his thigh slid sideways to seek the brush of yours, a lethargic smile took residence on his face to greet you. You responded with a coy smile of your own and then a hearty gulp of your drink. The steady burn and potent taste of liquorice cutting through the muddled mint and lemon centered you and heartened you for your plan of attack.

“Thanks, Becks, glad to have you as my cocktail guard dog,” you said with teasing humor. You gave his thigh a friendly pat that crossed the amicable boundary with a lingering hold and gentle squeeze, before you brought the hand back up to give you another sip of your drink. The taste of touch on his thick muscle had it twitch in delight. Your mouth watered at the feel, not quite sated with alcohol on your tongue when there should be skin.

“Any time, darlin’,” Beckman responded easily and honestly. “Though I don’t think there’s any here who would do much to it. Much more likely one of the fools will steal it to drink for themselves.”

You laughed at the statement, knowing how true it was. When the crew was drunk they got sticky fingers, and when it came to drinks they were the worst - none quite remembering whose was whose and caring even less to get it right. Knowing where you wanted to try and get this night to go, you’d kept yourself far behind them in intoxication. You kept yourself right in the sweet spot of inebriated enough for that coveted liquid courage but not so much that you were out of control of yourself. Besides, if you got your way you didn’t want any of the details to be foggy.

“Even so, it’s appreciated,” you reasserted, giving him a winning smile and stalling his heart. “Now can I ask another favor of you?”

“‘Course you can, darlin’,” he replied instantly. Another cheer rang out in the background, followed by the beginnings of a long and loud drinking song. Beckman used this as an excuse to lean into your space to better hear and see you. “What can I do for you?”

You centered yourself more forward towards the bar, just to force him to lean in even closer to chase you, and peeked at him from the corner of your eye. The look mixed with your mischievous smile had him ready and eager to agree to whatever you had in mind. Not that he’d let you see how easy it was for you to sway him.

“Well…” you trailed off, just to make him squirm, “I can think of lots of things you could do for me. I’m having trouble picking my favorite.”

Beckman’s brows rose at the blatant flirting. Sure, you’d both thrown some flirtatious comments at each other throughout your relationship, but they didn’t feel anything like this. They felt easy, friendly - like something to build rapport and have fun. This felt so much heavier - a gift offered to him that was pulling the possibility of closeness from cloudy dreams down to the ground with the weight of the warm cast of the bar lights, the dark desire in your eyes, and the sultry tone of your voice. He began to recount how many drinks he’d had to check if he was imagining the advances he’d long wished for. Maybe he should check for you too.

“Darlin’, how many drinks you got in you?” There was genuine concern in the question, mixing with a touch of incredulity. You scoffed at it all.

“Not enough to lose my sense, thank you very much,” you answered. To snub his misplaced worries, you downed the rest of your drink. “That was only the fifth of the night, we’ve been here hours, and you know it takes much more than that to take me down.”

“That it does,” Beckmann conceded. The bare affection in his voice and eyes while he said it had you flushing, finding care much more difficult to process than lust. “Now my task?”

Yet again, you took to keeping him in suspense. Instead of answering, you slowly drew your gaze over him, assessing him. He fought against the small shiver it put through him; he felt like you were staring straight through his clothes. He felt like he was getting the most important appraisal of his life and all he had to go on was the burning in your eyes and your cryptic smile. You were doing a better job of reading him; while his expression remained perfectly schooled, you were observant enough to see his tells. Just as when he watched you dance, he shifted in his seat, working through the flush of arousal poured on him from his nervousness and having your eyes glued to him. Between the curtains of his wavy silver hair, you saw his Adam's apple bob with a strong swallow. He started lightly drumming on the bartop with his fingers on the hand closest to you.

Using that to your advantage, you made your next move. Doing it slowly so he could layer each second with his anticipation, you trailed your fingertips across the knuckles of his fidgeting hand, halting the motion. You flicked your gaze up to check in on his eyes. They mostly held confusion, but so so much interest was also packed into his silver irises. Happy with the reaction, you proceeded to move your teasing touch further, traveling over the back of his hand and his wrist to play with the soft hair on his forearm in deliberate circles. Though he was nearly bursting with questions, Beckman kept his mouth shut and resolved to let you lead this at your own pace until you finally decided it was time to reveal your hand to him.

“I’ve decided,” you started, finally breaking the silence with an alluring whisper, “that I want more than one favor.” You stopped watching your fingers touch him to look at him through your lashes. “And I know where you can start.”

Beckman blew out a long breath, hoping to settle down his heart, which was still jumping and kicking. You’re not drunk, but this has to be the alcohol. You couldn’t be propositioning him. Him. Maybe he’s just a curiosity? Perhaps you were interested in trying out an experience with an older lover who’s had more years to learn his way around a woman? Maybe, even though you could have your choice of any of the patrons, you found him to be the easy target.

“And where is that?” he asked, making sure to keep his tone steady.

“You can take me home.” You noticed the real shock in his gaze, and for the first time in the encounter a bit of panic seeped into you. Thinking quickly to soften the blow, you explained, “Don’t wanna walk home alone with even a little alcohol in me, and I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Aye, darlin’, that I will.” The honesty in his words stoked your courage back into a steady burn even better than the one brought on by the hard drinks.

Using the hand that had been trailing over his forearm, you loosely held his wrist, slid smoothly from your seat, and began leading him out of the bar. Beckman followed you easily. You didn’t have to put any pressure behind your hold on him; he wouldn’t let you get more than a step ahead of him. Even with his close hover, you both ducked and weaved with practiced grace through the chaos of your crew and the rowdy celebration they’d whipped up with all the other patrons. By the time you’d reached the entrance, you’d ducked three swinging fists, five drunken “dances”, two frisbeed hats, one flung fork, and a pair of tossed shirts.

The door shutting behind you sealed away the cacophony of the crowd, melding it with the comforting ambience of late night bugsong and strangers distantly living their lives. The outside world felt pleasantly chill and calm, especially in contrast to the atmosphere of the bar. The slight bite to the air only made the small contact between the two of you feel that much sweeter in its skin-to-skin warmth. Both you and Beckman sucked in a deep breath of crisp evening air to savor the moment.

Throwing a cheeky (and, to his worry, slightly plotting) smile his way, you began to head in the direction of the docks. You only made it about eight steps. The moment the alley between buildings opened on your right, you yanked Beckman into the shadows with you. He stumbled after you with barely a fight, continuing his emotional flavors of the night: confused, intrigued, and happy to be here. Once you fell past the full streams of light from the street lamps, you spun around to him and pounced.

You began by rooting him in place, fisting your hands tight into his shirt by his waist and stepping so close that your chests and stomachs and hips and thighs touched. You leaned up to place a kiss right above the point in his v-neck, relishing the heat of his skin against your lips. You shivered at the feeling of a twitch of interest against your lower stomach. His hands quickly found your waist and gripped. He worried the flesh under his fingers, earning his first quiet moan from you. It only made his grip stiffen, warring with himself between his disbelief at your advances and the rabid need to pull you closer and make sure you never stopped.

Beckman began to use his hold on you to ease you back from him. You responded with a frustrated whine and greedy hands. Those hands massaged their way across the packed muscles of his sides and chest before twisting in the fabric over his large pecs and tugging him down to your height. Taking advantage of the untouched skin now within reach, you kissed and sucked your way over his collarbone and up his neck.

His plan of retreat crumbled under your advance, leaving him to paw his grip down to the meat of your hips and try not to succumb to the fierce instinct to grind his aching cock against you. Your head spun with your rushing blood and skipping breaths. The whirl was spurred on by finally getting to know the taste of his skin, the feeling of his coveting hands keeping you close, the sound of his stuttering breaths morphing into panting. Now you just needed to spur him from receiving into action.

“Beck, touch me,” you whispered against his ear. He shivered fully from your lips and breath ghosting over him and filling his skin with addictive tingles. Losing his concentration, Beckman guided your hips in one long, sturdy grind against his straining hardness. You nipped his earlobe in appreciation. “I want you to touch me.”

“You’re drunk,” he weakly protested.

“We both know I’m not,” you shot back. Switching your methods, you crawled your hands up his shoulders, his neck, and into his hair. You led him with sweet and teasing kisses against his cheek and jaw, playing with the way his head always tilted to follow your affections in a wanting daze.

“You should look for another man to share your body,” he tried again, this time managing to sound assertive through the breathiness of his voice.

“Do you really want another man touching me?” you bit back at him.

“No,” he instantly growled. The mere idea had always put a pang in his heart but feeling your touch and hearing the words from you made it more real, and he was no match for the spike of angry possessiveness that overtook him.

“Good,” you cooed coyly, lips back against his ear, “because I don’t want that either.” You took a long moment to tease your nails against his scalp and nip the skin next to his pulse. He succumbed to another torturous grind against you. Each press of him gave you a better idea of what he was hiding and had your mind running rampant trying to figure out how it would feel splitting you open.

“I want you,” you moaned, pushing all the genuine need into your voice that you could.

“Come on, pretty thing, you don’t mean that,” Beckman stubbornly argued. He’d sound much more convincing if he wasn’t moaning the words out with his strained rumble, turning the statement into a plea.

“I do though,” you whined back to him, right below his ear where you were working hard to leave another pretty mark. For all his propriety fueled hesitation, Beckman was still leaning down so you could reach his neck and tilting his stubbled jaw away, pleading for more of your attention. “I do mean it.”

Your own desperation and his unspoken pleas for your touch fueled your boldness. One of your hands left his tresses to wedge between your pressed hips and grab a hold of him. A groan shook through his ribs, only encouraging your hand to press and feel more. His cock twitched and jumped under your slow strokes and palming, begging for your touch when he wouldn’t. His cheek fell to your shoulder and his humid panting caressed your neck.

“Pretty girl, if you keep touching me like that,” his speech was interrupted by a poorly restrained moan, “I’m not gonna be able to keep my head.”

“Then don’t,” you encouraged, voice rushed and ravenous and pulling him to the depths of his urges in his new favorite siren song.

Having felt him in your palm, you became set on getting to feel him skin to skin. You wanted to feel the power of the radiant heat that poured from him so strongly you both felt like you were burning through your clothes. You wanted to see what’s been hidden from you, become privy to secrets that will let your fantasies forever hold more reality. You wanted to know he let you have this piece of him, let you take his body and take control of his pleasure. On top of all of that, you wanted to feel, see, and know the thick hardness that was going to stretch you wide open.

In your rush, you only gave yourself time to trail a few kisses down his chest on your way to your knees. Beckman leaned himself back on the wall of the bar, opening himself up to as much of your touch as you would give. He still attempted to keep his defense under the siege of temptation, taking to opening and closing his hands at his sides to keep them from manhandling you. He wasn’t strong enough, however, to push you away. Each touch of yours was teasing him with the heaven he’d been dreaming of finding under your hands and in your body. Now having had a taste of your touch, It’d take nothing short of a gun to the head for him to break from anything you were willing to give. Doesn’t mean he won’t try to steer it so you’re taken care of the way he wants you to be.

