#so we know just how much he stretched his limits here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ughbrie · 2 months ago

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anchored to you | rafayel

⤜ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ- You rolled your eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” he mused, his voice lilting, coaxing—so effortlessly familiar. “You wound me, Miss Bodyguard. Here I was, trying to paint a masterpiece, thinking of you after an agonizing week apart, only to check my notifications and find you, in the dead of night no less, liking another man’s post. Truly, a betrayal of the highest order.”

“Thomas is your agent.”

“Doesn’t change the facts.”

You sighed again, but this time, it was laced with amusement. “You know what? I’m coming over.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, sharper now— “What?”

(Or... at 3:30 AM, Rafayel calls about you liking Thomas’ post. You know him far too well to believe that’s all it is. So you go to him, finding him amidst half-finished paintings and restless emotions, teetering between wanting space and needing you too much.)

⤜ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ- rafayel x female reader

⤜ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ- smut & fluff

⤜ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ- 10.5k words

⤜ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ (or tags)- nsfw, mdni, no use of y/n, use of pet names (cutie & miss bodyguard), dom!rafayel, jealous!rafayel, themes of codependency and insecure feelings, references to rafayel's limited five star memory (intertidal zone) and bond story (nightly stroll), angst (slight-ish), possessive behavior, making out, clit play, mutual masturbation, cum marking, overstimulation, penetration (p in v), dirty talk, unprotected sex, marking (biting), creampie, mentions of ownership, and aftercare.

⤜ ɴᴏᴛᴇ- I've always wanted to write about that one time in the game when Rafayel called MC (us) early in the morning just because she (we) liked one of Thomas’ posts—but, of course, with a little more plot. Hope you enjoy!

The quiet hum of the city at 3:30 AM was a stark contrast to the sharp vibration of your phone on the nightstand. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, your screen casting a cool glow over your hands as you stared at the caller ID.

Rafayel.

Bringing the phone to your ear, you barely got a word out before Rafayel’s voice came through, low and unmistakably petulant.

“At 3:30 AM, four hours after you said goodnight to me, you liked Thomas’ post. Instead of, like, sending me a message.”

There was a slight pause, just long enough for you to picture the way he must look right now—sprawled out somewhere, his dusky purple hair a tousled mess, one hand probably still holding his paintbrush, the other curled around his phone. His voice was smooth, casual even, but you caught the edge beneath it, the restless undercurrent of something deeper.

“Rafayel—” you sighed, rubbing at your temple, but he cut in before you could finish.

You had only just liked a post. A simple tap of your finger on Thomas’ latest Moment, barely even thinking about it. But somehow, that was enough.

“Is this what you do when you can’t sleep, cutie? Scroll through posts and ignore me?” His words were lighthearted, teasing, but that wasn’t all there was to it.

You knew him well enough by now—there was a reason he called, and it wasn’t just to complain about a liked post. It was the same reason he always asked you to update him, the same reason his messages came at odd hours, checking in without outright saying he needed to. He wouldn’t ask for reassurance, not directly. Instead, he’d do this—wrap himself in playful irritation, hide behind his usual theatrics, and hope you’d read between the lines.

And you did.

But it had been a week since you last saw him—because he asked you not to visit, claiming you were too distracting. “Cutie, if you’re here, how am I supposed to suffer properly for my art?” he’d said, all dramatic sighs and faux despair. “What if I forget to be miserable and start painting you instead?”

You had laughed, indulged him, and then you had listened. Given him the space he asked for. But now, with his name flashing across your screen at 3:30 AM, his silence stretching between you like a thread pulled too thin, you wondered if that had been the right choice.

Shaking your head, you drew in a slow breath and let a small smile tug at your lips, even though he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t think you’d still be awake.”

“I was trying to paint,” Rafayel admitted, his voice carrying the faintest hint of exasperation. “But then my phone buzzed, and—what do you know? Turns out I am capable of being abandoned and creatively drained at the same time. Tragic, isn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Thomas is your agent.”

“Doesn’t change the facts.”

You sighed again, but this time, it was laced with amusement. “You know what? I’m coming over.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, sharper now— “What?”

“You’re still in your studio, aren’t you?”

“That’s not the point. It’s late.”

“Exactly. And now you’ve got me wide awake.” You sat up, already reaching for your sweater. “Besides, if you’re going to whine about being abandoned, I might as well do something about it.”

“Cutie.” His tone was suddenly more serious. “It’s dangerous.”

“I’m a Hunter, Rafayel. I deal with Wanderers. I can handle myself.”

“That’s not—” He exhaled, as if weighing whether to argue, but he must’ve known it wouldn’t change anything.

“Cutie, you’re being reckless,” Rafayel muttered, exasperation slipping into his voice.

“And you’re being difficult,” you shot back. “I’d much rather talk to you in person.”

He let out a sharp breath, like he was running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get angry.”

You smirked, already slipping on your jacket. “Try not to get too angry when I’m there, then.”

A pause. Then, quieter— “You’re impossible.”

But he didn’t tell you not to come.

You pulled a sweater over your head, the soft fabric settling over your shoulders as you slung a small bag across your body. Extra clothes—because you knew this wouldn’t be a short visit. Because you knew, deep down, that appeasing him would take time.

As you grabbed your phone and house keys, it vibrated once. Then again. And again.

Rafayel.

You ignored it for now, slipping out of your apartment and making your way down the quiet hallway. The city outside was still alive, neon lights flickering in puddles from the earlier rain. You stepped through the building’s gate, raising a hand to hail a cab.

Only when you were safely in the backseat, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence, did you finally check your phone.

The next message was just a long, broken string of typed-out ellipses.

Rafayel: dun come

Rafayel: ill get mad

Rafayel: cutie cutie listen to me i mean it

Rafayel: ur so stubborn its insane who raised u like this

Rafayel: if u show up i swear to god ill

You could picture him—pacing in his studio, running a hand through his hair, chewing on his bottom lip as he typed and deleted messages, trying so hard to pretend he didn’t want you there.

Rafayel: fine but im not opening the door

Rafayel: i mean it

Rafayel: its locked

Rafayel: double locked

Rafayel: barricading it rn

You typed back.

Rafayel: go to sleep like a normal person

Rafayel: cutie go home dont test me

Rafayel: actually u know what im turning my phone off

Rafayel: fr

Rafayel: im pressing the button

Rafayel: last chance to stop being reckless

Rafayel: …

Rafayel: wait what r u doing why r u not answering

Rafayel: hello???

Rafayel: ur not actually coming right

Rafayel: right

Rafayel: CUTIE

Try not to trip over all that furniture when you let me in.

The little “typing…” bubble popped up immediately. Then disappeared. Then popped up again.

You smiled.

Rafayel: ????????

Rafayel: EXCUSE ME

Rafayel: who said ur getting in

Rafayel: who said im letting u in

Rafayel: who said ur not gonna get stuck outside FOREVER

A few minutes passed, you were near his studio and once the cab turned onto his street, there he was.

Rafayel stood outside the gate of his studio, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp silhouette carved against the dim glow of the streetlights. His tousled hair, usually a careful kind of mess, was more unkempt tonight—like he’d run his hands through it too many times while pacing. Even from a distance, you could see the way his jaw tensed, the slight furrow of his brows. He looked intimidating. Unapproachable. Like someone who hadn’t just been blowing up your phone with ridiculous messages.

And yet.

Here he was. Outside. Waiting for you.

The cab slowed to a stop in front of the gate, the tires rolling over the uneven pavement with a soft crunch. Before you could even reach for the door handle, Rafayel was already there.

His fingers curled around the handle of the passenger seat, yanking it with a sharp pull—only for it to stay locked. A fleeting scowl crossed his face, irritation flickering in his eyes—like a storm brewing in a sky streaked with rose-colored clouds as he rapped his knuckles against the window, then motioned for the driver to unlock it.

The driver hesitated.

You could see it in the way his grip tightened on the wheel, his gaze shifting to you in the rearview mirror, uncertain. Concerned. And maybe, if you weren’t you—if you didn’t know Rafayel, if you hadn’t memorized the way he carried himself like an unspoken warning, all sharp edges and simmering intensity—you might have felt that hesitation, too.

But you only sighed, already reaching for your bag. “It’s fine,” you reassured the driver, voice steady. “I know him.”

It was only after you placed the bills into his hand that the lock clicked open.

The moment you pushed the door open, you barely had time to step out before Rafayel’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. His entire demeanor shifted like a switch had been flipped—gone was the intimidating figure who had been standing outside, waiting with crossed arms and a brooding scowl. Instead, the Rafayel in front of you was warm, playful, the same one who had sent you all those ridiculous messages. His hold on you was firm, pressing you flush against him, his chin resting atop your head like he had been waiting for this the entire time.

“You’re so stubborn,” he muttered, his voice laced with something between exasperation and relief.

You huffed a laugh against his chest. “I thought I was staying outside forever since you barricaded the door?”

Rafayel stilled for a fraction of a second before exhaling sharply, his grip on you tightening just the slightest bit. “Yeah, well,” he drawled, his tone slipping back into something teasing, “I figured you’d just break in anyway.”

You sigh into his arms before he’s leading you towards the entrance of his studio.

Inside, the studio was dimly lit, the scent of paint and turpentine clinging to the air. You had barely stepped in before Rafayel was already leading you deeper into the space, steering you toward the large canvas propped up on an easel. He didn’t give you a chance to bring up the real reason you had come—not his cryptic messages, not the weight in his voice, not the way he had been waiting for you outside despite claiming he wouldn’t let you in.

No, instead, he gestured at the painting, his voice smooth, light, deliberately avoiding whatever had been simmering beneath the surface. “What do you think?”

Your gaze drifted over the painting, but before you could answer, something else caught your eye—the mess surrounding it. Crumpled papers littered the floor, discarded sketches with deep, frustrated lines slashing across them. Streaks of paint smeared over the nearby desk, some dried, some still tacky, as if he had gone through so many iterations, chasing something he couldn’t quite reach.

It wasn’t hard to understand why.

The painting in front of you was unmistakably his—a swirl of haunting beauty, a dreamscape teetering on the edge of something sorrowful. And in the center, hidden within layers of colors that bled into one another, were streaks of red coral. Not just any red coral. The same shade, the same intricate, fractured formations that you had seen in all his works.

Rafayel’s work had always been laced with something more than artistry. It was a requiem, a quiet, painstaking tribute to a world long buried beneath the sand. His people. His home. The��Lemurians, slaughtered and scattered, their blood mixing with the ocean until all that remained were these paintings, these desperate fragments of a civilization that humanity had tried to erase.

And yet, standing here, seeing the evidence of his struggle—all those discarded attempts, the restless, feverish way he had chased this image—you knew this one was different.

This wasn’t just another piece to be sold to the highest bidder, another silent form of vengeance wrapped in beauty.

This painting—this one meant something to him.

You exhaled softly, still taking it in. “It’s beautiful.”

The words left you before you even had time to second-guess them. And they weren’t just words—you meant it. This painting was raw in a way that went beyond his usual work, and knowing what he had gone through to reach this version of it only made it more striking.

But as soon as you said it, you felt his gaze on you. Heavy. Unwavering.

You turned to him, and your breath caught at the sight.

His eyes—those pools of blue and pink—were darkened, pupils blown wide, swallowing up the usual sharpness of his gaze. There was a strange kind of intensity there, something unspoken, something restless. Like he was waiting. Like he was memorizing the way you looked as you said those words.

You’d seen him like this before, but it never failed to leave a lingering warmth in your chest, a quiet awareness curling at the edges of your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, trying to steady yourself against the weight of his stare. “So… about that phone call.”

Rafayel blinked once, slow and deliberate, before tilting his head, watching you beneath thick lashes. The studio light caught the pink in his irises, making them gleam like crushed petals under glass. For a moment, he didn’t react, didn’t move, and then—like a tide pulling back—his expression changed.

His lips curled into something languid, lazy. A smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, tousling the dusky purple strands even further. “Tch. Here we go.”

You ignored his theatrics, crossing your arms as you leaned against the closest surface. The room still smelled like oil paint and damp canvas. “You sounded—” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Like you needed me.”

His fingers twitched at his sides.

For just a second, you saw it—the way his breath hitched, the way his eyes flickered, something raw flashing across his face. But then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. His shoulders rolled back, his stance shifting into something looser, deliberately careless. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, cutie. All I remember is telling you not to come and you showing up anyway.”

You arched a brow, tilting your chin. “Oh? So you didn’t mean it when you said you’d get mad?”

He scoffed, casting his gaze aside, suddenly engrossed in the streaks of dried paint staining his fingers. “I was gonna get mad.”

You stepped closer—close enough to catch the faint flush creeping up his ears, close enough to see the way his jaw tensed, just barely. “Then why were you waiting outside for me?”

Silence.

A long, stretching silence.

His tongue swiped over his lips—slow, deliberate, stalling. Then, finally, his eyes lifted to meet yours. Something swam beneath the blue and pink, something unreadable, something fragile.

He exhaled—a breath caught between a sigh and surrender.

“Because you were coming.”

Then, as if realizing the weight of his own admission, he turned away, raking a hand through his hair, mussing it further. “So you came all this way just to nag me? So unromantic, cutie.” His voice was all drawl, all lazy amusement, but beneath it, beneath the teasing, there was something else—something raw, something he didn’t want you to see.

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “You were the one who called me first.”

“And you were the one who liked some other guy’s post at 3:30 AM.” He shot back without missing a beat, eyes flickering toward you, sharp even in his supposed nonchalance.

You rolled your eyes. “Thomas is not ‘some other guy.’”

“Don’t care.” Rafayel flopped down onto the couch with dramatic flair, draping himself over the cushions like an exhausted cat, arm thrown over his forehead. “What’s done is done. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

You sighed, gaze drifting past him to the painting still propped on its easel. In the dim studio light, it looked almost alive—the deep reds and ink-dark blues swirling like something dredged up from the ocean’s depths. The scattered, crumpled drafts around it told you everything you needed to know.

“Rafayel.” Your voice was quieter this time, careful.

He didn’t look at you, but his fingers twitched against the couch cushion.

“You don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” you continued. “I know why you called me. I know why you’re like this.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted. Then, finally, he let out a slow exhale, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes meeting yours.

“Yeah? And what am I like, cutie?” His voice was light, teasing, but you could hear the thread of something else beneath it—something taut, something fraying at the edges. A quiet challenge.

Your gaze didn’t waver. “You’re scared.”

That got him.

His lips parted slightly, breath catching—just for a second—before he covered it up with a slow, lopsided smirk. “Scared? Of what? You?”

“Of me leaving.”

His smirk lingered, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Rafayel didn’t answer right away. His fingers curled into the fabric of the couch, grip tightening for the briefest moment before he forced them to relax. The smirk on his lips wavered—just a fraction—but enough for you to catch it.

Then, with a scoff, he turned his head away, staring somewhere past you, toward the half-finished painting standing in the dim light. “Don’t say stuff like that,” he muttered.

You took a step closer, voice softer now. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

His jaw tightened, his throat bobbing in a swallow. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you could see it—woven into the way his body tensed, the way his hands refused to stay still, fingers tapping restlessly against the couch. You knew him. You knew how he was when he got like this. When he tried to pretend things didn’t bother him, when he played the fool because it was easier than admitting the weight pressing against his ribs.

You sat down beside him, close but not quite touching. “Rafayel.”

Nothing.

You let out a slow breath. “I’m here. You don’t have to act like I’m not.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, suddenly, he let his body slump sideways, his head dropping against your shoulder in a heavy, boneless motion. His hair tickled your cheek, and his warmth seeped through the fabric of your sweater.

“I don’t like it,” he muttered. His voice was low, muffled against you.

“Don’t like what?”

“You being far.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest. Slowly, carefully, you reached up, brushing your fingers through his hair. He didn’t stop you. If anything, he melted further, like a thread pulled loose.

“I’m not far,” you murmured. “I’m right here.”

He huffed, but it wasn’t his usual theatrical sound of complaint—it was something quieter, something raw. “Still don’t like it.”

His arms moved before you could react, looping around your waist, pulling you in, pulling you against him like you’d disappear the second he let go. His grip wasn’t desperate—but it was firm, certain, stubborn.

You exhaled, smoothing your fingers over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of him pressed against you. “For the past week, I gave you space,” you murmured. “You said you’d be painting something for an exhibit. That having me around was… distracting.”

Rafayel let out a soft scoff against your shoulder, his grip tightening—like he knew exactly where you were going with this and didn’t like it one bit.

“So I listened,” you continued. “I gave you space. And yet—” you pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your head and look at him, “—you’re acting like I vanished off the face of the earth.”

His eyes flickered over your face, something restless, unreadable, shifting beneath the surface. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he pulled away, flopping back against the couch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, cutie,” he drawled, throwing an arm over his eyes like he was shielding himself from a particularly blinding light. “I was doing just fine.”

You raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking pointedly to the chaotic mess of crumpled papers and paint-streaked cloth littering the room. “Yeah. Clearly.”

A pause.

Then—his fingers twitched. A tell.

You caught it—the way his fingers curled slightly, a fraction too tense, like a stray thread barely holding everything together. It was the smallest thing, but with Rafayel, the smallest things always spoke the loudest.

Your gaze softened. “Rafayel.”

His arm remained over his eyes, but his lips twitched—just a little, like he was debating whether to smirk or frown. In the end, he did neither.

Instead, his other hand lifted, reaching blindly for you, fingers curling loosely around your wrist. He didn’t pull you closer. Didn’t say anything. Just held on.

Your chest ached.

“You were doing fine, huh?” you said quietly, shifting so you could properly look at him. “Then why does this look like the aftermath of a war zone?”

Rafayel groaned, finally dragging his arm away from his face to glare at you. “It’s called the creative process, cutie. Not all of us can be effortless masterpieces.”

You snorted, unconvinced. “Right. Creative process. Is that why you sent me a hundred messages at three in the morning?”

He clicked his tongue, clearly about to dodge the question with something absurd, but you squeezed his wrist before he could. The reaction was immediate—his mouth shut, his eyes flickering toward your touch.

For a second, just a second, you saw it again—that restlessness, that hesitation, the war between wanting you close and pretending he didn’t.

Then, quieter, you asked, “You really didn’t want me here?”

His jaw shifted. He looked away, fingers tightening around yours, voice dropping lower. “That’s not—” He exhaled sharply, as if physically forcing himself to swallow down whatever instinct had been his first response. “Don’t twist my words, cutie. You know what I meant.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “You could have just asked me to come by, you know.”

Rafayel’s gaze snapped back to yours, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“For the past week,” you continued, voice steady, “even when you told me I’d be a distraction… if you really wanted me here, you could have just said so.”

His fingers twitched again, his grip flexing slightly around your wrist. “That’s—” He clicked his tongue, his expression shifting like he was trying to rearrange his thoughts faster than he could say them. “That’s not how it works, cutie.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No? Then how does it work?”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his tousled hair before letting his head loll back against the couch. “I don’t know.” His voice was quieter now, like he hated admitting it. “I don’t know how to want something and not ruin it at the same time.”

Your chest tightened.

It was the closest he had come to saying it outright—that he didn’t just want you here. He needed you here.

And it terrified him.

You sighed, shifting closer, your hand settling over his where it rested on the couch. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at you either. His fingers flexed beneath yours, restless.

“I don’t want you to shut me out,” you said, gentle but firm. “Even if I know what you want by now—I still respected what you asked of me. I didn’t come by, I gave you space, because I thought that’s what you needed.” You hesitated, then softer, “Was I wrong?”

A muscle in Rafayel’s jaw twitched. His lips pressed together, something pensive behind his gaze.

Then, with an exhale, he finally looked at you.

“You weren’t wrong,” he murmured. “I thought I needed it too.” He huffed a soft laugh, humorless. “Turns out, I’m just an idiot.”

You smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t say you’re an idiot.”

“Then what would you say?”

You squeezed his hand lightly. “Stubborn. A little dramatic.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but instead, he only turned his hand over, fingers curling around yours. His thumb brushed idly over your knuckles, contemplative.

“You should’ve just ignored me,” he said after a moment.

You raised an eyebrow. “And let you suffer in silence?”

“I would’ve survived.”

You gave him a look.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, fine. Maybe I wouldn’t have.” He peeked at you from between his fingers, voice quieter now, more uncertain. “But you still listened to me, didn’t you?”

Something in the way he said it made your stomach twist—not with relief, but with something heavier. Like it hurt him in a way he didn’t know how to put into words. Like it would’ve been easier if you hadn’t.

You held his gaze, steady, unwavering. “I did,” you admitted. “But I would’ve come—if only you asked.”

You exhaled, your fingers tightening around his. “And now I did come, because I knew this wasn’t just about me liking Thomas’ post.”

Rafayel stilled. Just slightly. His hand in yours remained lax, but his grip on your other hand faltered for half a second—like you had struck something he wasn’t prepared for.

Then he scoffed, leaning his head back against the couch, gaze flicking elsewhere. “Obviously. You think I care that much about some dumb post?”

You gave him a pointed look. “You called me over it.”

His mouth opened—then closed. His expression twisted into something begrudging.

“Okay, maybe I cared a little.”

You rolled your eyes. “Rafayel.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple, before finally—finally—meeting your gaze. But he didn’t look teasing now. Didn’t look like the Rafayel who had whined about your stubbornness through text messages or tried to act put out when you showed up at his door.

There was something raw there. A flicker of hesitation, of want, of something he had trouble admitting even now.

“Fine,” he muttered. “It wasn’t just about the post.” His eyes searched yours, voice quiet. “It was about you.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you. His lips parted like he wanted to speak, but the words hesitated—lingering somewhere between thought and voice.