He looked down at you, hypnotized by the radiant image of you and your styled hair and your decorated lashes and your smudged lipstick actually kissing him, treating him with the desire he thought impossible. His eyes had long adjusted to the darkness of the alley, blessedly letting him take in this image to hoard forever.

As your knees hit the dirt path, it hit him - alley. You were getting yourself dirty to touch him, basically in public in your rush, stuck in a location with only hard ground and stone walls for comfort. The realization had his cock throb hard, getting an eager moan from you where you were kissing along his length while your fingers made their way under his sash to find the waistline of his trousers. Fuck, this was a dream. It was a dream, but not the one he wanted for you where he takes his time worshiping every inch of skin, treating you like royalty, going slow so when he makes you cum it shakes you from toes to fingertips to the crown of your head-

“Darlin’, you deserve better than some back alley fu-”

“What I deserve is you; now let me have you,” you grumbled back to him, nosing his sash up so you could leave kisses and nips right above the hem of his pants. You inched them lower and lower, following their descent with your hungry mouth and savoring every new speck of skin you could. You got past the ridge of his adonis belt when you realized he had nothing on underneath them, making your mouth water with ever more anticipation. You could tell from the tenseness in his muscles, the tremors in his thighs under your clawing grip, that he was at the end of his rope. Centering a kiss on his happy trail, you looked straight up into his eyes and ordered, “Now fuck me.”

You were just about to get his pants low enough to let his painfully hard cock out to greet with a kiss when an angry hand took hold of the hair at the back of your head. It clamped in a fist and turned, taking absolute control of you. White hot adrenaline poured through your body, bursting fresh with each hard pound of your heart and stuttering your every breath. That iron grip jerked back, forcing you to crane your head back with it and look up at the imposing bulk of Beckman looming over at you.

“You want me to fuck you?” he growled dangerously, leering down at you with a growing scowl. Steadily he curled himself down until his nose bumped yours and you were sure you could see how the lighting and lust had turned his eyes from shining silver to dark stone. The light pulsing in your scalp was no match for the shadowed face and piercing eyes of Beckman taking over your every thought and dragging your heartbeat low to drum between your legs. “Fine. I’ll fuck you like the slut you’re set on being.”

“I’ll happily be a slut if it's for you,” you breathed out before you could think, sounding nearly in a trance from his sudden dominant behavior.

The declaration had his cock jumping and his knees weak.

“Darlin’,” he moaned, voice stretched thin by his taut, straining need. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He surged down, stealing your lips in a bruising kiss, using his hold on your hair to control every tilt and press. Right away, you opened to each other, exploring the flavor of each other’s tongues and indulging in the tingles brought on by sliding the slick muscles over each other. You shivered and moaned when he flicked the point of his tongue on the roof of your mouth and he swallowed the sound down greedily. Never breaking his claim on your lips, Beckman hauled you up to your feet. The action set a pleasant burn on your scalp as you chase the pull of his grip. Your hands went back to work on getting his cock free, but he snatched them up.

“No,” he rumbled against your lips. “You’re just going to take what I give you.”

“Beckman,” you whined back to him between your continued fervent kisses, “let me touch you.”

“Sluts don’t make demands,” he snapped in a bitter taunt. Using his height to his advantage, he pulled out of the reach of your lips. He was still able to lean down over you and keep distance, forcing you to keep your head craned back with his fist in your hair and his gaze holding you hostage. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I want you,” you moaned in complaint. Though your voice was warbly with want, your tone was way too petulant to be considered begging. Even so, it was testing his resolve.

“You’ll have me,” he answered gruffly.

Before you could realize what was happening, you were flipped around and swapped, now facing the rough wall of the bar with Beckman right behind you. He had released your hair so he could trap each of your wrists to your sides. He kicked your feet to spread with heavy boots and settled eagerly against your ass. He anchored you against him by pulling on your wrists, keeping you trapped against his grinding hips. The height difference had him centered at the level of your tailbone. The feeling of having you against his cock was overwhelming, especially with the plush of your ass massaging at his sensitive balls. Quiet grunts accompanied each circle of his hips, always carried with the erotic sound of his heavy breaths.

You tilted forward and arched your hips up, seeking attention against your weeping entrance and swollen clit. The change had his dick nestle between your cheeks, the base of his cock and his tense balls giving you a small piece of the pleasure you were seeking. He stood just barely too tall for them to give any attention to your clit, causing you to shift and shimmy back into him in search of more. Despite the lack of direct stimulation, your body was still in a pleasant buzz; he felt large and heavy and hot against you and your mind was swimming in joy at how hard you made him. The open-mouthed groan you earned from him with your squirming shot enough pleasure through you to have your clit pulsing.

“On your toes, slut,” he ordered.

You listened without thinking about it and were rewarded with the new height lining him up much better to grind against everywhere you wanted him. Well - almost everywhere. Most of all you ached for him to massage you inside out, rub and dig into every slick plush space you could offer. Despite the burn already entering your calves, you tilted your ass up even higher to feel any extra speck of friction you could get from him.

Beckman’s grip on your hips was commanding, he owned your every sway and grind of your clothed cunt and ass against him. The skirt you were wearing was beginning to ride up with each thrust, exposing inch after inch of fresh skin to his hungry eyes. Both of you thanked your choice of garment as he used one hand to shove it up and over your perked ass to hang limply around your waist. It swayed and brushed your legs with each continued motion, hypnotizing Beckman for a moment.

That moment was broken when he instead looked at your ass, smooshed high and round with each grind, your underwear cutting sinful lines across the muscle, making your skin pop around the tension in the most mouth-watering way. It had Beckman moaning from deep in his chest again and thanking whatever lucky stars he had that let him have you in front of him like this. The sight mixed with the new heat from being just that much closer to getting to your bare cunt had a flurry of possessiveness and need overcome him. He nearly bowed forward to the strength of it, but fought the call so he could keep watching your body writhe against him.

You had no doubt you were sopping wet, more than enough to make his slide in slick. Each grind of him against you had your soaked panties dragging with him, causing sharp friction that was just on the right side of too much. You wondered faintly if you were getting his pants wet too, wishing you could easily turn and see to find out. You wouldn’t have been disappointed; a steady dark spot had built on his crotch from a mix of your leaking pussy and his weeping cock. You had gotten him dripping pre-cum the moment you began kissing down his chest. It had only gotten worse with each touch, his body desperate and ready to be inside you.

Suddenly, one of his hands and his hips disappeared from you, leaving you feeling lost. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a whining moan at the loss, sounding fucked out and pathetic without either of you truly being touched yet. The small coherent part of yourself marveled at the number he had done on you.

“Don’t you worry, pretty thing,” Beckman grumbled, half placating and half condescending. The sound of shuffling fabric clued you in to his missing hand’s task. “I’ll give you just what you need.”

His large fingers hooked into the sides of your underwear, guiding them over your ass until they fell down. Your slightly spread legs had them catch on your thighs and Beckman huffed at the inconvenience.

“Stay right there,” he rumbled in warning as he crouched down. He dragged the soaked cloth the rest of the way off, guiding you with gentle cues. The slide of his fingertips down your legs sent tingles across your skin, but the delicate hold he put on each ankle to ease them out of the garment had your heart thumping. In this process his touch switched from tyrannical to reverent, making your mind sing with hope. That song only hit a great crescendo when he peppered the backs of your thighs with sweet and slow kisses.

As he rose back up and shoved the ruined cloth in his pocket, Beckman broke you both out of his worshiping trance by giving a playful and slightly mean nip to your left hip. You let out a little yelp despite yourself and he chuckled at the reaction, finding it absurdly cute. You shivered again at the throaty sound, nerves too easily tweaked from your potent anticipation. It only got worse when his hips found yours again.

Both of you moaned at the feeling of finally meeting skin to skin, immediately addicted to the wet heat and heady throb of each other. You sent your hips high with renewed vigor, spurred on by the need to chase more of the feeling of his thick cock against you. You were right about him being thick and long; his grinds spread your folds wide, exposing your entrance and clit to the sweet friction, and he laid across the length of your pelvis. It let him see the leaking red head of his cock peeking out from between your cheeks, the filthy image making his eyes roll back and an involuntary moan of “fuck, darlin’” growl out of him.

Beckman hooked his right arm around your front, nestling it as close to the tops of your thighs as he could get. It let him use your hip bones for stability in his hold, saving you from your weight crushing the limb into your stomach. The anticipation of feeling your legs bounce against his arm while he fucks you had him salivating.

He curled his arm, pulling your lower back flush to his abs. It made him take your weight, the toes of your shoes just barely scuffing the ground when you pointed them. You’d seen his insane strength before, but feeling it used on you had your body lighting on fire along with your cheering mind. Beckman’s other hand slid from your hip down and in on your thigh, spreading and lifting your leg until he was holding the inside of your knee out to the side. It left your cunt exposed to him, each grind of his further mixing your arousal with the pre-cum spreading down his cock.

“Hold that wall and keep your voice down,” Beckman instructed, “Unless you’re such a whore you need an audience.”

You let out a complaining moan at the harsh words but still writhed eagerly against him, unable to deny how they had you fluttering in anticipation. Your hands found purchase on the stone wall in front of you, giving you a sense of balance and security in your barely supported upper body. You were close to it so your arms were bent, allowing you strength and leverage. The force behind his grinds had you sure you’d need it.

Slowly and deliberately, Beckman slid his cock from root to tip between your slick folds, threatening you with his impressive length while he made sure he was properly coated. He only stalled the movement when his thick tip found its way down to your entrance. Unable to help himself, he ground a tight circle around it, groaning out a deep “fuck” at the feeling of your cunt trying its best to suck him in. You let out another keening moan, sounding vaguely like “please”, at the realization that his head was the perfect width to stretch you out right to the edge of your limits.

Angling his hips just right, Beckman followed the catch of your entrance to start forcing his way into you. You were right about the size of him; only his mushroomed tip was in and you already felt like your hips were being pressed wider. His achingly slow sink into you let you both feel every overwhelming bit of contact, every delicious rub of soaked skin on skin. Your mouth hung open, letting out appreciative moans, even though your attempts to hold them back left them clipped and jumbled.

Beckman had to shut his eyes and scrunch his brow to handle all the sensations flooding him. You felt so goddamn perfect wrapped around him. He felt somewhere in his being that you were made to be here with each other and force bliss from your pounding hearts and bodies. He finally fell to the call to curl as close to you as possible, his temple rested on yours, his stubble teasing your cheek, and stray gray hairs sweeping down to tickle your skin.

“So, so good, darlin’,” he praised breathlessly. He made it another inch into you, offering your cunt more firm flesh to clamp down on. “You feel better than a dream -nnngh- got the perfect pussy for me.”

An unrestrained moan tumbled past your lips at his praise, brain too empty and body too happy to care about anything anymore other than him and the feelings he brought out in you. The cheering and music from the bar was loud enough to lightly leak through the walls, so you wouldn’t have worried too much about attracting attention anyway.