Then, with a heavy breath, he raked a hand through his tousled hair and dropped his head back against the couch, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You really wanna talk about this, huh?” His voice was light, almost teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Something strained.

You didn’t answer right away. You just held his gaze, waiting.

Rafayel let out a soft, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Wherever you want,” you said gently.

He was silent for a while. Then, finally, he sat up properly, elbows resting on his knees, fingers lacing together like he was grounding himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. Not soft—Rafayel never did soft—but honest.

“I don’t like being alone.” The words came slow, deliberate. His thumb ran idly over his knuckles, a nervous habit you rarely saw from him. “Not really. Not when it’s—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Whatever. You get it.”

You did.

He exhaled, tilting his head, gaze flickering toward the painting propped up on the easel—the one he had clearly agonized over. “I told you I needed space. That I had to focus, that I—” He scoffed, pressing his fingers to his temple. “But the second you gave it to me, it was like—like something was missing.” His eyes flicked to you, laced with something almost accusing, almost vulnerable. “It was unbearable.”

You swallowed, watching the way his fingers curled, the way his expression twisted between frustration and something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name.

“I kept telling myself it was fine,” he continued, voice rough, like he hated the confession even as it left his lips. “That it was good, even. That I could work without distraction. But every time I tried to paint—every time—I just ended up staring at the damn canvas, thinking about you instead.” He let out a breath, shaking his head. “I hate that.”

You frowned. “Hate what?”

Rafayel clenched his jaw. “Hate that I need you this much.”

Your breath hitched. His words, raw and unguarded, settled between you like something heavy.

He laughed, short and sharp. “God, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” His fingers curled against his knee. “I used to paint because I had to. Because it was mine. And now—now I feel like I’m dragging you into it too.” His expression darkened, something bitter curling at the edges. “Like I’m taking from you.”

You knew what he meant. Rafayel had always taken from the world. From pain, from suffering, from the ghosts of things that could never be restored. His art had always come from that—extraction. And now, you could see the fear in his eyes. That he had started doing the same with you. That his love for you, his need, had become something he feared he would drain dry.

But you didn’t move away. Didn’t recoil. Instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing over his, grounding him back.

“You’re not taking from me,” you said, firm but gentle. “I’m here because I want to be.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then his fingers curled over yours, his grip tight—desperate, almost.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. But you could hear the waver in his voice. The uncertainty.

Like he wanted to believe you. Like he didn’t know if he could.

Rafayel’s fingers tightened over yours, his grip feverish, like he was anchoring himself to something—someone—before he could spiral too far. His eyes flickered, restless, torn between frustration and something else, something raw.

“It doesn’t help,” he muttered, almost like he was talking to himself. “That you’re always here. That you’re not—” His jaw clenched, and he looked away, shaking his head. “That you’re not pushing me away.”

You frowned, squeezing his hand. “Why would I?”

His laugh was sharp, almost bitter. “Because you should.”

You inhaled, steadying yourself. “Rafayel—”

“No, listen.” He pulled back slightly, though his fingers still lingered over yours, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. “You don’t turn me down. Not when I act like a pain in the ass. Not when I pull you into my mess. Not when I—” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You don’t even get mad when I tell you to stay away, then act like an idiot when you actually do.”

You swallowed, watching the way his expression shifted—tight, conflicted, like the words hurt to say.

“You don’t leave,” he said finally, quieter this time, almost accusing. “And it just—it just makes it worse.”

Your breath hitched. “Worse?”

His eyes flickered to yours, something turbulent beneath the surface.

“I keep thinking,” he murmured, voice rough. “That if you did—if you pushed me away, even just a little—maybe I could stop needing you this much.”

The air between you felt heavy, thick with something unsaid.

He huffed out a humorless laugh, tilting his head back against the couch. “But you won’t, will you?” His eyes, shadowed and tired, flicked to yours. “You never do.”

You didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Rafayel exhaled, shutting his eyes briefly before opening them again, something tired—something helpless—settling behind his gaze.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s what I thought.”

Rafayel let out a slow breath, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His fingers raked through his tousled hair, shoulders tense, like he was holding something back—like he was bracing himself.

“I don’t trust it,” he admitted finally, voice low, rough around the edges.

You frowned. “Trust what?”

His lips twisted, like he was trying to find the right words. “This. You.” A pause, then he huffed out a quiet laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Not because of anything you’ve done. You’re—you’re too good to me, cutie.”

The way he said it—like it was an accusation—made your heart ache.

Rafayel’s hands flexed against his knees before curling into fists. “It’s just that…I know what it’s like. To have someone be everything. To be convinced that no matter what, they won’t leave.” His fingers twitched. “And then one day, they do.”

Your chest tightened. “Rafayel—”

“You can say it won’t happen,” he cut in, looking at you now, eyes dark with something heavy. “You can promise all you want. But I’ve heard it before.” He let out a shaky breath. “I’ve believed it before.”

Your heart pounded.

“And that’s why I—” He broke off, shaking his head. “That’s why I don’t know what the hell I want. One second, I need you here, and the next, I think maybe—maybe it’d be easier if you weren’t.”

Your breath caught.

“Because if I let myself have this—if I let myself need you—” He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. “Then what happens when you leave?”

There it was. The real fear.

Not anger. Not frustration.

Just the quiet, aching certainty that he would be left behind. Again.

Your throat tightened. Slowly, carefully, you reached for his hand. His fingers were still curled into a fist, knuckles white, but you pried them open, threading your fingers through his. Warm. Calloused. Shaking.

“Then I won’t,” you said simply.

His breath hitched. His gaze snapped to yours, searching, uncertain. “You don’t—you can’t know that.”

“I do.” You squeezed his hand. “Rafayel, I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a ragged breath, and you held his hand tighter. “No matter what happens, no matter what you do, how much space you need, or how much you push and pull—I’m here.” Your voice was steady, certain, because you meant it. “I’ll always be here.”

Rafayel exhaled sharply, as if the weight of your words had knocked the air from his lungs. He looked away, jaw tight, throat working like he was trying to swallow something down.

“You say that now,” he muttered, voice rough, “but—”

“But nothing,” you cut in gently, tugging his hand just enough to make him look at you again. “You’re not just some phase in my life, Rafayel. You matter to me.” Your thumb brushed over his knuckles. “I’m not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

His breath shuddered out of him, his fingers tightening around yours like he was afraid to let go. And for the first time since you’d arrived, you saw it—that tiny flicker of hope beneath all the doubt.

Your lips curled into a small smile. “You know… you’re not the only one who needs someone, Rafayel.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “That so?”

“Mmhm.” You squeezed his hand, tilting your head playfully. “I just happen to be better at hiding it. Comes with the job, you know. Can’t have my client thinking his bodyguard is just as much of a mess as he is.”

That earned you a scoff, though there was the faintest trace of amusement in it. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You shrugged. “I mean, think about it. If I didn’t need you, why the hell would I be here at three in the morning?”

Rafayel stilled. His grip on your hand faltered for half a second before tightening again. You saw his throat bob, his lips part slightly—like he wanted to argue, to throw something back at you. But he didn’t. Because you were right.

His gaze flickered, searching yours, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve, some sign that you were just saying this to make him feel better. But there was none. You meant it.

A breath left him, shakier than he probably wanted it to be. Then, quietly, he muttered, “…Idiot.”

You grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

You suddenly sighed dramatically, stretching your arms above your head before letting them drop. “You know, you didwake me up in the middle of the night. And I did drag myself all the way here, just for you.”

Rafayel arched a brow, skepticism flickering over his face. “You just said you came for me.”

Before he could go any further, you reached out, cupping his jaw with one hand and pressing his cheeks together, effectively smushing his lips into a ridiculous pout. “Shhh.”

His brows furrowed, a muffled noise of protest escaping him.

You smirked. “See? Much better.”

His eyes burned into you, but the effect was entirely ruined by the way his lips were puckered like a sulking child. You had to bite back a laugh.

Rafayel made another unintelligible sound, hands coming up to pry yours away, but you held firm, tilting your head. “Now, are you gonna make it up to me or what?”

Without letting go, you leaned in, pressing the softest, most fleeting kiss against his ridiculously pouted lips.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Rafayel tensed, his entire body going rigid beneath your touch. And then—

His face erupted in color. A deep, searing red that bloomed across his cheeks, climbed to the tips of his ears, and even dusted down the length of his neck. His eyes widened, pupils dilating, mouth parting slightly as if his brain had short-circuited entirely.

You pulled back just enough to see the full effect, utterly pleased with yourself.

His hands, which had been trying to pry yours off a second ago, twitched uselessly before dropping altogether.

“Wha—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, glaring at you as best he could while still blushing furiously. “What the hell was that?”

You grinned, finally releasing his jaw, tapping his cheek lightly. “You looked too cute not to.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing. But the red across his face refused to fade. If anything, it darkened.

“I hate you,” he muttered, voice thick with embarrassment.

You hummed, utterly unbothered. “No, you don’t.”

He didn’t respond—because he couldn’t. Not when his body betrayed him so obviously.

Before he could recover, you leaned in again, this time pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his flushed cheek.

Rafayel froze.

A sharp inhale, his fingers twitching against your waist as if debating whether to push you away or pull you closer. The warmth of his skin burned beneath your lips, the heat radiating from him palpable.

And then—

A strangled noise. Half a scoff, half something else entirely. “You—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply, tilting his head away as if that could somehow hide the deepening red overtaking his face.

His ears. His ears were burning.

You smiled against his skin. “You’re really easy to fluster, you know that?”

His hand curled into the fabric of your sweater. “Shut up.”

You kissed his other cheek just to spite him.

Another sharp inhale. Another full-body flinch.

“Cutie.” His voice was strained, and when you finally pulled back to look at him, his eyes were dark, unreadable, something perilously close to desperate lurking beneath the surface.

It sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. The way his breath fanned against your skin. The way his grip on you had tightened, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

And then, quieter and lower—almost hesitant—he spoke.

“…You’re doing this on purpose.”

You barely had a second to process the way his eyes darkened before he moved.

A sharp tug—your breath hitched—then suddenly, the world tilted.

Before you could react, you found yourself toppled onto the couch, your back pressed against the cushions, Rafayelhovering above you. His grip on your waist was firm, his body heat overwhelming, and his beautiful eyes—flushed with something you couldn’t quite name—devoured you.

You blinked. “Raf—”

And then he kissed you.

No hesitation. No teasing remark. Just desperation, raw and unfiltered, poured into the space between you. His lips found yours in a feverish press, warm, insistent—taking.

Your fingers curled into his shirt instinctively, anchoring yourself as he deepened the kiss, as if trying to chase away something neither of you had spoken aloud. His weight caged you in, a solid, unrelenting presence above you, his hand sliding from your waist to cradle your cheek.

It was different from before—this wasn’t just his usual playful antics, wasn’t just him indulging in his own flirtation.

This was real.

A shuddering breath left him as he pulled back just an inch, enough for your lips to part but not enough to create space. His forehead rested against yours, his own breath uneven.

“…You came for me,” he murmured, almost like he still couldn’t believe it.

You smoothed your hands over his back, feeling the tension in his frame, the way he was holding himself back. “I did.”

His lips brushed against yours again, softer this time. “Say it again.”

You smiled, breathless. “I came for you.”

His exhale was shaky, his hold on you tightening. Then, he kissed you—slower, more lingering, like he was memorizing every second.

For a moment, it was like that.

His lips pressed against yours again—harder this time, more forceful, less patient. The teasing, the usual playful give-and-take between you, was gone.

This was different.

His weight pressed you down into the couch, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, keeping you exactly where he wanted. His other hand curled around your hip, firm, possessive—demanding.

You barely had time to breathe before he was kissing you again and again—deeper, slower, like he was trying to carve the feeling of you into himself. There was heat, unmistakable and consuming, but also a quiet desperation simmering just beneath the surface.

His lips left yours only to trail along your jaw, then lower—lower—pressing against the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

“You always do this,” he murmured, voice rough, breath warm against your throat.

You shivered. “Do what?”

He pulled back just enough for you to see his face, still flushed, ears burning, but his gaze? That wasn’t the usual playful Rafayel staring down at you. It was something deeper. Darker. Unrestrained.

“Make me want more,” he said, his thumb tracing slow, maddening circles against your hip. “And you don’t even try.”

Your breath hitched as his lips found yours again, more insistent, more relentless. His grip tightened, keeping you right there, letting you feel every bit of his warmth against you.

Your breath was unsteady as you tilted your head back against the couch, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. His lips ghosted over your jaw again, trailing lower, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to make you feel him.

“What…” Your voice came out weaker than you intended, a soft, breathless thing. “What are you doing?”

Rafayel huffed a quiet laugh against your skin, his lips brushing against the hollow of your throat. When he pulled back just enough for you to see his face, his smirk was smug, but his eyes—half-lidded, dark with heat—betrayed something else.

“Making it up to you,” he murmured. “Like you asked.”

Then his lips were back on you—pressing, dragging their way down the curve of your neck, slow and deliberate. His hands, warm and steady, slid along your sides, mapping out the shape of you through your clothes.

You barely had time to breathe before his kisses wandered lower—just beneath your collarbone, just above the fabric of your sweater—his fingers toying with the hem as if debating how much further he could push.

He wanted to push.

You could feel it in the way his grip flexed against your waist, the way his breath came out uneven, like he was barely holding himself together.

But he was waiting.

Waiting for you to stop him.

Waiting for you to tell him no.

And when you didn’t—when you stayed still beneath him, your own breath shaky, your fingers curling into his shirt like you needed him there—his smirk faltered for just a second.

Rafayel barely gave you a second to register what was happening before his arms wrapped around you, strong and unwavering. A startled gasp left your lips as he lifted you, pressing you flush against him as he rose to his feet.

Your arms instinctively tightened around his shoulders, legs curling slightly, but he carried you with ease—his grip firm, his body heat seeping into yours through the fabric of your clothes.

He didn’t stop kissing you.

Even as he moved, his lips barely left yours, stealing breath after breath, deepening the kiss with each slow, deliberate step. His pace was unhurried, almost lazy, like he was indulging in every second it took to drag you both toward the bedroom.

His fingers flexed against your thighs, pressing you closer, and you could feel the way his heart pounded—just as wild, just as reckless as yours.

Somewhere between the hallway and the door, you tried to murmur his name, but he swallowed the sound with another kiss, tilting his head, teasing you, taking you apart one stolen breath at a time.

By the time your back met the soft sheets, Rafayel was hovering over you, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his lips swollen, his breath uneven. His tousled hair framed his face, a few strands falling over his forehead, and his cheeks—his ears—were still red.

But his expression was different now. Not the usual playful teasing. Not the embarrassed flustered mess you were used to. Something deeper.

And he was still looking at you like he was starving.

You felt yourself shrinking under his gaze.

But he doesn’t let you.

Instead, his fingers trail up your skin, his touch searing, possessive. “Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something you can’t quite name “You said I had to make it up to you. What, getting shy now?”

You barely have time to react before his fingers curl into the fabric of your sweater, tugging it up with slow, deliberate intent. The air kisses your skin as he drags the material higher, his fingertips brushing along your sides—light, teasing, making you shiver.

His gaze never wavers. Heavy-lidded, sharp with intent, the dusky pink in his eyes darkening like the sky before a storm. He drinks in every inch of you as more of your skin is revealed, his breath coming a little heavier, his lips parting just slightly.

“See?” His voice is low, almost coaxing, though there’s an edge of something darker beneath it. Hungrier. “Nothing to be shy about, cutie.”

The sweater slips over your head in one smooth motion, and before you can even process the loss of warmth, his hands are on you again—this time against the curve of your waist.

His hands move with unhurried precision, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your pajama pants. The fabric bunches under his touch as he drags it down, knuckles grazing the curve of your hips, the dip of your thighs—his touch light, but purposeful.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t give you the chance to hide. His eyes drink you in, dark with something unreadable, something smoldering beneath the surface.

“Still with me?” His voice is lower now, rougher, as if he’s feeling the weight of this just as much as you are.

You nodded.

The fabric pools at your ankles, and his hands return to your skin, smoothing over newly exposed warmth. His thumbs press gently into your hips, grounding, as if savoring every second. As if making sure you’re not going anywhere.

“You’re perfect—so perfect.” he mumbled.

“Raf—” you murmured, skin flushing at his words.

His lips curved, fingers tracing slow, reverent lines over your skin, as if memorizing every inch. He leaned in, pressing a kiss just above your knee, then another, his breath warm against your skin.

“You don’t even know, do you?” His voice was quiet, almost in awe. His hands skimmed higher, thumbs grazing your hip bones, his touch a slow burn. “How impossible it is not to want you. Not to need you.”

Your breath hitched. He was everywhere—his warmth, his presence, the way his eyes pinned you beneath the weight of his gaze.

“Rafayel—” You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but he only hummed, the sound deep, pleased.

“I know,” he murmured, pressing another lingering kiss to your skin. “You don’t have to say anything.”

His fingers curled against your thighs, his grip tightening just enough to make you shiver. His touch was deliberate, lingering—like he wanted to take his time. Like he had no intention of letting you go.

You shuddered as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties. With a slow, deliberate tug, he began to drag them down, inch by excruciating inch, his knuckles grazing against your sensitive skin.

You could feel your heartbeat pounding between your legs as he finally eased your panties off completely, leaving you bare and exposed before him. His gaze was intense, almost reverent, as he took in the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire.

Without saying a word, he parted your folds with his fingers, exposing your glistening, needy flesh to his hungry gaze. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks at the intimacy of the moment, your body trembling slightly under his touch.

Rafayel traced a single finger along your slit, not quite penetrating, but teasing you mercilessly. He gathered the moisture that had already begun to gather at your opening and brought his coated finger to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you.

His eyes fluttered closed briefly at the flavor, a soft groan escaping his lips. “God, you taste so good, cutie.” he murmured, his voice rough and low.

A whine bubbled at your throat, “Rafayel, y-you…”

He dipped his finger between your folds once more, gathering more of your essence, before smearing it along your sensitive flesh. He didn’t push inside, didn’t give you the satisfaction of penetration just yet. Instead, he simply smeared your arousal along your slit and around your clit, teasing you with the lightest touch.

Rafayel reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours as he guided it between your legs. He pressed your palm against your slick, heated flesh, urging you to start touching yourself.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire. “I want to watch you pleasure yourself while I undress for you.”

With his other hand, he began to unbutton his shirt, his fingers working slowly, almost teasingly. He shrugged the garment off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as he revealed his toned, pale chest.

His eyes never left yours as he reached for his belt, unbuckling it with deliberate slowness. The clinking of the metal made your heart race, your breathing growing more ragged as anticipation built.

“I want to see you touch yourself, cutie. Come on…” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

He shoved his pants down his hips, his hard, thick length springing free, already visibly aroused, slick forming at the tip. He wrapped a hand around himself, giving a single, slow stroke from base to tip.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered again, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. “Show me how much you need me.”

With trembling fingers, you began to touch yourself, tracing your slick folds and circling your aching clit. Soft mewling sounds escaped your lips as you pleasured yourself, your hips rolling instinctively into your touch.

Rafayel loomed over you, kneeling between your spread thighs, his gaze riveted to your face. He stroked himself slowly, his eyes dark and intense as he watched your every expression, every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features.

His other hand gripped your thigh, spreading your leg further, opening you more to his hungry gaze. “That’s it….” he murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble. “Touch yourself just like that.”

You could feel the heat of his body, the way his skin seemed to burn against yours. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps as you circled your clit faster, your fingers slick with your arousal.

Rafayel’s strokes grew more purposeful, his grip tightening around his thick length as he watched you. The sight of him touching himself while he stared at you with such raw, unbridled lust sent a surge of heat through your core.

“Rafayel,” you gasped, your back arching off the bed as you felt the first flutters of your impending release. Your fingers moved frantically over your clit, your body tensing, your thighs trembling.

“Don’t stop,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “I want to watch you come undone. I want to see your face, cutie.”

His words, his intense gaze, the feeling of your fingers on your clit—it all pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, your body shaking and convulsing as waves of intense pleasure consumed you.

Through it all, Rafayel watched you, his strokes growing more urgent, more desperate as he chased his own release. The sight of your pleasure seemed to drive him wild, his chest heaving, his grip on himself almost punishing.

As your orgasm subsided, leaving you trembling and gasping, Rafayel let out a guttural groan. His strokes became erratic, his grip tightening around his throbbing length as he found his own release.

“Look at me. Just m-me.” he moaned, his voice cracking.

Your eyes locked, and almost immediately, thick ropes of his hot seed spilled from the tip of his cock, painting your stomach and thighs with his essence. The sight of his pleasure, the feeling of his warmth coating your skin, sent a fresh surge of desire coursing through you.

Before the last waves of his climax had even subsided, Rafayel pressed the swollen head of his cock against your sensitive, dripping folds. He coated himself in your arousal, mixing your fluids together as he teasingly parted your lower lips.

“Rafayel,” you whimpered, still sensitive from your own intense orgasm. The feeling of his hard, hot length pressing against your core made you clench and quiver with anticipation.

He didn’t push inside, not yet. Instead, he simply rubbed the head of his cock along your slit, up and down, coating himself fully in your slick heat. His eyes, dark and intense, stayed locked with yours, watching your every reaction.

“Tell me you want it,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Tell me you need my cock inside you…”

His words, the feeling of his hard length stroking your most intimate place, made your heart race and your breath come in short, sharp gasps. You could feel the heat of him, the way his skin seemed to burn against yours.