He hadn’t prepped you any, but the abundant arousal sitting in your body so long loosened you up and made sure there was more than enough lubrication for him, especially with the addition of his own. His torturously slow press into you helped your body make room for him too. In fact, your pussy was so eager to open for him he felt like your walls were trying to suck him in quicker as they quaked and trembled around him. It made it near impossible to resist the urge to shove as deep into you as he could go, needing the hot grip of you around his aching cock and the pleasure of your plush ass and thighs pressed tight against his hips.

When he finally got there, you were both shaking and gasping. Your head felt light with the amount of bliss swimming through you at finally having him like this, held tightly in you while you shared your bodies. It also helped that he had you feeling so deliciously full; the press of him was potent enough to spread through your sides and up through your chest. It was the biggest stretch you’d taken but his size was just perfect, like he was built just to fit you and you him. The weight of his thick cock rested down towards your stomach, primed to massage your every favorite nerve.

“Just like that, darlin’,” Beckman groaned, starting his first pull back out of you. He continued with his slow speed to make you feel every ridge and vein in detail. Your favorite was the rim of his head dragging across your swollen walls. He sat that head just within your entrance and paused. “Bein’ such a good little slut.”

Right at the end of his praise, he shoved forward to fully sheathe himself back in you. The force of the thrust pressed the air from your lungs, creating a breathy moan, and gave you a taste of pleasure that had you certain that no matter how long he fucked you, you’d always want more of this potent bliss. You could live like this, fucked the rest of your life, just so long as he never stopped taking and touching you. He continued the strong and steady pace, needing to savor every second in your cunt, memorize every twitch and flutter. It had you whining, mind fraying under the threat of how much more he could give you.

“Beckman,” you moaned in frustration. “Give me more, I -ahhh- I need it.”

A punishing thrust had you feel him in your throat and your eyes rolled back in time with your high pitched moan. That moan turned into a rough whine when he stayed sat fully inside you instead of continuing. To tease you further, he began tight circles against you, making his pulsing cock play with every inch of your cunt, earning him a tight clench from you. This tantalizing rub continued as he moved to nip at your ear lobe.

“What did I say about making demands,” he warned, rumbling the words right against your ear. The puffs of his breaths shot goose bumps up your neck. He tilted his head down to tease his teeth over the flesh and continued his maddening little circles against you. With one leg trapped in his grip and the other barely reaching the ground, you had almost no leverage to work yourself back against him. Your abs burned with the effort as you tried to use your grip on the wall to stabilize yourself and grind back, but his iron grip was much stronger than any of your attempts.

You sobbed out a few needy moans at his continued meticulous playing with your body. Though you wanted so much more right away, that steady press of him waking up every inch of your insides was starting to build a pit deeper in your stomach than the one you were used to. Your mouth watered at the thought of what a full body high it could bring you but it felt so far away and you wanted to be smothered in pleasure now.

“Beckman,” you whined out, catching the way it made his breath hitch over your skin. “More, harder.”

Nothing changed and you were stuck spread open and suspended and at the mercy of his whims. It was the most deliciously frustrating thing you’d ever experienced, being forced to take the slow treatment. It made your body and mind agonize over every little sensation, every pulse and throb, every inch of you he reached that you’d never felt before. It made your ears take in the obscene sound of the little motions of his cock pushing drop after drop of your arousal out of your entrance to drip down his balls and your thigh. You flushed at how graphic it sounded, ears, face, and neck burning, especially with your combined heavy breaths and mixed moans and groans.

“You’re gonna have to try much harder than that, pretty little thing,” he goaded. You could hear the taunting condescension in his voice and you cursed the fact that it made your pussy spasm around him. The twitch of his cock that it earned inside you swelled your desperation to feel more from him until it swallowed your pride whole.

“Please,” you gasped, near truly sobbing in need. “Pleeeeease, fuck me harder, Beck, fuck me faster, please, just -hhhah- just need more.”

Beckman sucked harshly on your neck and set about answering your pleas. He changed right to fucking you fast and hard, making you yelp at the immediate flood of sensation. Your thigh and hips jumped in his grasp as you tried to take the onslaught. Every nerve in your pussy burned in the most beautiful way, emptying your head of any thoughts other than Beckman working your body into a quick frenzy. His teeth, lips, and tongue were decorating the sensitive skin of your neck; his hands and arm were clamped, making you feel blessedly trapped; his torso hovered on the back of yours, giving you brushes of his hard working muscles in motion; and his cock - his perfect cock - was bullying you open over and over and lighting every quaking inch of you ablaze.

Through your panting breaths and scattered moans, you could hear the wet slap of his hips against you, each impact making a little more arousal gush out of you. Being spread as you were also let his heavy balls tap against your clit with each hard thrust, ensuring every wired part of your pussy was seen to. You could barely form words but you were sure he caught the slurred praises you sent his way from how he echoed them back and kept adding more and more heat, pressure, grind, suck, and drag on you at your breathless moaning.

Stuck on the start of the encounter, he kept repeating a favored phrase to you - “So good, darlin’, such a good fucking slut”.

“Your slut,” you panted, “only -hnngh- yours.”

The pledge of ownership had his eyes rolling back and his mouth more ravenous against your skin. He needed to keep you locked to him forever, be on your skin forever, brand you as his, and have you mark him as yours.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he rasped, “only mine.”

He dropped your suspended thigh in favor of sinking a bruising grip into your hip. Your thighs clapped together with a wet smack, forcing a yelp from you as it jolted your clit. He placed an apologetic kiss on your shoulder and got right back to his tempo. The deep pressure he’d built with his deliberate grinding was now added to by every thrust, creating a shaking warning of the orgasm to come that sat from hip to hip and up to your ribs. It felt like he was fucking you just as deep, each drive of his cock seeming to replace the beating of your heart in your chest.

The new dancing on your toes had your calves, thighs, and abs working in sporadic clenches and twitches, the jerks and shifts causing pulses around your clit and into your trembling cunt. The new position made him feel all the wider as it let your labia relax around him and light up with delicious friction on each thrust in and pull out. The squeeze of your legs and muscles also put constant pressure on your clit, which Beckman would jostle with each forceful fuck into you.

All of it was getting to be too much and you were happily drowning under the rising tide of that threatening orgasm. It was swimming through your body so thoroughly you were sure you could feel each strong thrust pull pleasure from your very bones. Every piece of you that lived between your hips felt blinding white hot and pulsing and alive and so so very good.

The cherry on top of your euphoria were the pieces of the feeling you could hear echoed in Beckman. His voice was deep and groaning but also strained and fucked out as it whispered dark praises against your neck and shoulder. His breath was ragged and just as desperate as his touch, which was trying its best to permanently attach to your skin. His aching cock was just as responsive as your trembling pussy, dripping and twitching and jumping with each move and touch of your body.

Responding to the telling grip of your cunt clamping down constantly around him, Beckman slowed his pace slightly, focusing instead on the strength of each thrust and keeping his angle just right to drag you to your end. It accented the sound of each strong clap of his hips into yours and brought back clarity to the feeling of his thick cock spearing you. Your mouth hung open, panting and watering from the change of pace and unending pound and pull of him fucking your cunt into the shape of him.

“Beckman, Beckman, Beckman -ahh!- so cloooose,” you cried, voice thin and desperate. He cursed and moaned in response, the sound of you nearly making him lose himself and cum before you. He kept his pace pounding into you, each firm fuck lighting up your tightening walls and bouncing through your swollen folds and thighs to drum on your clit. Your head was swimming; despite your fast and canting breaths, you felt like you couldn't breathe, the air escaping you with each thrust beating a needy moan from your open mouth. The burn for oxygen only added to the tightly wound pleasure gripping you from throat to cunt, clawing tightest from your hips in, held steady between his sturdy hands.

Your toes and fingers tingled numbly in anticipation and shook just like the rest of you. Instinct tilted your hips just a degree higher, letting the tip of his dick tap just so against your cervix, ramping the overwhelming build even higher than you thought possible. Your moans yelped out sharper and higher amid sobs of “don’t stop, don’t stop, pleeeeease”, making Beckman groan and curse in his own mind-numbing arousal and frantic fight not to cum first.

A few more thrusts blazing across your cunt and shaking deep in your gut had the tension finally burst. You felt it first in the shot of electricity from your clit down to your toes and up to your buzzing head, before the tight pulse of your muscles took over everything. You writhed and shook against Beckman as he held you like a lifeline, trying desperately to fuck you through every second of heaven you could feel instead of following you over the edge. Each jerk and clench of your body gave you more and more bliss, the squeeze of you so tight and sure that it felt like there was only room for Beckman’s large cock in your body.

He couldn’t manage to pull even an inch out of your cunt, too weak to deny himself the bliss of feeling you cum, so he guided you through with shallow but heavy thrusts. Each tap on your cervix swelled you more and more until you weren’t sure if you had already cum or there was something else building on the other side of this endless screaming song in your nerves. Your answer came with the feeling of a snap that switched your cunt from long pulses into frantic milking down on Beckman’s jolting cock. Each squeeze was powerful enough to cause a full jerk and shudder of your hips, having you slip and grind in Beckman’s clawing hold on your hips.

“Fuck, darlin’, sweetheart, fu-uuuck, you’re too good, too much -ngah!- so goddamn perfect,” Beckman moaned out a stream of mindless praises while he shoved his forehead into the side of your neck, your only anchor in the torrent of sensation ripping through your body. After an eternity, your muscles and nerves began to relax, leaving your body feeling limp and heavy in the wake of your pleasure. You were positive nothing worked anymore except for your clit and cunt, both still drooling and twitching over Beckman’s shallow thrusts. You were thankful your closed legs kept the attention from overstimulating you fully. Beckam felt your body relax, getting an addicting sense of pride from fucking you into a limp puddle, and finally took to chasing his own pleasure.

“Need to see you,” he gasped, flipping you around and desperately pressing his twitching cock back into you. He shuddered at the relief, feeling ravenous and untethered every second he couldn’t be inside you. All his sanity was now held in the taste of your skin, the pleasure in your voice, and the sweet clench of your plush cunt. Pressing your foreheads together, he made it impossible to look anywhere but at each other. Even in the low light that managed to sneak between the buildings with you, Beckman’s silver eyes glowed while taking you in. The color looked sharper pressed thin by his lust-blown pupils and you were hypnotized as his gaze swallowed you whole.

Seeing the needy scrunch of his brows and the way he switched back and forth between clenching his jaw and hanging his mouth open to moan freely sent fresh sparks straight down to your clit. Having your legs spread around him had his racing thrusts teetering you on the edge of overstimulation, but it was well worth the sight and feeling of him rabidly chasing down his pleasure in your cunt. He was mindless and rutting in his need, enjoying your sopping heat contrasting with your nails scrabbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. The hug of your thighs around his waist kept him close and added to the wondrously tight clench of you that seemed to spread over his whole body. He was so, so close he just needed one little nudge.

“Beckman, please, need you -hahhn- need you to cum in me,” you begged, tone broken from all your moaning.

He was kicked right over the edge, barking out a deep “fuck” at the power of the orgasm shredding through him. He jerked his lips down to yours, holding you in an open mouthed kiss full of tongue and teeth and groans. He shoved himself as close as he could get to you, trapping you near painfully tight against the stone wall with his pressing bulk, demanding lips, and throbbing cock. His dick jumped hard with each pump of hot sticky cum deep in your cunt. It warmed you inside out and mixed with the heady knowledge that you’d completely unraveled this imposing man to unexpectedly drag you into a milder orgasm of your own. Each heavy jerk of him helped guide you through your own bliss, bodies working in perfect synch to have every pump answered with a coaxing squeeze. It kept you both suspended in your mindless heaven until you’d wrung every bit of pleasure from each other that your bodies could possibly give.

Beckman was certain that you’d sucked his very soul from him if the numb and clumsy feeling of his body was anything to go by. It wasn’t ready to listen to him, acting like it belonged to someone else and he supposed that was true; it was yours now. You’d held his heart a long time and his mind even longer, so it was only fitting that you owned his body too.

You didn’t seem to be doing much better with being in charge of your body, eyes half-lidded and lashes fluttering against the need to close. You were a vision - your foggy and affectionate gaze glued to him from under dark lashes, the flush tinting your sweat-damp skin, your lips parted and kiss-swollen, hair a wild crown around your head, decorating your face with stray strands. He studied and admired the image of you fucked-out and languid with eagerness and reverence. You were doing much the same, enjoying his mussed silver waves of soft locks, his gently shining eyes, the hints of red on the apples of his cheeks and his chest, the heavy rise and fall of his sculpted shoulders as he tried to catch his breath.

The sound of a drinking song spiking high in volume snuck through the wall and shattered your illusion of privacy. You were both suddenly back against the side of the bar instead of whatever pocket world you had carved out for just yourselves. Beckman continued to hold you steady as he slowly let your tired legs down, your skirt following after to hang back in place. Your legs shook under you like it was your first time standing and you laughed at their clumsiness. Beckman cracked a loving smile at you, stealing your breath and halting your chuckles. Again the melody within the bar seeped out to you clearly and you laughed even louder this time when you recognized one of Shanks’ favorite tunes. While he tucked himself away, Beckman raised a brow at your cackling until he recognized the song too and added his own gentle laughter to yours.

Looking him straight in the eyes, you fought to sing along properly through your bubbling giggles.

“I took that lass and smacked her ass

Said darlin you’re comin’ with me”

He took your hips and pulled you to him, guiding you in the closest to a swaying dance that your uncooperative legs would allow. He quietly joined you on the next lines, treating you to the deep and raspy parts of his voice that lived in his chest.

“Ain’t got a hall but we’ll use the wall

Just give me an hour or three”

“What do you say, darlin’?” Beckman asked with humor dancing in the light reflections in his eyes. There was a seriousness underlying his tone in his next question, however. “Willing to give me a few more hours?”

You gave him a sweet smile but turned it coy, your attitude sneaking back as your mind stabilized. “You’ve got one to convince me to keep you.”

Beckman huffed out a laugh at your bite coming back and leaned down to kiss your forehead affectionately. He took a moment to rest his cheek atop your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, delicately tinged with a touch of sweat and sex. It had him shiver and start to twitch back to life. Slowly, he trailed kisses from the top of your head to the tip of your ear. His warm breath made you shiver and begin to heat again as well.

“Sweet darlin’,” Beckman mumbled, lips tickling the rim of your ear, “I’ll have you back to begging for me in half the time. Gotta show you that I don’t just know how to fuck; I can worship.”

#beckman x reader #benn beckman #one piece #thirst hours #benn beckman x reader #beckman x you #beckman x y/n #x reader #fem reader #one piece smut #benn beckman smut #x reader smut #my writing

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morguecuts · 3 months ago

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Love Laced Caffeine

five hargreeves x fem!reader synopsis: lovey dovey morning with five :) word count: 1.1k tags: lots of fluff and cute moments authors note: i love adding pre-story lore, but if im too detailed pls yell at me, okay thx enjoy! dedication: my bestfriend @solspina who sits with me everynight as i write. i love you forever. check out her work if you enjoy warhammer, the stories are absolutely incredible.

♱⛧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⛧♱

the constant impending apocalypse is no longer a worry ever since the world was saved. special abilities have only ever been used in a joking, or more importantly an emergency manner, since then. you met the umbrella academy in 2019 but are now 3 years deep into a very loving and committed relationship with arguably the grumpiest family member, five hargreeves.

he was surprisingly the sweetest person you’ve ever met. the overprotective nature of his actions was incredibly attractive. his words were only ever gentle towards you, a walking example of hating everybody who wasn't his lover. his “old soul” showed itself in the way that he treated the relationship with you.

he constantly took you on dates, sometimes small, like watching a movie at the nearby theater, or larger, like trips across the world to go sightseeing. five bought you a multitude of gifts since you’ve been together as well. the most cherishable was the silver chain that dangled from your neck, symbolizing the first time he admitted he was in love with you. ever since then, you’ve dedicated yourself to being the only person he will ever need. to this day, he is still trying to repay you for loving him this hard.

there was always a peaceful sensation waking up in the academy house. the feeling of being surrounded by those who love you, everyday, brings a smile to your face. the siblings agreed on not moving out for a couple years, taking time to overcome the years of trauma collected more recently. although you would like to have your own place with your boyfriend, there's no harm staying here with everyone else for a while longer.

you remove the weighted sheets off five’s bed allowing the breeze to strike your body. the shock of the cold floor sends a bone chilling feeling starting from the bottoms of your feet, all the way to the tips of your hair. there's a slight grumble coming from the boy still lying in the bed. a combination of annoyance and sadness stretched across his half-awake face.

“please, a couple more minutes..” his face turns to face your direction, sleepy eyes barely open but still pleading with yours. a lone arm reaches out to grab yours, a small attempt at preventing you from leaving.

“as cute as you are, i really want to go downstairs for coffee.” you lean into his touch, bending down to place a kiss on his lips. a smile creeps upon the boy, a sly hand wrapping around your waist dragging you down onto his chest. you let out a surprised eek before giggling.

“can you survive 20 minutes without coffee?” he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, rubbing your back subconsciously.

“fine, 20 minutes and then i’m getting up without or without you.” you look up smiling at him, the boy leaning down to kiss you once more. his gentle touch makes you sigh into him, melting into his body, relaxing against his chest. he pulls away and wraps the bed sheets back over the two of you.

the combination of a cold room, warm bed and safe boyfriend creates a comforting environment, your eyes fall drowsy before slipping into darkness. when you awake, the bed is empty, no five to be seen anywhere. you rub your eyes confused, sit up for a moment and sigh. a faint smell of coffee is brewing in the distance, most likely in the downstairs kitchen. you decide to follow the scent trail in hopes that your boyfriend is waiting for you at the end of it.

the house is peacefully quiet, a gentle hum lingers over the hallways. you make your way down towards the rest of the house, whispers and giggles come from beyond the doors of other bedrooms. you pass viktor going up the stairs as you come down, greeting with a cheerful embrace and soft smile.

“seen five anywhere?” you ask, pulling back.

“hmm, kitchen i think? was making pancakes when i passed by” he smiles at you before turning to continue his journey upstairs. with a small nod, you thank him.

rounding the kitchen's large wall, you see five standing over what seems to be the pancakes cooking on the stove. his back is facing you, unaware that you entered the room. his hair is still messy as if he woke up moments ago, loose black sweats hang from his waistline, a green jumper embracing his torso. the record player sits in the living room, playing distant calming jazz music as five hums along.

you creep up behind him, wrapping arms around his waist and laying your head onto his shoulder. his body tenses for a minute before relaxing, his arm bends backwards to hold your waist, pressing you into him.

“good morning, love. i was going to bring this up to you, but now you’re already here” he speaks while flipping the soft flannel cake on the pan. he gently places the spatula onto the counter, spinning in a circle to face you. your hands still wrapped around his stomach carefully, holding his touch.

“mm sorry, i smelled coffee and knew i’d find you somewhere nearby” you smiled up at him, his deep brown eyes staring back before leaning down. he places a gentle kiss upon your lips, hands cupping your face as he does so. you lean into his hands, kissing him back while running hands to the back of his neck.

his hands rest on the backs of your thighs momentarily before he bends into a swift motion, picking you up and gently setting you down onto the closet counter. you pull back from him, laughing at his action. he shoots a grin in your direction before turning back to the well toasted hotcakes. there's a peaceful silence between the two of you before he speaks up once more.

“coffee is still hot, want me to make you a cup?” his loving tone swoons you everytime he offers to do even the smallest things. you nod yes before he swiftly turns to begin making the warm beverage. the boy presents the drink just how you like. it didn't take him long to memorize exactly how you favor it.

everything he does for you is a constant act of service, from a small cup of coffee, to a full platter of breakfast foods, or even carrying you upstairs to lay together once you’re happily full of food. his love for you is laced in the caffeine high that he brings with every kiss.

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thank you so much for reading!

i hope you’ve enjoyed it, please feel free to make any comments or story requests down below. any support is always appreciated <3

#five x reader #five x you #five hargreeves imagines #five hargreaves x reader #number five imagine #number five x reader #tua x you #tua x reader #tua season 4 #the umbrella academy season 4 #x reader #fluff

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the20thangel · 3 months ago

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The Comforts in the Flames

Cregan Stark x Velayron! Reader

Summary: As the realm grieves for Prince Jacaerys, Cregan Stark arrives with his men to support the queen and bid farewell to the prince. There, he meets you, a Velayron Couisn, who is also deeply mourning a sweet boy you knew.

Tags: This is my first time writing for Cregan; please be gentle in your feedback, and I hope you enjoy it. Stay tuned for more fanfics

Word Count: 1.5K

Masterlist

Dragonstone was a chaotic mess; the servants and noble houses were running around, saddened by their grief as they tried to prepare for the funeral of Prince Jacaerys. Many houses, especially those who met the prince, came to show their condolences to the Queen over losing her heir and son, but most importantly, to show their honor in keeping their oath to the late prince. They honored their promises to House Targaryen, Queen Rhaenyra, and Prince Jacaerys. One of the great houses was House Stark, led by Cregan Stark, who was stricken with sadness over the boy he saw as a brother.

Cregan felt out of place here; the island was grey and gloomy, almost like it knew of the tragedy, with dragons crying in the distance, crying for their fallen sea dragon prince—nothing like Winterfell, with the white sheen from the snow and howls of direwolves in the distance. He tried to stay distant from the funeral preparations, another aspect in which he felt inadequate. In the North and Winterfell, they place their dead in the crypts while House Targaryen makes pyres. He respected his Queen and her house customs, but it did not stop him from feeling like an intruder.

As He walked to the clearing where the funeral would take place, he saw someone wearing teal blue clothing and white curly hair standing infront of the ever-growing pyre. He recognized you as someone from House Velayron, Prince Jacaerys second family. House Velayron had arrived a fortnight earlier, and Alyn and Corlys Velayron expressed regrets to the Queen for not being able to bring back the prince’s body for the Targaryen funeral. It was a tense time for both houses, having lost three prominent figures in such a short amount of time. Ever curious, Cregan allowed himself to walk closer to you, seeing how meticulously you wrapped the banners of Houses Velayron and Targaryen, representing both sides of the prince. Deciding to make his presence known to you without frightening you, Cregan cleared his throat, defeating his purpose as it made you jump slightly from hearing such a deep and foreign voice.