“I need it,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Rafayel. I need you inside me.”

Rafayel cursed under his breath, “Fuck. You’re driving me insane.”

Agonizingly, he pushed the head of his cock inside you, a low groan rumbling in his chest at the feeling of your tight, wet heat enveloping just the tip. He paused there, his hips pressed against your inner thighs, as he savored the sensation.

Your back arched off the bed slightly, your hands fisting in the sheets below you. The stretch of you around him was delicious, the way your walls fluttered and clenched around just that small part of him.

“You feel incredible,” Rafayel breathed, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. His fingers dug into your hips, his grip tightening as he fought the urge to surge forward and bury himself fully inside you.

He rolled his hips forward just slightly, the head of his cock pushing in a little deeper, stretching you just a fraction more. The movement made you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at the sheets as a jolt of pleasure shot through you.

Rafayel’s eyes were glued to your face, watching every flicker of emotion and sensation cross your features.

He let out a breathy chuckle, his lips curving into a smirk even as his cheeks and ears burned red. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement and something darker, more indulgent. “Clinging to me like this, and I’ve barely even started.”

You glared at him, your body trembling, “S-Shut up…”

His breath hitched, the smirk on his lips faltering for just a second before he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Can’t,” he rasped, his voice unsteady, tinged with something raw. “Not when you feel this good… not when you’re making it so damn hard to hold back.”

Rafayel couldn’t hold back any longer. With a low, guttural groan, he surged forward, burying his hard, thick length deep inside your tight, wet heat. He didn’t stop until he had pushed in to the hilt, his hips pressed flush against yours, his heavy balls nestling against your skin.

“See?” he murmured, voice rough, uneven. “Told you… I need you. Don’t ever—” His lips found your temple, your cheek, anywhere he could reach. “Don’t ever leave me…”

You bit your lower lip, before gasping, “I-I won’t Raf—”

Slowly, almost torturously so, Rafayel began to move. He withdrew until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before thrusting forward again, burying himself to the hilt. He set a deep, powerful rhythm, each thrust pushing you further up the mattress.

His hands gripped your hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he held you in place. “If I ever tell you to leave me alone for a week again…” He let out a shaky laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “Smack some sense into me, alright? Because that’s not me—never me.”

He angled your hips to take him even deeper, his cock kissing your cervix with every driving thrust. The room filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by your gasps and his grunts of pleasure.

His lips brushed against your ear, voice raw, pleading. “Let me hear you, c-cutie—oh!” A pause, a sharp inhale as he held you closer. “Don’t hold back.”

Your breath hitched, fingers clutching at him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. “I—I’m not… just—” Your voice wavered, breaking into a gasp as heat curled in your spine. “Rafayel—”

His breath was hot against your skin, ragged and uneven. Then—sharp. A gasp tore from your lips as his teeth sank into your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you shiver.

“Mine,” he mumbled against your skin, lips brushing over the fresh mark before he soothed it with his tongue. His grip on your waist tightened, like he wanted to pull you even closer—like even now, even here, it wasn’t enough.

He pressed another bite just below the first, this time lingering, as if engraving himself into you. Then he pulled back, gaze hooded, cheeks flushed, lips red. “There. Now you really can’t leave me alone for a week.”

Rafayel drew back, breathless, his lips hovering just above your skin. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dazed, his flushed cheeks still burning with heat—but then you saw it.

The mark.

Faint at first, but unmistakable, glowing softly against his chest, just above his heart, near his collarbone. It pulsed in rhythm with his ragged breaths, a delicate yet unyielding reminder of something ancient, something that had endured beyond time itself.

Your fingers lifted before you could think, you’ve always been drawn to it. Even more so now. The moment you touched it, Rafayel shuddered—a full-body tremor, like you had reached inside and wrapped your hand around his very soul. His breath hitched, eyes snapping to yours, wide with something raw.

“Cutie—” His voice was hoarse, almost pleading, but he didn’t move away. He couldn’t.

It’s like something in him snapped. Suddenly, Rafayel gripped your hips tightly, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. He used the leverage to pull you towards him, meeting each of his powerful thrusts and pressing you even closer.

Your own body moved with the force of his actions, your breasts bouncing with every slam of his hips against yours. You could feel the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core, your walls beginning to flutter and clench around his pistoning length.

“That’s it, c-cutie,” Rafayel grunted, his voice thick with desire and impending release. “Take it. Fuck, I can’t—you’re too much.”

He drove into you harder, faster, the bed creaking beneath the force of his thrusts. His balls slapped against your skin, the obscene sound spurring on his lust.

Suddenly, with a roar of your name, Rafayel slammed into you one last time. His cock jerked and throbbed as he found his release, thick ropes of his hot seed painting your insides. He ground his hips against yours, pressing as deep as he could go, making sure every last drop of his essence was buried inside you.

“Cutie—!” he bellowed, his body shuddering and convulsing above you.

You could feel the heat of his release flooding your core, filling you up. Your own body responded in kind, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cried out, your voice joining his in a symphony of pleasure as you came undone around him.

You both stayed like that for a while, the sound of your breaths mingling.

As Rafayel finally pulled away, you shuddered at the sudden loss of warmth, your body still thrumming from him. He huffed out a breath, his forehead dropping against yours as if gathering himself—his flushed cheeks and dazed eyes making him look almost boyish, despite everything he’d just done.

Then, in true Rafayel fashion, he smirked. “Tired, cutie?” His voice was hoarse, but smug.

You scoffed, swatting weakly at his shoulder. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

He chuckled, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “Just checking. Wouldn’t want my bodyguard passing out on duty.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest when he eased you onto your back, his hands already reaching for the discarded sheets to pull over you both. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they traced over your skin, smoothing over every mark he’d left.

A comfortable silence settled between you as he ran his hands over your arms, your waist—touches more soothing than teasing now. Then, quietly, “You okay?”

You softened at that, at the way his usual bravado slipped just enough for you to see the raw concern underneath.

“I’m fine,” you reassured, brushing your knuckles over his cheek. “Though I think you owe me a week’s worth of massages for all that.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping dramatically beside you. “Demanding, aren’t you? First, you drag me out of my self-imposed exile, now you want labor?”

You smirked, shifting to drape yourself over his chest. “Shouldn’t have woken me up at 3 AM, then.”

Rafayel clicked his tongue but didn’t push you off. Instead, his arms curled around you, holding you so close it was almost suffocating—but in the best way. His lips ghosted over the crown of your head, lingering there.

“Not gonna make that mistake again,” he muttered. “Next time, just smack me back to my senses.”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Deal.”

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satellite-evans · 3 months ago

Text

all I need

Pairing: Lando Norris x driver!reader

Summary: Lando gets furiuos when you get fined for swearing after your crash.

Word count: 2.9k+

Warnings: fluff, swearing, injuries, angry lando

Request : Hi could I please request a lando x reader fic where the reader is a driver and she gets in a big crash and the team radio is like asking if she is okay and shes like answers after a bit and is in pain because she just CRASHED and then she accidentally swears on radio and she gets fined and the media is going crazy and like lando is just being a good protective boyfriend and is defending her in interviews and stuff? Thanks!! xoxo - anon 🍟

A/N:

Hi love, thank you so much for sending in a request and trusting me enough to write your idea!! I hope I did it justice xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

One moment, everything is fine—you’re fighting for position, pushing the car to its absolute limit, heart pounding with adrenaline as you navigate the treacherous corners. The next, it all goes horribly wrong.

The rear tires lose grip. A sharp twitch, then a full spin. Time slows, but your mind races. Your hands react on instinct, desperately trying to correct, but it’s too late. The world outside the cockpit blurs in a sickening whirl of colors—track, barriers, sky. Then nothing but gut-wrenching weightlessness as the car lifts off the ground.

The impact is catastrophic. Metal shrieks against metal, carbon fiber shatters like glass. The force slams through your body, rattling bones, squeezing air from your lungs. Pain flares—sharp, immediate—radiating from your ribs, your shoulders, your skull as the cockpit jolts to a brutal stop. Static crackles in your helmet.

For a moment, everything is eerily still. Your pulse roars in your ears, drowning out the stunned gasps from the crowd, the commentary scrambling to make sense of what just happened. Your breath is ragged, shallow. The world tilts nauseatingly around you.

Then, the radio buzzes to life.

"Y/N, Y/N, are you okay?!" David's voice is urgent, bordering on frantic. There’s a tightness to it you’ve never heard before, and that alone terrifies you more than the crash itself.

You try to respond, but pain flares when you shift. A groan escapes before you can stop it. Your fingers fumble for the radio button, and when you finally manage to press it, your voice comes out weak, breathless.

"Fuck—yeah, I think so." A cough, a wince. "That hurt."

Across the track, in his car, Lando watches it all unfold in real-time. His stomach drops, breath catching as he sees your car crumple against the barriers. His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, heart hammering painfully against his ribs. The images flash across the big screens, slow-motion replays dissecting the crash from every angle. He can’t tear his eyes away.

Is she okay? Is she responding?!" His voice is laced with panic, the desperation evident.

His race engineer hesitates. "We're waiting on confirmation, Lando. Focus on the race."

But how the hell is he supposed to do that? The car, the track, the championship—all of it fades. Right now, none of it matters except you.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. "Please—can you keep me updated? I need to know if she's okay." His voice wavers just slightly, the emotion threatening to spill over.

A pause. Then, softer, "We will, Lando. Just focus for now."

He exhales sharply, forcing himself to keep driving, but his eyes keep flicking to the screens around the circuit, searching for any sign of movement from you. His heart pounds as he waits—praying to hear your voice again.

A beat of silence stretches after your message. Then, Race Control’s voice cuts through.

"Y/N, reminder that all radio transmissions are broadcasted live. Watch the language."

Despite everything, a strained, breathy laugh escapes you. "Yeah, yeah, noted. Ow."

The medical car is already pulling up, orange lights flashing, marshals swarming the wreckage. You can hear them shouting, their voices urgent but professional. Someone taps on the side of your cockpit, checking for a response. Your fingers twitch, slow and uncoordinated, but you give them a thumbs-up.

The crowd, stunned into silence, exhales as one. The commentators try to fill the dead air with reassurances, but the tension is thick. On social media, the crash is already going viral—clips looping endlessly, speculation running rampant.

The straps of your harness dig into your bruised shoulders as the adrenaline begins to wear off, replaced by a dull, spreading ache that makes every breath feel like a struggle. The world around you is a cacophony of noise—sirens wailing, the frantic chatter of the marshals, the dull roar of the crowd beyond the barriers—but it all feels distant, muffled by the ringing in your ears.

"Try not to move too much," one of the medical staff instructs gently, his gloved hands already working to unbuckle you from the mangled remains of your car. "Can you feel everything?"

You give a small, shaky nod. "Yeah," you breathe, wincing as you shift slightly. "Just sore. Really sore."

The relief on his face is immediate, but the tension in the air remains. They move carefully, extracting you from the cockpit as gingerly as possible. As soon as you're free, your knees threaten to buckle, but strong arms catch you before you hit the ground.

"You’re alright, we’ve got you," another voice reassures, steadying you as they guide you toward the waiting medical car. The flash of cameras in the distance, the low hum of anxious murmurs from the pit lane—it all feels surreal.

The moment the checkered flag waves, Lando doesn’t care about anything else. Not the debrief, not the podium celebrations—none of it matters. His car screeches to a halt in parc fermé, barely lined up properly, but he’s already halfway out before the engine even fully shuts down. His hands rip off his steering wheel, then his helmet, tossing it aside as he breaks into a full sprint toward the medical center.

His lungs burn, but he doesn’t slow down. The only thing driving him forward is the sheer panic gripping his chest. His mind replays the crash on an agonizing loop—the way your car crumpled, how long it took for you to respond, the thought of losing you was eating him alive. He pushes past team personnel, ignoring their calls, shoving the medical center doors open with enough force to make them slam against the walls.

"Where is she?" His voice is sharp, almost desperate.

A nurse barely has time to react before he spots you. Sitting on the edge of the examination bed, bruised and battered, your race suit scuffed with streaks of dirt and dried blood. Your arm is wrapped around your ribs, and there’s a gash just below your glove, crimson seeping through the fabric. Your right knee is swollen, and every inhale looks like it stings.

But you’re alive.

Lando exhales a shuddering breath, his entire body sagging with relief. He crosses the room in seconds, reaching you like you might disappear if he doesn’t move fast enough. Without hesitation, he takes your hand, gripping it tightly like an anchor. His fingers ghost over your bruised knuckles, his touch impossibly gentle.

"Jesus, Y/N…" His voice is hoarse, cracking under the weight of the fear still clinging to him.

You manage a small, tired smile despite the pain. "I’m fine. Trust me, it’s not as bad as it looks."

His jaw clenches, eyes scanning you like he doesn’t quite believe you. "Not as bad as it looks? You scared the hell out of me. Don’t do that again. Ever."

The intensity of his words makes your chest tighten—not just from the bruises, but from the raw emotion behind them. You squeeze his hand, grounding him.

Later, after the doctors clear you—bruised ribs, mild concussion, but nothing broken—you limp out of the medical center, Lando’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist. Every step sends a dull ache through your body, but at least you’re standing.

David intercepts you, shifting awkwardly on his feet. "So, uh… don’t shoot the messenger, but you’re getting a fine for the team radio."

You blink. "You’re kidding, right?"

Before David can even answer, Lando scoffs, disbelief flashing across his face. "She just survived a high-speed crash, and they’re fining her for swearing? Seriously?"

David sighs, handing over the paperwork with an apologetic shrug. "Yeah… FIA wasn’t too happy. Regulations and all."

You stare at the notice for a beat before letting out a tired, incredulous laugh. "Yeah, okay. Next time I crash at 200 mph, I’ll be sure to say ‘gosh darn it’ instead."

Lando shakes his head, jaw tight with frustration. "Unbelievable."

But instead of dwelling on it, he just pulls you in closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The warmth of his embrace eases some of the lingering tension in your body. "Don’t worry about it, love. If they want to fine you for being human, let them. You’re still the toughest person I know."

You smile, leaning into him, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Because at the end of the day, a fine means nothing when you still have Lando by your side.

And, as expected, the media goes absolutely wild.

"Formula 1 Driver Y/N Y/L/N Fined After Shocking Radio Message Post-Crash!"

"Did Y/N Deserve Her FIA Penalty? Fans Debate Over Radio Outburst!"

"Y/N’s Crash Sparks Controversy: Was the Fine Justified?"

The headlines flood every social platform within minutes. Slow-motion replays of the crash loop endlessly on TV screens, side-by-side with grainy images of you wincing as you climbed out of the wreckage. Every angle is analyzed, every expression dissected.

Your post-race hospital visit is barely over when reporters start circling like vultures, bombarding you with questions before you even have the strength to face them, but Lando was having none of it.

Seated in front of the media, still in his race suit, Lando’s jaw is tight, hands clenched on the table as microphones are shoved toward him.

"Lando, there's been a lot of discussion about Y/N’s penalty for language over the team radio. Do you think the FIA was justified in issuing the fine?"

He scoffs, jaw tightening. "Are we seriously focusing on a fine when she just survived a massive crash?" His voice is sharp, edged with barely restrained anger. "She was in pain. She was shaken up. And she swore—who wouldn’t? It's ridiculous."

The journalists shift uncomfortably, but another one presses on. "Rules are rules, though. FIA has strict guidelines about profanity on public transmissions. Do you think it sets a bad precedent if they don’t enforce them?"

Lando lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Mate, if your first thought after seeing a crash like that is to talk about a penalty, maybe rethink your priorities."

Another journalist jumps in. "But don’t you think it’s important to maintain professionalism on the radio? A lot of young fans look up to drivers."

Lando rolls his eyes. "Right, because what’s really damaging to young fans isn’t the fact that someone just had a life-threatening accident, but the fact that she said ‘fuck’ while trying to breathe properly again." He leans forward, voice lower but no less cutting. "If we’re talking role models, maybe start by making sure the sport actually supports its drivers instead of fining them for reacting like a human being."

His words are already making waves, clips spreading across social media.

And while you’re still exhausted, still aching from the crash, there’s something about seeing him so openly, fiercely in your corner that makes your heart ache in the best way.

Even after the official interviews, the media frenzy doesn’t stop. Paparazzi crowd outside the paddock, desperate for a statement. Team members act as buffers, but there’s only so much they can do.

As you slowly make your way out of the motorhome, Lando’s arm firmly around your waist, cameras flash, voices overlapping as reporters shout over each other.

"Y/N, do you think the FIA’s decision was fair?"

"Do you regret your words on the radio?"

"Lando, how did it feel watching the crash happen live?"

He tenses beside you. "How do you think it felt?" His voice is sharp, protective. "I watched someone I love crash at full speed. So no, I don’t really give a damn about some radio penalty right now."

You squeeze his hand in silent gratitude. He doesn’t have to be this involved, but he is. Always.

Another journalist turns to you, voice softer but no less intrusive. "Y/N, how are you feeling after the accident?"

You exhale, trying to keep your expression neutral despite the lingering pain. "Sore, obviously. But I’m okay."

"Will you be racing in the next Grand Prix?"

Lando answers before you can. "She’s focusing on recovery first. That’s the priority."

It’s not a direct confirmation, but it’s enough to hold off the speculation—at least for now.

The chaos of the day finally starts to feel like a distant memory as you curl up on the couch in Lando’s apartment. An ice pack rests gently on your ribs, offering some comfort against the bruising, but it’s Lando’s presence that truly calms you. His arm drapes protectively around you, pulling you in close like he never wants to let go, his warmth surrounding you in a way that makes you feel safe. His thumb moves in slow, soothing circles on your arm, the rhythm gentle and steady.

It’s such a contrast to the frantic energy of the day—the flashing cameras, the endless questions, the tension in the air—but now, in this moment, all of that feels like it belongs to another world. This is where you’re grounded.

You sigh, resting your head against his shoulder, letting the quietness of the room wrap around you like a soft blanket. But there’s something still heavy in the pit of your stomach, a lingering feeling that something was unsettled. You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes tracing the faint lines of worry still etched across his face, the tension that’s only now starting to ease from his features.

"You didn’t have to go that hard for me," you murmur, your voice soft, though you know the words don’t quite do justice to what you’re feeling. You had been overwhelmed by everything that happened, but he—he had been beside you every step of the way, his every move showing how deeply he cared.

He scoffs, shaking his head slowly like the idea is completely foreign to him. "Of course I did. It’s bullshit," he mutters, his voice laced with frustration that hasn’t quite gone away. "You should be getting support, not fined for a stupid word." The words come out with a little more heat than he intends, but it’s the underlying softness in his voice, the way he’s speaking to you like he wants to protect you from the world’s unfairness, that makes your heart flutter.

You chuckle softly, a tired sound that makes his grip on you tighten just a fraction, like he’s afraid you might slip away. "Guess I owe you, huh?" you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Lando’s response is immediate—he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. His hands shift, cradling you with a tenderness that almost feels too gentle, like you’re something precious he’s afraid to break. "Just don’t scare me like that again," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath, as though the thought of you being hurt again is more than he can bear. "And we’ll call it even."

You smile up at him, heart full of warmth for this man who always seems to put your well-being before his own. But you can’t promise him that. You know how the sport works, how unpredictable it is. You’ll never be able to give him that guarantee.

But there’s something you can promise him, something more important. You squeeze his hand, the simple act grounding you both in this moment. Your voice is steady as you look up into his eyes, locking your gaze with his. "No matter what happens," you say, the words firm but soft, a promise from the deepest part of you, "you’ll always have me. I’ll always have you."

His expression softens in a way that makes you think he’s heard every unspoken word in your statement, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The air between you feels full—full of shared understanding, full of the love you have for each other, full of the promise that no matter the challenges, no matter the risks, you’ll face it all side by side.

For a long moment, Lando is quiet, his thumb still brushing over your skin in slow, absentminded strokes. But then his breath catches slightly, and when you glance up, you see it—the way his eyes shimmer with unshed tears. His jaw tenses as if he’s trying to hold it all back, but the emotion is too heavy, too raw.

"I thought I lost you," he admits, his voice breaking just enough to reveal the fear he’s been holding in. "When everything was happening, and I couldn’t reach you..." He trails off, shaking his head as if trying to push the memory away, but his grip on you tightens like he never wants to let go again. "I don’t know what I would’ve done if—"

"Hey," you interrupt softly, your hand moving to cup his face, your thumb brushing against the dampness on his cheek. "I’m here. I’m okay. And I’m not going anywhere."

That seems to break whatever wall he was trying to hold up. Lando lets out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping against yours as he closes his eyes. "I just... I can’t lose you," he confesses, the words raw and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache. "Not you."

You press a soft kiss to his lips, hoping it conveys everything words can’t. "You won’t," you promise against his mouth, your voice unwavering. "I’m right here."

He nods slightly, like he’s trying to believe it, and when he pulls you into his arms again, it’s with a desperation that speaks to how close he felt to losing you. But in this moment, with his heart laid bare and your arms wrapped tightly around each other, there’s nothing else that matters.

Lando kisses you gently on the forehead, his lips lingering there for just a second longer. "That’s all I need," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. Then, his arms pull you even closer, his warmth radiating through your bones.

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justagirlswrld · 1 month ago

Text

So wrong

a/n: accidentally deleted🫤. was gonna scrap this but @tiramissyoucake dilf!omni mark blurb gave me the motivation to finish it. (link here if you’d like to read it) feed back welcomed!

summary: if sneaking around with nolan is wrong why does it feel so right?

warning: porn w plot. slight breeding kink? cheating. age gap(reader in 20s, omni man is old asf). unprotected p in v. forgive me if it’s ooc but we need some omni man fics.