Cregan huffed, trying to mask his slight laugh as a cough, “My apologies, milady, I did not mean to frighten you.”

You placed a soothing hand on your chest to calm your slight nerves as you turned to the deep northern voice. You replied, “Oh, hello, Lord Stark. There is no need to apologize. I should be more aware of my surroundings. What kind of sailor can I be if I am not always aware of my surroundings?”

Cregan smiled at the lady, “I still apologize. May I ask your name? I figured from your clothes and previous comment that you are from House Velayron.”

Turning to face the Wolf Lord, you took in his handsome features. However, you were used to seeing Valyrian features from Houses Targaryen and Celtigar prominently being so close to your own; you could not help but marvel at the handsomeness of the Blood of the First Men shown in this man before you.

“I am (name) Velayron. Lord Corlys is my Lord Uncle.” you introduced yourself to the Lord of Winterfell.

Cregan tried not to frown. He did not want to offend, but the only brother he knew of Corlys Velayron was that of Vaemond, and he never spoke kindly to his Queen or her sons. You noticed the winter wolf’s face change and quickly commented further.

“Oh! I am the daughter of the youngest brother of my uncle. Vaemond …was my uncle, and we tolerated him at best.” You laughed nervously, not wanting to speak badly about your late uncle, but it was true. Besides his immediate family, Vaemond made it extremely difficult to care for him.

Cregan flushed in embarrassment that you hurried to defend yourself due to his facial reaction.

“I again apologize, Milady. It… it's just that he was not seen in a positive light…” Seeing his ever-growing nervousness show through his red face as he tried to defend himself, you thought how cute it was.

You gave him a wide grin and decided to ease his misery: " There's no need to keep apologizing, my lord. I knew my uncle, and he was rather unkind to everyone. He was vulgar to my cousins, Prince Jacaerys, Prince Lucerys, and Prince Joffrey.”

You grew sorrowful again at the mention to both Jace and Luke. Both were taken so young from this world. Feeling tears prickle at your eyes, you turned slightly back to the pyre, trying to finish the last details before the funeral. You wanted everyone to see that House Velayron, the true Velayron, recognized Jace as a Velayron and wanted to honor him. Seeing your sorrow, Cregan also turned to the sea, frowning that it had swallowed two princes, and instead of a body, they would be burning clothes.

Not wanting to take more of your time, Cregan announced he was going to the castle for a while but would see you during the funeral, which promoted a nod in agreement for you, wishing him a restful break before the funeral.

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

As what seemed the whole island made its way to the cliff where the pyre was located, House Velayron stood somberly but proudly behind their queen. You were standing by the Queen’s side, holding objects from Prince Jacaerys that would burn in place of his body. The queen called for her dragon to come forward and asked her beloved Golden Lady to light the pyre as the She-dragon was too mourning another son, Vermax. After Syrax crawled back from lighting the pyre, you handed the Queen the first piece of clothing. Even in her moments of grief, Rhaenyra gave you a small smile, always remembering how your Velayron side always defended her boys, and she even considered once a marriage between you and her boys. But that was all in the past, and now she can only be grateful you were here to support her in her grief. Once the funeral officially ended, the queen left with the crowd following her back to the castle. On the other hand, you stayed behind, watching the last embers burn; as you let tears flow, you began humming a Valyrian Lullaby, hoping the prince would hear it in his journey to Balerion’s realm.

Cregan once again stood next to you, silently listening to the tune. He held something in his hand. As you finished humming the song, you turned to him. Seeing his uncertainty, you decided to be brave and ask him what was bothering him.

Cregan turned his grey eyes to your purple eyes; you gulped at his intense stare.

“ I… I was hoping to burn a few things, Jace- I mean, Prince Jacaerys left me during his trip to the north,” whispered Cregan.

You gave a watery smile and touched that the Winter Lord wanted to honor the prince.

“Of course, I will help you throw them into the pyre. May I ask what they are?” you pondered, hoping you didn’t cross the boundary with him.

Cregan opened his hand with a wolfish grin, revealing a letter and a small sea dragon brooch. You smiled, recognizing the brooch.

“This was the last letter he sent me, and he gave me this brooch to signify our brotherhood; he said it was special to him.” croaked Cregan as he remembered the brave prince.

“Yes, I’m glad he loved that brooch…” you started saying while staring at the stark lord; seeing his confused state, you continued.

“I gave him that brooch. After his father Laenor passed, he was worried about the future, and I gave him the brooch to remind him that he was a Velayron prince as much as Targaryen. It was also my symbol declaring my loyalty to him and Queen Rhaenyra. I’m glad he cared about you and trusted you so much that you could hold onto it.”

Cregan gaped. He felt guilty for throwing it into a fire and stated he should instead return it to you. You quickly grasped his hand, closing it tightly around the brooch.

“No, my lord, he gave it to you. It should stay with you or return with Jace as he enters Balerion’s realm. Either way, I know the brooch will be with someone who rightfully should have it. So choose, my lord, it stays with you or goes with Jace.”

For a moment, Cregan stared at you in awe of your kindness. Both of you gazed into each other's eyes, hands intertwined. After another beat, Cregan raised your hands, pressing a light kiss to yours as he asked you to throw the brooch into the dying fire. Blushing, you took the letter and brooch, telling Cregan to follow you closer as you both stood infront of the pyre. You said a quick prayer as you threw the items into the fire. Staring as the flames change colors due to the minerals and jewels of the brooch. You both mourn the loss of a prince who was deeply loved and cared about by many, including you both. Your hands lightly graze each other, finding peaceful comfort and solace in each other.

#house of the dragon #fanfic #hotd #hotd fanfic #cregan stark #cregan x reader #jace velaryon #jacaerys targaryen

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coffeeshades · 3 months ago

Text

credits to the gif maker!

GUILTY AS SIN...? - PART II

summary: one summer with the man you can't have, but can't stop thinking about.

pairing: cillian murphy x popstar!reader

word count: 9.1k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). explicit sex. angst. cussing, slight age gap, mentions of alcohol and divorce. no use of y/n, heavily inspired by ts and ttpd. if i missed something please let me know. (also this is a work of fiction, none of it reflects how i feel about the people mentioned in this, most importantly cillian's wife, who im sure is a sweetheart irl. it's fiction, just relax and enjoy it, and if not, move along, friends.)

a/n: hi everyone! here's the second part, finally. i had lots of fun writing this one, happy reading <3

part one

After staying at Cillian's for awhile, you decided to go to the place you had rented. The truth is, you didn't want to leave, but you had already extended your stay longer than planned, and you wanted to give him space with his kids. And you also wanted to give him time to process the event that took place four nights ago in his bathroom. Or you wanted to give yourself time to process it.

At this point, you weren't sure who needed the space more.

It was all very confusing because, yes, you've had feelings for him for God knows how long, but you've squashed them down like a stubborn bug for the sake of your friendship and, most importantly, his family. Those two things were always at the forefront of your mind, guiding every action and decision. But now that his family is no longer a factor and the two of you almost crossed a line, it's hard to ignore those feelings.

Those feelings that crawl up your spine every time he smiles at you or brushes against your hand accidentally. Those feelings also make you feel like the worst person in the world, as if you're betraying his ex-wife and their children by even entertaining the idea of something more with him.

It's all so delicate.

The cottage is nestled between rolling green hills and the glimmering blue of a distant sea. The place is like a warm embrace. The floors are laid with wide, honey-colored wooden planks, their surface worn smooth by generations of footsteps. Exposed wooden beams crisscross the ceiling, their rich, dark wood adding a sense of history and sturdiness to the space. The walls are painted in a soft, creamy white. The master bedroom is a haven of tranquility, with white linen curtains billowing softly in the breeze from the open window. The bed, with its wrought iron frame, is piled high with quilts and pillows in soft shades of blue and green. It's the best sleep you've had in months.

It rained earlier today. You've stayed inside all day, not wanting to venture out into the wet weather. The gentle pitter-patter of raindrops against the window was a soothing backdrop to your day, but it stopped around mid-afternoon, leaving behind a fresh, clean scent in the air.

Now you’re sitting at the rustic wooden table beneath the pergola, one leg tucked under you, grapevines overhead casting dappled shadows on the weathered wood. The garden around you is alive with color—wildflowers in every shade imaginable sway gently in the soft breeze, and the lavender and rosemary release their fragrant scent into the air.

Bon Iver’s voice drifts softly from your phone, which lies next to your notepad on the table. The music is haunting, its melancholy tones matching the weight in your chest. You’ve been here for hours, or maybe it’s only been minutes—time seems to blur together lately.

The notepad lies open beside you, filled with half-written lyrics, fragments of thoughts and emotions that you can’t quite bring yourself to finish. The pages are messy, scribbled lines crossed out, some words barely legible, as if your hand couldn’t keep up with the rush of thoughts.

You’ve been chasing this dream for so long—touring, recording, performing in front of thousands of people—but somewhere along the way, you’ve lost sight of why you started. The music that once brought you so much joy now feels like a burden; the words that once flowed effortlessly are now tangled up in doubt and frustration. The applause, the fame, the success—it’s all there, but it feels hollow. It feels lonely.

The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the water, but you’re too tired to move. You prop one leg up the chair and rest your chin on your hand. You focus on the water, trying to find some solace in its steady flow. But all you can feel is a deep, gnawing sense of unfulfillment, a yearning for something you can’t even name.

How pathetic.

You’re tired, so tired, and the dream that once seemed so bright now feels like a chore.

The door creaks open behind you, and you catch the faint sound of footsteps on the stone path. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. Cillian moves with a certain quietness, a soft presence that you’ve come to recognize. The footsteps grow closer until they stop just to your left.

"You should lock your door," he says, his voice low, carrying a hint of amusement but also concern.

You let out a small, tired laugh, not bothering to look up. "Didn’t think anyone would come by," you reply, your gaze still fixed on the stream; its gentle flow is the only thing that seems to make sense right now.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there, his shadow blending with yours. Then he pulls out the chair next to you, the wood scraping softly against the stone, and sits down. You can feel his eyes on you, but he doesn’t press, just lets the silence settle around you both.

You hear him shift beside you, and from the corner of your eye, you see him glance down at the notepad on the table. His gaze lingers on the unfinished words, but he doesn’t say anything about them. Instead, he just leans back in his chair, looking out at the water with you.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks, his voice softer, almost reflective. "I know that look. The one that says you’re miles away, stuck in your own head."

You don't respond, knowing that he understands you more than most people. The music on your phone shifts to another Bon Iver song, this time Beach Baby.

He continues. "You know, sometimes I think about all of it—this life, the fame, the roles I play. It’s bizarre, isn’t it? I spend so much time being someone else, living in someone else’s skin, that it’s easy to forget who I am when the cameras stop rolling."

His words hang in the air, and you turn your head slightly to look at him. His expression is thoughtful, his blue eyes distant, like he’s lost in his own memories. "It’s like… sometimes, I feel more like myself when I’m acting, when I’m being someone else. That's what made me fall in love with it in the first place. I just loved being somebody else. It’s easier, somehow. But then there are those moments, when the lights go out, and I’m just… me. And that’s when the loneliness creeps in."

You nod, understanding more than you’d like to admit. "It’s the same with music, I guess," you say quietly. "There’s this rush, this high, when you’re on stage, when everyone’s looking at you and you’re giving them everything you’ve got. But then it’s over, and you’re left with the silence, the emptiness. It’s like… who am I when it stops?"

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you can see the shared understanding in his eyes. It’s a strange comfort knowing that someone else gets it, that you’re not alone in this feeling of being lost.

You take a deep breath, the weight of the words you’ve been holding back suddenly becomes too heavy to keep inside. "I guess that's why I'm here. To escape. To escape the pressure, the expectations and…just be," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Everything is a performance. Everything. When we're out in the world, we're expected to act a certain way, to fit into a mold. We have to edit ourselves. As honest as we try to be, there's always a part of us that remains hidden. And it's exhausting."

Cillian nods, his gaze never leaving yours. "And when you’re alone, you can let go of that and let your mind just be still," he says, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s thought about this a lot. "It’s quite peaceful, isn’t it? But it’s also… terrifying. Being alone with your thoughts, with no distractions, no one to perform for. It’s like staring into a void sometimes."

You swallow hard, the truth of his words hitting you square in the chest. "Yeah, it is. But it’s also when I feel the most myself. When it’s just me, and I don’t have to be anything for anyone. Just… here, in the quiet, letting my mind rest."

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The garden around you is alive with the soft sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves, the gentle murmur of the stream, the distant call of a bird. Bon Iver’s music still plays from your phone—Holocene.

You break the silence. "Sometimes I think about it. I think about letting go of it." It's a terrifying thought but also strangely liberating. You don't know what it means completely yet, but just saying it out loud brings relief. Cillian just looks at you, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy.

It was so easy, existing with him.

In this moment, you feel a little less lost, a little more understood. And as the sun dips lower in the sky, a mix of orange and pink hues, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you thought.

The next day dawns softer, brighter. You wake up with a sense of calm that had been missing for a while. There’s a lingering warmth from yesterday, the conversation with Cillian still playing in the back of your mind. As you sat at the same wooden table this morning, you found yourself scribbling lyrics that flowed easier, more naturally. They’re different—slower, more deliberate. There’s a depth to them that feels right, as if you’re finally tapping into something real, something honest.

Last night had ended quietly. After that heavy talk in the garden, Cillian stayed for dinner. The two of you kept the conversation light, avoiding the unspoken tension. It was there, hovering between you, but neither of you brought it up. Instead, you talked about mundane things and watched Punch-Drunk Love in the quaint living room. He pointed out every little detail he liked in it, and you listened, soaking in the emotion in his voice.

When the movie ended, he promised to see you the next day, and you reassured him it was fine, that you understood his absence. You meant it, even though a part of you always ached for more of his presence.

Today, with that newfound energy, you decided to venture out. An early morning walk turned into a drive to the nearby town. You pulled on a cap and sunglasses—a funny and somewhat ineffective disguise, but it was something. The town was charming, with narrow cobblestone streets, quaint shops, and a relaxed pace. Most people didn’t give you a second glance, and for that you were grateful. It was nice to blend in, to be just another person out enjoying the day.

You wandered through the market, admired the local crafts, and even picked up a few things—a handmade bracelet, a small painting of the Irish countryside. Lunch was at a cozy little café, tucked away from the main street. You ordered a hearty bowl of seafood chowder, rich and warming, with fresh bread on the side. As you sat there savoring the meal, your phone buzzed. It was Cillian, asking if you wanted to grab drinks tonight. You hesitated, your mind running through a dozen reasons to say no, but in the end, you agreed. You wanted to see him again, even if you couldn’t quite admit how much.

Back at the cottage, you took your time getting ready. You set the atmosphere, lighting a few candles, playing some soft music in the background. It felt good to take care of yourself and put a little effort into how you looked. You chose a pair of jeans that fit just right, a black top, and your favorite leather jacket. Casual but confident. A swipe of red lipstick added a touch of boldness.

You didn’t know where the night would take you, but you felt ready.

Cillian arrived right on time, his car rolling up the gravel drive just as you slipped on your jacket. When you stepped outside, he was already out of the car, leaning casually against the door. He smiled when he saw you—a warm, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Ready?” he asked, his eyes flicking over your outfit with an appreciative glance.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied, a hint of nerves bubbling up but quickly pushed aside.

The drive to the pub was easy, the conversation flowing effortlessly. You talked about your day, the town, the little things you’d picked up. He told you about his new movie coming out later this year, based on a novella set in the mid-1980s in a small Irish village. There was a comfort in the exchange, in the way your words mingled with the sound of the tires on the road.

When he pulled up outside the pub, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight. It was a small, unassuming place, the kind of spot that felt like a well-kept secret. The sign above the door was weathered, the windows glowing warmly from the inside. It looked cozy, inviting.

“Do I need to bring out my disguise?” you asked, amused, as you glanced at him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, you’re safe here. No one’s going to bother us. I’ve been coming here for years. They don't give a shit about me.”

He was right. The pub was perfect—dimly lit, with a mix of old and new music playing in the background. The crowd was relaxed, more interested in their conversations than in who might be sitting at the next table. You found two empty stools at the bar and settled in.

Close to the drinks. Perfect.

You ordered beers—the kind that tasted awful but somehow fit the atmosphere. Cillian took a sip of his beer, and the reaction was immediate. He groaned, his head falling back as if in defeat, eyes closed as he savored—or perhaps endured—the taste. The dim light from the pub’s old-fashioned fixtures cast a warm glow on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline and the shadow of stubble that had begun to form. His lips, still wet from the beer, parted in a wry smile that spoke volumes of his disdain for the drink. His brow furrowed slightly as he kept his eyes closed, letting out a deep, exaggerated sigh as if the beer was the worst thing he’d ever tasted.

It was a dramatic performance, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how absurdly handsome he looked even in that moment. There was something endearing about it—the way he could make something so ordinary seem so intense. His dark hair, slightly tousled, fell over his forehead, and you found yourself staring longer than you meant to.

“Bloody hell, that’s awful,” he muttered, finally opening his eyes and giving you a side glance. His blue eyes sparkled with trouble, the corners crinkling as he caught the expression on your face. “You should’ve seen yourself, though. Looked like you were trying to swallow glass.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, please. You looked like you were about to keel over from one sip,” you shot back, sarcasm lacing your voice.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, and the amusement in his eyes deepened. “Can’t argue with that,” he admitted, taking another sip with a grimace. “Piss beer, this is. I’d almost prefer water.”

“Almost,” you teased, lifting your glass to take another drink. The foam clung to the rim as you sipped, and you made a point to keep your expression neutral, though you could feel the bitterness spreading across your tongue.

Cillian leaned in a bit closer, his Irish accent growing thicker with each drink. “But then, what would we have to complain about, eh? I think the shite beer is half the charm of this place.” His voice was smoother, more relaxed, and you noticed the way his words seemed to roll off his tongue, rich with the lilting cadence of his heritage. It was endearing, undeniably so, and you found it increasingly hard to focus on anything else.

“Is that what they call charm here? I must’ve missed the memo,” you quipped, smirking as you met his gaze. The clever back-and-forth felt natural, easy, and it warmed you more than the alcohol ever could.

“You’re lucky I’m here to explain it to ya,” he said, leaning in just a bit more, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Otherwise, you might’ve gone your whole life without knowing the joys of terrible Irish beer.”

“Oh, I’m so grateful,” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from your words, but your smile gave you away. “I’ll add it to the list of things you’ve taught me.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter, and you noticed how close he had gotten. His arm was now resting casually on the back of your seat, and every so often, your knees would brush, those accidental touches sending a small, electric thrill through you. The pub’s atmosphere, once filled with distant conversations and the clinking of glasses, now seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. The world outside the booth blurred away, and all that was left was Cillian’s presence, the sound of his voice, and the faint, intoxicating scent of him that mixed with the pub’s woody, earthy aroma.

The more you drank, the closer you both seemed to get, each sip loosening the barriers that had been in place. His laughter grew louder, more infectious, and his accent, more pronounced with every word, sent a shiver down your spine. It was more than just the alcohol—there was an ease between you that you hadn’t felt before, a sense of connection that went beyond the usual playful exchanges.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned in even closer. “I think I’m starting to like this beer.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a smirk, feeling a little more brave. “Is that so? Or is it just the company?”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your ear as he replied, “Maybe a bit of both.”

A familiar flutter stirred in your chest—the undeniable pull that you’d been trying to ignore for days. But tonight, in this pub, with its terrible beer and terrible lighting, you decided you didn’t want to fight it anymore. Not here, not with him.

You moved on to something stronger, whiskey that burned going down but left a warmth spreading through your chest that felt as intoxicating as the alcohol itself. With each sip, the edges of your nerves smoothed out, and you felt looser, braver, and a little sexier. You sat on the bar stool with your body angled slightly toward Cillian. The leather of your jacket creaked as you shifted, the red of your lipstick standing out against the dim light. You felt his gaze on you, not just looking, but really seeing you, his eyes tracing the curve of your neck down to where your top dipped, lingering just a moment longer than usual.

His look was hungry, but it wasn’t just that—it was curious, intrigued. He rested his elbow on the bar, leaning closer, his knee brushing against yours as he picked up his glass, watching you over the rim as he took a sip. The whiskey seemed to bring out the blue in his eyes, making them sharp and piercing, but there was softness there too, an openness that had grown.

“You know,” you began, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. “I was just thinking about the first time we met.”

His eyebrow arched in curiosity, and he leaned in a little closer, his interest piqued. “Oh yeah? That was… what, 7 years ago? At the Globes, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, taking another sip of your drink, the liquid courage giving you the confidence to broach the subject. “Yeah, that’s right. And you… well, let’s just say you weren’t exactly my biggest fan.”

Cillian looked taken aback, a surprised smile curving his lips. “What? I don’t remember it like that.”

“Oh, come on, Cill,” you said, playfully nudging his shoulder. “You kind of hated me."

He laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t hate you. I just… I guess I had some preconceived notions about you."

“Preconceived notions?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eyes.

He hesitated, looking almost sheepish as he ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I thought you were this… I don’t know, shallow, self-absorbed person. Just someone who was there for the attention, you know?”

You let out a mock gasp, placing a hand over your heart in faux offense. “I’m wounded! I can’t believe you thought that about me, really.”

He chuckled, but there was a hint of regret in his voice as he added, “But I was wrong. I figured that out pretty quickly.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, leaning in a little closer, your voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “When exactly did you figure that out?”