The first time you’d fucked Mr.Grayson- Nolan (it felt too weird to call him that now) was an accident.

You were driving home from a terrible date, ranting to yourself about how the guy was an asshole and how (sexually) frustrated you were when your car decided to break down. You hit the steering wheel in anger when you realized you were in the middle of nowhere and couldn’t afford a tow. You cursed yourself for going to an out of state college as you scrolled past your parent’s number on your phone.

You did the sensible thing and called your best friend, Mark. Your face dropped when his phone went to voicemail before quickly deciding to call Mrs.Grayson to make sure Mark wasn’t with his girlfriend or saving the world. It ended up being the latter but she’d reassured you that she’d send Nolan.

You should’ve just payed for the tow.

“Thank you so much, Mr.Grayson. I’m sorry for making you come out so late.” You greet him when he arrives, pulling your short skirt down out of respect. The action seemed to have the opposite effect as his smoldering gaze flicks to your barely covered skin then back to yours, running a hand through his bed head before flashing a breath taking smile.“Couldn’t leave a pretty thing like you stranded.”

To your surprise the comment had you turning from him to a hide a blush, confusion written on your features. The words echoed in your mind and you couldn’t help but admire the man as he tinkered with your vehicle, the way his shirt sleeves had to stretch to accommodate his biceps and how good his butt looked in grey sweat pants. Had Mr.Grayson always been this hot? The question rung in your head, You weren’t even sure hot was the right word, more like a silver fox.

You’d never thought of Nolan in a romantic way until that night. He’d always just been your best friend’s dad, totally off limits and old but as you watched him begin to jump your car you couldn’t help but to imagine it being your bones instead. These new feelings confused and kind of grossed you out but the lust wins over the adverse feelings, You didn’t shy away the next time his heated gaze turned to you- you’d never admit it but you sent one just as steamy back.

You’d stood by your drivers door as you prepared to say good bye to Nolan, a smile on your face to hide the nervousness you felt when he looked at you with his cerulean eyes. “Thank you again. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He’d approached you then, slowly, like a lion not trying to scare off a gazelle. Before you knew it you two were chest to chest, his hulking frame looming over yours. Your breath hitched when you realized his proximity had you pressed against the car, the cold door a contrast from his breath warming your skin.

He’d placed a strong hand against the driver door to make sure he had you efficiently trapped, you’d learn later that Nolan loved to make you feel and look small, not that it took much. He’d looked down at you through dark lashes, a smirk fighting its way through his thick mustache,”Where are you running off to?”

Somehow, against your better judgment, you two ended up in the back seat of your car a moment later. You with your knees digging into the leather of the seats as you sunk onto Nolan, your soft hands using his brawny chest for purchase as he gripped the fat of your ass hard enough to cause bruises. You thanked whoever invented tinted windows as the car rocked on the side of the desolate road.

It was meant to be a one time thing, a mistake. A dirty secret that you’d both act like never happened. So, you were very surprised when Nolan called your phone the next day, words raspy and breathless as he tells you how he couldn’t stop thinking about your body writhing on top of his.

His honeyed voice had you squeezing your thighs together but a pool of shame made your stomach turn. “Nolan, we can’t-“ You’re not sure why you’re trying to explain something he was already aware of, so you’re unsurprised when he cuts you off. “You ever been to Italy?” Nolan crackles through the speaker of your phone, “I know a beautiful hotel there.”

You force yourself not to think of his chiseled abs and square jaw as you try to have a little dignity and remind him of his family, of your best friend. He takes your mention of them completely wrong or maybe he just doesn’t care, “It’s fine. They think i’m in space already, we’ve got all day.”

Your finger hovers over the red ‘end call’ button as you purse your lips.

Ultimately you can’t resist his temptation and you’re flying high in the sky, wrapped in his strong arms thirty minutes later.

A day turned to days then to months and the thing you kept telling yourself was a one time occurrence bloomed into something so much more, an actual affair. You hated calling it that- an affair, it made what you and Nolan were doing too…real. But with all the secret rendezvous there wasn’t a better way to describe it.

You knew sneaking around with Nolan was wrong. More than wrong, so unforgivable you couldn’t stand looking in the mirror after he made you shudder and cum on his cock. But..there was something about him that kept pulling you back for more.

Even though it made you feel shameful…dirty at times, like there was a neon sign that said home wrecker flashing above your head. You felt a mountain of guilt whenever you were with Mark, smiled in Debbie’s face or simply even thought about the Grayson family…especially when you thought about the irrevocable damage you were causing to it.

With these emotions swirling around in your head you decided to end….whatever you had going on with Nolan. When he asked you to meet last night you decided to just drop the news on him, you figured it was like ripping off a bandaid.

There was no fake small talk and absolutely no sex, you knew if he got his beefy hands on you you’d probably be ensnared in his trap once again. You didn’t even let him pass the threshold of your apartment as you broke things off with him. Nolan had taken it pretty well, his blue eyes and calm demeanor not betraying any emotions. Not that you expected anything different. It was just sex, the only feeling involved was pleasure.

“Can I come in one last time? I have to leave for a mission tonight. Not sure when i’ll be back.” He’d propositioned, nodding with a small smile when you sternly shook your head no. You were sure he thought you’d change your mind and fall in bed with him (not that you didn’t want to).

When the conversation was finally over and you were watching Nolan’s hulking frame retreat down the hall it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. And with Nolan being out of your life and off the planet you didn’t blow off Mark when he invited you to dinner with his mom and Eve a the next day.

When you walk into the Grayson’s home, bottle of sweet red wine in hand, your smile fades and it feels like you’ve been dunked in ice water when your eyes met the azure pair staring at you from his place on the living room couch. His strong bicep around his wife’s neck as she waves you inside with a smile.

You pick your jaw up from the floor, quickly smiling to hide your flabbergasted state before greeting Mark’s parents. You feel wrong as you hug Debbie, you and her husband eyeing each other during the entire exchange. “ I haven’t seen you in so long! Nolan and I miss you around the house.” You felt like you might throw up in the poor woman’s face but you manage to swallow it down and smile uncomfortably in return.

You discard the wine onto the counter before taking the stairs two at a time to get to Mark’s room and away from his father’s unwavering stare. You couldn’t believe he was here (even if it was his house), as you walk down the hall you couldn’t help but think about the mischievous glint in his eyes.

You knock loudly and wait a moment before announcing yourself, pushing the wooden door open with your eyes closed as the sound of frantic shuffling meets your ears. You’d walked in on Eve and Mark before and once was good enough. “We’re decent, you can open your eyes!” Mark says from his place on the bed, his chest is heaving and his lips are red and raw from what you assume was kissing and it takes everything in you not to gag.

“Ew-but hey, Eve.” The red head greets you cheerfully as you sit at Mark’s desk before spinning around to meet her evergreen eyes, “Could you help me with my physics homework? It’s killing me.” As Eve tutors you your thoughts can’t help but wonder to places they shouldn’t, mainly to why Nolan had lied about going to space. You wondered if he’d been lying to you as well as his family these past couple of months.

“…Oh yeah- I thought your dad had a work thing?” You ask Mark as nonchalantly as possible once you and Eve finish, keeping your eyes on the text book you were stuffing into your bag. “He did. Said he had to take care of some stuff here.” He shrugs but never turns away from the half dressed characters fighting on the TV screen.

A hour later you’re in the kitchen getting some water, the smell of whatever Debbie was cooking wafting to your nose. You’re going to peek in the oven when the sound of a booming voice has you jumping out your shoes. The sound sends a shiver down your spine- you know that voice too well and you’re not surprised when you turn around and you’re met with Nolan, leaning against the kitchen island and unabashedly taking in your form.

“Did I catch you being naughty?” His tone is playful but his is gaze stern.

“Leave me alone, Nolan.” You set the glass of water down to place a hand on the counter, pouting your lips despite his words causing your heart to speed up. “I think I like Mr.Grayson better.” You scoff before rolling your eyes and crossing your arms defensively.

He goes to speak again but you cut him off quickly, “Why are you here?” You ask in a hushed whisper. A thick eyebrow raises and a smirk tugs at his full lips, “I live here.” Nolan says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “No- you know what I mean. You said you’d be gone.” He pushes off the island before stalking over to you, you back away from his steps until your butt hits the warm stove.

Nolan’s breath is minty as he licks and nips the perspiring skin on your neck, his dark mustache scratching against the soft skin as your eyes dance between the stairs and the man in front of you.

His chest is against yours, you instantly mold against him. You’re like putty in his hands, if you weren’t so turned it’d be scary. This is a turn of events you definitely weren’t expecting and Nolan uses your shock to take the opportunity to push his large hand down the front of your yoga pants. Your breathing turning uneven as Nolan starts to pet you through the lace material of your panties.

“Wore these for me?” He says in a husky whisper. You want to tell him he’s delusional but with the way his lips tickle your ear and his free hand gropes your breast over your shirt, you have to harshly grip his bicep (the same bicep that was around his wife a moment ago) to steady yourself.

Your hand tugs on the wrist in your pants but he doesn’t budge. “You said you wouldn’t be here.” Your words are soft as you look up at him with a slight pout on your full lips, desire pooling in your stomach when you see how glazed over his eyes are.

“You stopped answering my calls so I didn’t go.” You want to argue, you’ve told him a thousand times not to prioritize you over the world but your breath hitches instead, his fingers dragging across your slick lips as he pulls your panties to the side.

You almost snap out of your stupor when your eyes meet Mark’s- not the actual Mark but his happy, brown eyes in the family portrait on the counter not too far from you. Nolan notices when you begin drifting from him, he removes his hand from your breast and callously knocks the picture over on its face.

It lands loudly and for a moment time seems to stop and you swear someone’s going to come flying down the stairs. Luckily for you everyone is too preoccupied. Not that Nolan cared, his free hand creeping under your shirt to fondle your breasts again.

It’s like you gained super senses. Able to feel every touch Nolan was giving to you, able to hear every bump or noise coming from upstairs. “W-we talked about this yesterday.” Your fingers finding the tail of Nolan’s shirt when he sinks his thick fingers into your warm cunt. He groans as you squeeze around him, the sound making your toes curl in your shoes.

“No, you talked and I listened.” His pace is slow, tantalizing, like he had all time in the world and no one could walk in and ruin the moment at anytime. The way his callused palm grinds into your clit has you fighting to keep your eyes open and you curse your weak resolve as your hips grind back.

“Tonight it’s my turn-“ The sound of Eve’s laughter has you trying to squirm out of his hold but his strong body has you trapped against the oven, his hard cock straining against the material of his jeans as he lightly grinds into you.

Nolan’s hand leaves your shirt to turn your head to meet his heavy stare. His hold is wet with your slick and his eyes bear into yours as he makes his demands, “Tell me i’ll see you tonight.”

You wanted to say no, to stand on your word as a better woman would. But when the hand on your jaw drops lower to squeeze your neck and the fingers between your thighs drag across a particularly satisfying spot, one that has you biting your lip to keep from crying out, you’re nodding before you can stop yourself. A smile lights Nolan’s face before he plants a big kiss on your lips, when he pulls away he thumbs your glistening cheek.

He hears Mark’s light steps before they can reach your human ears and he’s sitting on the couch watching TV before you can blink. You only have time to wipe your chin and straighten your shirt before he’s down the stairs, boyish grin on his face. Your heart is hammering in your chest, when Mark looks at you. You’re hoping he doesn’t notice the tint on your cheeks or your slightly frizzled hair.

His eye brows pull together in confusion and his voice is hard when he finally speaks, “Isn’t the food supposed to be done by now?”

“You’ve lost your mind.” Nolan’s standing in the middle of your living room late that night, clad in his red and white suit. He has the nerve to look confused like he hadn’t suggested the most outrageous thing you’d ever heard. “What?! It’s not uncommon for Viltrumites to take more than one partner.”

You look at him incredulously after pinching the bridge of your nose, “We are on Earth not Viltrum. Besides you’ve been married to Debbie for twenty years. She’ll kill you and me.” You huff as you flop on your worn couch. This was too much for you to process. You assumed Nolan had come over just to get his dick wet but now he’s talking about feelings you didn’t know existed- and marriage?!

“She’ll come around.” Nolan says in a matter of fact tone as he sits down beside you, taking your feet in his lap to massage them with his gloved hand. You don’t try to stop him, figuring you deserved it after the crazy ass proposal he dropped on you. “This is the Viltrumite way, she’ll have to see sense -“ Your loud sigh cuts off whatever nonsense he was going to say.

You pull your feet from him now, folding them so you can sit on them instead. You take Nolan’s large hands in yours and try to look deep in his eyes, hoping that it’ll help him see reason. “Nolan, I can’t marry you. That would destroy Mark and Debbie.” His grip tightens around yours but it isn’t painful, “I didn’t even know you felt this way about me….but you can’t- it’s too far. I thought we were just fucking.”

Nolan pulls a hand from yours to glide it through his greying hair, “…I didn’t know I felt this way either…then you broke things off.” His lips move like he wants to keep speaking but he doesn’t elaborate, he looks up at you through dark lashes, “No, marriage- okay. But we can keep..seeing each other?” Your lips form a straight line in frustration, it’s like everything you said went through one ear and out the next.

“It’s like you aren’t hearing me, Nolan. We can’t keep doing…this. Especially now.” You shake your head, trying to physically rid your mind of the fact that Nolan had just confessed his feelings for you. You didn’t even want to think about if you felt the same, even if you did the feelings would be shoved to the deepest, darkest pit in your brain.

“I can’t ruin your family.” Nolan huffs, like you’d said something so frivolous he can’t believe it. “Y/N…we already have.” Despite the scowl on your face he continues, “What would be the point in stopping now? Debbie is strong- so is Mark they’ll-“ You cut him off again before he goes too deep into his ramblings.

He watches as you slam your fist into the cushions on the couch, he almost smiles at your attempt to put your foot down. “Nolan! The answer is no- I can’t live with this-this guilt hanging over my me.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment but his face displays the internal turmoil Nolan must be going through. He starts that silent nodding thing and you think he might do something crazy until he starts to speak weakly.

“Can I taste you one more time?” You gulp audibly. The word no is on your tongue, it almost passes your lip until Nolan begins drawing circles on your knee with his thumb, something he’d usually save for after sex.

Somehow Nolan ends up on his knees on your carpeted floor, you didn’t bother moving to the bedroom, too focused on the man staring up at you as he pulls off your lounge shorts and panties.

“Just one lick.” It’s almost inaudible but Nolan was going to pretend he didn’t hear you anyway. He grabs a throw pillow to stuff under his head before waving you over to sit on his handsome face. You’re hesitant, biting your nail to calm your nerves like you haven’t been in this position one hundred times.

The sound of your name brings you back to reality, the way it sounds coming from between Nolan’s lips has your body flushing. You comply and move yourself over to his awaiting mouth, knees digging into the carpet. He licks his lips before he pulls you the rest of the way down by your hips.

Nolan is sloppy when he eats pussy. His nose bumping into your clit with every hard lick over your folds, before his tongue takes its place, gently flicking against the swollen bud. His eyes are closed, long lashes resting on his cheek bones, he seems relaxed while you’re already a moaning mess on top of him. You grab his inky locks as you move against his tongue, he moans as he grabs your hips tighter to assist you, rocking you slowly back and forth as he fucks you with his tongue.

Your painted toes curl when his soft lips wrap around your swollen clit and harshly suck. His name leaves your mouth in a gasp, hips bucking as a large hands moves from your hips to squeeze your ass, then creep up your stomach to rub your hardened nipples.

You can’t help but watch the show below you with lidded eyes. Nolan’s cheeks are dusted pink, his eyelids just as heavy as yours. Your thighs shudder around his legs as you feel your release approaching, “Fu-fuck, i’m gonna cum.” Nolan doesn’t let up and after a well timed flick of his tongue on your clit, you’re whimpering from the white-hot pleasure that surges through you. Nolan continues to lick and suck through your orgasm and doesn’t stop until you’ve pried him away by his mussed hair.

You’re unsurprised when you’re bent over the arm of your couch with Nolan’s hand tangled in your hair. Nolan’s thrown out everything you’d said before. He’s bending down to whisper in your ear, voice hitching as he tells you you’ll make such a pretty wife, how beautiful you’ll look once you’re round with his babies. Your brains so foggy from the tip of his cock hitting the spongy spot deep within you over and over again, that you can’t do anything but moan and babble nonsense.

His thick cock drags against your contracting walls as he watches himself push in and out of you, toes curling into the carpet when he notices the creamy white ring around himself. The squelch of your arousal and your melding moans can be heard over the TV and you’re sure you’re going to get complaints about it in the morning.

Nolan’s hand leaves your hair to smack your cheek, the skin already red from the previous abuse on your plump ass. You shudder as he begins leaving open mouth kisses on your back. “Pussys so wet…” It sounds like he’s talking to himself more than to you but you can’t help to whimper in response. “I could fuck you all day.” His speech is slurred as he pistons into you, one foot leaving the carpet to find its place beside you on the arm rest.

His hand leaves your neck as he fucks you into the couch, moving to spread your ass and lips open as he begins thrusting in an upward angle. You cum around him with a cry, hands fisting the pillows thrown haphazardly on the couch as you spasm around his cock.

Nolan pulls himself from you with a light groan, when you look over your shoulders you see he’s still rock hard, covered in your slick and his precum. You don’t have time to think before he’s grabbing you by the waist and throwing you over his shoulder, you whine and he shushes you before palming your bare ass.

He kicks open your bedroom door like he owns the place before throwing you onto your unmade bed. You bite your lip as he crawls between your legs, kissing you from your feet to your thighs before pushing your legs back as far as they can go.

You’re sore when he sinks back into your heat but that doesn’t stop the pleasure from curling in your gut. Nolan lubes his thumb with the slick from your gushing cunt before he begins rubbing hard circles on your clit.

“You’re mine.” His voice is raspy but you hear his words perfectly. You whimper in response, you’re so far gone you can’t decipher whether if it’s in agreeance or disapproval but it’s enough for Nolan who drops his head into your neck, his hips never stilling.

Nolan’s sweaty body engulfs yours, your hard nipples rub against his chest as your hand finds its place in the pepper strands of his hair. When he raises his head and kisses you it’s sweet, a contradiction from the way his hips slam into your pelvis.

As you wrap your legs around Nolan’s thick waist you can’t help but to think that being a second wife can’t be too bad.

#invincible smut #mark grayson x reader #omni man x reader #omni man/reader #omni man smut #omni man fanfic #omni man fanfiction #invincible fanfic #invincible fanfiction

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saddleseatollie · 1 month ago

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I said that I was gonna make a post about Hans' side of the Hansry romance so here we go (buckle up because this will be a very long post):

First off, I wanna talk about his responses to all the heart/romantic dialogue options throughout the game.

I find these dialogue choices to be pretty interesting in general because it's SO easy to read them as completely platonic, which I imagine to be quite intentional. Two bros acknowledging that they care about each other, what's special about that?

Except their friendship isn't normal. Henry is Hans' page and bodyguard. Hans is essentially his boss, and Henry is duty bound to follow him everywhere, save him when he's in trouble.

What these dialogue options establish is that Henry doesn't rescue Hans because it's his job. He does it because he wants to.

I simply cannot stress enough how important it is for Hans to hear that from Henry. To know that he is not forcing Henry into anything. He's not just Henry's boss but also a noble, and that puts him in a position of power over him that he probably struggles with to some degree.

Throughout this game we see more of the divide between "Lord Capon of Pirkstein" and simply "Hans". When he breaks down his walls with Henry and becomes simply Hans, it's because he's letting him in. He doesn't do that with anyone else.

So why is it that Hans' responses to the romance dialogues are so...unromantic? Does he not realize his feelings for Henry yet? Does he not accept them?

No. I think that even by For Whom the Bell Tolls (the end of which being the first opportunity for romance dialogue) Hans has not only recognized his feelings for Henry but accepted them.

When? Honestly there are so many possible answers to that question I'm not even going to try (personally I like to think he spent the majority of his time in the cells at Trosky just thinking about him and Henry so maybe then).

"But Ollie! Why, then, are you saying that Hans' responses were platonic?" I hear you asking.

Because Hans isn't stupid. I'm not 100% sure what the punishment for homosexuality by the law was in 15th century Bohemia but I can guarantee it was very bad. I'm not a history buff but google tells me it ranged from burning at the stake to castration and exile. Not only that but remember that Bohemia at that time was ruled by the Holy Roman Empire, which was still a Catholic Empire circa 1403 and would remain that way for another century. Catholics at the time (and some groups even to this day) viewed sodomy (officially defined as any form of "unnatural sexual acts" including but not limited to homosexuality as the word itself refers to anal sex) as a mortal sin. Basically meaning that the near-universal stance of homosexuality at the time would be that homosexual acts meant burning in Hell for eternity.

All this to say that while I believe that Hans himself has come to terms with his feelings, he recognizes that no one can ever find out about them.

So he tries his absolute hardest to play the role of "best friend" and outwardly pretend to have only the most platonic of feelings towards Henry.

And yet. And yet. Hans loves Henry. He loves him so fucking much even while knowing they can realistically never be together. But Hans is a dreamer. We see that from him a lot, actually. He dreams about a world where nobles well and truly take care of their subjects, where towns aren't raided and burned to the ground for war and profit. It's no stretch to imagine he also dreams of a world where he and Henry can be together.