“The first time we really talked,” he said, his voice equally soft, the words carrying a weight they hadn’t before. “After I saw you in the hall, crying. I don't know. You were so real, and I realized you weren’t what I thought. Not even close.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Wow, so I had to have a full-on breakdown just to convince you I wasn’t a shallow, self-absorbed diva? Good to know, Cill. I’ll make sure to cry more often around you.”

He laughed, bringing his fingertips to his lips, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Not quite what I meant, but I guess it did the trick, didn’t it?”

You remembered that night vividly, how everything had seemed to spiral downward so quickly. “I was having the worst night,” you said laughing, a slight bitterness creeping into your tone as the memories resurfaced. “I’d just been dumped by the world’s biggest asshole that morning, and then there you were, tearing down everything I said with some esoteric joke.”

Cillian winced slightly, the regret more pronounced now. “Yeah… I wasn’t exactly charming, was I?”

“You were a bit of a jerk,” you admitted, but there was no malice in your words. “But you made up for it with that burger offer.”

A grin spread across his face as he remembered. “I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

“Well, I figured a burger with you was better than sulking alone,” you replied, smiling at the memory. “And it was. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was exactly what I needed.”

His expression softened. “I’m glad I asked, then.”

The bartender interrupted your conversation to ask if you wanted another round, and without a second thought, you both nodded in agreement. It seemed neither of you were ready to call it a night. The place was warmer now. As you waited for your drinks, your eyes drifted to the ceiling. Neil Young's "Harvest Moon" played softly in the background, the gentle melody weaving through the low murmur of conversation.

You glanced over your shoulder and noticed that a few couples had begun to dance, swaying gently to the music. There was something so natural, so easy about it, that you couldn’t resist the urge that bubbled up inside you. Turning back to Cillian, who was taking a sip of his drink, you couldn’t help but smile. “Come on,” you said, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Dance with me.”

Cillian raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of amusement and skepticism. He muttered something in reply but you couldn’t quite make it out. It only made you more determined.

“I didn’t catch that,” you teased, leaning in closer as if trying to decipher his words. “But I know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh, do you, piano woman?” he shot back, his tone light but with a challenging edge.

“Yes,” you said, grinning. “You’re going to say that you don’t dance.”

Cillian chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “You’re right about that. I don’t.”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a low, persuasive tone. “I know, but you’ll indulge me anyway.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if weighing his options. Then, with a small, resigned sigh, he downed the rest of his drink in one go and set the glass back on the bar with a decisive thud. Before you could react, he grabbed your hand and stood up, pulling you along with him.

It caught you by surprise, the suddenness of it, especially considering he had just insisted he wasn’t the dancing type. As he led you toward the makeshift dance floor, he leaned in and said with a grin, “You’re lucky I like you.”

You laughed, a loud, genuine sound that felt as freeing as the night itself. “Oh, am I now?”

He smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, because otherwise, there’s no way I’d be making a fool of myself like this.”

You shot back with a playful, “Well, let’s see just how much of a fool you really are, then.”

As you reached the space where others were already swaying to the music, Cillian took your hand and pulled you in close. You could feel the warmth of his body, the solidity of his frame as he moved with you, the two of you finding a rhythm that was surprisingly in sync. It wasn’t anything fancy—just simple, slow movements to match the easy tempo of the song—but it felt intimate, like you were the only two people in the room.

Cillian leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Did you know I'm a failed musician?”

You couldn’t help but smirk, the alcohol loosening your tongue.

“Failed, huh? So, what happened? Couldn’t hack it with the rest of us rockstars?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. "Something like that. I was in a band, actually."

You leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “You? In a band? Color me shocked.”

It was kind of hot, imagining him on stage with a guitar in hand.

"We even had a record deal and everything."

"What happened?"

Cillian’s expression softened as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of nostalgia. “My brother was still in school at the time, and my parents basically told me I could fuck up my life if I wanted, but I couldn’t take him down with me. So, it fell through.”

As you continued to sway together, the story of his past unraveled between you, each word carrying a hint of regret mixed with fond memories. “Those were great times, though,” he continued, his eyes distant as if he were seeing it all again. “I’d be out late, drinking, playing music in small pubs, thinking we were going to make it big. It was a bit of a rush, you know?”

You could imagine him there, young and reckless, with that same intensity in his eyes that he carried now, but wilder, untamed by the years. “So music was your first love, then?” you asked, your voice soft, genuinely curious.

He nodded, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, I suppose it was. I had been playing instruments since I was little. There’s something about it that just… gets into your blood. But then, acting came along."

“When exactly did you know that's what you wanted?” you asked, wanting to peel back more layers of him.

His smile turned almost bashful, as if recalling a secret he hadn’t shared in a while. “There was this guy who ran the Cork theater company—had a huge man crush on him. He was brilliant, and I ended up doing a workshop with him. After that, I just pestered him for an audition until he gave in.”

You chuckled softly at the thought of a young Cillian, determined and probably a bit of a nuisance, chasing after something he wanted so badly. “And that was it?”

“Well, there was a drama module in school when I was about 16, 17—during the transition year. That’s when I first got the bug. Ended up starring in A Clockwork Orange. It was sexy, dangerous, unlike anything I’d ever seen. I loved playing someone else, losing myself in the character.”

He paused, then flashed a self-deprecating grin. “There’s not much to look at, but if you give me a minute…"

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his modesty. “You’re selling yourself short,” you teased, leaning in closer, your bodies moving in sync to the music. "Cill, you literally have an Oscar."

“Ah, the Oscar... just a glorified doorstop, really,” he quipped, his tone light but with that familiar undercurrent of humility.

"It's the work that matters, blah blah blah," you joked, rolling your eyes playfully. His eyes were crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement. "Exactly," he agreed, before pulling you into a twirl.

"Do you miss it? you ask, hands circling his neck as you sway. "Music, I mean."

Cillian blew out a slow breath, his eyes growing thoughtful as he considered your question. “Sometimes,” he admitted. "But life has a way of taking you where you need to be, not where you want to be.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, warm and heavy, as you mulled them over. Is this where I need to be? The question echoed in your mind, reverberating through the deeper corners of your thoughts. You weren’t sure you had an answer. You were a successful artist, living the dream so many could only imagine, but there was always that lingering sense of something missing, a quiet ache that you couldn’t quite place.

Where do I need to be?

The thought spiraled, unfurling like an endless thread, pulling at the edges of your consciousness. You started questioning everything—your choices, your path, the very essence of who you were. Those words seemed to tap into something deep inside, a reservoir of doubts and desires that you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, almost like you were talking to yourself more than to him.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around you, swaying slowly. See, this is the thing about Cillian, he had a way of making you feel seen and understood, even when you didn't fully understand yourself, even without saying a single word.

The warmth of Cillian's arm around you, the subtle way he moved—it all felt so natural, like this was where you were supposed to be. But then, the memory of four nights ago crept in—the way his breath had hitched as you said you weren't going to stop him from going further, the tension that crackled between you both like a live wire.

The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. Heat flushed through your body, a dizzying sensation that made it hard to focus on anything other than the way he was looking at you. A knot formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse.

The memory was like a current running through you, making you hyper-aware of every point of contact with him. The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. Your mind was swirling with thoughts, the alcohol making you bolder, more aware of the things left unsaid.

"I can't stop thinking about what almost happened the other day."

“What almost happened?”

He let out a low, almost inaudible chuckle, his lips dangerously nuzzled in your hair. “Don’t play coy with me, love. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach, the way your body reacted to his nearness. “I’ve tried to stop thinking about it,” he continued, his voice a hushed murmur that only you could hear, “but I can’t.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken desire. You wanted to let go of the restraint you’d been holding onto all night, but you were still aware of where you were, of the people around you—even if they weren’t paying you any attention. The thought of crossing that line, right here in the middle of the pub, was both thrilling and terrifying.

But Cillian, sensing your hesitation, didn’t push.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression serious but laced with that familiar smirk. “Wanna head out of here?” he asked, his voice low but with a note of urgency.

You didn’t need to think twice. “Yes,” you breathed, the word escaping your lips before you could stop it.

The night air hit you like a shock to the system as you stepped outside, the cool breeze carrying with it the faint scent of rain. The streets were quieter now, the lively noise of the pub fading into the background. You were drunk, the world tilting slightly with each step, and neither of you could drive.

Cillian pulled out his phone, his fingers deftly dialing the number for a cab. You watched him as he made the call, the way his jaw tensed slightly as he spoke, his voice low and calm despite the alcohol humming through his veins. There was something undeniably attractive about the way he carried himself, even in this moment of mundane practicality.

“What about your car?” you asked, your words slightly slurred but still coherent.

He glanced over at you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll pick it up in the morning,” he replied smoothly, his accent curling around the words in that familiar, endearing way. “Don’t worry, love.”

The cab arrived not long after, the headlights cutting through the night as it pulled up to the curb. Cillian opened the door for you, and the two of you slid into the backseat, sitting close together but not touching. Not yet. The space between you crackled with unspoken tension, the thrill of anticipation hanging heavy in the air.

You found yourself playing with your ring-clad fingers, the cool metal a small distraction as the silence stretched out between you. The driver turned up the music a bit, and the opening chords of Inhaler’s "Dublin in Ecstasy" filled the car. The song was somehow fitting, its pulsing beat and haunting lyrics adding to the electric atmosphere.

It started to rain, the droplets tapping against the windows and turning them foggy, adding a sense of intimacy to the small, enclosed space. The outside world became a blur of lights and shadows, the city fading away as the cab sped through the streets. You could feel Cillian’s gaze on you, the weight of it almost tangible as you sat there, both of you lost in your own thoughts.

You turned to look at him, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The music became more intoxicating, the beat syncing with the rapid thudding of your heart. He noticed you bopping your head slightly to the rhythm, and a small, surprised smile crossed his face.

“You know this?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

You smirked, leaning back against the seat as you replied with playful confidence, “I know every song ever made, actually.”

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Is that so? A human jukebox, then?”

“Something like that,” you teased, the conversation light but charged with something more, something neither of you could ignore any longer.

The cab’s interior felt smaller, more suffocating as you neared your destination. When you finally arrived at his place, Cillian paid the driver, and the two of you got out, raising your jackets over your heads to shield from the rain, which had grown heavier. You both ran to the entrance, your footsteps echoing in the quiet night as you giggled like teenagers, the spontaneity of it all making you feel light, carefree.

He fumbled with his keys for a moment, the sound of metal clinking against metal filling the air before he managed to unlock the door. You stepped inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the chill of the rain outside. The living room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the faint glow of the night sky through the large windows. The shadows played across the walls, casting everything in a soft, almost ethereal light.

You tossed off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor, your clothes clinging to your skin from the rain. You could feel the fabric sticking to your body, the dampness making you shiver slightly, but the heat in the room—and the heat between the two of you—kept you from feeling cold. Cillian wandered off somewhere for a moment, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited, the anticipation almost unbearable.

When he returned, his eyes locked onto yours, a predatory glint in his gaze that made your breath hitch. He took a step closer, the distance between you shrinking to almost nothing as he asked, his voice low and laced with a hint of something dangerous, “What should we do now?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with suggestion, and you felt a rush of heat flood through you, your pulse quickening. You moved toward him, your steps slow and deliberate, closing the gap until you were inches away. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly despite the bravado in your words.

His hand reached up, fingers brushing against your cheek before trailing down to remove a stray piece of hair stuck to your face. His touch was light, almost reverent, but it sent sparks of electricity through your skin, making you feel like you were on fire. His hand continued its path down your arm, and you followed it with your eyes, watching as his fingers traced the outline of your veins, the simple action making your breath catch in your throat.

He moved his hand up to your shoulder, his fingers ghosting over the strap of your top before slowly sliding it down, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your skin burned under his touch, a mix of desire and something else—something that felt like shame, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It felt too good, too right.

His hand slid up to your neck, his grip firm but not painful as he held you there, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps. You clung to his black t-shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as you tried to steady yourself, but the room seemed to spin around you, the intensity of the moment making you dizzy.

Cillian’s eyes bore into yours, his expression dark and filled with an unspoken promise as he whispered, his voice rough and filled with desire, “Tell me what you want.”

You wanted him—every part of him. You wanted to forget everything else, to lose yourself in this moment, to give in to the desire that had been simmering between you for days. And as his grip tightened slightly on your neck, pulling you closer until your lips were just a breath away from his, you knew there was no turning back.

"Kiss me," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

So he did. He kissed you, long and slow. His lips were soft yet urgent, and you melted into his touch. Your hands found their way to his damp hair, tangling in the strands as you deepened the kiss, savoring every moment. His breath mingled with yours, warm and laced with the faint taste of whiskey, his hands still cradling your face as if you were something fragile, something to be cherished.

But then the kiss deepened, the restraint unraveling as the need between you grew too powerful to contain. His hands slid from your face down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The kiss became more urgent, more demanding, as if he was trying to consume you, to lose himself in you. You responded in kind, your own hands gripping his t-shirt, pulling him closer, wanting more—needing more. The heat between you intensified, the tenderness giving way to something hotter, something that felt like it had been a long time coming.

The rain continued to patter softly against the windows, a distant sound that seemed to fade into the background as your focus narrowed to just him—to the way his hands gripped your waist, to the way his breath hitched when you bit down softly on his lower lip.

You started moving backward, the need to feel him against you overwhelming any thought of where this might be going. Your feet stumbled slightly as you both moved toward the couch, the dim light from the windows casting your entwined shadows across the floor. He guided you, his hands firm and sure, but there was a tenderness in the way he led you, as if he was still holding back, still trying to keep a grasp on the control that was slipping away.

You reached the edge of the couch, and he paused for a moment, his gaze intense as he looked at you, his chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. “You're in control here,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, thick with the weight of the question, with the possibility of what was about to happen. "We stop whenever you want to, okay?"

Ever so polite, you thought. You answered him by pulling him down with you, your lips finding his again with a renewed urgency. The cushions gave way beneath you, the soft fabric enveloping you both as you sank into it. His body pressed against yours, the weight of him grounding you.

As the kiss deepened, became more frantic, more desperate, you could feel the tension in him—the barely restrained control he was struggling to maintain. His hands roamed over your body, landing on your jeans and slowly playing with the button, a silent request for permission.

"Don't stop now," you teased, your voice barely audible against his lips. He responded by deepening the kiss even further, his hands moving with purpose as he unbuttoned your jeans. He stopped for a moment, lowering himself to his knees in front of you, his hands taking off your shoes before sliding your jeans down your legs. He positioned himself between your legs once again, kissing you rough this time.

The couch was vast and soft underneath you as one of his hands traveled up your thigh—still not as high as you wanted it. You let out a needy moan, encouraging him. When his fingers brushed against the edge of your already wet panties, you couldn't help but arch your back in anticipation. He pushed them aside, his eyes never leaving yours. When his fingertips made contact with the wetness of your folds, he groaned too, in a way you found very satisfying.

"I've thought about this…a lot," he murmured, slipping a finger inside you, making you gasp with pleasure. "What you might sound like. What you might taste like. What you might feel like."

He pulled away from you swiftly, and you moaned at the loss. He kneeled down in front of you, his gaze intense as he leaned in to kiss your inner thigh, sending shivers down your spine. He pulled down your panties. You went stiff, suddenly aware of how exposed you were. He opened your thighs a little more, as if he wanted to see more. "I want to make you feel good," he whispered. "Let me taste you."

"Yes," you breathed out.

You couldn't stop looking at him as he pleasured you, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. Each flick of his tongue and gentle bite made you arch your back in ecstasy, completely lost in the moment. His hands tightened around your thighs, pulling you closer to his face. He groaned in pleasure, and you opened your thighs wider. His tongue was thorough and deliberate, exploring every inch of you with precision. Your hands grabbed the couch cushions, trying to ground yourself as you felt yourself spiraling into pure bliss. And just when you started to roll your hips, he slid two fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made you gasp and moan uncontrollably.

It was too much. Pleasure consumed you as you arched your back violently against his touch and you moaned his name over and over again, letting go. You were drunk on him— his touch, his mouth, his scent—lost in the euphoria of the moment.

"Fuckin' incredible."

Well, yes, fucking incredible indeed. But not as incredible as it would feel to have him inside you completely, filling every inch of you. To reduce him to the whimpering mess he had just turned you into.

Before Cillian could do anything, you sat up and pushed him flat to the floor. You were both drunk and too eager to make it to the bedroom, so you might as well just do it right there on the living room rug.

He grunted in surprise, but his hands quickly found their way to your hips as you straddled him, pulling you closer. You removed your top, your breasts spilling out as you leaned down to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. His fingers gently tangle in your hair as you pull away from his mouth, pulling his black t-shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

He stopped breathing as you worked your way down his chest, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles until you reached the waistband of his jeans. Your hands made quick work of the button and zipper, and you eagerly slid them down his legs, revealing his growing arousal.

When your fingers wrapped around it—fuck—his skin felt hot and smooth against your touch, his breath hitching. You positioned yourself to take him in your mouth, savoring the taste of his desire as you licked a slow, teasing path along his cock. Cillian let out a ragged moan, his hands tangling in your hair.

You lifted your eyes. He had propped himself up on his elbows, watching you with his lips parted, pupils blown.

You had him.

You took him deeper, relishing the way he arched into your mouth, his groans spurring you on. With each flick of your tongue, you could feel him losing control, surrendering to the pleasure you were giving him. "Fuck, stop," he gasped, his voice strained with need. "I need to be inside you."

“Condom?” you asked, the question hanging in the thick air between you.

“Upstairs,” he said, his voice rough, almost pleading.

You hesitated for just a second. “I don’t mind… if you don’t.”

For a moment, he froze, his blue eyes darkening as they searched yours, as if to make sure he’d heard you right. Then, with a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, he nodded.

You released him with a smirk and sat up, swung over him. You positioned yourself so that his hands were on your hips, guiding you down onto him. The anticipation was electric, every nerve in your body alive with the need to be closer to him, to feel him, completely and without anything between you.

As you sank onto him, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, a low moan escaping from both of you. The feeling of being filled by him sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire between you that burned hotter with each thrust. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you matched his rhythm, lost in the intensity of the moment.

This was going to end you.

His movements became more urgent, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered your name. The room was filled with the sound of your mingled gasps and moans, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo off the walls. He felt so good, so right. His thrusts became more deep and harsh—you wanted even more. As if he read your mind, he sat up against the couch and kissed you deeply, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Bloody hell," he murmured against your lips, both his hands grabbed your face as he looked deeply into your eyes, and you circled your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and circling your hips in rhythm with his. Your breasts pressed against his chest, the heat between you both rising as your bodies moved in perfect synchronization. He was close—you were close. His hands roamed your back, your ass, and your breasts, and you threw your head back when his mouth found its way to your nipples.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, "Yes, oh—" you screamed as white-hot pleasure shot through your body, causing you both to reach the peak of ecstasy together. You felt his cock swell, filling you completely as he released with a guttural groan.

The intensity of the moment left you both breathless, bodies entwined in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. He had leaned back to the floor, and you had gone with him. He was rubbing your back, and your face was pressed to his chest.

"You okay, love?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your skin. You hummed, feeling content and safe in his arms, basking in the afterglow of your shared pleasure.

You stayed like that for a moment, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath you, the quiet rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours. His fingers kept tracing those gentle patterns on your back, grounding you, reminding you that you were still here, still connected. The afterglow wrapped around you both, a warmth that made you feel safe, cherished. You could still feel him inside you.

“How bad would it be if we just stayed here?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the moment. There was a part of you that didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the spell.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest, and you could feel the rumble against your cheek. “Well, love,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, “I’m not sure how comfortable the floor will be in about twenty minutes, but I’d say it’s worth a try if you are.”

You laughed, the sound light and free. “Fair point,” you conceded, shifting slightly to look up at him. His eyes were warm, a little teasing, but there was an underlying tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he said gently, his hands sliding down your sides as he carefully helped you up. “Let’s get cleaned up. I promise the bed is much more inviting.”

He rose to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You accepted, your legs feeling a little shaky as you stood, still a bit lightheaded from everything that had just happened. His hands lingered on your hips, steadying you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the care in his touch.

Together, you made your way upstairs, his arm draped around your shoulders as he guided you toward his bedroom. The space was warm, cozy, with a lived-in feel that made it undeniably his. The bed was unmade, sheets rumpled, as if he’d just gotten out of it before coming to find you.

He led you to the bathroom, where the soft glow of a single light illuminated the space. He turned on the shower, testing the water temperature before gesturing for you to step inside. You did, letting the hot water cascade over you, washing away the remnants of the night, though the memory of it clung to your skin. He joined you a moment later, his hands gentle as he helped you rinse off, his touch tender, almost reverent. You stood under the water together, letting the steam envelope you both.

When you were both clean, he handed you a towel, wrapping another around his waist. He left the bathroom for a moment and returned with a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, offering them to you.

“Here,” he said with a soft smile. “This will do.”

You took the clothes, slipping them on. The fabric was soft, worn in, and it smelled like him—woodsy, with a hint of something earthy and warm. You found yourself breathing it in, the scent comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

When you were both dressed, he led you to the bed, pulling back the covers and slipping in beside you. He held the blanket up for you, and you slid in next to him, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to the warmth of his body. He immediately pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your waist as you nestled into his side, your head resting on his chest once more.

The room was dark, but the faint light from outside filtered in through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the walls. You could hear the rain still pattering against the window, a soothing backdrop to the quiet intimacy between you. His hand found yours under the covers, fingers intertwining as he held you close, his breath warm against your forehead. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm, steady and reassuring, and it lulled you into a state of deep relaxation.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard you. You don't know for what exactly you were thanking him, but it felt like the right thing to say in that moment.

He responded with a gentle squeeze of your hand, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

You didn’t need to say anything more. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. You both knew that tonight had changed something between you, something profound and unnameable, but for now, it was enough to just be here, together.

a/n: there you have it, i hope you guys liked it!! please like, reblog and comment. i wanna hear your thoughts! and as always, thank you for the support <3

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