And then Hans is surprise-engaged against his will and his dreams are promptly smashed against the rocks.

I mean this is his reaction to hearing the news.

He says it's because he wanted to wait to get married, to live a life of adventure before settling down. And while I'm sure that's part of it, in the context of a romanced Hans this is him realizing that he really can't ever be with Henry. Hans might be a serial womanizer (overcompensating much?) but he's no adulterer.

Look in my lovely little headcanon where everything is wonderful and beautiful and works out, do they stay together? Yes, absolutely. But realistically, I don't think it's possible. Their relationship is doomed to fail before it even begins. It's a classic example of love simply not being enough.

And that reality is simply too much, so Hans does as he always does, pretends none of it means anything at all and nothing has changed. He'll never love her as he does Henry and that's that.

And then the siege happens, and Henry volunteers for a suicide mission and is probably going to die and Hans is starving.

Hunger and Despair.

Hans is starving. Not just for food or drink but for life and love and Henry.

Hans has always been prone to impulsivity, to acting on every desire. He's shone amazing restraint, all things considered, up until that point. He loves Henry and he feels he'll die of sorrow without him.

Think about that for a moment.

When he tells Henry the tale of Lancelot and Galehaut he puts himself in the place of Galehaut, who died from grief and sorrow over the loss of his lover.

He fears he'll die if Henry doesn't return. Not of starvation. Not at the hands of a Prague soldier.

Of grief and sorrow.

He is so, so tired of holding back. Of pretending. He wants Henry, he needs Henry. Not as a friend or a protector or a squire but as some strange, lovely mix of all three and more.

Then Henry places his hand over Hans' and tells him everything will be alright and Hans realizes, maybe for the first time, maybe not, that Henry may feel the same as he.

And that tiny little spark of hope is enough to make him act. He kisses Henry out of sheer terror and desperation and longing.

Audentes Fortuna Iuvat.

Fortune favors the bold.

It's time to be bold.

#im going insane #kingdom come deliverance 2 #kcd2 #kcd #hans kcd2 #hans capon #hansry #hans x henry #character analysis #henry kcd2 #henry of skalitz #kcd2 spoilers

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fastandcarlos · 11 months ago

Text

Cuddles Are Home : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: as max arrives home after a busy day, he's keen to try something new, however it doesn't quite work out as well as he imagined

No words needed to be spoken as Max walked into your hotel room. His muscles were aching, his eyes drooping as a result of yet another long day of practice. Race day was only a day away and he was pushing himself to the limit. You barely glanced at him as he walked in, knowing he had his own routine that he loved. Whilst Max sorted himself, you laid out across the sofa and scrolled through your phone, catching up with the events of the day that you had missed whilst down at the paddock supporting Max.

As soon as you heard his footsteps come back through the room you stood up from the sofa and went into the small kitchen that was attached. Meanwhile, Max walked into the living room and threw himself down on the sofa. He stretched his limbs out as much as he could, with his tall frame it didn’t take much for him to take up most of the room. After a few minutes you returned, placing the hot cup of tea that you had made for Max on the coffee table, you looked in confusion to try and find some space. Max could feel you staring, smiling softly at the expression on your face. He didn’t say a word, he simply tapped against his muscular chest, only to make you scoff, shaking your head as you quickly refused to accept Max’s offer.

“Just lay here, I’ll be alright.”

“You’re sore from a day of racing, the last thing you need is me on top of you,” you tried to argue, but Max was having none of it.

“I wouldn’t offer if it was a problem,” Max assured you, lazily reaching out and taking a hold of your hand. You took a step forward before he used his extra weight to pull you down on top of him. Your head rested at the top of his chest, just underneath his neck, bodies pressed together as you managed to rest your legs between Max’s. His arm wrapped around you, making sure that you were safe in position, squeezing you nice and tight to make the most of the close proximity between you both.

“I can’t believe you’ve got me laying here,” you chuckled as you felt several kisses being pressed against the top of your head, “we’ve become one of those couples.”

“It’s your fault,” he innocently teased, “you’ve turned me into one of those boyfriends I never thought I’d be.”

“Hey,” you giggled, slapping your hand gently against Max’s bare chest. You knew deep down it was true what Max was saying, he had been quite standoffish when you first started dating, but over time you had found a new, softer, side to Max that left him being known more for how affectionate he was towards you rather than the world champion he was.

And you would never have had him any other way.

“I hate that I love what you’ve done to me.”

There he went again, jokingly blaming you as if he wasn’t hopelessly in love with you and thankful for you every single day.

“You’re comfortable, right? We can shuffle around if you’re not babe.”

“I’m alright,” you assured Max, shuffling closer into his side as his grip around you tightened. “I wonder if the Max I knew when we first started dating ever imagined himself cuddling on the sofa like this.”

It was the kind of wholesome moment that Max always refused to be a part of, but now he craved. He laid for some time and told you about his day, filled you in on all the details that you missed from the practice from where you were stood in the paddock, making sure to share every last detail with you.

And as he did so, you listened intently too. You were so close to his heart you could feel it quicken as he spoke about those adrenaline inducing moments, or calming again when he told you how relieved he was to return the car to the garage in one piece.

Once he’d finished speaking, you tilted your head back and looked up at Max. “I could imagine us laying here forever you know.”

He hummed in agreement, “I love being able to hold you this close to me.”

You chose not to respond as you heard how sleepy Max was, silently encouraging him to try and get a bit of rest.

It didn’t take long before you heard Max’s light snores about you letting you know that he was resting, despite your apprehension, laying on his chest had ended up being surprisingly comfortable. You weren’t sure how long you ended up laying there as you soon found yourself beginning to get sleepy on top of Max. You weren’t sure whether it was his touch, or the comfort of knowing that he was right there beside you, but something caused your body to switch. Max was out like a light, and soon enough you joined him, still squeezed on the sofa with your holds as tight as ever, making sure that nothing bad happened to the other person.

“Ouch! Oh my goodness!”

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

A loud groan came from you as you felt the edge of the coffee table hit against your back before landing on the floor with a thud. Your hands rubbed the sleep out of your eyes as you tried to figure how in a matter of moments you had gone from comfortably laying on top of Max to find yourself laid out on the living room floor, pain shooting through you.

Max jolted upright as soon as he heard your voice, cringing as he looked down at you on the floor. Your expression told him everything, pressing your hand into the small of your back where the pain was at its worst.

“Love, I’m so sorry. Are you alright? Tell me where it hurts…please,” Max whispered, pushing himself off of the sofa and joining you on the floor, pulling you into his side.

“Damn,” you sighed, biting down on the inside of your lip, struggling to come to terms with what had happened. It didn’t take long for Max to place his hand where your pain was coming from in an attempt to ease it for you.

“Do you need to get checked out? Does it hurt anywhere else?” Max questioned, the panic strong in his voice as his eyes darted to check you properly.

Your head shook, letting Max take a moment to check for himself that you really were alright, covering every last bit of your body.

“Just my pride, it’s taken a bit of a dent,” you tried to joke, bringing the faintest of smiles to Max’s face. “I think my head brushed against the side of the table, but somehow I just about managed to miss it.”

Max doesn’t look as certain as you though.

“Come on, I think a proper bed might help me to feel better.”

Max is still doubtful as you rise to your feet, refusing to let you do anything alone. He could tell from the feeling in his arms that he must’ve gotten tired, ultimately letting go which led to you rolling off of him and ending up in a bundle on the floor.

“Do you think you might be concussed or something?”

“Max, love, I promise that my head didn’t hit anything, I’ll be alright.”

He wants to nod and assure that you he understands, but he knows exactly what you’re like. He’s lost count of how many times you’ve pretended in front of him to stop him from worrying, not wanting thoughts of you to cloud him when he has so many other things to think about, especially when it came to his career.

Max is with you every step of the way as you walk into the bedroom of your hotel, encouraging you to move as slowly as possible. Only when you’re laid out does he finally begin to relax a little.

As soon as he’s there beside you, you’re rolling across and tucking yourself back into him again. First your leg drapes over him, then your arm, and soon enough you’re pushing your entire frame on top of him.

“Do you really want to do this?” Max questioned, reluctantly placing his arms around you, his voice shaky and filled with concern.

“I think I might be a little bit safer laying in a big double bed rather than the sofa,” you assured Max, keeping your grip on him nice and tight so that he had no choice but to let you stay there.

Max wanted to protest, but there was no way he could argue with his injured girl. “Why do you like this so much.”

The answer was easy for you, it was the one thing that you loved more than anything.

You loved the warmth that it brought you, the comfort, and the way it made your heart race. Above all else, you loved how it always made you fall a little bit more in love with Max every single time.

“Your cuddles always feel like home.”

“Really?” Max asked in surprise, never quite imaging you to feel that way. “If that’s the case, I guess I better let you lay here on my chest for the night, right?”

“I won’t be arguing if you do,” you chuckled, finally feeling Max relax underneath you after your little incident.

Max is still a little wary, he can’t help but fret about you. But having you right there where he can keep an eye on you is the best he can ask for. “I love you,” he murmured, pressing a light kiss against the very top of your head.

“I love you too,” you responded, stretching to be able to capture Max’s jawline with your lips, knowing how much of a sweet spot that sharp line was for him. His strong arms held onto you a little tighter in response, making your heart swell as you both close your eyes again, hoping that next time around you’re still laying there engulfed in each other’s arms again.

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

#f1 #f1 imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 reaction #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #formula 1 x you #formula one imagine #formula 1 fic #formula one #f1 fic

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keferon · 2 months ago

Note

Two Peas in a Pod: part 4/?

Hopefully the dialog isn't confusing.

______________________________

"Still dizzy?"

"Not really," Jazz answered with a comfortable smile, though stole a quick glance over to the gate. The first since Blaster had arrived for the morning routine. The other mer wasn't awake yet last he saw, but he was shifting more. The medication had obviously long worn off by now, but Jazz still hoped they weren't in too much pain.

But Blaster noticed and it prompted him to pause his checks to ask, "did he wake up last night?"

"Kinda? He could have been talking in his sleep though."

"Hm, there's a good chance he'll be up soon, then."

Jazz's expression of his usual cheerfulness shifted, just slightly and if it had been anyone other than Blaster, they would have missed it. He flipped the clipboard over in his lap and rested his elbows against his crossed legs.

"You're nervous," Blaster pointed out gently and gave Jazz an encouraging smile. "Is this about their injuries, or is this about making a friend?"

The mer's face soured and he looked away. "I thought I wasn't supposed to ask."

"That was about the gate, and I'm sorry about that." It was just the two of them on the pier, but Blaster still practised a surveying sweep of the area with what looked like stretching. Then with a lower voice, he continued, "The Vet Chief wanted to fully isolate them from you, to keep them in a transfer-crate, at least until the injuries had a low risk of reopening. I argued that it would put them under a lot of undue stress, and you because you knew the Mer was here. Which is part of why it took so long for–"

"–and it's fine to say this now?" Jazz snapped and turned back to him with a small scowl.

"Jazz, how many staff members were in your area yesterday? When we talked about the gate?"

He paused, trying to recall. Blaster was with him and the group that went into the bay had five… seven?

"There was thirteen, Jazz," he supplied, knowing that any answer coming would be incorrect. It was a lot of people, and with Blaster already known for making waves on the regular, the sudden addition had eyes and ears on him. That, and because he had fought so hard against the 'great idea' brought up in the first meeting after emergency treatment had ended. "You didn't even clock the vet on standby at the pier entrance."

Jazz huffed and laid out flat, resting his chin on his crossed arms. Okay, so he wasn’t paying attention to who was around. "Then what is it about the gate? I get the bit about climbing the walls, but…"

"That one is on me, I was – am – being overly cautious. Not of you, but of others misunderstanding your excitement or anxiety as aggression. And I know how persistent you can be when something catches your interest. But that's not the point, what is, is that if the team reports you showing signs of aggression, they'll… remove him."

Now looking worried, Jazz glanced from Blaster to the gate. "But what if he shows aggression?"

"We're expecting that, at least at first." Blaster wanted to reassure him, but there were still too many unknown variables. "Unknown place with an unfamiliar face, and likely limited communication. There is bound to be backlash."

Jazz looked down with an expression of growing despair, before dropping his face against his arms. His words muffled, "so whether he stays or not depends on me being able to talk with him."

Blaster reached out and placed his hand on the orca's shoulder. "Listen, buddy, this might be hard to hear. But let me explain, okay? … So far it looks like there are no issues and the current plan is to have him released once he recovers." As he feels Jazz tense, Blaster frowns in understanding and begins to rub his shoulder to comfort him. "There is only one reason that the aquarium wouldn't go through with it, and honestly, I don't want that to happen. It's all sorts of fucked up and would only make things worse– but I don't want you to distance yourself from him. I want you to try and befriend him."

"… why," Jazz asked weakly, cursing him for telling him the truth – for reminding him of the truth – for breaking his small piece of hope of not being alone anymore. If he was going to be taken away, if he was just going to lose him no matter what, then it would hurt less if he just ignored him.

All sorts of answers bounce around in Blaster's mind. From wishful thinking – because I want you to go with him. To long term goals – anything we could learn could help Mers everywhere. But he settled on as close to the truth as he could. "Because I'm trying to make sure that no matter what happens, it's the best result for both of you. But I can't do that if the two of you can't at least work together. So, I'm asking you to try."

"Right," because he doesn't need to be kept here to survive… he just needs time to heal. Where I – "–right. Okay, I'll try… but where do I even start?" Jazz took a deep breath to compose himself before he lifted his head.

"Well, why don't we see if sleepy-head is waking up? Maybe he'd like breakfast." Blaster offered, first with a reassuring smile, but then twisted it into something more mischievous. "And maybe you could find out if he's got a beautiful name, too."

It took a second to realize what Blaster was getting at, and for the first time in his life Jazz felt bashful. "W-what are you talking about?" He hid it terribly.

"He's beautiful~" he whispered dramatically, and Blaster learned that mers could in fact blush.

—

When Blaster left to get food for the wild mer, Jazz calmly made his way over to the view port. Only to be taken by surprise, he was looking directly at Jazz. Though, glaring, might be more accurate with how his face was pulled tight with focus and the sheer intensity of his stare.

But otherwise, they were completely calm. Jazz wasn't sure if that was a good sign or bad. Yet, it didn't stop his nervous excitement from returning. He waved with one of his best smiles – one without teeth – and greeted him with a friendly, "hello!"

What he got in return was a slightly more intense furrowing of their brow – irritation or confusion?

"Oh! Sorry, habit." Jazz switched to mer. {Hi!}

The tension didn't leave his face, but there was slight movement and, again, Jazz didn't know how to interpret that. But he did answer, {||၊|။||||•။၊|။|။|၊|။||၊၊၊|?}

"Uh…" Yep, didn't understand any of that.

Then the door opened on the edge behind them and Jazz for a moment thought that it would startle the wild mer. But they didn't even flinch. And while their eyes remained on him, Jazz was fairly sure now that they had been using their sonar to track the human's movement.

"Are they still asleep?" Blaster asked, puzzled.

"Nope, very much awake." He shifted lower to try and get more than the man's boots in his sight.

"Ah…" He sounded uneasy and began to make small careful steps around the edge closer to Jazz while he spoke as calmly as possible. "Well, I'm going to keep talking, just so you don't think I'm trying to sneak up on you."

When he reached the point where he was straight across from the wild mer, they lifted their head to turn their glare on the human. Blaster to his credit did not flinch, but he did freeze. "Whoa– that's – wow, t-that's quite the look."

A series of slow clicks came from them, but their lips did not move. Jazz didn't think it was echo-speak, as it reminded him of his own searching clicks when he was trying to get a better picture. "Oh! I think he's trying to see what you have."

The wild mer glanced to Jazz, becoming silent once more before looking back up at Blaster.

"Fair enough, alright new buddy, I'm going to be real slow about it okay?" Back to narrating his actions calmly as he knelt down. Showing the long pole with a thin, blunt hook, "just an arm I don't mind losing if you decide that you don't like the breakfast I brought," and poured out the fish from the bucket.

Still the wild mer glared, unblinking and watching every little movement.

"Okay… I'm not sure what to make of this, so far everything has been nothing like previous encounters."

"Ya, didn't you say he'd be freaking out?"

"You got anything to calm or reassure our new buddy here that I ain't going to hurt him?" Blaster was doing his absolute best at trying to remain calm, but even his hands were starting to tremble under the pressure the wild mer was giving him. He wasn't even moving, just watching, but it felt like the human was being stalked.

Honestly, Blaster was probably one bad move from being lunged at. Though, if that was the case, he had maybe one chance to get away. The hammock would throw him off on the first strike, the supports could probably take two or four hard thrashings before it snapped under the mer's strength. Injuries be damned, this mer was in peak physical condition.

Jazz gave a small chirp to try and gain the other's attention, and failed, but continued with trying to talk. {It's okay, you're safe.}

He was given a very tiny dip of his finial facing the gate – a tell that he had heard him?

{You're safe,} Jazz repeated.

The mer didn't look away, but he did at least respond. {•၊၊|•|၊|။။၊|။•|||။||||။၊|။•၊၊||၊|။||||။•၊|။•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•} Though, far too fast for Jazz attempt to understand.

"I'm hoping you two are talking about your favourite fish." Blaster joked to cover his nervousness.

Jazz sighed and admitted the truth, "I haven't a clue to what they're talking about…"

"Just let me know if I should run, kay?" He shifted slowly on his knees, trying to find a comfortable spot without making himself too vulnerable.

But Jazz hadn't given up yet. {Hungry?} He tried instead.

More chirps and clicking that didn't translate.

{Hungry? Yes? No?}

The heavy huff that came from them caused Blaster to flinch, but the mer finally focused on Jazz. There was clear irritation in their face now on top of glaring. And the damns broke, he started ranting at him loudly.

"Hey, don't yell at me, I'm trying okay!?" Jazz glared back, not backing down. Though wasn't all that intimidating with him just having a little porthole to look through.

"Jazz, buddy, please don't aggravate him." He, after all, was the one in the room with the wild mer.

"He fuckn' started it!"

Silence came quickly as the wild mer plunked his face into the soft floaty that had been his pillow. Blaster would have found it utterly hilarious if not fearing for his life currently. With another heavy and long huff, the wild mer looked back at Jazz, still glaring, but slightly less than before. {•|||။||||။၊|။•၊၊||၊|။? Yes? No?}

Jazz blinked at him for a moment, depending on the question, no could be a yes. {No…?} He answered tentatively instead.

{It's safe? Yes? No?} And he pointed his nose towards Blaster briefly, but clearly wasn't happy about it.

{Yes!} Jazz nodded vigorously and smiled for extra encouragement. Out of all the staff, Blaster was safe, Jazz held some trust in the human after all. {[Blaster] safe.}

"What about me?"

"He asked if you're safe and I told him you were. Relax a bit or something to show him."

Easier said than done. Blaster cursed, but did his best to ease the tension from his shoulders and smile a little. Even, daring to slowly lift a hand to wave.

The mer did not seem convinced, but his glare lessened some more and looked over the human with more curiosity than before.

{Hungry? Yes? No?} Jazz tried again.

There was a long pause, but they sighed and answered. {… yes.}

"Progress!" He cheered and then stuck his hand through the little window. "Blaster, hand me one of the fish. He's hungry, but I have a feeling that he'll trust you more if he sees me eat what you have."

"Okay." He made sure that it was clear as possible what his intentions were. Taking a fish under the gills, Blaster looped the blunt hook in and out the mouth. Then, very slowly, began to feed the length of the pole towards Jazz's waiting hand. Once Jazz felt the tail touch his palm, he grabbed it and waited until Blaster twisted enough for the fish to slip free. Then the pole was just as slowly drawn back.

The whole time the wild mer watching the exchange intensely.

Jazz pulled the fish over to his side, chirped for the other's attention before he swallowed it whole. Smiling once more as he said, {safe.}

Blaster had to admit, he was surprised when the mer shifted slightly in the hammock, and then cautiously held out his right hand. The glare never left, but this one felt like a threat, that if he messed this chance up, there would not be another.

Though this was the first time Jazz had been able to see any of his injuries. The colourful tape-bandages almost covered every inch of his skin from his hand up to his bicep. It reminded him that just yesterday he had been mortally wounded. Which was probably a key reason the wild mer seemed so calm, they had only started to recover and every action was either painful or exhausting. Likely both.

Jazz watched closely as Blaster went through all the careful steps as he had with Jazz and held the fish out. The only difference, was that the human's grip was loose, just in case the wild mer decided to try and yank him into the water with it. But they didn't, doing exactly as they saw before, allowing Blaster to release the fish and retreat. The whole process was so slow that the wild mer's arm started to shake from being held out.

But both Jazz and Blaster let out a breath of relief as there had been no backlash.

He eyed the fish in his grip with a mild sneer before he swallowed it and then held out his shaky hand for another. It was clear that the pain was getting to him, but nothing in his expression showed weakness.

The feeding got easier and quicker as Blaster relaxed a bit, not fearing that a normal pace would come off as threatening to the wild mer.

When the shaking got bad enough, the mer rested his arm back in the hammock, but kept his eyes on the remaining fish. As if to convey he wasn't finished, just needed a break. Blaster was more than happy to comply and gave him a few praises, even if they didn't understand.

"Hey," Jazz called gently, chirping for the other's attention. He waited until they looked his way, then pointed at himself. "Jazz," and then to the human, "Blaster," and back to himself once more, "Jazz," before pointing to the other mer with a questioning tilt of his head. He hoped it was clear what he was asking for.

When the silence stretched on for a bit, the human also joined in. "Blaster," to himself and to his mer, "Jazz."

There was a brief moment that Jazz could see that they were working over something, opening their mouth a few times before the sound of a sharp zip came out. "… 'tzz?"

Jazz snorted, before breaking into a few chuckles. "Ya, missing the Ja, but you'll get there. I'm Jazz." He placed a hand over his heart.

The gesture was reflected, {•၊||၊။}

It was his turn to try and work out the sound in his head. Jazz tried the word out soundlessly on his tongue once. It was like a popping roll? {•၊||၊၊၊၊၊?}

{•၊||၊။} they repeated, firmly correcting him.

"Nice to meet ya, {•၊||၊၊၊၊၊}!" While the mer scowled at him for not even trying to fix his pronunciation, Jazz just smiled brightly.

"So... what is his name?" Blaster asked for a translation, very interested in the development between them.

Jazz laughed, "I have no idea."

______________________________

Don't ask about my attempt to make sound-wave-like-text, it's gibberish, lol, and going forward only •၊||၊။ (Prowl) & •၊||၊၊၊၊၊ (Prowler) will be used until Jazz has a English (common?) name to attach an understanding to.

Keferon, I just wanted to say that every comment or tag you leave on the fic is like serotonin being injected into my veins. Every silly little image is like rolling down a grassy hill in the warm sun while I laugh with manic joy. When you add art, it's like an adrenaline shot to the heart that makes me want to run across the globe just to frantically wave hello with both hands, give you a hug and run back to get started on the next part.

And the next part will be Prowl joining Jazz in the main pool and Jazz learning just how fast he is, even while injured. >:)c

-GLC

𓆝 Previous 𓆟 Next

---------------------

Me looking in my inbox and seeing that there's two peas in a po

Odjndgdjdkfhdkm PLEASE. Blaster is so nervous EVERYONE IS SO NERVOUS Ooohhhnooo he's gonna freak out and kill everything he can reach oh no we all know how all those wild stupid creatures are oh no watch out While Prowl is trying to blow their pancakes with mind

And I juswannasay I love it so much ehehejgknfbfkdn THE SOUND WAVE SPEACH? I LOVE THE LOOK OF IT EHEHEH

Always a big fan of creative ways of showing imaginary languages. This thing?? ||ll•|Il It looks hella stylish >:O

Aaannnndd I got excited and made some art hehe

#maccadam #transformers #apocalyptic ponyo #jazz #prowl #jazzprowl #blaster #Blaster is slowly but steadily growing on me....huh #kinda torn apart with his design because technically all staff has to wear swim suits around pools. But also the whole Blasters design?#it screeeeammms “big hoodies and jackets”. he is SO blocky in canon. I can't imagine him in a swim suit lol #also IM SO FUCKING EXCITED FOR JP TO GET IN A SAME POOL OHOJFNFB ITS GONNA BE SO FUN #I love how you write them #I LOVE how I read the fic and from time to time I go #“huh I didn't consider that before”#like. I loooove when characters in a fic can do stuff in a way that is smarter than what I expected #and I have this little “oh wow okay” moment #it's not even about big plot. just. little things haha #also ahahahah I love how Jazz keeps “talking” to Prowl while simultaneously having NO idea what are they even talking about #like of course they have to have their first argument before they can even properly understand each other. My favorite JP flavor right here #fuck wait I need to add important tags before I run out of the space for them #ponyo jp writing #GLC #............I just realized I drew almost identical sketch with Jazz and this tiny ass window......#the pose is literally the same but it's drawn from scratch. lmao. oh well #Blaster is actively fearing for his life is the only real one here😔✊#Ohhhhoho Prowl is about to see how fucked up Jazz's situation is #everything. how he is too thin how his fins are curled and fucked how he has to perform for humans EVERYTHING #This fic is a fucking national treasure of this blog I tell you

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kxsagi · 23 days ago

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Hello! Can I request bllk boys with a reader who has respiratory problems and always get tired so easily/can't do much physical activity? I struggle with it and it sucks running out of breath doing basic things 😭 (With Isagi, Sae, Rin, Yukimiya and Reo please 🙏)

“𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲”

a/n: i hope you are doing well! please remember that it doesn't define your worth at all love 🤍

also not sure if you need meds for this, but i added it just in case!

title was inspired by the song easy by mac ayres highly recommenddd

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, yukimiya kenyu, mikage reo

isagi yoichi

isagi panics the first time he sees you really out of breath, like, full deer-in-headlights energy.

once he learns more about your condition, he becomes so attentive.

always walks at your pace, no matter how slow it is.

“you okay?” is basically his catchphrase when you’re out together.

offers you piggyback rides constantly (and not even in a joking way).

turns basic errands into fun slow dates: grocery store run? “let’s stop for a break. snack time?”

always has water, your meds (if you need any), and a mental map of benches nearby.

if you're ever frustrated about your limits, he holds your face and says softly, “you’re not weak. you’re just built different, and i love you like this.”

itoshi sae

sae’s quiet, but you know he’s always observing you.

doesn’t comment much, but the way he subtly adjusts the thermostat, brings your bag to you, or puts your meds in your coat pocket before leaving the house, it’s love.

the moment he notices you getting tired, he wraps an arm around you and leads you to the nearest bench or chair.

“sit down. don’t argue.”

won’t let you lift anything heavy. like, nothing. grocery bags? no. laundry basket? absolutely not.

if someone says anything ignorant like “you don’t look sick,” sae will turn and go, “and you don’t look that stupid, but here we are.”

he doesn’t baby you, but he makes sure you’re never made to feel lesser.

the calm to your storm when you’re upset about it.

itoshi rin

rin does not understand chronic exhaustion at first and lowkey feels helpless.

but he learns fast. and once he understands, he becomes protective in a very lowkey way.

always walks with you on the side with more shade, notices when you start breathing heavier and immediately slows down.

gets real quiet when you say you feel useless or frustrated. not because he doesn’t care, but because he’s thinking hard about what to say to make it better.

his version of comfort is: “you’re not a burden. if anyone says that again, they can talk to me.”

starts doing light stretching with you just to keep you company, even if he could be training.

lets you use his chest as your personal pillow when you’re tired (and you catch him softly smiling every time).

makes you playlists for when you’re resting, all filled with songs that remind him of you.

yukimiya kenyu

yuki relates to your struggles more than the others because of his eye condition.

he understands what it’s like to have a body that doesn’t always cooperate.

“you’re doing amazing,” he tells you even when you feel like you’ve done nothing.

loves planning soft, cozy dates that don’t take up much energy: bookstores, art galleries, flower markets.

will read aloud to you if you’re too tired to do it yourself.

the king of soothing you when you feel bad about missing out on something. “just because your pace is different doesn’t mean you’re behind. you’re still moving forward, love.”

always has tissues, lip balm, and your meds in his bag.

his camera roll is filled with sleepy, bundled-up pics of you where he writes lil captions like “my sunshine” or “resting beauty.”

mikage reo

reo, rich boy with a heart of gold, immediately goes into caretaker mode.

offers to fund every comfort item you might want: fancy humidifiers, cute inhaler cases, memory foam shoes, everything.

but more than that, he listens. like, really listens when you explain what it feels like.

“you don’t have to do anything to impress me. if all we do today is lay around and breathe, that’s more than enough.”

brings you flowers when you’re stuck at home.

takes you on bougie slow strolls through gardens or museums because “we’re not here to rush.”

gets very pouty when you push yourself too far and don’t tell him. “you promised you’d take it easy, dummy.”

makes sure you never feel like a burden, always a priority, never a problem.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock headcanons #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #yukimiya kenyu x reader #kenyu yukimiya x reader #i can say that loving you is easy

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soulofapatrick · 3 months ago

Text

Giving Into Temptations - Xaden Riorson x Female Reader

Summary: Part two of Don't Tempt Me

Warnings: Smut; P in v; cockwarming

Words: 4.6K

Notes: I just had to make part two and it's not proofread and written after a break so sorry for any mistakes/repetition

Y/N's POV

The sound of rushing water stops, leaving only the quiet crackle of tension in the air. I hear Xaden moving in the bathroom—quick, efficient movements, the sound of his hands adjusting the faucet, testing the water. For a few long moments, I sit there, feeling the heat of my own words still lingering between us, replaying the way his body tensed, the way his breath caught when I suggested he join me. I don’t regret saying it. Not even a little. But now, with the silence stretching between us, I wonder what’s running through his mind.

Footsteps approach, heavy and deliberate, and then Xaden steps back into the room. His expression is unreadable, his golden-flecked eyes shadowed with something I can’t quite name. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me from where he stands, as if deciding whether or not to speak. Then, with a sigh that sounds like he’s battling himself, he moves toward me, reaching out.

"Come on," he says, his voice lower than usual, raspier. "Water’s ready."

He extends his hand, waiting for me to take it. I hesitate—not because I don’t want to, but because something about this moment feels different. He’s always been imposing, always carried himself with that unwavering confidence, but right now, there's something softer in the way he looks at me. Something unguarded.

I slide my hand into his, and his fingers curl around mine, firm and warm. The contrast between his calloused palm and my own sends a shiver up my spine. He doesn't say anything about it—just helps me up, steadying me as my sore muscles protest. The ache in my body is undeniable, and I probably should have been listening to Vireth when he told me to stop, but the damage is done now.

Xaden doesn’t let go as he guides me toward the bathroom, his other hand finding my waist like he’s afraid I’ll collapse again. Maybe I will. Every step reminds me how exhausted I am, how much I’ve pushed myself beyond my limits.

The warmth from the bath curls into the air as we step inside, steam clinging to my skin. It smells faintly of the lavender oil he must have added to the water—something soothing, something that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I don’t always have to fight so hard to prove I belong here.

I turn to look at him, expecting him to let go now that we’re here, but he doesn’t. Instead, his hands stay on me, lingering at my waist, fingers pressing slightly into the bare skin between my sports bra and the waistband of my underwear. His gaze drops to the bruises lining my ribs, his jaw tightening.

“You push yourself too damn hard,” he mutters, almost to himself, his voice a quiet accusation. His thumb ghosts over one of the deeper bruises, and I feel his restraint in the way he touches me—gentle, but simmering with frustration.

I don’t answer. What is there to say? He’s right, and we both know it. But I don’t regret it. I can’t afford to.

Xaden exhales sharply, shaking his head before finally—reluctantly—stepping back.

“Get in before the water gets cold,” he says, his tone gruff, but there’s an underlying softness there, something he doesn’t want me to hear.

I don’t move. Not yet. Instead, I tilt my head, watching him carefully. He meets my gaze, and for a moment, I swear I see the battle in his eyes—the war between every instinct telling him to leave, to put space between us, and the deep, undeniable pull that keeps him here, rooted to the spot.

My fingers find the hem of my sports bra, and I peel the damp fabric up over my ribs, my muscles protesting the movement. I know he’s still watching me—can feel the weight of his gaze like a brand against my skin—but I refuse to meet it. Instead, I focus on my breathing, slow and steady, as I pull the bra over my head and let it slip from my fingers onto the floor. The air against my bare skin is cool in contrast to the steam curling through the room, sending a ripple of heat down my spine that has nothing to do with the bath.

I take my time sliding my underwear down my legs, my fingers brushing against the bruises lining my hips, a reminder of how hard I pushed today. Of how hard I always push. I step out of them, standing completely bare under the dim bathroom light, knowing his gaze is still locked on me, burning.

Even without looking, I can picture the way his jaw must be clenched, how his fingers might be curled into fists at his sides as he fights every instinct screaming at him to move. To touch. To close the space between us.

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a glance. Instead, I turn, stepping carefully into the bath, the heat of the water licking up my calves, then my thighs, until I sink beneath its welcoming warmth with a quiet sigh. The tension in my muscles loosens almost immediately, and I let my head rest against the cool porcelain edge, closing my eyes for a brief moment.

I should feel self-conscious. Exposed. But I don’t. Not really. Not when his silence is thick with something else entirely—something raw, barely restrained, and entirely too tempting.

And still, I don’t look at him.

The silence stretches between us, thick with something unspoken, something charged. My body hums with awareness, my skin prickling under the heat of both the bath and his relentless gaze. I keep my eyes closed for a beat longer than necessary, as if that will somehow lessen the intensity of the moment. It doesn’t. It only makes the tension coil tighter, thick and suffocating.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“Are you trying to fucking kill me?”

His voice is low, breathy, like the words have been torn from him against his will, and the sheer frustration laced in them is enough to make my eyes snap open.

I turn my head slowly, and—gods help me—he looks wrecked.

Xaden stands rigid, his broad shoulders stiff, every muscle wound so tight it’s a miracle he hasn’t shattered under the strain. His fists are clenched at his sides, veins pressing against the golden-toned skin of his forearms like he’s holding himself back with every ounce of control he possesses. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, and his lips—his lips—are slightly parted, like he’s just realised how parched he is and that I’m the only thing that could possibly quench him.

But it’s his eyes that do me in.

Those gold-flecked onyx irises burn, searing a path over every inch of exposed skin, dark and predatory, his pupils blown wide with something dangerously close to hunger.

And then, as my gaze drops lower, I see just how much I’ve affected him.

The evidence is straining against his jeans, a prominent, undeniably enticing outline pressing against the dark fabric. My mouth goes dry. Heat pools low in my stomach, winding tightly through my limbs, and suddenly, the bath feels entirely too small, the room too hot, the air too thick to breathe.

I should say something. Should break the moment, laugh it off, defuse the impossible tension crackling between us before it ignites into something I know we won’t be able to stop.

But I don’t.

Instead, I drag my gaze back up to his, meeting his with deliberate slowness, letting him see every thought running rampant through my mind.

I raise a single brow, the ghost of a smirk playing at my lips, and that’s all it takes.

Something snaps.

Xaden curses under his breath, something low and guttural, and then he’s moving. Fast.

His hands fly to the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head in one fluid motion. The fabric barely clears his arms before he’s tossing it to the side, forgotten. My breath catches at the sight of him—of the solid planes of muscle, the ink that stretches across his arms and chest, the way his skin is already flushed like he’s been fighting this battle for far too long.

His fingers go to the buttons of his jeans, fumbling in his haste, jaw clenching as he struggles with the damn things like they’re his mortal enemy.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling in my throat as he growls in frustration, finally forcing them open. But when he shoves the denim down his hips, he nearly trips over his own damn feet, his balance thrown as he kicks his shoes off at the same time.

A very undignified thud echoes through the bathroom as one shoe hits the wall.

And then—fuck.

Xaden looks up at me, half-dressed, breathless, and so fucking wrecked, and the sheer heat in his gaze burns through whatever amusement I had, replacing it with something molten.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, tension still coiling through his muscles, but there’s something else in his expression now. Something that makes my own breath stutter.

Like he’s already mine. Like he’s made peace with the fact that he’s about to break every rule he’s set for himself.

Xaden is back on his feet in seconds, the last shreds of his restraint gone. He practically rips his boxers down those thick, muscular thighs, the motion so desperate, so reckless, that the waistband almost gives out under the force.

And then—gods help me—my gaze drops.

My breath catches. My pulse stumbles.

I don’t mean to look. I don’t. But gravity itself seems to drag my gaze downward, past the hard ridges of his stomach, the sharp lines of his hip bones, to—

Oh.

A sharp inhale gets caught in my throat, my fingers clutching the porcelain edge of the bath like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. A slow, involuntary heat creeps up my neck, settling deep in my stomach as I try—try—to force my gaze back up. But it’s impossible.

Because fuck.

He’s big. Thick, heavy, fully erect, standing proud against his stomach. And the worst part? The moment my eyes betray me, lingering too long, a sound escapes me—a tiny, almost imperceptible hitch of breath. But it’s enough.

Xaden hears it.

I feel the shift in the air before I even meet his gaze again.

When I do, it’s devastating.

His eyes are burning, dark as molten gold, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling with a barely restrained tension that vibrates through every inch of his body. His lips part like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, watching me watch him, taking in every single reaction, every single thing I’m failing to hide.

And then—fuck him—his mouth curves. Just slightly. Just enough to make my pulse stumble.

He knows.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Exactly how wrecked I am.

And from that slow, wicked smirk pulling at his lips?

He’s savouring every fucking second of it.

Xaden steps forward, closing the small, agonising distance between us, and fuck. It’s right there.

My breath shudders as the heat of him seeps into the steam-heavy air, his presence overwhelming in a way that makes my pulse trip over itself. He’s so close now, towering over me, muscles taut with restraint, water-darkened strands of black hair falling across his forehead. But it’s not his face I’m struggling to focus on.

No.

It’s him. Right there. In front of my face.

And gods help me, I want to do something.

My fingers twitch against the porcelain edge of the bath, an ache settling deep in my core that has nothing to do with my exhaustion and everything to do with the way every primal, desperate part of me is screaming to reach out—to wrap my hands around him, my mouth—fuck—I don’t even care how.

As if sensing the exact second I start to spiral, Xaden exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers pressing against my shoulder. “Don’t,” he warns, voice low, tight, wrecked.

I drag my eyes up, catching the way his jaw flexes, how the veins in his forearms strain like he’s barely holding himself together.

And then, just to make absolutely sure I understand, his hand finds the curve of my neck, thumb grazing the hinge of my jaw as he leans in close enough that his breath is a ghost against my lips.

“Be a good girl and behave,” he murmurs.

Fucking bastard.

A slow, deliberate heat spreads from where his hand lingers, all the way down my spine, settling low in my stomach. My breath is shaky, uneven, but I force myself to hold his gaze, to not react—to not give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much those words affect me.

I fail. Miserably.

His smirk deepens, smug and knowing, before he nudges me forward in the water, shifting me just enough to slide in behind me.

The moment he sinks into the bath, a low groan escapes him, the sound vibrating through the space between us, sinking into my skin. Strong, calloused hands find my waist under the water, guiding me back until my spine meets the solid wall of his chest and my ass meets something very different.

And fuck.

The heat of him, the sheer size of him, makes my entire body lock up. Every muscle goes rigid as I try to convince myself this is fine, that I can handle this without combusting on the spot.

But then his lips brush my ear.

“Relax.” His voice is pure sin, rough with restraint. “I’ve got you.”

I don’t think relaxing is an option anymore.

Not when I can feel him, hot and hard against me, pressed so intimately that my breath catches in my throat. Not when his hands, large and calloused, find my waist beneath the water, his thumbs brushing slow, burning circles into my skin.

A shiver ripples through me, and I know he feels it because his grip tightens, fingers flexing like he’s fighting every instinct to pull me closer.

“Xaden—” My voice is barely a whisper, but before I can even process what I’m trying to say, his hands begin to move.

Slow. Deliberate.

He traces the curve of my sides, trailing the bruises with a careful touch, his palms mapping every ridge, every muscle, like he’s memorising me.

Like he wants to.

And it should be soothing—it would be soothing—if it weren’t for the fact that every shift of his hands sends a fresh wave of awareness through me, heat pooling low in my stomach, turning my bones to liquid.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my breath uneven. “This isn’t fair,” I manage, trying to ignore the way my entire body reacts to his touch.

Xaden hums, the sound deep, amused, dangerous. His breath is warm against the side of my neck as he leans in, his lips barely ghosting over my skin.

“Life’s not fair, violence,” he murmurs, his voice like smoke and embers, like temptation itself. His fingers tighten at my waist, pressing me just a fraction more against him, until there’s no mistaking exactly what I’m doing to him.

A quiet, wrecked sound escapes me before I can swallow it down.

And gods.

I don’t think I want to relax anymore.

Xaden’s hands remain steady on my waist, but there’s a subtle shift in his touch. His fingers begin to move, a slow, deliberate exploration of the skin beneath his hands. The warmth of his touch sends ripples of heat over me, and it’s as though I can feel every inch of his fingers against me, the way they trail over my skin, brushing lightly against my ribs before descending lower.

His touch is careful at first, like he’s testing, sensing the boundaries I haven’t yet laid out. The water between us becomes a barrier of heat and tension, and I can feel him getting closer, his breath mingling with mine, quiet and measured.

Then, with deliberate patience, his fingers shift down to my legs, gliding along the smooth skin of my thighs. My pulse quickens, and I struggle to keep my breathing steady, not knowing whether to lean into the touch or brace myself against it.

When his hand nudges my legs apart ever so slightly, it’s a gentle but insistent movement, a tease that has my heart pounding in my chest. It’s almost as if he’s savouring the slow build-up, the way he’s tracing every line of my body with his fingertips—each touch purposeful, each stroke drawing out more of the tension that I can’t escape.

Suddenly he’s lifting me a bit, one strong arm around my waist against. A soft sound of surprise leaving my lips when I feel the tip brushing against my soaking entrance, a soft question on his lips. I’m nodding before I realise it, gripping the arm around my waist and completely forgetting that this isn’t me. I don’t fuck for fun but Xaden sends every rule of mine out the window, especially when he’s slowly and carefully sinking me down until he’s fully sheafed inside me.

My head falls back onto Xaden’s shoulders he hands go back to exploring my body but all I can focus on is the delicious stretch of him, the tip feeling like it’s pressing against my cervix. No-one has stretched me this much and it’s almost too much to handle and Xaden can tell, the way the rough pads of his fingers run over where we’re connected. His lips brushing my neck, biting down and littering my skin with hickeys that I am in no way going to be able to cover up tomorrow.

I’m opening my mouth to speak but he silences me by circling my clit, a smirk pressing into my jaw as he continues to roll lazy circles over my clit, my walls fluttering around his girth filling me up. I can already tell I’m not going to last long with the mixture of stimulation and I’m gripping Xaden’s arm that is paying attention to that bundle of nerves as my thighs clench together. He’s moving his lips from my jaw to my ear, murmuring, “Come for me baby.”

Those words plus one more tight circle on my clit has my aching back arching, drawing Xaden even deeper than I thought possible and my walls are clamping down around him, feeling hi twitch inside me as waves of bliss roll over me. I can feel Xaden rocking his hips up ever so slightly and before I know what’s happening he’s sinking his teeth into my shoulder and his dick is throbbing, filling me up with rope after rope until I feel it dripping down into the water and he’s letting out a low groan of pleasure.

His breath is ragged against my ear, each inhale a sharp, uneven sound that mirrors the frantic rhythm of my own. His body is still pressed tightly against mine, and I can feel the heat of him seeping through the water, the warmth of his chest against my back as his arms tighten around me.

"Fuck..." he breathes, his voice strained, rough with the effort to regain control. It's low, almost a growl, but the vulnerability in it—how breathless he sounds—has my heart hammering in my chest. The intimacy of the moment makes my head spin, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck, needing the coolness of his skin to steady myself.

Every part of me feels alive, humming with the aftershocks of what we've shared. My lungs are still struggling to keep up, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. I close my eyes, trying to slow the frantic pace of my breathing, but with Xaden so close, the air feels thick, charged with a quiet tension that doesn't seem to want to fade.

His lips brush against my neck, a soft, breathless kiss that sends a shiver racing down my spine, and his hand, still resting on my hip, flexes slightly. "Take it slow," he murmurs, his voice low and raw, like he's trying to soothe me, but I know it’s just as much for himself.

I want to say something, to break the silence, but every word feels heavy, every sound trapped somewhere deep in my chest, caught between us like the air we share. His presence, the heat of him, the way he's holding me so close—it’s all too much, too overwhelming in the best way possible.

And as I try to regain my breath, the world outside seems to disappear, leaving only the two of us, tangled in the aftermath.

The warm water, the steady rhythm of Xaden’s breathing, and the weight of his body against mine have me feeling utterly relaxed, more than I’ve ever felt before. My muscles, still sore from training, are languid and loose, and I can feel myself beginning to drift, the world around me fading into a haze of warmth and comfort.

I try to fight it, to stay awake, but my eyelids are heavy, and the rhythmic pulse of the water, the sound of Xaden’s heartbeat, and his steady presence make it hard to keep my thoughts straight. Everything in me is exhausted—physically, emotionally. I feel his chest rise and fall with each breath, and it’s like a lullaby, pulling me deeper into sleep.

The gentle pressure of his hand on my hip only makes it worse, a soothing presence that makes me feel safe and cherished, like I could stay here forever. I let out a soft sigh, nestling further into him, too tired to do anything but let myself be held.

But then, I feel him shift, his hand nudging me gently as the cold begins to settle in, and I realise the water has started to cool. A part of me knows I should get up, but my body protests every movement, too spent to function properly. The weariness pulls at me, a fog I can’t shake.

"Come on," his voice is soft but insistent, the edge of concern threading through the words. "We need to get out before we both freeze."

I barely manage to lift my head from his chest, my eyes half-lidded as I try to push myself up, but the effort is too much. My body feels like lead, and the warmth of the bath is so comforting, I can’t seem to summon the energy to do anything but slump back into him with a soft groan of frustration.

I hear him curse softly under his breath, and before I can protest, his arms shift around me. In one smooth motion, he’s standing, lifting me with ease. I’m held against him, wrapped in his strong arms, and I’m so out of it, so weak from everything we’ve just shared, that I don’t even think to object. I rest my head against his chest again, too tired to fight it, and just let him carry me.

He moves with surprising grace, effortlessly holding me as though I weigh nothing at all. His body is warm, and I can feel the solid strength of him beneath me as he carries me out of the bath, stepping carefully through the bathroom and towards the bed. The movement causes a slight shiver to roll through me, but I barely register it, too lost in the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

The cold air that hits my skin as he pulls me from the bath is a shock, but it’s quickly replaced with the warmth of his hands as he gently helps me sit up. His touch is careful, almost reverent, as he grabs a towel and begins drying me off, his hands moving slowly over my skin, taking extra care around the sore muscles from training. The friction of the towel feels comforting against my damp skin, like he’s erasing the tension that’s settled in my body.

Every pass of the towel makes me feel lighter, his movements deliberate, yet tender. He’s so close, I can feel his breath against my skin, and I can’t help but be hyper-aware of every little sensation, every brush of his fingers. He finishes drying my legs and feet, then wraps the towel around my shoulders, pulling me into a standing position for just a moment. The dizziness that tries to creep up on me from being so relaxed is immediately washed away by the firm grip of his hands, steady and sure.

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me for a moment, his gaze steady and warm, before picking out one of his oversized shirts from the pile of clothes he keeps by the door. It’s big enough to drown me, but he’s surprisingly gentle as he slides it over my head, the fabric billowing over my frame like a soft cloud. When the shirt falls to my knees, he gives a satisfied nod, his hand lingering on my arm for just a second before he guides me back to the bed.

I’m so exhausted, every inch of my body heavy with fatigue, that I barely manage to crawl into the bed, curling under the thick covers as Xaden moves to the side. But I can’t stop watching him, my eyes half-lidded as he dries himself off with a towel, the water dripping down his chest in rivulets. His muscles flex as he works, and I feel my breath catch in my throat as I take in every inch of him—his broad shoulders, the tautness of his abdomen, the way his hands move over his body with practiced ease.

He doesn’t seem to care about modesty, or maybe he simply doesn’t need to, because before I know it, he’s slipping into the bed behind me, his bare skin pressing against mine. I feel the heat of him, his presence a constant, undeniable force against my back. He doesn’t bother to pull on any clothes, his bare chest brushing against me as he settles in, his arm wrapping around me, pulling me close.

I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding, my body sinking into the warmth of him as I try to adjust to the feeling of being so close, so tangled in his presence. His heartbeat, steady and calm, thumps against my back as he presses his lips to my shoulder, a small, contented sound leaving him. It makes me shiver, not with cold, but with something else—something deeper, something I can’t quite define.

Xaden’s arm tightens around me, but his touch remains gentle, his warmth seeping into my skin as I finally relax into him, the exhaustion of the day and our shared moments taking its toll. I let myself breathe deeply, every inhale filling me with the scent of him—musky, warm, a hint of something like cedar and saltwater.

I close my eyes, but not before I catch one last glimpse of him, the outline of his face in the dim light, his expression soft but still holding that intensity I can’t shake. It’s enough to send a flutter through my chest, the lingering tension in my body finally dissipating as I let sleep claim me. His body behind me is a steady, reassuring presence, and in his arms, I feel like I’ve found a place I never want to leave.

Fourth Wing Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

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#fourth wing #fourth wing imagines #fourth wing boys #the empyrean #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing ridoc #fourth wing xaden #fourth wing x you #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson #xaden riorson smut #xaden riorson imagine #violet and xaden #xaden riorson x you #xaden riorson x y/n #xaden riorson fluff #xaden riorson angst #iron flame #onyx storm

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littlelamy · 5 months ago

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HEY HI GORGEOUS

I'm here with another idea. what about divorced rafe and reader where she finds out she's pregnant after they hooked up on a family trip that they did only bc their kid asked for both parents on their birthday and she has to tell him that the baby is his

author's note: hi bby, i made this a little angsty so i hope you enjoy it. thank you so much for sending a request! credits to @mochilly for the the divider <3

the soft hum of the engine and the chatter of your child in the backseat should've been comforting. you should've been able to relax and let the memories of the past weekend settle into something pleasant. but instead, all you could focus on was the secret bubbling inside you. a secret that was both thrilling and terrifying.

you’d been divorced from rafe for a year now. your kid's birthday party had been the excuse to bring you both back together, but the real reason for the trip was the way your kid begged. "please, just one weekend, mom, dad, both of you." and you had agreed, knowing that the family dynamic your child craved was slipping further away every day. rafe had agreed, too, though you both had kept your distance—until that night.

it had been a mistake. a drunken mistake. you had stayed in the same room because of space limitations, and the old chemistry that used to light up every corner of the house ignited that night, despite everything. you were both too broken, too hurt by the years of marriage that fell apart, but still... you found yourselves in bed together, tangled in passion.

now you were facing the consequences of that moment, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were about to crash into a wall of reality. you’d missed your period, and the test didn’t lie. the baby was his.

you pull up to the familiar house, the same one where you had shared so many memories, and where your child now split their time. your kid jumps out of the car and runs into the house, leaving you standing there, nerves tightening your chest. you take a deep breath and close your eyes, steeling yourself. you could do this.

the door opens, and there he is. rafe. his tall frame, messy hair, and that look in his eyes—the same look that once made your heart race. now, it just made your stomach churn with anxiety. he stares at you for a second, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“hey,” you say softly, fighting the tremble in your voice.

“hey, you okay?” he asks, voice rough but laced with concern. “you look like you’re about to pass out.”

you wince, your heartbeat picking up speed. “i, uh, need to talk to you about something.”

rafe’s gaze sharpens, his posture shifting into something more guarded. “what’s wrong? is it about the kid?”

“no, no, it’s about... me,” you mutter, then stop yourself. "well, actually, about us."

the silence between you stretches, thick and uncomfortable. he raises an eyebrow. “us? what the hell are you talking about?”

you glance at your hands, nervous to look him in the eye. “rafe, the thing is... i’m pregnant.”

the words fall into the space between you like a bomb, and his expression morphs instantly from confusion to shock. his lips part as he takes a step back. “what?” his voice is barely a whisper, but you hear the panic in it.

you nod, watching him closely. “yeah. i’m pregnant, rafe. and it’s... it’s yours.”

the air seems to freeze around you. rafe stares at you like he’s trying to process the words, like they can’t possibly be true. his jaw tightens, and you can see the conflict churning in his eyes. “you’re fucking kidding me, right?” he snaps, running a hand through his hair.

“no, i’m not,” you reply, your voice growing firmer, though your insides feel like they're about to implode. "i just found out. the timing—hell, it’s a fucking nightmare, but it’s true.”

rafe glares at you, his usual defensiveness rising like a shield. “how the hell did we end up here?” he mutters under his breath, pacing in a circle.

you feel your own frustration bubbling up. “don’t act like this isn’t your fault too, rafe,” you shoot back, your voice louder now. “you think i wanted this? i didn’t ask for this. i didn’t ask to be here with you again, but our kid wanted us both. and now... now i’m stuck in this mess, and you’re here acting like it’s a goddamn surprise.”

he clenches his fists, jaw tightening. "i know, alright? i know i fucked up with you. but this—this is too much." he stops, running a hand over his face. “you could’ve just... kept it from me. this doesn’t have to be real.”

you scoff, feeling the sting of his words. "i’m not that kind of person, rafe. i’m not just going to pretend it didn’t happen. you need to hear this. whether you like it or not, this is our reality now.”

he’s silent for a moment, then steps closer to you. his voice drops to something softer, more strained. “what do you want me to do, huh? you think i can just act like everything’s fine?”

“no,” you say, your eyes meeting his. “but i can’t do this alone. i need you, rafe. i need you to be here. for me. for our kid.”

he exhales sharply, and for the first time, you see something in his eyes that isn’t anger or confusion—it's fear. “i don’t deserve that. you deserve someone who’s stable, who can give you everything you need. i can’t be that guy.”

“stop,” you interrupt him, your voice trembling. “stop trying to push me away. you’re all i’ve ever needed. yeah, things fell apart between us, but we’re both human. i’m not asking for some fucking fairy tale, rafe. i’m asking for you to step up, for our kid, for what we used to have.”

his lips press together, and the tension in the air thickens. then, finally, he speaks. “you’re right. i’m not perfect, but i’ll be here. i’ll try, alright? i’ll try for you. for the baby. i—”

he cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. his voice cracks a little when he adds, “i’m scared as hell, but i’ll try.”

tears well up in your eyes, but you hold them back. “i’m scared too,” you whisper. “but i think we can make it work.”

he steps closer, lifting a hand to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. his voice is low, almost a whisper. “we’ll figure this out. together.”

and for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him.

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moonstruckme · 3 months ago

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hiiiii mae. I was re-reading thawing out and I'm curious if you've ever considered writing about Sirius & reader getting Remus back out on the ice again? I feel like it has real cute and fluffy potential. love all that you do! <3

Thank you for requesting! I've been looking forward to this milestone for them for so long :')

Read the Thawing Out series here

cw: modern au, chronic pain references, some anxiety caused by traumatic events

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It was your idea to do this outside of the rink. You notice things that Sirius doesn’t, and you’d noticed that as much as Remus feels at home with the boards and the bleachers and hum of the Zamboni, they intimidate him too. So, you’re taking advantage of a cold Saturday to utilize the outdoors.

Sirius frowns, spinning an idle circle on his blade. “This ice is shit.”

“You’re just spoiled,” you counter, still lacing up your skates with Remus. You’ve slowed your pace to match him, whereas Sirius had laced up quick as always and gone out into the small rink without a second thought. Another way you’re simply better than him.

To his credit, Remus doesn’t seem to be stalling. He tried talking you both out of this on a couple of occasions, saying that it wasn’t worth your time, you were giving it more importance than it was due, etc., but now that he’s here he simply seems to be taking a methodical pace. Preparing himself. Sirius can grant him this, considering he hasn’t had skates on his feet since his injury nearly three years ago.

“Would you call a swimmer picky for wanting a properly chlorinated pool?”

“Yes.”

Remus glances over at you, that particular smile he reserves for your obstinance gracing his lips. Sirius’ heart melts a little.

“Then fine. I’m picky. Just be careful, both of you. I’m telling you, this ice is truly—”

“I know how to skate on unsmoothed ice.” You cut him off with a look. There’s fondness buried beneath it, and Sirius narrows his eyes back playfully as you knot your laces and stand up. “So does Remus.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Remus jokes. He stands with you, though, letting you onto the ice first.

Sirius can see the hesitance in your boyfriend now. That bit of nervousness Remus is trying to ignore. The awareness of it balls up tight and uncomfortable in his chest.

“Awe,” Sirius croons with overdone patronage, skating to a stop a few feet away from the entrance, “are we not sure? We’ll do it like with the littles then, darling.” He bends and pats his knees, making a show of it. “Come on, come to me.”

Remus snorts and sets one foot on the ice. “Piss off.”

That one foot is all it takes. Remus pushes off with practiced ease, gliding into the rink. Sirius beams.

You look equally as awestruck, your eyes so brimming with love and joy they almost hurt to look at.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sirius says, “he does know how to skate on shit ice. Give us a spin, handsome.”

“I’m not your show pony,” Remus says, but spins nonetheless. It’s simple, and yet so incredibly graceful. So obviously second nature.

“Remus.” You seem to have given up any hope of trying to play it cool, your voice shining with barely repressed glee. “That was so perfect.”

Remus is doing a similarly poor job of repressing his own smile, though he only tsks. “If either of you did a spin like that, I’d make you redo it three times and then add a jump so you didn’t embarrass yourselves.”

Sirius crosses his arms, nodding. “Go on, then.”

It’s clear that Remus is happy to do it. He’s cautious for a while, testing his own limits as he adds complexities and small jumps and tries out different variations. Ordinarily Sirius might worry for his hip, but Remus has been especially diligent in his stretching in preparation for just this; and whenever he seemed inclined to skip it, you or Sirius were there to pester him (lovingly, of course).

Sirius’ heart swells to the point of bursting at how beautiful Remus looks. His posture shifts to accommodate the new range of movement, his arms coming out almost unconsciously, with a dancer’s grace. Sirius is well used to the symphony of skates on ice, but Remus’ have their own melody, their own beat and cadence. Even his face changes, the tension fading from his expression until it’s at once relaxed and utterly present. Remus was made for this.

You and Sirius don’t do anything but watch, rapt. After a while, Remus seems to get sick of his audience, coming to a reluctant stop. His cheeks are pink from the cold and exertion—Sirius wants to cover them with both hands and kiss him dizzy—but Remus’ expression shifts when he looks at you.

He lets out a breathy, nervous chuckle. “Sweetheart…?”

Sirius turns, and your lips are pressed together, your eyes bright. “Sorry,” you say, giving a wobbly smile, “you’re just—Remus, you’re so lovely.”

“Oh, you sop.” Sirius curls an arm around you, kissing your head. “Stop that.”

“I’m sorry.” You laugh at yourself. Swipe away a tear that manages to escape.

Sirius tuts. “Look what you’ve done,” he says to Remus, who appears caught between shock and fondness, his mouth hanging slightly open. “She’s completely right, you know. You’re too lovely; it’s torment for us both.”

“You…” Remus shakes his head. He’s delightfully flushed now, nearly to the tips of his ears. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my idea to do this, though.”

“No, but you sure do seem to be enjoying yourself now, don’t you? Come here.”

To his surprise, Remus actually comes. Sirius is elated; rarely does he get to be this demanding with such gratifying results.

He lets you go to take both of Remus' pink, hot cheeks in his hands, and plants a firm kiss on his lips.

“Thank you,” he says, grinning. “Now, stop our poor girl’s crying by skating with her, please.”

It’s not done before several kisses, but soon you and Remus are in the center of the rink, twining around each other like snowflakes in the wind. You and Sirius take turns teaching Remus the sorts of lifts and jumps he wouldn’t have learned in his solo career. Sirius can’t decide which he likes best; the up-close view of Remus’ face as the world whirls around them and Remus’ hand folds warmly around his, or getting to admire the two of you from the edge of the rink. He thinks more practice will be necessary to determine this. Much, much more practice.

Sirius’ nose is near frozen by the time you decide to call it a day. Remus teases Sirius for his pinkened cheeks as though he’s not exactly the same, and you insist on buying hot chocolates for all three of you on the way home as though they’re going to let you. You walk out of the park with breaths puffing cold in front of you, three skating bags hanging from your shoulders.

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yeonzzzn · 1 year ago

Text

💙beautiful angel: sim jaeyun

2.0 of won’t give up on us for the off limits trilogy

pairing: jake x afab!reader word count: 2.1k

synopsis: after the birth of his daughter, jake takes on the responsibility of watching after her while you sleep and get the much needed rest after giving birth. jake and jay spend that late night reminiscing about old times and discussing the future.

genre: established relationship, older brother’s best friend!au, fluffy, suggestive talk.

warnings: swearing, jake and jay being down bad for daughter/niece, mentions of sex, pregnancy mentions, that’s probably it! ♡

✰ this a 2.0 to this trilogy, please see parts 1-3 under the title before reading this one. ✰

˗ˏˋseries spotify playlist´ˎ˗

Jake lets out a quick yawn, rubbing his right eye as his other holds Hwa tighter then wraps the arm back around her.

You were sound asleep on the hospital bed, completely exhausted from obviously birthing a child earlier in the day.

Jake rocked little Hwa in his arms, smiling over how soundly she slept like there was no care in the world.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Jay’s head fall from the hand he was resting on, jolting him awake. Jake tried to not laugh, not wanting to wake up his daughter.

“You can go home, man,” Jake whispers, “You’ve been here all day.”

Jay rubs his eyes, “You can go home.”

Jake scoffs, narrowing his eyes, “The fuck I will go home, my fiancé just birthed my daughter.”

“And my sister just birthed my niece.”

“Point taken,” Jake sighs, knowing damn well Jay wasn’t going to leave. As he said at the sports bar the night they watched the Formula One races, they were both fucked if you had a girl. And well, here you all were.

Jake assumed Jay was going to stay at the hospital as well once everyone else eventually piled out. They even had to ask the nurses to bring an extra recliner chair for him to sleep on.

Jay yawned, sitting up in the chair and stretching his arms above his head, “You sure you don’t want to go home?” Jake teased.

Jay flipped him the bird and stood up from the chair, “I’m going to the cafeteria, want anything?”

Jake nodded, “Surprise me.”

Jay left and came back quickly, carrying two chicken sandwiches, “They didn’t have much, since ya know. It’s two am.”

Jake shrugged, reaching a hand out for the sandwich, “I don’t care at this point I am just starving.”

Jay unwrapped the foil on the sandwich and handed it to Jake, “Need me to put Hwa in her little crib thing?”

Jake quickly shook his head, not being ready to let her go yet. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to snatch her away from his family and friends earlier, to yell at them that he wanted his daughter back in his arms. The protection Jake felt towards his daughter was insane. Wanting to bark and growl at anyone and everything that looked at her for too long.

Jay just rolls his eyes and sits back in his recliner across the room on the other side of your bed, “Well, I call dibs holding her after we eat.”

Jake glared at him, only for Jay to glare back.

“I’m just as crazy about her as you are man,” Jay hissed, “My family too.”

Jake decided to ignore Jay and take a bite of his sandwich. Jake knew he eventually had to get some sleep, mostly if he wanted to be awake when you wake up later.

So Jake eventually nods and swallows his food, “Fine, only because I need to get some sleep and I rather my daughter sleep peacefully in one of her family member's arms than that plastic hospital crib.”

Jay chuckles as he eats his sandwich, “I couldn’t agree more, brother.”

Brother. That word holds so much more meaning now than it did before. Jake went from being best friends with Jay to practically being brothers from how close they were, to being brother-in-laws. Jake will soon actually be related to Jay, and honestly, he couldn’t wait.

“It’s crazy how everything worked out,” Jake said, finishing the last bite of his sandwich, his hand that still held his daughter slightly squeezed her small body, “I still can’t believe it. Like I am waiting to be woken up from a dream.”

Jay just stared at his friend, watching how he smiled down at his niece and the tears swell in his eyes, “You know, I’ve never seen you cry as much as I have ever since you started dating my sister.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Jay laughs, finishing off his sandwich and standing from the chair, “But it’s not a dream, Jake. Trust me I tried to pinch myself awake after finding out you were messing around with my sister.”

Jake just shakes his head, “It just feels all so unreal to me. Like I’m a father now? Who would have ever thought about it.”

Jay just nods. It seemed so out of reach and impossible for the old Jake. The Jake who partied every weekend and was bringing many different women in and out of his bed, didn’t take college all that seriously and honestly only did it to stay with his friends. Jay saw a change in Jake the moment his sister arrived at the house during winter break all those years ago. You changed him, and it was for the better.

“Yeah it’s weird to think about,” Jay took Jake’s trash and threw it away, quickly washing his hands and making his way back to Jake, reaching his hands out for his niece, “My turn.”

Jake lifts Hwa up, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead and straightening out the blanket wrapped around her then sending her into Jay’s arms.

“Hello sweet girl,” Jay whispered to her, holding her close to his chest and placing a kiss on her forehead, “Uncle Jay has you now.”

Jake stared at his friend and daughter with endearment, “I love you all so much it’s insane.”

Jay carefully sat back into the recliner chair, lifting the leg up, “Same here, man. I love you all with every inch of my heart.”

Jake stood up and stretched, letting out another yawn before sitting back down and getting comfy in the chair, his eyes looking over to you, watching how your chest raised and fell with each sleepy breath you took.

“Stop looking at my sister like that,” Jay softly snapped.

Jake looked away from you, his eyes now piercing daggers into your brother, “Huh? That’s my future wife.”

“Yeah, and you’re looking at her like you want to impregnate her again.”

Jake smirks, “Because I do.”

Jay groans, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Trust me, the moment I can, I’m putting another baby in her,” Jake knew these sex jokes were pissing Jay off, they always did. His big brother protective persona always came out. Even though Jake knocked you up and was now engaged to you, Jay still never wavered his protectiveness. And Jake was honestly happy about it.

“Remind me that I need to speak to her about getting back on her birth control,” Jay said with a roll of his eyes.

“I’ll just hide it.”

“Okay yandere Jake,” Jay chuckles, “Calm down.”

Jake laughs with his friend, enjoying every moment with him.

He glances back at you, smiling wide, “It’s crazy how things worked out.”

Jay was busy adjusting the blanket around Hwa, tracing a finger over her little face, “Yeah, things turned out how they were supposed to.”

Jake sat up in his chair, keeping his eyes on you, “Thank you, Jay.”

“For what?” Jay asked, leaning his head down to kiss Hwa’s forehead, smiling as she softly yawned.

“For walking into my life when you did,” Jake was truly, truly, thankful for Jay. Jake remembers the memory so fondly, sitting at the small table in kindergarten alone. Twirling his thumbs against each other as he watched the other kids in his class make the friends he was too shy to make.

“Why are you sitting here alone?” little Jay asked, nearly scaring Jake to death, “Don’t you have any friends?”

Jake just shook his head, looking away from Jay. Jake didn’t attend the same daycare these other kids did, everyone already knew each other or were social butterflies enough to make friends.

Jay sat down beside him, “Sunghoon, come here!”

Little Sunghoon stood up from the playing mat and waddled to the table, sitting across from Jay without so much as a thought. Sunghoon was shy too, but since he already knew Jay he felt comfortable.

“What’s your name?” Jay asked.

“Jaeyun…” Jake whispered, “But I go by Jake as a nickname.”

Little Jay just smiled, “I’m Jongseong, but my nickname is Jay. And that’s Sunghoon. We are your friends now. I have a friend in the first grade named Heeseung, he’ll be your friend too.”

And since then the four of them have been attached at the hip. Jake chuckles at the memory. Jay was also remembering the same memory, smiling and chuckling as well.

“You were so shy back then, I wonder what happened.”

“I became friends with you,” Jake teased, smiling even wider, “But it’s because of you, on why I am where I am right now.”

Jay nodded, looking back down at his niece, “Someone had to become friends with you.”

Jake rolled his eyes, slumping down into the chair. “If you never invited us to come back home with you, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

Jay nodded again, “Yeah, we sure wouldn’t be.”

Jay was honestly happy with how life turned out to be. He’s kept the same friends his entire life, had a perfect sibling relationship with you, you’re engaged to one of his best friends and now he’s holding his niece in his arms. Everything balanced out how it should have.

“I am glad it was you,” Jay said after a few minutes of silence.

Jake tilts his head into his hand, “Oh yeah?” he said through a yawn, “Glad it was me who became your best friend?”

“No,” Jay said with a pause, earning Jake to glare at him, “If you’d let me finish,” Jay hissed, “I am glad it was you who fell in love with my sister. You’ve given her a love no one else could. Nobody was good enough for my sister, not until you.”

Jake smiled, looking at you, “I am so in love with her. Thank you again for walking into my life when you did. For welcoming me into your family and for letting me love YN. You could have easily beat my ass and forbidden me from ever seeing her again. Thank you for accepting my love for her, thank you for letting me date her. She’s my soulmate, my everything,” Jake now looks at Jay, then sending his eyes to his sleeping daughter, “It’s because of you that I not only have the best friend a guy could ask for, but I met my soulmate so early on in life, and now I have a beautiful daughter. It’s all because of you.”

Jay tried to not let the word go to his head and let his ego boost further. Jay knew this was all because of him. But he was glad for it just as much as Jake was.

“Yeah, be grateful,” Jay teased.

Jake was about to comment but stopped quickly.

“Oh my god can you both shut up?!” you groaned, using all your strength to push yourself up to your elbow, “Some people are trying to rest!”

“Baby,” Jake said, quickly standing up to rush to your side, “Were we being too loud? I am so sorry.”

You secretly have been awake the entire time, listening to their conversations and cooing over your daughter. You kept praying they’d eventually just shut up and fall asleep.

You look at your brother, watching as he places more kisses all over Hwa’s face and suddenly you want nothing more than to hold her.

You reached your arms out, “Gimme.”

Jay didn’t want to give Hwa up yet but stood up anyway to hand her over to you.

You smiled down at your daughter, “Beautiful angel.”

Jake wrapped an arm around you, leaning his head against yours, “She is, isn’t she.”

Hwa has already received so many kisses since she was born, but you couldn’t help but press your lips to her forehead, sending every ounce of love you have into her skin.

Jake loved seeing you like this, so motherly. It turned him on, he had to admit.

“Let’s make another one when we get home.”

“Oh god here we go,” Jay groaned, sliding down the chair and crossing his arms.

“I’m telling you,” Jake chuckled, “I am going to knock her up again. I’ll have sex with her every single night over and over until she’s pregnant again.”

You tried to not laugh at seeing the look of pure disgust on your brother's face.

“I take back everything nice I said earlier,” Jay said with a pout.

“No you don’t shut up,” you laughed, “You love us.”

Jay nods, “I damn well do.”

Jake kisses your brow, “Let me get you pregnant again,” he whispers.

“At least get your own apartment or house first, jeez,” Jay sighs, “Our apartment is crowded enough.”

“Awe, but if we move out how can I tease you about our sex life?” Jake smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at Jay.

You tuned out the teasing argument between your fiancé and brother, putting your full attention to your daughter, watching as her small eyes flutter open and a yawn leaves her little lips, her eyes now locking with yours.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful angel.

—tags: @ikeuverse @slutforsjy @hanjisunginc @alvojake @lhsvibez @wonsbaer @zeeloveshee @jjknoir @jaeyunq @jaklvbub @woniebae @jeongingf1 @haelahoops @willgrysn @in-somnias-world @lovelyikeu @ilikekpop-c @moonrachas @misssparklyprincess @eddieeddiesblog @kaykay11sworld @tasnim10 @kangnina @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @mymemoriesandmelodies @iselltulips @jooniesbears-blog @shawnyle @brownsugarbaybee @woahsehun @laurradoesloveu @citylightsdoll @simjyunnie @cmoundiamante @caramelcandescence @lavenderiridescence @niniissus @wonniethepoo @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @fried-bread071696 @coolwitu @kyeoluvr @crimnalseung @jwnghyuns @woninluv @fakeuwus @simhinata

#jake bby #jake sim #sim jake #sim jaeyun #jaeyun sim #jake x reader #reader x jake #enhypen #enhypen x reader #reader x enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #yeonzzzn writing #off limits trilogy

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coolyiooo · 2 years ago

Text

BSD Men Begging/ Desperate To F*ck You

Pairings: Dazai, Ranpo, Fyodor, Atsushi, and Chuuya

❗Warnings❗: biting, SMUT, MDNI, moaning, ,degrading, praise, public, quickie, groaning, whimpering, choking, over stimulation, begging, crying, masturbating, breeding kink, blowjob, etc

🖤DAZAI🖤

It was lunch time at the ADA. You and Dazai had the whole office to yourselves and right when everyone left, Dazai almost instantly threw himself on you.

The whole day all he could think about was you and nothing else. He's never felt this desperate and he doesn't know why, but all he knows is that he has to be inside you.

Without even greeting you with a hi, hello, how are you. He picked you up, laid you on your desk, kissing your neck and grinding his hips against you.

Startled, you asked " 'Samu what are you doing? We're still at work! Can't you wait till we get home?"

He bit your neck, making you yelp " I can't wait. I need you right here and now, Bella. All I've been thinking about is making you mine. Please I'll be quick, I promise" he begged while unbuttoning your shirt

You weren't sure if you should do it in the office where anybody could walk in at anytime, but you've never heard him beg like this nor be so desperate, it was making you flustered.

"F-fine, but you better be quick" He immediately unbutton his pants and slid your pants off, getting straight to the point.

He slid his fingers inside you fast, getting you ready to be stretched out by him. You moaned in surprise, and held him tightly from his fast fingers.

In a few minutes when he knew you were ready, he plunged his cock inside you, Both of you moaning.

He was shuddering from the warm feeling. He's been waiting for what seems like forever. Right away he thrusted into you at a fast pace, rocking the desk against the other desk loudly.

He was whimpering and moaning more than usual. He held onto your hips more tightly than ever, like you were gonna leave any second. He could feel himself already reaching his release, he really was so desperate for you.

"Mph- Mmn~ so good ah~! So fucking good~! Your so tight ah~ 'm gonna cum already~!"His eyes were shut tight and his eyebrows furrowed.

He would look like he was in pain if he wasn't moaning and whimpering so much. A bit of Drool was coming from the side of his mouth

When he opened his eyes, they looked like he's in heaven, like he's seeing stars. He looks down to where your both connected.

He can see his cock being drenched in your fluids and how your cunt consumes his shaft so hungrily. You could feel him throbbing inside you aggressively.

His head falls all the way back with his eyes closed "Yes~ I'm gonna cum! fuck, I've been waiting for this~ please, can I cum inside? Mmn~! I have to please, Bella~"

How could you say no when he's begging to you in whimpers? "Yes mmn~! cum inside me~" you moaned, clenching your hands on his shoulders.

He goes in and out of you at a desperate, sloppy pace. He really feels how your warm, wet pussy strokes his cock so perfectly.

He finds himself at his limit and shoots his hot cum deep inside your quivering cunt. Moaning so loudly as if he was screaming, forgetting that you were at a public place. Seeing him so desperate and pathetic made you cum with him.

Both of you twitching aggressively and being in pure bliss.You started calming down from your high's and catching y'all's breath. Your body still slightly twitching, when suddenly, Dazai rams his cock in and out of you at a fast pase.

Making you moan and dig your nails into his shoulder " 'S-Samu! Aah~!" You moaned

He whimpers out loud " 'm need more~ I can't stop moving- MNN~! I need to cum more~ your so irresistible ah~! Take responsibility Bella~"

💚RANPO💚

You had just came back from work to your shared apartment with Ranpo, putting your stuff on the table and taking off your shoes.

You wanted to go greet your boyfriend, so you walked to the bedroom, but then you started to hear lewd noises. You heard moaning and whimpering coming from the bedroom and all you could think about was 'is he... cheating on me?'.

With the thought in your head you barged in the room, about to cuss and scream at him, but all you saw was Ranpo and his hand on his cock. Ranpo looked at you with wide eyes, in shock and also embarrassment, his cheeks blushing red.

You both stared at each other in silence, then you heard Ranpo whimper as he began to stroke himself in front of you. He laid his head on the pillow as he let out loud, exaggerated moans as he stroke himself roughly.

"Ah~! Well don't just stand there and stare at me, sugar~ mmn~ I needed you all day and couldn't wait- Mmn~! Please help me~"

The sight and noises he brought to you was making you so wet, now he's got you needy too. You took off your clothes and got on top of him, taking his hand off his cock, and kissing him with full of lust, earning a satisfied sigh from Ranpo.

While you and Ranpo were kissing each other aggressively, he forced your hips to grind on his twitching cock, making him whimper. You could feel his cock rub against your clit, getting you wet and ready for him.

"Please~ I have to be inside you Mmn~ I can't take it anymore, sugar~"

Your body moved on its own and sank your hips onto his cock, both of you moaning from the intense pleasure. You began to jump on his cock at a fast pase, his hands gripping on to your thighs as he whimpered loudly.

"So good~! Just like that, sugar~ don't stop- AH~! MNN~ I want to cum so bad ah~ please don't stop~"

You could feel his cock throbbing aggressively inside you, only making you feel better and tightening around him.

"Yeah, sugar mmn~ oh yes~ yes, yes, yes! faster, sugar~"

He starts to thrust his hips upwards, to get more friction and to meet his climax, but for you he only reached deeper inside of you. Both of you moaned louder from the euphoric feeling and soon found yourselves at you limits.

Ranpo whimpered loudly as he shoots his cum In you, his eyes tight shut and back arching, his legs and hands trembling from his orgasm. You came with him, seeing stars and your cunt twitching on him.

As you were catching your breath he lazily thrusted his hips upwards again. You gasped in surprise when you could feel him getting hard again.

"More~ please more, sugar~ your so addicting~ please make me cum more~ don't stop~!"

💜FYODOR💜

You were talking to Nikolai, when suddenly, Fyodor opens the door abruptly. The loud noise startled you and Nikolai, but when you saw Fyodor coming towards you at a fast pase, it got you nervous.

Before you can say anything, he grabbed you by the hand and dragged you to where ever he was going, making you almost trip. "F-Fedya, is everything ok?"

You look back at Nikolai who was smirking and raising his shoulders like he's saying 'i don't know'

Fyodor takes you to your bedroom and immediately starts to aggressively make out with you, slamming your back against the wall.

You were definitely taken aback, but you weren't complaining and gave into the kiss. Fyodor held your body passionately yet tightly, groaning into the kiss. You pulled away from the kiss, worried since this isn't usually how he'd act

"Fedya, is something wrong?"

He was breathing a bit heavily. He held your chin with two of his fingers, forcing you to look into his eyes "Is it so wrong of me to want my love?"

He brought his lips to your neck "To touch.. to kiss.. to feel... To make love to? " He said kissing against your skin

He pulled himself away from your neck and tilted his head, looking at your eyes "get on your knees, moya lyubov" he said in a demanding yet quiet voice

You gulped and followed his orders, his dominance already making you wet. He pulled down his pants to reveal his desperate cock. He held the side of your head, looking down on you "suck, my dear"

You kissed and licked his cock, making him whimper quietly. You've never heard him whimper before, and it turned you on.

You welcomed his cock into your warm,sticky mouth. Going at a steady pase, but Fyodor held the back on your head and forced your head to deep throat him, startling and choking you. You instinctively put your hands on his thighs to hold yourself.

He tried to hide his moans and whimpers, but failed and let them out, making you so wet and aroused. You moaned on his cock, still choking on him, as tears ran down your cheeks. Seeing you become a mess in a short amount of time turned him on so much.

"MNN~! F-fuck~ your such a slut for my cock, my love~ your doing so well Aghh~! It hasn't even been five minutes- mph~!"

He fucks your mouth like it was your cunt and quickly found his climax, cumming deep down your throat. He shut his eyes closed, trying so hard to silence his whimper, but it felt so fucking good that he let it out. My god was his whimper so incomparable to every song you've ever heard. You almost came on the spot.

You swallowed every bit of his sticky cum "that's it. Swallow it, Myshka~" When he was done, he pulled his cock out of you. Giving you a chance to finally breath, coughing from the lack of oxygen.

He lifted your body up and raised one of your legs around his waist. Before you could process what was happening, he thrusted his cock in and out of you quickly. Both of you moaning from the sweet sensation.

You came immediately on his dick, already being so aroused when sucking him off.

"My, my, desperate, moya lyubov-? Mnn~! I want to fill you up so much as if I'm going to impregnate you~ hah~! I know you love your insides being claimed by me, Myshka~ don't act like you don't like it"

💙ATSUSHI💙

The second you got home to your shared apartment with Atsushi. He kissed your lips full of lust and passion. You were surprised, but of course you gave in.

You Wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, earning a moan from Atsushi. He pulls away from your lips and kisses your collarbone instead

"I need you so bad y/n~ P-please help me cum. I dont think I can hold on much longer~" he said in between kisses. The tone in his voice showed some embarrassment.

You responded to his request with a desperate kiss on the lips. Both of you moving towards the main room. Your body soon found itself laying on the couch and in between your legs was Atsushi.

His hands were gripping on your waist. He pulls away from your lips and pulls your pants down in a swift movement. As he sits up. He brings your hips to his face, putting your legs around his neck and right away starts eating you out.

You moaned out loud while, as fast as he can, makes you wet. You gripped on the couch cushions from the amazing feeling, his moans sending vibrations to your cunt and his tongue tasting every bit of your delicious pussy.

When Atsushi thought you're ready, he lowers your hips on his lap and straight away thrusts his throbbing cock inside you, moaning in satisfaction. You came right from the contact, since you were aroused from him eating you out, and Whimpered loudly.

He let you adjust to his size for a few seconds and roughly fucked your cunt. He went in and out of you at an inhuman speed, making the couch move and both of you moaning.

"F-fuck~! Mmn~! So g-g-good~! Can't t-think! Mmn~ Ah~! More~ faster~! Please y/n I'm so close hah~" he whimpered as his hands on your hips helped him go even faster.

You arch your back, almost going into overstimulation, while he presses one of his hands on your stomach. He could feel his dick sliding in and out of you and it turned him on so much. Knowing how he made you feel so good that you couldn't even form sentences also made him go over the edge.

"G-god your so fucking perfect~ Mmn~ g-gonna.. gonna cum~!" He moans before he squirts his cum into your womb with a deep thrust, making you cum with him.

Both of you whimper and grab a hold onto each other. He left his dick deep inside you while he was cumming. In a few seconds, he began to ram into your sensitive cunt again. His cock still shooting cum and only getting harder.

You moan In surprise "A-Atsushi~! W-wait- MMN~ TOO MUCH"

He whimpers loudly "Cant stop~ feels too good! Ah~ please~ I need you so bad mph- let me cum inside you more please MNN~ I want to rub inside you more~ f-fuck! you feel like heaven~"

🧡CHUUYA🧡

You were quietly reading your book on the couch, when unexpectedly, Chuuya threw your book away from you.

You were confused and about to yell at him for throwing your book, but before you could say anything, he slammed his lips onto yours and kissed you.

His hands on your cheek and waist, this sudden affection making you fold into the kiss. You pulled him by the collar to bring his body more towards yours.

"I want you so much, doll~ please let me fuck you into oblivion~" he said before moving his lips to your neck.

You chuckled as you held the back of his head "You don't even have to ask, Chuuya."

He instantly laid your back on the couch and got in-between your legs, ripping your clothes off. His hand slowly moved down to your cunt just to find out you were already wet

"Heh seems like I'm not the only one desperate" you look away a bit embarrassed as he chuckles

"I think your already ready for me, doll~" he aligns his cock to your entrance and slowly slides his cock inside of you.

You and him moan from the connection and pleasure. He couldn't wait to make your body adjust to his size and immediately fucks your cunt at a fast speed.

You moan loudly as your pussy tightens around his cock, making him whimper.

"I wont stop until your covered in my cum Hah~!.. Till I fill you up with every drop mmn~ Until you've taste it.. Until every inch of you is claimed by me~" he moans

After hearing those words. You wrapped you legs around him, making him go inside you deeper, and tighten more around his cock.

He chuckled while groaning "F-fuck~ You like hearing that you little slut? Agh~ Your just my cum dumpster aren't you? F-fucking s-shit! Your trying to drain all of my cum aren't ya? AH~! Heh not like I'm complaining.. not one bit!"

You turned him on so much that you could see a bulge poking out on your stomach, created by his hard dick. You loved how desperate he was to be inside you, how he wanted to claim you so badly.

With one final, deep thrust, he cums inside your gummy walls, allowing you to cum on his cock. His head fell back with his mouth agape, eyebrows furrowed, and a loud whimper to escape.

Before he could finish cumming, he pulled out and stroke his cock with his hand to cum on your stomach. Seeing your whole body quiver from your orgasm made him able to cum more.

Both of you were now catching your breaths. After what felt like a minute and finally being able to breath normally.

Chuuya touched the cum he left on your stomach and brought it to your mouth, sticking his fingers inside it. You could taste his bitter cum on your tongue as you sucked on his fingers.

He smirks "Such a good little slut~ Cleaning the mess you made me do." He chuckles in amusement

"God, your so sexy. You make me want to go another round"

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